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The sound of the bedroom door opening woke me. There, standing in the door was daddy, his body glistening with sweat, and wearing only his bikini briefs, the ones he exercised in. I blinked my eyes once, then again, just to make sure I was really awake and not dreaming. I was puzzled. Why was he in my room?
As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I watched as daddy pulled off his briefs. Suddenly, I gasped. He was moving toward my bed and he was erect and hard, his huge cock pointing toward the ceiling. And then he was at the foot of my bed, and I watched as he grabbed the covers and dragged them off. He put his hands on my legs and roughly spread them apart, causing my nightie to ride up my thighs.
"Oh, my God!" I cried out, "Oh, my God!"
Daddy knelt on the bed between my legs. His face was expressionless. He spit in his hand, then I watched as he rubbed the spit over the large, bulbous head of his cock. He put his fist around his cock and roughly pushed the head of it against the lips of my pussy, spreading them apart. He lunged forward, forcing his cock deep into me. I screamed, partially from the pain, and partially from the unexpected shock of what was happening.
Leaning forward on his arms, he began to thrust in and out of my dry passage. I screamed again. His face still showed no emotion. He continued to pound hard into my dry pussy, until gradually I could feel the pain ease as my brain signaled to my body to begin producing lubricant, not because I consciously willed it to, but as a natural bodily reaction, no different than Pavlov's dogs salivating when they heard the bell.
Daddy's breath was now coming in short gasps. With each of his forward thrusts, his pelvis met mine, his cock deep in my pussy. Then he groaned loudly, and I could feel his cum spurting deep into me. He groaned one last time and his strokes slowed, until finally his body was motionless over mine.
He pulled out, and without saying a word, left my room.
*****
During the next few days, a routine developed. Daddy would take me every morning. After his exercises, he would come to my room and throw the covers off my bed and fuck me. After a few days, I learned to set my alarm so I'd have time to get ready for him. I'd play with myself to make sure I was wet before he came upstairs. Sometimes, he'd open the door and I'd have my legs spread wide and my fingers on my pussy. He didn't seem to mind, or even to care.
And daddy would take me every evening. It wasn't always at the same time, or the same place. Maybe I'd be watching TV in the rec room, and he'd walk into the room, and lay me back on the couch and pull down my panties and do it. Another time, I might be standing in the kitchen and he'd approach me from behind and I would hear his zipper coming down, and he'd make me lean over the table while he took me from behind.
There was not much foreplay and not much talk, he just did it. It was as if all I was to him was a receptacle to put his cock in to empty his balls. And after he'd cum, he'd put his clothes back on or pull up his zipper and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if he hadn't just fucked his own daughter, as if he was the most normal father in the world.
After the first few days - after the initial shock wore off, an amazing thing began to happen. I began to cum. And I began to cum hard. As he fucked me each morning and each night, I think my body anticipated what was about to happen and I was wet before he entered me, and even though it was always rough and fast, I found myself screaming out in pleasure as he took me, and the orgasms that raced through my body were heavy and intense.
Of course, I thought about all that was going on, about our relationship. I thought about it all the time. It wasn't right, I knew. Was it an abusive relationship? By most standards, it probably would be considered abusive. I sometimes thought how others might see it, a sex starved father molesting his daughter. But it wasn't that way. It wasn't that way at all.
I knew I was free to leave at any time. But in a way, I was satisfied with the way things were going, it was almost a feeling of contentment. And deep down, despite his flaws, I knew daddy was a good man. And even deeper down, I knew I loved him dearly.
And I knew something else. When daddy took me, when he fucked me every morning and every evening, I knew I like it, I knew I needed it, I knew I loved it. If that made me sick, I thought to myself, then so be it.
*****
Daddy rarely ever had dinner at home. As a workaholic, eating at the diner near his office meant he could get an extra few hours of work in each day. He would get home at seven or eight each evening and when the front door opened I'd go to the kitchen and pour him a Scotch.
I'm not sure why I did it, but I'd always try to get ready for him before he came home. I'd stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, experimenting with makeup, then I'd go to my room and put on different outfits, trying to imagine what would please him.
As each day went by, I became a little more daring with my outfits. I knew it excited him, and I knew, deep down inside, it excited me too. One evening, I met him at the door in a short mini-skirt and blouse. With no bra, I knew the movement of my breasts would turn him on, and with no panties, there would be no impediments in his way when he decided it was time to take me.
I became even more blatant. I found this place downtown that sold all kinds of clothes, and the next evening, I met him in the living room with a bra that had openings in the front that exposed my nipples, and panties that had a slit down the middle so my pussy was fully exposed. He put his briefcase down and took me, right then and there.
I knew it wasn't right. I knew I should feel some sense of guilt, but I couldn't help it, I couldn't help feeling I wanted to turn daddy on, to make him want me.
By now, my classes at the community college had started, and every evening daddy would grill me about them. What do you have to study tonight?, he'd ask, or when is your next quiz? Sometimes, while he was working on the computer in his study, he'd make me sit beside him with my textbook or class notes to make sure I studying.
If I had a question about something in one of my classes, he'd sit in front of his computer until he found an answer for me. The night before an exam, he'd stand in front of me like a drill sergeant, peppering me with questions until he was satisfied I knew enough to get a good grade the next day.
Despite the bizarre nature of our relationship, I realized that I finally had some stability in my life. Better this than my drunken mother back in Baltimore. And for the first time in my life, I was doing good school.
******************
"I have a date tonight," daddy said one morning. I was lying in my bed, my legs spread, his cum dripping out of my pussy. He stood beside the bed, his wet cock hanging over me. I wasn't sure how I felt when he said it. It wasn't jealousy, I was sure. Maybe I was just curious what effect this might have on our relationship. But I think I realized he had his life to live, the same as me.
I was reading in bed when he got home. It was almost midnight. He came immediately to my room and began undressing. I barely had time to get myself ready before he was on me. And then, I sensed it. I could smell her on him. Maybe it was the slight odor of her perfume, or the lingering musky odor of her sex, or maybe it was the fact it took daddy longer to cum, but I knew he'd fucked her that night.
"You did it with her tonight, didn't you daddy?" I whispered, "You did her, didn't you?"
Daddy let out a little moan, and his in and out strokes became faster.
"Yes," he answered softly, "Yes."
"Tell me about it, daddy. Tell me what it was like. Was she good?"
Daddy's breaths were coming faster now.
"Not as good as you, baby," he said in a raspy voice.
"Tell me, daddy," I whispered, my mouth just inches from his face.
"She's good, baby, but not like you. She's more...uptight...more reserved. I have to tell her what to do, to... make her do things. It's the way she is."
