Dad Finds Daughters Sex Tape

For a long time, I have thought the free, streaming porn sites were one of the greatest of humanity's technological inventions. Of course, as a successful, small-town general practitioner, as a trusted, board-certified medical doctor and respected member of the community, I would never say those things out loud.

But, my community would not want to know the real reasons why my wife left me all those years ago, and why she took our kids, neither.

No, indeed, the good people of Roseville would not want to know that responsible, hardworking Doctor Darryl F. Paul could not keep his dirty dick out any fast, easy, fun, or at least, persuadable woman, and would step out of his happy home to go find such ladies out.

Shit, I was a real rascal in those days.

Seriously fucked up madonna-whore complex I inherited from my own drunk parents, back in the Georgia hill country I came from. But that ain't this story.

Barely fucked my wife after she had our kids. Instead, I used to pay sex workers up in Atlanta and down in Tampa, double if they'd let me bareback them. They all would, and did. After all, I was a rich, handsome doctor with a wedding ring that I never took off and a dick that looked as clean and fresh to all these professional ladies as it should, given how easy and sure I made the double-for-bareback offer. Cash ready and out, a big stack of Benjamin Franklins right there on the dresser, that was all hers for the taking, if she agreed to risk feeling so good to me that I might need to start seeing her monthly just for this, and at this rate. Especially since they might have been referred to me from one of their other friends who took double-for-bareback with a clean-groomed and rich-smelling, fit older man.

Anyway, the sex workers were an improvement after the first time my wife threatened to leave me after I started hooking up with the nurses and clerks who staffed our small-town medical practice. My wife did part-time at the front desk of our medical practice, and it was humiliating for her to realize that her husband, and the father of her daughter, had fucked every woman she knew in her day-to-day life, and she was the last to find out.

All these other women knew I fucked around on my wife, and they all knew and most worked with my wife and I, and they kept fucking me anyway, over months and over years, until right before my wife got pregnant with our son (even a married couple that's starting to hate each other slips-up and fucks sometimes, especially when my wife is baby-mad and willing to forgive all my sins for awhile every twenty-eight days when she was ovulating).

I think she hated that all these women got one over on her, and had done so, big time; I think she was maddest not that these tramps had opened their legs for me, had bent over for me and gotten on their knees for me, took it up the ass for me, and other things I never did with my wife, but I think she was maddest that all these women she had struggled to be kind to and make friends with, with whom she had been all smiles and remembering birthdays; and she had to realize that all of these women had actually hated her so much so as to fuck her own husband behind her back for months and for years, without so much as a clue, a word, a hint of guilt.

Being a small-town doctor is a lot like being a local celebrity, because you meet so many of your neighbors, you meet them as an authority figure, and because you're richer than most of them combined would ever be, or could ever be, and I've got more years of school after high school alone, than they have at all.

What I'm saying is, there's a sharp power imbalance and I'll be damned if I didn't take fullest advantage.

But when the shit all hit the fan with my marriage that first time, I sold my practice and we moved to a small city. I took a job at a very profitable hospital system, my wife and I made up, we made our next kid, our first son. I worked a ton, we socked away even more money, I got a new truck, my wife got a new Minivan (told you she was baby-mad and family-crazy), I finally got a boat, the successful doctor's first big waste of money, and instead of fucking civilians, instead of shitting where I ate and fucking any woman nearby whom I could seduce, I swore off all the nurses and clerks and pharmaceutical reps and pharmacists and pharmaceutical techs and Resp Techs and nurse's aides and physical therapists and art therapists and music therapists and social workers and any other woman, always in a non-equal economic role to me; some who wanted me to leave my wife and some who knew that it was just fun and some who wanted the thrill of fucking this small-town, local celebrity who was so rich and so fancily educated. When my wife and I split for good, she still gave me shit about this, but I tried to tell her, the fucked-up way I was raised, some women were for fucking, and some women were for wifing, and you should never do with your wife what you did with the women who fucked you so easily without being married to you.

The unmistakable implication being that your wife should not want to do the things, put her mouth in the places, that these other women do. A wife should not want to satisfy her own fucked-up kinky urges to be choked or spanked or all the other fun that you can have in a medical office with women who are not your wife and the mother of your children.

Look, maybe that backwards, sacred-profane worldview was the only thing that gave me the discipline to survive medical school and heal and help so many people over my life. I'm old enough now, I don't judge the roller coaster, I just ride it, and keep screaming.

This is me winking.

So baby two comes along, life goes along, and to keep it all together, to stop from fucking the other women, I start taking trips to the medical conferences in Vegas, in New Orleans, in any major city that had plenty of options on the escort website pages. The conferences were usually junkets run by the pharmaceutical companies, fake seminars when we would get credit for continuing-education medical board requirements, state licensing stuff, all that administrative junk, and learn that--miraculously--the sponsoring drug maker's newest pill was not only a miracle cure for most of our patients, but even better, it was a miracle cure that could only cure them so long as they kept taking it regularly without fail, or it would suddenly, potentially, well, there have been some side-effects but, hey, here is our Corporate Legal Counsel to present on what the AMA Rules say you are allowed to say to a patient who mentions any of those pesky and not-conclusively-demonstrated alleged side-effects.

The best thing is the Corporate Legal Counsel is often some sexy, dragonlady with big hair like the female lead in any eighties film; all serious and severe but living the corporate good life and able to afford all the personal groomers, aestheticians, cosmeticians, facialists, stylists, eyebrow threaders, and personal trainers to make the room full of swinging, money-and-sex loving doctors, undress her with their eyes the entire time she's swaggering and flirting on stage.

But it's so easy at these conferences to be nothing but professional with my professional colleagues. Nothing but professional with all the staff and Pharma Reps and Marketing Execs and all the adorable women there supporting their bosses, nothing but handshakes and smiles. All because, I've already booked my methadone in advance.

That's when the escorts got into the contacts on my secret burner phone. That's when I got the second smart-phone for all the college-age women from the arrangement-seeking websites. That's when the era began, the era of double-to-bareback the nice, innocent, amateur or semi-amateur sex worker with the heart of gold. So much money flowing in, that it was nothing to make a young, hardened lady feel comfortable enough to take a risk that she would take in her personal life, anyway. I was honoring the ancient tradition of providing lavishly for my wife and family, keeping them in perfect comfort, while I spoiled the women who made me feel like a man, made me feel unconstrained, rebellious and free, strings unattached, for as long as I needed to feel that way, so I could come home to that wife and family, so comfortable.

Years of peace. Years of prosperity. Intimacy with my wife, casual and regular enough again, that baby three comes along in the middle of this Pax Escorta. The peace of the Concubines.

And then, one day, there's the last peaceful sunset.

When your wife finds out that you are not fucking her friends and neighbors anymore (mostly because she refuses to let you meet any of her new friends, and as a modern man and father, you have almost no friends of your own, anyway), but, she learns, that you have now been--"for years, you motherfucker!!!"--paying sex workers extra to have unprotected sex with them, and then having the occasional, but at least monthly sex with your wife; sometimes making love with her even the very same night after you've returned from one of these conferences, or from a fishing trip with "the boys" on the new boat, when y'all slept aboard ship overnight, anchored just off-shore...

... and when she learns it, it mostly comes out in one, big, huge, multi-count indictment covering years of how her husband regulated his extremely-lucrative madness with professional women who meant nothing and have no strings on him, but then some other extent of it comes out, like the gifts to some of the women for no reason, or how one was at a family event like a concert or a graduation, way back in one of the last rows, but then, after she learns it all or at least all she needs for her emotional jury to convict on all counts of that multi-year indictment with beyond-a-reasonable-doubt certainty, there comes the day, the real day, which is the day that...you... learn that she has learned...

Yeah, after that, I ain't scared of nuclear war no more. I've already survived one, buster.

Anyway, but that's all to say, godbless all this free and easy smut over the internet. I reckon that had this been available to me in my younger days, I might have given in to the easy temptation to have a quick come in my office with the door closed, myself, rather than tried to get relief from a willing nurse's aide or receptionist.

Pornography is medicine in the right dose. Most medicines are poisons in the wrong dose.

So, I'll admit to strangers at an airport bar, these free, streaming porn sites get more and more of some of the classics I've seen over the decades. And, like I used barebacking professionals to wean myself from extra-marital satisfaction with women in my local community who were humiliating my then-wife, eventually all that free internet porn weaned me from these hookups with pros and semi-pros in any party city with a thriving university population.

Retirement's getting closer, and I've never been billing at higher rates, never had so many solid patients with rock-solid government insurance that paid so regularly. So, a few minutes alone with my phone in a locked treatment room, or a few longs hours in the evening at home, at my desktop, with decades of the most beautiful women of all types doing the most beautiful things or all types...

...maybe you'd say that having a paid subscription to all of the streaming porn sites is overkill, but I love short films and I hate having to wait through commercials. And I certainly can't risk anyone ever hearing one of Those commercials, before one of Those videos.

Everyone knows those distinctive jingles. Free, streaming porn commercials are anything but subtle.

But streaming porn has been protecting my retirement funds after a half-century of balling all the trim a rich doctor can afford.

But, maybe you'd say, that what I finally found, on one of my favorite of the streaming sites, maybe you'd be a moralist, or someone who thinks there's justice in the universe, and I deserved to see it.

Maybe.

But, now you're up to speed on the background. You'll have to decide for yourself when you hear about the rest. Whether you think I got what was coming to me, what I deserved.

Or not.

But I need to take a break before I tell you that part.

PART TWO

The film was only five minutes and thirty seconds long.

Film is a misnomer. Really, it was a video.

The camera is fixed in one position the whole time.

The girl kneeling is Gracie. My eldest daughter.

I had no idea who the man she was kneeling in front of was. He looked her age, which must have been about twenty in this video. That was how her hair looked then. That was the year she studied aboard in Copenhagen. The young man Gracie knelt before looked like a jerk, like an absolute idiot with an overly-affected "cool kid" look, but I will concede he did look handsome and fit in a vaguely athletic way, though maybe just poor and skinny, but he did not look like a follower. He probably was at least the leader of his small pack.

After all, he was making a video of my daughter sucking his cock.

I could place her and her age from the hairstyle she was wearing: long and flowing, her natural brown, the same shade as her mother's. The room was the living room of the apartment she lived in through her college's study abroad program. The room opened over a narrow counter to the kitchen. The apartment had the lived-in look, with the low-budget things they put up on the wall to decorate: a Danish flag, some cheap posters for Carlsberg beer and for some show at the Glyptoteket museum. Magnets on the refrigerator. The cheap Scandinavian space-age furniture of this small apartment in Copenhagen.

My Gracie kneels on a gray, shag carpet. She wears a colorful, oversize pair of boxer shorts. It takes me several viewings of the film to realize: she is probably wearing a memento of this lover whom she is entertaining, or perhaps, a memento from a previous one.

She is on her knees in a tight-together position of natural submission, connection, and generosity. Her knees are close together, her feet are close together behind her, small, and the bottoms of my daughter's feet look clean and adorable even in this messy, students' apartment.

He is sitting back in a space-age Scandinavian chair, his long hair is up in a bun on his head while hers is down and combed over one shoulder so as not to be in Gracie's way as she sucks this man's cock.

When the video starts, that is what she is doing. The video begins with her on her knees, yes, wearing a flowery pair of boxer shorts, yes, but that is all she is wearing and her shoulders, her arms, her back are all exposed and bare and perfect, and while all that is exposed, she already has her mouth moving up and down his cock.

The clip begins in the middle of the action.

She holds him by the base, and licks the tip, licks around the head, licks the corona and the frenulum. His cock is thick. He is erect and responsive to her.

They make eye contact.

Yes, my daughter's tits do look like her mother's did at that age.

Yes, my daughter has a near-perfect set of tits.

This frame of the video: right here. This is the frame that shows off how my Gracie's breasts sit and hang on her chest. How sweetly-colored and delicately-shaped her nipples and areolae are.

The way she's smiling, so happy, having such an obvious good time, while her tits are out and displayed so wonderfully, hanging there with such twenty-year old flawless perfection, just like my ex-wives...

Yes, I've come to just that frame, frozen there. Many times. But not until I had seen more, that first time. That magical, awful first time.

Yes, I've pulled up this video just to watch to this frame. Many times.

This is the last good angle of her chest. For the rest of the video, she gets really into it, and doesn't come up this high again to let the camera she her front so easily. She keeps herself leaned so deep into his lap, her arms resting atop his legs, that her breasts hang blocked by his left leg.

She teases him for a few seconds more with her sucking. Essentially lubing-up the first few inches of his fully-erect penis.

Because then, my darling daughter begins bobbing up and down with such speed and ferocity, the only way to describe it is that she does some serious cocksucking. Piledriving her face, her sweet, good-girl face onto this man's penis, taking nearly the entire thing into the back of her mouth, and then up-but-not-off, then almost-fully down, then up-but-not-off, over and over again. Jackhammering her head on this man's dick like a slut. Like a chickenhead.

He caresses Gracie's hair in his hands, holds my girl's head gently while she assaults his dick. This encourages her to take him all the way and hold him there. She keeps herself impaled at the mouth by his penis for nine seconds. They are long seconds. Her face flush into his lap. His hands holding her head, my darling daughter's head, stuck there on his cock, until she coughs and gags, and she comes up for a big breath of air.

I stopped this part of the video, replayed it over and over against until I came. It did not take long, the whole process. Of the video, only twenty-four seconds have elapsed.

The next thirty seconds are more of the same but less, and she begins to suck this man's balls. But at fifty-two seconds, her taller, fuller-bodied, less-cute, dyed-blonde hair roommate walks out of their bathroom in only a towel. The fixed-point camera's angle is so wide as to easily capture this. In European sensibility, the bathroom door is next to the small, open kitchen. She walks through the kitchen, notices my daughter sucking the man, does not find it unexpected but mumbles something suggesting it might be rude or awkward to the roommate's sense of public civility, and walks to her bedroom, closing the door with a sound loud enough to hear on the video.

My daughter and her boyfriend share a moment of mutual acknowledgement at the roommate, sharing glances and a smile, his dick still in Gracie's mouth, she smiling up at him around his meaty cock, the thrill of being caught, of being seen, of being envied, and then the roommate comes out of the bedroom, and is back in the kitchen. The man says something to her in something that sounds like Danish, then she giggles a Danish giggle and replies in Danish.

My daughter resumes sucking his cock, then keeps sucking his cock, getting into it quickly and willing him to focus on her, pay attention to her, not this tall blonde dressed only in a towel.

But the blonde makes a joke in Danish, and when Gracie comes up for air, she and the man smile and laugh.

Gracie resumes, and her technique is luscious and sensual even to watch. Her body is young and beautiful the way youth is beautiful. She blows athletically, like the long-distance runner she was. Long, deep strokes. Not all the way, but easily as deep as this young man's hand can fit on his own cock, and going into her mouth, past her pretty, stretched lips and still, still going, so easily, holding him steady and tight for her at the base of his cock. It is obvious that her mouth is wet, so soft and so wet, this college-student's mouth probably feels as good or equal to this college student's pink pussy, it is obvious that her mouth is wet and soft and giving because she has No Trouble bobbing those long, deep strokes up and down on his cock.

Long, deep, strokes like her fit, lean legs used to make on their finishing kicks, all those afternoons I would watch her run track.

Long, deep strokes from her tucked, kneeling position, for this man and his pleasure, so she can get maximum physical leverage to take this man as deep as she could, as fast as she could.

This sweet, darling daughter of mine puts so much of herself into what she is doing, it is not only her head that is bobbing, not only her shoulders and neck and back that is rocking while she gives this very throaty blowjob--but even her cute, petite butt in those silly, playful boxer shorts moving and writhing, bobbing along in the wave as she sinks her mouth down on his dick, and then rising as she comes up off it, and then down again, a tiny butt with almost no hips, and then up, down and up, putting her all into sucking this jerk off.