Don't Call Me Daughter

I suppose some of you, after you read my story, will think I'm some kind of monster, a pervert for the way I successfully seduced my own daughter.

But, you know what? I really don't give a shit.

I am balls-deep in the hottest, creamiest cunt I've ever had the pleasure of sticking my dick into, plus I have the satisfaction of knowing that every time I fuck my daughter, I'm sticking it to my ex-wife.

Of course, she'd have us both arrested if she learned what's going on, but there isn't much chance of that happening. As far as anyone here knows, I'm just putting my daughter up while she goes to college, and Lorrie's certainly not going to tell her mom what's going on.

For one thing, she loves me and the fucking she gets from me, and for another, she and Estelle – my ex – have had a testy relationship for a long time, all the more so after she told her mom she wanted to attend college here and live with me.

Truth is, I've never really thought of Lorrie as my daughter. Lorrie – that's short for Lorraine – hasn't been a regular part of my life since Estelle and I broke up 11 years ago. And even before that, I wasn't much of a father to her.

It's a very long story, but my ex ended up with full custody of our daughter, and after the divorce she moved with Lorrie back to her hometown in another state, some 500 miles from where I was living at the time.

The only times I saw my daughter – without Estelle hovering over us – was four days over the Christmas holidays and three weeks in the summer every year. Of course, we talked a lot on the telephone, but those conversations were more friend-to-friend than father-to-daughter.

And even when Lorrie was here to visit, I'd act more as her friend than her father. Lord knows, she needed a friend. Estelle was the mother from hell, and she rode poor Lorrie like a rented mule throughout her teen years, to the point where Lorrie finally rebelled.

At the risk of sounding like a pedophile, I've known since she was a small child that Lorrie had a certain sensuality, a certain innate sex appeal about her. My ex-wife would argue the point, but I think she got the best of both of us. She got Estelle's looks and my personality.

At one time, my ex-wife was a fun-loving beauty, with dark hair, dusky complexion, blue eyes, a nearly perfect body and a totally healthy appetite for sex.

We met at the university, and we threw off sparks right from the get-go. Not long after I graduated from college, when I was 22, we married. We'd been together for a little over a year, and I figured it would last forever.

I'm not sure when things started to turn sour. Over the first three years of our marriage, we both worked, but we still had a vigorous sex life, still had a lot of fun, although there were times when Estelle could be a little bitchy.

But I just chalked that up to female hormones, and left it at that.

Things changed noticeably, though, after Lorrie was born. Estelle was in heat the whole time she was pregnant, but after the birth, it was like turning off a faucet. It had been a painful delivery, then Estelle had severe post-partum depression.

And, of course, I didn't help matters by going out with my best friend afterwards to celebrate Lorrie's birth by getting riotously drunk.

Once she got over the baby blues, Estelle's whole attitude toward sex changed. Where before, we rarely let a day go by without fucking, suddenly weeks went by where she would hardly let me touch her.

On top of that, I was having to work extra-long and extra-hard because Estelle absolutely refused to go back to work. She wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, and we just couldn't afford it.

I harbored my resentments for six years, during which time I drank a lot (which made matters worse) and we argued constantly.

But what really made things worse was after Estelle did finally go back to work, when Lorrie was 4. About six months after she returned to work, a co-worker gave her some religious pamphlet and invited her to some sort of revival.

You can guess where this is heading. Estelle got the fever in the worst possible way. Suddenly, everything that we had been doing with our lives was the embodiment of sin.

She fell head over heels into this strict evangelical cult, and when I showed no interest at all in following suit, she cut me off completely. The last time we had sex was on my 30th birthday, and she made her distaste obvious throughout.

Incredibly, because I still thought I loved her, I stayed on another year after that before I finally succumbed. At first, I contented myself with masturbating to skin magazines, and soon I was doing that a lot. But then she caught me at it one night and went into orbit.

So I decided if I couldn't get any kind of sexual relief at home, I'd get it somewhere else. I had always gotten come-ons from women I met in the office or at the bars, and finally I just said, "fuck this," and took up with a gal from work.

Of course, Estelle found out, and that was the end of my marriage. I've had other relationships since, but nothing has come of them, and the past few years I haven't really tried all that hard.

I've always been a little obsessive-compulsive where sex is concerned, though, and I always liked to masturbate. I figured I could be my own best lover and I wouldn't let anyone break my heart. That became a lot easier when I discovered the Internet. In fact, that was the vehicle by which I enticed Lorrie into sex.

I think I always had a little bit of desire for Lorrie. She always reminded me of Estelle – the Estelle I'd fallen in love with, not the shrew she became – and there was always that little twinge in my gut every time we spent time together.

But it wasn't until she came to visit me the summer before her junior year in high school, not long before she turned 16, that I really began to articulate some lust for my daughter.

On her previous visit, six months earlier, I could see that she was developing into a fine-looking thing, but she was still more little girl than young woman.

But the person I saw get off the plane that summer had matured into a real stunner. She had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes, the same dusky complexion and the same good looks her mother had had in college.

And even through the bulky clothes that Estelle made her wear, I could see that Lorrie had the same killer body. She had nice, firm breasts, a pert little butt and long, sleek legs.

As usual, I was pissed off when I saw how Estelle made our daughter look. I mean, it was the first of July, it was hotter than hell, and Lorrie was wrapped up in a long, heavy skirt and a long-sleeved blouse that I'm sure had originally been buttoned to the neck, with her hair down to her butt.

It had almost become a game. The first place we went – every year – after Lorrie arrived was Wal-Mart to buy her some real clothes. I bought her snug-fitting jeans, shorter skirts, shorts, short-sleeved blouses, T-shirts, and this time I encouraged her to get some skimpier underwear. I also let her pick up a bikini, so she could use the pool I had in the backyard of the new house I'd bought in the city where I had recently moved.

Of course, Estelle would call me as soon as Lorrie returned home – every year – raging about my letting her daughter wear, "those sinful clothes that make her look like a slut." Well, they did no such thing, but I got a kick out of being able to rattle Estelle's chain like that, and, truthfully, so did Lorrie.

This time, I went one step better. We were leaving Wal-Mart and Lorrie was complaining about her hair. She hated having to fool with that much hair, but Estelle's sect didn't believe in letting women cut their hair.

So, naturally, I asked Lorrie if she wanted me to stop at the salon, and we did. She got almost two feet of hair cut off, so that it was right at shoulder-length. Then we had the hair tied up so we could send it off to that charity that uses hair like that for people such as cancer victims who've lost their hair to radiation treatments and such.

Oh my, I could feel the flames of Estelle's wrath burning through the phone lines when she called to bitch at me about that. I just laughed at her and asked her what she was going to do, glue it back on?

But Estelle was about to get a much worse shock. Before Lorrie left to return home that summer, we talked about her college plans.

One thing I'll give Estelle credit for is the fact that she made Lorrie into a good student at school. Problem was, her grades were much better than her ACT scores, so she wasn't going to get a lot of scholarship money wherever she went, at least not initially.

As Lorrie and I talked about where she wanted to go to college and what she wanted to do, it became apparent that she and Estelle were at odds.

Estelle's idea was to send Lorrie to the church-based college there in her hometown. The church that operated the school wasn't quite the same as Estelle's, but it was close enough in doctrine to satisfy her. It wasn't a bad school, but it was very expensive.

Lorrie wanted to go off to college, to begin breaking free of the bonds that her mother was pinning her down with. Her idea was to go to the big public university in their home state.

I immediately saw my opening, and suggested that she might want to consider coming here. The college here is a state university, but it isn't a real big school, it would cost far less than the one Estelle wanted her to attend, and she could stay with me, reducing the cost of lodging, a huge savings over the school Lorrie had in mind.

Once I planted the idea in her mind, Lorrie was all for it.

About a week after Lorrie's return home, I got a phone call at home. It was Estelle.

"Bert?" I heard from the other end.

"Well, if it isn't the highlight of my day," I said. "Always a pleasure to hear from you, Estelle."

"Bert, why can't we for once have a civil conversation without you being so sarcastic?" Estelle said.

"Estelle, why can't we for once have a civil conversation without you being such a bitch?" I shot back.

I could just see the steam rising off her head at that.

"Look, Bert, I didn't call you to engage in verbal warfare with you," Estelle said, a trifle wearily. "We have to talk about Lorrie, and this nonsense about her going to college over there."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," I said, breezily.

"You know good and well I'm not going to let her go off to college there, much less stay with you," she spat.

"I don't see where it's your decision to make," I said. "You send her to that college there, and I promise you it will be a waste of money you don't have, because she'll deliberately flunk out. She has no interest in going to school there, none whatsoever, and you're wasting your time if you try to make her go there."

"It's the best place for her," Estelle said, her voice taking on a whiny aspect that always got on my nerves.

"Here's the deal, Estelle," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I will pay her way to come here and go to college. She can stay with me, so there's no room and board to worry about, and it won't cost you a dime. I can afford it, and you and I both know damn good and well that you don't have the money to send her to that school over there."

"My daughter is absolutely NOT going to college there, and she's sure as Hades not going to live with a heathen pervert like you!" Estelle said, slamming the phone.

I chuckled, because I knew I had her. She had completely overlooked my "damn good and well," and had said she was, "sure as Hades," not letting Lorrie live with me, and for Estelle to use a phrase like that, she might as well have strung together a whole series of f-bombs.

The thing was, she knew I was right. Estelle had managed to make a living for herself and a home for Lorrie there in her hometown, but it was a struggle, and there was no way she had been able to save up enough to send Lorrie to school over there.

If she wanted Lorrie to get an affordable education, Estelle was going to have to let her come here and live with me. Even as I thought about it, my cock stiffened at the thought of my sexy daughter – my sexy, fully of-age daughter – living under my roof on a full-time basis. Oh, the possibilities.

From that point on, Lorrie's relationship with Estelle deteriorated dramatically, and I saw the effects the next summer when Lorrie came to stay with me. In fact, it concerned me a little, too.

Gone was the bulky outfit. Lorrie bounced off the plane in a tight pair of jeans, a light spaghetti-strap top, which just did cover a very scanty bra – neither of which did much to hide her gorgeous cleavage – sandals and she was quite well made-up, which was another sin in her mother's eyes.

And when she saw me, she bounded into my arms and gave me a full kiss on the lips. I looked into her eyes, and I knew this girl was no longer a virgin, and while the thought made me hard as a rock, I felt like I needed to maybe slow her down a little bit.

The opportunity came after she'd gone out one night with some of the friends she'd made, and came home with beer on her breath and a whiff of marijuana on her clothes.

The one area of social life where Estelle and I were in total agreement on Lorrie's upbringing was in regard to alcohol and drugs. Estelle's distaste for it came from her religion; mine came from hard experience.

I'd always liked to party, always liked the beer and the weed, and after my divorce I dove into both with gusto.

The first time I got arrested for a DUI, there weren't really any consequences. I paid the fine and was done with it. But the second time, just 13 months later, was more serious. Not only was I arrested for a second DUI, but the cops also found a little pipe with some weed that I'd been smoking.

My boss at the time, who was also a long-time friend from college, gave me an ultimatum: go into rehab, get clean and sober – and stay that way – or kiss my career goodbye.

Since I happen to work in a field that I love, at a good company that compensates me very well, I chose Door Number One. I did a three-month outpatient stretch at a rehab clinic, then another 18 months doing the AA thing learning how to deal with sobriety before I let that fade out of my life. But I've been clean and sober for seven years now, and I believe it saved my life.

But Estelle and Lorrie knew nothing about that, so when Lorrie came home that night a little drunk and high, I decided it was time she learned the truth.

I sat her down and told her gently but firmly that I wasn't going to accept that from her, that she was much too smart to fall into that trap. Then I told her my story. By the end, she was crying on my shoulder, which – devil that I am – gave me the tinglies inside.

And I promised Lorrie that she could come here to go to college, and I would support her every way I could, but she had to promise me that she would keep her nose clean and stay out of trouble in the interim.

She looked at me with tears in her eyes and promised that she would. And as we stared in each other's eyes, I saw something else, too: desire. Suddenly, I understood that as much as I'd lusted after her, she'd held me up as her ideal of the sexy man.

Our little talk helped set Lorrie straight about drugs and alcohol, but her entire senior year of high school she still gave her mother fits. She had boyfriends, usually more than one at a time, in open defiance of Estelle, and I was pretty sure those boyfriends were getting what they wanted from her.

Well, as it turned out, they were and they weren't. Lorrie was smart enough not to get pregnant, and she kept the boys happy by becoming the best head-giver in her class.

Half the boys in her graduating class whooped and cheered when she walked across the stage to get her diploma, and she stuck out her tongue playfully as she left the stage, to Estelle's absolute disgust.

Estelle was stubbornly holding on to the notion that Lorrie would dutifully trot off to the local college, but we both finally informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she'd be moving in with me in August and attending college there.

Estelle had one desperate trump card she tried to play as we sat in her house after Lorrie's graduation.

"If you do, you'd better take whatever you don't want me to throw away," Estelle said to Lorrie bitterly. "Because if you go off with him, you will no longer be my daughter."

I was actually stunned speechless. But only for a moment.

"Do you really hate me that much?" I asked quietly. "Are you really that cold-hearted that you would disown your daughter, the one you've fought like hell to raise into a decent young adult, to get back at me? Why do you hate me like that?"

"It's not a matter of whether I hate you or not," Estelle said. "As a matter of fact, I don't hate you. But you're a godless sinner, and I will not have my daughter living in sin."

Lorrie and I looked at each other, and we both gave a sort of half-smile. I think we both understood the irony of the term "living in sin."

But we stood firm. Before I returned home, I helped Lorrie complete her admission forms, and we made plans for me to come back over when it came time for her to go off to college.

So on Lorrie's 18th birthday, I drove a rental truck to Estelle's little house and loaded up Lorrie's things. By then, Estelle had softened just enough that she wanted Lorrie to stay in touch, and they did hug when we left, but it was a strained parting.

There was no air conditioning in the truck I'd rented, it was hot in that cab, and we were both sweaty and tired by the time we got to my place.

I was also horny as hell, because the moment we turned off the street after leaving Estelle's, Lorrie reached under her T-shirt and pulled off her bra. And at our first stop, she changed into a pair of shorts.

Seeing those long legs and that beautiful set of tits wiggling freely in her sweaty T-shirt kept my cock in a state of high alert the whole trip. I knew it wasn't going to be long before we would be lovers, but I wasn't sure how to proceed.

It was the computer and my trusty left hand that provided the opening.

Lorrie had finally gotten moved into the second bedroom, then we had to get her into orientation and all the things that come with starting school as a freshman.

Things had finally settled down to a routine, and I was following one of my routines late one night, after she had been there about three weeks.

I was surfing the Web for some of my favorite porn sites, with my hard 7 inches sticking out through the hole in my pajama pants. I had a nice easy rhythm going, working my lubricated cock up and down and groaning softly.

My computer sits in the front of the den off the kitchen, set off in its own area, but accessible from anywhere in the house.

I was looking at movie clips of girls who take facial cumshots, and I was really starting to get into it when I heard a soft gasp from the kitchen. I whipped my head around and Lorrie was staring at my cock.

I went through the motions of stuffing myself back in my pants, and I apologized, but Lorrie just said not to worry about it, and apologized for interrupting me.

I waited until she finished the bowl of cereal she'd gotten up from bed to have, then she came over and gave me a big hug. As she leaned over to hug me, I got a close-up view of Lorrie's wonderful tits, right down to the stiff, pink nipples, and she smiled seductively as she strutted off to bed.

"Carry on," she said as she looked over her shoulder and winked at me.

It took me about 30 seconds after that before I shot a monster cumshot all over my chest and hands.

A week or so went by, and I quietly monitored where Lorrie had been on the computer, and sure enough, I discovered that she was looking at some of the sites I'd conveniently left in the History file.