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.
