It was my eighteenth birthday and my daddy had promised me a surprise. My name is Penny. I was first called Peter but changed my name when I insisted to my mummy and daddy I was a girl. At first mummy wouldn't accept it but daddy talked her round and they decided to educate me at home so that I wasn't picked on by the other kids. It was more convenient anyway because we lived miles out in the wild, where we grew our own vegetables, raised hens for eggs and daddy worked from home doing something on the internet.
Mummy died last year and two nights later I heard daddy sobbing. I went to try to comfort him but he apologised for disturbing me and sent me back to my own bed.
I love being a girl and, actually, it has become better since mummy died. I feel guilty for even thinking that but it is true. Somehow, I never felt that she fully accepted me whereas daddy accepts me entirely. Now, when I am in my room getting dressed, I can luxuriate in my femininity in a way I couldn't whilst mummy was alive. Isn't it strange? I love to shave my legs and my clitie. I love the feel of my silk and lace panties as I secure my cock and balls (clitie cocklet and clitie balls) between my legs and pull the silk tight to hold them and give a deliciously feminine shape to my mound. My stockings gliding up my smooth legs make my clitie cock strain to produce my milk and I have to think of other things to stop myself coming as I fasten the lace stocking tops to my suspenders. I put on my bra and sit before my dressing- table mirror to make up my face. I am a pretty girl with light brown wavy hair and blue eyes. I like to look beautiful for my daddy and he says he really appreciates it. Since mummy died he seems able to pay me compliments more easily, and sometimes he looks at me in a way he rarely did before and then he always looked a little guilty. I think he is now allowing himself to see me as a woman.
For at least three years I have fantasised about what it would feel like if my daddy made love to me. We are so different from each other; I am five feet six tall and he is six feet six; I am slightly, though prettily, built, whereas he is a muscular stud of a man with magnificent pecs and abs. His arms and legs strain the material of his clothes and I can only imagine what lies between those wonderful thighs. Even if I didn't shave my body I should have hardly any hair compared with the mat of hair which comes into view whenever daddy wears an open-necked shirt. We have the same blue eyes, but whereas mine are always soft his can be piercing when he is angry.
I dressed with special care for my birthday. I know my daddy likes me to look demure, so I chose a cream silk dress with a full skirt over a petticoat of the same colour and skin -coloured thigh high stockings, panties and bra. When I came into the kitchen daddy had made breakfast already as he usually did on my birthdays, but today something was subtly different. For one thing he was not dressed in his usual house clothes. He looked extra smart and he had shaved and brushed his hair as carefully as if he was going to a special event. And I could feel a sense of excitement coming from him. I asked him why he had taken such care with his appearance today.
In reply he said he'd tell me after we had eaten breakfast. I was now getting excited as well and we wolfed down the excellent breakfast he had prepared. He led me into our sitting room and I sat on the sofa in the window with the light behind me but daddy asked me to move to the other sofa near the fireplace so that he could see my face clearly. I did so and looked up into his eyes. I could tell he was worried. There was an air of uncertainty about him which was not at all usual.
'Daddy, please tell me what is wrong. You're beginning to frighten me,' I said.
'That's the very last thing I want to do,' he replied.
He sat down beside me and took one of my hands in both of his. I do not have particularly small hands but I noticed how tiny mine seemed when held by his hands but I also saw how shapely his big hands were and for a moment I shivered, imagining those hands running wherever they wished about my body.
'Darling, are you cold,' asked daddy.
'No, daddy. I am being silly. Now, please talk to me.'
Daddy said, 'Today you become eighteen. You are now an adult, a woman.' (My heart beat faster as he called me a woman). There is something I must tell you. If you don't like what I say please can we put it out of our minds and we'll continue as we are now, a loving father and daughter.'
I nodded because my heart was too full for me to say anything. I knew what must be coming and I longed to hear what he had to say.
He went on, 'I have come to love you as a woman as well as my child. I want to become your lover and, if you will allow me, your husband. Is there any chance you can love me in return? Will you do me the hour of becoming my wife?'
He looked so earnest and so worried I almost laughed. I put up my other hand to his cheek and whispered, 'I do. I am your wife.' I was going to run on but he crushed his lips against mine, his tongue entered my mouth, his hands were inside my dress, my bra, my panties. My clothes were scattered on the floor as he carried me into what would now be our bedroom; he mounted me fiercely; the pain was electric but my shrieks were shrieks of joy as he ploughed his great cock into my pulsing cunt and when he came his waves of impregnating baby batter shot me into a new world of ecstasy and love.
Five times that day and three times the following night he gave me the greatest gift a man can give a woman. From the moment I tasted his cum I knew that it had always been intended for me and that my mouth, my throat and my cunt were created to be home to his cock and that his magnificent balls were intended to supply them with their most precious contents. From that first night I worshiped his cock and balls. His cock was eight inches of silk-covered steel, purple veined and bronze headed and as wide as my girly wrists. His balls hung low; I needed both hands to hold them and they were heavy with sperm. I learnt to take each of them in my mouth and to massage them with my tongue, as my daddy licked and sucked my cunt or took my clitie cock and clitie balls into his mouth to send me into orgasm. In those moments my daddy became my baby and sucked out his mummy's milk from my clitie breast.
For three years we lived in a never- ending ecstasy of fucking and sucking. My pussy lips became my vagina and I genuinely expected to bear my daddy's children. Something was certainly happening deep inside me for I began to have periods, which could only mean that I was producing eggs for my daddy to fertilise with his sperm and yet I was not pregnant.
When I was twenty- one my father's father, my grandfather, came to stay. I was worried that he would be shocked by our way of life. After all I am my father's son, who became his daughter, then his wife. Daddy reassured me that his father, whom I had never seen before, would not be phased by our complicated relationship. He wouldn't say much more, except that my grandfather had disapproved of my father's marriage, and they had severed relations with each other, but that my father had written to his father to tell him that he had taken me as his wife and grandfather's visit was the result of that letter. I was now looking forward to meeting this unusual man.