The Monster Inside Me

At this point, I have to tell you the most important part, which is how I fell in love.

To hell with you. I just re-read that first line, and I know what half of you are thinking, or want to think, and to hell with you. I can love anyone I want, including him. Anyone. And it's not lame, or weird, or sick. Well, it is sick, but it's an awesome sick. It's part of what makes it so damned amazing.

So to hell with you. And anyway, you don't even understand yet.

First, you have to understand why I love him. He's a prick, we all know that. He's untrustworthy, mostly, and a shameless, incorrigible playboy, and something of a foolish, irresponsible child.

He can fuck, yes, my god, he can fuck like no other man I've ever met, but that's just a reason to keep fucking him, not a reason to fall in love with him.

He does make me laugh. He always has. That's probably his special talent. At some of the lowest points in my life, he's helped me through it by making me laugh. If I'm up, if I'm down, if I'm bored, if I'm scared — especially if I'm scared — he always makes me laugh.

I also trust him, as untrustworthy as he is, with my life. Maybe I'm the only person in the world who does trust him, or who can, but I know that no matter what he'll be there for me, if it's important, he won't bail, and he'd sacrifice whatever was needed. He wouldn't do it for my mom the cunt. He wouldn't do it for you or anyone else on the planet. No one else can trust him. No one but me.

* * *

There we were, on the couch, fumbling our way towards fucking for a second time. Dad's cock. The kissing was over. It was awesome, and I wish it could have lasted forever, but we'd moved on. Dad forced me, us, to move on.

There it was. Dad's naked, hard cock. I stared at it in a numb yet smoking trance. On the outside, I'm sure I appeared to be frozen with indecision, or fear. On the inside, every emotion, every memory, every fear, every desire, every hope swirled around in a chaotic battle of images and thoughts. There it was, my father's cock, resting on the tips of my fingers, inches from my face. I slid down onto my knees before him, between his legs, into that age-old, submissive, cock-sucking position, all the while still touching his cock with my fingertips, not letting go, while keeping my face so very close to it that the slightest twitch would bring it to my lips.

Dad's cock. Dad's cock. Dad's cock.

I recited the words over and over in my head like an incantation, a spell that would unleash some awesome power or magic. I silently said it, over and over again, as I hesitated, staring at a cock I had never expected to even see, let alone service and adore. Yes, it was a cock I'd already felt wonderfully deep inside of me, but this was different. This was a very conscious and purposeful act of acceptance, submission, and social and sexual deviancy.

This was also my turn. This was my sweet spot. He had surprised me with his kisses. Surprised me and captured me. More than ever I wanted him to enjoy this, to succumb to it, to the pleasures of having my mouth on his cock, the way I had just succumbed to him. I wanted him to adore my cock sucking the way I now adored his kissing. This was my surprise. My special skill.

Once I started, there would be no going back. I stroked the back of its length with one, long, ruby-red fingernail, tracing its impressive shape, gauging its size, testing its strength. It was firm. Firm was an understatement. Dad's cock was as fucking hard as granite, and as hot as if it had been baking in the sun all day. It maybe wasn't the biggest I'd ever seen, but it was fucking magnificent. In that moment, to me, in that state of mind, it was utterly, totally, incomparably magnificent.

I looked up at him through my overhanging bangs, a sheer curtain of black hair, and from behind the pole of his own cock, to see him staring down at me, his expression unreadable, neither demanding, nor excited, nor expectant, nor eager. He merely watched me, without judgment, patiently waiting for me to do whatever I would, in my own time. Yet behind that mask, I knew he was commanding me. I knew what he wanted. I knew what I had to do. For him. For Dad. With his eyes on mine, and my eyes inextricably wedded to his, I reached out, ever so slowly with my tongue. I watched his face as the gleaming wet tip of my tongue touched the head of his cock.

No reaction.

I watched his face as the tip of my tongue artfully swirled, first left, then up, then right, then down, painting a trail of my saliva across the helmet of his dick, while our eyes stayed married to each other.

No reaction.

I watched his face as my head inched forward, mouth shaping itself into an erotic, welcoming circlet. My eyes, finally, unbidden, fluttered closed in overwhelming rapture as I felt the smooth heat of him touch and pass my lips, pass my teeth, and glide, deeper and deeper, along my tongue toward the back of my throat. I took him all, every last inch, in one slow, unwavering motion. I sealed my mouth around him, squeezing his girth with it, holding it steadily inside of me, as my tongue massaged him, and my fingers constricted the very short length of him that remained exposed at the base of his awesome shaft.

I was rewarded by a short grunt, followed by a long, sustained groan. He called me his baby, his darling, beautiful baby. I don't think he even knew he had said it out loud. I smiled on the inside, more proud than I had ever been, more proud than the day I got my t-ball participation trophy, or the day I rode my bike without training wheels, or the first of many days that I brought home straight A's on a report card.

Those thoughts amused me, almost making me laugh, with his cock buried in my mouth, but only for a split second. This was no time for celebration or amusement. This was only the beginning. Like my father and his kisses, I took my time. I slaved for him. I knelt before him, worshiping him. I gave everything I could, every shredded, useless fragment of my soul, to the act of pleasuring him. I owned him. Long before I was done, I totally and completely owned my father. I'd earned in his love, his respect, and his lust a thousand times over. His groans, his sometimes thrashing movements, his grip on my head, all told me that he struggled to contain himself, to keep himself from coming.

Of course, I had no intention of letting him do so. I could have. Any time I wanted, I could have pushed him over the edge to taste the delight of his seed, feel it fill my mouth and coat my tongue and flow down my eager throat in hot, gushing blasts. It would have been a wonderful victory, a grand demonstration of the power his daughter held over him, and we could have continued later, I'm sure, once he recovered. Maybe. Probably. Eventually. But we both wanted more, much more, and we wanted it now. We wanted it to last, and I wanted to feel him inside me, feel my dad inside of me, as he held my smaller form in his strong, encompassing arms. I wanted a do-over, a repeat of that first fucked up night, but done fucking right this time.

I released my dad's cock from my mouth and my power. I smoothly slipped up to sit on his lap, still gently holding his cock in the fingertips of one hand, to gaze on his handsome, enraptured face. I stroked his cock, carefully and slowly, but while trying to bring him down, letting him regain control as I used the opportunity to study him. I studied his trimmed gray beard, his graying hair, the slight ravines of wrinkles that had formed around his eyes, the soft, sensual, until now unrecognized beauty of his mouth. I leaned forward to kiss him, my lips first brushing across and then pressing against his. They were firm and soft, both at once. His tongue found mine, and, like before, we kissed for countless minutes, our tongues fencing and dancing together, though this time with my hand still holding and exploring his cock, always subtly, letting him calm and subdue the capped fountain of semen that had been building in his shaft.

His hands brushed across my hips, explored the small of my back, stroked my hair, caressed my breast, pinched my nipple. He skillfully guided the growing feelings in my body towards our shared, ultimate goal, kissing me deeply the whole time. Growing more excited with every passing moment, beginning to lose control myself, I surrendered to my lust, shifting to straddle his thigh, to press and rub my steaming pussy against him. I moaned into his mouth as the excitement built in my cunt and clit. I moaned into his mouth as he began once again to exercise control over me, to take control of my body and mind. His large, strong hands gripped my ass as I rocked on his thigh, guiding me, urging me on, controlling my movements. Slowly and inevitably I became Daddy's to control.

In time, as always I don't know how long, he lifted me up, while also rising to stand himself. My lips never left his as my legs scrambled to circle his waist and support my weight on his hips. I reluctantly released his cock from my grip to lock both arms behind his neck. I moaned with anticipation into our still active kiss as he carried me to his bed, to the bed where this all began, to our bed. Our bed. The thought of it thrilled me. Our bed.

Dad's bed.

He stood me up on its edge. I bent forward and down, maintaining our kiss, as all four of our hands fumbled together at the buckle of my jeans, eager to remove them. I wished then that I'd worn a skirt. Too late now. No matter.

With his help, I shimmied the jeans down and stepped clumsily from them, almost falling over in the process. He caught me. We laughed momentarily, our kissing forgotten, as we smiled into each other's eyes. I quickly pulled my top up over my head. I reached back to unbuckle my bra, when Dad told me to leave it. I pushed my thumbs into the waist of my panties to pull them down, and Dad told me to leave them, too. He stared at me, eyes smoldering with a lust I had never imagined anyone would feel for me. A lust for me. A lust that I know was mirrored in my own eyes as well. An insufferable, evil lust for my father.

I moved to lie down, to ready myself for him, but his strong hands on my waist and hips held me in place. He kissed the flesh on my bare belly, his beard tickling my navel, as I stroked his gray hair. His lips climbed up my torso to pull and pinch my nipples through my bra. His tongue traced the bare skin above the top edge of my bra on one breast, then the other. His hands massaged and stroked my hips and ass and thighs. One mischievous hand wandered to brush across the front of my pussy, tracing, deepening the crease of my cunt with a fingertip. He pulled the fabric aside, letting that finger expertly burrow into the petals of my flower, to find my button, and find the opening to my wet, tight hole, waiting to be filled.

I whimpered in anticipation, wanting so fucking badly to feel his thick finger inside of me, and yet wanting so much more instead. I didn't know how much longer I could wait, and I told him so. I begged him to take me. To fuck me.

His hands, until then gracefully exploring me, moistening his digits with my sex, my gushing juices, abruptly vanished, leaving an aching emptiness. They gratefully dropped to his own waist, to loosen his belt and, thumbs hooked into the waist, push his jeans and boxers down over his hips. He deftly stepped out of them, then swiftly removed his shirt, to stand naked before me. His cock thrust out before him like the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I've never wanted a cock so badly in my life.

Still standing on the edge of the bed, I looked down on him in rapt fascination, studying the body that made me, and that would soon take me. He was well muscled for a man his age, with strong if not over-large pects and shoulders. He worked out a lot. I think he figured he had to if he wanted to keep screwing younger women. He was also naturally well proportioned. My gaze dropped back to his cock, the cock I'd tasted, the cock that stood erect, excited by me, ready to serve me. To fill me and serve me and own me. The cock that made me.

I'm sure I licked my lips unconsciously in excitement. He stepped forward, beckoning to me with his parted mouth to join him in a another kiss, an offer that I knew then that I would never, ever refuse. I knew then that I would kiss him whenever he offered it. His lips were warm and soft and gentle once again. His tongue tasted like Christmas morning and skinny dipping in summer and lying in a field under a brilliant blue sky. As I lost myself yet again in his mouth, in one unexpectedly swift motion his hands found purchase under my ribs to lift me into the air. I reflexively wrapped my arms once again around his neck, and again spread my legs to wrap them around his waist and balance on his hips. One of his hands moved under my ass, grabbing the meat of my butt in splayed fingers to hold me aloft.

I marveled at his strength and balance as his other hand pulled my panties aside and he expertly lowered my pussy onto the head of his cock. I know I squealed as his cock head pressed first against, and then slowly into my aching, steaming, waiting cunt. It was happening. He was fucking me. Dad was fucking me. I know my squeal rose in pitch and volume as he sank himself deeper and deeper inside of me, spreading me, spreading me, spearing me, filling me, completing me. Once buried in me to the hilt, his amazing lips found mine once again and turned my screams to barely muffled moans.

Two powerful hands dug into my ass, raising and lowering me on his magnificent cock. Up and down. Up and down. Gracefully. Powerfully. Fucking me. Fucking me. Fucking me. I fought to breathe, to take him inside me, to hold him inside me with my cunt, to get him back inside of me, to kiss him, to hold him, all at once, over and over and over. Before long, I fought to retain my sanity, as the world dissolved until all I knew was his touch and his kiss and his cock, his fucking filling cock, spreading and filling and owning my pussy.

Completing me.

He told me again that I was beautiful. I felt so fucking beautiful. He said that I was beautiful, and my heart exploded for him.

My lips found his ear, where I kissed him and breathed those haunting words.

I love you.

I said it again, finding the courage to finish the sentence.

I love you... Dad.

As I said it, excited by the awful, evil, wonderful truth of the words, the strength and pace of his actions increased. Faster and faster he raised and lowered me on his stiff cock. The feel of it overwhelmed me, almost keeping me from repeating those so common, yet in this context horrible, forbidden words.

I love you, Dad. I love you.

It was so liberating. It was so beautiful. It was so wrong.

I'd never before told anyone other than, well, my mom and dad, that I loved them. Never. I'd never, ever told a lover, any lover, that I loved him, certainly not as he fucked me. Because I never had loved any of them.

It was so freeing. It made me feel so complete. It made it feel so right.

I love you, Dad.

He said it back. He moaned it into my ear, with so much honesty and conviction that I knew that he'd never, ever say it to another woman again. No one but me. He loved me. Dad loved me. My spirit soared through the roof and into the sky like a reborn phoenix.

Over and over I said it, partly because it felt good, and it did feel so damned, fucking good, partly because it was how I actually felt, and maybe partly to make him feel good, to let him know that this was right, that this wasn't hurting me this time, that we'd made the right choice. And that it didn't change a thing.

Well, it did change things, as it all worked out, but not in a bad way.

Overcome with his own passion, he took me swiftly toward the bed, lowering me there at the edge, then pushing me up across the bedspread to its center, with his cock embedded inside of me, driving me forward like a spear gutting an animal. I screamed at the horrific pleasure of it.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember him fucking me, sometimes face to face, kissing me passionately, with his chest crushing me into the bed as the bulk of his hips hammered me down even deeper into the mattress. My nipples stabbed his chest in defense. Sometimes he balanced on his arms, gazing down on me with a look of admiration and and power and supreme dominance, as I admired the powerful body hovering above me, spearing me, and owning me. I felt so beautiful, and so possessed. He told me so. He said I was beautiful. He said that I was his.

I told I loved him, over and over. I love you, Dad. I love you.

He told me that he loved me. He loved his baby. He loved me.

I lay beneath him, panting with exertion and excitement, as he propped himself up on two strong arms. They looked so thick to me then, lying beneath them, gazing up their length. They looked thicker and stronger than I knew they could be. My hands reached up to caress the taught muscles of his triceps, to trace his form. He gazed down at me with love in his eyes, love and adoration. He pulled his cocked from inside me, making me exhale in exasperation. He told me I was so beautiful. Not just beautiful. So beautiful.

Before I could respond, his cock began to enter me again. My pussy lips, soaked in my cum, spread to accept him so readily back inside of me. He pushed himself into me so slowly this time, so very slowly, all the while staring into my eyes. It seemed to take all night for that one, long stroke to push into my body, deeper and deeper still, as if his cock were miles long. I stared into his eyes, as he said "so beautiful," and pushed more deeply into me. And I believed him. For the first time in my life I felt so, so beautiful. I know I'm not. Cute. Sexy when I try, which I'll admit is often. But to him, in that moment, I was so beautiful, and he told me and showed me I was beautiful with every magnificent, forbidden stroke of his cock and with simple words I never would have accepted from any other man..

We kissed. We fucked. We can't have lasted long after that, but it seemed like a heavenly eternity. I came so fucking hard, so fucking many times. I don't come often for a guy, and I don't ever expect to. He was so good, so amazing. God, he made me come so damned hard. I know I was good for him, too. Maybe not experienced, or skillful, or beautiful, not like other women he's had, but I was me. I was his little girl. I was Daddy's baby, completely and totally his. And I was beautiful to him.

And if my cunt felt as tight to him as his cock felt huge to me, then he must have been in paradise with me.

Dad came inside of me. Of everything, of every aspect of the entire, sordid evening, that moment, that event, was the most important, the most precious, the most wrenching in my entire life. He drove deeply into me, burying himself as far as he could go, and stopped, holding himself there like a machine piston in an engine that had abruptly seized up. I felt him warring with himself, trying to control his body, trying to fight back the inevitable. His hands, looped under and behind my back and hooked from behind over my shoulders, gave him purchase to hold me down, to hold him inside of me, deep, deep, fucking deep inside of me.

I felt his entire body tense. In my pussy, I felt his cock stiffen and grow, or so I thought, as the cum welled up inside of it. I clutched at his cock with my pussy, and was rewarded by a deep, guttural, animal groan. My hands hugged him tightly to me, my legs, entwined behind his waist, heels on his ass, held him deeply inside of me. I imagined his cum, his seed, his incestuous seed filling my pussy, my body, my soul. I know he came, then. I know he did. Inside of me.

I kissed his ear. I whispered my love in his ear. I stroked his sweating back, like a mother soothing a crying child. He held himself inside of me, his bulk covering and smothering me, as he panted, even trembled slightly, succumbing to the exhaustion of his efforts. I lay trembling as well, shuddering with tiny aftershocks of orgasms that kept coming and coming as long as he stayed atop me and inside of me. I smiled at the thought of his cock and cum inside of my body, the most intimate, feminine awareness a woman could ever experience.