Sarah was incredibly beautiful - possibly the most physically gorgeous pre-teen I'd ever seen - and my instincts told me that she was exactly the sort of shy, diffident girl who would respond well (ie, docilely) to being sexually abused. I knew that if I could set this up right, I could have a really good time with her.

The problem was her father, Mr Harper, who was never more than a few feet from her side. Whenever she was with me, he was either in the room with us, watching her play, or else he was in the next room reading a newspaper and listening. So unless I could find a way to violate his daughter without making a single sound, I had a problem on my hands.

But I refused to be discouraged. There had to be a way to pull this off. And as so often, the solution lay in taking a good, hard look at the obstacle. What was it that made Mr Harper so protective of Sarah, I wondered? Why did he watch her so closely? I made a point of observing them together, and of chatting to the man about Sarah's home life at the beginnings and ends of lessons, ostensibly just out of a disinterested concern for her wellbeing.

It took three weeks before I had my lightbulb moment. Sarah was playing, I was standing behind her and pretending to watch her, but really (whenever I could) keeping an eye on her father, and I saw a fascinating, exciting thing. He was watching her, too. Not watching her play, but watching her. And his facial expression was a soft, wistful one I knew very well indeed.

Mr Harper, I knew in that moment, was in love with his own daughter. Probably he'd never admitted it to himself, and didn't see it in those terms at all, but his affection for Sarah had crossed a crucial, psychological line. He was attracted to her, in a romantic rather than a parental way, and since he couldn't possibly confront those feelings, he expressed them instead in a fierce and excessive protectiveness.

I have to admit, all this was just cod psychologising on my part. I was basing an awful lot on a few tricks of gaze and facial expression. But it seemed to make sense, and the more I watched them together, the more certain I became that I was right.

Certain enough, anyway, to make a plan based on that assumption.

The next lesson, when there were only ten minutes left before her hour was up, I set Sarah a few arpeggios to work on, and took her father next door into the living room to discuss her progress. I sang Sarah's progress, telling him that she was one of the most promising students I'd ever taught. "She should do really well in her higher grades," I assured him. "She'll get a distinction, of course. A very high one. In fact, I'm hoping that she might do well enough to get a scholarship at the royal academy of music."

Mr Harper was beside himself with joy. "I knew she had promise," he said. "Thank you for all your hard work with her."

"Oh, I'd love to give Sarah much more personal and intimate attention," I said, straight-faced. "I think she might be a budding genius, Mr Harper. If only it wasn't for..." I frowned, shaking my head. "No. I'm sorry. It doesn't matter."

"For what?" he asked me anxiously. "If it wasn't for what?"

"Well," I said, "it's hard to explain this, but I'll try. Has Sarah ever had a boyfriend? Perhaps an older boy, higher up in the school or at college?"

Mr Harper was appalled. "Of course not!" he yelped. "She's only twelve years old!"

"Of course, of course," I agreed quickly. "She's still just a child. But that, Mr Harper, is exactly the problem."

"How is it the problem?" he asked me, bewildered.

I shrugged. "Technically, Sarah is the most accomplished musician of her age I've ever heard. But music, Mr Harper, isn't just about technique. It's about emotion. Intense, passionate emotion. If Sarah hasn't experienced passion, how can she play it?"

Mr Harper looked nonplussed. "Well... I suppose she can't," he said.

"Exactly. She can't. And she may therefore have reached her ceiling. That scholarship - and all the fame and success it would bring - may have to remain a happy dream."

Mr Harper looked distressed. I'd dangled a very tempting vision before his eyes, only to snatch it away again. "But there must be something we can do!" he protested.

"I believe there may be," I said, frowning seriously and stroking my chin. "I'm trying to think of ways that Sarah could be taken out of her emotional comfort zone - be challenged, and woken up to new experiences - in a harmless and supportive way."

He asked me to explain, but I shook my head determinedly. "No, I think we should continue this discussion next week," I said, brandishing my watch. "There's really no time now. I'll just ask you to consider this question. How far would you go, Mr Harper, to help Sarah to achieve her full potential? Would you be prepared to help her, even if the things I asked you to do embarrassed you or went against some old-fashioned notions of propriety? Or would you prefer to leave things as they are, and take a chance on that scholarship?"

I bundled the two of them to the door without letting him reply, waved goodbye and shut the door in their faces. Let him stew on that for a week, and see where it took him.

A week later, when the doorbell rang and I opened it to let them in, I could see at once from Mr Harper's face that my little gambit had been at least partially successful. He was full of eagerness and urgency. He wanted to talk to me, he said, about the matter we'd discussed. And I said that I would be happy to do so, as soon as I'd set Sarah some work to be getting on with.

"I've been thinking about your question," he said, as soon as we were ensconced in the living room with the door closed between us and Sarah. I knew that already. It was evident from his manner that he'd thought about very little else. "The answer is that I'd do anything, Mr Glover - anything at all - if you thought it would help Sarah to get that distinction, and the scholarship."

"I'm very glad to hear it," I said. "And I promised you that I'd give the matter some further thought. The problem is passion, isn't it, Mr Harper? And how a good and innocent little girl like Sarah can be brought to experience it."

He nodded. "Of course," he said, but the word still seemed to frighten him a little. "The... umm... the emotional side of the music, yes? The tonal colour?"

"The passion," I insisted. "The sensuality. The carnality, even. These things are alien to a little girl's life. But Sarah must be brought to an awareness of them. In a safe and loving environment, of course, and without exposing her to anything improper."

Mr Harper nodded doubtfully.

"And I've thought of a way," I said. "But it depends very much on you. On your love for Sarah, and her trust in you as a parent. And it may be that what I'd be asking you to do would be too much. Too hard. Only the most loving of fathers would even attempt it."

"Tell me," Mr Harper said. "Tell me what I have to do."

"Very well," I said. "But you have to promise me that you won't be shocked."

"I promise."

I looked him in the eyes, calm but insistent. "I want you to kiss Sarah," I said.

Mr Harper blinked. "But... I kiss her all the time," he pointed out.

"Of course you do. But just this once - once only - I want you to kiss her not as a father but as a lover would. As though you're her husband, taking solace and delight in her loving embrace."

His mouth was hanging open like a guppy's. "I..." he stammered. "Like..."

"Like a lover about to lie with her," I said, gently but bluntly. I'd come to the brink, and either I'd succeed or else I was totally fucked. One way or another, it would be decided right now. "Your mouth on hers, your tongues entwined. I know, Mr Harper, I'm asking a very great deal of you. I know that many men would flinch from this, and walk out of this house right now, their dignity intact and their consciences... well, as clean as any man's conscience can be, when he's put his own feelings in front of his daughter's needs. It will be hard, I know. But if I'm right, it will unlock a great treasure house of emotion in Sarah. It will take her to places where she's never dared to go before."

There was a great deal more of this bullshit, which I'll spare you. Mr Harper was as dumb as a fucking door post, but he balked at the thought of french-kissing his little girl. Of course he did. It was a filthy and perverted thing to suggest. My hope was that if I kept talking long enough, his own unacknowledged desires would push him over the brink.

And slowly but surely, I saw it work. His objections became logistical ones. "I don't know what her mother would think..."

"Well," I said, "it would never need to be discussed with anyone outside of this house. We'd impress that on Sarah, of course."

"Well, so long as that's understood," he said.

I smiled. "It will be our secret," I promised him. "You can be absolutely assured of my discretion. I consider this as part of Sarah's tuition, very much under my auspices and at my request. I know there's no other context in which you'd dream of doing such a thing. It's only to help your daughter, and for no other reason."

"That's right," Mr Harper agreed, looking scared. "But if anyone found out..."

"Nobody will," I said. "Come. Let's do this right now."

We went through into the study, where Sarah was still playing. I told her to stop, and then to stand up. She could see from her father's face that something was up, but she trusted him and she wasn't at all scared or uneasy.

I gave Sarah the same speech I'd given her father, more or less. Importance of passion, et cetera, need to experience the full range of emotions, sensuality, blah blah blah. "And so," I finished, "your daddy is going to give you an experience that most girls don't get until they're much, much older. He's going to show you what sensual passion can be like - what grown-up love can be like. Mr Harper, if you please."

I positioned him in front of Sarah, as though they were partners in a formal dance. I told him to take her in his arms, and he obeyed - awkwardly, but with unmistakable excitement. I told Sarah to part her lips and prepare for incoming. She blushed, but did as she was told.

"Now kiss her, Mr Harper," I said. "Passionately. Holding nothing back."

He locked his lips on hers, and Sarah's eyes went wide. He pulled her close, but carefully, his hands staying above her waist, and although he was technically kissing her it seemed to me that there was very little real commitment.

So I took things into my own hands a little. Casually sitting myself down on the piano stool, as if to watch the festivities in a disinterested way, I let my shoulder press against Sarah's bum and pushed her hard up against her father. Her abdomen was grinding against his, whether she wanted it to or not, and the effect on Mr Harper was electrifying. It was as if he only needed that small sign of welcome, of encouragement.

His hands swept round to grab two scoops of his daughter's arse-cheeks (I just got my shoulder out of the way in time), and he pulled her close, almost lifting her off the ground. I could see from the way her cheeks bulged that his tongue was now exploring the inside of her mouth. He was really going to town on this, and I let him snog his little girl for as long as he wanted to, which turned out to be a long, long time.

When he released Sarah, she was red-faced and breathless and trembling like a leaf. Mr Harper was flushed, too, and I saw to my intense gratification that the front of his pants was tented out by a massive hard-on.

That was enough for one day, I decided. "Play for us, Sarah," I suggested, putting my hands on the shaken child's shoulders and sitting her down on the stool. Play the Mozart piece."

It was all she could do to get through it. Her playing was rough and ragged, her timing shot to hell. She couldn't even find the chords, half the time. But that really didn't matter. A man hears mostly what he wants to hear! As soon as she was done, I took Mr Harper's arm and hustled him through into the living room.

"You heard?" I demanded.

"I..." he faltered, uncertainly. "Yes. I heard. What did you think of it?"

"What did I think!" I exclaimed, "My God, it was brilliant, Mr Harper! The tone, the complexity... A leap of light years! You did a great thing today, and you can be proud of yourself. I know it wasn't easy for you."

He muttered something self-deprecating. Hem, hem, it was nothing, something like that.

"Then would you be prepared, at need, to do it again?" I asked him, earnestly.

He swallowed hard. "Yes," he said, looking me right in the eye. "I'd be very happy to do it again." I could see it in his eyes. He'd made the conceptual leap. He knew, on some level, that he was a paedophile. The only question was whether I could coax him to sexually violate his daughter.

"Then we'll take up again next week," I said brightly. "Well done, Mr Harper. Very well done."

It was really hard for me to conceal the rush of euphoria and triumph I was feeling. But I was careful, even now, to take it slowly. The next lesson, I once again asked Sarah and her daddy to kiss - twice, this time, at the beginning of the lesson and at its end. Mr Harper went into these embraces with more and more eagerness and excitement, and he was freer with his hands now, caressing Sarah's neck, her back, her bum as he pressed her to him and tasted her tonsils.

The week after, I made them do it three times. And the week after that, not at all.

"Should we...?" Mr Harper said hesitantly, at the end of that third lesson. "Do you think Sarah needs any more...?"

"I have a radical idea, Mr Harper," I told him. "Exciting, but perhaps a little unnerving, too. I want to consider its ramifications before I suggest it to you. Have a good week."

He trudged down my driveway, full of barely concealed frustration. He'd gotten used to seeing Sarah's lessons as make-out sessions, and today he hadn't gotten what he wanted. But that was good. I wanted him to be full of edgy, nervous sexual energy when the next lesson started.

It started, once again, with me setting some make-work for Sarah and taking him through alone into the living room. "I've been reading some extraordinary articles by American music teachers," I told him.

"Really?" he said. "What about?"

"Nudity."

"Nudity?" Mr Harper's answer was a strangled gasp.

I nodded. "It seems that practising naked releases a talented student from a great many inhibitions. It takes their playing to a whole new level. What do you say, Mr Harper, to Sarah taking off her clothes for us today?"

He hesitated, but it was only for decency's sake. "If you think it's a good idea," he said, "then I won't disagree."

"But we must take Sarah's feelings into account," I told him, solemnly. "She might be embarrassed if she was the only one of us to go naked. I think we should all take our clothes off."

Mr Harper nodded vigorously. "Yes. I see that. Okay."

Sarah was much less enthusiastic, when we went into the study and told her to strip. I'd go so far as to say that she was terrified. "But... but daddy, I don't want to!" she quavered.

"Mr Glover knows what's best for you, sweetheart," Mr Harper said gruffly. "Now don't be disobedient. Take off all your clothes, right now."

Cowed and unhappy, Sarah obeyed, and we feasted our eyes on her loveliness as she shed her garments one by one. I couldn't take my eyes off her hairless cunt, only the second I'd ever seen in the flesh, as it were - and I noticed that her father was staring fixedly at it, too. Our cocks bulged inside our trousers in mute tribute to that sweet little slit.

"Thank you, Sarah," I said. "And now we'll join you."

The little girl seemed if anything even more shaken and scared as she watched us both, her father and her teacher, stepping out of our trousers and exposing our gigantic hard-ons. She'd probably never even seen an erect penis before, and Mr Harper was almost as spectacularly well endowed as me. Our cocks stood out from our crotches like the yardarms of small ships, pointing upwards at Sarah's furiously blushing face.

"Now," I said. "I believe we should start the lesson with our customary kiss and cuddle. Mr Harper, if you please?"

He pleased, all right! He advanced eagerly on Sarah, whose dismayed gaze fell to his swollen manhood and then rose again to his eager, smiling face. Then he drew her into a tight embrace and clamped his mouth onto hers.

It was wonderful to watch. Mr Harper's stupendous dick was squashed between their two bodies, pressed against the little girl's stomach and chest. As he moved against her, he was almost dry-humping her. His knob poked the underside of her left tit with insistent, insinuating little prods. Meanwhile he licked out the inside of Sarah's mouth with lecherous abandon, only letting her go when he was completely out of breath.

Sarah, by that time, was close to collapse. Even without penetration, what she'd just experienced was very like a rape, and she was trembling like a leaf in a gale. Bright and cheery, I sat her down and gave her some pieces to play - the Mozart, and then a Chopin etude. She played them every which way, her flustered fingers landing randomly on the keys.

"Marvelous!" I beamed. "Such feeling! Such emotional transparency! Well done, Sarah! Well done."

I leaned forward to point out a passage in her music, and as though by accident let my rampant cock poke her in the side of the face. She flinched away from it, giving me a look of hurt and reproach - but Mr Harper said not a word. I did it three more times before the lesson was ended, hugely enjoying the innocent little girl's panic and discomfort every time my hard-on made contact with her.

I had the father and daughter kiss again at the end of the lesson, reminding Mr Harper that he should treat Sarah as he would treat a lover. "Don't just kiss her lips, Mr Harper. Kiss and lick her whole face. She's beautiful, isn't she? Make her feel beautiful!"

What followed was the closest thing to cunnilingus I've ever seen without an acual cunt involved. Mr Harper's tongue explored every crevice of his daughter's face, leaving it glistening with saliva. When he finally stepped away, Sarah was crying, I could see - but her tears were more or less lost in her daddy's spit.

"A very, very satisfactory lesson!" I said. "A breakthrough, I think. Sarah, you'll always play for us naked from now on - but please remember not to mention a word of this to your mother. It's our secret, isn't it, Mr Harper?"

"Yes," Mr Harper said thickly, still staring at his daughter's hairless vagina. "Our secret."

I remember how very happy I was that night. I hadn't been sure, up until then, that my plan would work. It had seemed ludicrously optimistic. But it had worked brilliantly. Next lesson, Sarah was going to learn all about what big girls did in bed - with her father's cock jammed up her fucking cunt!

But next lesson, Sarah didn't show. I waited and waited, and then at a quarter past the hour I called the house. It was Mrs Harper who answered, and she was decidedly frosty. "I don't think Sarah is making enough progress with you, Mr Glover," she said, in a tone that was barely civil. "I'm taking her to another teacher, in Gleasdale."

I was devastated. To be so close, and then to have the prize snatched away from me! And I didn't know how much Mrs Harper suspected. If she knew I'd been having her daughter strip naked for me and her father to ogle, she might go to the police. I really, really didn't want that - not with Stephanie on my conscience!

But over the weekend, Mr Harper called me. He was sheepish, and explained that his wife had just gotten concerned because Sarah was crying after her last lesson, and said she didn't enjoy piano any more. I was hugely relieved. If that was all Sarah had said, we were okay.

"Mr Harper," I said, "it's in your hands. Do you think Sarah is getting something out of these sessions?"

"I... yes. Of course I do!"

"And you think she's progressing, musically?"

"Yes!" He could hardly say anything else.

"Then you have to be firm," I said. "Tell your wife to back off. Tell her that your contract with me runs until the end of this term, and I'll sue you if you cancel it. Tell her that Sarah needs me. And if she disagrees, well, then..."

"Yes, Mr Glover?"

Give her a fucking seeing-to, I thought. With your cock, your fists, or both. But what I said was "Make her understand that you make the decisions in your relationship. Don't back down. If necessary, be forceful."

There was a silence on the other end of the line. "All right," Mr Harper said at last. He didn't sound convinced, and I thought it was at best fifty-fifty as to whether I'd ever see him and his lovely daughter again.

But next Wednesday, at 11.00am, the doorbell rang. I ran to answer it, and there they were. Mr Harper looking slightly hangdog, Sarah looking positively woeful. I laughed out loud in sheer delight. "There you are!" I exclaimed. "Come in, come in!"

Mr Harper was explaining that it was just until the end of term, but I scarcely listened. I took them through into the study and ordered Sarah to strip. She looked for a moment as though she was going to refuse, but her courage failed her, and soon she was unhappily hauling down her knickers to reveal her gorgeous arse and her irresistibly cute little vag.

Mr Harper and I stripped too, and I took the temperature, as it were, by the very high angle of Mr Harper's cock. He was monstrously erect.

"Play the Chopin," I told Sarah curtly. "Your daddy and I need to have a little talk."

In the living room, I set out my manifesto. "Mr Harper," I said earnestly, "time is going to be shorter than I'd liked, but we can still achieve a great deal. That is, if you've got the will to."

"I do," he assured me. "I do have the will."

"And what would you be prepared to do, to take Sarah's performance to the heights?"

"Anything!" he blurted. "Absolutely anything."

"Then I'd like you to take her upstairs, right now, and make love to her."

Mr Harper's jaw dropped. He must have known, by this time, or at least suspected, that this was where we were heading. But he'd been hoping to be coaxed and sweet-talked over many months, and instead here he was, without any warning, with his daughter's wipe open cunt right in his face, as it were.

"I..." he faltered. "I don't..."

And then "You think...?"

"Sarah loves you," I said. "And she desires you. When you embraced her last time, the two of you stark naked, she had a massive orgasm."

"She... she did?"

"Very definitely. And then you both went home, and I'll wager that the two of you haven't said a word about it since, have you?"

"No. No, we haven't."

"Exactly. So now she's confused about her feelings, she thinks her mother is angry at her, and she doesn't know if you really love her. You have to show her, Mr Harper. You have to show her that when she looks at you and gets wet between her legs, so wet that her panties are drenched right through and she can't even touch you without experiencing a sexual climax, that that isn't wrong or perverted. That it's natural and right for her to have those feelings, and that you feel the same way about her. You have to give her your body, Mr Harper. Your love, and your sex. She wants it, and she needs it."

"Her panties are drenched?" Mr Harper echoed, clinging to the details to avoid facing up to the big picture - that he was about to have penetrative sex with his twelve-year-old daughter.

"Saturated," I said. "The smell - you'll forgive me - was very acute from where I sat, behind her, to turn the pages of her music. Ever since the first time you kissed her, I've smelled her arousal afterwards. And of course she leaves an enormous wet patch of vaginal juice on the piano stool. I'm amazed you didn't notice it yourself."

"I... I really didn't!"

"But I can tell," I said, looking down at his cock, "that you feel the same way about her. You love Sarah - a father's love, but so intense it even goes beyond that. You and Sarah need each other, Mr Harper. You can give each other enormous happiness and enormous sexual pleasure. But your wife - you should pardon me, I mean no disrespect - is trying to spoil it for the both of you out of some spite or jealousy she barely understands. That's what's happening here."

I didn't mention my own hard-on, of course, which was standing up even more ridiculously to attention than Mr Harper's. I wanted him to focus on his desire for Sarah, and to reassure him that what he was feeling was normal and healthy.

But in the end, my biggest ally was the fact that he was a closet pedo. I was only giving him permission to follow his own instincts.

He still needed some more coaxing over the brink, though. "Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully. "That it's what Sarah wants?"

I decided to shift gears and go for a bit of plain talking. "Mr Glover, Sarah is a little girl. She doesn't know what she wants. She wants you, obviously, but she has no idea what that means. It's up to you to teach her. To turn her into a woman. And..." I glanced down meaningfully at his truncheon-like cock "...God gave you all the equipment you need."

"I... I'll do it," he said, his voice unnaturally loud. It was clear that he was talking to himself as much as to me, convincing himself that he meant business. That he was about to take his twelve-year-old daughter upstairs and have full, penetrative sex with her. He took a step towards the door, then turned and looked back at me. "Mr Glover... would it be possible for us to use your bed?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed. "I've already laid fresh sheets for the two of you. I'd be honoured, Mr Harper, to have you and Sarah consummate your love in my bed. Come along. We'll bring her upstairs together. I'd only emphasise, Mr Harper, that it's up to you to take charge in this. Your wife's intervention may have left Sarah feeling very scared and ambivalent about her desire - her physical need - for you. You have to show by your actions that you're not ambivalent at all. Whatever she may say or do, you have to make love to her passionately. Forcefully. With absolute joy and absolute commitment. Give her everything you've got."

Mr Harper nodded. "Yes," he said. "I can see that."

"Then let's do it," I said. "Let's make your little girl into a woman."

We walked through together into the study and advanced on Sarah, our rampant hard-ons bobbing in front of us like banners in front of an army. Sarah stopped playing and turned to stare at us, a little startled and a little scared at the determined looks on our faces. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she'd got a word out we lifted her off the piano stool, taking an arm and a leg each.

We carried her out of the room, up the stairs and into my bedroom, where we lay her down on the bed, on her back. I stood at her head, leaned over and - gripping her ankles - parted her legs wide to show the full glory of what lay between them. Mr Harper didn't take me to task for this outrageous liberty. He was so desperately horny by this time, all he cared about was consummating the incestuous desire he'd carried unconsciously for so long.

"You'll need some lubrication," I said to him. "I have a tube or two in the drawer of my bedside table, but perhaps you'd prefer to make your own."

"Oh yes!" Mr Harper sighed. He lowered his head between Sarah's legs and started to lick her cunt. The innocent little child gasped in shock. "D... daddy!" she protested, her voice a wail of terror and reproach.

"Don't be frightened, Sarah," I reassured her. "Your daddy is about to do something wonderful to you. Something that will make you both very happy."

Mr Harper was already happy, lapping industriously at his daughter's crotch like a pig at a trough. Still standing by her head, I smiled down at her and wanked my cock slowly and sensually, right in her face. I wanted to shove it into her mouth and face-rape her right there and then, but three-ways would have to wait until after Mr Harper was thoroughly committed to the cause.

Speaking of which, after he'd been eating out Sarah's vag for five minutes, I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, almost dazed, as though he'd forgotten I was there. "That's enough lubrication, Mr Harper," I said. "Sarah needs your manhood now, not your lips."

"Yes!" he panted thickly. "Yes!"

He climbed onto the bed and onto his daughter. Sarah's legs were still splayed wide, and he positioned his cock at the entrance to her child cunt.

Even I was surprised by the force and vigour with which he rammed his huge dick into her. Sarah's back arched, and she gave a shuddering yell of shock and pain. Her hymen burst like a grape, spraying her thigh with blood.

With a groan of delight, her loving daddy started to fuck her.

Obviously there was a disparity between the size of Mr Harper's straining, adult erection and the depth of Sarah's immature vagina. Equally obviously, this was going to be a case of "where there's a will, there's a way." Mr Harper was pumping hard and fast, and managing to get a respectable amount of cock up into his daughter's fuckhole. More with each thrust, in fact, and I thrilled to see it.

He bottomed out with about five inches up her, and they maintained that cruising altitude for several minutes, Sarah's tremulous yelps of pain and Mr Harper's grunts of pleasure the only sounds in the room.

At that point, I got a tube of sexual lubricant out of the drawer, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Let me help," I suggested. He pulled out of Sarah, who by this time was so close to clinical shock that she barely reacted, and I squeezed out half the tube onto his shaft. "You should be able to penetrate her more deeply now," I said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable goal.

"Thank you!" Mr Harper panted. He shoved his dick into the little girl's twat again, this time bearing down on her with his full body weight. This was very efficacious. His stupendously huge erection buried itself in the twelve-year-old's cunt smoothly and seamlessly, like a conjuring trick.

"Oh g...god!" Sarah moaned. "Oh god! D... d... d...d..."

She didn't get any further than that, so I don't know whether she was going to say "Daddy!" or "Don't rape me!" I like to think that it was the latter - that she was trying to beg, even as her father eagerly and joyously violated her. If it was that, then her hopes for mercy were dashed as he started to drive his meaty prong into her splayed cunt even harder. His glans must be hammering against her cervix by this time: the innocent twelve-year-old was being fucked in the womb!

It was the most erotic and arousing thing I'd ever seen, and I was wanking openly now as I watched. If Mr Harper saw, he didn't comment. But I don't think he saw. Nothing in the world was real for him right then except his little girl's vagina and the heavenly sensations he was getting from raping it.

He went over the edge with a howl like a lost soul, head thrown back as he ejaculated into Sarah's abused and battered pussy for what seemed like a whole minute. He sagged at last, and rolled off her.

Her cunt was an enthralling sight. It gaped like a wound between the little girl's legs, unable to close again after the punishment it had taken. Thick sperm oozed insinuatingly out of the tortured gash to pool sexily between her legs. The little girl's eyes were glazed. She was whimpering softly, but she didn't make any move to cover her modesty. Maybe after being shagged like a whore by her own daddy, she had no modesty left.

"Well done, Mr Harper," I said. "Now, I think we need to talk about damage limitation."

I showed him my watch. Already dead on the hour. He'd been fucking his little girl for forty-five minutes - but then time flies when you're enjoying yourself.

"Oh my god!" Mr Harper yelped, electrified by sudden terror. "Lilian! We've got to go!"

"No, no, no," I chided him. Sarah can't possibly go anywhere for at least another ten or fifteen minutes. Look at her, Mr Harper. I doubt she could even walk yet. I'm sure you gave her a lot of pleasure, but her cunt must be in agony right now. She's leaking cum and visibly distressed. Your wife would certainly suspect."

My words acted like a bucket of cold water, waking him up to the enormity of what he'd done. "Then... what should we do?" he faltered.

"Leave Sarah here," I suggested. Get dressed, quickly, and drive home. Explain to your wife that Sarah is having a double-length lesson today. Tell her you'll collect her at one o'clock."

Mr Harper saw the sense of this plan, and thanked me effusively for my help. He was out the front door inside of two minutes.

Leaving me alone with Sarah!

I got onto the bed with the raped little girl, my cock as stiff as a baseball bat and almost as big. I ask you to imagine the power and intensity of my arousal at this point. I'd been a witness to Mr Harper's make-out sessions with his daughter for a whole month, and had just stood by and watched while he fucked her hairless cunt with a cock that was much too big for it - and got most of it up her!

So I needed release, and I needed it badly.

I'd still never fucked a pre-teen girl's vagina, and I was very strongly tempted to do so now. I had to fight the urge to cram my blood-gorged truncheon up Sarah's spunk-lubed twat-sheath and give her cervix another pummelling. But that comment about her not being able to walk hadn't been empty rhetoric. Mr Harper's savage fucking of the twelve-year-old's cunt had done some damage, and while I was sure that her youth and natural elasticity would restore her little fuckhole, visiting any more punishment on it at this stage was probably inadvisable.

So I pressed my engorged knob against Sarah's lips - kneeling over her in the sixty-nine position - and told her to open her mouth.

She didn't seem to understand at first. She was still half out of it after that vicious seeing-to, and her half-ruined pussy was probably claiming most of her attention. I had to smack her tits a couple of times, quite hard, to make her realise that there was another cock that needed servicing.

"Open your mouth, bitch!" I said again. Sarah's lips parted by the merest fraction, and I crammed my swollen knob between them. I pushed and kept on pushing. I didn't need a blow job, I just needed a hole to fuck, and Sarah's sweet little mouth felt like heaven on my over-erect, super-sensitised prong.

With a groan of utter ecstasy, I started to screw her in the mouth - and to be brutally honest, in the throat. I'd had oral sex with adult women many times, of course, but this was nothing like that at all. By dint of remorseless thrusting, I embedded my colossal erection in the twelve-year-old's moist, caressing oesophagus, and - heedless of her feelings in the matter - raped her face with gusto. As a side effect of this position, the view was fantastic. I was staring straight down at Sarah's ravaged cunt, still gaping sexily and still glistening with her father's orgasmic juices. It inspired me to even greater efforts. Hooking two fingers into her punished twat, I used it as a lever to shove myself even deeper into her fucking throat/

Sarah was making muffled choking sounds on my pumping meat - an erotic symphony that only added to my pleasure. I gloried in the little girl's complete helplessness, and in my absolute power over her - the biggest aphrodisiac of all.

"So your mummy thinks you should go to a teacher in fucking Gleasdale!" I panted as I fucked Sarah's throat like a whore's cunthole. "Well, I think I've still got a few lessons to teach you, Sarah. I think you learned a lot today, don't you? Don't you?"

Sarah couldn't answer, of course. With ten inches of male member lodged in her gullet, the only sounds she could make were faint gurgles of panic and dismay.

It was those sounds that took me over the edge - well, that and the gentle caress of her internal membranes on my straining glans. With a yell of lustful delight, I orgasmed down the little girl's throat, filling her gullet with spurt after spurt of thick, creamy ejaculate. Her throat bobbed frantically as she desperately tried to swallow it down before it went into her airway and drowned her.

It was a very, very powerful climax. It was fully two minutes before I could withdraw my wilting cock from the little girl's mouth and climb off her. Sarah rolled onto her side, weakly coughing up sperm onto the sheets.

"Wow!" I said. "You make love like an angel, Sarah. But we'd better get you cleaned up now. Don't want to get mummy upset, do we?"

Actually, cleaning her up wasn't the problem. What was much harder was getting her to walk normally, without a limp, after the fierce battering her little pussy had taken. But I made good progress by the simple expedient of telling her that I'd fuck her again if she didn't do as she was told. By the time Mr Harper rang the doorbell, her deportment was near perfect - and her shell-shocked, woeful demeanour was almost back to something that might pass for normal. Not bad for a twelve-year-old who'd just been raped twice in two hours!

Sarah was a very brave little girl. And she was going to need all that courage and fortitude in the weeks to come!