This is the story of how I became involved - sexually- with my six year old stepdaughter. It wasn't planned. It wasn't contrived. It just happened. I hear you, adult male, six year old, yeah right. Well here's my story.

It was my first marriage. Her second. She'd had a sheltered childhood, that led into a sheltered teenage hood, and into a sheltered young woman hood. She finally broke away from her overly protective mother and domineering father by going to college. The break wasn't clean, though, because she was still living at home, but she now had reasons to stay out late. She met him at the home coming game. He was pre-law and she was pre-spouse. The courtship lasted long enough for her to get pregnant and then they married.

He turned into a prick. Yeah I know, 'best part of a man', but we're talking figuratively here. Anyway, she couldn't really say when she first realized he was an asshole, but it wasn't long after they both said 'I do', and it was immediately after he hit her with the two and half quart sauce pan that she said "Oh, no you don't."

He boarded the cross-town bus to the Tombs Lockup, and she boarded the cross country bus to sunnier climes. That's where I came in.

She had a two year old daughter and was managing a small apartment complex. I had a two year old degree and was managing a writing complex. I was supporting my 'career' by careening through LA traffic in a yellow cab. I worked nights mostly so I was around during the day. I used to offer her my assistance. You know, moving stuff, a little light plumbing (No! Not that kind!), a little light painting, a little yada, yada, yada.

We became pretty good friends. We shared quite a few meals and quite a few glasses of wine. She would confide in me about the 'asshole du jour', and I would confide in how I had no sex life. I don't know when we fell in 'looooooove', but little Sam was four. Samantha was a great little kid. Cute as a button and smart as a whip (whatever that means). I asked her if she would, she said she could, and we both said we did. Everything went along fine, I got a day job at a small newspaper and did some free-lance for a music sheet. She gave up her managerial position and got a job buying stuff for a large retail chain.

It was a big chain and she bought a lot of stuff. Between the two of us, we were doing pretty well. She talked me into giving up the paper work and going totally free lance.

I was as happy as a clam (whatever that means).

At the age of five, Sam or Samantha, if we must, developed a strange quirk. I told Leslie it was natural, but she said it was 'un'. It started one night, right before going to bed, Leslie went to check on Sam then came to get me. I knew something was wrong because her eyes were popping out of her head. She told me to hush and pulled me to the door leading to Sam's bedroom. She held a finger to her lips and slowly opened the door. It was dark in there and I couldn't see anything, but I could hear a slight creaking sound and I could hear Samantha mumbling. I thought she was dreaming, but as my eyes adjusted I could see Samantha clearly. Her little butt was in the air, she was face down, and she had her pillow between her legs. She was rocking back and forth on it.

Leslie closed the door and pulled me into the kitchen.

"My God!" she exclaimed, grabbing my shirt front. "Did you see that?"

"Well, hon, I'm not really sure what I saw. What was I supposed to see?"

"Well, she, she...." Leslie stammered. "She, well, you saw!"

"I saw a child rocking herself to sleep," I replied, but didn't know how much conviction there was in my voice. Apparently there was enough, because Leslie stopped fidgeting and said, "You think so?"

"Yeah, that's probably all it is. I don't really think she was humping the pillow."

After I recovered from the punch on the arm, we both turned in and I thought that was the end of it. About a month later, Leslie's mother came to visit. I hadn't seen her since the wedding and was hoping that memory would last a lifetime. But no, she had to come refresh it. The second night she was there she insisted on checking on her granddaughter before calling it a night. You should have seen her face when she came back. She had a pale Irish complexion, but this was ashen. If this had been a horror flick, I would have been warming up the car two seconds later. She spent the rest of her stay pilling on that Catholic guilt. Day after day. It was like watching Hercules cleaning out the Agean stables. That pile of guilt became a mountain of shit, and it stank.

She convinced Leslie to get rid of the pillow. I agreed, because I had a feeling the only other choice was female circumcision, and I've heard that ain't a pretty sight. Then she went out and bought her a big stuffed elephant to make up for the loss of her pillow. Man, was that a bad move. After Mama-Lou left, we were treated to the nightly vision of Sam humping this stuffed animal. There was something a little weird about that, but hey, it wasn't that nasty pillow.

Things were moving along smoothly. The marriage seemed to be working well. The money was rolling in and then wham! With hit that wall called success.

Let me tell you a little about Leslie. I remember when I first met her, I thought, "Brrrrrr!"

But, I later realized that it was the after effects of a puritan upbringing. You could never joke around Leslie. Well maybe a knock-knock joke or the like, but sexual innuendoes and double entendres were received with a mute stare or ignored completely. I mean, how's a guy supposed to pick up a girl if he can't make her think he's a total chauvinist anyway? I never understood how she hooked up with those beer drinking, butt scratching, crotch adjusting neanderthals. I know a lot of guys, from the apartment complex, who tried to hit on her and came away saying, "She must be a Lez!" But, she weren't. Quite the opposite. Leslie was a sexual organ. Her entire body, once you turned it on, exuded sex. It vibrated, it oozed, it glowed, it frightened the hell out of me sometimes.

All it usually took for me to get her going was an open mouthed kiss and a little nipple action and from there it was all frenzy. She didn't care for oral sex. Mine or hers. She just wanted me to climb in the saddle and hold on. The bell would go off, she'd be out of the gate, and I'd be holding on for dear life hoping to hear someone yell, "eight seconds!"

She had a dominant streak in bed. She also liked it doggy style. I usually had to grab a pillow and place it between her and the headboard or she'd have one hell of knot on her head in the morning, and she'd be wondering where it came from. She liked getting on top. And when she did, I felt that I was no longer there. Her eyes would be closed and she'd be pumping and jumping. She' d grab her breasts and squeeze, and pull, and twist, and pummel. She would often have bruises around her nipples. She was what all men dream about in a wife. A wanton slut. But, once you've got it, you realize that maybe it's more than you bargained for; just like the old saying.

Her employer solved the problem. The same energy she had in bed, she had at work. She went up the corporate ladder so fast she had to be using Jacob's ladder. Within a year of getting the job as buyer she was promoted to head of purchasing for the western district. Luckily, the position didn't require us to move. But, she traveled a lot. She'd be gone a week at a time. She'd usually be home on weekends, but then those started disappearing too, which brings us to the crux of this story.

The first time we knew Leslie would be away for the weekend, we spent a few days preparing Sam. She wasn't too happy with her mommy being gone so often and now she wouldn't be able to spend time with her on her non-school days. So, I promised her a trip to the zoo, and perhaps a movie, if we weren't too tired after getting monkey shit thrown at us.

We usually didn't set an alarm on the weekends. One or the other of us would wind up getting up around eightish to check on Sam and make her breakfast. This was quite a switch from weekdays when we had three alarms going. Did I mention that Leslie is not a morning person. She had an alarm at her bedside which was set to when she had to get up. Then she had one on her vanity set for fifteen minutes later when she had to really get up. Then she had one inside the bathroom, set for fifteen minutes later than that for when she really, really had to get up.

After she got the promotion, and was gone many a night, I got her interested in a little nookie on weekend mornings. Hey! A man's got to have his nookie. This is something we hadn't done before because of Sam, but if we made sure she had her toys or if she was watching a morning cartoon we would rip off a piece. This worked out fine until the morning when I felt this excruciating pain in my lower back, and the small child, who had just struck me with her toy vacuum cleaner, said, "Don't hurt, mommy!"

Leslie had ushered her out of the bedroom and explained to her that we had just been fooling around. Well, two or three hours later when the paralysis eased I had gotten up to find a very chastised little kid. I told her it was okay and that the limp would probably go away in a matter of days, or at least a week or two. So a rule was laid down which stated that no one under the age of twenty-six was allowed in the bedroom on weekends. Non-school days to anyone who didn't know what a weekend was. So the stage is set. Mommy's out of town for the first time on a weekend and the child's head is filled with promises of wild animals and animal cartoons.

I'd been awake for a few minutes and was trying to decide if I should get up and empty my bladder or just try to reach the toilet from my prone position when I heard the slow creak of the bedroom door opening. I glanced over and large pair of blue eyes was looking through the partially opened door. I smiled and said, "It's okay! You can come in if mommy's not here."

Well I should of set some stipulations because what happened next was this six year old child turned into a fair imitation of a GI storming Normandy. Sixty odd pounds of flesh and bones traversed twelve feet in the blink of an eye and now sat astride my ruptured spleen.

I said, "Shit!"

And Samantha pressed a hand to her mouth, opened her blue eyes wide, giggled, and said, "Daddy, you said the 'S' word!" She then bounced up and down on my stomach a few times and said, "Daddy, can we fool around?" She'd been calling me "Daddy" for a couple of years now.

I said, "What?" Having been caught off guard by her choice of words and then remembered that Leslie had used that term the previous weekend when we had been caught in 'flagrente'. Her sitting on my bladder made me realize I hadn't gone to the bathroom so I pushed her further down.

She bounced up and down a few times and I started to worry about ever fathering children again when she landed square on top of my piss hard-on. She rocked to and fro like kids do when they're playing horsy and she said, "Giddup, horsy."

I said, "Whoa there, cowgirl." And was considering extricating myself so that I could attend to my morning duties.

Suddenly, she stopped for a moment and I felt her make slight adjustments to her position and realized she was lined up square on my engorged cock. She made a couple of experimental forward and back motions and I saw a smile appear on her lips. My mind went into high gear and it yelled, "Do something quick!" And then it yelled, "Wait! Don't scare her! Move slowly!" But, by then it was too late.

She was rubbing her little cunt along the length of my cock like a fifty dollar lap dancer. My cock was pointing towards my belly button and she was rubbing on the tender underside. I hadn't had any in a week and it only took about four seconds for that good feeling to show up.

Her little face was the perfect picture of concentration. Her eyes were unfocussed, she was chewing on her bottom lip, and a small frown crease her small forehead.

"You've got to stop her," I said to myself. "Oh, but, you don't want to traumatize her," I then replied to myself. "You, moron," I added, "what trauma, just ask her to stop so you can take a leak."

Suddenly the quiet was broken by a slight humming sound, and it wasn't coming out of me. I watched her face and realized it was coming out of her throat as though she were purring. Her tongue came out and licked around her entire mouth.

I guess all that heavy breathing was drying her lips, and she was breathing heavy. She sat there rocking and going, "hmmmm, hmmmm, hmmmm..."

I was fascinated. Hard as rock and fascinated. Close to cumming into sheets, hard as a rock, and fascinated.

I hadn't dry fucked anyone since high-school, but I didn't remember it feeling that good. I realized that I had my hands on her little hips and was helping her keep the tempo.

My mind finally reached out and slapped me in the face and I was about to lift her off when her mouth formed a little 'O' and her eyes opened wide. The humming stopped short and she moaned a little, "ooh-ooh," and then collapsed on top of me. She snuggled her head into my chest and I thought she was going to sleep.

I lie there stunned. My step daughter had just used me to get herself off. My little six-year old step daughter.

I heard her tiny voice ask me something, but I couldn't make out what she said, so I said, "What?"

She raised her head a little and asked, "What was that?"

"What was what, sweetie?" I asked, wondering if she was asking what an orgasm was and how was I going to explain that one.

"That thing in your pants?" she asked innocently.

"Uhhh, that's daddy's pee-pee," I answered cautiously.

"It's was really big," she said. More a question that a statement. Leslie and I had tried not to force prudish conventions on her and she had seen both of us naked on occasions. It was hard for Leslie, but she was trying to break the tradition of inherited guilt.

I coughed and said, "Well, daddy has to go pee-pee real bad, and when daddy has to go pee-pee real bad like that his pee-pee gets big." All that talk about pee-peeing sort of brought the necessity to the forefront and I wound up proving the statement by pulling the sheets off my naked body and letting my cock lead me to the bathroom. I noticed Sam's eyes had once again gotten rather large as she stared at my fast moving and swollen member. Well I stood in front of the urinal, but you know how hard taking a leak is when the wrong tube is opened up.

I went back to the bathroom door and told Sam to go watch television and that 'daddy' would be taking a shower.

Her gaze never left my cock and she muttered, "hunn-hunn."

I walked into the glassed in shower stall and turned on the water. I grabbed the soap and started lathering up. A moment later, I felt a sudden release and let a torrent of urine flow down the drain. (Hey! Ladies! Remember, the definition of a sissy is someone who leaves the shower to take a leak. So, if your husband does, hmmm?

I let the golden shower mingle with the regular shower until nothing was left and then went back to scrubbing. I got down to my crotch and realized that my cock was still as hard as a broom handle. I hate to admit it, but visions of Sam ridding my cock kept popping up in my head. So I did the only possible thing I could think of and started stroking my meat. I kept applying soap to lessen the friction and I was having a grand old time. I felt my balls contract and that good old feeling started working up my shaft. I reached down with my free hand and gently fondled my balls. I arched my back and let a stream of cum splatter against one of the glass panels. Then another and another and another. When the last rope of cum had sprung from my loins, I opened my eyes to admire my handiwork and there was my cum oozing down the glass shower wall and right on the other side of that wall was Sam. Her eyes were wide and she stared at my cum as it slithered down the wall. I noticed that she had a hand shoved down into her pajamas and a tell tale motion indicated that she was working on round two.

I thought she would stop when she realized I was watching, but she kept on looking between my cock and the slime it had spewed. I let the water drip off my body for a while then reached for a towel.

"I thought daddy asked you to go and watch some TV?" I asked.

"Your pee-pee isn't big anymore, daddy!" she replied.

"I told you it was only big because daddy needed to go pee-pee, and I did, so now its small again."

"Unn hunh," she nodded. Her hand was still in her pants, but it wasn't moving around anymore. She placed a finger on the shower wall opposite of a large blob of cum that hadn't washed away. "Does that taste good, daddy?"

"Wha...?" I tried to say. My mind went into high gear. Where the hell did that question come from. I tried to remember if Leslie and I had had any oral sex, where Sam might have seen us, but like I said earlier, Leslie wasn't big on sucking cock and if she did she didn't swallow.

I tried not to sound weirded out as I asked, "Why do you ask that, sweetheart?"

Samantha looked up at me and immediately looked away. A blush crept up into her face and she half whispered, "It's supposed to be a secret."

You can imagine the thoughts that went through my head. Was someone trying to get her to suck them off. Had they. Had she. I was standing there naked. The act of drying off totally forgotten.

"Who asked you to keep a secret, Samie?" I figured this would be a better approach than lifting her up and shouting, "have you been sucking cock!" into her face.

She was still staring at the floor and there was a slight sway in her body as she mumbled, "Debbie."

Debbie was her closest little friend. They had known each other since we had moved into this duplex. Her family lived a couple of doors down from us. She was also an only child. The husband was a warehouse manager for some food chain and the mother worked at an electronics assembly plant. We had little interaction other than watching each other's child and ferrying them to school and such.

"When did Debbie tell you that that stuff tasted good?" I figured if I asked direct questions she would be more likely to provide me with pertinent answers.

"A long time ago," she answered, no longer whispering. She had turned to face me and I realized she was once again staring at my dangling prick. I wrapped the towel around myself and squatted down to her level. I smiled and continued my interrogation.

"Why did Debbie say that it tasted good?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," she once again supplied.

I thought for a second then a light went on.

"Did Debbie tell you it was a secret or did someone tell Debbie it was a secret?"

I thought I had lost her with that one. I could see her eyes focus on a distant point as she digested the question. She smiled suddenly having reached a conclusion.

"It was Debbie's daddy. He told Debbie it was a secret."

"Oh!" I nodded. Inside I said 'gotcha'. "So, Debbie didn't really ask you to keep a secret she just told you about one?"

Sam frowned a little and said, "I guess."

"So," I pressed on, "why did Debbie tell you that stuff tasted good."

"Because her daddy told her."

"Did Debbie say it tasted sweet?" I asked and then wondered where the hell I was going with these questions.

"Noooo!" Sam replied with a smirk. "Debbie didn't taste any. She just said her daddy said it tasted good."

"Ohhhhh!" I replied accepting her correction. Where do I go from here I wondered and thought for a moment. Samantha was staring quizzically at me and I realized that my face must of given away some of my thoughts, so I stood up and walked into the bedroom. I grabbed a clean pair of pajama bottoms and we headed for the kitchen and some breakfast.

We had been sitting there for a few minutes, crunching on our individual breakfast choices. Sugar Pops for her and Cheerios for me. I was trying to think of a way to resume our conversation without making her feel self-conscious. I needn't have worried because she did it for me. I guess she was as curious about the subject of cum as I was about how she had found out about it.

"Debbie's daddy does the same thing you do, daddy!" she informed me.

"Oh?" I asked, "he writes stories?

"No, silly!" she giggled, knowing I was misleading her. "He plays with his pee pee."

"He, does!" I intoned, trying to sound interested.

"Hun-hun," she nodded, "but he plays with it in bed." She was on a roll now. She was looking at me, a drop of milk rested on her chin, spoon poised over her bowl.

"Debbie says that when her daddy's home alone with her, they go into her bed and he lets her play with his pee-pee. Debbie says that it gets big and hard, just like yours did. Debbie says that her daddy likes it when she plays with it.

Debbie says that when she plays with it for a while that that stuff shoots out of it. Debbie says that one time it shot out and hit her in the eye. Debbie says she cried."

"Debbie said that hunh?" I supplied, wondering if I wanted to hear more of what Debbie had said. But, I wasn't to be spared.

"Debbie says that her daddy wanted her to taste it, but she was scared it would hit her in the eye again so she just tasted a little bit that was on her hand."

"I see, and she said that it tasted good?" I asked, never having known anyone who said that cum tasted good.

Sam hesitated for a moment and then leant forward and stage whispered, "Debbie's daddy told her it tasted good, but Debbie said it tasted like medicine."

I stifled a smile and whispered back, "I see."

We both went back to our breakfast cereals and our thoughts. I didn't know what she was thinking about, but I was thinking about whether I should do something about Debbie's dad, which I found ironic having just this morning allowed my step daughter to rub herself to orgasm on my cock.

It had been under the sheets and there had been no actual touching, but technically I was in trouble.

I also wondered how long before Debbie found out about this secret.

I had just taken a mouthful of little 'Os' when Sam asked.

"Daddy, can I play with your pee-pee next time?"

Have you ever passed a toasted little O through your nose? I don't recommend it.

I held my napkin to my mouth and tried to stem the spray. My eyes watered and it took a moment to regain my equilibrium. I looked at Sam. She sat stunned. A fine spray of milk drops were splattered across her face...

"Daddyyyyy!" she whined.

"I'm, I'm," I coughed and a little 'O' came hurtling up out of my lungs. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It just went down the wrong pipe," I wheezed. I reached over and wiped her face off with a clean napkin. I took her bowl and asked if she wanted more, but she said she was done. I was trying to ignore the question. I figured the near necessity of doing the Heimlich on her dad might have driven thoughts of cocks and cum out of her mind. But, of course, you know I was wrong.

"Daddy? Can I?"

"I don't think so, sweetie. That's not something daddies and their little girls do."

"But, Debbie's daddy did it!" she whined.

"I know, honey. But he shouldn't. That's why he told Debbie it was a secret."

Her eyes got bigger as she realized she had violated her little friend's trust.

"Daddy!" she cried. "You can't tell anybody!"

"I won't, sweetie." I said, hoping to alleviate her anxiety.

"Do you promise?" she asked.

She had me now. She knew I felt that a promise to her was just as good as a promise to her mother. I had taught her that a promise was not something to give easily and that one should always keep her promises. I figured, 'what the heck. I'll promise this and figure out a way around it.'

"Not even to mommy?" she asked. Her arms were crossed and she had an eyebrow raised. She looked just like her mother.

I said 'Damn!' And out loud I said, "Okay, Sam, I promise." She put out her hand and we shook on it.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, as though she was sizing me up, and added, "If I promise, will you let me play with your pee-pee?" God, she was quick. There was no moss on this kid.

"No, honey. I don't think so," I replied, shaking my head, but inside of my pants there stirred an objection.