To get it out of the way, yes, I'm a woman and, yes, I'm a pedophile. If you are, too, you might enjoy my story. If you're not... well, stop reading now, because you'll likely find it outrageously offensive.

My mother was killed in an auto accident when I was five, leaving me to the care of my father. He was a pharmacist, a kind, gentle man, genial and friendly, but quiet and not very social, especially after we lost my mom. She was the extrovert of the family, always arranging parties and outings with other families.

My father pretty much kept to himself. He wasn't shy or introverted, just a family man content to enjoy home life, his professional work, weekend sails in our little sailboat, and his traditional mid-week golf game.

The impact of my mother's loss devastated him for a long time, and he withdrew even further into himself. There were long, uncomfortable silences over dinner, occasionally punctuated by desultory small talk about my day in kindergarten, or what we might do during the coming weekend.

It made me inexpressibly sad to see my father so melancholy. But I was only five years old, and had no idea how to help. He always denied it when I noticed the bleak expression he'd sometimes get, and ask, "Are you sad, Daddy?" but even as a small child I knew better. He seemed to brighten a bit when I needed something, or cuddled in his lap to watch TV after dinner, because he truly did love me very much. Since this was the only way I knew to cheer him, I cuddled in his lap a lot.

I don't recall exactly when, maybe halfway through my sixth year, but at some point I began to enjoy being in my father's arms in a slightly different way. I've since learned, of course, that most children go through a phase like this with the opposite gender parent, girls more often than boys. But at the time I had no idea.

I'd always felt warm and cozy in his embrace, but now it felt... well, nice in a different way that my childish mind couldn't define. This change was very gradual, and the first tangible thing I remember is thinking I might be getting sick, because I felt a kind of soft tingling in my tummy. I squirmed in his lap, frowning, but it didn't go away, so I finally complained and Daddy gave me a teaspoon of Pepto-Bismol and put me to bed.

It worried and slightly frightened me when I realized that I got the same tingle-tummy feeling each evening when I sat in Daddy's lap, enfolded in his strong arms and watching TV. Over time, I just gave up trying to figure it out. I became accustomed to it. Gradually, I realized that my tingle-tummy wasn't a sour, upset-tummy feeling, it felt warm and pleasant, even welcome. I began to look forward to it.

My next surprise came when I first felt a flutter of tummy tingles when I was not sitting in Daddy's lap. It was over dinner one evening, when he reached for the pepper across the table and I glanced at his strong bicep muscle stretching the short sleeve of the polo shirt he was wearing. It only lasted a second, but this was really weird.

After that, the feeling came more and more frequently, always when I was near Daddy. Looking at the curve of his neck, his bushy chest hairs, the definition of his calf muscle, would stimulate the warm glow in my tummy. One day when he overslept he absently rushed out of the bathroom with his robe gaping open. What I saw stimulated not just a warm tingle, but a sharp ache, and I thought I'd gotten a cramp. Of course I didn't make the connection, because I'd seen my father's penis many times during childhood. It was just a part of him, like his strong arms and legs. Again, I assumed I might be getting sick.

I forgot about it all through my first-grade classes that day, but the tummy tingles began again in bed that night when I remembered looking at it. I squirmed irritably to make the feeling go away, but instead it began to expand, lower down, where it began to feel itchy as well as tingly.

I frowned in the darkness and impatiently reached to scratch the irritating itch through my panties. My mouth gaped wide in shock. The touch made my whole body tingle, down to my fingertips. I jerked my hand away, terrified. What had I done? But that one, fleeting touch had transformed the vague itchiness down there into an insistent, dull ache that had to be relieved. Against my will, instinct prevailed and my hand moved back down to creep between my legs. My lips parted to breathe, "...oh..." as my finger curled into the crotch of my panties.

I was shocked and ashamed to find the cotton fabric damp. I thought I'd peed my panties, which I hadn't done in years. Daddy will be mad, I thought, my cheeks reddening, but I was too preoccupied to really care. My mind was utterly blank as my fingers instinctively worked to relieve my condition. But suddenly a hazy image appeared. My father's penis swinging, very slowly, in slow motion, as he walked. My fingers moved faster as the hazy image gradually resolved to reveal the ruddy color of it... the ropy blue veins... the fleshy foreskin dangling at the tip... the... the... the heavy... wrinkled... masculine... balls...

My little body jerked and jackknifed under the covers as I huffed and grunted into my first orgasm, shuddering uncontrollably and drooling on the pillow. When the wracking spasms finally subsided I laid trembling with shock and fear and relief, eyes wide and bulging at the ceiling. I remember a tear rolling down my cheek as my overwhelmed senses struggled to understand what was happening to me.

*****

Everything changed after that night.

I didn't make much progress at understanding the nature of the changes, but they were obvious enough. Everything about Daddy --his trim, masculine body, his deep voice, his fatherly care, his gentle touch -- made me tingly. And not just in my tummy.

He must have realized that something about his little girl had changed. He'd occasionally catch me gazing at him with parted lips and glassy eyes, and notice me blush pink with embarrassment as I averted my eyes. He'd sometimes give me a curious look when my lips lingered a bit too long on his cheek during a goodnight kiss. He might even have noticed that once in a while I'd glance furtively into the bathroom, hoping for another glimpse of that tantalizing male sexual organ I visualized each night when I masturbated myself to sleep. But he never said anything.

One evening a few weeks later as we snuggled during a movie on TV, I did an impulsive and uncharacteristic thing. I'd been sitting quietly in his lap, enjoying the movie and my secret tingle-tummy, my little hand idly kneading the muscled arm that encircled me. Without conscious thought, I craned my head up, whispered, "I love you, Daddy," and kissed him -- on the lips. He stiffened in surprise, but... he let my kiss linger for a moment before pulling away.

when I nestled my head back onto his chest, I could hear Daddy's heart beating much faster, and his breathing had changed. He held me a little more firmly, and his hand gently stroked my forearm. He cleared his throat and shifted me slightly on his lap. I didn't at that time know that he probably shifted to relieve the discomfort of a growing erection, but these subtle changes in behavior made me wonder if he felt tingly about me, too. The thought made me giddily happy.

I desperately wanted Daddy to feel as good as I did, because he'd been so unhappy since Mommy died. Without realizing it, I unconsciously began doing things to provoke him to look at me, or to touch me. I came up with dozens of excuses to saunter out of the bathroom naked to retrieve a fresh towel, or to touch him gently on the knee and ask him to retrieve a fresh bar of soap from the high cabinet. Occasionally I'd climb onto his hairy thigh to play horsey, a childish game I'd abandoned years before. I didn't realize at the time that he looked sheepish and distinctly uncomfortable when I did these things.

It wasn't until much later in life that I understood how unintentionally cruel I'd been during that period. At that age I had no idea what it meant when I passed by Daddy's open bedroom door one day and saw him sitting in a chair, shorts around his ankles, rubbing the thing in his crotch and looking at pictures of little girls on his computer. I had no idea he was doing the same thing I did furtively every night, under the covers in bed. I had no idea that Daddy was a secret pedophile, and no clue what that even meant.

The sexual tension between us must have been unbearable torment for the poor man. He, desperately lusting for sex with children about my age, while I, his own 6-year-old daughter, obliviously teased and tantalized him, without the slightest knowledge of what I wanted.

To the best of my recollection, he had to endure this agony for the balance of the year, until a few months after my seventh birthday. I remember it with great fondness and absolute clarity. It was a blustery, rainy Friday in early October. Daddy had stayed after work for an hour to help celebrate the retirement of one of his employees at the pharmacy. When he arrived home, his voice was a bit different. He'd had only two glasses of wine, but my Daddy almost never drank alcohol, so the wine had slightly gone to his head.

As usual, I scampered over to leap into his arms and kiss him as he closed the door behind him, shaking his umbrella before dropping it in the bucket by the door. He grinned and kissed my freckled face, said hello. I distinctly remember my giddy glee when his kiss lingered a bit longer than usual. What I didn't notice at the time, but only remembered later, was his strong hand gently kneading my little bottom through the pleated school skirt as he kissed me.

Daddy was much more animated over dinner that night, chatting about his workday, the guy who was leaving, plans for a sail this weekend if the rain stops. He smiled at me a lot. It was so delightful to see the unaccustomed sunshine of happiness dispel the somber melancholy he'd suffered since Mommy's death.

After dinner, as usual, we settled on the sofa to watch a movie. I kicked off my shoes and snuggled into his lap as always. I sighed in contentment as I squeezed his strong arm and felt the tummy tingles begin to flutter. Daddy's breathing changed slightly, and he squeezed me back, playfully, on my skinny arm, then draped his big hand over my tummy, moving it very slightly, almost imperceptibly, in slow circles. He'd never done that before, and it was inexpressibly thrilling to feel him touching me like that.

My lips parted involuntarily and my breathing deepend. The tingle-tummy intensified into the now-familiar, dull ache. I could hear Daddy's breathing change, too, and I was unable to stop myself from whispering a quiet "...oh..."

I'm sure Daddy was desperately struggling for self-control during those long, long minutes of unbearable tension, but at the time I was oblivious, just overwhelmed as we sat both trembling and completely unaware of the TV babbling across the room.

My 7-year-old brain overwhelmed by emotions and desires I couldn't understand, I twisted my head to look up at Daddy with wide eyes. I whispered, "I love you, Daddy," and pursed my lips to kiss him.

I thought I heard him whimper quietly, then his rock-solid dam of self-restraint burst, and long months of agonized sexual tension between us cascaded free. Daddy gripped my head in one hand and plunged his tongue between my pursed lips, groaning and swabbing it in the gummy gap where two front baby teeth were missing. I was shocked, but instinct took over. I canted my head back and gaped my mouth open widely for Daddy, to let his swollen tongue explore all of my excited oral mucous membranes.

My school blouse had come untucked from my skirt as Daddy fondled my tummy with his large palm, and he now plunged his hand beneath the buttoned blouse to feel for my flat, tiny nipples beneath. To this day I shiver with excitement remembering the delicious sensation of his trembling hands fondling my nipples for the first time.

I remember desperately wishing I had soft, round, grownup breasts to better please him, but I now know that Daddy was infinitely more aroused by the fact that I had absolutely no breast development at all. My own pedophilia was probably triggered by that, in the moment, much later in life, when I realized that Daddy was so desperately aroused by fondling the tiny nipples of a 7-year-old child. To this day it makes me grind my teeth with depraved lust, and uncontrollable desires to relive every thrilling moment of incestuous child sex I enjoyed with my Daddy.

The deep, wet kiss when on and on, both of us groaning into each other's mouths, Daddy fondling me beneath my blouse, my little hands eagerly clasping his sweating face, thrilled by his desperate arousal, overjoyed to let him use me this way. I squirmed excitedly in Daddy's lap as my tiny nipples stiffened beneath his trembling palm, and I moaned and licked at the large tongue urgently exploring my mouth.

When he finally broke the deep kiss, Daddy pulled back an inch and my gut clenched with love and longing as I saw the intensity of the sexual arousal so obvious on his flushed, sweating face. "S- sassy cat, I... I'm sorry, I..." he gasped, using his pet name for me, "I just..." I gripped his head, pressed my wet lips to his and cut him off, whispering, "I love you, Daddy," then gaped my mouth wide to welcome his engorged tongue back in and caress it eagerly with mine.

Daddy just groaned heavily into my mouth, shaking with pedosexual lust. I felt his large hand glide across my stiff little nipples, down over my trembling tummy and dip beneath the waistband of my skirt, down, down, into the little panties I still remember so vividly --they were white cotton, with days of the week (Friday, that day) woven into the elastic waistband, and a cartoon kitten printed in front, where the fabric bulged over my immature sex lips.

I practically screamed into Daddy's mouth with excitement and gratitude as he immediately found the little feel-good place I secretly used each night. My legs went limp and fell open, I slumped against his chest, the little sparkly things flashing behind my eyelids as I let Daddy use my little feel-good button, and use it, and use it, and use it, until... oh, yes... oh... oh, Daddy...

When I was all finished jerking and moaning my glorious orgasm into Daddy's mouth, he pulled away, gripped my little body tightly, gritted his teeth and grunted three times, bouncing me jerkily in his lap, his body stiff and shaking. He fell heavily back into the sofa cushion with a dazed expression, gasping and stroking my hair. As he tugged his wet fingers out of my panties, my nostrils quivered with my first sensation of the sharp, acrid stench of male sperm as it seeped through his trousers to moisten the back of my skirt.

Daddy never said a word about what had happened, he just cleaned us up and put me to bed, where I had to wiggle myself off into never-never land twice more before I could sleep, my immature brain still seething with the deliciously thrilling memories of the way my Daddy had touched me.

*****

Sorry for the interruption. I just had to masturbate over the intensely arousing memories of that night. As much depraved, carnal pleasure we enjoyed in the following years, that first overwhelming orgasm with my Daddy's hand excitedly fondling me in my panties remains a pinnacle of eroticism for me.

After that night, Daddy withdrew and went through a period of confusion and deep shame. He averted his eyes when he talked to me, and avoided touching me at all, except when absolutely necessary. My naive 7-year-old brain couldn't comprehend why. I thought I'd done something wrong and Daddy didn't love me any more. It never occurred to me that his change in behavior had anything to do with his touching me in my panties, because that felt really good, not bad.

When I thought about it at all, I naturally assumed that was just a fun game all Daddies played with their little girls. Over the next year, however, I gradually began to realize just just how forbidden adult-child sexual contact is. The "bad touch" lectures at school just made my memories that much more exciting. The forbidden nature of it made the things we had done indescribably more arousing, and desirable.

That realization upgraded my desire for Daddy sex into a gnawing, deep craving for it. Having to indulge our perverse desires in secret, furtive ways made it so much more thrilling. The sweet juxtaposition of uninhibited, sweaty sex and the delicious pang of profound shame at the forbidden things I let my Daddy do to me made my orgasms almost painfully more intense and deeply gratifying.

*****

These realizations came later, however. For a week after our first sexual encounter I became more and more confused and miserable about my Daddy's abrupt withdrawal of affection. I no longer sat in Daddy's lap after dinner. Finally, after dinner one evening, I burst into tears, sobbing and pouting, "You don't love me any more."

Daddy scooped me into his lap and hugged me as I sobbed, stroking my hair to soothe me, reassuring me of his love. Then came the inevitable Daddy-daughter discussion, about the different kinds of love, what was appropriate and what wasn't, as I nodded, uncomprehending, and he brushed the tears from my cheeks.

"But, Daddy... I liked it," I pouted, not understanding. "It... it felt... really nice," I whispered. "Why is it bad if it feels so good?"

He tried to explain that what I thought was just another expression of affection, society regarded as immoral and illegal, as an adult harming a child.

"But you didn't hurt me, Daddy, you made me feel good."

Sometimes a child's naive comprehension of the obvious is very hard to refute. Daddy tried, but couldn't find a way to explain the paradox to a 7-year-old, and he finally lapsed into silence.

I'd calmed down somewhat, but I was still upset and sniffling. I squirmed around in Daddy's lap until I was facing him, draped my skinny arms around his neck and pouted up at him, "Do you still love me, Daddy?"

He grinned down at me and nodded, poking my nose with his finger playfully. "Of course I do, Brenda. You're my little Sassy Cat, aren't you?"

Still sulking, I pressed my pouty lips to his for a reassuring kiss. He stroked my hair and kissed back. It was only a chaste, lips together, little girl kiss, but it lingered just a fleeting instant too long, long enough to make my tummy tingle. I pressed into Daddy's warm lips, my jaw dropped open instinctively, and I tentatively poked my little tongue between his lips, as he'd done to me a week before.

I felt his body shiver as Daddy opened his mouth for me, then abruptly pulled away. "No, no Brenda, we can't," he murmured, his cheeks reddening. But his hand had dropped from my back to cup my little bottom. He couldn't help it.

"Please, Daddy?" I whispered, my wet, pouty lips brushing his. I tingled as I felt his hand tighten on my bottom.

"B- Brenda, we... " He pulled my head into the crook of his neck, stroking my hair, his warm breath in my ear. "Brenda, you must never tell anyone what we... how we kiss like this, okay?" he whispered in my ear. "Or... or how I touched you, okay? Never, ever, ever. Someone could take you away from me if you do, and I'd be sad for the rest of my life, understand?"

I pulled back to gaze wide-eyed into his face. "Never, ever, I promise, Daddy," I whispered with all the childish solemnity I could muster, shaking my head for emphasis, my lips brushing his. "Never, ever, ever, Daddy..."

Our mouths opened and tongues met, both of us moaning as we blended male and female saliva, me giddily gripping Daddy's head in both little hands, twirling my fingers in his hair, he gripping and kneading my little bottom as his tongue swirled in my mouth.

Without breaking the deep kiss, Daddy stood, turned and carried me down the hall to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. I was so deliriously happy, my senses lost in the thrilling sensation of licking Daddy's tongue that I didn't even realize we'd entered the bedroom until we fell on the bed and I felt his hand unbuttoning my school blouse as he moaned into my mouth.

The white blouse fell open and I will never forget my Daddy's deeply groaning "MMMmmmmmmmm" into my mouth as his trembling hand glided in slow circles over my flat chest and tiny nipples.

He finally broke the deep kiss to pull an inch away, panting and greedily fondling my nipples and tummy. "I... I love you, little Sassy Cat, you know that, right?" he panted, his trembling fingers tracing the elastic waistband of my pleated skirt. I just gasped and nodded, my senses too overwhelmed to do more.

"Do... do you want me to... to touch you, Brenda?" he panted as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband. "Do you like it when I touch you, honey?"

"Y- yeah, touch me... touch me, Daddy," I gasped, my tummy tingling furiously with sweet anticipation as I felt his hand dip into my little panties. "Touch me, tou... oh... oOOOOHH!

"Oh, mmMMMMMMMMM!" I plastered my mouth his, urgently moaning onto his swirling tongue as the sweet waves of sexual pleasure rippled through my little frame. My legs instantly went limp and splayed open. Daddy moaned and began rubbing himself against my bare thigh as he twirled and teased my straining little clitoris with his thick finger.

Daddy drew back, saliva dripping from his wet lips, and slowly drew his hand from my panties. Panting with desire, I gazed up at him with longing and frustration, begging him to keep touching me.

"No, sweetie," he breathed heavily into my flushed face. "No, we're going to do something better. Something grownups do. But you must never tell anyone, okay?"

I just nodded dumbly as I craned my head to watch Daddy tug down my little panties and drop them on the bed. He tugged the skirt up to bunch around my waist and spread my little legs widely apart. My eyes went wide with wonder when I saw him open his mouth and bend down, his wet tongue glistening.

Oh, god, the memory of my Daddy's tongue licking my little pussy for the first time drives me wild with lust, not just my own exquisite pleasure, but the intensity of my pedophile Daddy's arousal at his first taste of a child's sex. Even with my senses overwhelmed in the throes of sexual ecstasy, I could hear him moaning and whimpering with lust as he hungrily licked and sucked at my wet little pussy.

Until that moment I had no idea how devastatingly intense an orgasm could be. It went on and on, as I howled and bucked and ground my dripping crotch into Daddy's mouth until the wracking convulsions left me limp and gasping.

"Oh my god..." Daddy whispered to himself as he raised his wet face from my crotch to gaze at the flushed face of his sated little daughter panting happily on the bed.

He climbed off the bed to shed his shoes and clothing, except the boxer shorts he wore, now sporting a tent shape. Despite my glorious climax, I felt a deep tingle in the pit of my tummy as I looked up at his thick thatch of brown chest hair.

He sat on the bed, stroking my matted hair. "Did you like that, little Sassy Cat?" he smiled down at me. "Did that feel good?"

Uh... uh-huh," I nodded, still panting. "Could... could we do it again, Daddy?" I panted, reaching up to twirl my fingers in his chest hair. My tummy tingled again at the deep, masculine rumble of his soft chuckling I could feel ripple through his chest.

As he crawled back between my skinny legs I noticed the tent shape of his shorts for the first time, and wondered if Daddy had had an accident, because of the large damp spot at the apex.

This time Daddy did it differently. He teased me, dragging his tongue slowly up my inner thigh, tickling the tip of it in slow circles around my pussy lips quivering with anticipation, then back down the other thigh. Before long I was gasping and frantically hunching my little bottom off the bed, desperately trying to force my drooling sex into his warm mouth.

It was probably only a minute or two, but it seemed like an agonizingly slow hour as Daddy slowly teased me to dizzying heights of absolutely desperate sexual desire, shaking and whimpering and sobbing for him to DO IT... Oh, DO IT, Daddy... as my swollen little pleasure button ached for relief.

I sucked in my breath and held it, as I felt Daddy peel open my little sex lips, shaking with anticipation of the touch of his tongue. Instead, he just blew gently on the wet, straining little nubbin. I hunched a foot off the bed, threw my head back and screamed, then fell heavily back on the bed, shaking in agonized frustration. Daddy chuckled as he opened his mouth to press his wet tongue firmly into me and drag it up the length of my slick little furrow, then pinching the tiny, pink nub between his lips and suckling it as his fingertip teased the mouth of my drooling little fuck hole.

My brain exploded in blinding lights and I again heaved my straining bottom a foot off the bed, screaming my ecstasy as the painfully violent orgasm wracked my 7-year-old body with wave after wrenching wave of deep, clenching contractions. When I could stand no more I fell heavily back onto the bed, gasping frantically for breath, my quivering little vagina still jerking and spasming on the thick finger that was giving me so much pleasure. Daddy hadn't meant to do that, but I hunched myself into his mouth so violently when I came that I impaled myself on the finger that was teasing me.

Daddy was horrified, staring down with wide eyes at his middle finger plugged deeply into me. He started to pull it out, but I stopped him, "N- no, Daddy, n- not yet," I gasped, as my still spasming little vagina quivered and clenched, desperately trying to suck more pleasure from the thick finger that deeply impaled it.

So, that's how I lost my hymen, nearly painlessly, because pleasure obscured the pain. There was a disturbing amount of blood involved, a real mess, but the only physical sensation I remember was not pain, but the shocking violence of my first shattering, delicious, full-body orgasm.

When I calmed down enough for Daddy to pull out his finger, he explained about the blood so I wouldn't be frightened while he mopped it up with a towel. Then he sat on the bed beside me and explained, in terms a 7-year-old might be able to understand, the very serious need for a sexually aroused man to be relieved.

I just nodded solemnly, not really understanding, just wanting very much for my Daddy to be happy. My eyes and mouth went round with wonder as Daddy tugged down his boxer shorts and the thing bounced free. It was twice as big as I remembered it, straight and stiff, not swingy like before. The droopy foreskin was gone now, instead there was a bulging, shiny knob like a big, stiff mushroom. The heavy, blue veins rippled down the sides were ropy and thicker now, and slick with a slippery liquid that seemed to be oozing from the tip.

I sucked in my breath sharply as my tiny fingers clasped the thick shaft, too big for my little hand to encircle it. Daddy explained how to masturbate it, and I felt the familiar tummy tingle as I slowly stroked the wet foreskin from base to drooling head and back.

The tummy tingles grew into a deep ache in the pit of my stomach, and my lips parted as I raised my other hand to stroke the big dick with both little hands.

"It... it feels funny, Daddy," I whispered, my eyes going glassy as I stared at the engorged, wet penis.

"That's because you're making Daddy so excited," he breathed, watching me masturbate him. "It gets big and hard when Daddy gets excited," he explained.

"No, no, Daddy. I mean it... it makes me feel funny, to... to touch it," I whispered, my tummy clenching as I squeezed the thing to feel its spongy firmness. Daddy groaned. "It makes me feel good to touch it, Daddy," I panted, pressing my skinny thighs together as I felt my drooling pussy begin to throb. I leaned forward, my nose an inch from the thing that throbbed in my hands, to stare at the gleaming penis flesh. "It makes me feel good to look at it, too," I panted on Daddy's wet dick.

The stimulation of my slick little fingers and warm breath on his wet penis was too much for Daddy. "G- g- g- ghod..." he hissed through gritted teeth, clasping both of my tiny hands in his right hand, and using my wet fingers to stimulate a geyser of viscous sperm that shot a foot into the air before splashing onto the bloody bedspread.

"Oyeah... oyeah..." Daddy gasped, his abdomen trembling, as his quivering dick jerked and heaved and spurted into my softly clasping, wet fists.

The sight of my Daddy's big dick squirting the milky semen into my hands, and the nasty, acrid smell of it overwhelmed me. Whimpering, I jerked my spermy hand away and plunged it between my legs, wiggling and panting. Unable to stop myself, I brought the other spermy hand to my face to smell Daddy's slimy goo. The tip of my tongue flicked out to taste it and I plunged into my third orgasm, uncontrollably diddling my drooling pussy and licking my spermy hand until the jerking spasms subsided.

When the sweet, gauzy feeling cleared and I could focus again, I saw that Daddy was stroking his dick again and his mouth was open and slack. He was staring at the wet hand still poised beneath my nose. He'd gotten excited again, watching me eagerly licking his sperm off my hand.

He looked down at me With lust-dimmed eyes, took my slimed hand and curled it into the crinkly hairs of his heavy, wrinkled balls. "T- touch me here, B- Brenda," he gasped, stroking his dick faster. "T- touch Daddy's b- BALLS.."

I squeezed the hairy sack gently, his knees buckled and another jet of jism erupted, weakly this time, but obviously very sweetly satisfying to him.

After a shower and changed bed linens, Daddy and I slept together for the first time since I'd slept with both parents as a baby. But this time we both slept naked. I have such fond memories of that night, but one of the best is the contented glow I felt as I fell asleep in Daddy's arms, feeling his warm breath on the top of my head and his spent dick twitching against my little bottom as he gently fondled my naked body in the darkness beneath our warm blanket.

*****

You can guess the rest. My secret relationship with Daddy developed quickly after that night.

We stopped actually fucking after my 11th birthday, for fear of pregnancy. Our sexual encounters ceased completely when I was about 14, because Daddy said it was time for me to think about boys my own age. Which I did.

In subsequent years I enjoyed the hot passions of young adulthood with more experience and more careful judgment than I'd have had if not for the guidance of Daddy.

I'm now a divorced mother of two. Daddy died last year, but despite some really fun times with one ex-husband and perhaps two other guys, my fondest memories are of him --both as my loving father, and as my first sexual partner.

Alone now, with responsibilities that make dating and mate-seeking difficult, I usually satisfy my physical needs with fantasy and furtive masturbation. I fantasize about a lot of things, but at the moment of climax, I almost always tumble into orgasm at the sweet memory of Daddy groaning my name, fondling me and ejaculating inside me, which often made me tumble into orgasm shortly after.

End