As his daughter stepped onto the artificial grass court of their club resort, McWillis couldn't help but notice the sexy fullness of her body. She was twenty, an aspiring lawyer following in his footsteps, but she had definitely gained all of her mother's good looks - and more. There was this familiar stirring in his crotch as he watched Catherine bound across the turf, her heavy chest heaving, towards where he sat, shirtless and relaxing.
Ian McWillis, a third generation Irishman, was a self-made millionaire, and as such, felt entitled to act as the dirty old man, ogling his daughter as she walked the last few steps to her father. Since she was away at college for most of the year, instances like these were like fresh water for the thirty-seven year old 'retired' counselor. The three of them - he, his wife and Cathy - had stolen some time off from the rest of the kids, left with their uncle and aunt back in Belford.
Ian marveled at the way that her tits seemed to support themselves in spite of their obvious bulk, but kept his complimentary feelings to himself. And, he had often thought, it was quite unfair that such a prominent upper frame had just a hint of a waist below, giving his daughter a figure that was almost too much to bear. The short skirt accentuated her long legs, tanned after the past four days of sunshine, and he just wanted a piece of her thighs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, et all.
Yet, in the midst of all his unholy lust for his daughter, he never lost sight of that relationship. She was his daughter. And above all, that was the only thing that kept him from claiming her delicious self as his.
McWillis made a mental note to himself to install a spy-camera in her room, dismissing it just as soon for what his idea really was - a fantasy. Because he could never reach for her, much less attain Cathy, he had long since disciplined himself to think along two levels, loving her in two ways. As a father, in reality. As a passionate lover, in fantasy. The two, he had resolved over three years ago, were never to meet.
"Hello, honey," he greeted affectionately, no longer the quiet lecher, now only an affectionate father. "And what's my favorite daughter up to now?"
"Hi, Daddy," his daughter replied brightly, bending across the table to kiss him lightly on the lips. For a brief second, he caught a glimpse of her cleavage, receding into the darkness, ensconced by two fleshy walls whose taste he had by now fantasized a few hundred times. His cock jerked; he was quick enough to adjust it before it poked through the white shorts he was wearing.
Cathy, not totally unaware of her father's attraction to her, had dismissed it as the harmless infatuation that every father has for his offspring. She smiled warmly at him, setting her racket on the table between them. "Unless you are referring to some other illegitimate daughter of yours, I am your only daughter, and as such, your favorite, and I am quite fine, thank you."
The two of them laughed, a private joke unadulterated even by years of repetition, and Ian reached over to ruffle her dirty blonde hair. She had his eyebrows, he mused, dark but sharper, and her mother's blondish brunette locks, giving her an altogether... he searched for the word... hot appearance.
"Don't worry, Catherine, darling," it was his inevitable reply, "Even if there was another daughter born somewhere to your father's loins, you would still be my favorite."
The club waiter started to move towards them, having noticed her entry, but Cathy caught his attention viscerally and waved him off. Then she turned to her father, her expression that of a child trying to get a parent to agree.
"Dad, you used to play tennis in college, didn't you?"
Ian McWillis nodded, sipping on his cold glass of lemonade. "Three years in a row as Champ."
"Good. Then you can help me with some of my shots."
Ian grinned at his daughter and shook his head. "Why not?" his daughter asked.
"Too much work," replied the man, winking at her. "Ever since I retired from practice, I have developed an allergy to work."
"Yeah, I bet," she retorted dryly, "You would rather sit here ogling all the voluptuous females here. I have to talk to Mom about that."
Ian was thankful that she hadn't caught on that the only woman he was even moderately interested in was herself, and sought to dispel any further comments about his wandering eye with folded hands, as if seeking her peace. "Please, don't," he told her in a mild voice that was as false as her threat, "Already, she's cut me down to once a month... You know how orthodox she is. She might even cut me off totally."
"God, is she still like that?" Cathy feigned surprise. "After getting a very impressionable teenager out of the house, I thought she would have changed..."
"Actually, for a couple of weeks after you moved to college, she was on fire - more often than usual. Then she remembered that we still had other kids under the same roof."
Cathy giggled. "The three brats strike again, huh, Daddy?"
"Your brothers are good kids," Ian corrected, "Only the wrong age."
"Please, Daddy," Cathy changed tack. "Please. I've got impress a few fellows with some tennis power next month, and I need all the tips and the practice I can get."
"Oh, don't worry baby," Ian said, not wanting to get up, and he was suddenly conscious again of how sultry she looked. "I am sure you won't have any problem knocking their shorts off, which is probably what you are looking for, I suppose." He broke out laughing.
Cathy rolled her eyebrows at her father's humor. Sure, getting in bed with those studs was a big motivation, but she hadn't expected to be so obvious. In an effort to impress upon him her seriousness, she did the only thing she could do - she upturned the half-full pitcher of cold water over his head. She giggled as he spluttered at the sudden icy shower.
"Now that you've had your cold shower, can you be a good Daddy and help me with some free Tennis lessons?"
More to shrug off his recent 'bath' than anything else, Ian McWillis stood up. Before he knew it, he was halfway across the lawn of the club's luncheonette, pulled by his dear daughter towards the green and white. "At least," he protested, knowing that his attire of just shorts was basically not encouraged in the club, "Let me throw something on."
"Stop being so old-fashioned," she returned, and by then, they had reached Court 3, reserved for the day for the McWillis' family. It was close to noon, accounting for the fact that they were the only people out in the sun. The usher merely waved them through, relaxing an unwritten rule on proper dress code, and wheeled the automatic serving machine into the opposite side of the net. Ian envied the fellow as he went back to a shady spot between two trees and lay down on the ground.
Damn! At least he could have gone with his wife on the local charity trip. Lucky dam - she would be back only by midnight, no doubt pampered and cooled.
"Dad," her voice cut into his thoughts, "Where are you?"
He grinned at her pout. "Somewhere else, I wish."
"Okay, fine," Cathy pretended to explode. "Go wherever it is you want to go... Why bother with me at all?"
"There, there." Even though he knew it was all an act, he couldn't fight with his daughter. "I was just joking. Look, why don't you shoot a few serves while I load up the machine?"
"Thanks, Daddy," she chirped, now grinning just as much as her father, and gave a slightly moist peck on his lips. "You are the greatest."
As he watched from the other end of the court, Ian was struck by her graceful serve. Each one was a potential ace, delivered with power and accuracy, but what really grabbed his attention was the way her breasts bounced up and down. Her skirt flew in the air, revealing her thighs without prejudice, and the dirty old man was awakened in him again. The hard on, which had not entirely gone down, was back at full mast in seconds.
For no other reason than to see her jump in the air a few more times, Ian pretended to notice a fault with her serve, asking her to do it a few times more. There was nothing wrong - anything more, and she would get suspicious. He loaded the machine, set the base speed, and stood behind, watching as she returned as many balls as she could.
But there was something amiss with her forehand shots - that was obvious from the way quite a few of those balls crashed against the net. Cathy gestured for him to cross over.
"What's wrong with my fores, Daddy?" she asked him as he moved to a spot behind her.
Ian viewed a couple of shots before he spoke. "You are bending your arm as you play the shot - that's half the problem. And you seem to whip your hand too quickly from the backhands. Here, let me show you."
When he was just a step behind her, Cathy accidentally crashed into his front, and with a start, both father and daughter realized the presence of his hard-on. Cathy was as embarrassed as she was excited - but Ian cursed silently that she had found out. Still, neither made any move to adjust - on his part, it would have been tantamount to an admission of guilt; on her part, ignorance seemed to be the better part of discretion.
Even as one hand encircled her waist, sending a queer feeling into her, another gripped her wrist quite fiercely and exploded a forehand shot that reminded him of his old days. Then, more gently, he guided her hand for the next shot, nicely directing it over the net.
As the lessons continued, his left hand, previously positioned on her waist, found its way up her body, up to the swell of the underside of her breast. With a mind of its own, the fingers trailed along the sides of her mound, making no pretense of the fact that he was feeling her up. Ian realized, shocked, that he was just inches away from her nipple, which, for want of a bra, was poking through the cotton top, erect apparently in response to the transgression of his hands. It made him even harder, a heat that was starting to build up in his crotch.
And as much as she knew it shouldn't, it gave Cathy a strange thrill to have her own father feel her up. It was the taboo of the act, she immediately rationalized, that caused her to react like a butterfly, and there was no reason why she should make a fuss over such a harmless act. In fact, and she giggled inwardly, she might even let him go so far as to give her nipple a tweak or two.
And neither moved away.
When she missed a step, the two of them, their tandem upset, tripped. As she fell down on top of him, she felt him cup her breast - cup her entire breast with his hand - before she slammed his body, the impact causing him to grip her tit even harder. An involuntary moan escaped her; but it was immediately disguised by his own groan as he sensed his own cock slipping into the crack between her ass cheeks. For a second, both father and daughter were too stunned to move.
Then Cathy slid away, leaving a very red-faced Ian on the ground. He was too caught up in his own self-blasting that he did not notice her colored cheeks, nor the even more aroused state of her nipples. Absently, as she held out her hand, he raised himself back on his feet.
"Oops!" He attempted weakly, suddenly realizing that she was observing his reaction. "Guess I am not as young as I used to be."
She giggled. "The way you grabbed my tit, you were hardly a day older than those jocks back in college."
Ian shook his head, embarrassed at her bluntness. It was a good thing there was no one else within earshot, he thought, and rather than argue or deny anything, he chose to laugh it off. Of course, he decided, the tennis lessons for the day would have to end - there was no way he was going to continue as if nothing had happened.
"And if you are finished thinking about how my tit felt in your hands," Cathy was still giggling as she whispered in his ears, "Can we continue with the tennis lessons?"
"Er, I don't think that would be such a hot idea right now, you know -"
"Nonsense!" she cut him off. "Tell you what - I won't say a word about your feeling me up or sticking your... thing, between my legs, if you help me now."
McWillis hadn't been a successful trial lawyer if not for his quick mental recoveries, and he decided that he would go along with her flirting. He playfully swatted her ass, smiling as he countered, "Or what?"
"Or else," replied his bold offspring, "I tell all."
"That doesn't leave me much of a choice, does it?" he asked back. He took a step towards her and cupped her buttock with a hand, squeezing slightly as he pushed her towards him. He could tell it had an effect on her, for she momentarily closed her eyes, and then her crotch was pressed against the tent of his shorts, sending shots through him. This was as far as he dared go, he realized. "But, I have to tell you, there is a small problem," he said, giving her one last chance to back out.
"My foot is smaller," his daughter answered cheekily, still pressing her crotch against his, feeling that familiar wetness between her legs, "From what I can feel! But as long as you don't let that thing of yours sneak out of your shorts, I don't think I will be in any physical danger - like impaling myself on it!"
"Okay, okay," Ian laughed, not just a little taken aback by her brashness but not wanting to make a big deal, "I'll promise not to impale you - deliberately... now, if you wouldn't mind being decent for a change, I think I can teach you some of the finer points of the game, my dear daughter."
"Okay," Cathy agreed, still laughing as she turned her back on him, once again pressing her ass against his bulge, the female in her relishing the sexual air of the contact. "If you can refrain from feeling me up often enough to concentrate on my tennis."
The rest of the session continued well into the afternoon, save for a light break for lunch, and the father remained hard for the entire time, much to the amusement of his daughter. He did not seem to mind, thought Cathy, for she gave him more than a proper license with her breasts, and he was running his hands up and down the sides of her body every once in a while. At times, he was even so bold as to rub his palm against one of her nipples, flattening the bud, and then releasing it.
At one point, she remembered with a shudder as she walked back to her room, he had even brushed his fingers over her knickers, just a hair's breadth away from her pussy. And it had excited her - there was no point denying that.
Catherine had rewarded him at the end of the day with a kiss on his lips - nothing new there - but she had held her lips over his for quite some time. There was no point denying that, either. She smiled at her reflection as she stepped, sweaty and naked, into her bathroom. It would never lead him into her bedroom, she was sure, nor, even if it did, would she ever entertain him there. He was her father, after all, and there was no way she was going to sleep with her own Pop.
On the other side of the wall, in a room connected to his daughter's by means of a mutual door, was Ian. His wife hadn't returned yet, leaving him free to drop his shorts as soon as he was inside to wank off. The line between fantasy and reality started to recede as he visualized Cathy lying on the bed before him, nude and inviting, tempting him with her lips. He was suddenly in the grip of his most intense fantasy - he could easily picture himself falling on top of her, passionately taking her, perhaps even hurting her a little with his intensity, finally making her sit up and subduing her again.
It seemed so real it could just be real, he thought dreamily, staring at the ceiling, seeing only his daughter's glistening body in all its glory, just waiting for him.
At that instant, unknown to himself, the transition from protector to aggressor was initialized.
By the time Ian McWillis woke up from his lust-filled sleep, Catherine had already left for the evening's party at a nearby hotspot. Ian and Martha joined her soon after, their presence keeping her away from the hard drinks. However, as fate would have its turn, Martha complained of a severe headache, and Ian, ever the caring husband, offered to drive her back to the club.
When Ian returned, Catherine was already downing her sixth glass of wine. Ian managed to divert her away from some potentially embarrassing moments, but soon found himself supporting her entire weight. Excusing himself and his family, Ian hoisted his drunken daughter onto his shoulder and carried her out of the party place, into the car, and within five minutes, was at the clubhouse.
Cathy, in danger of passing out at any second, clung to his shoulder as he fumbled in his pocket for the key to his room. Then, remembering that his wife was probably in no condition to appreciate such an intrusion, especially with Cathy in such a stupor, he rifled through his daughter's purse with one hand, using the other to hold her just under the curve of her breasts.
"Where is your key?" he asked at length, hoping that she would give him a coherent answer. He shook her gently.
Cathy stirred slightly. Her eyes looked dully at him, and he repeated his question. For a second, she continued to stare, uncomprehending, and abruptly caught his hand and placed it at the side of her right breast. "Here," she mouthed, not even having enough strength to go through with the gesture. Her head drooped once again.
Ian was puzzled, wondering why she had placed his hand in such a... vantage position. He ran his finger over the curve, making sure not to exert too much pressure, and grinned when he felt her key through the satiny material. He looked around once to make sure that there was no one else around - no, the corridor was deserted - then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, squeezed his hand into the gap between dress and skin.
Cathy, in spite of her drunkenness, responded with a slight moan as his fingers brushed against her bare nipple. Ian felt a powerful thrill build up inside him as he continued rubbing his hand over her tit, knowing fully well that he was getting another erection. The key was in a small pouch on the inside of the material, just off to the right of the nipple, and imposing a control on himself to stop before things got too hot to handle, he withdrew her key.
Rather than drag her into the room, Ian pulled her back onto his shoulder and carried her inside. He allowed himself the luxury of feeling her legs, not wanting to let such a wonderful opportunity to touch her body as much as he wanted to. He turned around to ensure that the door was, indeed, locked, and then set his daughter down on her bed.
He switched on the lamp beside the bed, then stepped back to observe her. The gown that she had been wearing had now ridden well up her legs, exposing her thighs to his hungry eyes. He studied her intently, the object of his desire powerless and ignorant before him, and the knowledge that he could practically do anything with her right then was so much of an aphrodisiac that he almost gave in to his desires. Discretion immediately reigned him back in; he straightened her, set her head on the pillow, took off her shoes, and then, silently, slipped out of the room.
Half an hour and two glasses of Scotch later, Ian was a very confused man. His mind was giving a reason behind his daughter's actions, both deliberate and indeliberate, and he was almost convinced she wouldn't say no to a one-night stand with him. Added to his sudden freedom of thought was the fact that his wife was just as dead to the world as Catherine was, two sleeping pills to ensure, by her own prescription, that she would wake up only by noon the next morning.
It was a warm night for Ian, perhaps more so due to the thoughts about his passed-out daughter just a wall away, and Ian stripped down to his boxers. Pretty soon, these too were taken off, and he lay in bed, naked, trying to argue with himself that he was wrong, she was NOT encouraging him... but the devil's advocate won out, and he found himself wondering whether he should deny himself her body. All he could think of was walking into her room, taking her clothes off - no, ripping them off - and then having sex with her till dawn. She might never allow it if she were fully awake - drowsiness might remove all inhibitions.
He crossed over to the connecting door, hoping that she had left it unlatched on her end. She had - he heaved a sigh of relief; he would have hated to put something on just in case he was spotted. He slinked into her room, not bothering to shut the door to his room, for it gave him a greater kick to know that he would fuck their daughter right under his wife's nose. Perhaps, he thought naughtily, he could even fuck her right beside his wife, both the women never knowing what had happened.
No, the hint of remaining intelligence told him. Maybe some other time.
He locked her main door from within, and then, no longer a slouching drunk but a stalking man-animal, he circled her bed, taking in the way her legs projected gracefully from underneath her gown. Her breath was steady, eyes shut, and the mixed aroma of female and alcohol was working wonders on his senses. His mind screamed at the imminent realization of his self over hers, embodied physically as he slid himself on top of her, obscenely pleased as her gown rode up to her waist, exposing a lace undergarment.
The heady smell of woman filled his nostrils, giving him a sudden need to nuzzle its source, and with the savage grunt of an animal, Ian plopped his face down on her silky panties. They were wet, a trifle stale, and he licked the sides of the panties with his tongue. He shivered as he tasted her saltiness - he reveled in the odor. It was a treat so long denied him that he felt entitled to drain the essence out of her, a reward for giving her life and living.
Ian pushed his hands underneath her buttocks, and was very pleased to discover that she was actually wearing a thong. The bare skin of her ass seemed to burn his hands, but he didn't care as he pressed her crotch against his face, rubbing his cheeks all over the damp face of her thong. Then one finger, then another probed the crack of her ass; he boldly pushed a finger inside her.
Her moan startled him into freezing for a moment, and he shot his head up to see if she had wakened; the eyes were still closed, although she was mumbling something. The father let his breath out; the danger that never was. He wriggled his digit inside her anus a couple of times more, each time eliciting a similar response from his daughter, and his ego feasted on her reaction.
Ian took his finger out, a smile on his lips, and dabbed her red lips - the sleeping daughter, as if by an unknown command, ventured her tongue out for a lick-taste. Ian almost lost his rocks when he felt her suck on his finger, and he pulled himself along her height, wanting to see how her pretty little mouth was wrapped around his hand's 'dick.' Even in sleep, Ian mused, she seemed to pout at him sexily, as if still challenging him, daring him to go even farther.
"Of course, dear girl," he muttered with a leer, "There is no way I am going to back out right now..."
Ian withdrew his finger from her mouth. He studied the red lips, slightly parted, and decided that it was the most perfect set of lips he had ever seen. Now that all inhibitions were flown from his mind, he was totally free to do the unthinkable. He covered her mouth with his, relishing the soft feel of her touch, and started kissing her.
Although she was still asleep, Cathy's body started to respond to his stimulation. After what was just a few seconds, her lips parted even wider, allowing his tongue enough space to slip inside her, and her tongue greeted him. He had his hands on her sides and was rubbing the sides of her breasts even more intensely than he had ever pressed his wife, eliciting a louder moan from her.
And the phone chose that exact moment to ring...
The sound shook him out of his skin, a startling intrusion into his conquest, and he cursed openly as he crossed back into his room. The instrument was right beside his wife, but it hadn't stirred her a bit. Thank God for small mercies, he thought laconically, as he picked up the damned invention.
"Yeah," he shot into the phone, not bothering to disguise his animosity.
"Sir," the voice on the other end was a little shaken, he thought satisfactorily, "This is the front desk. Were we interrupting something?"
Ian glanced through the open door at the prone form of his daughter, her body ready for his plucking, and was about to agree with the receptionist when he thought better. "I am sorry," he replied, now gentler than before, but having enough sense to still leave a trace of irritation in his voice, "It's just that this night hasn't exactly gone as planned - my daughter passed out at a party, my wife's having a headache, and I can't figure the hell out how to... forget it. What was it?"
The receptionist's tone relaxed, as if empathizing with the guest. "Sorry to hear that, Mr.McWillis... must be one of those days, huh?"
"Yeah, but back to the matter..."
"Oh, yes, of course. The club is conducting a one-day trip to the Islands tomorrow, sort of a surprise gift to illustrious members like yourself, Sir, and we were wondering of you would care to join us. It shall be our pleasure, at no extra cost."
"I see. When does it start?"
"Morning at six, Sir. Will return by nine or ten, tops, at night."
"Unfortunately, Mr. Fell - it is Fell, isn't it?"
Mr. Fell was pleased someone as important to the club as Ian McWillis remembered his name; it was little things like this that could get him into the Manager's spot. "Yes, Sir, Mr.McWillis. I am honored that -"
"Of course not, Mr. Fell," Ian cut in, knowing fully well what the man was going to say, "There is no need for all the flattery. I give merit its due, and I can see it in you. However, I don't think neither my wife nor my daughter will be up by then." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "Confidentially, Mr. Fell, I would rather no one disturbed us until ten or eleven o' clock, you know what I mean."
"Sure, sir, I'll let the boys know they aren't to disturb you. Good night, Sir."
As the pleased receptionist hung up, Ian muttered under his breath, "What an ass-licking jerk!"
Ian walked back to his daughter, sleeping just as he had left her. Her gown was bunched around her waist, thongs exposed, and her chest heaved prominently. Ian took in her very-feminine curves, the swell of her breasts as opposed to the flatness of her stomach, and slapped his erection absently.
"Soon, my dear, soon," he whispered to no one in particular.
Abruptly, startling him, Cathy rolled over the side, falling on the floor with a sickening thud. Ian rushed to her side as she started to retch, reaching her just as she spewed some liquor out of her mouth. Hooking his shoulder under her, Ian rushed Cathy into the bathroom and made her keel over the wash-basin, rubbing her back fiercely, causing her to vomit even harder.
Ian was relieved to see that it was purely the alcohol that came out, remembering that she had had nothing solid. Some of the vomit had slid down her dress, damping it, and Ian justified himself that he would have to strip her naked. Cathy was still in no condition to control herself, much less her movements, and it was as if it was just her body was reacting blindly. Even when Ian threw some water on her face and cleaned her mouth, her eyes still held the glazed look.
Ian pressed her against the wall, a hand under her armpit to ensure that she wouldn't slip. His heart raced as he slid the straps of her gown off her body, an act made easier because of her wet skin. As he pulled the material down her chest, Ian gulped at the sight of her breasts - he had never seen something so exquisite. Her orbs were nicely sized, he had always known that, but to feel them with his hand as he had never been able to before threatened to send him over the top.
Not bothering to resist himself with his conscience, Ian McWillis mounted an assault on his daughter's exposed chest. He tried to swallow an entire breast, succeeded in taking most of it in, and reflexively gagged when her nipple brushed the back of his mouth. He pushed the other hand in between her other armpit, squeezing slightly so that she would not slip, Ian started to caress her tit with his mouth, suckling as he had back when his wife had just delivered.
He could still sense the sourness of the alcohol on her body, but it could have been shit for all he cared. The feel of her naked body against his mouth was so deliciously sensual that he regretted he would get only this one night to act out his fantasies - as he beheld her body, he wanted to do so many things to her, things that were bad, things that no father should even want to do to his daughter, that he cursed time and all the impatience it possessed.
As he frantically ground her breast, Cathy, although still out of the loop, started to moan her encouragement. Ian was faintly aware that she was clenching her thighs - open and close, open and close - while striving to push her body towards his face. A feminine hand reached over his head, clutched a handful of hair, and pulled him ruthlessly closer, making him bite her nipple fiercely. A loud moan escaped her mouth and her eyes opened wide, but she perceived nothing that was not abstract.
With a savage grunt, Ian McWillis hoisted his daughter, naked but for her thong, onto his shoulders, smiling to himself as he felt her rubbery mounds bounce off his back, and rushed to her bed just as fast as he had rushed her away. She was flung on the bed, and he watched with satisfaction as she looked straight ahead, eyes half-closed, definitely unconscious of her environment, seeking only the fulfillment of her carnal needs... he laughed softly as her body bounced off the mattress and settled down.
The lust-filled man had no place for the father; he lunged at her and ripped off the thing - really ripped the flimsy material off - and flung it away. Baring his eyes to the one treasure good women cherish - her pussy. He marveled at the smooth folds of her lips, absently rubbing his own jaw as a comparison to the completely shaven cunt. Mixed with her wetness, the skin glistened obscenely, as if daring him to take that sheen away.
Ian slung her legs over his shoulder as he went down on his daughter, wanting to taste what had so long been denied him, and his first taste of her true saltiness was as arousing as he had ever felt. He dived into her with his tongue like a man possessed, not bothering with the etiquette of working his way in, and ran over the sides of her wet womb.
Stimulated beyond her control, Cathy groaned as she felt her own father - but the relationship not a part of her lazy consciousness - eat her out, far more intensely than anyone else who had ever put their mouth to her lips. Within moments, she jerked into his face, rubbing her lubes all over his face, and Ian was surrounded by the heady smell of her fluids. In spite of all the women he had ever fucked, her odor alone seemed to stand out, drowning all other smells.
As the licking grew in intensity, so did her reaction. She responded with abandon, shamelessly thrusting her pussy into her father's face, knowing, yet not knowing, that there was something taboo about enjoying such pleasure.
She came on his face, and he drank her as if he had been starved of everything for years.
Even as his daughter's exhausted body sought the softer comforts of the mattress after an earth-shattering orgasm, Ian was just getting warmed up. He tickled her bare skin with his moustache, wet with her own cum, trailing his tongue after it to lick her body clean. He probed between her legs until he reached her anus, then reversed direction and moved up her body, towards his constant object of fixation, her magnifique! breasts.
Her moans rented the air once again as he conquered mound after mound, rough in his hunger for her flesh - for his own flesh, he mused, for he was her father - driving her to orgasm each time, not letting go of her teat until her body surrendered whatever resistance it could offer. That he had come close to blowing his load was of little matter to him - the way he felt, it would only be a matter of seconds before his cock reared up again.
Ian lay on his back beside her, pacing himself, as he listened to her breathing come back to more normal levels. Her body was as aroused as it was arousing, he noted as he tweaked a hard nipple, bringing forth another involuntary moan from her lips. Effortlessly, Ian slid her on top of him, aided by the sweat on both their bodies, and there was the familiar kick in his stomach once again as he felt his hardened penis slide between her legs, the friction against her sopping crotch electric.
He placed his arms at her waist and pushed her upwards, wanting to see her properly. As if in a trance, Cathy, assisted by his strength, her legs on either side of his chest, sat upright. Her breasts were firm, topped with pink nipples of a very dark shade and areolas little bigger than the top of his thumb. Hanging in the valley between her tits was the gold necklace that Ian himself had bought her when she had turned eleven, the design that of the Holy Cross.
Sandwiched between her soft breasts, Ian thought of the pendant, it must be feeling anything but Holy!
Her blonde hair was fallen about her shoulders, reflecting the lamp's light, giving her face an angelic glow in the midst of her unplanned coupling with her father. And her entire torso looked as if it had been besieged by bed bugs, for so thoroughly had Ian pecked her skin as he explored her body.
She had a half-smile on her face, a contented expression that seemed irresistibly sultry to her father, but her eyes were no wider than they had been half an hour ago, when Ian had commenced the realization of his fantasies about her. "Hummm," she hummed as he started to knead her breasts.
Ian realized that she was in no condition, neither to initiate, nor to carry on, the real penetration. Just as easily as he had pulled her up, Ian maneuvered so that he was on top of her once again, the entrance into her just teasing his cock. As before, he flung her legs onto his shoulder, then slid between her legs as they dropped limply to his sides. He covered her mouth with his, locking her in a kiss even as his cock crashed all over her crotch.
With a grunt born of the increasing need, Ian broke contact just long enough to orient his assault on her pussy. Cathy had no more than a fraction of a second before the simultaneous impact of his cock slamming into her and his lips fiercely resealing hers caused her to reflexively wrap her legs around him, driving him even further into her waiting cunt.
Teeth and gums mashed wildly as the two lovers, one as conscious as the other was not, entered that final phase of becoming one entity, and Ian could feel her gums bleed a little blood onto his tongue. He massaged her mouth, torn between passionate need and a mild paternal concern for his offspring, while his crotch rammed against her pussy lips repeatedly, mercilessly pounding her sensitivity.
The end was sudden.
Ian felt the buildup within his balls a second before he lost all control, flooding her insides with the same stuff that had once, to use a cliche, caused her life. Her climax was just a step behind, and lost no time in milking him dry into its thirsty confines. Ian started to kiss her on her nose, earlobes, nape, neck, cleavage, anything to distract him... he was going mad with the deliriousness of consummating a forbidden moment with his own daughter...
Exhausted and spent, at least for the moment, Ian McWillis collapsed on top of Catherine McWillis, father having fucked daughter, but he was careful not to drop his entire weight on her. Her legs, which had, by their own volition, locked just over his ass, unwrapped themselves and slid down, allowing him to breath freely again - until then, he hadn't realized what was strangling him.
Ian allowed himself a minute to gather himself, noting with satisfaction that Cathy was in deep slumber. Her face was towards him, seemingly refreshed by what had just happened, and there was, it appeared to Ian, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were now shut completely, the eyelids wrinkle-free indicating that the sleep was natural, not forced, and that she was not holding her eyes shut deliberately.
The guilty father rolled away, but not before he gave in to temptation and kissed her once on her lips. It was just a touch, really, something that was a spontaneous compliment to the most memorable hour in his life, and he added, with a slight touch of guilt now that the act had been done, "I love you, honey."
To which, eyes closed, nothing more than a mumble, she had replied, "I love you too, Daddy."
Ian slid out of the room, locked the interconnecting door behind him, washed himself in his bathroom and threw on a pair of clean briefs. He crawled in beside his wife, threw an arm around her and watched her. As the guilt started to hit, he could not face her; instead, he turned and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
A part of him was celebrating his most coveted conquest; the other was just as disgusted as was possible. Conflicting emotions that were just to confusing to resolve... he fell asleep, dreaming of one more night.
One more night. Like tonight.
The father awoke after his wife, groggy, with a rising recollection of what he had done the previous night. It did not cause remorse, however; he wanked to the erotic images, trying to convince himself that those memories would be enough to last his remaining lifetime.
The daughter awoke, sporting a killer hang-up, and felt the stickiness between her legs a second before she could focus on the mess. She stared with unbelieving eyes at the dirty precipitate of the lovemaking she had unconsciously participated in - she was shocked!
As she regained her head, the answers started to come to her. Then 'when' was obvious - the night before. She spotted her torn thong near the wall away from her bed, so the 'where' was no longer a mystery.
How? She had no clue, and she checked herself for bruises. There were none; it was inconsistent that a person - a stranger - who violates another's privacy would not inflict a wound or a bruise, it was like a calling card for them. Her psycho-analysis instructor had claimed that the credit for a crime was as important to the rapist as the successful execution of the crime itself.