In the dark of her bedroom, thirteen-year-old Lisa could feel, rather than see, the red flush of mortification crash over her petite body, like an Atlantic roller against a November shore.
It may seem odd that she noted this particular physical sensation at all, considering the competing stimuli: her own bony knees pressing into her cupcake breasts, the sour, whisky-tinged breath wafting into her face, and the hundred-and-eighty pound man pinning her down.
It may also be surprising that her shame was not precisely due to the fact that the seven-inch prick working its way into her tight, hairless pussy belonged to her father. She had seen enough "after school specials" and had had been provided with sufficient health-class warnings to know that the molestation was not her fault, and any guilt associated with the incestuous aspect of this experience rested squarely on her Dad.
Certainly, several months ago, when her breasts had started to sprout and her hips had begun to take on their first real swell along the path to womanliness, she had enjoyed shaking her bottom in front of her father, the only male in the house. And yes, she had intentionally pranced around in only her panties and T-shirt from time to time, because doing so had given her a little thrill in her tummy.
But the little seventh-grader knew full well that these flirtations, although foolish in retrospect, were no justification for that night a few months ago when he had first crept into her room. The night he had first skinned her white cotton panties down her long legs and tossed them aside. The night he had first pushed her little Tee up to chew on her growing titties, before kissing and licking southward to part her swelling crease with his rude tongue. The night he had first shoved his thick, unforgiving fathercock into her juvenile channel and deposited his seed within her unprotected womb. Her silly behaviors were no justification for that night whatsoever, and she knew that very well.
Thirteen-year-old Lisa was perfectly at peace with herself about that unwelcome initiation on that first night months ago, and felt no responsibility for it, no shame in the fact that it had come to pass. She hadn't asked for any of it.
However, she did feel guilty about the fact that he kept coming back.
And he certainly had been coming back. Every night that her mother, a nurse, worked the third shift, she knew she'd be awakened in her bed sometime after midnight and end up with a cunt full of cum. Every evening that Mom was on the second shift, she knew she wouldn't even make it to bed without one of Daddy's loads. And sometimes, when Mom was on the first shift and left for work early enough, Dad would pack her off to school by first packing her pussy.