She's out right now, having a wonderful time I'm sure. My 18-year-old daughter Meagan.
We live together, just the two of us. Her mother and I got divorced two years ago because she wanted to 'find' herself. Last I heard she found herself in the bedroom of her yoga-instructor and they'd moved to somewhere in Asia. Probably something to do with Buddhism in some way. Funny thing is, I never really cared, and neither did Meagan. I'd stopped loving my wife some time before that. She'd cheated on me before, and although her mouth told me she'd been really sorry, her eyes had always told me different. It was almost like she had expected that just saying sorry would have been enough because aside from that there was virtually no change in her attitude.
Meagan didn't care about her leaving that much either. My ex – Jill – had always been picking on her, always criticizing. Nothing she did was good enough for her mother. When she was younger she'd been hurt by it; later she just allowed it to go in one ear and out the other, often making her mother even angrier. I could tell that when she got the news that her mother had packed her bags there was no emotion or sadness in her. It was like hearing what we were going to be having for supper that day.
Meagan and I had always been a different story. She was daddy's little girl. I love her to death and while there were moment I had to be tough on her, it was always truly justified and those moments were few and far between. I always wanted her to have the best and happiest possible youth she could have. Maybe that's why, aside from the cheating, I ended up no longer caring about my wife. Because she was fucking with my dream of raising our child to be happy and have a lot of lust for life.
My daughter and I have been happy ever since my ex-wife closed the door behind her. We'd gotten even closer, in fact, because there was no longer any spoil sport in the room. We'd hang out together, go to the movies, go out for diner, etcetera. We were father and daughter and we were buddies as well. I could tell she loved me as much as I loved her.
But somewhere along the way, another element entered into the realm of my feelings for her. I guess the slightest bit of it came into my mind when she was about sixteen, shortly before her mother had left. It was subtle back then, but also insidious. It would be about noticing just how good she looked in bath wear if we were on the beach. She had filled out to be a woman at that age; and when I say 'filled out' I mean filled out. She was bigger than her mother in that department. And she wasn't embarrassed to show it either. It was to the point where another father might have gotten somewhat upset at how she presented herself, or at least worried. But me, I don't know if it was pride, my insistence that she do whatever would make her feel happy and comfortable with herself, or ... something else that had creeped in. A sort of forbidden exhibitionistic kind of lust. A kind of 'look at what I created, boys. Isn't it enough to get you hard?'
I didn't actually think that way; as I said it was subtle and insidious. In my subconscious. I'd usually think 'what the heck was that' only afterward and quickly dismissed it. But it came back every time since then, and it became more obvious and more frequent. It's a haze to me exactly at what point I finally told myself what the nature of these thoughts were and if I had felt any guilt about it at all. I don't recall ever feeling any guilt about them.
Anyway, over two years later and I have fully embraced that I not only love my daughter more than life itself, I also lust for her. But don't think this is one of those stories where I tell you: "and then she realized I was hard for her, she seduced me and we fucked and lived happily ever after." Like I said, I love her and wouldn't do anything to hurt her.
But nothing stopped me from having increasingly sordid fantasies about her. Some of them in which I forgot my role as her father.
Take right now, for instance. Meagan is out right now, with her friends. Both male and female. And I just can't help getting these thoughts to enter my brain. I know she has feelings for one of the boys. I know because she told me. We're that close. She even told me she hoped she would be getting closer to him tonight. Without her knowing about it, I hoped it too, but in another way altogether.
I know a father is never supposed to think like this. I know a father is supposed to be worried about what might be going on right now. About if any boy is taking advantage of his little girl. So why is that exactly the thing I'm fantasizing about?
Make no mistake, I'm not fantasizing about any boy being rough with her or raping her, but unlike a regular father I'm fantasizing a boy is making moves on her, for the specific purpose of getting laid in the worst way ... and she'd be giving it to him, in the worst way.
As I sit here, writing my thoughts down, my cock struggling to break out of my pants, my fantasies seem to clash with my sensibilities. If I'd find out a boy really did get in her pants, maybe I would be upset like any other father could, and maybe should be. Yet, simultaneously, I'm fantasizing that it is happening, right now.
I'm thinking ... about my precious daughter ... sucking a boy. I'm thinking about that face I've seen every day since the day she was born, working back and forth, up and down, on some young man's throbbing prick. In my mind I hear an obscene audio mix of male grunts, female groans and heavy slurps. My girl's lips wrapped tightly around his fat, turgid pole and swiftly sliding up and down along the length of it, leaving white foaming rings of warm spit. Thick strands of drool oozing down from it and from her chin. I'm thinking about her gorgeous blue eyes, alternately looking up at him and rolling up into the back of her head. I'm thinking about her long, blonde hair whipping around from the speedy bobbing motions of her head. I'm thinking about her small nostrils flaring, breathing in air and the scents of saliva and male musk. I'm thinking about the boy's heavy balls slapping against my little girl's chin, and about his ass cheeks clenching and unclenching. At some point he'd even be outright fucking her face. My Meagan may be wrapping her hands – her fingers - around his taut buttocks, even delve in between them. Is she nasty like that? I'm fantasizing she is, with me raising her to be open and explorative. To seek what it is that makes her happy.
Why is a father fantasizing about some strange boy doing these things to his darling daughter, with it turning him on instead of infuriating him? Is it pride? Is it a combination of lust and just hoping whatever she wants to do, happening to her? There is no jealousy in my lust for her. My fantasy dictates that I wish it was happening, and that I was THERE, to watch it happening with my own eyes. In reality I don't know if I'd by flying at the boy's throat and snapping his neck, but I must say I doubt it, unless he'd be forcing her to do anything she didn't want to do.
Oh fuck ... These thoughts...
Her lying on the ground ... her hot, 18-year-old gorgeous figure. Her legs spread and knees pulled up. I've never seen her pussy, at least not since when she was a little girl. In my mind it's shaven bald, a long red slit shimmering from copious juices; tiny pink asshole winking from between her soft ass cheeks. The boy is naked and moving himself between her legs. Her arms are wrapping around his shoulders. Their mouths mash together in a wild, passionate French kiss. One of his hands is on one of her tits, squeezing it and tugging at the turgid pink nipple. The other hand seems to be positioning the head of his shaft and I see his ass surge forward. He's entering himself roughly into my precious girl. She gasps and groans in heat. His cock is sinking into her 18-year-old cunt down to the balls. I can see it. My vision is roaming and now it is positioned between their legs where I see inches of his rock hard, throbbing cock appearing and disappearing from, and into, Meagan's sodden clutching groove. I see both of their assholes, tightening and loosening rhythmically along with the tightening of the rest of their muscles. Pussy juices collecting around her pucker. Her legs are wrapped around him and her bare heels are digging into his ass flesh. As the boy fucks my Meagan her toes are curling. Her hands grab his ass to pull him into her. His motions turn into slams. The boy is slamming my precious daughter now. Sounds of bare flesh clashing. His balls slapping into her ass cleft. They don't hold back on their grunts and whines. I hear her voice, never before during sex and passion, but now I hear it and it makes me love her even more, like an aspect of my own flesh and blood I'd never known. Did I hear an "Oh Daddy"?
Is she really doing these things right now? Is she chatting, laughing, eating, dancing; or is she fucking? I'm her father but I wish I knew, not because I'm worried but because I really like the idea of her getting ploughed right now, as I sit here thinking about it. About her beautiful tits jiggling as her steaming cunt is split open by a boy's invading manhood. I feel a tinge of guilt, not because I'm thinking about these things in and by themselves, but because I realize that I probably should be getting hot steaming mad at just the thought of some punk being inside my daughter, and yet it is what I'm fantasizing is happening. I love her so much and I don't hold back showing her I do; am I a horrible father hoping that she is getting pounded, or that she is sucking some guy off, or that she...
Holy fucking shit...
.... There is more of this story ...