Chapter 1

Becky climbed onto my lap and wriggled until she was comfortable. I’ve told her that, having reached the tender age of fifteen, it was now inappropriate for her to do so. The problem is that schools teach children about sex and so on from what seems to me a very early age, and she knew why I got hard if she rubbed against my prick the right way. She was also full of teenage hormones which made no allowance for social acceptability and legal niceties.

“Becky!” I protested. Her mother was upstairs in her workroom, ironing the latest batch of clean laundry. “If your mum catches us, she’ll be cross, and probably ground you for a fortnight. God knows what she’ll do to me.”

Becky wound her arms round my neck and kissed me on the lips. “I know, Daddy – and I don’t care. I like being on your lap, and I know you like me here, too. I can feel you, you know, and it makes me wet. Mrs Cramer says girls get wet when they’re ready to have sex.”

Mrs Cramer was Becky’s sex education teacher. I’d met her at a parent-teacher evening, and she’d struck me as not the right kind of person to be teaching girls how – and how not – to have sex. Flighty and flirty she was, with an apparent disregard for female modesty and decorum. When we’d met, she had been sitting with crossed legs and a very short skirt: while we were talking, she uncrossed and let her knees slide apart. If I’d tried a bit harder, I would have seen her panties. Naturally I did not – try, that is – with Becky sitting there beside me. Unfortunately, she seemed to be taking her teacher’s actions as a ‘teaching point’. Ever since, she’d been rolling up her skirt waists, sitting facing me, and letting her legs part. I was relieved when her mother didn’t seem to notice, or for sure she’d have had something to say, to both of us.

“I know that.”

“And when men get hard, like you are,” she continued, “that means they’re ready to have sex, too.”

“That’s true, but the golden rule, if trouble is to be avoided, is to keep it in your trousers. Or panties, in your case.”

She wriggled again. My prick was so hard the movement hurt. I reached down between us to adjust its position – and found the back of my hand was touching bare flesh where there should have been panties – at the very least, and really, a skirt as well. As I made my discovery, she moved her own hand and placed it on top of mine, forcing it to move up and down against what felt like her mound.

“Mmm,” she moaned, releasing my hand and pressing on my erection. She stroked it a couple of times, then felt for my zip, rising just far enough to be able to slide my zip down. She insinuated her hand and wrapped it round my prick, tugging it out and free from its confines.

It was oozing precum, and she spread it around the fat head and shaft.

“Becky!” I protested – but in a whisper: I didn’t want her mother, my wife, to come downstairs and catch us in flagrante.

Truth be told, I was enjoying this, and I knew I shouldn’t be.

“Hush, Daddy. Just let me...”

She dragged the weeping head of my prick along her slit, standing in order to give her the space she needed – my prick is fairly long, so she needed to be almost on tip-toe.

And then I felt it – my prick lodged itself in her entrance.

“Becky! We can’t do this,” I protested again. “It’s illegal and immoral, and your mother might catch us. And besides, wouldn’t you prefer to be doing this with a fit young man – next year, when you’re past the age of consent?”

“Daddy! I’ve wanted to lose my virginity to you since I was ten.”

She wriggled again and suddenly my prick was inside her, pressing against her maidenhead. The warmth and tightness of her virgin channel enveloped my shaft and nature took command. I jerked my hips upwards and broke through her hymen. She yipped with the sudden pain, held herself still for a minute or two, before dropping until she was resting on my balls.

“Ugh! Glad that’s out of the way,” she said.

A moment later, she used her legs to raise and lower herself on my stem. The sensation was exquisite. I felt the first twitches in my balls that heralded an imminent ejaculation. I grabbed her shoulders and held her down, to stop her rise and fall.

“Becky! We’ve got to stop or I’ll cum.”

“Mmm!” she said, and started to do something very exciting with her vaginal muscles, causing them to squeeze my cock like a milkmaid.

At that moment, we heard her mother coming down the stairs. We didn’t have time, let alone the inclination, to pull apart, so she simply felt behind her to arrange her skirt to cover us, then leaned forward against me and closed her eyes. A moment later, Liz entered the room and glanced at us, without comment, but I could see it in her eyes that she wasn’t best pleased.

“You really shouldn’t be doing that,” she said at last. “She’s a big girl now and you could get her pregnant.”

Becky chose that moment to resume her muscular massage of my prick. The need to pump her full of my seed returned with a vengeance. I slid one hand down and behind her to check that her skirt covered our connection, wondering with what bit of my mind that was working, what had caused Liz to say what she had.

The feel of my hand on her rump caused Becky to lurch forwards, sheathing the rest of my prick in her depths. It was the last straw, proving more than I could stand to delay the sudden gush of semen. My prick pulsed again and again, sending what felt like pints of seminal fluid into my little girl. I stared, somewhat glassily, at Liz, who seemed quite calm while I inseminated her daughter

O M G, I thought, what if I’ve gotten Becky pregnant? I could feel my stuff leaking out as my cock began to shrink, beginning to soak my balls. There would be an almighty mess when she eventually climbed off me. Meantime, I could only stare at Liz, who pursed her lips for a moment before turning to retrieve a box of tissues from a side table, which she passed to me before leaving the room and heading into the kitchen.

I pulled a wodge of tissues from the box and packed them between us, round my cock. Becky gently rose up and I slid out of her, jamming the flood trying to escape her tunnel with the tissues, and reaching for more. The smells of fresh sperm and happy girl filled the air. I hoped Liz hadn’t noticed – not much hope, I know – and vowed to open the windows next time – if there was a next time.

And Liz had passed me the tissues. Why? It was as if she’d known what Becky and I were doing.