Chapter 13: APOLOGY to PAULA

“You’re Paula! Happy birthday, daughter.”

“It’s nice you came home in time for my birthday, Daddy.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Baby girl.” Missed all the earlier ones, thirteen years worth. Why is this one so special and different?

Simple. Because I’m here for this one.

“Oooff! What in... ?”

“Our turn, Daddy.”

My two stranger teen daughters are sitting on me. I was, but no longer, taking a nap on the sofa, recuperating from intense welcome homes from Grandma and Sammy, and a grueling road trip on my motorcycle to get here.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, Daddy.”

Missy invites me to use her bed, and her room instead. Paula objects. I should really have her room. They begin a giggles inducing wrestling match, the object being to yank down the other’s spandex top. Fun to watch. Interesting to see who, or if there’s a winner. Would be except, I’m the wrestling mat. A tie. Two pairs of teen boobies momentarily revealed for a mere instant, and hastily re-concealed. Daughters are fun.

They’re both teases. This teasing accusation, I’m confident is justified. Both girls were wearing jeans and blouses, when they arrived home with the groceries and their moms and Granny. There is no excuse for their present skimpy attire, other than, they intend to tease me. Spandex tube tops, frilly top débutante socks, and satin bikini panties. Dad attention getters. Deprived and starved, they deliberately draw my attention to themselves, by parading their nubile bodies.

The last time I saw Paula, she was taking her first baby steps. Missy, I’ve never seen her, before today. Didn’t know she was my daughter until today. While involuntarily detained by Sheriff Dante at his western Hell ranch for boy miscreants, I learned second hand, Sammy had produced a new baby girl. Never imagined it was mine. Nobody told me about it either.

Grandpa consigned me to that Hell ranch, prior to my sixteenth birthday! I’ve never forgiven him and never will.

I refused to return to this house while he was alive. Recently, he died, and left it to me. A misogynist even in death, and completely ignoring his wife and all his many daughters, he bequests to me his worldly possessions and real-estate, favoring me alone because, I’m his son and only male heir.

Practical psychology is my lifetime study and hobby. The apple falls close to the tree, it’s said. Grandpa is my dad, but I don’t consider him as such. He wasn’t intending to sire a son, he was only trying to get his jollys when he fucked me into one of his daughter’s wombs. He fucked all of his daughters, and then also the daughters his daughters bore him, according to Grandma, herself another daughter of his.

As an undeclared practical psychologist himself, he may yet teach me a thing or two. Masterful manipulation this bequest.

Effectively trapped me into caring for his women for him.

I admire his brilliant ploy, without admiring him personally.

It’s sadly becoming clear, I have inherited another and less admirable trait, the lust for one’s own flesh and blood kin.

My teenage hottie daughters give me a nail hammer hardon.

So did my Mom. Then Grandma, my sisters, Aunts, nieces, cousins and sundry. We are an incestuous family. The women liked fucking him and now they crave fucking me. I inherited all of them, too. My lust and delight in my varied harem of relatives, won’t tolerate any thoughts of abandoning them.

Besides, I will need to sire a son to carry on when I’m gone.

So far, I have two children. Two gorgeous and sexy daughters.

Already I know, only just having met them, I’ll never be able to accept another man having either of them. They’re mine!