It was more than a week ago, now, but I couldn't stop thinking about that night. That shameful night. That disgusting night. A night I most desperately hoped would remain locked in the silence of the three participants. And make no mistake — a night I would love to repeat.
I had been home, late in the evening, sipping at my third or fourth drink. My wife of sixteen years was working the overnight nursing shift at the hospital. My fourteen-year-old daughter, Aubrey, had just gone upstairs to bed.
I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly, standing in my living room was the figure of a man. He must have come in through the garage, and then in through the kitchen door I had left unlocked. I usually took care to secure it.
Although it was a warm spring evening, the intruder was dressed in long sleeves, dark, and a ski mask. In his hand he held a rather heavy-looking handgun. He didn't point it at me — in fact, he simply stood there rather nonchalantly.
But one thing I can tell you. The instant I saw him I had no doubt he would get whatever he wanted from our home that evening.
"Wake-up honey. Aubrey, wake up."
"Huh, Dad? What's the matter? What time is it?"
"Hush, honey, listen to me. I don't want you to be afraid but you have to listen to me carefully."
"Dad, what is it?"
"Shh, just listen. We're not alone. In a second, the bedroom light is going to turn on, and you'll see there's another man in here. I don't want you to scream. He says that if we cooperate, nobody will get hurt. OK?" Her adorable eyes, which I could see well enough in the dim light, widened appreciably. She nodded silently.
Seeing this from his post, the intruder flipped on Aubrey's bedroom light.
Aubrey gasped, and blinked rapidly in the sudden illumination, but bless her heart, she didn't scream. The intruder brandished the steel in his hand, but didn't point it directly at either of us. Quietly, my brave little girl spoke.
"What does he want, Daddy?"
"I need you to be really brave, Sweetheart. He wants ... he wants to ... he wants to have sex with you. Do you know what that means?"
"What! Daddy, do something! I know what sex is. And I know what rape is! Daddy, don't let him do it!"
"Oh, Aubrey, I wish I could stop him. But he's made it very clear: if we cooperate, we live. If we don't, we die."
The intruder, not having spoken yet in Aubrey's presence, waved the gun around as if to emphasize the point I was making on his behalf.
"Daddy, I've never even had sex. Doesn't it hurt? Won't I get pregnant? Daddy, I'm afraid."
"Oh, Sweetheart, I wish there was something else we could do, but there isn't. Yes, it might hurt a bit the first time, but not too badly if you relax and don't fight it. And it does feel better later — otherwise no one would have sex, right?" She nodded slightly. "Honey, doin't get me wrong, it is really awful that you have to deal with this at all, and you are way too young, but you're going to be all right, OK?"
She nodded, nervously, her eyes darting back and forth from me to the silent figure of the intruder.
"As far as pregnancy is concerned, I doubt it. When did you last period start?"
"Gross, Daddy! I don't want to talk about that stuff with you, especially not in front of HIM!"
"Honey, it's important. When was it?"
"Um, almost four weeks ago."
"Well, see, you're completely out of the risky window. You won't get pregnant."
"Daddy, do I have to?
"I wish you didn't, Princess, but he says if you don't, you and I are both goners." The masked man nodded vigorously. He was only a little over five feet tall, and wouldn't look in the slightest bit menacing if he hadn't been holding that gun. But holding it he was.
"Aubrey, I'm afraid there is something even worse."
"Something worse? What could worse?"
"He says he has to make sure we never tell anybody that this happened. Otherwise, he'll have to kill us anyway."
"We won't tell! Will we, Dad?" my precious little teen daughter insisted, now energetically looking back and forth between me and the invader.
"No, we won't, but I already tried to reason with him, downstairs, before he marched me up here at gunpoint. That's not good enough for him. So he's going to make us do something so shameful, so humiliating, that in our guilt we'll be sure to keep quiet. And oh, Honey, when you hear what it is, you'll understand he's right. He's going to make us do something so disgusting that we'll never want to tell a soul, not even your Mom."
"What, Daddy, what?"
"He's going to make us have sex with each other, first. Then he's going to tie me to that chair and make me watch him have sex with you, too. I'm sorry, Aubrey."
A few minutes later the masked and taciturn man was seated in the rocking chair beneath Aubrey's "Hello Kitty" poster, his gun draped casually across his lap, while I disrobed my fourteen-year-old daughter.
Despite the bizarre and threatening circumstances, I couldn't help but appreciate the delicate beauty of my little girl. She was about five-foot-one, say a hundred pounds, and as cute as they come. Her big brown eyes grew even bigger as I unbuttoned her flannel pajama top to expose her little A-cup breasts capped with pink nipples. The man grunted, in apparent appreciation at this sight.
My brave little girl didn't utter a peep of complaint as I continued with my task. I pushed the garment back over her shoulders and helped her draw her slender arms out of the sleeves.
My hands were practically trembling with nervousness, and as I grasped the waistband of her pajama bottoms, I hesitated. Glancing back at our captor, I met his eyes. They sparkled, as though he were smiling behind his ski mask. He simply nodded, and so with renewed resolve I returned to my task.
"I'm sorry Honey. I need you to lift your bottom."
She lifted and I pulled, smoothly sliding her red flannel PJs and her white cotton panties together down her slender thighs. I paused when they were just above her knees, and gasped.
My precious child's hips had been broadening over the past couple of years, and so her smooth white curves were both womanly and childlike. Her pelvic arch was wide, for her thighs were still slender, so although her legs were closed, her gap was so prominent that I could have nonetheless easily slid my hand between her soft thighs to cup her mound.
And what a mound! Perhaps it was its near hairlessness, for only a feeble tuft of wispy hair, slightly darker than her honey-brown tresses, adorned her virginal muffin. Or maybe it was her juvenile build, which had yet to develop the supporting layers of fat to surround her pelvic center. Or perhaps she was in fact especially endowed in this regard. But whatever the reason, her prominent bulge was a puffy, fat-lipped, velvet-smooth, untouched glory to behold. I felt my own groin stir, whether I willed it or not. A low whistle from the direction of the rocking chair rudely reminded me of the situation. I tore my eyes away from my daughter's imperiled innocence long enough to completely remove her pajama bottoms.
I arose from sitting on Aubrey's bed, and put my hand to the fly of my jeans to begin disrobing myself. I turned to the masked man. "Please don't make me do this."
He just chuckled, and half-heartedly gestured with his weapon. It looked as though I was going to have to fuck my daughter, and then watch him do the same. My heart was racing, and my respiration was heavy. But not in anxiety, nor in fear, nor in grief.
No, the source of my adrenaline was even more primitive. It was lust. Whatever admittedly mixed emotions I had felt when I had first awakened my daughter, the sight of her nubile nudity had ensured that only one emotion remained: sexual urgency. I knew I should be hating myself, but instead I was impatiently urging myself onward.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head, and quickly shucked my jeans and briefs off. My turgid prick was bouncing in the air before me. Now it was Aubrey's turn to gasp. In instinctual response at the sight of what was probably the first erect, adult male penis she had ever seen, she covered her crotch with one hand, and her breasts with the opposite forearm. Her eyes betrayed outright fear. These sights made my treacherous cock bounce in pleasure.
This was my own daughter, for crying out loud! She lay naked before me, about to be coerced into intercourse with her own father. In addition to whatever concern that taboo might engender in her, she also seemed physically fearful of the admittedly oversized cock about to deflower her in incestuous union. But where this should have caused me great pain, and thrown me at the intruder's feet in supplication or at his body in fatherly rage, instead it elicited a tickling sensation of pleasure in my scrotum, and caused a drop of precum to swell at the tip of my rod.
"Let me warm her up first, at least," I pleaded, my voice husky in anticipation. I hoped that Aubrey would mistake the odd timbre of my voice for pain and frustration. "Don't make me stick it right in. Can I at least relax her — you know, with my mouth?"
The masked man smiled with his eyes as he silently nodded. I was sure he knew the truth. He knew I wasn't really asking to make Aubrey's ordeal a little easier. He knew I was asking to gratify my own twisted need to savor the sweet peach laid out before me.
Heck, I hadn't really even been asking permission. I could have simply gone right down on her, for he had not demanded any particular sequence of incestuous acts in service of his blackmail leverage. No, this was all me, and he seemed to know it. I was asking out loud only because I wanted Aubrey to blame him for what I was about to do for my own sick pleasure.
I tried to be gentle. I tried to restrain myself, to kiss her inner thighs, to breathe gently upon her sex, to draw her out a bit before I dove right in. But the friction of her baby pink coverlet against my steel-hard rod, in alliance with the taunting pout of her untried little schoolgirl cunt, made short work of any such methodical design.
My tongue swept through her groove within the first few moments, and her flavor sent me into paroxysms of pussyfeasting. My thumbs spread her meaty fucklips to aid my tongue in its delving, and for the next few minutes the heartiest team of Clydesdales would have had trouble hauling my face out of my little eighth-grader's crotch.
"What is that, Daddy ... what are you doing ... uhhn ... Daddy, you ... uhnn ... mmmmm."