(M/g, father/daughter, inc, ped, nc, sn)

By Phoebe

This work is copyrighted to the author 2004. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. Thank you for your consideration. Phoebe ([email protected])

Story in plain text here

Dear reader: Yes, I know this story is a departure for me, but I felt compelled to write it. My friend Sandy who now lives in prison and will do so for 40 more years was more of a victim than a perpetrator. She was made into what she was by a father who didn't know right from wrong.


Why had he done it? Why couldn't he have just humored me? Why did he have to antagonize me like that?

My Daddy's dead and I'm the one who killed him. What now? My life will end with this one act, even if the authorities don't punish me I know it's all over for me now.

From the very first moment that my father started acting scary and different I realized something bad would happen to me, I just didn't know that I'd end up killing him. I never thought it would come to that...


It all began such a long time ago; I think I couldn't have been more than 6-years-old at the time. I'm not totally sure what age I was; back when you're a kid time isn't all that important.

But I do remember that first time. It was after dark and my Mom had put me to bed like always. But when Dad came up to "tuck" me in I remember that he acted strange, he was nervous and kept clearing his throat and he looked sweaty.

He sat down on the bed beside me and when he leaned down to kiss me goodnight he held my head and pressed his lips against mine. At first I just kissed him back like I always did, but when he didn't stop, and when he held my head and pushed his tongue into my mouth I was so surprised that I struggled with him.

He continued to hold my head and kept him mouth on mind. I clenched my teeth so he couldn't stick his tongue inside my mouth anymore, but I couldn't do anything else.

I remember that I was frightened by his actions that I wanted to cry. I couldn't understand why he was treating me like some grown-up woman in the movies. I knew that his kiss was sexual even though I didn't know what sex was. I was six - not stupid.

When Dad finally sat back up he looked at me and nervously apologized for scaring me. He made it plain that he hadn't meant to do it, but that he and Mom hadn't been close with each other in a long time and that he'd just lost it.

That's the term he used, "lost it," I would come to know that term well over the next few years.

That was all he did to me that first time. He just apologized for scaring me and then got up, turned out the light and closed the door behind him.

I lay there for a long time in shock. I guess looking back I didn't know what had happened and I didn't realize that I was in shock, I just knew that something had changed in my life and that I no longer felt safe.


My father didn't come to my room to tuck me in the next night, or for almost a week. Being so young I was able to push the thoughts and fears to the back of my mind after a few days. So when my Dad came into my room to "tuck me in" again I reached up for him and let him hug me.

But I was in for another surprise, it wasn't a fatherly hug, it was a full body hug. He picked me up out of the bed and pressed my small body against his. I remember feeling his body pressing hard against mine and I knew that his penis was hard and he was humping it against my stomach.

Yes I know, at six I couldn't really know what my Dad was doing, but I'd actually seen my father naked several times, once even while he and Mom made love to each other, so I had a vague idea.

Looking back from an adult perspective I believe that he seduced my mother while I was in their bed one night just so I would see him naked and bonking Mom. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I knew what Dad was doing to me even if I was too young to know why, or the ramifications of what was happening.

That second time Dad didn't stop with just hugging and humping. After he'd "hugged" me for a while he laid me back down on the bed. I remember that I felt all out of breath and my body felt really strange and light. I didn't know that what we were doing was wrong, all I knew was that it made me feel weird and I couldn't look at Dad.

As I lay there looking away at the wall I felt him take my hand and he pulled at it. I felt my fingers bump into something smooth and warm.

I looked over to see what was happening and my eyes went wide at the sight of Dad's long stiff penis sticking out of his pants. My hand had been placed on his erection and he was holding it there, rubbing it against himself.

Dad whispered in a strained voice for me to grip it. I didn't know what else to do so I did as I was told. I remember feeling surprised when clear liquid came up from the little slit in his erect penis. The fluid was copious and soon coated his shaft and my fingers as well.

Then Dad began moving my hand up and down in his lap, slowly at first. He quietly groaned with pleasure and his penis slit emitted more and more of the clear lubrication as he moved my hand faster and faster on his shaft.

I remember the fear and anguish I felt when he groaned like he was in pain and white sticky gunk spurt out of his penis slit and high into the air. I thought I'd hurt him and started to cry, but I soon realized that he liked it and that he wanted me to keep moving my hand.

After a while Dad got up and apologized, saying that he'd needed it so badly that he'd just "lost it" and that he loved me for helping him. He went to the hall bathroom and got a wet washcloth and cleaned my fingers. Then he leaned down and kissed my gently on the lips and I knew that he loved me.

That kiss made me feel better and even the weirdness that had just taken place didn't seem to matter when I knew that my Dad "loved me" and I felt safe once again.


Over the next several months Dad would come into my room to "tuck me in" about once a week. And invariably he'd start out by kissing me like a grown up woman and then almost always he'd have me touch his naked penis until it spewed white stuff.

I know that I'm not using improper names for actions and reactions, but at that time I didn't know what to call anything and I'm trying to stay true to the moment by describing things as I remember then at the time they happened.

My birthday was on the 15th and Dad was going to take me on a fishing trip, just the two of us. Once I would have cherished that, but now I didn't really know him, and I was frightened of him because he was acting strange.

In my childish way I somehow convinced Mom to not let me go on the trip with Dad. I think he was hurt, I think he knew that I didn't want to be alone with him, because he didn't come to my room for a long time afterward.

Daddy also avoided me. He barely talked to me at the dinner table and after dinner he went out or worked in his study and ignored me. I was worried that he didn't love me any more. Even if I was a little afraid of him, I still loved my Dad and I desperately wanted him to love me.

Finally one night after dinner when Mom went next door to visit her friend and Dad went into his study I decided in my childish way to make up with Dad.

I often wonder if I'd just left well enough alone if things might have turned out differently. But I didn't leave well enough alone, I shyly approached Dad in his study and stood beside him and watched him work.

I realized that he was going to ignore me and I felt hurt. I knew what I needed to do to make him like me so I reached over and put my hand on his crotch. For a moment I thought he'd get angry with me, but the troubled look on his face lightened and he pushed his chair back from the desk and opened his legs.

I looked up at my Dad to see a contented smile on his face and I massaged him through his pants. Then he told me to undo his pants, and I did. I wanted him to like me again.

There it was, standing up straight and shiny, just like before. I wrapped the fingers of both hands around his shaft and began to move my hands up and down it as I'd been instructed in the past.

But this time Daddy wanted something more. He quietly said, "Lick it sweetie, lick Daddy's cock, c'mon sweetie, please do it for Daddy."

At first the idea of licking him there was repulsive to me, but I wanted him to like me again and I couldn't think of any way NOT to do it. So still moving my hands up and down I tentatively stuck my tongue out and licked the end where all the stuff comes out.

That's all it took. I got several shots of hot white Daddy-spew splattered all over my face. I hadn't realized what was happening until the third spurt slapped me across my nose. I jerked my face away and began to cry.

Daddy cuddled me and told me what a good girl I'd been and how much he loved me. He got up and went to the kitchen and brought back wet paper towels and washed my face and then kissed me and told me again that he loved me.

That night when Daddy came up to tuck me in, that's what he actually did, he kissed me and told me what a good little girl I was and that he loved me more than anyone else.

I went to sleep that night in perfect contentedness. My Daddy loved me again and now I knew what to do to make him keep loving me.


After that time in the study I sought HIM out. I always made sure that Mom was out or asleep when I approached Dad. It soon became a habit for Dad to "work" late in his study and when Mom went to bed, I'd hear her and sneak down to be with Dad.

It's strange what can seem normal to a small kid. I guess if you don't know anything else, even perverted behavior by your parents seems normal. I became my father's little blowjob/handjob whore and I didn't even know it.

Looking back I now realize that I was manipulated into doing things for Dad. He made me feel like he wouldn't love me if I didn't make him feel good. So I made sure to keep him very happy.


Over the next four years, we'd meet in his study two or three times a week, whenever Mom went to bed without Dad. But when I turned eleven Dad wanted to take me on that fishing trip "just the two of us" like he'd wanted to do when I was six.

This time I didn't try to get out of it. As I said before, I'd grown used to things the way they were. I even was beginning to feel my own arousal now. Actually I'd been feeling excited for almost a year by then.

Watching my Dad's body jerking and his head moving back and forth in pleasure gave me "pleasure" the kind of pleasure that confused me and excited me and left me with a "wanting" feeling, a vague feeling of unrest and a wetness between my legs that I hadn't mentioned to him.

Anyway we went on that fishing trip and my Dad ended up fucking me. I say fucking, because by then I knew what "fucking" was, I'd heard about it from friends who'd heard about it from friends. But I think I was the first girl in my group to actually "do" it.

I'd go into what happened that first time, but to be totally honest I'm not really sure what happened. We were in our sleeping bag, (Dad had zipped the two bags together) and we were talking about the day, then suddenly he moved over to me and shoved his dick into me and started fucking me.

I didn't know what to do, or how to react, so I just hugged him and held on.

It didn't last very long and I was in pain most of the time. I think it was more that he was so big and I'd never had anything in me before. I do know that the next time there wasn't much pain and by the time we started fucking on a regular basis I was enjoying it as much as him.


I became my father's lover on that fishing trip and remained so for the next five years. All through high school I never had a boyfriend, I never dated and all the kids at school thought I was just a weird recluse.

What could I say to them? Sorry Charlie, but I'm already dating my Dad! Or No Neil, I can't let you fuck me; I'm already doing it with my Dad!

I don't think so.

So I ended up hanging out with the misfits in school. Being a teenager, it was impossible to be a complete loaner, I have to identify with something or someone. It's a growing time when kids are trying to find their identity and mine was stranger than any of my friends.

I slowly fell into the "Punk" scene, dying my hair jet black and then purple; shaving my body, once I even shaved my head in my junior year. (I got suspended for week and the school administrator made me wear a wig until my hair grew out enough. You should have seen my wigs! Bozo the clown comes to mind.)

My Dad tried to keep me on the straight and narrow, but with what I had on him, he couldn't push me too much. Plus if he wanted to get any sex, he had to lay off when I got pissed, or I'd tell him to fuck off when he came to me with a hardon.

Then I started getting into drugs and piercing and even a little mutilation and all the while my Mom was mystified and my Dad was miserable. He kept telling me that I was a beautiful kid and that I should treat my body with more respect.

One night just after I graduated from high school our relationship took a turn. I had shaved my head again into an 8" Mohawk and had stayed out all weekend doing sex, drugs and heavy metal and when I came home I looked pretty rugged.

Dad yelled at me, telling me that I looked like a cheap whore and that if I kept this up I'd be dead before I was twenty-five.

I wasn't feeling well, and I guess the pounding headache didn't help. I turned on him and yelled at the top of my voice, "If I look like a fucking whore, it's because you made me into one!"

Right as I said it I knew I'd really blown it. Mom was in the room and there were several neighbors in their front yards who I knew must have heard me.

I was standing there wearing my punk attire (leathers and shreds) with my Mohawk and I was yelling for the world to hear that my dear Dad had been molesting me.

As it turned out, everyone ignored me, except Dad of course. That little display had scared the shit out of him. The world had changed by then, sexually molesting your little girl could get you put away for life now, where back when it had all begun the penalties had been much less severe.

I'm not sure what snapped in Dad, but after that stupid incident he wouldn't let me touch him again. I tried seducing him time and again, but no matter what I did, or suggested he would rebuff me.


Several months after that incident Dad joined a church and began dragging Mom along with him every Sunday. Then to beat all, the shit began preaching at me to change my ways. He was calling me a harlot and a sinner. In private moments I called him a few choice names too, but he just said that he'd answer to god when his time came at he'd do good works until then.

What turned everything really bad was when Dad tried to have me committed. It was one of those interventions where you hire thugs to grab and "beat sense" in to you through a little tough love.

We'll I had just turned twenty-five and was pretty much living on my own, having abandoned my asshole father and now my quite mad mother to their fait, when I got grabbed.

I was held for seven days and made to do and say what they wanted to hear. They washed the mousse out of my Mohawk and pulled out all my studs, burned my clothing and preached to me for days on end.

I played along with them, what else could I do? Then finally the stupid bastards let me go.

But instead of going home to thank my father and mother for redeeming me, I went to a punker friend on mine and got some duds to wear and shaved my head and moussed my hawk and went to the mall and bought a stud for every hole I had including a custom one for my clit.

Then I went home to say hi to Daddy...

Like I said, I didn't mean to kill him, it was almost an out of body experience for me. But when he started calling me a whore and a sinner I just "lost it" as they say. I grabbed the gun I'd taken from my friend's house and made Dad go into his bedroom. The bedroom that we'd fucking in more times than I could remember.

When he started badgering me again I pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet hitting him in the face knocked him back onto the bed. His face had disappeared. I was in shock, I hadn't meant to do it.

I was numb all over as I climbed onto the bed next to my bleeding father and hugged him, I cried for both of us then. I knew that I'd ended two lives, and for what?

He'd called me a whore and a sinner? He made me into a whore and a sinner; he was my teacher, my lover and my father. The son of a bitch. I lay there, hugging him, listening to his breathing slow, then stop. Now all I had to do was wait and see what happened next...


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