Daddy's Little Girl

Chapter 10

Overcome with emotion, without even noticing what she was doing, June's mother had gradually slid to the floor, more or less in a kneeling position. Against her mental will, her hands and fingers burrowed down between her shaking white thighs and groped inside the throbbing moist mass of her pubic hair. Her legs scissored open on the carpet, and she fingered her own passion-wet cuntal slit, moaning soft and low with sensual anticipation of her own climax. The tips of her fingers drew the narrow hair-fringed furrow apart, exposing the blood-swollen lips of her palpitating cunt to the warm, overheated air of her daughter's bedroom.

With a primitive groan, the aroused young mother sunk her middle finger deep into the little viscous mouth of her vagina. She held her breath, her eyes rolling ecstatically, her vagina feeling as if it were burning up and demanding much more than a single finger to feed its savage needs. Without hesitation, she inserted another finger, drawing her knees up on the rug with her buttocks waving high in the air. There was the creak of bedsprings as Brute leapt from the bed to the floor, and she crammed her fingers deeper into the secreting moistness of her vagina, her mind still full of lewd pictures of her twelve year old daughter's body locked beneath Brute's as his penis slid home and then out again.

Dora rocked back and forth on the floor, driving her fingers lewdly in and out of her burning cunt with ecstatic little sighs. She could still see Brute's huge thick cock ramming its glistening way into June's tenderly clasping young vagina, sinking between her parted thighs like a massively thick red log. Now Dora's hands became that gleaming shaft of flesh, and her gasps began to match all the others that had broken from June's sex-drenched lips in the past few minutes.

In her passion-crazed mind, Dora wanted only what her adolescent daughter had gotten. She wanted to be savagely split too, she wanted to be fucked, to use Jane Hammond's horrid word. Oh, how she wished Guy was here now pumping his own cum filled cock into her hot searing passage.

But her thoughts weren't enough as her mind raced lasciviously. She had to have more… more… anything… in desperation she curled up, reached back over her buttocks, searched that hot wet crevice, and then tried frenziedly to stuff a finger deep into her small puckered anus between her shivering moon-shaped buttocks, gasping as in her haste a fingernail dug into the soft fleshy walls, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her quivering body. She stilled, panting for a moment, and then took up her fierce masturbatory rhythm again, now with lingers stuffed lewdly in both apertures. Her full firm breasts hung in shapely, joggling unrest off both sides of her chest, her nipples fairly bursting with life. "Ooooooh – oh – oh!" she cried, electric tingles racing madly through her passion-drenched flesh, her whole body seeming to vibrate under her demanding fingers…

But by now, unseen to her in her mindless, hypersexed state, Brute had lowered his head to his helpless mistress' soft pink hair-covered pussy and was sniffing lustfully at the musky-scented flesh. The great German shepherd's tail wagged as his body trembled and his penis began elongating and tingling all over again, even though he had just finished with this woman's less than teenage daughter.

Suddenly Dora moaned instinctively in terror as the dog's cold nose made contact with her tiny puckered anus and the index finger she was furiously fingering it with. She tensed and groaned as she felt his tongue licked wetly up and down the crevice around it. Her finger came out swiftly with a moist lewd sound, and then the tip of his tongue was trying to burrow into the outer fleshy anal ring.

"No – Brute – don't!" she tried to protest, attempting to scissor her disintegrating legs. "I don't want it! I don't need it!"

But in this particular case, the dog appeared to know better than his mistress, for as she tried to squirm away, the German shepherd raised his head and growled dangerously. Then he began greedily lapping the narrow pink slit between her thighs. He ran his tongue wetly the full length of it, from the tight-closed little pucker of her nether opening, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and over the tiny sensation-bud atop her quivering pubic mound. His great tongue spread through the soft, hair-covered swelling like a knife through soft butter, flicking relentlessly between his beautiful mistress' widespread legs, and stopping only sporadically to curl its way deeply into her seething loins. Dora jerked spasmodically, groaning under the lash of that maddening tongue, squirming before her handsome pet as he lapped and sniffed at her aching pussy. She shuddered and gasped at the onslaught of purest ecstasy which seemed to be shaking her out in all her nerve endings from head to toe. In addition there was the delicious frozen chill elicited by the thought of doing something so wonderfully forbidden, of letting her dog lick her like this. Dora writhed with a combination of ecstasy and agony as Brute's bestial tongue cleaved her sexual crevice so flamingly in two.

Now her awkward frightened moans were changing to something more like soft, urgent mewls of pleasure – pleasure that she did not want to give in to, but which was so deliciously illicit – pleasure that she had intended to struggle against… but that slithering thick tongue, licking so hotly and without mercy at her burning cuntal slit, was forcing her to enjoy it regardless of all moral considerations.

Suddenly she raised her trembling hands, moaned something unintelligible and indecisive – then dropped them to grasp Brute's earnestly working head!

Uttering a savage animal sob, she suddenly kicked her legs back and up over her head, dragging Brute's snout forward into her well-lubricated, pleasure-churning cunt. His enormous tongue thrust up the moist passageway like an attacking lizard, ravishing her upthrust loins without mercy. Wild, incoherent groans burst from her agonized lips, pleading with and encouraging the dumb animal who was salivating between her writhing upturned buttocks.

Brute worked like the savage beast he was, the rutting lust of the wild and his devotion to his voluptuous russet-haired mistress driving him on…

By now Dora was so intoxicated with rapture that she was heedless of everything else in the world. Her mouth hung open in enchanted ecstasy as she knelt there before her own pet – her glassy, lust-smoked eyes stating up into nothingness as the powerful animal lapped hungrily at her hot wet loins. She could not remember when she had been so happy.

The dog's thick wet tongue ran like fire the entire length of her sexual crevice, above which her rapidly rising and falling belly fluttered as if filled with a million butterflies. The moist red slit of her vagina felt as if it was being drenched in sweet honey. Each fresh flick of Brute's magnificent tongue imparted a fresh torment. The dainty pleasure-button of her clitoris felt as if it were being teased by lightning, and had expanded into hardness just above the stretched pink opening of her cuntal entrance.

Brute continued to snake his wet tongue maddeningly over the quivering little nub of raw nerves at the peak of her steaming pussy slit. Dora's body jerked with each electric contact and her legs clamped tightly together around his furry head, the soft inner thighs imprisoning his snout in a vise-like grip.

Then her hips began a slow up-and-down movement in rhythm to the probings of his slavering tongue, while all the while endless groans mingled with soft animal mews of sheer pleasure from between her fiercely clenched teeth. She was trapped in a mindless fit of uncontrolled lust and her upper torso writhed like a belly-dancer's.

Her body seemed to be squirming out of control, twisting lustfully after the depraved lapping of her burning loins. Hopelessly, Dora surrendered to the nerve-shattering lickings of that dominating animal tongue within her moistly flaming pussy.

"Oh God," she groaned helplessly as the tantalizing licking dominated her entire being. She screwed her pelvis helplessly back onto his snout and worked it around in small little circles, sighing all the while at the delicious animal tonguing that was taking place at the very entrance to her soul. There had never been anything in the world like this urgent feeling, nothing else in the world but that fiercely lashing tongue which was sending her upward into such majestic heights of ecstasy. Dora reveled and wallowed in this lewd tingling joy until it seemed as if her body was going to explode into a thousand fragments. Her vaginal passage felt as if it were literally on fire.

"Ooooooh yesssss," she hissed, enslaved. "Lick me, darling. Lick your mistress!

Help me! Faster, darling, oh faster!" she begged, gasping for air. She was approaching orgasm and her body had become something animal and no longer resembling anything human, with her enormous fulsome breasts, swelled and hard and throbbing with blue veins, tossing this way and that, her dark auburn curls shaking all over, her pelvis grinding upwards into Brute's furiously lapping tongue while she held his pointy ears and tried to draw his snout right up into her cunt.

Then suddenly Dora began to feel the tide of sensation rising towards orgasm.

Beginning deeply in her fluttering belly, the very hopelessness of her position and the debasing ravishment of her flesh was bringing tiny ripples of fire dancing through her tattered nerves. Tantalized beyond belief, she felt her loins begin – at last – to hurtle outwards like a bright ball of fire towards an almost impossible climax. And then her insides were erupting in bright white flashes, and she felt and saw the cum gushing from the walls of her vagina and out over Brute's hyperactive snout until his very whiskers were dripping with the obscene wetness. A never ending stream of pleasure seemed to blow outward through her shattered nerves until she wanted to shriek and shriek and shriek for joy. She groaned as her orgasm flooded his handsome face in great sensual waves of cum, seeping warmly from her vaginal lips and down the insides of her quivering white thighs, the feeling so indescribable that she felt as if she must be dying from pure pleasure. The whole of the moaning mother's loins felt wet and used beyond belief, as for one long moment she shuddered with joy on the brink and in the middle of that most joyous orgiastic moment, and then screamed, jackknifed her legs twice, and fell forward on the bedroom carpet into her own soaking perspiration, tears of heavenly relief rolling from her tightly clenched eyes.

Guy Donovan shook his Chicago Daily News in his big hands, and occasionally glanced distractedly out the window of the evening commuter special that was carrying him from Chicago's downtown northward to the North Shore. Not long ago the Chicago amp; Northwestern had attached a drinking car to its commuter trains, but he did not feel in a gay enough mood for the bar. He was so preoccupied with other things that he was sure he would snap at anyone he met who tried to be friendly. And trouble was the last thing in the world he wanted just now.

Guy sighed and finally folded up the; newspaper, brushing his large hand back through his dark curly hair. He looked out the window at the swiftly passing city, a city of large factories, tall buildings thrown up with total disregard of all other human considerations save the central one: The making of money.

Here and there tenements dotted this masculine, factory city, and there were parks. Off to the east there was the pleasant skyline of high-rises mingled with the shining blue of Lake Michigan. Between the two lay an endless range of white sandy beaches, more so than strangers to Chicago might ever have expected, surfeited as they usually were on a diet of gangster stories from the "city of the big shoulders."

Guy Donovan looked glumly at his hands. They were large hands, the backs of which were fairly inundated with dark black curly hairs. The morning had not gone well.

For one thing, he had been almost continually distracted from the very beginning. Starting with the first hour that morning, when he hadn't been able to put his maturing young daughter June out of his mind for a single instant.

He had fumbled through his paperwork, and behaved distractedly with his secretary, and finally when the girl from the typing pool had showed up for their usual 10:30 tete-a-tete, he had been unable to imagine that it was anyone other than his voluptuously beautiful blonde daughter. As the girl had knelt between his legs and sucked so clingingly along the entire thickness of his throbbing hot penis, with her long blonde hair cascading over his half-naked loins and lying softly off against the insides of his legs, it was easy to imagine June…

June, with her soft, pliable little-girl lips, her far-from-little-girl breasts, her long, honey-blonde hair wafting along his legs…

Yes, it had been easy to imagine. And then when he had shot into the teenage typist's furnace-like mouth, and seen his milky cum bursting the confines of her still hotly sucking lips, it had been all too easy to imagine those were his daughter's lips, June's lips, June's fluttering dark eyelashes and deep blue eyes, June's pale silky hair… June's buttocks so well-formed and partly upraised… God, what a delightful suck she'd been! His own twelve year old little blonde girl with her sweet little tits and well-curved fanny… and no doubt with a soft sprinkling of golden hair all over her virginal young pussy …

Guy averted his eyes and leaned his head against his hand. He had to stop thinking of her like this! The whole thing was getting altogether out of hand.

Furthermore, he was deeply convinced that Dora was beginning to suspect something.

There was nothing that he could actually put his finger on; rather it was something he merely sensed very strongly. And then often when he was fucking her he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out June's name… maybe he had voiced it already.

Which was one thing the girl in the typing pool had over Dora – she didn't care whose name he cried out when he blew his boiling hot semen down her throat. He had been able to press his hands freely into her peroxide yellow hair, cursing out: "That's it, June! Suck big daddy's cock! Swallow my cum, baby! Suck me off."

God forbid he ever uttered a word of that in front of his wife, though!

And not that the business with the eighteen year old typist had really satisfied him. No, far from it. Afterwards he had only daydreamed about his twelve year old daughter all the more and what it could be like fucking her, and so on. He really had to get a grip on himself, because then during the Minnesota Mining conference in the afternoon the boss had insisted that he looked so distracted that he might be ill and should take the rest of the day off.

So here he was on the 3:34, heading northward ahead of almost everyone else.

His papers packed up in his briefcase in case he could get some work done in the evening. His chest seething with an obscene desire that he dared not name – an unnatural lust for his own daughter!

But then how could he help it? June was so unearthly lovely. She was so sensually developed for twelve. Her breasts were high, wide apart and shapely.

No normal man could keep his eyes off them. And when she fluffed out that long blonde hair over that hourglass figure… coupled with her invitingly soft pouting expression that a man could think only of kissing and in connection with nothing else in the world… lust was the only word to describe what a man had to feel, even if that man was her father!

He stared glumly out the window of the speeding train. Still and all, he knew very well that his feelings flew in the face of every taboo known to man.

Still, he would challenge anyone not to feel something with a daughter of such gorgeous plenitude wandering around the house, sometimes temptingly half-naked.

There wasn't a father anywhere who could help but feel affected in some way.

Guy shrugged. All this incest bit was just a lot of bunk. But then, thinking it was bunk and doing something about it were two different things! At least for him.

So where did that leave him with his beautiful blonde daughter June? It was true that he desperately wanted to fuck her, but there were too many obstacles.

For one thing, she would probably be horrified, even though she was a little prick-tease. Teasing was natural among burgeoning young girls; they were just exercising their sexual prowess.

But that didn't necessarily mean that she wanted to ball her old man.

For another, such an adventure would probably twist her psychologically. And for another still, there was his wife Dora, to think of. Prim but statuesque Dora. If anything ever happened in that house between himself and June, and Dora learned of it, all hell would break loose. Their comfortable marriage would be destroyed – and he truly loved his wife – June would probably be sent to a foster home, there would be a nasty scandal that might cause him to lose everything – job, marriage, home, the works – and Dora would probably have a nervous breakdown.

No, the ramifications were altogether too plain. Despite the terrible urge he felt toward his lovely blonde daughter, he would never be able to satisfy it by sinking his cock into what must be the healing warm balm of her undulating young cunt. That would never happen, could never be allowed to happen. He would just have to go along eating his heart out until this infatuation wore off.

But how could he forget the twin beauties of her two youthfully budding breasts, heaving as they always seemed to be doing, full and round and aching to be sucked?

He closed his eyes. He had to forget. He had to forget at all cost.

And so the train rolled on, carrying him northward, his body warming in this urgent resolve to behave himself however much it might tear him apart. He gazed out the window and watched the trees, factories and houses of Chicago passing along the Chicago amp; Northwestern line.

And so it was that Guy Donovan arrived home approximately two hours ahead of schedule, alighting easily, his newspaper curled up under his arm as he set foot on the platform at Central Street in north Evanston.

He walked to the stairs somewhat distractedly, considered moseying down to the drug store for a chocolate soda and rifling through some magazines, but thought better of that, and instead went right up Railway Road in the direction of Isabella Street, where the Donovan home sat in leafy arboreal familial essence beneath tall poplars and oaks. The wind whistled pleasantly through these enormous trees, and as he made his way thoughtfully across Railway Park in the direction of his heavily-mortgaged house, he found his loins beginning to stir with tremulous anxiety as he considered that if Dora had gone out shopping for the afternoon, he might indeed come upon June at home alone.

And his stride picked up faster.