Life with my wife and daughters

I couldn't sleep. I laid flat on my back in the bed, staring at the
ceiling. Trying to figure out how to re-write a program at work was
keeping my brain going against its will. My 34-year-old wife, Suman,
lay on her back beside me, sound asleep. I envied her
unconsciousness.
I got up and padded into the kitchen, wearing only my white cotton
boxers. I got a glass out of the cabinet, splashed a shot of scotch
into it, dropped in some ice cubes, and wandered on into the den,
where I switched on a lamp and sprawled out on the couch with the TV
remote.
Nothing was on at 2:00 AM. I stared mindlessly into the TV set,
occasionally sipping on the scotch, while the code for that frigging
program kept swirling around through my head. Finally my funk was
interrupted by the sudden, silent appearance of my 11- year-old
daughter, Simran.
"What are you doing up?" I said, setting my drink on the coffee
table.
"I can't sleep, " she said, rubbing her eyes.
"You too?" I smiled at her. She was a beautiful child -- long, dark
Brown hair, big Brown eyes, and milky white skin with still just a
hint of baby fat.
"Can I watch TV with you?" she said. She stretched, holding her arms
in the air above her head, her white t- shirt rising to expose her
little belly and the white cotton panties that were all she'd worn
to bed with the t- shirt.
"Sure," I said. "Get comfortable." I pulled up to half- sit, half-lie
on the couch with my head propped up against its arm; she snuggled
in between my legs, she also on her back, with her little bottom in
my crotch and her head rested on my shoulder, her face close beside
mine.
I suppose I must have fallen back into my mindlessness; it seemed
like quite a while before I was brought back to reality when Simran
said, "Mmmm... that feels good, Daddy."
Only then did I realize I'd been absently moving my hand up and down
her little front -- rubbing her tummy for a while, then gently
stroking her neck, chin, and face, then back to her tummy again,
much like I might have done with my wife had she been there in the
same position.
"You like that, do you?" I said, a little sorry I was now conscious
of pleasuring her -- I felt, now, that I'd better pay attention to
what I was doing and stop.
"Yes, Daddy, I like it. Don't stop."
I placed my hand back on her neck and -- now paying attention to how
it felt -- enjoyed the creamy smoothness of her skin. She made
another pleasurable little groan, and wriggled her little butt
around to settle in and get more comfortable.
I felt a sudden, gentle rush of affection for this sweet child of
mine and the innocence of her smile and her movements, and I pulled
back her thick, dark hair to press a kiss on the side of her neck,
just below her ear. She uttered something between a luxurious giggle
and another " mmm," and I started to smile too -- then I froze for a
moment when I realized that my Lund had twitched into the beginning
of an erection, pressed as it was beneath my daughter's bottom.
"Do it again, Daddy," she said, unaware of the terror that had
momentarily seized my mind. "That felt nice!"
Her little smile was irresistible -- and for that matter innocent --
so I dropped the fear and planted another little kiss on her neck.
She purred quietly with girlish pleasure, and I drew a little line
up and down the side of her neck with the tip of my tongue. And my
Lund moved again, this time beginning to steadily stiffen.
I gently took her face in my hand and pulled her head back into my
shoulder, and shifted my position to try and relieve the pressure on
my growing Lund. Simran squirmed and moved with me to adjust to my
new position, and in the end there was no change -- my lund, now
nearly fully erect, was nestled snugly between the cheeks of my baby
girl's butt, separated from it only by the cotton of our underwear.
In an effort to lose the erection, I tried paying attention to
whatever late-night drivel was playing out on the TV -- but Simran
suddenly squirmed again and said, "I think there's a rock in my
butt!"
I chuckled nervously, but she squirmed around some more -- as though
to feel it out more thoroughly -- and said, giggling, "There IS a
rock in my butt. What happened to your lap, Daddy?"
"Just something that happens to men now and then," I said, trying to
sound nonchalant.
"Does it hurt?" said asked, turning her head so that her big Brown
eyes peered curiously into mine, so close I could feel her breath on
my face.
"No, sweetheart, it doesn't hurt."
Then she scared the hell out of me. She giggled again, and said, "I
think it feels good." And saying that, she began slowly sliding the
crack of her tiny little Gand up and down the length of my now fully
erect Lund. She seemed fascinated by this new experience.
Not knowing what to do, I rested my hand on her tummy, gently
rubbing it while she wiggled curiously around on my Lund. And now
something changed -- a change for which I can find no accurate
words. Nothing was said, but we both suddenly knew that we were
someplace where we perhaps ought not to be -- but neither of us knew
quite where it was, and neither of us did anything to stop it,
because it felt good.
I was afraid to touch her. I rubbed her smooth little belly with my
left hand and cradled her head with my right -- I didn't dare let my
hands go anywhere else -- and just let my pelvis move in the natural
rhythm it took as it followed my cotton- clad Lund's ride beneath my
daughter's squirming buttocks.
Her eyes were wide and solemn, and her breathing uneven, as she
moved -- she knew something very rare and pleasurable was happening
between us, but she didn't understand it -- and her whole body rose
and fell as I, beneath her, gave up on controlling the thrusts of my
throbbing Lund.
"Daddy," she whispered, " this feels good..."
"Yes baby," I moaned softly, "Yes baby, it does..." Then I groaned,
pressing my face into my baby girl's hair as my lund let loose with
great hot spurts of cum -- nearly painful spurts, as squeezed as I
was beneath my daughter's tiny Gand.
We lay motionless for a few moments, apart from the post- come
twitching of my Lund, and then Simran said, "Are you alright,
Daddy?"
"Yes, baby, " I said. "I'm alright." I laid there with her cradled in
my arms, stroking her smooth, white face with my hand.
"We're all wet, Daddy," Simran said suddenly. "What happened?" My
Cum, now cooling, had made a big spot that soaked through my shorts,
and on through hers, to make us both wet and sticky. I was
uncomfortable now -- not just with a wet spot, but with confusion
over what I had just done.
"I guess Daddy had a boo-boo," I said. "We probably ought to try
going back to bed now. What do you think?"
She didn't say anything. Instead, she turned on her side in my
embrace, and pressed a sweet, pouty- lipped kiss on my mouth before
jumping up and heading out of the room and down the dark hallway to
her bedroom.
I laid there for only a brief while before rising, switching off the
TV and lamp, and stopping by the bathroom where I got rid of the
soiled shorts and cleaned myself up.
Suman, still lying flat on her back on top of the covers, woke up
when I crawled back into the bed. "Where've you been?" she asked
sleepily, never opening her eyes.
"Watching TV with Simran," I said.
"Simran? What was she doing up at this hour?" Suman stretched as she
spoke, raising her knees and beginning to slowly and absentmindedly
diddle her black- thatched pubic area. My wife was beautiful, with
olive skin, jet- black hair, and piercing dark Brown eyes that could
kill you with their sparkle. After sixteen years of marriage, thanks
in part to what I always thought might be a true case of
nymphomania; she still turned me on as though I had met her only
yesterday.
"Said she couldn't sleep," I said, "just like me."
"Hmm," said Suman, responding as though she'd forgotten she asked a
question. Her hips were rocking gently as her fingers, ever so
slowly, moved around her womanhood, lost in the black thicket of her
bush.
Possibly I shouldn't have done this. But I have never lied to my
wife, nor even withheld anything I felt was important to our
relationship. I sat up on the bed, my back leaning against the
headboard, my Lund dangling half- flaccid, maybe even obscenely,
across my right thigh. "She lay with me on the couch while we
watched TV," I said.
There was no reaction; it was as if she wasn't listening.
"I got an erection. A huge hard-on."
There was a pause, and then Suman said, "She's a beautiful girl."
"You don't seem concerned," I said. "This has me pretty bothered."
Suman sank two fingers into her moist opening, and squeezed her
thighs together, hiding both hands in her pubic patch, where they
dug hungrily away at whatever need she was trying with such
exquisitely lazy slowness to satisfy.
"I came," I said, a little annoyed by her seeming disinterest. "I
shot my load in my shorts."
Her hips bucked up -- seemingly trying to devour her hands -- as I
spoke.
"Did she know it?" she said.
"She knew something had happened. I don't think she understood."
"Was she bothered by it?"
"I don't think so."
Suman was quiet for a time, still digging away at the itch between
her legs. Her voice and breathing were a little uneven when she
finally spoke again.
"I always wanted my father when I was a child, " she said.
If I had been confused while lying on the couch with my daughter,
now I was doubly confused lying here with my wife.
"So do you think that's a normal thing?" I asked.
"I don't know, " she said, suddenly letting go of her bush and
rolling over on her side with her face practically pressed into my
Lund. With her right hand, she took my tired member and brought its
head to her lips. She flicked out her tongue and teased it, licking
slowly around the tip of it, sucking only the head of it into her
mouth, only to roll it back out and take it back in again at her
leisure. I was hardening again, and she started going down deeper
and deeper, looking up at me while she took more and more of my
thick nine inches down her throat.
Then she stopped abruptly, as soon as my Lund was back to complete
and throbbing erection.
"Be my Daddy, " she said, her dark eyes smouldering, drilling fiery
black holes into my own. "Be my Daddy and mujhe chodo."
After an unusually stressful week at work, it was finally Saturday,
and I was determined to do nothing at all but rest. My wife, Suman,
and our oldest daughter, Radhika, 15, had left early to go shopping,
leaving me and our 11-year-old, Simran, to sleep in.
I had risen earlier and showered and shaved, but returned to the bed
to just sit up against a pile of pillows and immerse myself in a
book -- some mindless piece of fiction I'd bought a few days before,
hoping I'd find a chance to get lost in it.
And lost in it I was -- forgot the whole world existed -- when I
heard a tiny voice at the bedroom door. It was Simran. She had
cracked the door open, and about all I could see was her face
peering politely in as she said, " Daddy, I need a favour."
"Come in, sweetheart," I said. "What's up?"
"Can I borrow your bathtub?" she asked, opening the door and
stepping into the room. She wore her usual sleepwear of a t- shirt
and panties, and her long, wavy, near- black hair -- so much like her
mother's -- was tousled by sleep, adding a kind of wildness to her
beautiful, milky- white face.
"Sure, baby, " I said. "But what happened to yours?"
"Radhika made a great big mess of the whole bathroom, and I don't
feel like cleaning it up," she said.
"Let her clean up her own mess, huh?" I said. "Just don't make a
mess of mine, ok?"
"Ok," she said. "And one more favour?"
"What, sweetheart?"
"Can I have one of your t- shirts?"
"Out of clothes, too?" I asked.
"Yes."
I started to get up and accommodate her - - then remembered I was
naked beneath the bed sheet that covered me from the waist down.
"Top drawer on the left," I said, nodding toward the dresser.
"Thanks, Daddy, " she said, pulling a folded t- shirt from the drawer
and disappearing into the bathroom.
As the door closed behind her, my mind wandered back involuntarily
to the night, earlier in the week, in which she and I had found us
curled up together on the couch in front of the TV, unable to sleep.
I still had mixed emotions over that moment. Holding my daughter
close in my arms, I had developed a hard- on and even come in my
shorts, excited against my will by the beautiful child in my lap.
Something in me -- call it the effect of centuries of Christian
civilization? -- told me I had been wrong, that I should be ashamed
of myself. But other things in me -- my intuitive sense that my
physical and emotional instincts, no matter how primal, should be
trusted, among other things -- told me that I should remain open to
this new sensation involving my daughter.
And in defence of that latter, my own wife -- my daughter's own
mother -- had been amazingly unconcerned about the incident when I
related it to her!
My thoughts on the matter swirled around lazily in my mind for a
while, then I turned back to the book I was reading, and to the
escape it provided. By the time Simran emerged from the bathroom, so
much time had elapsed that I had forgotten she was there.
She stood at the foot of the bed, wrapped in a white terry towel.
Her hair -- a tangled mess when I saw it last -- was now perfectly
coiffed, and she had a sweet smile on her full, pouty lips.
"Can we talk, Daddy?" she said.
"Sure sweetheart," I said, setting the book aside. "What about?"
She didn't speak. Instead, she crawled up on the bed and rolled
herself into position in my lap, her back pressed against my chest,
her head resting back on my shoulder.
She turned her sweet face up toward mine, smiled a mischievous,
girlish smile, and said " Nothing!"
I gave her a squeeze, my arms wrapped around her. Her big,
expressive dark eyes, just like her mother's, were irresistible.
"Mmmm," she purred, still smiling. "That's what I really wanted."
I smiled too. And, not really knowing what else to do, I just held
her close and rocked her gently from side to side. I loved her, and
felt it like a warm glow all over me in that moment.
"Daddy?" she said, breaking the silence.
"Yes, baby."
"Would you kiss my neck again like you did the other night? It felt
good."
"Yes it did, didn't it?" I said. But I was worried. Where was this
going? And at just 11 years old, should this child be initiating
this kind of contact with anybody, let alone her own father?
My hand shaking a little, I pulled back her thick hair to expose her
creamy white neck, and kissed it gently -- from just below her ear,
then a little lower, and lower, to her shoulder, and then back up
again... freshly bathed, so smooth and nice, it all felt too good...
She purred contentedly as my tongue and warm breath moved up and
down her neck, and she stretched out her arms and arched her back in
response. But with that amount of movement, her towel, only loosely
gathered at the front, came undone and fell open, exposing her body
down to her waist.
If she noticed, she didn't care -- I stopped in my motions at that
moment, but she said, "Don't stop, Daddy. You feel so good!"
Her back still to me, I pressed my lips against the back of her
neck, across her little shoulders, and partway down her back. With
each of my kisses came a sweet " Mmmm" from my baby girl -- and with
each of those, God help me, came a new stirring in my Lund, which
was starting uncontrollably to harden.
Once again, I was terrified, and my heart pounded furiously. But my
movements began to pay less and less attention to my fears, and more
and more to my daughter's own, innocent desire to be pleasured.
No longer frozen by fear in my sitting position, I stretched out,
rolled my baby girl gently off my lap and onto the bed beside me,
and threw back the sheet to get it out of the way.
Her towel fell free completely, but I could not yet bring myself to
look at her nudity. Instead, as she lay there, smiling, on her back,
I laid beside her, propped up on an elbow, gazing deeply into her
eyes.
"I love you, Daddy," she said, her own dark eyes reflecting my gaze.
"I love you too, sweet girl," I answered. My Lund was rock- hard now,
my heart beating with excitement. I wanted her, yet was afraid to
touch her.
"Kiss me Daddy, " she said. "Please?"
"Oh I want to, sweetheart," I said, "How I want to! But I'm not
really sure we should."
"I see you kiss Mommy all the time, " she said, plaintively. "And you
love me too, don't you? Doesn't that mean you can kiss me too?"
There was no point evaluating logic. She had convinced me -- even
without words. The look in her eyes had been enough. I bent toward
her, gently touching the tip of my tongue, then my whole mouth, to
her full, pouty lips.
She was of course no experienced kisser; but her mouth soon learned
how to follow the movements of my own, and in a few seconds she was
responding eagerly, even darting her own tongue about in response to
the motions of mine.
It was too much. Still not yet wanting to look, I let my left hand
move down her side as we kissed, feeling her smooth skin all the way
down to her hips, where I slid my hand beneath them and gently
squeezed at my daughter's tiny buttocks.
She purred audibly, lifted her hips as I squeezed, and kissed me
ever more deeply. She was learning...
Still afraid to go further, I drew back, and looked once more into
her face. She showed no fear, only contentment. She smiled sweetly
into my eyes.
"Don't stop touching me, Daddy, " she said. "You feel good."
"And you feel good, too, sweetheart," I said. And finally, as I laid
there propped on one arm, I let my gaze wander down the length of
her nakedness. My heart rate quickened as I saw that my daughter's
breasts were just beginning to develop -- and that a tiny, beautiful
wisp of jet-black hair was sprouting at the top of her as yet
untouched pubic mound. "You're a beautiful girl," I mumbled on, my
eyes returning to meet hers.
She raised up, placed an arm around my neck, and pushed me gently
backward, rolling me onto my back -- then rolled her on top of me,
stared intensely into my eyes, and plunged her little tongue deep
into my mouth with what was quickly becoming her skill at kissing.
Suddenly, as we moved together in our embrace, the head of my
throbbing Lund accidentally poked at her little pussy, and she
reacted with a delighted squeal.
"Oooh! Daddy has a rock again!" She rolled off me to sit up and
stare at my raging hard-on. She was silent, just looking at what she
had never seen before. I was uncomfortable, even embarrassed. It was
rock-hard, desperately in need of relief -- but what could I do? My
baby girl finally turned her head to look back into my eyes, her
expression terribly serious.
"Can I touch it, Daddy?"
I couldn't speak. After a moment, I just nodded my head and shut my
eyes. I quivered as I felt my daughter's soft little hand pat gently
at my nine-inch erection -- her movements were tentative, curious,
as though she were afraid of hurting it. I continued to keep my eyes
closed as she gradually lost her timidity about it, getting bolder
in her exploration of my member. She squeezed it, pulled on it,
stroked it, as though trying to figure out what one was supposed to
do with it.
I opened my eyes. My daughter's expression was serious as she looked
down at her tiny hands wrapped around my long pole, and
involuntarily, my hips lurched for a moment into a fucking motion,
thrusting my Lund up and down between her hands. I couldn't stand
it -- I was going to come just from watching the beauty of her
innocent explorations.
So, gently, I slid my Lund out of her hands' embrace, and laid her
back down beside me. That sweet smile came back to her face as I
stroked her hair and her cheeks with my shaking hand; and again, I
was filled with that burning glow of love for her.
I kissed her deeply as my left arm reached through her legs to grasp
her buttocks, my wrist rubbing gently on her nearly hairless slit.
My tongue moved down to kiss and bathe her neck, then the space
between her tiny breasts, then on down to her navel.
Her breath came in audible sighs as I finally moved down to the
space between her legs. I hesitated, staring at the tiny tuft of
black hair at the top of her slit. My own little daughter's pussy.
Simran groaned as my hot breath warmed it, and she raised up,
seemingly involuntarily, pressing it toward my mouth.
"Kiss me there, Daddy," she pleaded, " Please!"
Let me burn in hell, I thought, but I cannot resist this! I extended
my tongue and touched its tip to the very top of my daughter's
little slit. She gasped and bucked in response, and I dove in,
gently at first, then uncontrollably, licking and plunging at it
with a tongue gone mad.
Simran's hips bucked and lurched in response to each of my
movements, and she whined and whimpered breathlessly, sounding as
though she was torn between surprise, shock, and pleasure at this
new sensation.
Suddenly, her thighs locked themselves around my head, sweet juices
began to flood my face, and her voice because a tiny close- mouthed
scream that she tried to repress -- then there was an ear-
splitting " Ooohhh!" accompanied by such a squeeze from her little
thighs that I thought my head would be crushed.
So she remained for a few seconds -- noiseless, her vice- like grip
on my head unmoved -- then she dropped limp and motionless flat on
the bed. She had apparently experienced her first orgasm; I didn't
know enough to know whether 11-year-old girls were supposed to have
orgasms or not.
I looked at my Lund. It was oozing with pre-cum. I moved up to again
look into my daughter's face. Her mouth was open with a look of
surprise.
"Oh, Daddy, " she whispered. "Oh, Daddy. What did you do?" I didn't
know what to say.
"I just did what people do who love each other, " I said, finally.
Some moments passed, and Simran's breathing slowed gradually down to
its normal pace -- while my Lund, still unrelieved, twitched with
the near-pain of its throbbing erection. My daughter finally spoke,
in a whisper.
"Do you want me to lick you there, too, Daddy?"
My heart took another life- threatening leap in response to her
innocent offer.
"Yes, baby, " I said, my voice hoarse. "I'd like that very much." I
laid back, no longer able to hear the warnings rising in the back of
my mind.
My daughter moved down and gently took my Lund in her hand, and it
was all I could do not to come right then as I watched her touch the
tip of her tongue to its swollen head. It twitched uncontrollably as
she cautiously licked all around it, then down the sides of my
shaft, then back up to the head again.
Not wanting to speak, I just pressed the head of it up against her
lips -- and, as I'd hoped, she parted her lips and let me push it
gently in. Only the head and a little more went in, and I pulled
slowly out, then back in again, until she realized she could mimic
the motion herself.
I was insane with desire as I watched my sweet child bob her head up
and down over the end of my lund; it was all I could do not to
thrust too hard and choke her; it was when, while she sucked, she
looked up to rest her huge, innocent eyes on mine that I lost it.
My Lund exploded. Huge spurts of cum erupted, Simran jerked back her
face, startled, cum dripping from her lips, and my lund just kept
shooting loads of it everywhere as I fucked crazily at the tiny
hands that still gripped my shaft as though for dear life.
It seemed a wildly pleasurable eternity before my hips quit
thrusting uncontrollably; and when it all came to rest, I still lay
flat on my back, my daughter beside me in my arm, her face looking
into mine, her hand still loosely clasping my spent Lund. The last
thing I remembered before falling asleep was the sweet smile on her
lips and her hoarse, whispered, "I love you, Daddy."
How much later was it? We were still in that position when we awoke
to the sound of Suman, Simran's mother, coming into the room, home
from shopping.
"What in the hell is this?" Her voice was not particularly angry,
certainly not loud -- just firm.
Oh shit, I thought. Oh shit. I had no idea what might happen next.
And there was absolutely nothing I could say. Simran rolled sleepily
out of my embrace to sit up beside me on my right; I propped myself
up on my elbows.
For a long time, Suman said nothing. She sat down on the bed at my
left, and -- as though absentmindedly -- began fingering my flaccid
Lund, looking like she was trying to find something to say.
Finally, she looked at Simran and spoke.
"Are you ok, baby girl?"
"Yes, Mommy, " Simran said.
"Did Daddy hurt you?"
"Oh, no, Mommy, " she said.
"What have you and Daddy been doing?"
"Suman -- " I interrupted.
"You stay out of this," Suman said, again quietly but
firmly. "What," she repeated, " have you and Daddy been doing?"
"I don't know, " said Simran. "Just things. Things that feel good."
Suman pondered for a while. She was still fiddling with my Lund,
apparently unaware she was doing it; meantime, Simran was watching
the motions of her mother's hand.
"Did Daddy kiss you?" Suman said at last.
"Yes, Mommy."
"And you kissed him back?"
"Yes, Mommy."
Suman looked into Simran's crotch. "Did Daddy put anything inside
you there?" she said.
"No, Mommy, " said Simran. "I mean yes. He put his tongue there. Am I
in trouble, Mommy?"
"No, dear," said Suman. "Did it feel good when Daddy put his tongue
there?"
Simran smiled slightly at the question, and my Lund twitched in my
wife's hand.
"Yes, Mommy. It felt really good."
Suman seemed to remember that her hand was on my Lund. She looked at
it. Then she looked back at Simran.
"Did you play with this?"
"Yes, Mommy."
Suman began to pull and stroke at my Lund, and, despite my terror in
the situation, it began to harden.
"Like this?" Suman went on.
"Yes, Mommy."
"Did you do anything else with it?"
"Suman, please!" I said. Simran looked at me inquisitively -- did
she not understand why I was upset? -- then answered her mother.
"Yes, Mommy. I licked it, too."
"Show me," said Suman.
"Oh shit!" I said. "Come on!"
Simran looked at me again. God help me, I was hard again; and Suman,
unconsciously squeezing almost painfully on my lund, fell silent --
just staring deeply into her daughter's eyes, her full lips parted,
her breath coming unevenly. I wondered seriously whether she was
getting off on this in some way... Finally she spoke, her voice
trembling.
"Sweetheart, " she said, "why don't you let me and Daddy be alone for
a while now, ok?"
Simran -- rather naturally, I thought -- seemed confused by her
mother's behaviour. What did Mommy want? Was she angry? Was she not
angry? Our daughter got off the bed and started for the door.
"Simran," Suman said. Simran stopped and turned back to face her
mother. "Don't you want to put on your clothes first?"
Wordlessly, Simran went into the bathroom for a moment, then emerged
wearing the t-shirt she'd borrowed from me earlier, and went again
to the door to leave -- but stopped and turned before leaving.
"I love you, Daddy," she said, her eyes big and deep with emotion.
"I love you too, sweetheart," I said, attempting a smile.
Simran left the room, and Suman rose from the bed to stand at the
foot of it. There, she removed her shoes, jeans, and panties. Then
she stepped backward to lean against the dresser, her legs spread,
her hand massaging her thick, black bush. She HAD been getting off
with the whole scene...
"You," she said, looking at me with something close to anger, but
not seemingly quite anger -- and still diddling herself as she
spoke. "You are a miserable, lund- sucking child molester." Her voice
trembled, and her hips shook, with the last two words. I didn't dare
to say anything. She went on.
"And you..." She trembled still further, now seemingly near
tears. "And you're going to fuck our baby girl and you're going to
forget I exist, and you'll start fucking our other baby, and you,
you..."
"Stop it, Suman, " I said, " you're losing it. I love you. What
happened with Simran was an accident. Nobody planned it. I'll always
love you, and you know it."
Suman continued sobbing -- yet continued digging at her pussy all
the while, gyrating her hips, apparently somehow getting off in some
weird way with this whole scenario. She hastily pulled off her
sweater, shook out her thick, black hair, and removed her bra,
letting her beautiful, pendulous breasts hang free.
A couple minutes more of just standing there, masturbating and
crying at once -- then she got on the bed, straddled me, and lowered
herself over my still-throbbing lund.
"Please mujhe chodo!" she cried. "Please fuck your big girl! She
wants Daddy too!" With that, she used a hand to press the head of my
lund against her dripping wet cunt lips, then slid herself down on
it. In minutes, she was riding it like a demented fiend, her wild
black hair and huge breasts flying in all directions.
I was approaching orgasm as I turned my head to the right just in
time to see that Simran had silently reappeared at the door. Her
eyes were wide open, and her hand covered her mouth, as she watched
what she hadn't expected to see.
Suman, unaware, rode hard, still sobbing, but noisily approaching
orgasm herself; Simran stood motionless, apparently too captivated
to move, her hand still covering her mouth; and I came.
Bucking upward, hard against my wife's downward thrusts, I stared,
entranced, into Simran's wide-eyed face as I shot load after load
into her screaming mother's womb.
As it all finally came to rest, Suman collapsed on top of me, but I
continued to look at Simran. We stared wordlessly into each other's
eyes for what seemed an eternity before, at last, Simran turned --
seemingly reluctantly -- and left.
The look in her eyes and the uncommon desire -- call it lust, I
suppose? lust for my own daughter? -- that I continued to feel for
her, would remain in the back of my mind, and would trouble me
deeply, for days to come...
My wife Suman lay sound asleep beside me while I -- yet again -- lay
wide awake, unable to sleep. And I wished that it had been the usual
matters of work that kept me awake; but now, and for the last few
days, it had instead been my relationship with our 11-year-old
daughter, Simran, that kept me awake at nights.
Over the past week, we had had two instances -- both accidental,
never planned -- of sexual contact. The first had led me to orgasm;
the second had led us both to orgasm. With that second occasion, I
had crossed over into illegal territory: I had had oral sex, both
giving and receiving, with my 11-year-old daughter.
I was terrified. And making it still more complicated, my wife was
fully aware of the situation -- indeed, she had caught our daughter
and myself sleeping, fully naked, in each other's arms the previous
weekend. Her reaction had been completely inscrutable: I still had
no idea whether she was turned on by the whole idea, repulsed by it,
or wholly undecided. I had seen evidence of all three possibilities.
But the fundamental truth was that I had fallen in love with my
youngest daughter. And I felt the sentiment was mutual. At every
possible moment since the last time we'd had sex, Simran and I took
any opportunity we could to touch, to fondle, to tease, to kiss --
all the while feeling we were hiding an illicit relationship.
I was in love with my wife. But I was in love with my daughter, too,
in a relationship that was following the normal course of a new
love. Two relationships going on in the same house. At all levels --
morally, logistically, sexually, you name it -- it was terrifying.
On this night, the frustration was nearly unbearable. It had been
days since Simran and I had "been together" in the way that we
wanted to be, and my libido was ablaze with desire for my daughter.
As I lay looking at my beautiful wife, sleeping deeply and
peacefully beside me, my lund raged with a hard-on brought about by
my dreams of her baby girl.
On both of our previous occasions, Simran had come to me, and things
had unfolded in a natural, practically accidental way. I had not yet
consciously and willingly initiated sex with my daughter. Nor had I
yet completely consummated the relationship -- she had not yet had
me inside her.

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