Chapter One: Serendipity

Editing my story was proving to be difficult yet again. Welcome arousal flowed through me like warm heat penetrating a winter-chilled body. I tried to focus on the words and ignore the imagery. Were they spelled correctly? Did they express the emotions inside me?

'Like an angel, my daughter watched me with warm amber eyes so full of young love, so full of sweet yearning, the slightest blush on her cheeks revealing a beautifully attractive shyness at being almost naked in front of her father. Her delicate blue bra teased me, the small cups bashfully hiding her blossoming youth from my eyes. Her slender body stretched out on the bed, long, lean, still an adorable adolescent girl, her hips narrow and stark. Blood pulsed in me bringing with it a slight roar in my ears, and my erection, straining inside boxers, felt thicker, so hard it ached. Cute pastel pink panties with white elastic shielded my young girl's pussy from sight, the cotton gathers teasingly hinting at the incredible, sensual shape of her adolescent mons underneath, ripe, succulent, intensely desirable. I had a sudden, desperate urge to kiss my daughter's pussy. With a gentle smile to reassure her, I succumbed to the powerful desire, bending and pressing my lips to soft cotton, her lush pussy yielding. I inhaled and caught the dizzying . . .'

Yeah. Those were the right words. My erection flexed in agreement, boxers damp. The story had the right effect. Tonight I'd read it in bed, lose myself in another of my fantasies, and find sweet release.

After a quick review of the formatting, I opened an FTP client and connected to an online story site. One minute later, the story had been added to my site for others to read, enjoy, or criticize.

The front door slammed shut. With a few fast clicks the FTP client history was cleared and the program closed. The HTML editor was shut down, the browser was closed, and, with a few keystrokes, my private folder was once again safely hidden behind unbreakable 256 bit AES encryption.

"I'm home, Dad!"

"How was it?" I yelled.

"Fine," Sasha said casually in a more normal voice, strolling into the study and around my desk.

Turning my face, Sasha leaned over from beside me and kissed my cheek.

"No hug?" I asked.

"I'm all sweaty. I'm gonna shower," she announced.

"What do you want for dinner?" I called out, my nose full of her scent; lemony with a hint of pear and an enticing trace of exertion lingering from her dance class.

"Anything you want," she announced, gracefully ascending the glass and metal staircase to the second floor of our condo; one of eight expansive apartments created by an old four-story garment factory conversion with retail space at street level.

Glancing out through the large multi-paned study windows I checked the weather. Darkness had fallen. A cold autumn wind gusted. Rain sprinkled on the windowpanes. It made me shiver. I loved living in New York except for cold autumn weather. It made the city appear dreary at twilight before lights were turned on and the magic of the night city emerged; alive, bustling, its energetic frenzy adding excitement.

A few clicks of the mouse and the draft of my latest novel opened. I tried to concentrate. Chapter twenty-four. I couldn't. My mind was back on my other story, the illicit, erotic one I'd uploaded. Like every other time I'd completed one, I knew my legitimate writing was finished for the night.

Opening the anonymous TOR browser, I navigated to ASSTR.ORG and to my site. Fifty-eight stories were now listed; almost three years of fantasies. I clicked on the latest, Serendipity, the story of a hidden attraction between a father and a daughter, sexual desires held by each but unknown to each other; a journey of sweet discovery, passion, and raw pleasure. A familiar wash of arousal flowed through me. I might be a very successful author with several bestselling novels to my name but my other stories - the illicit stories - satisfied deep desires that had been with me since I became aware of sex.

With a satisfied nod, I closed the Internet browser and stood up, stretching my back. Another glance at the dreary weather outside confirmed we weren't going out for dinner. I'd cook.

Leaving the study, our large open plan apartment greeted me, familiar and comforting; distressed dark brown leather furniture, a flickering gas fire in a freestanding circular iron and stainless steel fireplace, an extensive home entertainment center surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with well-read books. To the right a simple smoked glass and chrome dining table sat near the open plan kitchen. Warm solid wood floors met cool cream-colored terra cotta tiles on the kitchen floor. I was proud of our condo. It represented success, the reward for hours of hard work.

Moving to the fridge, I pulled out a half-consumed bottle of white and filled a wine glass with the light amber wine. With the fridge door open, I took a sip of the dry Robert Mondavi Fumé Blanc and sighed. Perfection. Smokey and light, delicate floral notes, cool and silky. While taking a second sip I studied the contents of the fridge. Ahe tuna steaks. I could blacken them and serve them with a squid ink pasta tossed with a lemon reduction sauce. Maybe add an Asian inspired salad on the side.

Cooking was one of my true pleasures. Writing books took time and effort, the payoff slow in arriving. Cooking provided me with immediate gratification. Besides, I loved food.

Another sip of wine and I got to work.

SASHA WRAPPED AND TIED the huge blue bath towel around her and left the steamy bathroom. Her body ached pleasantly from dance class. She loved the feeling - a sense of achievement, of having stretched herself to do slightly more, be slightly better. Tilting her head she dried her long dark-burgundy hair with vigorous rubs using a second thick towel. Her blood pulsed, bringing a special tingle of excitement. It was Friday.

With mounting anticipation she pulled her iPad from the backpack she'd dropped on the bed and turned it on, opening the Internet browser. Wrapping the towel around her hair, she perched on the edge of the bed and typed an address into the browser. Yes! A new one! Another Renpet story!

Smiling with satisfaction she turned the iPad off. She'd read it tonight in bed when she could enjoy herself. Excitement almost made her body vibrate. Rising, she selected panties, sweats, and a top, her mind drifting. She didn't understand why. She'd never figured it out. But since forever, since first discovering sexual pleasure, she'd had a guilty secret. There'd only been one guy in her dreams, one fantasy sexual partner - Dad.

She didn't understand why she was so attracted to him but she was. She knew how inappropriate it was, but like an addiction to chocolate - something else she had - she was incapable of dismissing it. It was just there. Every romance book she read, every romantic movie she saw, it was always Dad that she pictured instead of the leading man.

She'd never dated anyone, never wanted to. Smiling to herself, carrying her clothes into the bathroom to dress, she thought about Dad trying to probe. She knew he thought she might be a lesbian since she'd never had a boyfriend. It was cute watching him try to be supportive without really saying anything, not wanting to assume or invade her privacy.

Sasha remembered the thrill of finding the online erotic sex story site on the web, and the stories of daddy-daughter incest that excited her so much. And then she'd stumbled upon Renpet's stories. They were so different, so immersive, so loving. She'd immediately sympathized with the girls in his stories and dreamed they were her, so many sounding a lot like her. She'd understood their feelings, the yearning and longing, the desire and erotic excitement for the forbidden. She'd understood how living with someone you wanted was so hard at times yet something you'd never give up. Renpet could get into her mind and manipulate her thoughts, take her away, and let her live her fantasies.

Brushing her now almost dry hair, she pictured Dad leaning over his desk, typing away, a lock of dark brown hair falling over his forehead. She'd studied him when he was writing. He'd get so involved he was oblivious to the world, to the need for food or liquids, or to any distractions except for one. It seemed he was hard-wired to know when she was around. No matter how she tried to sneak up on him or sneak away, he'd notice her. Atom bomb exploding? Nope. Her passing the open door to his study? Yup. Was it a dad thing?

Didn't matter. She loved it. She adored his dark chocolate eyes, and the slow smile that would emerge when he'd look at her would create a vacuum around her making it difficult to breathe. A full on smile from him, the one that exuded pride and love, would magically pluck thoughts out of her mind leaving her speechless and giddy. His perpetually unruly hair made him look younger. She harbored a desire to muss that hair, something she didn't dare do, the gesture too intimate.

Unwrapping the bath towel, Sasha slipped panties on, adjusting the legs with a finger under the elastic and a wiggle. She pulled on a ratty old T-shirt and soft pale pink sweats - her comfy clothes. The hair dryer was loud in the bathroom. Waving it at the mirror, she cleared the mist and studied her face, pleased to see no new acne. With her brush in hand Sasha set about trying to straighten her naturally wavy hair.

I CHECKED THE OIL. It shimmered in the scorching frying pan just a couple of degrees below the smoke point. Purple-red tuna steaks waited, their sides covered in blackening spices. Water boiled vigorously, steam rising, black squid ink pasta cooking. Behind me on the kitchen island that functioned as an eat-on counter and divider to the living room were two place settings and a bowl of buttery soft Boston and crispy iceberg lettuce waiting for the Dijon rice wine vinaigrette dressing, just a couple of drops of toasted sesame oil adding an exotic Asian flavor.

I drained the last of the white wine and went to the fridge to get a refill. Out of the corner of my eye Sasha emerged and descended the staircase.

Tuna steaks hit the frying pan with a loud sizzle, smoke rising as blackening spices were seared. A silent extraction hood drew the smoke away, sending it outside to join the other myriad of aromas that made New York air so distinctive.

"Fish again?" Sasha asked, climbing onto a bar stool at the island counter and setting her ever-present iPhone at her side.

"Yup. Tuna. How was dance class?"

"They're really pushing us," Sasha answered, slipping off the stool to fetch a Diet Pepsi from the fridge.

"Aren't they building up to the auditions for Julliard?"

"That's for the seniors, not us."

"Then why are they pushing you?" I asked.

"Dunno," she answered with a shrug. Her cell rang with the sound of some song. She glanced at the screen and then at me, her eyes questioning.

When I nodded she picked it up and answered. We had several rules in our home, one of which was no calls during meals. Flipping the tuna steaks, another cloud of smoke billowed up, the smell of blackened spice almost acrid. I sipped wine and studied my daughter.

She'd straightened her hair again. Why? She'd inherited my wavy hair and her mother's very dark, rich burgundy color yet she always straightened it. I thought it might be just one of those things; curly-haired girls wanting straight hair, straight-haired girls wanting curls. Personally I liked her waves more than the straight look. It gave her hair thickness and bulk.

Her face was animated as she talked on the phone, a hand dancing in the air as if emphasizing her words, then playing with the fork and knife on her place setting, aligning them to perfection with little fingertip nudges. Her beautiful soft eyes glanced at me. They were hypnotic eyes; amber with a richness that gave them depth, a Lucite-like shine, irises full of complex striations, the amber color rare and far surpassing the ordinary. She smiled at me as she talked, her whole face lighting up. Kitchen halogen lights reflected like stars in her eyes making them dance with personality. Dark, almost black eyebrows and long eyelashes added character. Sasha was lucky. She hadn't inherited my large nose. Hers was small and ruler straight, perfect. Her mouth was wide and expressive, her lips slim, chin angular. She was, in my extremely biased eyes, a beautiful girl, straight hair or not.

"That was Karen. She wants to go shopping together tomorrow. I told her it was okay. It is, isn't it?"

"Sure," I answered, adding, "I was planning on taking you to Rome to see Vatican City, but Pope Francis can wait for you to shop, I guess."

Sasha laughed brightly. "One of these days I'm going to hold you to your crazy ideas, Dad."

Dinner passed with animated conversation as it always did. Sasha ate delicately but a lot, a result of her dancing. She liked the meal, too. I could tell. She did her happy dance as she ate; a little body wiggle like a puppy wagging its tail, a movement that was slightly more than fidgeting.

Eventually we were parked in front of the television, me slouched in the leather armchair, Sasha curled up in the corner of the couch. She was on the phone with a friend in a seemingly endless conversation making me thankful we'd bought her the unlimited cell phone plan. Hawaii Five-O played on the screen. My attention was drawn to my iPad, a small message notification appearing. I'd received an email.

Opening the Gmail app, I read.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= wow, Renpet. I never thought you'd top your last story. Stupid me. This story was full of beauty and sweetness. Clarissa was so cute. I love the way you tell a story. Thanks!

I smiled to myself. I liked hearing when other readers enjoyed my erotic stories. This one, Serendipity, was the closest to home of all the stories I'd penned. Clarissa was modeled on my daughter; slender and tall for her age. She'd inherited her mother's lithe and willowy dancer's body and my height.

Like her mother, Sasha was in love with dancing. Unlike her mother, Sasha eschewed ballet in favor of modern dance. Its more gymnastic style suited her, too. Adolescence had worked wonders on her. She'd remained slim-hipped, a true gazelle, her breasts very small. Looking at her others might think she suffered from bulimia nervosa. Nothing could be further from the truth. She ate like a horse, inhaling fuel, yet her arms and legs remained slender, appearing almost breakable; a deceptive appearance. Sasha was both very strong and extremely fit.

I liked her just the way she was. I liked her youthful body. She held herself in a distinctively dancer's stance, upright, appearing taller than she was in reality, and walked with the bounce and grace all dancers seemed to have. I dreamed of her, too. She'd never had a boyfriend or a crush on a boy as far as I could tell. I was beginning to think my daughter was attracted to the same sex and too ashamed to admit it. I tried to broach the subject and had been politely rebuffed. Well, as long as she's happy - which she seemed to be.

With a large swallow I drained the wine glass and stood up to get a refill. Sasha ended her phone call, stretched and yawned in a cat-like move. As I poured the last of the wine into the glass, she announced she was going to bed.

Watching her climb the staircase was most enjoyable. In her soft pink sweatpants her rump moved with sensual undulations, her small, rather sexy buttocks flexing. She disappeared down the hall but lingered in my mind.

Back in front of the television I turned to the evening news. The iPad drew my attention again; another email.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= i'm floored! This is your best yet. How do you get into the mind of young girls so well? Clarissa was so sexy. I hope you have the joy of a Clarissa in your life. Keep on writing, renpet, and i'll keep reading.

I noticed the email address. It was Keith. He was a loyal reader, commenting on all my stories. Seemed we shared fantasies. I only wish I had a Clarissa in my life in the same way the story did.

Opening the Internet browser, I went to the story and started reviewing it.

SASHA SLIPPED HER NIGHTSHIRT over her head and tugged it down. Anticipation made her almost giddy. Teeth brushed, she slipped into bed and, pausing to relish the moment, turned her iPad on and went to Renpet's site. There it was. She clicked on Serendipity and started reading

'Clarissa sat at the kitchen table, her eyes following Dad as he mowed the lawn. Summer sun made the outside blindingly bright, the pool reflecting painful shards of light. She studied him. Bare-chested and in loose, soft green shorts and sock-less sneakers, he guided the lawn mower up and down, cutting grass and leaving behind alternating lines of darker and lighter grass. Sweat coated his body from the intense summer heat making it glisten. Muscles moved, sleek, the result of his love of marathons.

'She studied his face and felt a familiar reaction. Dark brown hair fell over his forehead, shaggy and needing a cut. She knew his chocolate eyes would have an unfocused look. He'd be thinking about something other than mowing. He was forever mentally multi-tasking.

'Clarissa felt the all-too-familiar pang of desire as she studied him. There'd been no one in her life like him. Dad was her best friend but recently, since hitting puberty, Dad had become more, so much more. She fantasized about him in the solitude of her bed at night. She dreamed of forbidden things: kissing Dad like a lover not a daughter; holding him to her, his body pressed to hers; exciting him, arousing him, bringing him pleasure, Dad getting an erection, wanting her; Dad touching her in all those private places that ached for his touch, her small breasts, her sensitive nipples, even her pussy.'

Sasha sighed. One hand eased under her nightshirt and caressed her breast, teasing her nipple, her pussy throbbing. She continued reading.

'Sitting at the kitchen table, Clarissa reached down and gently touched herself, rubbing her pulsing pussy over her soft gym shorts. She watched Dad and imagined it was him touching her intimately, Dad wanting her, Dad's gentle hand caressing her, Dad leaning over her and whispering, "You're so beautiful, honey, so irresistible. I've wanted you for so long." Easing her finger inside the leg of her shorts, spreading her knees, she rubbed her clit over her panties, shivers of arousal washing through her. In Clarissa's imagination Dad whispered, "Please be my lover. Please let me love you, honey. It's all I want." The first stirring of Clarissa's orgasm began, heat, heaviness in her pussy, a throb of pleasure, her eyes closing as she . . .'

Sasha shivered. She eased her hand down to cup her pussy and squeezed, a flush of arousal storming in. Closing her eyes she pretended she was Clarissa and imagined Dad touching her, fondling her, wanting her. Sasha wormed her fingers underneath the waist of her panties and reached down, cupping her mons, her fingertips finding silky moisture, slippery, horny, Dad touching me. Her body reacted, shivering, nipples sensitive. She caressed her clit, pulses of pleasure coursing through her. In her mind's eye she felt Dad's hand loving her, rubbing her. She smelled him, leathery and intense, and felt him kiss her gently, so lovingly. In her mind she heard Dad whisper, "I love you so much, Sasha. I want you so badly it hurts."

With a groan Sasha let her mind go, let her body go, and released her climax. A wave of pure bliss cascaded over her like a blast of heat followed by another, harder pulse, beautiful ecstasy making her hold her breath, her toes curl, Dad loving me, oh yes Dad! She gasped and panted, her body shaking, her climax washing through her, pleasure, pleasure, cumming Daddy! With a final heave she collapsed, her body liquid and warm and calm, that special exhaustion she only experienced after a wonderful orgasm. Satiated, she sighed deeply. There was so much of Renpet's story still to read, so many more nights of pleasure if she read it slowly in small erotic doses.

How did he do it? How could he get so close to her inner dreams and feelings? A delicious thrill hit her. Maybe this time she'd comment, actually let him know how much she loved his stories. Would he respond? Feeling lazy and relaxed in a post-orgasmic glow, Sasha commented on the story she'd read so far and sent it.

MY BEDROOM WAS DARK. The sounds of New York were almost unheard. Eyes closed, I lived my story. I knew every line, every sight, every emotion, every scent. It was my sexual fantasy. My erection was strong and flexed as I held it and stroked slowly.

'Heat made me sweat more than I normally did when running a marathon. The lawn mower was loud and vibrating in my hands. I made the turn and started back towards the house. My erection strengthened inside the shorts. There, through the double sliding glass doors, sitting at the kitchen table, was my beautiful daughter, Clarissa. I could see her, one foot curled up underneath her on the chair, one elbow on the table, her hand supporting her cheek. My daughter had her eyes closed as if lost in a dream. But it was the other hand that had my rapt attention. Clarissa was touching herself! My little girl was actually rubbing her pussy right there in plain sight! Didn't she realize I could see her? A surge of arousal slammed into me.

'I watched her hand move in a slow caress and wished it was mine. I harbored a secret. Since she'd hit puberty I'd desired my daughter. She was everything I found sexy; slender, young, budding, with a bright personality that hit me just so. She was her mother only better, much, much better, and I carried an illicit ache for her that only grew stronger as time passed.'

Lying in bed, I pictured Clarissa - the image of my daughter Sasha - as she eased her hand inside her shorts to touch her panties. Stroking my erection, I lived Clarissa's desires, her arousal, the excitement of the forbidden. I mentally skipped ahead in the story to Clarissa emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair. Stroking myself, I lived the moment when Clarissa bumped into me by accident and the towel unravelled and fell.

Stroking my erection, I visualized that moment in my story when I first saw her naked, the full glory of a slender fourteen-year-old girl, my fourteen-year-old daughter, exposed, her small breasts, slender hips, and long, long, dancer's legs. Then I envisioned what Clarissa's young pussy might look like, sexy and small, and my orgasm arrived. With a burst of pleasure my cock swelled, semen erupted, bliss. I came beautifully, spurting, cumming, visions of my naked daughter floating through my mind.

Chapter Two: An Opportunity Taken

The front door closed behind Sasha as she left to meet up with her friends for a marathon shopping expedition. She seemed to like them; endless searches, few purchases, the hunt more exciting than the capture. I carried a mug of steaming coffee to the study and booted the computer up. A few keystrokes and Gmail opened. Eight emails - about par for the course.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= fuck yeah! Brilliant! Made my dick hard.

I grinned. Maybe not the most articulate comment but concise and honest. I opened the next.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= overall a nice story. But you need an editor. If you write in the first person you cannot possibly know what Clarissa is thinking. You should read other more accomplished . . .

I deleted it. It didn't bother me to hear that old argument. I knew how to write, maybe better than he did. Some people were hard-wired to dislike creativity or non-conformity, and felt it was their solemn duty to point out my errors. My harshest critics were other writers of erotica, something I didn't understand. They, of all people, should be more forgiving. Perhaps by denigrating my work it elevated theirs. That was fine. Their comments were given as much deliberation as my filing system for their emails - hitting the trash button.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= your the best riter on this site. I love your storys. Keep writing.

At least they commented. I read the other emails. One caught my attention.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= Hi Renpet,
I just wanted to thank you for your stories. I especially love the father-daughter ones. You write so well, almost as if you're reading my mind. I read your stories and pretend it's my dad and me together loving each other. Your writing shows me you understand how desire hurts and makes me ache for him. Thank you for bringing me so much pleasure. Thanks for letting me live something I can't have in real life.

I smiled as I read it. Hearing from female readers always made me feel good. Women are such strange and wondrous creatures yet unfathomable to me. To know that I might have touched on how they feel was a great compliment.

Turning the computer off - I'd respond to those that included their email addresses later - I turned my attention to weekend chores. That one email followed me.

I wondered what the reader could do. It's hard to live with someone whom you desire so much. I could attest to that. I'd started writing erotica when Sasha turned twelve years old and began to show signs of puberty; small buds breaking the plane of her T-shirts and a maturity emerging in how she carried herself, no longer the little girl racing everywhere, hair flying. Her emerging adolescence had been powerfully attractive to me and in my erotic stories I could experience what in reality was forbidden and unattainable. I could live my sexual fantasies.

Lunch was a gourmet grilled chicken, roasted red pepper, and arugula sandwich with Sriracha mayonnaise; a spicy, flavorful sandwich bought in the food market as I shopped for dinner. I never bought more than a couple of meals ahead of time. Strolling through the bustling market studying fresh fish in beds of shaved ice and delectable cuts of different meats behind glass counters was fun to me. I would pick a protein and let it and my imagination guide the menu for the night.

The milk-fed veal looked great. Maybe I'd make Veal à la Crème Flambé. Yup. Serve it with homemade broad pasta and grilled asparagus. Perfect. I even had the ideal wine to accompany it, an ice cold, dry, Petit Chablis full of fruits and gunflint.

Back at the condo, with purchases put away, I made a mug of tea and settled in the study. A few clicks and Gmail was up and open. Two more emails. I scanned them and enjoyed them. Two more people had found pleasure in my story.

With no sign of Sasha returning from her afternoon shopping safari, I set about answering the three emails that had included their return address. The last one was the woman's. I read it again just to enjoy it. Then I saw the return address. Blood drained from my head making me lightheaded.

It couldn't be. Could it?

A quick glimpse into my Outlook contact list and there it was - [email protected]. My heart jumped. All outside noises faded away. Disbelieving, I checked again. Yup. That was my daughter's email address! Sasha was reading my erotic stories! Well I'll be damned.

A flood of thoughts swamped me: Sasha wasn't a lesbian; Sasha was reading sex stories; my daughter was sexually attracted to me! For minutes I sat staring at the monitor, thoughts tumbling. They raced from shock to excitement to surprise to elation. Arousal arrived. Sasha fantasized about me!

I leaned back and stared at the monitor deep in thought. I leaned forward and re-read her email, then leaned back and tried to think about how to respond. I knew what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was to grab her when she entered the front door and kiss her and tell her I felt the same way; I wanted her, too. But I couldn't.

How would she react? Shock? Would she feel betrayed? Would it embarrass her?

It took two cups of tea for me to be able to think clearly, ignore the excitement that thrummed through my veins, and the erection that would need looking after soon. Taking a deep, calming breath, I responded.

sasha.4843,
Thank you for your comments on Serendipity. I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and found pleasure in it. Thank you for letting me know, too. It's a real gift for any writer to hear that their work is appreciated.
As you can tell from the story subject, I understand your hidden desire for your father. If I can ask, are you sure he doesn't feel the same way? It's not beyond the realm of possibility. Daughters hold a special place in a father's heart. If you want to chat or have questions about how a father might react, feel free to email me. I'm a father, too, and a good listener.
Thanks again,
Renpet

Reviewing the email, I approved and sent it, wondering how my daughter would react. It excited me to think we might start a dialogue about sexual attraction and incest. A conversation about sexual desires would be thrilling. Knowing what my teenage daughter found sexy would be fascinating.

I tried to concentrate on work, on my legitimate writing, and failed. I became restless, my attention span short. Every so often I checked Gmail to see if there was a response. There wasn't. Television couldn't interest me. By four o'clock, far too early, I started prep work for dinner, taking the opportunity to open a bottle of Red Stripe lager.

While cleaning mushrooms my cell phone rang. On the display I checked who was calling - my publisher. It didn't surprise me. Saturday was a working day to her.

"Hello, Marcy," I answered.

"Jason, darling! How's my favorite author?" she asked in a bright flurry. "Writing hard I hope."

I chuckled. "Marcy, the novel will be finished when it's done and not one day sooner. What's up?" She always asked how writing was coming along. To her taste I couldn't write fast enough. Fortunately I was successful enough that I set my own timelines and named my own price. Still, I liked her harassing me. It made me feel wanted.

"Jason, I have an opportunity for you. An independent bookstore is opening in San Francisco and they asked if you'd do a signing on their opening day. Can you believe it? A real bookstore opening? The world's going digital and I'm almost weepy at the prospect of bricks and mortar and hardcovers and paperbacks!"

With a laugh I answered, "Maybe. When is this event?"

"I knew you'd do it," she responded.

"Hold the printing presses. I haven't agreed yet. You know I have a daughter to consider. I can't just go gallivanting off."

"Jason, honey, don't worry. It's a Saturday opening. We'll fly you both out there on the Friday night before and fly you home on Sunday night, all at our expense."

I immediately became suspicious. Willis, Coates & Tempkins, my erstwhile publishers, were parsimonious. They never spent money unless it was unavoidable. "So who cancelled?" I asked.

Marcy laughed. "You know me too well, Darling. Steven Jenkins was supposed to appear but we cancelled his contract. He failed the morals clause. Didn't you read about him and the hooker in Los Angeles? Can you believe he took the hooker to a public toilet and . . ."

The front door opened, Sasha entering with a smile and small shopping bag. She waved at me and mouthed "Who is it?"

I mouthed back, "Marcy Coates."

Sasha's eyes rolled and she headed upstairs.

". . . So it's settled. We'll even provide the limo to and from the airport," Marcy announced.

Right. Her definition of a limo was a taxi cab. "Hold up, Marcy. I'll have to discuss it with Sasha before agreeing."

"That's not a problem. She's a dear and so mature for her age. She'll love San Fran. Well, let me know. You can call me later." With that the call ended, abruptly, as was her style. Never a hello, never a goodbye.

I went back to preparing ingredients, sipping my now warmer beer. Eventually Sasha emerged from upstairs, smiling broadly and almost dancing as she moved, her sign of happiness, she kissed my cheek and grabbed a Diet Pepsi from the fridge.

"What's for dinner?" she asked, flopping onto the brown distressed leather couch, turning off the music I was listening to - Acoustic, the latest album from Above & Beyond - and turning the television on, selecting a channel and promptly ignoring it, her attention on her iPhone, thumbs texting in a blur of motion.

My delightful daughter didn't even notice that I hadn't answered her. "Roasted pig's brains with Rocky Mountain oysters," I announced. "They're nice, tender bull calf testicles," I informed her.

"Mmmm. Sounds good," she answered, confirming she wasn't even occupying the same universe I was.

With a shake of my head and a grin, I started slicing crimini mushrooms with a rapid chop-chop. A bottle of Remi Martin cognac stood on the counter ready for my favorite part, the flambé, setting it all on fire - it's a boy thing. Pale pink veal was seasoned and waiting.

On the counter next to me my iPad flashed an alert. Another email had arrived. My heart tripped. Glancing across to check Sasha wasn't watching me, I paused slicing and leaned over to read. A couple of touches and the email opened.

Renpet,
THANK YOU! I can't believe you responded to me. It's such a relief to know someone else understands. Just knowing I can talk to you is wonderful. I wish I could talk to my dad openly, too, but I think he'd be really disappointed in me if he knew.
It's okay. I read your stories and live them and it's like I'm with Dad. I love your writing. Don't stop, ever.
sasha.4843

My daughter's response thrilled me. Closing the email, I returned to cooking, my mind wrestling with the morality of what I was about to do. Was it fair? Here was an opportunity to guide Sasha in how to seduce me. Given my attraction to her she was guaranteed to succeed. But was leading her into an incestuous relationship taking advantage of her?

No. It wasn't. If I only responded to what she wanted to do it wouldn't be taking advantage or leading her on. I'd need to be careful, though. To truly enjoy it Sasha would need to work for it. Effort put into achieving a goal made the reward ever more satisfying. The same was true with romance and seduction. If she worked to seduce me she'd find greater joy and pleasure in success, and I wanted my daughter to drown in pleasure. It was a dangerous game. If she ever found out . . .

Checking to make sure Sasha was busy, I sent a reply.

sasha.4843,
I'm sure you could talk to your father. You shouldn't underestimate him. However, if you're worried about his reaction to your feelings for him and you're sure of your attraction, there are ways to find out how he might respond. I can help. First, I should know some things.
How old are you? Do you live with him? What about your mother or sisters or brothers? I'd need to understand your situation before giving you any advice.
Thanks again for complimenting my stories. Look forward to hearing from you.
Renpet

With that done I returned to preparing the meal. An hour later we ate, Sasha making appropriate sounds of appreciation for the creamy, rich veal. She consumed her food quickly as if eager to get back to her iPhone, chatted absentmindedly about her shopping trip, and was typically vague about what she'd bought.

Immediately after eating she returned to the couch. I cleaned up and watched her, smiling when she started squirming as she studied her iPhone - her happy dance - and a broad smile on her face.

SASHA'S PULSE JUMPED. HE'D answered her! She read Renpet's response, her excitement growing. Rather than answer right away, she decided to think about it. Dad had warned her about the perils of the Internet. He'd told her many times that once information was given it would never be erased. Anything she exposed about herself would be permanently available for anyone to see. Renpet had asked some personal questions she wasn't sure she should or would answer.

As the evening passed, she studied Dad. She loved how he'd laugh at the television, so free and easy, his delight of inane things so boyish. She adored how he'd show a little boy wonder at small things. He'd get as excited about a vintage Match Box metal car as he would about publishing a new novel.

She delighted at how he'd turn to her and draw her into his enjoyment, explaining something he'd just seen or simply smile at her, impish glee in his dark chocolate eyes. Secretly, she liked taking care of him, too. She knew she shouldn't but she liked it when he was sick, a rare event, because she could tend to him, feed him, fuss over him. He complained like a child when he wasn't feeling well. It was so cute.

While spending time with her girlfriends was lots of fun, going out with Dad was much better. She liked his personality. He made everything feel so exciting and new, an adventure. His enthusiasm was not just contagious it was addictive. Life seemed less vibrant when he wasn't around.

Sasha smiled to herself when Dad let loose with another laugh at Tim Allen's inane comments on Last Man Standing. She pulled her iPhone out and composed a response.

Renpet,
I'd love your help and ideas. I can't tell you much about me. Dad has warned me about giving away information on the Internet. I can tell you that I'm in high school and live alone with Dad. That's it. If it's not enough, I'm sorry. But I can't risk revealing more.
You said there are ways to find out how Dad would react to my feelings. How? There are times I look at him and I ache. It isn't a nice feeling, let me tell you! To know you want someone that much and can never let them know is torture. So tell me, please. What should I do?
sasha.4843

With a final scan, she sent it, her mind full of questions. What would Renpet's advice be? Would she actually be brave enough to do something?

I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL Sasha went to bed before going back to my Gmail account. Two more emails greeted me.

storyname= Serendipity
comments= I only wish I could have a daughter like Clarissa. Thank you for the joy this story brought me. Through your words I livd a dream. I only wish you would write full time. Your stories are my guilty pleasure.
Thank you.

The comments made me smile. Through my words I, too, lived my dreams and sexual fantasies. I knew how I felt when reading my story. If he felt one fifth of what I did then he should be a happy man.

The second email made me pause. She'd responded! I read her reply and smiled with pride at her reluctance to reveal personal information. I'd always been worried about what she might inadvertently let out. Sasha was cautious. Great! Now, how to respond?

I thought about it, knowing her as I did. With a smile I started typing.

Chapter Three: Cautious First Steps

THE SHARP METALLIC SOUND of a pot hitting a tiled floor shocked Sasha awake. A cool autumn morning sun streamed through her gossamer curtains. Her immediate thought was worry. What had happened? Then she remembered. Today was Sunday. Dad must be up making a big breakfast. He loved his Sunday breakfast, the television turned onto a news program, the Sunday New York Times on the counter ready to read while eating.

Smiling, Sasha yawned and stretched, curling her feet and toes. They still ached from dance class two days ago. With sudden excitement she wondered if Renpet had responded to her last email. Rolling, she grabbed her iPhone on the bedside table. A few flicks of her thumb and her heart skipped a beat. He had!

She read it twice.

sasha.4843,
I completely understand why you won't reveal too much about yourself. Bravo! Look at me. I hide behind a nom de plume and never reveal personal information that might identify me. You've given me enough information to understand your situation.
So. Advice.
Not knowing your current relationship with your father, I will only suggest things. You'll have to decide if they make sense or not.
Often in a familial relationship, when you live together, you start taking things for granted. In a lot of instances this includes physical contact. Over time you might hug less or hugs might be short and sweet. Physical touch is the starting point to assessing how your father might feel or react to your feelings.
There are two things you might consider.
First is increase the frequency of physical contact. Put another way, become more touchy-feely. I can almost guarantee a father would welcome affection like that from a daughter.
Second, make those events last longer. When a hug is fleeting it lacks impact. A longer hug communicates affection without it being obvious. A lingering good morning or goodnight kiss does the same. Time is your ally. Time allows other senses to kick in, even if it's subconsciously. Touch and smell are intensified.
So what should you look for? When you become more physical in your expression of love, pay attention to your father's reactions. It might not happen at first, or at all, but he might respond. If he does, try to understand if his hugs are tighter, if his kisses last longer, and importantly, does he caress you when his hand is resting on you? These are signs he likes your affection.
Don't overplay your cards. Take your time. If your father responds favorably I can help you with more ideas.
Good luck and enjoy yourself.
Renpet

Sasha leapt out of bed full of energy. She smiled brightly. Renpet's advice sounded exactly right. In a flurry of activity she hit the bathroom before dressing and heading downstairs.

Dad was in his Sunday spot, sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island counter with a mug of coffee in one hand - the angry Donald Duck mug she'd given him for his birthday two years ago - and the newspaper spread open on the countertop. The air was full of aromas; baked beans, sausages, bacon, toast. Today was obviously a full English style breakfast.

With nerves tingling and excitement energizing her, she walked up behind him. Wrapping her arms around him she bent and kissed his cheek letting the kiss linger just a little longer, pressing her lips against him just slightly harder. "Morning, Dad." He smelled so good.

"Morning, honey," he responded. "Hope you're hungry. It's an English Breakfast today."

With a final tightening hug, Sasha let him go, straightening and moving to the refrigerator to pour a glass of orange juice. "I know. I can smell it," she responded.

"How do you want your eggs?" he asked, rising to finish cooking.

"Sunny side up. This time don't break the yolks," Sasha suggested with a smile, taking a big gulp of orange juice. She watched him grin and adored it.

"If you want unbroken yolks don't distract me," he informed her.

"Kay."

Waiting, she watched him crack eggs into the sizzling frying pan. The moment arrived, that point where he fiddled with them to make sure they weren't sticking to the pan. With a sneaky grin, she walked past him with a plate of toast, brushing against him, jostling him slightly.

"Aw, geez!" he exclaimed. "Why did you do that?"

Peering around him Sasha saw rich yellow slowly spreading over cooked whites, all four egg yolks broken. "Do what?" she asked, moving away, still grinning. She placed the toast at the eat-on counter.

A couple of minutes later they were eating, Sasha still smiling at Dad's grumping about everything being ruined now.

FEET UP ON THE coffee table, the morning news playing on the television, and the newspaper on the floor beside me, I smiled and sipped coffee.

Noise from upstairs filtered down to me. Sasha was collecting dirty clothes for washing and tossing her bed sheets out onto the landing. I felt good. My daughter's hugs and soft kisses had lingered. I'd smelled her hair as she'd bent over me from behind, the aroma of fruits from yesterday's shampoo still lingering on her. Her kiss had felt so loving, too. All-in-all very exciting.

"Do you want me to get your sheets?" Sasha called down to me.

"Yes please."

My cell phone rang. I checked the display.

"Hello, Marcy," I answered.

"Jason, darling! How much writing did you do last night? About that book signing. Thanks for agreeing! You'll love San Fran. I told Harold - he's the store owner, you know, and what a sweetie he is. Did I mention how I have a soft spot for a man with a beard? Anyway, he's thrilled, absolutely giddy with joy at your attendance. He promised . . ."

"Marcy!" I interrupted.

"What is it, Darling?"

"I didn't agree to go to the book signing."

"But of course you did. You said if I didn't hear from you by last night it meant you'd agreed to go. I called Harold with the good news late last night. He was waiting to hear with bated breath!" Marcy exclaimed, almost pulling off her sincere lie.

I chuckled. My fault. If I hadn't answered her call I wouldn't be in the predicament I was in. "I haven't talked to Sasha yet."

"Talked to me about what?" Sasha asked, walking down the staircase with an armful of sheets.

Placing my hand over the cell phone I told her about San Francisco. Sasha's eyes sparkled. She enthusiastically agreed to go.

". . . and I'm sure that if you ask that darling daughter of yours and let her know how dire the circumstances are, how desperate Harold is . . ." Marcy was saying.

Interrupting her again, I told her we'd go.

"Wonderful!" she enthused.

The phone call ended abruptly; no thank you, no goodbye.

For the rest of the day I relished Sasha's subtle attention. I was very careful not to respond any differently to her hugs but it was hard. Her eyes sparkled with youthful joy. We attended to Sunday chores and lazed around, very comfortable in each other's company. She eventually disappeared into her bedroom. I retired to the study to answer emails. Dinner was a joint venture, both of us cooking, and I was gifted with my daughter's bright company.

Sasha impressed me. She was very subtle. Over the next week her affection was no more or less than normal, but each hug lasted a touch longer, each kiss lingered slightly longer and her lips pressed slightly harder. I didn't respond any differently until Thursday. That evening, when I hugged my daughter goodnight, I caressed her slender back gently, subtly, feeling the bra strap underneath her cotton top, my hug pulling her body into mine just a bit tighter. I loved how petite and young she felt in my arms and desire for her welled up, a powerful need.

Our hug Friday morning before she left for school was almost the same except, with a thrill coursing through me, Sasha rubbed my back slightly as she hugged me - an intimate gesture - and I actually heard her inhale deeply and sigh quietly. It was very sweet and loving and quite beautiful.

Late Friday morning my Gmail account received another email.

Renpet,
Thank you for your advice! It worked! It took a while but Dad actually caressed my back when we hugged! It felt so good.
Can I tell you a secret? It was like your story 'In My Daughter's Eyes' when the father hugs his daughter Gina and he reacts by getting aroused. It's one of my favorite scenes because, without her father knowing, Gina gets aroused, too. I read that story again last night and masturbated, pretending it was Dad getting aroused when he hugged me and caressed my back. My climax was so good, all thanks to you!
What should I do now? I so want more. Please write back soon!
Eternally grateful,
sasha.4843

Sitting at the desk in the study, I fidgeted in the chair, my erection uncomfortable, too tightly restricted in jeans. Sasha had masturbated to my caress! It was such an erotic admission; my little girl finding ecstasy from a father's simple caress. I had an urge to rush ahead and tell her to do something overt with me. I actually ached for her affection, the anticipation delicious but now frustrating.

I couldn't rush. The journey was too important. Leaning back from the desk, I tried to place myself in the burgeoning relationship and understand what the natural next steps would be. Intimacy could be many things. But for a young girl what would intensify her desire and give her pleasure? After some deep thought I nodded to myself and replied to her email.

SASHA SUPPORTED HER CHIN with the palm of one hand, elbow on the school desk. At the head of the class Mr. Kenworth was droning on about the Civil War and scribbling on the blackboard with far too much enthusiasm for such a boring subject.

In her pocket her iPhone vibrated. Her heart skipped. She'd only sent Renpet an email this morning when she woke up. Could it be a response?

Despite the risk of being caught and the risk of detention, Sasha eased her iPhone out of her jean pocket. Holding it under the desk she thumbed open her email app. Yes! With a thrill of excitement she opened the email and read.

sasha.4843,
Thanks for your email. I must admit I'm enjoying hearing from you. I hope you don't mind if I live your experiences vicariously and find pleasure in them. What you're doing is exciting in so many ways.
From your comments it sounds like your father has returned the subtle signals you've given him. A soft small rub when hugging is a great first sign.
Please forgive me for reminding you that you need to be absolutely sure it's what you want before proceeding further. You're opening a door that cannot be closed. If intimacy develops between you and your father it cannot be reversed. It cannot be forgotten. It cannot be ignored. It will be with you for the rest of your life. For that reason, please think long and hard before going on.
If you're convinced you want go further, here's what I suggest.
Occasional hugs and chaste kisses are all great to start, but your next step should be to move into his personal space. Personal space is an undefined nearness to another person. It's being close enough to their body to communicate comfort, friendship, and even intimacy. It means standing closer to your father or sitting next to him. If he sits in an armchair, sit on the arm when talking to him. You might want to add possessive touches, too. Touching is a way of communicating you like a person and that you enjoy being with them. I'm not suggesting anything intimate. In fact, you should be careful to avoid touching your father intimately. What I'm talking about is touching his arm when making a point, or touching the back of his hand to draw his attention instead of just words. It's sitting next to him and, instead of just shoulders touching, letting your hand rest on his arm or leg. It shouldn't be sexual. It's not a stroke or caress. It's just a casual touch.
If it works, your father will most likely respond the same way. It's human nature to respond in kind. He'll do the same to you if he's enjoying your attention, even if he doesn't realize it. If he does it's a great sign.
Just remember not to rush it. Don't be too hasty. What you want from your father is risky and taboo. You have to bring him along carefully to where you want to go.
Good luck.
Renpet

Sasha slipped the iPhone back into her pocket. Her chin found her palm again. Her eyes lost focus, Mr. Kenworth's Civil War lecture a dull monotone in the background.

She mulled over Renpet's advice. It sounded too slow for her. She wanted Dad with an ache that never really left her. She wished she had the guts to just tell him. Still, if she did and he rejected her, her life would be ruined. Maybe Renpet was right. Take it slow.

It was Friday. Her mind wandered, imagined, explored. She wished she could . . .

As soon as class ended, Sasha pulled her cell out and sent Dad a text. 'It's Friday. All my friends are busy. Wanna go to the movies?'

Half an hour later she had a response. 'Okay. Stop using your phone in school!'

The day dragged by. Afternoon was too long and for the first time in forever she didn't look forward to her dance class. However, once she started dancing everything was forgotten. She lost herself in the pleasure of moving, the way music rose and fell dictating dance motions, perfect harmonious partners more powerful from being expressed together. Even Mrs. Lipski, the instructor, with her stern berating at the class couldn't take Sasha's joy of dancing away.

Three hours later she casually slipped her hand into Dad's as they dashed across West 42nd Street towards the Regal Loews Cinema, dodging New York traffic, horns blaring indignantly at them. The air was cool and brisk but not cold enough to mist breath. His hand was large, dry, warm. Once across the street she removed her hand from his and followed him into the cinema.

Watching a movie with Dad was hard. He kept distracting her. His face was so expressive, his joy and awe at special effects evident. Then he'd add commentary that ranged from boyish enthusiasm to hilarious asides. She kept missing parts of the movie, giggling quietly when other moviegoers shushed him, and finally she let her knee just touch his lightly and stay there.

New York was dark when they emerged. Neon lights flashed and beckoned, drawing attention to billboard messages, theater productions, and restaurants. Noise was everywhere, a constant background to life in the big city. Pungent aromas from restaurant kitchens battled with wisps of rotting garbage, a sudden breeze wiping them away to leave brisk freshness.

With her hand in his, they dodged traffic and made a dash for Un Assaggio di Casa, a small Italian bistro Dad had been dying to try - something about Teglia Barese, a renowned Pugliese casserole from Bari in southern Italy. She wondered what it would taste like.

One of the things she'd grown to first accept and then love was Dad's gastronomic hobby. There were times when she was younger when all she wanted was a Kraft Mac & Cheese dinner, not a gourmet oven-baked truffle macaroni and cheese with a four cheese blend, or times she wanted a simple hotdog, not a handmade Italian sausage with veal and pork and fresh herbs. Eventually she'd get them. Dad considered junk food a form of edible art. But when you're six years old, the gourmet stuff was never appreciated. Now she really enjoyed exploring food with Dad, something her friends couldn't understand.

The bistro was small with cosy white linen-covered tables, small red candles in glass cups and blue linen napkins. The sounds of knives and forks tinkling against plates mixed with the quiet hubbub of conversations. From the back Sasha heard the sharp clatter of a pan and an excited voice rise and fall silent. The chef? A waiter?

An aroma of garlic and chili and tomato sauce filled her senses. She took a bite of her pasta all'Amatriciana and immediately drank some water. It was spicy hot but quite delicious.

"Open," Dad instructed. He extended a fork loaded with his Teglia Barese casserole across the table towards her.

Sasha gently guided his hand with hers and tried his dish. "I don't like it," she announced after swallowing, the concoction of mussels, tomatoes, celery, rice, potatoes, and Pecorino cheese doing nothing for her. "Those mussels don't taste right."

"You have no taste. Whose daughter are you?" Dad asked with a grin before taking a mouthful and visibly savoring it.

"Try mine," Sasha ordered, extending a forkful of her dish. She watched him taste and a twinkle of mischief emerge in his eyes. She just loved it.

"I don't like it," he announced, adding with a pretend frown, "There's something wonky with that pancetta."

"Neophyte," Sasha responded with a laugh, reaching across to slap his forearm lightly. "You like it more than your own food. I can tell."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do," Sasha responded, smiling.

"Don't."

"Do."

"Do not."

"Stop being such a child," Sasha laughed.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

Sasha burst into laughter at his sudden grin. Jeez she loved him! Dinner passed far too fast.

Chapter Four: A Series of Fortunate Events

A SINGLE FLOOR LAMP cast its soft white light in one corner, the living room shadowed and dark. To my left the gas fire flickered with an orange-red flame providing no heat, only ambiance. On the stereo, Enigma played, volume on low. I sipped an imported Steam Whistle lager and studied the iPad in my lap.

Light rain spotted the large windows. Occasional gusts of wind rattled them. New York was experiencing one of its many days of bad weather. Oddly enough, at night I liked it. Sitting in a cozy apartment on a chilly, dreary evening was very nice.

My mind wandered. Upstairs Sasha slept. For the last three days she'd demonstrated remarkably subtle affection that had made me ache for her. It was sweet how she'd stand next to me when I cooked, brushing against me. It was nice to feel her lean into me from behind and reach around to grab something on the countertop. I liked the feel of her hand resting on my back and how she caressed me subtly, affectionately.

Perhaps even better was her thigh. Earlier this evening she'd perched herself on the arm of my chair, her hand rubbing my shoulder, and on her iPhone shown me some YouTube video of a dance style called shuffle. It was quite hypnotic. While Sasha enthusiastically told me how she was going to learn to dance it I'd casually rested my hand on her jean-covered thigh. Her voice had paused briefly. Then I caressed, gently, a loving rub. She had a beautiful leg, youthfully slender, toned, firm. She'd leaned against me and replayed the video, commenting on the technique. Her hand had caressed the back of my shoulder just as intimately, affectionately, and loving as mine.

Sasha had fizzled with energy, full of smiles and brightness for the rest of the evening, unable to sit still for long, fidgeting constantly with her happy dance. The result of that simple caress was on my iPad in my lap - another email.

Renpet
I can't believe it! It worked! Dad actually became affectionate with me and almost intimate! He rubbed my thigh really gently. His hugs have become tighter, too. When I kiss his cheek it's almost like his dark eyes sparkle!
I'm so impatient now. I want so much more, too. What should I do? How can I make him think of me as more than just his daughter? Is it even possible? I'm so excited. Please, please help!
sasha.4843

Smiling with pleasure, I read it again. I wished she'd told me what she was feeling physically and emotionally, not just about her enthusiasm. Maybe I'd ask. Thinking about my next piece of advice excited me. I felt a stir of arousal. After another sip of beer I responded.

sasha.4843,
From your email it sounds like you've successfully started along the path to altering the relationship with your father. Well done. I sympathize with your desire for urgency. It must be hard to want someone that much but be unable to demonstrate it. Just don't rush. Don't be hasty. You're trying to create a new relationship that society frowns upon and one that will, with luck, bring you much joy.
The next step you'll need to take is to move from almost intimate into almost sexual. It's probably the easiest part. Your father no doubt sees you as his cherished daughter and not as a sexual female. You'll need to change that. Here's how to start that transformation.
Men are visual. Almost all men react to illicit peeks of intimate clothes. A glimpse of a bra strap leads a man to think about what the bra is covering. Your father will, too. If you let him see just your bra's shoulder strap and follow it with a light brush of your breast against his arm his mind will immediately think about your breasts. He won't be able to stop himself; no guy can. Follow that with a peek of your panties. Start with exposing just a bit of them, perhaps the top part glimpsed inside the waist of jeans or exposed in low-riding sweat pants. After a few inadvertent exposures comes the harder part.
Exposing yourself in your panties and bra should escalate - being caught without a blouse, a flash of panties under a skirt - leading up to your father inadvertently catching sight of you in only your panties and bra. Be sure you don't react by trying to cover up, or act too shy. Remember you want your father to see you as sexy. Letting your father catch regular glimpses of you in panties and bras, or panties and T-shirts, should almost become a normal thing; not too frequent but enough to keep it in his mind.
Don't forget all the other actions, though. You still need to hug and kiss him, and sit or stand close to him. At first he might regress into not reciprocating your hugs. Don't worry. At that point he'll be wrestling with his new awareness of you as a young female. Just play along. When his hugs and caresses return you'll be very close to the last step.
I have to remind you, don't do anything without thinking through the consequences. Be absolutely sure it's what you want. Lastly, would you let me know not just what happens but how you feel about it and how you react? I'd love to know.
Good luck,
Renpet

After a careful review I sent it and drained the glass of beer. I wondered what Sasha would do with my advice. A partial erection formed as I tried to picture her in just a bra and panties.

Sasha was my ideal, my dream. She was young - a perfect age - and appeared even younger with her dancer's physique: a willowy body, slender and narrow-hipped; tall for her age, five-four already. Her adolescence attracted me powerfully. Graced with petite breasts that seemed too small yet suit her perfectly and a stunning dancer's ass that was compact yet beautifully shaped, Sasha was intensely desirable.

Since becoming aware of my sexuality I'd known I was wired differently. It had started with sexual attraction to both my mother and older sister. Incest fantasies had played an important part in my early development. Then, as I matured, I found myself increasingly attracted to younger girls; girls that looked almost immature yet exhibited signs of pubescence; young girls with emerging breast buds, or flat-chested girls with traces of pubic hair, or teenagers like Sasha who appeared younger than they were - mini-adults, cute, sexy, and off limits.

Was it genetic? Was my daughter's attraction to me driven by her DNA? I knew it wasn't my actions that had led her to desire me. I was exceptionally disciplined. I'd never behaved inappropriately around her. And it hadn't been me leading her to my erotic on-line stories either.

I didn't care. If my daughter wanted an intimate relationship with her father, with me, I'd gladly cooperate . . . as long as it was her decision.

Movement distracted me. Sasha, in a mid-thigh pale pink cotton nightshirt and dark pink and white striped socks, descended the stairs silently. Why was she up? She'd let her long dark-burgundy hair free. She looked slightly disheveled, so damned cute and cuddly.

"What's wrong?" I asked with concern.

She settled in the corner of the couch curling her legs up and to the side. "I can't sleep. I'm tired but not."

Getting up from the armchair I moved to the couch and settled next to her, lightly rubbing her thigh. "Are you worried about something or sick?" I asked.

"No. Just restless."

"Wanna play some video games with me? I'll let you win," I offered with a smile.

Her laugh was soft, amused. She shook her head, thick hair bouncing with vitality.

Music played softly, Enigma's distinctive sound almost mournful. Wind gusts occasionally rattled the large multi-paned windows. Yellow-red flames from the gas fire flickered. With a smile, I stood and turned off the floor lamp. Extending my hand to Sasha I said, "Dance with me, sweetheart."

I loved dancing. Sasha's mother had loved dancing. It was what had brought us together way back when. Sasha had learned to dance as a toddler by standing on my feet. She and I had danced often before she was a teenager but rarely since - real dance classes stealing her attention away.

Sasha smiled and took my hand, letting me pull her up from the couch. Her amber eyes sparkled. I drew her into me, so slender, so sweet. One arm circled her waist. My other hand held her hand to my chest. She pressed herself against me, her cheek pressed to the front of my shoulder. We moved.

In the flickering firelight I closed my eyes, inhaled my daughter's scent into my lungs, and relaxed completely.

Dancing in the dark with Sasha was soothing and mesmerizing. Peacefulness permeated me and brought with it gentle arousal, soft desire, my adoration for her intensifying. Music ebbed and flowed, our movements keeping rhythm. Sasha felt far too good in my arms, young and sensual. She moved far too easily showing her natural grace. She was beautifully delicate, intensely female, sweet, young.

Dancing with Sasha at fourteen years old was a completely different experience than when she'd been a preteen. Before, it had been fun and energetic. Now it was emotional. I held an intensely desirable, blossoming young lady in my arms, one who moved sensually, fluidly.

We danced together through the whole album. Every so often Sasha's hand would caress my back or mine would caress hers, expressions of affection. Through my palm on her back I felt her deep sighs of pleasure. Through that same hand I felt the waist of her panties underneath her nightshirt. Through that hand I discovered she wore no bra and I became conscious of her small, remarkably firm breasts pressed against me. It was hard to avoid thinking about us together, about being intimate with my daughter. It was an increasingly difficult desire to repress.

The album ended too soon for my taste. Sasha gave me a tight hug before separating from me. I immediately missed her in my arms.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Feel better?"

"Much."

With an insistent partial erection calling for attention, I cleaned up after Sasha went back to bed. Turning the gas fireplace off and putting my beer glass in the dishwasher, I headed upstairs slowly, preoccupied.

She was still a physical presence against me. My mind's eye was full of Sasha's beautiful long, wavy dark-burgundy hair, loose and disheveled, and I had visions of combing my fingers through it. Yesterday in passing I'd mentioned how much I preferred wavy hair over straight hair and this evening she'd emerged with her hair left to form into her natural soft waves; a first. It had made her more achingly beautiful.

SASHA HUGGED HER EXTRA pillow. Her body was warm and sensitive. She could still feel the motion of dancing with Dad and being held so gently. She could still feel his large body pressing against her breasts and his hand caressing her lower back.

She sighed deeply, her breasts growing heavy. A pleasing ache emerged in her pussy. She felt the need to touch herself.

Holding Dad had been so intimate in her mind. She'd noticed how relaxed he was, how his hand moved, and how well their bodies fit together. His thigh had pressed against her pussy bringing a warm arousal, a familiar desire. It had been too long since she'd last danced with him. She'd forgotten how good a dancer he was.

Hugging her pillow, Sasha let her mind free to dream, arousal directing her fantasy. In it, Dad . . .

----------

"I missed dancing with you, honey," Dad said softly, moving easily. His kiss on her hair sent little shivers through her.

She held him tighter and pressed herself to him. "Me, too," she replied. Her nipples tingled where they rubbed against him. Arousal washed through her, warm and welcome and exciting. Her hand caressed Dad's back.

Sasha closed her eyes when Dad combed his fingers through her hair. She wondered if he noticed how she'd let it curl naturally instead of straightening it because he'd said he likes it that way. When he kissed her hair again she trembled and pressed her pussy against his thigh unconsciously, rewarded with a throb of pleasure.

She did it again and caught her breath. She felt him! She felt Dad! Dad was erect! A shudder of desire hit, nipples sensitive, pussy throbbing. Sasha pressed her body against his erection carefully.

Dancing stopped. She looked up. Her breath fled. Dad's chocolate eyes were so intense, staring deep into her. Did he see her yearning? Her love? The desire she'd carried for so long?

"Sweetheart," he whispered intensely, lovingly, his hand gently cupping her cheek.

Sasha trembled. Would he?

Dad bent his head and tilted her face up to his with a finger under her chin. She almost lost herself in his intense eyes. Lips touched lightly. Sasha moaned. Her knees went weak. Her arms and legs became numb. Dad's lips pressed against hers. She closed her eyes and drowned; Daddy kissing me!

It lasted forever. It ended too soon. She hugged him tightly and whispered, "Dad," under her breath, pressing her cheek against his broad chest, her panties damp, her body crying out for more.

Dancing resumed, a slow sensual dance, bodies pressing together. Sasha trembled at the feel of Dad's erection against her. She sighed when his hand slipped lower to gently hold her butt and moaned silently when he pulled her tightly against him. Arousal flooded her. She wanted Dad so much, so very much.

When he stopped dancing and pulled back it shocked her. Looking up at him with questions unspoken, Dad took her hand and smiled gently, his eyes heated. "Come to bed with me," he suggested softly.

Sasha's heart tripped. She smiled and nodded, her mind almost yelling in excitement, 'Yes! At last! Yes!'

----------

In bed, hugging her pillow with one arm, her mind full of her fantasy with Dad, Sasha touched herself, her fingers easing into her panties to touch her pussy. She let her imagination take her away, all the way into his bed, loved by Dad, together at last.

Finger slippery from her arousal, Sasha strummed her clit, pressure building. Urgency emerged, her hips moving, humping. Eyes closed tightly, picturing herself and Dad together in bed, naked and kissing, she gasped, her climax rushing in with a flush of utter pleasure. Her legs clamped, another wave of bliss made her body clench, pussy pulse. In a quiet, intense orgasm Sasha came, her body trembling and twitching as ecstasy washed over her.

Silence filled her room, the loudest sound that of her heart beating. The climax had brought release but no relief. She still ached for him. Eyes closed, Sasha rolled onto her front and fluffed her pillow. Thinking about Renpet's advice she plotted her next moves.

"Dad, have you seen my pink sweats?" Sasha called out.

GLANCING UP FROM THE kitchen counter, I stopped chopping onions to avoid cutting my fingers off - a very real possibility - and steadied myself with a deep, bracing inhalation. It was becoming increasingly hard not to visibly react. Sasha was proving to be a highly skilled tease.

She'd started with over-sized tops that draped off one shoulder revealing a pale blue bra shoulder strap, then a light pink one, then a plain white one. Each sighting was accompanied by a drive-by brush against me, her small breast rubbing lightly against my arm, or a gentle hug to press them against me. Each time I'd reacted in a way she couldn't see, desire unfurling, arousal flowing in.

On her own initiative she'd progressed to lightly brushing a lovely young breast against me when bra-less, confirming how startlingly firm fourteen-year-old breasts were. My mind couldn't help but think about fondling them. How would they feel in the palm of my hand?

Yet the vision coming down the stairs was teasing in a completely different league. A small royal blue cotton T-shirt was snug enough to scream there was no bra supporting her small breasts. They were so remarkably upright and firm that they hardly moved as she descended the stairs. That T-shirt ended just below her navel. Bare skin showed and below, well below my daughter was sporting pink panties that formed to her body. They were boyshort style, full-sided and low-riding with a lacy waist, and they revealed the delicate shape of her pubis in all its youthful glory.

"Dad?" she asked again. "Have you seen them?"

"No. Look in the study," I suggested, covertly watching my daughter's rather sensual pussy move as she walked. It looked deliciously plump. Was that a camel toe? Man her legs were long when bare.

"Why would they be in the study?" she asked, eyes questioning.

I had no idea except I'd be able to study her dance-toned ass when she'd walk towards it. "Don't know. But you should check anyway," I said, unable to stop my grin.

"What are you up to?" she asked.

"Nothing," I claimed, erasing my grin and resuming chopping onions. When she shrugged and headed for the study I stared after her. Thank God my groan was silent.

Being an avid ass-lover I could truly appreciate Sasha's derrière. Those panties left the bottom of her butt cheeks exposed revealing the sexy crease where they merged with slender thighs. Those panties hugged twin rounded, firm buttocks, small, compact and sexy. The pink material formed a sensual dip into my daughters butt crack. That crack drew appreciative eyes down to a rather remarkable gap at the top of her legs, and filling that gap was the distinct mound of my little girl's pussy. Lord help me it was sexy, powerfully sexy.

She disappeared into the study only to emerge immediately. "Nope. Not there."

"Check under the couch," I suggested.

Suspicious eyes studied me.

While I'd love to watch her bend over, I was quite serious. Pink peeked out from the far side of the couch, visible from a distance. Nodding towards it, I added, "The far side. Underneath the back."

She investigated. "Oh! Here they are. How did they get there?" she asked, stepping into them and pulling them on, pink panties vanishing with a final sexy wiggle and tug.

I pressed my erection against the counter and mentally urged it away before Sasha noticed it. Concentrating, I returned to making dinner. I kept my head bent while she hunted in the fridge for a Diet Pepsi. When she stood next to me, watching me cook, I thought I could almost feel her body heat she was so close.

"How was school?" I asked, piling diced onions to one side and breaking a garlic bulb, separating several cloves.

"The usual," she answered. "What are you making?"

"Meatballs in marinara sauce."

"Not very healthy," my daughter observed before sipping Pepsi from the can.

"It is. It has protein from ground beef, onions are the vegetables, eggs provide the dairy, and tomatoes are the fruits. With pasta as the grain it's a complete and balanced meal that covers all the food groups," I informed her.

"Tomatoes are vegetables not fruits," she informed me.

"No they're not."

"Yes they are."

"Are not," I insisted.

"Are too," Sasha replied.

"They are not, Sasha. You should pay attention in school and learn something useful instead of looking at your iPhone, like what's a vegetable and what's a fruit."

She put the can of pop on the counter and with a blur of thumb movements researched it on her iPhone, her head bent in concentration. A minute later she uttered, "Wow! How 'bout that? Tomatoes really are fruits!"

I hip-bumped her. "Told ya."

She returned the hip-bump. "Let me help you cook."

As we made dinner Sasha invaded my personal space, brushing against me and once hugging me from behind, pressing herself against me. She was a beautiful distraction, full of life, chatting away as she updated me on all her friends' troubles and turmoils. She was a strong presence. The urge to grab her and hug her tight was powerful. I didn't.

Sasha's hoot of laughter made me smile. She had tears in her eyes from laughing too hard and couldn't talk properly, her arms holding herself as if her sides hurt. She started rocking back and forth on the couch. Clearly she was amused and at my expense, too.

I had a pretty stupid grin on my face. This shuffle dance was a hell of a lot harder than it appeared on YouTube. Trying to slide one foot across the floor without hopping was impossible. I tried again.

Sasha roared with laughter. "Dad. Dad," she gasped, "Stop hopping from foot to foot. Slide!"

"I am!" I claimed, although I probably wasn't.

When she rolled onto her side laughing I gave up. I didn't mind being her after-school entertainment but I considered myself an accomplished dancer. Not being able to get even the basics of this dance style down was hurting my pride.

Flopping down onto the couch, I frowned and challenged my far-to-amused daughter. "You do it if you think it's so easy."

Still chuckling, her pretty amber eyes twinkling with pleasure, she tilted her head, gathered her burgundy hair up and slipped an elastic band around it forming a thick ponytail any vixen would be proud of. She started the techno music from the beginning, nodded her head a couple of times to catch the beat and, making a complete and utter fool of me, started moving hypnotically, foot seemingly floating across the floor as if on ice, hard body movements contrasting with the smooth movement of her foot. It had to be the most captivating style of dance I'd seen in years; right up there with dubstep dancing.

Eventually Sasha stopped, breathing hard. She smiled at me. "See? Easy."

"Witch! There's something wrong with you," I claimed.

"I'm gonna shower," she announced with a bright, amused laugh.

I tried to frown at her and failed abysmally, losing it when she grinned back at me. Shaking my head, I rose to start making dinner. I had a deconstructed lasagna dish I wanted to try.

Half an hour later, with the thick, rich meat sauce bubbling in one pot, a marinara in another, and a creamy white sauce set aside and ready, ricotta and egg mixture prepared, I headed upstairs to change into my slumming clothes - well worn sweat pants and a ratty old T-shirt.

Passing Sasha's room, I glanced in wondering if she was still in the shower. It didn't occur to me not to look. Her door was open. I caught a glimpse of her and continued. It might have looked as if all was normal but it wasn't. Like looking directly into the sun, the image I'd seen for just a fleeting moment was seared into my retinae to the point where I wasn't conscious of anything else, blinded by the sight of her.

She'd been half turned away from me, bending slightly to pick up panties from the bed. Sasha was naked, gloriously, beautifully, stunningly naked. From the side I caught sight of a small, upright breast, her areola dark pink. I registered two stupendously beautiful naked buttocks forming an ass even the Good Lord would worship on a Sunday, compact, dance-toned, sexy, so totally female.

Standing in my bedroom, my mind studied the image burned onto my retinae. Without clothes Sasha's body was lithe, her long legs giving her a gazelle-like appearance. Dark-burgundy hair tumbled down her back in unacceptably gorgeous messy soft waves. She wasn't muscular at all. Her body was toned and firm with gentle, young curves in all the right places; an adult in the making. In reality she was so much sexier than my fantasies.

Standing in my bedroom with an erection held tight in my pants, I couldn't stop myself from picturing a recurring fantasy of mine; easing up to my little girl from behind, naked together, my erection naturally finding the sensual groove of her butt crack, sandwiched by two small dance-toned buttocks, pressing myself into her, reaching around to gently cup two small breasts, nuzzling my naked daughter's neck, cock straining, leaking, skin against silken skin.

I mentally groaned when the Sasha of my imagination clenched her buttocks giving my cock an affectionate sexy greeting. My erection flexed when she lovingly sighed, "Dad," her hands covering mine and pressing my palms to her young breasts.

Unable to resist, too horny by far, I went into the bathroom and closed the door. My pants hit the floor, erection straining up, thick, rigid, demanding. I let my fantasy roll over me, now with actual images of my naked daughter to add to it.

I let my mind brush her thick hair aside and kiss her slender neck. I whispered her name and pressed my cock against her.

She sighed when I tweaked her nipple and gently squeezed her perfectly formed breast. My other hand slipped down across her stomach, lower, ever lower. Fingertips sensed the rise of her mons. My erection flexed when I touched silky soft pubes, a small pubic bush, little hairs not yet covering her pussy.

Sasha trembled against me. When I eased my hand down lower she parted her legs for me and I cupped her pussy. My cock throbbed. My middle finger touched silky moisture and drew it up her small cleft, Sasha physically trembling like a frightened fawn as my fingertip rubbed her little clit.

In my mind's eye, as I stood stroking my erection in the bathroom, I watched myself bend my daughter over, her hands on the bed supporting herself. I saw myself grip my thick erection and ease the tip between small buttocks to graze against her slippery pussy, labia parting to kiss my crown, warmth surrounding me. In my mind's eye I watched my little girl's pussy spread, stretched by my cock and, trying to imagine what it would actually feel like to penetrate her, actually thrust into her, actually bury myself inside my little girl and fuck my sweet daughter, my climax arrived. With a deep groan and a strong throb I exploded, semen spurting. My cock swelled and exploded, bliss washing over me. I heaved and came in a deeply pleasurable climax that drained me and left me panting, my desire for Sasha now more exquisitely intense than before.

Sasha stared up at the ceiling seeing nothing in the dark. She hadn't planned it. She'd never have had the courage to do it. Dad seeing her naked was an accident and she discovered something about herself in the process. She liked it! She actually liked exposing herself to him. Exhibitionism was thrilling when done with someone you loved, not embarrassing at all.

Dad had disappeared into his bedroom for almost half an hour. Why? He'd seemed normal at dinner except for the way he looked at her. There was something different in his eyes. What was it? He looked like he was studying her. Every time she glanced at him she found his dark chocolate eyes on her. He'd spot her observation and give her a cheeky embarrassed grin that she adored, the one that made him look so young and full of mischief. She'd seen that look somewhere else. Where?

Sasha's mind wandered through her memories, images flashing past, events, Dad in some, school, the school hall between classes . . . That's it! She'd seen that look on Peter Mark's face. Judy had told her Peter had a crush on her and that look he'd give her was full of admiration and longing. That was Dad's expression!

Was it working? Was Dad becoming attracted to her? Oh, God! If only!

A shiver of pleasure and anticipation passed through her. She smiled in the darkness and started planning her attack on him with renewed enthusiasm. Just imagine! She was seducing Dad!

SASHA SAT ON THE couch, curled up, her beautiful eyes fixed on the television as she watched an episode of So You Think You Can Dance. A bag of Toll House chocolate chips sat open at her side. With metronomic precision she was popping chips into her mouth like pills. There was no overt pleasure on her pretty face. Chocolate was an addiction to her. She needed it as much as she needed air and water, and needed it more than food.

I needed to get up and leave but couldn't, not in my condition. I tried to not look and I couldn't.

Her pale blue shorts were loose and soft. They'd teased me all evening, the cotton draping over small buttocks yet loose enough to only hint at the perfection underneath. They left my daughter's legs bare and, boy, were they beautiful; slender, tapered, and long, so long. But on the couch those shorts had draped on her and in the wide leg opening simple white cotton panties made an appearance.

It was the angle that made everything so damned arousing. Legs curled and leaning against the armrest, with her butt towards me, I had a view no father should have. The double gusset of soft white cotton panties hugged my daughter's pussy as it almost oozed out between her thighs, the cotton so tight it revealed the shape of pure eroticism. I was convinced she had no idea that so much of her was exposed.

I tried to be subtle in my ogling. My cock throbbed as I inadvertently wondered what it would feel like to reach down and touch my daughter's panty-covered pussy, feel that soft cotton and the remarkable shape of adolescence. It looked so lush and ripe, so God damn sexy. I ached with raw desire.

Would her pussy be warm? Soft? What would she feel if I fondled her? Would she get wet? What did arousal feel like to a fourteen-year-old girl?

My erection throbbed again. I gave myself a mental kick in the pants. This over active imagination wasn't doing any good. It was only increasing my agony.

Sasha drew my attention with a call. She distracted me with her attire. My beautiful daughter stood on the landing at the top of the staircase, the glass balustrade providing no modesty.

Leaning over she asked something. What? I have no idea. My entire consciousness was taken up with white, yellow and blue. Sasha wore matching panties and bra. That's it. Nothing more. It was worse. Her lingerie wasn't adult, lacy, or suggestive. White cotton bikini-style panties were trimmed in yellow at the waist and legs, the soft white material printed with small yellow and blue daisies. Her simple bra matched the panties, no bra cups, just soft cotton triangles gently cradling gorgeous young breasts - no support needed - the edges trimmed in yellow.

There was a dichotomy to my daughter that was quite breath-taking. In simple panties and bra the full impact of her dancer's body was on display; narrow, almost delicate, endlessly long slender legs, prominent hip bones. She had not one ounce of fat on her, yet muscles were not stark.

In so many ways she was a gorgeous adolescent girl, attractive for her youth. Yet her sensuality assaulted me, a physical force hammering at me. The way her petite breasts pressed to the cotton made me ache. Below, panties stretched from hip bone to hip bone, folds and creases of chaste cotton stretching and emphasizing a young pussy underneath, the heart-stopping gap between her legs filled by her rounded vulva.

It took a Herculean effort to pull my ravenous eyes away from her body and to actually look at her face. Long dark-burgundy hair fell free in thick waves. One hand curled her hair behind a small ear as stunning amber eyes smiled at me with awareness beyond her years. Did she recognize my desire, the now painful lust coursing through me?

I coughed and looked away, fidgeting in the armchair to relieve the pressure of a sudden erection. In my mind's eye I saw myself dancing with her just like that, almost naked. I saw myself unhook her bra and draw it off her, my palm finding young perfection, a perfect breast, firm and petite and responsive to a father's touch. In my mind's eye I felt my erection, rigid and straining for release. I felt the almost overpowering urge to take my little girl's breast in my mouth and suckle, tease, nip with my lips. In . . .

"Dad!"

"What?!" I answered guiltily and a bit too loudly.

"Can you bring the laundry basket up? I need clean clothes."

"No you don't," I muttered under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll bring it up," I answered, standing with my front turned away from her. I wasn't going to survive much longer. My desire was almost strong enough to take charge. Why the Hell did I advise her to take it slow?

Chapter Five: At Last, Surrender

City lights provided weak illumination to a living room lit by the dancing flick of yellow-red gas flames in the fireplace - all other lights turned off. Furniture was shadowed, the bookcases dark. It was ten past midnight. On the stereo the latest Above & Beyond album, Acoustic, played softly, beautiful music washing over me bringing melancholic emotions. Songs of lost love made my heart ache. It was almost sad yet beautiful, emotional, impactful.

I swirled single malt Scotch in a cut-crystal glass making the ice cubes tinkle, a sound I loved. Taking a sip of amber ambrosia, eighteen years of sherry cask aging slipped down my throat with smooth coolness blossoming into heat as it reached my stomach, The Dalmore Scotch from the Northern Highlands leaving smoky peat on my palate and dried fruit in my nose. It was the perfect drink for the ambiance, for the music, and for my mood.

Silent movement drew my attention. My lethargic heart stirred. Walking down the staircase was a vision of cuteness, not sexiness, but pure cuteness. It made my desire evolve from an ache into a physical pain.

The blue and white striped pajama top was mine. It was far too big for her and looked perfect on her. Sleeves were rolled up yet still covered her arms. Long bare legs showed, the pajama top just long enough to reach the top of her thighs.

She descended the staircase silently, a beautiful mussed young girl, so damned cute; a little girl lost in her father's pajamas. She made the air too thin to fill my lungs and my heart thud uncomfortably. Too beautiful for words.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly.

Sasha made her way over to me, her amber eyes full of emotion, so pretty. She eased her thick dark-burgundy hair behind one ear and, turning, sat sideways in my lap, leaning in against me. My free arm found her waist. She felt wonderful, the scent of pears and lemons battling with the aroma of her hair, a light floral bouquet.

"What's the matter?" I asked again.

"Nothing. Would you dance with me, Dad?"

"Dance with one of my favorite daughters in the world? Absolutely," I answered.

Sasha laughed softly, more like a body shake than a sound, and stood. This time she reached for my hand to pull me up. Leaving the glass of Scotch on the side table after taking a final sip, I stood.

Above & Beyond's Alone Tonight started on the stereo, its haunting muffled trumpet sounding a cry of solitude. Sasha moved in and gently pressed herself against me, her arm around my waist, her other hand seeking and finding mine. I held it to my chest. We moved. I nuzzled her hair and inhaled the scent of the one person I loved beyond measure. Warmth arrived, Scotch enhancing every sensation.

Slipping sideways, silver stars collide
And fade away just like our love that died
And there is nowhere in this universe to hide
From you tonight

I've wrestled with angels all my life
It's always the haloes and the wings
That keep you blind
And if I had fought with all the strength I held inside
I wouldn't be out here
Alone tonight
I wouldn't be standing alone tonight

We danced slowly, a languid movement, our bodies never parting. Sasha fit me perfectly. She moved with a light step and elegant grace beyond her years. She felt wonderful in my arm.

"I love dancing with you, Dad," she murmured.

I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop it. The accumulation of her actions over the past few weeks had been too much, and far, far too successful. I tried to ease my body away from her unsuccessfully, her arm denying me by tightening and holding me close. Through my hands I registered the exact moment she felt my arousal, a slight hiccup in her movement followed by her pressing against me just a bit harder.

I stopped dancing.

Spectacular amber eyes looked up at me.

"You need to stop, honey," I said.

Sasha's eyes opened wide. "Stop what?" she asked in confusion.

I'd wrestled with how to breach the final hurdle, the big one, the move from sexual flirting into actual intimacy. I couldn't exactly succumb without a fight. That wouldn't be natural. I didn't want to discourage or embarrass her either. I wanted her to succeed, to believe she'd seduced me. I wanted her to encourage me. It was one way for me to be absolutely sure, beyond all doubt, that what we were doing was what we both wanted. I'd decided this was the way.

I didn't answer her directly.

"I can't take much more of it. I'm only human, Sasha."

"Much more of what?" she asked, a trace of worry entering her mesmerizing eyes.

"Sweetheart, you're a beautiful girl, too beautiful. I don't know if you're aware of it but I've been having some difficulty seeing you as just my daughter."

I had Sasha's undivided attention, her eyes sharply probing into mine, flitting from one eye to the other seeking.

"You're becoming such a lady. Maybe that's why I've been reacting the way I have. I can't help it." I paused and waited.

"Reacting how?" she eventually asked, her voice soft and low, her amber eyes so big, so pretty.

"I . . . I've been finding myself appreciating you . . . as a gorgeous female. I'm not sure what happened but these past few weeks it seems like every time I look at you I get inappropriate thoughts. I know you don't mean it, but sweetheart, when you walk around partially undressed I've been reacting in an unfatherly way."

I rubbed her back gently and continued. "If I was a teenager and met you I'd have moved Heaven and Earth to make you my girlfriend." With a soft smile I continued, "I need you to be a bit more considerate for your poor father and not be so casual about the way you dress around me. You have to try to be less . . . beautiful . . . no, not just less beautiful but less sexy."

A hint of blush dusted her cheeks. Her smile showed shy pleasure and was stunningly attractive.

"You think I'm sexy?" she asked in almost a whisper.

I nodded. "I do. I'm sorry," I replied.

"Please don't be, Dad," Sasha said. Her light blush intensified. "I have a confession. I've been doing it deliberately."

For a few moments we just looked at each other, my daughter's eyes so full of hope, expectation, yearning. It pulled strings inside me that were well beyond love of a daughter. I rubbed the soft blush on one cheek with my thumb, smiled gently, and said, "In that case I'm not sorry at all."

Pulling her to me, we started dancing again, a slow intimate dance. Sasha talked quietly about her sexual attraction to me and I admitted to an illicit desire for her. I didn't miss how she subtly pressed herself against my erection or how every so often she'd sigh and hug me tighter. I didn't miss how she avoided mentioning her email exchanges with Renpet. I didn't confess to being Renpet, either.

While the desire to grab her, hustle her to bed and make love to her was powerful, stronger desires ruled. There was an ocean of exciting exploration between first attraction and final intimacy that I didn't want to skip. There were life-long memories to be created for Sasha and, selfishly, for me, too. There was sweet expectation to relish, titillation, teasing and flirting. There were small intimacies to explore and secrets to share and experiences to be had together.

There was a journey to be made and I started the journey with a single kiss.

As we danced, Sasha feeling so good against me, I tilted her face up, watched realization enter her enchanting eyes followed by shyness and a soft smile. I kissed her smile gently, my lips brushing against hers, her clean warm breath mixing with mine. Sasha's lips were soft, silky, and warm. I had an urge to deepen the kiss but resisted. I chose instead to end it.

"Beautiful," I whispered.

Sasha's sigh was audible. She pressed her cheek to the front of my shoulder and her body to mine.

As the music came to an end and faded into silence, I took my daughter's hand and said, "Let's go to bed."

Sasha's eyes opened wide. Pale pink dusted her cheeks. She nodded and smiled almost shyly.

Leading her upstairs, Sasha following behind me, her hand in mine, I led her into my bedroom. She may have expected more. She might have thought we were going to mess around, kiss, maybe do more. We didn't. I didn't even kiss her again.

We cuddled in bed, Sasha in my arms, the room dark. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. Having Sasha in bed with me was excitement enough. Sleep eventually took us both.

The first time you sleep with someone is usually a restless and tiring experience. Nervousness prevents deep sleep and heightens awareness of your bed partner. I experienced something quite different. I slept wonderfully, relaxed and rested, yet I woke up at regular intervals as if my brain was just reminding me, "Look, you have to see this. That's your daughter in bed with you!"

Each time I regained consciousness I found us in a different position. Our limbs were constantly tangled in some fashion, physical contact maintained. At one point I woke up to find Sasha with her face buried in my chest and her arm over my body, her knee between my legs. Another time she was face down and our legs were linked together. She spooned me from behind and sometime later I found myself spooning her. I never felt movement, just waking up to discover us in a different position.

It should have felt like a restless sleep but it wasn't. Each episode of wakefulness brought with it renewed joy and pure pleasure - my little girl was sleeping with me. In each period of awareness I was able to inhale her scent, intoxicating and lovable. And despite the moments of wakefulness it was the best night in bed I'd had since sleeping with my wife. I felt no embarrassment for the partial erections that formed when pressed to Sasha. I was completely comfortable with her.

When morning arrived I was rejuvenated and full of excited energy. The bedside alarm clock told me it was early, six thirty-five. A cold early morning autumn sun brightened the bedroom. Beside me the bed was empty. Her scent lingered on the pillow next to me, an indentation showing where her head had rested.

My step was sprightly and my mood high when I emerged from the bathroom in well-worn comfy sweats and a ratty old faded blue T-shirt. It soared at the sight from the top of the staircase. Sasha was bustling around in the open kitchen; coffee brewing and scenting the air, bowls of cereal ready, fruit being cut up on the cutting board. She was incredibly cute in her pink sweats and a mismatched yellow cotton camisole top, her feet bare. She glanced up at me and stopped my heart with her smile.

It was broad, a million-watt beam full of excitement and love and adoration. I couldn't remember her being so visibly happy. Amber eyes sparkled.

"Dad! I've made breakfast!"

She was still smiling broadly when I hugged her from behind. She pressed back at me, so petite and sexy. She almost purred when I kissed the top of her shoulder and murmured, "Morning, honey. How did you sleep?"

"Best ever," she responded. "How about you?"

"Never better. We should do it again."

"Tonight?" she immediately suggested.

"If you insist," I agreed.

With a bright, excited laugh, Sasha busied herself serving breakfast. I sat at the kitchen island counter, sipped coffee and admired her. She was happy, really happy. It wasn't just the rather blinding smiles. It was her movements. My daughter was dancing; light on her feet and bouncing on her toes as she passed me a bowl of Muesli and a plate of fruit; diced pears, sweet strawberries, blueberries, and juicy peach slices.

While she ate and talked about everything and nothing - just exhibiting youthful brightness - I decided it was my turn to do some seducing. Up to this point it had been all Sasha. She'd been the one trying to attract me and I'd experienced the joy of her efforts. Now it was her turn. It was her turn to experience being desired and pursued and seduced by someone she loved.

"How would you feel about playing hooky from school today?" I asked. A Friday off wouldn't hurt her grades.

Amber eyes twinkled. "I'd love to. What 'cha have in mind?"

Chapter Six: Who's Seducing Whom?

It's the little things that make the difference. Jumping into bed together might have proved fun and erotic, but small intimacies make anticipation almost unbearable and intensify desire. I held my daughter's hand as we explored the cavernous depths of the Natural History Museum in the morning. I drew her attention to items with a soft, intimate touch of her arm. I steered her through crowds with a gentle hand on her lower back or by leading her by the hand. As we admired displays I let my thumb caress her shoulder subtly.

Sasha responded to all the little intimate touches of affection. She glowed with happiness and danced instead of walking. She hugged my arm, almost hanging off it, and stayed firmly in my personal space, often bumping against me.

We chatted about inanities and the inconsequential while our eyes communicated on a different level; affection, attraction, the shy excitement of budding illicit intimacy, promises of more, desires. It made Sasha painfully attractive to me. Through her excitement I was once again experiencing young love, first love, nervousness battling a constant state of soft arousal. It was exquisite.

Lunch was a hot dog stand. Sasha playing hooky from school and me playing hooky from writing gave the day a special excitement. The afternoon was spent walking in the crisp autumn air and shopping in gourmet markets for dinner, arguing over what to have, debating, and me ceding to my daughter's wishes - roast beef with oven-roasted potatoes it would be.

I noticed how Sasha's personality evolved. It was subtle but definitive. It happens when two people feel perfectly comfortable with each other. Our father-daughter relationship melted away to be replaced by one of almost equals, of courting lovers. A maternal, mature mien emerged in Sasha. She laughed with me, smiled with me, and expressed joy through twinkling eyes. Yet she also directed me. She started telling me to do things as if I was the teenager, not her, and I let her. I began to relax and have fun and joke. In the open food market she scolded me, "Stop playing with those vegetables," as I made a crown of broccoli dance with a large carrot like Charlie Chaplain's fork and potato table dance. She frowned and advised me the rib roast I was buying was too big for two people and forced me to buy a smaller one. Before starting to cook she was stern, "Dad, wash your hands. They're dirty from shopping."

I didn't just love it, I adored it. I absolutely adored it. My little girl was taking charge, empowered by me and by her emerging comfort with my attraction. She was maturing before my eyes and through her actions and comments was claiming ownership of me. I gladly let her. It was too charming by far. It thrilled me to see so much love in her and all we'd done was kiss once and sleep in the same bed. What would it be like when true intimacy started?

I'd always been attracted to strong women. Sasha's mother had been an enchanting mix of tough female and soft sexiness, an irresistible combination. Sasha was proving to be like her mother. Watching her bustle about in the kitchen preparing carrots and potatoes for the roasting pan, a wave of love hit me.

I moved in. Reaching around her I took the peeler from one hand and the carrot from the other. With gentle pressure on her shoulder I turned her to face me.

Beautiful amber eyes framed by long dark lashes and dark eyebrows watched me intently. A small blush emerged when she understood what I wanted - her. Bending, our lips touched. Sasha's eyes closed. She pressed herself against me, her lips silken and soft and sexy. It was a sweet, intense kiss full of unspoken desires and promises of more. When it ended my daughter's eyes twinkled. Her blush faded. She smiled almost shyly, so sweet. She clearly loved being desired.

Two minutes later she was ordering me around again and I was smiling stupidly, completely happy, a playful puppy. I toyed with the rib roast and received a stern look and a, "Behave, Dad!" that seemed to make her feel good; she grinned immediately afterwards.

I pretended to sneeze behind her back in passing and added a flick of water at her neck, earning a sudden screech of disgust and a stern, "Dad! That wasn't funny!" when she saw my grin.

Sasha blossomed in front of my eyes making my heart ache. After dinner we watched TV in comfortable silence. Occasional comments were thrown out between Sasha's busy phone calls talking to her friends. Darkness arrived. With Sasha making excited noises into her cell phone I turned the gas fireplace on, switched one side lamp on, and settled back into my armchair.

On the iPad in my lap I checked Gmail. I had several new emails, all but one commenting on my latest story. I read them with pleasure before turning to the most important one.

Renpet,
I can't believe it! Thank you! Thank you! Last night not only did Dad kiss me but I slept in his bed! I actually slept with Dad and it's all thanks to you.
I still can't believe it. All we've done is kiss once, but what a kiss. Dad told me I was beautiful and sexy. I could see how he felt in his eyes. This is all so exciting! He has this really sexy smell when he sleeps, sort of leathery and Scotch mixed together, a real guy smell that's almost edible.
I don't know if I'll be writing to you again. I'll try. But if I don't, thank you so much for helping my fantasy to come true. I'll forever be grateful.
A fan,
Sasha.4843

I checked the time. She'd sent it this morning while I slept. Should I answer her? Probably. She'd expect it.

sasha.4843,
I'm happy for you. It sounds like your wish is coming true. Bravo. Clearly your subtle seduction worked. I would love to hear how your relationship goes, what happens, and how you feel about it. But I understand if you're too busy having fun to let me know.
I have one final piece of advice. Don't let love and excitement blind your eyes. Don't let arousal drive you to do something you'll regret once the heat of passion has abated. Never forget you'll hurt your father more by doing something you regret than by doing something he'll regret.
I hope you find the happiness you've wanted. I hope you'll reward me one day with details of your relationship, too.
A most thankful author,
Renpet

With a quick review I sent the email and went back to watching Unforgettable on television. Sasha ended her phone call and studied her iPhone. When I saw her smile and start fidgeting I knew she'd read my email. Her smile was the one she'd give when pleased with herself; the cutest smug expression ever. She'd used it several times today.

In the soft illumination cast by the side table lamp and fireplace I studied her face. Angular cheekbones were beginning to emerge, a sign of adolescence nearing completion. Intelligent eyes watched the television. Her hair shimmered with health, a very dark-burgundy color that appeared almost black at night and deep red in sunlight. She'd gathered it with a black scrunchy at the base of her neck, the tail thick and wavy. Expressions played across her pretty face as she watched TV; amusement, intensity, a frown. My desire for her was a physical presence inside me, strong and growing, my yearning almost painful. It reminded me of crushes I used to have as a teenager only much, much stronger.

SASHA WASN'T FOLLOWING THE TV show. She'd noticed Dad studying her. His dark chocolate eyes were contemplative, quiet, and full of adoration. In the low light his face was full of angles and planes, his jaw slightly darkened by day-old stubble making him appear ruggedly handsome.

She smiled to herself. Today had been wonderful. Dad had behaved like a boy, fooling around so much she'd actually had to reproach him and order him to behave. The glitter of mischief in his eyes had almost had her giggling and had definitely made her heart trip.

Sitting on the couch she experienced it again - the thrill of ordering him around, of being in charge. She adored his look of chagrin when caught being silly. She wondered what he'd be like as a lover, the thought making her shiver with anticipation. Would real sex be anywhere as good as her imagination or worse? Just think. Making love with Dad. She'd dreamed about it so much and for so long would it be a disappointment when it happened? No. It couldn't be. She could still feel how wonderful it had been to hold him in her arms, dancing in the dark with him. He moved so well, so easily.

An urge to do it again hit her. An urge to kiss him made her nipples respond. She stood suddenly, now restless.

"What's up?" he asked.

Switching the television off, she turned the stereo on, soft music filling the living room. Moving over to him she switched the lamp off.

"Will you dance with me?" she asked, taking his hand.

Emotions passed through his dark eyes and across his face as he stood. His soft smile made her heart trip again. She moved in, Dad's arms welcoming her. His scent filled her senses, his body large and firm. He moved.

She experienced heaven again, dancing slowly, music washing over her. This time she caressed his back and pressed her cheek to the front of his shoulder, his thigh easing between her legs. She pressed her body to him, breasts aching pleasantly, her pussy rubbing against his thigh, arousal arriving like the caress of a warm tropical breeze.

She looked up. A shiver of anticipation hit her. Dad smiled softly and bent his head. Sasha watched his mouth. Her eyes closed just as his lips touched hers, her heart racing. It was a perfect kiss, warm lips, his scent, pressure.

Somehow dancing stopped. Somewhere in the kiss Dad started caressing her back. Somewhere, lost in the kiss, Sasha rubbed her pussy against his thigh and shuddered, a pulse of warming pleasure flowing through her. With arousal came desire and lust and yearning for more. Kissing Dad was wonderful but not enough. She needed more. She wanted more.

Using all her willpower she ended the kiss. "Is it time for bed?" she asked.

His eyes bore into hers. A decision was made. With a smile he said in a quiet voice, "Yes. Let's go to bed."

Sasha let Dad lead her around as he shut off the stereo and the gas fire. She let him lead her by the hand as they ascended the staircase, her excitement rising with each step. She let him lead her into the master bedroom and wondered if he'd undress her. Would he see her naked tonight? Would she see him naked?

"Why don't you get ready for bed. I'll do the same," he suggested.

"Kay," she agreed, somewhat disappointed, and slipped her hand from his.

Turning to go change, he grabbed her hand and drew her back against him. She looked up. His kiss was harder, more thrilling. She felt his desire in how hard he held her and the lump in his groin. Dad was turned on!

"Okay. That will keep me. Now you can change," he said with a smile, releasing her.

Sasha danced to her bedroom to change. Drawers were opened and hunted through, pajamas and nighties inspected, none seeming right. None seemed adult enough, sexy enough, none good enough for Dad. A pulse of excitement hit her. Would they have sex tonight? Make love together?

With a flush of embarrassment Sasha realized she'd have to change her panties. They were already damp. What to wear? What would Dad like? What would he find sexy? Nervousness emerged, butterflies in her stomach, breath short.

I LOOKED AT MY face in the bathroom mirror. My hands were trembling. Nerves prevented me from sporting a full-on erection, thank God. Never the less, inside the blue and white striped pajama bottoms my cock was thick and partially erect, feeling heavy. Sasha had enchanted me with kisses and pressing herself against me and sighs and caressing my back so lovingly as we danced. I had to remind myself I would NOT have intercourse with her tonight. It was too soon. There were so many things to experience first. Yet I knew it was going to be a huge challenge not to. I so wanted to make love to her; my long-held fantasies so close to becoming reality it was thrilling.

A soft noise from the bedroom broke my train of thought. With a final deep breath, I tried and failed to flatten my unruly hair, tried on a smile, saw my nervousness shine through, and started worrying about how to behave with my daughter.

Turning the bathroom light out I entered the bedroom and all nervousness, all doubts, all hesitation magically vanished. Sasha was sitting up on the bed, covers shoved down. The bedside lamp cast a soft light over her. Her hair was untied falling in thick glossy waves. She was smiling at me sweetly, her eyes sparkling, and she was wearing my pajama top again. Long sexy bare legs stretched out on the bed, her ankles crossed.

My body reacted, my cock thickening at the sight. Before it embarrassed me I moved to the bed, lying on my side facing her. Sasha gave me a sweet smile and slipped down, rolling to face me, less than twelve inches separating us.

I didn't reach for her body. I didn't reach for her rather sexy hip under the pajama top. With a fingertip I curled her long hair behind one ear. My hand slipped behind her neck and, with a smile, I drew her face towards me.

Our lips brushed gently against each other in an intense not-quite kiss. We paused, inhaling each other's breath. Lips brushed again, teasing, light, so erotic. Excitement built. On the cusp of intimacy we played, lips touching so lightly it almost tickled, backing off less than an inch, pausing, brushing again with slightly more pressure, pausing with lips touching and easing away. Her warm, clean, minty breath washed over me. A subtle smile emerged on her face and she kissed me lightly. When I tried to press my lips to hers she backed off, pretty amber eyes twinkling with amusement. She repeated the move, her lips softly brushing mine, so immensely erotic, and backed off again when I eagerly pressed forward.

The seductive tease thrilled me. Where did she learn these things? I'd never had a girl titillate me so effectively. She was dangerously close to eroding all my restraint, her artful playfulness only intensifying my desire.

When Sasha teased me again with the lightest brush of her lips, her beautiful expressive eyes twinkled with pleasure and pride at my groan of agony. She giggled lightly.

Without realizing it I'd developed a full erection. I became aware of it when it strained inside my boxers and I sensed cooling wetness at the tip, all from her teasing little kisses. Desire exerted its iron grip on me. I needed to kiss my daughter. I had to kiss her properly. It was an imperative.

Moving suddenly I rolled Sasha onto her back and rose to lean over her. She laughed quietly, face full of excitement. She was enjoying my agony; an affirmation of my attraction to her and confirmation of her skills as a seductress of her father.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," I warned.

"Kay," she answered.

"I mean really kiss you."

"Kay."

"Not that teasing stuff you just did," I warned with mock seriousness. "A full-on proper lover's kiss."

Sasha giggled quietly. "Kay."

"Prepare yourself," I added.

She burst into laughter. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"You bet I'm gonna kiss you," I confirmed with a nod. Then, smiling, I didn't.

Sasha laughed, eyes bright with amusement. She shoved my shoulders hard pushing me off her and onto my back. Rising, she leaned over me, imitating me. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. With a grin she warned me, "I'm gonna kiss you now."

"Go right ahead," I encouraged.

"I will."

"All right then."

It was a beautiful sight. My daughter's grin melted away. Her eyes searched each of mine, her expression intense. She inspected my lips and smiled slightly as if approving or enjoying. Her amber eyes returned to mine. She moved. Small, silken lips touched mine. Pressure increased. Sasha's eyes closed. A deep shudder shook me when the moist tip of her tongue touched my lips.

Like being caught in a roiling wave crashing onto a beach, disorientation overcame me. My eyes closed. My hand cupped the back of her neck. Lips parted and Sasha thrilled me with a moan as our tongues touched. I was kissing my daughter like a lover, my lover, my little girl.

The kiss intensified. My tongue probed into her moist mouth. Tongues wrestled. She followed my retreating tongue all the way into my mouth. Sasha actually trembled when I sucked her tongue. My erection strained. The kiss ended suddenly, Sasha pulling away. Her eyes studied me again, searching for something.

She found it, whatever it was. A small smile emerged. Then she blushed when I spoke.

"That was amazing. The best ever. Very addictive."

When I drew her face back to mine, when our lips touched, her beautiful eyes twinkled before closing. My hand caressed down her back to the curve of her amazing ass. Sasha responded by hooking her knee over my leg, her crotch pressed to my thigh. The feel of her sexy buttock filled my palm and occupied mind. I explored it, sexy topography plotted by my hand.

Desire intensified. Small kisses started. I sucked her lower lip and she trembled slightly. My hand caressed a stupendously shapely buttock and edged the pajama top up until I was exploring soft cotton panties, my daughter's panties. Fingertips traced the dip of her butt crack down, down deeper. My kiss was harder, more passionate.

Suddenly I needed more physical contact. Rolling towards her I pulled my daughter against me, body pressed to body.

Through the kiss, the pressure of her soft lips, and the movement of her small tongue I knew the exact moment she felt my erection. There was a slight pause, activity stopping. Sasha reacted. She pressed herself against my erection. Her sexy buttocks flexed in my palm. Her knee slipped up over my thigh and suddenly my fingertips were caressing the warm gusset of her panties. Under my fingers I mapped the delicate shape of youth, the swell of her young vulva, and traced her cleft through cotton. I felt her clench her buttocks when the tip of my finger touched her clit and she moaned into my mouth. Jesus she was exciting.

Sasha responded to my intimate caress by kissing me harder, her mouth open against mine, her tongue active. Warm breath wafted against my cheek. She humped her stomach against my erection, her sweet buttocks flexing. A shudder shook her. She humped again, rubbing my erection, my fingertips sliding over her panty-covered pussy caressing her, rubbing her, encouraging her.

The kiss broke suddenly. Sasha buried her face in my neck. Almost silently she whispered, "Dad."

Holding my little girl tightly, I started moving, hunching against her, sliding my erection up and down and pressing it to her soft stomach. I caressed her cleft, teased the almost undetectable bump of her clit, and inhaled her amazing scent deep into my lungs, pears and lemons and sweet innocence. I whispered to her, "Sasha, baby."

Sasha moaned and humped me, her hips tilting, her pussy moving back and forth insistently, my fingertips rubbing her, caressing her, touching warmth. Just as I felt dampness in the gusset of her panties my little girl slipped over the cliff. I experienced something I'd only fantasized about before and it stunned me. My daughter climaxed. Humping my erection her slender body jerked and lost rhythm briefly. She whimpered again, "Daddy," her breath hot against my neck. With short, cute humps my little girl came, her whimpers becoming little mewls of a kitten; the sweetest music to a father's ears.

With a grunt and moan of my own, with Sasha's undulating stomach pressed hard to my erection, bliss arrived with a sudden and breathtaking bang, my cock swelling and exploding, hot cum flooding my pajama bottoms, pleasure crashing over me. I drowned, Sasha climaxing in my arms with sweet mewls. My cock swelled and exploded, sweet ecstasy following beautiful release, wet cum bathing my crown. We writhed sensually against each other, climaxing together, cumming hard, so beautiful.

The end arrived suddenly, rudely. Like a balloon being deflated I was left empty, drained, my heart racing. Our bodies stilled. Her breath was warm where it washed against my neck. When I moved to extricate myself from her hug she complained with a cute moan and tightened her grip on me, refusing to let go.

I drew her scent into my lungs. I memorized the feel of her warm body pressed to mine and tried to hold onto the experience of my girl climaxing. I held a superb, compact, dance-toned buttock and I felt the residual shockwaves of her orgasm through leftover tiny tremors that shook her body. My erection faded away. I tried to indelibly imprint what I'd just experienced; the first intimate act with my darling.

No words had been spoken but I knew the exact moment my daughter slipped into sleep. Her hug relaxed. Her body melted. Her knee slipped from my thigh.

I adored Sasha's climax and couldn't wait to experience it again. Nothing in my limited imagination had come close to reality. The humping motion, the pulses of pleasure making her young body jerk softly, her sweet sounds of ecstasy, and the scent of her filling my senses was just about the most beautiful thing ever.

It took me a long time to fall asleep; holding my sweet slumbering daughter was too good.

She was fidgeting in her seat again. Music swelled up from the orchestra pit. On stage bodies moved with grace, fluidly, making the difficult seem effortless. The Alvin Ailey Dance Company was coming to the end of Revelations, their last dance.

Sasha had completely ignored me throughout the performance. Her only acknowledgement that I was her escort was when she grasped my hand and gripped it tightly, absorbed by the dancers on stage. I occupied myself with watching a truly superb dance troupe express emotion through movement and watching my daughter's face express emotion through her magnetic eyes. She was enthralled, her joy a beautiful thing to behold.

Sometimes being a very successful author has benefits. Getting tickets to a sold-out dance performance at the last minute was one such benefit. Sasha had positively vibrated all day with excitement.

With Sasha gripping my hand, and accomplished, talented dancers performing on stage, my mind drifted back.

Last night, despite semen-encrusted pajama bottoms, I had a beautiful sleep full of disjointed dreams. Why was it so restful and refreshing? Like the night before I'd woken up almost every hour to find myself intertwined with my daughter in some fashion; legs scissored together, or spooning, or my hand on her back, or Sasha cuddled into me like a puppy seeking warmth. It was as if my psyche was still forcing me to appreciate that my daughter was truly sleeping in bed with me. The night should have been exhausting. It wasn't. It was refreshing, one of the greatest night's sleep. Why?

This morning I had woken up to find the bed empty again, a dent left in the pillow from her head, and her scent of pears and lemon and sweet sexiness still lingering, a teasing reminder of my daughter. I'd felt wonderful, energized, and full of enthusiasm.

Showered and shaved I'd found her in the kitchen, dressed and making a pot of coffee. When she glanced at me and blushed despite a big, high-watt smile, I knew I needed to do something. She was insecure about what had happened last night, our first real intimacy together.

I approached and hugged her from behind, enjoying yet again how slight a girl she was, so desirable to me, such a dream. I kissed the base of her neck on one side and said softly, "Morning, Hon."

Before she could respond I added, "Can I hold your breasts for you?"

There was a moment of silence - her shock, I expect - followed by "Dad!" and a burst of bright, stress-relieving laughter. She leaned back into me, her body shaking. I kissed her neck again, grinned and let her go. Life was back on an even keel, intimacy back to being fun.

Over breakfast I advised her I was serious. I really wanted to feel her up. Her blush at my comment showed mostly pleasure this time, hardly any shyness or embarrassment. She hadn't answered me or given me permission. Maybe she didn't think I was serious. I was.

The rest of the day had fallen into a pattern. She'd left to spend time with her girlfriends while I'd put in a few hours writing. The idea to come see The Alvin Ailey Dance Company's latest show had hit me and, with a bit of scrambling and cashing in a favor, I'd snagged tickets for the seven-thirty performance.

Sasha had been so excited when I told her where we were going she almost sizzled and crackled with electricity, her body full of motion, restless energy driving her. She'd given me a big smile, a big hug, and a big kiss on my cheek, and promptly vanished.

I didn't see her again until, at six-thirty, I yelled for her to move her tush or we'd be late. Girls like making entrances. They spend hours preparing for the moment of appreciation, the first reveal. The smart man understands this. He understands his future comfort and peace of mind depends on his performance at that critical moment when the girl emerges. I was a very, very smart man. Despite it, when my daughter appeared at the top of the staircase I was speechless.

Sasha wore a little black dress that seemed to hug her slender body more intimately than an Italian gigolo. It conformed to all her gentle curves reinforcing her youth yet somehow it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Strapless and ending high on her thighs, it looked like a tube of material she'd wiggled into, and no doubt that simple piece of clinging material had cost a fortune.

Sasha's dark-burgundy hair, thick and glossy with vitality and full of sensuous waves, tumbled unrestrained down her back. She'd pinned each side up over her ears to expose her fine-boned face and dainty ears. I had to look carefully before I saw just a hint of makeup. Hypnotic amber eyes studied me with expectation in them, watching carefully for Dad's reaction, Dad's opinion - the single most important opinion to her. My daughter's legs in that dress were endlessly long, beautifully shaped by years of dancing. Simple black medium-high-heeled shoes completed the outfit. A thin gold chain with a dangling heart draped around her neck was the only jewelry on her. In her right hand she held her iPhone.

I actually felt my heart beat heavily in my chest, a war drum-like thump-thump sound in my ears. Breathing was difficult. That angel was mine!

"Well?" she asked.

"I . . . It's . . . Holy cow, Sasha! You're . . ." Words actually failed me!

"I'm what?"

I studied her very, very carefully and, looking at her directly in her eyes, I answered with simple honesty, "Gorgeous. You're gorgeous."

A broad, very satisfied smile emerged on her face. She descended, walking carefully in heels. Clearly I'd said the right things. I'd passed the test.

I don't care what anyone else says. Escorting my beautiful daughter to a social occasion like a dance performance, Sasha holding my arm, with everyone admiring her and knowing just from her youth that she was my daughter, was thrilling. It was thrilling because I knew. I knew the beautiful angel on my arm, that gorgeous young girl, was not just my daughter but a girl I was developing an intimate relationship with and it made everything more intoxicating, more exciting. It was illicit in so many ways. I loved seeing other guys subtly appreciate her with side glances when their wives were distracted, knowing they were thinking very adult thoughts and I was the one. I was the one she'd chosen. I was the one who would see her naked, kiss her, make love to her. I was the one she was giving herself to, who would experience loving a young girl, experience the thrill of incest. I was the one, not them. It aroused me no end.

A swell of applause brought my attention back to the theater. Dancers were taking a bow. Sasha jumped to her feet giving a standing ovation, clapping loudly and enthusiastically. I stood and joined her. She glanced at me, her eyes shining brightly. She gave me a big, big smile.

"Aren't they fantastic?" she enthused. "I'm going to dance like them one day."

I'd planned a dinner out at a very chic restaurant suitable to Sasha's attire. Sasha, hanging onto my arm as we slowly made our way out of the theater, talked constantly, rehashing every move the dancers had made, explaining to me how difficult each move was, the timing and grace needed, how well they hid the massive effort it took and how they made it look easy; it wasn't, she assured me.

As only another dancer could, Sasha remembered every move of each dance, the choreography indelibly imprinted on her brain. Her bubbly enthusiasm made me smile. She'd always been a great person to give gifts to.

"Where are we going?" she asked suddenly when I escorted her to an intersection. We stood waiting for the light to change.

"I'm taking you to Chez Philippe," I informed her. "I've wanted to try their escargots. They're rumored to be the best in New York."

"Eew! Snails? Really?" Sasha exclaimed. "I don't want to eat out. Let's go home."

"They have other dishes besides escargots, Sasha," I informed her.

Sasha tugged my arm to get my attention. "Let's go home, Dad. I want to dance in the dark with you."

My blood pressure jumped. "What about dinner?"

"We can find leftovers in the fridge and eat on the floor in front of the TV and watch a movie together. Besides, these shoes hurt."

Half an hour later I opened the front door. The condo was dark, furniture shadowed in the living room, the open kitchen to the right reflecting city lights in the chrome cabinet handles and off the shiny granite counter top. The chrome and glass stair banister rose up on the left.

I reached for a light switch out of habit. Sasha stopped me.

"Turn the fireplace on, Dad. I'll do the music," she suggested.

As yellow-red flames licking up over realistic ceramic logs gave off a flickering ghostly light, music from Above & Beyond's Acoustic album softly filled the room. Sasha straightened from the stereo and turned. She smiled at me, slight shyness emerging, so pretty.

She kicked off her shoes and moved into my arms on tiptoes, her head nestled under my chin. She pressed herself against me. I held one hand against my chest and held her slender waist. We moved. Dancing in the dark with my daughter was a loving and erotic experience. It was impossible not to react to how she felt against me, slender, young, so desirable. She danced with sensuousness that belied her age, my thigh pressed between her legs.

We danced slowly lost in the music and movement. When her hand caressed my back I did the same and the nature of our dance changed. It became sensual. My hand dropped to her lower back and found the beginning swell of her rear. Unable to stop myself, I let my hand fall and carefully cupped her ass. I held one buttock, one perfectly formed buttock that undulated erotically as she moved, bringing arousing images of last night to mind.

Sasha's response was subtle. She pressed her pussy against my thigh slightly harder. Suddenly our dance was sexual; in slow motion we were rubbing against each other. I let her hand go and caressed her side, my thumb lightly brushing the side of her breast before falling to hold her small hip.

She turned her face up. Extraordinary amber eyes full of sweet yearning drew me in. Holding one firm, sensuous buttock in one hand and her small hip in the other, dancing together slowly, we kissed.

It started out slow, a light touch of lips, sexy, exciting. The kiss broke but our mouths stayed close. Her eyes smiled at me. I kissed my daughter again, pulling her body to mine, a partial erection lumping my pants. Sasha's lips pressed to mine. She pressed herself even harder against me. The tip of her tongue emerged and when mine greeted hers, her eyes closed. Suddenly we were kissing deeply, a flood of passion arriving. Her arms reached up around my neck. Suddenly desires and arousal were threatening self-restraint. Kissing Sasha was an intensely erotic experience.

I broke the kiss and inhaled deeply trying to restore calm, trying to slow my heart, and trying to hold off carting her to bed. For a few minutes it worked. Then I looked down. Sasha looked up. We kissed again, harder, tongues more forceful, moist, teasing, wrestling together; kissing my fourteen-year-old was disorienting in the extreme. My erection strained, now tight in my pants. The sweet fog of desire intensified. It was so hard not to succumb, not to rush into the intimacy that beckoned with the power of a bottle of Scotch to a thirsty alcoholic.

My hand caressed the side of her body, once again lightly brushing the side of her small breast with the edge of my thumb before moving back down, so exciting. The kiss ended.

I hadn't realized we'd stopped dancing. Sasha looked up at me, her eyes questioning.

"I thought you wanted to touch me," she said. "Why don't you?"

"I don't know how far you want to go, honey. I'm trying not to pressure you into doing something you don't want, or move too fast," I informed her. "It's much harder to resist you than I thought," I admitted.

She studied me intensely, her eyes moving back and forth between mine. There was no emotion just intensity, concentration. "I want to do everything with you, Dad. Everything."

"But . . ."

She interrupted me. "No 'buts', Dad. You can't wait for me to start things. I don't know what to do. I want to please you but I don't know what you want. I don't know how. I don't know when it's the right time or wrong time. I've never done this before, you have."

Intensity radiated from her amber eyes. Her voice was soft but full of conviction. A partial frown between dark eyebrows made her look so cute.

Caressing her cheek, I smiled. "Okay. No holding back. Just promise me you'll say something if I move too fast or go too far."

A bright smile emerged. She hugged me, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. "Kay." Then she added under her breath, "I'll tell you if you're moving too slow, too."

Despite music still playing, I leaned back slightly. Sasha looked up. I smiled with excitement and said, "I'm going to undress you tonight, Sasha."

She returned my smile.

"I mean it. I'm very excited about it, too."

She giggled silently. "Kay."

"All the way down to your underwear."

Sasha laughed. "Promise?"

"Yup. And I'm gonna kiss you."

"You already have," she pointed out.

"I have," I agreed with a nod and started us dancing again. "But I meant I'm gonna kiss every bit of your skin I uncover."

"Every bit?" Sasha challenged, moving smoothly with me and pressing her lower body against me in a surprisingly suggestive move for a fourteen-year-old.

"That's right. Every bit I uncover."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes big and bright and full of mischief that should have been a warning to me.

"Yup. As soon as we've finished dancing." After thinking for a moment I added, "And had something for dinner. I'm hungry."

Sasha's hand found the back of my head. She pulled me, her eyes laughing, a smile of amusement and pride on her lips. She whispered, "Okay," and we kissed.

Soft warm lips distracted me. A small active tongue muddled my thinking. We danced slowly, kissed heatedly, my daughter rubbing herself against the bulge in my pants. For some strange reason I forgot about dinner. Important thoughts took precedence; sexy thoughts, naughty thoughts, exciting thoughts.

"You're moving too slow," my sweet sexy girl informed me in a quiet voice. Her hand reached for mine where it rested on her hip and drew it up.

When I actually cupped Sasha's small breast over her dress and caressed, Sasha gasped softly, shuddered lightly, her dancing faltering. She grabbed my hand. Confusion gave into excitement when she asked, "Can we go to bed now?"

Music was left on. The gas fireplace was left on. I followed my daughter's spectacular ass up the stairs, riveted by how it moved under the tight, little black dress.

In the bedroom she let my hand go. "I need the bathroom. Be right back," she informed me, disappearing into the en suite bathroom.

Full of randy thoughts and erotic intent, I stripped down to boxers and slipped into bed, turning a bedside lamp on. Sasha emerged. She looked exactly the same as she had when she'd gone into the bathroom. I hadn't heard a toilet flush. I hadn't heard the taps run. What had she needed the bathroom for?

She paused halfway to the bed. With the cutest light blush, her eyes bright and amused, she said, "You promised to undress me."

"Right!" I exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

I might not have registered the erection tenting my boxers if it hadn't been for Sasha's eyes opening wide and staring. It made me pause. "Sorry," I said. "It's what happens when I'm around you."

Sasha studied the tent for a moment longer. Then, with a smile, she said, "I don't mind. I like that I excite you."

"Well, good," I stated. "It's gonna happen a lot in the future."

Sasha laughed lightly. "You're moving too slow, Dad," she informed me with a grin, cocking her hip, arms outstretched. "You're supposed to undress me."

"Right!"

Moving in, I studied the black tube-like dress. I circled Sasha and hunted for the zipper. Nothing.

"Remember you promised to kiss any skin you expose," she reminded me.

"Right." I studied the dress some more. How the Hell did one get it on? If I could figure that out I could reverse engineer the process.

"You're moving too slow, Dad," my impatient daughter commented.

"Where's the zipper?" I asked.

"There isn't one."

"Then how the heck do you remove it?"

With a laugh, my daughter informed me it gets pulled off.

"Up or down?" I asked.

She laughed again. "Down is fine."

"Right. Here goes. I'm gonna undress you now," I informed her, rewarded with a burst of laughter, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Reaching for the top of the dress, gripping each side, I tugged down. Nothing. It was tight. Maybe I could peel it off her in a rolling motion. I tried.

It was such an unexpected shock I stopped all movement and ogled. Sasha wore no bra. Small, perfectly formed breasts were exposed. They stood high and proud, her areolae dark pink, her nipples beaded but soft. Her young breasts looked full and ripe and sexy, mouthwatering. I couldn't help but wonder what they'd feel like in my hands, in my mouth, sucking them gently.

"Can I touch them?" I asked.

Sasha smiled and reached for my wrists, guiding my hands.

Soft, warm, silky skin touched my palms. My erection bobbed and strained. I was actually touching my daughter's breasts! Despite being so petite, so upright, they felt full, soft yet resilient. They were a perfect palmful, a beautiful sexy palmful with dimpled areolae and beads for nipples. They were the most desirable breasts I'd ever fondled. Sasha trembled slightly when I carefully rubbed her nipples followed by a gentle caress and then a soft squeeze, so damned firm.

Backing off, I reached for her hand and led her to bed, her dress partially rolled down.

She smiled, her eyes alight and excited as she lay down. The bed dipped when I settled next to her. Once again I found myself leaning over her. Her petite breasts mounded up with a gravity-defying firmness only adolescence bestows. With a smile I kissed her. Her amber eyes watched me, smiling. When my tongue brushed her lips, her eyes closed.

It sounded like she moaned, her mouth opening, her head tilting, her tongue greeting mine almost shyly. We kissed deeply and I almost drowned. Kissing such a sweet girl, kissing my little girl, was powerfully arousing. But it got better, more heated, when she drew my hand back to her breast. My eyes closed. Concentration focused on our kiss and the shape of a gorgeous breast, my thumb caressing the steep side, rising up to scrape across a nipple. It felt like her nipple was larger, harder. An urge took control.

Breaking the kiss, my cock straining and weeping precum inside my boxers, I moved down slightly and kissed the middle of Sasha's chest. I kissed the steep side of her boob, so soft, silken, the skin warm. With small kisses I worked my way to the peak - a short journey - my final kiss a light touch against an areola that appeared to have darkened. Sasha sighed. Her hand combed through my hair.

Unable to stop myself, I opened my mouth and took her areola in, sucking gently. I tasted salt. Her little nipple responded to my teasing tongue becoming harder, larger. Eyes closed, concentrating on the texture of her breast against my tongue, I heard Sasha moan with pleasure. It spurred me on. With teasing slowness I opened my mouth wider and drew in more of youthful firmness. One gentle suck and I released it with a soft plop and a light parting kiss, moving to its twin and repeating the attention.

My boxers were wet from a leaking erection, the mattress firm where I pressed against it, and all I'd seen was my daughter's breasts. I still had to remove her dress and expose her panties. Excitement mounted.

I rose onto my knees at her side, boxers hugely tented.

"You have the most beautiful breasts ever," I told her. "Thank you."

Sasha smiled. Her eyes twinkled. "Thank me for what?"

"For having them," I answered with a grin.

She burst into soft laughter, her boobs jiggling rather firmly.

"I'm going to strip you now," I warned.

Her laughter faded away leaving an amused secret smile on her face, eyes glittering.

"I'm going to remove your dress," I mentioned, "and expose your panties."

"You think so?" she asked.

Reaching for the rolled top of her dress, I nodded. "I know so. Prepare yourself."

She laughed lightly. "Kay. Go ahead."

A bit of wrestling and tugging of tight material and the dress eased down. Sasha first arched her back to give me room. Her beautiful eyes studied my face as she raised her butt off the bed. It almost distracted me but desire to see my little girl's panties was stronger.

Easing the tight dress down over one hip then the other, I stared at her lower stomach as it was revealed. It didn't register at first. When I eased the back of her dress down over her ass I didn't register that all I was feeling was smooth, cool skin. It didn't hit me until the rise of her mons emerged followed by first tendrils of almost black pubic hairs; little hairs, short, silky and shiny, soft.

I stopped removing her dress. My heart raced. Blood pulsed through me. My erection strained. Sasha wasn't wearing panties! Had she gone out tonight without them? I looked sharply at her face.

She smiled her sneaky smile. Her eyes were full of amusement and mischief. Then she blushed. She blushed!

"You promised to kiss every bit of me you exposed, Dad," she said, her blush intensifying.

"Did you go to the theater without . . .?"

Sasha let out an embarrassed laugh. "No. They're in the bathroom."

"Oh. Well, good. Maybe not. No. Good. But it would be interesting if . . ." My mind made a small diversion, an arousing thought emerging.

"If what?" Sasha asked.

"Later," I replied. Bending, I kissed the start of her mons. Her skin was silken and warm. At the edge of my senses I caught a whiff of something, my cock straining when I recognized the scent of a female aroused. Closing my eyes briefly I thanked the Gods for filling my fantasy so perfectly.

With a gentle tug Sasha's dress slipped down over her thighs. She raised her legs. I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor, my attention focused on a fourteen-year-old's pussy.

Sasha was four months shy of her fifteenth year; a freshman in high school. It showed. My little girl's pussy was ripe and plump and full and sexy yet deliciously small. But her pubes, my God her pubes were sexy. They were still young and fresh, a thin pubic bush of soft, short, silky hairs that hadn't spread to cover her mons. They were wavy not curled, her cute bush looking like it had been combed. Her cleft was clearly visible, rounded labia pressed together forming a sexy vulva erotically filling the gap at the top of her thighs. Nestled between those sexy plump lips was her clit peeking out shyly at me, just the tip, an enticing glimpse.

My body shuddered.

Soft glossy pubes tickled my lips and nose when I kissed Sasha's pussy, lovingly worshiping her. With my mouth pressed to her mons her scent was stronger, sweeter, more thrilling. What would she taste like?

I wanted to dive in. I wanted to part my daughter's legs and taste her. I wanted to lift her legs up and settle down between them, to make love with her. I wanted Sasha. I wanted her badly, so badly I took a deep, deep inhalation, shook myself, and moved back to her side.

Inside my boxers my erection pressed to her side. Sasha looked at me, her eyes having lost the amused smile. Now they were asking unspoken questions; was she still attractive to me? Was she sexy enough? Did I like what I'd seen now she was exposed, naked? Did I still want her?

I did. God I did. I confirmed it with a kiss, a gentle, loving kiss that expressed the adoration I felt. Lips brushed then pressed, warm and silken. Lips parted slowly. My hand settled over her spectacular pussy as our tongues touched.

Her pubes were very, very fine and silky. Under my palm her mons was lush, small but full, so erotic. Sasha's tongue teased mine. She was watching me. Her beautiful eyes twinkled. She smiled into my kiss when her hand gently explored the outline of my erection sending shivers of arousal through me. Then she spread her legs giving my hand room, opening herself to my touch. Realization stormed in. I was fondling my daughter's pussy! I almost came.

Her small hand tried to hold my erection, boxers in the way. Rolling my hip away, Sasha's hand discovered the opening and fished in. Her warm hand wrapped around my shaft. I inhaled sharply ending the kiss. My cock swelled dangerously.

"Stop," I whispered.

"What's wrong?" she asked, withdrawing her hand, her eyes suddenly worried she'd done something inappropriate.

I removed my hand from the top of her pussy and caressed her arm. Breathing a couple of times to calm down, I smiled at her. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. You almost made me cum."

Sasha's eyes grew big. "Just from touching you?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes. Just from touching me. I loved it. Touching can be extremely erotic. Here, let me show you. Close your eyes."

Sasha studied my face. She smiled softly before closing her eyes. I bent close to her, my mouth near her ear. "Keep your eyes closed and just feel. Try to picture what I'm doing in your mind. Okay?"

She nodded.

I eased my boxers off releasing my cock. The boxers hit the floor. Moving close to my daughter but bodies not touching, I traced her areola with a fingertip, a circular motion that made it crinkle up. Bending, I kissed her nipple and teased her other areola, a light circle, before trailing my fingertips down across her stomach.

With a parting light kiss on the tip of her sweet breast, I backed off. My fingertips eased down to one side trailing over a prominent hip and down the top of her slender thigh. I kissed her soft stomach above her navel, her skin silky smooth. Sasha's hand settled on the back of my head. My fingertips crossed over to her other thigh and trailed up, a teasing touch that flirted with the edge of her pussy before finding her other prominent hip. I kissed her soft stomach below her navel and eased away.

Checking that her eyes were still closed, I moved the palm of my hand up across her stomach, across her body, and slowly, gently, I cupped the underside of her petite breast. Sasha's nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply.

"You have the most beautiful breasts," I said softly. "A perfect handful," I added, my hand gradually cupping her entire breast. "I adore them."

Watching her face, I whispered, "They excite me. So firm and sexy." With that I gently squeezed it.

Sasha moaned, a quiet expression of pleasure.

"I love touching you, sweetheart," I whispered. "You're so beautiful, so desirable."

Sliding my hand across her chest, I caressed the underside of her other breast before slowly palming it. "I'm the luckiest father in the world," I whispered, gently squeezing it.

Sasha moaned again. Her nostrils flared when she inhaled deeply. She shifted on the bed, fidgeting, her body reacting to my touch, her eyes tightly shut. I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to touch your pussy now."

Glancing down it was my turn to inhale deeply. With my face close to her ear the view down along her young body was breathtaking. Twin breasts sat upright and firm. Her stomach was flat but had subtle, sensual curves. Hips rose like peaks and lower, in the center, my daughter's pussy mounded up spectacularly, topped by soft dark pubes. Her pussy was full and ripe and so damned sexy.

With my heart beating hard, my erection flexing and weeping precum, I reached down.

Sasha physically trembled when my hand settled over her mons. Silken pubic hair tickled. I cupped her pussy and had to close my eyes and steady myself. Sasha was wet. Not moist. My little girl was wet, the base of her cleft slippery. My cock pulsed, swelled, throbbed.

My hand trembled as I squeezed her pussy gently, a perfect exciting handful. Sasha moaned. Opening my eyes, I leaned close and kissed her cheek, and tried to hold onto reality.

There are times when experiences are so intense they feel like dreams, out of body experiences that are detached from reality. Cupping my daughter's pussy was one. I'd fantasized about fondling her, about intimately touching her. I'd tried to imagine what it would be like to touch a young girl, my little girl. But nothing in my sexual fantasies came within a mile of reality. Nothing could prepare me for the surge of arousal I experienced upon discovering my daughter so horny, so turned on, so wet. It was surreal.

Erection pulsing and voice shaky, I kissed her bare shoulder and whispered, "I'm so turned on right now." With a curl of my middle finger Sasha's labia parted to grip my fingertip in a moist warm hug, the interior of her cleft silken and smooth.

"You're so wet," I whispered. "I adore it. It's so beautiful, honey."

My fingertip found her clit nestled protectively in her cleft and I rubbed it gently with small circles. Sasha inhaled sharply, a quiet gasp. I eased my fingertip down, sliding through her very wet slit. The tip, held snuggly by plump labia, touched her entrance, the small opening to her vagina, the most intimate part of my little girl.

I thought my heart might burst it was beating so hard. I was slightly lightheaded, my excitement so high.

Sasha trembled as if her body was tightly wound. She curled her pussy up against my fingertip and I just about came. The very tip of my finger eased into her, penetrating her to the first knuckle. Moist velvet gripped my finger, hot, tight. I shuddered. I was fingering my daughter. I was penetrating her!

Withdrawing my fingertip from her warm pussy I drew it up to caress her clit again, circling it gently, pressing, stimulating her. I moved closer to her so I could nestle my face to her neck and inhale her scent, pears and lemons now joined by the scent of arousal.

"I love touching you, Sasha," I whispered, caressing her clitoris. "You're so wonderful, baby."

My daughter moaned. Her mouth opened. She started moving her pussy up and down against my finger responding to my stimulation. I kissed her cheek, strummed her slippery clit, and admitted softly, "I want to make love to you, sweetheart. Just you."

Sasha moaned. Her hips moved faster. She reached down to grip the bedcover. One hand discovered my cock and gripped it. A burst of pleasure hit me. Somehow, as Sasha humped her pussy against my caressing finger, breathing louder, her hand stroked my erection.

Silence filled the room broken by soft sighs and the moist sound of my finger rubbing my daughter's cleft, pressing against her clit. I couldn't stop myself. With Sasha undulating to my touch I started humping, pressing my shaft through her gripping hand, pulling back, pressing, fucking her fist. Copious precum made her hand very, very slippery.

Sasha moaned and gripped my cock tighter, her body moving, pussy pressing at my finger. Her breath panted. She was close. I took her over the top with a whisper in her ear, "Cum, Sasha. Please cum with me."

Like a switch being thrown, Sasha's body jerked. She inhaled sharply. Her body movements paused for the briefest moment before being assaulted by a deep, full body tremor. She gasped, "Daddy," and tumbled into her climax, legs snapping closed trapping my hand, sweet little mewls emerging. I couldn't stop myself and didn't want to. With a deep groan of my own, my cock swelled, pulsed, and hot semen exploded against her hip. Sasha gripped my cock, her body jerking and I came again in a heart-stopping explosion of ecstasy, thick cum spurting, sweet release washing over me. I pressed myself against her side, her hand gripping me, and humped and came, spurting cum against my daughter as she climaxed. I came hard making a mess of us both, humping her side, spurting, bliss, utter bliss, beautifully satisfying, my little girl climaxing with me.

Silence arrived when the roaring in my ears faded. My body was drained, post-orgasmic lethargy flowing through me. A fleeting feeling of guilt was dispelled when Sasha rolled towards me, her semen covered hand still holding my softening penis. I hugged her, my hand caressing down over her spectacular naked derrière.

Soft amber eyes studied me intently. Her gaze moved from eye to eye. "I love you so much, Dad," she said with quiet firmness and honesty.

"Thank God," I answered with a smile, "because I adore you."

SASHA STUDIED DAD, HIS expression so loving. She saw it. She saw the adoration in his eyes. She was still trembling inside. Somehow her climax had been more intense than ever before. But the part that still had her heart racing was feeling Dad cum. His erection had pulsed like it was alive, his semen surprisingly hot.

Underneath her was messy with cum, slippery and cooling. That was the biggest surprise. She'd never been sure if she'd like a guy's semen. Somehow the thought of it never excited her. Maybe it was because she loved Dad. For whatever reason, she was so proud she'd made him cum and it didn't bother her at all. Feeling Dad cum was amazing!

"We've made a big mess of the bed," she said, reaching for his hand on her butt. She drew it up to her breast and sighed at his gentle caress. She loved his touch, too. It was so much better than her own. She also adored the expression in his chocolate eyes when he touched her, a look of such pleasure, his eyes smiling with happiness.

"Would you like to take a shower together or are you too tired?" he asked.

"A shower," Sasha answered. "But not just yet."

There was a conviction inside her strengthened by what had just happened. Dad's loving touch, his care and gentleness, confirmed it to her. It was more than that, too. She was lying naked with Dad on his bed. She'd just felt Dad cum against her. Dad had given her an orgasm touching her intimately in a way she would never let anyone else touch her. With all that she didn't feel one shred of embarrassment, not one hint of shyness, not a trace of regret; just love and adoration and a desire for more.

"What is it, honey?" he asked, his hand moving up to brush her hair away from her face, his expression clouding with concern.

"I don't want to wait anymore. It feels like I've waited forever, Dad." Sasha studied his face and repeated, "I don't want to wait anymore."

Dad's eyes studied her. His thumb lovingly caressing her cheek felt good. She breathed a sigh of relief when he spoke.

"Okay, sweetheart. But not tonight. It has to be special for both of us."

Chapter Seven: Loving Sasha

MORNING BROUGHT REGRET MIXED with elation. Next to me the bed was empty, the pillow dented from the impression of her head, the pear and lemon scent of her strong. How did she leave bed without waking me up? Why was she always gone? Didn't she want to cuddle?

I rolled onto my back, stretched, and yawned.

Intimacy with my daughter had progressed faster than I'd planned. It seemed I wasn't the one in control; Sasha was. I'd wanted to build towards sex in a series of increasingly intimate events, letting her discover the joys of flirting, the sweet agony of desire, the ache of love, the discomfort of damp panties and the thrill of illicit touching. I hadn't planned on my daughter having her own agenda. I hadn't even considered the possibility that I wasn't in charge of this relationship. Those email exchanges had been deceptive, bringing a misplaced sense of confidence.

My daughter was in total control. I admitted it. I had no control in this relationship. I was out-manipulated by a fourteen-year-old. With a smile, a pout, and a tease she was making me dance to the rhythm of her music. Was that the price one paid to realize a fantasy? If so it sure was worth it.

An erection formed when I remembered the promise she'd forced me to make. Intercourse. Make love together. Sex with my daughter. Tonight. My erection strengthened.

I could still feel Sasha. In the shower we'd washed each other building comfortable familiarity. I'd ogled her openly and told her how damned gorgeous she was, complimenting every bit of her I washed. Sasha's eyes had positively sparkled with delight, with pride, and with joy at being appreciated by her father.

But better by far, better than the orgasm I'd had last night, was sleeping together naked, cuddled, skin to skin. Every place on her body I touched was exciting; silky, bare skin. Our legs intertwined. All the different positions our bodies found naturally were better for being naked - my little girl so cuddly. It was beyond any fantasy I'd had. I'd never given consideration to sleeping naked together. It was almost better than sex; almost.

Rolling out of bed, I made for the bathroom hoping my erection would ease off enough to pee.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in my slumming clothes, I had another erection. It was Sasha's fault. Well . . . maybe not.

Sasha was working away at the kitchen counter as I descended the staircase. Like me she'd put on sweats and a loose Tee, her hair neatly brushed back into a ponytail, her feet bare. She glanced up at me, let loose with a blindingly bright smile, and announced we were having blueberry waffles for breakfast.

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee tried to distract me and failed. Soft pink sweatpants draped suggestively on my daughter and outlined a sumptuous little ass that cried out for a grope. I eased up behind her as she stirred thick creamy batter in a large bowl, mixing blueberries in with a wooden spoon.

"Morning, sweetheart," I said softly, bending to kiss her neck.

"Morning, Dad," she responded with a smile.

Soft amber eyes suddenly opened wide when I groped two gorgeous buttocks, the bowl of batter rattling dangerously. "Dad!" she admonished.

"Sorry," I murmured, hugging her around the waist. "I couldn't resist."

Sasha smiled. She giggled when one of my hands slipped up under her large, loose T-shirt and gently cupped her delightfully petite naked breast. I kissed her neck and murmured, "I do so love your boobs."

"Stop!" she ordered with no conviction. "I'm trying to make breakfast."

Groping my daughter was more exciting than ever. My other hand eased down. I distracted her with another kiss on her neck and a soft murmur, "I'll stop in a moment. Promise."

My fingertips eased under the waist of her sweats. Sasha started squirming against me knowing where my hand was heading. She tried to twist away and failed. I fondled soft cotton panties and cupped her pussy. I was erect again and pressed myself against her small butt.

"Stop!" she insisted and twisted again when I rubbed her cleft.

I tried to ease my hand inside her panties and that was that. Sasha jerked violently. The bowl of waffle batter tilted towards us and spilled over the counter, the floor, and splashed over Sasha.

"DAD!" she exclaimed. "Look what you did!" Her face tried for indignation, arms raised, her front covered in batter and blueberries.

"Don't move," I instructed, kneeling in front of her. With a serious expression I added, "I'll eat it off you."

A brief moment of shock was followed by Sasha bursting into laughter. She grabbed a handful of thick batter and threw it at me. That pretty much resulted in a food fight that made a shocking mess of the kitchen. Grabbing and kissing her was a slippery affair. She giggled when I suggested we shower together and refused me, my punishment for misbehaving and making a mess of the kitchen.

I waited for a couple of minutes and followed her upstairs. She laughed when I stepped naked into her shower, erection and all. It was a frisky, teasing shower, one of the most fun showers I'd ever had. I loved how Sasha tried to dodge my hands and brush them away, feigning pretend coyness. I still had an erection when we finished washing. It had poked her in several places bringing me pleasure and making Sasha laugh.

Cleanup took forever so I took her out for Sunday brunch. With a deceptive sweet smile Sasha ordered blueberry waffles, not for her but for me. She demanded I eat them, too. She was still punishing me. She knew how I disliked restaurant-made waffles. I accepted my punishment with grace; I grumped and frowned and complained, much to my daughter's delight. She grinned and emitted self-satisfied little, "Mmmm," sounds with each bite of her eggs Benedict.

Early afternoon, with a chilly, blustery autumn wind threatening rain, we window-shopped our way up Fifth Avenue until we reached Eataly NYC, Mario Batali's food market. The yeasty aroma of fresh baked breads drew me in. Sasha sighed with resignation and let me lead her inside. We strolled admiring wonderful ingredients until hitting the butcher section.

There really was no choice. I took one look at the fresh lamb shanks and dinner was set. I'd serve them with a fragrant herbed basmati rice and a simple Dijon vinaigrette salad. Sasha didn't complain once. Lamb shank was one of her favorite dishes, too.

By mid afternoon our condo was awash with succulent aromas of rosemary and onions and red wine and lamb cooking in a cast iron casserole dish in the oven. Sasha was on her iPhone chatting with a girlfriend and I was busy slaughtering the Lords of Shadows, playing Castlevania on the Xbox. Blood and gore sprayed wonderfully as I exerted my mastery in the role of Gabriel.

I heard my daughter tell her friend, "He's playing video games. No. Really. He's such a boy."

I stared at her with a frown. She grinned at me. By the time I turned back to the game I was dead, beheaded. "Fudgesickle!"

Sasha laughed. "He just died again," she told her friend. "Naw. It happens a lot." She threw me another cute grin, her beautiful eyes twinkling. "That's nothing," she continued into the phone. "You should have seen him try to shuffle dance. It was the funniest sight ever! No! I swear! He really did!"

In a huff at being dissed, I shut the game off. I'd go back to it when I didn't have a critical audience. Some adroit channel flipping and I found an NFL game to occupy me. While the hapless Kansas City Chiefs demonstrated their ineptitude, a talent they'd perfected, I considered my daughter.

Our relationship had changed. Sleeping naked together was a pretty good indicator of that. But it had changed in other ways, too. Today when we'd been out I'd been conscious of how relaxed Sasha was towards me, more relaxed than ever before. At first I worried that other people would see the way she looked at me and know we had more than a father-daughter relationship going on. But then I realized a daughter adoring her father wasn't a strange occurrence.

There was more, though. Subtle things had emerged. Sasha had become slightly possessive, drawing my attention to her when there were other pretty women around; the first hint of mild jealousy. She'd exerted more control over me, assuming a more mature attitude. I'd have corrected her behavior but the pure joy in her beautiful eyes made my heart misbehave. Her laughter and occasional giggles belied her new-found maturity, her growing confidence in herself and in my love for her.

And then there were the other things. They crackled in the air, an almost physical presence. One was the look she'd give me when she thought I wasn't watching. It was a look of love and desire that took my breath away. The other was a hint of shy excitement that would emerge in just her eyes when she thought about my promise; about us making love, sex. Those two emotions were powerful. They'd caused an on again - off again erection through the day.

I wondered if she saw a change in me. Thoughts and desires that I'd previously kept a tight rein on were slipping through now. It was impossible to look at my gorgeous daughter and not think about kissing her, or the spectacular body under her clothes that she'd let me see, just me, no one else. It was hard not to think about making love to her, sex, intercourse with my fourteen-year-old.

I'd written countless erotic stories about loving a young girl, including details conjured up by an active imagination, what I thought the physical experience would be like. But what would reality be like? What would it truly feel like to have sex with my sweet girl? I suddenly remembered how tightly her pussy gripped my fingertip and an erection formed as I inadvertently thought about penetrating her.

Shaking myself, I stood to fetch a beer and distract my thoughts. The aroma of lamb made my stomach grumble.

"Want a beer?" I asked Sasha.

She stopped talking on the phone, her eyes opening wide in surprise. "Really? I can have a beer?"

"Sure. Want one?"

"Yuh-huh," she nodded enthusiastically, immediately telling her girlfriend she'd just been offered a beer.

I grabbed a Japanese Kirin Lager and another can from the fridge. Returning to the armchair, I dropped the can of Root Beer into Sasha's lap in passing.

Sasha laughed brightly. "Dingbat!" she said and immediately told her girlfriend what a goof I was.

Dinner was delicious but slightly strained. We were both too aware of what was to happen later; the prospect of intimacy sitting at the table with us like an intrusive guest. I knew just what to do. After we ate I turned lights out, let the gas fire light the room dimly with its flickering yellow-red flames, and drew Sasha to me.

She'd changed into her loose pink sweatpants and a large royal blue T-shirt. Pink and white striped socks kept her feet warm. She looked young and cute and very desirable, her dark-burgundy hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Pretty amber eyes smiled at me. The scent of pears and lemons hit me when she eagerly stepped close, her arms slipping around my waist.

Soft music swelled from the stereo. Sasha rested her cheek against my chest and once again we were dancing in the dark, moving slowly, body to body. It started as comfort with each other, closeness, pleasure. It became intimate when I slipped my hand down my daughter's slender back and inside her sweatpants to gently cup her gorgeous ass and fondle soft cotton panties.

Like an experienced blind man I explored as we danced. Her panties were soft cotton, bikini style, small and sexy. Gorgeous firm buttocks moved sensually underneath. I re-mapped the topography of her cute tush with exploratory caresses and loved how my hand almost cupped one whole buttock, compact, dance-toned and petite, so arousing. Shifting my body slightly my thigh eased between her legs. I pulled her beautiful butt towards me and Sasha pressed her crotch to my leg. She hugged me tighter.

We moved slowly, dancing and teasing, a sexual tension building that gradually displaced the nervous anticipation that had been our dinner companion. I became erect from fondling my little girl's derrière and my erection strengthened when Sasha pressed her hip against it deliberately, demonstrating her awareness of the impact she was having on me.

She eased her face away from my chest and looked up. I looked down. Amber eyes smiled with excitement. Soft lips beckoned. The kiss started out as a tease; lips brushing against each other lightly, a promise of intimacy. I didn't know how my daughter learned to kiss like she did, but God it was sexy. Our breath mingled, warm against each other's face. Lips brushed again, and then again, and then, with a moan from her as if waiting was too painful, Sasha pressed her mouth to mine firmly.

She rose up on tiptoes. Her hand brushed against my pants, lightly touching the bulge of my erection before she reached up and circled her arms around my neck. Dancing stopped. Sasha moved and pressed her body fully against mine, her movements rubbing my erection, my hand inside her sweats caressing her butt.

Tongues touched. Her stunning eyes winked out, eyelids closing. A murmur sent chills through me and we French kissed. The kiss intensified, tongues probing, arousal storming in; kissing Sasha was so exciting. I pulled my hands out of her sweatpants and reached down, lifting her up from under her ass. Still kissing, Sasha wrapped her legs around my waist. She was light and slender and very sexy.

She was too easy to carry. When I tripped against the ottoman and our lips banged together the kiss ended. With a sigh my daughter rested her face on my shoulder and let me carry her upstairs, my excitement building with each step.

The bedroom was dark, faintly lit by city lights. I hesitated, standing in the middle of the room. I hadn't planned anything. I hadn't thought through how we'd make love, how to start, what moves to make. I just knew I wanted it to be romantic and memorable. But how? Sasha kissed my neck softly and murmured her pleasure. She let her legs relax and slipped down, solving my dilemma.

Hesitation and worries melted away. On tiptoes Sasha kissed me lightly, her eyes soft and excited. As she leaned against me I slipped both hands inside her pink sweats to grasp her sweet bottom, a quick squeeze of her gorgeous ass and my hands eased the waist down. Sweatpants collected at her ankles and, emboldened and horny, I slipped both hands inside her little cotton panties, grasped two cool sexy buttocks and pulled her tight to my groin, pressing her against the bulge of my erection.

Sasha's eyes twinkled. With an almost shy smile she eased back, reached between us and opened my belt, unhooked my pants, unzipped me, and with a gentle tug they fell to my ankles. Her smile broadened as she imitated me, working her cold hands inside the back of my boxers to hold my ass.

"Nice tush, Dad," she commented casually, a squeeze accompanying her observation.

"Darn right it's a nice tush," I agreed. She grinned at me.

Smiling back at her cheekiness, such a surprise under the circumstances, I withdrew my hands from her panties and pulled her hands out of my boxers. Taking her hand I made a move towards the bed. Forgotten pants trapped my feet.

With a rather stupid cry of surprise I fell flat on my face with a solid, ungraceful, loud thump.

My no longer favorite daughter started laughing. Maybe it was nervousness being released but her laughter became deeper as I struggled to stand. On the second attempt, after throwing her an unappreciative frown which sent her into side-splitting paroxysms, I managed to kick pants and shoes across the room and, still frowning - although a grin was now trying to escape - I approached her, evil intent in my heart. Well, not evil per se. More like naughtiness.

Pretending to want a hug I opened my arms to her. Her laughter calmed to chuckles as she kicked her sweatpants away. Holding her I did the unexpected. I lifted her easily and tossed my daughter onto the bed.

She screamed, bounced once, and burst into laughter, her beautiful eyes twinkling with pleasure, legs splayed, pussy pressing tight to pale pink cotton panties, a sexy camel toe showing.

My erection returned. She didn't move or try to close her legs, her laughter fading. Her eyes studied me, moving between watching me unbutton my shirt and the growing tent in my red-plaid boxers.

I had no shame. I felt no embarrassment. With a shove, the boxers joined my pale blue dress shirt on the floor, my erection standing proud. Sasha still hadn't moved when I crawled onto the bed. I bent and kissed her sock-clad foot and then her shin, removing her socks in the process. Staring at her in her eyes I kissed her knee.

With the touch of a butterfly landing I kissed the soft skin on the inside of her slender, splayed thigh and repeated it on the other. I actually saw arousal steal into her enchanting eyes. They narrowed slightly, intensity emerging.

I kissed the top of her thigh a little closer to her panties, glanced at her seductive mound straining up underneath, and said, "I'm gonna take your panties off, Sasha. I'm going to kiss your pussy until you beg me to stop."

Her eyes widened, perhaps surprised by the forwardness of my comment.

"And then I'm going to make love to the person I love most in this world."

"Kay." Her response was so soft it was almost silent.

For just a moment I paused to contemplate her. There's nothing more beautiful than a girl who knows she's adored by the one she loves, no matter how naturally pretty the girl is. Sasha radiated beauty and made my heart constrict. That she wanted me was still a strange and wondrous feeling.

Taking a silent deep breath, I reached for the waist of her bikini panties. Sasha moved her legs together. She looked me in the eye and slowly raised her derrière off the bed.

Her panties eased down over her remarkable mons revealing that cute little pubic bush, soft and silky pubes shining with reflected light. The gusset stuck to her pussy briefly before releasing, as if making a last effort at hiding from sight. She lowered her butt and raised her legs. I slipped her panties off, resisted the urge to smell them, and dropped them to the bed.

Sasha suddenly struggled to remove her T-shirt, tugging it up and off and tossing it over the side of the bed. Her eyes watched me as a lovely little matching pink cotton bra was unhooked releasing her breasts, firm, their dark pink areolae crinkled, nipples beaded. She laid back, her head raised on the pillow still watching me.

Crawling up, my knees outside her legs, I leaned over her and our lips touched. The kiss was soft and sexy, loving, mouths moving slowly, tongues touching lightly. Ending the kiss, I sucked her lower lip, smiled, shuffled down and kissed the tip of one pert breast followed by the other; a teasing greeting.

Shuffling down further I kissed her flat stomach below her navel. Prominent hips beckoned. I made the side trip, kissing each lightly. Then finally my mouth found the short silken dark pubes that topped her mons, wavy, so new. They tickled my lips. But an aroma pulled at me.

Despite her legs being together, Sasha had a sexy diamond-shaped gap at the top of her thighs that exposed the incredibly arousing shape of her vulva, twin lips forming a sensual cleft, pubic hair dusting her. I reached for her knees and slowly parted them, lifting and bringing them up.

Sasha's pussy was completely revealed in all its adolescent glory. Buttocks bulged where they pressed to the bed. Above, at the base of her cleft, moisture glistened, my daughter's arousal! Her cleft was tightly closed. Halfway down the tip of her clit showed, cradled gently by her labia, and below, an indent hinted at the location of her entrance.

Bending, I kissed her mons again, this time pressing my mouth to her and feeling the softness of her pussy. Her aroma filled my senses; a heady light scent of pure female arousal. I settled onto the bed, my erection pressed to the covers, straining and thick.

With her knees still bent, legs now over my shoulders, her feet at my sides, I kissed my little girl's cleft and finally tasted her. Deep shudders shook me, my cock straining. Sasha's pussy tasted slightly tart, the flavor light, an almost clean taste with just a hint of earthiness. She was more than moist. My daughter was wet and it thrilled me to my core. Sasha was horny, very, very horny.

Concentrating, closing my eyes as I worshiped her pussy, I held the sides of her sweet ass and probed with my tongue. Soft labia parted, hugging the tip. Warm moisture greeted me. I found her clitoris, a small firm bud, and teased it gently, rubbing it with the flat of my tongue before circling it. Sasha moaned quietly. I felt slight tremors in her thighs.

I probed down, my tongue sliding through her slit, feeling the silky smoothness inside, and at the base, buried deeper, I discovered the source of her beautiful wetness, the unbelievably small entrance to her vagina. Gripping the sides of her buttocks, I pressed my tongue in. The small opening reluctantly yielded, tight, so exciting. I sucked and licked and swallowed before moving back up to start loving her clit. Sasha actually twitched when my lips formed around it and sucked.

With a gentle caress from my tongue, Sasha moaned. I felt her response; her buttocks clenching slightly, her pussy curling up against my mouth just a bit and then relaxing. I sucked and caressed again. Sasha responded hunching slightly. Her hands found my head. A small tremor passed through her thighs. She moaned quietly and hunched again. I sucked and caressed her clitoris. It felt like she grew even wetter. Sasha responded to my tongue. Without any fanfare she started humping my mouth, emitting sighs of pleasure, her hands holding my head. Her pussy was very wet, her movements gaining intensity, her sighs turning into soft moans of pleasure.

Her orgasm arrived suddenly. She jerked. Her body strained in a curl, breath held. I sucked her clit. She exhaled suddenly, gasping, "Daddy," her body reacting. Thighs clamped together against my head. She heaved her ass up off the bed and collapsed. With cute mewls Sasha started scrubbing her pussy against my mouth, her body convulsing. She climaxed very hard, mewls turning into almost painful quiet grunts of ecstasy, thighs clenching as I sucked and caressed her pussy. Suddenly Sasha tried to turn onto her side. Her hands let my head go and pushed at my forehead.

"Enough. Stop. No more," she begged, her whole body jerking and twisting.

I stopped.

Sasha rolled onto her side, residual tremors shaking her body, both hands cupping her pussy protectively. Moving up, I spooned her and held her while she rode out the last twitching tendrils of her orgasm. Calm was a long time arriving. Silence filled the room. Her breathing settled.

"That was the biggest climax I've ever had, Dad," she told me eventually in a soft, quiet voice.

Cuddling was nice. I sported an insistent erection that had nestled between her buttocks. It let its presence and condition be known to her by regular throbs. Eventually my daughter responded with little cheek clenches. I cupped her sexy little breast and fondled, stroking the steep side. She stirred. Arousal returned.

Twisting in my arms, Sasha turned to face me, enchanting amber eyes smiling at me. Her hand reached down between us and carefully held my shaft. She smiled.

"Can we make love now?" she whispered, giving my erection a soft squeeze.

I responded with a nod, first caressing her cheek then running my thumb pad over her lips, soft and silky.

Leaning in, I kissed her. She kissed me back, her warm lips moving. Letting go of my erection she hugged my chest and pressed herself tightly to me, her stomach firm against my erection. I hunched slightly and precum leaked, making her stomach silken and slippery. When I attempted to roll her on top of me she resisted.

"No, Dad," she whispered. "I want you on top." She reinforced it by worming her knee under me, her arms tugging.

I let her lead and rolled onto her using my elbows and knees to hold my weight off her. Sasha felt far too petite underneath me, too delicate, too young, so exciting. This was it. This was the moment. My heart raced. We studied each other's eyes, searching for any last minute regrets. A smile played across her lips. Her knees rose, her thighs cradling my hips, her feet hooked behind my legs.

I smiled at her. My erection was so damned rigid. I wanted her so badly my desire almost hurt. I had so many things to tell her - how excited I was, how lucky I felt, how much I loved her - but the words were lost in the thrill of the moment. They'd evaporated leaving only feelings behind. I let a kiss say everything for me, pressing my lips to hers, kissing my child.

Sasha relaxed and smiled into my kiss. Her hand reached up from behind to hold my shoulders. Her eyes winked out and lips parted. Her warm tongue touched mine in a light caress. Heat flushed though me. My cock strained, more precum leaking onto her stomach.

Moving my hips, I drew the tip of my erection back, back further until it eased over her mons and slipped down, excitement building inside me. Sasha murmured into my mouth, her tongue moving, wrestling with mine lovingly. Pressing forward, the tip of my erection nestled against her short cleft. I pulsed and pushed. Precum oozed out. The tip slipped suddenly to press between her buttocks and against the bed.

Easing back, my erection rose without help. I pushed it against her pussy again. Labia yielded to hug the tip of my crown before it slipped down through her slit to press to the bed. Sasha was very wet, very slippery. I was leaking, my groin almost painful with arousal.

Reaching down between us, lifting my body slightly, I held my shaft and guided the crown, rubbing it up and down her cleft and gradually pressing forward. Her lips kissed my erection, then parted to hug the crown in a warm, moist, welcoming embrace; so damned erotic.

Our kiss broke. Sasha's eyes stared into mine seeking what, I didn't know. The tip of my erection caught at the bottom of her slit. I pressed into her. It was like trying to penetrate a wall. There was nowhere to go, no yielding, no give. I remembered how tightly her pussy had gripped my fingertip and the memory intensified my desire for her. I wanted to feel that tightness on my cock. It was a desperate need, compelling, urging me to be forceful, to be selfish, to thrust, take my daughter, find pleasure at all costs. With a massive effort I re-exerted control. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

Letting my erection go, I settled on Sasha and held her shoulders, my cock throbbing. She watched me as if aware of my mental struggle for self-control. With a smile I reassured. With a light, lingering kiss I re-established intimacy. Sasha returned my smile and, through body movement, told me she was ready with a slight up-tilt of her pussy against the tip of my erection. I pushed and eased back.

"Promise you'll tell me if this hurts," I whispered.

Sasha nodded and curled her pussy up again. Her arms hugged my chest. I pressed, making no progress but the feeling was wonderful. I had to remind myself I was about to penetrate my little girl. I was about to have sex with my fourteen-year-old daughter. It thrilled me beyond measure.

We danced the dance of love; small, hesitant movements, me scared of hurting her, Sasha inexperienced and not knowing what to expect. Each subtle move became slightly firmer as confidence grew, Sasha's pussy gradually yielding, stretching, her labia slowly hugging more and more of my flared crown, warm, wet. Penetration came suddenly but smoothly; an exquisite sensation like no other; moist velvet oozing down, surrounding my crown and almost snapping over the ridge, gripping the shaft, my flared helmet held tightly inside her, very, very tightly.

Sasha winced, a flit of pain passing through her eyes to vanish as fast as it had arrived. Awareness emerged and, in a sight I'll never forget, pride blossomed along with the brightest smile ever.

My tip swelled inside her, so damned tight. Sasha responded with a clench that almost made my eyes cross and came close to being painful. Then she took me higher.

"At last. I've waited so long, Dad," she whispered. "You're mine now."

I smiled at her, caressed her cheek lovingly and corrected her. "I've always been yours, sweetheart."

Her expression faltered, eyes glistening. With a light kiss we started moving, Sasha moaning as if she'd been starved for my affection, her arms hugging me tightly.

The first movements were small and careful, testing sensations, afraid of giving pain, her pussy too small to thrust into. The movement was more a rocking motion, gentle pressure, ease off, gentle pressure, my little girl's pussy gripping the tip in a vise-like hold. My cock strained. It felt huge and hard, thick and heavy, her pussy too tiny to take me. We rocked together, our small kisses unable to distract us from what we were experiencing below.

It felt like no progress was being made and never would be. But suddenly, unexpectedly, Sasha's slippery pussy yielded. In one unbelievably beautiful movement I slipped deep into her, my cock sinking in to be gripped by her velvet sheath.

"Oh, Gaaaaawd," Sasha moaned in pleasure.

One careful withdrawal and a gentle thrust and I was there. I was in heaven. I'd penetrated my little girl fully, completely, her vagina holding my pulsing cock in a tight erotic grip, her groin pressed against mine. The tip of my erection nudged against her very deepest part. Sasha shivered under me and inhaled sharply.

My cock swelled and demanded me to move. I didn't.

"This feels so good, Dad," she whispered, almost surprised.

"Yes it does. You feel fantastic," I assured her. She did, too.

For several moments we didn't move. I was happy just being buried inside her, wrestling with the reality I was actually fucking my daughter, a fantasy come true. Every hard throb of my erection reinforced how beautifully snug she was, so young, so damned sexy. Her eyes twinkled at me. Small loving kisses intensified our intimacy, each making Sasha relax more. Smiles emerged. Playfulness arrived with a glint in her enchanting eyes and she squeezed my cock firmly.

I couldn't hold back the groan of pleasure, nor the slight thrust into her, a basal response. A twinkle of her eyes and she squeezed my erection again, smiling at my groan, my small thrust. I saw pride in her expression. I saw how happy she was from being able to make me feel good and it intensified my desire.

Extreme arousal is a force unlike any other. It assumes control of even the strongest. It did me, too. It was an unbearable urge to move, to thrust, to seek that which I'd dreamed about, written about, fantasized about. It was too strong, my will too weakened by sexy playfulness, a sweet little girl clearly enjoying sex for the first time with her father.

With careful slowness I eased my cock out of her snug pussy. The journey seemed endless, Sasha's smile leaving to be replaced by questions. I answered them just as the rim of my crown emerged by thrusting into her, sinking in all the way, my entire erection held so beautifully tightly. Sasha smiled, understanding dawning - we'd started.

I withdrew again. Sasha pressed her pussy up at me when I thrust, taking me into her and adding a loving clench, her vagina massaging me. She smiled at my groan of pleasure, my cock swelling larger, thicker. We repeated the move, then repeated it again, a rhythm emerging; the dance of love. Staring into each other's eyes we made love. I fucked my daughter and she fucked me back, both of us moving together, hearts accelerating, enjoying being joined.

Sasha's moist pussy tried to grip me and prevent me from withdrawing, and welcomed me back with a loving hug, a warm velvet hug. We fucked each other, bodies heating up, Sasha curling her pussy up at me with increasing enthusiasm, her arms holding me, her eyes riveted to mine. I fucked my daughter slowly, then faster, my cock swelling, so unbelievably tight. Heaviness emerged in my groin, the harbinger of an orgasm, urgency arriving. My heart thumped, cock ached. I thrust, fucking my little girl, fucking my child, stroking in, withdrawing, thrusting, the tip knocking gently against her deepest part. I passed the point of no return, pressure building into agony.

"I can't hold back, Sasha," I gasped in a whispered confession.

Eyes locked, fucking each other, Sasha smiled with pride. She hugged me tightly, clenched her vagina hard, and took me over the edge with a quiet, "Then don't, Daddy."

With a firm thrust and a loud moan, holding her tight, I buried myself inside my young lover. My eyes closed. Semen burned up and exploded deep into her pussy, sweet ecstasy erupting. My head fell, my face finding her neck. Amazingly Sasha's hand caressed my back and I swelled again. Aching pain arrived. I thrust into her hard and exploded again, a gut-wrenching spurt, hot cum flooding my little girl's vagina. Bliss hit. With a deep, deep groan of pleasure, I released all restraint and fucked my child, thrusting and exploding, cum spurting, sweet ecstasy washing through me. My stomach strained. I thrust and fucked my little girl cumming hard, spurting as deep inside her as I could possibly go, fucking her, fucking Sasha, cumming so damned hard. I heaved and groaned and thrust until nothing remained but painful dry heaves and a desperate desire for more, fucking my darling, her arms holding me, and suddenly, in an instant, it was over, my orgasm passed, fled, leaving me panting quietly, drained, empty, exhausted, and satiated, totally satiated.

Movement stopped. My softening erection was held inside Sasha's very wet pussy. Had she cum? In the delirium of my orgasm I'd become deaf and blind and selfish.

I let my weight down on her. She felt wonderful underneath me, so young, so deliciously petite. Her hand played with the hair at the nape of my damp neck.

"Did you cum?" I asked in a whisper.

"No. But I loved it," she reassured me.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Dad. It was exactly what I wanted."

Eventually, once my heart had calmed, we cleaned ourselves up. I spooned her and buried my nose in her hair inhaling her scent. Sasha hugged my arms as we murmured sweet words to each other; confirmed how much we enjoyed it, how much we loved each other, how good we felt. She fell asleep long before I did.

I suffered. Love has many faces, many facets, many intensities. It's a complex emotion that often defies definition from even the most articulate. As I cuddled my naked daughter, in the glow of post-orgasmic peace, I was assailed with a desire to cry. At that moment the love I felt for Sasha was so painful, an ache deep inside my soul. She'd given me everything. She'd given me not just her body but, more important by far, she'd given me her unconditional love; a love made more powerful by being both a love for her father and a love for me as a man, her man. She'd picked me. She'd chosen me.

My chest was tight. I held Sasha gently but firmly, curled up together. Peace arrived. I adored her, my little girl, my beautiful dancer.

Chapter Eight: Sex, Just Because

Every guy has fantasies of unrestrained sex with a willing and enthusiastic partner. Sometimes life rewards you with the chance to experience it. Not every man has fantasies of unrestrained, adventurous sex with his daughter, especially an underaged daughter. Actually, very, very few men have that dream. Even fewer get to experience it. I did.

I was the lucky one. By some strange twist of fate I had a daughter that enjoyed sex as much as I did. Was I the reason for that? Sasha surprised me with how she embraced sex; enthusiastically and energetically at times, soft and snuggling and slow at other times. She wasn't just responding to my appetite, either. She was just as likely to instigate sex as I was.

It started the day after our first time making love. Morning arrived very late for me. I was relaxed and feeling very good when my eyes finally opened.

Like every time before the bed next to me was empty, an impression of her head in the pillow and her pear and lemony scent the only indications she'd been in bed with me.

When I rolled and stretched a new scent wafted out from under the sheets; the distinctive smell of sex. A partial morning woodie stormed into a full erection. I'd had sex with my daughter! Desire to have sex with her again drove me out of bed. I peed and brushed my teeth, threw on blue and white striped pajama bottoms and went in hunt of my young lover.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee hit me from the top of the stairs. Glancing over the balustrade, I spotted Sasha sprawled on the couch watching television, her iPhone in hand. She was dressed, jeans, multi-colored T-shirt, blue sneakers and pink and green striped socks, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Suppressing a yawn, I poured coffee into my angry Donald Duck mug. Sasha looked up at me giving me a big, big smile, her eyes twinkling.

"Morning, Dad!"

"Morning. You look like you're dressed to go out. How come?" I asked, taking a cautious sip of hot coffee. Mmmm, good.

She looked surprised. "It's Monday. I'm going to school."

"Why?" I asked.

She waited a beat before asking, "Why what?"

"Why are you going to school? I thought you liked me. Don't you want to stay home and mess around?"

Sasha burst into laughter, her pleasure at being desired plain to see. "You're nut's, Dad. I already played hooky once this month. Don't you remember?"

"So what? Skip school again," I suggested, making my way over to her.

She laughed at me. "I'll be suspended. Besides, I have a history test today."

"Fine! Be like that," I grumbled with a frown. Her bright laughter almost made me smile. "I was going to take you to Acapulco to see the high divers. They were so excited to hear you were coming to visit. I guess they'll have to accept disappointment."

"Daaaad! Honestly!" Sasha laughed. An expression of cunning emerged. Laughter died away. "Okay. I give in. Take me to Acapulco!"

With a smile of amusement I bent over the arm of the couch and kissed her, a light loving kiss on her lips. "I love you rather fiercely, honey."

She stared into my eyes, contemplating me. "I love you too, Dad," she replied quite seriously.

"Who won the War of the Roses?" I asked out of the blue, moving towards the armchair.

"Kathleen Turner," Sasha immediately answered, her face deadpan.

I laughed. Damn she was quick. I didn't think she even knew the movie. "You're gonna fail your history test," I told her.

She giggled, eyes twinkling. "Gotta go," she announced, rising.

I flopped into the armchair and flipped the television to a news channel. "Hurry home!" I yelled after her.

"Kay!"

Just as she reached the front door, I yelled, "Are you sore?"

She paused, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. "No. Why?"

"I have exciting plans," I claimed. "See ya later. Have fun at school."

With a bright laugh my daughter pulled her coat on, hefted her backpack, and disappeared.

I was left wondering why she wasn't sore.

My day was busy. Once caffeine had restarted my still-sleeping heart I set about playing Castlevania on the xBox. Three hours later, having made great progress despite being killed twice, I quit. Lunch was a sandwich thrown together and eaten in front of the computer as I watched YouTube, studying an instruction video on how to shuffle dance. I was still smarting from my daughter's laughter when I had tried the dance. She may have inherited a lot of her innate dancing abilities from her mother, but she also inherited a large dose from me, too. I was a great dancer and refused to be cowed by some new dance style.

The problem was shuffle dancing was as difficult as trying to rub your stomach while patting the top of your head. Somehow the two actions conflicted with each other. The damn dance was the same. One leg was supposed to move with hard snapping knee bends in time with the techno-beat, your foot stamping to the ground, while the other foot was supposed to glide across the floor as if skating on ice. It was damned near impossible.

I wiled away the early afternoon amusing myself by practicing the dance, interrupted by several business phone calls. The callers were highly suspicious of my panting breath when I answered, some thinking they'd caught me in mid-coitus . . . one obviously thinking he'd interrupted me watching porn. Then I logged into my Gmail account.

There were three emails commenting on my erotic stories. I scanned the oldest two quickly, my attention on the third. It was from Sasha.

Renpet,
I thought you deserve to know since you helped me. I still can't get over it but last night Dad and I made love! Can you believe it? It wasn't just sex, either. At least it didn't feel like just sex. Do guys cuddle and whisper how much they love you afterwards if it's just sex? Maybe I'll find out.
Your stories aren't quite the same as what I experienced. I thought you'd be interested to know, I didn't climax with Dad. He made me cum with his mouth before we even made love. I never knew oral sex could be so intense. It's so much stronger than masturbating. It's almost painful and the climax isn't just in my pussy, it was my whole body reacting. It's really tiring! Does oral sex feel the same to guys? Maybe I'll try with Dad and see.
The other thing I was surprised about is how full I felt. Dad felt huge inside me, as if his erection was reaching all the way to my stomach, and I was so stretched. I loved it! It's an amazing feeling.
Anyway, I wanted to let you know that not cumming when Dad did was even better, I think. I got to feel Dad cum! Not everything. But I felt his body when he climaxed. I felt his erection swelling and throbbing inside me. I heard his pleasure, too, and it was incredible. How come you don't write about how amazing it is for daughters to make their dads cum? Or do you? Maybe I missed it. I don't mean to tell you how to write, you do it so well already, LOL!
The only thing I'm not sure of is how to talk to Dad about sex stuff. I'm a bit embarrassed to tell him I want sex again and how do I tell him I want to try oral sex? I don't want to behave like a slut, but how do you talk openly about things? I'll have to figure it out.
Gotta go. I hear Dad waking up. No need to reply. I wanted to thank you for making my dreams come true. I'll forever be thankful.
Your eternal fan,
sasha.4843

Leaning back in the chair I considered her comments. There were several new pieces of information I found fascinating. I'd always known that oral sex can induce very strong orgasms in women. Often they'd admitted those orgasms were much stronger than the ones they'd experience during intercourse. The new information from Sasha excited me. I'd never really thought about Sasha being sexually driven. Somehow my mental perspective was that she was emotionally driven; love driving her desire for sex. Clearly it wasn't just love. To have her write about giving me oral sex, my little girl thinking about giving me a blowjob, was very exciting. It also sounded like Sasha was enthusiastic about sex. What a dream!

After some thought, I sent a response.

sasha.4843,
I am thrilled for you. You and your father are exceptionally lucky to have found love together. To enjoy sex together is a wonderful bonus. As it happens I do write about the feelings you experienced. Perhaps you'll notice them now you've experienced them. :)
As for talking to your father about sex, this is one subject I can speak with authority on. There are a couple of things to keep in mind. Frank talk about sex in public will embarrass any father. The opposite is true when done in the privacy of the home. Guys really get turned on with sexy talk. Our imagination can't help but picture what girls talk about. So how do you talk to your father about sex? You do it honestly, openly. You tell him what you're thinking or what you want. Don't try to be coy or shy about using words you might think are rude. Just don't be trashy in how you talk. Watch your father's reactions. Subtle signs will tell you if you're pushing the limits. Be yourself. Be natural. Be relaxed. Be honest. He loves you. He'll be honest with you if you are with him.
Thank you for letting me know what happened. I am jealous. It sounds like you've discovered true happiness with your father, something very few daughters experience.
Renpet

Logging out of Gmail, I took my partial erection upstairs to shower. I hadn't showered this morning and had sweated my way through dancing. Ripeness wasn't the best thing to greet my daughter with when she came home. I wondered what it would be like to hear Sasha talk openly about sex. Did young girls see sex differently from guys?

Half an hour later I stood at the large living room window sipping a mug of Darjeeling black tea and watching pedestrians hurry along the sidewalks, the blustery autumn wind lifting coattails and skirts and mussing hair. I saw her immediately. It wasn't her clothes. It was the way she moved, light on her feet, almost dancing. Her dark-burgundy ponytail flapped in the wind.

Frowning with disapproval, I watched her dash across the busy street dodging cars and a rather fast delivery truck, its horn audible even from four stories above. I'd warned her not to run across the street time and again. Still. The sight of her made my pulse rise. I was horny. I had a sexy daughter. Selfishly, I wanted to get me some sex.

Grinning at my mercenary motives, I put the mug of tea down and moved to the side of the front door.

She screamed when I grabbed her from behind and laughed hard when I told her her ass was mine. She struggled to get free, still laughing, her hands trying to pry my arms open, sneaker-clad feet kicking.

"Stop struggling," I ordered her.

"Let me go," she countered.

"Stop struggling," I repeated, carrying her towards the couch.

"Let me go," she insisted, laughing.

"No."

"Yes," she countered.

"Okay. But only if you promise to take off your jeans for the rest of the day."

A storm of giggles erupted making me smile so hard it hurt. I let her go. Beautiful amber eyes twinkled with pleasure. Her smile was blinding. Damn she was gorgeous. She shrugged her coat off.

"I have a surprise," I said.

A wary expression emerged. "What?" She watched me carefully.

"I've mastered the shuffle dance."

"You haven't!" she exclaimed.

"I have," I insisted. "Want to see it?"

Flopping onto the couch, Sasha smiled. "Yup. Let's see."

"Will you take your jeans off if I show you the dance?" I asked.

"Daaaad! Honestly! Just dance," Sasha insisted with a giggle.

Pressing the remote, techno music swelled from the speakers, a heavy thump-thump. I followed the beat for a moment and started demonstrating my new-found skill.

My audience of one was not appreciative. My darling daughter took one look and burst into laughter, tears forming. Then she started hooting and gasping at my efforts. Challenged by her mirth, I tried harder. She cried with laughter rolling onto her side. Out of the blue, still laughing, she suddenly exclaimed, "Damn!" and blushed bright red. "STOP! You made me pee my panties!" she accused grabbing her crotch.

So distracted by her admission I accidentally danced into the ottoman and took a huge tumble, twisting and slamming to the floor, a stab of pain radiating up from my ankle. "FUDGE!"

SASHA WACHED AS DAD took a dive. It was too funny for words, and his dance? Just friggin hilarious. Her cheeks radiated heat, her panties wet from a little spurt of pee. She'd had to go to the bathroom when she came home but Dad had grabbed her. That Iced Latte on the way home had been too big.

Suddenly she saw the wince of pain on his face. Worried, she jumped up from the couch.

"Are you okay?" she asked, kneeling next to him.

He grabbed his ankle. "No I'm not okay. You and your peeing broke my ankle!" he exclaimed.

Worried, Sasha reached for his foot. "Let me see." She pulled the leg of his jeans up and eased his sock down. Yup, there was some very, very slight swelling. She moved his foot.

"Ow!" he complained.

Sasha had seen a lot of twisted ankles. Dancers always suffered from them. Dad's ankle wasn't broken. It was hardly sprained. She turned his foot. "Does this hurt?"

"Ow! Yuh-huh!"

She pressed a finger against his ankle.

"Ow!"

Holding just his heel he complained loudly and winced again. Smiling to herself, Sasha pretended to touch him. "How about this? Does it hurt?"

"Ow. Stop doing that!" he complained loudly, a frown on his face.

Sasha laughed. "Dad, you haven't broken you ankle. You've hardly strained it."

"How would you know? It's my ankle."

"Because I dance. Don't be such a boy. You're not hurt." With a grin she stood up. His complaining really was like a little boy.

"And stop laughing when I dance!" he added as he stood and gingerly tested his foot. "Damn that's sore," he muttered.

"Stop whining," Sasha scolded, turning to head up to her room.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Dad called out after her. "You're supposed to take your jeans off!"

Laughing, Sasha climbed the stairs. In her room she tugged the jeans off and inspected the gusset of her cotton panties. Yup. She'd peed a bit. How embarrassing! But jeesh! Dad was so damned funny. Why did he think he could shuffle?

In the bathroom she peed and washed and dried her pussy. Back at her dresser she hunted through her panties. Pausing, she considered Dad's request. Maybe wearing no jeans would be interesting. How would he react? Her hands sorted through the neatly folded panties until she touched a pair of silky white string bikini panties, light making the material shimmer. Holding them up she nodded. She liked these. They not only looked sexy they felt sexy against her pussy, too. She pulled them on and, with a wiggle, arranged the gusset, pausing to check herself in the mirror. Yup. Sexy.

Hunting through another drawer she pulled out a ratty old navy blue T-shirt. It had holes in the shoulder and at the neck seam. It was faded and soft and slightly frayed where the bottom hem was unraveling. It was huge, too. She'd rescued the T-shirt from the trash can when Dad had tossed it out. It was too well-loved to be discarded.

A final check in the mirror and she paused. Reaching underneath the Tee, with some wiggling and writhing, she removed her small bra and dropped it on top of the dresser. Rubbing the bra marks underneath her boobs she headed downstairs.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT it is about young girls wearing their father's clothes. I find the sight extraordinarily attractive. My daughter arriving in the living room looked just gorgeous in an old Tee I distinctly remembered throwing away. She'd let her hair down so it cascaded in thick waves to below her shoulder blades at her back and over her small breasts at the front. The slight smile on her face told me she was very conscious of the effect she was having on me. And, God, the little flashes of white panties - just the rounded bottom of her pussy coddled in silkiness - was the ultimate in sexy tease.

Having been horny all day, her appearance caused an immediate erection, an immediate desire, and no small sense of urgency. "Dance for me," I asked her as a distraction. "Show me how the shuffle dance is supposed to look."

A sly expression emerged. "Only if you remove your jeans for the rest of the day, too," she bargained, followed by a cheeky smile. Damn I loved her.

"After you dance," I countered.

"Nope. Before."

"After."

"Before or no dance," she replied firmly.

I sighed and willingly gave in. Still sitting in the armchair I unbuttoned and tugged the jeans off, kicking them to the floor. "Dance," I ordered, pointing to the floor in front of me. Did she see my erection?

With a quick laugh, Sasha turned the music back on. She might have taken her jeans off, but she still wore pink and green striped toe socks that looked quite ridiculous. In her usual fashion she listened to the beat, nodding her head slightly, and started dancing, high knee bends, foot stamping down, the other foot gliding over the floor. She switched it up reversing her feet, moving with hard snaps, her body turning, the dance quite mesmerizing. Her hair shimmied, head bent. The navy blue Tee jumped and swirled revealing flashes of the sexiest little string bikini panties ever, silky and tight, her hips so narrow and young, a sexy little ass.

I watched the flashes of white, my erection slowly strengthening, becoming rigid, pulsing.

When Sasha stopped, breathing hard, she smiled at me and came over, turning and sitting in my lap. Beautiful eyes studied me. A smile broadened.

"Did my dancing turn you on?" she asked with a wiggle of her rump against my erection.

"No. Your panties did."

"Huh. So in addition to being an ass man you're a panty lover?" she asked, eyebrows arched.

I grinned. "Nope. I'm not just a lover. I'm a panty connoisseur, an admirer of sexy culottes, an expert in undie appreciation, a fan of filmy satin, an aficionado of gossamer nothingness, a master of . . ."

Sasha slapped my arm. "You're totally lovable, Dad," she exclaimed, leaning against me.

"So are you," I responded adding a flex of my erection under her butt and hugging her around her waist.

The glint of mischief that emerged in her captivating eyes sent a small shiver through me. She spread her knees and reached down between her legs. Her hand fumbled around and found my cock giving it a sexy squeeze.

"You're really horny," she said softly, a little smile playing over her lips. Leaning in, her mouth neared my ear, warm clean breath washing over me. She spoke softly, "I've wondered what oral sex with you would be like. Can I try? Would you let me, Dad? Please? I might not be very good at it."

I groaned quietly, my cock flexing.

"Is that a yes?" she whispered. "Can I tell you something, Dad? I've been horny since last night. Does oral sex feel as good to you as it did to me?"

"Jeez, Sasha," I whispered in an exhaled sigh. How could she turn me on so much? No one had ever been so desirable.

Her hand fished around finding the boxer's flies. She probed and a cool hand gently grasped my shaft. Letting it go, she slipped off my lap and onto her knees between my legs.

"Can I?" she asked, her hand resting on my cock over the boxers.

"I'm all yours," I answered. "I'll suffer through anything for my darling daughter."

Sasha laughed, pretty eyes bright with amusement. A bit of energetic fishing and some wrestling with the unfamiliar, and my daughter drew my erection out.

Her hand held my shaft. Her eyes studied how her fingertips and thumb didn't quite meet. Almost talking to herself she said, "It's so big. How did it ever fit? No wonder it felt like I was stuffed." Her eyes glanced up at me. "Is it wrong that I like it so much?"

I chuckled in amusement. "No. It's quite exciting, actually."

Her attention went back to my cock. She gave the shaft a testing squeeze. "It's so hard," she murmured before stroking me lightly. Pulling, she pointed the tip towards her face and hesitantly kissed it, a fleeting kiss, quick, a teasing touch of her lips. After a brief pause, she stroked me a few times, stopped and kissed the tip again, this time her lips lingering longer. Small tremors of pleasure hit me with each cute action, my erection throbbing in her small hand, looking so large, the sight of my daughter so . . .

SASHA COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. She was actually holding Dad's erection! She'd kissed it! The red head was so soft against her lips, so warm. Dad's erection seemed so big now she was holding it. Could she actually make him cum? What would it look like?

Everything she'd seen on the Internet showed women taking cocks deep into their mouths, sometimes quite violently. Watching it on her iPhone it didn't seem that hard. But now, holding Dad's erection, she had second thoughts. How did they get so much into their mouths? Then she remembered one video she'd seen. It was a girlfriend giving her boyfriend a blowjob by just teasing the crown with her mouth and lips, her hand stroking the guy's shaft; almost like she was making love to his erection. Maybe she could do that. Would Dad like it?

Trembling slightly with nervous excitement at giving her first blowjob, Sasha held his stiff erection and kissed the base of his shaft lightly. She kissed her way up the shaft, thrilled to feel it flex and throb in her hand, alive and responding to her actions. Dad likes it!

She kissed the head and, with butterflies in her stomach, Sasha let the tip of her tongue touch it, probing the pee-hole. His erection flexed hard. Dad really likes it! Emboldened, excited, Sasha slowly pressed her closed lips to the top of his erection. She parted her lips to tease him with her tongue again. He reacted, another throb. Pleased, Sasha opened her mouth and very, very slowly slipped her lips over his erection to take Dad's crown in, loving how big and hard and yet soft it was. This was so exciting!

"Jeez, honey," Dad sighed.

She sucked the head gently, stroked his shaft, and pulled off, sitting back on her heels. "Am I doing it right?" she asked, almost giggling at his cross-eyed expression. How fun! Giving Dad a blowjob wasn't anywhere near as dirty as she'd thought. It was great! It actually aroused her!

"Yeah, you're doing it far too right," he said with a smile. "Just be careful. I might not be able to stop myself."

"That's okay. I'll be ready."

With that, Sasha returned to having fun. She watched Dad's face. It was so expressive, his dark chocolate eyes full of adoration, of pleasure. She adored making Dad feel good.

Using her lips she nibbled the velvety soft crown, his cock throbbing in her fist. She eased her lips down the flared tip and over the ridge, the head popping into her mouth. Exploring, she pressed her mouth down taking almost another inch before her gag reflex threatened.

Knowing how much she could take, Sasha set about slowly easing her mouth up and down Dad's erection. On each up move she let the ridge of his crown ooze out, her lips held tight. On each down move she took his big crown into her mouth, caressed it with her tongue, sometimes probing the pee-hole, sometimes caressing the ridge, sometimes caressing the whole head. With a slow suck, she pulled back, easing her mouth off and started the movement all over.

Sucking Dad's erection distracted her. She enjoyed it far too much. When she remembered, she stroked his shaft, too, amazed at how rigid it was, so thick, hard yet soft.

Sasha noticed Dad closing his eyes in pleasure. She must be doing it right. She loved how he reached down to caress her hair, too, such an affectionate gesture. She didn't recognize his quiet whisper, "Careful, sweetheart," for what it signified, nor the intensity that emerged in his expression.

She did feel Dad's orgasm. At first she didn't know what it was. His shaft thickened and pulsed very firmly in her hand. He gasped very quietly, "Oh, Jesus," and the head swelled in her mouth. A small spurt of wetness hit her tongue and she realized Dad was cumming! Before the thought fully formed, his erection strained and expanded. The crown swelled even bigger and a massive spurt of hot semen exploded in her mouth hitting the back of her throat.

Choking, she opened her mouth and pulled back. Not soon enough. Another huge spurt of semen launched out of his tip and into her open mouth. She swallowed involuntarily, the third spurt of cum splattering her left cheek, hot and thick. Still stroking Dad, Sasha quickly leaned in and opened her mouth, the edge of his erection resting on her lower lip, viscous cum spurting against her tongue again and again and pooling in her mouth.

The spurts eventually slowed and stopped. She had a mouthful of Dad's hot semen and couldn't decide what to do with it. She hadn't really planned on swallowing. Looking up, Dad's eyes were closed. They opened and looked at her, warm and full of such intense adoration. She knew what she wanted to do. Closing her mouth, she swallowed his semen. Reaching up to her cheek she wiped up the cum that had hit her and licked it off her finger. It didn't taste that bad at all.

His deep groan at her action made her giggle. It sounded like he was in agony! Giving Dad a blowjob was a lot of fun. Maybe they could do each other at the same time. Sixty-nine!

COMMON SENSE RETURNED TO me as I heard my daughter rinsing her mouth in the downstairs powder room. Sexually drained, I was mentally as horny as Hell. Images were forever etched in my mind; Sasha's mouth stuffed with my erection as she smiled up at me, my daughter's eyes opening wide in surprise when I came in her mouth, her sudden choking, the swallow, and how she opened her mouth and let me cum into it, thick creamy semen spurting onto her tongue. But the most outrageous sight was seeing her wipe the dripping cum from her cheek and lick her finger, giving me a cheeky grin before swallowing. Damn! How the Hell did she learn this stuff?

I knew before the night was over I was going to find the strength to make love to her. My mental arousal was too powerful, my ferocious desire for her too insistent. A short rest and tonight I was going to fuck my sexy little girl's brains . . .

"Do you want a drink?" Sasha called out from the kitchen.

"Yeah. A beer would be nice."

The fridge door slammed shut. Sasha walked over, perched her butt on the armrest, handed me a Root Beer with a giggle and popped open a can of Diet Pepsi for herself.

I laughed and went to the fridge, returning the Root Beer and grabbing a Sleeman India Pale Ale, a wonderful Canadian craft brew. She was sitting on the couch by the time I returned so I plunked myself down next to her and sipped beer.

Sasha casually observed, "You came much faster than last night, Dad. Are you always that fast with oral sex?"

I chuckled. Heat blossomed in my face. What a hoot! "No. I'm never that fast normally. It was entirely your fault. I know I'm going to regret this," I added, "but that was just about the best oral sex I've ever had. So I have to ask, where did you learn how to do it so well?"

Sasha smiled broadly, pleased, a hint of pride emerging. A twinkle entered her stunning eyes. "I practiced with Billy Thompson so I'd be good enough for you."

I was struck speechless. I think my mouth gaped open. Shock hit me like a live electrical wire being shoved up my butt. Suddenly I was furious, a helpless reaction, jealousy burning white hot. "Who the frig is Billy Thompson?" I growled at my little girl.

Sasha burst into laughter. "I'm kidding, Dad!" She looked at my expression and laughed harder. "Really! I'm kidding!"

It took a couple of deep swigs of beer before my heart to return to a non life-threatening pace, my imp-of-a-daughter giggling at my expense. "So, where did you really learn it?" I eventually asked her.

She blushed slightly and confessed to watching porn on the Internet to see how it was done. Somehow the image of Sasha watching porn was exciting. That exciting thought led to another.

"When you peed your panties, which pair were you wearing?" I asked, reaching my arm around her slender shoulders. She shuffled slightly and leaned against me.

"The old white cotton ones with the pink elastic. Why?" she asked, glancing up at my face. Her eyes widened. "Did me peeing my panties make you horny?"

Somewhat embarrassed, I nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know," I answered. "Why do you like to dance? Why is the sky blue? How do I know why it aroused me? It just did." I sipped beer and continued as if trying to explain my reaction. "Everyone has sexual fetishes of some sort. Some won't admit it, some do. I have no idea why some people get aroused by feet, or dirty socks, or armpit hair."

"They do?" Sasha asked in awe.

"Sure. There are some very strange fetishes out there. But as for why, I have no idea."

"But me peeing my panties turned you on?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

Following a brief, contemplative silence, I asked, "Do you have any?"

"Fetishes? I dunno. Sex is sorta new to me, Dad," she correctly pointed out. "Would loving my dad be considered a fetish?"

"Nope," I replied. "Just good taste."

Sasha laughed and slapped my thigh.

Dinner was fun. Sasha cooked and turned silly. She behaved like a Michelin three star chef, French accent and all, while I sat at the kitchen island and sipped beer, drowning in pleasure at her antics. She was such a beautiful girl. With great fanfare my delightful daughter prepared a green salad and macaroni and cheese out of a box, adding her gourmet flair by chopping up hotdogs and mixing them in.

Still in our underwear, we ate in front of the television watching sitcoms, feet up on the coffee table. I loved food, even junk food. I gorged myself on her meal and regretted it when it started expanding in my stomach. Several beers and a few discrete burps - laughed at by Sasha - and all was well.

It wasn't until later, as darkness settled over the city, that I remembered I'd wanted to fondle my daughter's silky panties and sexy ass. I asked her to dance with me, a pastime I was rapidly becoming enamored with. And it was dancing together to slow music that I discovered my sweet little girl had been bra-less all afternoon.

An erection formed when I casually brushed my hand against perky perfection. Sasha responded by casually pressing the flat of her hand against my blue plaid boxers and the erection inside. I groped her small breast before reaching down to fondle the lovely silkiness covering her sweet ass, those white panties slipping and sliding sensuously over her gorgeous toned butt cheeks.

Sasha glanced up at me and smiled. It was so easy to kiss my fourteen-year-old, lips brushing and parting, pausing, another teasing brush, breath exchanged, silent promises made. With a quiet moan she let my erection go and pressed her mouth to mine, rising up on tiptoes, pressing her slender body to mine. Her lips parted, tongue touching my lips, her eyes closing. The intensity of her kiss overwhelmed me, her desire for me thrilling.

We stopped dancing. Sasha rubbed herself against my erection sending waves of pleasure through me, my cock swelling. I slipped my hands down to hold her sexy ass and pulled her up. It was easy to lift her. Her arms circled my neck, her legs wrapping around my waist. I gripped and fondled two fantastic buttocks. Our kiss ended rather abruptly when my darling humped against my erection making me gasp for air, arousal suddenly acute and demanding. My knees weakened.

In the flickering firelight, with soft music playing in the background, I lowered Sasha onto the floor, on her back, and from between her legs I leaned over her. Mystical amber eyes glowed at me, firelight dancing in them. She smiled, warm and loving, making my chest tight.

"Don't move," I instructed and proceeded to lift the big T-shirt up revealing gorgeous breasts, firm, petite, their areolae flushed dark pink and puckered in arousal.

T-shirt rucked up at her neck, I bent and kissed each pert mound, Sasha's eyes watching me closely. Her nipple felt like a hard bead against my lips and, when I sucked it and nipped it lightly with my teeth the only reaction it elicited was a slight narrowing of her eyes. I sucked the areola gently and Sasha's eyes softened, heated arousal stealing in.

"You have beautiful breasts," I whispered. "I just adore them."

A smile emerged. "Kay," she replied in a whisper.

I kissed her smooth stomach and said, "I'm really horny. I hope you are."

Sasha giggled quietly, smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling. Amusement displaced the sultry look she'd had. "I'm really horny, too," she told me.

Smiling, I said, "I'm really, really horny."

She laughed and claimed, "I'm hornier."

"That's very exciting," I informed her with a grin, my hand gently pressing against her panty-covered pussy. "I think I want to play with your butt. Roll over."

Sasha burst into laughter, eyes twinkling.

"I'm serious. Turn over. I'm gonna kiss that spectacular tush. How do you feel about hickies on your delectable derrière?"

"You're nuts, Dad," she exclaimed brightly and rolled over, propping herself up on elbows, her head turned to watch me over her shoulder.

I ogled pantied perfection, my heart beating rather hard, cock pulsing. One side of those silken little panties had slipped into her butt crack exposing one perfect naked buttock, the other still covered. The sensual curve of her rounded cheek flowed seamlessly to merge with her thigh, a slight crease forming. Silky white gathered in her crotch, the folds obscuring details of her pussy but not the bulk of it, full and sumptuous in the gap between her thighs.

"Just perfection," I murmured to myself, my hands settling on each sweet buttock. I groped and fondled lightly to appreciate how firm yet malleable fourteen-year-old buttocks were and, unable to resist, I bent and pressed my mouth to the exposed cheek.

Her skin was cool against my lips, soft. I kissed slowly and debated giving it a hickie. My erection spoke up telling me it would take too much time. I agreed. Grabbing the waist of her panties, I drew them down to the top of her thighs and exposed both succulent buttocks.

"Mine, all mine," I gloated. "Hello there sweet things."

Sasha giggled. "They are not yours," she pointed out.

With a grin I reminded her of my claim that her ass was mine when I grabbed her as she entered the apartment, and she hadn't complained then so now it was too late. "Besides, your ass is so spectacular it deserves to be owned by someone like me. Someone who will worship it, hold it when it's lonely, talk to it to keep it company, kiss each . . ."

Sasha's bright giggles interrupted me. I had to chuckle. Her amber eyes were sparkling with total amusement. Leaning over and staring down, I studied an amazing pussy coddled deep in her crotch. Lush labia were closed tightly, her pubes still quite sparse, uncurled, dark. An image leapt to mind.

"Don't move," I instructed. A quick contortion and my boxers dropped to my side, my erection thrusting out, high and proud. I straddled her legs again.

"What are you doing?" she asked, still peering over her shoulder at me.

"Admiring," I responded, gently pressing the length of my erection into her bum crack. Jesus! Look how deep I'd be if I penetrated her completely! How could she possibly take so much?

"Admiring what?" Sasha asked. "Me or you?"

I burst into laughter. She really was a card at times. Leaning forward, I settled down on her body, petite and so sexy. My cock pressed into the natural valley formed by her firm buttocks, her ass pressing sensually against my groin. Brushing her thick hair away from her neck I nuzzled her and kissed her earlobe. "I want you like this," I whispered. "Right here in the living room, on the floor, you underneath me, your gorgeous ass against me."

Sasha crossed her arms on the floor and rested her cheek on them. She smiled gently. "Kay. You really are an ass man, aren't you?"

"Yes I am," I whispered. "You have a world-class ass. How could I not adore it?"

She laughed softly with pleasure and distracted me with a delectable squeeze, her sexy buttocks gripping my erection. She laughed again when I groaned rather loudly. "So that felt good?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I answered, rolling my hips on her bum, my cock suddenly leaking precum, her butt crack becoming slippery against my crown.

Sasha just about blew my mind when she murmured, "Mmmm," and started massaging my erection with her buttocks, slow sensual clenches making love to me.

I humped her small ass slowly, each wonderful stroke spreading precum. Gradually, with her butt clenches and my rolling strokes, her entire valley became slippery. When I reached under her, Sasah lifted her chest and I held her petite breasts, humping her sweet ass, my cock swelling. This was perfect. Each slow stroke became longer and longer, the tip sliding up and down. Sasha undulated gently, moving her butt to stimulate me, arouse me, and tease me with loving clenches. It worked.

Giving my darling soft kisses on her neck, my warm breath washing over her, I tilted my hips, eased my cock back, the crown slipping down until it left her butt crack and dropped slightly. Pressing forward the tip nestled into her crotch and pressed against her pussy.

Sasha moaned. Her eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of my erection pressed against her. I ached. My erection was rigid and throbbing. I pressed forward against her pussy slightly harder and paused, the tip nestled to her cleft.

We stayed like that for a few moments, my cock swelling and leaking rhythmically. Sasha moved first. She moved her ass up and down slightly as if trying to work my erection into her. The feeling was so sexy. A short pause and she sighed and moved again, tilting her ass up at me, pressing back, then relaxing. I pressed lightly.

This teasing was exquisite; the promise of ecstasy so close, the promise of a warm, moist caress, the promise of bliss in my daughter's pussy. My heart rate accelerated. My erection flexed and strained. Sasha pressed back again and we both felt it. Her labia oozed apart to kiss the tip of my crown. She clenched her ass and sighed somewhat tremulously. The movement was repeated, her soft labia caressing, moist and slippery, so damned sexy.

For the next few minutes we teased each other, both on the cusp, both concentrating on where we were almost joined, both of us breathing slightly harder. Sasha was the first to give in.

In a moaning whisper she begged, "Please put it in," her body trembling underneath me. "I can't wait anymore."

I loved it. I loved that my little girl was asking to be penetrated, that she was the one suffering aroused agony. I was too, but she was asking me! Fantastic.

Letting one breast go, I reached down and wormed my hand under her hip. She lifted to give my hand room and I cupped her pussy. Sasha was wet, again, very wet, part of it my fault. With fingertips pressing my crown to hold it in place, I started thrusting into her gently, slowly penetrating her, an exquisite experience. At first she was too tight, her legs pressed together making her even tighter.

Sasha moaned and tilted her pussy back at me, pressing her buttocks into my groin. When no progress was made she parted her legs just enough and that was it. That was the magic movement. Suddenly my crown oozed into her, a tight velvet glove welcoming me with a moist embrace. I couldn't stop myself from thrusting into her.

"Oh, Gaaaawd," she moaned when I filled her.

We started fucking gently, my groin rolling on her sweet ass, erection slipping in and out slightly, her pussy so slippery, so snug, a silken heaven. With my hand cupping her pussy I teased her clit earning a deep groan from her, her butt clenching, relaxing, clenching as she fucked back at me.

I loved it. But I wasn't deep enough in her. I wasn't burying myself inside her. I had a vision of my cock resting along her ass crack and how deep I'd be inside her and I wanted that.

Pulling out of her, I rose to my knees. Her eyes popped open. Before she could say anything, I said, "Get up on you hands and knees," and slipped my arm under her waist, pulling her up.

My daughter's derrière, usually so small and compact, gained a wondrous shape when she knelt, sexy and flaring, buttocks even tighter, her butt crack spreading to reveal a tiny anus. But it was how her pussy oozed out between slender thighs that made my heart race. Her cleft glistened yet it had closed up tightly, a slight indent indicating the location of her entrance. Kneeling, her pussy was lush and ripe, and as I moved close to her, the size difference between my erection and her little cleft sent chills down my spine. How had she taken me? It appeared an impossible feat.

Grasping my shaft firmly, the tip kissing her slit, I pressed, her labia bulging. A slight swipe up and down and her lips oozed apart. Watching her labia slowly stretch and thin, stretch more, her little pussy being invaded by a monster, thrilled me. Suddenly my crown popped in. Almost effortlessly I penetrated her, fast, her sweet buttocks slapped against me. Sasha let out an "Oof," from the impact.

I was buried in my daughter, held tightly by her pussy, the tip of my erection nudging something rubbery; her cervix. Holding her narrow hips, I withdrew, my shaft glistening with moisture, and thrust, Sasha grunting, her body moving. Was it too hard on her? Was I hurting her? I paused halfway withdrawn, about to ask when she answered my unspoken question by shoving herself back at me, fucking me, burying my erection deep inside her.

"Yes. So good, Daddy," she murmured, pulling off and fucking back at me.

I was thrilled. Gripping her hips, I started fucking her, long withdrawals followed by fantastic thrusts, burying myself in her pussy, withdrawing, fucking her, deep, so deep. Sasha grunted quietly and pressed back at me.

Leaning over her back and reaching underneath, I found her clit and strummed it. Sasha's body jerked hard as if electrocuted. She gasped and shoved herself back at me, her body trembling. We fucked harder and faster, my erection swelling, her pussy so damned tight. Sweet buttocks slapped into me. Suddenly, with no warning at all, Sasha exploded.

"Oh God, Daddy," she cried out softly, her body jerking hard before pausing and trembling like a frightened fawn. Suddenly she was thrusting back at me, fucking me, little mewls of pleasure growing into the cutest grunts, her pussy clenching.

I let myself drown in her ecstasy, my cock swelling. Need drove me. I grabbed both hips and fucked my little girl with short hard thrusts, pressure building until, with exquisite pleasure my climax arrived, semen racing up my shaft. Thrusting hard, I buried myself deep inside her, the tip sealed to her cervix. A thunderous explosion hit, the spurt agonizing, thick cum flooding her womb. With another short withdrawal and thrust I exploded again, cock swelling, cum spurting, sweet ecstasy slamming into me.

Sasha trembled with her climax. Her arms gave out when I thrust into her again, spurting deep inside her, bliss hitting me. She grunted and slipped forward, collapsing face down onto the floor and I followed her, fucking her sweet derrière, cumming, cumming, humping her ass, her small body jerking underneath me with each desperate, exquisite thrust.

Intense climaxes are blinding. They narrow your universe to the joy of release, the power of your orgasm, the incredible feeling of being joined with your lover. Outside sounds fade. Awareness of anything other than the ecstasy punishing your body vanishes. After intense climaxes those same senses slowly filter back as if your body is readjusting back to reality.

I became aware of the sound of gas flames and soft music from the stereo. I became aware of my little girl underneath me, her soft breathing. I became aware of the utter lethargy that accompanies total release, the complete satiation, and the way my body felt like it had just melted. My toes tingled. My softening erection slipped from my daughter's pussy.

Easing to her side, I brushed dark-burgundy hair out of her face. Spectacular amber eyes greeted me. A smile greeted me, her eyes twinkling making my heart trip.

"We are definitely doing that again, Dad," she said firmly. "But next time in bed. My knees hurt."

Damn I loved her. Leaning close, I nuzzled my sexy little girl. "I love you," I whispered.

Sasha's response was, "Me too," followed by what sounded like an honest-to-God purr of pleasure.

Chapter Nine: The Truth About Dreams

SASHA CHECKED THE CALENDAR on her iPhone and the itinerary in her hand. Getting up from the couch, she went to find Dad. She found him busy writing on his laptop. It looked like he was deep into his novel. Knowing how fleeting creativity could be, she hesitated, debating whether to bother him.

"What's up?" he asked, typing away.

She smiled. He hadn't even looked up. For sure he was hardwired to her. "You remember we're going to San Fran tomorrow, don't you?" she asked.

"No we're not. That's next week. The seventh," he answered, still typing.

"Tomorrow is the seventh," she informed him.

He stopped. Chocolate eyes looked up at her full of surprise. "It is?"

"Yup."

"Well, Jiminy Cricket!" he exclaimed.

Sasha laughed. What the heck was Jiminy Cricket? "Has Marcy sent you the airplane tickets and reservation details?"

"Uh, no. At least I don't think so."

Sasha waved the envelope and itinerary at him. "They came yesterday."

"They did? Where was it?"

"On the floor at the front door." She studied the paper. "We leave tomorrow at five thirty-two. American Airlines."

"Huh. How come I missed it?"

"You've been writing all day for the last two days. You've been so absorbed you wouldn't have noticed if I was here or not," Sasha said with a smile.

Dad eyes became intense. "I'll always notice you, honey. Always."

A shiver of pleasure ran through her. She actually felt her nipples stiffen. Damn. How does he do it? "I'm going to pack. You should too."

"I will," he said returning to the laptop, fingers moving.

Sasha sighed and left. He wouldn't. He'd forget and they'd have to rush around in a last minute panic. Maybe she'd pack for him.

Climbing the stairs, Sasha's mind went back over the past few days. She'd discovered so much, some good, some not so good. The good stuff was wonderful, like sleeping with Dad.

For a week and a half she'd been sleeping with him and now she couldn't imagine sleeping on her own. How had she managed being alone in bed? Sleeping with Dad was amazing. It was like one part of her brain registered how they touched and cuddled and moved through the night. Her body was always touching his, or his touching hers, be it a hand on her back, or their legs intertwined, or her arm across his chest.

She liked how Dad would get erections during the night and she wondered if he was dreaming about her when they happened. She loved cuddling with him, being naked in bed with him, and smelling him when he slept. She'd never felt so rested after a night's sleep, every morning waking up with energy to burn and ants in her pants.

Then there was the sex. Why would anyone suggest that sex before turning eighteen was bad, or even worse, those religious holier-than-thou people spouting abstinence until marriage. Why? Sex was fantastic. Like really, really fantastic. Maybe if you're deeply religious you can't enjoy sex. Or maybe if you don't enjoy sex you end up being deeply religious. Either way, they were all wrong. Full stop. Sex was great.

Sasha opened her closet and pulled down her small carry-on suitcase, putting it on the unused bed and opening it. She started selecting outfits for the trip. Where would they eat? Would she need formal clothes? What about undies. She had some sexy lingerie she'd bought to wear for Dad. She'd need to take them. She had plans, naughty plans.

After deciding on the outfits her mind wandered again, this time to the unexpected information she'd learned. The morning after their romp on the floor of the living room, her knees still red and raw, she'd gotten her period. It had brought home how distracted she'd been with Dad and sex. She'd never thought about contraception. Nor had Dad. When she mentioned it somewhat embarrassed, he'd grinned at her and informed her he'd had a vasectomy a few years ago. It seemed a bursting condom when having sex with a girlfriend had brought home to him how he didn't want another child, Sasha being all he ever needed. Sasha had glowed with pleasure at his comment, but later she'd been less than happy.

Secretly she harbored a dream. In the deepest part of her she dreamed about having a baby with Dad, a family, of being his partner not just his lover. It was her deepest secret, one she was afraid to tell him lest it scare him or, even worse, made him regret their relationship. With his revelation about the vasectomy one part of her dream was gone. She'd never have Dad's baby. It saddened her even though being with Dad was enough. That revelation brought other insidious thoughts. They invaded her without her permission. Where would their relationship go? She'd assumed they'd be together forever. But did Dad feel the same way? And how could they? He was well known, a public figure. Could they even live together like husband and wife or would she always be in the shadows? Would that be enough for him? It would for her. Just to be with Dad was enough but how would he feel? Maybe he didn't plan for them to be together forever.

Shaking herself out of the morose thoughts, Sasha laid out her outfits, selected shoes, and dug through her dresser for panties and bras, and the sexy lingerie she'd bought. She smiled as she studied it. Would Dad like it?

That brought another decision to mind. From what she'd read, most girls shaved their pubic hair. Apparently it felt better and men liked it more. If she wanted to really surprise Dad she'd need to shave tonight, her period having ended this morning. But what if he didn't like her pussy shaved? Would it ruin his pleasure? Still, she could always let it grow back. No. Wait. She'd have to shave it tomorrow. If she shaved it tonight he'd notice when they went to bed.

Sasha started folding and packing, her mind listing the bathroom items she'd need; hairbrush, comb, the toothpaste and toothbrush she'd left in Dad's bathroom, hair dryer, shampoo and conditioner, makeup, nail polish. Did she need a bigger suitcase? Maybe she better pack for Dad tonight. She could put some of her stuff in his suitcase.

She would order in food for dinner, too. Dad was into one of his writing marathons. He'd have no time to cook. San Francisco. How exciting. One three-hour book-signing session and the rest of the time to have fun, explore, tease Dad.

The drone of the airplane engines made her feel slightly deaf. She yawned to equalize the pressure in her ears, her eyes glued to the portal studying San Francisco as it passed below, the airplane circling as it descended towards the airport.

Dad finally put his laptop away. He'd been writing all day. He'd forgotten to pack, as she knew he would. He'd apologized to her and continued writing while they waited at JFK airport, and he'd resumed writing when the plane took off. He was deep into a streak of creativity and, despite wanting to share the excitement of traveling, Sasha knew and accepted Dad's focused concentration. His dedication was nothing new.

With the laptop finally in his carrying case he leaned over her and peered out the oval portal. "Look at that, Sasha. You can see Alcatraz there," he said excitedly, pointing. "And there's the Golden Gate Bridge, and over there, that's the Transamerica Pyramid! Did you know that back in . . ."

She smelled his scent, leather and Scotch and a manly aroma, all Dad. She smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He was going to make everything so exciting to her whether she liked it or not. An urge to kiss him washed over her; kiss Dad right here in the plane. She almost did but settled for grabbing his hand and holding it. Sometimes love really did hurt, like an ache deep inside or a breath in her chest that couldn't get out.

She leaned in and whispered, "I really love you, Dad," giving his hand a squeeze.

He stopped talking. Dark chocolate eyes full of adoration studied her before he smiled broadly. "Good. So you should."

Sasha laughed lightly.

Just over an hour later Dad was on the phone to the front desk. Sasha sat on one of the twin beds and waited. He'd been disappointed with the small room and was now bargaining with Fairmont's front desk for a bigger room.

"Good. Thank you," he said hanging up. "Cheap publishers. Typical Marcy," he muttered, "No limo and now this." Turning, he spotted her and grinned like a boy with a new toy. "We're moving to a bigger room."

"Honestly, Dad. I don't mind this one," Sasha repeated. "We're gonna be out most of the time anyway."

Dad's eyes twinkled. "We're gonna be in bed lots, too."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Ten minutes later Sasha's jaw dropped as she followed the bellhop and Dad into the new room. It was huge! The large, bright, elegant living room was filled with formal furniture. To the right through wide double doors was the bedroom. As Dad tipped the bellhop and saw him out, Sasha stood rooted to the spot.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Dad asked, taking her suitcase out of her hand and carrying it to a small stand in the bedroom.

Neat? It was beautiful. A huge king-sized bed with a dark wood headboard and creamy white bed linens sat in the center. Small bedside tables held black, decorative cast iron lamps. To the right was the bathroom and from her position she saw white marble everywhere in it.

"Jeez, Dad. This must cost a fortune," she finally said.

"It's only two nights. Time to live a little."

Sasha blushed. "There's only one bed. Won't they suspect something?"

"Nope. You're my daughter. If you weren't then they'd be concerned. Look at that bed. Lots of room to do things," he said with a cheeky grin.

"We'll get lost in it. It's too big," Sasha observed.

I STUDIED MY DAUGHTER carefully. She'd changed in some subtle way after getting her period. I wasn't sure why and had been a bit too preoccupied with writing over the last few days to figure it out. But it was there, a shadow in her eyes that concerned me. If you didn't know her as well as I did you'd never notice.

I yawned and glanced at my watch. One forty-four in the morning, East Coast time. "I'm tired and I have the book-signing tomorrow. Let's go to bed."

Sasha insisted I use the bathroom first while she unpacked. She slipped by me when I emerged in boxers and closed the bathroom door behind her. Turning out lights, I got in bed. Hotel beds are different from real people's beds. It's the linens they use. Hotel sheets are crisp and clean and fresh and have a texture normal sheets don't. The sheets fit like the maid had completed several years of military service; tightly folded, perfect, wrinkle-free. I really enjoyed them.

When Sasha emerged in a baby blue nightshirt I was a bit surprised. We cuddled together in the expansive bed, behaving much like the last few days when she had her period, small kisses, comfortable hugs, legs intertwining. But something was definitely off.

I was too tired to think clearly, something I'd need to be able to do if I was to pry hidden thoughts out of my daughter's mind. She was a master at guile and misdirection.

Signing another book, I smiled and handed it to a lovely prim, grey-haired lady. She smiled back at me and left. I glanced around.

The new bookstore had clearly been designed by an architect who loved books. It was large but felt cozy. Bookshelves had been designed to encourage browsing and discovery, arranged in an amusing maze of aisles. The floors were distressed wood, the storefront a tribute to shops of Victorian England; black framed mullioned windows.

I caught sight of Sasha. She sat quietly in one of the green leather armchairs located here and there in the store. She'd worn a pleated tan and cream tartan Burberry skirt and a simple white button-down shirt, white tights and brown leather penny loafers. She looked very Emma Watson, very British in a schoolgirl way, her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail.

I noticed it again, that shadow in her eyes. It worried me now. This morning she'd been bright and full of energy, dragging me out to breakfast, talking up a storm about her plans for us while we were in San Fran. I'd tried to lure her back to bed but it seemed morning sex wasn't my daughter's thing. Sitting on the armchair in the bookstore, Sasha not aware of my inspection, the shadow was as clear as day.

"Mr. Hawk, I just love your latest book. Annabelle was such a determined woman, a great role model."

I glanced at the young lady smiling at me. One of the True Fan group. Smiling back at her, I reached for the book, opened the cover and signed it, asking her what name to include in the dedication.

Over the years I'd found myself categorizing the people who came to book signings into three groups. The Opportunists were those that happened to be in the store at the time, a coincidence. They usually were unfamiliar with my books and regarded a signed copy as a gift-giving solution. I could see it in their eyes, the mental assessment, which friend would appreciate this type of fiction.

Then there were The Collectors. They collected not books but events. They liked to have an interesting and novel story to impress their friends with. The Collectors wanted to chat with me and often dropped controversial comments designed to elicit a response from me that they could later relate at their next social gathering; "I was talking to Jason Hawk the other day and we discussed . . ."

The last group were the True Fans group. They smiled and commented on favorite characters, or plot lines that captured their imagination, or expressed joy at getting lost in one of my tales. I liked this group and they got more from me. I could always tell if a book had been signed for a True Fan. It would have "Thank you for reading my book" above my signature. The other two groups only got a signature.

Time passed slowly but I enjoyed it. Harold, the pot-bellied, middle-aged, and bearded bookstore owner exuded positive vibes. Just get near him and you ended up smiling. Customers loved him because he loved them. I was busy and wasn't shy about admitting I liked the attention, too. But part of my pleasure was dampened by Sasha. Had I made a mistake encouraging her into our relationship? I worried I had. Was she having regrets now? If so, how could I help her find a face-saving way out? That thought almost physically hurt me. End the relationship? So soon? Damn!

Harold pumped my hand vigorously when the event ended. The bookstore's official opening day had been a success. I wished him good fortune and meant it. I loved books. They were my livelihood and a pure digital future saddened me. Not to hold a book in your hand, feel the texture of the pages, and hear the rustle of each page turn would be such a tragedy.

"Come on," I said to Sasha extending my hand to her. She smiled. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" I asked.

"Nope. It was fun watching you with other people. They like you."

"I don't care about them liking me. I only care about you liking me," I told her leading her out onto a sunny but cool street.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about, right?" she said brightly.

I stopped walking. We were anonymous on the sidewalk, people passing without giving us a second glance. I looked into my daughter's eyes and said, "I do have something to worry about. You. What's wrong, honey? And don't tell me nothing. I know you too well."

She gave me a weak smile, an attempt at deflection. "It's nothing. Really, Dad."

I didn't respond. Holding her hand I kept looking at her, no emotions, no judgment, just waiting. It belied the worry that was gnawing inside me with each passing minute.

Sasha sighed. "It's really nothing, Dad. Honest. It's just I thought one day we might . . . It's not important."

I squeezed her hand gently. "Clearly it isn't nothing, sweetheart, and clearly it is important. One day we might what?"

Sasha looked away from me. I knew that gesture all too well. She did it whenever she was contemplating how to deliver bad news. It typically preceded her telling me about a failed test or poor grades. This time I suspected it bode worse news.

With a sigh of resignation, Sasha, not looking at me, said, "I just thought . . . I sorta dreamed that one day we might have a baby together." Her eyes met mine. "I know we can't because of your, you know, and it's okay, Dad. It really is."

Somewhat relieved that her mood was only the result of an adolescent fantasy, I unthinkingly told her, "Sasha, you shouldn't be worrying about it. We've just started a relationship. Relax and enjoy yourself. You'll probably find someone else long before it's time to have a child."

Clouds gathered in her eyes. I noticed, in the sunshine her dark, almost black eyebrows had a tint of red - a hint of the rich burgundy in her hair. Her amber eyes had an almost yellow cast, a lioness looking back at me. A frown creased her brow. I'd seen this gathering storm before. It happened every time I dismissed her feelings. Usually I regretted whatever I'd said and I was beginning to fear I might again.

"How could you think that?!" she exploded angrily and then burst into tears, shocking the Hell out of me.

The bench at the bus stop was empty. I led my daughter to it and sat, forcing her to sit next to me. Her quiet sobs stopped but silent tears welled and tumbled down her cheeks, the most agonizing tears known to a father. Her hand angrily brushed them away.

Sounds of a daughter crying could distract from the cause of the pain. Silent crying like this couldn't. My daughter was truly in emotional turmoil. I'd never been a stupid man. I could be accused of doing idiotic things, and often did, but I was never stupid. I'd made a huge mistake. I'd assumed Sasha was enjoying a crush on me, a youthful, sweet feeling of first love, the type teenage girls think are forever but pass with a change of the wind or an unacceptable slight from the object of their attention. I'd assumed one day she'd move on with her affection gracing someone else. I'd been wrong. She confirmed it before I could open my mouth.

"I can't believe you don't understand," she accused quietly.

"I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have dismissed your feelings."

"It's been almost three years," she whispered. "Three years! Why do you think it will just go away?"

Perhaps the tears distracted me. Perhaps I was just dense, a condition caused by worry for her. But I didn't understand. "Three years for what?"

She shook her head angrily, thick burgundy ponytail dancing.

"Please," I begged.

She finally looked at me, eyes still glistening with dampness. "I knew I loved you three years ago, Dad."

I smiled and brushed a loose tendril of hair from her face. "I knew I loved you fourteen years ago," I said.

She shied back from my hand. "How can you be so . . . so thick? I've been IN love with you since I was twelve."

"Ah," I replied. Smiling gently, I added, "So have I."

Watching the transformation was spectacular. Her mystical eyes grew wide with understanding. Pleasure stole into them, the faintest hint of a smile flitting through and passing, questions emerging. It was beautiful to watch.

"Then why did you assume I'd find someone else?" she asked.

I wiped a drying damp streak on her cheek away. "Insecurity," I answered. "You may find this hard to believe, but there are moments when I look at you and I just can't believe my good fortune. I'm scared it will end and I don't think I could take it."

Sasha smiled. It was like a ray of sun breaking through dark grey clouds on a chilly day basking me in radiant warmth. "You don't need to be scared, Dad. You're stuck with me, like it or not."

"Come on," I said, standing and reaching for her hand. "We're going back to the hotel."

"Why?"

"I need something."

"Need what?" she asked, letting me lead her as I tried to flag a cab down.

"You'll see."

I took Sasha back to our room. A bit of loving was in order to reestablish intimacy, dispel bad memories, and reconfirm my adoration of her, something my daughter deserved and needed. A bit of worshiping wouldn't hurt, either.

As soon as the door closed behind us I grabbed her hand. "This way," I said, leading her to the bed. "That outfit makes you look like a cute schoolgirl attending an exclusive British private school."

Sasha giggled. "It does, sort of. It's a Burberry skirt."

"I noticed. I've been plagued by a desire to know what's underneath."

Sasha laughed. "Plagued? Really?"

"Yup. I gotta know." Reaching the bed I pointed my finger at it. "Bend over the bed. I'm going to look up your skirt, Sasha. I'm going to fondle and admire my property, maybe kiss it, too."

She burst into laughter, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm not your property."

"You might not be, but I'd like to remind you your ass is mine," I said with a big grin.

Sasha started giggling. Mischief entered her eyes making me short of breath. My God she was spectacular. Her giggles stopped. She smiled coyly.

"Kay," she said softly. My heart skipped a beat.

Looking into my eyes, that coy smile distracting me, my daughter moved to the side of the bed and slowly, very slowly bent over to lie on top, her feet on the floor.

"I'm ready, Dad," she announced in a quiet voice.

She actually made me ache with love. She was so damned cute and seductive and sexy, and such a tease. She was mine, too. I loved it!

For just a moment I paused to take in my little schoolgirl waiting for her daddy to explore her hidden charms. It was an exciting, illicit fantasy.

I moved closer. She watched me, a smug smile on her face. "I'm gonna lift your skirt up," I threatened.

"Kay."

"I'm gonna see your panties."

"Kay."

"I'm gonna touch your panties, too," I said.

"Kay."

"I might pull them down and kiss your ass," I added with a grin.

Sasha laughed. "You're such a dingbat, Dad. I still love you, though."

Staring into her eyes, still grinning at her, I pinched the hem of her short pleated skirt and lifted slightly. Her eyes twinkled at me. Breaking eye contact, I bent and looked up her skirt.

Time stopped. So did my heart. Sounds became muffled. Blood rushed. Fuck me! My naughty daughter wasn't wearing tights. She was wearing stockings! A lacy white garter belt held them up. But making breathing difficult was the gauzy see-through white panties she wore!

I closed my eyes and opened them again, wondering if I was imagining it. Nope. Hot damn! Sasha's sexy bum crack was clearly visible through the filmy nothingness that was posing as panties. A thicker double gusset formed to her sensual teenage pubis, a ripe little peach squeezed between her thighs.

My reaction was immediate, a erection springing into existence. Where had she found this lingerie? It was such a dichotomy; sexy stockings and garter under a chaste schoolgirl outfit! I adored that she'd even thought to wear it for me!

"So?" she asked with an unacceptable wiggle of her posterior. "What 'cha think?"

I very rarely swear, only in moments of extreme stress. It's not my style. But it escaped without control. "Fuck me!"

"Kay!"

I looked at her sharply. She burst into giggles and blushed slightly. I smiled and knelt behind her and, with both hands, unveiled my sexy girl's derrière by folding her short skirt up onto her back.

Studying young loveliness, excitement building, I gently caressed two delicious dance-toned buttocks before leaning in and burying my face in her butt crack, sweet buttocks pressed to my cheeks. I caught her intimate scent, just a trace, just enough to set my pulse racing. With a loving kiss I backed off.

Sasha was peering back at me. I smiled. "Delicious, delightful, delectable."

She giggled lightly and wiggled her bum at me; a successful distraction.

Groping her buns, I enjoyed how her ass crack opened and closed, and how her peach of a pussy was squeezed and bulged. With mounting anticipation, I took the waist and slowly drew those panties down over her rounded tush. I tugged them to the top of her thighs, her plump little pussy peeking out at me.

It took a moment to register. Something was different. What? It looked just as small and succulent, the cleft just as tightly closed, just as achingly desirable. Soft bare labia formed a . . . Holy cow! She'd shaved her pussy. Not a pubic hair in sight.

I leaned to the side to look at her face. Sasha grinned at me. "Surprise!"

"Did you shave it all?" I asked.

She nodded. "Bare as a baby's bottom."

Fuck! "Hold on," I instructed and moved back to contemplate her hairless pussy from behind. It looked so young, now intensely illicit. I pried her firm buttocks apart. Her cleft peeled open revealing a sexy moist interior. My moan of desire was silent. I kissed her sweet pussy, nose pressed between her buttocks, the amazing clean taste of her wet against my tongue when I probed deep into her slit, silly smoothness, just delicious.

Sasha sighed rather loudly. My desire for her was intensifying at an alarming rate, my cock rigid and crying out for attention. Rising, I asked her to turn over. She refused and ordered me to get on the bed, "But strip first, Dad. I want to try something with you."

Curious and aroused, I did, in record time. Lying back with my head propped up on a pillow and my erection bobbing up and down, Sasha smiled her approval and stood away from the bed.

"Kay, so I had this idea you might like. But promise you won't touch me."

"Why? What are you planning?" I asked.

"Just promise, Dad," she insisted.

"Okay. I promise." What was she up to?

Sasha smiled coyly and reached under her short skirt. With a sexy wiggle she eased her gauzy white panties down and stepped out of them. That's it. No unbuttoning her cotton shirt or opening her skirt or removing stockings. She smiled sweetly and tossed the panties at me before crawling up on the bed.

"Remember, no touching," she said, her eyes full of mischief. "You can hold onto those panties."

"Can I talk?" I asked, gripping soft, warm panties.

"Uh-huh," she answered, slowly swinging one knee over to straddle my legs, sitting up straight and looking down at me.

"Then let me just say you're looking particularly sexy today," I mentioned.

"Thank you."

"And," I continued, "I am eagerly anticipating seeing you undressed, naked, exposed."

"Then you're destined for disappointment," my little girl informed me, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"But I wanted to see your . . ."

"My what? My this?" she asked, lifting her skirt and flashing a lovely hairless pussy at me, her skirt falling to cover her.

My erection strained up off my stomach and I groaned quietly. Sasha looked so damned young. I reached for her knees.

"Nuh-uh," she said, brushing my hands away. "No touchy."

"You're a bad girl," I informed her. "You shouldn't tease your father so much."

She grinned. "Just wait." With that, Sasha shuffled up until she was kneeling over my groin, holding her body off mine. She rearranged her skirt hiding my erection underneath. "Ready?"

For what? I nodded.

Unable to see, the sensation of touch was intensified a thousand-fold. Warm, soft skin brushed the underside of my shaft when Sasha lowered herself and ended when she rose. She smiled and repeated the move, settling gently on my shaft, soft moistness stroking me slightly, and lifted again. Her hands rested on her thighs, her back straight.

"So? Wanna see?" she asked with a cheeky grin.

I didn't trust my voice. I nodded.

She lowered herself. Warm, moist skin pressed to my erection. She wiggled and settled, her eyes narrowing slightly as she experienced pleasure, too. "Look, Dad," she whispered, her fingers slowly lifting the hem of her skirt for an illicit peek.

I had time to register a perfectly hairless pussy plumped out as it pressed down onto a huge erection, the crown flushed and red, her labia bulging sensually, and then she dropped her skirt covering the incredibly sexy sight. My groan was heartfelt and deep. How the Hell did she know these things? The desire to reach up and grab her and fuck my daughter senseless was almost too strong to resist.

"Are you okay, Dad? You look a bit . . . stressed," she observed, rising again, contact lost.

"I'm okay," I assured her even though I wasn't.

"Kay. Ready?" she asked with a grin.

Ready for what? What could she possibly do now?

Without waiting for an answer, Sasha lowered herself, her silky pussy once again settling on my shaft. I swelled at the sensation of moist, almost wet warmth hugging me. This time she gently stroked my erection with her pussy, a teasingly slow up and down motion that went high enough to cover my crown and low enough to press against my balls before returning to the middle.

She paused, sighed, and smiled at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. She repeated the move, sliding her pussy up to cover my crown and this time she paused.

"Look, Dad," she whispered, lifting the front of her skirt again, giving me a peek of her hairless pussy bulging where it pressed against the helmet, my cock almost hidden from view, her clit red. She dropped her skirt as my cock swelled. "Still okay?" she asked with a grin.

I nodded.

Smiling sweetly, Sasha wiggled and tilted her hips. It felt like her cleft gripped the tip of my erection. With a small shudder, Sasha arched her body, rose up on her knees and floored me. She drew my erection up to vertical hands-free, the tip hugged by her labia.

"Look," she whispered a bit breathlessly, lifting her skirt slowly, my heart rate increasing along with the rise of her hem.

The sight was stunningly sexy. My erection, thick and long, was poised to penetrate Sasha's hairless little pussy, her small slit stretched, clitoris pressed to my crown. It looked like I was about to penetrate a little girl, a very young girl. Breathing became problematic. My hands twitched with the need to grab her and shove her down. I didn't. Her hand still rested on her white stocking-covered thighs.

The skirt fell, the view lost. I groaned loudly without shame, my cock pulsing, precum leaking directly into her.

"Still okay?" my teasing daughter asked.

"NO," I replied forcefully.

"What's the matter?" she asked with a giggle.

Before I could answer she pressed her pussy down gently, my thoughts immediately erased. If I thought she was done I was sorely mistaken. My darling daughter smiled sweetly and started moving as if dancing a mini belly dance, a hip and waist movement, slow and sensual, her pussy undulating on the very tip of my erection.

My whole body was tense. My cock throbbed, more precum leaked and I stiffened even more. A thundering need to penetrate her was building and threatening to decimate self-control. I watched her smile fade, displaced by an unfocused look as if she was concentrating on the sensations she was experiencing. If they were anything like as powerful as mine she was in serious trouble, too.

In micro increments my daughter undulated, pressing her pussy down, slowly worming herself onto my erection. First her labia spread down over my crown. She sighed when her opening stretched and I just about came when the crown slipped into her suddenly, grasped by her velvety vagina.

Sasha stopped moving and looked at me, her eyes slightly heated, her face flushed. She smiled and whispered, "Look, you're inside me," and raised the front of her skirt.

Jesus, I was. My poor little girl's hairless pussy was stretched wide by my erection. I saw the shaft swell when it pulsed, a punishing wave of arousal hitting me. The skirt dropped.

"Still okay?" she asked.

"I am nowhere near okay, Sasha," I growled at her.

"Good."

"No, not good. Let me watch. Please," I begged.

Amber eyes studied me. She relented with a smile. "No hands," she reminded me.

"Why?"

"I'm gonna make you so excited you're gonna cum before you're all the way in," she informed me, lifting the front of her skirt, rolling it and tucking it into the waist.

Even though there was a distinct possibility she would do exactly that, I refused to admit she had my number. No fourteen-year-old was that good. "It won't work," I informed her.

She smiled coyly. "We'll see."

With that, Sasha, in a white lace garter and white stockings, with a perfectly hairless little pussy hugely stretched and penetrated by my erection, resumed her little dance of love, but now she added small up and down movements. Sasha was literally fucking me. She danced with her lower body, rising and falling, ensconcing perhaps two inches of my cock inside her, massaging me with the tightest Goddamn pussy ever, her small vaginal clenches adding dangerous pulses of pleasure. Mentally I began begging her to go lower, take more of me, take all of me, engulf my straining, heavy erection in her velvet grip, fuck me hard, please!

Instead, Sasha closed her eyes. A cute frown of concentration emerged. She fucked herself on two then three inches of me, clenching to massage my erection, so damned tight. Her hands rested on her thighs for support. A lacy white garter framed her incredibly sexy pussy, the sight of my daughter being penetrated almost too much to take. In my mind's eye I saw me cumming inside her, filling her. Pressure built suddenly in my groin. My cock strained, thick, throbbing. I was so very close, balls heavy, stomach tightening, desire to cum storming in.

Sasha's body trembled. She whispered, "Daddy," her hands curling into fists. She trembled harder, her legs twitching, hair shimmering. My erection swelled dangerously and, true to her word, when my darling daughter's slender body almost convulsed with the onset of her climax and she inhaled sharply, my orgasm slammed into me.

It was a massive climax made more intense by the incredible tease. My shaft swelled, I inhaled, and ecstasy arrived. Semen exploded with less than half my erection penetrating her. Sasha gasped. Her hand pressed to her mons as if she felt me spurting inside her. Her body jerked and pussy clamped down on me as another almost painful surge hit, hot cum erupting in a blindingly pleasurable pulse. I saw my shaft swell thicker as another hard spurt brought bliss, sweet release, cum flooding my little girl. Unable to control myself, I reached up, grabbed my climaxing daughter and pulled her onto my chest. Holding her tight, gripping her sweet bottom, I thrust into her hard, my erection finally penetrating her body completely, deeply, all the way. The tip of my crown pressed to her end and I exploded, beautiful ecstasy ripping through me, hot semen jetting into her. Restraint was lost. I humped and came, fucking my child, emptying myself inside her with agonizing pleasure until my body almost cramped. One final, gut-wrenching pulse and my orgasm released me. I held her tightly and felt her heart racing just like mine. Her brow was damp when I kissed it. Her sigh was deep.

Eventually Sasha slipped to my side.

"You can give me my panties back now," she murmured.

I was amazed to find her white filmy panties still gripped in my left hand. Grinning, I handed them to her.

We made it out for dinner that night. I interrogated Sasha about where she'd learned how to make love so well. She had demonstrated far too much understanding of erotic seduction than I thought any fourteen-year-old would know. At first she refused to tell me, but, succumbing to my compliments and assurance that I totally loved her adventurousness, Sasha stunned me yet again.

With a small smile and a slight blush, she said, "I read it in a story online somewhere."

I knew the story immediately. I knew what she'd read, which Renpet story, which girl had been her inspiration. It left me speechless, my mind churning with possibilities.

Back at the hotel we cuddled in bed, neither of us feeling the need for sex. Just cuddling and kissing was enough. Sasha seemed to be back to her old self, reassured of my love and commitment to her. Or maybe I was distracted, or maybe I just wished it was so.

Sunday was a flurry of speed sightseeing, mostly drive-by sightings, the taxi driver happily pointing out landmarks as the meter ticked upwards. Sasha wasn't impressed with our whirlwind tour. She brightened when I promised to bring her back for a week and explore everything. Her enthusiasm made me too generous. I ended up promising a summer trip that included a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway to Los Angeles.

The flight home was long. Sasha fell asleep against me. It was good to finally get home, familiar and welcoming. I looked forward to life settling down. Foolish me.

SASHA SAT WATCHING THE evening news. She was steaming mad. The bitch! And right in front of the television camera, too! Bitch!

Dad had committed to attend the charity gala months ago. Sasha didn't mind. But when Dad told her he was escorting Barbara Baxter to the gala, she wasn't happy. And Dad telling her how pretty the Bitch was didn't help.

Sasha wasn't happy when Dad left all dressed up in the formal black tie and black tux looking all handsome and stuff and smelling so sexy. She turned her cheek to him when he tried to kiss her. His amused laugh didn't make her smile, either. Why did he have to take Barbara Baxter to the event? Why her?

Then she saw Dad on the evening news entertainment section with his hand on her back escorting her. The Bitch leaned against him, pressed her tits at him, smiled for the cameras and kissed Dad's cheek. She kissed Dad! That SLUT!

And why was Dad smiling so broadly? How dare he?!

Sasha rewound the segment and listened to the stupid reporter talk about Dad escorting a new lady in his life. Anger burned. She studied Miss Bitch Baxter on the screen. Her open-backed black dress flowed like it was chiffon, pleated below the waist and ending high-thigh. Suggestive folds of cloth draped artfully over her full bust, a big gold chain falling to her cleavage, large breasts, her back exposed almost to her waist. She was tall, almost as tall as Dad, her blonde hair cut fashionably short. Makeup accentuated her large blue eyes. She was probably a dumb blond, Sasha thought maliciously. Bitch.

Angry and jealous, Sasha shut the television off and called Pamela to see if she'd seen Dad on TV and vent. She hated how angry she felt. She hated feeling so jealous. She hated that she couldn't help it either. Dad was hers!

By one o'clock in the morning when Dad hadn't returned, the event supposedly ending at eleven-thirty, Sasha knew. She just knew the Bitch had gotten Dad into bed with her.

THE OLD FREIGHT ELEVATOR jerked to a stop on the fourth floor. I pulled the gates open and stepped out. Springs pushed the gates closed behind me with a clang. Damn I was tired. I was exhausted from fending off Barbara Baxter all night.

The gala, including the auction, had been far too long and Barbara wasn't my type at all. Normally I'd never be around someone like her but I'd agreed to escort her as a favor to Marcy, my publisher. There was something crass about Barbara. It wasn't immediately apparent, but after spending some time with her I noticed she'd occasionally use very crude words that jarred with her sophisticated looks. I didn't like her for it. It hinted at a personality that had been polished by good schooling yet spots had been missed and become tarnished.

It felt good to come home.

Winter greeted me silently when I opened the front door at just past one-thirty in the morning. Winter was the temperature Sasha radiated at me all the way from the couch across the apartment, her face turned away, my greeting ignored.

She'd been so cute in her jealousy when I'd dressed for the gala. Maybe pretending I found Miss Baxter attractive was a mistake. But seeing Sasha's gorgeous frowns had been thrilling. She was the cutest angry jealous person alive . . . or had been.

"Sasha, honey," I called out, untying the bow tie and opening the tight collar on my dress shirt. I had to grin when she turned her back to me in a very obvious snub.

Firelight lit the room as I crossed it, shadows flickering, the floor to ceiling bookshelves looking cluttered and disorganized and much used. My smile died when I saw my daughter's face. She looked forlorn, as if tears were about to start. She refused to look at me.

"Sasha, what's wrong?" I asked, suddenly worried. I sat on the couch. Sasha turned the other way giving me her back. "Sasha?"

"You slept with her, didn't you?" she accused harshly.

I knew my daughter was jealous, but this shocked me. I had no idea she felt so insecure my teasing would hurt her. I reached for her shoulder to turn her towards me. She shrugged it off. A spark of anger at her behavior rose before I tamped it down. She was only fourteen years old. How should I expect her to behave? Like a mature woman or the teenager she was?

"Listen to me very carefully, Sasha," I said softly. "I did not sleep with her. I don't even like her."

"But you kissed her!"

"I did not kiss her. Not once."

Sasha mumbled.

"Sorry?" I asked.

"I said, she kissed you."

"That's not the same thing, honey," I clarified. This time I reached out and physically grabbed her, turning her to face me. She melted into me burying her face against my neck. I felt the rigid strain in her body melt away.

Sasha let out a deep, deep sigh, her body slumping into mine. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said softly. "I shouldn't have . . . It's just . . . I mean, I know . . ."

Rubbing her back, with a small smile of relief at a crisis avoided, I said, "It's okay. I understand. But there's no one else in my life, honey. Just you. I've told you this before. You have to start trusting me. I only want you and that's the way it's going to stay."

"Kay."

"It's late. Let's go to bed," I suggested.

Sasha, in a small voice, asked, "Can we dance for a bit? You're so dressed up and handsome and stuff."

I nodded, smiled at her, and stood, drawing her up. With the press of a remote, music swelled up from the stereo. Sasha melted into my arms and hugged me tightly. Her hair smelled of pears and lemons. With a sigh of pleasure I started dancing in the dark with my little girl. Time lost its hold, displaced by music and a girl who could dance like an angel.

When we made it to bed at two-fifteen, Sasha slipped her panties off before joining me. She snuggled and tugged at my boxers. I kicked them into the end of the bed and we pressed against each other, an erection forming. Caressing her spectacular ass, I kissed her lightly, a brush of lips that seemed to drive her nuts. She smiled at me as if she knew what I was doing and willingly acceded to me, playing the game. Lips brushed again and paused, our breath mingling. She pressed her stomach against my erection and smiled softly when I responded by throbbing.

It was familiar and still exciting, our dance of love. Sasha was petite and sweet in my arms, her body so young and lovely. Little kisses became longer. Lips parted, tongues teased with a lick, a fleeting touch, her amber eyes twinkling with pleasure. But then they blinked out and our kiss became passionate. Sasha hooked her leg over mine, undulated against my cock, precum making her slippery.

She whispered, "Please, Daddy," and tugged, urging me on top of her. Her hand reached down between us and gently guided my erection. She did it with confidence, sliding the tip up and down her cleft spreading precum.

Her insistent kiss, tongue probing, and quiet desperate moan were her signs. She reached for my waist and pulled me, curling her pelvis up. With a thrill, I partially penetrated her tight pussy, pulled back and eased forward, penetrating her completely, sinking into her velvet vagina, warmth surrounding me. Sasha sighed loudly.

"You're mine, Daddy," she whispered.

"Yes I am," I agreed, withdrawing and thrusting into her, my daughter so tight, so beautiful.

We moved together, slow withdrawals, slow penetrations, fucking gently, making love to each other. Sasha's legs hooked around my thighs and tugged. Our kisses were light and softly loving. When I sucked her lower lip she responded by thrusting her pussy up at my cock, taking me very, very deep.

Reaching down, I cupped Sasha's sexy buttock and pulled her into me when I thrust in, fucking her gently but firmly, deeply, her snug pussy a sensual caress. We moved together easily, fucking each other, bodies undulating. Sasha's breath was warm. She hugged me and panted, her movements becoming harder, the sign of her approaching bliss.

Gripping her ass tightly I rolled, bringing her on top of me. Sasha murmured and began actively humping my cock in a back-and-forth motion, scrubbing her clit against me, her breath rushed. Cute moans emerged. I held her sweet buttocks and let her ride me. She changed rhythm, rising and thrusting her pussy down on me, her urgency growing, fucking me almost desperately, determined thrusts.

I waited, desperately holding back until the moment arrived, my favorite moment. It came, familiar and welcomed. Sasha tensed up. Her body paused and trembled. She whispered, "Daddy," and gifted me with her climax.

I whispered in her ear, "Yes, sweetheart, cum for me," and she moaned loudly. Her humping became almost violent, fucking me fast, little mewls of pleasure in my ear gradually becoming cute grunts of ecstasy.

I held her small ass and finally let myself go. Thrusting up into my child I came, my cock swelling. Bliss slammed into me with the first beautiful release, cum spurting. Tugging her ass down on me, burying my erection deep inside my daughter I came hard, semen erupting. I gasped, "Sasha," and cum jetted into her again, sweet ecstasy drowning me. Sasha rode my spurting cock. I came hard, emptying myself into my little girl, swelling, spurting hard, cum flooding Sasha's small womb. I thrust and came, thrust and came until, with a final gasp my orgasm passed. I collapsed, drained, completely drained physically and emotionally.

Sasha melted on top of me growing heavier. Her breath was hot against my neck, panting. I held her carefully in post-orgasmic bliss, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Peace permeated me. My body melted, too. Even my toes tingled.

Eventually Sasha shivered from cooling perspiration. I eased her to my side and drew the covers over us. She snuggled.

"I love you, Dad," she murmured.

My response was automatic. "I love you, too."

There was no need for more words. We'd developed an easy comfort with each other despite being father and daughter. In bed we were partners, lovers. But in my mind Sasha was forever my little girl. It excited me, aroused me, it filled my fantasies; I was loving my child the way I'd dreamed about.

At my side Sasha slipped into sleep, her body relaxing. Sex seemed to completely drain her of energy.

My mind turned to this evening and her reaction to me being late and on a date, even if it wasn't a real date. Should I be troubled by it? Sasha's jealousy reflected her youthful immaturity. She was, after all, only fourteen years old. But it also reflected her determination that what we had was permanent, something that wasn't going to pass once the novelty of sex wore off. I didn't like the jealousy in her yet it pleased me. I liked the strength of her love, of her belief in us being destined to be together.

Sasha twisted against me, turning partially, fidgeting in her sleep. I rested my hand on her hip and she calmed. A cute snore started, very quiet, almost a soft purr. It made me smile.

My mind wrestled with our future. How could we live in public as father and daughter and live in private as partners and lovers? What would society say? It surprised me to realize I didn't care. The love for my daughter was light-years more important to me. Her happiness was more important to me than just about anything.

With my sweet girl snuggled to my side emitting the cutest light snores, comforting me even if she didn't know it, my thoughts turned to her comment in San Francisco about wanting to have a child with me. Even if I could, would I want another one? Would it be healthy? For some reason I had the impression children born of incest had mental and physical problems. But if there was no risk, if my vasectomy could be reversed, would I want a child with her when she was old enough?

The truth - yes. I would. I could picture her pregnant, her belly swollen. I could picture her as a mother. I could see her joy. It would make her happy so it had to make me happy. Could vasectomies be reversed?

I shifted Sasha's head slightly and her little snores stopped. I sort of missed them. The sigh in my chest finally came out. I kissed her damp brow and closed my eyes.

Chapter Ten: Finding a Balance

If I didn't know any better Dr. Silverstein's office could have been a study not a physician's practice. Bookshelves lined one wall, framed medical certificates the other, a reproduction Matisse on the third. His desk looked like a genuine antique, carved and burnished wood with green leather inlaid in the top. A black flat panel monitor and keyboard on one side was the only testament to the twenty-first century.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He smiled, his intelligent brown eyes bright behind wire-framed glasses. He was a small man, bird-like, immaculately groomed and attired, the subtle grey pinstripe suit very elegant. As the top specialist in his field he exuded confidence and understanding.

"There are no guarantees, Mr. Hawk. But your test results show the odds are very good that normal sperm production will be restored in six to nine months, once the surgery is completed."

I'd debated this move. I'd researched as if writing a novel. It turned out Sasha could have a perfectly normal child with me. It also turned out the vasectomy was reversible. It was going to cost an arm and a leg but Sasha's happiness was more than worth it.

"How long is the procedure?" I asked.

"You'll be in and out in half a day. Because it's microsurgery I prefer to have patients under a general anesthetic. It ensures there's no accidental movement during the procedure, improving the odds, as it were."

"So when can I have it done?" I asked.

Dr. Silverstein lifted the telephone handset. "Trudy, when is our next opening for a vasovasostomy?" He listened for a brief moment and turned to me, his hand covering the mouthpiece. "Is the day after tomorrow convenient? We've had a cancellation. Nine A.M.?"

I nodded.

"Please book Mr. Jason Hawk in for then. Thank you." He hung up and continued, "Do you have any other questions?"

"Um, yeah. How long before . . ."

"Before you can have intercourse?" he finished for me with a smile.

"Yeah."

"You'll be out of action for a week. Bandages and protective wear will be needed for that week. After that you can go to town, so to speak."

"A week?" I asked. How the heck would I hide it from Sasha?

He nodded. "One full week."

On the way home I debated about how to tell my daughter. If I told her before the procedure she'd do nothing but worry. If I told her after she'd berate me for hiding something so important from her. I mentally sighed. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation.

Inspiration hit as the old service elevator carried me up to the fourth floor. I'd treat it as a surprise but inform her before that I'd have a surprise. Covered either way. Damn I'm brilliant!

SASHA'S CURIOSITY WAS BURNING. "What do you mean a surprise?" she yelled up the stairs.

Dad had announced he'd have a surprise for her after school. His sexy eyes had twinkled with his I've-got-a-secret look, his grin enough to make her flush with love.

"Go to school!" echoed down to her.

"No! Tell me now. What's the surprise?"

"Sasha, go . . . to . . . school!"

"How do you expect me to learn anything with this hanging over my head?" she yelled.

"It's not a prison sentence. It's a surprise! Go to school!"

"You're a bad man. I hate you!" Sasha yelled, grinning.

"Love you, too," echoed down.

Shaking her head, Sasha grabbed her back pack and hefted it over her shoulder before leaving the apartment. Dad was a coward hiding upstairs like that. He knew she'd get the truth if he had to face her. He couldn't hide anything from her.

A blustery cold wind greeted her when she stepped out into the street. November was edging close to winter, autumn drying up and dying like the dead leaves rustling along the sidewalk. She turned up the collar of her padded corduroy jacket, stuffed her hands deep in the pockets and headed for the subway, head bowed.

She liked how things were settling down between them. For the last three weeks she'd worked hard to be less jealous, to trust Dad more. He'd helped by not going to any other events but one day he would and Sasha was determined not to show jealously at all. Dad might think it was easy not to be jealous, but he didn't see himself. He didn't see how other women reacted around him, how ladies glanced at him in coffee shops or at the market with interest in their eyes. He had no idea how sexy he was, how lovable, or the impact his smile had.

Sasha danced down the stairs entering the noisy bustle of New York's transit system. Screeches of steel-on-steel reached up to her from the depths with teeth-grating intensity. People hustled and bumped and shoved. It was all background noise to her. Her mind was occupied.

She thought Dad had changed subtly over the last couple of days. He seemed more loving. His hugs were tighter. In bed he wasn't as playful, his love softer, more emotional. Why? Sasha smiled to herself. She'd discovered some things about herself. She adored teasing Dad. He was so easy and reacted so enthusiastically. She adored how her teasing made him so horny he'd almost lose control. She loved the intensity in his chocolate eyes, the adoration mixed with sexual lust for her. It was a heady combination and rather devastating.

She'd realized something else, too. She loved sex with Dad. It was just about the best thing she'd ever experienced, even better than dancing. For some strange reason she had yet to figure out, her climaxes were getting stronger. Was it because she was so relaxed with him now? Was it because she wasn't as shy about her body? It was hard to be shy with Dad around. He showed such boyish appreciation and delight about every part of her - especially her ass - that she was growing proud of her body as she saw it through his eyes.

The subway train blew into the station bringing a wave of air pressure that buffeted her body. She followed everyone in, grabbing a handhold in anticipation of the jostling ride.

What was his surprise? Knowing there was a surprise was worse than having an unreachable itch on her back and not being able to scratch it. She was dying to know. Today was going to be endless.

I MOVED GINGERLY, TAKING small steps. It felt like the anesthetic was wearing off, that or the protective cup in my groin had caught some pubic hairs that hadn't been shaved. Were they going to itch growing back? Maybe I'd ask Sasha. She shaved her pubes so she'd know. Was that why she kept her pussy shaved now?

Opening the fridge I grabbed a bottle of Grolsch beer and tried to open the white ceramic stopper with a swipe of the edge of my finger.

"Ouch! Dagnabbit!" I cursed to the empty apartment.

How come it didn't work? Shoot! Now my finger hurt. I wrestled the bottle open and took a long swig. It didn't matter that it was one o'clock in the afternoon, or that the painkillers had a little red warning label saying something about them and alcohol not playing well together in the sand box. How bad could it be?

I carefully settled on the couch, stretched out, turned the television on and sipped the ice cold Dutch brew. How would Sasha react? Excitement battled with trepidation. It really could go either way. Flipping channels I found The Rundown and relaxed.

A slamming front door woke me up.

"Dad? Dad! Where are you?" my overly loud daughter called out.

Was it three-thirty already? Maybe alcohol and pills really didn't play well together. "Over here," I waved.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked, dumping her backpack on the floor by the door and shrugging out of her jacket. "What's the surprise?"

"Come here and sit," I instructed, gingerly sitting up.

"So?" she asked, amber eyes bright, her dark-burgundy hair still wind-mussed. "What's the surprise? Come on. Tell me."

"You have a doctor's appointment for tomorrow at five-fifteen."

Sasha looked confused. "That's the surprise? That's not a very good surprise," she informed me quite seriously. "Wait. Why do I have a doctor's appointment? I'm not sick."

"To get a prescription for birth control pills," I said, keeping my face deadpan.

"Why?"

"Well, there's the thing," I said and paused.

"What thing? What's gotten into you?" Sasha asked.

"Nothing. I started thinking about what you said in San Francisco so I did some research."

"What did I say?" Sasha asked. She was looking a bit bewildered.

"About wanting to have a child with me someday."

She fell silent, her amber eyes gaining incredible intensity as they locked onto mine, her body absolutely still, back straight.

"It turns out a vasectomy can be reversed. It's a simple procedure and I don't hurt that much, at least not as much as I thought I would."

There it was. Now, would she yell at me for not telling her or jump for joy?

My daughter had the ability to flummox me at every turn. I thought I knew her. I had lived with her for almost fifteen years, after all. But the truth was I would never understand her. She looked at me with those big beautiful eyes and tears welled and spilled slowly, large tears, eyes glistening. She wiped her cheek, inhaled deeply and nodded.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You sure?"

She nodded and wiped her other cheek.

"You don't look okay," I informed her. "You're crying."

She nodded.

"Sweetheart, something more than a nod would be nice. Are you happy or sad? It's a bit difficult to figure out with those tears."

Sasha moved into my side and leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. "I'm happy, Dad, just overwhelmed. Give me a minute."

It was more like five minutes. She ended the comfortable silence in fine form, sitting up and exclaiming, "You had surgery without telling me? Why would you do that? What if something had happened and I wasn't there?"

A cute frown emerged. "How could you be so insensitive, Dad? If anything ever happened to you I'd kill you!"

"So this is happy?" I asked.

A massive smile emerged. She lunged at me wrapping her arms around my neck. I winced, the pressure below causing some sharp shooting pains into sensitive areas.

"I love you so much," she said. "Can you imagine it? Us having a baby some day?"

"Not until you're thirty-five," I immediately qualified.

"Eighteen," she countered.

"Forty."

"Twenty."

"Forty-two," I suggested.

Sasha giggled and sat up, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're not doing this right. We're supposed to meet in the middle."

"Say's whom?"

Sasha laughed brightly. "What do you want for dinner? Do you hurt? Can I do anything for you? You shouldn't be drinking beer. Do you want some tea? I'll make you tea."

With that, Sasha set about taking care of me, full of bounce and enthusiasm and bright eyes.

Over the next few days we gradually reestablished equilibrium in our relationship. Sex was out for me but my curiosity wasn't. A lazy Sunday afternoon, three days after the surgery, found me slouched in front of the television watching playoff football. Sasha sat on the couch curled up, her attention on her iPhone. When Green Bay fumbled the ball for the third time I snorted in frustration and turned my attention to Sasha; a far more interesting distraction.

She'd bought yoga pants for which I was eternally thankful. Whoever invented them was a true hero and deserved a Noble prize for physics. They hugged her lower body closer than paint on a canvass and outlined everything, and I mean everything. I'd spent considerable time trying to discover if she was wearing panties and had found no evidence to confirm it - very exciting. Those incredible pants stuck to her small pussy forming to her perfectly, the camel toe astonishingly deep, her mons outrageously plump.

"What does it feel like to wear those pants?" I asked, sipping a beer.

She glanced up at me and shrugged. "Like pants."

"So it doesn't hurt to have them so deep in your pussy?"

She shook her head, her eyes on the iPhone screen, thumbs moving.

"What does it feel like to wear silk panties?" I asked.

Her body shook slightly in a silent chuckle, her head bowed trying to ignore me.

"I've never understood why walking doesn't make a girl horny. Doesn't it rub your clitoris?"

Her body shook again.

"Do women buy yoga pants because it turns them on during yoga? Being tight and all. And snug. And . . . very tight." I paused and added, "And how do you actually get them on? Or off, for that matter?"

Taking a sip of beer I asked, "What does it feel like when you're horny and your panties are damp? What do you do about it? The horniness, I mean." Another sip of beer and I added, "I've always wondered why wearing a bra doesn't make your nipples sensitive but sucking on them does. What are your thoughts?"

Sasha giggled quietly, her body shaking harder.

"Have you ever tried to pee standing up? I can pee sitting down, you know."

She burst into laughter. "You're such a dingbat, Dad!" she exclaimed, her gorgeous amber eyes twinkling rather brightly.

"But, honey, I really want to know. These are mystical female secrets all men want answers to."

I adored her amusement.

Dr. Silverstein officially declared me healthy on Thursday, one week after the microsurgery. I was horny. A week without sex with my daughter was too long. It hadn't been as hard on Sasha, though. I'd given her orgasms at night from fondling her hairless pussy, eating her, and generally loving every part of her body. It was an interesting experience. Having an erection that I was under strict orders not to relieve made it a real challenge. But I also discovered the beauty of a fourteen-year-old body.

Every part of her was silky skin. She had temperature zones, too. Under her breasts was slightly warmer. Her buttocks were cool to the lips, her pussy almost hot. Her feet were cold, her neck warm. She tasted different, too. There seemed to be a salty taste to her areolae unless she showered. Her pussy was absolutely delicious, her arousal a light, heady ambrosia that I adored. Her kisses were minty. I might have suffered a painful erection but I benefited by truly exploring every inch of teenage perfection.

Sasha had no dance class today so she'd be home at three-thirty or so. I watched the street for her and spotted her strolling along, sucking on an iced latte. Why would anyone drink an iced coffee in cold November weather? She danced across the street dodging cars, a taxi horn blaring loudly, and disappeared from sight. She couldn't see my frown of disapproval from down there.

Just seeing her coming home made my blood move faster. I'd planned tonight with great care. Romancing and seduction was the theme. On the stove dinner was cooking over a low heat. It was one of her favorites, Jambalaya; a concoction of basmati rice, flavorful smoked ham hock meat, tender fresh shrimp, herbs and spices and diced tomatoes, all slightly piquant providing a bite to the palette. For the side I'd make a crisp green salad to provide a texture contrast and a simple flavor to offset the complex tastes of the jambalaya.

The front door opened.

"Hi, Dad!"

Sasha dumped her backpack and shucked her coat and paused. Her nose sniffed the air. "What's that I smell? Thyme?" She sniffed again. "Smoked ham hock? Have you made jambalaya?" she asked with a bright smile.

I nodded. "Yup."

She danced with pleasure, her happy dance that reminded me of a puppy pleased to see its owner, and said, "Yay." When she spied the dining table she stopped. We hardly ever used it but for tonight I'd set it with formal china, sterling silver cutlery, and candles. The play of emotions in her eyes was fabulous.

They opened wide at the sight. She studied the table and a coy smile emerged. "What's the occasion?" she inquired.

"Nothing. I just wanted to romance my girl tonight," I told her.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion emerging. "Why?"

"Because I love you?"

She grinned, seeing right through me. "Did you go to the doctor today?" She glanced at the table and added, "Are you planning on taking advantage of me?"

I smiled innocently.

Sasha moved over to me. I drew her in against me, my arms slipping around her slender waist. She looked up at me and, with twinkling eyes, said, "Maybe I don't want to be taken advantage of."

"That's okay," I assured her. "You don't really have a choice. As I've told you repeatedly, your ass is mine."

Sasha laughed softly. She stared into my eyes and whispered softly, "Kay."

Our kiss was soft and gentle and loving. When it broke, she asked, "Do I need to dress up or down for dinner?"

"Whichever you want."

"I want to look pretty for you," she said.

"In that case don't bother changing," I told her, combing my fingers through her thick, dark-burgundy waves.

She smiled and extracted herself. Grabbing her backpack she headed up the stairs. "I need to shower, and wash my hair, and shave . . . and decide what to wear. Oh, and . . ."

She said more but I couldn't hear her when she disappeared down the upstairs hall. Obviously she wasn't telling me what she was going to do. She was talking to herself. No matter.

Four hours later, sitting at the dining table looking at my daughter, I understood the depth of my adoration. It was all-consuming.

In the flickering candlelight she chatted brightly, relating everything going on at school, and with her friends, and at dance class. Her face was animated. The fork in her hand danced in the air between mouthfuls of jambalaya. She squirmed gently in her chair with each bite, emitting little, "Mmmm," sounds - her sign of complete satisfaction. She was happy.

Soft music played on the stereo providing a melancholic backdrop to dinner and was probably responsible for intensifying my emotions. Sasha's amber eyes captivated me. They were so expressive, capable of freezing me with the look of a lioness ready to kill when angry, or dance with light and intelligence when happy, or soften to a warm amber when feeling affection for me. Her eyes spoke volumes. They enchanted me.

Sasha was such a complex being. Her personality had more facets than a diamond and she intrigued me; cute, smart, coy, rambunctious, sweetly silly, or a whirlwind of energy depending on her mood. I could spend a lifetime trying to understand her and I never would, but knew I'd love the journey of discovery.

She paused and looked at me. "You're not listening, Dad."

"I am. You were telling me about Kate hating her father," I said.

"How do you do it? How do you go away and still hear what I'm saying?" she asked.

"Dunno. By the way, did I mention I've been invited to attend a charity gala for sick kids?

For the briefest second worry flitted through Sasha's eyes. Her smile was slow in arriving. I saw her struggle to be happy for me. "When?" she asked with pretend brightness.

"Early December. Can you find something to wear by then?"

As I took a bite of jambalaya, I watched a spark of joy appear and disappear.

She tried to look serious and unaffected, and nodded. "I think so." Then, unable to keep it in, a big, broad smile emerged. "Where's it going to be held? Is it a formal affair? Who else is going?"

Dinner passed too fast, an experience that happens when the company is too charming. We danced together after dinner, Sasha moving with me, intimate, her body lithe and flowing and matched perfectly to mine despite her youth. Candlelight from the dining table and flickering gas flames made the ambiance romantic.

Every so often Sasha would lean back, look up and talk, telling me about a dance performance she'd like to see, or about something that had caught her attention; a TV show, a YouTube video, a news story she thought I'd find interesting. Comfortable silence reigned between comments. Dancing with her was in many ways a magical experience, soft music weaving a cocoon of isolation around us.

When we stopped after almost an hour I led her upstairs, no words spoken. She disappeared into the bathroom closing the door behind her. I went to bed. She emerged in soft yellow cotton panties and nothing else, slender, small breasts, her hair a tumbling mass of gorgeous dark-burgundy.

With a soft smile, Sasha climbed onto the bed on hands and knees and tugged the covers down off my body. Her smile brightened at the sight of my waiting erection.

"So Dr. Silverstein declared you healthy?" she asked, her eyes studying me.

I nodded. "He did."

She grinned, her hand gently taking my cock and lifting it. She moved it around and studied it. "That's good. I missed this."

With a toss of her hair to get it out of the way, Sasha moved in and kissed the tip. Her tongue licked the side of the crown. Lips parted and she took the crown into her moist mouth giving it a soft suck, her tongue caressing lovingly.

Shivers of arousal raced through me, the feeling so amazing. I still couldn't get over how talented she was. Her mouth was gentle, soft, slow, as if she truly loved my erection. The sight was thrilling; a gorgeous young teenager with a mouth full of an adult erection. I throbbed in her hand. She responded with a gentle stroke of my shaft and bob of her head, taking in just an inch or so of the shaft before rising, mouth coming off with a quiet wet sucking pop.

Still holding the shaft she turned and lay at my side. Soft amber eyes smiled at me, bright yet heated. She leaned up and kissed me, her lips soft and moist.

I cupped a petite breast and caressed her areola, rubbing across her nipple. I adored her breasts, such a perfect little handful, youthfully firm yet soft, so sexy. She murmured into my kiss, broke it and sucked my lower lip seductively emitting a quiet, "Mmmm."

When she released my erection and pressed her pussy to my side I reached down to hold her cool buttock. Feeling my way down towards her pussy from behind, Sasha reached behind her and grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

"I'm ready, Dad," she let me know, her eyes looking into mine. Then she rolled onto her back and tugged my wrist in a sign for me to move up over her.

I didn't obey. Instead I moved down, grasping the waist of cute pale yellow cotton panties. She raised her bum for me then lifted her legs. Tossing panties to the floor, I knelt between her legs, my butt resting on my heels. Taking both her ankles, I brought them up placing both on one shoulder, her legs straight and together. The effect was stunningly sexy. With her legs raised Sasha's ass formed a sensual curve. Her hairless pussy bulged, squeezed by her thighs, her cleft short and tightly closed, the tip of her clit just visible.

Poised at her pussy, my erection looked massive, so thick; a seemingly impossible fit and it thrilled me. I knew she could take me and I knew how tight she was. The memory made me move, desire unfurling within me. Gripping my shaft, with a quick smile at Sasha, I teased myself by rubbing the tip up and down her slit leaving a trail of glistening, slippery precum. Pressing forward, Sasha's labia bulged sensually, putting up a fight before oozing apart to welcome my tip, her clit emerging from hiding to kiss my crown. Each slight swipe up and down forced her labia further apart. The head of my erection eased deeper, pulsing and throbbing, the sight unbelievably sexy, and finally I was there, lodged at her entrance, poised to penetrate her.

Pressing very carefully, Sasha's vagina squeezed my crown before reluctantly yielding. Warm moisture greeted me and, with an unbelievably wonderful popping sensation and a sudden easing of pressure Sasha's pussy gripped my crown tightly. I was penetrating her. I kissed her ankle and stroked her thighs. She smiled at me, her eyes watchful.

Small thrusts let me gradually work my erection deeper into her, the sensation exquisite. With her legs together her pussy was even tighter, a vise-like velvet sheath slowly surrounding my shaft. With a deep sigh of pleasure, I penetrated my little girl as far as I could and stopped moving, my cock pulsing gently, held tightly.

"How do you feel?" I asked, reaching down to caress her exposed clitoris.

Sasha's eyes narrowed at my touch. She smiled. "Stuffed. Really stuffed. I can't really move like this."

"I'm not done," I said, taking her ankles and slowly lowering them to the side, her lower body twisting. She rolled onto her side. I eased her lower leg between my knees and under me and kept the other curled up at right angles, my erection still buried in her.

Holding her thigh and hip, I started fucking her side-on, slowly, teasing her, my glistening shaft emerging, her vagina desperately clinging to it, reversing and stroking into her just as the ridge of my crown oozed out.

I fucked my little girl very slowly. I wanted her to feel every inch of my penetration, every slight move, every throb of my cock. On her side, Sasha's eyes closed. I watched her hold her breasts and massage them. She sighed quietly and squeezed my erection, her thigh and butt muscles flexing.

I fucked her gently with long strokes, her pussy tight and moist and heavenly. I loved seeing my cock penetrating her bald pussy. I loved seeing her cleft stretched so massively. I loved fucking my little girl. But something was missing.

I knew what it was. I needed to hold her, too.

With some careful movements I managed to lie down behind her and spoon her without pulling out. Sasha curled her legs up and guided my hand to her breast when I reached around her. With my other hand I eased her upper leg back and up over my thigh, reaching down to cup her pussy. Firm buttocks pressed into my groin. Her hair tickled my nose, her scent of pears and lemon muted by flowery shampoo. She was delightfully petite in my arms, a sexy slender angel, warm and alive and responsive, and just about perfect in every way.

SASHA'S HEART BEAT HARDER. Dad cuddling her from behind was so comforting. His arms held her lovingly, his hands arousing her. Her nipples were sensitive and slightly sore to the touch. A shudder shook her. Dad's finger caressing her clit sent messages of pleasure from her pussy to her brain.

She didn't move. Inside her Dad's erection stretched and filled her. He was so deep. She loved it, the sensation unlike anything else. She wished she could sleep like this, connected to him, maybe wake up in the middle of the night to make love silently and go back to sleep drained of energy and relaxed.

She felt his erection swell and pulse inside her. Another small shudder hit, Dad caressing her clit. Involuntarily she squeezed her ass. It squeezed his erection and made him move, a slight stroke. Another shudder of pleasure from her clit and she moved, clenching her buttocks, hunching her clit against his rubbing finger. He withdrew from her leaving her feeling empty, and stroked in, filling her, stretching her, pleasure thrumming through her. So good. Again, Dad.

Slowly, quietly, Sasha relaxed, Dad fucking her carefully, full, empty, beautifully full. She sighed, her areolae sensitive. Placing her hand over his she pushed it against her aching breast and shivered when he squeezed, his thumb rubbing her nipple, pleasure blossoming.

Need and desire started exerting control. Sasha started moving, fucking back at Dad, curling her ass back to get his wonderful erection deeper, so full. There was a spot deep inside her that ached, that needed to be caressed. Curling her ass back further, shoving back at him in a silent signal to move faster, harder, Sasha gasped when the tip of his erection thumped gently into the exact spot. She moaned, pulled away and thrust back, fucking Dad, moaning when he hit the ache again, so good, so unbelievably good.

Her heart beat faster. She breathed deeply almost panting, fucking back at Dad, so full, so stretched, her body trembling. With a shiver of excitement she felt it start. The signs were familiar and welcomed: tingling in her clit; heaviness in her pussy; her vagina suddenly very slippery; her breasts feeling heavy and full. Urgency arrived, the storm clouds building, such a wonderful feeling, on the cusp of heaven, Dad thrusting as she pressed back at him, withdrawing, pressing back, so full.

The point of no return arrived just as she imagined Dad was cumming in her and getting her pregnant, giving her his baby, her deepest fantasy. "God, Daddy," she whispered. The storm arrived. Pleasure crashed over her, her body jerking, bliss exploding from her pussy. She held her breath and another thunderous clash of ecstasy hit, her pussy clenching, her body convulsing.

In the middle of utter bliss she heard Daddy's heated whisper, "Sasha, baby," and love intensified her climax. His erection swelled inside her and her universe narrowed to the convulsions of ecstasy punishing her, the feel of Daddy cumming, wetness flooding her pussy, his thrusts, his wonderful gasps of pleasure, his tight hug, fucking her, Daddy fucking her. Sasha let go and drowned, utter bliss swamping her.

Silence returned when the storm passed. Her heart calmed. Dad's erection was still inside her. She pressed her bottom back at him, her signal she wanted him to stay there. Both his arms hugged her. She held them. Muscles in her body melted, utter peace arriving, post-orgasmic lassitude following. She had no energy left.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Sasha fell asleep with a satisfied smile on her face. She was so lucky to have Dad. All mine.

Chapter Eleven: The Joy that is Sasha

Bright laughter floated in to the study from the living room. I tried to concentrate on the laptop in front of me and the final chapters of the novel. Another chorus of laughter arrived and I had to stop and smile. Sasha had four friends over for the day. Music thumped, a percussive beat I could feel through the floor and my bare feet. I knew they were dancing, experimenting with different styles, showing off and trying to outdo each other in good-natured fun. The type of music told me which dance they were doing. Missy Elliot was playing so they were probably krumping.

Another roar of laughter sounded. Sasha opened the study door and stuck her head in, music suddenly very loud.

"Dad, my friends want to see your shuffle dance. Come and show them."

With memories of how my sweet loving daughter reacted last time, I refused. "Absolutely not."

"Aaw, c'mon, Dad. Don't be shy," Sasha pleaded, adding a grin.

"Nope. No way, no how."

Sasha looked at me. She smiled, cunning emerging in her amber eyes. She entered the study, rounding the desk to lean over me. Her whisper in my ear tickled. Her words made getting up from the desk without embarrassment impossible.

I accepted her offer. What was a bit of ridicule in order to . . .

Kate, Susan, Lacy, and Angela were birds of a feather. They were all lean with dancer's bodies, all into beautiful adolescence, all smiling and bright and open. Only their hair color, length and style, and the clothes they wore distinguished them.

I braced myself. Kate turned on techno music. I had an avid audience full of anticipation perched on the edge of the couch.

If I thought Sasha laughing at me was damaging to my ego, it was nothing compared to her and four more girls screaming with laughter and rolling around, so entertained they pleaded with me to dance more, and snorted out laughter at my distinctive, innovative hopping style. Through laughter they begged me to continue, claiming they really, really liked it. Sure. But I couldn't stop smiling. Five teenage girls rolling around and crying with laughter was sort of cute.

By seven-forty the last of them left. Pizza boxes and empty pop cans littered the living room. Sasha helped clean up and, when I collapsed into the armchair and turned the TV on, she came over and sat on my lap sideways. Her head rested on my shoulder. I caressed her bare leg. The short pink and yellow frilly skirt looked good on her.

Sasha's leg was as smooth as silk, toned and lovely. I caressed absentmindedly while flipping through cable channels with my other hand. On the side table a glass of Chianti sat partially consumed.

"Thanks for letting my friends come over," Sasha said conversationally.

"They're always welcome."

"I know. But thanks anyway," she responded, resting her hand on mine.

In a gentle move she guided my hand higher, up her thigh and to the soft inner side. She eased one leg away and gently guided my hand under her short skirt. My penis responded, growing lock-step with my rising hand.

The television was forgotten when my hand touched soft cotton, my daughter's panties. She shuffled on my lap, turned her body slightly, her hand over mine guiding it and the next thing I knew, I was cupping utter sexiness. Sasha's sweet pussy was small but full, a pad of seduction filling her crotch. Cotton coddled her soft vulva. A slight camel toe hinted at her cleft. Her pussy was warm.

With an erection pressing up against her bum, I caressed her, an almost casual exploration of the amazing shape of a teenage pubis, so damned erotic. I wasn't in any rush. I was enjoying fondling my little girl intimately far too much. Clearly she liked it, too. She snuggled and sighed holding my hand in place and pressing it against her.

"This feels good, Dad. How does it feel to you?"

"Wonderful," I said, giving her a light kiss on her nose.

"How about now?" she asked a minute later.

Sasha's arousal was obvious, a damp spot forming in the gusset of her cotton panties. It thrilled me. But then they became much damper, suddenly, too.

It was a seminal moment. It brought out my baser instincts and aroused me like crazy. I looked sharply at her, stunned beyond belief.

"Did you just . . ."

"Oops," she said softly with a grin. "I guess I drank too much pop." Then she wiggled her butt in my lap. "You weren't kidding, were you? Me peeing my panties really turns you on."

Lord love a duck! Why? Why did it turn me on so much? Who cares. "Yup, big time," I confirmed, my erection tight and confined. She'd promised to do this if I did the shuffle dance for her friends, but in truth, I didn't believe she'd really go through with it.

"It's feels warm," she announced. Pulling my hand away from the damp cotton gusset, she stood and tugged my hand. "C'mon. I have to wash now. Let's shower together."

Like a tased lamb, stunned into befuddled horniness, I let my daughter lead me upstairs. I followed as she led me to the master bathroom yakking away about how it felt, "Sort of like getting my period suddenly without a pad," she decided. "But turning you on? That's just fascinating."

"Get undressed, Dad," she instructed when we entered the bathroom, releasing my hand and starting to remove her blouse.

I undressed mindlessly, my attention on Sasha. She dropped her blouse and, reaching behind her with both hands, unhooked her small, demi-cup lacy white bra, slipped it off with a shrug, and briefly rubbed underneath her boobs before unzipping her skirt.

My pants fell and collected at my feet, erection tenting pale blue boxers. I had no shoes or socks to remove.

Sasha kicked off her sneakers and dropped her skirt, stepping out of it and carefully placing it in the corner. She might have done more, too, but I didn't notice.

Small, pale pink, bikini-cut cotton panties hugged my daughter's lower body. When she moved I spotted the dark stain in the double gusset. It surprised me. It was much smaller than it had felt in my hand. I tossed my shirt aside.

"Ready?" she asked, stepping into the shower.

Shoving boxers down, releasing my erection, I followed her into the shower stall. It finally struck me. Sasha was still wearing her panties.

"Aren't you going to take them off?" I asked.

That wonderful glint of mischief entered her eyes. She grinned at me and grabbed my hand. "I'm not done yet. Here. Feel this." She turned away and backed up against me, my erection poking her back before sliding to the side. She bent her knees and guided my hand back to her panty-clad pussy. With a sigh, she peed again, a small damp spot suddenly growing. Warm pee flowed soaking her panties and my hand. My erection ached. Jeez I was horny.

"That's it," she announced far too soon and turned the shower on. Her panties were shoved off and Sasha, partially bent over, started washing herself, soap foaming, her hand scrubbing her pussy. She looked up at me and grinned. "How was it for you? Like it? Definitely the weirdest thing I've ever done."

I'd had enough. There's only so much a man can take and with my adventurous daughter my threshold was pretty low. She was too damned cute. I grabbed her and pulled her into me, reaching down to grab her buttocks. Lifting her, as she let loose with a storm of giggles, I backed her up against the wall. She laughed and wrapped her long legs around me.

I had no patience. I wasn't the gentle lover, the mature adult in control. I needed Sasha. That was it. I needed to fuck my little girl. She saw it, too. Her eyes twinkled as if I was responding to her plan, dancing to her tune. She smiled and reached down between us grasping my raging erection.

"Wow, Dad."

"Wow indeed," I agreed.

She grinned and tried on a sweet innocent expression. "Did I do that?"

I grinned and growled at her, "You're damned right you did," eliciting a storm of delighted giggles. She eased the tip of my erection through her slit, moving it up and down to position it. When she was satisfied, I didn't wait. I couldn't wait. Holding her petite body pressed to the wall, it took a few firm strokes and I was buried to the hilt in my daughter's snug pussy, erection throbbing. Without even kissing her I started thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting, each hard thrust shoving her body up the wall. I was too far gone, fucking my child hard, deep, her tight little pussy gripping me, clasping, massaging, milking me.

Sasha's grin of amusement faded to a smile and then died. A look of intensity emerged as I fucked her, her hands interlocked behind my neck. I fucked her selfishly with long, intense strokes, my groin thumping into her clit. Sasha groaned. Her eyes lost focus and her forehead fell to my shoulder. She held onto me, nothing more, letting me fuck her hard. I did. Thrusting deeply, shoving, stroking, I raced towards my orgasm, my erection straining and rigid. It teased me, my climax just out of reach. Fucking Sasha, desperation emerged, a feeling I'd never get there, never reach nirvana.

Then my little girl gasped. She convulsed, her eyes tightly closed. She cried out softly, "Oh Gaaawd, Daddy." Her small body convulsed, her tight pussy clenched squeezing my cock almost painfully. Mewls of pleasure started, becoming little grunts timed with my desperate, hard thrusts.

Pressure built, built, and just as pain arrived, my orgasm crashed down over me. "Jesus Christ!" I gasped. My cock swelled. I buried myself deep inside my little lover and came explosively, an exquisite release, sweet ecstasy hammering me. I fucked Sasha hard, cock swelling, exploding with each thrust, semen flooding her little pussy, bliss washing over me. I fucked her with short desperate thrusts, spurting hard, almost desperately, cum filling her, chasing ecstasy, cumming, chasing heaven, God cumming!

The orgasm should have exhausted me. I was drained, my knees weak. But I wasn't tired. I felt great, sated, at peace. Sasha stirred when my penis softened and slipped out. Oddly enough, when she lifted her forehead from my shoulder, we smiled at each other and actually kissed for the first time. It was a gentle, moving kiss belying the intensity of what we'd just experienced.

Sasha was the first to comment. With a twinkle in her eyes, she said, "Well that was interesting. Maybe I should pee my panties more often." Then with a cheeky grin she added, "What are your thoughts?"

Washing became a fight over who was under the water spray, me jostling her aside, Sasha shoving back with her elbows, exploding into laughter and giggles when I tried to tickle her out of the way to rinse my hair.

She insisted she had to dry her hair before getting into bed. Thus, I was lying on top of the bed flipping through television channels when she finally made her appearance, gloriously naked, running and jumping onto the bed, her sweet little breasts jiggling delightfully. Some kissing and groping ensued, all a lot of fun.

Eventually we calmed down and I found myself lying at a right angle to her with my head on her warm stomach as I watched TV. She was a wonderful pillow. Sasha combed her fingers through my hair while we watched or chatted about the day and inconsequential things, a comfortable familiarity established.

Then she said, "Would you come clothes shopping with me on Saturday?"

"Sure. But I'm not much good at fashion advice," I admitted.

"That's the point. We need to buy you some nice clothes, not me."

Looking up at her, about to ask what was wrong with the clothes I had, I became distracted by the twin peaks of her small breasts. I noticed for the first time they weren't perfect twins. Reaching out, I fondled the right one, cupping it and measuring it in my palm. With a loving squeeze I checked the other, cupping it, fondling it, and giving the nipple a tweak. Sasha watched me with a small amused smile on her pretty face, like she was watching a boy play with toys.

"Having fun?" she asked.

"I'm investigating. Did you know your left boob is smaller than your right one?" Grinning, I added, "No need to panic. I think I can fix it. I'll suck on the left one until it grows. That way you won't have to be embarrassed. You'll have a matching set before you know it."

Sasha burst into laughter. "Jeez, Dad. How did you end up such a dingbat?"

"Dunno."

Grinning, I moved up and kissed her smile before turning out the lights and pulling the covers up. Sasha rolled into me and snuggled, her leg hooking up over my mine. The television cast a blue-white light.

"Did I mention I love you?" I asked.

She wiggled against me, her happy dance. "Uh-huh. But you can tell me again."

"Okay. I love you."

Sasha giggled, a beautiful sound to my ears.

Chapter Twelve: Unintended Consequences

Sun streamed through the large study windows and across the desk. A mug of strong coffee steamed on my left. On the laptop computer the cursor blinked waiting for the first letter of the first word of the title to a new erotic Renpet story. The word program sat ready to record my next sexual fantasy.

Nothing. The Sahara Desert had more moisture than I had creative motivation.

My erotic stories had always been the outlet for my fantasies, my desires to experience the forbidden, the illicit, the unattainable. That was a problem . . . or not.

This morning Sasha had danced out the front door on her way to school. She'd been a flurry of motion and enthusiasm and smiles, her soft amber eyes shining with happiness. Her kiss goodbye had been a quick peck on my cheek, her hand ruffling my hair for some weird reason, an action I found oddly affectionate and pleasurable.

The computer cursor blinked at me, egging me on to start.

I had nothing. There were no erotic stories left in me that needed expression. I had reality. I had Sasha. She was all I needed, wanted, and desired. She completed me and satisfied me physically and emotionally.

With a bittersweet smile I leaned back in the chair, lifted the mug of coffee and sipped slowly. I might have no erotic stories left in me but I still had lots of novels to write. With a flash of inspiration and a bigger smile I decided to make Sasha the central character of a new novel.

Leaning forward, placing the mug back on the desk, I started typing:

Dancing in the Dark
A novel by Jason Hawk