enovel Loving Daddy Unknown [Future Story Codes]

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Loving Daddy ....(60k)    by Unknown

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

Some women like to make it with their fathers. This is a fact of life, I have to say. The women in this book are like that.

Each one of them harbors secret desires for her father. Some of them actually consummate their love for their fathers and some of them only have surrogates, but all of them fuck with their Daddies clearly in mind.

These are not women who are victims. Except for the very last of the cases included here, all of them are predators. They all get what they want.

The last woman treated here is a predator only to the extent that all people are assholes. She gets what she deserves, too, but she doesn't enjoy it.

The other women enjoy every minute of the fucking and sucking and licking and abuse to which they submit. I'm sure you'll find their stories exciting.

CASE HISTORY ONE

SUBJECT: LISA AGE: Twenty-one

INTERVIEW ONE

I've been alone with my father for some lime, now, Doctor, since my mother died and all this time, well, I've had this unnatural urge to fuck him.

I can't really say why this is. He's done nothing to encourage me in this desire. He doesn't flirt with me, he doesn't expose himself to me.

In short, he doesn't abuse his sacred trust as the father of a teen aged girl. I have never had any reason to do anything but trust him completely.

However, I have this unnatural urge to fuck him, as I said. I can't explain it. He's my father and you're not supposed to feel that way about your father.

I know other girls who have had experiences with members of their families, mostly with their older brothers, some of them with step fathers.

These girls give me the impression that it's natural for a young girl to have that kind of an encounter with her father at some point or other.

I don't think so. I really don't. And yet, that doesn't help me much in my situation. I still want to fuck my father, very badly.

You see, there I am, forced to pass stern judgment upon myself, because I want something that I know it isn't any good for me to have.

What can I do? You're supposed to know. Oh, I know, it's my life, you can't tell me what's right and what's wrong, that's something one either knows or learns. You can listen, though, can't you? I get the feeling you're disapproving of me already and that really isn't why I came in here today.

If I want disapproval, I can stand around and listen to my own interior monologue. All I do is judge myself, all day and all night.

And yet, I can't prevent myself from wanting what I want. That's the bottom line. I can't not want what I know I can't want. Do you see?

I don't think you do. Let me explain. It's like this dichotomy, there's what I know to be right and there's what I want in spite of that.

I think of it as a split between my clit and my brain. Alright, maybe that's a little crude, but those are the organs I think of. I mean, that's what it comes down to.

There's passion and there's reason and as far as I am concerned, I mean, in my case, passion is always stronger than reason. Always.

And yet, my reason is so reasonable. My reason says things that appear, objectively, to be true. Then my passion tells me that my reason is a prude and that's that.

Well, anyway, at least I haven't actually fucked my father. At least there's that. And since what I'm worried about is the urge and not the act, maybe things aren't as bad as I think.

However, I'm not especially proud of the urge, itself. Not to mention that it has gotten me into a little bit of trouble. Don't think that I'm actually a virgin.

I'll give you a little personal history. My mother died when I was very young and my father and I moved back into the city from the suburbs.

I guess it was just easier for him to have a kid in New York, than somewhere out in Westchester. Day Care Centers are easier to locate in the city.

Oh and he was a single man again. He must have supposed that eventually he would want to remarry, for my sake as well as his.

I don't think he really wanted to bring me up in the city, but it seemed to him, I guess, like the most sound financial and practical move he could make.

I would have done the same thing, I'm sure. I don't mind having grown up in New York. I rather like it. It's home. I don't think it's any burden to have grown up here.

My father, I think, however, now wished that he hadn't bothered, because he's had nothing but bad luck here, especially with women.

He's gone through one woman after the other after the other and he can't ever seem to find the right one, for him and for me.

It's kind of too late now, for me. I've been through all of my adolescence without a mother and that's really the time, I think, when a woman most needs a mother.

That's when you have to ask all kinds of questions about sex and about menstruation and about what your body is doing and about boys and about growing up.

I admit it would have been nice to have had a woman around the house, at times, but I just wasn't that lucky. Maybe it's made me tougher in the long run.

I can't quite remember when it was that I developed this urge to get in the sack with Dad. It must have come around the time that I started going through puberty.

It's natural, isn't it, for a child to have a certain amount of sexual curiosity about his or her parents? I think it's natural.

You never say a word, Doctor. Sometimes I think you're just a quack, just a blow-up doll, that your secretary sets up in here.

Well, I don't care what you think, I think it's natural. Naturally, I had some sexual curiosity about my father. Naturally, that grew into a desire to fuck him. He hasn't really had any luck with women and I know he's making sacrifices for me.

I think, perhaps, it occurred to me at some point that I was tying him down, that I was putting a wrinkle in his sex life, that if not for me, he could be painting the town red.

You see, my father is a very attractive man. I found that out just about the time that I was having all this pubescent sexual curiosity about him.

I started looking at him from a slightly different point of view, as a predatory female, as if I were sizing him up for the take.

I was satisfied with what I saw. My father, simply, is terribly handsome, dark, tall, muscular, athletic, agile, charming, virile and very-very sexy.

I know you think that I'm idealizing him, but I'm not. He's all those things. Here, I have a picture of him. See? You can tell for yourself.

I don't see why my father doesn't have better luck with women. He's got everything that a woman could possible want, including, I estimate, an eight inch cock.

That is, an eight inch cock, limp. God knows how big it is, erect. Ten inches, maybe more, maybe less. That's what I estimate.

So how, you want to know, if I claim that I have had no intimacy with my father, how is it that I know this about his cock? Has he shown me?

He has not. But I've found out. My first inkling that he was hiding something momentous between his legs occurred one morning, as the two of us, still in our bathrobes, were breakfasting together.

We always ate breakfast together, for a time, though now we're inclined to do so less often, as, you know, I'm getting older and so is he, we have other things on our minds.

But for a time we had breakfast together every morning and my father, typically rather unselfconscious, once ate an entire meal unaware that his robe was open and his cock was hanging out of it, as big as the sun, or whatever.

I couldn't not see it. In fact, I had to make a very great effort not to look at it at all. It wasn't the first one I had ever seen, but it was the biggest.

No, I wasn't shocked by the sight of his cock. I was shocked by the size of it, shocked and impressed. It was huge, the balls were huge, it was covered with thick black hair.

That was when I discovered. Doctor, that my father is in every way attractive to women. That was when I realized that there had to be some very good reason why he wasn't constantly in demand.

Of course, there was only one answer to that. I was the reason. I must have been the only reason why my father wasn't hopping from bed to bed to bed.

I happen to know that he's temperamentally rather chaste, that he's not the sort of man who sleeps with women, practices a series of one night stands.

However, people are people. Naturally, they are going to need to fuck every now and again. It's a perfectly natural impulse, isn't it.

But my father wasn't getting anything. As far as I could tell. That struck me as criminal and I felt terribly, terribly guilty.

You're looking at me as if to ask me why. Why would I feel guilty, it wasn't my problem, it was my father's. But don't you see, I was the problem.

What woman would want to get seriously involved-for that was and is, what my father needs from a woman, a serious involvement, I can tell, before he feels close enough to her to sleep with her-with a man who has a young daughter.

I'm not playing the martyr. I'm not. I've spoken with a lot of these women, I've seen the looks on their faces when they realize I exist.

It spoils my father for them. Here they have this great catch, this sensitive, intelligent, mature, well established, financially secure, emotionally stable man, they think they're getting it all and probably really good sex to boot and he's got this daughter.

Because, you see, my father is the sort of person who wants to introduce me to each of his friends, because he wants me to be a part of his life.

You see? He's not looking only for a wife. He's also looking for a mother. My mother. So naturally, he wants to introduce me to every woman he dates, before he gets seriously involved. He has this routine. He goes out with the woman once and then he invites her home. There I am. He watches her. If she reacts badly, out she goes.

And they always react badly. Without exception, they have always reacted badly. Maybe this says something about my father's taste in women, maybe not, I don't know.

But clearly I'm the one who stands between my father and a really good fuck. He must beat off to beat the band, just to get out his frustrations.

So it evolved, that, feeling guilty, I began to think that perhaps the best solution was for me to sleep with my father. It seemed, in a way, quite logical.

Don't you think so? If I lay at the heart of the problem. If I were the one who stood between my father and sexual fulfillment, than it stands to reason that it's up to me to satisfy my father's sexual cravings. I think it does, anyway.

Maybe you don't think so. I can't tell from the way you're looking at me and of course you never say a word. It must be rather easy to be a doctor, Doctor.

The more I thought about sleeping with my father, the more it seemed to me, not merely to his advantage, but to mine, to fuck with him.

You see, that was when I began to develop an infatuation for him. At just about the time that it occurred to him that I was his salvation, I started turning on to him.

It was different from before. I guess my realization about his sex life must have coincided with my discovery of my own and that changed the emphasis of things.

The whole time that I was figuring out what was wrong with his sex life, I was being the little grown up girl, the twelve year old who seems to understand so much.

I knew about sex only through observation, or rather, from what I inferred watching other people react to one another. I didn't know about sex, personally.

Suddenly, it happened to me. Almost overnight. It all came so quickly. I had already begun to menstruate, which, I think, was what gave me such a mature attitude, as if, in menstruating, I had already learned the secrets of the human body and could speak about it with authority, but suddenly I was awakened sexually, as well.

No kidding. People talk of things being overnight hisses or overnight that's, well, this was an overnight sexual awakening. I woke up one morning and I wanted it.

You don't understand. Maybe you've never experienced sex, Doctor. It wouldn't surprise me. You look a little dry around the edges.

I'll tell you what it's like. It's touching your body and realizing that the mere feel of your fingers against your flesh is enough to make you shout.

I was alive, electric, with sexual feeling and excitement. I was nothing more, from that day forward and for about three years, four years afterwards, than a sexual being.

I didn't get any sex right away, but I started playing with myself. For a time, during that period, I drew naturally away from my father and I know he resented this.

That separation was what ended our breakfasts together and as I drew away from him, I became so self absorbed that, for the first time, I know he started sleeping with women.

This happened while I was in that first flush of masturbatory self absorption. I don't know, it must have been about six months. That was when my father started pursuing his own sexual activities, again, very, very casually, at first, but then, I think, with a little more determination. It must have been kind of a relief to him, in a way.

Then I noticed. I noticed what had happened, but I wasn't willing to admit it to myself. You see? I came out of that first great wave of masturbation and I was finally prepared fully to satisfy my father, or at least, to attempt it and that was when he was very heavily involved in pursuits of his own. That was when I devised this great and uncontrollable urge, to fuck him. Just then.

For you see, I couldn't admit to myself that he had drifted away from me. I had drifted from him and lost him in the interim and when I came back to him, more than ever prepared to sleep with him, our whole relationship had changed.

He no longer could have used me, sexually. He had his own life now and I was made to understand that. He let me know in very, very subtle ways.

Our whole relationship had changed, in that short period of time and it was announced that I was old enough to be sent off to boarding school and would soon be asked to name my various preferences. I had to choose a school. He was sending me away.

Well, you can imagine what kind of an effect all of this had on me. My primary impulse was not to allow myself to realize that it was happening. I refused to see that my father had a sex life, at last. I refused to understand what it meant for him to want to send me away to school.

I pretended that he was still the lonely man he had been and that he needed me. I also, however, underneath it all, was insanely jealous of him and his women, so enraged, that now, though I told myself that I still wanted to fuck him for his own good, I actually wanted to fuck him for my pleasure. I was jealous.

That period of sexual awakening had done that to me, had made me capable of sexual jealousy, to the extent that, no matter how I justified the impulse in my head, I was thinking all the time about fucking with my father.

At the time, I happened to be a virgin, of course, and sexually, no one more fits the role of one's first gallant, gentle man, than my father.

He's the sort of man written about in teen romances, the one who slides through the action only half aware of the heroine and then, when she is in peril, arrives to rescue her calmly from the forces of evil and then, aroused by her beauty, takes her, ever so gently and with such tenderness, relieving her of her virginity as if she were being relieved of the burden of carrying her school books to and from class.

That's the sort of man my father is. Naturally, I developed all kinds of fantasies about him. Naturally. But he sent me off to school. That was that.

Or rather, that was that for the time being. At school, very-very hurt by his actions, feeling left out and rejected, I decided that I would become bad.

Only a very young girl could think to become bad in such a fashion. But it happened. I decided to become bad in the only way I knew how, or rather, in the way I thought would hurt my father the most.

I decided that I would sleep with as many men as I could. I decided that I would choose a man of whom my father could not possibly approve and sleep with him.

At boarding school, it wasn't hard to find the man I wanted, believe me. His name was Brad and he taught the introductory literature course at the school.

Literature, at the time, was my greatest passion, after, of course, my father and I knew, if not in a sensible way, then, possibly, in a visceral way, the first day that I saw Brad, that he was going to be the one.

It was something that happened, if you'll pardon the imagery, between my thighs. No kidding. It happened right between my thighs, this need for Brad.

Well, alright, to give credit where credit is due, of course the first thing that we read in that class was Wuthering Heights and if ever there were a teen romance, calculated to evoke in the imagination of every teen girl visions of dark and secret activities with swarthy, dominating men, it's Wuthering Heights.

Heathcliff reminded me of my father. Oh, did he ever remind me of my father. And Brad, who is, in every way, the opposite of my father, received all of my attention.

It was a case of transferal, I think, taking my need for my father and bestowing that need upon Brad, endowing him with the qualities I desired from a man.

Of course he wasn't my father. If he had been, perhaps I would not have found it so easy to go ahead with my plans, as I went ahead with them.

Brad was a leftover from the sixties, a faded radical, with hair down to the middle of his back, braided and tied, a long, thin, angular body, almost fleshless, just skin and bones, a sharp, scathing wit and a profound carelessness.

I don't think he had the faintest idea what he wanted. The sixties were gone and he was wandering around looking for a demonstration, a peace march.

He needed a cause and for a time, I was that cause. The simple, pretty, advantaged city girl, the upper middle class American snob, the Republican wonder child.

That's me. Oh, I don't know, I don't see myself in those terms, but Brad did. Brad, who was never kind to me, except at the very first, who was never gentle.

He was arrogant, self absorbed, selfish, careless. I wanted him. He was nothing like my father. My father would have hated him. My father did hate him, for, through a series of interesting circumstances, they did finally meet.

But before they met, there was my seduction of Brad, or rather, Brad's bemused tolerance of what he recognized to be my adolescent crush on him.

It started with Wuthering Heights and followed a rather typical course, after that. I pored over the book, devouring it and turned in an essay on it which I thought exceptional.

I had been, contrary to my nature, extremely vocal in class and I thought that I had made an impression on him. The paper that I turned in was filled with innuendo.

It was about the sexual undertones of Kathy's attraction to Heathcliff. My God, as if they weren't the most obvious undertones ever written.

But it was all a revelation to me and I saw it as my chance to get to Brad. I mean, I laid it on as thick as you could possibly imagine.

I all but begged him, in that paper, to take me to bed with him. I don't think I could have made it more clear if I had written out in plain English, "I want to fuck you."

I waited, with bated breath, to see how he would react to that paper. I kidded myself that I was anxious to receive my first grade, on my first paper, .but that wasn't true.

I was anxious to ensnare the man. You know this story, you must, so I don't even know why I'm bothering to explain it to you. It's rather predictable.

I got back, not the paper, but a note. "Come see me." That kind of note. My God, when I think of the predictable patterns that men's actions follow, I want to puke.

However, this was exactly what I wanted. I had hoped that I would get some sort of reaction out of him, that would call for an intimate moment between the two of us.

Dressing for our meeting that day, I was careful to look very much the innocent. I supposed that the contrast between my appearance and the fiery nature of my words, would inspire him.

I don't say that I was consciously aware of these things. I say, rather, that I knew, in an unspoken, subconscious way, what I had wanted.

However, I still had my pride to maintain, so of course I told myself that my only interest in this man was academic. I told myself I was fascinated by his mind.

Of course I wasn't fascinated by his mind. I was fascinated by his cock. I dreamed about it and then intentionally forgot the dreams. Something told me he had my father's cock.

Well, of course I couldn't have known that. But the point was it was my father I wanted, I both wanted to fuck him and to hurt him and so I chose a man of whom he could not possibly have approved and pretended that this man was my father.

If you don't see the logic there, you're no doctor for me. Anyway, as it turned out his cock was not only no match for my father's, it was rather pathetically small, but, again, it was my imagination that mattered and not the facts.

In his office that day, it didn't take us very long to get down to what we both wanted. "You're writing rather complicated ideas for a little girl like you," Brad said.

I hated him for that clich�. I think I wanted to kill him. Goddamnit, he said the most predictable things to me. But then, I was guilty of just that sort of predictability, myself.

"I only wrote what I felt," I said to him. "I thought the book was about sex. I wanted to be honest and so I wrote about that."

"Do you realize," he said, "that you're attributing all sorts of sexual motives to the author, Emily Bronte, that simply have no bearing upon the text?"

At this point I think I said something rather drippy. I must have said something rather drippy. I could not have defended that paper. It was, I have no doubt, very bad in every way. Thank God I don't have it. I think I burned it.

He said, "Well, blah blah blah, the author's intention has nothing to do with the effect of the words," some sort of New Critical claptrap like that and it was all Greek to me.

This, we both knew, was only for appearances. The heart of the matter was the conspicuous bulge in his pants. Forgive me if I speak with vulgarity, but I think the situation calls for it. Bluntly: he had one hell of a hard on.

My God, even the absurd adolescent I was could not fail to notice that. I determined then that probably the man didn't wear underwear. I determined correctly.

He went on about his various fallacies, Intentional, Affective, blah blah blah and I stopped listening, staring only at the bulge in his trousers.

Eventually, thank the Lord, he stopped babbling. He looked at me, directly, and in a rather strained voice, said, "You're not really listening to me, are you?"

And I said, "And by the look of the lump in your trousers, you're not really listening to you, either." What made me say that, only heaven knows.

However, the desired effect was achieved. The bulge in his trousers got even larger. He glared at me, his glare softened, he smiled, he trembled and he took me in his arms.

Wasn't I ready for that. I closed my eyes and thought of Daddy. I kept my eyes closed most of the time he was doing it, just thinking of Daddy.

His body, underneath all his clothing, was just as scrawny and hairless and unimposing as I had suspected, but I didn't care. For the moment, I was certain he was my father

With my eyes closed, I thought of Daddy's hairy chest, black hair over broad, well developed pectoral muscles and pink, round, pointed nipples.

I thought of his flat stomach and his big, big cock. I thought of his well-formed ass, of his long, thin, sturdy legs, of his straight, muscular back.

Brad, at least, was tall enough to pass as this counterfeit lover. In fact, as a surrogate, he wasn't at all bad. He was a pretty decent lover.

He kissed my lips, tenderly, kissed my eyes, kissed my forehead. His lips were soft and they were moist. He planted little kisses all over my face.

His face was warm and he breathed heavily and steadily. He nibbled gently at each one of my earlobes, sinking his teeth lightly into the soft flesh of each.

He moved his face around again so that our mouths met and he darted his tongue into my mouth. I had never had a man's tongue in my mouth before that moment.

His tongue was thick, long, sweet and slippery, darting in and out of my mouth as he moved his lips over my own. He bit at my upper lip and lapped at my inner cheeks.

Our noses rubbed together. He drew back, pressed his cheek to mine and then placed his mouth again over my own, moving his tongue deeply into me.

I sucked on his tongue, experimentally. Pleased, he moved even close to me, pressing his weight against me in the small chair in which I sat.

I could feel the warmth of him through my clothing, especially the warmth of his groin. I could feel that warmth against my hips and across my stomach.

He pressed his tongue very deeply into my mouth, tasting me, still breathing and I started to writhe, moving my hips up against him, not certain what to do to please him.

His cock hardened so that I could see the whole of it in outline against his trousers and the very tip of it peeked up over the waistline of those trousers.

He buried his face in my breasts, unbuttoning the top four buttons of my shirt and pressing his cheeks against my cleavage.

I put my hands on his head and stroked his hair and slowly unbraided it. He had long, silky blonde hair and I ran my fingers through it, untangling it.

Nothing very intense had yet transpired, but I could feel the urgency of his cock against my thighs and the corresponding urgency between my legs.

I knew that I was getting wet inside and very warm. My thighs tingled and my cunt was warm and excited, with a tickling feeling, an urgent tickling feeling.

He reached into my bra and scooped my ample breasts up out of it. They flopped out between us, and slowly, he began to suck on my nipples.

He swirled his tongue in circles around each of my nipples, starting with wide, sweeping arcs around them and then closing in, smaller and smaller, until, with the very tip of his tongue, he traced the borders of my nipples and pursed his lips against them, to suck on them. My nipples became erect and crimson with desire.

The feeling between my thighs was now more urgent that ever. I moved around in that chair, squirming and rotating, not knowing exactly how I wanted to accommodate him.

His hands roamed over my breasts, down my stomach and to my ass. I tilted forward in the chair, as he slid his hands carefully up under my dress and stroked my buttocks through my panties. His hands were knowing and able.

My panties, in front, I knew, were wet and this embarrassed me. My nipples were hard and my flesh tingled. I wanted the feel of his naked flesh against my buttocks.

I arched my hips and let him pull my panties down to my knees. Then his hands closed around my buttocks. He gathered the flesh of my buttocks in each of his hands.

A shiver of excitement surged through my groin and up my backbone, as his fingers dug into the soft, meaty flesh of my buttocks.

His head was buried between my breasts and he kissed the undersides and the insides of them, his hair silky and smooth over my skin.

He moved his head up to my neck and kissed the base of it, letting the strands of his hair slide up over my nipples. They tingled and ached, erect and excited.

I still stroked his hair and ran my fingers down his back, feeling his long, long spine. His hips were slim and his ass was flat. I reached down the waist of his trousers and discovered, in that moment, that his ass was naked underneath his trousers.

I cautiously stroked his buttocks and slid my hand back up underneath his shirt, all the way to his shoulder blades and over his neck.

My fingers moved down the front of his body, unbuttoning his shirt and exposing his chest, flat and hairless, pale and firm, but with no muscle definition.

He pressed his chest against my breasts and I felt the taut skin of his torso against my nipples. He moved his body back and forth across my nipples.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth to suppress a gasp. I closed my hands around his back and begged him, "Take me, take me, please, take me."

His cock now jutted out of his trousers, which he had managed to undo and it brushed against my thighs, naked under my plaid woolen skirt.

I wanted him with every muscle and fiber of my being. I wanted his cock inside of me, deep, deep inside of me. I wanted to feel conquered, taken.

I spread my legs and hiked my skirt up to my hips. "Take me," I said. "I don't care if it hurts or not. I want you to take me."

Well, now, the chair was rather an awkward place to be taken. We shifted around, he sitting back against the chair, me on his lap, my shirt open, my bra askew, my breasts bobbing up and down, my panties hanging off one ankle, my skirt up to my waist.

In that position, I lowered myself onto his cock. My legs spread wide and slowly, carefully, I took his cock inside of me, not a large cock, but nonetheless, my first.

I arched my back and stretched to receive him. Slowly, at first and then, with his excitement, more quickly, he pushed himself up into me.

It felt, at first, quite exciting, my flesh opening to accommodate his and then closing over it, but then I shouted at a sharp stab of pain.

"Don't worry, baby," he said, "that's just your hymen. The cure for that is fucking. Bounce up and down on top of me, go on, up and down."

He smiled up at me and played with my breasts, as I, wondering what damage I could have done to myself and obscurely grateful that the floor in the room was of wood and not covered with carpeting, which surely would have borne the stain of the ooze now flowing out of my cunt, I moved up and down on his cock, as he suggested.

And the pain slowly faded. Or rather, it never completely went away, but was overwhelmed by another, new sensation, a feeling of hard, aching, pulsating excitement deep within me.

I moved slowly up and down on his cock as he fondled my breasts and let his hips move up and down to my movements on top of him.

The more I bounced up and down on his cock, learning quickly the rhythm necessary to give both of us optimum pleasure, the better it felt inside.

It was a deep, deep feeling of pleasure, an emotion as much as a sensation. Yes, it was a warmth, a happiness, mingled with a thrilling excitement.

Brad, I think, was more sensation oriented, concentrating, no doubt, on the movement of semen from his balls into the base of his shaft and up towards the tip of the shaft.

Suddenly, his face hardened and he began to stand. "Wrap your legs around my thighs," he said. "Hold onto my neck." He stood, carefully, with me mounted upon him.

That was a crazy feeling. He led me over to the wall, pressed me up against it and in that position and I think this was when the real Brad came out, he brutally fucked me.

He pushed me hard against the wall and rammed his hardened cock into my cunt, as forcefully as he could, thrusting in and out, over and over again.

He used the wall as an aid, throwing me against it and hurtling his full weight into me, thrust after thrust after thrust. He panted and shivered.

His breathing was heavy and forced and irregular. Clearly, he was out of control. The harder he thrust his cock into me, the more frequent his thrusts became.

As brutal as it was in many ways, I had to admit that I rather liked it. I was lost in a fantasy world, sure that I was making it with my father.

I had wanted him to know, my father, that is, that I was prepared to battle with the best of his women and in some way, having my virginity taken from me so brutally seemed to satisfy me as fit to compete with the best.

It was nothing at all like the gentle fucks that I had imagined, contemplating my father and reading about Heathcliff in the novel Wuthering Heights.

However, underneath the darkness and the emotionality of such men, of Daddy, of a Heathcliff, is a certain violence, suppressed, perhaps latent, but no less a part of them.

So Brad was my father's dark, brooding, violent libido. Brad was my father, stripping me of my virginity, introducing me to the hard, cruel, adult world.

Oh, I don't mean that I was really thinking any of those things when it was happening and I don't mean to say that they actually have defined my sense of the encounter.

All I mean to say is that the moment for me was rather a significant one, and considering it in terms of where I was, emotionally, at the time, it seems that it might carry some of the side effects that I have just told you about.

Yes, he fucked me brutally. He stretched muscles I didn't know I had. He pumped harder and harder into me and came, with a triumphant shout, quickly and decisively.

I didn't come. Not that time. It was enough just to have been penetrated, just to have experienced some of the feelings that go along with fucking.

But, you see, in my heart, I knew that he wasn't my father and it was my father, I assure you, who I really wanted, with whom I would be able to come.

I had wanted from Brad only what he had, given me and afterwards, of course, I came to detest him. Yes, once the experience was over, I saw what sort of guy he was.

I moved to a higher plane of awareness, after that and Brad no longer looked to me at all like the sort of man in whom I could be interested.

I had become an initiate into my father's world, now. I was sexually experienced. More than ever, I wanted to have sex with him.

The experience with Brad didn't do anything to diminish my desire for my father. In fact, that desired only doubled, no, tripled, after the experience with Brad.

Now that I was really a woman, I felt as if I could compete for my father's affections. And yet, there still had to be a way to reach him, to let him know what I wanted.

There was a way, and inadvertently, I had created it. I got pregnant. Don't look sympathetic, you ought to laugh. That's what I did. I laughed.

It was my first time. I found the humor in that rather maddening, hysterically apt. The first time I make it with a man and I get knocked up.

Well, there wasn't any question that I would have the kid. Obviously, I was not in any kind of position to care for a child. Obviously.

I was only a freshman in boarding school. Certainly you can understand that I wouldn't want to have to deal with a baby. What a foolish idea.

No, the baby had to go and I had to do it quietly and I had to prevent anyone from knowing about it, Brad, if possible, certainly my father.

I couldn't let anyone know about it. That was my first and most immediate impulse. No one must know I'm pregnant, I thought and I must get an abortion.

An abortion. Well, you can imagine what that did to my head. After I got over the gallows humor of the thing, after I recovered my composure, I was rather frightened.

How could this happen to a good little girl like me? I thought. How could anything like this happen to such an innocent and trusting girl, whose father loves her.

I mean, that was one reaction. That was the child speaking. The other reaction was that of the hardened cynic, whose father doesn't love her and who had gotten herself pregnant on account of it.

There were the two reactions. The little girl, almost yearning to call Daddy on the phone and complain to him and the hardened cynic, who knows how Daddy really feels.

How my father actually felt about me at the time I never stopped to consider. I had not communicated with him in some time. I had had nothing to do with him.

Obviously he was neither the evil monster father who neglected me, nor the completely trusting father who thought of me as his good little girl.

He is not a stupid man. It must have occurred to him that I was experiencing a sexual awakening. It happens to everyone. But somehow, I had overlooked his view point.

I was all locked inside of myself and I was pregnant and I didn't want to be and I had to get an abortion and my father didn't love me, or rather, he did but somehow I couldn't get in touch with him, somehow he had been made inaccessible.

Those were the thoughts running through my mind, in relation to the entire incident. I felt myself to be completely alone, and stupidly, I went ahead and got the abortion.

However, I did a rather bad job of it. No, I don't mean that the abortion was not effective, that wasn't quite the issue. The issue was, I didn't manage to conceal the fact of it.

Or rather, I just didn't know what a small community I had fallen into. The clinic I attended was, of course, in the same town as the boarding school, and of course, the people who ran the clinic knew everyone in the town and they took one look at me, the frightened young girl and they gave me the abortion, but, having figured out where I had come from, the notified all the authorities at the boarding school.

I'll never quite understand why it happened in just that fashion, why they gave me the abortion and then notified the authorities, but you figure out bureaucracy.

Well, giving credit where credit is due, I have to tell you that the only reason I chose to go to that particular clinic was because it was free.

Oh, there were nominal registration fees and things like that, but nothing I couldn't afford. You can imagine that I didn't want to call and ask my father for money and clearly I wasn't going to tell Brad about it. Clearly,

However, the price I paid for a free abortion was that the entire administration, and apparently, most of the faculty and subsequently, every single student later found out.

And then, of course, my father was notified. Oh and finally Brad was brought to light as the evil culprit. If that's not redundant, evil culprit.

I can't possibly bore myself with the details of that charade, the meetings and the forced confessions and the tearful confidences. Jesus.

I can't bore myself with it and so I won't bore you. You look so easily bored. Sometimes I wonder if you're sleeping with your eyes open, Doctor.

Suffice it to say that it was really a scene. Quite a scene. And yet, the only thing that really worried me about it was how my father would react.

I suppose, actually, that I went ahead and had the abortion, without consulting him, not because I was afraid he would punish me, but for two reasons.

I did it because I wanted to defy him, because I felt that he had abandoned me, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could live without him.

I also did it because I was alone and afraid and I wanted to be taken care of. Getting the abortion was tantamount to affirming my suspicion that no one wanted to care for me, that I was a lonely destitute girl forced to perform desperate acts.

I wanted my father to hate me for what I had done, to punish me and I wanted him to come crying to me, crushed and ask me to forgive him.

Apparently, I wanted everything and apparently, I had really hoped all along that my activities would be discovered. Perhaps that was the real reason why I found that clinic, the one where they would know who I was, obviously.

I mean, I suppose I could have swallowed my pride and gone to Brad and told him and demanded that he supply me with the money that I needed.

But I didn't do that, for the same reason, obviously, that I didn't call and tell me father. I wanted it to be found out, by him, by my father, after it was too late.

Well, I got my wish. There's nothing that so drives a boarding school out of its moral mind, I gather, than this kind of wanton behavior in its students.

It looks bad for the others, I gather, looks bad to the parents, reflects badly on the school. So they called up my father and bundled me off.

My father came, not exactly running, but, well, let's just say he came. How did he behave? Well, that was thoroughly confounding, really.

I expected-what did I expect? I don't really know. I had my fantasies, of course. In one, he comes, on his knees, practically, offering amends.

"Can you ever forgive me," he says, "this has been all my fault." He begs me to go home with him, where the two of us will start a new life.

The other fantasy depicts him as the avenging father. He arrives, cat-o-nine tails in hands, calls me a whore, orders me into the car, drives me home, locks me in my room and throws away the key.

I don't think those are overly dramatized renditions of how I envisioned his arrival. However, the way in which he retrieved me, was, as reality always is in comparison to fantasy, rather banal, rather non-dramatic, rather anti climactic.

He came by private plane, a hobby that he apparently had picked up and cultivated during the time that I was not aware of what was going on in his life.

He arrived, suave and sophisticated as ever, with, get this, a woman. I'm thinking, my God, if that's his idea of a mother, he sure has made a mistake.

Or rather, it certainly is a little late now, Daddy, for a mother. But what her role is-is not completely clear. She's this very nice, very reserved woman, about his age, perhaps even a little older, not a floozy, or anything.

Of course with this woman present, there's no question that I'm going to behave as well as I can, that I'm not going to start ranting, or anything.

Perhaps that was what he had intended. It's difficult to say. The woman was pleasant to me, not overbearing, asked me only the most general questions, left me alone.

My father had his round of appointments with administrators and counselors, handled everything with the greatest of tact, I have no doubt, instructed me to collect my things and away we flew, the very next day, in his little airplane.

All this time, he did not mention to me once, not once, about what I had done. He did not say a word. Didn't ask, didn't scold, didn't speculate.

Just not a word, you understand? And there was nothing different in his attitude, nothing at all. Not the slightest difference. Nothing.

He treated me as if I were his daughter, whom he loved and trusted. That was the extent of it, completely. Otherwise, he didn't deal with me at all.

Well, perhaps it was because of the woman he had with her. But then, in the middle of the plane ride back, when he's showing off, a little, he drops a bomb.

I mean, we were in a plane, it must have been a bomber plane, it might just as well have been. He turns to me and smiles, including the woman in his glance and he says, "I want you to be very good friends." Then he says, to me, "I've asked Ella to be my wife."

Bang. At 300,000 feet, or whatever it was, I find out. Well, I simply didn't know how to react, right away, but of course there wasn't any question of what to do in that plane. I smiled and said, "Oh, that's wonderful."

He got on with his little monologue. "I realize that you've been operating at a disadvantage all these years, but now I think we have a family again."

So that was it. Talk about a bit of atavism. Suddenly, long after it makes any difference to me anymore, I've got this mother. Where was she when I needed her?

I mean, this Ella, she seemed, at first, pleasant enough. I couldn't have complained about her. I even rather liked her. But. You know.

My father, apparently, had decided to turn back the clock to an earlier time, or something, just to erase from all of our minds what was happening.

My abortion, that had brought him around and I guess now he thought that a little family influence would do me some good. He had even arranged to have me attend a day school in Manhattan. I would be his daughter, again.

Now, while this was just what I had wanted five years earlier, at the moment it seemed to me a little bit too late. I resented him.

I resented her and I resented him and I still wanted to fuck him. There it was in front of me, the ugly truth. Whatever it was that motivated that desire, it still existed. It had existed for a long, long time and I was beginning to wonder if it would ever cease to exist. I was beginning to think that the only way to quench my thirst was to have a long drink of water, if you catch the metaphor.

It was worse now, of course, because there was this other woman and that made me insanely jealous. They didn't even bother to pretend that they weren't sleeping together.

They were, in fact, living together and they made no bones about that fact. She was effectively my mother, indeed if not on paper.

I was out of my mind with jealousy and of course I was determined to have my father, from that moment on. It became the single most important thing in my life.

All the other reasons I had had for wanting him, all the twisted, psychological reasons, seemed to fade into the background.

The only thing that I could concentrate on was wanting to fuck him. It was like when you live with an infatuation for a person for so long, while at first you had all sorts of ways of explaining it to yourself and keeping yourself rational about it, to understand why the infatuation is misplaced and hopeless, you eventually pass a point where any of those reasons can do you any good.

I had passed that point. I had lived with all my reasons for so long, that I no longer remembered them. They hadn't kept me from wanting to fuck my father and so I must have just forgotten them.

Now all I knew was the desire and that desire was driving me mad. It was particularly difficult for me because he was always with Ella.

Oh, she was wonderful. There, isn't any question about that. But that was what made m hate her even more. The more wonderful she appeared to be, the more I hated her.

However, of course she wasn't the focus of all my thoughts. My father was the focus of all my thoughts. He was the one towards whom I directed all my energies.

I tried everything. I tried to be a good little girl. I tried to be remorseful. I tried to be defiant. And yet nothing could get him to notice me in the way that I wanted him to.

Also, of course it was hard to find him when he was not with Ella. She was always there, always in the way. In all, I had no luck whatsoever.

Then I devised a plan. I thought it was one which would work rather effectively. It was a ruthless plan, but it seemed logical.

At the time, it was my father's firmest wish that Ella and I learn to love each other. He wanted her to be a mother to me and she wanted what he wanted.

So of course I was encouraged to take her into my confidence, to treat her with respect and to see all of her fine and rare qualities.

She, I must say, was more receptive to what was going on in my mind than he was and that was when it occurred to me that perhaps the easiest way to get to him was through her.

I staged a fight. Ella is a very sensitive woman and very easily offended and naturally she felt insecure in her new situation as surrogate mother and prospective wife and I took advantage of her insecurities and fought with her.

I can't even remember what it was that I chose to fight about. The topic was unimportant. What was important was that it happened and in front of my father.

Oh, I was incredibly rude to her. I said all kinds of terrible things. I swore. I cursed her. I told her that I hated her.

Poor Ella, she was so shocked and upset that she left the house at once. Sobbing and shaken, she just picked up her things and went on her way.

And there I was with my father. Alone with him, for the first time in a long time. Just as I had planned. And he was, to put it mildly, enraged.

I have only seen my father really angry once and that was this time. He was furious. He shouted at me, slapped me, screamed, ranted, stormed up and down.

I don't think he knew what he was doing. But he put on quite a performance. It was awesome, it was impressive, it was wonderful. I was most impressed.

And of course I played the part. I was the misunderstood daughter. I let him work out his rage and stood quietly by, my eyes filling up with tears.

"Oh, Daddy," I said, "I'm a very wicked girl and you really don't love me at all. Isn't that the truth? Oh, Daddy, I'm such a wicked girl."

He stopped, shaken, surprised at his own rage. He watched me, surprised, realizing for the first time in quite awhile, I think, that a gulf had opened up between us.

I continued crying. I poured it on. "I've missed you so. You've been so distant from me all this time. It's so upsetting. I don't know what to do."

It was beginning to affect him. I could see him get a sad look on his race and I was nearly jubilant when I realized that he was going to cry, too.

Mind you, I really believed everything that I was saying about how I felt he didn't love me and how he had neglected me. I really felt that very strongly.

I wasn't performing as much as you might think. That's why it was so convincing, I think. It came straight from the heart.

"Oh," I said, "I got into trouble because of you, Daddy, because I thought you didn't want me anymore and I had to find a man who did."

"Of course I want you," he said, now crying. Yes, actually crying. A part of me registered triumph. Another part of me was moved beyond words.

"Of course I want you, baby," he said, moving to me. He put his arms around me and we embraced. We hadn't done that in I don't know how long.

It was a very, very emotional scene, I don't have to tell you, our first real breakfast together in many years. Yes, I forgot to tell you, it was a breakfast scene.

And he, you might have guessed, was in his bathrobe, the very same bathrobe that had opened so alluringly all that time ago, to reveal his massive cock.

Pressed up against him, I could feel right away that he had an erection. I wasn't embarrassed or ashamed at the thought of it.

I mean, I might have found it a little unnatural, in spite of my feelings about wanting to sleep with him. But it was an emotional reaction to a highly emotional moment.

I thought, at the time, that it was in fact a perfectly natural thing to happen and I think so now. What was unnatural was the way in which I responded to it.

My father's cock pressed through his bathrobe, against my thighs. I could feel it, hot and hard against my thighs and I was enthralled.

I myself was wearing just a frilly little nightgown and I was wet between my legs. So there we were, the two of us, practically naked, with his hard on between us.

You can imagine the thoughts that were racing through my mind. I was out of my senses with excitement and with happiness. My father was embarrassed, at first, but then he slowly came around. It was easy, seducing him. I guess he must have really wanted me, all along.

I certainly wanted him. I held him very tightly and felt his cock against me. I pulled his robe open and got a good look at his cock.

I'll never forget that. My God, what a cock. It was long and thick and pulsating. I put a hand around it and sank down on my knees.

I worshipped at the altar of his cock. I know that sounds vulgar. But I did just that. I got on my knees for it. I put my mouth around its tip and sucked on it.

It tasted good. I sucked and licked it and I fingered his big, meaty balls. His cock was so hard and juices were bubbling out of its tip.

I licked up along his inner thighs and slid my fingers around to his asshole. He moaned. At first he tried to push me away, but he couldn't resist me.

I took his hand and led him to the living room. "Fuck me," I said, spreading wide my legs and revealing my young, nubile cunt.

My lips were swollen and hot and they ached with desire. I breathed, heavily, nearly out of my mind to have his big cock inside of me.

When finally he entered me, it was the happiest moment of my life. He didn't linger, just moved quickly in and out and in and out of me, thrusting hard and fast, but I had such a deep, deep vaginal orgasm that it didn't matter what he did.

I came almost as soon as he was inside of me and he shot off his stuff. That, I'm afraid to say, Doctor, was when Ella walked in the room. After that, my life with Daddy was more or less ruined. I've been sent away from him and now I want him back. I came to you because I was told you could help me. I've got to have his cock again. Do you understand me, Doctor?

CASE HISTORY TWO

Subject: June W. Age: Nineteen

INTERVIEW ONE

June didn't look to me to be half as old as she let onto. She came into my office dressed rather convincingly as a ten year old girl.

I had to assure myself, checking her files, that she was in fact a full nineteen years of age. I must say, she certainly cultivates a childish look.

She wore a knee length, full-skirted party dress and a cute white frilly pinafore, saddle shoes and bobby sox and a big red bow in her hair.

Perhaps this is June's child, I thought, or her younger sister, sent to me for some reason soon to be divulged. No, I was wrong, it was June.

What I soon discovered was that her manner of dress had everything to do with why she had come to see me that day. June was, simply, forced to dress in a child's clothing.

She was a woman trapped in a little girl's pinafore. The explanation for this phenomenon is not entirely complicated, but June, of course, tells it better than I.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, what's a nice little girl like me doing in a place like this, that's what you're thinking.

Well, let me tell you something. Just because I look like a nice little girl doesn't mean that I am. Don't judge a book by its cover.

Didn't anyone ever tell you that? And you, a doctor. You're supposed to be the one who knows everything, not me. I'm pretty smart for a little girl.

My daddy tells me that all the time. He says, You're getting much too smart for such a little girl. My daddy has reasons to want to keep me ignorant.

I came here to see you because it's the only way for me to get away from my daddy long enough to tell anyone the truth about what kind of a daddy he is.

He keeps a pretty close eye on me. You could say that he watches me like a hawk. I would say it. In fact, he would probably say it.

But I threatened him. I told him that he would either have to let me come to see you, or I would go straight to the police and tell them my story.

You look alarmed. I can see now that perhaps you're beginning to understand that this little girl has a lot of big girl problems.

My biggest big girl problem is my daddy. What a problem he is. The poor guy, I can't say that I really blame him, but it does take its toll on my emotions.

You see, my mother ran away. She just left us. I think she got it on with a motorcyclist and then just got herself out of our lives for good.

Daddy was left with me. That made him a single parent, which is not an unfashionable thing to be, in this day and age, but it's harder to manage than it looks.

Daddy had to have a job and he had to care for me. I was pretty young when my mother ran away, so caring for me was no picnic, none at all.

Daddy resented me. I knew it from the very first. I was young and he was young, too. He wanted to go out and catch some poontang.

However, he had me to deal with and that curtailed his poontang hunting activities. Poor, poor Daddy, what was he to do? He had to fuck me.

Oh, come on, Doctor, give me a break. Don't look at me all shocked and dewy eyed like that. It really makes me vomit, to see you grimace.

I mean, it really just totally grosses me out, when I think about all the moralists standing in judgment over Daddy. I think he gave in to a natural impulse.

And let's get the record straight. He didn't approach me until I was well into my adolescence. He never made a move towards me when I was still just a child.

I was a girl, for sure, the first time, but I was on the road to becoming a woman. Daddy is not child molester. Get those evil thoughts out of your mind.

I mean, he went an awful long time without any kind of sex. In all honesty, I can hardly see how he put up with it. Everybody gets horny.

I bet you have a little girl of your own at home, or a niece, or a sister in law, or even a very young sister, about whom you sometimes have thought of which you are ashamed.

I know if I were a man, it would have been hard for me not to have thoughts about myself, as I was going through my early adolescent years.

I matured very quickly, growing breasts before any of the other girls, the whole deal and there was my father, a single parent, forced to deal with me.

He didn't have a woman around to send me to when I asked him questions about sex. He had to explain menstruation to me, all by himself.

That was the most mortifying moment in his life, I think, the day that he had to make himself explain menstruation to me. I think that made him resent me even more.

The poor guy. He just wasn't brought up in the generation of men who expect to have to fulfill certain roles traditionally occupied by women.

He's not a modern man, he's a traditional one. As far as he knew, women were only for getting laid and for making dinner.

By the same token, his idea of men is that they fuck their women into contentment and expect otherwise to be waited on, hand and foot.

Rather an antiquated way of looking at things, certainly, but that's my daddy. He is a rather antiquated daddy. What can I say? That's the way it is.

So of course he resented me for having to ask him questions about sex and menstruation. That should have been a woman's problem, or else I should have known, on my own.

I forced him into a new way of looking at things, then and I guess that he decided to extract a certain price, on account of it. He wanted to make me pay for it.

After all, there I was, being taken care of by a man who didn't want to take care of me, it seemed only fair that he would want to make me pay some sort of price.

Also, he was paying rather a high price, himself. He was going, as far as I could tell, without any kind of sex. For a long, long time.

I mean, he was just too busy to get any. There was his job and there was me and the two things, plus just having to deal with life, kind of ate away at him.

I mean, he was an established businessman, he had to maintain a certain lifestyle and so he had a lot to take care of, a lot of business to see to.

It took up a lot of his time. You can see that it would. And so the poor guy, he was really having a hard time and he wasn't getting any sex, to boot.

Now you can see where I fit in. There I was, the nubile daughter, whom he alternately resented and was attracted to, asking him questions about sex.

It must have touched a raw nerve. I mean, wouldn't you think that it would? It must have really hit him right between the legs.

I remember hearing him say, once, "What do I know about sex anymore? I've almost forgotten what it's like." He had said that under his breath

He didn't think I heard him say it and he probably would have thought, if I had heard it, that I wouldn't quite understand, but I understood.

That was the time that I really understood, almost the first time ever, I think, what it was that he was going through in my behalf. I started to feel guilty.

The poor guy wasn't getting any sex. I was just learning what sex was. I was filled with curiosity and he was filled with unfulfilled desire.

Naturally, I developed an urge to fuck him. Wouldn't you? I mean, if you were in my situation. It still seems to me the most logical reaction to circumstances.

I wanted to fuck him really badly and I did fuck him and it was great, although I think now maybe I regret it, because he's been making me fuck him ever since.

Anyway, let me tell you about it. It's a good story, worth repeating. I like sexy stories. Don't you? I like the kinds of stories that make you all wet between your legs.

I like the sorts of stories that make your nipples burn. My nipples are burning right now, just thinking about it. Are your nipples burning?

I often wonder if men get all excited at the tips of their nipples, like women do. Do they? Do they get all excited at the tips of their nipples? I know they do at the tips of their cocks.

So here was the situation. My daddy is a marathon runner. I'm very proud of him for that. He works really hard at it and he manages to win some races every now and again.

He runs, I don't know, nine miles a day, ten miles, I think and he goes out every day right after he gets home from work, as soon as I'm home from school.

He really is sexy in his running gear, his little shorts with the pouch built in, so that he doesn't have to wear a jock strap.

He's got a really thick cock and big, thick, hairy balls and when he runs, his cock hops up and down between his legs, like a bouncing ball.

Sometimes it gets pushed over to one side of his shorts, over to the left or over to the right, bulging up in his thigh and on each of his forward strokes, you can really see the outline of his cock.

Besides that, he's got really long, muscular, sexy legs and the shorts are slit way up his thighs, so that you can almost see parts of his ass.

It's pretty sexy all around, plus in the summer time he doesn't wear a shirt and he has a nice, broad chest, really big, flat pectorals, round, pointed nipples, brown fuzzy hair.

He's a sexy guy and I really like to look at him. Really, a very sexy guy, especially when he's going to go out running. That's the sexiest of all.

So he goes out and then he comes back in, all sweated up and everything and when he's all sweated up, well, that just drives me wild.

All that sweat trickling over him, those stains in his ass, the sweat dripping down his inner thighs, his big cock curled up into those shorts.

I can't tell you what it does to my insides to see him like that. It really drives me half out of my mind. Every time, every single time, I almost come, just looking at him.

So then what happens is, you know, he stretches himself back out and then he strips and jumps into the shower and then he beats himself off, but good.

Yeah, I know that's what he's doing in the shower and it must be very liberating for him. He has to get out his frustrations, somehow.

So he goes into the shower and soaps up that body and gets his cock up and cups his left hand around it and pulls on it, until he comes.

So you're wondering how I know these things. I know these, things because I watch. He doesn't know that I watch, or rather, he didn't know until after I fucked him the first time. After that, we took showers together.

But before that happened, I could watch him in the shower. I mean, he always left the door slightly open and I could just peek through it and see.

I don't know if he left the bathroom door open on purpose, or not. It's difficult to know just what his motives were. Maybe he didn't know.

But the point was, I could see what he was doing, and clearly, he was beating off like there was no tomorrow. Wow, that really turned me on.

I always used to run into my bedroom just after that and finger my clit and then I would come and that would just be great.

I longed for the day when I would have the nerve to make it unnecessary for my father to have to beat off anymore. I just longed for that day. No kidding.

I wanted very badly to suck his cock and I wanted to have him inside of me. I didn't have a hymen, anymore, because I was a cheerleader and there was nothing to worry about.

The only thing to worry about was being able to really suck him and fuck him the way that I wanted to. I really wanted to suck him and fuck him.

I made up my mind at that point that something had to be done. So what if he was my father. That really didn't matter to me at all.

I mean, I don't know how you feel about your father, but I think that my father is one hell of a sexy number and I don't see anything wrong with fucking him.

I mean, as long as I don't get pregnant, or anything, it's okay, right? As long as I don't get knocked up and have some kind of mongoloid baby, or something.

So I thought, well, I've got to figure out a way to get his hard cock between my hot and throbbing, excited legs. There's got to be a way.

There was a way. The way was just to take him. I knew that he was horny. I had watched him beat off so many times, he had to be horny enough for me.

And it was clear to me that I could no longer deal with the possibility that I wasn't ever going to be able to fuck him. I wanted him very badly.

I really did. So, I just took him. One day, when he was out running, I got myself ready. I put on a really sexy little number and then I thought, no, that's not right.

I thought, the best thing to do is just to be really innocent about it. I had the feeling that he would like me better if he could think that I wasn't really aware of what I was doing.

I may have been just a kid, but I wasn't a stupid kid. I was a pretty perceptive kid, if you want to know the truth. I figured that he would like it better if I acted like I really didn't know at all what was going on.

So I dressed for him very much as I am dressed today. Simply, neatly, looking like a good little girl. And then I just waited for his return.

Wow, was I excited. I was already getting all hot and wet between my legs and my nipples were burning. They were hot and excited.

I resisted the urge to play with myself. Naturally, I wanted to save it all for Daddy. But I was anxious for him to return, before my panties were soaked through.

Finally, he came back and that was when I started my routine, my innocent little girl routine. It was calculated to attract his attention. It did.

He walked in the door, hot and sweating from his run. I ran to meet him. "Daddy," I said to him, inquisitively, "what's that thing like a lump between your legs?"

I pointed to the bulge in his crotch, which was really quite prominent. I always wondered why he wasn't raped by fellow joggers. I know I would have raped him. I mean, I did, practically.

Daddy turned a hundred shades of red. "You ask such silly questions," he said to me. "Now go away and let me take my shower."

"It's just such a big lump," I said, "I thought maybe that there was something wrong with you. In school we were talking about tumors and I thought maybe you had one between your legs."

I was doing a really fine acting job. He looked distracted and I could sense that the lump between his legs was getting bigger. "Go away, now," he said.

I could tell that he said that only with considerable restraint. Clearly, he was about ready to whip it out right there and make me suck it.

But my daddy is a good man and he had to be provoked. He really had to be provoked. So I let him pad off to his bedroom and then, I followed him.

I stood in the doorway, looking in and I watched him peel off his shorts. Oh, my God. His cock was huge. It was only slightly hard, not fully erect.

It sort of bounced up and down, all rubbery, between his legs. He looked at it and kind of shrugged and laughed ruefully. "Later for you, my friend," he said.

That was my cue. I rushed into the bedroom and I said, "Now! Now! Now!" I couldn't have resisted him if I tried. He was all sweaty and naked and his cock was big and the sweat was flowing down his haunches in rivulets.

He smelled sweaty and sexy and good and I was all wet between my legs. I ran to him and fell down on my knees in front of him and took his cock in my mouth.

He made a real gallant effort to resist me, I'll give him credit for that. He worked just as hard as he could, trying to push me away, trying not to let himself succumb.

However, I was not to be subdued and so I just went at him, sucking away and licking his cock and playing with his balls and finally, he gave in.

I don't see how he could not have given in. My God, I really was giving him one hell of an effective blow job. I took his cock in my mouth and really sucked on it.

His balls were big and I held onto them in one hand, squeezing them and rubbing them. I could feel them getting tighter and tighter between his legs.

His shaft just got bigger. It had been at about half mast when I walked into the room, but it got bigger and bigger and bigger.

The bigger and more engorged it got, the more I really wanted to get it up my cunt. But for the time being I was content just to suck on it.

I slid my lips down around the tip of his cock and flicked my tongue into the slit that ran over the top of it. Juices were bubbling out of the slit.

The tip of his cock was all wet and I dipped my tongue into the slit. He caught his breath, really sharply, when I did that and so I did it again.

I moved my mouth as far down his cock as I could. He has a really thick, long cock and there wasn't any way for me to get it all in my mouth.

I pulled my mouth off it and held it put and then I took long, slow licks of the underside of it, running my tongue along the underside of his cock.

I left a stream of warm saliva up the underside of his cock. He shivered. I moved my mouth down around to his balls and sucked on them.

His balls were big and meaty and he enjoyed having me suck on them, I could tell. I rah my tongue over the ridges in his sack and sucked on him.

My hands crept all over his body. He was all sweaty. I could taste his sweat in my mouth. It was a good taste and it really excited me very much.

His ass was all wet with sweat and slippery and I slid my hands around to it and squeezed his buttocks, very hard. I moved my hands down his thighs.

I moved my hands up to his stomach and let them roam over his flat belly. I reached all the way up to his chest and pinched at his nipples.

Daddy grabbed my head and he forced me onto his cock. He moaned. He held my head in both hands and pushed it up and down and up and down on his cock.

His cock went into my mouth and back out again. I pursed my lips and wetted them, trying to make it seem as if my mouth were a cunt.

I could tell that he was getting closer and closer to orgasm. That was very exciting. It was very exciting for me to think that I could make my father come.

He panted and moaned, forcing his cock in and out of my mouth. Then he panted really hard and all his muscles got really tight. I knew that this was it.

He shot his hips forward, jerkily and unloaded into my mouth. Gob after gob of stuff shot into my mouth and I lapped it all up.

Oh, wow, that was the greatest. I loved the taste of his stuff. It tasted just like tapioca pudding, only kind of salty, thick and good.

I wanted more. I wanted his big cock inside of me. I threw off all my clothes and I said, "Let's get in the shower, Daddy, I want to wash you."

He was still a little confused about what had just happened and I took the chance to grab him by the arm and drag him into the shower.

I turned on the water and pushed him in and then I got in behind him. My nipples were burning and erect and my cunt was streaming with excitement.

I grabbed the bar of soap. "Turn around," I said and I soaped his back and his thighs and even his little asshole, which I found very exciting.

I soaped up his balls from behind and the back of his neck and shoulders. When he turned around, I could see that he was hard, again. It was just what I wanted.

I soaped up his chest, his nice big chest, his flat stomach and his thighs, and finally, his cock. He almost came, right then. "Now you do me," I said.

I handed him the bar of soap. The water streamed down over us. He started at my breasts, caressing them as he lathered them up with soap.

My nipples were very hard and burning with excitement and they stung in the water from the shower. He lathered up my stomach and then he moved his hand to my cunt.

When he touched me there I cried out. It was wonderful. I had a really warm, aching feeling inside of me, that I could hardly control.

I said, "Fuck me, fuck me, put your cock inside of me, please." I had to have him. Right then and there, I had to have him.

He took me down on the floor of the shower stall. I lay down and spread my legs for him and he slowly, carefully penetrated me, moaning with pleasure as if he had come home again after years away at sea. It was a sentimental experience for him, I think.

Mounted, he began to thrust in and out of me, lovingly, over and over again. I was all filled up with him. I could hardly stand the excitement. It was good.

He really filled me up. His cock was so big, but somehow I managed to make room for it. I was all aching inside, terribly excited.

I moaned and yelled and the water beat down upon us. It was a meaningful experience. It's difficult to say what happened when, but suddenly I was aware that I was in the middle of a deep, vaginal orgasm. It was deep and firm and heavy and exciting.

And Daddy came too. He jumped up and landed a load of semen into me, yelling in triumph. I've never known anyone to be so pleased.

So that was it, the first time. Wow. But there's still so much more to tell.

INTERVIEW TWO

The second time that June came in, she was still dressed as a little girl. I don't know whether she felt at the time that her first session had helped her any.

You see, while I had thought originally that she had come to see me in hopes of escaping the curse of having to dress in such a fashion, I soon changed my mind.

Within very little time, I had the feeling that she rather enjoyed her role as a young girl. I think she was escaping from a lot of things.

I think she was getting out of herself, avoiding the pressures and the responsibilities of becoming an adult, which can be frightening responsibilities.

In a way, I admired her for it, for she was paying a high price for her ticket to long lasting innocence. She was, in short, her father's whore.

This time, however, she was dressed in a costume that was somewhat more flamboyant than the first outfit she had worn the first time I saw her.

Today, she was dressed as a cheerleader. She had a little short red skirt, with red panties on underneath, saddle shoes, ankle socks and a white sweater, with a red letter on it.

She had pretty red bows in her hair and she even carried a pom pom along with her. The only thing about this outfit was that it tended to give away her maturity.

The sweater emphasized the size of her breasts. They were indeed very large and very attractive. One's mouth nearly watered, looking at them.

June got right to the point, once again.

Last time I was here, I told you about the first time, didn't I? Well, let me tell you now about the best time. That way, you'll have the most important info.

The best time I ever had it with my father, I was dressed just like this. That's why I wore the outfit here today. I wanted to create an atmosphere of verisimilitude.

You like this cheer leading outfit? I like it. I think it flatters my figure. Really. I think I really look quite good this way. I think it does wonders for me.

I even am still an active cheerleader. No kidding. I mean, in high school I was the captain of the squad and everything, but of course I graduated, eventually.

I found other teams to cheer for. Local teams. Little league teams. That sort of thing. They have cheerleaders, everywhere, not just in high school.

My daddy really just went wild the first time that he saw me in my cheerleading outfit. I knew that he would and that was why I made him wait for it.

I got on the team, but I told him that I wouldn't let him see me in my uniform until it was time for the really big game. I mean, I wanted to have some practice first.

I was pretty lucky, because as a freshman, I got on the varsity squad right away and that rarely, if ever, happens. I guess I was just really good.

So I was on the varsity squad and I got to cheer at all the really important games. The really, really important game to cheer at was the Thanksgiving game.

That was the game with the team from my high school met the team from the traditionally rival high school, in the same county. That was quite a game.

There was always a rivalry between the two teams, always a really big rivalry and it sort of went back and forth from year to year as to who would win.

This particular year it wasn't exactly clear which team would win the game, because it had been pretty evenly split up in the past and it wasn't like one team was due for a win and the other team was not. It could have gone either way.

To heighten the suspense of this particular game, of course, the division championships were on the line, which meant that whichever team won this game would go on to compete against other teams in the state, teams from other counties.

So it was a pretty important game and quite emotional for everyone involved and I was really proud to be able to be cheering at that particular game.

I was really happy and it was an honor and I had been cheering all season long and had gotten pretty good at it by then and I wanted Daddy to go to the game.

It was time and I knew that he would be ready for it. So I told him, I said, you know, come to this game, then you can watch me cheer and support the team.

He was a little busy, but I guess he figured that it really was a pretty good idea and so he got himself together and he went to the game.

All along he had been bugging me about wanting to see me in my cheer leading uniform and I had told him that he would have to come to a game and so this was his chance.

Well and to add even more glamour and suspense into things, it happened that this was the game where the homecoming queen was announced.

I just happened to be one of the girls who was nominated for homecoming queen. No kidding. There were six girls nominated every year and the entire student body got to vote.

The girl who won would be named homecoming queen and the rest would be the homecoming court and I was one of the girls who was nominated.

I didn't think that I would have much chance of winning, but, you know, you never can tell and I was a little bit nervous that day.

I mean, it was a really big day for me, those kinds of days can affect you for life, you know, those high school kinds of scenes.

I mean, I suppose that it's pretty common to a lot of kids in this country, but at the time I thought I was the only person in the world having that experience.

I may have been one of the few, at least in our high school, who happened to be having sex with her daddy, but other than that I realize now that I wasn't all that special.

Of course, at the time I didn't know at all that I wasn't special. At the time, I thought I was the most special girl in the entire world. I really thought so;

So off I went to the game, early, telling Daddy what time to be there and where to sit to get the best look at me. I was happy that he was going.

I mean, I happen to be a really sexy cheerleader. I was then, anyway, when my breasts were at least as developed as they are now. Sometimes I even think that they were bigger.

I was dressed just as I'm dressed today, wearing red and white, which were the school colors, this little red skirt and the white sweater, with the letter attached to it.

That's just the way that it was and I was all excited and my nipples were burning from the very first moment. I do not exaggerate. My nipples were burning.

The game went really well and I spotted my father right off in the crowd and played to him the whole time. I can imagine how he must have felt.

I mean, I was really putting on a show. There I was, jumping up and down in the air, my nipples hard and poking through my sweater, my tits bobbing up and down.

I wasn't wearing a bra, I have to admit and though that could have gotten me excused from the squad, I was too popular for anyone to say anything.

So there I was, my big breasts hobbling up and down with my every movement, my skirt flying up to expose my panties, which were a little wet in the crotch, the whole deal.

Well, my father must have been straining at his zipper the whole time. He must have been hot and excited and just mad with the need to fuck me.

You can imagine how alluring I was, this pretty little girl in a tight white sweater, her breasts bobbing up and down, her white thighs flashing as she jumped all around.

The first half of the football game went really well and the boys were well ahead. They were really doing well. During halftime, they announced the homecoming queen.

Well, wasn't I surprised. It turned out to be me. No kidding. First, of course, they had to drive us around the outside of the field, sitting on the hoods of these cars and then, well, we all got on this platform and one of us was crowned.

Was that the most exciting moment of my life? Well, close to it. The most exciting moment was later on, when Daddy took me as his own queen.

But this moment in itself was terribly rewarding. I cried and they put this crown on my head and gave me flowers and everyone applauded.

Then I got to get on the hood of the car that they were raffling off at halftime and be driven around, to receive my audience.

Everyone was cheering and I waved back, the tears streaming down my face, the flowers clutched in my arms. The whole deal. Wow, it was wonderful.

It was, it was pretty out of this world and I really got off on it and knowing that I was the homecoming queen and could now have any member of the entire football team between my legs, any one of them I wanted, well, it made me really hot!

It made me really hot, it made me hotter than I think I had ever been in my life. I almost had an orgasm just riding around in that car. I'm not kidding.

Well, it was time to get back to the game, halftime was over and the second half of the game was really suspenseful. It was very, very suspenseful.

I don't know when I've had such a suspenseful afternoon. I really just don't know. Wow, the game was really very close that afternoon.

All the time, I was thinking, boy, to get crowned homecoming queen and then to have to lose the game, that would really be a heavy bummer.

And so, conscious that now many more eyes were on me than had been before, I worked extra hard to get the audience aroused to cheer for our boys.

The more aroused they got, the harder the boys played and the better the game went. I worked really, really hard to get that audience aroused.

And I mean aroused. I was thinking of my father, in particular, of Daddy, sitting up there and I was thinking about how hard his cock might be.

I mean, he's not really that interested in football, he finds the game rather boring, so I knew that I had to work extra hard to hold his interest.

So I worked hard. I really did, I worked as hard as I possibly could. I don't think I've ever made such an effort to give pleasure to a whole lot of men.

Yes, I was determined to give pleasure and I did it in every way that I could. And when I did those big splits in the air, I think maybe everyone could see the stain in my panties.

I'm sure that Daddy saw them, if no one else did I'm sure he must have noticed the stain in my panties, if it was not apparent to anyone else.

He has an eye for that sort of thing. He really does. I think he can smell me from across a crowded room, from across a crowded playing field.

Well, what happened was that the game went in our favor, finally. I don't want to be really arrogant and say that it was thanks to me, but I'm sure that I helped.

I'm sure that my enthusiasm helped pick up morale. And during every one of the time outs, I made a point of really eying the guys coming off the field.

I really gave them looks that had them getting hard and slick with dampness between their legs, as if I were promising them untold delights if they won.

Well, they did win, thanks to me or thanks to them or thanks to whomever and then, at the very end of the game, I had the pleasure to rebuff the offers of all those men and just turn on my heel and take Daddy's arm and go.

That was great, knowing that all those guys were really hot for me and that I could have sucked all their cocks that very evening if I had wanted to, seeing the looks in their eyes, knowing that I could have any one of them and then just turning on my heel and going off with my father, practically laughing in their faces.

That was great. I really enjoyed that. It gave me a real thrill. It was just about the most thrilling moment so far in a very thrilling day.

The ride home with Daddy was heavenly. My God, what a ride home. I don't think that I've ever had such a ride, it was just packed with all kinds of feelings.

You see, I was all wet and runny between my legs from the game and the game, of course, had been a success and I was the homecoming queen.

Well, all these things had worked together to put me in a state of elation and I was so turned on that my panties were soaked through.

Daddy, for that matter, had quite a stain on his shorts, I soon discovered. He must have had a hard on for the full length of the game. Wow.

Getting in the car, we both looked at each other and giggled. Daddy told me how proud he was of me and I smiled and he said, "Take off your panties."

Well, I did. I slid them down my legs. Boy were they wet and smelly. Boy oh boy. He took them from me and sniffed them and then he gasped.

"Spread your legs really wide," he said. I spread my legs and he put one hand between them, slowly stroking and caressing the lips of my swollen cunt.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, he caressed the lips of my cunt with his big, warm hand. I was nearly out of my mind with excitement, at this point.

The wind was blowing in through the open windows and my hair was flying all around my face. I still had on my crown and my flowers were on the dashboard.

It was a warm day, I mean, it's always warm in California, but we were having this warm spell in the middle of November and I was thinking about how nice the wind felt

I was also thinking about how nice Daddy's hand felt, against my cunt lips. Wow, it really felt nice. It felt nicer than you could imagine.

I was so wet I was surprised that I had any wetness left in me, by that time. Really, I was surprised that I was still secreting fluids.

But I was, I was getting even wetter, even as we drove along in that car, I was getting that much more wet. Wet, wet, wet. I was so wet.

And Daddy was so excited. His big hand was cool over my hot and burning cunt lips. I could tell that he was very proud of me and that he was crazy about my uniform.

"You look very, very sexy in red," he said, "I want you to know that I think red and white are your colors. No question about it."

"Oh, Daddy," I said, "you're really the end. You're always so good to me and you say the nicest things. I can't always believe you mean those things."

"You're just the best daughter in the whole world, that's all," he said. "You really are, you're the best daughter in the whole world."

As he said that, his hand groped around between my legs and he found my clit. My clit was already engorged and when he touched it, I shivered.

"Oh," I said, "oh, that's very nice." He put his fingers around it and stroked it, up and down. I moaned with pleasure and with excitement.

"I can hardly steer the car," he said, "having such an exciting and attractive girl in my car. I can hardly even see where I'm going."

I couldn't see where he was going, but I could sure feel it. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of his fingers against my clit.

He really knew how to handle that little piece of nerve tissue and flesh, I'll tell you that much. He really did know.

We drove along and he was going faster and faster and I got a little scared and I told him, very politely, that I was a little afraid.

Then he slowed down, because I think he was scared, too and besides, we were almost home by that time. Then I said, "I want you to fuck me in the car."

And he said, "I want to fuck you while you're still wearing your uniform." I guess the two of us were fulfilling our fantasies, that afternoon.

I had heard so much about girls getting fucked in the back seats of cars, that, frankly, I really was curious to find out what it would be like.

And I guess maybe Daddy had always had a thing about making it with a cheerleader, or something. I guess he has always fantasized about it.

So of course we were both really ready for it. We were both excited and hot and we jumped into the back seat, as soon as he had pulled the car into the driveway.

Daddy unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped his fly. That was, when I saw the big stain across the crotch of his jockey shorts.

"Wow," I said, "you must have had a hard on the entire time, all throughout that game. You're just soaked. Look at you."

"Yeah," he said, "I'd be surprised if I was the only one in that audience today, watching you, who had a hard on. You put on some show."

I giggled. I like to hear my father compliment me. It really made me feel good. I lay back on the seat and pulled up my skirt.

Daddy went down on me. His hands roamed up under my sweater, found my breasts and fondled them, as he sunk his mouth in between my legs.

He licked my outer lips and then he took my clit in his mouth and flicked at it with his tongue, back and forth over the head of my clit.

His hands moved over and over my breasts, over my pointed nipples and all over my smooth, big breasts. I shivered with delight and excitement.

But I wanted him inside of me. "Oh, please fuck me," I said. I wanted a really hard, really fast fuck. I wanted him to fuck the daylights out of me.

I wanted him to fuck me like I had never been fucked before, really very hard and almost brutally. Sometimes you need a really brutal fucking.

I needed a brutal fucking. I just wanted to feel his cock really hard between my legs and I wanted to come quickly, hard and fast.

I wanted to yell and scream and just come come come. I was almost there when he got inside of me and he pounded up and down on top of me in the back seat of the car.

It was very sexy and sweaty and fast and it was great. I wanted it just that way and so did he. Pound pound pound and then spurt spurt spurt.

What a deep excited orgasm I had that very day. Oh, wow. Well, you know, ever since then I have been Daddy's Doll. I haven't been able to escape him, since. He likes me to dress this way. Will I ever grow up? I'm beginning to worry.

CASE HISTORY THREE

Subject: Lana T. Age: Twenty five

INTERVIEW ONE

I was impressed with Lana right away, with her integrity, her intelligence and her beauty. For one so gifted, she seemed a very troubled young girl.

She came into the office almost as if in apology, as if she knew that she really didn't belong there and expected me not to forgive her for this momentary lapse.

I enjoyed her company immensely, however. It was nice to have such an attractive woman in my office and one who was so much more mature than many of my patients.

I don't want to delay a minute more the unraveling of this case and so I will get straight to the transcripts of the tapes I made with Lana.

I don't know why I came here. I don't really have any faith in shrinks. Nothing personal, you understand, just that it doesn't seem to me a realistic way to deal with things, going to psychiatrists. It really doesn't seem like a good idea.

I guess it's because I have the feeling, or rather, had the feeling, that I couldn't tell a stranger anything about myself. However, perhaps I was wrong.

For instance, right now I have the feeling that it's going to be perfectly easy to tell you that the thing that troubles me is my problem with fathers.

Plural, fathers. Don't correct me, Doctor, it's my life, not yours. I have a real problem with fathers. With mothers, too, for that matter, but mostly with fathers.

I want everyone to be my father. I'll probably want you to be my father, by the time this session is over. In fact, I'd be happier if you were a woman. Could you try and look like a woman for me, please? I'd appreciate that.

I don't have quite as much trouble with women as I have with men, although I think that my real problem is that I want to turn all my friends into parents.

But then, it's only the males I want to sleep with, not the females and so I suppose to that extent I'm really fixated with my father and not my mother.

But Jesus Christ, this has been going on and on and on for years now and I'm beginning to wonder when the hell it's going to end. I'm really rather disturbed by it.

It started, I guess, when I went away to college and it's been a persistent syndrome ever since, this knack I have for turning all my friends into parents, sets of friends into parents, always in twos and then wanting to sleep with the men.

I usually choose couples, a man and a woman together and then I befriend the two of them and eventually fall in love with the guy and then want to fuck him.

Sometimes I do fuck him and of course that doesn't do a whole lot for my friendship with the woman, or for the collective friendship.

Then the other thing I do, is to fall in love with a guy but not tell him about it until just at that moment when he's beginning to fall in love with some other girl.

I wait until just that point at which he finally becomes unavailable and then I pine away.

So, there are the two syndromes, one in which I'm the home wrecker, the other in which I'm the unrequited lover. And I'll tell you what, they come in cycles.

First I'm the home wrecker and then, to punish myself, I'm the unrequited lover. I go through breaking up a couple and then I think I choose men immediately after that with whom I know there is no chance of consummation of romance.

I suppose it could be worse, I suppose I could have contracted an attraction to homosexual men, I know some girls like that, they only want men who don't, couldn't, want them.

But, the effect is the same, isn't it? In any case, I seem to want men who can't return what I want in especially large quantities. You see what I mean?

I mean, even when, in my home wrecking phase, I get the guy to sleep with me, there's still not much chance that my relationship with him will last.

Once his infidelity and my disloyalty, come to light, well, then, of course he's too shamed to have anything more to do with me and almost inevitably, he ends up getting back together with the woman, they are stronger as a couple than ever and I lose the friendship of both.

With the unrequited love, of course there's never any question at all that I will even have the man sexually and so there you are. I'm safe.

No commitments. No possibility that I will have to attach myself to a person I will eventually want to unload. Nothing ventured, perhaps, but nothing gained, either.

You know what they say, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I mean, that's rather trite, I know, but I feel that it's true.

I just wish that I could convince myself of it, that I could make my subconscious or whatever part of me it is that keeps rejecting the possibility of commitment, see that the best thing to do would be to put it on the line and see how it works out.

But no, I never do that, I just go through one relationship after the other where nothing seems to work, where I want a man I can't have, or perhaps have him briefly and then lose him and then suffer, in the process, ignominy and defeat.

I lose the affection of the man I thought I loved and I lose the friendship of a woman I thought valuable to me. I lose everything.

And in the other situation, of course, I attempt nothing and so have nothing to lose. This syndrome I think is even worse than the former, really, even more embarrassing personally, because I mope around lamenting the inability to have a man and he of course is put in the position of pitying me, of apologizing for not being free to love me.

That does a tremendous amount for his ego, but it's hell on mine, I can tell you that. I wreaks havoc upon my ego and my self confidence, assuming I have any.

That one is the punishment phase, the one I move into right after I've just broken up a couple and only once did the couple get back together afterwards, so of course I am the classic home wrecker, it's happened three or four times-the period when I suppose I must feel that I have to abuse myself for what it is that I have just done.

Oh, it's so tiresome, it's really tiresome, it makes me ache with paralysis just to think about it, it makes me really want to scream.

I really do, I want to die rather than to have to think about it again, I want to curl up into a ball and just fade away, I can hardly bear to even think about it.

But apparently I do have to think about it and I do have to tell someone about it, so it might as well be you, even though I hate everything you stand for.

Oh, not you, personally, just psychiatry in general. That's all. Nothing personal. But listen, I'll describe two typical cases to you and see what comes of it.

These two cases, consecutive, the one happening right after the other, are not the most recent or the least recent, but I think they're typical.

You should be able to get a good sense of what it is that I'm talking about just listening to these two cases. Alright? You want to listen? Good.

Alright, so how to begin. I guess, with an introduction of the cast of characters. Well, there's me, of course you are already familiar with me and my problem;

These two people and I met the woman first, are young, they're my age, I met them both in Baltimore when I was living there and taking a degree at Johns Hopkins University.

I was teaching there as well as taking classes and it was all very tidy and very academic and very nice and it was all very idyllic and wonderful.

Or rather, it would have been idyllic and wonderful if it had not been for these experiences. They really did me in, for quite some time, I must say.

The woman was a fellow teacher, she was another person in my course of study, working towards an M.A. in English Literature and teaching classes at the same time.

She was very nice, Jean, her name was and the two of us got to be very good friends. She was the only other one in the whole program who I could relate to.

Oh, God, what a horrible, boring lot of people, all of them. What an anal retentive, fixated, weird lot of people they all were. Yuck.

I really have to say that I didn't at all enjoy my time with any of them and if it were not for her, for Jean, I think I would have died.

She really saved me from a lot, Jean did and we really got to be good friends inside of about a month. We had lunch together, every day, that sort of thing.

At that point in time, I was rather lost. I didn't really know what I was doing there, in Baltimore, why I had come, what could make me want to stay.

I wasn't having a whole lot of faith in the academic community. I was reading a lot of Doris Lessing and beginning to see things in a different way.

So, all of this was coming down on me and I was feeling very insecure and so it turned out that I really needed a little mothering and Jean was very maternal.

I don't know if she realized herself what was going on, but she was the sort of person who was perfectly willing to be anyone's mother and that was fine.

So since I wanted someone to be my mother, she was a perfectly acceptable surrogate and I was quite happy to have her with me. I really was quite happy.

She shared with me all of my anxieties and everything worked out between us quite well. Then, a rather interesting thing happened. She found a man.

Well, now, I'm not prepared really to discuss the various aspects of this relationship, the possible lesbian aspects and all of that, I don't think of that as having much bearing upon the subject at hand, which is my father fixation.

Some other time I'll come in and we can talk all about the lesbian aspects of my attraction to women like Jean. But I want to get to the point and the point is Barry.

Barry was Jean's boyfriend. Still is, as far as I know, for they were the couple who emerged from the scandal much stronger and one friend poorer.

Or rather, I was two friends poorer, myself, for of course the two of them really refused to have anything to do with me after all of this had come to pass.

And who can blame them. Specifically, who can blame Jean. I can't blame her. I'm sure that I would have had the same reaction if I were her, probably even worse.

So there was Barry and Barry was the boy that Jean was going out with, just in the middle of our real intimacy. She was really wild about Barry.

"I met this guy the other day," she said, "I think that for once this is someone who is not an asshole. I think this one is the real article."

We were forever talking about guys being assholes and lamenting that neither of us was ever able to find a guy who wasn't just a complete creep.

It turns out that this Barry, this dude, was someone she met at a party for something or other and he was this poet, enrolled in Hopkins's creative writing program.

No kidding, that's the truth. A real live poet. And of course, the way that Jean was about things, she could only fall in love with a poet. No question about that.

So he's a poet and the two of them are really in love. Jean just disappeared for awhile, just vanished and I didn't see her for a couple of weeks.

Then she re-emerged and I could tell from the way that she was behaving that she was really in love. She was positively glowing.

Clearly, she was in love. I was very pleased for her, but I was also aware that I was losing a friend, a parent. Losing her, in a way.

At least, I was losing one friend until I gained a lover and that was when I finally met Buddy. I think I understand now why Jean was so reluctant for us to meet.

Wow, what a guy. No kidding, what a guy. I can't even explain to you how wonderful he was, how sympathetic, how intelligent and how good looking.

Oh, he was incredibly good looking, that was one of the things about him that you noticed right off the bat, but you also noticed his intelligence.

He just looked intelligent. He really did. People who look that way are rare. Rarely do you meet people with whom you are immediately in love.

That was it, I was immediately in love with him. Right from the very beginning, I could tell that Barry and I had a great deal in common.

I could just tell. It was unnecessary even to talk to him about it. He just was the most wonderful man I have ever met, he really was. No question about that.

He understood everything about me that Jean missed. He answered to all of my emotional needs, in a way that she could not. I became quite attracted to him.

Yes, I grew quite fond of Barry. I was in love with him from the very first, I suppose and no doubt this was because I could not have him.

No doubt. I mean, I even knew about it at the time, I knew what I was doing, but I went ahead and did it, nonetheless. I just went ahead and did it.

I don't know why I was so hot on self abuse at the time. I really didn't understand then and I don't think that I understand now. But the thing was, I was in love with him and that was a real hassle. Especially considering my friendship with Jean.

But he knew. As much as I decided to suppress my feelings, he spotted them right away, because Barry is nothing if not a sexual being.

He's the sort of man who can look at a woman and know right away what it is that he wants from her and whether or not she will be able to give it.

I could see him undressing me on that very first day. I could see him deciding that I was this kind of lay or that kind of lay. I could see him thinking it.

Also, I could see that he was going to let me have him. I could see that. He wasn't going to make the first move, but he was going to take me up on it when I made the first move.

And we both knew right away that I was going to make that move. And of course I did. I hardly waited any time at all. I hardly even waited.

He and Jean had moved in together, so passionately were they thought to be in love and one day I went over there, on the pretense of seeing her and yet I knew she would be out.

Of course I knew and he knew I knew and we more or less dispensed with formalities and got right down to business, because there was no time to waste, really.

He was ready for me. It was as if he had expected me to arrive on that very day and he was looking just as virile and as sexy as he can look.

He was exuding sexual appeal and all I could do was stand there and wonder how big his cock was, because he looked like he would have a big one.

Do you see? I'm not an unintelligent woman, but all I could do was stand there and wonder how big the guy's crack was. And he knew it, too.

He just undressed. He stood in front of me and he was only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, not any shoes, not even any underwear and he undressed.

He stood naked before me in almost no time at all. My God, it was wonderful. He was beautiful to look at, a very hard muscled man. And he said, "Now you."

I looked at him, a little shy. "Come on," he said, "we haven't really got that much time, now it's your turn. Go ahead and strip."

Well, I'll tell you, I was a little embarrassed, because my nipples were burning and I was wet between the legs. I mean, he had an erection, but still.

A sizeable erection, I must say, as large as any I can ever remember seeing. And I was so wet between my legs that I was quite embarrassed.

He seemed to sense that. He said, "I like the smell. Please." He didn't move near me, but just stood across from me and waited.

I felt a little bit like an animal caged in a zoo, watching this man watch me and then all myself consciousness left me. Something about him made me feel good about sex and I was no longer self conscious at all. So I just stripped.

I took off my shirt and lay it aside and he watched me. My nipples burned inside of my bra and the dampness between my legs was considerable.

He watched my movements, his cock seeming to register his pleasure at the sight of me, for it throbbed and seemed to hop up and down with excitement.

That is to say, it was not wholly stationary. I mean, it didn't actually bounce up and down, but with the blood pulsating through it, it did move, it throbbed with his pulse and so his pulse, I gather, quickened at the sight of me.

Well, of course I found this highly flattering and I was less and less concerned with my body and undressed more and more quickly, wanting him.

Jesus, I wanted him. I don't think I had ever before had a moment of just pure sexuality as I had that day, simply wanting him to fuck me.

It was the first meaningful fuck I ever had, that one, the first that ever mattered to me beyond the mechanics of the thing, that day with Barry.

I watched him watching me and I became excited all the more so, sharing in his excitement. His erection was strong and tall and he looked perfectly at ease with himself.

That was the thing about him that I think I found most attractive and I am certain that it was the thing about him that Jean found most attractive: he was a real man.

In saying that, I don't mean to denigrate other men, I just mean to say that he was the sort of man who was both sensitive and manly at the same time.

I mean he had a highly emotional sensibility, but at the same time he exuded the kind of masculinity that makes you feel good about your sexuality.

He made me feel good about my sexuality, because he was perfectly comfortable with himself, sexually. He exuded, I guess, a kind of sexual authority.

I submitted completely to that authority. I wanted him, very badly. I was naked and wet between my legs and my nipples were burning. I walked to him and we embraced.

He put his arms around me and slid his tongue back into my mouth. I could feel his cock against my thighs, hard and big, wet at its tip.

His mouth was wet, too, sliding into my mouth, kissing me, sucking on my lips and on my tongue, his big arms around my back.

My groin burned with heat and with excitement. That whole area of my body was consumed with a kind of fire, that I was unable to extinguish without his help.

Yet he wanted to take it very slowly, as if, in not having all that much time together, we had to make each minute really last. He moved his hands over me, caressing my whole body.

His hands moved down to my ass and he took my buttocks in his fists and squeezed them, kneading and caressing them and pulling my hips into his own.

His hard cock pressed along my thighs and up to my stomach. I could feel a little stain of wetness from his spreading over my stomach, just around my navel.

His hands moved over and over my buttocks, stroking and kneading them and they moved down my thighs and back up my body to my breasts, which were hot and excited.

My nipples were terribly erect and hot and they ached and burned with pleasure. When he put his hands over them, I nearly called out.

He rested his palms over my nipples and moved his hands around in circles, slowly over my pointed nipples, rubbing them, creating a friction.

I was on fire with heat and with excitement, my nipples standing tip as if pressing hard against their very skin, shivering beneath his palms.

My nipples, all sensitive and excited, tickled and ached under the pressure of his palms, as I am told a man's glans will shiver when a hand is run roughly over top of it.

I moved my hands down his back to his buttocks and pulled our hips together and moved our hips around and around in circles, sliding my flesh over his cock.

His cock still pressed up against my stomach and as I moved our hips in circles, his cock slid up and down against me, filling up with fluids.

Barry pushed away from me, took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom, where he lay me down on the bed and entered me, slowly and carefully.

It was good to have him inside of me. He filled me, and once inside, moved very slowly back and forth with me, clutching me and thrusting his cock in and out of me.

I moaned and shivered and took him, arching my back to him, moving my hips with his, back and forth on the bed, as the two of us lay on our sides and fucked.

I groaned softly to myself and he panted, ramming the hardness of his big cock in and out and in and out of me, over and over again.

It didn't take him long to reach his climax, which was hard and fast, wads of semen gushing out of him like oil out of a derrick.

Then, realizing that I had not yet reached my climax, he moved his hand down to my clitoris and slid his fingers over it, working up and down the length of it.

He stroked my clit, sliding his fingers over its head, running his fingers up and down it and I threw back my head and moaned with pleasure.

I sighed and thrust my hips at him, frantically, as he played with my clit and brought me finally to orgasm. It was the best that I had ever had.

After that, of course, we had to pull ourselves together and we were dressed and organized just in time to look as if nothing at all had happened, when Jean walked in the door.

I see now that my time for this session has run out, Doctor, though I haven't quite finished, with this tale and have yet another to tell. Next session will have to be rather a productive one. I think. Well then, until then.

INTERVIEW TWO

The next time Lara came to see me she was no less agitated than she had been at first. In fact, she was not finally calm until the very end of the session.-

It was as if there were demons possessing her, whom she had to exorcise in order to go on living normally and happily. By the end of this session, I think she succeeded, to a great extent.

So that was that. So much for it, you might think. Well, not necessarily. For one thing, just as soon as we had gotten ourselves together, Jean arrived.

She returned from wherever she had been, somewhere teaching classes, I think and she looked at the two of us and she just knew.

Well, she would have to have known. I would have thought the less of her and I suppose that Barry would have, as well, if she had not known.

But then, for that matter, I suppose it was ridiculously obvious. I suppose there was no way at all that anyone could not have known.

It was written all over our faces. It was just clearly in the air. Fortunately, however, Jean didn't go into it right then and there. She didn't go into, on the spot.

She just sort of let it pass, arid waited for me to leave, and well, then everything fell apart. Then everything went all to hell.

I never did get a chance to see Barry after that, but from what Jean later said to me, in the one time that she would bring herself to speak to me after the incident, he must have led her to believe that I had initiated the whole thing.

He must have led her to believe that I had been responsible, had seduced him. I don't know how she could have believed that, but she did.

Well, anyway, the point is, this is just typical. It happens to me all the time. It has happened before and I suppose that it may happen again.

I mean, I hope not. That's one of the reasons why I've come to see you, right? To see that something like this doesn't recur? Isn't that right?

Well. Anyway. You know. That was the end of that and I was cut off from my friends and suffering, needing a man, needing some comforting.

I left Baltimore that spring and moved to Manhattan and then I turned around and did the classic thing, I fell in love with a guy just a week too late.

It was so twisted, the way that I went about it, so completely twisted. I really don't quite understand what was going on in my head, at the time, I really don't.

I mean, you're supposed to be able to tell me that, right? Presumably, that's why I came here. Although you don't ever really say anything.

I was telling myself, after the disaster of that relationship, that I was not going to get involved with another man for a very long time.

Every time that I get involved with men it seems only to spell trouble, so I was telling myself that I was going to have nothing to do with a man.

Or rather, I was telling myself that I was going to have nothing to do with another father figure, for I'm prone to fall only for men who have just the right kind of authority.

I mean, maybe I figure that I really shouldn't have them, because in some way I'm thinking that it's incestuous for me to want to sleep with men who are like fathers.

Maybe I pick these father figures to be losers. I mean, maybe I see a man I know I'm not going to be able to work out things with and bestow upon him my vision of my father, so that of course I want, from the very beginning, to suffer in the relationship because subconsciously I'm telling myself that I can't want my father.

Do you understand? I mean that perhaps what I'm doing is wanting a father and wanting at the same time to punish myself for wanting one.

So what I do is choose a man with whom my relationship is going to turn out badly and then, I guess, whether he is a father figure or not, turn him into one in my imagination.

That way, I am assured ahead of time that the relationship is going to fail and so I have the luxury of being able to know that I'm going to suffer for wanting something I feel that I shouldn't have. You see?

I mean, that's a part of it, certainly and another part of it is wanting what I can't have. I mean, I think that's the basic motif, wanting what I can't have.

Obviously I can't want my father, society won't allow it, I won't allow it, he won't allow it, a lot of filings won't allow it.

So, since that's what I really want, well, then, I know that I shouldn't and so, symbolically, in order to have my father, in a way, I have men I know I won't be able to have.

I have men who are already attached, or in the process of becoming attached and this is a watered down version of wanting one's father, this is simply a way of going through life wanting people whom one knows better than to want.

And of course the next guy I ran into, the one after Barry, the one in Manhattan, was also in part a punishment for having put myself through Barry.

Because you see, I could probably have had Denny from the very beginning, but I didn't want him until he was unavailable to me. I didn't want him until I knew that I couldn't have him anymore. That is about how it works out, you see?

Denny worked in a bookstore on the upper West side. He was a very political sort, very involved, very active, a bit of a communist, I think.

At least, he impressed me as being rather radical, because of course I had never had anything to do with radical politics, not in the least.

And he was this very intelligent, very striking, very solicitous man from South Africa, a black man who wore little round glasses that glinted in the light.

I met him in the bookstore one day, when he and another woman were arguing about something and he was being incredibly rude to this woman.

She was a graduate student from Columbia, I think, something of that ilk and she and he argued loudly and for a very long time about arms, about disarmament and the price one has to pay to gain social and political and economic equality.

Well, that sort of thing. A little naive, I thought, but nonetheless, I stood and listened, fascinated by the argument, interested in the man.

For you see, he was being brutal to this woman. He was treating her as if she were just this upper middle class white bitch, this liberal, this idealist.

And he was taking this incredibly arrogant stance, all about his experiences with the Apartheid government in South Africa and he was treating her as if she, a product of an upper middle class American home, could not possibly know a thing about suffering, or about revolution.

Oh, he was just as silly and just as obnoxious as she, in his own way, but the difference between them was that his smile said he knew the argument was absurd, while she was so earnest and so self absorbed that she didn't realize how it appeared to an outsider.

I listened for a long time and I was irritated by the way this man treated the woman, perhaps all the more so because I suspected he knew that they were making fools of themselves in which case, I thought, he might at least have been kinder to her, since if nothing else her heart was in the right place, even if her thoughts were jumbled.

And so, out of contempt for this man, though certainly not out of sympathy for the woman, I stepped forward and began to argue with him, underscoring her right to her own feelings and pointing out to him that, in denigrating her, he himself was practicing a certain form of bigotry no less dishonorable than that bigotry practiced by whites in South Africa.

The woman, at first grateful to me, but, finally, understanding that there was something of my advocacy of her position finally rather hostile to her, eventually withdrew and I was left alone with this very arrogant man, who smiled at me, his eyes twinkling behind those frameless glasses, a large, beautiful, authoritative black man.

As it turned out he was pleased that I had challenged him. "You speak very intelligently for so beautiful a woman," he said, smiling.

To which I responded, "And you speak rather well for a black man, though not as well as you might if you were really interested in ideas."

I scored with that jibe. For you see, I felt that his labeling me a beautiful woman who speaks surprisingly well was no less a putdown than the attitude some people affect towards blacks, that he's-not-bad-for-a-coon attitude which emerged everywhere and especially where you least expect it. So I just threw right back at him what he had used against me.

Of course, he understood. If he had not, I would not have been able to respond to him as warmly as I did, for I have no use for dishonest people.

But he understood. He even asked me out for drinks later on that night and I accepted-this after we had conversed a little and I had not yet altered my tone of contempt for him.

However, we became friends, very good friends. As soon as I found out that he was unattached, of course, our relationship turned strictly platonic and remained so.

For a time I think he suspected that I treated him as a brother because he was black, that I was afraid of him for that reason, although that was not the case.

There was no reason why I should not have been attracted to him, except that he was available. He was everything I like in a man and a little arrogant, to boot, arrogant in a way that I admire, in a way that I accept.

But he was, as I said, available. He made that rather clear to me, but I had no interest in him at the time. I told him that I had just been through a bad time and that I needed to convalesce and that I wasn't in the market for a boyfriend.

He seemed to accept this explanation and after a time he left me alone, though he did try rather hard for awhile to see if he could break down my defenses.

But he failed. I'm very much the sort of person who can't sleep with someone I find emotionally attractive, and as an available man, Denny was not emotionally attractive to me.

So we remained friends, for quite some time. Very good friends. He used to tell me that I was the first woman he met with whom he became, simply, friends.

Well, I was proud of that. I was not actively aware, you understand, of why it was that I didn't want to sleep with him. I just saw it as a reaction to the experience with Buddy and nothing more. I hadn't yet figured out about my father fixation.

If I had been a little more self aware, at the time, of course I would have recognized at once that I was a fool not to take Denny up on his offers.

He was a beautiful man and very intelligent, desirable in every way. I really let that one go by, but maybe I had to, to see finally the truth about my inclinations.

Yeah, maybe I had to lose a guy like Denny to realize finally the folly of my ways. That's some small consolation, but it's the best that I can do.

Because right after the experience of losing him, of course, I was driven back upon myself in a way that I had never been before and forced to look at what it was that I was after and I think that's when I first started to see that I had some serious problems.

I think that was when I began to figure out what was happening. It was really a blow to realize that I really was attracted to Denny and the way that I figured it out was quite revealing. It made it clear to me what was going on in my head.

Denny started going around with this lovely black woman, someone he had met at some kind of political rally somewhere. She was really beautiful.

She, too, was from South Africa and she was the most intelligent, independent, forward moving, clear headed, beautiful individual, male or female, I have ever met.

She was remarkable. I loved her and I could see why Denny certainly would love her. But the minute that the two of them became lovers, I wanted him.

Yes, the instant that I realized the two of them were sleeping together, all of my feelings for him changed and I wanted him, sexually, very badly.

It happened just like that and it was so sudden and so immediate and so obviously brought on by his taking up with this woman, that I couldn't help but see some correlations.

Mind you, I didn't understand right away what it was that motivated my reaction, but I understood that something had and I was determined to find out what it was.

For you see, I was miserable from the moment that I learned Denny had found a woman. I was destitute. It was as if I had been in love with him and he had thrown me over.

But of course that was wrong, of course that feeling was completely off base. Try and tell me that I was wrong headed and I can only agree with you.

We weren't lovers, most emphatically because I would not permit it and I felt towards him as I might feel towards a brother, or a very close friend.

But I just went out of my mind the minute that I found out about this woman. I just went completely out of my mind. It was amazing.

I stayed up all night, unable to sleep, thinking about Denny. Every night, I would lie awake in my bed until three or four in the morning, unable to think of anything but him. It was appalling, really, totally appalling.

There wasn't any excuse for my behavior towards Denny and I knew it and I was determined that he should have no knowledge of what was running through my head.

I saw less of him, of course, because he was in love, but also because I was, too, incredibly, in love with him the whole time, but not reasonably.

It reached the point where I recognized that something had to be done about it, something had to be done about my desire for Denny.

It was tearing me apart, this urge, it was driving me out of my mind. I had to find some way to quench my need for him and so I found another man to sleep with.

Thinking, perhaps, that it was his blackness that excited me-for you see, I was still at this point unable to see the logic behind my actions and I was casting about in the dark, as it were, for something to hold onto-I decided to go out and find a black man and sleep with him. That was my idea of a resolution.

I must say, I was wholly conventional in the way in which I went about it. What a lapse in imagination that was, unquestionably. Quite a lapse.

This is what I did: I went out and I found the biggest, tallest, sexiest black stud I could find, with the biggest, longest, uncut prick and I fucked him.

I fucked him insensible. He fucked me insensible. Then we regained our senses and fucked some more. Let me tell you about that, for in itself it bears telling.

Where was I going to find a large black man with a big, thick, uncut dick. I'm not kidding you, I was slightly hysterical, this was the sort of thought that was running through my head

Well, I hadn't exactly been a social butterfly and so there weren't that many possibilities for me socially. I just kept my eye open, I guess that's about all.

I mean, it wasn't something I thought about consciously, but somewhere in the back of my mind there was the awareness that this was what I was looking for.

Yes, I was aware of it, enough to know when I ran into the right man that he was indeed the right man and that all I had to do was take the offer.

I met him on the subway. He may have told him his name but I don't now remember it and he probably doesn't remember mine. Anyway, names were unimportant.

What I clearly remember was sitting on the seventh avenue IRT and becoming aware that the man sitting in the seat across from me had a sizeable bulge in his jeans.

He wore his jeans very tight and I thought, well, probably he's gay and I dismissed it from my mind, but then I became aware that he was staring at me.

I raised my head to meet his eyes and he was clearly staring at me. Everyone else in the car must have noticed. It was a hot and burning stare.

His eyes burned into mine. That was when I understood that the man, in spite of the tight blue jeans and the prominent bulge, was not gay.

That was when I understood, with a dampness between my legs, that he meant business. And he understood, as well, that I wanted him.

You know how those unspoken arrangements are made. I simply nodded to him, concentrated on some piece of paper of the floor of the car, ignoring him and then, when the train pulled into my stop and I got out, I realized that he had gotten out as well.

The two of us walked to the steps and up off the platform and then out into the street and that was when he walked up alongside me and smiled.

We didn't say a lot. It was a very strange encounter and I'm still not wholly convinced that I didn't dream it. It just all happened so easily.

We walked to my apartment building and up the stairs to my apartment. It was late in the afternoon, in about February and it was already dark outside.

My legs were wet with the dampness from my cunt and his cock was showing hard against his trousers. I wanted to suck his cock.

I have never been taken before with the urge to suck someone's cock, but I really wanted to suck his. I wanted to suck it until it dried up and fell off of him.

Yes, I must say, I was pretty excited and clearly he was excited, as Well. Without saying a word to one another, we quickly undressed and then I got a look at him.

His cock was unbelievable. It was long and thick and deep black, blacker than the rest of him, uncut and throbbing with excitement.

I think I must have gasped. It was just exactly what I had envisioned and I found myself thinking that Denny could not possibly have a cock like that.

I didn't think many men in the world could have cocks like that. It was so large and so black and so delicious looking. I moved straight to him, fell to my knees and slid my lips over the head of his big, thick cock.

His foreskin stretched back away from the tip of his cock and the very head of his glans was exposed. I darted my tongue into the slit over the very head of his glans.

He stood still, caressing my hair and saying, "Oh, yeah, baby, oh, yeah." He said that over and over again. He had a deep, seductive voice.

I liked the sound of his voice, it was rich like something thick and cloying on your spoon, like honey or dark, dark molasses, slow and soothing and good.

He stroked my hair and murmured things, as I played with his balls and sucked on the huge shaft of his cock. His balls were weighty and they hung quite low between his legs, but the more I sucked them, the farther they pulled up under the shaft of his cock, between his thighs, hard and hot together. I rubbed them and licked them.

I licked the shaft of his cock, running my tongue slowly up the underside of it, from the base of it to its very tip, long, slow, luxuriating licks.

The underside of his cock was coated with my saliva and it was thick with his own lubricating fluids, which oozed down from the top of his cock.

I licked it slowly, tracing my tongue over the veins which covered his cock. I slid my mouth down over the tip of his cock and sucked on it.

His foreskin fascinated me and I tried to work my tongue under the lip of it, to suck inside the rim of his big, thick black cock. What a cock.

He stroked my head and then reached down with his hands, to touch my nipples. His arms were very long and his fingers reached my nipples.

He twisted my nipples in his fingers, between the thumbs and forefingers of both hands and then he slid his palms all over my aching and excited breasts.

He pulled my up to my feet, his cock still hot and hard and kissed me, so that I spread his own juices into his mouth. His hands still moved over and over my breasts, caressing then and stroking them very gently. It was terribly exciting.

His tongue moved into the back of my mouth, to my throat and he moved his lips over and over mine and then, slowly, sank to his knees, to lick my cunt.

My cunt was wet with fluids and both my outer and inner lips were swollen and hot and my clit was engorged. I trembled with pleasure at the feel of his long tongue, pushing its way into me, over my outer lips and then over my inner lips, darting up into my slit and then over and over the head of my engorged clit.

He licked me thoroughly, with enjoyment, spending time sliding his tongue over the red wrinkles of my inner lips and moving his lips down over the head of my clit, to flick at it with his tongue. I moaned and pressed my hips into his face.

When I was uncertain that I would be able to stand it any longer, he rose to his feet and told me to get down on my hands and knees on the floor. He wanted to take me from behind. I thought for a moment that he was going to fuck me up the ass, but he didn't want to do that, he just wanted to mount me as a dog mounts a bitch in heat.

Well, it was very much that way. He was a dog and I was a bitch in heat. That was more or less the point of the encounter, from the very beginning.

The point had been to be rather animalistic about the whole thing and so when he wanted to fuck me that way, I felt perfectly willing to comply.

I got on the floor, on my hands and knees and stuck my ass up in the air behind me. My cunt was wet and very nearly winking at him.

I wanted him inside of me, very badly and I wanted it done as quickly and as decisively as possible. I wanted to feel as if I had really been fucked.

I was down on my hands and knees like a bitch in heat, as I said and he was standing behind me, his big prick hanging between his legs, ready to mount me.

I think I was even panting like a dog. I think perhaps I was even drooling. In any case I was clearly excited, very, very excited, hot and wet.

I felt his hands on my ass, stroking my flesh and then his hot breath on the back of my neck. He held the head of his cock in one hand and moved it slowly over my cunt, over the head of my clit and over my inner lips. He teased me with it.

My clit ached and inside my cunt I felt a need to have him. I wanted him to fill me up, I wanted him all the way inside of me.

Slowly, he pressed his cock up into my hole. I had to make room for him, but the room was there to make, to my excitement and his evident pleasure.

Slowly, easily, he worked more and more of himself into me. I could feel myself spreading wide to take him. My legs were spread wide and my palms were planted firmly on the floor, so that I could brace myself against him.

Finally he was all the way inside of me, heavily and swiftly and I groaned with a terrible pleasure and a definite excitement, feeling the bigness of him inside me.

He was big and hard and hot and I was full of him. It was a Very intense, very liberating feeling, to have the man all the way inside of me like that.

I shivered with pleasure and then he began moving in and out of me, slowly, at first, but with increasing speed and intensity, harder and faster.

He reached forward with his hands to grasp my breasts and he held them and kneaded them unmercifully, squeezing and caressing them, playing with them.

At the same time, he drove his hips forward into me and then withdrew and then went in again and then pulled back a little further and then again plunged into me.

My hips bounced back up at him, to meet his movements. I groaned and panted with excitement. My groin was on fire, like nothing I have ever known before.

Harder and faster he thrust, almost barking, like a dog and holding onto my breasts, as I pushed my hips back up at him, thrusting up at him, backwards, to meet his thrusts.

His movements grew more hurried and desperate. He panted and his thrusts were hard and irregular, very deep and then shallow and deep again.

Then he let loose with three very minor thrusts, almost spasms more than actual thrusts and I could feel him shooting off inside of me.

Spurt, spurt, spurt, three heavy gobs of semen emptied into me and I sighed and shivered with satisfaction as I experienced a deep, powerful, vaginal orgasm.

My hips and my groin and my cunt were all alive with excitement and with the kind of intense pleasure that I hadn't known in quite some time.

Slowly, we collapsed together on the floor. But it went on. It went on after that for several hours. I sucked his cock, he ate me out. I stuffed my fingers up his ass and pumped until he came, he fucked me up the ass.

We took each other in every imaginable way and then we slept and when I woke up he was gone and that was that. My first and last anonymous encounter.

Well, after that experience, Doctor, you can imagine that I had a lot of thinking to do, a lot of figuring out. What exactly had I accomplished?

And this is what I realized. I realized that I had enjoyed my encounter with this man, largely because he was, also, forbidden to me, in many ways.

Not because he was black, but rather, because he was someone I picked up on the subway and I am ordinarily quite scrupulous about such things.

Ordinarily, that is not something that I would do, not at all, but I had done it and I had enjoyed it immensely. And when I saw Denny again-the acid test-I was surprised to discover that I still wanted him, but in a different way.

I felt about him as one feels about a missed opportunity and it was not with the previous, carnal desire that I longed for him, but with a sort of wistful sadness.

I thought all this over and I realized that I had been naming my affliction incorrectly, that it was not self abuse I craved as much as self denial.

For I was happiest, with Denny, in those moments of near sexual hysteria when I wanted him so badly and could not have him. With Barry, of course, being forced from him was torture. But having that other man, whose name I did not know, knowing from the outset that it would only be a one night stand and going ahead to enjoy it any way I could and with abandon, well, though he himself, or rather, the encounter was something I would not normally have allowed myself, the effect of it was that I felt good about it.

I felt good about it, in a way of having desire satisfied. I didn't have to tangle with the man, hadn't known him before, nor seen him since, I wasn't setting myself up for denial, but rather, for just a one shot deal.

And if that is that way that I must operate in order to feel normal about men, in order not to have this hysterical reaction to men, being attracted to them only if I know there is no possibility of anything but pain, well, then, so be it. I'll carry on with my anonymous encounters until I work through all this. See you, Doctor.

CASE HISTORY FOUR

Subject: Beth P. Age: Eighteen

INTERVIEW ONE

Beth is lovely to look at, delightful to know. She's just a child, but there is something so charming about her that one is tempted to treat her as an adult.

She came into the office, nearly skipping, bubbling over with joy and infectious good humor. Though she has been through a trying time, she has not turned bitter.

My sessions with her were the most enjoyable I've had in quite some time. She actually had me laughing, not out of any kind of comedy, but just because of the way in which she good naturedly faces what she has to face.

She is a young, exciting girl and her story is also very exciting.

I slept with almost every member of the immediate family before I realized that I really wanted to fuck my father. Uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, the works.

Ha ha, I wonder why it was that I had no qualms about balling other members of the family, but stopped short of my father. That's funny.

The first one was my mother's brother. My father's brother would have been better, but my father doesn't have a brother. Ha ha.

My father was an only child. My mother was not. Her brother-oh, he's much older than I am, I'm shocked to talk about it, really.

He's as old as my father. Isn't that the point? I wonder why it didn't occur to me. Probably because I was having so much fun with him. Ha ha.

He's got black hair with bits of grey in it, very distinguished. I like grey hair. I don't know why so many people get all uptight about it.

That's what drew me to him right away, all that grey hair. Whee! I love his grey hair. Of course, around his dick it's all still black, no grey there.

Nice dick, too. Boy, I liked that one. An old guy, but he could still get it up. Could he ever get it up! Boy oh boy, I couldn't keep that man down.

Not that I would want to. Hey hey! He was one good lay. I didn't know it looking at him, but I sure found out. I found out at a family picnic, on the Fourth of July.

Independence Day, ha ha, I've never thought of it that way before. I suppose it was. This was, oh, years ago, five, maybe, four, some amount of years ago. It wasn't my first time, but it was the first time I made it with a member of the family.

Don, his name is, rather a bland name, but it's the only thing about him that is bland. Married, a bitch of a wife and some sniveling little children.

Don said, "Beth, you've gotten so much larger!" They always say that, don't they? I think it's a disease. I think they're all sick with saying that.

I said, "Uncle Don, I sure could make you get larger, if you'd let me." He nearly choked on his barbecued ribs. He looked as if he thought he couldn't have heard me say that.

He said, "You talk big for a very little girl."

I said, "You look big for a very old man."

Well, he did look big. I could see the rise of excited flesh underneath his trousers and I knew what that meant. Don't I always know, ha ha.

He said, "I don't think you realize what you're talking about. You're just a child. Perhaps I'd better go on over there and talk to your Uncle Bob."

I said, "Kids mature much faster, nowadays. Tell me, how big is your cock? Have you ever measured it? Once I had a ten inch black dude up inside me."

That was a lie. The black dude was only about eight inches. Don choked. I made my point. However, as actions speak louder than words, I goosed him.

I walked up to him and ran my hand up and down his inner thigh and then I closed my hand around the lump of flesh that pointed out at me.

"Oh," I said, "it feels to me as if you might hold the family record." I giggled, pleased at the feel of him and the expression on his face.

"I should think," he said, "that the one who is doing the holding, just at the moment, is you." His face was beet red, but I could tell he was interested.

Men are easy, you can always be sure that they'll be interested, sooner or later. No kidding, they always come around. They don't always come, but they always come around.

Don had come around and I could tell that he was the kind of guy who would also be able to come. The only problem was where and when and how soon.

"Listen, honey," he said, "if you mean what you say, meet me tonight out in back, right before the fireworks display. Does that sound alright?"

That sounded nifty. I love it when a man takes charge. I knew that Don would be able to work everything out to my satisfaction. During the fireworks display it would be.

I want you to know, Doctor, that this was no small family gathering. This was our annual get together, our annual reunion and there are always dozens of people around.

I mean, there must be a couple hundred of us who get together and there are still an extra hundred of us who can't be there. Who knows how many there are who we don't even know about.

We're all very proud of our family get togethers and our reunions, it's really a big thing in the family. And there we all were that Fourth of July.

So you see, it was easy enough for two people among so many to get lost for just a little while. It was the easiest thing in the world, really.

I certainly looked forward to my little rendezvous with my Uncle Don. In the meantime, however, there was my cousin Freddy, whom I have always liked.

My cousin Freddy at the time was about nineteen and he had just come back to the US from some sort of mysterious overseas tour. He looked very good.

He had become rather dark and mysterious and rather sexy, in the time since I had last seen him. I later understood that he had been fucking his way around Europe, all the previous year.

I wanted Freddy really badly. I knew that I had to meet with Don much later, but I can go and go and go. Ha ha. I can really go.

So there was no reason for me not to want to have a go at it with Freddy. He looked as if he wanted it. I walked up to him and said, "Can I suck your cock?"

Freddy is very cool, very, very cool and he looked at me and said, "Sure." I admire that, the way that some guys can just nod their heads and let you get on with it.

There was no kidding around with Freddy. I took him by the hand and led him upstairs to my bedroom and I had his pants and his shorts to his knees in record time.

Freddy is very dark and very handsome. He has brown skin and he has a brown cock. I like to suck on it. Even now, I see him occasionally and I suck his cock.

I do it for old time's sake. But this was the first time and it was new to me. I was pretty excited about it. It was rumored that his cock had been in and out of the best courtesans in France. Now it was to be in and out of me.

I made him lie down on the bed. I got up on top of him, straddled him and proceeded to lick his balls. He had big, weighty balls and I licked and sucked them.

I slid my tongue over them, over and over again, in long, slow, luxuriating licks, smearing my saliva all over the sac that contained his big balls.

The shaft of his cock hopped up and down as I licked his balls and I understood that so far I was doing a pretty good job. I mean, the guy had had European tongues all over him and mine was merely an American one. I wanted to impress him.

I licked the insides of his thighs and I made him spread his legs really wide so that I could nip at the flesh of his inner thighs, taking it in my teeth.

His cock bobbed up and down. It was filled with warm blood, pulsating through it and I moved my fingers lightly over the underside of it.

Bits of fluid bubbled out of the tip of this guy's cock and I smeared the stuff down the length of the underside of his cock, getting him all wet.

He shivered and giggled and I could tell that he was pretty excited. I was pretty excited, too. I had never really had such a wonderful cock, before.

It was such a young, delicious cock. It really was delicious, I have to say that. It tasted very good. I enjoyed every lick of that young, delicious cock.

It was so brown and good. I slid my tongue up and down the underside of it, taking long, slow licks, tasting him, moving my fingers over his flat belly.

I kind of wished that I had asked for more than just to suck his cock, because I really would have liked to do the works, take the whole body on.

His whole body is really very nice and it would have been gratifying to have had the chance really to check the whole thing out. But alas, just his cock.

Not as if his cock wasn't enough, ha ha! His cock was more than enough. I moved my tongue up and down the length of the underside of it, enjoying him immensely.

I moved the tip of my tongue along his veins, tracing them and I flicked the tip of my tongue at his glans, the purple, excited tip of his hot, hard cock.

Freddy was getting a little excited. I could tell. He was getting just a little horny and excited. I had the feeling he couldn't stand much more.

I thought he had a pretty short fuse, for someone who was renowned as a womanizer, but no matter. He had a long cock. I could deal with the short fuse.

I moved my mouth over the tip of his cock and licked around the rim of his glans. I flicked the tip of my tongue in and out of the slit in the top of his glans.

He moaned. His hands were at his sides and I could see that he was clenching his fists. He really was excited. I could feel the tension in his stomach muscles.

I was encouraged. I thought, if I can make Freddy really happy, well, then, I can make anyone really happy and I redoubled my efforts.

I ducked down so that my head moved all the way up against his stomach, taking his cock as far back into my mouth as I could, very far back.

I could feel all his pubic hairs against my cheeks. He has thick, black, bushy pubic hair. Black hair runs in the family, I guess.

The hair was nice against my cheeks. It tickled and I thought that that was kind of neato. I was pretty excited and so was he, pretty excited.

Up and down on his cock I slowly bobbed my head, sucking him and licking him. I clasped one hand around the base of his cock and pumped up and down on it.

I moved my hand up and down the shaft of his cock, in time to the movements of my mouth, down on him and then up away from him. It was a very tasty experience.

Freddy was beside himself. He really was. His back arched up off the bed and he said, "Stick your finger up my ass. Do it now. Now!"

He was rather excited. I thought this an interesting perversion, but of course I have since discovered that some men possess a fierce anal eroticism.

Freddy is one of those men. He introduced me to that sideline and I was only too willing to comply to his demands. I thought that this was something he had probably learned in Europe and I did not want to appear provincial, so I did as he asked.

I wet one of my fingers and moved it up to his buttocks. His asshole was loose and ready for me and I slowly slid my finger into

Carefully and slowly, so as not to hurt him, I slid my finger into his asshole, moving it up into the depths of him and sliding it around.

He didn't have to tell me what to do. I understood immediately just how much pressure to apply and just how to use this ringer that I now had wedged in his asshole.

I pumped it carefully up and down and little and then I moved it around in circles and then I just sort of held it there and went to work on his cock.

I really sucked on his cock and moved my mouth and my hand up and down and up and down upon it, sucking and licking as hard as I could.

He moaned and he moved his hips up and down, riding on top of the finger which I had up inside of his asshole. He pumped up and down on top of it.

He fucked my finger, I guess. Ha ha. I mean, in a way. Or rather, I fucked his ass with my finger while he fucked my mouth with his dick.

Well, anyway, that thing was that we had several holes filled and several things inside of them and we were moving on the bed and he was thrusting up and down.

He bounced up and down and I pumped my mouth and my hand furiously up and down on his cock, sucking on him and I could feel the semen pumping up through his shaft.

I could also feel the muscles inside his asshole quivering and contracting and I understood that for Freddy, his orgasm happened in his ass as well as in his cock.

I mean, all the muscles were connected. Anyway, that was the way it went, we were working together and suddenly he let out a yell and I knew that he was coming.

He unloaded a good wad of semen into my mouth, spurt, spurt, spurt and I sighed, enjoying it, lapping it up, swallowing it, gulp, gulp, gulp.

Freddy is my mother's other brother's son, Bob's son, Don's nephew. I was thinking, wow, I hope it's half this much fun to fuck his uncle!

INTERVIEW TWO

Wow, I kind of got sidetracked there with talking all about Freddy and I really meant to tell you all about Don. Or rather, I meant to tell you all about this father fixation.

Well, I mean, I really want to ball my father. What can I say? Like I told you, it took a long time for me to really understand that, but now I do.

I mean, I'm only able here to tell you about a few, isolated incidents, but on the whole, it's happened more times than I can count.

I mean, it's not that I'm attracted solely to older men, it's just this thing about members of the family, though many of them are much older.

When, finally, I realized that it was my father I wanted, well, that solved a lot of things. Really, that made many things much easier.

What happened with my father was that I walked in on him one day while he was beating off. He was lying on his bed with his sausage in his hands, pummeling it.

Wow. I got so wet and so excited, that I had to run back to my room. I mean, I came on the spot, I didn't even have to touch myself. And that was when I knew.

Since then, of course, I've had sex with just older men and no longer with members of the family, now that I understand about my father.

I mean, I ball men like you. Men about your age, about as interesting and exciting as you are. Men just about like you, Doctor Harding. Maybe later, huh?

So anyway, I jumped ahead of myself, there and I wanted to tell you all about Don, which was really the only reason that I wanted to come here. This story about Don, well, it's a real mind blower, it's really rather interesting and it's worth repeating. I've waited all this time to tell someone.

Like I said, we had arranged to meet out back in the meadow and to ball, right before the fireworks display. Doesn't that sound exciting?

He was there, just as he promised that he would be. The meadow behind our house is really quite considerable, quite large and quite lush.

It's all green and overgrown with grass and with trees and it smells very good around the late spring and the early summer and in July, it smells like gardenias.

It's a wonderful place, I like to be there, I always feel good when I'm there, I really do. And to be there with Don, well, that was a bonus.

He's old enough to be my father, but he's really a very well put together man, still fit and very handsome, as are all the men on my mother's side of the family.

Yes, very handsome and very sexy in his own rather conservatively dressed way, handsome and very intelligent and that's important too.

I mean, it's important to be fucking a mind and not just a body. You know what I mean? It's important to have some intelligence between your legs.

And of course Don is rather intelligent and so that was good. I mean, we weren't going to be doing a lot of talking, or anything, but you know.

Anyway, I've always thought that it was the ones who had brains who really knew how to use their dicks. Does that make sense to you?

Like you Doctor, you have a brain, I bet you really know all the moves to make so that your woman will really feel very good in bed with you.

I bet you've got a big dick, too. I bet it's just huge. I bet it's ever hugger right now. Ha ha! Well, anyway, to get on with the story.

There Don and I were, in the meadow and it was rather late at night, I'd say that it was about ten o'clock. I'd say that it was around that time.

Everyone had eaten and caroused and they were all feeling very good and they had all gathered on the lawn to watch the fireworks and the two of us were alone.

It was a balmy night, not yet humid as it gets later on in July, but nice, warm and a touch breezy, and in the meadow, at that hour, the grass was cool and a little damp beneath our feet. We walked on through the grass, to a little clearing, under a tree.

Grass, clipped short, spread around the tree and beyond the clipped grass rose all this meadow grass and so we were rather well protected, cut off from the rest of the world, just the two of us in this little clearing and that was nice.

We didn't speak, but undressed quickly and then lay down together. Our bodies were warm together and we pressed them against each other and embraced.

What a body he had, a nice, big, mature, muscular, firm body and a big, thick cock. His cock was nothing like his nephew's cock, nothing like Freddy's cock, which was brown and young.

His cock was mature, wrinkled, thick, very thick, hard and knowing. It was a different kind of thing altogether and it felt really good against my stomach.

I got wet between the legs very quickly and my nipples were burning. I pressed my hips against him, moving my hot cunt over his balls and over his thighs and pressing it against his cock.

He held me in his arms and licked my breasts and sucked on my burning nipples. There was a sliver of moon in the sky and the light shone down on us and illuminated us.

His flesh was pale in the moonlight and I tipped back my head and concentrated on the feel of his lips, moving over my nipples, sucking them and playing with them.

I moaned and ran my hands down over his back and down to his buttocks, gathering his buttocks in my palms to squeeze them and egress them.

He had a nice, firm ass and I kneaded his buttocks, enjoying myself. Yes, it was good, it was very, very nice. And all the time, he played with my tits.

My nipples were erect and they burned with excitement. He flicked his tongue at my nipples, first at one nipple and then the other and I was on fire.

You could smell me by now. I really was secreting some rather strong, excited fluids and my clit was all engorged. I held onto his buttocks and pulled my hips together with his, so that our hips could move together, as one.

Our hips moved around and around in circles and I could feel that the tip of his cock was wet against my stomach. I knew that he was ready for me, as I was ready for him.

I wanted him hard between my legs. I wanted to lie on my back and to feel him coming into me, to feel the bigness of his cock inside of me.

I rolled over on my back and begged him to fuck me, to put that big, hot thing inside of me, so that I could feel all stretched out and filled up.

He didn't need a lot of persuading. He sat back and carefully guided his cock into me and then he was on top of me, once lie had gotten himself all the way in.

He was all the way inside of me and I could feel the way that he filled me up. It was quite good. I was all stretched out to take the thickness of him.

I could feel my cunt opening up to accommodate him, getting bigger, moving out of the way of his cock and then closing over it, tightening around him.

He lay down over me and I put my hands up around his shoulders and held onto him, biting his shoulders and clinging to the back of his neck.

I ran my hands up and down his back, from his neck to his buttocks and I thrust my hips up at him as he moved in and out of me, harder and faster.

He was excited and beside himself and I could feel the tension within me mounting to an almost unbearable peak. That was when the fireworks display began.

First, a little rocket went off in the sky and then a succession of little rockets, whizzing up into the sky and bursting into little clouds, making loud, loud noises.

They were followed by longer, slower rockets, that burst into colors, with intervals between them, on rocket, then a minute of wait and then another, filling the sky each time with different colors, red, blue, yellow, orange, pink.

I lay underneath Uncle Don as he thrust into me and I watched the rockets, building towards my orgasm. And it came, I came, with the grand finale, just as the final rocket burst into the air and an image of the American flag spread across the sky.

I came, then, red, white and blue and Don shot into me: boom, boom, boom. Stars and Stripes Forever.

Catch you later, doc.

CASE HISTORY FIVE

Subject: Della R. Age: Twenty three

INTERVIEW ONE

Della bore a striking resemblance to Deborah Kerr and so it was rather difficult for me to believe her story, which concerns all kinds of sexual degradation.

She was just a pretty, prim, rather plain looking girl with a cool smile and a prudish expression, but underneath that prude, there lurked a tigress.

Della, I think, was the most surprising of all the women I dealt with, for she turned out to be just the opposite of what she seemed.

I wanted to fuck my father, ever since the day I found out that my mother was doing it regularly. The day I walked in on them, changed my life.

They didn't see me, but I saw them. And what I saw was shocking. It filled me with rage. I didn't get over it for a long, long time. Not for a long time.

Let me tell you right off the bat, I adore my father, but my mother is a whore, a bitch, a cunt, a class A hose monster, a real slut.

My mother is a cunt faced bitch. I mean, I could go on, but I think maybe you get the point. I really don't have a great deal of affection for my mother.

And why should I? She's never made any bones about her lack of interest in me. She's always treated me as if we were in competition for my father's attention.

After I finally balled my father, of course I understood why she felt she had to protect him. He's one hell of a good lay, I'll tell you that much.

So she has reasons to want to protect him, reasons to want to guard him against invasion. I mean, the man must be in a whole lot of demand.

However, I didn't know any of this until I fucked him and I had not fucked him before the day that I caught the two of them really going at it.

They were animals. My God, it filled me with rage. I could hardly breathe, I was that upset. I could hardly see. What they were doing!

The thing was, it was my mother whom I found so appalling, not my father. I could see that he knew how to behave himself, but apparently she did not.

She was, simply, out of control. She was out of her mind, yelling and screaming and making every kind of noise imaginable. It was all this noise that led me to the spot.

I was sitting in my room. I don't think they realized I was awake. I had been out very late the night before and was sleeping very late and I awoke to this noise.

It sounded as if my mother were being tortured. It sounded as if a dozen crazed men were standing around her with wet burlap sacks filled with straw and flogging her naked back.

Not that the idea of that was so repulsive to me. I would love to see my mother really get the shit knocked out of her, nothing less would do for her.

Anyway, there was this noise and of course I was interested to know exactly what it was, so I got out of bed, threw on a robe and padded out of my room.

I walked towards the noise. Clearly, it was coming from downstairs and so I walked down the stairs towards the noise and it got louder and louder.

I realized that there was another sound, not only my mother's, but a lower, harder sound, a soft sound, a masculine, breathing sound.

It sounded like a man breathing heavily and a woman screaming bloody murder. That in itself ought to have been the tip off, I suppose, I ought to have figured out what was going on, but, you know, I was sleepy and all.

I mean, it wasn't as if I didn't know what sex was, or that I had never been laid, because at this time I was no virgin. But it just hadn't occurred to me what was going on.

My mother and my father were making these noises-I mean, it was my mother, but I couldn't necessarily distinguish the breathing as my father.

In fact, getting closer and closer to the noise, I realized that my mother was having some very noisy sex and I just figured it was with someone other than my father.

That would have pleased me. I can assure you, I would have been happy to learn that my mother was balling the mailman, or the milkman, or someone.

Nothing could have been so far beneath her as to be on the floor with the milkman and I really hoped that I would find her in just this compromising position.

That was why, even after I finally realized that it was my mother fucking some man, I kept on walking towards the sound, rather than going away and leaving them alone.

I mean, it's nothing to me who fucks who, but it would have been nice to catch my mother that way and have that kind of knowledge as leverage over her.

It would have given me a little ammunition, you see? It would have made things a little easier for me, in the long run, if I had that to hold over her head.

Oh, yes, that's the kind of relationship that the two of us have, we have that kind of relationship, we're really foes, adversaries. She knows that as much as I do.

So I walked boldly into the room where this was clearly going on, the kitchen and I struck a pose in the doorway, but the pose didn't really last very long.

The pose didn't last because of course the man who was making her make noise like that was my father. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that it would be.

It was pretty stupid of me not to think that it might have been him. I do have to say that much. But as soon as I realized it was him-boy, was I floored.

I mean, they were floored, they were on the kitchen floor going at each other like a couple of wild banshees. They really were having a go at one another.

No kidding, they were very nearly out of control. Really, it was rather frightening. For a few moments, I forgot who I was and what I was doing and I just watched.

I was aghast, I was amazed, I could hardly believe my eyes. I mean, I could hardly believe my ears, either. My mother and father, going at it to beat the band.

It's funny, of course I had assumed that each of them was capable of sex. Of course I had assumed that each of them was a very sexual being.

My father, in particular, is that way and I know men are forever following my mother around at cocktail parties, hardly able to conceal their erections.

But I had simply never thought of the two of them together, fucking each other. I guess that was what you would call the primal scene, I guess that was the first time that I realized that my parents were actually still having sex with one another.

Well, now, that's something that took me a few minutes to adjust to, just the fact of the sex, just the fact itself. But then I slowly became aware of what kind of sex it was.

It was amazing sex, it was loud and hard and brutal and punishing. My father was all over my mother, his mouth at her cunt, at her breasts, at her neck.

He bit into her engorged clit and she screamed. He slapped at her breasts. He nibbled her earlobes and sucked on her nipples and pulled her hair.

My mother, screaming and enjoying every second of it, was, in turn, all over my father, with her long fingernails, digging them into his back, scratching at his balls.

She clawed his ass and stuffed fingers up his asshole. She scratched him and she bit him, she slapped him, sucked on his cock, abused him.

They rolled around on the floor like a couple of animals. My mother was wearing only a little apron, tied around her waist and I found this strange because she never wears an apron.

For that matter, she never cooks. My father does all the cooking in our family, because my mother doesn't like to cook. So why was she wearing this apron?

Then I saw this little toy gun sticking out of this kid leather holster that my father was wearing and I began to understand. I can't say that I liked what I understood, but I did, slowly, begin to understand what was going on.

But, whether or not I understood, it made very little difference to them, I can assure you. They rolled around and around on the floor, abusing each other.

And loving every minute of it. I'm sure of that. They were screaming, but they were clearly loving every minute of every single move they made.

Without quite realizing it, I was getting wet between my legs. Suddenly, I noticed. I reached down between my legs and felt my thighs and my cunt.

I was wet. I was very wet and rather hot and my clit was engorged. Clearly, I was enjoying my parents as much as they were enjoying each other.

The thing was, you see, my father. I mean, watching him just really turned me on. It was amazing. He was amazing. Watching him-well, I don't even think I can say.

What a body, what a man, what a cock. My God, what a cock. And what a body. That chest, those nipples, that ass. The whole of him was irresistible.

Yes, he was wonderful to watch and I stood with my fingers on my clit and I watched him, imagining what it would be like to have him between my legs.

For once, I tried to empathize with my mother, to feel what she was feeling. I knew that she was really getting it very, very well.

I knew that she was really getting it good and hard and fast and I wanted it, too. I fiddled with my clit until my thighs tightened, watching them.

They rolled around and around on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, playing with each other, sucking and biting and thrusting and jabbing.

I moved my fingers up and down my clit, as rapidly as I could, ready to spurt hot fluids into my palm, excited and aroused. It was terribly, terribly exciting.

I trembled. I shivered and my knees buckled. My mother got down on her hands and knees and spread her legs and my father took her from behind.

He spread her cunt lips and drive his cock hard into her, pressing harder and harder into her, driving, plunging, until I thought he would never stop.

It seemed that she was a bottomless pit and that there was no end to his cock, that he could just keep on driving into her, as hard as ever he could.

And he did just keep driving on into her, more and more of him into more and more of her, until finally he came to rest inside of her and then fucked her unmercifully.

He fucked her silly, thrusting his cock in and out and in and out of her, over and over again. She pushed her hips backwards at him, her hips jutting up into the air.

Back and back and back she thrust her hips, as he drove on into her. It was quite amazing to watch and all three of us came at once, though they didn't know I was there.

They came and I came and we all came at once and that was when I decided that the next time I had anything to do with my father, it would be with him between my legs.

THE END
Loving Daddy ....(60k)    by Unknown




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