Author: Oliver Newton Title: Sophie's Massage Subject: A father masturbates his young daughter Keywords: Mg, intimate massage, incestuous thoughts ======================== Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is a product of a fertile imagination. Under no circumstances does the author recommend or even suggest that a reader should attempt any similar behaviour or actions. Do not try this at home! ======================== I knew Sophie was enjoying the massage. I ran my hand gently along the soft inner thigh and just brushed across her labia and through the crease of her buttocks, lightly stroking her rosebud. The sensual energy was palpable as she responded to my touch. There was nothing overt or obvious, no moaning or squirming but I could feel her body responding as if a sensual gravitational force were somehow drawing my softly exploring hands to itself. My instinct told me that she was responding to what was becoming an intimate sensual massage just as any woman would, and yet my daughter was still a flat-chested, pre-pubescent child. I had already crossed a line into behaviours that any decent parent would abhor. For a long time I had been afraid to admit that she aroused me sexually. How could such a young unformed girl rouse me to such a pitch of excitement? And how could I have such intense feelings for my own daughter? Yet here I was, running my hands over my daughter's gloriously soft, smooth and oiled body, not even avoiding her most delicate erogenous zones, and becoming, as always, painfully aroused as I became aware that she was parting her thighs rather more and her labia were getting noticeably pinker and puffier. I made a few more passes from heels to shoulders by way of her inner thighs, entrancing vulval fold and prettily tempting rosebud: each time telling myself that it had to be the last and each time deferring for one more pass. She stirred and I stood back thinking that she had decided enough was enough but instead of getting up she rolled over and lay back languidly, which I gratefully took to be an invitation to continue. I applied oil to her belly and began to massage slowly, all the time aware of the soft swell of her hairless mons and the peach-cleft fold of her vulva. Almost unable to breathe I slid my hands across her belly, feeling the enticing softness of her mons and the pert attraction of her tiny nipples. The slight protrusion of her clitoral hood like a tongue tip from her labia had always excited and attracted me, though whenever I had touched that area previously she had giggled and said 'it tickles!' in a way that I felt suggested she enjoyed the sensation but was unsure of the situation. This time, however, she seemed quite relaxed, so I continued with a slowly increasing emphasis on her inner thighs, just brushing the labia as I passed, and circling her little nipples and massaging them under a finger tip. The only sign she gave was a further very slight relaxation and parting of her thighs. I interpreted that as permission to continue. After quite some time of struggling with my growing urge to focus more and more on her by then clearly aroused vulva, the lips were obviously puffier and seemed to pout slightly, revealing the inner lips and a surprisingly pink and erect clitoris that drew my attention as surely as a magnet. There was no doubt that she was as aroused as I was but that presented a terrible dilemma - stop or continue? I had a heated debate with myself, arguing that it was my extreme arousal that was driving me on, not hers. Of course I knew that I was almost exploding with lust, as evidenced by the growing wet patch in my pyjamas caused by prolific pre-cum leakage: I knew I had to stop, but so desperately wanted to continue! What to do? How to end? The temptation to place a light kiss on her clitoris grew irresistibly until the only way was to lean slowly forward, all the time expecting her to push me away, and place the lightest of kisses on the place where her lips parted and with the tip of my tongue gently probed for her clitoris. I had expected her to push me away or otherwise end the session and so when she arched her back and threw her legs wide in the 'frog's leg' position I almost pulled away in fright so great was the surprise. As her thighs fell wide apart so her labia parted too and I was treated to a vision of her clitoris peeping out from its hood and between the protecting folds of her inner and outer labia that were parted just enough to reveal the tiny urethra and the inviting entrance to her vagina. My tongue could not resist exploring the sweet heaven from her clitoris to her puckered rosebud anus and I abandoned myself to the sheer pleasure of exploring the taste of her. Quite suddenly she gasped softly and clamped her thighs to my ears. I have always found it difficult to know exactly when, or if, a woman has had an orgasm and though I was fairly sure Sophie would not deliberately fake an orgasm, I really didn't know whether she was in the early or the late stages, and therefore continued until I sensed her relax and let her legs down from my ears. Unsure as to what I should then do, kissed her all the way from her vulva to her mouth and pulled the duvet over her, wrapping her up. I knelt on the bed for some moments looking at her and wishing I could take off my constraining pyjamas and snuggle into the warmth of the bed and spooning with her and pressing my explosive erection against her soft warm skin. But I couldn't! She looked so peaceful and innocent, her hair spread loosely over the pillow, her eyes closed and the long thick lashes accentuating the peaceful curve of her cheek. Regretfully I quietly got off the bed and pulled off my pyjamas and stood watching her, my erection stiff and dribbling. Slowly I began to stroke my penis, hoping she would wake or turn and look: but she didn't. I stood under the shower for a long time running the recollections through my mind as if on a loop but could not masturbate, perhaps I was concerned that to have ejaculated would have erased the memories. But, gradually, the urgency of my erection subsided and with it the powerfully sexual excitement that had attended the intimacy of the massage. I dried myself and vacillated: some instinct was telling me to go back upstairs and slide under the duvet and cuddle Sophie; but countering it was an avalanche of guilt. How could I betray my daughter's trust? How could I steal her innocence as a sop to my vile libidinous urges? And then the guilt was tarnished by fear: what if Sophie told a friend and that friend told someone else and eventually word reached the ears of the police? There would be sledgehammers breaking down the door at dawn and social workers taking Sophie into their 'care'. Whatever my concerns for the morality of my recent actions how could I think I loved my child if my actions were to condemn her to an institutional culture that was careless enough to ignore the wholesale prostitution of the children for whom it had the responsibility of guardianship? I do not know how long I stood in the bathroom in a paroxysm of indecision but it was the awareness that the heating had gone off and I was growing cold that sent me back upstairs 'just to check on Sophie', as I told myself: but I knew it was because I wanted to feel her naked body against mine as I stood by the bed and looked at the sleeping child and hoping that she would wake and make the decision for me. I tried to walk away, even turned off the light, but the urge to crawl into her bed was becoming overwhelming. Thinking she might wake if I did actually slide in beside her made me hesitate until a reckless urge overtook me and I slipped under the duvet. Almost immediately she turned and cuddled up against me, throwing her leg across me and inciting another sturdy erection. I lay still, hardly daring to breathe, fearful that if she woke she would not simply cast me out but see me for the vile abuser that my guilty conscience said I was and that I would lose this darling, sweet angel. For all my fear and consternation, I savoured her warmth, the soft sweet smell of her hair, the press of her warm body against mine, her steady breathing, the feel of her firm round buttocks under my hand and the thigh casually thrown across my straining erection that was copiously weeping precum onto my belly. But the longer I lay there, the quieter I became. I felt closer to my daughter than ever I had before and my only remaining fear was that, when she awoke, she would feel otherwise about me. ========================= I hope you liked this little story. My email is optiskeptic[at]outlook[dot]com Any feedback will be welcomed.