Author: Sterling Title: Side Effect -- Sophie Summary: This is a sequel to "Side Effect". Jason Smith is a mind-reader who accumulates lovers but can't develop any lasting relationship. He rescues the young girl Sophie from a horrible imprisonment, and she comes to dominate his life. Read the codes before proceeding. Keywords: MF Mf Mg cons rom non-con pedo reluc het tears ESP fath dau 1st mastrb slow caution NOTICE: This story contains explicit sex. First posted 1/28/2010, new header added 8/26/2010. I'm always eager for comments, whether good, bad or mixed. Comments to sterling27@live.com. I have written many other stories and they can all be found at /files/Authors/Sterling/ You are welcome to copy this story if you include the entire text unchanged, including this notice. If you tell me where you have re-posted it, I can enjoy knowing it is appreciated and perhaps enjoy the feedback the story gets where you re-post it. Sterling And now, our feature presentation. Enjoy! ================================================================== Side Effect -- Sophie My name is Jason Smith. I used to work in a call center in Philadelphia. When I got depressed my shrink prescribed Zoloft, and I developed as a side effect the ability to read minds. This changed my life in a number of ways. I earned a comfortable income from business owners by reading the minds of competitors. I developed a new confidence with women based on my ability to know how they felt about me. I collected quite a string of lovers. However, I was unable to develop any lasting intimate relationship because keeping my mind-reading secret was too exhausting for me, and revealing it led women to feel an intolerable mental nakedness. I used my abilities to fight the worst kinds of crimes. Finding direct cooperation with the police to be perilous, I took a more direct approach to the worst offenders. I shot them. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Prisoner One day as I rode the streets I sensed the thoughts of a girl of about three. She was locked in a damp basement, half starved. There was an ancient drain she used for a toilet, but it didn't flush and it stank. She had some rags to huddle in but was chilly most of the time. Her memory was that when the man came in to drop off a little food and drink, he beat her. Her misery was profound. I had never felt so angry in my life. But underneath, her soul was alive. She also knew her name. Sophie. I gnashed my teeth but drove around to calm down, then went back to wait for the man. I never carried my gun during my day-to-day travels for fear of an ill-considered crime of passion. I waited with increasing impatience for two days until he finally arrived. His name was Doug, and he had a couple Big Mac meals, though on the way over the smell had been irresistible and he had eaten half of one. He had been a boyfriend of the girl's mother, but things had gone sour. Doug's mind retained the image of a man leaving her apartment followed by a surge of tremendous rage. He stole the girl, two years old at the time, and stashed her away in this out-of-the-way basement room. He stole her to punish the mother. Now he didn't want to kill the girl and he didn't want to let her go, so she was increasingly a drag. I followed his thoughts as he unlocked the outer and then the inner door to deliver Sophie her Big Mac rations. He saw her and felt hatred again for the girl's mother, so he kicked her a couple times. Waiting outside in my car I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white and gritted my teeth. He then held out the food bag, and as she slowly started to reach for it he stepped on her hand and ground his heel back and forth. Only after Doug had left did she dare open the food bag and wolf down the contents. As I considered the situation, Doug was dead already -- it was just a question of when my bullets would rip him apart. But what could I do with the girl? I knew from Doug's mind that the girl's mother had died in the interim at the hand of another violent boyfriend. The legal thing to do was to hand her over to social services. However, in my wandering of the streets I had sensed plenty of thoughts connected with social services and they were not pleasant ones, especially regarding the office that covered this area. But I loved Sophie's tender soul, and I had a crazy idea. I decided to take her myself, at least for a little while, and see if I could do better than social services. I cleaned up my spare room and furnished it with the minimum of what a girl would need. First the man, Doug. I followed him to an isolated spot late at night. I pulled the gun on him and started to tell him what a despicable turd he was for keeping a little girl prisoner and beating her, but I didn't get far before I sensed him planning to jump me. Fine. I shot him in the stomach twice and he fell. I kicked him in the balls a couple times and stomped on his head. He had a pleading look as I put the gun to his temple, but I just spit in his face before blowing his brains out. I took his keys. In the middle of the night I went back to Sophie's dungeon and let myself in. The reek of sewage hit me. I found her naked, asleep in the pile of rags. I shook her lightly and she woke, terrified. I did my best. "Sophie," I said softly. "Come with me, it's going to be OK". I took her by the hand, but she stayed put. Then I picked her up with a little trepidation, but nothing in her thoughts indicated she would kick or bite. She had no anchor in the world and had no idea whether she was headed for a better fate or a worse one. But little kids have to trust grown-ups, and except for the Dougs of the world it usually serves them well. She was shaking as she hung on to me. I carried her out of the building. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Healing I took the little foul-smelling waif to my car and stuck her in the back seat where I had set the child locks to keep her from trying to escape. No, I did not worry about fastening her seatbelt. I had brought along a quart of chocolate milk, thinking that would be a welcome treat. She tasted it, then started guzzling it as hunger overcame fear. It was a half hour's ride to my place. After a few minutes I smelled a new odor and simultaneously caught her thought that she had had diarrhea. Apparently her system couldn't handle all that milk at once. Well, I would have had to have the car cleaned anyway. So far in our brief time together I had sensed in her some hope and a great deal of fear. With this development came terror at what I might do. I told her, "It's fine, Sophie. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have given you so much at once." She felt a little relief and within her the glimmer of hope grew. When we got to my place I took her in my arms again, although she was even more fetid than before. She was tense and anxious as I started cleaning her up in the bathroom, but I could sense that my reassuring tone was helping. First the bathtub. I got the diarrhea and the worst of the dirt off her. In good light for the first time, I could see sores on her body, but that would have to wait. For my next phase I hacked her hair pretty short because it was hopelessly matted, then helped her take a real bath. She was very thin. I had bought lots of food for her, but remembering the chocolate milk I didn't let her have very much at once. First some buttered toast and banana, which she wolfed down. Twenty minutes later some more, twenty minutes later oatmeal. I told her I would give her more in the morning but didn't want to risk making her sick again. She didn't complain, having been hungry for months. I showed her my room and bed, then her room and bed, and kept the doors open. I didn't know when or if she would want the warm comfort of another human being, but I would give her the choice. She was exhausted from the anxiety and novelty of the last few hours and fell asleep shortly. In the morning I heard her padding about and thought I would give her a little time to explore on her own. She had to go. From her time before Doug kidnapped her she remembered the toilet and what it was for, she didn't want to anger me by maybe doing it in the wrong place. Another option from her point of view was the drain in the tub, which was similar to what she had been using. So I got up and pointed her to the toilet. She liked the clothes I had gotten for her, but my apartment felt deliciously warm to her and she didn't feel much interest in wearing them. She had a delightful little body and I didn't need to teach her to be ashamed of it in her own home. She liked books and music and videos. Most of all, she liked eating. For days she remained hungrier than I had ever been in my life. We got along great, partly because I could tell what she was uncertain about and reassure her. No social service agency could have been as attuned to her needs. After a week, when she didn't look totally emaciated, I took her to a clinic that serves undocumented aliens, since of course I had no papers for her. I got her the treatments for her sores and other minor ailments. Fortunately she had no serious health issues. From the first time I had read her thoughts I had sensed her tender soul alive under her abuse. Like any human being, she needed love. On the second day she leaned cautiously against me, and a few hours later matter-of-factly sat in my lap as I read her a story. On the third night I woke up to her shrieking. I rushed in to comfort her. "It's OK, Sophie, it's just a dream. It's OK." Her terror gradually subsided. She had been dreaming of her dungeon: the man grinding his heel on her hand when she reached for food. After I sat with her for a few minutes she fell back to sleep. The next night she awoke crying from another nightmare, but before I could get up I heard the sound of little feet as they approached my bed. She hesitated. "It's OK, Sophie, come on in," which she did eagerly. I felt a new tenderness as she fell asleep snuggled against me, but after she was soundly asleep I carried her back to her own bed. The same thing happened the next night. That night she was back within an hour. I decided to let her stay in my bed. I wondered briefly whether I should have her wear something when she slept with me, but didn't see any point in it. People usually sleep with fewer clothes than they wear during the day. I decided to keep briefs on at night as I always had. From that night on she slept with me. A few nights later I woke to her softly crying against my chest, and as I opened my mind to her on awakening, I received a flood of her pain. And as I gently stroked her hair and let her hug me, she sobbed long and hard before falling asleep again. The trust she felt in me at those times made me eyes tear over. This happened every few nights for weeks. It tapered off, but still happened occasionally for years. I bonded to Sophie the way any decent adult will bond with a child in his or her care. I enjoyed all her little happy noises, her delight at new things, her energy and innocence. The bond was strengthened because she loved me and needed me, and redoubled because I could sense directly those feelings of hers. I was in love with her in the way a mother is in love with her infant. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Slippery Slope I cut back my sex life dramatically after I got Sophie. I wanted to be there for her every night, so I could get away for daytime trysts only, and those only when I could get a babysitter. Getting her used to a babysitter was a major undertaking. I first left her screaming for five minutes before coming back. Then I left for fifteen minutes, then an hour. Each time she would scream when I left, though the sitters reported that lasted ten minutes or so. Yet she never seemed happy and kept asking when I was coming back. Tempting as it was at times, I never just walked out without saying goodbye. She trusted that I would never disappear without warning. Each babysitter began wondering why I as a single man was raising a young girl. When she did I stopped engaging her services and found another one, so there was little continuity for Sophie. I still got horny, so I would often relieve myself with a hand job in the bathroom before retiring. Yet sex is more fun and relaxing in a horizontal mode, in bed. I started masturbating while lying next to Sophie but thinking of one of my favorite lovers. By reading her mind I could tell if she was in danger of waking up and on those rare occasions I could stop so she would suspect nothing. I wasn't sexually attracted to Sophie, certainly, but she was a warm bundle with that delicious smell small children have, and sex is naturally an activity between bodies. I found myself masturbating with my nose in Sophie's hair, soaking in her child smell. Then I found myself looking at her perfect body relaxed in sleep, chest rising and falling gently as I massaged my penis to orgasm. I was aware especially of her labia, symbol of her essential female nature. They were mere buds at the moment but would in time mature as would the vagina within. They would become the adult female sexual apparatus that excited me so much. I still thought of my lovers as I masturbated but my thoughts also stayed on Sophie herself, and my eyes often wandered to those symbolic labia. Since I could tell when Sophie was in danger of awakening I figured involving her body in my masturbation could do no harm. One night I aimed my penis onto her belly when I came, and found it especially exciting to see my gooey white semen splat onto her perfect little belly. When I had recovered from my ecstasy I could easily clean her up with a damp cloth and she would be none the wiser. Watching my globs of cum surge onto her chest, neck, and face was also very appealing. Most appealing of all was splatting the stuff onto her labia. I had the occasional thought as to whether I was attracted to Sophie herself sexually, but figured that was preposterous. Hers was just the little body right next to mine that reminded me of the women's bodies I did find so attractive. I started exploring my next desire with a feasibility study. If I lubricated my finger and rubbed it back and forth along Sophie's belly, would she notice? She did stir and came close to waking sometimes. But I found that I could sense when she entered the very deepest stages of sleep, and at those times I could do quite a bit with her body and she wouldn't react at all. I was excited the first time I lubricated my penis and then gently stuck it into her armpit as I held her arm close to her side. It didn't take many small, gentle strokes before I plastered her armpit with my sperm -- and enjoyed it immensely. Situated behind her and holding her thighs together, I slid my penis between them and could imagine entering a grown woman from the rear. I poked my penis further between her thighs until it ended up right by her little girl's labia. My spurts seemed especially copious when I could watch them surge straight from my penis into the little crack between her labia. Then I found I could gently hold them open just before I came and then watch the semen flood into her tiny vagina. Afterwards I washed the area carefully with a washcloth to remove the semen, though I couldn't get all of what I shot into her vagina. It was so exciting I often found myself doing this twice each night, once within an hour of Sophie's falling asleep, but then once more towards morning when she was again in a deep sleep phase. One night I was feeling very aroused but Sophie wasn't going into her deep sleep in her usual pattern. Maybe if I was especially gentle and slow she wouldn't wake up. I felt her on the verge of waking but I kept going, my need for release clouding my judgment. And as I let my spurts go against her labia I saw a surprised-looking Sophie staring at me. I rebuked myself for losing my self-control, but then held my breath as I listened very carefully to Sophie's thoughts. I smiled and hugged her, trying to shroud what I had been doing by more innocent affection. I cleaned up the goopy mess between her legs and hummed her a lullaby. Her thoughts showed she was puzzled, but basking in the warmth of my usual affection she soon drifted back to sleep. Yet something lingered in her mind, something less pleasant. I lay in bed for hours, staring at her as she slept. As late morning rolled around I felt this overwhelming desire to do it again. Not with her body, though. Quietly masturbating and letting the spurts land on my own chest felt deeply unsatisfying. Slowly I had to face what I had been somehow managing to deny: I was sexually attracted to the little thing, not just using her body as a convenient stand-in for grown women. That made me a certified pervert. And I found myself worse than attracted -- I was addicted to her. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- For Her Own Good I reflected on what kind of life Sophie had. We went to informal play groups together sometimes, but she didn't usually experience the other children in a positive way. Sophie was shy and clingy. So Sophie was growing up with few friends, no siblings, and a very inexperienced foster father. She was attached to me, and I sensed it was too strong to be healthy. I could also read her mind, which was good for her in many respects but also meant she was getting unrealistic expectations for how to relate to people. No one else would understand her desires unless she formulated them and communicated them with words. I had already been sexually abusing her without her knowledge for months, and my need to do it made me ashamed. On reflection I decided that couldn't actually be harmful to her. But now I was on the verge of sexually abusing her in a way she would experience. Even if I somehow controlled myself, I had profound doubts about my character that extended beyond what happened in bed. I was a pervert. She needed a normal person for a father. I realized I had to give her away. She would be distressed for a while, but she was resilient and her tender soul would shine through again. There was no way I could give Sophie away via an adoption agency or friends, because she had no official status. My only option was to take her to the police station and give her up under the no-questions-asked policy, the policy designed to keep mothers from dumping their newborns in the river. It was also designed for children whose parents were abusing them and wanted to stop -- parents like me. From there she would end up in the social service system. It was not a great option, but children did come out the other end to lead happy lives. I had played a positive role for her. She at least had had a loving parent for a year after her horrific year in the dungeon, a parent who let her express her grief as often and as deeply as she needed. It was time to give her away. I took a pill to calm me down. An hour before leaving the apartment I told Sophie I had to give her away for her own good. At first she didn't believe me, and painful as it was for me I kept explaining until she got it -- and became terrified. Rational arguments were of course useless. She screamed and squirmed as I brought her in. Two policemen at the station pried her off me and I left poor Sophie in hysterics. I waited until I was back in the privacy of my home to fall into my own hysterics. I visited a few of my lovers whom I had not seen in ages, and while the sex and overnight snuggling were of some comfort, I was distracted and dissatisfied. I couldn't resist tracking Sophie through the system. Her first set of foster parents were actually nice, but she was so difficult they couldn't handle her. The second set were much more brusque and business-like. They had experience with impossible children. Under threat of punishment Sophie became minimally civilized, though the anger and grief remained just below the surface. She thought of me all day long. Sometimes she thought of killing me in gruesome fashion, but at the next moment her overwhelming love and attachment came through. There are no end of childless couples who will jump at the chance to adopt a young, healthy, Caucasian girl. But while her physical health was excellent her mental health was open to question. She flew into a rage at unpredictable moments. She didn't understand that the others couldn't read her mind, and the resulting strange behavior led to extensive psychiatric evaluation. The first parents on the list who were willing to adopt her were a well-off childless couple. They seemed nice on the surface, but reading their minds as they came to and from appointments I felt their inner pain. I dreaded how past hurt would express itself when they had to deal with a real child, and a very difficult one at that. Their anger at her built to fury. They did not lash out at her. But during the evening of the third day they finished converting a room to what was essentially a padded cell. I held my breath. The mother in exasperation locked her there late the next morning. Clawing at the door, Sophie was terrified as her memories flooded back at her. That very afternoon the mother was understandably terrified to find a masked man breaking into her house with a gun. She dutifully lay on the floor trembling as I set Sophie free. I did not shoot the woman, of course. She was not evil, just living out her own pain the best way she knew how. Sophie was alternately furious at me and ecstatic to see me, but she did a decent job of heeding my orders to keep her cool until I got her home again. I held her endlessly while she sobbed. Sometimes her fury erupted and I let her scream at me and pummel me. Mostly she glued herself to me, and it seemed to go on for days at time. A child had been kidnapped and I needed to see how the police were handling it. With Sophie safely in her car seat I drove by police headquarters repeatedly. Forensic investigation found fibers and some biological marker from my body -- I couldn't figure out what -- linking several recent mysteries. The same fibers were found at the site of two of my vigilante killings. The biological footprint was found at one of those sites and also preserved from the time when I dropped her off at the police station. They could tell that the same person stole her back again. Of more immediate concern to me was that they gleaned information from my tire treads at the scene of the kidnapping. They had a good hunch as to what part of town the perpetrator might live in. Quickly and quietly we slipped out of town. In Cleveland I had to make a few expeditions without Sophie to change my identity again. Although it made me feel a little guilty, I drugged little Sophie so she wouldn't feel abandoned again so soon. We ended up in Boulder, Colorado. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Decision Finding that Sophie was going to be locked up again by her adoptive parents spurred me to rescue her. I had had no hesitation about that. But if that had been the only issue I might have tried to find some other home for her -- maybe some kind people who lived in an isolated commune would take her in without worrying about her paperwork. For hours at a time I sat on the bed watching Sophie sleep. I knew that if I kept her I would be sexual with her. She was more alluring being a year older, and I knew I would be powerless to resist. A clever blend of valid reasoning and rationalization worked its way through me. She hadn't been dealt a very good hand in this life. I had no idea what her life had been like before age two, but it probably hadn't been great. She had spent her third year in a dungeon, half-starved and beaten. Her year with me had been happy in many ways, though I had then abandoned her. Her fifth year spent working her way through the social service system had also been unhappy. What had made me give her away was my pedophilia. I had thought of myself as a monster, but now I reconsidered. Maybe pedophilia was another side effect of the Zoloft. Being able to explore her mind at any time gave rise to an unprecedented intimacy; perhaps that would induce strong sexual attachments in normal men too, not just perverts. No one knew. One important factor was that I could monitor harm. The usual pedophile doesn't know what goes on in the mind of his victim. I would know everything, both what she consciously concluded but also other thoughts that she might not be able to digest right away. I could moderate my behavior to avoid anything she found especially distressing. I would love Sophie deeply, and that would be good for her. I would be sexual with her, but that wouldn't hurt her much, would it? Maybe a bit too much love was the best option she had in her life just then. I decided to keep her. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Loving Sophie Sophie was about to turn five. She now understood that I could go away for a couple hours and she could count on my coming back. Having had bad luck with babysitters, I left her home alone during those periods, though she knew she could usually reach me on my cell. I went out to do shopping and earn my fees for estimating construction bids now and then, but mostly I stayed home because that was where I wanted to be. I was obsessed with my little dear. I did with her and for her just about anything a father and daughter could do. We went to playgrounds a lot, and sometimes she played with the other kids. But mostly tended to be shy around them because they seemed very rude to her. She thought of what she wanted, which was all it took to communicate with me. They just ignored her thoughts and did as they pleased. We went to the movies and museums and theme parks. We took nature hikes. I bought her all the toys she wanted. I read her stories and we played on the computer a lot. We played endless make believe, often with materials as simple as cardboard boxes, blankets and furniture to make forts and castles. We played cards and baked cookies. I bought her all the clothes that caught her fantasy, but she used them almost entirely for dress-up. Around the house she usually went naked. I brushed her hair for half an hour at a time and lovingly braided it. I gave her backrubs. I also gave her all her baths. But there was more, as I knew there would be. A week after I decided to keep her I could resist no longer. "Sophie, this is my cock," I said, taking off my briefs as we settled down to bed one night. She had seen it before. But this time, as I looked at the charming naked girl in front of me, it lengthened and stiffened. I could hear her thoughts range from "Strange!" to "Cool!" to "Yeah, so what?" "This is what daddies use to make babies with mommies. But I am a different kind of man. I feel like using this to make babies with you, not just grown up women, even though we can't really." "What do you mean?" she thought. "First let me show you how it works. As my eyes raced from her curious face down her chest to her labia I stroked myself. Within a minute my strokes got faster and then I spurted semen all over my stomach. She had a keen curiosity about what she was seeing, why I was breathing faster, and how I felt when I scrunched up my face in orgasm. So I answered the implicit questions. "It feels really good, and I want to do it a lot, especially when I see you. No, it's not pee. It's the stuff daddies put in mommies to make babies. I feel like putting my cock in you, but it won't fit." "Where does it go?" "Open your peepee place. Those flaps are called labia officially, but I'm going to call them pussy lips." As she opened, I gently put my finger right at her vaginal opening. "That's the opening to a small tube that goes up into your body. When you are a big girl, that tube grows a lot bigger so my cock would fit." "Yuck. That must be a very long time from now," she thought. "Less than you might think. It's officially called a vagina," I said, and then after a brief pause, "but we're going to call it your cunt," and I thrilled at using that word to label part of such a young girl. "Are you willing to help daddy feel good?" She was. We lay on our sides facing each other. "OK, take my cock in your hand, the way you saw me do. Now rub up and down ... Oh that's so nice, Sophie. This time I'm going to spurt the stuff on your stomach, not mine, OK? A little faster ... Don't squeeze quite so hard ... That's so nice, Sophie, I love you so much. Just like that! ... yes, yes, Sophie, Oooohhhh!" My first splat of sperm landed above her belly button, the second pretty much right on it, the third dribbled onto the sheet between us. She giggled. I hugged her to me with my penis pressed between us, the goop oozing between us and coating our bellies. I shed a few tears of joy before separating to clean up. Our lives went on, and I delighted in Sophie as the exuberant child she was. Sex was part of our lives too, and I found those episodes the highlight of our times together. A standard position when reading or looking at the computer together was for her to sit on my lap with her legs spread wide so I could finger her private parts. She would often idly finger my penis as well. "Sophie, I want to kiss your pussy lips, OK?" Hearing no objection, I spread her legs wide and settled my face between them. I licked all around, including her vaginal opening. Most of all I focused on her little clit. It gradually started feeling good to her down there. I could sense a mild warmth. She liked how my tongue made her feel, but she didn't exactly love it. That built up gradually over many months. She thought with a trace of annoyance that now I was going to want to shoot sperm onto her, and she was right. "Thank you, Sophie, I know this isn't your favorite thing, but I really want to, OK?" I raised myself up and with a dozen quick strokes I splatted my semen right on her labia where I had been licking. Sophie and I sat facing each other, both with legs spread wide. I stroked her labia gently. She bent down to suck the tip of my penis pretty well, fondling my balls with one hand and stroking my shaft with the other. "Oh, Sophie, that's so great, I love you so much, mmmmm, here it comes ... almost ... uuuuuffffff!" She didn't mind the cum so much, though she wasn't thrilled. She swallowed it but then got her reward of a raspberry Lindt ball, her favorite. During the night I had my penis between her legs, poking against her vaginal opening. I poked a little harder and she woke up. I couldn't control myself and poked her even a little harder as my tip swelled and I spurted into her little vagina. "Ouch!" she cried, not leaving this one to thought alone. "Sorry, sweetie, I got carried away. But I want to get into you so much." The pain didn't last and she forgave me quickly. The next morning I said, "Can we make believe I'm putting my cock in your cunt, but as close to real as we can get?" I showed her how to lube up her hands and form a little tunnel that ended right at her vaginal opening. When we first did that a little thrill went through her as she noted just how happy I looked as I spurted against her. She could also control just how hard I bumped against her vaginal opening. She didn't mind a pretty hard bump if she could control it. I could tell when Sophie just didn't want to be sexual at all, and at those times I refrained, getting my release in the bathroom with my own hand. I think the fact that she could veto sex when she really wasn't interested was a big factor in its not harming her. Sophie was lying on the floor on her stomach at the computer watching a movie, and I walked up behind her. "Have you studied your math yet today?" She looked a little sheepish, but had no need to tell me she hadn't. "This is the third time I've asked you!" I said with some annoyance. She then gave me a sly smile. She rose to a kneeling position and pulled my briefs down. After showing me inside her labia she took the tip of my penis into her mouth. "Now, Sophie, you're trying to change the subject. You should..." My penis pulsed to life rapidly. "You need to..." I closed my eyes with pleasure and within a minute I was reduced to, "Oh, Sophie!" and spurted in her mouth. The math was forgotten for the moment. Sophie got me that time, but I did enforce some order in her life. I made her talk sometimes to hone that skill. She learned her arithmetic and reading and social studies. She had chores to do. I was glum. The contractor I was spying on had changed his bid considerably at the very last minute after I had already read his mind, and my client was not pleased. The traffic had been bad on the way home. The weather had been cold and damp. "What's the matter, daddy?" my little one asked. "Oh, nothing much. Stuff at work, the weather..." She wanted me to be happy, and she thought of a way she knew would work. "You wanna spurt your cock on me?" "Oh, that's OK, sweetie." She started dancing. After skipping around with her hand on her labia, she stopped in front of me with her rear towards me and wiggled it back and forth, looking over her shoulder mischievously. She saw my cock rising, but I still didn't feel really very sexy. But my loving little girl went for it, gently. "Come on, daddy, you always feel so good." She pushed me back on the sofa, cradled my hard cock and began licking it. I was feeling better in spite of myself. As I lay on my back she licked and sucked, gently fondling my balls and stroking up and down on my shaft. As I got very excited she changed position and lowered herself so my cock was right at her vaginal lips, then she started stroking again. "Oh, Sophie, that's so nice!" "Goody! Spurt your stuff in my cunt, OK? I know it makes you feel really good ... There you go," she said as she saw me on the brink. "In my cuntie, cuntie, cock, cock, cock!" I surged upwards and splatted her with my sperm. I had to admit I felt better. Sophie lowered herself into a hug. Partly it felt very good, and partly I was touched that my girl had suggested sex just because she knew I liked it. I could tell from Sophie's mind how she reacted to my being sexual with her. On the worst days we didn't have sex at all. Other days I pressed the issue. How did it feel to her? On not-so-good days it was in the same category as cleaning up her room or eating her vegetables. And rarely when my desire reached frantic proportions and clashed with her reluctance, it felt actively bad to her. But I reflected that even then it felt no worse than when I had to brush snarls out of her hair. She did see how very happy it made me, and that part of it in turn gave her satisfaction. Isolated from other kids, she did not understand that our sexual relationship was unusual. She was only dimly aware that my ability to read her mind was unusual. On the whole, despite her very unusual situation Sophie was a very happy little girl. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Growing Up As Sophie turned eight I started noticing a change. When I licked her clit she responded more strongly. She sometimes asked me to do it -- or rather formulated the thought, which was the same thing. I eagerly complied. She had her first little orgasm at eight and a half. I always encouraged her to play with herself as much as she wanted, but now she sometimes experimented with putting a little finger in her vagina. She wiggled it and felt a bit of pleasure from it, then found herself stretching it a little. Before long her middle finger fit. As I saw the very first signs of sexual development, I decided to take a series of photographs so we could track the changes. Her nipples changed noticeably around age nine and I began honoring them much more with my tongue. She liked it. For years now, Sophie had been having semen spurted in her hair, on her face, on her chest or belly, and between her butt cheeks, but especially in her mouth and right at her vaginal opening. I don't know if this constant attention from male fluids hurried her body's development or not, but at nine and a half began the change I had been dreaming of most. As she held her hands to form the tunnel to her vagina, she let me push my penis in a little more. Her vaginal tissues stretched back more, and I felt her inner labia start to surround my penis. In the right mood she was not just willing but excited to let me push in farther. Somewhere in those sessions her hymen broke. For some reason she became well lubricated with very little stimulation. One fine day we both were startled and then thrilled to realize that the tip of my penis had gone inside of her outer ring of muscles. I almost instantly delivered a load of sperm that for the first time was fully inside of her. As the days went on, deeper penetration proceeded rapidly, and at nine years and nine months I finally bottomed out at the end of her vagina. She no longer needed to use her hands as a fake vagina. I had buried myself in the real thing. To put it crudely, I was finally fucking my little Sophie, love of my life. We still did other things for variety, but now what we mostly did was plain old intercourse. I penetrated my little Sophie, thrust for a short or long while, depending on her and my inclinations. The pleasure built up to what I craved above else in life: letting loose my sperm inside dear Sophie. Any time she was at all interested I was delighted to use my tongue to bring her to orgasm, or use my fingers on her clit as I thrust in and out with my penis. She tended to be actively interested every other day or so, but that wasn't often enough for me. I retained my insatiable desire for sex with her and came inside her twice a day on average, though I still fingered her briefly at other times as well. When her period started I brought her to a gynecologist who was known for not asking too many questions. She inserted an IUD into my Sophie. I still occasionally used my mind-reading to combat evil. If the news reported some crime or series of crimes that was especially horrendous, I would see what I could do to solve them. I was often successful. I didn't own a weapon any more. But I had devised ways to give anonymous tips to the police without revealing myself. I worked hardest on child abduction cases, and once Sophie and I spent five weeks on the road in our van tracking down little Carla. I let the police rescue her. Having one little girl feeling eternally grateful to me was enough. During our travels I found wrongdoers everywhere, and if the crime offended me especially, I gave the police a clue that let them put an end to it one way or another. But I realized that the world was too big for me to solve all the crimes. Mostly I wanted a quiet life at home with my Sophie. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- From Daughter to Wife When she got to be 14 or so, Sophie developed increasingly strong desires to get out into the world and relate to others. She wanted to go to high school. I first had to get her to agree not to hint at our sexual relationship or my mind-reading. She agreed readily enough, but I kept going over it day after day until it sank into her at all levels. I decided it was time for a conversation I had been musing about for some time. "Sophie, now that you are older, what do you think of my being sexual with you all these years?" "I like it." I could feel a little surge in her loins just thinking about it. "Do you remember before, when you didn't?" "It was OK. I have these memories of your moans and sighs, and it felt great to make you feel good." She paused, then smiled. "You've been in my mind all these years; why not be in my body too?" I was startled to pick up something that was more part of the background than a specific thought: To her I felt more like a husband than a father at that point. Her feelings about it had been slowly shifting for years, I now realized. She did OK in school, though it was tiring for her to consider at every moment how the others couldn't read her mind and to act accordingly. She developed a few friendships, acted in a few plays, and played intramural soccer. She also went on a few dates. She found making out with other boys to be a little exciting, but nothing like what she experienced with me. I sent her off to college. When she came home for Thanksgiving break I got the image of two different boys having sex with her. I contained my fierce jealousy and dealt with it later when Sophie was not around. For her the novelty had been exciting, but it didn't last. The problem was that no man seemed kind and loving because he couldn't read her mind. Having to frame her thoughts in language and speak them out loud seemed laborious and vaguely like having to shout to a man who was hard of hearing. Nor could she relax because she always had to consider the implications of his not reading her thoughts. She also couldn't explain that her father could read her thoughts. With her experimentation done, she transferred to a local college and came home to me every night. Every night and ever morning she was delighted with sex. Without much sweat she had two or three orgasms each time. Our sexual dance was graceful and always harmonious. I could give her what she wanted. I wanted to do things that weren't her favorite, but without conversation I could trade off her hesitations with my desires and found a good balance. I mounted her from the rear every two weeks or so. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Marriage I'm no genius, and she's not either, but her education brought her up to my level and we found lots to talk about together. We became best friends. An observer would have heard me doing all the talking, but inside our heads, where it counted, it was not at all a monolog. Sophie had come to me as a daughter. I started being sexual with her, and eventually she turned into my wife. We formalized that in a small civil ceremony when she turned 21. The baby bug hit Sophie a year later. One was not enough, nor were two. She is pregnant with her fifth as I write this and is not sure she is through. We have some extra hired help, but we are both with the kids a lot. I have this knack for knowing what they need and want, of course. If I have any sexual feelings for my own daughters I haven't discovered them yet, and in any event I swore to Sophie that I would never do anything with them no matter what. I think I fell in love with Sophie as a person. It awakened sexual feelings in me while she was still quite young. But the pedophilia sprang from the love of a particular individual. Other girls aren't Sophie, and I'm not attracted to them. I had a boring life working at a call center, with few friends and few romantic prospects. The doctor prescribed Zoloft, and that has made all the difference. I have my soul-mate Sophie and we are raising our brood of vibrant, healthy offspring. ----------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Sophie was tired. But as I joined her in bed she knew I would be interested in sex, and I could read from her thoughts that this night, as most nights, she was up for it if I would do the work. With my fingers I got her excited enough that she was physically and emotionally ready for my penis. Then as we lay on our sides with her pregnant belly away from me I slid into her from the rear. Knowing exactly what she needed I guided her to a fine orgasm, and just as she was coming down from it I fulfilled my deepest nature as I let loose and shot sperm all over her inner vagina. She was asleep before I finished spurting, and I held myself against her backside until my penis shriveled and slid out. "I love you, Sophie," I whispered to her sleeping form as I lay back and drifted off to sleep myself. "I love you." ================================================================== I'm always eager for comments, whether good, bad or mixed. Comments to sterling27@live.com.