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.


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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.


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---------------

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.


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---------------

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.


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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.


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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.


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---------------

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.


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---------------

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.


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---------------

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.


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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.


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---------------

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."


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