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Subject: Jenny's Dire Circumstance
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Lead, follow, or get out of the way.

A word of "giving the devil his due" is in order here.  I got the idea
for this story from a longish story by Terry Shulz (@hotmail.com)
titled At His Daughter's Mercy.  In Shulz's story, a father who broke
both his hands in an accident is looked after by his daughter . . .
with interesting results.   This is simply an adaptation of that idea,
but I've turned the tables, putting a daughter somewhat at her
father's mercy.

Standard cautions apply . . . if you thing stuff like this will make
you go blind, either don't read it, or get a seeing eye dog.

=================================================

Jenny's Dire Circumstance

Jenny's plaintive voice rose higher and higher until it wailed above
the drone of the gas engine of the wood chipper into which she was
feeding small limbs her father threw down from the tree above her
head.

Rourke Fielding, her father, felt more than heard her screams.  It
stopped him cold.  Before he turned to look down at Jenny, he new
something was terribly wrong.

By the time his eyes focused and found her, she had become a shaking
ball of humanity lying on the ground beside the still running wood
chipper.  Without hesitation, Rourke let his lithe six-foot frame slip
from the notch of the tree and hurtled to the earth below.  In one
flowing motion, he hit the kill switch on the chipper, while
simultaneously dropping to his knees beside Jenny.

"Jenny . . . baby . . . what happened . . . let me see," he said
through lips drawn tight across clenched teeth.

Jenny stayed in her balled-up, nearly fetal position, shivering, both
hands pressed firmly between her legs.

"Sweetheart . . . let me see . . . le'me see!" Rourke pleaded, pulling
gently at her arms, trying to free her hands.

Slowly, through chattering teeth, Jenny said, ". . . my hands, dad.
My hands . . . "

She allowed her father to move her arms in little movements, as though
making large moves would further injure her.

"Please, Jenny . . . I've got to see what's going on.  I need to know
how bad you're hurt."

Jenny shivered again.  Rourke recognized the first signs of shock.  He
had to act quick.  Rather roughly, he pried apart her hands and was
almost overcome.  There, in his hands, were his daughter's two very
badly bleeding hands.  The crotch of her jeans, where she had placed
them, was also bloody.

Rourke took off his flannel work shirt and threw it over Jenny.  His
earlier military experience told him almost immediately that while her
hands were both badly scraped and abraded, including a couple of deep
cuts, these injuries alone would not produce the kind of pain she
seemed to be suffering.

With her hands now apart and elevated above her chest, Rourke leaned
closer and noticed that the crotch of her jeans was not only bloody,
it appeared that the material was flapped or frayed or cut open.
Gingerly, he picked at the fabric and was surprised when it flopped
open exposing her 14-year-old pussy.  Rourke didn't have time to be
embarrassed, but he was momentarily surprised.  My God, he thought,
doesn't my daughter wear panties anymore?

Then, Rourke realized that the crotch of her panties was folded in
among her torn jeans.  Also, there was too much blood in her crotch
for it to have come exclusively from her hands.  Her labia was
bleeding, which meant a cut or a tear.

Slowly, it was coming clear in his mind.  There had been some kind of
accident, some kind of recoil from a branch or branches Jenny was
feeding into the machine.  The end result was that something was
either torn from her hands, or thrust back at her, or both.  The force
of it had shredded the inside of both hands, tore the crotch of her
jeans and panties and severely scratched or cut her genitals.

Without another moment lost, Rourke scooped Jenny off the ground,
placed her in the car and sped off to the emergency room where Jenny
was admitted within minutes.  The nurse looked tentatively at Rourke,
a look that said, "I'm not sure I should let you go in with . . . a
little girl."

But Rourke was used to this sort of thing by now.

"I'm her father," he said, and the nurse let him pass.  This sort of
thing had been happening for the last five years, ever since he and
Mandy -- Jenny's mother -- had split up.  Mandy had big ideas about
becoming a corporate girl in the big city.

"So," Rourke had said as she drove away those years ago, "little old
Mudville is just too boring for you, huh?"

"Tha's right, big fella," she said, and that was that.  Suddenly,
Rourke found himself in charge of not only his job, but a home, all
the duties of a mother AND a 9-year-old daughter.  The first year was
the worst.  But Rourke got onto it.  Admittedly, the way he made beds
could be better, and he occasionally singed the gravy, or the meat, or
the toast or the oatmeal.  But, little by little, he and Jenny got it
running like a -- well -- like an oiled, if not a slightly singed
machine.  Over the years, both Jenny and Rourke kiddingly referred to
his cooking as "burnt offerings."

All in all, they had come to love and rely on each other.  Admittedly,
as Jenny got older, her "hurts and ouchies" seemed to become more and
more serious.  From the occasional skinned toe and finger to this,
Rourke reflected as he sat with his arm around her while Jenny lay on
the gurney waiting for the doctor.

Moments after his arrival, the doctor, a kind looking man of about 40,
asked Rourke, "Is your wife here . . . could she come in, please?"

Rourke sighed and swallowed an urge to bark at the doctor about being
tired of hearing all this for the umpteenth time.

"Sorry, Doc," Rourke said, "I'm all there is.  Jenny's mother . . . ."
"Oh," interrupted the doctor, "I didn't know."  He said it the way
people say they didn't know your brother or sister has just died.
Rourke was too tired and too concerned for Jenny to correct the
doctor.  Jenny had been through this "where's mommy" thing many times,
too, and didn't correct the doctor, either.  Instead, Jenny and Rourke
traded glances.

"What do you need her mother for?" Rourke asked.

By now, the doctor and the nurse had removed Jenny's jeans and torn
panties.  The nurse, awaiting the conclusion of this conversation
between the doctor and Rourke, had covered Jenny with a sterile sheet.

"Well . . . here's the problem," the doctor began.  He went on to
explain that none of Jenny's wounds were terribly threatening.  Of
course, infection could show up anytime if they weren't careful.  In
fact, the doctor was particularly worried about just that in regard to
the wound to Jenny's genital area.

"I'm going to have to take a couple of stitches, and this area is
going to have to be kept clean . . . very clean," the doctor said,
stressing "very clean."

"Yes???"  Rourke said, a question in his voice.

"Well," the doctor said slowly, "She's cut across both vaginal lips.
Her hands will be completely bandaged and will have to stay that way
for at least a week, maybe 10 days.  Someone is going to have to clean
and apply an antibiotic ointment to her vaginal area two or three
times a day . . . " The light came on for Rourke . . . the reason for
the doctor's seemingly addle-brained stammering about Jenny's mom.

"Ahhh . . . " Rourke sighed, and as he said it, he put his hand to his
forehead.  "Well, Doc, we live way out on the edge of town, pretty
much by ourselves.  But I'm sure my neighbor's wife would be glad to
come over and  help."

The doctor seemed relieved, but still he seemed hesitant.

"Ahhh . . ." the doctor said.

Rourke squinted and looked questioningly at him.  "Yes?"  What could
it be now, he wondered.

"Well, it might be better if you stepped out . . ." he said turning
slightly to indicate Jenny, who was laying on the table, covered with
the sheet, which had begun soaking blood from her wounded cunny lips.

Rourke signaled he understood and turned to go.

"Daddy?" Jenny said.

Rourke turned and was about to say something about how it would be
best if he left for now when Jenny, reading his face, scrunched up her
face and began crying.  "Please don't go . . . please."  Jenny
shivered again as she had done when the accident first happened.

Seeing this, the doctor nodded his head imperceptibly at Rourke, a nod
that said, "Well . . . after all, you are her father and the only
parent she has . . . I suppose it's okay . . ."

For the first time since this had happened, Rourke felt a knot of
anger in his stomach, followed by a tightening in his throat.  This
was, after all, his daughter, his flesh and blood.  Damn all this
false modesty.  Hell, he and Jenny had been the only occupants of
their home for years.  In that time, in one way or another, they had
seen each other, and so far nothing had happened.  But more than that,
Rourke resented the implication in the doctor's voice.

Rourke turned and put his hand on Jenny's forehead and stroked her
hair.  "It's okay, baby.  I'm here . . . and I won't leave, no matter
what."

Jenny stopped crying, but her shivering continued.

"Nurse," the doctor, "why don't you give Jenny, here, a mild sedative
. . . something to help her get through this."

Within minutes, Jenny was visibly relaxed.  The doctor attended to her
hands first, cleaning the wounds, disinfecting, applying medicated
ointment and bandages.   When finished, Jenny's hands looked like
bandaged baseballs.  They were going to be useless for several days.

By now, the sedative had taken full effect, and Jenny lay quite still.
Her eyes drooped every now and then.  The nurse and doctor traded
glances, a knowing look that said things were okay, that Jenny was
just where she needed to be from the sedative.

Gently, the nurse lifted the sterile sheet from Jenny's mid-section.
Jenny stirred, but the doctor calmed her.  "You may feel a tiny poke
or prickly feeling, Jenny.  But it won't last long . . . okay?"

"Umm-hmmm," Jenny moaned.

With that, the doctor picked up a loaded hypodermic needle.  He
stretched one of her pussy lips slightly, dabbed on an antiseptic, and
slid the needle under the skin near the cut.  He did the same on both
sides of the wound on the left labia and then repeated the procedure
on the other side.

Rourke both sensed and knew just about what was going to happen, and
trying to satisfy what he thought the doctor was after, he made a
conscious effort "not to watch."  But, of course, with all this fresh
on his mind, including the anger that still knotted his gut, it was
almost impossible not to see.  He would have had to turn completely
around and face the far wall not to see.  "Damned if I'm going to do
that," he thought.  "Hell, I'm an adult and this is my child and
there's a doctor and a nurse present . . . Damn!"

So, Rourke did not turn away, but he did not make an effort to "see."
Still, the harder he tried not to, the more he saw.

The doctor, having finished injecting the pain killer into Jenny's
pussy lips, waited a moment, and then gently pinched each lip, rolling
it between thumb and forefinger.  Blood oozed from the wounds.  The
nurse produced a razor and soapy liquid.  Together, the nurse and
doctor, acting very carefully, began shaving Jenny's pussy lips.  It
was not a complete shave.  It was designed more to remove her soft and
still downy pubic hair from the wounded area.  With that done, the
doctor made a more thorough inspection and discovered the minor labia
had also been scratched, but the delicate skin in that most moist and
pink areas had not been cut.  More to himself than to Rourke or the
nurse, the doctor said, "Ouch . . . that's going to be sore for
awhile, too."

As the doctor continued his search of Jenny's mound and all it's
folds, Rourke could not help but notice her hood and clit.  It was, by
fully grown adult standards, still somewhat tiny, all tucked in.  But
no mistake, a hood and clit it was.  He wasn't sure whether it was
swelling or not.  If it was, it was probably involuntary, due to the
doctor's manipulations.  Or is this just my way of  . . . of what? he
wondered. One thing for sure, he thought, it really had been a long
time since he had seen this part of Jenny.  A couple of years, at
least.  He would not have admitted it to anyone, especially the
doctor, but the sweet little pussy being manipulated before his eyes
looked very much like "a loaded gun" to Rourke . . . that is, very
much like an instrument that could capture the attention of any man
anywhere on the planet, and just now, it had captured Rourke.  In his
mind, Rourke envisioned himself raising his hands above his head and
saying, "I give up . . . take me.  I'm your prisoner."

As quickly as this thought came to him, he fought it.  He tried to
beat it back.  But not thinking about it was like putting out a pesky
brush fire.  Stomp it out here, it springs up over there.  As awful as
it felt, as much as he tried, Rourke was mesmerized as the nurse and
doctor put a couple of tiny stitches in each labia.

That done, the doctor placed what looked like a panty liner over
Jenny's half-shaved little pussy and taped it at both ends.

"When you get her home, help her put on a clean pair of panties to
hold this in place.  It wall collect what little blood there will be
from the wound and provide protection for her for a few days.  Have
her use these liners for at least a week.  The stitches I put in are
self absorbing.  They will disappear in a few days.  Ask you neighbor
to watch for infection . . . you know, red streaks, oozing . . . puss
. . . things like that . . . okay?" the doctor said as he released
Jenny and Rourke.

On their way out, the doctor handed Rourke a large tube and explained
that this was the antibiotic he -- his neighbor lady -- was to apply
to Jenny's wounds.  "Have her apply it liberally, and work it in.  We
need to keep that area protected and soft."

On the ride home, Jenny seemed to be running on about half her
cylinders.  She was groggy from the hypo, and seemed to slip between a
light sleep and a dazed consciousness.  She roused when she noticed
her dad passing their house.

"I'm going down to the Larson's . . . see if Mrs. Larson can help us
out for a few days," Rourke smiled.

Rourke pulled to a stop and knocked on the Larson's door.  Jack Larson
answered and showed Rourke in.  In less than a minute, Rourke piled
back into his car, a look of consternation on his face.

"What's'it, dad?" Jenny asked.

"Mr. Larson is not home.  She's on one of her religious retreats.
Won't be home for a week or so,"  Rourke said into the darkness of the
car, a bleak look on his face.

"Aw, don' worry, dad.  We'll manage somehow.  We always do . . ."
Jenny sighed, and slipped back into her stupor.

"Yeah . . . somehow . . ." Rourke repeated, thinking, "What now . . .
What now?"

Rourke got very little sleep that night.  Jenny, of course, passed out
from the pain pills.  She would sleep well.  But with the problems
that faced him in the morning, Rourke slept fitfully.  He finally fell
into sleep somewhere around three in the morning, but awoke around 7
a.m. to the sound of his daughter calling his name.

In a flash, Rourke was on his feet and halfway down the hall.

"Jenny . . . where are you . . . what's'a matter?"

"In the bathroom, dad," she called.

However, like radar, Rourke had located her by the location of her
voice, and had already begun striding down the hall toward the
bathroom.  Her voice reflected concern and frustration.  What could it
be.  Torn stitches?  Rourke burst into the bathroom to find Jenny
standing helplessly beside the john, a look of total frustration on
her face.

"What is it, baby," he asked.

Jenny, dressed in a little hip length nighty, avoided her father's
eyes.

"Dad," she stammered, "I . . . I . . . can't go to the bathroom . . ."

At first, Rourke thought Jenny was having trouble because of the
stitches, and instinctively, he craned his neck as though looking at
her genital area, which, in fact, he did.  He noticed she was still
wearing the panties he  had helped her struggle into before going to
bed the night before.

"Wha . . ."  Rourke was going to say something like, What should I, or
what can I do when Jenny interrupted.

"Dad, I can't get my panties off . . . can you help me, please?"

"Oh sure, baby," Rourke said.

Jenny turned to face her father, her two baseball sized hands hanging
uselessly at her side.  Still, she used her club-like  hands to try to
raise her nighty so her father could get at the waist band of her
panties.

Rourke slipped his fingers into the waistband and began tugging.
Slowly, they panties slipped down over Jenny's hips.  Rourke couldn't
help noticing that these were not the straight, almost little-boy hips
he was used to seeing on Jenny.  And suddenly, one more thing bothered
Rourke:  He had come up out of bed so fast and was so concerned for
Jenny that he forgot all he had on was his shorts.  Not that he and
Jenny didn't occasionally run into each other in brief attire, but
that was usually one of those moments when one or the other was diving
into or out of the bathroom or their respective bedrooms.  But
suddenly, as Rourke began removing his lovely daughter's panties, he
became quite aware of his near nakedness.  Furthermore, from his
squatting position, he could see clearly the outline of Jenny's two
perky cone-shaped breasts beneath the flimsy material of her nighty.
But Rourke fought bravely on.  Don't think . . . don't think, he
commanded himself as the panties finally slipped past the wide part of
Jenny's hips and slipped down her legs.  They fell in a puddle at her
feet.

Instantly, Rourke noticed the little panty liner that was still held
in place with tape.  Whew!  he thought.  Saved.

Rourke scooted back as though to stand and go.

"Dad . . . " Jenny called.

"What . . .?" Rourke asked.

"That, too," Jenny said, dipping her head in the direction of the
panty liner.

"Ah . . . baby.  I . . ."

"Oh, c'mon, dad.  We can't stand on ceremony, here.  I gotta go.
It'll be okay.  Just don't look . . . okay?"

Look or no look, Rourke knew he had to do this.  But he was becoming
quite concerned because as his reached gingerly for the little piece
of tape holding up the panty liner, his hand shook visibly, and worse,
he felt his cock begin to stir.  After all, it had been several years
since he had been this close to any female, and daughter or not,
biology was biology.  Perhaps she will be so busy getting herself
situated that she won't notice my half a hard on, he thought.

He gently tugged at the tape, which by this time had become quite
stuck to Jenny's tawny, still slightly wispy pubic hair.  Rourke
tugged, but the tape held.  Finally in exasperation, Rourke went to
both knees in front of his daughter and began using both hands, one to
hold and push the soft flesh of Jenny's mound and the other to pry
away the tape as gently as possible.

"Damn . . ." Rourke  muttered.  "Does that hurt?"

"A little," Jenny said, adding, "can you hurry, please.  I really have
to go."

"Okay," Rourke said.  "Hang on.  I've about got it," he said, tugging.
Then, mumbling, he added, "We're gonna have to get you shaved if this
is how it's gonna be."

"Jenny giggled, but added, "Ooohhhh, hurry dad."

Finally, the tape surrendered it's last pubic hair and the liner fell
free.  Suddenly, Rourke was nose to nose with Jenny's budding hooded
clit, a pink little pearl of a thing nestled in that wispy pubic hair.
Rourke froze.  His cock had begun to do some serious growing.  He had
to get out of there.  He turned again, wheeling on his knees hoping
Jenny was so intent on peeing that she wouldn't notice.

But Rourke spun too fast and as he came around, he banged into the
tub.  He lurched backward and fell onto his butt, legs spread apart,
and elbows back to catch himself before his head hit the floor.  From
that position, all he could see was that glistening little pink clit
shining out at him, and when he looked down, his shorts formed a
perfect tent from his now nearly rigid cock.

Without looking at Jenny, Rourke bounced up off the floor like a
rubber ball.  He tore out the door, calling to Jenny, "There you go,
darlin'.  Call me if you need anything."  Rourke strode down the hall
to his room, tucking furiously at his cock, trying to get it to
behave.  But it refused, and once in his room, he gave up trying to
tuck it away, and began stroking it furiously.

"My God," he thought, "what am I doing?  Jacking off to over my
daughter.  My injured daughter.  What the hell's wrong with me."  But
even this self-shaming had no effect.  Instead, it had the opposite
effect.  Rourke's cock grew more, the head became purple, and half a
million new nerve ending came alive in the head of his cock.  He could
feel an impending orgasm when, like a distant and irritating noise,
Rourke became aware of his name being called again.

Rourke listened.  It was Jenny, calling from the bathroom.   Rourke
stopped his stroking, but his cock continued to quiver in his fist.

"What is it, hon?" Rourke called out.

"Daddy, I need help . . . again," Jenny whined.

Rourke sighed, released his cock, grabbed his old terry robe and
headed down the hall.  He stopped just outside the door.  "What is it,
sweetheart?" he called into the bathroom.

"Daddy . . . I need help . . . can you . . .  wipe me?" Oh my God,
Rourke thought.  It never ends.  Not that he minded doing anything to
help his injured daughter, but this . . . never in his wildest
imagination would he believe something like this would come up.  And
worse, that something like this had so many . . . so many what?  . . .
levels of unbelievability . . . of new "duties" . . . of little tasks
that could only be done by hand.  Quickly, Rourke went through a
laundry list of reasons, excuses why he couldn't come in and wipe his
daughter.  But, in the end, it had to be done.  And very reluctantly,
he had to admit he wanted to do it.  As he gathered himself to go in,
he was already seeing in his mind's eye that sweet, tiny little clit
poking between Jenny's pussy lips, swollen now due to her injury.

Rourke bunched his robe in the front, hoping it would disguise his
still half-hard cock.  He might secretly enjoy his new position, but
there was no reason to rub Jenny's face in his "appreciation" of the
situation.

"Okay," he said, entering the room, "what . . . how . . . what do I
do?" he asked, obviously embarrassed.

"Oh, daddy . . . I'm sorry, but it has to be done.  That's just the
way girls are.  Besides, you heard what the doctor said about keeping
clean."

Rourke nodded and gave Jenny an "I know . . . I was there" look.

With Jenny's instruction, Rourke folded the paper, squatted and
tentatively reached his hand between Jenny's legs.

"Now," Jenny instructed, "pat . . . that's it . . . pat gently.
Right,  Now . . . be careful, it still hurts . . . press the paper
into . . . into  my . . . folds."

Following as best he could, and feeling his cock rising to new
heights, Rourke dabbed, patted, and pressed.  At last, Jenny said,
"That's nice . . . er, fine, daddy.  Fine."

Rourke dropped the paper and moved as if to leave.

"Daddy?"  The question in Jenny's voice stopped him.

"Yes," Rourke replied.

"Uh . . . daddy . . . it's kind of stinging . . . you know . . . hurts
a little.  Can you look at it for me . . . make sure my stitches are
okay."

Rourke's cock pulsed, but still, he blushed.

Still reluctant, Rourke countered with, "It's probably because you
went to the bathroom . . . got it wet.  That's all."

"Daddy . . .!!!"

"Okay, hon . . . let's have a look."

Jenny half stood, put down the top lid, sat again with her tail bone
far forward on the seat.   She leaned back against the top bowl and
let her legs fall open.  Again, in less than five minutes, Rourke
found himself face to face with the most beautiful little pussy --
albeit a bruised pussy  -- he had ever seen.  Quietly, he smiled in
his head at the thought that, no matter what the situation, he was
behaving like a proud parent.

Trying to maintain an "adult" demeanor, Rourke tried to inspect
Jenny's pussy in a professional manner.  However, he thought, what the
hell is a "professional manner?"  The best Rourke could do is hunker
down on his haunches and peer intently at Jenny's pussy.  On closer
inspection, he could see the tiny stitches through her downy hair,
which was half way between the down that first appears, and the  more
bristly adult hair that come in later.

"Well . . .?" Jenny asked.

"Well . . . it seems to be okay . . . can't really see that well . . .
to much hair."

"Look closer," Jenny ordered in typical "in charge" female form.

"Yes Ma'am," Rourke retorted with a snicker.

Rourke peered closer, pushing his face to within inches of Jenny's
pussy.  He was so close he could smell the remnants of the
disinfectant, and Jenny's sex.  The musky scent of her sex overrode
the medicine, and Rourke gave thanks for his bulky old robe, which now
hid his raging hard on.

"Well?"

"Honey," Rourke said softly, "the only way I'm going to be able to see
anything is to move your hair a little bit."

"Well, go ahead then, daddy."

"Darlin'  . . . " Rourke said in a tone that sounded like someone
begging off.

"Daddy," Jenny interrupted, "listen to me.  Just listen to me for a
minute.  We're alone here.  We're in this thing, and there is no one
around to help us . . . just like always.  Now, let's just try to
ignore the obvious.  I need help.  You're my daddy and I love you.
You love me.  Everything will be okay . . . c'mon . . . please,
daddy."

Despite his roaring hard on, Rourke saw the wisdom in Jenny's words.
In fact, her grown-up approach had a dampening effect.  Rourke felt
his cock deflate to a hard "soft-on."  Of course, she's right, Rourke
reasoned.  I can do this.

"Okay, hon, hold still," Rourke said, gently picking at Jenny's soft
pubic hair.  "Does that hurt?" he asked, continuing to push the hair
around.

"No," Jenny said.  "Go ahead."

Rourke continued his inspection.  Sure enough, there was her bright
pink little clitty shining out like a light on a foggy night.  On each
side of her clit were two sweet little pussy lips, sweet despite the
fact they had a somewhat bedraggled look from a bad shave and
stitches.

"Well, the stitches are okay . . ." Rourke said quietly, still peering
into Jenny's little love nest.

"What about the scratches . . . the ones the doctor talked about last
night?"

Rourke tensed.  "Well, honey, they are . . . kind of up there, almost
inside of you.  I can't see them just now.  I'll have to . . . touch
you . . . if I'm going to look at . . . at that."

"Well, go ahead, then, daddy," Jenny said matter of factly.

Gingerly and tentatively, Rourke reached in and began unfolding
Jenny's little pussy lips from her large one.  Jenny flinched
imperceptibly.  "That hurt?" Rourke asked.  Jenny laughed and said
that his fingers were cold.  Rourke gently peeled her lips apart until
he had exposed her labia minor -- her little inside lips.  As he
continued separating her parts, Jenny hunched her pelvis upward
slightly.  It caught Rourke, and he glanced up.  Jenny's head was back
and her eyes were closed.  As if it were a cue, his cock began rising
again.  Rourke couldn't tell if Jenny's eyes were closed out of
disinterest, modesty or ecstasy.

"Hmmm," Rourke mumbled.  "These little lips are scratched, alright.  A
little inflamed, too, if I read it right."

"Well . . . then we'd better put on some of that antibiotic cream,"
Jenny said matter of factly.

Again, Rourke felt the tension rise, felt his diaphragm tighten in
readiness to speak his refusal.  But, just as quickly, he relented.
Jenny was right the first time.  They were alone with no one else to
help.  It had to be done.

Rourke reached into the medicine cabinet and retrieved the tube of
ointment.  He applied a dime-sized squirt to his fingers while Jenny
scooted out a couple more inches so that her ass and crack were
completely over the edge of the toilet seat.

Using his left hand, Rourke reached in and spread Jenny's large lips
and began applying the cream to the little lips nestled there.
Slowly, he began spreading the medicated cream.  It was very slick,
and combined with Jenny's velvety inner pussy, his fingers glided
though her crack.  He worked it in up and down motions, all the while
trying to "think professional," and all the while, his cock taking on
the feel of high-tension steel.  Then, very gently, he moved to her
outer lips and applied lotion to her stitched area.  Jenny flinched
again, so Rourke returned to the inner part of her pussy.  Up and
down, up and down, Rourke continued moving the lotion around the
little lips.  Occasionally, his slippery fingers slid farther up and
bumped into something hard.  Suddenly, Rourke realized it was her
little clit, and that it wasn't that little any more, that it was
growing.  He glanced up, and again, Jenny's eyes were closed, and this
time, her chest was moving up and down rapidly, her tea-cup sized
breasts riding her rib cage.

Again, guilt gripped Rourke.  Should I quit?  I should, but that would
be too obvious, he thought.  My God!  Jenny was obviously enjoying
this beyond the level of receiving medication.  In an effort to
maintain his parental role, Rourke decided to lighten his touch.
Perhaps that was the problem.  Too much pressure.

Lightening his touch to feather-light, Rourke continued working the
cream into Jenny's scratched lips, occasionally and accidentally
slipping too far up so that his greasy fingers slid over her hard
little clit.

"Mmmmmm" Jenny sighed.  Then, as though realizing she had given
herself away, she added, "that seems . . . to  . . . be really . . .
good medicine."

Rourke had made up his mind to stop, and was in the act of sending
these signals to his muscles when Jenny suddenly went stiff, her
breathing stopped, and hips bucked upward in three quick movement.

"Oh . . . oohhhhh.  Ah!   What in the world . . . what was that?"
Jenny said through a clenched jaw, her tummy still quaking.  Her eyes
were wide open, she had a smile on her lips, but concern in her eyes.
"Daddy, daddy . . . what happened?"

Well, that tears it, Rourke thought.  Now, I've done it.  My God, you
sick sack of shit.  My little Jenny just had her first orgasm.  On top
of that, I gave it to her.  And, on top of all that, she doesn't know
what it is, and, as bossy as she is, I won't get out of here until I
explain it to her.  God, he thought, why couldn't we live in a large
city where little girls learn this kind of stuff by the time they're
ten.  Worse than that, what if this gets out, he pondered.  At that
moment, with a beautiful little pussy pulsing before him, glistening
with love juice and creamy antibiotic, all Rourke could see ahead of
him was 30 years of hard time in the state pen.

And as he suspected, Jenny began asking questions.

As best he could using simple terms, Rourke found himself explaining
things beyond the perfunctory birds and bees and this is how you make
a baby sort of thing.  He found himself embroiled in that really neat
level of sex -- the orgasm and how it is produced, and how it affects
one, and why it does, and how many ways there are to achieve it . . .
and on and on and on, and, in the end, Jenny just kept asking
questions, all the while her eyes glowing brightly.  In his heart,
Rourke felt both good and bad about it -- good because Jenny was so
animated and alive.  This was probably the first real conversations
she had had that approached "girl talk."  He also felt bad for almost
the same reason:  He wasn't a girl.  He really couldn't "do" girl
talk, and even though he was a "dumb man," he knew deep down that one
of the things that sustained girls throughout their lives was "girl
talk."

At last, and reluctantly, Rourke wound down the conversation with an
admission that he hated to make.  "This isn't right, Jenny . . . it
just isn't right . . ." and as he started to add something, Jenny
interrupted.

"But dad, how can anything that feels so good be so wrong?"

Rourke laughed out loud.

"Are you laughing at me?" Jenny challenged.

"No, baby.  Not at you.  Kind of with you.  It's just that the
question you asked is part of an old song title, which doesn't prove
anything except that millions of other folks have asked, and will
continue to ask the same question."

"Well," Jenny said, taking the situation in hand again, "if it's
wrong, we just won't do that particular thing anymore . . . yes,
that's what we'll do . . . er, not do," she laughed.

"Okay," Rourke agreed, getting to his feet.

"Where ya goin', dad," Jenny asked.

"I thought I'd go see if I can rustle up a nurse somewhere, someone
who can come in and do this stuff for us."

Jenny's face fell.  "Dad!!" she yelped.

"What?"

"You'll do no such thing.  Now . . . now, listen to me before you go
off the way you do.  A nurse coming here twice a day will cost a
fortune.  We can do this thing.  Honest, we can.  We've just talked it
over, talked it out.  We both know what happened and how it happened.
We'll just be more careful."

"Jenny . . ."

"Nope.  Besides, dad, I would feel really, really funny with a
stranger doing that do me."

Rourke studied Jenny for a moment.  Either she was serious, a good
liar or he was just hearing what he wanted to hear.  Deep, deep down,
he wanted it to work.  But just as deeply, he knew he wanted to
continue stroking that darling little pussy.

"We'll see," was all Rourke would say at the moment.  He excused
himself, saying he was going to get his things and take a shower.
Then, he said, he had lots of things to do around the yard, including
finishing trimming the tree, chipping the wood, and putting away their
tools.

"Before you go . . ." Jenny smiled, "Would you at least help me into
my robe?"

Oh God, Rourke thought.  Of course.  No hands.  I'm going to have to
do everything for the next few days . . . things like . . . naw, I
don't want to think about it . . . baths, dressing, more wiping.  And
again, Rourke was saddened because as these thoughts flitted through
his mind, his cock began growing again.  Damn it! he thought.  There
ought to be a way to disconnect that thing.  But in some deep, hidden
recess of his brain, Rourke knew there wasn't . . . and just as
deeply, he sensed that he was glad of it.

Rourke was bone tired but he forced himself to finish the yard work he
and Jenny had started the day before.  While he worked, he pondered
what suddenly seemed like a very crowded night and morning.  Things
seemed to have overtaken him . . . and Jenny . . . in ways he never
would have thought possible hours earlier.  And two more weeks to go.
Hmm, can I do it, he wondered.  Inside his head, a voice said, Sure
you can, Rourke.  But in his bones, he wondered.  Oh well, it will all
be over in two weeks. Besides, that's about when school starts again,
Rourke recalled.  Somehow, the year seems to settle nicely when school
starts.  Deep down, he knew why . . . because by then, Jenny will be
able to see to her own . . . pussy . . . and other needs, he thought.
I wish it were now, he told himself, but while thinking that, he
glanced at his watch.  It was already 2:30 p.m.  Long past lunch time.
Jenny must be starving.  She can't even get herself a snack.  And . .
. it must be about time to dress her wounds again, he thought, which
caused him to hurry his chores and head for the house.

He found Jenny, still in her nighty and robe, half sitting, half
laying on the couch.  She was sitting in a way that told Rourke she
was trying to keep her weight off her injured bottom.  She had managed
to turn on the television by placing the remote control on the floor
and pressing it with her toes.

"Hey, sweetheart, you hungry," he asked.

Jenny extended a very shapely leg -- another discovery for Rourke --
pointed a toe and snapped off the TV set.

"Yes, I am," she said.

"I'll call you when it's ready," Rourke said, heading for the kitchen.

"Dad . . . ?" Jenny called.

"Yes," he said turning to her.

"Dad . . . I . . . I need . . . a bath, too," she said.

Rourke slumped.   Something else, he thought, but caught himself.
Hell, he said to himself, I knew this was coming.  Oh, well, he
thought, resigning himself at last to the job ahead in the next two
weeks.  Baths, massaging her . . . her pussy . . . okay.  I'll get
through it.  I'll think of something else while I'm doing it.

"Okay, one bath coming up.  What say we eat first, though, okay?" he
said, disappearing into the kitchen.  Once again, his old friend.
Peter, kept trying to take charge as Rourke fixed lunch and set the
table.  If it hadn't been for his jeans, his cock would have gotten in
the way of everything.

It took twice as long to eat because he had to feed Jenny, too.  By
the time they had finished, Jenny was squirming in her seat.

"Dad, can we hurry . . . I have to pee."

Rourke threw the rest of the dishes into the sink and followed Jenny
upstairs to the bathroom where she turned and faced him, arms slightly
out at her sides.  At first, Rourke couldn't figure it out.  Then, the
light went on with a blinding flash.  She's waiting for me to undress
her.  This time, with far less embarrassment than before, Rourke
stepped up, helped her out of her robe.  then, with her help, he
raised her nighty and slid her panties down.  As before, the little
panty liner surprised him.  And, again, he fumbled with the tape
trying to remove it without hurting Jenny.  And once more, he mumbled
something about needing a shave.

"That's a great idea, dad," Jenny said as the liner came loose.
Rourke nearly fainted away.  Not only was he again looking that sweet
pink little button right in the eye, his daughter was agreeing that
she needed a shave.  "We can do it while giving me a bath," and with
that, Jenny plopped down on the toilet and let her stream of water
into the john.  Rourke reacted with a sudden turn of his head.

Jenny returned his startled look with a look of, "hey, we're stuck
like this for several more days . . . get used to it."

So, Rourke busied himself by turning on the water for the bath, and in
collecting towels and soap, a razor, bath powder and the cream for her
scratched pussy lips.  By the time he was finished, Jenny was again
standing in the middle of the room, arms over her head, waiting for
her father to remove her nighty.

Rourke lifted the thin blue nighty at the bottom of its skirt and
began raising it over her head.  As he did so, his breath caught and
his heart came to a full stop.  For a moment, he thought his heart was
going to blow all its seals.  As the nighty came up, Rourke watched
Jenny's sweet little "woman's" belly slide into view, followed by her
small, dainty waist, and finally her two perfectly formed and cone
shaped breasts, each capped with quarter size aureoles and eraser
sized nipples.

Steam from the gathering bath water and the sight of his daughter  --
far sexier than he had dared think -- brought a sheen to his face.
Soon, Rourke was dripping with sweat.  Jenny noticed and said, "Dad,
at least take off your shirt . . . maybe slip into your shorts.  It's
too hot in here dressed the way you are."

"Maybe you're right," he replied and excused himself, adding "Don't
try getting in the tub by yourself.  Ill be right back."

Quickly, Rourke slipped into his room and into a pair of gray flannel
workout shorts.  Jenny was still standing in the middle of the room
when he returned.  And with his return, his cock immediately began
trying to stand on its own.  This time there was not mistaking it.
And besides, after the talk he had with Jenny, she was suddenly too
wise.

"Dad, I'm sorry about that," she said, nodding her head toward the
tent in his shorts.

"That's okay, baby.  Let's just get on with it and pretend it isn't
there."

"Okay, dad," Jenny said, a faint smile crossing her lips.  If she
weren't his own daughter, Rourke would have thought she was mocking
him, playing with his "situation."

"What are we going to do first, shave me?" Jenny asked.

"No," Rourke said.  "I'll wash you first.  That will give your . . .
wounds . . . time to soften in the hot water."

Rourke helped Jenny into the tub.  He lathered a wash cloth and began
with her arms, being careful not to wet the bandages encasing her
hands.  Then, he moved up to her shoulders and across her back,
stopping now and then  for more soap.  Soon enough, her front would
come up.  He had been putting it off, wondering how he was going to
wash her chest without touching her breasts.  Once again, he knew this
was impossible, but still . . . this was his daughter, and every
stroke cleaner she became, the closer he got to losing his resolve.
And, with each stroke, he noticed her firm little breasts, with their
shiny wet nipples, jiggling like two little cups of Jell-O, soap from
her shoulders running down, dripping off her nipples.

Rourke was glad he was on his knees and that the lower half of his
body was hidden from view because all this stretching to wash Jenny's
back had caused his shorts to ride up so that, now, his rigid cock
stuck out one of the legs of his skimpy shorts.

After nearly scrubbing the hide off Jenny's back, Rourke lathered the
wash cloth and haltingly began washing Jenny's chest.  He was nearly
struck dumb with the firmness of her breasts, and he couldn't help
noticing that her nipples responded instantly to his touch.  Each
stood up like a tiny hard-on, poking into the steam, peeking through
the suds dripping form them.

Jenny placed her back against the tub in readiness for her father's
request for her to raise her legs so he could wash them.  When she
raised them, Rourke found that he could barely take his eyes off the
bright, pink little button winking up at him through the soapy water.

Finally, he asked Jenny to stand, and using the bar of soap, he gently
lathered her pubic hair.

"I'm sorry, hon," he said apologetically, "but you'll have to spread
your legs."

Jenny complied, taking a side step so Rourke could reach between her
legs an soap her pussy lips.  Once more, she flinched slightly, and
Rourke apologized for hurting her.

"Actually, it feels kind of good," Jenny admitted.

"I thought it hurt," Rourke commented.

"Well, yes . . . but there are good hurts and  bad hurts . . . " Jenny
said with a smile in her voice.

This caused Rourke's cock to grow a little more.  As his soapy fingers
slipped gently among the folds and hidden places of his daughter's
cunny, Rourke felt that he might go crazy.  How can I continue, he
thought.  How can I do this without plunging my cock into her pussy.
Rourke pushed away these thoughts as best he could and said, "Now,
hold still while I shave you, hon . . . and in a minute, when I start
working around those cuts, I'll have to stretch your . . . lips.  Let
me know if it hurts."

Slowly, Rourke began peeling away the fine hair up on her belly, that
soft part above her mound.  Then, working carefully, he started
slicing away the hair directly on her mound, and finally, the razor
began slipping down and under, taking off the hair on her cunny lips.
As promised, when he reached her tiny stitches, he had to reach in and
pull the lips, stretching them so he work up to the stitch, but not so
close as to cut it off.  He could feel -- sense, really -- that Jenny
was kind of holding her breath, kind of holding back, as it were, from
the pain that stretching her lips must be causing.

"Sorry, darling," he said.

"That's okay, dad.  It feels funny without my hair down there.  What
does it look like?"

Good grief, thought Rourke.   It looks so sexy, so inviting I'm having
a hard time keeping my tongue out of that soapy slit.  It looks like a
pouting, pink-lipped lollipop, something I could suck all night long,
that's what it looks like.  All this in his head, of course.

"It looks fine," Rourke said, trying not to let the pounding of his
heart come through his chest and out his vocal chords.

Now, to make sure there was no annoying stubble, Rourke soaped his
hand again and began running it over Jenny's mound, down between her
legs and her cunny folds, searching for those tiny, sharp little hairs
that would drive her crazy by morning.  Back and forth, slipping and
sliding went Rourke's hand until he realized that Jenny was moving her
hips in response to his movements.  As he pulled forward, she pulled
back, and then the reverse.  Time and again, that now hard little
clitty thumped along the high and low spots of his hand.  Not wishing
a repeat of this morning -- and fearing the consequences if she fell
-- Rourke stopped, satisfied he had nipped every hair that could cause
trouble.

Then, he told Jenny to turn around while he washed her back.  Quickly,
his hand found her perfectly heart-shaped ass and in less than a
minute, his soapy hand slipped into the crack of her ass.  Again, in
the tiniest of movements, he was aware that Jenny was leaning into his
probing fingers, following them, helping them center on her tiny
rosebud center of pleasure.

And again, Rourke forced himself to stop, sensing that Jenny would
ride his hand to completion, or until he did something he would
regret.  Besides, after this he was going to have to dress her wounds
again with antiseptic cream.

Finally, Rourke proclaimed his work done and asked Jenny to rinse and
stand, which she did.  He helped her from the tub, throwing a large
towel over her and began patting her dry.  Before he was completely
finished, Jenny was edging her way toward the mirror on the back of
the bathroom door.

"I want to see my new look," she said, striking a pose . . . shoulders
back, hips thrust forward, her bald 14-year-old pussy looking tight
and fine.

The sight caused Rourke to feel that his own orgasm was near, and he
was horrified and mortified when he looked down to see that he had
neglected to cover his cock which still protruded from the leg of his
shorts.

Jenny followed his sudden head movement in the mirror, and from her
angle, she could see everything.

"Dad!" she yelped, snickering a little at the same time.  "My God . .
. what's that?"

Since he had been caught, Rourke made no effort to be quick about
covering his cockhead.  However, he did go ahead and pull his shorts
out and over the head of his raging hard-on.

"Well, Jenny . . . we talked about . . . "

"I know we talked," Jenny interrupted, but does this happen every
time?  Do I do this to you???"

Rourke knew he had to be careful with his answer.  Too much one way
would give her the wrong impression that she could do this at will to
any man in the world, which she probably could do, but at great peril
to herself.  Too much the other way would crush her young spirit, the
very femininity that one day she would give willingly to a man.

Instead, Rourke tried to let it go with a lame excuse about how long
it had been since he had been with Jenny's mother.  Mixed in were
vague things about natural urges.  In all, Rourke was not satisfied
with his answer.  In return, he thought he once again spotted that
little Mona Lisa smile he had seen on Jenny's face earlier that day.

While Jenny smiled, Rourke gathered up her nighty and a dry towel and
the antibiotic cream.

"Come on," he said.  We have more work to do.

Rourke turned toward the john, where Jenny had received her last
treatment.  Instead, Rourke heard the bathroom door open.  When he
looked up, Jenny was gone.  Rourke chased after her.

"Where you goin', darlin'?" he asked.

"To my room, if it's okay with you, daddy.  That john lid is cold.
Wouldn't it be okay if I laid on my bed while you did this?"

Rourke acquiesced.  Actually, it would be better.  Better angle.  He
wouldn't have to squat.  She would be more comfortable.

In her room, Jenny flopped down on her bed and, without instruction,
spread her legs.  It was all Rourke could do to keep his cool.
Jenny's shiny pussy and glistening pink parts lay open before him.
Trying mightily to avert his eyes, Rourke squeezed creme on his
fingers, and gently began applying it to Jenny's razor-slick lips.

It wasn't until Rourke had gotten started that he notice Jenny had not
covered herself, not even her top.  Her perky breasts with their hard
nipples pointed at the ceiling, while the cream he worked into the
folds of her taut pussy make little smacking sounds beneath his
fingers.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and again, he noticed that his raging
hard on could not be contained.  It had again slipped out from beneath
the leg of his shorts.  Thank goodness, the way he sat at her side,
his hard on was not visible to Jenny.  At least it was not visible
unless she sat straight up and looked for it.  Rourke considered
shifting his rigid shaft, but to do so would call attention more
attention to it, so he left things as they were, concentrating on the
now slick as ice pussy folds slipping beneath his fingers.

It started as the tiniest of muscle movements, but before long, Jenny
was going along with his strokes, gently pushing her pussy up, and
drawing it down in opposition to him.  They weren't big  movement, not
the kind you can see from across the room.  Just little strokes,
barely enough for Rourke to identify.  He considered stopping, but two
things urged him on:  First, the doctor's orders that this be done at
least twice a day, and, second, he couldn't stop.  This morning, with
Herculean effort, he could have stopped.  But not now.  Not with this
ultra slick, super sensitive virgin pussy calling to him,  and eager
to feel his fingers probing the folds of skin, pushing her fatty
tissue, riding up and over that incredibly hard clitty button, Rourke
knew that, up to this point in the game, he was trapped.  And,
frankly, he was quite happy with things just as they were.  He had no
intention of going farther.  Jenny, he thought, might have entertained
other ideas, but she was young and impressionable, something that
nudged his sense of responsibility greatly.  She was, after all, his
daughter, and he owed it to her to do no more than this.

And that's when it happened.  Quite by accident, his slippery fingers
-- sliding, slipping, seeking her damaged spots, stopping for a
moment, twirling antibiotic creme in all the right places -- one of
his fingers slipped into her vagina, into her virgin tunnel of love,
into the soul of her sex.  By then, she was totally lubricated, and in
her youth, her juices flowed so freely that Rourke could tell that not
all her slickness was due only to medicated creme.  Her love channel
was so wet that his finger simply disappeared into her sex, directly
behind her pubic bone, not quite an inch away from her swollen clitty.

Rourke felt Jenny go tense, and before he could react, or before Jenny
could speak, a fierce spasm clutched her body, drawing tight her
stomach muscles, while racking spasms fluttered Jenny's pussy muscles
on Rourke's cunt-covered finger.  It was only her second orgasm, but
by anyone's book, it was the kind a girl would remember for the rest
of her life.  In fact, it was so powerful, Rourke knew he would
remember it for the rest of his life, too.

Simultaneously, Rourke -- and probably Jenny, too -- knew that things
had changed, that their lives had just taken a turn, and that if they
were to survive, both had better be wearing their seat belts.

Slowly, Jenny's eyes blinked open as if she were trying to rid them of
stars and shell bursts.

"Daddy . . . daddy . . . what was that . . . ???"

"I'm sorry, babe . . . "

"Daddy, don't be sorry.  Please don't.  Can we do it again?"

"Oh, princess . . . I don't know.  You're . . ."

"I'm what, daddy?"

"Well, I was going to say you were too young, but that's not true, is
it?" Rourke said, gathering himself for what he had to say next.

"Princess, this is wrong.  You know it, and I know it.  If any part of
this leaked out, we'd both be . . . "

"Oh, daddy!   Will you quit!  I'm not going to tell, and I know you
aren't either.  Now listen to me . . . please.  I've never felt
anything like this before in my life.  Well . . ." Jenny hesitated,
going back in her mind, "I remember when I used to go bumpity-bumpity
down the stairs on my little behind, and I used to think how good it
felt when my butt hit the steps if I did it right . . ."

Rourke interrupted.  "But, baby, we're not going bumpity-bump anymore.
This is something else.  And what's more, it's leading to a place from
which I'm afraid we may never come back."

Jenny raised up on her elbows and instinctively reached for her
father.  But just as quickly, she remembered her hands were still
bandaged with only the tiny tips of a few fingers sticking out here
and there.  As her eyes followed her bandaged hand, and as her hand
fell against her father's leg, she glanced into his lap.  Suddenly,
her eyes flashed wide open.  There, sticking out of his sweat-shorts
was her father's throbbing cock, pre-cum rolling down the head,
trickling down the shaft toward his swollen balls.

"Heavens," she gasped.  "Is that what was making that big bump in your
pants the last couple of days?" she asked.

"Baby, you know it is," he said.

''Well, that doesn't seem fair to me . . . me having all the fun while
you suffer along with . . . with that."

Again, Rourke tried to explain all the problems associated with this
kind of activity.  It was called incest.  Even the name sounds bad and
it sounds worse when you say it.  It's full of hissing noises.  Rourke
explained this, and more, trying to talk himself out of it as much as
getting Jenny to see the light.  But the more he talked the more his
cock bounced with every heartbeat, and the more Jenny looked at it.

"Oh, daddy," she cooed, "I wish I could touch it."

"Damn it, Jenny.  You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have
you?"

"Oh, daddy, you're such a worry wart . . . but . . . well . . . if
you're so dead set against it . . . ."  And again, a peculiar little
smile played across Jenny's lips.

Rourke fell speechless at this.  Deep down, he knew everything he told
her was right.  But somewhere deep within, he thought Jenny would talk
him out of it.  He thought she was going to press on through youthful
exuberance, and that in the end he was going to let her win.  But here
it was . . . Jenny had agreed with him.  The game was over.  Guilt
gripped Rourke again because he realized he wanted it to continue.  He
wanted to be talked into it.  The thing that made him feel so bad was
that he hadn't had the courage to own up to the fact that he wanted
his daughter.

Slowly, Rourke's cock began deflating.  The realization that he had
been kidding himself, Jenny agreeing with him . . . his world just
took a couple of spins, and it showed in Rourke's cock as well as his
face.

"Poor daddy," Jenny said, looking from his cock to his face.  "I can
see this bothers you more than me.  I'm sorry, daddy," Jenny said,
patting his leg with her mitten sized hand, a sorrowful look in her
eyes.   Then, eyes brightening, she added, "But I hope this doesn't
mean we have to stop treating me . . . I mean, after all, daddy, there
is this infection thing.  You will continue to treat me, won't you?"

Rourke brightened instantly.  A reprieve.  Keeping his voice as steady
as possible, he said, "Of course, angel.  We have to take care of
you."

The next several days passed almost like today, minus the intense
orgasms and discussions.  During this time, Rourke and Jenny began
feeling more comfortable around each other, especially at bath time
when Jenny stood naked before her daddy, her sweet little 14-year-old
body glistening in the steam from her bath, her bald pussy looking
very much the way Rourke remembered it when he used to change her
diaper.

One evening in the bath, as Rourke was gently washing Jenny's pussy,
Jenny said, "Dad, will you check that again.  It's really been itchy
today."

"Sure, honey.   Put a foot up on the edge of the tub so I can see."

Jenny hiked her foot up and thrust her pelvis forward.  Rourke used a
washcloth to wipe away the soap.  Here he was again, facing this sweet
little pussy, this carnal cunt that wanted his cock, this pea-sized
pink pearl that wanted to be massaged and sucked, and all he could do
was look at it.

Stuffing all this, Rourke turned to the task of inspecting Jenny's
pussy lips.  He let his fingers trace along the puffy parts, paying
special attention to the wounded area.  Jenny's lips were so soft, yet
so elastic.  Rourke knew because, although it wasn't necessary, he had
taken first one, then the other, between his fingers and gently pulled
at them as if this were part of the inspection.  And, as usual, being
this close to heaven, his cock began to swell.  My poor cock, Rourke
thought.  It has been hard for a week now and all I've gotten from it
is my own hand.

Rourke was so busy feeling sorry for himself that he almost missed it.
Her healing pussy lips, that is.  On closer inspection, he saw that
one of the small scabs had completely dropped away, and the scab on
the other side was ready to go.  He gently prodded the lose scab, and
it fell away in his hand, leaving a bright pink mark on Jenny's tender
pussy lip.

"Well . . ." Rourke said,  "what have we here."  It was a statement
rather than a question, and Jenny interpreted it that way.

"What is it, dad?"

"Baby, it itched because your scabs have come off.  The skin
underneath is bright and pink.  Not a sign of infection.  And the
stitches have disappeared like Doc said they would,"  Rourke said.

"Well . . . . . " Jenny said, drawing it out, as though she had more
to say.

"What?" her father inquired.

"We're not going to stop my treatments, are we?" Jenny whined.  "I
mean, it's still tender, and it itches.  I really think we should
continue until that tube of stuff is gone."

"Well, okay, baby.  Whatever you think," Rourke said evenly, trying to
hide the joy in his voice.

Up to now, he had been doing so well, but deep in his heart, he knew
what he wanted to do, and he had been dreading the day when Jenny's
pussy no longer needed attention.  Also, in the last couple of days,
he had seen Jenny playing with the bandages on her hands, peeking, and
partially unwrapping them.  In just a couple more days, she would
dispense with the bandages altogether.  It wouldn't be long after that
that she would be taking care of all this by herself.  In his heart,
Rourke knew he should just let it go.  But at a deeper level, he felt
like pressing the attack, like sticking his tongue into that pinkest,
sweetest place this side of heaven.  He even licked his lips as if
making ready.  It was almost more than he could bear.  Here was his
beautiful daughter, her virgin pussy all tight and squeaky clean,
already leaking her love juice as it did every time he "treated" her.
Her translucent pink pearl of a clit was one tongue-lick away.

"Of course we'll continue . . . if that's what you want," Rourke said,
his nose so close he could smell the lilac soap and the musky-sweet
sex glistening from her tender lips.

As he said it, he turned his gaze upward toward Jenny who was still
standing on one leg, the other on the edge of the tub, knee splayed
out, pussy thrust forward as though aiming for her daddy's mouth, and
as he said it, a look passed between them -- one of those looks that
take only a second, but which would take one hundred thick books to
describe.

"I'll tell you what, sweetheart," Rourke said, still holding her gaze,
"I'll dry you, and then I'll go down fix us a nice supper.  It'll be
dark soon.  Maybe I'll get out the candles and we'll eat by candle
light.  Then, we'll turn down the lights, and I'll give you another
treatment.  Sound okay to you?"

"Oh, daddy . . . it sounds wonderful."

Rourke headed for the kitchen as soon as jenny was dried, a bulge in
his pants, and joy in his heart.  He prepared a simple dinner of
steamed asparagus, and salmon with a dip made with cream, miracle
whip, lemon, sugar, chopped onion and curry powder.  And, for the
occasion -- Jenny's healing, he called it -- he opened a bottle of
white wine and poured each of them a small glass.

While the meal went through it's 20-minutes of steaming, Rourke flew
upstairs to take a quick shower.  On his way past Jenny's room, he
glanced in and was surprised to see Jenny had removed the rest of the
bandages from her hands.  Rourke couldn't see everything, but from his
cursory glance, her hands had healed with almost the same speed as her
pussy.  Jenny had obviously washed them and was applying some of her
healing cream.  She had also put on a very short pink and transparent
nighty.  Rourke's cock flexed beneath his shorts.

His shower was actually an ordeal, almost worse than washing and
stroking his daughter.  At least with Jenny and her pussy in his line
of sight, he had a target in view.  But in the shower, knowing that
supper was nearly ready, that the candles waited, that the wine was
chilled and waiting, that his daughter had slipped into her best
nighty, that she was waiting for her "treatment," Rourke had to fight
to leave his cock alone.  Again and again, he found his fist wrapped
around his engorged cock, it's head growing larger and more purple
with every stroke of his soapy hand.

Carefully, he scooped up his balls in his left hand while his right
hand glided over the tiny ridges and veins in his cock.  He squeezed
his balls slightly.  Careful . . . careful . . . he cautioned himself.
I want to save this for . . . for later, he thought, still not daring
to let himself think about the possibilities that awaited.

On his way down the hall, he poked his head into Jenny's room.  She
was lying on her bed, her hand stroking her mound very softly.  Jenny
heard and saw her dad at the same time, and said, "Dad, we're going to
have to shave this again.  It's getting all stubbly."

"Well, how about right after we eat,"  he smiled.

"Great," she said, rising from the bed.

"Ready?" Rourke asked, extending his arm like a gallant musketeer.

 "Ready," Jenny said, taking his arm.

They walked together down the stairs, arm in arm, Jenny in nothing but
her sheer nighty, and Rourke with nothing but his shorts on, his cock
pointing straight out beneath the fabric as if pointing the way.

The fish and asparagus were delicious, but neither tasted a bite.  The
electricity passing between them could have lighted a small city.
They did agree, however, that the wine was outstanding, and both had
two glasses with enough left over in the bottle for "later."

With the meal out of the way, Rourke asked Jenny to go get the razor
while he cleaned up.  Jenny returned as Rourke finished.  Rourke
placed Jenny into his big reclining chair and put it in the full
reclining position.  Then, he applied lather and began.

"We have to be more careful this time that we were the last time,"
Rourke said, explaining that now, with a stubble present, each little
hair follicle was pushing up some flesh behind it.  "If we're not
careful, we'll nip off these little things and give you a bad razor
rash," he explained.

"Well, then, take your time by all means, daddy," she smiled sweetly,
opening her legs wider.

Rourke worked gently, first taking care of the stubble above her
mound.  Then turning his attention to her lips and folds, he began
slowly moving her lips from side to side, carefully covering her
glistening clitty with a finger to protect it from the slicing blade
in the razor.  Each time he did this, her clit became harder and poked
out farther.  He paid particular attention to her pussy lips in the
area where the stitches had been, not wanting to reopen the old wound
or cause a new one.  Not tonight!

Using the remains of the slick shaving soap, Rourke ran his fingers
over and around and through Jenny's slit, looking for any small snag
from a few overlooked hairs.  Little by little, stroke by stroke,
Rourke protected Jenny's precious clit while making her mound look as
he remembered it the day she came home as a new babe.

Using a wet cloth, he finished the job, wiping away the last of the
soap.  He leaned back to inspect his work.  Jenny, her breathing
shallow now, watched intently.

"Beautiful," Rourke said quietly, almost to himself, his eyes shining
with pride at what he felt was all his.

Hearing this, Jenny raised up and threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, daddy," she said, "you don't know how it makes me feel when you
look at me like that."

"Well, I like to too," he said, and then turning his eyes down, said,
"but it looks like I won't be doing this for you much longer."

Again, that little Mona Lisa smile visited Jenny's face.

"Here, daddy," she said, handing him the tube of medicine.

Rourke took it but hesitated.

"What's the matter, daddy?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, I was wondering if I shaved you smooth enough."

"Didn't you check with your hands while you were doing it?" she asked,

"Yessss. . . . " he said slowly, "but there is a much better way to
tell . . . I'm just not sure whether I should do it."

Jenny closed her eyes to soft slits in the candlelit room and sang
softly, "Do it, daddy.  Do it.  Whatever it is . . . do it."

Rourke held her eyes with his as he leaned over, bringing his face so
close to her pussy that he could feel the heat from her clit. It was
so hot it seemed to burn his lips.  Slowly, he extended his tongue
until it made first contact with the glistening pink pearl hiding
between her pouting clam of her pussy lips.

"Aaahhhhhh," she exhaled.  "Oooohhhhhh daddy, what are you doing?"

 "Do you want me to stop?" Rourke asked.

"Oh, nooooo.  Whatever you do don't stop."

Rourke nuzzled in a little closer and, using the tip of his tongue,
flicked Jenny's growing clitty.  He did about as fast as a guitar
player can strum strings.

"Ohhhh . . . mmmmm . . . . aahhhh . . . . . . daddy."

Rourke changed up, placing his entire mouth over her mound so that her
clit was in the center of the hollow created by his open mouth.  Then,
he began to suck, pulling her little girl cunt lips and clit upward
into his mouth.  As they rose in response to the suction, Rourke
closed his mouth until his tongue and mouth contacted the rising,
soft, pink flesh of Jenny's quivering cunt.  Her cunt was still small
enough that her inner lips were sucked into this vortex of tingling
tension, and her love juices, which had been flowing freely for the
entire week, began to flow upward into Rourkes' mouth.  The taste of
her love tunnel soup nearly drove him mad.  He wanted to mount her
instantly, but he resisted mightily.  At that particular moment, a
moment he suddenly realized he had been dreaming of for days, he knew
he would drown her pussy in cum if his cockhead came within a foot of
her pulsing sex.  There would be a time for that to happen, but just
now, he had to savor the flavor.  In fact, he wanted to taste her
entire womanhood, her total slippery slit.

Spreading her legs as she moaned above him, Rourke tipped her pelvis
up a little and lowered his aim until his tongue had free rein to roam
her entire crack, from asshole to clit and back.  Slowly, he began
lapping like a dog . . . all the way forward, all the way back.
Forward and back, forward and back.  His tongue bounced over her
vibrating clit, then sank into the opening of her virgin vagina, and
over the sill between vagina and asshole to the depression of her
sweet asshole where it tarried long enough to make two complete
circles, and then it moved back a little farther, where it started its
trip forward again.  Dip, swirl twice, bump, dip and suck juice, and
then bump-bump over her clit.

"Ohhhhh . . . . daddy,daddy,daddy . . . ohhh dooo iiit, doitdoitdoit .
. . whatever you're doing . . . doitdoitdoit.

Rourke could feel pre-cum running like a river from his cock.  Again,
he wanted to mount her, but he knew this was her first time, and if
there's one thing a girl should always be able to look back on, it is
her first time, he thought, and she shouldn't have to look back on one
of those teeny-bopper-in-the-back-seat-three-poke-fucks.  It should be
memorable, and Rourke knew that when they were finished, Jenny would
never forget her first time.

Again, Rourke changed up a bit.  He let his tongue spend a little more
time with her asshole.  He pushed a little, forcing it into the
depression, and then withdrew, and buy spreading his tongue wide, he
covered her entire asshole.  With his tongue flattened, he gently
moved it back and forth, back and forth in tiny little movements that
transferred the heat in his tongue to her anal orifice.  Swirl several
times, probe gently, swirl and probe.  Jenny's asshole became loose
and relaxed.

"Ahhhh . . . oooohhhhhhhhh . . . daaaaaadddddyyyyyy,"  she moaned,
pressing her crack into his face with each probing of his tongue.

Sensing her asshole was as loose as it could get without penetration,
Rourke reached up and began probing gently with a wet finger, while he
moved his mouth up a little so he could envelope her lips and clit
again.  As he sucked and drank her juices, he slipped his finger into
her anus ever so softly.  He felt Jenny's sphincter tense slightly,
and then relax.

"Oohhhh, daddy . . . it feels so good . . . it feels . . . it feels
like something is happening . . . happening in my tummy . . . from my
tits to my . . .  to my pussy, daddy.  Oh, oh, suck it daddy, suck
it."

Rourke recognized the signs.  Her orgasm was on its way.  Not her
first, but certainly the first one that he had so deliberately and
honestly given to her.  A wave of satisfaction rolled over him.  This
may be all wrong, but it was also all right.  Both of them knew what
was happening.  Nothing was hidden.  There was no pretend-medication,
no pretend-accidental and sneaky little orgasm.  This was a
full-blown, between two people orgasm.  Rourke knew it would be good
for her, and after all, that's what the last few years had been all
about as far as Rourke was concerned . . . about Jenny.  So,  Rourke
bent to the task.  Just a few more strokes with his tongue, a few more
sips of her cunt nectar, a flick and lick of her clit . . .

Jenny was in total response, her legs splayed, hunching her cunt into
her daddy's mouth,  her clit sliding over his nose, his chin grinding
against her rosebud.  It was becoming too much.  Waves rolled from her
nipples to her stomach, her muscles as tense as a suspension bridge,
her tiny pee-pee-clitty ringing like a church bell.  And then the
waves started high in her tummy and rolled toward her stomach, ending
in the point of her clit, one after the other, and as the waves
rolled, the muscles inside her vagina began to spasm, forcing streams
of her love nectar down and into her daddy's mouth.

"Oh, daddy . . . it's happening . . . it's . . . happening again . . .
don't let it stop . . . oh please, please don't let it stop . . . I'm
cumming, daddy . . . lick it, lick it . . . make it keep going."

Rourke continued sucking his daughter's cunt, slowing his tongue
action, knowing that even a wild-eyed youngster couldn't maintain that
level of action for long.

As Jenny caught her breath, Rourke raised his mouth from her pussy.
"Well, sweetheart, was as good as you thought it would be?"

"Oh, daddy . . . better.  So very much better.  What did you do . . .
use your tongue?"

"Yes, baby.  Did you like it?"

"Mmmmm . . . wonderful." Jenny sighed, adding, "can we do it again?"

"Of course, baby, but let's go upstairs to bed.  We might as well be
comfortable."

"Comfortable, yes," Jenny said, "BUT," she said stressing the word,
"pretty soon now, it's got to be your turn.  Besides, daddy, I want
that big thing of yours . . . you know," she said turning her head
shyly.

Her youth and shyness touched Rourke.  "Of course, baby, I know.
C'mon."

Together they went upstairs to Rourke's bedroom.  Rourke laid his
daughter in the center of his King sized bed and lit several candles.
Then standing beside the bed, Jenny's eyes on his muscular body, he
lowered his shorts.  When, at last, Jenny saw the full length and
girth of her daddy's cock, she gasped audibly.

"Daddy, how big is that?"

"Usually around nine inches," Rourke said as matter of factly as
possible, not wanting to scare her.  "But in the presence of such
beauty as yours, who knows, it could be a foot long.  I know that
looking at you makes it feel like it's a foot long."

"Do you think I can . . . .?"

"Sweetheart, we'll go as slow or as fast you want," Rourke said
lowering himself beside her.  Instinctively, her hand circled his
cock.

"Daddy . . . this is the first time I've ever felt a man's . . . a
man's thing."

"I know, baby.  And I can't tell you how good it feels."

"Daddy . . . ?"

"Yes."

"Daddy,  I know that it's going to hurt when you put it in . . . I
mean that it will hurt when it  . . .when it goes through my . . ."

"Well, baby, we can wait if that's what you want."

"Oh, no, daddy.  I just wanted you to know that it will hurt a little.
But I can't wait for it to hurt and be done with.  Will you put it in,
now . . . please?"

With that, Jenny spread her legs and tugged gently on her daddy's
cock, indicating that she was ready for him.  She clung to it as
Rourke lifted himself and slipped between her legs.  He couldn't get
over how beautiful his Jenny looked in the candle light, her breasts
forming tiny mountains, her pussy lips glistening from her flowing
pussy juice.  Instinctively, Jenny brought Rourke's cock head to that
magic part of her slit, to that place where the cock head slipped
between pussy lips, causing them to bulge as it nudged into that soft
spot known simply as "heaven."

As Rourke began pressing, he said, "Now, sweetheart, you have to help
. . . you have to tell me . . . "

"I know," she interrupted.  "Push, daddy.  It feel so good where it
is.  I want it, daddy.  I want it.  Please put it in . . ."

Rourke couldn't hold back.  In one, simple, yet gently thrust, his
cock head parted those tiny lips, stretching them around his thick
prick.  His cock slipped in easily, but it still caused Jenny to suck
in her breath.

"Are you okay?" Rourke asked.

"Oh, God, yes.  It's so good, daddy.  Oh, please daddy, do  me.  Ram
it in, please."

Rourke pressed on, feeling his cock slide in another inch before
coming to a stop.  That's it, he thought.  Beyond this point . . . and
then it slipped through.  Jenny gasped, but as she caught her breath,
she thrust her hips forward, threw her head back, and cried, "Oh,
daddy . . . fuck me.  Fuck me with your big cock.  Fill my pussy with
it, daddy.  Fill it up."

All of the week's tension, all of their pussy-petting came to an end
in that first thrust.  They fell into each other's arms as Jenny's
pussy sucked and gobbled her daddy's cock deeper and deeper until she
felt his balls slapping her tongue-softened asshole.

"Oh, baby . . . oh, baby . . . daddy's cock is walkin' an' talkin',
baby.  Daddy's gonna cum.  Daddy's gonna cum in his baby's pussy."

"Cum, daddy.  Cum for me," Jenny whispered.  "I can't wait to feel
that stuff inside me, daddy.  Oh, please, daddy . . . "

"Mmmfff . . . ughhhhhhh . . . ahhhhhh . . . sweet baby . . . sweet
baby . . . daddy's cock is cumin' in my darling baby's pussy."
Rourke's hips thrust deeply, and his ass muscles clenched, causing his
cum to hit his daughter's cervix with such pressure that it spilled
around his cock and out Jenny's sucking pussy where it trickled into
her crack.

"Baby, I'm sorry that was so short."

"Oh, daddy," Jenny sighed, "don't worry about that.  The night is
young, and we have all the time in the world."

"We do?" Rourke said.

"Sure, daddy.  We have the rest of our lives to be together," she
cooed in his ear.

And hearing that, Rourke felt his cock begin to surge with new blood
and new life.  Jenny felt the new vigor flowing into her daddy's cock,
too.

"Daddy, if it's okay with you, I'm just going to lay her for the next
couple of hours and feel that thing of yours filling me up . . .
Okay?"

"Whatever you want, baby.  Whatever you want is fine with me," he
said, and with that, Rourke began sliding his cock in and out of
Jenny's tight little pussy in long, slow strokes designed to take them
well into the night.

"And, of course," she added, "after all this, we'll have to medicate
my pussy again in the morning, won't we?"

"Sweetheart," Rourke said, "I have a feeling we're going to be so hard
on your sweet spot that it will have to be medicated every day for the
rest of our lives."

Jenny let out a long sigh, and pushed her pussy up do meet her daddy's
downstroke.  -- end --



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