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Subject: Jenny's Dire Circumstance, pt 2
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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


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