Brent, Male, 34

	- Narrator, marketing manager, father of Orchid

	- Tan white skin, 5'10, 175lbs, shoulder-length curly brown hair

Dahlia, Female, late 30s-early 40s

	- Mother of Lily

	- Tan white skin, 5'9, 155lbs, 38D breasts, shoulder-length wavy brown hair, green eyes

Lily (Lilian), Female, 9

	- Daughter of Dahlia

	- Dark-tan skin, 4'5, 70lbs, mid-back wavy brown hair, dark eyes, Native American features

I already had water boiling for coffee and a loaf of crunchy bread warming in the coals by the time Dahlia and Lily roused. They both wore robes over nightgowns, hair uncombed and wild. Dahlia looked at me with a sheepish grin, and I had no doubt she was second guessing opening up her secrets to me the night before.

“Morning,” I called to them. Lily had a roll of toilet paper in her hand and mumbled 'morning' as she headed for the slit trench and disappeared in the trees. Dahlia settled in, gazed into the fire. “Coffee drinker? I've only got instant, but it works for me.”

“Sure, would love some.” She looked at me, glanced toward where Lily had gone, said “Thanks, Brent. I... I have never told anyone about... About me and Lily. The therapist only knew about us before all that started, and since... I hate myself but I can't stop. I make her feel good, she does the same for me. I've rationalized it to be the way we coped with the way my husband had left us. I know it is no excuse... No excuse.

I said nothing a moment, then, “Like I said last night, I don't know what to think.”

“What do you think I do for a living, Brent? Any idea?”

I thought about it. Dahlia struck me as someone with a professional attitude, casual, not a stuffy office executive or account manager, more like a teacher, maybe a director of a social organization. “I don't know, you've not given me much to go on...”

She sighed, “Victim's advocate. I'm a victim's advocate... “

I let that sink in, played out the difference between what she did to help others, and how she acted to help herself. “That's... ironic.”

“I think my work contributes to my relationship with Lilian. I... want to make her feel good, like the victims I help. But... Lilian... she hasn't been the victim, at least not in her head. She doesn't see it that way, not with her father and not with me. Here I am, fighting for children and women who are abused, and I'm sexually intimate with my own nine-year old! I struggled a long time, saw her as a victim, but... I never want anyone to feel like a victim, it doesn't help, and Lilian refused that implication of what her father had done to her.”

She seemed to be fighting back tears, and I tried to dodge the emotional trauma by getting our coffee mixed up. “Uh, sweet and light?”

“Black, thanks.”

I handed her a cup, let her settle down a bit.

We sipped coffee in silence until Lily returned, the girl plopping down heavily. My thoughts for her had shifted a lot since the night before, my guilt and concern overwhelming my arousal. Dahlia excused herself and took the toilet paper into the woods. Lily sat quietly, watching the fire.

I debated what to say. I had to ask the girl questions. I couldn't let it rest if she were being harmed. “Lily... can I ask you a question or two, that ok?”

“I guess...”

“Does... I have a daughter, and she sometimes gets mad at me for making her do things she doesn't want to do, right? Does you mom ever... ever make you do things you don't want to do?”

“Umm... like what?”

Dammit, she was going to make me spell it out. “Like, uh, you know, things adults do but sometimes make children do with them? When they don't want to?”

“Like sex?”

I sputtered. “Y-yeah, yeah, like, uh, like sex.”

She thought a moment. “No, never.”

“Never forced you to do things with her, to her, let her do things to you... you didn't really want to do?”

She looked at me firmly. “Seriously. Never.”

I digested that, tried a different concept.

“Lily, I'm not mad or think you're doing anything wrong, ok? I just... sometimes, and your mom's job deals with this all the time, sometimes, adults think children are saying they want to do something but it isn't so. It's... wow, this is hard to get across... Sometimes, it is the adult that wants to and the child goes along with it because they think they have to, know what I mean?”

“I told you. She never forces me to do stuff I don't want, ok? Jeez, drop it, ok?”

She was mad at me, but I couldn't not ask. I still wasn't convinced, and Lily's defensive responses made me even more suspicious. However, I was stuck with her refusal to answer further, and I let it go for the time being, wanting to ask her more questions when I had time later that day.

“Lily, would you like something to drink or eat? I'm just about to scramble some eggs and eat them with bread. Interested?”

“Sure, eggs and bread. I have some chocolate milk in the camper, think I'll get it.”

She dashed off and was gone a moment, returning with a small bottle of chocolate milk. I put on the eggs, enough for the three of us, and Dahlia returned as I was dishing them out. “Lily, did you wash up?”

“Yes.”

“Second answer?”

“No.”

“Go wash up, I'll join you.”

The two went down to the water with the bottle of body wash and cleaned their hands and bodies. My shame and guilt kept me from watching anything, I tried hard to forget the images of the naked mother and young daughter that were splashing in the water below.

They returned, dried, re-donned their robes, and accepted the cooling eggs and big hunks of warm bread. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and did the same for Dahlia. We ate quickly, birds chirping loudly at random intervals, the breeze kicking up a bit and causing the trees to clatter and sway.

“Gonna fish.” Lily made her declaration and collected her pole and tackle and headed for a bank a little farther downstream where the land overhung the deeper channel of the creek. We watched her depart, the girl now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, whistling, humming to herself.

Dahlia disappeared into the camper and returned wearing a pair of blue jeans and a heavy flannel shirt. Despite the loose-fitting top, her breasts were prominent and heavy under the fabric, bouncing as if she wore nothing under the flannel. “I'd like to go for a hike to the two waterfalls upstream, interested?”

“Sure, I love that spot. Bit of a hike, though. Need to put some supplies into my backpack for that one. Give me a few.”

“Ok.” Dahlia walked down to Lily while I got ready. I packed up three liters of water, crackers, raisins, a couple cups of walnuts, and hunks of the morning's bread and some hard cheese. The pack already had a first aid kit, utility knife, and many other things I commonly wanted on a hike, so it didn't take long to strap it on and head down to Lily's fishing spot.

The girl already had a fat trout on a stringer running into the creek, fly fishing up and down the water before her. “Wow, that's a nice one. You gonna clean it too?”

“Yep. My daddy taught me how to do it. Mom won't touch them.” She giggled.

“No I won't. I'm happy to cook them once you do, though.” Dahlia smiled at me. “Ok, kid, we're heading out. You know the rules. Use the whistle if you need help. Otherwise, don't wander beyond the camp site. You know how to find the waterfalls upstream, right?”

“Yes, yes, you know I can find it.”

“Ok, love you, Lily.”

“Bye.”

We headed toward a small game trail that left the camp and headed North. I'd hiked to the waterfalls many times, the mostly-uphill trek usually took almost two hours. We settled into a pace and Dahlia felt the need to talk and asked me a question I didn't expect.

“Does your daughter masturbate?”

“Uh... Umm... I d-dunno... I suppose, probably, yeah...”

“So you've never seen or heard her?”

“Never. Just... just smelled her panties. That's all.”

“Oh...” Her voice trailed away.

“Why?”

“Brent... this is really hard, living with my secrets... I don't have anyone to talk to. I can't go to a therapist, they are legally required to contact the police, and rightfully so! I see girls everyday that are abused, traumatized by parental incest. I can't reconcile my own actions with what I know is right. I can't tell anyone... Anyone...”

“Well... I... I can understand, yeah, I guess.” I still wasn't convinced, but so far, I'd not seen direct evidence that Lily was being abused, at least not in the 'causing physical/emotional damage' sense. “Do you... are you fixated on her?”

“Yes... Yes, I know I am. I think I've controlled it well, never push her or force her, only when she seems to want it, you know? But... I think about it a lot. About my guilt, about how good it feels when she is with me, how much I love making her feel good... After what she's been through with her father, I never expected to do the same, but... but I have, and no matter how much I've tried to feel different, it... she makes me feel good. If I thought I was harming her... If I thought...”

She couldn't finish the thought, and I suspected she did think there was harm involved, even if Lily had yet to show it. She changed the conversation again and put it back onto my life. “So... your daughter is maturing... That's an amazing thing to find out, isn't it? You don't think of your children as being sexual beings, but once they start showing it... hard not to think about it. Do you think about her often... sexually?”

I felt uncomfortable, didn't want to divulge all my secret fantasies about Orchid. Instead, I realized I wanted to open up to someone, and that someone was Dahlia. “I do. I do... fantasize about her. Just fantasy, mind you, all in my mind. But.. Well, in the beginning it was just the thrill of sniffing her panties. She was only seven at the time, and believe it or not, I wasn't aroused by her at all, just the way her panties smelled. Sure, there was a thrill in knowing it was my own daughter, but that was really just a small part of it.”

She took my hand as I openly discussed my fantasies. “But then around twelve or so, she started to look different. To smell different. Not quite mature, you know, but right on the cusp. I found myself watching her lay by the pool or bend over to pick something up or laying on the couch watching television. My mind created scenarios where I could touch her, softly, and eventually, make love to her.” My penis had risen against my pants at the thought, and Dahlia's warm fingers gripped mine tighter.

“Like you, I fought the emotions, the fantasies, still do. But every time I found and sniffed her panties, I grew more aroused by the thought of her. I never, ever acted on it, just looked at her from afar and smelled her underwear. Once she started wearing a bra, I sometimes... sniffed her panties and came in the cups, put them back in her drawer. I got so aroused knowing she was wearing a bra that had my semen in it.”

I heard Dahlia whisper, “oh, wow...” and she seemed to shiver slightly.

I continued, “She's a sweet girl, really, I never want her harmed, and I've been careful to never step over the line. Other than the panty sniffing, the only other thing I do is try to look up her skirts when she's sitting. I've caught a few glimpses of her underwear as she's grown, and more than a few times, I sniffed those same panties later that day. Around twelve, when her scents first changed, her panties started to be damper, sometimes sticky, sometimes slick. Sometimes I found thick, white discharge still warm on the fabric... I'm... Wow, I never thought I would tell anyone this. I'm beyond my comfort level, sorry.”

“Ok, no, it's ok. I know. I know exactly what you mean. Thanks... for sharing that with me. It helps to know I'm not the only one conflicted by something like this.” The first waterfall was in sight and we sat on the grassy bank nearby.

“Hungry? I could use something to eat.”

“Sure.”

“I also brought a small treat, if you are interested.” I pulled out a bottle of whisky that I'd infused with honey and fresh lemon juice. “My own mix. Like whisky?”

“Sure. You make it?”

“Just the combination of whisky, honey, and lemon. The whisky is store brand low-grade stuff, but it gets the job done.”

We toasted and drank shots of the sweet, tangy fire-liquid, growing warmer as we ate our meal. By the end, we were both quite buzzed and both incredibly turned on by each other and our shared secrets. I leaned into Dahlia, and when she didn't resist my kiss, I took her heavy breasts into my hands.

Her tits were full, fleshy, overflowed my fingers. I unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her flushed chest. Her pink nipples were tight and hard, and I sucked one into my mouth, loving the weight of her motherly breasts. I sucked on one and then the other, my hands running over her body, across her throat, down her back.

I pulled off her jeans and panties, settled my head between her legs, and inhaled. She was fresh and aroused, I could smell her wet snatch and her sweat, her vulva wet and smooth. Dahlia moaned as I lapped up her slickness, her clit rising from under its hood. I licked her swollen labia, her lips parting up above and down below. I heard her panting, sighing, her hips beginning to writhe around my head.

I wanted her desperately in that moment, needed to feel her inside, to feel her channel squeezing my penis. I rose over Dahlia, caught her green eyes with mine. I unzipped my pants as she held me to her and kissed my neck. My cock sprang out and slapped against her genitals, bringing a soft moan to her lips.

My penis slipped up and down her shaved cunt and then lodged in her opening. I pushed down and forward, sliding my dick into Dahlia's slick vagina. She moaned and humped against me as I rode her flower. The whole time we copulated, thoughts of inseminating her crossed my mind. I don't know why. I'd not bothered to ask if she could still conceive, or if she was on birth control, but as I slid in and out of her pussy, I imagined planting my seed in her.

I bellowed and thrust, she cried out and climaxed, “oooohhh... OOOHH... OHH... OHH... Ohh... ohhh...” My penis jumped in her spasming cunt, I thought about the risk of cumming in her again, knew I might be impregnating her. I fired hard, spewing my seed into her channel. I bucked and humped Dahlia, doing my best, lost in the moment, to spray my semen deep into her womb, imagining our child growing inside of her.

It was one of the most intense orgasms I had ever had. The long lead-up conversations about Lily, and about Orchid. The beautiful woman below me, the vulnerable creature who had shared her dark secrets with me and learned some of mine. The knowledge that my seed might find an egg. It was an amazing experience.

My cum dribbled and stopped, my penis resting inside Dahlia as we kissed. I stayed over top of her, felt her channel spasm randomly, squeezing and milking my length, my seed soaking inside her. I stayed mostly hard and she started moving under me slowly, whispered in my ear, “Cum in me again.”

My cock jumped and the slickness of my sperm had my length moving easily in her cunt. She kept whispering in my ear, over and over and over, “Cum in me... cum in me... cum inside me... cum in my vagina...” She became urgent, moving faster, breathing harder. I felt her shudder, tremble, shake below, her legs rising higher around my waste. “Cum in me... Cum in me... Cum. In. Me...”

I started pounding her pussy, her labia swollen and sliding in and out along my shaft. Sperm had frothed around my penetration and I felt my stomach tighten, my ass tensed. I cried out, “cumming... cumming in you... CUMMING... IN... YOOOOU... AAAHHH... OOOH... OOOH... CUMMING IN YOUR PUSSSSSSYYYY... OOOOHH” I fired another load into Dahlia, filled her a second time, my semen churning and bubbling inside her vagina. She cried out as I came, writhing under me, feeling my jism inside her cunt.

We held still a long time, my seed soaking inside her pussy. My cock eventually softened and slipped out. She pushed me off and closed her legs, prevented most of the semen from spilling out and onto the ground. Dahlia quickly had her panties on and then her pants. She stopped before buttoning her shirt, and hugged me. I returned the grasp and ran my hands over her heavy breasts, kissing her neck and cheek.

We said nothing for a while, just sat holding hands watching the waterfall play down from above. It was such a peaceful moment despite the turmoil and emotions and guilt and shame that danced in the background. For a while, at least, it was all washed away by the tumbling, foamy water.

Past midday we started heading back to camp and a couple of hours later emerged from the woods and looked upon the camp site.

What I saw made me stop and stare and not believe what I was seeing.

In her chair beside the fire, legs open in front of me, sat Lily, hand moving rapidly between her thighs. Her eyes were closed. Dahlia, like me, stopped, looked at me with a question I couldn't quite understand. Lily trembled, shuddered, made no sound at all, her mouth open in a silent scream. She humped, humped, raced her fingers through her dark pubes and across her sex, shuddered, clenched her thighs, her face tightening and intense. The nine-year old came hard, bucking in her chair, her hips rising and rolling.

I couldn't move. I was turned on beyond belief at watching the girl masturbate and cum. Dahlia looked at me again, and once more I didn't know understand the look on her face.

Lily opened her eyes then, saw us, shrieked, closed her legs and ran for the camper.

I had no idea what to say.