In the dark of her bedroom, thirteen-year-old Lisa could feel, rather than see, the red flush of mortification crash over her petite body, like an Atlantic roller against a November shore.

It may seem odd that she noted this particular physical sensation at all, considering the competing stimuli: her own bony knees pressing into her cupcake breasts, the sour, whisky-tinged breath wafting into her face, and the hundred-and-eighty pound man pinning her down.

It may also be surprising that her shame was not precisely due to the fact that the seven-inch prick working its way into her tight, hairless pussy belonged to her father. She had watched enough "after school specials" and had had been provided with sufficient health-class warnings to know that the molestation was not her fault, and any guilt associated with the incestuous aspect of this experience rested squarely on her Dad.

-o0o-

Certainly, several months ago, when her breasts had started to sprout and her hips had begun to take on their first real swell along the path to womanliness, she had enjoyed shaking her bottom in front of her father, the only male in the house. And yes, she had intentionally pranced around in only her panties and T-shirt from time to time, because doing so had given her a little thrill in her tummy.

But the little seventh-grader knew full well that these flirtations, although foolish in retrospect, were no justification for that night a few months ago when he had first crept into her room. The night he had first skinned her white cotton panties down her long legs and tossed them aside. The night he had first pushed her little Tee up to chew on her growing titties, before kissing and licking southward to part her swelling crease with his rude tongue. The night he had first shoved his thick, unforgiving fathercock into her juvenile channel and deposited his seed within her unprotected womb. Her silly behaviors were no justification for that night whatsoever, and she knew this very well.

Thirteen-year-old Lisa was perfectly at peace with herself about that unwelcome initiation, on that first night months ago, and felt no responsibility for it, no shame in the fact that it had come to pass. She hadn't asked for any of it.

However, she did feel guilty about the fact that he kept coming back.

And he certainly had been coming back. Every night that her mother, a nurse, worked the third shift, she knew she'd be awakened in her bed sometime after midnight and end up with a cunt full of cum. Every evening that Mom was on the second shift, she knew she wouldn't even make it to bed without one of Daddy's loads. And sometimes, when Mom was on the first shift and left for work early enough, Dad wouldn't pack her off to school until he's first packed her pussy.

But Lisa never told on her father. Make no mistake; she wanted it to stop. And frankly, she didn't like her Dad too much these days. To top that off, her period was two weeks overdue. But she figured that before she could expect him to stop, she had to first successfully accomplish one little thing. It seemed so simple, really, and every day, as she dreaded the impending event, she vowed that this time it would be easy. All she had to do was make it through the experience, just once, without cumming ecstatically around her Daddy's thick cock.

-o0o-

She has been so certain that tonight would be the night, the night when she took her daddy-fuck like a robot. She had steeled herself, and was convinced that if she could simply make it through with no more reaction than a dead fish, her molestation would come to an end. Although he had never intimated anything of the sort, Lisa was certain that the only reason her Dad kept coming back was the implicit approval her traitor cunt always provided him. At thirteen, she was already far more experienced in sexual matters than any middle-schooler should have to be, but she was still, after all, naive in the matters of adult motivation. She really thought that her father would cease his visitations if she only demonstrated she didn't like it--if she could only just make it through a single sexual encounter with him without clearly enjoying it, without cumming so demonstrably, without burying her face in his chest, without clutching at him, pulling him in, trying to force even more of his already too-deep breeder into her pubescent pelvis, and most of all, without hissing out some variation of "Oh, God, yesssss, Daddeeee!" as she came.

Had she succeeded in her stoic effort, she might have learned that she was wrong.

But she did not succeed.

As in each and every other prior such instance--the sixty-odd repetitions of her initial rape, so far--she again felt the jangle in her loins that told her that her struggle against the demands of her own body had failed. She felt herself teeter on the edge, and knew that within seven or eight more confident, mating strokes, her center would, as always, collapse in a spasming, clutching, fountaining climax around her father's phallus that would, in her mind, be nothing less than an engraved invitation to yet another depredation on the morrow.

-o0o-

When the flash of heat hit her belly, she knew that once again she would succumb to the delicious, joyous, and gloriously satisfying catastrophe of an incestuous orgasm. For that, she felt fully responsible. And so, in the dark of her bedroom, thirteen-year-old Lisa could feel, rather than see, the red flush of mortification crash over her petite body, like an Atlantic roller against a November shore.

Comments

Nickname Feedback
Stoic Ohhhh that is lovely! A gorgeous sting (kiss?) in the tail - beautifully written. Thankyou
With apologies to the Bard, "Oh, (petite) Death, where is thy sting?"

--Stepdaddy

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