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Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------- Eight Simple Rules for Seducing your Teenage Daughter by Your Ghost (no address provided) *** This is a parody of the television show '8 simple rules for dating my teenage daughter; 'despite what the narrator of this story says, this is in fact NOT a guide for seducing your daughter or anyone else; it was written and is being posted here solely for the purposes of parody and entertainment, and should not be taken as an encouragement to molest your daughter or anyone else; however, if your daughter is a consenting, willing adult, then go for it. (M/f-teen, ped, reluc, inc, oral, rom, TV-parody) *** I know what you're thinking. Paul Hennessey is such a good guy, such a friendly neighbor, such a kind and loving husband and father, so wholesome and upright. I'm the last guy you'd expect to seduce his own daughter. And believe me, for most of my life I was that guy. I didn't even think about doing anything out of line, whether it regarded my daughter or anything else. But people change, they grow older, they experience things they never thought they would, they feel things they never imagined they could feel. This was the case with me, beginning about five years ago, when my daughter Bridget turned twelve. Of course, it wasn't the fact that she was young that made me see her in a new (and startling) light, but the fact that she too was changing, growing breasts, and taking on a more womanly shape. Becoming a beautiful young woman before my very eyes. And being her father didn't make me incapable of noticing. If anything, I noticed the changes taking place in my daughter more than other men (or boys) because I saw her every day, I kept a close eye on her, I even studied her in a way. Because she was my child, and the way she developed forced me to not only see her differently, but myself as well. I know that might seem strange to some people, but if you're a father, you know what I'm talking about. You not only see the physical changes, but the way those changes will affect people. You know that when men (and boys) look at her, they'll be seeing the sexual object. Imagining her with her clothes off. Imagining taking her to bed and making love to her. You begin to see your little Angel as a girl men want, as a lover, even a seductress. You too undress her with your eyes. And don't tell me you don't. I know it's socially expected to say that you never have even the slightest thought about your daughter in a sexual way, but my theory is that the majority of fathers (and not a small majority; my estimate is about ninety percent) do have sexual thoughts and feelings about their daughters. And the majority of those fathers take it further, entertaining explicit sexual fantasies about them. I also believe that the statistics that say that approximately twenty percent of all women experience some form of sexual contact with their fathers is also conservative; I would put it closer to fifty, maybe sixty percent. Incest is more alive and well in this world than we want to admit. But you don't want to read about statistics. You want to know what I did to my daughter. Probably even more than that, you want to know how I did what I did, so that you could do the same thing. I know, believe me. That's the whole reason I'm writing all of this down. It's not some smarmy, weak-willed confession designed to convince anyone that I'm sorry for what I did. I have a little more self-respect than that. No, what this is, is a guide, if you will. I've developed these rules, you see, eight of them, that, if you follow them closely, will help you to accomplish the same thing with your own daughter that I managed to do with mine. You should note, though, that one rule isn't more important than another, and that it's essential for you to read through each rule and its explanation thoroughly, and make sure you understand them, before you begin any seduction project. I've also included my particular story, set as examples, so that you can see how my rules were applied in a real life setting. And now for the rules. *** Rule Number 1: Make Sure She's Well Groomed. No endeavor begins without the imagination. Nothing in the history of human existence has ever been created, built, improved, or even destroyed without someone being able to see the end result in his or her mind beforehand. And no daughter has ever been molested by accident. All incestuous fathers everywhere spent a good deal of time fantasizing about their daughters before they managed to gather the courage (or get drunk enough) to put their dreams into action. And the ones who were most successful were the ones who had a plan. They didn't just jump on their girls and have their way with them; they prepared them ahead of time. They groomed them psychologically and emotionally, doing their best to make sure their little Pumpkins were as ready as possible to accept (or at least tolerate) their fathers' advances. There are many things you can (and should) do to get your daughter ready for you, but because most of them need to be done on a regular basis throughout the relationship, and will therefore be explored in later rules, I'm only going to focus on a few of them right here at the beginning. Now, I know this will sound odd to you, and even counterproductive, but the first thing you need to do when preparing to have sex with your daughter is WAIT. Bide your time. The whole point of grooming is to set the table for the incestuous feast, and this will require patience and self-control more than anything else. Waiting, however, doesn't mean doing nothing. While you're waiting you can take the steps necessary to get your little Kitten in the right frame of mind. And to do this, you need to foster a positive, loving relationship with her. Teach her as early as possible, from the day she's born, to love, trust and depend on you. Give her regular hugs and kisses, tell her every day how much you love her, read her a story and tuck her in at night, chase away the monsters from under her bed, bandage her boo boos, and reward her when she's been good. In other words, be a good father. You'll be glad you did, even if you never do anything about your desires. Having said all that, I can tell you that I myself was a pretty good father to my little Bridget. Of course, I was a good father to all three of my children, but it was obvious to everyone that she was my favorite. From the moment she was born I doted on her, held her and cuddled her and cooed to her, and as she grew I did everything I could to make her a happy girl and to let her know how much I adored her. I spoiled her, actually, and to be honest this is not something I would recommend to all you aspiring daughter molesters. Because if you teach your daughter that she can have anything she wants from you and all she has to do to get it is bat her eyes at you, and she knows that no matter how badly she behaves she won't be receiving punishment from her daddy, that could spell trouble later on. In other words, you should balance your fathering, discipline her when she needs to be disciplined. I did spank Bridget on occasion when she was little, but I just didn't have the heart for it, and eventually left that kind of thing for her mother to do. I think the last time I spanked her was when she was six or seven, and even then it was a halfhearted effort which did nothing to get her to behave herself. I wouldn't mind spanking her now, though; just take her over my knee and lay a few stern loving whacks onto that sweet round bottom of hers. But I'm getting sidetracked. My point is that as Bridget was growing up I was laying the foundations for a good close relationship with her, developing an emotional bond that would serve me well when the time came to make the drastic changes in our father daughter relationship that I would make. But I'd like to point out right here, before I go onto the next rule, that in those days I had no intentions of having sex with my daughter. I know this contradicts what I said earlier about fathers denying any sexual interest in their little girls, but honestly, I didn't even think about it. To me, Bridget was just this beautiful little child that instilled in me the most intense love and pride. I couldn't have hurt her if I'd tried, and maybe that's the point of this paragraph; an incestuous father is always more successful when he knows and understands that his wish isn't to bring any harm or unhappiness to his daughter's life. He wants to love her, to give her pleasure, to know the unequaled tenderness and joy of an incestuous relationship with Daddy. If you're working out some past pains of your own, taking it out on her, then you're not only misguided, in my opinion, but you're bound to fail. And now just one final point: I mentioned earlier that I have three children. Bridget is the oldest (she's seventeen now), Carrie is the second oldest (sixteen), and Brandon, my son (fourteen), is the youngest. I didn't do anything sexual with Brandon because he's a boy, and the sexual contact I had with Carrie was extremely limited. In fact, all I ever did with her was cop a feel of her breasts when she was fifteen years old (her tits aren't as large and round as Bridget's, but they're still very nice). There were several reasons why I never did anything more than that. For one thing, I simply didn't feel the same romantic and sexual attraction to her as I did Bridget. Carrie is a beautiful young girl in her own right, but Bridget has always been the one to capture every area of my imagination. For another, I also knew from experience that Carrie was less likely to put up with any sexual advances from me because she has a more serious and inflexible personality than her older sister. Also, I'm pretty certain that she prefers girls. My wife would have a better shot at her than I would. Those of you who have more than one child may want to try to develop this kind of discernment for yourself. Make sure that if you're going to become sexual with your kid, you pick the right one. Otherwise, disaster might ensue and you won't need to bother with any of these other rules. *** Rule Number 2: Start Out Small Begin your incestuous seduction of your little Princess by taking baby steps. Like any romantic and/or sexual relationship, you don't want to rush things. Again, patience and self-control are the keys. You might begin by elaborating on the fatherly hugs and kisses you already enjoy with your daughter, making them longer, slightly more intimate. Or when you're giving her the fatherly and nonsexual caresses you've gotten her used to over the years, you can let your hands venture to areas of her body that you've only so far fantasized touching (my recommendation is to begin with the breasts, not the cunt; always a less threatening area for your daughter, and if she complains, it's much easier to pass off as an accident). Another thing you can do is slowly "adultize" your conversations with her, introducing sexual subjects like masturbation and intercourse. This, by the way, is a good reason to wait until your daughter has hit puberty, because it will not only be appropriate for you to teach her about these subjects, but the little minx might even bring them up herself. In any case, keep your conversations with her on a subdued level, making it seem like you're simply trying to learn how much she knows about sex or what she thinks about it. However you begin, remember that you MUST start out small; avoid being too abrupt, too aggressive, too invasive of her privacy (no barging in on her when she's in the shower or changing clothes in her bedroom, and don't start out your "sex talk" by showing her porn videos). Any kisses you give her can only go slightly over the boundaries (no french kissing), and your hands, while they might travel into previously unexplored areas, must always stay outside of her clothes. I know it won't be easy, especially when you've got two luscious and fairly new breasts resting in your eager palms, but just be a man and suck it up. The patience and self-control (I can't say those words enough) you exercise now will pay off later. By the time my Bridget was a teen she'd already grown good sized breasts and a remarkably womanly shape. I couldn't believe my eyes, nor could I believe the things I was thinking and feeling. I'd never been attracted to girls that young, and I'm still not, but Bridget was different. She was my little girl in the process of becoming a woman, and the more she matured the more room she took up in my thoughts. I might also add that at this stage of her development Bridget decided that any kind of physical contact with me, intimate or otherwise, was completely out of the question (her term was "creepy"), and that not only left me devastated as a loving father but very probably contributed to the strange new ideas I was having about her. A woman knows, even at that age, that the best way to attract a man is to let him know he can't have her. At any rate, I found myself with a surprising and (at first) troubling attraction to her. I was constantly looking her over, admiring her growing beauty, her splendid blonde hair, studying the various shapes that made up her young body, imagining what those particular shapes would look like without the benefit of clothes, and imagining too what they would feel like in my hands. What her whole body would feel like in my arms as I slowly and gently pushed my cock into her. I very quickly came to understand how men could bring themselves to molest such young girls, if not exactly the why. For a long time I practiced rule number one; I waited. I didn't take immediate action. Because I knew, probably on some instinctive level, that while I'd done a good job of winning my daughter's love and trust, they had to be strengthened, conditioned over time, if I was to successfully seduce this sudden nymph in my house. In the meantime, I did a few small things that allowed me to surreptitiously and vicariously make sexual contact with her. You might want to hold onto your hats here, because some of the things I did might seem rather bizarre to you. I fantasized about her as I was making love to my wife, of course (just about every lustful father does, doesn't he?), and I stole a pair of her panties and one of her bras and used them to masturbate with. There were also the few times when I did "accidentally" walk in on her in the shower or enter her room without knocking, but they were few and far between, and not really as satisfying as you might think. Probably because it's such typical behavior. Uninspired. The most satisfying things I did were, as mentioned above, the more bizarre things. Bridget was (and still is) somewhat spoiled and selfish, and she had to have her own shampoos and soaps and towels in the bathroom. She even had her own little cabinet between the toilet and the sink where she kept all that stuff, which was convenient for me, because that way I could put some of my come in her shampoo without worrying that any of the other people in my family might use it. Yes, I did that. Put a good healthy dollop of my come in her shampoo. Actually, I did it many times over a period of five years, and nearly every time she was in the shower I imagined she was rubbing the stuff into her hair, and then letting it slide down over her body when she rinsed. Very erotic, and I never got tired of it. I did a few other things, like masturbating with her bar of soap, and cutting pictures out of hardcore porn magazines and sticking them in the library books she'd just brought home (this should be done with the utmost care, because she might have already looked through the book). But the worst thing I ever did, something I actually regret, was the time when she was fourteen and I made her a ham sandwich, and after spreading the mayo on the bread I quickly jerked off and spread my come on the bread with it. She ate the whole sandwich, but then she threw it all up afterward. I got a huge kick out of knowing that my daughter had my come in her mouth and then swallowed it, but I never repeated that particular trick. The first real sexual contact I made with Bridget was when she was fifteen. It was summer, and as most girls will, she was wearing much less than she usually did; in this case it was a very snug pair of denim shorts and a bikini top, bright yellow, to match her hair. She'd developed a good tan, and her skin was a smooth enchanting bronze. She looked like a golden goddess freshly arrived from Mount Olympus, and as great as my patience and self-control were, I'd finally reached that point where I couldn't resist her anymore. No, I didn't just walk up and grab her tits. Steady now. It was just before dinner, and my wife and son were working in the kitchen (he isn't gay, he just likes to cook; I imagine he'll grown up to be a very manly chef), and Carrie hadn't yet arrived home from an outing with friends, which left Bridget by herself up in her room. And me with idle, yet ambitious, hands. I actually had a valid reason for knocking on her door; she still had the car keys (she was just learning how to drive) and I wanted to make sure I got them back. I almost forgot what I'd come up for, though, after she called for me to come in and I opened her door and saw her standing in front of her full length mirror, dressed in the above mentioned outfit. "Um...hi, sweetheart," I said, taking her in from head to toe, then focusing on her bikini top and the luscious items resting inside. I probably should have continued speaking but I was too distracted. "Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. She glanced at me, then went back to looking at herself. After several heartbeats she must have noticed the stunned silence, because she turned to look at me again. "Did you want something?" She had no idea how loaded that question was. "Yes, um, my um... car keys?" Bridget nodded at the top of her dresser and said, "Over there," then returned to studying herself in the mirror. I went over to the dresser and picked up the keys, shoved them in my pocket, then just stood there looking at my daughter. I marveled at her brilliant blonde hair, her full round breasts, her smooth flat belly, her sleek back and round butt, her long perfect legs, and not for the first time forgave her for her vanity. She was a truly gorgeous creature. "Dad, you're staring," she said. I blinked, somewhat startled back into focus, but not embarrassed; there was something in Bridget's voice that told me I didn't have to be. As if she didn't mind that her own father was ogling her. "I think," I said, "that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, Bridget." Bridget gave me a fabulous smile and said, "Thank you, Dad. Normally, when I'm wearing something like this you'd tell me to put some clothes on and lock myself in my room." "Which reminds me: put some clothes on and lock yourself in your room." "Sure, Dad. And right after I do that, I'll start studying to become a nun." "Actually," I said, "you really should put a little more on. Dinner's almost ready, and I don't think it would be such a good idea to be dressed like that in front of your little brother. You know how sex hungry boys are." "Yeah, right," Bridget replied with a giggle. "Like he's the only sex hungry boy in the house." My little girl might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she sure had my number. Or at least I thought she did. I took her flirtatious remark a little more seriously than she meant it. More accurately, I took it as a cue to begin the next phase of my seduction of her. I went up behind her (the girl could stare at herself for hours) and put my arms around her, a relatively normal gesture in our relationship, but then I kissed her shoulder and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I slipped my hands up over her breasts. Bridget seemed to freeze for a moment, then said, "Dad? What are you doing?" Now, when you're holding your daughter's breasts in your hands, there's no real correct answer to that question. You can't say, "Nothing," because that's obviously a lie; and yet, if you try to explain, even in the most tender and romantic language, chances are your little Buttercup isn't going to believe it. A rational and logical explanation won't help, either, even if you're convinced (as I am) that fondling your daughter's breasts is an entirely rational and logical act for a father. And it's useless (as well as spineless, in my opinion) to try to offer excuses or apologies. The best response in such a situation is no response; don't say anything, and don't take your hands away. Those actions will only confirm your daughter's suspicions that your behavior isn't appropriate. That's what I did. I just left my hands right where they were, enjoying themselves under the soft firm weight of Bridget's breasts, and let my silence speak for itself. And Bridget, preoccupied with trying to process and make sense of this new information in her life, simply looked down at her breasts, watching me gently squeeze them, and offered up no further questions. I fondled her for maybe ten, fifteen seconds, and I'm telling you, it was the most wonderful fifteen seconds of my entire life. Nothing, not even the eventual reward of sexual intercourse, can match that very first meeting of your own two hands and your daughter's breasts. That first, magical introduction to the world of father daughter incest. Even if I had never done any more than that one thing, I would have been a very satisfied father. But of course, like all other magnificent things, my first sexual contact with my Bridget had to end. I moved my hands from her breasts up to her shoulders, turned her around (gently; always gently), gave her a fatherly kiss on the nose, and said, "I love you, sweetheart." "I love you too, Dad," Bridget replied, her voice a mixture of genuine love and confusion. "I know you do. Now, do like I said and put a little more on, okay?" I gave her another peck on the nose, then left her room, feeling like a completely new man. And that, really, should be the limit of your own initial contact with your little Munchkin, a little fondling, a few loving kisses, and be sure to remind her that you love her. Anything more than that, really, and you're probably going to derail your whole program. Patience and self-control. *** Rule Number 3: Go Slowly But Surely Once you've crossed the boundary into the land of incest, you might be tempted to just sprint for the goal line. An understandable temptation, believe me, but you must remember that one of your goals is to enjoy your new relationship with your daughter for more than just a few hours or days before the cops come knocking at your door. You want it to last for as long as possible, if not permanently. Therefore, you will want to proceed slowly, continue with the baby steps. Rape is not an option here (actually, it never is). I suggest more episodes of fondling for maybe a week or two, an intimate kiss on occasion, and of course continue to romance her, flirt with her and buy her little presents. The good news is that while you won't be going very fast, you will at least be moving forward. The fondling can progress from over the clothes to under the clothes, inside the bra and down into the panties. You might even dare to sneak a finger a little way into her cunt, or play with her nipples or her clit. If you do this, your daughter might exhibit a pleasurable response, which, naturally, you'll want to encourage. But you should at the same time continue to maintain your patience and self-control; just because she's coming her brains out doesn't mean it's okay to bull your way through her china shop. Your little Chipmunk will need time to get used to the changes occurring in her life, and she will look to you to guide her on her way, to teach her how to cope. My darling Bridget was an outstanding student. She was docile and compliant, if not completely enthused about her new course of instruction. She asked that "What are you doing?" question two more times before she must have realized that I wasn't going to answer it. After that she attempted to avoid being alone with me, but I was persistent and crafty, and she was a fast learner. I spent an entire month doing nothing more than kissing her when I did manage to get her alone, feeling her up whenever I had the opportunity, and always outside of her clothes. As the second month began, however, I turned it up a notch or two. I started French-kissing her, and as mentioned above, I went inside, sneaking my hand up under her bra to hold and caress her breasts skin to skin. Bridget tolerated these advances, and even seemed to respond a little to the French-kissing, especially if I was tweaking her nipples at the same time. I also noticed that, the more I did with her, the more she seemed to accept it, if not as a natural activity between father and daughter, then at least as a normally recurring event that she would have to get used to. She quit squirming and trying to get away from me, anyway. My patience and self-control were paying off. I should rename this guide "How To Have Patience and Self-Control While Seducing Your Teenage Daughter." Just kidding. *** Rule Number Four: Make Her Hate Her Mother I'm not really happy with the title of this rule. The words "make" and "hate" are a little too strong, but I couldn't come up with any other title that wasn't long- winded, silly, or both. Besides, it fits well with the title of rule number five, which is succinct and to the point. Anyway: what you really want to do isn't to make your daughter hate her mother (although if she reaches that emotional state on her own, it can't hurt), you simply want to disrupt their relationship, create distance between them, so that your little Biscuit won't feel comfortable with the idea of telling Mommy about Daddy. You can also do this if your daughter has siblings, although I personally wouldn't go that whole "divide and conquer" route. Many incestuous fathers like to isolate their little girls as much as possible, even separating them from their friends, and while that may be an effective tactic, it doesn't make your daughter a very happy person. She's dealing with enough problems as it is. Driving a wedge between her and her mother, however, is essential, and it can and should be done in tandem with the other rules. There are several strategies you can employ here. The most important one, of course, is the one you've been using all along, the strong loving bond you and your daughter have shared ever since she came rocketing out of your wife's vagina. If you've done a good job in this area, the other strategies will be much easier to apply. Another strategy is to take her side in the inevitable mother daughter squabbles. When Baby Bear wants to go to a concert instead of going out to dinner with the family, or she wants to get something other than her ears pierced, or she wants to borrow the family car, or whatever other disagreement arises between your little girl and your ball and chain, you can jump right in and defend your daughter's choice. You can argue that she's growing up, she needs to be given more responsibility, needs to be allowed more freedom. This might not sound like the kind of thing a typical father would say, and who knows, maybe it isn't, but your wife will see your point, because she was once that demanding little teenage brat who wanted to do things she wasn't allowed to do. And even if the wife doesn't come around, that's okay, because your daughter will be noticing and appreciating the fact that you are so often in her corner. You don't always have to take her side, of course, and there are times when you shouldn't. Like when she wants to date that longhaired pierced-nosed freak she calls a boyfriend, or when she wants to go to a party at a college boy's house while his parents are out of town, or when she wants to wear the absolutely sluttiest outfit you've ever seen in your life, or wants to go to school without a bra just to make a point. Admittedly, those last two are tempting, but while you're trying to get into your daughter's best graces, you can't afford to be unbelievable. A good father puts a stop to those things. There is one more thing that I can think of that will make that rift between Mom and your little Doodlebug wider, but you should proceed with caution in this area: birth control pills. I'll tell you what I did when this subject came up in my own house. Bridget was fifteen at the time, and she had come home one day from school and, when she dropped her backpack onto the sofa instead of taking it up to her room like she'd been told to countless times, a package of condoms fell out. She tried to grab them up before we saw them, but we were her parents, which meant we probably saw them fall out before she did. We were outraged, of course, just like any good parents would be. After all, condoms lead to sex, which leads to indiscriminate sex, which leads to social disease and unwanted pregnancy (condoms aren't effective one hundred percent of the time), drug use and crime, even prostitution. Before we knew it our little Pookie would be in prison, fighting off sexually aggressive guards and getting raped with broomsticks in the shower by her inmates. Bridget actually had a fairly decent reason for carrying condoms around in her purse: she was, she declared, a responsible young woman now, and though she wasn't actually having sex, and didn't intend to have sex in the near future, she had decided that it would be wise to have at least some form of birth control with her at all times, because you never know when the right person and the right moment might come along. Okay, it wasn't the best reason in the world, but it showed that Bridget wasn't exactly in a hand basket barrelling down the road to hell. Nonetheless, we informed our darling delinquent about the pitfalls of her reckless behavior, at the top of our lungs. Or, more accurately (and here's the trick), I let my wife inform our daughter about the consequences of her behavior (at the top of her lungs) while I stood there with my arms crossed and didn't say a word. With this tactic I managed to make my wife think that I was supporting her, and at the same time supplied the proper negative images for Bridget to stew about later on; when she recalled this encounter in the future she would remember her mother yelling at her, but not me. That was the first phase of the plan. The second phase came later, when I had each of them alone. I talked to my wife first, listening to her complain and rant and rave, and responding to her with calm soothing tones, telling her that I knew how she felt, that I was just as concerned as she was, and that I would go and talk to Bridget myself and get her straightened out. Then I went to Bridget. I let her complain and rant and rave, and I was calm and soothing, but I didn't support my wife's argument. Instead, I complained about her too, how controlling she was, how demanding, petty and selfish and what have you. In other words, I let my daughter know that I resented Kate just as much as she did, and I didn't understand at all why she wouldn't let her obviously responsible daughter keep condoms in her backpack. This helped to strengthen the bond of trust that I'd already developed between us, and it instilled in Bridget that necessary sense of partnership with me, a mutually supportive stance against the evil wife and mother, an esprit de famile, if you will. Then I told her she couldn't keep the condoms. As expected, the volatile little brat exploded, shouting and waving her arms and stomping her feet (causing her magnificent breasts to jiggle in a remarkably charming way), but I was ready for that. I had a plan, I explained, that would resolve this entire problem. I told her that if she got rid of the condoms (and made sure that her mother saw her doing so) I would take her to the doctor myself and get her a prescription for birth control pills, and her mother wouldn't have to know anything about it. This idea appealed to my devious daughter, and she went right down to the living room with me and, in front of her mother, tossed the condoms in the trash can. Two days later I took her to the doctor and got her put on the pill, and from that day on Bridget and I shared a defiant little secret that bonded us in a way that very few other things could. It was just over a month later that the pills began to be effective, and I began to molest her. *** Rule Number Five: Make Her Love You Now you can see what I meant when I said that the wording of rule number four fits with rule number five. And with this particular rule, the word "make" is a bit more appropriate, and certainly the word "love" is entirely accurate. But enough with semantics. It is essential to get your daughter to love you, and I don't mean the natural kind of love that any daughter will feel for her father, or even the romantic (and also natural) type that is common in most father daughter relationships. What you must do is get your daughter to FALL IN love with you, the way she might fall in love with a rock star or a movie star or that longhaired loser with the motorcycle, the tattoos, and the criminal record. This won't be easy, but if you've prepared her well, it won't be impossible. And, as with all the other rules, there are things you should do and things you shouldn't do. Naturally, the things you should do are the simpler ones. Buying her gifts tops the list, because we all know how teenage girls (and adult women, for that matter) love gifts. Clothes, jewelry, CDs, expensive electronics, a car if you can afford it. You can take her dancing, or to nice restaurants for father daughter dinners, to the movies, to the local amusement park, to the mall (her favorite place on earth), or to less costly places like the beach or the park. Anything that will put a smile on her face and make her appreciate what a great dad she has, and at the same time allow you to be alone with her so you can molest her. Some of the things you shouldn't do is take her to hotel rooms (or motel rooms; even a bigger mistake), take her with you on your business trips out of town, take her to a buddy's make-out pad (for those of you still living in the 1960s), or any place that's going to make her feel cheap and used. Don't beg her for sex. Don't criticize her looks, even if she looks awful. Don't tell her she reminds you of her mother. Or your mother. Or any other woman in the world (these rules actually apply to all women). And while you're doing (or not doing) the above mentioned things, you must, repeat must, romance her. Treat her like a queen. Treat her like you treated your wife back when you were both young and you were trying desperately to get in her pants. Tell her over and over again how beautiful she is, how much you love her and cherish her, how sweet and wonderful she is, how there's no one in the world you love more. You can even tell her that she's the ONLY one you love, especially if you've got rule number four working really well. Most of all you need to be in love with your daughter. This is an iron clad rule, and if you can't meet this requirement (be honest), you have no business seducing your little Peanut. Leave her alone. Get off of her and go find a call girl that resembles her. I can without reservation claim that I was head over heels for Bridget from the moment I first saw her come into the world. She was the most beautiful, most perfect little thing I'd ever seen, a tiny miracle that I had helped to bring about. And my feelings for her only grew over the years, as she grew, from a baby to a toddler to a child, then to an adolescent, and finally to the young gorgeous woman she became. There were so many incredible moments of having fun with her, teaching her, even scolding her. But the best moments were the quiet ones, when I would sit with her on my lap (or next to me, when she supposedly got too big for my lap), just holding her and touching her hair and enjoying the sometimes intense and always flawless love that can only be found between father and daughter. Even having sex with her came in second. A goddamned close second, but still second. The first truly sexual contact with her, beyond just feeling her up and sticking my finger in her cunt, occurred shortly after she turned sixteen. It was an almost perfect Spring day, as I recall, with sunshine and a cool breeze and the woman I was married to nowhere in sight. She was working or something, I really don't remember now. Carrie was still at school, at one of her geek club meetings (or possibly at a gay rights rally), and Rory was off with that girl he was crazy about, Misty. Lovely little thing, that girl was. Sweet smile, nice tits. Anyway, it was just me and Bridget at home. I was in my office, working on my latest column. I had just finished it, in fact, and was now ready to go find Bridget for a little father daughter alone time. I closed out the programs on my computer and stood up from my chair, and I as I turned to go I suddenly stopped short, surprised to see Bridget in the doorway. It was still morning, so she was, as usual, still wearing her nightclothes; peejay bottoms and a nicely snug tank-top. Her bright blonde hair was a wild mop on her head. "Well, hello there, sweetheart," I said. "Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. "Whatcha doin?" "I was working, but I'm stopping for a break. What are you doing up so early?" It was only a few minutes past eleven. Bridget shrugged and said, "I dunno. I'm bored. Sleeping is boring." She came further into the room and I held my arms out to her. Bridget came right to me and embraced me, just as I'd trained her to do, and I gave her a kiss on the forehead. I hugged her tight and she wrapped her arms around my neck. We stood there like that, just holding each other for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying our closeness. My daughter seemed small and fragile in my arms, and yet with her firm breasts pressed against my chest and her smooth belly against my growing erection, she seemed alive and vibrant at the same time. I touched and caressed her, letting my hands roam up and down her back, and over her ass, before I slipped them up under her tanktop. I fondled her breasts and played with her nipples, pleased to feel them growing hard under my fingers. Bridget even pressed her body closer to me, and rested her head against my neck. If I'd had any doubts before that she was getting something out of our special relationship, those doubts were gone now. It was that realization, along with the sweet scent of shampoo in her hair (shampoo that I had doctored with my own come), that led me to take the next step. I let go of her and took a step back, then in a low secretive voice, said, "Take your top off." I expected her to offer at least some kind of resistance, but Bridget, while she seemed a teeny bit reluctant, immediately complied, grasping the bottom of her tank-top and pulling it up over her head. She dropped it onto the floor, then stood there with downcast eyes, her hands clasped together in front of her, and her breasts now in full view. "Wow," was all I could say. My daughter has the most magnificent breasts I've ever seen. I reached out and touched them, fondled them some more, luxuriating in their weight, their warmth and firmness, the hardness of her little pink nipples. I kissed Bridget on the lips, then ducked my head and kissed each of her breasts. I took her nipples into my mouth and sucked on them, and as I did so I felt my daughter's hands moving over my back and shoulders. I heard her take in a sharp breath when I nibbled one of her nipples, and I knew I was moving in the right direction. As I nibbled and sucked on Bridget's breasts, I slid one of my hands down over her belly and down into her peejays. I moved my fingers through her pubic hair, found the lips of her cunt, and began to rub her. Bridget sighed and tightened her arms around my neck, her body tensed, and within about a minute or two I had helped her to reach orgasm. The very first orgasm she and I had shared as father and daughter. It was a very proud moment for me. Now, I hate to spoil your fun, but I need to pause here and discuss something that I consider to be of vital importance. From what I've been able to learn from the literature on incest that I've read (including the internet porn stories I've collected), most incestuous fathers would introduce oral sex at this point. And maybe, if your daughter is only seven or eight years old (and you're a monster), this would be an effective way to go. I beg to differ, though, especially when you're talking about a daughter already in her teens. Teenage girls are naturally more emotionally mature and sexually sophisticated than preteen girls, and as a result they require something more, or at least different, than being made to suck on a nine inch worm-looking thing until it shoots a wad of foul-tasting semen into their mouths. That can come later (no pun intended). In my opinion, the best way to introduce your little Girl Scout to the wonders of sex beyond kissing and fondling is to just go straight to intercourse. Go ahead and pop that cherry (if she still has one). But do it gently. You want her to be able to associate the experience of having her familial sexual boundaries violated with love, tenderness, and consideration. After Bridget had a chance to relax from her orgasm, I wordlessly grasped the waistband of her peejays and pulled them down over her hips. She was wearing sky blue silk panties. French cut. I'm not kidding. Very, very, sexy. What was my daughter doing with such sexy underwear? I really wanted to know, but I didn't think that was the proper moment to ask. Instead, I pulled them down too, letting them join the peejays around her ankles, and I saw, for the first time, Bridget's pubic area. The hair on her cunt was just as blonde as the hair on her head, and she shaved it, not all off, but in a narrow strip right over her cunt. Why did my daughter feel that it was necessary to trim her pubic hair like that? Another question that had to go unanswered for the time being. Bridget put one of her hands on my shoulder to steady herself as she stepped out of her peejays and her panties, then stood there as I looked her over. She had the most amazing body, almost overwhelming in its beauty and symmetry. No one, not even a father, could be reasonably expected to resist its natural charms. Meaning: I didn't. I took her in my arms again, kissed her mouth, then held her gently as I guided her down onto the carpeted floor. I lay on top of her and Bridget automatically let her legs fall open, making room for me. I continued to kiss her as I fumbled with the fly on my pants, then reached in and brought out my cock. Bridget had her arms around me and I had to reach back and take one of them by the wrist and bring it down between us. I wrapped her fingers around the shaft of my cock and she gripped it gently. I'd had the idea of getting her to stroke it a little first, but just the sensation of her hand holding me was so exquisite that I knew if I let her play with it I was going to go off too early, so instead I just pushed forward, letting her guide my cock toward her cunt. I pushed the head in past her lips, paused briefly, then pushed my cock further into her. Bridget was tight, but warm and a little wet too, and she gasped as my cock entered her. I pushed all the way into her, noticing to my chagrin that she wasn't a virgin, but not wanting to open that can of worms right at that moment. I fucked my daughter slowly, just sliding my cock into her and pulling it back, and she tightened her arms around me, no doubt holding me in the same way she'd held the asshole who'd stolen her virginity from me. We fucked this way for several minutes, Bridget holding onto me but staying silent, her face turned away and her eyes closed. I wished she could show some sign of pleasure or enthusiasm, but I knew that was more than I could reasonably expect. At least she wasn't crying, or fighting me and begging me to stop. For me, it was an indescribable experience; I was fucking my own beautiful little girl. I held her and kissed her as I steadily pumped my cock in and out of her cunt, loving her more than I ever had before. Eventually, I felt my cock swelling up and getting ready to explode. I started fucking her a little harder then, racing toward the end, until the pressure became too great to hold it back anymore and I went off, groaning as I spilled come into her body. Afterward we sort of collapsed together on the floor, me breathing hard and giving her little kisses and telling her how much I loved her, Bridget just staying still beneath me and lightly caressing my back. We lay like that for maybe five minutes, until Bridget put her lips to my ear and whispered, "Can I get up now, Dad?" I reluctantly pulled out of her and got to my feet, then helped her up, and as I put my cock back in my pants Bridget grabbed up her peejays and her underwear and disappeared out the door. *** Rule Number Six: Convince Her It Was Her Idea When I first wrote this rule down I used the word "fault" instead of idea, and even though I changed it I believe that "fault" might actually be the most appropriate word. The problem is that "fault" implies that there's something wrong with a father having sex with his daughter, and if you've read this far then you more than likely believe, as I do, that despite whatever the law and social customs say, there is in fact nothing more natural and right than father daughter incest. Because of this I will use the word "idea," although you should probably keep that other, pesky, word in mind as we continue, because your daughter sure will. She's been conditioned from the moment of birth (as we all have) to view incest of any sort as wrong, bad, nasty, sinful, abhorrent, pick your adjective, and if (when) she finds herself involved with you sexually, she will feel guilty about it, and more than likely responsible. I know, it's silly and unnatural, but unfortunately it's normal. What you need to do is help her work through those feelings of guilt, get rid of them, while at the same time retaining her sense of responsibility. This doesn't mean that you don't take any responsibility yourself; your goal here is to foster a sense of shared responsibility, not shame or blame. You and your little Cupcake are in this together. To accomplish the above, you need to communicate with your daughter. And I don't mean ask her if she liked getting fucked by her daddy. Talk to her about her feelings, her fears and her doubts, her opinion about the changes in your relationship, her thoughts about the directions it might go in the future. Listen to what she says, and take it seriously. I know I'm starting to sound like Oprah here, but the truth is your daughter is (or should be) a young woman, and this is the kind of thing women respond to. And if your daughter believes that you truly love her, and that her concerns are important to you, she'll be more likely to let you lead her down the path you want her to take. And, once again, if you've done your preliminary work, if you've groomed her well, and you've been a good father to her all along, none of this will be any more difficult with your daughter than it would be with any other woman. In other words, who knows if it'll work or not? I was fortunate enough to have a daughter who proved very susceptible to my loving and caring influence. Not 'extremely,' just very. After that first sexual encounter with her on the floor of my office (a mistake, I realized in hindsight; floors are not a romantic location for your first tryst with any female), I let the situation cool off for a few days. Bridget and I both had to have time to collect our thoughts and assess the experience. For my part, I felt like the luckiest man alive, and that all was right with the world. Bridget, though, seemed to withdraw a bit, not just from me but from the family as well. She spent less time with us and more time in her room, and taking long showers (longer than usual). She didn't see any boys (thank God in Heaven), didn't see any of her friends, and even passed up opportunities to fight with her sister and brother. This deflated my joy somewhat, but I forced myself to leave her alone. She was a good girl, and she would come around. Four days went by and I decided it was time for us to reconnect. It was a Saturday, and my other two kids were out doing things with their friends, and as luck would have it Kate was working an extra shift at the hospital. Once again, it was just me and Bridget alone. This time I went up to her room. I found her laying on her bed, a teen magazine up in front of her face and headphones over her ears. She didn't hear me knock, and she didn't see me standing in the doorway. I went into her room and got just close enough that she noticed me and looked up. I gave her a little wave and she took her headphones off. I could hear the noisy music from four feet away and wondered why she wasn't bleeding from her ears. "Hi, Dad," she said, her voice somewhat subdued. She looked into my eyes, but only for a second before she looked down. "Hi, sweetheart," I said. I glanced down at her body; she was wearing black jeans and a bright blue top that hugged her breasts, and I could see a black bra strap on one of her shoulders. "I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute." "Sure." She still didn't look at me, even as I approached her bed, then sat down on the edge. I touched her knee and finally she brought her eyes up to meet mine. "Are you doing alright?" I asked. "Sure, Dad. I'm fine," Bridget said. She stared into my eyes for a moment, then looked down. "Well. Maybe not totally fine." She took a breath and let it out. "I guess I'm kinda confused. About... you know." "I know," I said. "Do you want to talk about it?" Bridget set her magazine aside, took off her headphones and crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She looked down at where I had my hand on her knee. "Well," she said, "I feel two different ways about it. I mean, it's wrong and I shouldn't be doing it. But at the same time... well... the hugging and kissing and touching? I liked doing those things, it made me feel close to you, and I wanna feel close to you, Dad. But the sex... you didn't hurt me or anything, but still... I feel like I messed everything up." "You didn't mess anything up, sweetheart," I said. I scooted a little further up the bed and touched one of her arms. "I want you to know this, Bridget. You didn't do anything wrong. But I feel that, in a way, neither did I. I mean, okay, society says that you and I shouldn't be doing what we've been doing, but my honest feeling about it is that it's right. It feels right." I moved my hand up to her shoulder, then touched her hair. "You're the sweetest and most beautiful girl I've ever known. And I guess when I see you, and I get to hold you in my arms, I kind of lose my head." That's right, shoulder some of the responsibility. Believe me, she'll love you for it. "And as far as hurting you... well, I could never willingly hurt you, Bridget. You're too precious to me." I leaned in to kiss her, and not only did she let me kiss her, but she kissed me back. And when I touched my tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth and let me put it inside. As I french kissed her I let my hand fall from her hair down to her left breast. She moved her arm out of the way and let me take it and hold it. I went slowly but surely, and in about five minutes I had most of Bridget's clothes off and was laying on top of her on the bed. I was sucking her nipples and playing with her cunt, and even though she was responding with excited little moans she still seemed somewhat reluctant, unsure of what we were doing. I kept on with what I was doing until she had come, then moved down her body until my face was between her widespread legs. I buried my mouth in her golden pubic hair, kissed and licked her cunt, burrowed my tongue between her lips, gently sucked on her clit. I pulled out all the stops, making passionate and generous love to my daughter with my mouth, until finally she arched her back, pushed her cunt up against my feverish tongue, and came with a shuddering gasping cry of release. Afterward I moved back up and covered Bridget's body with mine, holding her and kissing her cheek and letting her think, for a few moments at least, about what had just occurred. But I didn't let her think too long. I needed to keep going, and not just because it suited my plans of seduction; I wanted to fuck her more than I've ever wanted to fuck any woman in my entire life. Without saying anything I reached down and worked my cock out of my pants. To my surprise (and delight) Bridget took it upon herself to grasp it and guide it up to the lips of her cunt. I entered her, probably a little too abruptly, but I couldn't help myself, and began to make love to her with an intensity I'd rarely known before. Bridget wrapped her arms around my neck, then wrapped her legs around my waist, and held on as I fucked her. She didn't utter those words that every father wants to hear, she actually didn't say anything at all, but the gasps and sweet moans of pleasure that spilled into my ears, the simmering heat of her cunt around my cock, let me know that she was enjoying herself. Bridget came for the third time that morning, her fabulous body trembling beneath me, and in the next moment I came too, groaning in shameless ecstasy. In the aftermath, Bridget wept softly and I held her, murmured reassurances and loving things to her. I told her more than once that everything was going to be alright, and in my heart I knew it was true. Because we'd crossed that first real hurdle, and the grand frontier of father daughter incest now lay before us, a brilliant country that we could explore without guilt, and to our hearts' content. *** Rule Number Seven: Be Gentle But Firm Despite the poetry of the last paragraph, moving forward with an already established incestuous relationship is not all bliss. There are still rough patches ahead, a rocky and uneven road, and, like any other kind of relationship, it will require constant attention and maintenance to sustain. Your little Snookums might hang on to some of her reservations, change her mind, or even rebel and tell you to leave her the hell alone or she's telling Mom. You need to be ready for these things, and respond to them in ways that will strengthen your bond with her, not destroy it. In my opinion, this is one of the areas in which incestuous fathers make their biggest mistakes. Because they don't understand that their romance with their daughters is exactly that, a romance; it's not a power struggle, and it's not about making her behave or bend to your will. Ripping her clothes off and slapping her around and brutalizing her might be one of your fondest fantasies, but it's not going to keep her mouth shut. And threatening her with the breakup of your family, the loss of your love, jail, etc., is just going to make things worse. On the other hand, there comes a time when the gifts and the money and the preferential treatment won't be enough. You have to find a middle ground on which to operate. This is where the best fathering technique, Gentleness mixed with Firmness, comes in very handy. Your daughter needs to be reminded that she's in this thing with you, that on some level she desires it as much (or almost as much) as you do. In fact, you can say this to her, and put it in language that emphasizes her part of the responsibility. If she has come to you, or in any other way initiated the sexual contact, or if she has had orgasms as a result of whatever you've been doing with/to her, point these things out as evidence of her commitment. Point out the fact that she continues to dress and/or act in sexy and seductive ways (even if she doesn't). Remind her of your emotional bond, especially in regard to your mutually negative feelings toward her mother. But don't do any of this in an accusatory way; remember that it's not all her fault (responsibility). Talk to her as any father would, with love, with respect, and with a sense of firm guidance. I confronted this particular problem about three months into my incestuous relationship with Bridget. By this time we had made love exactly twenty-seven times (yes, I kept count), mostly intercourse, but also several incidents of oral sex (I introduced my daughter to oral sex after the first month or so, although I should admit that it wasn't so much an introduction as a refresher course; apparently, she'd already developed a remarkable amount of skill in this area. I wanted to ask her where she learned to suck cock like that (believe me, she was a genius with her mouth and tongue) but I didn't trust myself; I knew that if she actually told me, I'd not only put the culprit in the hospital, but more than likely give her a good swift kick in the cunt as well. Instead, I just let the whole question slide by without comment). Bridget had been admirably cooperative in the beginning, but as our relationship deepened she began to drift away from me even as we became physically closer. I didn't think she was becoming particularly unhappy so much as just less interested, as if she had already learned whatever she needed to learn from the experience and was wanting to move on. I suppose women can be like that. Men, of course, don't give a fig about learning anything new, as long as they can continue to have great sex. Or just sex. Anyway, I naturally grew concerned about my daughter, and about the possibility that she might let our secret slip simply to bring an end to it. I knew I had to do something, but unfortunately, I didn't know what I could possibly do beyond what I was already doing, with the talking and the affection and the presents and the looking the other way when her entire bedroom smelled of pot. I also looked the other way when Bridget showed me the lesbian porn magazines Carrie hid in her underwear drawer, but that doesn't really have anything to do with this subject; I just mentioned it to give the reader something fun to think about. I, like most fathers, didn't take any direct action to shore up my position until it was nearly too late. As I said, it was three months into the incest, and Bridget had withdrawn from me emotionally, and sometimes physically as well, and then for a period of about five or six days she simply refused to let me do anything with her at all. She wouldn't even let me feel her tits. The situation was intolerable. I needed to get her alone, away from the house and the family, and straighten her out. So I arranged to take her with me on a short business trip out of town. I know I said earlier that this was a no-no, but that's only true in the beginning stages; at the kind of point Bridget and I were at, it's not only okay, but recommended. Just keep reading, you'll see why. They were holding a three day journalists' conference in Chicago, and Bridget was actually excited to go, mostly, I think, because she'd never been to Chicago before. Of course, Carrie wanted to go too, but I told her she could come with me on my next trip; maybe there was a teen lesbian convention somewhere. Anyway: we got to Chicago the evening before the conference started, had dinner at a nice restaurant, then went to the hotel the paper had booked for me. I'd told them that I was traveling alone, so while I had to pay for Bridget's ticket myself, the room they'd given me was a single, with just one bed. Yes, I'm a genius. Bridget had been in high spirits, awestruck by the big city, but as soon as she got to our room and realized that we would be sharing it, along with the one bed, her attitude changed and she became grumpy and locked herself in the bathroom. It took me nearly an hour to get her to unlock the door, and another five minutes to convince her to come out to the room where we could talk. We sat in two chairs, facing each other, and I took the direct approach, asking her why she was so upset with me. I told her she could be honest, say whatever she wanted to say. And Bridget, that little fire engine, took it to heart. "What do you 'think' is wrong?" she asked me. "You're having sex with me all the time. It's wrong, Dad. I'm your daughter, for fuck's sake. Don't you care about how I feel at all? Is that all I'm good for, an easy fuck when the house is empty or a quick blowjob in the car on the way home from school? Is that all I am to you, just some stupid slut you can stick your dick into whenever you want?" She said several other things in that vein, her words and tone of voice designed to wound me, and while they did to a certain degree, I made sure I didn't let that show. I took the attitude that I was just letting her blow off some steam, get things off her chest, and as soon as she was done we could begin to work things out. And that was pretty much what happened. Once Bridget was done ranting and raving, she started to cry, and I embraced her and shushed her and stroked her hair and told her, as always, everything was going to be okay. She was stiff in my arms at first, but after a few minutes she relaxed, then pressed her face against my chest and said, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I just don't know what to do anymore." Now, here is one of the many points at which a father will stumble, make a bad mistake and ruin everything. Some fathers will wimp out and say, "That's okay, sweetheart, we don't have to do anything more if you don't want to," while others will take the overly aggressive approach and rip her clothes off and slap her and throw her on the bed and teach the little brat a lesson. Neither of these approaches is a good idea, because they rob your little girl of responsibility, initiative, and a sense of having control over her life. The first option might seem like you're handing over all control, but in fact you're not, because there's a part of her that wants you to be the one to make the decision. Of course, she might be wanting you to decide to leave her alone, but that's beside the point. The main thing is that, even if she thinks you're being a rotten daddy, at least you ARE being the daddy, and that's what your little girl needs more than anything else. On the other hand, roughing her up is a bad idea too, because, as tempting as it is, unless you've already been role-playing rape fantasies with your little Boo-Boo, she's more than likely just going to call the police. With Bridget, I knew I had to walk a tightrope. I couldn't indulge my more nefarious and violent impulses, and yet I couldn't just let her abandon what we had, especially since I knew that it was at least a resemblance of what she wanted with me. I said as much to her, and told her that we were so close to realizing the full and wonderful potential of our relationship, it would be a crime to give up now. I told her that I needed her, and that she needed me too. She shook her head at that and I said, "I'm right, Bridget, you know I'm right, and you know you don't want to give up." I said some other things, personal and intimate things, and they don't really need to be recounted here. Bridget still tried to resist, but her arguments were growing weaker and weaker, her resolve was crumbling, and finally, after about an hour of intense talking, I saw my chance. A little bit of physical propaganda was in order. We happened to be sitting together on the bed, and I already had my arms around her, and so it was just a matter of guiding her down onto her back and making love to her. I unbuttoned her blouse and got her bra open, and she let me fondle her and suck on her nipples, and she even let me slide my hand up under her skirt and into her panties to play with her, but when I started to pull her panties down she grabbed my wrist and said no. I didn't let this stop me. After all, I had the truth on my side. Bridget is a strong girl, and she can be very stubborn, but she really didn't put up that much of a fight. I managed to get her panties off without too much trouble, and after a short struggle I got my cock into her and started fucking her. She whimpered and said, "Daddy, please don't," but of course by then it was too late. Besides, we both knew she didn't really want me to stop. The evidence was in the way her resistance slackened the more I fucked her, and the two orgasms she had before I had my own. Now, some of you might be thinking that I disregarded my own advice and raped Bridget, but you'll notice if you reread the above few paragraphs (and I'm sure some of you will, with dicks in hand) that there was no violence, no threats, no tearing of clothes. I did force myself on her, but I did it gently and firmly, and the whole time I was having my way with her I was talking to her, telling her all the things I'd told her before, using words and logic and reason along with my superior strength to persuade her that her fears and her doubts were misguided, and that this melding of our bodies and hearts was the true substance of who we were. I won't say that this method was a complete cure. There were still some wrinkles in our road to be worked on, but for the most part Bridget did straighten up and behave herself after that. She was sixteen then, and for the past year we have enjoyed a very satisfying romantic and sexual relationship. Because we both know and believe that this is the way we were meant to love each other. *** Rule Number Eight: Don't Get Caught This rule is obvious and self-explanatory, but I'm going to review it anyway, for the same reason that rat poison manufacturers put warning labels on their products that say things like, "Not for human consumption." Because, unfortunately, it's necessary. It's shocking to me, the number of fathers who get caught, either because their daughters tell on them or because they make some lamebrained mistake that any person with an IQ over 12 can avoid. In my opinion, these guys deserve to get caught; if they're not smart enough or careful enough to keep their special relationship with their daughters a secret, then they shouldn't be messing around with their little Cookies in the first place. Morons, all of them. Avoiding detection is simple, especially if you've observed the prior seven rules with circumspection and diligence. If you've groomed her well, started out small and proceeded slowly, fostered a rift between her and her mother, developed a strong romantic bond between her and yourself, helped her to understand and accept her part of the responsibility, and gently but firmly corrected her when she drifted off course, then the rest should be smooth sailing. Your well conditioned daughter won't tell anyone, not her mother, not her best friend, not her shitbag boyfriend, or her sexually confused sister. She'll keep it to herself, partly because you want her to, and partly because she herself does too. The other types of mistakes that get a father arrested and tried and convicted and registered as a sex offender are even easier to avoid, because they deal with common sense: don't molest her when Mom (or anyone else) is in the very next room; don't molest her in public places like the beach or the mall, whether or not they are places where you'll be recognized as father and daughter. Don't leave any evidence, like stolen underwear or photos or videos or how-to guides, laying around where anyone can find them; lock all that stuff up as tight as possible, or else destroy it; don't brag to your buddies or online friends (who could very well turn out to be police officers looking for guys like you), and for God's sake, don't try to get her to include one of her friends; this is between you and your daughter ONLY. Once the word gets out, you're sunk. You might as well begin preparing for a long prison sentence and daily butt-rapings. For the past two years I've managed to steer clear of all of these things. Granted, there were a few close calls; there was the time I joined Bridget in the shower and heard the wife's car coming into the driveway just as I was unloading about a liter of come into my daughter's mouth; the time Kate found a pair of Bridget's panties under my side of the bed. Of course the Chicago hotel bill, showed that I took a room with a single bed (I told Kate I'd slept on the floor and the stupid cunt believed me). But for the most part I was very careful, and as a result very successful in keeping my relationship with Bridget expertly disguised as a normal and loving father daughter relationship. And you can too. The love you feel and so desperately want to express to your little Sweetykins can become a reality. All you have to do is follow these rules with care, use your head, and don't panic in situations that are less than perfect. Love your daughter with all your heart. And don't get caught. *** It's eight-thirty in the morning and I've got to go to the store to get some batteries, but I want to add this little note before I leave. I've just arranged with Bridget to go to a hotel with me tonight, using the ruse that we're going to a movie for a father daughter evening. She's not happy with me, because she was planning to go out with one of her lowlife boyfriends, but I insisted. I also wouldn't let her have the car keys. She told me she hated me, and yet she agreed to go with me tonight, which just serves to reinforce everything I've written so far; with the proper guidance, your daughter will go along with you, involve herself fully in the romance, even when she's not in the mood. I am a blessed and brilliant man. And if I don't drop dead between now and then, I'm going to enjoy a very special evening with my little girl; I'm planning to introduce her to the joys of anal sex. Which reminds me, I should get some Vaseline while I'm out. END *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison system. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 80