*Follow-up to https://old.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/aowf6r/mf_incest_masturbation_the_limbo_of_thoughts_part/*
She spoke first. “Do we have to talk about it?”. It was morning now. The night had given way to yet another warm sunny day. And the lust had given way to the shame. “No”, “not unless you want to” I said.
What words could we say? I was ready to explain, even though I had no explanation. But I wasn’t about to make her say or do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. She wasn’t at fault. If anything, I was the one who should have known better.
We hardly saw each other after that. I cleaned the house. My wife was coming back home the next day. “Sometime after lunch” she said. I wanted her to find a nice cozy home. It was sullied on the inside. But she wasn’t going to find out. The walls, the countertops, the table, everything would look immaculate, as if to compensate for the sin that had transpired.
That evening, after dinner, I was sorting old paperwork, shredding bank records long past their useful life, when Lisa knocked at the door. She was ready to talk, she said. She had spent the entire day collecting her thoughts. And now she wanted to discuss them.
She felt lonely, a bit demoralized. Understandable. After 4 years of dreaming big, of being promised the world, here she was, back in her small town, living with mom and dad. No boyfriend. Her old friends fun, but not exactly intellectually stimulating. And she felt wanted.
I understood. I had provoked her. Used my role as an older figure of trust to lure her in. Cheated on my wife. It was wrong. I didn’t blame her. I told her to please, please, forgive me, and that we would bring this to the grave. “Yes dad” she agreed. I didn’t dare touch her, but I would have wanted to kiss her. And hug her. As a father.
My wife came back. Our life was back to normal. Lisa put on a wonderful scene. And so did I. She took a few phone interviews. “Promising” she said. We could survive this as a family.
About a week passed. And then it happened. My wife wanted me. We were not going at it like teenagers anymore, but we were quite definitely sexual with each other. A week without sex was more the exception than the rule. She wanted me. I wanted her. I started fucking her. I fucked her hard. The bed thumped against the wall. She paused. “Gentle. What if Lisa hears that?” she whispered. It took all my willpower to stop myself. From saying “God yes I want her to” and cumming right then and there. I whispered back, “Right. Good call” and slowed down my pace. She came. I came. We didn’t have to worry about having kids anymore, it made everything so much easier. No condoms. No worries.
We ran into each other as we were both leaving the house. My wife had already left for the day. But she still felt the need to lean in close before she could speak her mind. “I heard it all last night”.
“Oh, you did?”
“Yes, dad, I heard it. You were quite forceful it sounded like”
I couldn’t believe the conversation we were having. Nobody should discuss their sexual life with their kids that way. Especially not after what we had already done, Lisa and I. But she kept going. “It was hot. Forbidden. Taboo.” she added.
“It wasn’t really meant for you” I tried to retort. But who was I kidding? I was already hard. That’s all it took. Knowing she had heard me fuck and enjoyed it.
“Is that what you wanted to do that night? At the door? Open it and fuck me like that?” she asked
Yes, yes it was. “It can never happen”. I didn’t want to admit it. But that was all the admission she needed.
“I wanted it too. I hoped you would. Open the door. And fuck me.” she whispered, leaning into me. Her tits felt full, heavy, pressing against my arm. This was more than I could resist. It’s easy to judge me, I understand, but I was a middle-aged man, and a beautiful, sexy, irresistible young woman was all but throwing herself at me.
Was it that she looked so much like my wife at that age? Was it that she was the forbidden fruit? Be as it may, not 5 minutes later, we were in her bedroom. Naked. Our mouths pressed against each other. Our bodies twisting, trying to feel every inch of each other. I sucked her tits. Nibbled on her nipples. Made them hard and smirked at the result of my work. I let one finger, then two, then three, slide inside of her. I found her warm, wet, tight. This is what I had heard that night. This is what she looked like. Beautiful. Her cheeks flushed red. Her eyes closed, her head gently titled to the side. Her mouth slightly open. And her hips doing all the work. Finding our rhythm as she inched closer and closer. And closer. And then she came. Just like that. She pushed against me. She let out a deep sigh. And tensed. Arched. Her fists clenched. Trying to savor every sensation. It felt like an eternity. It was probably a matter of seconds. This was it. She was ready. Ready for me to fuck her. Her legs spread. Inviting me in. I was about to savor the forbidden fruit of my lust. I had made this woman. And now I would fuck her. I pushed in. She moaned. As if she suddenly realized the gravity of what was happening. But she didn’t stop me. She moved her legs around me, pushed me deeper. She nodded gently. As if to say, “yes, go ahead”. And go ahead I did. I pounded. And pounded. We made out. I licked her neck. Bit it. Pulled her hair. Cupped her tits. She dug her nails into my back. And held me tight against her. And then I pulled out, and let myself cum on her belly.
This became our routine. My wife would leave. And we would go to her room and fuck. Once a day. Sometimes twice. She was barely trying to find a job back west anymore. “All leads have dried up” she’d say. But I knew the truth. She didn’t want to leave. I should have made it stop. But I was weak. I couldn’t set a boundary. And so we fucked. And fucked.
Until one day, she broke even the last of the taboos. My wife was out the entire day, collecting documents for work. She wanted to be on top. She wanted to ride me. A Freudian shrink would probably enjoy writing multiple books about a daughter sexually dominating her father. I wasn’t a shrink, and neither was Lisa. So all I enjoyed was her body driving me to pleasure. “I’m close” I said. She kept going. If anything, her pace a bit faster. “Off” I said again, with more urgency in my voice. She acknowledged me. But she didn’t get off.
“Cum, daddy” she said
“Fuck, no, come on, get off” I tried to retort once more. I knew she wasn’t on the pill, and I wasn’t wearing a condom. There was no way this was a good idea. “No, it’s too dangerous, off” I tried once again. I could have simply pushed her off, but the way to hell is paved with good intentions and no actions. And this was one of those moments. She wasn’t about to get off. No. In fact she upped the ante. “Do it dad. Cum in me. Put a baby in there” she said. “I know you want to. I would make a wonderful mom. For your baby” she added, as she leaned in to kiss me. In my face, horror. Horror. And lust. I hadn’t even considered that option. But now that she had spoken it, yes, it was true, I wanted it. I wanted her to be pregnant. And I came. Inside of her. A roll of the dice. The first of many.
Once even that taboo had come to pass, I never pulled out again. Doubling down on that mistake. Until, you guessed it, the test spoke. It had started as “I am a few days late dad”, then it became “I am ten days late”, and eventually it was a positive pregnancy test. I had made my daughter pregnant. Never in a million years, I would have seen this happen to me. I was in pain. Scared. Conflicted. She wanted to keep the child. I would support her. So did my wife.
“But who’s the father?” she asked. “I thought you had a boyfriend in California”
“A guy. Couple towns over. One night stand. I don’t even really know his name”, she’d respond, feigning shame at her faux pas.
“She is young. And it was a stupid mistake. Stop shaming her.” I’d interject, trying to help cover up our disgrace.
She was the cutest pregnant girl you have ever seen. And knowing her body was carrying my child, it made me even hornier for her. We didn’t stop fucking. If anything, we went at it more. Maybe even with love, if you will.
Until that day. The last day that I had any agency over my fate.
My wife had left by barely half an hour, and we were already going at it. She was leaned against the table in the kitchen, I was behind her pounding, and slapping her ass. We didn’t hear the door. We didn’t hear anything. Until I looked up and – there she was, Laura, my loving companion of a lifetime, looking at us. Rage. Disgust. Horror. There is no negative emotion one couldn’t read on her face. And yet she didn’t scream. There was no audible anger in her voice. “Get dressed. Both of you. Now.” she ordered. Her tone so commanding, so stern, that one couldn’t even fathom disobeying that command. We cried. We got dressed. She took us to a different room. Made us both sit. And started asking questions. We were like puppets, she could have commanded us anything and we would have obeyed. “Run a marathon with a dirty sock in your mouth”, we would have. But her demands were more, if you will, obvious. How long had it lasted? Why did we do it? Did we stop to consider the consequences? Was the baby mine?
You see, I believe one thing I never mentioned is that my wife is a criminal attorney. She was a great lawyer in California. She took on the hardest cases. And often won them. She could have been herself a millionaire at a private firm. But she chose to help the underprivileged, the poor. She was an amazing public defender, my wife. Once we became rich and moved back, she kept herself busy with traffic court and some misdemeanors. But, when it comes to the law, she knows exactly what she is talking about. And this, incest, is a felony in our state. One with harsh penalties and no defense. She made us confess. And she called the police. Because of the wording of those laws, I was arrested, but Lisa was not. She hadn’t violated the law. I had.
I was in jail for a few days. Until my wife posted bail. She called in “the penultimate thing I ever do for you”. The last was setting up a meeting with a lawyer who owed her a favor. And then she filed for divorce. Once the paperwork comes my way, I won’t oppose it. She deserves to have her freedom and dignity back.
My lawyer thinks the situation is not great. I confessed to everything. There’s little room for maneuver. He asked me to retell the entire story, in my own words, without the police pressuring me into a confession, hoping that something, anything, can be used as a defense. This document, dear reader, is the memoir I will send him tomorrow.
Should there be no usable defense in my story, I will probably spend the rest of my life in prison. It is a scary thought. But the part that hurts the most, is that I won’t see little Eric grow up. He will make a wonderful man. Eric. The son of my daughter. My grandson. But also my son.
*The end*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/apa0kw/mf_incest_str8_sex_breeding_the_limbo_of_thoughts