[M] [F] [incest] My daughter, the slut. (Part 1)

Saint Marie, Montana. I can’t claim I had ever heard the name. But once the postcard showed up in the mail, that post office stamp became my only clue, the only hint I had. I learned a lot about Saint Marie, Montana. Not even a real town, with a dwindling population in the low hundreds. It was the site of an Air Force base, then it became a venue of retirement for former military, and it ended up being a haven for Sovereign Citizens. And, as it turns out, a cult.
The cult that my wife had joined. How she found them, I have no idea. What they told her, I have no idea. Suffice it to say that she left our home in Chicago one day, and instead of going to work she hopped on a train and headed west. To the best of my understanding, she got off the train at Glasgow, a town with a minor claim to fame for being the literal “middle of nowhere”, and from there on, she took she short ride to her new life: a cult member at an old military town since taken over by crazies, outcasts and misfits.
Behind, in our two bedroom apartment in Chicago, she left me, her husband, Stephen, and our 2 year old daughter, Rachel. The last sign of life she ever gave us, that postcard in the mail a few months later. “I am fine. I found a new dimension” or some such scribble. “Don’t come looking for me. I am happy here. Farewell and good luck” the last thing she thought she’d tell the family she had left behind.

I did the best I could. I raised Rachel on my own. I tried dating a couple times, but it never amounted to much more than a few awkward adult sleepovers and, well, a few even more awkward “I don’t think this is working out” conversations. My right hand was the most loyal companion of my lonely evenings after my daughter went to sleep.

My right hand and thoughts too disgusting and dirty to even acknowledge out loud. She was growing fast, Rachel. By high school she was a fully formed young woman. All the right curves in all the right places. But how could I? I couldn’t possibly. It was crazy. Disgusting. She had suffered enough at the hand of her mother’s abandonment. She didn’t also need her father to want to fuck her. And so, I repressed those thoughts. My Internet searches got worse, and worse, and worse. Everything I had to do, so that I wouldn’t one night sneak into her room and beg her to touch me as a woman touches a man. Anything.

I had done well thus far. She suspected nothing. There was nothing to suspect. I hadn’t even stolen the script from a porn movie and walked in on her in the shower. I was impeccable in public. And a disgusting pig in private.

And then, one fateful day, it went down. It happened. Everything broke inside of me. My soul was forever tainted. We had since moved from our original apartment to a nicer home an hour out of town. It was a hot humid summer morning. I should have been at work. But I had forgotten the keys to the office. So I drove all the way into Chicago, and then all the way back to Marengo. And that’s when I saw it.

Rachel, my sweet sweet beautiful Rachel, she was sitting by the pool. Her legs spread wide. Her eyes closed. Some random guy, I could see his body, but his face.. his face was buried between her legs. Rachel’s hand holding him tight against her pussy. Her other hand rubbing her tits. I could see it all. She was a monument to pleasure. She was a monument to sex. Her moans were perfect. They were short, sweet, sensual. It was like she was begging him. Every sound she made was like a token in a videogame: “let me play some more” it said, “lick more, pleasure me more”. She begged. She moaned. Her hips pushed. She couldn’t see me. And neither could he. But I could see it all. My heart stopped. I skipped a beat. Two. Three. I’m surprised I didn’t die on the spot. I should have left. But I kept going. I watched. I watched it all.

I watched as some guy I had never met made my daughter climax. I watched her body twitch. I listened to her. I watched her tense up. I watched her head shoot backwards, her whole body come to life, as her legs clinched the boy’s head. She moaned. She panted. She cursed. She was a woman.

It hurt me. It turned me on. I felt it all. The pangs of pain. Of jealousy. Of lust. I wanted to be that boy. I wanted her. I wanted to go there, kick him out and replace his face with mine. I wanted to taste Rachel’s wet pussy. I wanted to lick her nipples. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to feel everything he was feeling. I don’t know how I resisted that urge. But I know that, that day, my heart broke, my soul shattered. I became a darker man, a man with real issues. Those fantasies I could keep at bay? They were no more. There was a clear image now. I knew Rachel’s body. I knew Rachel’s moans. I knew her pleasure. I could almost smell the scents of her wetness.

When she released the boy, he tried to climb on top of her. I heard their muffled laughter, I could quite make out their words. She told him that they had to stop fucking unprotected. She told him to bring a condom next time. “I know you like when I cum in you” he tried to retort. She laughed. Pushed him off. She did, didn’t she? She liked raw sex. She knew the risks. But she loved it. My daughter, she was just a very sexual woman, the kind of woman that men who can’t have girls like that, they call them “sluts”. Rachel was a slut. My daughter was a slut. And I wanted her. I wanted to fuck that slut.

The boy walked out from the pool gate, I also rushed outside. I called work, told them I’d be sick for a couple days. I started driving. I ended up at Eau Claire. I don’t remember a moment of anything. I drove on autopilot. I walked into a restaurant. Rushed to the bathroom. Found my cock hard as a rock. I closed my eyes. Leaned against the wall with one hand. Stroked with the other. I imagined myself licking Rachel’s pussy. I imagined myself begging her for a raw fuck. I came. In under 10 strokes of the hand. I felt disgusting. I felt like shit. And yet alive. I turned the car around. Got back home.

Rachel wasn’t there. I logged into her computer. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. She had an entire folder of them: sexy photos of herself. I copied all of them on a USB drive. Logged off. I had no more morals. I was a dirty depraved man now. The kind of man that spends every night jerking off to photos of his daughter. I came to her smiling to the camera, one hand barely covering her nipples. I came to her bent over on the kitchen counter, her nipples softly caressing the granite. I came to her legs spread on the bed. I came to the wild unkempt bush between her legs. I came to her laughing off how much she wanted that raw dick. I came to her moans. To the scent of her pleasure.

And then one day even that wasn’t enough. One day, it clicked in me. I was going to fuck Rachel. I didn’t care how. I didn’t care about anything anymore, really. All I cared about, all I wanted, all I craved, was to knock my daughter up.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/d1hs42/m_f_incest_my_daughter_the_slut_part_1