There’s something I didn’t know, father. I didn’t know it then. But I know it now. And it is my downfall. I promise I don’t have too much longer. I already took a lot of your time. But I am on the verge of losing everything I hold dear.
“Please just let me continue”, I implored the priest. I needed to unload my burden. I couldn’t hold it any longer. And I couldn’t think of anywhere else to unload it but a church, no voice could give me forgiveness but God’s. No man was powerful and merciful enough to listen to my story and still love the mess that I was, the disaster that I had unleashed.
After that night, my daughter and I met again. Multiple times. Maybe three times a week. She’d jerk me off. She’d let me cum in her hand, on her mouth, on her tits. Sometimes she’d let me watch her own pleasure. Listen to her moans. Her talk ever so aggressive, explicit, dirty. She’d talk of having my babies. She’d talk of letting me cum inside her raw. “I am not on the pill” she’d tell me as my cock thrust eagerly in her hand. It’s like she wanted to tempt me. It’s like she wanted me to just take her. “I am so wet and juicy” she’d remind me as I was about to cum. Like cumming in her hand was a sad sad second prize, and if I only had the courage, I could claim the most beautiful of all trophies: my daughter’s wet juicy fertile vagina.