“Good morning tubby!” Nicola Jensen hugged her father’s back warmly.
George grunted, and crunched some crispy bacon. Nicola slid her hands under his pyjama top and rubbed his hairy belly vigorously. She giggled into his freshly washed neck, breathing in the spicy cologne.
“I’ll have to make an appointment with Weight Watchers soon!”
George Jensen growled at his daughter, taking her arms from his stomach and made to bite her slim fingers.
Nicola squealed and easily avoided his chomping teeth. She skipped over to the pantry for her breakfast of fruit and cereal. She liked to think that her daddy was watching her athletic body as she busied herself with her preparations, but George had returned to his morning paper.
The sun was shining and the birds were singing and the kitchen smelled of warm bread and her daddy’s delicious Saturday morning fry-up. Nicola smiled happily as she sat opposite her father. She watched him turn the pages, reading the world news and occasionally clicking his tongue.
How things had changed since her mother had run off with one of daddy’s workers, she thought. A year ago there would have been bickering about money and chores and a bitter ‘bored-living-with-a-boring-husband’ tirade. But she had disappeared one weekend with a carpenter and was apparently living happily ‘somewhere in the North’. Well good luck to her. Since the divorce papers had been finalised her daddy had lightened up and delegated jobs at his contracting business, and through both luck and good management the new arrangements had been financially very successful.
Her father had joined the Country-Golf Club and made some valuable contacts which had led to new ventures and he’d made lots of new friends too. They were mostly charming, confident, attractive people, not the snobs she had feared. They were surprisingly relaxed and cheerful and adventurous. They had made George very welcome and he was often invited out, and he even had some wonderful dinner parties at their own place.
It was thanks to this new circle of friends that Nicola had met Donna. She was the daughter of Mr and Mrs Townsend. He was the city’s foremost property developer and a philanthropist of some renown. and Mrs Townsend was independently wealthy with her own legal firm, the president of the Country-Golf Club, and an important patron of the arts.
Donna had been a godsend for Nicola. She was vivacious and cheeky and adventuresome. She was just two months older than Nicola’s twenty-two years, but she seemed to her to be marvellously mature and sophisticated.
Donna had introduced her to night clubs and pot and taken her on some thrilling rafting trips and had introduced her to exciting people her own age. Mostly, Nicola was grateful for Donna’s fantastic parties. Her own meagre group of lacklustre friends and acquaintances from college had drifted away since Nicola had completed her accountancy degree. They were pleasant enough, but one-dimensional and lacked wit and grace.
Donna’s parties were another world to her. They were held in tastefully ornate surroundings, with exotic foods and quality recreational drugs which were always used in moderation and with care. And then there was the fantastically raunchy sex. Nicola had been sexually active since middle-school, but it wasn’t until she met Donna that she was freed of clumsy fumbling and beery breath and premature ejaculations.
Donna’s parties were like ballroom dances. She carefully choreographed the music and the food and the decor. The participants played clever word games and dressed elegantly and knew the rules. Last week, Donna had turned off the lights and projected the filthiest pornographic films across the dinner table while they discussed art and politics and gossiped. There was a marvellous tension as people deliberately refrained from crudities and chose their words carefully and developed intricate arguments while being variously coloured by heaving bodies and sweat and obscenely large cocks and oozing cunts. Every now and then, the stress was relieved with raucous laughter when someone was suddenly ‘covered’ in cum, or their heads ‘disappeared’ into a thrusting bum or such like.
Nicola had been introduced to threesomes and lesbianism and toys and role-playing and light BDSM by Donna. Her life had been tremendously enriched by the experience. But tonight was going to be something quite different! Donna’s mother had invited them both to a special adult’s fancy-dress party. Nicola knew her friend’s parents were “adventuresome” as well, and apparently their parties were secretive and only ‘certain people’ were allowed to join their circle.
“A penny for your thoughts”
“You were a million miles away,” smiled her father, “Where were you?”
“Oh I was just thinking about how much has changed since mother left.”
“For the better, daddy,” beamed Nicola. “My job is great, we’ve made lots of new friends, you are even more gorgeous than ever, the sun seems to shine all the time, we’ve finally finished painting and furnishing of our big, beautiful home. Everything is just wonderful.”
“Apart from my belly you mean,” grumbled George.
“Oh daddy you know I was teasing you! And I happen to know there have been lots of ladies at the Club who think you’re just the sexiest thing alive.”
George blushed and grinned, “Little girl, you talk such nonsense.”
“I am not a little girl, and besides I hear everything daddy,” giggled Nicola, and counted off her fingers, “That nice big-boobed secretary, and Evelyn Morrison and Margaret Sale, and whatsername – Mrs Ryan’s daughter, and Mrs Ryan herself!” she laughed delightfully. “And I am sure there have been others too!”
Poor George Jensen was beetroot-red. Not only because it was all true his sex life was better than it had ever been, but also because he just wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation with his daughter.
“Silliness. All rumours and silliness,” he hurrumphed, and rustled the newspaper to cover the unconvincing lie.
Nicola got up from the table and kissed him on the forehead, “Well, I think it’s marvellous daddy.”
She busied herself with dishes and cleaned the table. “Oh, I’ll be staying out late tonight, there’s a party on somewhere. I’ll make up something for you and put in the fridge.” She tried to sound at ease and off-handed, but already her tummy was knotted with excitement.
“Don’t worry darling,” said George, “There’s some kind of dinner-dance or something at the Club tonight. I’ll grab a bite to eat there.”
“You look fabulous!” cried Donna, “Absolutely fantastic!”
“And my god! Look at you!”
And they both roared with laughter.
The rushed at each other to admire their costumes, turning each other around and cooing and chuckling and squealing like school girls.
“I’d never recognise you!” gushed Donna.
“Well, especially after I put my mask on.”
“No, no. Entirely unnecessary. You’re just not Nicola any more! Oh I just adore the beauty spots!”
Donna walked around Nicola. She had spent a small fortune to dress as an 18th century French courtesan. Her sumptuous gown fell in layers around generous hips, the satin sheen catching the light. She had a ridiculously large silver-white wig piled over her normally rich red hair. It matched her heavy pale makeup. She had stuck an alluring beauty spot on her left cheek and in keeping with her fashion, the gown was extremely low-cut, showing off her deep cleavage to the best advantage. There was another naughty beauty spot on the curve of her breast. Only her face had the makeup, the bright white paste and her brilliant red lipstick and dark mascara were a stunning contrast to the natural beauty of her lightly tanned chest.
“Are you sure I don’t need a mask? Didn’t your mother insist…?” asked Nicola.
“Oh the masks all come off at midnight anyway, don’t worry about her. Honestly – you are completely unrecognisable… .but I need one!” grinned Donna.
She was dressed in shining black leathers, bristling with silver studs. Her arms were wrapped in gauntlets, matching her knee-length boots. Her leather skirt barely covered her crotch or her small breasts. Her naturally dark hair was tied tightly in a bun.
“Oh Donna. That is just sooo sexy”
They fussed with the dresses and adjusted Nicola’s jewellery and tightened Donna’s skirt to better set off her waist.
“I was going to take the whip,” said Donna, “But it will just be a bother. Can you help me with the mask sweetie?”
Nicola looped the straps of the cats-eyes mask around Donna’s head and tied them lightly. They both made sure it wouldn’t come loose, before standing together in front of the full-length mirror.
“I don’t care if I say so myself, Donna Townsend,” said Nicola, “We are two very sexy young women!”
“I do declare Nicola Jensen, you are absolutely right,” grinned Donna.
“Well, do we know where we’re going?”
The venue had been kept a closely guarded secret. All over the city people in various degrees of undress and others with extraordinary costumes were waiting by their phones.
“Yes! Mummy rang an hour ago. Come on, let’s go and fuck ourselves silly!” she laughed cheekily.
The huge house in Alexandra Heights was brilliantly lit by floodlights on the outside. The house was a beacon for miles around. Inside, the spacious rooms were arranged with subtly coloured lighting, and soft oriental music filled the air. Ottoman sofas and thick carpets and pungent incense lent an ambience of decadence. Ample food, lavished with sauces and intoxicating smells were set aside in each room. Marijuana smoke wafted from special burners. Conspicuously, divans and richly embroidered mattresses were in each room. Even in the main lounge there was a huge, ostentatious bed.
Nicola and Donna clung to each other as they moved through the milling crowd. The guests had taken enormous care with their costumes. Almost everyone had some kind of mask. It was impossible to tell who was who. It’s true, there were several leather- girls and courtesans, which disappointed them, but loosely wrapped togas were much more common.
There was a voluptuous woman in a schoolgirl’s uniform, a cowboy whose chaps were cut to display his naked and proudly well-endowed groin, several women were bare-breasted babylonian priestesses or minoan princesses. There was a professor in an academic gown, but utterly naked underneath. There were several attractive women dressed as whores. One tall, darkly handsome man was just wearing a nappy and a big-breasted nurse was letting him suckle her.
In one room a famous porn star with a freakish 12″ cock was surrounded by gorgeously dressed women, many of the stroking his snake-like member like a pet. It was partially engorged, but he looked relaxed and confident. Elsewhere, there were policemen, firemen, soldiers, sailors and pilots all looking splendidly handsome and dashing. There was a wide variety of ages, but most guests were healthily slim and well proportioned and middle-aged. There seemed to be a generous number of girls in their twenties, like Donna and Nicola. Shockingly, an old man dressed as a minister of religion walked by hand-in-hand with a naked wide-eyed girl, no more than eighteen .
The girls leapt on some drinks carried by a body-builder Nubian waiter who was wearing only a loin-cloth, his skin was oiled and glistening. They gulped them down, and found some more.
They were becoming drugged by the hypnotic music and marijuana smoke and the warm comforting lighting. The nudged each other and pointed and gaped at the costumes and at people they thought they recognised They gasped at the slow sensual build-up of raw sexuality as the evening developed. More and more people were fondling each other, and the naked men’s cocks fattened. Both of them could smell the sex. Couples were pairing off, complete strangers to each other, attracted by the fantasy or the costume or the serendipity of meeting each other.
Still arm-in-arm they wandered from one room to another. From out of the gloom, a tall muscular middle-aged man stood in front of Donna and gently took her into his arms and kissed her softly and at length, then left her and moved on. A beautiful full- breasted woman took Nicola’s hand and placed it on her breast and smiled as she automatically squeezed and felt her hardening nipple. Donna pulled her away, smiling. “That’s my cousin,” she whispered, and pulled a face.
Amazingly, Mrs Townsend was the only person not in costume. She was elegantly and conservatively dressed in an evening gown. Nicola watched her playing the gracious host, calling for drinks where necessary, praising costumes, offering tasty morsels of food, and greeting late guests with a dazzling smile. Nicola got the impression that Mrs Townsend was able to see through everyone’s disguise. Sometimes she even overheard her address people by name.
Nicola finished another drink, squeezed Donna’s hand reassuringly and went to the bar. An outrageously gay bartender was chatting to a small group, and broke away when he saw her coming.
“Oui, jolie mademoiselle?” he asked. His accent was perfect.
“Umm… I’m not sure… something sweet I think.
“Try a daiquiri,” said a burly middle-aged man standing next to her. He was dressed as a medieval executioner, a kind of black hood covered half his face. Soft brown eyes twinkled through eyeholes. His mouth looked gentle. Studded leather straps were slung across his shoulders and wide chest. His belly was large and hairy, but fitted his muscular frame well. His bare legs were partly covered by soft suede calf-length boots. He was wearing a leather loincloth below which hung an impressively fat sausage of a cock.
“Merci”, replied Nicola, adopting the barman’s French accent. “M’sieur is so very kind”.
“Entirely my pleasure, mademoiselle” he said, his gaze lingering on Nicola’s ample breast, taking in the sexy beauty spot, and reluctantly returned to his group.
When Nicola went to find Donna, she wasn’t where she had left her. She had two daiquiris in her hands. As she attempted to pass through the crowd, she spilled a little. She drank one and put down the empty glass. She was feeling ever so slightly drunk.
She was aware of the delicious warmth of the bodies around her, and musty smell of their sweat. She moved slowly, enjoying the accidental touches of flesh upon flesh. The sensuous sounds and humid atmosphere and the beautiful half-naked bodies were having their effect on her. Most of the people were taller than she was, and she could not see Donna anywhere, so she just stood in amongst a group, most of whom had their backs to her. She sipped her sweet drink. The kind stranger had chosen well.
In front of her a woman dressed as Marilyn Munroe had the top of her glittering silver dress pulled down to her waist, and an unusually tall man dressed as Zorro was pawing her pointed, perfectly formed tits. It was such an overwhelmingly sexual, nasty scene, Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. Marilyn’s pale full breasts and her soft pink nipples were suddenly the most beautiful things Nicola had seen.
Without thinking she put down her glass and pressed herself against the woman’s back, kissing her skin softly with little pecks. Zorro smiled his encouragement. Nicola reached under the blonde’s arms and grasped her perfect tits gently, the pawing Zorro removed his own hands to watch. Marilyn leant back onto Nicola, grateful for her gentleness. Zorro took the opportunity to undo his fly and take out his cock. Marilyn reached down and grasped him firmly, slowly masturbating her partner. Nicola moved around to her side and took her face into her hands and kissed her languidly, tasting her lipstick, flicking her tongue into her soft, yielding mouth. Marilyn sighed and fell back into Zorro’s arms. Nicola moved on. Her senses were alight with passion and anticipation.
“Are you enjoying yourself Nicola?” asked Mrs Townsend quietly.
“Oh, Mrs Townsend, you know who I am!” pouted Nicola.
Mrs Townsend smiled, “It’s a knack I have.”
“It’s just… so… so… wonderful, Mrs Townsend! So many sexy, beautiful people!”
“Well you go ahead and play darling. I see someone I need to greet. I believe it’s the Major-General… Oh, Nicola, don’t leave till I introduce you to a very special man. It means… it means a lot to me. Very sexy. Alright, sweetheart?”
“Okay, Mrs Townsend!” said Nicola cheerfully.
Everywhere now, couples and threesomes and groups were openly sexual. Polite conversation and given away to quietly spoken urgings and encouragement. In the main room there was a murmuring of quiet laughter and whispers. The men who were clever enough to wear loose costumes had their cocks out, some still flaccid, most in various stages of engorgement, several were rampant. Women had their hands under their dresses or in the cloaks, feeling themselves. Many were stroking and fondling their partners, cupping ball sacs, fondling breasts, licking the lips of men and women alike. Nicola’s knees were weak watching the sensuality surrounding her… She moved hesitantly into the next room.
As if she had passed through a gate into another level, in this room the people had given themselves over completely and abandoned any pretence of restraint. Few people were completely dressed, many were quite naked. Some had pieces of clothing wrapped around them as if they had hurriedly stripped to get at each other. Two women were on the knees laving the monstrous cock of the porn star, their eyes bright with lust. Everywhere couples were fucking. Some urgently, close to coming, others slowly, some brutally. A man was tied to a bed, his arse being stuffed with a cucumber by a young girl who was grinning lasciviously and masturbating herself. A stunningly beautiful woman was on all fours being fucked in the arse while she sucked a cock greedily. Nicola noted that they had all obediently kept their masks on.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realised that in every corner there were heaving, groaning, mumbling bodies. With a frisson of excitement she saw Donna underneath a huge man, his wide muscular back rippling with effort. Donna was completely covered by this monstrous man. He made no effort to support his body, all his weight was on her slight frame. Nicola was at first fearful, but realised that her friend’s legs were tightly wrapped around his buttocks, her fingernails scratching welts into his skin.
Nicola watched, fascinated, by his massive cock as it plunged in and out of Donna, greased and shimmering. It was all too much for Nicola, she collapsed into the velvet cushions of an armchair and hitched up her dress. She was not wearing panties and her white silk stockings framed her cunt perfectly. Her fingers played ecstatically with her labia and her clit, her hips began to thrust automatically onto her probing fingers.
“Ah! There you are darling.”
Blearily, Nicola looked up. It was Mrs Townsend and her friendly smile. Perversely, Nicola did not even stop masturbating herself, such was her urgency for an orgasm.
“I can see you need some help. Now… who do we have…? Of course! The special man I wanted you to meet.” She smiled.
She held out her hand for Nicola to take, “Come on sweetheart, come with me.”
Dreamlike, Nicola took her hand and they went to walk out of the room. Mrs Townsend stopped and looked into the corner where her daughter was now on all fours, being fucked from behind by the huge man. Her mouth was gaping in a silent scream as she fucked back hard against his sliding cock. Mrs Townsend grinned widely and tugged Nicola’s hand. “Come this way dear, I am sure I saw him over there.”
The next room was similar to the one she had just left. A young woman was sitting on the divan, her legs drawn up against her chest, exposing her cunt to an bald, elderly gentleman who was lapping at her juices, his cock was surprisingly hard and swayed with his exertions. A generously proportioned lady with a soft maternal face was clutching a young boy to her large bosoms, cooing to him as he sucked hard on her nipples. Beneath the boy, and between his legs was a strong black man sucking the boy’s cock and fingering his anus. Near the door two masked women were kissing passionately, they had smeared each other’s bodies with oil and foodstuffs and wine and were sliding up and down, their arms, and legs and knees intertwined. Nicola was trembling with excitement and frustration.
“There he is!” exclaimed Mrs Townsend.
On the divan the medieval hangman with the hairy belly was stretched out. A young red headed woman was playing with his balls and pulling on his hard cock.
“Thank you, Robyn, you’re a real sweetie,” said Mrs Townsend. Silently, the redhead slipped away. With a flick of her hand, Mrs Townsend signalled to someone to change the music to slow rhythmic romantic dance music.
“Executioner meet your new partner. Why don’t you two dance?”
“Merci madame,” said Nicola, slipping into her role again.
The hangman pulled himself up from the divan and smiled. His hard cock jutted out awkwardly as he moved towards Nicola. Very gently he leant forward and kissed her softly on the lips, then both cheeks. His large hands found her waist and pulled her closer, then moved up to her bodice and carefully and confidently pulled her dress down to expose her breasts. The man kissed her again then bent over and licked both nipples and pecked on the beauty spot on the swell of her breast. Deftly, his hands moved down and eased her gown to the floor. Nicola stepped out of the crumpled pile and stood before him, naked except for her white stockings and stilettos.
He took her into his arms and with a little bob, he lowered himself so his fat cock slid between her legs, nestling perfectly along her moist slit. He embraced her closely, her breasts crushed against his wide hairy chest and pleasingly round belly. They began to sway to the slow beat of the music, his cock sliding in time with their movements along the unfolded groove of her cunt. Nicola reached up and hooked her arms around his neck, breathing in his musky cologne.
His strong arms caressed her skin and slid down under her buttocks and effortlessly lifted her up. He wrapped her legs around his back. Her cunt was completely exposed to his lifting cock. He lowered her slowly, the head of his penis butting into her welcoming wetness.
“Oh yessss,” hissed Nicola, “Oh yes please…”
The man gradually relaxed his hold and she slowly sank onto his rigid shaft. She gripped his neck tightly, revelling in the fullness of the penetration. Her lips and mouth found his neck and she kissed and sucked his skin. Her legs locked around the small of his back, and she started her rhythmic movements up and down the entire length of his cock. The alcohol, the marijuana, the extremes of sexuality and the music and had tuned her body for this moment. Her nerve-endings were afire. She imagined her vagina was independently grabbing at his cock, massaging its length. Her nipples scraped against his chest and sent shocks of electricity through her spine.
“Aaah! M’mselle is so good,” whispered the man into her ear.
“Oh M’sieur. I am yours. You may do as milord pleases,” replied Nicola breathlessly, desperately trying to stay in character.
They both heard peals of ribald laughter in the next room and realised that except for two or three couples writhing on the floor, they were alone. Dimly, Nicola heard someone call that there were only a few minutes to go. The momentary puzzlement left her when he relaxed his grip and let her ride down completely onto his thick spongy pole, utterly filling her and nudging her cervix. She gasped partly in pain but more at the shocking enjoyment.
“Is my little girl okay?” asked the man, genuine concern in his voice.
Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. The familiarity of ‘My little girl’ echoed somewhere in her mind.
“Oui, monsieur, you give me pleasure.”
They heard distant chimes above the chatter. A brief pause in the general hubub, then howls of laughter and squeals and shouts. It was 12 o’clock and time for the unmasking. There were more bellows and shrieks. A woman’s voice moaned, “Oh god no, I was making love to my own husband!” followed by uproar.
The realisation that she was now fucking a complete stranger and in public triggered a shock of a little orgasm in Nicola. She mewled and groaned into the man’s neck and pushed down hard onto his cock as far as it would go.
He lifted her up with his powerful hands and the friction sent further waves through her. Her legs locked tighter, knowing that she was about to lose control. Her muscles tightened in her tummy, and her vagina spasmed. She was being lifted up and plunged down repeatedly, the man’s cock was no longer warm and spongy but steel-hard and angry. His breath was rasping.
Nicola found his lips and kissed him, frantic with desire. Her tongue mashed against his, washing his teeth in saliva, exploring him, letting his tongue chase hers filling her mouth just as his cock was filling her cunt. They were both groaning and pawing at each other’s flesh, hurting each other, pinching and grabbing.
Although her eyes were tightly shut, anticipating a shattering orgasm, Nicola became aware of a movement beside her. She opened her eyes – it was the smiling Mrs Townsend.
She rested a hand on Nicola’s back riding her up and down, feeling her knotted back muscles. Her other hand moved to the back of the hangman’s hood and she skilfully undid the strings and eased it from his head.
“What a sexy rogue you are, George Jensen, and what exquisite taste you have in young women.”
Nicola’s mind and body separated. For a fleeting moment madness gripped her. The world spun, cold sweat poured from her body. Her father! Her daddy! She was being fucked by… her reason refused to let her understand. A dream! Drugs! It was not possible.
Her father’s sweaty, reddening face was in front of her. His strong hands were gripping her buttocks. His cock was… .From deep within her soul, from the bowels of her being, a low agonised moan erupted from Nicola’s throat.
And Mrs Townsend continued smiling, still urging her body to move up and down, up and down on the delicious fat cock she was riding.
Her body and mind. Panic and revulsion and fear swept through her one after the other. But her body yearned so much for the sweet release. Electricity tripped through veins more powerfully than any drug. Animal lust focussed only on her clit and the pulsing walls of her cunt.
The face in front of her. Handsome, kind, gentle, trusting daddy. Fucking his daughter. Not knowing it. Thrusting insistently into his little girl. Cum boiling in him, his seething seed bursting to be loose. Nicola’s groan changed and a noiseless shriek shook the very essence of her spirit. Incest!
Tears of shame and confusion welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Still her legs gripped his back, still she rode his cock. His thick, hard, beautiful cock.
Her father saw the turmoil, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Nicola could not speak, the salty tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara making her look even more bruised and vulnerable. She nestled into his neck and hugged him closer.
Mrs Townsend had moved behind her, both hands on Nicola’s hips, pulling her up, and pushing her down. She was breathing raggedly.
“Well, darling, ARE you okay?” she asked.
Nicola did not respond. She sank deeply onto her father’s shaft and willed herself to stop this madness.
“Do you want to keep fucking him? Do you want him to stop?”
Mrs Townsend pushed onto Nicola’s soft buttocks and shifted her a little. Just an inch. Then eased her down again. Urging the rhythm to start again. Nicola whimpered as she felt her body betray her. She used her legs to lever herself higher and allowed Mrs Townsend to pull her down again. Nicola tried to convince herself she was fighting it.
Mrs Townsend leaned into Nicola’s back, her lips pressed up against her ear. “I will help you darling,” she whispered. Seductive kindness and gentleness. She pushed Nicola again, this time further up her father’s iron cock and held her there, then let her fall. Nicola sighed and shuddered. Again Mrs Townsend helped her, easing her higher, letting her fall. The next time it was hardly necessary, Nicola lifted herself up and hovered on her father’s cock, and lifted herself higher so his head almost left her, then she slowly let herself go again. Mrs Townsend replaced her own hands with those of George.
“I think she’s fine now, I think she really wants it.”
Nicola entwined her fingers in her father’s hair and braced herself against his body. Despite her turmoil and her tears and the panic, her body had dammed a wave of searing, insistent energy. Blood pumped through her cunt, the muscles pulsed of their own accord. Goosebumps puckered her hardened nipples. Nicola leaned back and through her tears she saw her sweet, strong father’s face contorted with anxiety and lust.
“Are you going to fuck him now?” persisted Mrs Townsend.
Nicola nodded. A tear loosed itself and burned her breast.
“Are you going to let his hard cock plunge into your cunt?” hissed Mrs Townsend.
Nicola whimpered and rested her head against her father’s chest, nuzzling into his neck. Her resolve was exhausted. Sweet surrender, sweet release.
“His fat cock is in your tight cunt,” sang Mrs Townsend softly, “and it feels so nice, so right.”
George was in control now. His own needs had to be met. The frothing cum was churning in his balls, his cock reaching out, stretching into her tight cunt.
Mrs Townsend leaned even closer to Nicola’s ear and in the quietest whisper said, “He’s going to fuck his little girl. His big fat cock is in your cunt, and you are enjoying it. You want to feel his cock pump into you. You want his cum.”
Nicola trembled and little quivers rippled her body. Wracking sobs shook her shoulders. She climbed closer into the wet warmth of her father’s body, hugging him. Loving him.
“Yes, I want it.”
“What do you want, dear?”
“I want his cock,” she mumbled into her daddy’s chest, spittle drooling from her mouth.
“What else do you want, dear?” Mrs Townsend’s voice was caring, even maternal.
“I want his cum inside me”, sobbed Nicola.
Somewhere inside her demons had released themselves, dark and forbidden desires came to the surface.
“Ooooh!” cried Nicola as a spasm of delight flashed in her cunt. It was more than the frenetic pumping of the cock now, more than the luscious feel of the penetrating shaft. It was the idea. The taboo. Incest. It WAS her father, not a stranger, it WAS her sweet daddy fucking her. He filled her. His cock was jamming into her. Her daddy was going to cum inside his little girl.
“Aahhhh! Oh please god, yes! I want his cum inside me,” she shouted…
The wave was releasing itself. She had no control. Her cunt relaxed and tightened and gripped and somewhere deep inside her something broke and filled her with unimaginable sensations. Her brain turned colours into sounds and sounds into sweeping emotions of desire and release and love and forgiveness and welcome. Nicola clawed her father’s back, ripping his skin with her nails. Her legs stiffened. A great tremor ripped through her body.
“Yes! YES!” said Mrs Townsend, her eyes ablaze, “I know how it feels dear. I KNOW. Oh sweet jesus it’s so good isn’t it!”
Nicola nodded into her father’s neck. She was nearly spent. He had to hold her entirely by himself now. He fucked into the limp body, teeth gritted, eyes clenched. His cock so taut it hurt him. George could not explain his feelings. Something about the smell, something about her vulnerability, he seemed to feel love come flooding from the young woman’s twitching, trembling body.
“Oh he’s going to do it!” beamed Mrs Townsend, “His cum is going to stream into you. His seed will be in your womb.”
“AAARGH! YES!” yelled Nicola, “OH GOD YES!”
He heaved furiously into Nicola, cum roped out of him and washed the walls of her cunt. Long spurts of intense pleasure followed pulsing thrusts of his hips. His violence frightened him, the urgency and delirium overwhelmed him. His knees gave away and they sank to the floor, Nicola’s legs unlocking and spread wide, letting her father take her completely. His weight was crushing and comforting. She felt his sperm in her. She felt her cunt relish and absorb the thick life-giving cum. She was on another plane of acceptance and understanding.
Mrs Townsend brushed away a strand of sweat-soaked hair and smiled. She, too, had tears in her eyes.
“Thank you”, was all Nicola could say to her.
Nicola lay in bed for a long, long time the next morning. The warm autumn sun streamed into her room. Her body ached deliciously. There were bruises on her arms and her lips were tender. Everything was remembered with such clarity, but everything was surreal. She felt her puffy cunt and allowed the emotions and sensations wash over again. And he didn’t even know it was her! She hugged herself and almost giggled. Even afterwards in the lazy lethargic aftermath when he had kissed her long and deeply and gently, and plucked at her nipples and whispered sweet endearments, he didn’t know he had just fucked his little girl!
Nicola sprang out of bed. She had never felt so alive. She took a hand mirror and checked her face again for any signs of the thick makeup. It had taken ages to paste on, and almost as long to scrub off last night. Thank god daddy stayed on for drinks she thought. She had taken particular care to hide her gown and stockings and shoes. She examined herself in the mirror, holding it close. She was completely clean. She smiled. Clean!! This time she did giggle. Incest girl. Father fucker. The words were meaningless and at the same time wonderfully, miraculously true. It was a secret she could nurse for the rest of her life.
She skipped down to the kitchen where her father was hunched over the newspaper. Only twenty-four hours ago it was like this, thought Nicola.
“Hello tubby”, she called.
She had her back to him as she prepared her breakfast.
“Did you have a good time at the Club last night, daddy?” She was smiling broadly, looking out the window onto the yard.
“Yes,” said George, “Yes, it was very good. And your party?”
He turned a page of his paper.
“The best,” she said, leaning over to the table to get some butter.
She was ravenously hungry and fussed over her cereal and toast, cutting up some fruit and humming tunelessly.
When she looked up, her father had gone.
Puzzled, she looked down the hallway and peered into the lounge. He was nowhere to be seen. She picked up the newspaper and read for a while.
She took the dishes to the sink and looked into the bright blue sky and watched a pretty bird flitting to and fro. She followed it from branch to branch and then onto the garden table, where her father was sitting perfectly still. His bright pyjamas were incongruously colourful against the dark green lawn.
She shrugged, and went to change. She was going shopping.
What Nicola hadn’t known was that she had not been quite as careful as she had thought.
When she had reached over the butter, George had glanced up. His eyes appreciated the deep cleavage of his daughter’s breasts in an objective, aesthetic, paternal sort of way.
And then a stab of lightning had pierced his heart. Blood drained from his face. His forehead and chest immediately bathed in sweat. While Nicola busied herself with breakfast all his willpower was needed to move his legs, straighten them, tell them to walk away. He wanted to faint, to collapse into a ball. To weep.
When he looked at the smooth roundness, the sweet tanned swelling of his daughter’s breast he saw the beauty spot which had been so carefully and indelibly drawn, but had been forgotten about.
Mademoiselle’s beauty spot.
When Nicola returned that afternoon the house was empty.
She found her father still sitting in the chair on the lawn, bathed in the golden late afternoon sunshine. He was dressed in gardening clothes, but his tools lay unused beside him, and his hands were clean. He half-turned his head as he heard Nicola step down the outside stairs and walk softly across the grass. Nicola realised he was troubled.
“Is something wrong, Daddy?”
There was a long silence. George Jensen stared vacantly into the distant sky.
“It’s… a little difficult to explain, Nicola. You know in our family we have tried to be open with each other…” his throat caught. “We’ve never held secrets too close to the… breast…”
The word seemed deliberately chosen. Nicola’s heart skipped. She eased herself into a seat beside her father. She was confused and a little afraid by his strange demeanour and awkward words. A dog barked distantly. There was warm rustle of wind which shimmered across Nicola’s low-cut summer dress. Breast? In wasn’t a word he would use carelessly.
She looked down and saw the forgotten beauty spot. Despite several showers, it still showed clearly. The one her father had been so attracted to the night before… could well have seen that morning… she paled.
What is he saying?, she thought, on the verge of panic. Surely he must realise I didn’t know… Her heart was fluttering uncontrollably. Did he know it was me all along?
She looked up. He did not meet her gaze, but continued. “The party I went to last night… I met a most incredible young woman… French, I think, and dressed like an old- time courtesan… French… yes…” He paused, “I don’t suppose you’d know her name.”
Nicola took a breath. Is he playing a game with me? Is he being cruel? But that wasn’t like her father, even when he was angry or upset he never intentionally hurt her. Her mind wrestled with possibilities. He knows it was me, her mind screamed, why doesn’t he say so? She opened her mouth to broach the subject openly… Confess. Explain. But there was something about her father’s distant nervousness. He wasn’t angry. He was somehow vulnerable.
“I think… the woman you’re talking about is a friend of Donna Townsend,” she said quietly.
George Jensen shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. He remained looking somewhere into the middle distance. The wind had died away, and there was only silence.
“Yes, that makes sense. She and Donna came there together, and Melanie, umm, Donna’s mother introduced us.”
“If you like, I could ask Donna… maybe get you a name?”
“No… no…” George said a little too quickly, “I’m not looking for her name.”
Nicola relaxed further. It is a game, but he’s not being cruel. She leaned forward slightly, almost conspiratorially. Her mind raced. We’re politely pretending it was someone else, and that’s the way Daddy wants it.
“You said… you… had a good time, Daddy?”
“I certainly enjoyed her company, and I hope she enjoyed mine,” said George, his voice almost a whisper.
“I’m… quite sure she did, Daddy. I’m certain she really did like your company. I told you yesterday lots of women admire you. They… they think you’re gorgeous…”
They sat motionless in the fading light. Then George took a deep breath, glanced at his daughter, and looked away again.
“It’s true, the flesh is weak, Nicola. I can’t help wondering if there’s some place I might meet her again. Somewhere well away from Melanie Townsend and her meddlesome matchmaking.”
Nicola stopped breathing. She could barely believe what she was hearing. He was offering much more than a meeting. Nicola was afraid to hesitate, lest he misinterpret her.
“I… well… you might try the Capstone Club. They have a youngish crowd, and you would look out of place… but they have a fancy dress party on the twenty-fourth, and you could wear a mask. I think it’s the kind of place where Donna’s friend would go.”
George was wrestling with the idea, as she was. “Capstone Club. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”
“It’s a fun place but… I have to say I won’t be there that night…”, she looked at her father, praying he understood her meaning. “You’ll have to go without me.” It was essential for them both to understand that the Mademoiselle and Nicola Jensen were not one and the same.
“That’s the weekend Donna has asked me to go rafting in the Blue Mountains,” she said softly. And a good thing that was, she thought, if Donna was at the Capstone too, it would be awkward. “So you won’t see me all that day”.
George shifted in his chair, and coughed. “Well, I might as well. And if the Mademoiselle isn’t there… I’ll understand. I really will.”
“Daddy,” Nicola began quietly,” You’ll never know until you try. It could be a great adventure. And if you meet her… you could see if she wanted to see you again.” Nicola was careful to refer to the Mademoiselle in the third person. Someone ‘other’.
That night, Nicola took a long bath, carefully scrubbing away the spot on her bosom. And reflecting on what could lie ahead.
A secret identity. A double life, one day at a time. The secret which was not a secret… and if a mask or act slipped, it would be met by a loving adjustment, not shock and pain.
They both knew, and would not say, and were agreed on that.
Nicola and Mademoiselle would have secrets from each other, and would have to be careful to keep those secrets straight… and a remark about one to the other must be responded to in character and treated carefully, since after all George would know what he was saying and to whom.
And if he ever should choose to take the naked redhead in his arms, and she to enter them, it would be no one else’s contrivance, no trickery, but choice, and no love but theirs.
In the meantime she would have to study her French.
Special thanks to “L.E.” who reshaped the ending.