Message-ID: <15989eli$9810042012@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: broker6@ix.netcom.com Subject: Jenny's Dire Circumstance Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <360A4602.1E6A@ix.netcom.com> Lead, follow, or get out of the way. A word of "giving the devil his due" is in order here. I got the idea for this story from a longish story by Terry Shulz (@hotmail.com) titled At His Daughter's Mercy. In Shulz's story, a father who broke both his hands in an accident is looked after by his daughter . . . with interesting results. This is simply an adaptation of that idea, but I've turned the tables, putting a daughter somewhat at her father's mercy. Standard cautions apply . . . if you thing stuff like this will make you go blind, either don't read it, or get a seeing eye dog. ================================================= Jenny's Dire Circumstance Jenny's plaintive voice rose higher and higher until it wailed above the drone of the gas engine of the wood chipper into which she was feeding small limbs her father threw down from the tree above her head. Rourke Fielding, her father, felt more than heard her screams. It stopped him cold. Before he turned to look down at Jenny, he new something was terribly wrong. By the time his eyes focused and found her, she had become a shaking ball of humanity lying on the ground beside the still running wood chipper. Without hesitation, Rourke let his lithe six-foot frame slip from the notch of the tree and hurtled to the earth below. In one flowing motion, he hit the kill switch on the chipper, while simultaneously dropping to his knees beside Jenny. "Jenny . . . baby . . . what happened . . . let me see," he said through lips drawn tight across clenched teeth. Jenny stayed in her balled-up, nearly fetal position, shivering, both hands pressed firmly between her legs. "Sweetheart . . . let me see . . . le'me see!" Rourke pleaded, pulling gently at her arms, trying to free her hands. Slowly, through chattering teeth, Jenny said, ". . . my hands, dad. My hands . . . " She allowed her father to move her arms in little movements, as though making large moves would further injure her. "Please, Jenny . . . I've got to see what's going on. I need to know how bad you're hurt." Jenny shivered again. Rourke recognized the first signs of shock. He had to act quick. Rather roughly, he pried apart her hands and was almost overcome. There, in his hands, were his daughter's two very badly bleeding hands. The crotch of her jeans, where she had placed them, was also bloody. Rourke took off his flannel work shirt and threw it over Jenny. His earlier military experience told him almost immediately that while her hands were both badly scraped and abraded, including a couple of deep cuts, these injuries alone would not produce the kind of pain she seemed to be suffering. With her hands now apart and elevated above her chest, Rourke leaned closer and noticed that the crotch of her jeans was not only bloody, it appeared that the material was flapped or frayed or cut open. Gingerly, he picked at the fabric and was surprised when it flopped open exposing her 14-year-old pussy. Rourke didn't have time to be embarrassed, but he was momentarily surprised. My God, he thought, doesn't my daughter wear panties anymore? Then, Rourke realized that the crotch of her panties was folded in among her torn jeans. Also, there was too much blood in her crotch for it to have come exclusively from her hands. Her labia was bleeding, which meant a cut or a tear. Slowly, it was coming clear in his mind. There had been some kind of accident, some kind of recoil from a branch or branches Jenny was feeding into the machine. The end result was that something was either torn from her hands, or thrust back at her, or both. The force of it had shredded the inside of both hands, tore the crotch of her jeans and panties and severely scratched or cut her genitals. Without another moment lost, Rourke scooped Jenny off the ground, placed her in the car and sped off to the emergency room where Jenny was admitted within minutes. The nurse looked tentatively at Rourke, a look that said, "I'm not sure I should let you go in with . . . a little girl." But Rourke was used to this sort of thing by now. "I'm her father," he said, and the nurse let him pass. This sort of thing had been happening for the last five years, ever since he and Mandy -- Jenny's mother -- had split up. Mandy had big ideas about becoming a corporate girl in the big city. "So," Rourke had said as she drove away those years ago, "little old Mudville is just too boring for you, huh?" "Tha's right, big fella," she said, and that was that. Suddenly, Rourke found himself in charge of not only his job, but a home, all the duties of a mother AND a 9-year-old daughter. The first year was the worst. But Rourke got onto it. Admittedly, the way he made beds could be better, and he occasionally singed the gravy, or the meat, or the toast or the oatmeal. But, little by little, he and Jenny got it running like a -- well -- like an oiled, if not a slightly singed machine. Over the years, both Jenny and Rourke kiddingly referred to his cooking as "burnt offerings." All in all, they had come to love and rely on each other. Admittedly, as Jenny got older, her "hurts and ouchies" seemed to become more and more serious. From the occasional skinned toe and finger to this, Rourke reflected as he sat with his arm around her while Jenny lay on the gurney waiting for the doctor. Moments after his arrival, the doctor, a kind looking man of about 40, asked Rourke, "Is your wife here . . . could she come in, please?" Rourke sighed and swallowed an urge to bark at the doctor about being tired of hearing all this for the umpteenth time. "Sorry, Doc," Rourke said, "I'm all there is. Jenny's mother . . . ." "Oh," interrupted the doctor, "I didn't know." He said it the way people say they didn't know your brother or sister has just died. Rourke was too tired and too concerned for Jenny to correct the doctor. Jenny had been through this "where's mommy" thing many times, too, and didn't correct the doctor, either. Instead, Jenny and Rourke traded glances. "What do you need her mother for?" Rourke asked. By now, the doctor and the nurse had removed Jenny's jeans and torn panties. The nurse, awaiting the conclusion of this conversation between the doctor and Rourke, had covered Jenny with a sterile sheet. "Well . . . here's the problem," the doctor began. He went on to explain that none of Jenny's wounds were terribly threatening. Of course, infection could show up anytime if they weren't careful. In fact, the doctor was particularly worried about just that in regard to the wound to Jenny's genital area. "I'm going to have to take a couple of stitches, and this area is going to have to be kept clean . . . very clean," the doctor said, stressing "very clean." "Yes???" Rourke said, a question in his voice. "Well," the doctor said slowly, "She's cut across both vaginal lips. Her hands will be completely bandaged and will have to stay that way for at least a week, maybe 10 days. Someone is going to have to clean and apply an antibiotic ointment to her vaginal area two or three times a day . . . " The light came on for Rourke . . . the reason for the doctor's seemingly addle-brained stammering about Jenny's mom. "Ahhh . . . " Rourke sighed, and as he said it, he put his hand to his forehead. "Well, Doc, we live way out on the edge of town, pretty much by ourselves. But I'm sure my neighbor's wife would be glad to come over and help." The doctor seemed relieved, but still he seemed hesitant. "Ahhh . . ." the doctor said. Rourke squinted and looked questioningly at him. "Yes?" What could it be now, he wondered. "Well, it might be better if you stepped out . . ." he said turning slightly to indicate Jenny, who was laying on the table, covered with the sheet, which had begun soaking blood from her wounded cunny lips. Rourke signaled he understood and turned to go. "Daddy?" Jenny said. Rourke turned and was about to say something about how it would be best if he left for now when Jenny, reading his face, scrunched up her face and began crying. "Please don't go . . . please." Jenny shivered again as she had done when the accident first happened. Seeing this, the doctor nodded his head imperceptibly at Rourke, a nod that said, "Well . . . after all, you are her father and the only parent she has . . . I suppose it's okay . . ." For the first time since this had happened, Rourke felt a knot of anger in his stomach, followed by a tightening in his throat. This was, after all, his daughter, his flesh and blood. Damn all this false modesty. Hell, he and Jenny had been the only occupants of their home for years. In that time, in one way or another, they had seen each other, and so far nothing had happened. But more than that, Rourke resented the implication in the doctor's voice. Rourke turned and put his hand on Jenny's forehead and stroked her hair. "It's okay, baby. I'm here . . . and I won't leave, no matter what." Jenny stopped crying, but her shivering continued. "Nurse," the doctor, "why don't you give Jenny, here, a mild sedative . . . something to help her get through this." Within minutes, Jenny was visibly relaxed. The doctor attended to her hands first, cleaning the wounds, disinfecting, applying medicated ointment and bandages. When finished, Jenny's hands looked like bandaged baseballs. They were going to be useless for several days. By now, the sedative had taken full effect, and Jenny lay quite still. Her eyes drooped every now and then. The nurse and doctor traded glances, a knowing look that said things were okay, that Jenny was just where she needed to be from the sedative. Gently, the nurse lifted the sterile sheet from Jenny's mid-section. Jenny stirred, but the doctor calmed her. "You may feel a tiny poke or prickly feeling, Jenny. But it won't last long . . . okay?" "Umm-hmmm," Jenny moaned. With that, the doctor picked up a loaded hypodermic needle. He stretched one of her pussy lips slightly, dabbed on an antiseptic, and slid the needle under the skin near the cut. He did the same on both sides of the wound on the left labia and then repeated the procedure on the other side. Rourke both sensed and knew just about what was going to happen, and trying to satisfy what he thought the doctor was after, he made a conscious effort "not to watch." But, of course, with all this fresh on his mind, including the anger that still knotted his gut, it was almost impossible not to see. He would have had to turn completely around and face the far wall not to see. "Damned if I'm going to do that," he thought. "Hell, I'm an adult and this is my child and there's a doctor and a nurse present . . . Damn!" So, Rourke did not turn away, but he did not make an effort to "see." Still, the harder he tried not to, the more he saw. The doctor, having finished injecting the pain killer into Jenny's pussy lips, waited a moment, and then gently pinched each lip, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Blood oozed from the wounds. The nurse produced a razor and soapy liquid. Together, the nurse and doctor, acting very carefully, began shaving Jenny's pussy lips. It was not a complete shave. It was designed more to remove her soft and still downy pubic hair from the wounded area. With that done, the doctor made a more thorough inspection and discovered the minor labia had also been scratched, but the delicate skin in that most moist and pink areas had not been cut. More to himself than to Rourke or the nurse, the doctor said, "Ouch . . . that's going to be sore for awhile, too." As the doctor continued his search of Jenny's mound and all it's folds, Rourke could not help but notice her hood and clit. It was, by fully grown adult standards, still somewhat tiny, all tucked in. But no mistake, a hood and clit it was. He wasn't sure whether it was swelling or not. If it was, it was probably involuntary, due to the doctor's manipulations. Or is this just my way of . . . of what? he wondered. One thing for sure, he thought, it really had been a long time since he had seen this part of Jenny. A couple of years, at least. He would not have admitted it to anyone, especially the doctor, but the sweet little pussy being manipulated before his eyes looked very much like "a loaded gun" to Rourke . . . that is, very much like an instrument that could capture the attention of any man anywhere on the planet, and just now, it had captured Rourke. In his mind, Rourke envisioned himself raising his hands above his head and saying, "I give up . . . take me. I'm your prisoner." As quickly as this thought came to him, he fought it. He tried to beat it back. But not thinking about it was like putting out a pesky brush fire. Stomp it out here, it springs up over there. As awful as it felt, as much as he tried, Rourke was mesmerized as the nurse and doctor put a couple of tiny stitches in each labia. That done, the doctor placed what looked like a panty liner over Jenny's half-shaved little pussy and taped it at both ends. "When you get her home, help her put on a clean pair of panties to hold this in place. It wall collect what little blood there will be from the wound and provide protection for her for a few days. Have her use these liners for at least a week. The stitches I put in are self absorbing. They will disappear in a few days. Ask you neighbor to watch for infection . . . you know, red streaks, oozing . . . puss . . . things like that . . . okay?" the doctor said as he released Jenny and Rourke. On their way out, the doctor handed Rourke a large tube and explained that this was the antibiotic he -- his neighbor lady -- was to apply to Jenny's wounds. "Have her apply it liberally, and work it in. We need to keep that area protected and soft." On the ride home, Jenny seemed to be running on about half her cylinders. She was groggy from the hypo, and seemed to slip between a light sleep and a dazed consciousness. She roused when she noticed her dad passing their house. "I'm going down to the Larson's . . . see if Mrs. Larson can help us out for a few days," Rourke smiled. Rourke pulled to a stop and knocked on the Larson's door. Jack Larson answered and showed Rourke in. In less than a minute, Rourke piled back into his car, a look of consternation on his face. "What's'it, dad?" Jenny asked. "Mr. Larson is not home. She's on one of her religious retreats. Won't be home for a week or so," Rourke said into the darkness of the car, a bleak look on his face. "Aw, don' worry, dad. We'll manage somehow. We always do . . ." Jenny sighed, and slipped back into her stupor. "Yeah . . . somehow . . ." Rourke repeated, thinking, "What now . . . What now?" Rourke got very little sleep that night. Jenny, of course, passed out from the pain pills. She would sleep well. But with the problems that faced him in the morning, Rourke slept fitfully. He finally fell into sleep somewhere around three in the morning, but awoke around 7 a.m. to the sound of his daughter calling his name. In a flash, Rourke was on his feet and halfway down the hall. "Jenny . . . where are you . . . what's'a matter?" "In the bathroom, dad," she called. However, like radar, Rourke had located her by the location of her voice, and had already begun striding down the hall toward the bathroom. Her voice reflected concern and frustration. What could it be. Torn stitches? Rourke burst into the bathroom to find Jenny standing helplessly beside the john, a look of total frustration on her face. "What is it, baby," he asked. Jenny, dressed in a little hip length nighty, avoided her father's eyes. "Dad," she stammered, "I . . . I . . . can't go to the bathroom . . ." At first, Rourke thought Jenny was having trouble because of the stitches, and instinctively, he craned his neck as though looking at her genital area, which, in fact, he did. He noticed she was still wearing the panties he had helped her struggle into before going to bed the night before. "Wha . . ." Rourke was going to say something like, What should I, or what can I do when Jenny interrupted. "Dad, I can't get my panties off . . . can you help me, please?" "Oh sure, baby," Rourke said. Jenny turned to face her father, her two baseball sized hands hanging uselessly at her side. Still, she used her club-like hands to try to raise her nighty so her father could get at the waist band of her panties. Rourke slipped his fingers into the waistband and began tugging. Slowly, they panties slipped down over Jenny's hips. Rourke couldn't help noticing that these were not the straight, almost little-boy hips he was used to seeing on Jenny. And suddenly, one more thing bothered Rourke: He had come up out of bed so fast and was so concerned for Jenny that he forgot all he had on was his shorts. Not that he and Jenny didn't occasionally run into each other in brief attire, but that was usually one of those moments when one or the other was diving into or out of the bathroom or their respective bedrooms. But suddenly, as Rourke began removing his lovely daughter's panties, he became quite aware of his near nakedness. Furthermore, from his squatting position, he could see clearly the outline of Jenny's two perky cone-shaped breasts beneath the flimsy material of her nighty. But Rourke fought bravely on. Don't think . . . don't think, he commanded himself as the panties finally slipped past the wide part of Jenny's hips and slipped down her legs. They fell in a puddle at her feet. Instantly, Rourke noticed the little panty liner that was still held in place with tape. Whew! he thought. Saved. Rourke scooted back as though to stand and go. "Dad . . . " Jenny called. "What . . .?" Rourke asked. "That, too," Jenny said, dipping her head in the direction of the panty liner. "Ah . . . baby. I . . ." "Oh, c'mon, dad. We can't stand on ceremony, here. I gotta go. It'll be okay. Just don't look . . . okay?" Look or no look, Rourke knew he had to do this. But he was becoming quite concerned because as his reached gingerly for the little piece of tape holding up the panty liner, his hand shook visibly, and worse, he felt his cock begin to stir. After all, it had been several years since he had been this close to any female, and daughter or not, biology was biology. Perhaps she will be so busy getting herself situated that she won't notice my half a hard on, he thought. He gently tugged at the tape, which by this time had become quite stuck to Jenny's tawny, still slightly wispy pubic hair. Rourke tugged, but the tape held. Finally in exasperation, Rourke went to both knees in front of his daughter and began using both hands, one to hold and push the soft flesh of Jenny's mound and the other to pry away the tape as gently as possible. "Damn . . ." Rourke muttered. "Does that hurt?" "A little," Jenny said, adding, "can you hurry, please. I really have to go." "Okay," Rourke said. "Hang on. I've about got it," he said, tugging. Then, mumbling, he added, "We're gonna have to get you shaved if this is how it's gonna be." "Jenny giggled, but added, "Ooohhhh, hurry dad." Finally, the tape surrendered it's last pubic hair and the liner fell free. Suddenly, Rourke was nose to nose with Jenny's budding hooded clit, a pink little pearl of a thing nestled in that wispy pubic hair. Rourke froze. His cock had begun to do some serious growing. He had to get out of there. He turned again, wheeling on his knees hoping Jenny was so intent on peeing that she wouldn't notice. But Rourke spun too fast and as he came around, he banged into the tub. He lurched backward and fell onto his butt, legs spread apart, and elbows back to catch himself before his head hit the floor. From that position, all he could see was that glistening little pink clit shining out at him, and when he looked down, his shorts formed a perfect tent from his now nearly rigid cock. Without looking at Jenny, Rourke bounced up off the floor like a rubber ball. He tore out the door, calling to Jenny, "There you go, darlin'. Call me if you need anything." Rourke strode down the hall to his room, tucking furiously at his cock, trying to get it to behave. But it refused, and once in his room, he gave up trying to tuck it away, and began stroking it furiously. "My God," he thought, "what am I doing? Jacking off to over my daughter. My injured daughter. What the hell's wrong with me." But even this self-shaming had no effect. Instead, it had the opposite effect. Rourke's cock grew more, the head became purple, and half a million new nerve ending came alive in the head of his cock. He could feel an impending orgasm when, like a distant and irritating noise, Rourke became aware of his name being called again. Rourke listened. It was Jenny, calling from the bathroom. Rourke stopped his stroking, but his cock continued to quiver in his fist. "What is it, hon?" Rourke called out. "Daddy, I need help . . . again," Jenny whined. Rourke sighed, released his cock, grabbed his old terry robe and headed down the hall. He stopped just outside the door. "What is it, sweetheart?" he called into the bathroom. "Daddy . . . I need help . . . can you . . . wipe me?" Oh my God, Rourke thought. It never ends. Not that he minded doing anything to help his injured daughter, but this . . . never in his wildest imagination would he believe something like this would come up. And worse, that something like this had so many . . . so many what? . . . levels of unbelievability . . . of new "duties" . . . of little tasks that could only be done by hand. Quickly, Rourke went through a laundry list of reasons, excuses why he couldn't come in and wipe his daughter. But, in the end, it had to be done. And very reluctantly, he had to admit he wanted to do it. As he gathered himself to go in, he was already seeing in his mind's eye that sweet, tiny little clit poking between Jenny's pussy lips, swollen now due to her injury. Rourke bunched his robe in the front, hoping it would disguise his still half-hard cock. He might secretly enjoy his new position, but there was no reason to rub Jenny's face in his "appreciation" of the situation. "Okay," he said, entering the room, "what . . . how . . . what do I do?" he asked, obviously embarrassed. "Oh, daddy . . . I'm sorry, but it has to be done. That's just the way girls are. Besides, you heard what the doctor said about keeping clean." Rourke nodded and gave Jenny an "I know . . . I was there" look. With Jenny's instruction, Rourke folded the paper, squatted and tentatively reached his hand between Jenny's legs. "Now," Jenny instructed, "pat . . . that's it . . . pat gently. Right, Now . . . be careful, it still hurts . . . press the paper into . . . into my . . . folds." Following as best he could, and feeling his cock rising to new heights, Rourke dabbed, patted, and pressed. At last, Jenny said, "That's nice . . . er, fine, daddy. Fine." Rourke dropped the paper and moved as if to leave. "Daddy?" The question in Jenny's voice stopped him. "Yes," Rourke replied. "Uh . . . daddy . . . it's kind of stinging . . . you know . . . hurts a little. Can you look at it for me . . . make sure my stitches are okay." Rourke's cock pulsed, but still, he blushed. Still reluctant, Rourke countered with, "It's probably because you went to the bathroom . . . got it wet. That's all." "Daddy . . .!!!" "Okay, hon . . . let's have a look." Jenny half stood, put down the top lid, sat again with her tail bone far forward on the seat. She leaned back against the top bowl and let her legs fall open. Again, in less than five minutes, Rourke found himself face to face with the most beautiful little pussy -- albeit a bruised pussy -- he had ever seen. Quietly, he smiled in his head at the thought that, no matter what the situation, he was behaving like a proud parent. Trying to maintain an "adult" demeanor, Rourke tried to inspect Jenny's pussy in a professional manner. However, he thought, what the hell is a "professional manner?" The best Rourke could do is hunker down on his haunches and peer intently at Jenny's pussy. On closer inspection, he could see the tiny stitches through her downy hair, which was half way between the down that first appears, and the more bristly adult hair that come in later. "Well . . .?" Jenny asked. "Well . . . it seems to be okay . . . can't really see that well . . . to much hair." "Look closer," Jenny ordered in typical "in charge" female form. "Yes Ma'am," Rourke retorted with a snicker. Rourke peered closer, pushing his face to within inches of Jenny's pussy. He was so close he could smell the remnants of the disinfectant, and Jenny's sex. The musky scent of her sex overrode the medicine, and Rourke gave thanks for his bulky old robe, which now hid his raging hard on. "Well?" "Honey," Rourke said softly, "the only way I'm going to be able to see anything is to move your hair a little bit." "Well, go ahead then, daddy." "Darlin' . . . " Rourke said in a tone that sounded like someone begging off. "Daddy," Jenny interrupted, "listen to me. Just listen to me for a minute. We're alone here. We're in this thing, and there is no one around to help us . . . just like always. Now, let's just try to ignore the obvious. I need help. You're my daddy and I love you. You love me. Everything will be okay . . . c'mon . . . please, daddy." Despite his roaring hard on, Rourke saw the wisdom in Jenny's words. In fact, her grown-up approach had a dampening effect. Rourke felt his cock deflate to a hard "soft-on." Of course, she's right, Rourke reasoned. I can do this. "Okay, hon, hold still," Rourke said, gently picking at Jenny's soft pubic hair. "Does that hurt?" he asked, continuing to push the hair around. "No," Jenny said. "Go ahead." Rourke continued his inspection. Sure enough, there was her bright pink little clitty shining out like a light on a foggy night. On each side of her clit were two sweet little pussy lips, sweet despite the fact they had a somewhat bedraggled look from a bad shave and stitches. "Well, the stitches are okay . . ." Rourke said quietly, still peering into Jenny's little love nest. "What about the scratches . . . the ones the doctor talked about last night?" Rourke tensed. "Well, honey, they are . . . kind of up there, almost inside of you. I can't see them just now. I'll have to . . . touch you . . . if I'm going to look at . . . at that." "Well, go ahead, then, daddy," Jenny said matter of factly. Gingerly and tentatively, Rourke reached in and began unfolding Jenny's little pussy lips from her large one. Jenny flinched imperceptibly. "That hurt?" Rourke asked. Jenny laughed and said that his fingers were cold. Rourke gently peeled her lips apart until he had exposed her labia minor -- her little inside lips. As he continued separating her parts, Jenny hunched her pelvis upward slightly. It caught Rourke, and he glanced up. Jenny's head was back and her eyes were closed. As if it were a cue, his cock began rising again. Rourke couldn't tell if Jenny's eyes were closed out of disinterest, modesty or ecstasy. "Hmmm," Rourke mumbled. "These little lips are scratched, alright. A little inflamed, too, if I read it right." "Well . . . then we'd better put on some of that antibiotic cream," Jenny said matter of factly. Again, Rourke felt the tension rise, felt his diaphragm tighten in readiness to speak his refusal. But, just as quickly, he relented. Jenny was right the first time. They were alone with no one else to help. It had to be done. Rourke reached into the medicine cabinet and retrieved the tube of ointment. He applied a dime-sized squirt to his fingers while Jenny scooted out a couple more inches so that her ass and crack were completely over the edge of the toilet seat. Using his left hand, Rourke reached in and spread Jenny's large lips and began applying the cream to the little lips nestled there. Slowly, he began spreading the medicated cream. It was very slick, and combined with Jenny's velvety inner pussy, his fingers glided though her crack. He worked it in up and down motions, all the while trying to "think professional," and all the while, his cock taking on the feel of high-tension steel. Then, very gently, he moved to her outer lips and applied lotion to her stitched area. Jenny flinched again, so Rourke returned to the inner part of her pussy. Up and down, up and down, Rourke continued moving the lotion around the little lips. Occasionally, his slippery fingers slid farther up and bumped into something hard. Suddenly, Rourke realized it was her little clit, and that it wasn't that little any more, that it was growing. He glanced up, and again, Jenny's eyes were closed, and this time, her chest was moving up and down rapidly, her tea-cup sized breasts riding her rib cage. Again, guilt gripped Rourke. Should I quit? I should, but that would be too obvious, he thought. My God! Jenny was obviously enjoying this beyond the level of receiving medication. In an effort to maintain his parental role, Rourke decided to lighten his touch. Perhaps that was the problem. Too much pressure. Lightening his touch to feather-light, Rourke continued working the cream into Jenny's scratched lips, occasionally and accidentally slipping too far up so that his greasy fingers slid over her hard little clit. "Mmmmmm" Jenny sighed. Then, as though realizing she had given herself away, she added, "that seems . . . to . . . be really . . . good medicine." Rourke had made up his mind to stop, and was in the act of sending these signals to his muscles when Jenny suddenly went stiff, her breathing stopped, and hips bucked upward in three quick movement. "Oh . . . oohhhhh. Ah! What in the world . . . what was that?" Jenny said through a clenched jaw, her tummy still quaking. Her eyes were wide open, she had a smile on her lips, but concern in her eyes. "Daddy, daddy . . . what happened?" Well, that tears it, Rourke thought. Now, I've done it. My God, you sick sack of shit. My little Jenny just had her first orgasm. On top of that, I gave it to her. And, on top of all that, she doesn't know what it is, and, as bossy as she is, I won't get out of here until I explain it to her. God, he thought, why couldn't we live in a large city where little girls learn this kind of stuff by the time they're ten. Worse than that, what if this gets out, he pondered. At that moment, with a beautiful little pussy pulsing before him, glistening with love juice and creamy antibiotic, all Rourke could see ahead of him was 30 years of hard time in the state pen. And as he suspected, Jenny began asking questions. As best he could using simple terms, Rourke found himself explaining things beyond the perfunctory birds and bees and this is how you make a baby sort of thing. He found himself embroiled in that really neat level of sex -- the orgasm and how it is produced, and how it affects one, and why it does, and how many ways there are to achieve it . . . and on and on and on, and, in the end, Jenny just kept asking questions, all the while her eyes glowing brightly. In his heart, Rourke felt both good and bad about it -- good because Jenny was so animated and alive. This was probably the first real conversations she had had that approached "girl talk." He also felt bad for almost the same reason: He wasn't a girl. He really couldn't "do" girl talk, and even though he was a "dumb man," he knew deep down that one of the things that sustained girls throughout their lives was "girl talk." At last, and reluctantly, Rourke wound down the conversation with an admission that he hated to make. "This isn't right, Jenny . . . it just isn't right . . ." and as he started to add something, Jenny interrupted. "But dad, how can anything that feels so good be so wrong?" Rourke laughed out loud. "Are you laughing at me?" Jenny challenged. "No, baby. Not at you. Kind of with you. It's just that the question you asked is part of an old song title, which doesn't prove anything except that millions of other folks have asked, and will continue to ask the same question." "Well," Jenny said, taking the situation in hand again, "if it's wrong, we just won't do that particular thing anymore . . . yes, that's what we'll do . . . er, not do," she laughed. "Okay," Rourke agreed, getting to his feet. "Where ya goin', dad," Jenny asked. "I thought I'd go see if I can rustle up a nurse somewhere, someone who can come in and do this stuff for us." Jenny's face fell. "Dad!!" she yelped. "What?" "You'll do no such thing. Now . . . now, listen to me before you go off the way you do. A nurse coming here twice a day will cost a fortune. We can do this thing. Honest, we can. We've just talked it over, talked it out. We both know what happened and how it happened. We'll just be more careful." "Jenny . . ." "Nope. Besides, dad, I would feel really, really funny with a stranger doing that do me." Rourke studied Jenny for a moment. Either she was serious, a good liar or he was just hearing what he wanted to hear. Deep, deep down, he wanted it to work. But just as deeply, he knew he wanted to continue stroking that darling little pussy. "We'll see," was all Rourke would say at the moment. He excused himself, saying he was going to get his things and take a shower. Then, he said, he had lots of things to do around the yard, including finishing trimming the tree, chipping the wood, and putting away their tools. "Before you go . . ." Jenny smiled, "Would you at least help me into my robe?" Oh God, Rourke thought. Of course. No hands. I'm going to have to do everything for the next few days . . . things like . . . naw, I don't want to think about it . . . baths, dressing, more wiping. And again, Rourke was saddened because as these thoughts flitted through his mind, his cock began growing again. Damn it! he thought. There ought to be a way to disconnect that thing. But in some deep, hidden recess of his brain, Rourke knew there wasn't . . . and just as deeply, he sensed that he was glad of it. Rourke was bone tired but he forced himself to finish the yard work he and Jenny had started the day before. While he worked, he pondered what suddenly seemed like a very crowded night and morning. Things seemed to have overtaken him . . . and Jenny . . . in ways he never would have thought possible hours earlier. And two more weeks to go. Hmm, can I do it, he wondered. Inside his head, a voice said, Sure you can, Rourke. But in his bones, he wondered. Oh well, it will all be over in two weeks. Besides, that's about when school starts again, Rourke recalled. Somehow, the year seems to settle nicely when school starts. Deep down, he knew why . . . because by then, Jenny will be able to see to her own . . . pussy . . . and other needs, he thought. I wish it were now, he told himself, but while thinking that, he glanced at his watch. It was already 2:30 p.m. Long past lunch time. Jenny must be starving. She can't even get herself a snack. And . . . it must be about time to dress her wounds again, he thought, which caused him to hurry his chores and head for the house. He found Jenny, still in her nighty and robe, half sitting, half laying on the couch. She was sitting in a way that told Rourke she was trying to keep her weight off her injured bottom. She had managed to turn on the television by placing the remote control on the floor and pressing it with her toes. "Hey, sweetheart, you hungry," he asked. Jenny extended a very shapely leg -- another discovery for Rourke -- pointed a toe and snapped off the TV set. "Yes, I am," she said. "I'll call you when it's ready," Rourke said, heading for the kitchen. "Dad . . . ?" Jenny called. "Yes," he said turning to her. "Dad . . . I . . . I need . . . a bath, too," she said. Rourke slumped. Something else, he thought, but caught himself. Hell, he said to himself, I knew this was coming. Oh, well, he thought, resigning himself at last to the job ahead in the next two weeks. Baths, massaging her . . . her pussy . . . okay. I'll get through it. I'll think of something else while I'm doing it. "Okay, one bath coming up. What say we eat first, though, okay?" he said, disappearing into the kitchen. Once again, his old friend. Peter, kept trying to take charge as Rourke fixed lunch and set the table. If it hadn't been for his jeans, his cock would have gotten in the way of everything. It took twice as long to eat because he had to feed Jenny, too. By the time they had finished, Jenny was squirming in her seat. "Dad, can we hurry . . . I have to pee." Rourke threw the rest of the dishes into the sink and followed Jenny upstairs to the bathroom where she turned and faced him, arms slightly out at her sides. At first, Rourke couldn't figure it out. Then, the light went on with a blinding flash. She's waiting for me to undress her. This time, with far less embarrassment than before, Rourke stepped up, helped her out of her robe. then, with her help, he raised her nighty and slid her panties down. As before, the little panty liner surprised him. And, again, he fumbled with the tape trying to remove it without hurting Jenny. And once more, he mumbled something about needing a shave. "That's a great idea, dad," Jenny said as the liner came loose. Rourke nearly fainted away. Not only was he again looking that sweet pink little button right in the eye, his daughter was agreeing that she needed a shave. "We can do it while giving me a bath," and with that, Jenny plopped down on the toilet and let her stream of water into the john. Rourke reacted with a sudden turn of his head. Jenny returned his startled look with a look of, "hey, we're stuck like this for several more days . . . get used to it." So, Rourke busied himself by turning on the water for the bath, and in collecting towels and soap, a razor, bath powder and the cream for her scratched pussy lips. By the time he was finished, Jenny was again standing in the middle of the room, arms over her head, waiting for her father to remove her nighty. Rourke lifted the thin blue nighty at the bottom of its skirt and began raising it over her head. As he did so, his breath caught and his heart came to a full stop. For a moment, he thought his heart was going to blow all its seals. As the nighty came up, Rourke watched Jenny's sweet little "woman's" belly slide into view, followed by her small, dainty waist, and finally her two perfectly formed and cone shaped breasts, each capped with quarter size aureoles and eraser sized nipples. Steam from the gathering bath water and the sight of his daughter -- far sexier than he had dared think -- brought a sheen to his face. Soon, Rourke was dripping with sweat. Jenny noticed and said, "Dad, at least take off your shirt . . . maybe slip into your shorts. It's too hot in here dressed the way you are." "Maybe you're right," he replied and excused himself, adding "Don't try getting in the tub by yourself. Ill be right back." Quickly, Rourke slipped into his room and into a pair of gray flannel workout shorts. Jenny was still standing in the middle of the room when he returned. And with his return, his cock immediately began trying to stand on its own. This time there was not mistaking it. And besides, after the talk he had with Jenny, she was suddenly too wise. "Dad, I'm sorry about that," she said, nodding her head toward the tent in his shorts. "That's okay, baby. Let's just get on with it and pretend it isn't there." "Okay, dad," Jenny said, a faint smile crossing her lips. If she weren't his own daughter, Rourke would have thought she was mocking him, playing with his "situation." "What are we going to do first, shave me?" Jenny asked. "No," Rourke said. "I'll wash you first. That will give your . . . wounds . . . time to soften in the hot water." Rourke helped Jenny into the tub. He lathered a wash cloth and began with her arms, being careful not to wet the bandages encasing her hands. Then, he moved up to her shoulders and across her back, stopping now and then for more soap. Soon enough, her front would come up. He had been putting it off, wondering how he was going to wash her chest without touching her breasts. Once again, he knew this was impossible, but still . . . this was his daughter, and every stroke cleaner she became, the closer he got to losing his resolve. And, with each stroke, he noticed her firm little breasts, with their shiny wet nipples, jiggling like two little cups of Jell-O, soap from her shoulders running down, dripping off her nipples. Rourke was glad he was on his knees and that the lower half of his body was hidden from view because all this stretching to wash Jenny's back had caused his shorts to ride up so that, now, his rigid cock stuck out one of the legs of his skimpy shorts. After nearly scrubbing the hide off Jenny's back, Rourke lathered the wash cloth and haltingly began washing Jenny's chest. He was nearly struck dumb with the firmness of her breasts, and he couldn't help noticing that her nipples responded instantly to his touch. Each stood up like a tiny hard-on, poking into the steam, peeking through the suds dripping form them. Jenny placed her back against the tub in readiness for her father's request for her to raise her legs so he could wash them. When she raised them, Rourke found that he could barely take his eyes off the bright, pink little button winking up at him through the soapy water. Finally, he asked Jenny to stand, and using the bar of soap, he gently lathered her pubic hair. "I'm sorry, hon," he said apologetically, "but you'll have to spread your legs." Jenny complied, taking a side step so Rourke could reach between her legs an soap her pussy lips. Once more, she flinched slightly, and Rourke apologized for hurting her. "Actually, it feels kind of good," Jenny admitted. "I thought it hurt," Rourke commented. "Well, yes . . . but there are good hurts and bad hurts . . . " Jenny said with a smile in her voice. This caused Rourke's cock to grow a little more. As his soapy fingers slipped gently among the folds and hidden places of his daughter's cunny, Rourke felt that he might go crazy. How can I continue, he thought. How can I do this without plunging my cock into her pussy. Rourke pushed away these thoughts as best he could and said, "Now, hold still while I shave you, hon . . . and in a minute, when I start working around those cuts, I'll have to stretch your . . . lips. Let me know if it hurts." Slowly, Rourke began peeling away the fine hair up on her belly, that soft part above her mound. Then, working carefully, he started slicing away the hair directly on her mound, and finally, the razor began slipping down and under, taking off the hair on her cunny lips. As promised, when he reached her tiny stitches, he had to reach in and pull the lips, stretching them so he work up to the stitch, but not so close as to cut it off. He could feel -- sense, really -- that Jenny was kind of holding her breath, kind of holding back, as it were, from the pain that stretching her lips must be causing. "Sorry, darling," he said. "That's okay, dad. It feels funny without my hair down there. What does it look like?" Good grief, thought Rourke. It looks so sexy, so inviting I'm having a hard time keeping my tongue out of that soapy slit. It looks like a pouting, pink-lipped lollipop, something I could suck all night long, that's what it looks like. All this in his head, of course. "It looks fine," Rourke said, trying not to let the pounding of his heart come through his chest and out his vocal chords. Now, to make sure there was no annoying stubble, Rourke soaped his hand again and began running it over Jenny's mound, down between her legs and her cunny folds, searching for those tiny, sharp little hairs that would drive her crazy by morning. Back and forth, slipping and sliding went Rourke's hand until he realized that Jenny was moving her hips in response to his movements. As he pulled forward, she pulled back, and then the reverse. Time and again, that now hard little clitty thumped along the high and low spots of his hand. Not wishing a repeat of this morning -- and fearing the consequences if she fell -- Rourke stopped, satisfied he had nipped every hair that could cause trouble. Then, he told Jenny to turn around while he washed her back. Quickly, his hand found her perfectly heart-shaped ass and in less than a minute, his soapy hand slipped into the crack of her ass. Again, in the tiniest of movements, he was aware that Jenny was leaning into his probing fingers, following them, helping them center on her tiny rosebud center of pleasure. And again, Rourke forced himself to stop, sensing that Jenny would ride his hand to completion, or until he did something he would regret. Besides, after this he was going to have to dress her wounds again with antiseptic cream. Finally, Rourke proclaimed his work done and asked Jenny to rinse and stand, which she did. He helped her from the tub, throwing a large towel over her and began patting her dry. Before he was completely finished, Jenny was edging her way toward the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. "I want to see my new look," she said, striking a pose . . . shoulders back, hips thrust forward, her bald 14-year-old pussy looking tight and fine. The sight caused Rourke to feel that his own orgasm was near, and he was horrified and mortified when he looked down to see that he had neglected to cover his cock which still protruded from the leg of his shorts. Jenny followed his sudden head movement in the mirror, and from her angle, she could see everything. "Dad!" she yelped, snickering a little at the same time. "My God . . . what's that?" Since he had been caught, Rourke made no effort to be quick about covering his cockhead. However, he did go ahead and pull his shorts out and over the head of his raging hard-on. "Well, Jenny . . . we talked about . . . " "I know we talked," Jenny interrupted, but does this happen every time? Do I do this to you???" Rourke knew he had to be careful with his answer. Too much one way would give her the wrong impression that she could do this at will to any man in the world, which she probably could do, but at great peril to herself. Too much the other way would crush her young spirit, the very femininity that one day she would give willingly to a man. Instead, Rourke tried to let it go with a lame excuse about how long it had been since he had been with Jenny's mother. Mixed in were vague things about natural urges. In all, Rourke was not satisfied with his answer. In return, he thought he once again spotted that little Mona Lisa smile he had seen on Jenny's face earlier that day. While Jenny smiled, Rourke gathered up her nighty and a dry towel and the antibiotic cream. "Come on," he said. We have more work to do. Rourke turned toward the john, where Jenny had received her last treatment. Instead, Rourke heard the bathroom door open. When he looked up, Jenny was gone. Rourke chased after her. "Where you goin', darlin'?" he asked. "To my room, if it's okay with you, daddy. That john lid is cold. Wouldn't it be okay if I laid on my bed while you did this?" Rourke acquiesced. Actually, it would be better. Better angle. He wouldn't have to squat. She would be more comfortable. In her room, Jenny flopped down on her bed and, without instruction, spread her legs. It was all Rourke could do to keep his cool. Jenny's shiny pussy and glistening pink parts lay open before him. Trying mightily to avert his eyes, Rourke squeezed creme on his fingers, and gently began applying it to Jenny's razor-slick lips. It wasn't until Rourke had gotten started that he notice Jenny had not covered herself, not even her top. Her perky breasts with their hard nipples pointed at the ceiling, while the cream he worked into the folds of her taut pussy make little smacking sounds beneath his fingers. He sat on the edge of the bed, and again, he noticed that his raging hard on could not be contained. It had again slipped out from beneath the leg of his shorts. Thank goodness, the way he sat at her side, his hard on was not visible to Jenny. At least it was not visible unless she sat straight up and looked for it. Rourke considered shifting his rigid shaft, but to do so would call attention more attention to it, so he left things as they were, concentrating on the now slick as ice pussy folds slipping beneath his fingers. It started as the tiniest of muscle movements, but before long, Jenny was going along with his strokes, gently pushing her pussy up, and drawing it down in opposition to him. They weren't big movement, not the kind you can see from across the room. Just little strokes, barely enough for Rourke to identify. He considered stopping, but two things urged him on: First, the doctor's orders that this be done at least twice a day, and, second, he couldn't stop. This morning, with Herculean effort, he could have stopped. But not now. Not with this ultra slick, super sensitive virgin pussy calling to him, and eager to feel his fingers probing the folds of skin, pushing her fatty tissue, riding up and over that incredibly hard clitty button, Rourke knew that, up to this point in the game, he was trapped. And, frankly, he was quite happy with things just as they were. He had no intention of going farther. Jenny, he thought, might have entertained other ideas, but she was young and impressionable, something that nudged his sense of responsibility greatly. She was, after all, his daughter, and he owed it to her to do no more than this. And that's when it happened. Quite by accident, his slippery fingers -- sliding, slipping, seeking her damaged spots, stopping for a moment, twirling antibiotic creme in all the right places -- one of his fingers slipped into her vagina, into her virgin tunnel of love, into the soul of her sex. By then, she was totally lubricated, and in her youth, her juices flowed so freely that Rourke could tell that not all her slickness was due only to medicated creme. Her love channel was so wet that his finger simply disappeared into her sex, directly behind her pubic bone, not quite an inch away from her swollen clitty. Rourke felt Jenny go tense, and before he could react, or before Jenny could speak, a fierce spasm clutched her body, drawing tight her stomach muscles, while racking spasms fluttered Jenny's pussy muscles on Rourke's cunt-covered finger. It was only her second orgasm, but by anyone's book, it was the kind a girl would remember for the rest of her life. In fact, it was so powerful, Rourke knew he would remember it for the rest of his life, too. Simultaneously, Rourke -- and probably Jenny, too -- knew that things had changed, that their lives had just taken a turn, and that if they were to survive, both had better be wearing their seat belts. Slowly, Jenny's eyes blinked open as if she were trying to rid them of stars and shell bursts. "Daddy . . . daddy . . . what was that . . . ???" "I'm sorry, babe . . . " "Daddy, don't be sorry. Please don't. Can we do it again?" "Oh, princess . . . I don't know. You're . . ." "I'm what, daddy?" "Well, I was going to say you were too young, but that's not true, is it?" Rourke said, gathering himself for what he had to say next. "Princess, this is wrong. You know it, and I know it. If any part of this leaked out, we'd both be . . . " "Oh, daddy! Will you quit! I'm not going to tell, and I know you aren't either. Now listen to me . . . please. I've never felt anything like this before in my life. Well . . ." Jenny hesitated, going back in her mind, "I remember when I used to go bumpity-bumpity down the stairs on my little behind, and I used to think how good it felt when my butt hit the steps if I did it right . . ." Rourke interrupted. "But, baby, we're not going bumpity-bump anymore. This is something else. And what's more, it's leading to a place from which I'm afraid we may never come back." Jenny raised up on her elbows and instinctively reached for her father. But just as quickly, she remembered her hands were still bandaged with only the tiny tips of a few fingers sticking out here and there. As her eyes followed her bandaged hand, and as her hand fell against her father's leg, she glanced into his lap. Suddenly, her eyes flashed wide open. There, sticking out of his sweat-shorts was her father's throbbing cock, pre-cum rolling down the head, trickling down the shaft toward his swollen balls. "Heavens," she gasped. "Is that what was making that big bump in your pants the last couple of days?" she asked. "Baby, you know it is," he said. ''Well, that doesn't seem fair to me . . . me having all the fun while you suffer along with . . . with that." Again, Rourke tried to explain all the problems associated with this kind of activity. It was called incest. Even the name sounds bad and it sounds worse when you say it. It's full of hissing noises. Rourke explained this, and more, trying to talk himself out of it as much as getting Jenny to see the light. But the more he talked the more his cock bounced with every heartbeat, and the more Jenny looked at it. "Oh, daddy," she cooed, "I wish I could touch it." "Damn it, Jenny. You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?" "Oh, daddy, you're such a worry wart . . . but . . . well . . . if you're so dead set against it . . . ." And again, a peculiar little smile played across Jenny's lips. Rourke fell speechless at this. Deep down, he knew everything he told her was right. But somewhere deep within, he thought Jenny would talk him out of it. He thought she was going to press on through youthful exuberance, and that in the end he was going to let her win. But here it was . . . Jenny had agreed with him. The game was over. Guilt gripped Rourke again because he realized he wanted it to continue. He wanted to be talked into it. The thing that made him feel so bad was that he hadn't had the courage to own up to the fact that he wanted his daughter. Slowly, Rourke's cock began deflating. The realization that he had been kidding himself, Jenny agreeing with him . . . his world just took a couple of spins, and it showed in Rourke's cock as well as his face. "Poor daddy," Jenny said, looking from his cock to his face. "I can see this bothers you more than me. I'm sorry, daddy," Jenny said, patting his leg with her mitten sized hand, a sorrowful look in her eyes. Then, eyes brightening, she added, "But I hope this doesn't mean we have to stop treating me . . . I mean, after all, daddy, there is this infection thing. You will continue to treat me, won't you?" Rourke brightened instantly. A reprieve. Keeping his voice as steady as possible, he said, "Of course, angel. We have to take care of you." The next several days passed almost like today, minus the intense orgasms and discussions. During this time, Rourke and Jenny began feeling more comfortable around each other, especially at bath time when Jenny stood naked before her daddy, her sweet little 14-year-old body glistening in the steam from her bath, her bald pussy looking very much the way Rourke remembered it when he used to change her diaper. One evening in the bath, as Rourke was gently washing Jenny's pussy, Jenny said, "Dad, will you check that again. It's really been itchy today." "Sure, honey. Put a foot up on the edge of the tub so I can see." Jenny hiked her foot up and thrust her pelvis forward. Rourke used a washcloth to wipe away the soap. Here he was again, facing this sweet little pussy, this carnal cunt that wanted his cock, this pea-sized pink pearl that wanted to be massaged and sucked, and all he could do was look at it. Stuffing all this, Rourke turned to the task of inspecting Jenny's pussy lips. He let his fingers trace along the puffy parts, paying special attention to the wounded area. Jenny's lips were so soft, yet so elastic. Rourke knew because, although it wasn't necessary, he had taken first one, then the other, between his fingers and gently pulled at them as if this were part of the inspection. And, as usual, being this close to heaven, his cock began to swell. My poor cock, Rourke thought. It has been hard for a week now and all I've gotten from it is my own hand. Rourke was so busy feeling sorry for himself that he almost missed it. Her healing pussy lips, that is. On closer inspection, he saw that one of the small scabs had completely dropped away, and the scab on the other side was ready to go. He gently prodded the lose scab, and it fell away in his hand, leaving a bright pink mark on Jenny's tender pussy lip. "Well . . ." Rourke said, "what have we here." It was a statement rather than a question, and Jenny interpreted it that way. "What is it, dad?" "Baby, it itched because your scabs have come off. The skin underneath is bright and pink. Not a sign of infection. And the stitches have disappeared like Doc said they would," Rourke said. "Well . . . . . " Jenny said, drawing it out, as though she had more to say. "What?" her father inquired. "We're not going to stop my treatments, are we?" Jenny whined. "I mean, it's still tender, and it itches. I really think we should continue until that tube of stuff is gone." "Well, okay, baby. Whatever you think," Rourke said evenly, trying to hide the joy in his voice. Up to now, he had been doing so well, but deep in his heart, he knew what he wanted to do, and he had been dreading the day when Jenny's pussy no longer needed attention. Also, in the last couple of days, he had seen Jenny playing with the bandages on her hands, peeking, and partially unwrapping them. In just a couple more days, she would dispense with the bandages altogether. It wouldn't be long after that that she would be taking care of all this by herself. In his heart, Rourke knew he should just let it go. But at a deeper level, he felt like pressing the attack, like sticking his tongue into that pinkest, sweetest place this side of heaven. He even licked his lips as if making ready. It was almost more than he could bear. Here was his beautiful daughter, her virgin pussy all tight and squeaky clean, already leaking her love juice as it did every time he "treated" her. Her translucent pink pearl of a clit was one tongue-lick away. "Of course we'll continue . . . if that's what you want," Rourke said, his nose so close he could smell the lilac soap and the musky-sweet sex glistening from her tender lips. As he said it, he turned his gaze upward toward Jenny who was still standing on one leg, the other on the edge of the tub, knee splayed out, pussy thrust forward as though aiming for her daddy's mouth, and as he said it, a look passed between them -- one of those looks that take only a second, but which would take one hundred thick books to describe. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart," Rourke said, still holding her gaze, "I'll dry you, and then I'll go down fix us a nice supper. It'll be dark soon. Maybe I'll get out the candles and we'll eat by candle light. Then, we'll turn down the lights, and I'll give you another treatment. Sound okay to you?" "Oh, daddy . . . it sounds wonderful." Rourke headed for the kitchen as soon as jenny was dried, a bulge in his pants, and joy in his heart. He prepared a simple dinner of steamed asparagus, and salmon with a dip made with cream, miracle whip, lemon, sugar, chopped onion and curry powder. And, for the occasion -- Jenny's healing, he called it -- he opened a bottle of white wine and poured each of them a small glass. While the meal went through it's 20-minutes of steaming, Rourke flew upstairs to take a quick shower. On his way past Jenny's room, he glanced in and was surprised to see Jenny had removed the rest of the bandages from her hands. Rourke couldn't see everything, but from his cursory glance, her hands had healed with almost the same speed as her pussy. Jenny had obviously washed them and was applying some of her healing cream. She had also put on a very short pink and transparent nighty. Rourke's cock flexed beneath his shorts. His shower was actually an ordeal, almost worse than washing and stroking his daughter. At least with Jenny and her pussy in his line of sight, he had a target in view. But in the shower, knowing that supper was nearly ready, that the candles waited, that the wine was chilled and waiting, that his daughter had slipped into her best nighty, that she was waiting for her "treatment," Rourke had to fight to leave his cock alone. Again and again, he found his fist wrapped around his engorged cock, it's head growing larger and more purple with every stroke of his soapy hand. Carefully, he scooped up his balls in his left hand while his right hand glided over the tiny ridges and veins in his cock. He squeezed his balls slightly. Careful . . . careful . . . he cautioned himself. I want to save this for . . . for later, he thought, still not daring to let himself think about the possibilities that awaited. On his way down the hall, he poked his head into Jenny's room. She was lying on her bed, her hand stroking her mound very softly. Jenny heard and saw her dad at the same time, and said, "Dad, we're going to have to shave this again. It's getting all stubbly." "Well, how about right after we eat," he smiled. "Great," she said, rising from the bed. "Ready?" Rourke asked, extending his arm like a gallant musketeer. "Ready," Jenny said, taking his arm. They walked together down the stairs, arm in arm, Jenny in nothing but her sheer nighty, and Rourke with nothing but his shorts on, his cock pointing straight out beneath the fabric as if pointing the way. The fish and asparagus were delicious, but neither tasted a bite. The electricity passing between them could have lighted a small city. They did agree, however, that the wine was outstanding, and both had two glasses with enough left over in the bottle for "later." With the meal out of the way, Rourke asked Jenny to go get the razor while he cleaned up. Jenny returned as Rourke finished. Rourke placed Jenny into his big reclining chair and put it in the full reclining position. Then, he applied lather and began. "We have to be more careful this time that we were the last time," Rourke said, explaining that now, with a stubble present, each little hair follicle was pushing up some flesh behind it. "If we're not careful, we'll nip off these little things and give you a bad razor rash," he explained. "Well, then, take your time by all means, daddy," she smiled sweetly, opening her legs wider. Rourke worked gently, first taking care of the stubble above her mound. Then turning his attention to her lips and folds, he began slowly moving her lips from side to side, carefully covering her glistening clitty with a finger to protect it from the slicing blade in the razor. Each time he did this, her clit became harder and poked out farther. He paid particular attention to her pussy lips in the area where the stitches had been, not wanting to reopen the old wound or cause a new one. Not tonight! Using the remains of the slick shaving soap, Rourke ran his fingers over and around and through Jenny's slit, looking for any small snag from a few overlooked hairs. Little by little, stroke by stroke, Rourke protected Jenny's precious clit while making her mound look as he remembered it the day she came home as a new babe. Using a wet cloth, he finished the job, wiping away the last of the soap. He leaned back to inspect his work. Jenny, her breathing shallow now, watched intently. "Beautiful," Rourke said quietly, almost to himself, his eyes shining with pride at what he felt was all his. Hearing this, Jenny raised up and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, daddy," she said, "you don't know how it makes me feel when you look at me like that." "Well, I like to too," he said, and then turning his eyes down, said, "but it looks like I won't be doing this for you much longer." Again, that little Mona Lisa smile visited Jenny's face. "Here, daddy," she said, handing him the tube of medicine. Rourke took it but hesitated. "What's the matter, daddy?" Jenny asked. "Oh, I was wondering if I shaved you smooth enough." "Didn't you check with your hands while you were doing it?" she asked, "Yessss. . . . " he said slowly, "but there is a much better way to tell . . . I'm just not sure whether I should do it." Jenny closed her eyes to soft slits in the candlelit room and sang softly, "Do it, daddy. Do it. Whatever it is . . . do it." Rourke held her eyes with his as he leaned over, bringing his face so close to her pussy that he could feel the heat from her clit. It was so hot it seemed to burn his lips. Slowly, he extended his tongue until it made first contact with the glistening pink pearl hiding between her pouting clam of her pussy lips. "Aaahhhhhh," she exhaled. "Oooohhhhhh daddy, what are you doing?" "Do you want me to stop?" Rourke asked. "Oh, nooooo. Whatever you do don't stop." Rourke nuzzled in a little closer and, using the tip of his tongue, flicked Jenny's growing clitty. He did about as fast as a guitar player can strum strings. "Ohhhh . . . mmmmm . . . . aahhhh . . . . . . daddy." Rourke changed up, placing his entire mouth over her mound so that her clit was in the center of the hollow created by his open mouth. Then, he began to suck, pulling her little girl cunt lips and clit upward into his mouth. As they rose in response to the suction, Rourke closed his mouth until his tongue and mouth contacted the rising, soft, pink flesh of Jenny's quivering cunt. Her cunt was still small enough that her inner lips were sucked into this vortex of tingling tension, and her love juices, which had been flowing freely for the entire week, began to flow upward into Rourkes' mouth. The taste of her love tunnel soup nearly drove him mad. He wanted to mount her instantly, but he resisted mightily. At that particular moment, a moment he suddenly realized he had been dreaming of for days, he knew he would drown her pussy in cum if his cockhead came within a foot of her pulsing sex. There would be a time for that to happen, but just now, he had to savor the flavor. In fact, he wanted to taste her entire womanhood, her total slippery slit. Spreading her legs as she moaned above him, Rourke tipped her pelvis up a little and lowered his aim until his tongue had free rein to roam her entire crack, from asshole to clit and back. Slowly, he began lapping like a dog . . . all the way forward, all the way back. Forward and back, forward and back. His tongue bounced over her vibrating clit, then sank into the opening of her virgin vagina, and over the sill between vagina and asshole to the depression of her sweet asshole where it tarried long enough to make two complete circles, and then it moved back a little farther, where it started its trip forward again. Dip, swirl twice, bump, dip and suck juice, and then bump-bump over her clit. "Ohhhhh . . . . daddy,daddy,daddy . . . ohhh dooo iiit, doitdoitdoit . . . whatever you're doing . . . doitdoitdoit. Rourke could feel pre-cum running like a river from his cock. Again, he wanted to mount her, but he knew this was her first time, and if there's one thing a girl should always be able to look back on, it is her first time, he thought, and she shouldn't have to look back on one of those teeny-bopper-in-the-back-seat-three-poke-fucks. It should be memorable, and Rourke knew that when they were finished, Jenny would never forget her first time. Again, Rourke changed up a bit. He let his tongue spend a little more time with her asshole. He pushed a little, forcing it into the depression, and then withdrew, and buy spreading his tongue wide, he covered her entire asshole. With his tongue flattened, he gently moved it back and forth, back and forth in tiny little movements that transferred the heat in his tongue to her anal orifice. Swirl several times, probe gently, swirl and probe. Jenny's asshole became loose and relaxed. "Ahhhh . . . oooohhhhhhhhh . . . daaaaaadddddyyyyyy," she moaned, pressing her crack into his face with each probing of his tongue. Sensing her asshole was as loose as it could get without penetration, Rourke reached up and began probing gently with a wet finger, while he moved his mouth up a little so he could envelope her lips and clit again. As he sucked and drank her juices, he slipped his finger into her anus ever so softly. He felt Jenny's sphincter tense slightly, and then relax. "Oohhhh, daddy . . . it feels so good . . . it feels . . . it feels like something is happening . . . happening in my tummy . . . from my tits to my . . . to my pussy, daddy. Oh, oh, suck it daddy, suck it." Rourke recognized the signs. Her orgasm was on its way. Not her first, but certainly the first one that he had so deliberately and honestly given to her. A wave of satisfaction rolled over him. This may be all wrong, but it was also all right. Both of them knew what was happening. Nothing was hidden. There was no pretend-medication, no pretend-accidental and sneaky little orgasm. This was a full-blown, between two people orgasm. Rourke knew it would be good for her, and after all, that's what the last few years had been all about as far as Rourke was concerned . . . about Jenny. So, Rourke bent to the task. Just a few more strokes with his tongue, a few more sips of her cunt nectar, a flick and lick of her clit . . . Jenny was in total response, her legs splayed, hunching her cunt into her daddy's mouth, her clit sliding over his nose, his chin grinding against her rosebud. It was becoming too much. Waves rolled from her nipples to her stomach, her muscles as tense as a suspension bridge, her tiny pee-pee-clitty ringing like a church bell. And then the waves started high in her tummy and rolled toward her stomach, ending in the point of her clit, one after the other, and as the waves rolled, the muscles inside her vagina began to spasm, forcing streams of her love nectar down and into her daddy's mouth. "Oh, daddy . . . it's happening . . . it's . . . happening again . . . don't let it stop . . . oh please, please don't let it stop . . . I'm cumming, daddy . . . lick it, lick it . . . make it keep going." Rourke continued sucking his daughter's cunt, slowing his tongue action, knowing that even a wild-eyed youngster couldn't maintain that level of action for long. As Jenny caught her breath, Rourke raised his mouth from her pussy. "Well, sweetheart, was as good as you thought it would be?" "Oh, daddy . . . better. So very much better. What did you do . . . use your tongue?" "Yes, baby. Did you like it?" "Mmmmm . . . wonderful." Jenny sighed, adding, "can we do it again?" "Of course, baby, but let's go upstairs to bed. We might as well be comfortable." "Comfortable, yes," Jenny said, "BUT," she said stressing the word, "pretty soon now, it's got to be your turn. Besides, daddy, I want that big thing of yours . . . you know," she said turning her head shyly. Her youth and shyness touched Rourke. "Of course, baby, I know. C'mon." Together they went upstairs to Rourke's bedroom. Rourke laid his daughter in the center of his King sized bed and lit several candles. Then standing beside the bed, Jenny's eyes on his muscular body, he lowered his shorts. When, at last, Jenny saw the full length and girth of her daddy's cock, she gasped audibly. "Daddy, how big is that?" "Usually around nine inches," Rourke said as matter of factly as possible, not wanting to scare her. "But in the presence of such beauty as yours, who knows, it could be a foot long. I know that looking at you makes it feel like it's a foot long." "Do you think I can . . . .?" "Sweetheart, we'll go as slow or as fast you want," Rourke said lowering himself beside her. Instinctively, her hand circled his cock. "Daddy . . . this is the first time I've ever felt a man's . . . a man's thing." "I know, baby. And I can't tell you how good it feels." "Daddy . . . ?" "Yes." "Daddy, I know that it's going to hurt when you put it in . . . I mean that it will hurt when it . . .when it goes through my . . ." "Well, baby, we can wait if that's what you want." "Oh, no, daddy. I just wanted you to know that it will hurt a little. But I can't wait for it to hurt and be done with. Will you put it in, now . . . please?" With that, Jenny spread her legs and tugged gently on her daddy's cock, indicating that she was ready for him. She clung to it as Rourke lifted himself and slipped between her legs. He couldn't get over how beautiful his Jenny looked in the candle light, her breasts forming tiny mountains, her pussy lips glistening from her flowing pussy juice. Instinctively, Jenny brought Rourke's cock head to that magic part of her slit, to that place where the cock head slipped between pussy lips, causing them to bulge as it nudged into that soft spot known simply as "heaven." As Rourke began pressing, he said, "Now, sweetheart, you have to help . . . you have to tell me . . . " "I know," she interrupted. "Push, daddy. It feel so good where it is. I want it, daddy. I want it. Please put it in . . ." Rourke couldn't hold back. In one, simple, yet gently thrust, his cock head parted those tiny lips, stretching them around his thick prick. His cock slipped in easily, but it still caused Jenny to suck in her breath. "Are you okay?" Rourke asked. "Oh, God, yes. It's so good, daddy. Oh, please daddy, do me. Ram it in, please." Rourke pressed on, feeling his cock slide in another inch before coming to a stop. That's it, he thought. Beyond this point . . . and then it slipped through. Jenny gasped, but as she caught her breath, she thrust her hips forward, threw her head back, and cried, "Oh, daddy . . . fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock. Fill my pussy with it, daddy. Fill it up." All of the week's tension, all of their pussy-petting came to an end in that first thrust. They fell into each other's arms as Jenny's pussy sucked and gobbled her daddy's cock deeper and deeper until she felt his balls slapping her tongue-softened asshole. "Oh, baby . . . oh, baby . . . daddy's cock is walkin' an' talkin', baby. Daddy's gonna cum. Daddy's gonna cum in his baby's pussy." "Cum, daddy. Cum for me," Jenny whispered. "I can't wait to feel that stuff inside me, daddy. Oh, please, daddy . . . " "Mmmfff . . . ughhhhhhh . . . ahhhhhh . . . sweet baby . . . sweet baby . . . daddy's cock is cumin' in my darling baby's pussy." Rourke's hips thrust deeply, and his ass muscles clenched, causing his cum to hit his daughter's cervix with such pressure that it spilled around his cock and out Jenny's sucking pussy where it trickled into her crack. "Baby, I'm sorry that was so short." "Oh, daddy," Jenny sighed, "don't worry about that. The night is young, and we have all the time in the world." "We do?" Rourke said. "Sure, daddy. We have the rest of our lives to be together," she cooed in his ear. And hearing that, Rourke felt his cock begin to surge with new blood and new life. Jenny felt the new vigor flowing into her daddy's cock, too. "Daddy, if it's okay with you, I'm just going to lay her for the next couple of hours and feel that thing of yours filling me up . . . Okay?" "Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want is fine with me," he said, and with that, Rourke began sliding his cock in and out of Jenny's tight little pussy in long, slow strokes designed to take them well into the night. "And, of course," she added, "after all this, we'll have to medicate my pussy again in the morning, won't we?" "Sweetheart," Rourke said, "I have a feeling we're going to be so hard on your sweet spot that it will have to be medicated every day for the rest of our lives." Jenny let out a long sigh, and pushed her pussy up do meet her daddy's downstroke. -- end -- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----