"Oh honey," he grunted, "what a hot juicy ass! Oh, baby daughter, it's wild!Jerk back on me! Swing your ass, honey!"
No matter how painful it was, Marsha always obeyed her father's voice instantly. And she did so now, beginning to cautiously swing her impaled ass back each time he thrust his colossal prick forward. It felt as if his giant cock was in the very pit of her belly, a blazing battering ram.
"Hurts!" she moaned. "Hurts! Oh Daddy, you're ripping me in two! Unnnnnnngh!"
But the waves of pleasure were becoming stronger in her bowels and cunt, as she fingerfucked herself in a frenzy. In fact, it was getting hard to distinguish between the searing pain in her ravaged asshole and the hot pleasure in her tight pussy. Somehow the two became one, and in less than a minute Marsha was beginning to come, her cunt-juices gushing profusely onto her finger.
"Yeah, Daddy," she sobbed, "Yes, fuck me in the ass! Oh, God it hurts good! Fuck my ass harder, Daddy, harder!" Mark was beginning to shoot his rocks off now. Her silky, shuddering ass was triggering intense thrills along the length of his hot meat, and he jerked his hips to a furious rhythm as he fucked her. Even her cries of pain were intensifying his lust, until he began spurting huge, boiling gushes of come into her helpless bowels.
"Unnnnnnngh!" Marsha screamed. "Yes, yessssss, Lord it hurts! Ooooooo! Coming too, Daddy! Commmmming!"
As the blazing jism stung deep into her churning asshole, Marsha fingerfucked herself in a frenzy of pain-joy. The realization that her own handsome father was fucking her helpless ass, that the stinging fire spattering deep in her bowels came from her own daddy, sparked shudders of incredibly lewd joy in her blood. Like the time her father spanked her, only he didn't know she'd almost come from the vicious but loving pain on her bare cheeks.
When the last trickle of hot come had dripped from his limp cock, Mark withdrew it and collapsed with a sigh beside his naked daughter on the rug.
Quickly, Marsha cuddled, up to him. Her buttocks hurt terribly, but she couldn't deny the pleasure of his sticky boiling come seeping inside her bowels.
"It hurt awful, Daddy," she sobbed. "But even when you hurt me, I love it!" Mark fought off the surge of guilt he felt. How could any healthy male resist such a luscious little ass, even if it was his own daughter?
But now he'd doubled his problems, instead of solving them. For one thing, he had his neighbor's daughter on his hands, infatuated with him. Now he'd corrupted his own daughter, sucking and fucking her to the point of sheer delicious exhaustion. His first problem was to get rid of Julie. Once that was done, he could devote all his lust to his own daughter.
A plan occurred to him, not perfect, but halfway practical at least. He could get some sleeping pills and start spiking his wife's bedtime drink with them. Once she was sound asleep, he could slip into Marsha's room and indulge in an orgy of lust. But what about his son Jack? He might be able to manage the same thing, insisting his son drink a glass of warm milk before bedtime, and spiking that as well.
Or he could simply take Marsha up to the cabin every day, and eat and ravage every silken inch of her young body until he was satisfied. But being alone with her that constantly would make his wife suspicious.
"DO it to me again, Daddy," Marsha moaned beside him, rubbing her hot tits against his chest. "Love me some more, Daddy. I never dreamed it could be so wild!"
"Suck me off first," he told her. His daughter hurried to obey, getting him rock-hard again in a minute.
Poor Sheila, thought Mark as Marsha licked lasciviously at his stiff rod. Here he was screwing his own daughter, his neighbor's daughter, and both of them couldn't get enough of his enormous prick.
CHAPTER SIX
It was almost three in the afternoon when Al found the letters. He was more than half drunk, and looking for a socket wrench that he'd misplaced months ago. Recalling that he'd fixed a door in his daughter's bedroom, he searched Julie's closet. And that was where he found the letter.
There were six of them. Five were addressed to his next-door neighbor, Mark Jensen. A look of pure disbelief and then maddening fury crossed his brutal features as he read them. The impact of discovering that his joy in life, his pure, wholesome daughter was having an obscene affair with Mark Jensen filled him with murderous thoughts.
Until he vaguely realized that at the same time, hewn having a bizarre affair with Jensen's wife. If he confronted his neighbor about his daughter, there was a strong possibility that his own brutal affair with his neighbor's wife would come out. Now how in the hell was he going to explain that?
The sixth love letter he found filled him with both fury and strange excitement. His own daughter had written a love letter, in the most obscene terms imaginable, to the music teacher who lived across the street! Apparently Julie was not only making it with Mark Jensen next door, but with the leggy brunette across the street.
Al couldn't figure out why the letters weren't mailed. Kids at Julie's age were funny, though. Maybe they just wanted to express their feelings, writing letters instead of keeping a diary.
"That sonofabitch!" Al shouted at no one, as he went back to his bottle of scotch. He had a good Goddamned notion to rape Jensen's own daughter in vengeance. Until he realized the danger in that. It was one thing to bind and screw a neighbor's willing wife. But it was another to rape his daughter.
He heard his front door open and realized it was his daughter coming home from school. She came into the kitchen, saw he was drinking and her face dropped.
"Hi, Daddy," she said timidly.
For a long dangerous moment Al studied his daughter, wondering what he should do. A solution came to him, both wildly exciting and reeking with vengeance at the same time.
"You stand right there," he said ominously. "Don't move, understand, Julie? Just stand there." Al went upstairs. He got the chains out of a dresser drawer along with the whip he'd used on Jensen's wife. He put them all in a large paper sack. Then he went downstairs to where his daughter waited, white-faced and trembling.
He grabbed her roughly by the wrist.
"Come on with me," he said brusquely. He dragged her out of the house and headed across the street.
At the same moment, next door, Sheila Jensen was doing something extremely unusual for her. She was drinking during the day. Not just drinking, but well on her way to drunkenness, with four martinis behind her. She felt terrible, reeking with guilt, wondering how she was going to confess the whole sordid affair to her husband when he came home.
Because the only solution the sexy housewife had come to was to admit everything to Mark. And then beg him to do the same bizarre things to her, so that she could get sexually aroused. Because it was the only way she could have an orgasm, she realized. To be bound and whipped and humiliated. She had still another drink, working up her nerve. It was the only solution she could think of, and if it didn't work…
When Anne Hawkins opened her door and saw the furious face of her neighbor across the street, and young Julie's terrified expression at the same time, she had a horrifying premonition of disaster.
"Wanna talk to you," Al said gruffly, pushing her aside as he dragged Julie in behind him.
"Julie's doing very well in her lessons," Anne said in a trembling voice. "She tows great promise and…"
"Cut the crap!" Al snapped. "Where's your bedroom?"
"Bedroom?" the brunette echoed, trying desperately to collect her thoughts. She sensed he'd found out somehow about her wild encounter with his daughter, but she tried to stall for time.
"Bedroom, Goddamnit!" He grabbed her wrist so roughly she cried out. Now he had both his daughter and the lush music teacher by the wrist. The look on his brutish face terrified Anne, and she knew she couldn't stall him any longer.