“After dinner, I had just left Martine and I went to the orange grove to smoke a cigar as is my custom. En route, as I passed in front of Martine's room, I glanced inside. The door was ajar, and despite myself I stopped short when I saw my daughter admiring herself before her mirror. Martine was wearing a transparent combination; I could see the whiteness and tempting shape of her thighs, the roundness of her bottom, the prominence of her titties and her bare shoulders. The vision which had seduced me fifteen years ago was reflected once again in that mirror, and made me stand dreaming before that door which under ordinary circumstances I would have closed out of a concern for modesty.
“At last I did close it and tiptoed silently away. Seated in my rocking chair, I saw Martine in my mind's eye, no longer in combination but naked as a houri. In my daughter, I beheld a woman; I saw again her pointed titties, her supple waist, her long, elegant legs. I laughed at the sudden, capricious notion which had leaped into my mind: to fuck Mar-tine. In vain I tried to banish this idea, but like an importunate fly it buzzed ceaselessly within my brain. I asked myself what my daughter would do if I burst into her room, intent on such an act? Would she cover herself with the bedsheet out of comprehensible modesty, or, conversely, would she unveil herself and offer me her delicate maidenhead? At this latter thought, a flood of blood suffused my face; I had before my eyes the clear vision of that naked body; I saw once more the long golden curls caressing her white, round shoulders. And her beautiful chestnut eyes were like two somber little lakes into which I should love drowning my lustful fever.
“I remembered, too, how the titties thrust out their pink crests, full and firm, as if demanding caresses, while her suave, soft belly quivered as with an innate voluptuousness. The golden triangle of her cunt garden served as the showcase of the most delicious jewel one could imagine, a jewel made for dispensing divine delights. And at this evocation, my hands trembled violently; I could no longer think of such an adorable naked creature without feeling myself the prey of an insensate, savage desire which destroyed all that was compassionate and good in me. And always the same lacerating thought tortured my suffering brain: what would she do if I went in to her? Was Marguerite really reborn in my Martine? Would I revive a second time the burning joys of my youth? Here I was, in my fifties — dare I dream of such follies?
“I cast away my cigar, sprang up, walking through the orange grove as a man possessed. I struck my chest, I coughed, I wanted to bring myself to the reality that I was simply a father, an aging man. But my mind wandered. When the door had been ajar and I had seen Martine's titties clearly reflected in the mirror, Martine had surely seen me too. Why hadn't she reacted? Why hadn't she made some gesture of modesty, frightened by the sight of a bold father? No, she hadn't budged; on the contrary, she had lifted her combination, letting me see her silk drawers. Should I consider that she possessed the same heritage of incestuous passion which motivated ill-fated Marie-Anne, mother of Julian whose tragic end I recalled from the memoirs of the old chateau? Was that gesture of hers in showing me her dainty drawers to be interpreted as a provocative act?
“I was about to descend the stone stairway to take a long walk in the park, at an hour when night slyly descends and caresses with gentle zephyrs. Suddenly, I trembled; before me, Martine, smiling, clad all in white, bathed in the light coming from the salon, appeared more beautiful than ever. Her arms circled my neck and her full lips imparted a sweet kiss on my forehead. My entire being violently reacted to this contact. I cupped her cheeks in my hands, bending her slightly back. Like a golden cascade, her hair flowed onto her bare shoulders. Martine closed her eyes. Without a word, I greedily merged my lips to hers. She shivered, her eyes fluttered half-open, and in that glance which came from her very soul, I comprehended the mute desire that shook her. I pressed that supple body in my arms, felt her titties rise and fall against my chest, and my kisses grew longer, heedless of the distant servant who was drawing the curtains in rooms beyond. Then, suddenly realizing the folly of my gesture, I released her and quickly went to my room. I heard the strokes of midnight sounding from the bell-tower…
“There was silence everywhere now. However, in the right wing of the mansion, a light shone through the badly adjusted Venetian shutters. I lay down my book on the marble table, rose and silently left my room, crossed the corridor and stopped at the door opposite mine, carefully opened it. Martine was seated on her bed. She looked occupied in reading a love novel, as I learned from a glance at the illustrated cover. She stretched out on the lace-trimmed drape one lovely arm, her hand still grasping the book; and with the other hand made an instinctive gesture to put some order into her toilette, but she did not finish that gesture, and thus I could still espy the peak of a thrillingly firm, jutting tittie, bared and proudly uplifted to my gaze.
“Martine stared at me with her great dark eyes. A smile, that same kind of smile which had inspired in me the future acts of lust I was now ready to commit, saluted my entry at this late hour. I spoke to her rather hoarsely and awkwardly: “You haven't said good night to me, my child, and till you do, I can't sleep.”
“I knew I was lying. Besides, in the years that I'd been separated from Martine I'd surely slept well enough without her daily good night. Without a word, she now offered me her forehead for the paternal kiss. But just as on the stairway to the orange grove, I again cupped her cheeks and sought her lips. My tongue sought hers, and met. I felt her shivering. My right hand released her golden curls, then slyly glided under the drape, striking her body, then found her thighs, firm and lissome as velvet. I felt sure now that in a movement of modesty Martine would stiffen and repulse me, revolted by my audacity. But instead, gently and very slowly, her thighs parted. My hand crept toward her little cunny. My fingers grazed the soft frizzy blond down, and then adroitly, my forefinger — expert in this kind of exercise — burrowed into her little slit. I felt her cunny tighten against my inroads and I began to frig her.
“Having found that dainty button of her clitoris, I concentrated on stroking it till at last I felt the warm stickying liqueur of her spend. Her eyes were drowning, humid and huge, her head rolled from side to side, and, her arms locking round me, drew me to her. In her haste to make love, by this frenzied desire to taste enjoyment which her carnal senses demanded despite her youth, she reminded me so well of her beautiful mother Marguerite. Would I know again my grand passion? Would there be the same games, the same sweet diversions, or should I steel myself and flee from this child now swooning, palpitating and surrendering from the science of my frigging finger in her warm, moist yearning little cunt?
“Martine had flung back her covers. She showed herself naked to my greedy eyes. I told myself I was her father, that in the pose of her fresh, soft white body stretched before me there was nothing of the provocative slut — and yet, is nature aware of man's law that rebukes incest, when it so overpoweringly evokes the urge to fuck? I could not endure the torment longer; I stripped naked and stretched out beside my daughter.
“Her little hand, which I had guided, had taken hold of my cock, stiffer than justice itself. She squeezed my prick as if fearful it would escape her. Then, wiser now, after having at last met this object which had been unknown to her till now, she caressed the shaft of my turgid weapon. The delicate, slim fingers of that darling hand scampered up and down my throbbing prong. Arrived at the head, they made a soft collar over the groove, squeezing it and setting off the red plump of my prick head in bold relief. While she thus learned my manhood, I sucked her pointed little titties. I felt her other hand steal hesitantly down my belly till she discovered that a swollen pair of balls awaited her as well as the appendage she already gripped. Her soft fingers balanced, weighed my sacks of lust; and then, to my astonished ecstasy, as if en-flamed by her discoveries, the naked darling got onto her knees over my head and took my cock in her mouth. My cheeks were clasped between two plump, velvety warm thighs, and my tongue, in retaliation, furled into her dainty slit. I felt her love dew given down to this new titillation, and I could hold back no longer; I shot my bubbling essence into her mouth.