His Son Becomes His Daughter, Then More free porn video

Kirby still couldn't believe what he was doing, but it felt so good; too good to stop.

In and out his dick went, sliding greasily through the quivering tube of flesh and muscle that was Alan's butt-hole. It felt so damned good, just pushing and pulling, feeling every millimeter of his cock being squeezed and rubbed inside that hot, hot tunnel.

There was a grunt and Kirby came back to his senses and eased back a little. He didn't want to hurt anything, especially not anything belonging to this incredibly lovely creature on hands and knees before him. Alan. His 23 year old son, or, he thought, should it be daughter now?

He gazed down at the back of Alan, who'd returned from college for the holidays, but it was quite a different sight than when Kirby had last seen him.

Her, he corrected himself.

Alan had always been slender and almost feminine in shape and manner and Kirby had assumed that his son would most likely just turn out gay. That was alright. That part didn't matter. He wasn't into guys himself but if his loving son was then nobody had better say a damned word against him.

But—and now Kirby searched for a more appropriate name—Alaina perhaps?—had come home this time looking more womanly than ever. Kirby had realized that Alaina had always tried to hide his (her) femininity by dressing in men's clothes and never wearing makeup, but when he'd opened the door this time, he saw that Alan/Alaina had gone now just the opposite way.

And there hadn't been much done; just a touch of makeup, a slightly different hair style, and clothes that could have been either male or female—except for the right-over-left of her top's opening. But with just this subtle amount of change the transformation had been complete. In fact Alaina's appearance had taken Kirby's breath away. He had never known up to that moment how truly beautiful and womanly his son had always been. He'd simply stared. Alan had blushed a deep red and then Kirby remembered his manners and let the boy in.

They sat talking in the living room before Alan had gone up to unpack, and Kirby had found himself glancing at his son's beautiful legs. They were as shapely and now smooth as any woman's, but only if that woman were some tall, gorgeous model walking down a catwalk somewhere in Europe. There was no hint that Alan was anything but natural born female—not in the shoulders, or muscles or jaw or throat—and even his hands and feet, which Kirby had always thought of as something less than manly—now matched everything completely.

They talked a little more and then Alan had gone up to his room, unpacked and changed, and came back downstairs in a tee shirt and shorts and looking even more feminine before. That at least was Kirby's take on it. Alan had taken off the makeup and wore just plain bum-around-the-house clothes like he normally did while visiting, but there was something else about him now. Something that seemed to glow and fill the room. Kirby found himself staring again, wishing his wife were still alive to give him at least a little advice on how to deal with this but then he looked away and decided to get back to making supper.

His mind was still filled with the presence of his son though. That was when he began to try to think of Alan as a woman, because though they hadn't openly spoken about it, it was pretty obvious that that was where Alan was heading. The thing was, the boy had already arrived there in Kirby's opinion and perhaps had been there for years, with just these last little changes making things obvious.

"I can help out in the kitchen, Dad," Alan said as he padded into the kitchen area. Kirby glanced over his shoulder and the phantasm had not changed one bit. There was a tall, beautiful young woman standing there in her bare feet and long legs, with her pretty long hair down over her shoulders.

Everything was long about her and Kirby now felt a little uncomfortable. He gulped a little, knowing he had just looked at his own son as someone else—a very lovely, very alluring someone else.

"Uh, that's okay," he said over his shoulder, but without looking. "I've got it." Then he thought better of it and to not exclude Alan from things, as had been his habit. "Well...maybe the potatoes? Peel like about five of them?"

"Sure—you got it, Dad." Alan had said, and he went about doing it.

But during the next twenty or so minutes, Kirby found his eyes flickering back again and again to the beautiful woman busying herself about the kitchen. He no longer could think of Alan in any other terms—not ones that made any sense, at any rate—and the more he noticed, the more uncomfortable and in truth, guilty, he felt.

Then Alan unknowingly made the mistake of pausing in his peeling of the potatoes to reach in the hip pocket of his short-shorts and pull out an elastic hair tie. He quickly proceeded to gather his long hair and put it back in a ponytail, then simply went back to work.

Kirby now had an erection. He had always had a thing for girls in ponytails, and now there was an exquisitely beautiful one standing just feet away—in bare feet no less (another point of interest for Kirby)—and now with a lovely ponytail wagging and swaying behind her.

Kirby took a breath and tried to think of something else for awhile. He was glad he was facing the stove counter so his boner couldn't be seen, but that thought made him think of this other person's crotch. He found himself looking down that way and finally caught a glimpse of his son's crotch.

There didn't seem to be anything there. Kirby wondered, in shock, whether his son had had his junk cut off, and in thinking this Kirby almost sliced through the end of his finger with the knife he was using. He stopped just short, saw his hands trembling, and put down the knife. He thought quickly of some other part of the meal he could start in on and decided to go that way. Going to the fridge to get the eggs he almost bumped into Alan, who was done with the spuds and was going to get some ice water to drink.

"Ooops, sorry," the boy/girl laughed, and Kirby snapped a quick grin on his face before getting the eggs.

"No problemo, Al...." he said, not able to decide on how to complete the name. He came out from behind the fridge door with the name Al still on his mind. It was a good, strong, manly name, but the person standing there as the door swung back, didn't match that name—at all.

"Look," Kirby finally said. "It's pretty obvious you've changed. And I don't mind it, not at all, but we...didn't actually speak of it before."

He set the eggs down and tried with all his might to keep his hands from trembling as he started to crack them into a bowl.

"Yah, Dad," Alan said, softly. "I've...I guess I finally came to terms with...with what I've always been—or something like that. I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would, but if not, I wasn't going to, you know, just go 'Hey Dad, guess what?' kind of thing...."

Kirby nodded to himself. Logical as always. But that wasn't even the problem. His hands a little less shaky now, now that the real conversation had begun, he looked over his shoulder at his son.

"Well, first off," he said. "I call you 'Alan' or just now even 'Al,' and it just didn't feel right, you know? If there's some other name you'd like me to call you, just tell me. It'd make me more comfortable, actually."

"Oh," Alan laughed. "I've...I've always like the name 'Alaina.'"

"Funny," Kirby said, almost wistfully. "That's the name your Mom and me would have given you if you'd been born a girl." He looked back over his shoulder again and smiled. "Alaina it is then."

"Thanks, Dad," Alan said. "I know it must seem weird and all, but—"

"—Actually not," Kirby broke in. "I mean, you were never one for football and baseball and all that guy-stuff. I knew that all along. It's just that, well, I just never knew how...feminine you were. I mean I knew, but now it's...just something else."

"Yah I know," Alan said, getting down the sugar and mixing some in a bowl with milk. "I was always trying to hide it, I guess. Now I just relax and let it be what it is. I didn't do much to myself, you know."

"I noticed," Kirby said. "With someone as completely pretty as you are.... He instantly regretted saying it quite that way, but continued, "Well, it doesn't take much I guess."

He noticed his son/daughter nodding out of the corner of his eye. Then he saw Alan look up from stirring the bowl and gaze over at him. Kirby was unable to keep from turning and returning that soft, shining gaze.

"Thanks, Dad," Alan whispered. "...thanks for...noticing...."

They each went back to what they'd been doing but now Kirby had the image of his son's beautiful, glistening eyes to add to all the others. He threw himself into the final preparations for supper, trying to push every other thought aside.

Alan stared at what he was doing but wasn't really focusing on it any longer. He had heard his Dad's tenderly spoken words and appreciated them even more than he ever dreamed he would. He knew it had to be a shock to him, but he hadn't meant it to be. He'd only done as much as was necessary to let what he really was show through, and now he'd removed even that. All that really remained was his slightly different hairstyle because he wore the same beat up jeans-shorts he always had and had on a tee-shirt. Just normal around-the-house attire. His legs and body were of course smooth and hairless—shaving being one of the last barriers he'd crossed—but the rest of him was just as before. Having never been hirsute, Alan hardly needed to shave anything in order to sustain a smooth, silky appearance.

He added the next ingredient and mixed it slowly in. Sugar cookies. Something quick to make and sweet to eat. Comfort food. He felt he needed that just now. There were so many things that were changed now and he needed something to hang on to. The compliment he'd just received from his dad had somehow made all the difference. He'd never known what he would have done if his own father had rejected him, like some of his friends had. But that was over now. He felt better, braver, stronger inside.

Glancing out the window he was instantly taken by the sight of a light snow falling. He hadn't seen snow for the entire year and now he couldn't help but stare.

"Snowin', Dad," he whispered, and his dad stopped what he was doing and came to stand beside him.

"The weather-guy said we might have a little," Kirby said, but as he went to put his hand on Alan's shoulder just as he normally would at such a time, he hesitated, staring at his hand and the seemingly delicate shoulder beneath it. The shoulder itself wasn't changed, but Kirby decided his idea of who it belonged to had changed, and now it was different in a way.

"I won't break you know," Alan whispered, sensing the hand so close by. "I'm still me, Dad. I'm still me on the outside, except for some little changes, that's all. And I'm still me on the inside, except that...I'm not trying to be something I'm not, anymore...." Alan turned and looked at his father. He smiled and Kirby smiled back and turned once more to the falling snow.

Kirby finally clapped his hand down on his son's slender shoulder, just as he would have normally done and together they stood for a few silent moments, watching the weather.

* * *


Kirby was sitting straight up in bed when he opened his eyes. He glanced around, realizing he was back in his own room, in his own world, and that it had all been a dream. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his pajamas and then got his feet to the floor and stood. He felt his erection tenting the front of his bottoms before he saw it, and quickly reached in and down and flipped the thing downward a bit. He cleared his throat softly and padded to the bathroom. Peeing with an erection wasn't easy so he sat on the toilet seat and pushed his cock down toward the water. He tried to relax, tried to let his boner fade, but his dream, the one which had just awakened him, was still fresh in his mind.

But the simple act of touching his cock to press it down under the rim of the toilet seat made him aware of how fully erect it was. It was swollen and thick but tender and delicate to the touch, showing that it had been hard for quite some time already. The head was engorged and spongy with excitement and though he hadn't been planning it, the moment he touched his prong he felt compelled to touch it more.

And then more.

His fingers lightly caressed it, brushing slowly from base to head and it shivered up harder than before. Images from his dream returned to him now and he closed his eyes as he sat there, leaning forward, elbows on thighs. His pelvis was rotated downward so his prick wouldn't be touching the underside of the closed-ring seat.

A girl. She was beautiful with shoulder length brown hair, slender and long-legged. She had been kneeling on a brown blanket in the middle of some emerald green meadow, naked but for that shimmering hair of hers, her eyes shining as she smiled up at him, holding out a golden cup. It was like a chalice.

Then the images sped past and he was laying on her, kissing her sweet, gasping mouth. He sucked her wet tongue and her flat chest filled in a gasp. And as he continued enjoying her luscious mouth his hand ran down from her lifted chest, down the concave of her belly and lower. He reached his fingers out through her soft pubic curls and then...bumped into something standing stiffly in the way. It felt like a small, smooth tree trunk jutting from the delicate lawn of pubic grass surrounding it and Kirby was compelled to reach his fingers around it. He gripped it gently and felt it throbbing and thickening, its silken covering stretching. The girl moaned softly and her breath was sweet, as pretty as she was. He kissed her again and began stroking the stiff thing up and down, using just his fingertips along its bottom side.

And now he did the same to his cock as it angled down at the clear toilet water. He felt it quivering expectantly, increasing in girth, but he remembered that the dream girl's organ had done the same thing.

Then she'd gasped, held her breath and made a soft, low, womanly moan deep in her throat. Kirby had felt warmth oozing down around his sliding fingers making the entire silken surface of her thing slick and wet. He remembered he'd held her more firmly there, rubbing his fist up and down around the undulating thing, giving it the maximum stimulation he could—because he liked doing it. He liked making her moan and sigh and gasp and quiver in orgasm. He went on rubbing her up and down and up and down and more of her thick juices flowed out and ran down over his hand, then more.

The thing, the penis he was now sure it was, had stopped throbbing after awhile and the girl had let out her breath and seemed to melt into the blanket and even into the ground. Her body glistened dully with her exertions and he kissed her again on her soft lips.

And now Kirby remembered sitting back from her and looking at the warm, fleshy thing shrinking in his hand. She had ejaculated quite a lot and his hand was plastered with her issue. And that's when his own cock started to throb and lift, and in moments his own semen was squirting out in short, forceful jets. He could still see her, laying there, so completely naked, so vulnerable, so beautiful. His eyes had swept down from her face, over her thin frame, down her long, shapely legs, to her lovely feet. Everything was bare, nothing was hidden. He squeezed her cock and then had awakened, realizing that it was Alaina laying there and that he'd just jerked her off to ecstasy. And now he'd just jerked himself off to the memory of the ecstasy he'd given her.

Guilt instantly filled him, but it faded strangely quickly in the afterglow of that joining he'd just felt, even though it hadn't been simultaneous. He squeezed and rubbed more cum out of himself, letting it drip down to join the large amount already sinking to the bottom of the toilet bowl then finally sat back and took a deep breath.

Perhaps it was the lateness of the night—or earliness of the morning—but Kirby, now completely returned from his fantasy masturbation, thought of his beautiful son/daughter Alaina, laying fast asleep down the hall, and realized that if—though it would never happen in reality—he ever met her kneeling naked in the middle of some luscious green meadow, he would not be entirely at odds with doing what he done to her in the dream. She had seemed so different in the dream, like another person, and in truth, so did Alan now.

Kirby finally allowed himself to pee and then took some toilet paper and squeezed off the last drops of urine and cum and wiped it off. He let the clump fall, then stood and hiked up his underwear. He turned to watch the water swirl as he flushed and then went out and climbed back into bed. Before he fell back to sleep the thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't mind having that same dream again—or at least a continuation of it.

When he opened his eyes the next morning, Kirby remembered the dream, remembered what he'd done in the bathroom, and remembered what he'd considered. He realized he must have been still a little muddled from sleep and shrugged the idea off. He got out of bed, went to have a pee, put his robe on and wandered out into the kitchen area. He was grateful it was now Saturday and he would have nothing more important to do but to have some breakfast and perhaps spend some time with his son.

Daughter, he corrected himself mentally.

Alan was nowhere to be found however. He glanced over at where he kept his car keys thinking perhaps that he'd gone out to the store or for a drive, which would have been fine, but they were still there where he'd left them Friday evening when he'd come home. He remembered the almost frantic drive back from the office, trying to get here before Alan arrived, and all because of some last minute work related things. He'd gotten back just in time, but now...where was he?

"She, damn it," Kirby said to himself, and again he considered the incredible change that his former son had gone through. He wondered again if Alan had officially become Alaina, and realized his lack of knowledge about such things. He promised himself to ask the next time they had a chance to talk; that smooth, flat contour in the crotch of Alan's shorts still puzzled him.

He went into the kitchen to make coffee and found that a pot had already been made. It was still hot and so he poured a cup and strolled out back toward the pool deck. That's where he found Alan, and for a brief instant, even knowing it was him laying out there on a big beach blanket in the early morning sun, Kirby blinked and rubbed his eyes.

At first he thought it was a young woman laying out there in a bikini, a red one, but when he blinked he saw she didn't have a top on. That made things just a little worse for him for that split second. But as he moved closer to the sliding glass back doors he could see it was indeed Alan, and that he indeed did have on a bikini bottom—an extremely brief one, almost like a g-string.

Despite finally recognizing his son, Kirby's eyes quickly moved up to the chest and found it smooth and flat just as always. He'd halfway expected to see tits there, owing to the sleek femininity of the rest of the boy's body. He was simply and innocently sunning himself as he'd done so often but with what Kirby now knew, and with the overall change in Alan's appearance, however slight, he looked topless now, even without breasts to hide.

Kirby quickly took a mouthful of hot coffee and gulped it, using the burning in his throat to distract his mind from going any further, but he had already surveyed Alan's entire body as it stretched out there, from the pretty profile of the face, the long neck, the smooth shoulders and pretty chest, down the inward sweep of the tummy, the protrusion of the hipbones, the still puzzling flatness of the crotch, and then the curving shape of thigh and knee and calf. His eyes lingered on the boy's feet, and he wondered if there was some part of the sex change operation that included making the feet look like girl's feet—because they certainly looked that way from where he was standing—and whether or not his son had already had that done. Kirby took another gulp of coffee and turned away from the glass doors, deciding that the feet actually looked the same as they ever had, and that perhaps it was simply an aspect of all this son-turning-daughter stuff that had made him notice them more than usual. A glance down showed him how obvious his arousal was and he quickly brushed his erection down as he went back into the kitchen and started to make some eggs.

Alan, roused by the aroma of breakfast being made—the smells being pushed out back by the stove blower—got up, gathered up his towel, wrapped it around and up under his arms like a sarong, and headed back into the house. As he walked he remembered how uncomfortable he always used to feel without a shirt on and how he would, in situations similar to these, sling the towel over his shoulders like all the guys did—each end hiding his nipples—and walk off as casually as possible, trying not to draw attention to how self-conscious he really was.

This felt more comfortable, more normal for him.

When he came in he saw his dad busy in the kitchen. He'd wanted to say good-morning to him, but Kirby hadn't been looking so he wandered in and got another cup of coffee. Standing there silently while the bacon sizzled, he started to mix French vanilla creamer into it. Kirby nearly had a heart attack when he turned and saw Alan standing there. The boy had always been the quiet type, but he hadn't even cleared his throat to announce his presence. And his bare feet hadn't made things any better.

"Mornin', dad," Alan said with a nervous grin, and Kirby caught his breath and picked the bacon out of the sizzling pan with tongs.

"Good morning—" Kirby began and stopped short. The term sweetie had been right at the end of that greeting. Baby was another option that had appeared for a millisecond—neither of them appropriate for a son.

—Which, Kirby kicked himself to remember, was no longer true. He smiled quickly to cover the bungled greeting.

"Breakfast if you want it, will be...well, it's pretty much done. I made a mess 'o soft-scrambled eggs and bacon just in case you were hungry...." He glanced up at Alan again, who now seemed even more womanly in his improvised sarong, fought his eyes to not glance down to see how much leg or ankle was showing below, and turned again to bring the platter of eggs out of the warmer.

Alan had gotten a sudden feeling of warmth when his father had glanced at him just then, but it was a troubling feeling at the same time. He'd come home to unwind and depressurize from a semester of change and, lots of times, ridicule and a distancing by many of his friends. He had figured something like that would happen. He hadn't announced he was gay or come out of the closet that way, he hadn't even joined any of the campus LGBT groups. He had simply grown tired of always trying to keep up a certain appearance and had let things just develop the way they would.

The first thing had been a switch in hair style, which he was able to accomplish simply by brushing his long, sleek hair down the middle and leaving bangs. He hadn't worn any makeup—not that first day at least—but had simply dressed as was normal for a hot day, making no attempt to hide the fact, as he normally did, that his legs were shaved. That they'd been shaved for years was of no consequence; he had simply left his dorm room as any normal person would have on a hot, sunny day.

The stares he got made him cringe at first but then he began to feel comfortable with himself, comfortable and confident. It helped in the days and weeks that followed when things started to go slowly wrong.

One of his best buddies had nearly punched him in the face one night, saying that he was queer and yelling about having queers using the same showers as the rest of them. That had hurt, but now a feeling Alan had never felt, warmed his insides. He felt tingly from head to toe, but weird and awkward and wrong all at the same time.

—He'd actually just felt a man's eyes on him; a man with other than fatherly intent behind those eyes, even though that man had been his father. But the thing that had made him cringe inside was the fact that, as their eyes had met for that fleeting second, he had felt an instant gnawing sensation in his belly; a twisting excitement and thrill, and for that brief moment he was able to envision himself walking up to her father, letting his sarong towel drop to the floor, slipping out of the bikini bottoms, and then kneeling and putting his father's penis in her mouth. The idea and image of it had taken his breath away. His nipples were still hard under the towel, and his cock was threatening to escape its special confinement.

He turned his back on his dad, sipping his coffee nervously, staring out through the side windows at something—anything. His mind was aflutter with thoughts and images and he just couldn't let his dad see him like this. He would ask questions. He would confront him.

He couldn't stand any more confrontation, but especially not about that.

Kirby saw his daughter—and it was the first time he'd referred to her that way without thinking about it—turn with her coffee and stare off into the distance. He looked that way too, but just for an instant. When he brought his gaze back, his eyes lingered on the back of her shoulders, the way her hair hung straight down between her prominent shoulder blades, and then the way the sarong revealed quite a bit about the girl's shape. Her hips weren't as wide as a girl's might be, but the waist was narrow and that gave the impression of curvy hips. But he looked harder and compared what he was seeing to memory. Alan had always had smooth curves like that. Kirby mentally shrugged, figuring it must have been something with the hormones, maybe from birth.

He reached up and got plates, started portioning out the eggs. He glanced over at Alaina again and this time lost control of his eyes. They slid down past the towel-covered hips and ass and thighs and darted right to the backs of the calves peeking out below the towel's lower edge then the ankles and heels, none of which looked anything like what a boy would have down there. Kirby was trying to decide if being without female companionship for seven years and five months had allowed him to forget what a woman was supposed to look like, but he knew the truth of it: what he was looking at was a woman.

His daughter stood there with her back to him, obviously sifting through some thoughts or troubles, if the nervous way she sipped and resipped from her cup had anything to say about it.

"Breakfast is on...honey-girl...." he suddenly called, using the term of endearment to see what would happen. He wasn't about to allow himself to choke every time he called out to his daughter at any rate!

Hearing his dad call him that, brought tears almost instantly to Alan's eyes. It seemed that something had just now changed within him, within his deepest, most secret place; a part of him breathing out and simply stepping aside while another part of him inhaled and came to the fore. He felt and realized his own femininity stronger now than he ever had, as if there had never been a masculine side to him, and as he replayed his father's voice saying honey-girl, he realized he in truth had become Alaina. Tears still threatened to roll from his eyes but he knew it was more than emotion now, that he really had become what he always was—a she.

Alan-Alaina, knowing that she couldn't wipe away her tears without being obvious or even leave to deal with them somewhere else—perhaps the living room—simply turned and smiled directly at her dad.

"Thanks, dad," she said with a choked, tremulous voice. "I'm...really, really famished...."

Breakfast was eaten in the cool shadow of the covered area of the back porch. Alaina avoided her father's eyes and kept letting her gaze return to the glittering surface of the pool. She ate slowly even though she was incredibly hungry, wanting breakfast time to last forever even if things were silent and seemed tense. She hoped she hadn't done anything to make the situation the way it was but every time she glanced at Kirby, his eyes would be on her.

And his expression wasn't one she was familiar or even comfortable with.

Kirby found it impossible to keep his eyes off the person who was his son but was now for all intents and purposes, his daughter. He could scarcely believe that such feminine beauty was possible without at least a little makeup. And he had searched Alaina's face as closely as he might and could fine nothing, not even eye liner. It was as though she had stepped freshly bathed, from the shower, natural femininity glowing, but when he thought this, images were instantly summoned of Alaina standing naked in the hot, steamy spray of the shower, water running all down her sleek body, down her long, smooth legs and collecting around her pretty feet. He shoved toast in his mouth and chewed, sipped coffee, and tried to will his erection away.

There were so many thoughts, so many things he could and couldn't say, but finally, just to break the silence and to try to end the strange, tense mood that had befallen both of them, he cleared his throat.

"You..." he whispered thickly, then swallowed again. Alaina turned her head and looked at him. "You...are just so completely beautiful. I know we haven't talked about this, this change that's obviously come over you, but...it's as though you should always have been a woman, is all I'm trying to say. You're so natural at it; like you were born that way and it's only now showing through, you know?"

Alaina's throat tightened. Hot tears threatened to overflow and spill down her cheeks. She could only nod, and nod again, and then she hurriedly lifted her cup to her lips to sip, but her hand trembled terribly and coffee spilt down her front. Hot coffee burned her skin and she quickly set the cup down stood back from her chair, whipping the towel off so she could wipe herself down with it.

Kirby's mouth fell open. He couldn't make it close. The girl had no breasts per se, but the simple fact that she was now topless had brought all this thoughts to a grinding halt. He forgot what he'd just said, what he was going to say; in fact he forgot how to speak for that one, ringing moment.

And the strange thing was, he told himself, was that he'd seen Alan without a shirt on many times. This was no different, but at the same time it was now completely different. His eyes went to the light brown nipples, the hairless chest, the slender torso and then down to the skimpy bikini bottoms covering Alaina's loins. Again he wondered where the bulge was. Had his son had the operation? Was he truly female now—in all ways? Where had he gotten the money to do it?

Alaina, suddenly aware of her state of undress was instantly embarrassed and quickly put the towel around her again and knotted it. The coffee hadn't really burned her and the cool dampness of the towel was comforting but she had just exposed her chest to someone else, and not by simply laying topless by the pool.

But the fact was, despite the embarrassment, she had also felt a thrill! Deep down below, her small cock stirred and tried to force its way erect, her testicles and groin muscles feeling like they were going to go into a painful cramp, but it was exciting. She had the matching top to her bikini bottom and now wondered why she hadn't worn it. Too female? She didn't have tits so what possible good would it have done?

Then why had she worn the bottoms of the suit? What had she been trying to do?

She answered her father before she answered herself.

"You okay?" Kirby asked, alarmed, but still stunned. Alaina nodded, fanning herself with her hands.

"Just a little coffee, daddy," she said, and then she settled herself, took her cup and reached for her father's. "I'm going for a refill. You want some?"

Kirby held his mug out for his daughter and watched as she turned on her heel and strode quickly back into the house. Her walk was sweet and pretty, not unnaturally exaggerated as he'd seen in some Gay Pride day processions on the news; his daughter wasn't trying to be feminine; she was feminine. When he was alone he quickly reached down and shoved his dick down between his thighs and crossed his legs under the table. He glanced off into the tree lined distance, still thinking about what he'd just seen while trying desperately not to become any more excited about it than he already was.

Alaina poured coffee slowly and thoughtfully into one mug, then the other. She went to the fridge and got the creamer, then creamed and sweetened her coffee while she left her father's black.

She had come home. Home was safe. She had come home to the safety she'd always felt here, to finally be herself. No friends were around. Nobody she knew except for her own father. She had put on her gaff garment and then the bikini bottom, but hadn't gone the full route and left the top off. Who was she trying to k**? She didn't have breasts. She wasn't a woman. Not fully. Not physically. But a bikini bottom could be thought of as a men's garment as well, though hers was most assuredly made for women.

Leaving both coffee cups on the counter, she reached down and under and made sure her testicles were still tucked up inside her. They ached a little. The erection she now had didn't help matters. She took a breath and thought of something else; she thought of far away mountain tops, covered with snow; she thought of the desert and its heat; she thought about taxes. Finally her cock softened and became easily bendable, and she pushed it up and under her, cinching the gaff's strap tighter, almost painfully so.

There, she thought. All nice and smooth again.

But for who? That was the question that now nagged her. Who was she trying to be feminine for? Herself, certainly, but...anyone else? Did she need her father's approval to go on with her young life?

No.

But what did she need?

Alaina took the two cups and turned to head out to the breakfast table again, but paused. She looked out through the glass at her father and loved him so much it hurt inside. She gulped, thoughts flashing through her head. Love. It was that same kind of love as before, but now...now there was something added to it. She knew what it was but didn't wish to ponder it just then. It was frightening. It was wrong, but it was something she knew she missed even though she had never had it.

Taking one step and then another, she knew she yearned to be touched, even in a non-sexual way. Just touch. To have a hand on her shoulder, to feel an arm around her. She steeled herself and tried not to look like she'd been too deep in thought, and by the time she came once again to the table and handed her father his cup, she was okay.

—Mostly okay.

That day went by. The breakfast had been good. Alaina had felt sleepy afterwards and had fallen asleep on the couch while watching television. It seemed that all the tension and frustration and self doubt and pressure she had felt during the past semester had finally somehow been unwound and relaxed. She slept deeply, soundly, even with the television's volume on.

Kirby had run the dishwasher after he and Alaina had cleaned up the breakfast dishes. It cycled now, filling the kitchen and part of the living room with its low, rhythmic throb. Kirby had a few things to do on the computer in the den, things for work, but when they were done he came back out, wanting to spend some time with the fascinating creature he'd only recently discovered had been masquerading as his son. Seeing Alaina asleep, Kirby gently pried the remote control from the slender hand and sat in his own easy chair to channel surf. He had the volume down so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty on the couch, but his mind wandered after previewing only a few programs.

From where he sat he could see the top of her head, a shoulder, an arm d****d down to the floor, and a leg bent at the knee and pulled slightly up. Alaina was on her side facing the TV and Kirby couldn't resist looking at her. He could only think of how pretty her legs were, how cute her feet and ankles were and how soft and delicate her toes looked.

His eyes ran up to her shoulder: so creamy and pale and smooth. She still had her sarong wrapped around her and knotted and he thought back on the moment she'd torn it off to get the hot spilled coffee away from her delicate skin. She was as flat as a boy because she was a boy, but...somehow that seemed a joke now; some dream or memory within a dream.

Kirby put the remote control aside and slipped down off his chair onto his knees. The carpet was thick and giving and he crawled a little ways toward the couch, silently, stealthily. He stopped on the other side of the coffee table and sat there, cross-legged, looking across at the sleeping figure on the couch. For long moments he struggled mentally to put the name Alan on that person, trying to remember the smiling face of the young man who'd gone off to college. There were similarities but he could go no further in his own personal belief than that this was his son's twin sister, separated at birth.

Which was ridiculous. He knew how many c***dren he and his wife had had, and this was it. That one. The sleeping one.

—The one with the pretty eyes and mouth and face and hair and neck and shoulders and hands and feet and arms and legs and...body.

Kirby fought to still his mind, stop those thoughts. He took a breath, trying to push all those ideas away but found he was staring hard at the crotch area, covered by the loose folds of the towel-sarong. He had the impulse to tear the skirt off and see what was there—to spread Alaina's gorgeous thighs and see what was there—if anything.

And what if there was a pussy there? What would he do then? Would he fuck that pussy? This was still his own flesh and blood!

And what if there was a cock and balls there? Would he suck his son's dick till he gushed? Was he that hard-up that even something gay would do?

But it didn't seem gay, somehow. Kirby envisioned himself slurping on some big, beefy man-dick—some stranger's cock—and his nose wrinkled in disgust. He brought his thoughts out of that scene to the present and gazed at the sleeping creature on the couch. So smooth and delicate looking. So womanly, so youthful. A beautiful young woman, 23 years old, laying there asleep.

Kirby was now harder than he'd been in years, but it was mostly due to how long he'd been erect. He'd been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes and now he absently fished his dong out the leg hole of his baggy house-shorts and held it against his hairy thigh. It felt good like that. It was so completely swollen that it was tender and delicate to the touch; like velvet. He squeezed it with his fingers and felt a dewdrop leak off the tip. He turned to see the drop ooze down onto the flesh of his thigh and drip downward, then looked back up at the girl on the couch.

It was a girl. There was no doubt. There hadn't been for days now. Alan was a girl and his name was now Alaina, and she was beautiful, fascinating, appealing—tempting.

Kirby left his dick peeking from his shorts and got up on hands and knees and crawled around the coffee table, closer to the couch. Now he knelt again, right at the front of the couch, afraid to go any further. He could hear her breathing, a soft sound that comforted him. He watched her sleeping face for long moments but then his began to wander and he stared at her feet, her protruding knee, her elbow, her wrist.

Finally reaching out to stroke her smooth cheek, his hand hesitated, stopping an inch away from the warm skin, the heat of the girl's body noticeable. He wanted to touch her—needed to—but not as he would his own daughter or son; it was that other way. Kirby decided to stop, to let it go, to not bother Alaina in her sleep, but before he could bring his hand back, it strayed toward the shoulder but did not touch it. Then like some subtle tidal wave washing him away Kirby suddenly decided to do the opposite of what he'd just been trying not to do and without another thought, took hold of the knot which held the towel closed, quickly undid it, and then gently pulled the towel open; his eyes staring hard into the shadow. He saw nipples, the flat chest now slightly more curved and full due to the sideways angle of the torso, and then he felt the urge to see more.

To see everything.

Getting quickly up on his knees, he pulled the towel open along its length until one edge lay over the front of the couch's seat cushions and the reverse side was folded back against the seat back. Alaina lay there now, covered only in her small briefs, the scanty V of her bikini bottoms.

But to Alaina it was a nice dream; like a warm, gentle breeze wafting over her on some deserted tropical beach. No one else was around, only her footprints in the sand, no matter which way she looked. She turned to face the breeze and her long hair billowed out behind her. She looked down to see what she had always seen: the gentle slope and curve of the cleavage between her small breasts. Her nipples were soft and light brown but her chest was heaving. She had run a long way, but she didn't feel tired.

Only excited.

Raising her head she looked out over the sea. Or was it a lake? White sand seemed to stretch for miles in each direction, between herself and the dazzling glare of the water. She turned toward it and started to walk; the feeling of warm, clean sand between her toes adding to her excitement. She had always been like this, naked and barefoot, and no one cared or thought anything about it. She felt the gentle wagging of her small erection, the slight bumping of her balls against her thighs and was glad that she was the only one here now. She had nothing to explain—not even to herself—and nothing to hide. She was simply herself and it was good enough.

But now the sand rose up on the wind and caressed her thighs. The tingling was pleasant but it made her insides quiver and her cock lift. She took a breath and breathed out, but now the blowing sand was touching her elsewhere: the cheeks of her ass, her knees, the middle of her belly. She looked down and saw the sand circling around her nipples, making them rise and harden. Her skin crawled delightfully and now she was solidly erect in three places—both nipples, and her cock. She had stopped in her tracks, letting the wind caress her everywhere and now something softer than sand, and moist, touched her face. She opened her eyes and could not help but smile at the dream.

Kirby's mind was blank now, blank but for what he was doing. He watched as if from a distance as his hand explored Alaina's flat chest, fingers brushing the small nipples, pinching them gently, then moving on. He gazed at his hand, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to have believed that this—this wonder laying on his couch—was anything but what she appeared: a beautiful, long-legged young woman.

Now he reached up with his other hand, and almost like a symphonic conductor moving both hands independently, he caressed the girl's lovely face while at the same time stroking her beautiful, smooth legs. He touched her knees and throat, ran his hand down along her arm and explored her hip, and then her one remaining piece of clothing infuriated him. It shouldn't be there, he told himself. It was so meager it didn't conceal much, but it was what stood between the lovely half-clothed girl and the completely nude one he wanted. He got his thumb under the waistband of the bottoms and began to pull, but then the girl's hand was there, pushing his away and slipping the thing down herself!

Kirby pulled back, aghast, knowing he'd been discovered. His mind snapped out of its trance and he began condemning himself for having let things get this far. He was trying to think of words he could say so that his son/daughter would not hate him for the rest of her life, but when he looked at the face to deliver the half-developed excuse, he found Alaina smiling at him.

"...here...." she whispered dreamily, and with a simple, quick lifting of her bottom, she slid her bikini bottoms off her butt, lowered herself and raised and pulled her knees toward her chest to remove the thing entirely. Kirby sat amazed, his mouth open again, but his attention was instantly taken by the girl's raised, folded legs and her pointing feet. He reached out and stroked the top of her foot and though she would certainly have lowered her legs again soon after taking off the bikini, she instead held them up, knees almost to her chest now, allowing and enjoying Kirby's gentle touch. She gasped and seemed to come out of her dream a little more but her eyes rolled back as the tingling excitement shivered up her leg.

Kirby now leaned toward the girl's leg—the one nearest him—kissing it, running his hands down ankle and thigh at the same time, his eyes closed in focused delight. He couldn't remember ever having kissed such beautiful, shapely, satiny smooth legs in his life and for a moment he wondered if he'd somehow fallen into a dream. He opened his eyes and looked down and to the side at the slowly thrashing head of the girl.

His daughter.

He waited for the guilt to explode within him, waited and thought about it. i****t. He was committing i****t with his own sexy daughter. Alaina.

Now his one hand had moved down the back of the thigh while the other had moved down over the heaving chest and under the front of that same bent-over thigh. He could feel the warm space between leg and belly growing smaller, tighter, but he pushed, reaching out, even as his other hand came around the thigh to join it. But something was there. Material. Fabric. He stopped kissing the knee and looked.

It was smooth and silken in appearance and was small enough to go unnoticed beneath Alaina's bikini bottom, but even as he started to reach for it, the girl's hands both came down. Kirby sat mesmerized as the fingers deftly undid the slender straps, loosening them and tugging at the garment. He wanted to help but knew he'd somehow only wind up getting in the way, so he pulled back slightly to watch.

Alaina saw herself laying in the warm sand but without touching it somehow. She had her legs up against her and though she could feel the touch of the wind all over her, she still felt covered, choked almost. Her body wanted to be free and in moments she pulled and yanked and finally opened what she was wearing, and slid it frantically down and off her legs. Breathing a sigh of relief, free and naked now, exposed more than she had ever been, she now felt the breeze reaching in again.

Somehow Kirby felt a great sense of relief and a strange brand of pride when he saw Alaina's small, semi-erect penis rising up from between her legs. He quickly and gently pushed her legs down flat so the thing would stick up more prominently, but even as he did and the thing started to stiffen, the girl brought her legs up, reached down and pushed her cock back down between her thighs. It was obvious she was more comfortable with it hidden that way but it was also obvious, at least to Kirby, that he wasn't through enjoying her legs. He noticed the cock now jutting up behind her pulled-back thighs, throbbing stiffly with her heartbeat, but now that that question had been answered, he closed his eyes and leaned forward again, his lips gently making contact with the girl's silken knees once more.

Alaina gasped softly. She had never felt anything like this before; so delicate, so tender. She opened her eyes but found they would only open halfway and so dreamily looked over at the person beside her, and smiled. He was so familiar and she knew she loved him. She blinked, drawing a breath; it was her father and he was touching her, touching her in places he had never touched her before—where no one had ever touched her before—and she wished it would never end. She wished she had more places hidden simply for that fact that she could then unhide them for him to explore but she was totally naked now with nothing left concealed.

And yet that was the most exciting thing of all. She was in her birthday suit as some people said, and in truth she felt reborn in this one incredible, lingering moment. Shivers raced up her leg and down her thigh and into her deepest places even as the hands stroked and caressed her feet and shoulders—one at each end of her—and made those tingles blend in with the others.

Kirby, mesmerized by the natural, innate loveliness of the girl before him, simply stayed where he was, touching her with both hands, feeling, caressing, grasping, his lips sliding delicately over her knees and then down her thighs. Her skin was goose pimply all over, stiff and dull, but he went on kissing, went on slowly rubbing the flat chest and squeezing the nipples with his fingertips, while his other hand smoothed down the backs of the raised thighs. Those fingers accidentally brushed past the stiff thing sticking out between them and now he stopped, swept his hand slowly back and caught hold of it.

It was stiff. It wasn't thick or long, but it was incredibly stiff. He squeezed it gingerly between thumb and forefinger, but the disgust and insult that he thought he might feel at his first contact with another man's dick, simply wasn't there.

—Because, he reminded himself, this wasn't a man. And somehow this tender-yet-rock-hard thing, wasn't a cock.

He paused in his enjoyment of the girl's legs to lean over and look, and when saw Alaina's most secret place, her most intimate thing, stiffly undulating between his fingers, it didn't seem masculine—at all. He squeezed it as he would squeeze his own organ, rubbed it slowly up and down as he had done to himself countless times, and the thing stiffened even more. There was a soft, breathy moan as he did this but the sound could not have come from anything but a woman's throat. Glancing back around the knee which he still leaned against, he saw the face. It was a woman. There was no longer any doubt. A gorgeous thing with the face of his son.

His daughter Alaina he reminded himself. He thought again of i****t and the fact that he was now engaged in it. He thought of the horrors of what that word meant, and the abuse and deceit and pain and suffering connected to that, but...

—He had no excuse for what he was doing. He had lost his mind. He was about to, well, already having sex with his own flesh and blood. He started to pull back so he could stop this whole thing but the girl pulled her knees further toward her chest and pointed her feet straight down.

Kirby noticed Alaina's pretty feet and was distracted instantly. He thought of his own feet, of his wife's, and knew that there, somewhere between, these perfectly shaped wonders had been formed. The urge arose to kiss them and Kirby couldn't resist. He turned, leaving the cockish clit between his fingers and brought both hands up to grasp the ankle closest to him. He pulled and guided the foot toward him and then, forgetting all other considerations, Kirby began kissing that foot and licking it and rubbing his face against it. It wasn't long, only a second or two, before he was lost in the enjoyment of it, of the pleasure and the touching of his fondest fantasies. He had always loved bare female feet, and this was not only bare and exquisitely female, but beautiful and sexy beyond his experience.

Alaina gasped again. Her chest lifted and shuddered, her lower leg stiffened, as did her foot. It felt as if her leg were stiffening just as her organ was, ready to gush. The warm tongue running back and forth along the top of her foot sent a humming, sparkling tingle all through it, which raced up her ankle and calf and over her bent knee. She shivered as her thigh muscles contracted and tensed, and then her cock lifted stiffly up behind her thighs. Absently she slid her fingers down over the carefully trimmed thatch of pubic hair on her crotch, down between her clenched thighs and over the pubic bone, pushing downward against the base of her organ to make it angle even further backward. She gasped but quickly took her hand away, knowing that the temptation to touch and fondle and rub herself were just too great. She didn't want things to gush to a conclusion, not quite yet. She loved the tension and the way it was building; the excitement of it and the way her insides seemed to melt and quiver like gelatin. Holding her breath, she pulled her hands up and slid them up over her head, as far away from her crotch as they could be, but now one of the other hands left her trembling foot and slid up over her chest and began exploring and touching her smoothly shaved armpit, now exposed.

Kirby leaned back from his daughter's foot, sliding one hand up the back of her thigh and behind her knee. He pushed up on her lower leg and she suddenly unbent it and pointed it straight at the ceiling. She looked now like a girl riding a bicycle, upside down. But his other hand had discovered another wonder about her body. He turned and looked and found himself smiling at what he was caressing.

Not only was Alaina's armpit smooth and hairless, but the concave and contour of it made it look sexy. He wanted to kiss her there. He wanted to kiss her nipple, her armpit, her hand, wanted to suck on each and every one of her long fingers. He wanted to run his tongue along her beautiful high collarbones and then down the center of her chest to her belly button. There wasn't any part of this girl that didn't invite him to explore, that didn't seem to ache for touch and attention, and he wanted to be the one to do it.

To do all of it.

A gasping, writhing young woman lay naked before him on his couch. He hardly knew where to look or to touch first, but now his daughter turned her face to him and smiled and the smile was not only on her lips but in her eyes.

"Daddy," Alaina breathed dreamily, and now she reached out and touched his face. "I...I don't have any idea what it must be like for you, to be alone, I mean. I only know what's it's like for me, you know?"

Kirby nodded and smiled. After his wife had passed away, things had obviously changed. He had figured, a year or two later, that he would eventually start seeing people again, but the months went by, then the years and he forgot about it. When he found himself unable to focus, or found himself focusing too much on sex, he would simply masturbate and get it over with but the weeks and months would go by again until the next time.

But he found it hard to understand how someone like Alaina could say she was alone. She was so beautiful, so full of life, so sweet and smart! She must certainly have had boys at the university falling all over h—

—A sad smile came over Kirby. He shook his head even as he let his smile warm and glow again in Alaina's direction. He could think of nothing better to do or to say, and so gently brought his arm around and pushed his daughter's legs down and away from her chest, then leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Her soft gasp excited him, but he inhaled too and caught the scent of her: subtle, fragrant, sweet. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers and she pushed her head up to meet him, turning her head this way and that, letting her lips smear and compress against his, her breath getting more and more excited with each passing second. Now her hands both reached out and gripped the sleeves of his shirt, pulling him closer, pulling him on top of her.

Kirby fought the impulse to get on her, to get on the couch full length and lay on her nakedness. He fought it but surrendered just as quickly as the fight had begun. He got carefully up off the floor and lay halfway on top of her, his mouth glued to hers, his tongue ready but not quite willing to reach out into the hot, steamy vacuum of her mouth.

But then she was reaching down, lifting up his shirt. He leaned back just long enough to satisfy her, yanking his tee-shirt up and off over his head, but then he was crouched over again, kissing her willing mouth, rubbing her bare shoulders, and finally, finally, reaching his tongue down into the depths of her mouth. He felt her tongue touching his now—moist, tender, but strong—and they both gasped through their nose, inhaling each other's arousal, which made their excitement rise even faster.

Then, locked in an upward spiral of lust and forgetfulness, Alaina reached down and frantically tried to get Kirby's shorts undone, and Kirby, stopping once more, stood from the couch, stripped down bare, and then sat on the cushion beside the girl. He touched her face to make her look and when her eyes opened, she smiled, though thoughtfully now, but with her thoughts now tinged with fear.

"Please, daddy," she gasped. "Don't be mad at me—please! I...I just wanted to..."

Kirby pulled her up into a sitting position, embraced her, kissed her nose and lips and then sat back.

"I'm not mad, honey-girl." he said, and this time the term did not catch in his throat because she was that, he decided: as sweet as honey; sweeter in fact. Even in his dating days, years long past, he had never met anyone as sweet of disposition and temperament. He drew her close once more, kissing her firmly on the mouth and knowing that though other parts of their bodies were surely going to be in contact very soon, kissing would still be greatly on his mind.

Her lips were delicate, soft and sweet, just as his wife's had been.

"You...you can...." Alaina puffed when that breathless kiss ended. Kirby stopped in mid motion; he had been thinking of laying her back down flat and kissing her entire body, from face to toes. He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "You...can, if you want, uh...pretend that I'm a girl. I mean...you know...like you're a guy and I'm a girl and we could...."

Her words somehow didn't register with Kirby. He heard them, understood them, but it was as if the sweet young thing in his arms was mumbling to someone else in the room. Or perhaps she was still halfway asleep and talking to some dream person. He kissed her again, cutting off her words, then leaned down as he lay her flat on her back. He got on the couch with her this time, both his knees together between hers, and as he bent down he could feel his erection touching his thighs. He glanced down at himself, knowing it had been a long time since he had seen himself so thick and stiff. Usually he just reached down and stroked it as he sat on the toilet, never really looking at it. He bathed every night, but was obviously never in need of seeing what he was washing down there. But now a small smile crept across his lips as he saw the throbbing thickness of his shaft. The head of it bulged as it seldom did—only being erect long enough to be jerked off—but now it had been erect for what seemed like hours and everything, every part of it, was full and engorged and tense with life.

He looked up at the girl's puzzled face, then lowered himself down on top of her slowly and gently. He felt his dick pressing down against her body, moved a little and felt the contact between his cock and her...

—He puzzled out a term for it, but all that would come to mind was clit. It was her clit. Alaina's slightly oversized, but gorgeously sexy clitoris. He dropped his hips, his dick pressing down sensuously against this other organ—and for a moment he simply stayed like that, supported on elbows and knees above her, only that part of him in contact with that part of her.

But then her legs spread out and came up and around him. Long legs. Beautiful and shapely and smooth. He felt them wrap and bend around his sides, and then moving on instinct and habit he reached a hand down to rub and explore her pussy, to slip a finger up the slit to pull any stray pubic hairs out of the way and to smear and massage her own juices around to make entry easier. He stopped when he felt the stiff member that was there, his mind spinning for a moment, then closed his eyes and found that thoughts still swirled in his head. But now they were gay images and concepts. He almost withdrew his hand but when he opened his eyes, it seemed that the glow of beautiful womanhood shining from the girl beneath him held no lie in it. It was pure and wonderful and he knew in that instant, as he had several times before, that this was no man; even cupping the smooth balls in his fingers was somehow not anything even closely resembling a homosexual male act.

Smiling, he quickly got off the couch, padded directly to the kitchen and brought back the butter dish. Without a pause or explanation to his puzzled daughter, he smeared butter over the head of his dick, then took more and smeared it up and down the crack of her ass. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure at the unexpected touch, and she began to gasp and breathe excitedly as Kirby began to apply and massage more of the warming butter up into her ass-hole.

Kirby sat there gazing blankly at the small, stiff finger of flesh standing stiffly from this girl's crotch. He watched it lift and stiffen as he pumped his finger into the tight, hot, now-greasy confines of her rear door, but also let his eyes take in the sight of how carefully and cutely her pussy hair was trimmed.

The cock and balls (or clit and labia as Kirby amended) were shaven clean and smooth. There wasn't even any stubble lower down where an actual vagina and labia would have been. Everything down there was as smooth as warm velvet, but above the base of the penis there was a small puff of pubic hair left; one which—if the girl were to shove her cock down between her thighs as she had done before—would stretch slightly downwards and create the perfect shape of a female bush.

—But one which would have still been perfectly concealed behind the skimpy crotch panel of a bikini bottom! He stared, smiling at Alaina's sexy little beard, almost forgetting that his thick finger was still gliding in and out of the girl's anus.

"...oh my god, daddy...." Alaina sighed, and Kirby remembered what he was doing. He withdrew his finger—a little too quickly because the girl gasped at the exit—and then got up and between her legs again. She smiled up at him, a warmth beaming from her face, but especially her eyes, and Kirby reached down as he had done before, caught hold of his greasy prick, lowered himself more and finally fit the head of his cock into the warm, slick pucker of her ass-hole.

Kirby had never had anal sex before, either done to another, or done to himself, but this was also true for Alaina. She had toyed with her anus in the privacy of her shower, but had never inserted her finger more than an inch or so into herself. This thing which was now pressing firmly against her bung-hole was far thicker than anything she'd ever felt before—including her father's thick finger, which had loosened and dilated her exquisitely—but she held her breath and tried to will herself to relax down there.

More of the bulging head squeezed tightly in and Alaina felt her anal ring contracting, almost cramping, but at the last moment it relaxed and though there was discomfort, she felt the spongy knob of her father's cock pop into her. She gasped. Her legs went into solid, quivering points around her father's sides. She held her breath, let it out, and then another inch of the fleshy shaft pushed into her.