DAD GAVE ME AN ORGASM free porn video

Do you remember the grandfather in the movie "Little Miss Sunshine?" At one point, the old man advises his grandson to "fuck a lot of girls," as if that was the secret to happiness in life. Well, when I was young, that's exactly what I did; I fucked a lot of girls. I won't claim that most of them were goddesses. Back then, I had a friend who advised me that 'you have to lower your standards if you want to lower your drawers,' and that's what I did. I had sex with ugly girls, I had sex with fat girls, I had sex with sluts, I even had sex with a cute but sorta plump cousin. I had sex with lots of girls and not all of them were losers. Some of them were cute and some were nice but not too many of them were the kind of girls that you would take home to meet your mom and dad.

All that was happened when I was younger. When I got a little older, I realized that I didn't actually want to marry a slut or a chubby girl who was so desperate for a dick that she would do whatever she was told to do. You know, marriage isn't just about somebody to have sex with on a regular basis (and, yes, I know that many of the older married guys are wanting to jump in with their jokes about how sex becomes infrequent after you get married. Too bad you have that kind of marriage!)

I actually wanted to have a family and I wanted to find a woman who would be a good mother to my c***dren. So . . . I found a girl who was virtuous and upright, and eventually I married her. Sarah McKenzie was divorced and had a two year old daughter, Rachel. Sarah divorced her husband because he was unfaithful to her. I understood that; for all of my fucking around when I was younger, I never knowingly had sex with a married girl. If you wanna screw around, go for it, but don't get married . . . and don't have ex with a married girl, because you just might screw things up for her family and innocent little k**s will be affected just because you wanted to have an orgasm and cum inside their momma. So, the bottom line is . . . have sex with whoever you want, just as long as you are single and your partner is, too. That's my code of ethics.

Back to my marriage: Sarah was not a glamorous angel but she was fairly attractive. She had golden blonde hair that was straight and hung below her shoulders. She had lovely blue eyes and a cute little nose. Her boobs weren't big; in fact, they were small: 34B bra size, but I like small boobs. She wasn't exactly a hard body but she wasn't overweight and she was very well proportioned.

There was just one problem. Sarah was virtuous. I know, I said I wanted to marry a virtuous girl, and I certainly did find what I went looking for. Holding hands and kissing were fine, and every now and then she would let me feel her boobs. On one or two occasions, I even got my hand under her dress and felt her pussy through her panties, but that's as far as I ever got before we got married. I wanted to have sex, but . . . no, they had to wait until we were married.

As you might have guessed, Sarah was a churchgoer. Now, I'm not against anyone going to church, but some people get obsessed with it and it becomes like part of a mental illness with them. At times, I wondered about Sarah and whether her church activities were a bizarre obsession or just a devotion to duty. But, aside from her virtuous ways and the lack of sex during our courtship, I was very happy with her. I had no problem with taking her home to meet Mom and Dad and I knew that Sarah would be a good mother to our c***dren.

Well, anyway, she promised me that she would make me happy after we were married but she wanted to wait until she had a ring on her finger. At times, I thought she was just playing hard to get. If that was her game, it worked. I became obsessed with the notion of fucking Sarah. I wanted to fuck her in every way I could. When I jerked off, I fantasized about fucking her pussy in the missionary position and I fantasized about fucking her doggy style. I dreamt of eating her pussy and having her suck me until I came in her mouth. I desperately wanted to cum on her little boobs. I wanted to suck her nipples while I fingered her asshole. I wanted to lube my dick and ram into her back door. I wanted to fuck her every way I could and I wanted to fuck her so bad that it was driving me nuts.

* * *

Eventually, I proposed and Sarah accepted. I think she believed that anyone who could last with her, not having sex, must really love her . . . and I did. I really loved her. But I also really, really, really wanted to fuck her until she begged me to stop. We had a short engagement.

On our wedding night, Sarah made my dreams come true . . . partially. We had sex. I fucked her in the missionary position and she had an orgasm just before I came inside her. I suggested that we do it doggy style and she said that she had never done that. I was a bit surprised but eager to teach her. I told her what was involved and she was a bit self-conscious at first. She said, "That means you'll be lookin' at my behind!"

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?" I asked.

"You're not supposed to see me back there. That's private," she responded, as if that explanation was so self-evident that it warranted no further discussion.

"Honey, we're married now, and you shouldn't be ashamed to let me see any part of your body, whether it's your boobs or your cooter or your behind. Now that I'm your husband, you're supposed to trust me with that."

"Well, I suppose we could do it dog style with the lights out so you don't see anything."

"Fine by me," I replied. I turned off the lights and we did it doggy style. I could tell that she wanted to be prim and proper but she was also really getting worked up with my dick sliding in and out of her fuck hole.

When I could tell that I was about to cum, I announced it in very unmistakable terms. "Oh, baby, I'm so close. I wanna cum in your pussy so bad . . .."

"Bad . . . boy," she uttered. She was winded and aroused and moaning like she wanted to be quiet but couldn't keep her arousal a secret.

"Here it cums," I said as I released my jets of sperm inside her. As soon as my seed entered her vagina, she started cumming hard, moaning loudly, panting, her back arching as she experienced the waves of muscular contractions that undeniably indicated her orgasm.

A few minutes later, she told me that she had never had an orgasm that strong in her entire life and it felt really hot to do it "dog" style because her backside was towards me. It was as if a guy had never seen her butt before and, besides that, the lights were off. I could see a bit but not very well. It was then that I realized how sexually inexperienced she was, especially for someone who had previously been married and had a c***d.

Over the next few weeks, the extent of her inexperience became painfully obvious. She had never given or received oral sex and thought the whole idea was gross. Of course, she had never had anal sex and had never had anyone express any interest in that other hole. Most amazingly, she told me that she had never masturbated - not once – in her entire life and she had never seen a vibrator or dildo.

During the next few months, with the assistance of some occasional alcohol, I got her to relax a bit. The alcohol definitely helped, but she was not much of a drinker, so this didn't happen very often. She wasn't a tee-totaler but she just didn't want to drink very often.

* * *

About a year after we were married, I got her to drink a few piña coladas; we were at home and I made the drinks, so I made hers as strong as I could. She got a bit tipsy and I got her into bed when she was still very much under the influence. I finally got to eat her pussy and I definitely enjoyed the experience. Judging by the loudness of her orgasm, I know that she did, too. Hearing her moan like a dog in heat got me plenty aroused; my meat was as hard as it ever gets. When she came down from her orgasm, she leaned down and started kissing my dick. She very tentatively licked on it and kissed it but she seemed to be at a loss about what she should do. I gave her some encouragement and she finally took my shaft in her mouth and sucked on it for a while but then she stopped, saying that she was afraid I would cum in her mouth.

After that night, we continued to have oral sex occasionally but I never got to cum in her mouth. You probably guessed that we never had anal sex and I never even got to touch her bum hole. Hell, I don't remember ever seeing her bum hole; I'm sure she had one, but I never saw it. I wasn't obsessed with anal sex, but . . . I guess that it being the forbidden act, the taboo practice, made the idea more exciting to me.

But we never did it. Sarah seemed rather content to have me suck on her nipples and then get on top of her and slide my manwich inside her. At one point, I bought some DVD's that were intended for younger folks who were totally inexperienced; they had a couple who demonstrated almost every sexual practice that two people can do in their own bedroom. I got her drunk one night and showed her the DVD and her idea of expanding our horizons was for her to get on top and take me in her pussy. Yeah, it was different so that made it exciting but it was far short of the experiences I wanted.

Despite my frustrations, I didn't have any desire to be unfaithful to her or to divorce her. She was my wife and I loved her. In her heart, I knew that she was doing what she thought a good girl was supposed to do and, within her screwed-up inhibitions and self-imposed boundaries, she was trying to please me as much as she could. So I was patient. And I loved her.

* * *

I also loved Rachel. At this point, "our" little girl was now eight years old. I called her "our" little girl because her father had disappeared when Sarah threatened to take him to court over the delinquent c***d support and we hadn't seen him in at least three years. Rachel had started calling me "Daddy" and I loved it. She was a very sweet c***d, rarely caused problems, usually did what she was told, and she was cute like a younger version of her mom.

Sarah had quit her secretarial job and started home-schooling Rachel in first grade. Sarah had compared notes with other women at the church and she was convinced that attending public schools would lead to overwhelming moral degradation for Rachel. I wasn't very happy about the public schools, either, for other reasons; there is just way too much v******e and not enough education in our public schools. So Rachel was home-schooled. That means that her social experiences were limited to the c***dren who lived nearby and the other c***dren who attended church. (I'm not an atheist but I didn't attend church with Sarah and Rachel.)

* * *

About four years after we were married, Sarah gave me the news that she was pregnant. She was ecstatic and so was I. We had been married long enough to have established our relationship and having a family of my own was part of my motivation for getting married. Within weeks, she rushed out and bought a crib and a stroller and most of the other gear that you need for a baby.

Then, two months later, our world crashed. Sarah started bleeding and we had to take her to the emergency room. Within a few hours, they told us that Sarah had miscarried and would need a D&C. Of course we were both devastated but we had started to recover when, a few months later, Sarah's doctor told us that she wouldn't be able to have any more babies.

After that news, I was depressed and Sarah was depressed. We tried to shield Rachel from the heartbreak that we were feeling but, of course, she sensed that something was wrong. Sarah devoted herself to Rachel's schooling and to their church activities. Sarah became even less interested in sex and that part of our marriage became very mechanical; she didn't deny me sex, she just acted as if it was a duty she was fulfilling rather than something that she enjoyed.

Sarah kept our home clean, she cooked good meals, and she took fairly good care of Rachel, but it was obvious that Sarah never recovered from the miscarriage. We took family vacations and enjoyed weekends but . . . there was a spark that was missing. Sarah became more active with her church activities and I'm sure that others never saw that anything was wrong. I suggested counseling a few times but Sarah wasn't receptive to that idea.

* * *

As the years passed, Rachel continued to do well, despite Sarah's depression, but I was concerned that she was being sheltered a bit too much. Her grades on the standardized tests were great; she was almost always in the 99th percentile in every category that was tested. Everyone who met her commented on how bright she was and we were both proud of our little girl. Nonetheless, Rachel seemed to be naïve and a bit behind her peers on her social skills.

Her slow social development became apparent when she reached age 13. I could tell that she was starting to develop breasts. They appeared to be tiny little "buds" that I could just discern through her pajama tops or tee shirts. I couldn't see the actual little tits, of course, because Sarah had taught Rachel to be very modest around me. It was almost as if she thought that Rachel was competition for my affections. Up until she was 8 or 9 years old, Rachel would sleep in just her panties and a tee shirt and it wasn't unusual for her to sit and watch TV dressed like that. I had stopped supervising bath time when Rachel was about 7 years old and I never saw her naked, but she was comfortable being in just her underwear around me, and occasionally I would see her topless – not that there was anything to see, of course, because she was just a little girl. But as Rachel approached puberty, Sarah got more concerned. I never saw Rachel unless she was wearing at least pajamas or shorts and a tee shirt. To me, it wasn't a big deal but Sarah seemed really uptight about that stuff and it was easier to just let her have her way.

When it first notices that Rachel was starting to develop little breasts, I asked Sarah and she told me that, indeed, Rachel had started having a period and she was developing physically. I could see that she was losing some of her "baby fat," she gained a few inches in heights and she got a bit more curvy in the places that men want women to have curves.

Despite the physical development, Rachel did not express any interest in boys. She didn't want the tween or teen girls' magazines that had pictures of the latest boy teen heartthrobs. She didn't develop an interest in talking to the boys at church or in our neighborhood and she didn't do any of the other things that girls do at that age.

Sarah was happy with Rachel's lack of interest in the opposite sex but I was concerned, but, again, Sarah saw no problem . . . because, in my mind, Sarah was the problem. So things continued the way they were. Rachel wasn't pathologically immature; she wasn't still playing with dolls or talking baby talk. She just wasn't playing with boys or flirting, either.

* * *

Maybe I should have felt relieved, because Rachel had become quite a cute girl. By the time she was 17 years old, she was 5' 2" and she weighed 115 pounds. She had the same golden hair that her mother had, though she kept it a little bit shorter and in a more contemporary style that did Sarah. She had a clear complexion with emphasized her blue eyes and, of course, she had the same cute little nose that she had as a c***d. Her chest had developed enough so that she was very clearly a girl, but she wasn't overly endowed. In fact, her bra size was 34A, which I knew because I occasionally used the downstairs bathroom that Rachel used; she would occasionally leave her clothes on the bathroom floor after her shower and, being curious about the state of her development, I looked at one of her bras to see the size.

By this time, Rachel had actually begun to talk to a few boys at church and she actually started going to events that both boys and girls attended. The church didn't call them group dates but, at that age . . .. In any event, the events were chaperoned and there was no risk that anyone would do anything more than hold hands. Rachel did develop an interest in Hank, a nice but awkward k** who had lots of IQ points and who was clearly clumsy with females. No, Hank wasn't a smooth-talking lady's man, by any means, so I was comfortable with Rachel spending time with him. In fact, he acted as if he had been home-schooled by an overprotective mom just like Sarah had done with Rachel.

Of course, it was not a serious relationship and I was quite certain that little Rachel was still a virgin. In fact, I would have been surprised if she had done anything more than holding hands and kissing. I was right; the relationship didn't last and Rachel was still a virgin (according to Sarah) and the only thing of which I felt fairly certain was that our little Rachel would never grow up to become a porn star. Over the next year, Rachel developed an infatuation with a few other similarly innocent and unsophisticated boys but nothing ever went further than spending time together at our house or his house.

* * *

Rachel reached the big milestone – her 18th birthday - during her senior year. She was definitely a candidate for college but her mother didn't want her moving away from home so Rachel had applied at the local college and been offered a full scholarship.

The home schooled k**s got to graduate with the other k**s at the public school so we attended a graduation ceremony. After the graduation, Rachel stayed out with some friends from church until 11 PM and then she was home. Up to this point, you may think that I've been complaining about Rachel's delayed social development, but I also saw the advantages it offered. Other parents worried about their k**s getting drunk after graduation an doing who-knows-what, but not our Rachel.

* * *

Two weeks later, life as we knew it abruptly came to an end. Rachel had spent the night at a girlfriend's house and they were going to the beach the next day. The plan was that Rachel would be home for dinner around 7 PM. I went off to work and Sarah stayed at home alone.

When I came home that afternoon, Sarah was not home. Her car was gone and she had not left a note telling me where she had gone. I tried calling her on the cell phone but got no answer. Sarah had still not returned home when Rachel finally came in around 7 PM. I tried calling Sarah's few friends from church but none of them knew anything about Sarah's whereabouts.

At 11 PM, I called the police and reported Sarah as missing. An officer came to our home and took a report, together with a recent photo of Sarah. At 2:30 AM, I received a call that the police had used Sarah's cell phone to track her location and they had a fairly good idea where her car was. At 3 AM, I got a call that Sarah's car had been located and that Sarah was inside the car, unresponsive, and Fire Rescue was en route to the scene. I was given the location and Rachel and I jumped in the car to go there.

When we arrived, we were told that Fire Rescue had taken Sarah to the hospital but that it appeared that Sarah was dead. The police had found an empty prescription bottle in the front seat beside her, together with a suicide note:

Tom,

I have completed my work in this life. Rachel has graduated and she is 18 years old so she is ready to face the world. I have gone to be with my other baby and I hope that you will understand that he needs me more than you two need me. I love you both.

Sarah

You cannot imagine the wave of emotions that flooded my world. The note confirmed for me that Sarah had been mentally ill, that she had been chronically depressed and never recovered from the miscarriage. I was angry, sad, bitter, and I had no idea what to do with all of these feelings inside of me . . . and then I realized that 18 year old Rachel – an even larger victim of Sarah's mental illness - was standing next to me. She had just learned that the only biological parent in her life had just committed suicide. My own feelings couldn't be anything compared to what she must be feeling.


I turned to her and, through the tears, sobbed, "Rachel, I'm so very sorry for you. I'll never abandon you, Honey!" Of course, she was crying also and I placed my arms around her and held her face against my chest. I wanted to never let go of her and I wanted to protect her from the world for the rest of my life. We stood there for minutes, just holding each other and crying.

It sounds like a cliché but it is true; the next few days were a blur. We notified Sarah's family and made funeral arrangements. The medical examiner did an autopsy that confirmed that Sarah died due to an overdose of sleeping pills. We attended a funeral that was awkward for everyone. What do you say to a 41 year-old man whose wife committed suicide because she was mentally ill? Do you say 'well, at least she's not suffering,' or 'she's in a better place now,' or something else equally ludicrous? What do you say to an innocent 18 year old girl who has been abandoned first by her biological father and then by her mother (you understand, don't you, that – for the survivors – having a loved one commit suicide is just like having the loved one abandon you?)

I had a tremendous amount of accumulated personal leave at work so I took off two weeks after the funeral. Rachel had not yet found a summer job (Sarah always had some reason or excuse for not being able to help Rachel apply for a job) so that was convenient. Rachel and I stayed at home and we spent some time going through her mother's possession, packing the few things that Rachel wanted to keep and donating the remainder to charity.

We spent some time talking. Rachel finally expressed some concern that I wouldn't want her to stay with me, because she wasn't my daughter. I put the lid on that rumor immediately. Rachel didn't want to start college in the fall. I told her that I understood and that she could postpone it for one semester but, then, I expected her to begin college. She agreed to that plan, so we called the college to confirm that she could do that and to confirm that they would hold the scholarship for her.

During the first few days, we packed and sorted through things during the day and we sat and watched movies at night. I rented a bunch of comedies, not because I thought that I could get Rachel to laugh very quickly, but because I just wanted to avoid any movies that might have any type of tragedy, and especially movies that contained any portrayals of death. Rachel would sit on the sofa beside me and lean her head against my shoulder. Sometimes she fell asleep like that and I would eventually wake her and send her to bed.

When we weren't keeping busy, we talked about Sarah. Now that Sarah was gone, Rachel confided more in me. About a week after the funeral, she confessed to me that she held some resentments towards her mother. "Daddy, Momma didn't want me to grow up and . . . I feel like, uh . . . when I see other k**s my age, I feel like . . . I don't fit in, you know, like I don't belong . . . and . . . sometimes . . . especially when I'm around boys . . . Daddy, I don't know the first thing about boys. You know, when I was with Hank and those other guys, nothin' happened, you know, mainly because I didn't want anything to happen, but . . . I was scared, too. Momma never told me anything about, uh . . . you know . . . s . . . e . . . x, and I just feel so totally scared when I think about, you know, like a boy might expect me to do somethin' more than just hold hands and give him a goodnight kiss, and . . . I don't know why I'm talkin' so much, but . . . Daddy, I've gotta depend on you now and . . . I hope maybe you can help me with some things that Momma didn't."

"Oh, Honey, I'll always be here for you, and of course I'll help you with whatever you need help with," I immediately responded. "You know, that means you have to talk to me and not hold anything back from me. You've gotta trust me and you've gotta know that I am not your momma; I'm not gonna judge you or condemn you if you do something that your mother wouldn't have approved."

Rachel seemed relieved to hear my promise about not judging her. I was curious about what she wanted from me but I decided to let the issue rest. I knew that she would bring the subject up again within the next few days.

* * *

The next day, we were in the car, coming back from lunch at a diner, talking about a variety of topics. Suddenly, Rachel returned to the subject from the previous day, as if she had been waiting for an opportunity to resume the discussion.

"Daddy, what we were talkin' about yesterday . . . you just don't know how much I've felt lost with boys and understanding all that stuff. I don't even know enough to know what I don't know. . . . Does that make sense? But, uh, it's real important to me, so, uh, if you can help me, you know I'll trust you . . . always! . . . So . . . can you help me?"

"We'll start tonight, after dinner, okay?"

"Sure, Daddy. You're the best!" she said with a smile and a sense of relief in her voice.

I had no idea how naïve she was about things but, whatever she needed to know, I knew I'd try to help her. Part of me was concerned about being embarrassed or uncomfortable talking to Rachel about sex and part of me was concerned because I also knew that I was looking forward to talking to this cute 18 year-old girl about sex. It was confusing to me but I felt that I had no choice but to follow through on my promise.

That night, after dinner, I suggested that we sit in the living room and talk.

"Rachel, Honey, I have no idea what you've learned about sex and what you haven't. I don't wanna treat you like you're a little c***d who knows absolutely nothin' but I also don't wanna assume that you know somethin' that maybe you don't. So . . . the first thing is that you must be absolutely 100% comfortable talking about sex. Like, uh, the words we use, ya know, body parts. Some people call things by their medical names and some people use slang words. Your Momma probably talked to you about vaginas and penises but that's not the way most people talk. What do you call your vagina?"

"Well, uh . . . I guess I just call it my vagina," she said, obviously sounding embarrassed.

"Okay, Honey, well . . . do you ever call it anything else? Do your friends call it somethin' else?"

"Oh, yeah, well . . . you won't be mad if I use dirty words, will ya?"

"Of course not. Whatever you call it, it's not dirty. Okay?" I reassured her.

"Okay. Sometimes I call it my 'pussy,'" she said with an impish grin.

"Okay. So now, we've established the fact that you have a pussy. Very good. I'll bet it's a real nice pussy, too. So, what about the little button-kinda thing at the top of your pussy?"

"You mean my clitoris?" she beamed with pride for knowing its name.

"Yeah, but most people just call it a clit," I clarified. "And what do you call a man's thing?"

"You mean his penis?" she offered.

"Yeah, exactly. But what do you call a man's penis, other than 'penis?'"

"Well, some of the girls call it a dick," she said with a little less embarrassment.

"Okay. So, now, we have dicks and pussies. There's a whole lot more to sex than that but that's the start. Now, when you started having your period, what did your mom tell you about that?" I asked.

"Wait, Daddy, aren't we supposed to, like, use each word in a sentence, you know like you said 'Rachel has a pussy?'"

"Okay," I responded.

"Well, then, my daddy has a dick and I'll bet it's a real nice dick," she said with a grin on her face. I guess talking to your daddy about his dick is a taboo thing for an 18 year old girl and she was feeling a little devilish for having used the opportunity.

"Okay, okay, that's enough about my, uh . . . dick. What do you understand about your period?"

"Well," Rachel responded, "Mom said the blood was from my body getting an egg ready for a man's sperm and when they got together, I'd be pregnant. And she also told me that my boobs would start growing and I'd get hair on my vagina . . . I mean on my pussy."

"Okay, so you're boobs have grown . . ." I began but she quickly interrupted.

"Yeah, but not much. I still look like a little girl." From her tone of voice, I could tell that this was a point of concern for Rachel.

"Honey, what is your bra size now?" I asked.

"34B."

"Well, of course, I haven't seen your boobs themselves, not in person, but I have seen how you fill out a tee shirt, and you don't really look like a little girl. You know, your mom was a 34B, too, and that might be as big as you get but you shouldn't worry about that. You probably think that guys all want girls with big tits but that's not true. Some guys – hey, I'm one of 'em - like smaller boobs and I'm guessing that there are a bunch of guys who would love to spend some time with your boobs!"

"Well, I don't know about that. The only people who've ever seen my boobs are me and the doctor."

"Well, Honey, one of the things that you need to do to grow up sexually is to be comfortable with your body. You've got to be okay with seeing yourself naked in a mirror and, when you find a partner to have a sexual relationship with, you've gotta be comfortable with your partner seeing you naked."

"Daddy, I couldn't take off all my clothes in front of another person!" she exclaimed.

"Honey, when a man and a woman have sex, or make love, they are both naked and they are both comfortable with the other one seeing them naked, even up close, and that means every single square inch of their bodies. They look forward to the times that they know they'll be together naked. Well . . . that's something we'll need to work on sooner or later. I mean . . . I'm not sayin' that I want you to run around the house naked when I'm here, but . . . as long as you're uptight about me seeing you in your undies, you'll never get over all your nervousness about this stuff. If you're comfortable being in your undies with me, then you can get comfortable bein' naked when you're here alone, and then you'll be ready to get comfortable with someone else seein' more of you. Does that make sense, Honey?" I asked.

"Yes, Daddy. If you wanna see me in my undies, I'll get used to it," she said teasingly.

I gave her a little bit of a scowl that told her I didn't like being accused of being a perv.

"Okay, okay. If I get more comfortable being only partly dressed around you, then I'll get more comfortable around somebody when the time is right," she recited.

"That's right, Honey," I confirmed for her. "Do you remember when you were little and you used to run around the house in just your panties and a tee shirt? Did that feel weird to you?"

"No, Daddy. That felt perfectly natural," she replied. " I even ran around in just my panties with no top, sometimes."

"Okay. You need to start doing that again around the house . . . but not the topless part. Let's start right now. I want you to go to your room and take off all your clothes except your panties and then put on a tee shirt with no bra. Then put on a bathrobe and come back in here."

She looked at me as if I had just asked her to cut off her right arm but she also didn't look like she was going to refuse my suggestion. She got up and went into her bedroom, closed the door, and came back out wearing a bathrobe that was tied at the waist.

"Okay, are you ready to take off the robe?" I asked.

"No . . . not really," she offered timidly.

"Okay then. Keep standing up." She did as she was told. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course, Daddy," she replied.

"Okay, I'm gonna turn off the lights," I said as I reached for the light switch. As soon as the lights were off, I returned to stand behind her. "Now, I want you to untie your robe and let it hang open in the front." Like a good little girl, she did what she was told and I could tell that the robe had fallen open in the front.

"Now I want you to close your eyes," I said, "and I'm gonna walk around you."

"Okay. They're closed," she said.

As I circled Rachel, there was enough light for me to see that she had followed my instructions and I had a partial view of her panties. They looked like plain white cotton panties and I thought that I could see the outline of her pussy lips through the panties, what some would call a camel toe. I felt my man meat start to get a little restless but then I returned to stand behind her.

"When I walked around you, there was still enough light for me to see you pretty clearly and you look like a cute girl. Rachel, you have nothing to be embarrassed about; I'll bet there are thousands of guys who would like to be here seeing you in your panties. Now . . . how're you feelin'?"

"A little funny but I'm okay, I guess," was her weak reply.

"If you're okay with it, I'm gonna turn the lights back on. Now, you still keep your eyes closed," I instructed her.

Again, I walked around her and, this time, the camel toe was unmistakable. I felt some movement in my britches and I knew that this was going to be difficult for me, too.

"Are you still okay?" I asked only to reassure her that I was concerned for her comfort.

"Yes, Daddy. What now?"

"Now, I want you to take off your robe, okay?"

"Okay, but can you turn the light back off?" she asked.

"Sure," I said as I reached over to turn off the light again. As before, I returned to stand behind her as I said, "okay, Honey. The light's off."

She reached up and pulled the robe from her shoulders and let it slowly fall to the floor. I assume that she did it slowly because of being self-conscious but it wasn't much different than what a good stripper would have done. I reached down and picked up her robe and d****d it across the back of the sofa.

"Now close your eyes and I'm gonna walk around you again. What I'm trying to do is to gradually get you used to me seeing you so that you'll be comfortable walkin' around the house or sittin' around dressed like this. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy," she answered.

"You don't think this is weird, do ya, 'cause if you do, we don't hafta do this," I offered. I didn't want her thinking I was just some sort of perv wanting to see her in her panties.

"No, you're right Daddy, I hafta get over this being afraid and I guess this is the way to do it," she reassured me.

She was wearing bikini panties. They were very plain white cotton panties but they were fit snuggly and revealed the contours of her delicious body. Her ass was small and tight and I couldn't see an ounce of any leftover baby fat on her ass or legs. As I walked around her, I again stared at her cameltoe but not too long or I'd have a real boner in my pants.

"Now, I'm gonna turn the light back on," I said as I flipped the switch. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness and I could clearly see, I felt my heart skip a beat. I had never adopted Rachel and, with her mother gone, we weren't related by marriage either, but . . . still . . . she was like a daughter to me, so I wasn't supposed to feel the way I was feeling. I felt like I was on fire with desire for her body.

I wanted to see Rachel naked and I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to suck on her little nipples and I wanted to lick on her pussy. I wanted her as desperately as I had wanted her mother so many years earlier.

"Let's sit down," I said and we both sat down on the sofa, me on one end and her to my left, towards the other end, but not too far apart. "How are you feelin' now?" I asked.

"Okay," she said lamely.

"No, what I mean is . . . what are you feelin'?" I explained.

"Well, I feel kinda nervous, like . . . maybe you're gonna see my panties and kinda see what I look like down there, and wouldn't that be bad!" she said.

"Honey, that was a very good job of tellin' me what you feel. Now, let me answer your questions. I did see your panties and they're kinda tight on you so I did sorta see what you look like down there – without really seein' it - and, the truth is that, with your panties on, you look just like most other girls look. And I'm guessin that if you weren't wearin' panties, you'd look like other girls look down there, and . . . you'd probably get any guy real worked up."

"Daddy, Mom always said that I wasn't supposed to let boys see me down there so that's the way I've always been."

"Okay, Honey, you need to understand that different people have different ideas about their bodies and modesty. Your mom was real uptight when it came to sex and her body and she passed those attitudes on to you without even tryin'. But if you keep those attitudes, you'll always be uncomfortable about sex. Now . . . I'm not sayin' that you're supposed to let everybody see you naked, and . . . I'm not sayin' that you're supposed to wear short skirts and let every guy in town see your panties, but . . . around the house when nobody else is here, or when you meet somebody special, you've gotta be comfortable with people seein' your body. If it's somebody who loves you, what if they do see you? What if they do look at your panties and see the outline of your pussy, so what?"

"Well . . . uh . . .." Rachel obviously had no rational reply.

"Turn around in your seat so your feet are both up on the sofa," I instructed her as I did the same. "Now, put your left foot down on the floor and push your knees apart."

She slowly responded to my directions. As her knees parted, her panties were pulled tight across her pelvis and the outline of her pussy lips showed through the cotton fabric that was concealing her most feminine place.

"Now, I'm lookin' at your panties. I'm starin' at your panties. I can see your pussy lips showing through your panties and I'm guessin that means that you shave your hair down there . . .."

"Yes, Daddy," she admitted meekly.

"Okay, now, I'm still starin' and what's happenin'? Is the sky falling down? Are you havin' a heart attack?" I demanded.

"No, but I feel like I hafta pee," she said. "Well, not exactly like I hafta pee, but I feel like I'm leakin' somethin' wet down there."

As she said that, I could, in fact, see a wet spot forming in the crotch of her panties. "Well, if you are leakin' pee, then that means that this is getting' you aroused and, when a girl gets aroused, her body produces a fluid that helps her to have sex with a guy. So now I know that this is getting' you aroused and you're probably embarrassed about that, but so what? I'm kinda aroused, too; it's just the way our bodies react. It's perfectly normal."

"Okay, Daddy, I get it, and you can stop starin' at me," she joked, obviously needing to reduce the tension in the room. I laughed and then she laughed.

"Honey, your mom isn't here and it's up to us to make the rules. Your mom would have freaked out if either of us walked around in our underwear but she's not here and it's just us. I'm comfortable with you walkin' around in your underwear and, if you're okay with the idea, I'm comfortable with doin' the same. And I want you to understand that, the more of this initial stuff you get over, the easier everything else will be."

"So you want me to walk around in my underwear?" she asked. I think she was just looking for an opportunity to give me a hard time.

"Actually, I don't care if you walk around absolutely naked, take a shower with the bathroom door open, sleep naked with the bedroom door wide open, as long as you aren't uncomfortable . . . and as long as nobody else is here. On the other hand, you can be fully dressed every time you leave your bedroom, but it's a lot more work, and . . . you'll never get over your inhibitions if that's what you do."

"Wow, Daddy, that's so different what everything Mom taught me, but it makes sense. You know, it might take some time, but . . . we'll see."

"Honey, there are families that are absolutely comfortable with being totally naked around each other and there are families that never see each other except fully dressed. Neither way is right or wrong; it's just what you're comfortable with. Most folks are somewhere in the middle. I'm just tellin' you that if you want your life to be different, you've gotta do somethin' different."


"Okay, Daddy. Actually, I do feel a lot more relaxed now than when we started, so . . . maybe I can start just bein' around you in my panties and . . . who knows . . .."

"I love you, Rachel, and I want you to be happy with yourself. Your mother was very unhappy with herself and that's why she did what she did. I can't stand the thought of you eventually doin' anything like that."

"No, Daddy, I'll never do anything like that. I'll just take my clothes off, instead," she teased me. After her laugh subsided, she turned to me and spoke with the voice of an angel, "I love you, Daddy."

She moved down on the sofa and sat so that she was next to me and I put my arm around her. We had discussed enough for the night so we found a movie on television and watched it until we were both sleepy.

I turned off the TV and we both stood. I put my arms out and she approached me for a good night hug. "Good night, my little angel," I said.

"Good night, Daddy," she replied.

* * *

At about 3:30 AM, I woke to the sound of thunder. It was raining hard and it looked as if it would not be clearing anytime soon. I got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and to check the house. I looked in the back yard to make sure nothing needed to be secured.

I then decided to check on Rachel. I was only wearing my boxers but I expected to find her asleep. As I reached her bedroom doorway, another bolt of lightning exploded across the sky and the thunder was quite loud. Rachel awoke with a startle.

"Daddy, what was that?" she said in her scared little girl voice.

"Just lightning and thunder," I said. "You'll be okay."

"You know thunderstorms always scare me, Daddy. It already woke me up once. Can I sleep in your room, Daddy?"

When a girl asks her daddy for something in that scared little girl voice, you just know that the answer will always be yes. So it was with Rachel and me.

As she stood up, I could see that she had changed into a baby doll nightie that was somewhat flimsy. "That doesn't look like anything your mom ever bought for you," I said.

"No, I bought this for myself a few months ago. And, after our talk tonight, I wanted to wear it to make me feel good about myself. Is it okay?" she asked.

"It's fine, Honey, it's fine."

She followed me into my bedroom. "I always sleep on the right side of the bed, so you can have the left side," I said. "And no snorin'!" I teased her.

"I'll try not to," she answered.

I got into bed and lay on my left side so that I was facing her. She was on her right side, facing me.

"I feel safe with you, Daddy. Thank you," she said, and then she lifted up and bent over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I felt like I was in heaven.

* * *

When my eyes opened in the morning, Rachel and I were both in the middle of the bed, both laying on our left sides, spooned together. My right arm was d****d over her side and my hand was on her chest, immediately below her left boob. My left arm was under her pillow with her head resting on top of it. All of that was okay. The difficult part was that I had a boner and it was pressed up against Rachel's backside. I had no intentions of doing anything with that boner, at least not anything that included Rachel, so I decided that I needed to extricate myself from the situation.

As I started to slide my left arm from under her head, Rachel started to wake.

"Good morning, Little Miss sleepyhead," I said nonchalantly, hoping that she wouldn't notice anything amiss.

"Good morning, Daddy. How'd we end up like this?" she asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "I guess we just did this in our sleep."

"Well, it feels real nice to have your arms around me, Daddy. But what's that pokin' me in the butt?"

Busted! "Uh . . . I guess that would be me and that would be my body's way of reacting to having a real cute girl pressed up against me."

"I did that to you? Wow! Can I see?" she asked as if it was an entirely innocent question.

"Well, I'm not so sure that would be a good idea, because . . . uh . . .." I wasn't sure what to say.

"Daddy, when you're around the house and it's just you and me, you gotta be comfortable with people seein' your body. If somebody loves you, what if they do see you? So what?" Rachel was extremely quick witted, apparently even in the early morning.

"Okay, I'll tell you what," she continued, "the lights aren't on, so just close your eyes and I'll slowly pull down the sheets."

I didn't think this was a good idea but if I said no, I would forever create a double standard for us and that would interfere with us having strong, open communications, so I said "okay," and closed my eyes.

"Now, roll over on your back," Rachel prompted me and I followed her command.

I felt her pulling the sheets down and, within a few seconds, I knew that my boner, or at least my tented boxers, had sprang into view.

"Well, that's a lot bigger than the ones that I saw when I was babysitting and changing diapers," she offered.

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment," I replied.

"All the ones I saw were kinda floppy," she explained. "That one looks kinda hard and stiff."

"A guy's thing . . ."

"You mean your dick . . ." she interjected.

"Okay, my dick gets hard and stiff when I'm aroused," I explained. "All guys are that way. When you get a guy aroused, probably he'll get an erection – which is also called a hard-on or a boner."

"So what did I do to get you aroused?" she inquired.

"Well, I don't know that you did anything, Honey, except that you're beautiful, you're wearing a flimsy nightgown, you had your butt pushed up against my dick, and I almost had my hand on your boob." That explains it, I thought.

"Well, most of that happened in my sleep, so it's not like I was tryin' to make it happen, but . . . I am flattered. So, anyway, how long will it stay like that?"

This really wasn't where I had intended to go with her sex education but I also didn't think that I should be evasive in answering her questions. "Usually, when a guy gets an erection, he'll stay hard until he has sex with a girl, or he makes himself have an ejaculation . . ."

"You mean like playing with yourself 'til you cum?" she asked.

"Yeah, like playing with myself, or . . . if I wait long enough, it might go away on its own, but, if it stays hard for too long and I don't cum, I might get a condition called blue balls, which means that my balls will ache for awhile."

"So what are you gonna do?" she continued with her questions.

"Well, I don't wanna get blue balls, and there isn't a woman here for me to have sex with, so . . .."

"So you're gonna masturbate?" she said more as a statement rather than as a question.

"I don't have much choice, and, no, I'm not gonna let you watch," I retorted, trying to anticipate her next question.

"I wasn't gonna ask," she responded. After an awkward pause, she said "I tried it a few times, you know."

"You tried what," I asked, "and how would I know?"

"I tried playing with myself."

"How is it that you know this stuff if your mom never told you?" I wondered aloud.

"I have a girlfriend who I talked to about sex a few times. She was a virgin, too, but she had watched an X-rated movie once and she tried to tell me about masturbating, but it didn't make sense. I tried it when I got home but nothing happened. I tried it a couple of other times but . . . nothing ever happened so . . .."

"I wasn't gonna bring the subject up so quickly, but since you did . . . At some point, you need to spend enough time masturbating so that you know what makes you feel good and what doesn't. Then you need to be able to tell your partner what makes you feel good so that he isn't laying there just guessin' about what to do to make you feel good."

"So are you saying that at some point I'm gonna need masturbation lessons?" Rachel asked, and I didn't think that her question was serious.

"No, I don't think so. We'll just show you a couple of videos and get you a vibrator and then we'll probably have to get like a dozen batteries when you figure it out. But first . . . I think we need to go shopping and get you some new panties and other unmentionables."

"Oh, Daddy, you're bad . . ." Rachel replied. I think she was relieved to hear that I had something in mind that was really going to change her world. "Well, if you're not gonna let me watch, I guess I'll go get some breakfast fixed for us."

We went to the mall that afternoon. We went to Victoria's Secret and a few of the department stores. I convinced Rachel that she should try wearing some thong panties and we also got her some matching bra and panty sets, and we got some nighties, too. I told her, of course, that she would need to model everything we bought for her and she promised that she would, but not all at once.

We were at the mall until about 6:30 PM and then I suggested that we stop for Italian food on the way home. A friend of mine was the owner of Il Ristorante and I knew that he would treat us right. When we arrived, he seated us at a table in a fairly dark corner that was usually reserved for couples who didn't want to be disturbed; he knew our circumstances and thought that we might want some quiet time together.

I ordered a bottle of wine and the waiter brought two glasses. Two hours later, we left the restaurant both a bit tipsy. I was not too tipsy to drive but Rachel was leaning on me for support.

When we got home, I suggested that she go to her room and change into her sleepwear and then we could watch a movie together. When she returned to the living room, she saw that I was still dressed and said, "Okay. Now it's your turn to get into your sleepwear."

"That would be just my boxers," I replied.

"Okay, then, go do it," she directed.

I quickly got out of my "street" clothes and stripped down to my boxers. 'What the hell,' I thought, 'she slept with me last night and saw me with a boner in my boxers. If I wanna teach her that it's not a big deal, then I can't act like it's a big deal.'

I returned to the living room. Rachel was sitting on the sofa. Her nightgown was another baby doll that was actually partially sheer. The panties were a thong and the little triangle of fabric was just enough to cover her pussy slit. Through the top, I could see the protrusion of two little nipples. I didn't want to ogle her and make her feel uncomfortable, but . . . it was rather bold for her to be wearing this around me tonight. She had picked it out, along with some others, and I remember thinking that it was rather revealing for someone so modest, but I guess that she was listening when I told her she had to change her behavior if she wanted to change her feelings.

"What movie do you wanna see?" I asked.

"Well, you said something this morning about a masturbation lesson. I'm 18 years old and I don't know nothin' about orgasms, so I'm really kinda anxious to see what that's all about."

"You mean . . . you've never had an orgasm, Honey?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she replied.

"Okay, well . . . are you comfortable sittin' here watchin' an X-rated movie with your old dad?"

"First, you're not that old, and, second, that's why I drank so much wine. I figured it would help me to relax enough to do what you think I need to do," she said as she looked up at me with doe eyes that suggested that she'd do whatever I asked.

"Okay. The DVD's in my bedroom." I went to my bedroom and retrieved the DVD that I had bought for Sarah so many years ago, the instructional video that I thought would loosen her up but never really did.

I made sure that the house was secure and then I returned to the living room and quickly inserted the DVD in the player. The DVD had sections that could be accessed separately; anatomy, explanation of sexual arousal, male masturbation, female masturbation, kissing and foreplay, basic sexual positions, oral sex, anal sex.

When Rachel saw the index, she said "I wanna see the male masturbation first, since you wouldn't let me watch this morning."

"Okay, you get what you ask for," I said.

The "actor" on the DVD was a middle aged male who was in good physical condition. Within a minute, he was naked, laying on a bed, getting hard and then stroking his meat.

"Wow! So that's all it takes to make a guy feel good?" Rachel asked.

"Well, that's how you do it when you're alone, and sometimes it feels good when a girl does that to a guy, but usually a guy will end up wanting more."

"Wow. Watching this makes me wanna have one of those things in me," Rachel said unabashedly.

I let that comment go without a reply. I didn't want to make her feel self-conscious and I didn't want to interrupt her enjoyment of the video.

When Mr. DVD had his ejaculation, the camera zoomed in and showed the cum spurting out. "So, that's his sperm, right?" Rachel asked.

"Well, technically, that's called ejaculate, but most people call it his cum. The sperm is little cells that are in the cum, so, yes, that's right."

"And that has to get to the egg inside me, so . . . if he sticks that in me and then he squirts his cum in me, then his sperm can have tea and crumpets with my egg. What a great plan!"

I laughed. I assumed that Rachel was acting a bit more naïve than she really was, though I wasn't really sure.

"So, when he sticks that thing in his girlfriend, that makes both of them feel good?" she asked.

"It makes both of them feel like a million dollars," I responded.

"I don't understand. When Gina told me about masturbating, she said something about rubbing myself on the outside but . . . if a guy sticks something inside me, what's that do to my outsides?"

"So, I guess she didn't demonstrate for you?" I asked rhetorically. The only response I got was a look of Rachel's face that said 'you've gotta be k**din' me.' So, I assumed there had been no demonstration (but if there had been, I sure would have liked to have been there. Gina has a body that any man would want.)

"You'll understand soon enough," I said. "Let's move on to the female part." I returned to the main menu and then selected the next segment for viewing.

The female "actress" was a drop-dead gorgeous honey who looked like she was about 25 years old. She was a hardbody and had a very cute face and, most importantly, she did not have big tits. In fact, she looked a bit like Rachel, only older.

"So," I began as I paused the DVD player, "you've probably never seen another girl naked. Do you recognize the body parts on this babe?"

"Of course I do, dopey," she retorted.

"And do you see that her tits aren't any bigger than yours? She looks just like you, and . . . me and every other guy on the planet would do this babe in an instant! So you should get over this thing about your boobs."

As we watched the video, it was obvious that it was an educational experience for Rachel. As the "actress" got closer to her orgasm, she started moaning and writhing and otherwise just being very demonstrative about the fact that she was aroused.

"Why is she actin' like that?" Rachel asked. It appeared to be a serious question and it indicated to me that she really, really hadn't ever experienced an orgasm.

"Well, Honey, when you get sexually aroused, you get kinda consumed with your arousal, like nothin' else matters, and it kinda takes over your body and you do things sorta involuntary, like moaning, or your body getting' tight. Some folks work to try to suppress that stuff but, if you do, you won't enjoy it as much. So, when you have an orgasm, you just need to let go and go with it."

"It sounds kinda scary," she said, and I imagined that it might be scary for her.

"It's not . . . not really, but I can see that you might think that if you've never had an orgasm. But trust me, once you have an orgasm, you'll want 'em again and again for the rest of your life."

"Well, then, I guess I should hurry up and have one," she managed to say, obviously summoning up some courage to be talking to her dad about having an orgasm.

"That's entirely up to you," I replied.

"Well, how about now?" she suggested.

"You mean like, here, like while you watch the video? Sure, I can just go up to my bedroom, make myself scarce, and you come and let me know when you're done." This felt really awkward for me and I'm sure it felt even more awkward for her.

"Well, you wouldn't hafta leave the room, ya know, you could just, like, not watch, ya know, but be here in case . . . ya know, in case somethin' goes wrong," she explained. I really felt a bunch of compassion for my "little" girl now.

"Well, I don't think anything will go wrong, but, if you really want me to stay, I will," I tried to say with a voice that suggested it wasn't really a burden but I also wasn't a perv looking forward to the chance to see my little girl play with herself. In reality, the idea of being in the same room with her while she did it was just overwhelmingly arousing and I had the erection to prove it.

"Okay, well, first . . . put the video on the next section, you know, the one about kissing and foreplay," she requested.

"Sure," I said and I quickly advanced to the next section. It was the same "actor" and "actress" as in the masturbation sections. They were both nude from the waist up, facing each other, French kissing, and then the guy stared playing with her boobs and sucking on her nipples.

"Okay, I'm gonna take off my panties now, so don't watch," she directed.

I turned and faced away from her. I really wasn't sure that I would be able to avoid looking at her if she got loud with her arousal.

"You might oughta take off all your clothes. Ya know, when some women masturbate, they play with their nipples or their butts or whatever else feels good. Playin' with your nipples might make it easier for you to have that orgasm." It sounded like a good suggestion to me.

On the video, I heard the guy telling the girl that he wanted to have his finger inside her. That was hot enough by itself. But knowing that Rachel was naked just a few feet away from me had me as hard as titanium steel.

"Okay, well, I'm rubbin' myself, just like before, and it feels a little wet, but . . .." Rachel was expecting too much, too soon.

"Does it feel like you're getting' aroused?" I asked.

"Well, it feels good, but I don't feel like shakin' and moanin' like the girl in the video."

"Just keep doin' what you're doin'," I encouraged her.

The only sounds that I heard were coming from the DVD. Mr. and Miss DVD were obviously having a good time, but I didn't hear anything from Rachel.

"Rachel, Honey, how you doin'?" I inquired.

"I'm not," she replied. As soon as she spoke, I could tell that she had been quietly sobbing and I reflexively turned towards her. Rachel was totally naked, sitting on the sofa, with her hands raised up to her face. Her legs were together and her pussy was hidden from view, but her boobs were exposed and just looking at them made me want to cum in my pants. My first two thoughts were: one, what a hot looking naked girl and, two, how could Sarah have screwed this girl up so badly?

I sat down beside her and placed my arms around her, pulling her face against my chest and rubbing her back like a mother trying to get a fussy baby to go to sleep. "Rachel, Honey, it's probably somethin' so simple. Sweetie, before long, you'll be havin' orgasms so strong and you'll just laugh about why didn't you start this years ago."

"Well, I'm not laughing now, am I? I'm stupid and there's just somethin' wrong with me and I'll always just be a freak!"

Holy cow, I thought, she's really freaking out about this. It really hurt me to see her hurting so badly.

"Rachel, listen to me. You are not a freak. You are a beautiful girl with a very sexy body but . . . unfortunately . . . your mom really did a number on your head and you've just got some catchin' up to do. But there's nothing wrong with you. You could easily have an orgasm tonight if you knew what to do; anybody else with a little experience could get you to have an orgasm, guaranteed!"


"I doubt it!" she retorted. Her voice was angry but I knew that she wasn't angry at me.

"I could make you cum easy, if . . ." I blurted out. As soon as I said it, I again wondered if Rachel thought I was trying to be a pervert with her, but apparently, that was not what she was thinking.

"If what?" she asked.

"If you weren't my daughter!" I said. I, too, was becoming frustrated with the situation. After all, I am a man and here is a beautiful naked girl sitting next to me and I haven't had sex in several weeks, and I haven't had really satisfying, mind-blowing, bone-crushing, hot sex in years.

"Well, I'm not your daughter and I'm not your step-daughter. I'm just a frigid freak and nobody's ever gonna want me!" she screamed at me.

"Well, if you weren't my daughter . . .," I started.

"I'm not!" she interrupted angrily.

"Okay, if you want it that bad tonight, you're gonna get it but you are not a freak! Now, if you wanna be my baby tonight, go get in the bathtub and I'll be in there to bathe you and get you ready for bed."

Her mood suddenly changed. She looked up at me and quietly said, "Ready for bed, Daddy? Are you gonna show me how to make myself have an orgasm?"

"Honey, I'd do anything for you, and if that's what you want . . .. Go get in the bathtub so I can give you a bath like when you were a k**."

"Okay, Daddy!" she said gleefully.

Ironically, when she stood, she became self-conscious and quickly covered her pussy with her hand, acting as if she wanted to put her clothes on until I said, "No need to mess with puttin' your clothes on. I've already seen you naked and I'll be givin' you a bath in a minute, so go on in the bathroom and get the water started."

Rachel left the room like a woman with a newfound purpose. I heard her start the water and, a few minutes later, she called out, "I'm ready, Daddy." Her voice . . . those words . . . it took me back many years, to the days when she was such an innocent little girl. Back then, she trusted me completely, counted on me to protect her from the world. How things had changed! But, if what she needed now was to know that she was not a freak, that she was capable of having an orgasm just like any other girl, then . . . well, I had said that I would do anything for her.

Rachel was seated in the bathtub and she had a grin on her face. After all she had been through lately, seeing her smile was worth whatever it took to make it happen. She had her hands covering her boobs and her legs were together so that I didn't see her pussy.

"Okay, Honey. I'm just gonna wash you a little bit and get you squeaky clean so you feel real good when you get in bed. I'm gonna start with your back, if you could hand me the body wash, please?"

"Of course, Daddy," Rachel said. Her tone of voice told me that she was quite happ