Two Book Special - Daddy's Girl and Sardines

Two Book Special

Daddy's Girl and Sardines

by Robert Lubrican

zbookstore Edition

Copyright 2025 Robert Lubrican

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Book One: Daddy's Girl

Book Two: Sardines

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Foreword

Both of these book were edited to conform to the publisher's standards. All characters in these books are at least 18 years of age or older

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Book One: Daddy's Girl

Emma lay on her bed, face up and stared at the ceiling as her fingers fidgeted between her legs. She was excited. Her eighteenth birthday had come and gone while her father was on one of his trips. She had graduated from her all –girl high school and was pre-enrolled at the state college that was three hours from where her mother lived. Even more important, she was now legally free to live with her father when she wasn't at college. He was, in fact, back from his trip and was on his way to pick her up. They would spend the weekend together and she was going to tell him she wanted to live with him until she left for college. The divorce decree that had given her mother custody of her was no longer in force, in terms of the custody part. Her mom acted like she still had custody but the law said Emma could go anywhere she wanted and do anything she wanted.

And she wanted to live with her father, now, instead of her mother. She was an adult, now, and she wanted to explore her freedom.

She never understood why her mom and dad ever got together because until the divorce all she'd ever seen them do was fight. Part of her confusion about why they got married in the first place was because of how different their personalities and beliefs were. Trudy, her mother, was what some people would have called a religious extremist. She didn't believe in showing any skin except her neck, arms, and lower legs. That had affected Emma because Emma's entire education had been completed at Saint Teresa's School, which was a K to Twelve school operated by the Catholic Church. They didn't even have any male teachers.

Emma had thought many times of running away, but she had no place to go. If she went to her father she'd be dragged back to either her mother's or school.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course, while she was at the all-girl schools her mother insisted she attend, there had been no dating and no exposure to boys at all, in any situation where there was privacy. She was free to go on dates now, but the problem was she had no idea how to act on a date. She'd never even danced with a boy, much less been alone with one. The thought of meeting men in college made her feel like she might throw up. She knew it would be okay. She was just super nervous about it. At least she had the summer to get ready for it. And she knew her father would help her.

Her father, Bob Chambers, owned a business that repaired and restored old cars. He made a decent living doing that, but the real money came from finding rare, antique cars for clients who didn't have the time to go looking, themselves. That meant Bob spent days and days driving all over the country, stopping at farms where he saw old cars and machinery sitting around. If he found the right car and could get it at a decent price, he could make thousands before he even started on the restoration, assuming the client wanted him to do that. Actually, it would be his crew that restored it. Bob provided the work. His crew provided the expertise in making an old hunk of junk into a gleaming, gorgeous car or truck that looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line.

So Bob didn't get to spend as much time with his daughter as he would have liked – or as she would have liked, too. He felt sorry for her, but Trudy had gotten the judge to give her primary custody, because she claimed his home life wasn't stable. She had tried to claim he wasn't moral, either. When the judge asked why and she said, "He wants to have sex as often as twice a month when I'm not even in season!" The judge said, "I'll take that into consideration," but smirked. Still, because Bob was on the road so much and because Emma was only eight at the time, the judge had given custody to Trudy.

Over the next ten years Bob got to see Emma once a semester if he was lucky. Whenever they were together his easy-going attitude about things made her feel like she was soaring free. She texted him and called him on the phone he gave her, but which she had to keep hidden because her mother hadn't given written permission for her to have a phone at school. Social media accounts, of course, were completely off the table. The only computers the girls were allowed to use were owned by the school and any hint of things sexual was blocked.

Now, with her mother at work and her father not yet there, she was so excited she rubbed the bump between her legs that made her feel fantastic. That was something the nuns at school had not been able to expunge. All the girls had learned to masturbate and, seeing as how that was the only fun they felt like they could have, they did it a lot. Right now she was just having fun, anticipating spending time with her father. Emma was happy and eager, and whenever she felt happy or eager, she got horny, so she was enjoying a leisurely rub session while she waited for her father to arrive. When her mom left to go volunteer at one of her charity things she had told Emma to make sure the house was presentable before her father arrived. Emma hadn't told her she was switching houses. She knew there would be a blowup of epic proportions and she wanted to wait until her stuff was at her father's house. Now, all she had to do was convince her father to let her do that.

The problem developed when she got distracted with masturbating and she didn't hear him arrive, open the door, and come inside. The first inkling she had that he was there was when her bedroom door swung open and he stepped inside, catching her as she was right on the edge of an orgasm. There was a stunned moment of silence, perhaps ten or fifteen heartbeats long, before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Honey," he told her. "I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy."

What went through her head was the fact that he was seeing her with her legs spread wide and her thong (that Crystal had given her on her 16th birthday) pulled to the side, with two of her fingers deep in her pussy … and he hadn't screamed at her and yelled that she was going to hell! Her mother would have had a gigantic litter of kittens, but all he did was avert his eyes. Because there was no panic, she was able to respond more or less calmly.

"That's ok," she replied shyly. "I know I shouldn't be doing this."

"Don't be embarrassed, Emma," he said. "Masturbation is natural. Having the feelings you have is normal. You weren't doing anything wrong at all. All adults masturbate, or at least an overwhelming percentage of them do."

"That's not what Mom would say," she said. She removed her fingers from her pussy and adjusted the thong to cover her slit. She sat up and then stood, smoothing her top down over her hips. He turned to watch her pick up her pants and step into them. Finally she was decent.

"Don't be so harsh on her," said Bob. "I don't think she ever recovered from the divorce. And she was brought up like she's trying to bring you up. She doesn't make choices about things. Her beliefs make the choices for her, whether they make sense or not. I hoped she'd find a man who is like-minded and remarry. I don't think there's a lot of happiness in your mother's life."

"I don't feel sorry for her," Emma said cold-heartedly. "She could have been happy with you, but she refused to. She wouldn't let me be happy, either."

"Maybe so," Bob replied with a short chuckle. "Well, now that the awkwardness is behind us, come over here and give me a hug and a kiss, girl. I haven't seen you in forever."

She hopped off the bed and rushed to him. She hugged her dad fiercely and, when he aimed a peck at her lips, like they'd always done, somehow it turned into something longer than a peck.

Both the hug and kiss were emotional for both of them. For her part she felt a rush of passion that he was so understanding of her wants and needs. For his part, the memory of seeing her lightly-haired, plump, very adult pussy with two fingers in it caused him to have what he thought of as unnatural thoughts about his little girl. How could she be sexual? And how could he wish to be sexual with her?

"So, how does it feel to be an adult who can vote and own property and a bunch of other stuff?" he asked to change the subject.

"It's fine," she replied. "Actually, I don't see a lot of difference except I don't have to go to school. I'm taking some online classes at Robertson Tech, but they don't take much time." She swallowed. "Daddy? There's something I want to talk to you about."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I have to get away from my mother. She's such a bitch I can't stand it anymore."

"You don't have to like her, but you do have to respect her," said Bob. "She's your mother."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I guess she's not a bitch. I misspelled it. She's just a witch. I want to find a way to get away from her. I never got to be a daddy's girl and now I can do that."

"Well, we can talk about that and see what can be done. You're with me, now. We have all weekend. What do you want to do?"

"I want you to take me on a date," she said. The idea came to her out of the blue. "I want to find out what a date is like."

"You still haven't been on a date?" he asked her.

"Of course not, Daddy. They didn't let any of us go on dates at school. Some of my friends said they got to go on dates at home, but not me. I'm about as much of a virgin as it's possible to be."

"I'm not unhappy about you being a virgin," he said. "I'm relieved, in fact."

He didn't like the vision of some amorphous faced man on top of his little girl, rutting between her legs. His eyes fell down to her pert, modest breasts underneath her t-shirt, then her flat stomach. He already knew what her pussy looked like, and he imagined how his cock would feel sliding into it for the first time as her head fell backwards in ecstasy. He shook his head and looked away.

"What kind of date do you want to go on?" he asked.

"A romantic one," she said.

"You want romance, from your withered, old father?" He grinned.

"First of all, you're hardly withered. And you're not that old, either. And I love you already. I know you love me, too. So some romance wouldn't be strange at all between us."

"I see," he said.

"Plus you've seen me … um … intimately … which is more than any other male has."

The vision of her luscious, womanly pussy leapt back into his mind. She might be only a few months over eighteen, but her body looked years older than that.

"True," he said. "Do you know what happens on … romantic dates?"

"Of course not," she said. "Except for what my girlfriends describe, and half the time they're probably lying. That's why I want you to take me on a date."

She hugged him again and his right hand slid down her perfectly arched back and stroked back and forth innocently as it slowly got lower and lower, until it slid gently over her tight little ass. He quickly jerked his hand back up.

"I am so sorry," he apologized profusely. "I shouldn't hug you that way."

"Isn't that how we'd hug if we were on a date?" she asked.

On her part Emma loved the hug. His hands felt so good. She still was horny from her previous unfulfilled masturbation session. The touch and the cologne he wore aroused her further. She pushed her loins against his and he turned his hips so she wouldn't feel his erection.

"I remember dating. It was fairly terrifying. I know how boys think, but I'm clueless when it comes to how a woman's mind works. Can I ask you a personal question without you getting embarrassed?"

"Sure," replied Emma.

"What … or who … were you thinking about as you were masturbating before I walked in here?"

"I'm too embarrassed to tell you," she said, against his chest.

"You can tell me anything, Darling," he said. Since she didn't mind, his hand was back on her firm ass.

"Promise you won't get mad?" she delayed.

"I promise."

"I was thinking about … um … spending time with you," she almost whispered.

"Like that?" His voice held surprise.

"Kind of," she moaned. "It was all misty in my brain. I just thought about you while I did it."

"I see. So is that why you want to go on a romantic date with Daddy?"

"Uh huh," she sighed.

Bob wasn't a prude or socially crippled, like his ex-wife. He didn't have a lot of romance in his life and his personal belief was that you only became intimate with a woman you really cared for. He hadn't had a woman like that in his life for several years. The last one had wanted more commitment than he'd been able to give her and they'd broken up. Now his mind ranged to the only romance he had enjoyed, while he was on the road. That involved porn sites and his own hand. He'd seen some porn sites he'd resisted, because they made him think of his daughter. Now he felt something new, something he couldn't push away, but he needed to know how she really felt before he did anything more than just feel her ass.

"That would make you a daddy's girl," he said. "Have you ever heard of a daddy's girl?"

"Isn't that a girl who loves to spend time with her daddy?"

"Where's your laptop?" he asked.

She let go of him and got the computer. He flipped it open and typed in a search engine. Then he searched "Daddy's Girl".

The images that came up shook and shocked Emma. It was of women … naked! And they were with men who were also naked! And not only that, the girls and women all claimed that it was their very own father they were naked with!

"They're having sex!" she gasped.

"Uh huh. There are certain women who call themselves daddy's girls. They like to have sex with their fathers. Some of them even have their father's baby."

"No way!" gasped Emma.

"But that's not what you were thinking about … right?"

She didn't know how to answer. All her fantasies about sex had been misty, unformed. The only thing solid was her fingers, rubbing her clitty, making orgasms shake her body. The rest of it was a fog. Now that she did think about it, though, the idea of being naked with her daddy was exciting. It made her pussy leak.

"Not then," she breathed.

"But now?" he asked, carefully.

"Why do I have to answer that?" she moaned.

"Because if you want to go on a romantic date, I need to know just exactly how romantic to make it," he said. "I don't want to pressure you into being a daddy's girl, but if you are one, then I need to know that."

Emma didn't know what to say.

"Okay, how about if I just say I never thought about it before, but now that I do it's … um … interesting?"

"Okay, Sweetheart. Get dressed up and I'll take you on a date."

"What should I wear?"

"Something sexy," he said.

"I don't think I have anything like that," she replied. "Mom won't let me get those kinds of clothes and the nuns wouldn't let me wear them if I did."

"Okay, then, shopping first."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"She needs a little black dress," he whispered to the sales lady at the posh clothing store he took her to. "With all the accessories," he added.

"Leave it to me," said the woman, with a smile.

Half an hour later Emma stepped out of the dressing room and whirled before her seated father.

"Well?" she asked.

She felt wicked. The dress had almost no back in it and she couldn't wear a bra with it. She knew her nipples were making dents in the black fabric that covered her breasts. The underwear she now had on consisted of another thong, this one black, lacy and so sheer her blond pubes showed right through the panel on the front. Her thigh-high stockings were held up by a garter belt, the first she'd ever worn, and the heels she wore made her feel wobbly. The sales lady had said she'd have to buy the panties and stockings if she tried them on, and Daddy had said that was fine. Now he looked at her with eyes that were different, somehow. He looked … hungry.

"Delicious," he said. "Every man who sees you will be jealous of me."

"Good," she said.

"She'll wear it out," he said to the sales woman, handing her his card.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as she held his arm and walked very carefully in the four inch heels.

"Dinner and maybe some dancing," he said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He took her to an Italian restaurant she'd never been to before. Trudy didn't believe on "wasting" money on restaurant food, especially the expensive kind. There had never been any fast food, either. That was full of chemicals and highly processed which was bad for the body. So this was a new experience for Emma as the waiter fussed over her and tended to her every need. She didn't realize the young waiter was enthralled with her beauty, but Bob smiled as he watched her own a complete stranger without even knowing it.

There was no place in town to dance that wasn't a bar or loud club and Bob didn't feel like being in crowds or a loud, smoky atmosphere, so he just took her to his house. He put on music and she kicked off her high heels, melting against him to hold him while they just swayed to the music.

She looked up at him and he kissed her. It was not a simple daddy/daughter peck. This kiss was filled with passion that burned brighter and brighter until his tongue was in her mouth. It was her first French kiss but she loved it and pushed her tongue back. From her perspective, it had been a perfect date.

From Bob's perspective the evening had just begun.

His fingers traced her bare spine, down to where the dip in her lower back said he was getting close to her adolescent ass. She murmured as he caressed her. He knew she'd never been on a date; never made out; never petted or been touched.

"Do you like it when I touch you like this?" he asked, as his hands slipped inside the low back of her dress and stroked bare flesh.

"I love it," she sighed.

"I want to touch you all over," he said. "Will you let me do that?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I want you to do that."

He knew he was going to do something the rest of the world would condemn him for, but he could no longer resist. She was old enough to vote. Technically she could go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted to do. She was fully capable of consenting to what he wanted to introduce her to. She was also ripe, open to his advances, willing to accept him as her first lover, and he was now eager to become that lover. Her kiss communicated her own eagerness to explore this new kind of relationship.

His rationale was what most would have called flawed. He reasoned that she would do this, sooner or later, and that if he seduced her now, it would avoid the inept fumbling of a too-eager young man who would maul her and use her for his own pleasure, possibly leaving her unhappy. Bob intended to have some pleasure in this interaction but primary in his plans was to make her so happy she'd remember this fondly for the rest of her life. It was worth condemnation, in his mind, to make her first time one of ecstasy, rather than a bungled attempt at intimacy that would leave her pain or fear-filled.

"You're so beautiful, tonight," he said, as his hands molested her firm ass.

"I feel beautiful," she sighed. "I've never felt like this before."

"I want to make love to you," he said into her hair. "Will you let me?"

"Oh, yes," she moaned. "Love me, Daddy."

He pushed her back, gently.

"Let's get rid of this, first," he said, pushing the spaghetti straps of the dress off her shoulders. It fell to her hips, baring her breasts, and she didn't flinch. He knelt and tugged the dress to her stockinged feet and, on the way back up, kissed both her stiff little nipples.

"I'll see you girls in a minute," he said, staring at her chest.

He stepped back, taking in the sight of his delicious daughter, clad only in panties, garter belt, and hose.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you might have twins," he sighed.

"Daddy!" she squeaked. "You can't get me pregnant! Mom would kill me, have the paramedics bring me back to life, and then kill me again!"

"No she won't," he said, still staring. "She won't be able to."

"And why is that?" asked the girl who, somehow, felt completely at ease standing almost naked in front of her father.

"Because if you're a true daddy's girl, then you're not going to be living with your mother anymore. If you're a true daddy's girl you're going to be living with me, sleeping in my bed, and getting my big, fat, baby-making cock in you every night."

She froze, her eyes wide. Her nipples spiked even harder.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered.

"If I fuck you I won't be able to live without you. You're an adult, and you can decide to live with me. If you don't, Trudy will be more than happy to keep brainwashing and controlling you. But if you choose to go with me you'll have to travel with me and stay in hotels with me and take online college classes. You'll be like my wife, sleeping with me every night and having my children. Do you think you could stand that? Because if you don't think you can live like that, then put that dress back on and I'll take you home."

She blinked rapidly.

"You can't take me home. You have me all weekend and the weekend has barely started."

She slid her thumbs into the waistband of the black, lace thong and bent over to push it down. She was so wet that it stuck between her pussy lips and stretched, snapping away when the tension grew too strong. When she stepped out of it she stood and tossed the panties negligently towards him.

"All you've done so far is buy me dinner and dance with me a little bit. I'm not putting that dress back on, buster. You owe me a full weekend."

He grabbed his boner through his pants and squeezed it.

"Ohhh, Baby, you are in so much trouble," he groaned.

"You talk big, but are you just all talk?" she asked, teasing him. She felt more powerful, beautiful, and in control of her life than she ever had. It was amazing how putting sex on the table could change things so much.

Bob knew that, of course, and he was in full control of himself, but he wanted her to have that experience, of knowing she owned a man; a man who was wrapped around her little finger. He didn't plan to impregnate her. That would be stupid. She was only eighteen, after all, and while she was old enough to have sex if she wanted to, it didn't mean it was smart for a girl to surrender herself fully to a man.

Granted, he did wish she would come with him and live with him all the time. If she did that he would sleep with her, but he'd put her on the pill or something. He had fantasized about seeing her like this, being with her like this, but not seriously. Not until that day. What he had dreamed of, though, was teaching her the business, of having her as a partner in his rarity-finding-and-fixing business. It took hours, days, and weeks of making calls, establishing networks, asking questions, and then going on the road to find the old cars that were his livelihood. He needed an "office girl" who could manage all that information and go on trips with him. She'd be an intern, at first, and his protégé. She would also be his lover … his daddy's girl.

Right now, though, none of that was in his head. Right now, what was in his head was the vision of her tightly-closed pale pussy lips, below a small blond nest of pubic hairs. He was going to molest those lips and abuse her sex tunnel slowly, lovingly, and wetly. Just this once he'd fuck her bareback and cum in her. The first sperm to enter her womb would be his. After tonight he'd find those condoms he had around there, somewhere. He hadn't seen them for years, but they were around there somewhere.

As he got naked he only forgot about one thing. He forgot to ask her where, in her menstrual cycle, she was.

She watched, tense, as he got naked. When she saw his prong for the first time she gasped, staring wide-eyed at the long, thick stalk that proclaimed so emphatically that he wanted her as a woman, and not as his forbidden daughter.

"Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. "I won't hurt you."

"No," she whispered. "You won't hurt me … you'll kill me!"

He chuckled.

"Sweetheart, you were born for this. You are built for this. Billions of people have done what we're going to do, tonight. I promise you you'll be happy when we're finished."

"Ohhh, Daddeee," she whined. "I'm scared."

"Then we'll just have to make that feeling go away," he said. "Take that garter belt off."

She looked down.

"I don't know how. That lady helped put it on me."

He went and knelt again, releasing the clips that fastened to her stockings and then working the fastening to the belt. When it was released there were marks on her skin where the fabric had been tight. He kissed those marks and she sucked in breath again.

He put her on the bed but he didn't just jump her bones. Instead he got on his hands and knees and put his face above her heaving breasts.

"I told you girls I'd see you again," he said, lightly. "Here I am."

He dropped his head and sucked a nipple gently. Her chest arched without her conscious knowledge of it and she whined with the joy of feeling electric zings shoot to her pussy. He went from one to the other, licking, sucking, and even blowing on them, until she was writhing on the bed. Then he lay down beside her and pulled her against him as he kissed her.

Kissing felt safe and harmless, and she continued to writhe against him as the kiss went on and on. Her hand went, also without conscious thought, to grip his rod, squeezing it, exploring it. Instinct continued to drive her young body as she bent one knee and lifted her thighs apart, to make room for manhandling the tip of his penis against her vulva. She grunted into his mouth as that tip grazed her clit and she began to masturbate with it while she sucked his tongue.

He meant to bring her off with his fingers first, and then his mouth, to get her ready, but the feel of his cock tip digging into her opening erased her fears as her passion obliterated the worry that he was impossibly large.

She was already ready. She had a hot box and he could finger and suck her pussy later.

He pulled her up on top of him and broke the kiss.

"You can push yourself onto it at your own pace," he breathed.

"How?" she whined.

He had her sit up long enough to show her how to rub her pussy lips along the bottom of his iron prick. She did that frantically, eagerly, sensing, again by instinct, that this could feel wonderful. Her own motions made her go too far and the tip caught in her virgin opening.

"There!" he barked. "Get it caught like that and then push gently until it goes in."

She was so worked up that the term "gentle" had no meaning and when she pushed and felt the head spread her she also sat up straighter. His prick slicked into her and her weight impaled her. She was so tight that his foreskin stretched cruelly, to the point that he winced.

"I said gently!" he grunted as she stopped, her eyes huge. A groan of pain burst from her throat and he reached to pull her back down, crushing her breasts against his chest. He pulled under her arms, dragging her off of the thing causing her pain.

"Oh, oww," she whimpered.

"You went too fast," he said, stroking her back. "You have to let things stretch and open up, slowly, the first time."

What was going through Emma's mind were the conflicting feelings of being stretched way too much, in a way that felt like it could never be alleviated, combined with the incredible feel of his rough, bumpy shaft rubbing the sensitive accordion-like walls of her pussy in a way that made her want it to happen for hours. It was akin to having eaten too much, but being unable to stop eating because the food was so delicious.

The delicious part made her try again. She rubbed until he caught again and then, carefully, pushed until the head popped in her.

"Ohhh," she groaned.

"Just lie there," he said. "Let your pretty pussy get used to it."

"I don't want to just lie here," she panted. "It feels so good I have to move."

She then experienced what billions of other women had felt over the millennia. She felt the discomfort of her first fuck being driven away by the ecstasy of a penis moving in her vagina. She felt the conflicting sensations of being too full at the same time her clit was singing for joy.

It took her fully two or three minutes for her body to adjust, until there was no more pain … only pleasure.

Then he lay there while she went absolutely crazy. He didn't fuck her; rather, she fucked him.

The first orgasm caught her completely by surprise. She was concentrating so hard on how it felt to get her insides rubbed while her clit, which was outside, also got rubbed, that the orgasm snuck up on her. When it hit she wanted to stop and let it happen, but she couldn't stop. She literally could not stop moving. A sob of joy burst from her throat and tears produced by the same emotion ran over her cheeks and dripped onto his chest. He would have kissed them away, but she was moving too fast, too erratically. Instead he cupped her breasts, which were firm but still jumping around, and squeezed her nipples.

That extra sensation extended her orgasm to the point that she got dizzy. She couldn't take in enough oxygen to meet her body's needs. She got tunnel vision and as it slowly narrowed to a pinpoint, she leaned forward until she flopped, semi-conscious, onto his chest.

He rolled them over, staying inside her. She was limp under him as his knees kept her thighs apart.

Then he used her like his fist to get him off. He pounded her rapidly until he felt his sap rising.

Intentionally, he pushed deep and delivered his forbidden seed as close to her womb as he could get it. He came harder than he had in years and it left him a little light-headed, too.

He rolled, so as not to suffocate her small body under his larger bulk, and pulled her against him.

She mumbled against his chest.

"What?" he panted.

Her head turned, fractionally.

"Don't stop," she gasped.

He grinned. Mission accomplished.

"Don't be greedy," he said. "We'll keep going later."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

He got up, leaving her there limp, with his spend dripping out of her no longer virgin quim. He got them a snack and returned, naked, to the bedroom, where she lay, unchanged.

"You okay?"

"I'm wonderful," she sighed. "I feel so different but …"

"But?"

"I don't feel different at the same time," she said, running her hands over her stomach and breasts. "It's so weird!"

"I told you, you were made for this."

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you."

"And now?"

"I have to live with you, Daddy. I can't go without that; I'll have to have that every day until I'm eighty. Now that mom doesn't have custody of me I can live where I want and I want to live with you. I can help you with the business or just keep taking courses to get my associate's degree, but I have to live with you. I'm a daddy's girl and a daddy's girl should live with her daddy."

He smiled.

He fed her.

Then he bred her again.

This time he started on top and went in deep to push and rub, while she squealed and even screamed her release.

Then, very intentionally, he spurted in her nubile depths.

"Here it comes, Baby," he panted. "I'm going to sperm you again."

"Yes!" she whined. "Do it again."

Her groaned and her legs whipped around him in a sexual embrace as his cum rocketed into her nubile channel.

"Baby?" he panted, when he was finished and just holding himself up on his arms. "When was your last period?"

"Daddy!" she yipped, softly. "You can't ask a girl something like that."

"You can when you've just pumped enough sperm in her to make a million babies. I need to know if I just got you pregnant."

"Aren't you supposed to ask that before you shoot all that sperm in a girl?"

"Yeah. I kind of forgot. I was a bit too excited to think straight."

"Mmm. You have no idea how good it makes me feel to know I made you stupid."

"Not stupid. Just dangerous," he said.

She closed her eyes, obviously thinking.

"Today is Friday. I used my last tampon … hmmm … maybe two weekends ago? I remember I had to use one at school, but school was over and the next day, when Mom picked me up, I didn't have to use one when we got home. In fact, I remember looking at my box and it was empty. I'm out of tampons."

"Well, then, there may not be any hurry in getting a new box. It's entirely possible you won't need one for nine months. I really could have just impregnated you, Sweetheart."

"Mmmm. Having my daddy's baby."

He rolled off of her and lay on his side, looking at her. He reached one hand to lay it on her flat belly.

"You'll get a little bump here, and then each week it will get a little bigger. By three or four months it will show enough that baggy clothes won't hide it anymore. Everybody will know you're not a virgin anymore."

"I have to live with you," she said again. "Mom will really will kill me if she finds out we did this." She rolled onto her side, too and stared at him. "Did you mean it about online school and being on the road with you?"

"It was a fantasy when I said it," he said. "So was that comment about fucking twins in you. But now? It could come true. It will be hard, though."

She reached for his limp penis, covered with their juices.

"I hope it's hard a lot," she teased.

That's when he knew she was, indeed, a daddy's girl.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They went to sleep, naked, holding each other under the covers. It was a first for her and, for him, a reminder of how good it felt to be like that with a woman you loved.

He fucked her the next morning and then fucked her again in the shower. They went to a museum and she was agitated on the way back, eager to get his big, stretching, spurting penis in her pussy again.

"We need to make sure," she panted, as she urged him to ejaculate in her again.

She wore him out by Saturday evening and, again, they slept together.

On Sunday, when he took her back to Trudy's house, her womb was packed with his sperm.

"We'll figure out a way to get your stuff. Just keep your head down and don’t draw attention," he said.

A week later Trudy went to a prayer meeting. She told Emma to vacuum the carpets and that she wouldn't be back for several hours.

Emma had already packed her suitcases.

She called her father and told him to come get her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Trudy was irate. She forbade Emma to go anywhere. She screamed that she had custody and refused to listen when he reminded her how old their daughter was and told her to read the court order again. Finally she tried physically to stop them, to the point that she grabbed a kitchen knife and threatened Bob as they left.

She did that outside … and a neighbor saw it.

Bob let her get arrested and taken to jail, but he decided not to press charges. He simply asked the DA to make sure Trudy knew she no longer had any parental rights.

Now Emma saw her mother once a month, but the visits were short. Her mother was bitter that she had chosen to live with Bob. All Trudy did was complain and gripe about how unfair her life was.

As it happened, Bob had not gotten his daughter pregnant on that fateful weekend, when they became lovers. She had a period while they were in Illinois, looking at an old Studebaker that had been parked in a barn for forty years. She had him stop at a convenience store and she bought a box of tampons. That night she had menstrual sex for the first time, using a motel towel to keep the bed clean. She stole the towel as a souvenir.

She didn't miss a period, in fact, until three months after she became his assistant.

Being pregnant didn't interfere with her college plans, because her plans had changed. Now she studied accounting at the local vocational college, and took over keeping the company's books from the elderly man who wanted to retire.

She could still go on the road with her father.

Her baby bump, in fact, got her some male sympathy and interest, resulting in some good deals on some very rare cars.

Over the next ten years she tried to be pregnant like that a lot, so that she could smile and flirt with old men who had rare cars in their pastures or barns.

But mostly because she was a confirmed Daddy's Girl.

She loved to fuck her daddy, and let him breed her.

The End

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Book Two: Sardines

Chapter One

Nobody understands. Well, except Chrissy and she can't do anything about it.

I'm Mallory, Mal for short, and I'm tired of people looking at me "like that" and stereotyping me. So I'm going to tell the story of how things got the way they are. Then maybe people will understand.

And if they still don't? Well, then fuck 'em. Because I'm happy about how things turned out, whether other people like it or not.

Chrissy was my best friend growing up. We weren't like other best friends, who got in fights and chose new best friends. We stuck together through thick and thin. I grew up in her house, and she grew up in mine. I bet we spent more time together than real sisters would have.

So of course I knew her parents. And when her mother got cancer and died, it hit me just as hard as it hit Chrissy. We were only twelve at the time, and it wasn't fair. It shouldn't have happened.

But it did.

People said things like "That's life," or "It's too bad, but things happen," and "We have to go on."

And that's important, because other things shouldn't have happened, but did. And nobody said "That's life," or "Things happen ... just go on with your life." Oh no. When the things happened that I'm talking about, people would have screamed and shouted and thrown a fit.

If they'd have known. Which, of course, they didn't.

Until now.

I bet a bunch of people are going to just have a cow when they read this.

Chrissy's last name was Carter, and her dad's name was Bob. It still is Bob, but I'm talking about back then, so past tense seems more nearly correct. And back then I called him Mr. C.

Anyway, we grieved together, and Mr. C. let me grieve with them. He was the only one who understood that I was feeling the same kind of pain. True, she wasn't my mother, but she had been my friend for years, the one adult who talked to me like I wasn't some stupid kid. I loved her, and I missed her.

So we grieved together and we healed together. I didn't understand it then, but I fell in love with him.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I was eleven, and too young to know what love is. And maybe you're right, except that I think a twelve year-old-can love her parents, and her siblings, and her dog. So why can't she love her adopted father too?

I still went to her house, and she still came to mine, and time passed, and eventually that big, fancy place they had seemed almost normal without Mrs. C in it. And that feeling I had for Mr. C. kind of sank deep into my bones.

He never did anything wrong. Not back then. He hugged me, but they were just hugs. Sometimes he kissed me on top of my head, but so did my aunt and uncle and who knows how many other people.

Before Mrs. C. died, our families had this agreement about sleepovers. I'm not talking about her staying all night at my house, or me at hers. We did that all the time. The way we defined "sleepover" was when you invited five to ten girls and made a party out of it.

If Chrissy and I had had our way, we'd have slept over all the time. It wouldn't have mattered where to either of us. But our parents didn't see it that way, and they restricted us to four sleepovers a year - two at my house and two at hers. We could invite as many other girls as we wanted to, to those four sleepovers, but those were the only ones we got during the year. We had the summer and winter sleepovers at my house. So the spring and fall sleepovers were at hers.

When Mrs. C. died, Chrissy and I were scared to death that we wouldn't be able to have any sleepovers at her house any more. But nobody said anything, and when it came time for Spring Break from school, and Chrissy asked her dad if she could invite twelve girls to the spring sleepover, he just said "Sure." Now that I'm older I'm surprised that the other girls' parents didn't react to the fact that there would be no adult female supervision at the Carter home. But they didn't. Maybe they knew what a great guy he was, too.

So nothing changed until I was eighteen. Two things happened that year that had a huge impact on my life.

The first was that Chrissy and I started classes at the Dalton Junior College and Technology Academy. Neither her dad nor a lot of the parents could just send their daughters off to a four year university, all expenses paid. In fact, almost half of the parents of our friends could do that. Dalton was a blue collar town and the vast majority of people worked at the textile mill located on the edge of town. They paid a living wage, but not enough to just send their kids to college. Some kids got scholarships of one kind or another but half of Chrissy's friends (who were also my friends) had to get our first two years of college core classes done at DJC, where the tuition was a quarter of what our state university wanted. Plus we could all still live at home.

The other thing had to do with the sleepovers.

You see, when those of us who stayed in Dalton transitioned from high school to DJC some of us kept the tradition of having sleepovers. Actually, because they were called "study sessions" we did them a lot more often, maybe every other month. Actually, since we were all technically adults, so there wasn't a whole lot the parents could say about it. We made sure everybody's grades stayed high, though, so I'm sure that helped. We did all study together, though not as much at sleepovers as other times.

So, for the first sleepover after high school graduation, when we put the list together, there were only five girls who were still in town and who wanted to come to a sleepover.

It was more intimate with fewer girls.

And we were older ... our interests more ... um ... sexually aware, perhaps?

Don't get me wrong. Chrissy and I and all our friends had been thinking about sex for years. I know this because it came up at every sleepover. But by the time we were fourteen we had more and better information about things sexual than they ever thought of putting in the sexual education class we all took.

Now that we were all out of high school and could have serious boyfriends the talk got even more intimate. Of course no boyfriends were allowed to come to sleepovers.

And that's where I sort of cheated. So did Chrissy, but we'll talk about her later.

I'm not going to say more than that about what we talked about, with one exception. We had a rule about secrecy, and I promised. It doesn't matter how much time has passed. A promise is a promise.

Anyway, it was just a different atmosphere.

It's important to say here that all five girls who came to that slumber party had been to ones in the past, either at my house or at hers. So when the first topic of discussion was about masturbation, and who had gotten what toys since graduating, or who was using what technique, and when Suzie Wilkins got embarrassed about where the discussion was going, she changed the subject and said, "So are we playing Sardines this year?"

Sardines, for those of you who don't know, is a game of hide and seek. There are different ways to play it, but the way we played it was for somebody to be chosen "it." Then that person went and hid, while the rest of us stayed where we were. After two minutes, or whatever, the rest of us scattered to the winds and started hunting for "it." Now the point of the game was that, if you found whoever was it, they pulled you into wherever they were hiding, and you both tried to be as quiet and unfindable as possible. If somebody else found you, they were pulled in. And so on. If it was a small hiding place, you were packed in there pretty tight. And each additional person who found the hiding place made it an even tighter fit. Hence the name Sardines. You were sometimes packed in there like sardines. You didn't want to be the last person to find the sardines, because that person had to do a dare that the group thought up. Like run next door and TP a tree.

I know. It was a goofy game. But we'd had so much fun playing that game over the years that it was a real favorite. There was something special about being all packed into some closet or behind a couch or whatever, everybody trying to be quiet, which, for girls, is next to impossible anyway. And each year the dares got more and more interesting. At the last sleepover at my house, one of the dares had been for Jillian Marsh to moon traffic on the street through the bedroom window. She had to stay there, with her bare butt against the glass until ten cars had passed. It was a riot.

So Suzie, who wanted to avoid talking about masturbation that she might or might not have been engaged in on a routine basis, suggested it was time to play sardines.

But there were only seven of us. You can pack seven fourteen year old girls into almost anyplace, especially in a big house like Chrissy had.

And then Marnie Filkins said something that ended up changing my life.

"Why don't we ask Chrissy's dad to play. That might make it more interesting."

Everybody looked at Chrissy. She had a funny look on her face.

"Okay," she said.

I didn't think anything of it then. But I agreed that it would be interesting to be cooped up in a closet with him. I thought he was gorgeous and still had a killer crush on him.

Mr. C. was, at that time, thirty-six years old. I knew this because every year Chrissy and I made him a cake for his birthday, and we had a great time putting all those candles on his cake and then setting a fire extinguisher on the table beside it. We always called him old man, or over the hill or whatever, and he always laughed. He was the owner of the company his dad had started, and he had grown up in the house they still lived in. He had two brothers and three sisters, but of course they were all married and lived other places. But they had all grown up in that house, which was why it was so huge.

Which meant there were a ton of places for "it" to hide.

Chrissy said "Mal, go find him and get him to agree to play."

So I took off. I was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers, and my Minnie Mouse PJs, which were my favorites, but were getting a little small for me. I was going to have to give up wearing them soon. I found Mr. C. in his bedroom, lying on his bed reading a book. He looked up at me when I stuck my head in his doorway.

"What's up, Mal? You guys need something to eat?" he asked.

"No. We're getting ready to play sardines, and we need you to play with us."

He smiled for some reason, like there was a joke in there. I know now what "play with us" sounded like to him. But not back then.

"I'm kind of big to play sardines," he suggested.

"We're all getting big, but we need you. We only have seven without you, and it will be more fun if you play too."

He looked at me for a long time, and I got this funny feeling in my stomach. I mean he was staring at me, not saying anything. It just felt different.