1. The Ladder


    Date: 5/16/2018, Categories: Incest / Taboo, Author: byNils Huim, Source: Literotica

    Note: I call stories like this Conscience Erotica: the intertwining of social/political issues with the promiscuousness of modern society—the decadence we all enjoy and celebrate and luxuriate in. It will not be to everyone's tastes. Aside from the narrative end-caps this entire story takes place while an adult daughter gives her father a handjob. It is also, though I am a biological male, written from the first-person viewpoint of the daughter. ***** I was having second thoughts. And it wasn't just because of the snoring. Quietly, I unzipped our tent's mosquito net and climbed out into the humid night. All I was wearing were panties and an oversized burgundy-and-yellow football jersey: number 69. I don't like football but my fiancé did so I guess he thought it would make an appropriate Valentine's Day gift last February. It had my name ironed on across the shoulders—Brittany—and, I guess, what with the number and all, was kind of a joke. Very funny. The heavy fabric didn't breathe well and I was hot underneath, sweaty. I was braless and my feet were bare. Off to my right, as I stood there momentarily in the July moonlight, you could make out, far below and in the distance, the lights of our nation's capital. Under normal circumstances it was an incredible sight. I turned away, in sorrow. There was a source of muted light in the adjacent tent and I knelt in front of it, about to unzip the netting, I could make out a reaction, a gesture of panic: a hand pulling up a thick, ... padded corner of sleeping bag. What's HE up to tonight? I wondered. The panic was in his voice, as well. "Who's there?" "It's me, daddy," I whispered. I unzipped the netting and climbed inside the tent on all fours. Since there was only one air mattress in this tent, and one sleeping bag, I lowered the right side of my body onto the inner edge and said, "Scoot over!" "What's going on?" "Nothing. I can't sleep." "Me neither." We were both whispering. But quite loudly. "Aren't you hot inside that sleeping bag?" "It's OK," daddy said, sighing. As I settled in beside him I came to realize he was not actually IN the sleeping bag but merely covered, his midbody, by its upper flap. Curious, no, suspicious, I ran my hand down underneath it. Daddy's chest was bare and, if he was wearing briefs, they were pulled down far below somewhere. His cock was hard, lying vertical on his belly, but, I suspected, not as hard as it had been seconds earlier, before I showed up outside his tent. And barged in. He grabbed me by the arm. "Stop it! What're you doing?" I giggled. "Figuring out what you're up to, old man." "Stop it!" daddy again protested. He tried to pull my hand away but it was too late. I had a firm grasp on his erection. I began to try to stroke it—though it was like trying to run from a monster in a nightmare: slow going given that his hand was still trying to restrain mine. "Let...go!" "No! Brittany?" "Shhhh! You'll wake asshole." "That's how you refer to your soon-to-be-husband these ...
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