Fucking My Teenaged Daughter. Again.

I couldn’t believe it when I heard the tentative knocking on my apartment door. My stupid ex-wife really had browbeaten Heather into visiting me during spring break! I knew that my daughter had been telling Sylvia about my molestion and rape of her over the years, but, apparently, the dumb fucking cunt had refused to believe her. Much to my delight, I must add.

I opened the door and there she stood, Heather, my beautiful 19-year-old daughter, whom I had first penetrated when she was twelve. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was just as wavy as the last time I’d cum on it, her soft, blue eyes intoxicating, all the more so because of the fear they contained. The fact that she was here on her mother’s orders only added to my arousal.

“Come in,” I told her, and, trembing a little, she complied. I closed the door, and she winced as she heard it lock: My baby knew what was about to happen to her, and she also knew there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do about it. I was already fully erect.

Not surprisingly, she was bundled up, even though the weather was warm: A woolen yellow shirt, obviously backed up by a bra, was trying (and failing spectacularly) to conceal her large, young breasts, while the silky-smooth legs I had lain between on so many glorious occasions were almost totally hidden behind a plaid, black-and-white ankle-length skirt. But she was also wearing high heels of the same hue as her blouse, which made me grin: For all her protestations, crying, and begging “NO, Daddy, STOP!” over the years, my baby girl was, at heart, a whore, just like all other girls and women.

“Strip,” I instructed.

Her breath hitched, her eyes clouded, and tears began to run down her soft, alabaster cheeks.