Dad's Kinky New Wife

Catching herself fervently grinding her steamy cunt against him and then undulating her pelvis like a traveling wave was the distinct moment. Now defined by those actions, she was most definitely whore-like if nothing else. Her reaction to that awareness was to delve further into that whorish persona. She reached back between her legs to hastily buff her fingers against the tender covering obscuring her swollen clit.

She was surging towards a climax. The stimulation produced from having both orifices filled at the same time would no doubt be catalysts for a forceful explosion. At the very least it would permanently cement her new status in stone.

In heat, she frenziedly bucked back to impale him deeper. The collision between their sexes was a thunderous impact of repeating wet smacks.

In the moment and between a hammering lunge, she growled and then mistakenly cried out, her voice horse and crackling, "Yes, god, yes, fuck me! Yes, fuck my whore cunt, daddy!"

With those words, her rising orgasm sputtered to a stop. Her feverish movements ceased. She tensed and froze with fear.

She bit her lower lip.

He continued to plunge into her with an increasingly forceful stride.

She shuddered in anticipation of his response.

He sustained his persistent thrusts.

Her gnawing fear became confusion.

The expected outcome didn't materialize.

His reaction to her blunder was to fuck her harder.

Her thoughts turned inward and became questions. Oh god, does he know I'm his daughter? Did he know the entire time?

The notion that it was possible that he knew he was fucking his daughter all along produced an unwelcomed response within herself. It kindled a little flame that restarted the fire.

She wanted to scream over it. It wasn't something she desired to be aroused over, but she found herself incapable of stifling it.

Again, the pleasure overcame her. "Ohhh, ohhh...daddy, you're so big!"

She grunted as his pelvic thrusts increased.

"It's about time," he said.

She moaned.

He continued by saying, "I was wondering how long it would take before you wailed out."

Her mind was out of kilter. Emotion and thoughts intermingled with pleasure. He has to know, yet he continues to fuck me. I can't believe he would willingly be part of this. Yet, when I say, daddy, he likes it and pounds into to me even harder. Why?

Those perplexing thoughts were driving her mad.

Curiosity over the matter drove her to say, "Fuck me harder—daddy!"

This time, she listened to her own voice. Those words sounded like her mother.

She felt the rumble of her voice as it vibrated along the swollen tissue in her throat. It altered the tone and was just enough to carry her voice with her mom's distinctive inflection.

The tenseness of her nerves relaxed. This time she felt actual relief at the possibility that her identity was still intact. There was confidence that all of her questions were answered; with the exception of one.

Acquiring that answer was now an obsession.

Using her new found freedom to verbalize, she said, "Why do you fuck me harder when I call you, daddy?"

Their feverish fuck slowed down to a moderate level of pounding.

He swallowed and cleared his throat before saying, "What? You're kidding? It's not my idea, it's yours. My instructions were to ram your pussy harder every time you say, daddy. I find it distasteful because it makes me think of Carol. It's bad enough that you both look near identical. It distresses me to know I can't control my reaction to it. Why are you pretending to be our daughter? If I wasn't so freaking aroused by it, I would have ended this much earlier. Argh, you look so much like her it gives me the shivers. Seriously, are you sure you want to continue playing this tasteless game?"

His response was the epiphany moment that gave her clarity.

It was Paul's deceitful letter of instructions that outlined what roles she would play. Everything was meticulously crafted to drive her degradation towards Paul's intended goal. What her father believed as simple game of charades was in fact used as a method to permanently transform her into what she had now become.

It was as she thought earlier. The probability that she was his real daughter was so farfetched that it was impossible for him to consider otherwise. He was in complete denial even when all the facts were in plain sight.

She despised Paul for turning her into some twisted incestuous cum slut. It was far too late for her. Regardless to her dad's aversion to play the game, she had no wish to end it. After all, her father still owed her an orgasm.

Carol moved to propped herself onto her hands. Rising to all fours, she turned her blindfolded face over her shoulder.

Her mouth broadened into a smile. "Oh god, yes. Do everything that's on my list. Pretend I'm your daughter and fuck the shit out of me. Please, daddy!"

"You'll ruin me with this foolish game. Every time I see our daughter, the only thing I'll be able to think about is fucking and it's your fault. You're indeed a perverted bitch for doing this to me. If I'm to play this despicable game of yours then you'll pretend to be Carol for the whole weekend. I'll get my satisfaction from that fact alone. You're never to tell anyone about this, ever. Do you understand?"

"Yes, daddy."

***

Unmasking The Whore

Carol was pretending to be her mother, who was role-playing to be the daughter. The weirdness of it made her reassess whether she was indeed going insane.

She couldn't do it.

Playacting as her mom that mimicked her daughter made the imitation seem fake. Her words came out as girlish like a horny bimbo teen. She felt stupid saying, "Fuck me, daddy," over and over. It was getting old and it really wasn't something she'd say. Then again, until today, she never screwed her father.

The inevitable result of those thoughts made her give up the sham. She'd be herself.

She said, "Dad, remove this collar and blindfold. I don't need them anymore. Forget that dastardly list for now. Honestly, I'm not into kink as much as you believe, but I admit it served its purpose. No more captive whore bullshit. Pretend I'm truly your daughter. Make love to me as you would mom."

"Martha, you're spooking me. You sounded too much like her just now. When I said pretend to be her, I didn't expect you to act exactly like her."

She was disturbed upon feeling his penis deflate. There was an urgency in her task to grasp its girth and tweak it back to life.

"Please, dad, take off my blindfold. I want to see your big cock, not just feel it."

"Damn-it, stop. This is too real for taste. Pretending to be her and actually being our daughter are two different things. You know what I'm trying to say. I'm not comfortable changing the rules. Quit saying, dad. I was perfectly fine with daddy. Carol says, dad. It creeps me out when you say it."

His inaction to remove the leather kerchief prompted her to do it herself. Perspiration and time had swollen the leather bindings. Her frustration at removing it caused him to intercede and offer aide. As he fumbled with the straps, she returned to her job of getting him hard.

Once removed, he stared down into her blinking blue eyes.

The shock over her visage was evident on his face.

She gazed back with wide watery eyes. Her lips quivered as she awaited his reaction to the truth.

He kissed her.

That wasn't the response she expected.

"Dad?"

"It's unbelievable," he said.

"What? Tell me what you're thinking."

"It's amazing. Even your contacts are the same color. It's so perfect, I can't tell the difference."

She muttered, "Huh?"

"Why do you arouse me so much? What we're doing is so wrong. Yet, that's the very reason I'm turned on."

Her brow arched downward.

He continued by saying, "Don't you ever tell Carol about this. It'll be embarrassing for me and it'll break her heart. She can never know we played this immoral game. I'd never hurt her in such a manner."

She was dismayed by his response.

In agitation, she said, "You still believe I'm your wife? Are you fucking blind?"

That outburst urged him to wrap her in his arms. That embrace led to an open-mouthed kiss. It was passionate and steamy.

She whimpered.

Throughout their conversation, she never stopped jerking his cock.

She admitted to being conflicted. There was a part of her that was desperate that he knew her identity. However, she was more grateful that he didn't.

Her fears had changed. It wasn't the truth of her identity that concerned her. It was the devastation wroth from knowing what his little girl had now become and that he played a major part in that transformation. That knowledge would most definitely destroy him.

After a heavy sigh, she released his dick.

Twisting her torso from him, she dropped her back to the mattress. Folding her knees until her heels pressed her buttocks, she spread her thighs wide. With her thumb and forefinger pressed against her labia, she spread her pussy to display its glossy wet gape. That luscious tunnel palpitated. It presented an invitation that craved to be filled.

"Jesus, dad, what do I have to do? Write a sign and an arrow above my pussy with lipstick?" she said in irritation.

Reaching forward with her right hand, she grasped his dong and pulled it towards her sex.

His hesitation caused her frustration.

She exclaimed, "For Christ sake, just fuck your little girl."

***

Rapture and Torment

Carol lie tied and spread-eagled upon the bed.

She was recovering from the massaging wand that vibrated like a jackhammer against her clit. This moment was simply a reprieve to allow her to catch her breath. She could no longer discern the passage of time. It was now marked by the various devices that was lavished upon her with intent to arouse.

Throughout her ordeal she wanted to scream. She would do anything to call attention to the decadent torments and unwanted pleasures. Every degradation forced upon her caused her to spiral further downward into depravity. These debaucheries had taken their toll and she was on the cusp of giving in entirely.

The bastard had fitted her with a cock-ring.

Her objections to her plight had been voiced with her tongue. That freedom was now inhibited because that pleasuring appendage had been used like a whore. Now sore, swollen, and tired, it couldn't even lick the rim of the ring.

Her current predicament was simply another story. She had no desire to dwell upon it now.

She needed to lift her spirits. To stay sane, she needed to forget her present circumstances. Remembering her dad and the pleasures they shared earlier were the memories she needed to grasp. Unlike the bastard that now taunted her, the father she knew would never misuse her this way.

She took this recovery time to reflect upon the evening with her father.

She had never known lovemaking was so joyous. Her father's statement about it being so wrong that it made him hornier held true for her also. It was so nasty that it added additional excitement. It fueled their passion.

She couldn't remember how many times they fucked. She could only count the number of times fresh cum leaked out as driblets from her cooch. At the time, she was so overwhelmed with lust that concern over the end product that might result from their incestuous coupling was a worry pushed to the back of her mind.

He required recovery after each raunchy bout of heated sex. In their down time, he took pictures. These were racy poses of his whore daughter bending over and exposing her leaking crack or spreading herself with a curling finger of temptation. She did it willingly for her father. She told him to visualize his daughter each time he jerked off to them.

Before he fell asleep in her arms, he expressed sorrow. He said she broke him. He then rested his head on her shoulder and sobbed.

She knew what he meant by that statement.

His belief was that they had role-played an affair between father and daughter, but the very nature of that taboo now appealed to him. He tasted it, ravaged it and then consumed it. He feared what it had done to him. He was terrified of the urges that spawned from it.

Even at the end, he still believed she was his wife.

Resting beside him, she placed her hand on his hairy chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart ease as exhaustion took hold. His drooping eye lids closed and he drifted into slumber.

She kissed him tenderly on his cheek. Her eyes watered and a single tear gathered at the corner of one eye.

Rolling to her side with her back to him, she wept quietly. It was difficult to stem the emotion that boiled from her thoughts.

She was still Carol. Turning her into a whore didn't change her as a person. It only changed her behavior. There wasn't any doubt the experience had shattered her inhibitions. Psychologically those walls were unrepairable. She was permanently scarred by what was done to her and that was the tragedy. That she had so easily succumbed to that intimate taboo was telling.

She was deeply troubled and found it impossible to sleep.

Where was her mom? Where was her devious husband?

If Paul could so easily do this to her, his own wife, what were the possibilities that he wasn't already doing it to her mother. The idea that her mom was also his victim was horrifying. She couldn't allow that to happen. If it did happen, was she too late to save her? The bastard needed to be stopped.

She flipped to her side to face her father. Her hand extended with intent to wake him, but froze before tapping his shoulder. His disquieting expression was evidence that he wasn't having a restful sleep. It stayed her hand. He was obviously disturbed by their forbidden sex-capade.

I mustn't involve him, she thought. He's already been harmed enough. I don't even know whether my worries are justified. I need to find mom on my own.

Leaving her sleeping father, she slid from her parent's bed. Now standing, she walked with a wide-legged gait from the master bedroom.

The turmoil that raged in her mind required answers.