Little Red, Riding Wood Ch. 04

She lay in her bed night after night, thinking it over and over again. No, no, and yes. But no longer.

She continued to gyrate, feeling her father's cock moving so gloriously inside of her. Her fingers reached out to scratch gently across the muscles of his abdomen as she rode his wood, rocking to and fro as a rider might rock on a horse on the bumpy, meandering trail through the Riding Wood.

"I can, Papa. I shouldn't, but I can and I am. I am Papa. I'm loving you."

Little Red reached forward to grasp his hands. They were very, very warm, and so large in her own, hinting of a physical strength she did not possess. Hands like these could do whatever they wanted. They could roam where ever they wished. They could forcibly take whatever they desired. She wanted him to desire her.

She lifted them to place them, palms down, on her thighs, as if he were holding her in place while she continued to move her wet, hot, greedy pussy around on his hard, thrilling cock. With his hands in place, Little Red leaned forward. Balancing on the heels of her hands she first brushed the nipples of her hanging breasts across his chest. It was still sweaty and slippery from his day's labors and the day's heat. She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of it, his wet, manly flesh brushing her young, excited, nubile nipples.

She pushed herself down, letting the soft meat of her breasts be pressed flat against his body, while feeling a pleasurable, burning sensation arc from there throughout her body.

"Oh, Papa, it's wonderful. You're wonderful," she whispered, before finally lowering her face to just barely touch his lips with hers. She gently brushed her cheeks back and forth across his beard, stopping occasionally to plant a short, loving, paradoxically almost chaste kiss on his lips, even as she continuously moved her hips to whorishly maneuver his cock within her. She arched her back then pushed her hips forward, arched, and pushed, creating a gentle rocking motion that moved her father's cock in and out of her pussy like the swing of a pendulum.

Despite her attempts at self-control, her motions grew more intense. They quickened in pace, and strength. The full length of his cock was moving now, in and out of his daughter's loving body. She thought about the man beneath her, the man unknowingly making love to his daughter. He as a wise, powerful man. Her father, yes, but also a man, a man whom she loved, and trusted, and who above all she knew loved her.

Celia wanted to be everything for him. She wanted to make him happy, and she wanted him to make her happy, not chained by the bonds of fatherhood, but as a man, free to please and pleasure her the way she wanted and needed.

She kissed him harder then. Her kiss was no longer a feigned pantomime of chastity. Her lips lingered, moving passionately over his much in the same way that her wet, tight, clutching pussy moved mercilessly over his cock. As she kissed him she clenched and unclenched the muscles of her womb, grabbing at her father's cock and milking it for all of his forbidden love.

She kissed him, then pushed herself up to be able to drive his cock as deeply inside of her as she could, while she frantically grabbed and held and squeezed both of her breasts, one in each hand.

"Celia. My Celia."

She startled at the unexpected sound his words, but only for a moment. The pleasure was too great for anything to unsettle her. She'd never in her life felt as powerfully as she did now, feeling and knowing that this was where she belonged, that this was where she was fated to be. She needed to be here, with him, and with him inside of her.

His eyes remained closed as he spoke. His face had an odd expression, one that mixed a look of tortured conscience with that of a greatly pleasured body and a strangely calm and peaceful, if reluctant, submission.

"My Celia, my beautiful Little Red. I've wanted you for so long, so very much for so long, but... this isn't right. We can't."

"It's not wrong, Father. It's not. I love you. I trust you, and you love me, and I love loving you."

"Oh, my Celia, I love you, too. I do, so very much, but this is so wrong. We can't. We shouldn't."

To add emphasis to her words, she increased her gyrations, forcing him to feel how tightly her pussy clung to his cock.

"We can, Father. We can, and we shouldn't, but we are."

With those words Celia further increased her motions, no longer restrained by his seeming sleep, although she wondered now how long he'd been awake, knowing what was happening, but not stopping her as he relished the feel of her young body embracing his old, hard, loving cock.

"Hush, Papa. Hush. Let little Celia help you this time. Let Little Red please her Papa."

His eyes opened, finally, to gaze at her in a dazed, dreamy fog. She watched him with pride as he drank her in. In a moment of erotic, base desire she writhed and postured atop him, arching her back, thrusting out her youthful breasts, squeezing them together, tossing her red curls about, doing anything and everything she could to show him how beautiful and sexy he made her feel.

He groaned as he watched her, with the sound of a man tormented by his own conscience and the irresistible draw of the most alluring, ravishing woman he'd ever seen. He groaned in seeming anguish, even as his own body started to move beneath her. His hands, no longer passive, gripped her thighs tightly. She felt the power in those hands now, holding her in place, holding down her on his cock as she took him, and he began to take her.

Celia laughed then. Her laugh sounded to her own ears like pure, musical joy. She laughed, then gazed down at her father glowing with all of the love that she felt for him. In a moment of uncontrollable lust she fell on him, forcing her lips against his in a passionate, wet, hungry kiss. He was reluctantly impassive at first, but quickly lost himself in her attack, and returned it in kind.

When the kiss ended, she stroked his beard with her hands and chin, even as her breasts squashed themselves again into his hard, flat chest.

"Your beard is so soft, Papa"

"You're so soft, Little Red. So soft inside..."

She rose again at those words to sit atop him. She took his hands in each of hers, moving them up to her breasts. Eyes locked on his, she watched his own gaze stray to her bosom where his hands so gently and tenderly explored her every curve. With fingertips barely touching her flesh, they traced the curve of the undersides of her rounded globes, then wandered to the sides, and finally drew teasing circles around her nipples.

Celia watched him admire and explore her until she couldn't take it anymore. She leaned forward, using her hands over his to urge him to squeeze her breasts more tightly, forcing him to use his strength to add to her pleasure. The resulting feelings exploded throughout her as his cock continued moving inside of her, touching her in places she'd never been able to reach, while his strong hands squeezed the flesh of her pale breasts and his eyes, his warm, kind, loving eyes, filled with desire for his own beautiful, sexy, insatiable daughter.

"I love you so, Father."

"I do love you, Celia, but I mustn't. I can't."

Yet even as he said the words, his hands fondled and squeezed her, unable and unwilling to actually stop.

"Hush, Father. Ssh. Just be with me."

"I do love you, so, Celia. I do. I love you. I mustn't, but I can't stop. I love you too dearly. You're so beautiful, and I'm so weak. You're beautiful, and I love you, and I do need you. I need you. Like this, I need you. I want you and need you."

To silence him she fell on him again, covering his mouth with hers, this time with a frantic barrage of kisses, like a woodsman frantically chopping at a tree that is so very close to losing its balance and falling with a thunderous crash. She kissed him hurriedly, as if trying to make up for all of the lost time and years when they'd both wanted to do this, but subdued their desires. Moist lips and tongues wandered and invaded without rhyme or reason, hunting about like starving wolves in winter. He drank her, and she drank him, taking far more pleasure from each other's mouths than they might have from some sweet, fermented glass of gooseberry wine.

At last the final chains fell away from him. He pushed her upright to view her again with lusty admiration. Once there his hands reached out to fondle her breasts as his hips began to frantically, powerfully lift her up, driving his cock far up into her. He snarled loudly, with his lips curled back and his teeth bared as he finally, ruthlessly fucked her the way she so desired.

"Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Father. Oh, Papa! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Yes, Celia, my love. Yes."

"Pick me up, Father. Lift me up and hold me there. Lift me to the sky with your wondrous, marvelous, wooden cock!"

"My treasure, my dear Little Red...."

I could make you my bride. My lover. My whore.

The wolf was right. He could. He always could, father or no. She could be a bride and a wife and a whore for her own father. She wanted to be a whore for him. She would be a whore for him, forever, just as she was right now.

"I want to be dirty, Father. I want to be your little whore."

"No, my treasure. No."

Some sinful, deep, dark desire to indulge...

The wolf knew. He had looked into her soul, and there he had clearly seen all of the things that she was, in part or in whole, or wanted to be.

"I can be, Papa. With you. Forever with you. I want to be a dirty, filthy, loving whore for you, Papa, only for you."

"No, Baby. No, no. You're my sweet treasure, my sweet, perfect, beautiful Little Red."

I could fuck you sweetly. Would you scream and squeal and squirm...?

She moved more eagerly on him, grinding herself with unrestrained passion, as she glared at him with ferocity and lust. She tossed her hair about, loudly squealing her unveiled delight at the feel of his cock inside of her, all the while broadcasting her desires with an intense, scurrilous look.

"Like a whore, Papa. Fuck me like the whore I want to be for you."

Her words drove him wild. He bucked ever harder, lifting her in the air with his strength, driving his cock hard into her like a hunter driving his knife into a wolf. As he did so, she preened and postured for him, arching her back, showing him her full breasts, pinching her own nipples, all while whipping her red curls about in an impassioned frenzy while screaming her wicked, most secret desires to him.

"Fuck your little whore, Papa. Fuck your cock loving, dirty little whore! Fuck me like a whore, Papa."

He snarled at her with a look of intense, carnal greed on his face.

"Your father has fucked whores, Little Red. In the city, before I met your mother, I fucked cheap, dirty whores. But none were like you, so sexy and beautiful and so fucking, perfectly tight!"

He lifted her into the air again with that last word, penetrating more deeply into her this time than she felt any man could ever have managed. With his back arched up off of the mattress, with his muscles tensed, struggling with all of his might, he held her aloft with his mighty, powerful, fatherly cock spearing his lover-whore with all of its glorious length.

She grinned her joy at him, tossing her hair about like a cornered buck, flailing about with its antlers to fend off a pack of wolves. He lowered himself briefly to the bed, only to lift her again, once more spearing her deeply.

"Ride Papa's cock, my little whore. Be a good little whore for Papa and grab his cock with that tight, virginal slut-pussy that you've been saving only for your father. Papa will pay his favorite little whore for the joy of filling her with his cock and his seed."

He threw her about then, acting himself like a whole pack of wolves, moving in to rend her in a wild, chaotic, animal frenzy.

I have no price. I am a wolf.

But Little Red was not a wolf. She had a price. She was a whore. Her price was trust, and love, and pleasure. She was a whore for her father's cock, paid for by the amazing, fulfilling, searing pleasure that she took from his cock.

The thrill of it was overpowering. The feeling of wanton, criminal, incestuous, dirty lust, coupled with an intense feeling of love, of being taken, of complete and total giving, and of almost dangerous, feral penetration all combined to send Celia's body into a staggeringly powerful wave of convulsions. Pleasure racked her body like the crack of a hundred whips, torturing her into writhing contortions and agonized screams that belied the intense, searing ecstasy that coursed through her nerves and her soul.

She lost herself then. She existed nowhere. She was nothing, or rather, she was pure, orgasmic joy. Throughout that timeless non-existence she existed in a void where she had no body, no soul, no thoughts, and no senses apart from extreme, unrelenting rapture. She was aware only of the pleasure and the lover who gave it to her. That was her universe.

She had no idea how long she teetered on that pinnacle. It seemed like more than she could bear, even though she never wanted to come down. When the sensations finally faded enough to free her body from its tight bonds, holding her upright with tensed, straining muscles, she collapsed upon her father's chest, panting and whimpering with his cock still buried and moving inside of her.

He continued to move beneath her as she subsided, thrusting frantically with his own still burning passion as Celia peppered him with loving kisses for the joy he'd given her.

"Oh, Papa, Papa, Papa. I love you, I love you, I love you."

He snarled again. As if she made him come with those words, he himself tensed and convulsed. Celia knew that he was experiencing and that she had brought to him, if in briefer measure, the same joy that he had just given her.

"That's it, Papa. Come inside your little whore. Show me what a good whore I am by filling me up with your loving seed, Papa. Come inside me, Papa. Come hard inside of me."

* * *

He felt her breathing as she lay in his arms nestled into his chest, just as she had so many times before under completely different circumstances and exactly as she had last night under these new, wonderful conditions. Here she was again, but today even more had changed.

While she couldn't see it Sinclaire allowed himself a wicked grin. His wife had been almost such a lover as his darling daughter. She'd had a wicked, wild streak in her with a penchant for bawdy games and ribald talk during sex. Sinclaire had been sure, when he'd lost her, that he would never find her equal in bed.

Celia was not only her equal, she was her better. Sinclaire didn't feel it shamed her memory to think such thoughts.

Celia truly was such a treasure, a delight for a man such as he or for any man, he was sure, such that Sinclaire felt he was the luckiest man on earth. He could have searched through three debauched, sin-filled cities without finding a lover or a talented, skillful whore such as his Little Red.

She quietly traced figure eights on his chest, clearly lost in her own thoughts, as he recovered from what could only be described as an amazing, memorable trial of earthly pleasures, an ordeal that he felt he may have only barely just survived.

She abruptly lifted herself to look into his eyes with hers, where Sinclaire was shocked to find a shy fear.

"What's wrong, darling?"

Her lower lip quivered as she tried to speak. Sinclaire could see tears forming. Had she regrets? Had he, in his own, selfish need, hurt her by yielding to her own desires? Had he made a terrible mistake?

"Please, my treasure, tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Papa... Papa, do you hate me?"

Sinclaire narrowed his eyes on her own, trying to show stern but consoling, obvious love for her.

"Darling, never, never in a million summers could I do such a thing. Why do you even ask?"

"I behaved so... You must think I'm a horrid, wicked girl."

Her voice cracked as she spoke. The tears seemed ready to not merely flow, but to flood the bed if they ever burst free. She buried her head in his neck, hiding her blushing face from him.

He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger there even as he spoke.

"My darling, I loved it. Loved it! You were magnificent."

Her fear turned then into a glimmer of hope. She looked up at him again, her eyes searching his, darting back and forth for any hint that he was lying to her. A small smile broke onto her face, like the sun just trying to peek through thick, dark clouds.

"Really?"

Her moment of acceptance dulled as doubt plainly crossed her face again.

"But I... what I said... what I asked... how I... I'm a whore, Father. I acted like a whore. A dirty whore. I am a dirty whore."

"My love, my treasure, no, no, you are my precious, innocent Little Red. You always have been and you always will be."

"But I..."

"How you behave here with me, and what you are, are two different things, my darling. You are every man's dream. I promise you, I only love you all the more for it. What we do and how we behave together stays here with us, in complete privacy and secrecy. As it must, not only because of how we choose to behave, but because of who we are."

He hesitated for a moment, before saying it out loud.

"Father and daughter. In love. No one else ever could or would accept it. But I loved it! Most any man would love it, but I probably more than any."

"Really, Papa?"

"Really," he said, as he lowered his lips to hers to kiss her gently and warmly. The kiss grew in passion as she pressed her lips more firmly to his, and he returned her actions in kind. Their tongues had just begun to touch when she suddenly withdrew, eyes wide and smiling.

"So I can... behave that way again?"

"Yes. Please."

"I can be Papa's little whore?"

"Whenever you wish," Sinclaire grinned back, growing excited at the thought.

"Now?"

Without giving him a chance to reply she fell on him then with a kiss as passionate as that they shared when they were interlocked together, a man and woman joined as one. She broke it as suddenly to speak again.

"Can I still be sweet and innocent, sometimes?"

As she asked this, she had the widest, bluest, most disarmingly coquettish eyes that Sinclaire thought he had ever seen, on her or anyone. He was powerless in the face of them to do any more than nod.

"And sometimes, can you be the black wolf?"

Sinclaire found that request inventively strange, but somehow intriguing. The girl could be so peculiar at times. He nodded again, this time with a smile. In reward, she fell on him with another consuming kiss. If he were a younger man, he was certain that his body would have come to life in that instant. As it was, it was enough for him to merely return her passion with his mouth, while holding her soft, smooth, young body firmly against his own.

In the midst of their pleasures Sinclaire was startled by a loud crash and animal bellow from the direction of the door. He jerked upright in the bed, instinctively pulling Celia tightly and protectively against him as he looked in the direction of the threat.

There stood Gautier, feet spread in a balanced, combative half-crouch, with his ax held ahead of him in both hands and his face red and seething with anger. He panted heavily with obvious rage.

"You! Filthy, disgusting, lascivious old crone! And his dirty, revolting tart of a daughter. Whore! Incestuous whore!"

He sneered and growled threateningly as Sinclaire, finally freed from his shock, rose from the bed to stand protectively before Celia, who rose to her knees on the bed to him from behind, peering around his frame at the madman in their threshold.

Sinclaire was silent, not knowing what to say or do, but thinking frantically. His eyes locked on the menacingly deadly ax, sharp and large, held out before Gautier, who looked more like an executioner than a woodsman. Sinclaire glanced quickly about, seeking anything he could use as a weapon, but finding nothing. Most of his attention he kept on Gautier, who thankfully had paused as he seemed to regain at least some semblance of human reason.