The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy

His penis was straining out of his boxers, and I could tell he was in discomfort. He was a bit restive, moving here and there, and his quiet moans were not those of contentment.

I realized that I was moving into new territory here. I could no longer claim that I was being forced. I was choosing to do this. Even more scary, he was no longer sleepwalking. He could awaken at any time. What would he say if he woke up to the sight of his little princess slobbering all over his schlong?

I shuddered a little. Then I kneeled gently on his bed, careful not to cause the bed to shift too quickly. I leaned down and grabbed his big hard dick.

This elicited a moan of the right kind, and he thrust his hip forward, unconsciously giving me access. So I took it. I lowered my head once again into his lap and took his delicious cock into my mouth. And I loved it. I just went crazy. I slobbered and sucked and nibbled with my lips and licked the shaft. With one hand I stroked up and down his throbbing thing, and with my other I stroked my own sopping wet cunny.

Oh Diary, It was so hot! I had followed my father back to his bed to finish the job! There was no excuses now. I am an incestuous little brat! I am a dirty fucking girl, and I know it.

As I sucked on my dad's cock like a madwoman, and stroked my own hot pulsing center, I felt the excitement level rising. Daddy's breathing and moaning were speeding up, and I could feel a tide rising inside of me as well.

Suddenly Daddy let out a loud moan and jerked his hips forward. I suddenly felt the shaft expand in my hand and he just started... hosing my mouth with sperm! I mean he just unloaded! I guess that was three years of backed up excitement, but it was almost too much for me.

The first two spurts filled my mouth to overflowing. I was so taken by surprise I forgot to swallow. So the next two spurts overflowed my mouth and spilled out over my swollen lips. Finally I found my mind and I fastened my lips back on his cockhead, and simply began drinking his semen as it spewed out of his body.

And that's what did it for me. There I was, on my dad's bed. Without his permission. Ass in the air, two fingers buried in my twitching hole.

And drinking my dad's sperm directly from his spewing cock.

It was too much. Too fucking dirty. My own orgasm took ahold of me and I was reduced to a squirming, moaning animal, who's only purpose in the world was to suck every last drop of cum from her Daddy's thick penis.

After a few minutes I came back to myself. I was still suckling on his penis like a little baby. His cock was softening, and I realized he was still asleep. It had been his snoring that had brought me back from my orgasmic coma.

I can't believe what I've done, Diary! What the hell is happening to me? I staggered back to bed, my woo-woo dripping juice down my legs, and my mouth filled with the primal, heady taste of my dad's semen.

It was all I could do to make it back to bed, where I fell asleep on my tummy, ass in the air. Dead to the world.

* * * * * * *

December 22, a few days later, afternoon – Dear Diary:

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, I'm so very happy. Every night, a handsome prince climbs into my bed and we give each other deep and powerful pleasure. Every night I feel loved, and sexy, and the needs of my developing body are being fully satisfied. I'm in heaven!

On the other hand, he's my Daddy! Oh God. And he has no idea what's happening. I mean, I know earlier I was writing about him raping me, because I have no choice, but I've thought about that.

I do have a choice. I could simply move to another room in the house. He is the one who has no choice. He is the one who is being taken advantage of. And I am the one who is raping him. Oh god what a crazy mess.

And despite all my self-loathing, every night around bed time, my heart starts beating harder, and I wait impatiently for him to walk through the doorway. Every night my little woo-woo is ready before he even enters the room. I have become such a slut!

But I'm writing now to tell you about breakfast this morning. He was looking at me in a strange thoughtful way, and I started to get scared. Was he remembering something?

I had to say something. "What is it, Daddy?" I asked innocently.

He smiled a rueful smile. "Nothing, sweetie. I guess it's just that these last few years I've been focusing on keeping this family going. You know, fighting the grief and finding a way to live without..." He cleared his throat. "Well, the thing is, I've just noticed lately that you've grown up while I wasn't looking."

I smiled, flattered to be considered a grown-up. I was also relieved. My incestuous secret was safe.

But as he looked at me, something changed in his eyes, and I saw them flash down to my torso. I was wearing only a spaghetti-strap half shirt and cotton boxers. Basically what I always wore around the house.

Something about his gaze reminded me of the bedroom Daddy. The Daddy who sucks on my pussy and who pumps sperm down my hungry throat. I felt a hot flash in my slutty little cunny.

Daddy must have felt something too, because he suddenly glanced at his watch and said "Oh, my! Look at the time. Gotta go sweetie!"

I noticed as he stood up he kept his hands hovering above his crotch.

Had dad just popped a boner looking at me? Fully awake? Wowsers.

I thought I had researched and understood all the facts in The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy. But clearly there were things I still did not know. Why his sudden interest in me? Clearly he didn't remember what we were doing every night. Was it something subliminal?

I put my detective hat back on. Metaphorically, Diary. Metaphorically.

I'm going sleuthing. Back soon!

* * * * * * *

December 22, same day, evening – Dear Diary:

Holy shit! That old perv! I cannot believe it! Okay, wow... I have to calm down and tell you my findings, Diary. This case just keeps getting crazier and crazier!

So dad was out at the pool and I decided to put my detective skills to use. I went to his bedroom and found his phone. I got his passcode on the first try. Mom's birthday. Jeez. I'm going to have to have a talk with him about cyber-security!

I flipped through his messages. Nothing unusual. Several flirty texts from women that he either ignored or politely deflected. I looked at his phone messages. Nothing weird or suspicious.

Then I checked his camera files. And got an eyeful.

Of me.

That's right Diary, I found dozens of photos of me. And I don't mean "first day of school" or "prom" photos. Nope. Not those.

The first one was from that first night he had eaten me out. I just checked back and found the entry. Yep, it had to be the night before my Dec.13 entry. The photo showed me in a deep sleep, laying on my bed. My long slender legs were obscenely spread and my pussy was puffy and red and matted with slime. To me it just looked gross, my slovenly little hole open for all the world to see, dribbling clear goo all over the place.

But I guess daddy must have liked it. Because there were dozens of photos from that night. From all angles. Some super close up, others panned back to include my innocent sleeping face.

I was shocked! Daddy!

The next series was from the night I first sucked Daddy's dick. I remember collapsing on my bed, ass in the air. And sure enough, there it was! My peach-shaped ass, just jutting into the air like some kind of porn star. To me, it was obvious I had cum twice that night, since my little pussy was smeared with cream and slime. Even my thighs were wet and slick.

Again, dozens of photos. From all angles. He had been in my room. Wide awake. He would have been able to smell my hot little woo-woo. Did it gross him out? What did he think of the obvious wetness of my little cunny? He obviously knew that I had no visitors. Even if some boy had a death-wish enough to try to climb up to my window, the professional-grade security system would keep him out.

As I kept thumbing through the photos, I saw many other nights represented. Other nights I had collapsed back, sexually satisfied, without thought of covering up.

The bathroom was down the hall from my room. I guess Daddy had been making a midnight run and happened to glance into my room that first night. What had gone through his head? Seeing his perfect little angel sleeping with legs splayed like a well-used whore?

I was also surprised to find a lot of other random photos. Just my face while I sleep. Candid shots of me out by the pool. One or two of me cooking. Was Daddy getting a little obsessed? This idea sent a thrill through my body. The idea that he was actively looking for chances to photograph me got me just a little wet.

Suddenly I had an inspiration. I flipped over to his phone alarm and, sure enough. He had set an alarm for one in the morning, set to go off every night. Busted, Daddy! I am such an awesome detective.

So dad had a thing for little old me, huh? I'll bet it's making him feel guilty as hell, knowing him. Lord, if only he knew what he was doing to me every night. But that knowledge could very well kill him. He was a man of deep honor.

But this made me think of the last mystery in The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy. What would happen on Christmas Eve? It seemed to follow that the dreams would stop. Oh shit! That's only two days away.

Only two more nights with my wonderful Daddy! What am I going to do? Then I had it.

I'll start videoing our sessions! God, I should have thought of this earlier. After two nights it might be over forever. At least now I will have some way to remember.

I'll set up the camera right away!

* * * * * * *

December 23, afternoon – Dear Diary:

Last night was amazing, as usual. But just the idea that I might have only one more night with Daddy is killing me! I've already watched the video five times! It's in "night vision" mode, so everything is all green, but it's high-res so you can see pretty everything perfectly.

It's pretty cool to see it from a different perspective. Seeing him tongue-fucking me like a man possessed. Licking and lapping up the hot, flowing juices. Seeing me grabbing the back of his head, wantonly grinding my crotch into his face.

And oh, didn't I look slutty as I slobbered all over his big thing! Like a starving child eating a hot-dog. I mean, I was all over that dong. Sucking, licking like ice-cream. Jerking and squeezing. Sucking his balls. How had Daddy turned me into such a cum-slut?

And I nearly cream my undies every time I watch myself on the screen swallow that load. I mean, the resolution is good enough, and I've zoomed it way in. You can actually see the bottom part of his shaft flex and widen as he pumps tons of sperm into my mouth. And I just greedily drink it all down. I've gotten pretty good at it by now, and I don't waste a drop. I suck it all down like a greedy whore.

God, I can't stop watching that video.

But there's also a part of my mind that cannot forget that tonight is probably the last night. I mean, if I'm right about this being triggered by the anniversary of my mom's death, then it makes sense that once the anniversary has passed, his sleepwalking will stop.

On the other hand, it could continue forever! It's almost worse not knowing! I guess in a few days we'll know one way or another. AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!

* * * * * * *

December 24, morning – Dear Diary:

My mom died on this day, exactly three years ago. Exactly three years ago, the greatest love story I've ever seen died along with her. Since then, my Daddy has remained strong. He has kept us above water, kept our heads high. He has fought the grief for both of us.

But he lost something that day. Something inside. He tries to hide it from me, but I remember the way Daddy used to be. Sure, strong, dependable, honest, just like today-Daddy. But he had also been funny, and whimsical. He had smiled a lot. Laughed a lot.

Not anymore.

Last night, after he had sucked my pussy until I lost my mind, and after I had drank deep of his hot seed, we laid there, holding each other tight. I was fully at peace, and I could sense that he was too. Our bodies fit together perfectly, through some magic of sexual geometry. This giant, muscular man, and this tiny woman-child. Like fucking puzzle pieces. Perfect.

And I knew at that moment, Diary, that no matter what happens (or does not happen), I will always love him. And not just as a Daddy. I love him as a woman loves a man. And even though I don't know much about love, I do know this: the love I feel is the most powerful emotion I've ever known.

It fills me and lifts me and gives me joy like I have not felt since mom died. Hell, since ever! I just want to serve him. Make him happy. Take care of his every need.

I want to make him sandwiches. Forever.

Am I crazy, Diary? God, of course I am. Daughters do not fall in love with Daddies. It is against every moral law of society! And yet none of this was my fault. And it's not Daddy's fault. It just happened. And I can't deny what I feel.

Yet last night was likely the last time we will be together again. That is the last time we will hold each other's warm flesh close, sharing heat and comfort. God, I can't stand this.

But a huge new question had opened up in my mind. A big unknown in the case.

What about the eighteenth sandwich? I just thought of this today. Mom had died the evening of Christmas Eve. Going to get more egg nog, of all things.

Aunt Megan said she did not know if dad had given her that eighteenth sandwich or not.

So the question for me, (the detective) is this: did he make her the eighteenth sandwich, and make love to her one last time?

If this seems irrelevant to you, Diary, then fuck you. It matters a lot. Because if he did make her that sandwich, and if he did make love to her that one last time... then maybe... just maybe I will have one more night with the man I love.

To you I might seem desperate, Diary, but I can't help myself.

Plus it's true, it could be possible. I mean, think about it: that first sandwich had been made at lunch-time! Wouldn't the Christmas sandwiches follow this pattern?

And yeah, when I think about it, I had spent the night at a friend's house the night before, leaving the entire afternoon to them. I remember being so upset that she hadn't been able to say goodnight to me the last night before she went to heaven.

And what if... WHOAH! I am a genius, Diary! What if Daddy was not dreaming of the original sandwich, when he proposed, what if he was dreaming of that last time? Holy crap! It all fits!

I am the best detective in the world. It's true, I just know it! Daddy was reliving his last intimate moment with the love of his life. The eighteenth sandwich was theoretical no more. I reached into my backpack and crossed out the stupid question mark in my notebook next to the 18.

There was an eighteenth sandwich, and Daddy is going to give it to me tonight.

* * * * * * *

December 25, late afternoon – Dear Diary:

Oh God, I am so happy. And I have so much to tell you.

First of all, Merry Christmas! I'm tired of pretending Christmas doesn't exist. It does exist! And it's wonderful! Amazing! Joyous!

Oh, no doubt you are bursting at your bindings to hear what happened, dearest Diary, but you'll just have to wait. I'm telling this my way. (Oh, listen to those happy birds chirping outside!)

Last night, I sat and waited and watched the door. In all honesty, I got in bed early and just sat there for over an hour, I was so hyped. Would my theory prove true, or was it just wishful thinking?

The excitement and tension was about to kill me. I mean, I was ready to just drop dead right there in bed from frazzled nerves!

And then he walked through the door. All my nerves and jitters turned at once into a warm, happy feeling deep in my tummy. My prince had come!

I sat in adoring silence as he made me, er... I mean mom, the sandwich. When he came and sat next to me my heart was hammering in my chest.

I knew that this was probably the last time. I was going to make the most of it. Feel every touch, taste every sweet drop of perfection. Oh, and I was videoing too. I'm a twenty-first century girl, after all.

He began with that warm, strong kiss. I had tasted it dozens of times by now, but this one was special. The last one. Even he seemed to sense this as he tenderly cupped the back of my neck. His warm, liquid satin kisses both calmed and enflamed me. I held tight to him as well, one hand tracing his firm jaw, loving the rough grit of his whiskers. Such a fucking man!

But such a tender man. He was so gentle as he massaged and stroked my breasts. My love for this man radiated out of every pore of my being, just as my pussy warmed and became slick. Became ready for him.

Did we make out longer than usual? Maybe it was only my desperate need to make this moment stretch on forever. My whole world was contained within him. His firm but soft lips. His questing, needy tongue probing my mouth. The manly smell of him, the tang of something dangerous beneath the civilized smell of soap and aftershave. His large, strong hands, capable of killing a man with ease, tenderly stroking me, concerned only with my pleasure. I almost purred, I felt so loved and content.

And then he pushed me back. That first little chaste kiss, right on the nub of my clit. Same as every time. And yet this was the last time. How bittersweet! Even as my little woo-woo sang with pleasure at his touch, my heart was heavy.

And then all thoughts of sadness fled as his tongue entered my body. Oh yes, said my pussy. Yes. That is what I want. That is what I need. More and more and still more! I could smell the tangy aroma of my excited sex, but I was not embarrassed. I knew it was driving Daddy wild. I knew he liked the taste and smell of me, just as I liked his.

Oh how I thrashed and moaned in those sweaty sheets as he ravaged my little virgin cunny. Licking and slobbering all over my tiny flower like a man possessed! And fuck I loved it. I felt intense love for my father mingle with the sensations emanating from my pussy. It was the perfect merging of my heart and my body, as love and lust entwined around this wonderful man's tongue!

Suddenly I came. My hot little pussy just couldn't take any more and I went over the edge into the most massive orgasm of my life. I actually blacked out a little. I remember grabbing the back of Daddy's head and thrusting my cunny into his face over and over. I remember electric pulses throbbing outward through my body, each one originating from deep in my tummy. It was like a tidal wave of pleasure and I just rode it as Daddy greedily drank my body's juices.

Finally, as I calmed, he once again climbed up the bed and just held me. I cried a little, Diary. I'm not going to lie. I just felt so safe. So loved in those strong yet gentle arms. I don't know if I cried because I was sad that it would never happen again, or if I cried from pure bliss. Jeez, Diary. I was a mess!

But my tears receded as Daddy worked his cuddle-magic. Soon I felt calm and happy and content. I wish I could live the rest of my life in that feeling. It was the best.

But I knew what was coming next. And boy was I ready. My chance to give my Daddy the same kind of pleasure he had just given me! I waited until his cue, not wanting to rush anything, but as soon as he touched my head, I eagerly reached down and pulled out his rock hard penis.

I took a few minutes to just admire it. So hard and proudly throbbing. A nice, thick, veiny shaft that tapered to a heart shaped head. Perfectly designed for... well, for penetrating a pussy I guess. This thought sent a thrill though my tummy.

What if I just climbed on top of him and put it in my woo-woo? The sheer audacity of the idea set my cunny gushing, and a thrill rocked through my body.