Those Spanish Eyes Ch. 02

I consider myself to have a pretty open mind. When I was younger, I had gotten access to a few books by this female author named Nancy Friday. Both of the books I had read contained a plethora of women's fantasies, anything from rape, threesomes, orgies, teachers, preachers, animals, etc. A lot of them turned me on, and I had masturbated a lot as a teen while reading these fantasies. It was so strange having read them, and I never heard a girl utter any type of fantasy as bizarre as those in the books. And I knew a lot of girls, especially in high school.

So, as I sat on a couch in a small house that Rosa shared with a roommate, listening intently as Rosa explained her fantasy to me, I wondered not if I could do something like that, but only how I could best fulfill this amazing girl's wishes. She was anxious, sitting there, a movie playing now unnoticed on her television, and I waited for her to tell me what it was that she desired.

She took a breath to screw up the courage, and explained, "When I was a girl, I lived with my papa. My mama died having me. My older sister, Azalea, was moving out, and it became just me and my papa."

She saw my look when she had said her sister's name, "I know, my papa gave me my name because of my sister's name. Roses and Azaleas were my mama's favorite flowers, so it seemed only right.

"Anyway, my papa was lonely. He tried to find another woman to be with, but he loved my mama so much that no other woman could compare. So he stopped looking, and focused his attentions on me. He'd spend all his free time sitting with me, listening to my problems in school, or he'd have me cook food with him, and he just loved having me around. When Azalea moved out, I was twelve. I think I probably made things worse for him when I had my first period, and began developing. I'm sure I was a bitch as I tried to get used to all of that.

"But I did get used to it, and became my papa's little angel again. Then I began to notice that as I developed and became a young lady, my father would be spending time with me, and then suddenly go to the bathroom and spend ten or fifteen minutes in there. I figured it was no big deal, but then he would seem to stare at me when he thought I wouldn't notice, you know, weird stares."

Rosa stopped, and looked at me, so sure that I would think that she was a bad person. As for me, I thought I knew where this story was headed, but at that point, I had no idea what kind of fantasy would spring from it.

"It's okay," I took her hand, intertwining her long, slender fingers in mine, taking note of her recently chewed fingernails, "You don't have to worry, I don't think there's a thing wrong with you."

Her pained smile seemed to signify that she thought otherwise, "After weeks, months of these weird looks, and his frequent trips to the bathroom, he finally broke down and told me, such shame in his words. He confessed that as I...developed, he began noticing me as a young woman, as mama had been when they first met. He said he saw my mother in me, and his urges were unbearable, so whenever he got them, he had to hide in the bathroom and do stuff until the urges passed. He told me he was ashamed of himself for feeling such urges for his own daughter, but he was so damned lonely without mama. So..."

I blinked several times. I had been imagining her as a young girl, hearing such talk from her father, and the feelings as he tells her this. It was definitely different, considering all the perverts out there that don't bother trying to explain themselves as they rape their own daughters and, sometimes, sons. It took a second to realize that she had stopped again, and there were tears in her eyes as she recalled her past.

"It's okay," I assured her, "I think I can get the point. If you need to talk about it, you can, but it might not even be necessary."

She shook her head, "I have to, because he never... he never went all the way. He did other things, but it's not like he was some animal. He was still my papa, and he was always kind and gentle. And after he was done, he would always hold me in his arms as he had when I was younger."

"So you said he never went all the way," I backtracked, "Was he planning on it?"

She shrugged, "Maybe, I don't know. He never told me. I think the things he did, or let me do, they all got to him. He...h-hung himself...In his bedroom, he t-t-tied a sheet to the rafter..."

"You found him like that?"

"No. I was at school. The police told me that he died peacefully in his sleep. It wasn't until everyone else found out the truth that I did. The kids at school all gossiped about it, told each other all the details, and I overheard it all, even though they'd stop talking when they saw me."

I sighed, "Kids can be like that, I guess. Still, it's not as bad as seeing it firsthand. It's bad, but not that bad."

She nodded, and the tears that had been standing in her eyes made small, wet tracks on her mocha-hued skin. She hugged herself, shivering as it all came back.

"The thing is, my papa died before he ever... and I've never had anybody be so gentle with me, so kind, until with you. That's why I'm telling you all this, things I never told my closest friends. You were so gentle with me, just like my papa. So," she wiped the tears off her cheeks, "My fantasy is to let my papa have me...but since he's gone, I was hoping that you...could be him. Just for today. You could pretend to be him, to be my papa, and we could finish what he was so ashamed to finish himself."

Yes, at that point, my mind was blown! I had no idea if I could do something like that. I mean, to pretend to be her father and do things that no father should ever do to his own flesh and blood, would that be right? But she waited for me to answer her, and the anxiety was intensifying in her eyes as she wondered whether, in spite of my assurances, if I would think something was terribly messed up about her.

"Is this what you want from me?" I searched her eyes, almost hoping this was some test, "I mean, is this...a kind of closure you need?"

She nodded slowly, now not even daring to look me in the eyes. She was already preparing for rejection, scorn, and worse, and it about broke my heart to see her so vulnerable.

"Can I have a couple minutes to think about this?" I said carefully, not wanting it to sound as if I was getting ready to make a break for the door. She winced, but shrugged, "You don't have to, if you don't want. I know it sounds so wrong, and it maybe makes me twisted for wanting it to happen again, but it wasn't like he forced me to do anything, or to let him do anything. He was just so...depressed about mama, that I just wanted him to be happy, and I would do whatever it took to help him. Even if it meant losing my virginity to him, I would do it. But he died before that could happen, and I think it would've made him happy if he could just forget I was his daughter."

I had never been asked a question like this before, but this was Rosa, a girl who had had such an effect on me that no other girl could have ever brought out in me. All I had to do was pretend that I was her father, and complete something that she'd been waiting for since she'd been a teenager. Of course, she was now grown-up, and not a young girl only recently coping with 'monthly visitors.' Actually, I came to realize that I was more shocked that she would ask such a thing from me than with the fact that I would have to pretend to be her father.

"Are you sure that I'm the one to do this for you?" Shit, that sounded wrong!

She winced again, "I...don't think I could ever tell anybody else, or ask anybody else to do this for me. Maybe it's a bad idea to ask something so big from you. I shouldn't put you in this situation." She started to get up, frustrated, totally exposed.

I grabbed her wrist, "Hold on a second." She stopped and looked at me, completely humiliated, and I pulled her gently back down on the couch.

"Sure, this is a strange situation for me, but if it's what you need, I don't think I could tell you no and be able to look at myself in the mirror. You've revealed such an emotional secret to me, of all people, and it seems so wrong for you to have done this for nothing."

She put one hand to her cheek, shocked, and managed, "You'll...you'll do this for me?"

I nodded, "I'm not sure what I need to do, exactly, so you'll have to help me, okay?"

She about knocked me off the couch, she threw herself into my arms that forcefully. Her soft lips grazed my neck, sending shivers up and down my spine. That had to be one of the most arousing kisses I've ever felt; no other girl had ever even thought to kiss me there. It made my knees weak, and I'm glad I was already sitting down. When she looked up at me, those same, wonderfully bright Spanish eyes that had caught me from the first moment, they had changed. It was as if the years had rolled off them, and they were the eyes of a young girl. I was entranced. She spoke, and even her voice had changed, become a little more high-pitched, not the almost throaty-smoky voice she had used earlier, but a voice as young as her eyes. I was shocked...it seemed as if she had immediately thrown her mind back to when her father had still been alive.

"Papa, do you love me?"

It took me almost a minute to realize she was speaking to me, and not some disembodied spirit of her father floating behind me. I was her papa! I had to think about how her papa would've spoken, and since I'd obviously never met the man, let alone spoke with him, I had to improvise.

"Yes, my little Rosa," I tried it out, "More than the whole world."

"I love you too, Papa," she returned in her sweet, lilting voice.

I pride myself on a very vivid imagination, and I really put it to work, creating a whole world in my head, starting with the room. I made it a nice, Mexican-style room, with pottery, arched doorways and windows, and azaleas growing outside the windows, because, after all, that was one of Rosa's late mother's favorite flowers. Further out were her mother's other favorite, roses, winding up a white trellis in the yard. Back to Rosa, I imagined her as I thought she might look. She had that same flowing, glossy-black hair, growing down to the small of her back. She had on a pretty-patterned sundress, red and lavender flowers, her face the same, just softer, a bit rounder, with wide, bright eyes, the shade of milk chocolate, such innocence and vulnerability in those eyes. She had just begun shaving her legs, because I (Papa) had recently gotten her a razor at her request. She had even put on her mama's perfume, and she smelled like roses as she looked right into mine (his) eyes.

---from here on, I will speak as her Papa---

"Have you done your homework, Rosa?"

"Why yes, Papa, silly! You helped me with it, remember?"

"Oh, how could such a think slip my mind?"

Of course, I had indeed only helped her with her mathematics only thirty minutes ago!

"So, then, my little flower, what would you like me to make for supper?"

"I'm not hungry right now, Papa. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

"Important? Is something the matter?"

"You've been so sad lately. I was hoping I could make you feel better, but it's just made things worse."

"Oh, this is about...us. I'm so sorry, Rosa, but, well, I have been feeling such guilt about making you do what you have done. You are so young, and you are my own daughter. You should not know such grown-up things, and it is my fault that you know them"

"Papa," Rosa cried, "I wanted to know them, and I wanted to do them for you. I want to make you happy again."

I shook my head, "But Rosa, this is all wrong! Your Mama would not want me to do these things."

"But Mama would want you to be happy, and you're not happy!"

I looked away from her, wondering if this could even remotely be true. I had wanted children, and her Mama had done her best to honor my wishes, even giving her life to do so. And I wasn't happy at all. It seemed like no woman I had known could come close to the woman I married. Except, now, one had. The problem was that it was my own Rosa.

She sat in my lap and shook my shoulders, "Papa! This is not wrong! If it makes you happy, then it makes me happy, and that can't be wrong. I want you to have me, like you had Mama."

Shocked, I protested, "No, Rosa! You must not even think it! You are still pure, and that would take that pureness away from you. I am not the one who should do that. You must marry first."

I tried to hide the fact that her request had aroused me so much, but what now began to poke her bottom was proof enough for her.

"But I know you want to. Please, Papa, it is not wrong."

With that, she pressed her lips to mine, and I knew I had to stop it before things went too far. But, my emotions, my desire for her overtook my resistance, and instead of stopping her, I kissed her back. Our tongues mingled, and I could taste the apple she had eaten while I had helped her with her homework. It was sweet on her breath.

Her hand went down and massaged me through my trousers, as, I knew, it had done before. I had taught her so much that I could never take back.

We kissed for a while, and her hand continued to stroke me until I was so aroused that it almost hurt. Then her bottom began wriggling, and she slid off of my lap. She knelt in front of the chair in which I sat, and unbuckled my trousers, pulling my erect penis from its prison. She exclaimed as she saw it, she thought it even larger than before. Her hands wrapped around it and began stroking it. I groaned softly as she maneuvered it into her mouth. Her pink tongue was hot as it licked and tasted, and then she worked it in as far as she could, which was about half-way. I had, under great lust, taught her how to please me in this manner, and after that, she used her forbidden knowledge and tried new things as well.

Suddenly she let go of me, and pulled me out of my chair. My trousers fell to my ankles, and I stepped out of them to avoid tripping as she dragged me to my bedroom. Since her Mama died, Rosa had been the only one in my bed besides me. She slipped out of her sundress and panties, and I marveled at how much she had developed into a young woman. Her breasts had been growing since she was eleven, but had increased even faster once her periods began. Now, they were almost a handful each, with dark, coffee-colored areolas, tipped by small nipples. She was growing hair between her legs, but it was soft as down, as glossy black as her hair. Her legs had slimmed a little, only retaining baby fat in all the right places, giving her very nice curves. Her bottom had become slightly larger, rounding out as it hadn't been before. My resistance, as gossamer-thin as it already was, crumbled at the sight of her nudeness. I sat down on the bed and pulled her with me. I kissed the hollow of her throat as her arms went around me.

She giggled as I kissed her throat, and my lips went to hers again. I kissed her for a moment, and began moving down, leaving more kisses burning on her smooth skin. I pressed my lips to her nipples, and flicked my tongue out to tease them until they jutted out, hard.

She pulled my head against her chest, "Oh, Papa, I'm on fire! I need you!"

I suckled on her nipples, making her moan, for another few moments, and then abandoned them to continue down to her stomach. I could feel the muscles tensing and relaxing just underneath the soft, silky skin as I kissed more and more. I began to smell her by now, that sweet, slightly musky scent that she emitted as I moved lower and lower. I pressed my lips against the hair growing above her vagina, swirling my tongue in it, grasping it between my lips and pulling gently.

"Oh gosh, Papa, your lips feel so good on me, go lower, Papa, please!"

As her legs opened, I watched her outer labia spread, revealing her vagina like a flower bloom, so pink and moist that I could not resist it. My tongue emerged and I dipped it onto her inner lips, dragging it upward, opening her lips wider as I did so, and then up to her clitoris, barely larger than a pebble. She tasted as wonderful as she smelled, more sweetness than salty, with a vaguely coppery flavor. She began to thrust her hips forward, her bottom barely touching the bed in her attempt to bare herself to me more fully. I plunged my tongue inside her, making her cry out and wrap her fingers in my hair. She pulled my head against her crotch, thrusting again wildly.

I tasted as far inside her as I could, drawing my tongue out before slipping it back in again. I could feel her vaginal walls clenching against my tongue, and her sweetness flooded my mouth. She bucked as she climaxed on my face, moaning and thrashing, more of the sweetness on my tongue.

When she relaxed again, I got atop her, my manhood jutting stiffly out, almost positioned already, resting against her thigh. I kissed her lustily, my tongue lapping at hers, and I knew she could taste her juices on my tongue, but she gave no sign of disgust or dislike of the taste. In fact, her tongue moved against mine as eagerly as mine did on hers. Her hands went down and grasped my manhood, guiding it at her entrance. Then she pulled on my hips, pulling me just inside her inner lips, and I could feel the tightness already. I stopped there, and some sense of morality arose, briefly.

"I don't know if I can, my little Rosa, it will hurt you!"

"You must, Papa! You can't stop now, I have to have it in me now!"

She pulled fiercely, and the head pushed inside her, stretching her. At the same time, almost, I squeezed my eyes shut and thrust inside her more.

She grit her teeth and cried out in pain as most of my erection pushed inside her, and her hymen tore. I could hear her keening as the rest of me ended up inside. Her thighs pressed against my hips, and her hands still pulled me, but she gasped all the same, the pain great. Fully enveloped inside her painfully constricted vagina, I waited. Gradually, she relaxed, still gasping, but the worst of the pain was past. Now there was a deep throb down there, and the stretching of her to get used to my girth and length. When the throbbing pain dulled, she moved her hips, and slid me out an inch, and then back in, gingerly as not to invite the pain back. Then she did it again, and again, slowly. I began to participate as well, and I slid out halfway with her help, easing back in. She relaxed further, and concentrated on the feel of me inside her, liquid warmth around me, tight, but now not too tight.

The feeling became more enjoyable, and our movements synchronized, giving and taking. She began making small moans and gasps as I filled her up repeatedly, gyrating my hips slightly to help her enjoy it more. Slower at first, then quickening, and she breathlessly urged me to fill her up, to push it deeper, to go faster and harder, more and more, until her thighs clutched my hips, and she gasped. I could feel the already plentiful wetness increase, coating my erection, dripping onto my testicles. She spasmed against me, her vagina gripping me, pulsing, and it pushed me over the edge. I grunted loudly, and felt full of my seed, ready to burst. I tried to pull away so as not to spill it inside her, but her legs went around my thighs and her ankles locked.

"Uh uh, Papa, you can't do that, it's okay, you can do it Papa, I want you to do it!"

I couldn't hold back, and my seed, a lot of it, spurted hard from me, inside her, more and more. After one last spasm, I was done, but still she did not let go of me.

"I love you so much, Papa, always. I can feel it inside me, so perfect in me. Just keep it there, please."

But, having spent my seed, my manhood was losing its hardness, becoming smaller, until it slipped out of her anyway. She moaned with frustration, feeling suddenly hollow and empty, so I kissed her fiercely for a few seconds, and telling her how much I loved her, how happy she made me. She smiled brightly and nuzzled her head against my neck, her hair tickling my collarbone...