It Was The Best Of Daughters

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Special thanks to alllee25, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com’s Volunteer Editor program, for giving this piece a once-over. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

* * * * * *

It’s funny what breaks you and what doesn’t. Jane leaving broke me. Jessica’s teenage years broke me. Jennifer leaving home for university broke me.

Taking Jessica, cuffed and manacled, to the processing center didn’t. At the time, I’d thought it was because the job was done. I was just broken, and that was that. It would never get better, but it would never get worse.

I wake to the feel and smell of my beautiful wife. She’s naked except for a tiny pair of panties; I can feel the soft fabric against my swollen cock. I shift myself on the bed so I can fully embrace her. I lightly tease her nipples, and they react immediately. I bury my nose in her long hair, and inhale the mixed scents of her clean scalp and herbal shampoo.

I feel the slow warmth of arousal spread into both of us. I know she’s awake. Her hands find my arms and lovingly stroke them. She encourages my hands to keep playing with her perky breasts.

“Mmmmm, good morning, Daddy,” Jessica says.

I keep my eyes closed. I focus on the sensations. I lower my hips and start moving them, sliding my cock along Jane’s cotton-covered pussy. It’s already warm, and I feel it getting wet.

It’s Jane. It’s Jane. It’s Jane.

“Hey baby,” I whisper lovingly. I hope she can’t hear my inner turmoil — or, at the very least, that she can’t comprehend it.

There’s a lot of things she can’t comprehend anymore. It’s probably for the best.

I move her hair out of the way with my face. It tickles both of us. I kiss her tenderly everywhere that my lips can reach: shoulders, back, neck. She sighs and moans happily. She loves everything I’m doing to her. Her own hips are moving. She’s finding my cockhead with her panty-covered clit.

She has my permission to seek her pleasure. I’ve told her that that makes Daddy happy.

No, it’s just a word. It’s just a game. Couples do it all the time. Wives call their husbands ‘Daddy.’ It’s sexy. It’s fun.

It’s Jane.

“Mmmmm,” Jessica moans. “How do you want me, Daddy?”

My cock swells and strains at those beautifully submissive words. It forces me to tell the truth.

“I want your ass, baby,” I rasp. I’m already so horny.

“Yes, Daddy,” Jessica says. It’s more than just submission. It’s arousal and anticipation.

I throw off the sheet, exposing our near-nakedness. I’m already there. Only that damp pair of panties remains between us.

I open my eyes. It had to happen sooner or later. I have to admit it to myself: it isn’t Jane.

Jessica rolls over until her pale, slender arm can reach the nightstand. Low morning light filters through the curtains. Shadows dance on Jessica’s brown hair and pale skin. She fetches the tube of lubricant.

“Would you like me to help you, Daddy?” she asks.

I reach out and rub her back.

“That’s okay, baby,” I say. “I’ll get us ready.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says. Again, she sounds happy. She knows I like preparing her.

She presents the tube over her shoulder and I take it. I set it aside briefly, and move my hands to her panties.

She lifts up. I slide them down to her knees. She rotates herself a few degrees on the bed and bends her legs, giving me easy access to her rear.

“Okay, baby, relax for Daddy,” I say.

She softly moans her understanding and acceptance. I ease the plug out. She gasps when the widest part slips past her ring, then moans immediately to let me know she’s okay — that she’s enjoying every part of this.

I don’t just believe she is. I know she is. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough for my cock.

It was never as conflicted as I was. As Jessica’s last-chance year wound down, it began a campaign of psychological warfare against my conscience.

It won.

I trace her ring with a lubed finger, then slide it inside. It’s an easy trip. I slowly re-coat the whole channel; it’s almost unnecessary. The lubes we use are high-end — yet another scientific miracle that this country, the Heartland, quietly borrowed from a neighbor it claims to despise. The coating I gave my daughter last night is still doing work.

I always make sure, though. I don’t want to hurt my little girl.

I add another finger, but again it’s hardly necessary. Jessica’s pre-stretched asshole is willing. It’s eager. I coat my throbbing cock and set the lube aside. I take my hot hardness in one hand and get it into position.

“Okay, baby,” I whisper. “Reach back and spread yourself for Daddy.”

Jessica takes her top cheek in hand and obeys. My cockhead nudges her warm, wet, winking entrance.

“Relax and accept it, baby,” I say. “Accept Daddy’s cock.”

I penetrate my daughter’s asshole. She gasps and moans like it’s the first cock to ever enter her pussy — like she’s discovered for the escort izmir first time the intense fullness and rightness of a man and a woman joining as God intended.

But it’s in her ass. It’s in her ass, because her Daddy’s a pervert, and because his most intense and erotic memory is of Jane, his beautiful wife, presenting her ass to him for the third time.

The first two times were trial-and-error. There was pain, but also laughter. The third time was the magic journey, where everything felt effortless. The third time was when she furiously rubbed her clit as I plowed into her from behind, cumming with my cock in her ass, milking my own orgasm into her bowels with her twitching, spasming ring.

I wrap myself around Jessica and bury myself inside of her. I close my eyes again. I think of Jane. With long, slow, commanding strokes, I begin sodomizing my nineteen-year-old daughter-slave.

I try so hard to get lost in my own world. Jessica’s voice brings me back to this one — this cruel, twisted, hypocritical one where wayward young teenagers get brainwashed, body-modded, and sold.

“May I please touch myself, Daddy?” Jessica asks. She’s begging, but only barely — only because that’s what slaves do. The pleasure she already feels dominates her tone.

I try not to sound irritated. I can no longer blame her for anything she says or does. She’s my property, and my responsibility.

“Of course you can, baby,” I pant. “We talked about this. You can always make yourself happy while serving Daddy.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she says. The shift in her voice breaks my heart. I shush her and give her kisses all over.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say. “You’re being such a good girl for Daddy. Daddy loves you.”

The trigger words do their magic. Jessica instantly forgets her guilt. She shudders with slave-joy. I feel her reach down to her clit. I wrap one hand around each of her perky breasts and massage them rhythmically.

It doesn’t take long at all.

“Daddy, may I please cum?” she begs. This time, she really does.

“Cum for Daddy, baby,” I exhale. My breath is ragged. “Cum all you want. Good girl. Good girl.”

Jessica’s whole body shudders and spasms. The trigger words add an emotional orgasm to her physical one. She cums for so long that her voice catches, then cries out, then catches, then cries out again.

I move my hands and wrap myself around her again. I press her whole body into mine. I rut my cock into the deepest part of her rectum it can reach. I feel my cockhead hit the bend; Jessica feels no pain.

My daughter-slave’s tremendous orgasm milks mine out of me, just like Jane’s did so many years ago. I lose control and bite into her soft shoulder. She cries out again; it’s surprise, but also acceptance. It’s encouragement.

I’m glad my cock is in charge. I’m glad my mind is empty. I don’t have to think about how wrong it is that my beautiful daughter likes being bitten, and that I was the one who checked that box.

When she feels my cum shoot inside of her bowels, her symphony of sexual noises is pure ecstasy. I checked that box too.

I live in my orgasm for as long as I can. Unlike Jessica’s, it only lasts the usual amount of time.

I keep her anchored to my body until my cock shrinks and slips out. I roll over onto my back. I catch my breath. I also regain my senses, even though I’d rather not.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” I hear Jessica mewl.

I lazily lift my arm and drop it onto her flank. I pat her there.

“You did so good, baby,” I say. “You took Daddy’s cock so well. Good girl.”

I feel the shudder.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she says dreamily. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too,” I reply. I feel another shudder. Amidst all my guilt and exhaustion, I almost laugh. Our country is cruel. It’s also completely fucking absurd.

I take one more deep breath and give Jessica a different kind of pat.

“Okay baby, put your plug back in if you need to,” I tell her, “but let’s get to the shower and clean up. Jennifer’s going to get here around noon.”

“Yes, Daddy!” Jessica says. Her voice is instantly brighter. I’ve given her tasks. With boundless energy, she sees to them.

I eventually manage to roll off the bed and stumble to the bathroom.

Jessica and I shower together. It makes my cock rise to half-mast, and Jessica immediately looks to me for guidance. I decide that I should get as many orgasms as I can before Jennifer, my older daughter, arrives home. Academics work hard, but they can do a lot of that work anywhere. I’ve gotten far too used to having Jessica service me whenever the mood strikes. That will have to stop for the next week.

Jennifer grew up in the Heartland, just like Jessica did. She knows. I just don’t want her to have to see.

I turn around and guide Jessica towards my crack. She lovingly washes my rear hole with soap, rinses it off, and then licks it for a few minutes. I brace myself against the shower wall and enjoy the sensations, which escort izmir include her satisfied humming. I sense her fetch the jar of greasy lube, then feel her finger at my hole. She expertly massages my ring, then slips her finger inside of me.

I’m glad she learned this so quickly. I can keep my eyes closed and think of Jane.

The gentle finger-fucking makes my cock twitch at first, but then deflates it. Jessica adds another finger. I wince at the extra pressure, but grunt in approval so that Jessica will stay quiet and keep working. She finds my spot, and massages it just as deftly as she did my hole. I let her rub it until I receive the signal from my cock and balls: they’re ready again.

“Good job, baby,” I say. I can’t see Jessica, but I’m sure she reacted to the words. They’re the third, lesser trigger. “Let Daddy turn around now.”

She gently withdraws, and I present my flaccid cock. It’s leaking a drop of pre-cum. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. Jessica looks up at me, and I nod back to her. My body blocks most of the water so she can focus on what’s in front of her. She takes me inside of her; her mouth is exquisite. Her delicate fingers tease and stroke my balls. The other hand slips back around to my asshole.

I loved looking into Jane’s eyes when she had me in her mouth. The gaze we shared in those moments was uniquely emotional and uniquely sexual. I loved all of her sex faces — playful, horny, seductive, penetrated, cumming – but the blowjob face was special. It was submissive, yet confident. She was completely focused on pleasing me, and proud that she knew just how to do it. The two sentiments balanced on a see-saw, and my own reactions tipped it this way and that throughout the act. When I came, they found a perfect balance with each other, and then both magnified tenfold.

Today’s the first day I don’t close my eyes again. Today, I look down at Jessica’s face for the first time while she sucks my cock. I’m unsure of what will terrify me more: that she’ll look like Jane, or that she won’t.

It seems poetic that it’s exactly halfway there.

Jessica is worshiping me. The submission is there in her eyes, in spades. Jane’s confidence isn’t. Instead, there’s pleasure. The sense of absurdity threatens again, but my cock rejects it. My cock accepts everything about this new relationship. It accepts the attention, the submission, and all the extra orgasms. It doesn’t question for a moment its newfound ability to effortlessly please its receptacle. It revels in it. It grows longer, thicker, and harder now than it has in ten years.

When it cums, it cums in jets. Jessica’s eagerness and pleasure have spurred my balls and my prostate to produce more and more for her. She savors every drop, no matter where it lands. She’ll lick it up from the floor. She’ll want to, before I even tell her to.

“If you’re gonna do it, go all the way,” the man had said. “Don’t make your guilt her problem.”

I feel the fingers slip back inside. I make sure to nod and groan my approval again. Jessica knows I’m close. She works her mouth, tongue, and both hands. I begin petting her wet hair, then gather it up to form an ad-hoc ponytail. I resist the urge to grab and push. I let her coax my orgasm out of me. She already knows exactly how. She does it so well.

My knees shake when I cum. I release Jessica’s hair and it quickly falls behind her. I brace myself. I’m practically sitting on Jessica’s two massaging fingers. She keeps my cock deep inside her mouth. The head is on the back of her tongue; as its own spasms die down, it’s lifted and lowered on the tide of her swallowing motions. It feels incredible.

Once again, I reluctantly depart from orgasm and return to reality.

Jessica nurses and teases my shrinking cock. She eases her fingers out of me again.

“Thank you for the extra cum, Daddy,” she says happily. Between kisses and licks, her mouth keeps returning to a smile.

“You’re welcome, baby,” I say, more out of habit than anything. I’m just awake enough again to realize it sounds stupid. “You did a good job. Good girl.”

Her smile gets a little drunk, and her body shudders.

“Okay now, let’s finish cleaning up, baby,” I say. “And remember, we have a guest coming over today.”

“And so I need to get dressed,” she says. I hear a hint of braindead automation behind the words. I choose to ignore it, lest my heart find another way to break.

* * * * * *

Jessica cooks us breakfast, and I invite her to sit and eat with me before she begins her other chores. Little things like that make her happy, too. We chat about the shows she watches. She talks to me about her art. I revel in the normalcy. Slaves are allowed to make art, and they’re allowed to be good at it, though none of them can handle lengthy prose — well, none of the ones that anyone around here can afford. Jessica draws and paints. I’m going to buy her some simple sculpting tools for her twentieth birthday, along with some of that endlessly-reusable modeling clay.

“Check off every chore box she qualifies for,” the sympathetic man had told me. “The more discrete tasks she needs to master, the less they can fry her brain.”

Her cooking has steadily improved, but each new recipe is a struggle at first. I had to teach her how to clean the house properly, too. It was one of the few times I felt the old, familiar disappointment: the carefree child became the lazy, irresponsible teenager. The charmer became the manipulator. The pretty girl became the dangerous, entitled beauty.

Jane had put the three of us through hell, and then Jessica had turned on me and Jennifer. She’d actively gone out of her way to avoid learning or doing anything she didn’t want to do. She’d gotten into every kind of trouble she could.

As she struggled to learn how to be good daughter-slave, I tried to focus on her new attitude. I reminded myself she wasn’t the same person. Then I felt horrible, so I pushed that thought away as well.

After breakfast, Jessica cleans the kitchen and other parts of the house. I grade papers for a while in my study in the basement. Every low mark I give might be the one that puts a student on probation, or washes them out entirely. Luckily for my students, thoughtless repetition of dogma is enough to earn a B. As an academic, I ought to be furious. Instead, I’m relieved. I suffer through their papers so that they don’t suffer worse.

Some of them still will. The Heartland produces plenty of low achievers, and professors who never give low grades get put on a watch list. Most of the boys who flunk out will run to the military recruiter’s office before they get reclassified. Most of the girls will try to flee.

Jessica did. They brought her back to the house in those cuffs and manacles. The sleek, futuristic-looking bonds didn’t come off again until she was inside the processing center three days later. It was three days of her calling me a pervert and a rapist, even when I tried to wipe her and shower her with my eyes completely averted.

Jane tried to flee, I think. She was a free woman and an adult, well-educated and whip-smart. Maybe she got away. Maybe the drinking and drugs were a performance — some master plan to make it easier on the three of us when she simply disappeared.

I cry, off and on. I try to do it down here in my office. I try not to let Jessica see. It puts her in a tizzy.

I hear the front door locks click. I check the clock. It’s ten past noon. Jennifer is home.

I sit for another minute and try to gather my thoughts. I regret the decision. My thoughts, when gathered, produce dread. My chest hurts. I clench my jaw so I won’t cry again.

I go upstairs to greet Jennifer, who is everything Jessica wasn’t. Thanks to her own talent and discipline, she’s also not what Jessica is now.

“Dad?” she calls out.

I race up the stairs and then hurry to the front door.

Her face lights up, which I don’t deserve. I take her in, as a father should: is she healthy? Is she eating? Is she sleeping? Are her clothes reasonably clean? Is she going to spring a boyfriend on me?

I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a father, instead of a Daddy.

Jennifer smiles, and laughs a bit.

“Easy there, Dad,” she says. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I’ll be here all week.”

“Let me take your bags,” I say, already moving towards the big one on the floor.

She drops her other stuff and intercepts me. She maneuvers me into a hug, and I don’t really fight her on it.

She looks deep into my eyes first. God, she got Jane’s eyes. She has those green eyes.

“Hi Dad,” she says tenderly.

“Hi Jenny,” I say.

The hug is tremendous. She’s clearly been eating right and exercising. She smells clean, and her clothes do too.

She smells better than clean.

Her body is warm.

Parts of it are warmer still.

She kisses my cheek, and I begin patting her back to let her know the hug is done. I try not to show my desperation.

My cock is hardening in my pants. My stomach does a backflip.

She lets me pull away, and I see a hint of disappointment in her face.

“Come on, now, Jenny,” I say. “Let your father take your bags upstairs. Let’s get you settled in for the week.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Dad, go ahead and take my bags up. I just have to use the bathroom, then I’ll meet you in the living room.”

Upstairs, I drop the bags in Jennifer’s old room. Then I crack open Jessica’s door to check on her. She’s on her twin bed — the one she rarely uses for sleeping anymore – happily drawing on synthetic paper with an old-timey pencil. The mini-holo is on next to her. It’s business as usual. I don’t disturb her. I close the door and head towards my judgment.

Jennifer’s waiting for me on the couch in the living room. She sees me, and motions for me to come sit beside her.

I briefly contemplate suicide. Judging from the feelings in my chest, my body might simply give out before the conversation takes its inevitable turn.

I sit with her. She turns to me and puts her hand on my leg.

“Dad,” she says. “I got into the MSN program.”

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