Then suddenly Dora began to feel the tide of sensation rising towards orgasm.
Beginning deeply in her fluttering belly, the very hopelessness of her position and the debasing ravishment of her flesh was bringing tiny ripples of fire dancing through her tattered nerves. Tantalized beyond belief, she felt her loins begin – at last – to hurtle outwards like a bright ball of fire towards an almost impossible climax. And then her insides were erupting in bright white flashes, and she felt and saw the cum gushing from the walls of her vagina and out over Brute's hyperactive snout until his very whiskers were dripping with the obscene wetness. A never ending stream of pleasure seemed to blow outward through her shattered nerves until she wanted to shriek and shriek and shriek for joy. She groaned as her orgasm flooded his handsome face in great sensual waves of cum, seeping warmly from her vaginal lips and down the insides of her quivering white thighs, the feeling so indescribable that she felt as if she must be dying from pure pleasure. The whole of the moaning mother's loins felt wet and used beyond belief, as for one long moment she shuddered with joy on the brink and in the middle of that most joyous orgiastic moment, and then screamed, jackknifed her legs twice, and fell forward on the bedroom carpet into her own soaking perspiration, tears of heavenly relief rolling from her tightly clenched eyes.
Guy Donovan shook his Chicago Daily News in his big hands, and occasionally glanced distractedly out the window of the evening commuter special that was carrying him from Chicago's downtown northward to the North Shore. Not long ago the Chicago amp; Northwestern had attached a drinking car to its commuter trains, but he did not feel in a gay enough mood for the bar. He was so preoccupied with other things that he was sure he would snap at anyone he met who tried to be friendly. And trouble was the last thing in the world he wanted just now.
Guy sighed and finally folded up the; newspaper, brushing his large hand back through his dark curly hair. He looked out the window at the swiftly passing city, a city of large factories, tall buildings thrown up with total disregard of all other human considerations save the central one: The making of money.
Here and there tenements dotted this masculine, factory city, and there were parks. Off to the east there was the pleasant skyline of high-rises mingled with the shining blue of Lake Michigan. Between the two lay an endless range of white sandy beaches, more so than strangers to Chicago might ever have expected, surfeited as they usually were on a diet of gangster stories from the "city of the big shoulders."
Guy Donovan looked glumly at his hands. They were large hands, the backs of which were fairly inundated with dark black curly hairs. The morning had not gone well.
For one thing, he had been almost continually distracted from the very beginning. Starting with the first hour that morning, when he hadn't been able to put his maturing young daughter June out of his mind for a single instant.
He had fumbled through his paperwork, and behaved distractedly with his secretary, and finally when the girl from the typing pool had showed up for their usual 10:30 tete-a-tete, he had been unable to imagine that it was anyone other than his voluptuously beautiful blonde daughter. As the girl had knelt between his legs and sucked so clingingly along the entire thickness of his throbbing hot penis, with her long blonde hair cascading over his half-naked loins and lying softly off against the insides of his legs, it was easy to imagine June…
June, with her soft, pliable little-girl lips, her far-from-little-girl breasts, her long, honey-blonde hair wafting along his legs…
Yes, it had been easy to imagine. And then when he had shot into the teenage typist's furnace-like mouth, and seen his milky cum bursting the confines of her still hotly sucking lips, it had been all too easy to imagine those were his daughter's lips, June's lips, June's fluttering dark eyelashes and deep blue eyes, June's pale silky hair… June's buttocks so well-formed and partly upraised… God, what a delightful suck she'd been! His own twelve year old little blonde girl with her sweet little tits and well-curved fanny… and no doubt with a soft sprinkling of golden hair all over her virginal young pussy …
Guy averted his eyes and leaned his head against his hand. He had to stop thinking of her like this! The whole thing was getting altogether out of hand.
Furthermore, he was deeply convinced that Dora was beginning to suspect something.
There was nothing that he could actually put his finger on; rather it was something he merely sensed very strongly. And then often when he was fucking her he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out June's name… maybe he had voiced it already.
Which was one thing the girl in the typing pool had over Dora – she didn't care whose name he cried out when he blew his boiling hot semen down her throat. He had been able to press his hands freely into her peroxide yellow hair, cursing out: "That's it, June! Suck big daddy's cock! Swallow my cum, baby! Suck me off."
God forbid he ever uttered a word of that in front of his wife, though!
And not that the business with the eighteen year old typist had really satisfied him. No, far from it. Afterwards he had only daydreamed about his twelve year old daughter all the more and what it could be like fucking her, and so on. He really had to get a grip on himself, because then during the Minnesota Mining conference in the afternoon the boss had insisted that he looked so distracted that he might be ill and should take the rest of the day off.
So here he was on the 3:34, heading northward ahead of almost everyone else.
His papers packed up in his briefcase in case he could get some work done in the evening. His chest seething with an obscene desire that he dared not name – an unnatural lust for his own daughter!
But then how could he help it? June was so unearthly lovely. She was so sensually developed for twelve. Her breasts were high, wide apart and shapely.
No normal man could keep his eyes off them. And when she fluffed out that long blonde hair over that hourglass figure… coupled with her invitingly soft pouting expression that a man could think only of kissing and in connection with nothing else in the world… lust was the only word to describe what a man had to feel, even if that man was her father!
He stared glumly out the window of the speeding train. Still and all, he knew very well that his feelings flew in the face of every taboo known to man.
Still, he would challenge anyone not to feel something with a daughter of such gorgeous plenitude wandering around the house, sometimes temptingly half-naked.
There wasn't a father anywhere who could help but feel affected in some way.
Guy shrugged. All this incest bit was just a lot of bunk. But then, thinking it was bunk and doing something about it were two different things! At least for him.
So where did that leave him with his beautiful blonde daughter June? It was true that he desperately wanted to fuck her, but there were too many obstacles.
For one thing, she would probably be horrified, even though she was a little prick-tease. Teasing was natural among burgeoning young girls; they were just exercising their sexual prowess.
But that didn't necessarily mean that she wanted to ball her old man.
For another, such an adventure would probably twist her psychologically. And for another still, there was his wife Dora, to think of. Prim but statuesque Dora. If anything ever happened in that house between himself and June, and Dora learned of it, all hell would break loose. Their comfortable marriage would be destroyed – and he truly loved his wife – June would probably be sent to a foster home, there would be a nasty scandal that might cause him to lose everything – job, marriage, home, the works – and Dora would probably have a nervous breakdown.