by Anais Ninja
“Daddy, that’s so romantic.”
“It wasn’t at the time. She was so surprised that she almost passed out. Then she started crying. Then she said ‘Yes’.”
“It still sounds romantic, Daddy.”
“I guess. I was pretty scared, scared she’d say no. But we were married that spring and a year later we bought our house. Then we had you, princess. I should never have left. I still miss her.”
“I miss her too, Daddy,” I said. “I dream about her a lot.”
“I dreamed about you, Annie,” my father said, kissing my nose. “All those years when we were apart.”
“We’re together now,” I whispered.
“I know, and I never want to let you go.” He put his arm around me and held me against his chest, kissing my hair, nuzzling my neck.
“Daddy, I’ve decided what I want to do.”
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
“I’m going to go to school in Boston this semester,” I said. “I need to make up the year I lost, some of it, at least. But I want to come back here this summer, and spring vacation, too. I can decide if I want to move in with you then, okay?”
“Okay, baby. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”
“You understand, right?”
“I do,” he said. “I’d rather you never get on that plane back to Boston, but you have to think about your future. That’s a good school you’re going to attend, right?”
“The best, Daddy.”
“And those people, Bradley and Helen, they’re good people?”
“They’re wonderful,” I said. “I love them, too.”
“Then that’s what you should do, Annie. We’ll be together about half the year, and that’s more than I ever hoped for before you found me, princess.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, kissing him on the lips. “Thank you for understanding.” My tears began to flow, and he held me while I quietly sobbed on his broad chest, wetting his t-shirt with my tears. Then we drank a toast with the bottle of tequila, celebrating the fact that we’d found each other again, after all these years and all those miles that separated us.
“Krystle gave me something for you,” my father said, fishing through the envelope she’d given him. “Here.” He pulled out a pair of panties, pink satin and white lace. They were crotchless, and tied on each side with white ribbons. I slipped off my dress and panties and put on the lacy undies, retying the ribbons to fit my slimmer hips.
“Lovely,” he said, kissing me, his fingers tickling my exposed cleft.
“What else did she put in there?” I asked him.
“This,” he said, spilling the contents of the envelope out on the floor next to our sleeping bags. There was a vial of white powder, a small square mirror, and three more joints. I watched my father pour some cocaine on the mirror, reaching into his pants for his wallet, pulling out a credit card and a $20 bill. He chopped the cocaine with the card, using the corner to lay out two long lines. Then he rolled the bill into a tight cylinder and handed it to me. I held my hair behind my head and snorted one of the lines, half in one nostril, half in the other. As I handed the bill to him, I felt the rush hit me. I’d been exhausted from the hike and the climb up the mesa, but now I felt wide awake, wired.
“We’ll do the rest later,” my father said, wiping his nose with his thumb and forefinger after doing his line. He lit a joint and we smoked half of it, just to take the edge off of the coke, and took another few sips from the bottle of Cuervo.
“Kiss me, Daddy,” I said. He put down the bottle and rolled me on to my back, laying on top of me and pressing his lips to mine. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, swirling over it with my own, as if it was a wet little penis. I felt him begin to stiffen inside his boxers, his hardness pressing against my thigh, his hips slowly moving back and forth. My father began to kiss my neck, my chin, my collarbone, tugging at the neckline of my peasant blouse, freeing my breasts. As he kissed my nipples, cleaning the dried sperm from them with his tongue, I pressed my sex against his leg, slowly humping his thigh.
“Does my little girl want her pussy licked?” my father whispered.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Say it,” he said. “Tell me how much you want it.”
“Please, Daddy,” I cooed. “Please lick me.”
“Again.”
“Please lick my pussy, Daddy. Please...”
“Okay, princess,” he said, moving lower down my body, kissing my belly, his hands slipping underneath me to cup my bottom. He kissed my thighs and mons, and I felt his warm breath on my sex, getting closer, closer.
“Oh, Daddy,” I moaned as his tongue began to probe my lips, pressing into my wet slit, entering me. He began to lick me up and down, just barely grazing my pearl with the tip of his tongue before returning to my passage and probing it. When his tongue hit my clit again I cried “There! Right there, Daddy. Lick me there...”
He lingered at that spot for what seemed like hours, licking and sucking my button as he squeezed my cheeks. I felt his finger take the place of his tongue at my entrance, slipping inside me, rubbing that secret spot on the top wall of my vagina. My body hadn’t been numbed by the cocaine yet; quite the opposite. I felt ultra-sensitive, feeling every tastebud on his tongue, the whorls and lines on his fingertip. My pleasure churned inside me, and I pressed my sex hard against his lips, wanting to feel even more.
“Oh, Daddy...oh, yes...yes...yes...yes...” It was as if lightning was coursing through my veins, making me cry out for him, making my arms and legs tremble and shake. I felt my climax approach, bearing down on my like a tropical storm, winds of desire and passion blowing through me. When it arrived, I felt like a palm tree swaying in a gale, writhing back and forth on the sleeping bag, with only my two fistfuls of nylon and insulation keeping me from being swept away in the wind.
I was more than ready for him, and I sat up, pushing his face away from my cleft, kissing him, tasting my nectar on his lips. He knew what I wanted right then, no words, no begging, just a hunger in his eyes, a fire. He knew. I opened my thighs for him as he skinned off his boxers and stretched out on top of me. I reached down for his thick tool, guiding him to the entrance of my needy slit, feeling him press into me, opening me, filling me, laying on top of me as he began to thrust.
I wrapped my arms and legs around my father, savoring the feeling of his body against mine, pinning me to the sleeping bag with each long slow stroke. He felt bigger than ever inside me, stretching my hungry pussy, his fleshy glans dragging over my sweet inner spot. The cyclone within me began to howl again, as if the pause between his tongue and cock had been the calm eye of the storm. The winds were stronger this time, the passion more intense, and I trembled beneath him, barely able to hear my own moans and cries. He nuzzled my hair and began to pump me faster, harder, seeking his own release within my spasming cunny.
My father reached down and hoisted my legs up, over his shoulder as he began to pound my tender hole, his balls slapping against my upturned bottom. When he clamped his lips around one of my nipples and began to suckle, I came again, quivering beneath him, filling the shack with my cries of pleasure. I barely had enough control of my body to tighten myself around his pumping shaft, squeezing his beautiful daddycock, urging him to spill his seed inside me.
“I love that,” he rasped. “So tight...” My father gave one last thrust, burying his delicious tool inside my spasming cunny, and I felt him let go, his cock twitching and throbbing as he spurted his hot daddycum inside my cleft. My pussy made funny wet sucking sounds as he filled me with his semen, and I could feel it begin to drip down my crack and soak into the sleeping bag as his final thrusts slowed to a halt. He let go of my thighs, and I slid them off of his shoulders, pulling him against me, his broad, hairy chest pressing against my breasts. We kissed, nibbling each other’s lips, our tongues meeting and becoming one.
I wanted him to stay inside me, even sleep on top of me, but he had to take a leak. I wouldn’t have minded
if he let go inside me, that’s how much I wanted him to keep his manhood nestled in my sex. The need to piss was too urgent to ignore, and he rolled off of me, leaving me with an empty feeling as his softening cock slipped out of my messy snatch. As he stepped outside to water the stunted shrubs next to the shack, I reached for Amber’s cotton panties and wiped up some of the sperm that leaked from my slit.
When he returned we laid together for a while, nestled like spoons, his sticky penis pressed against my bottom, his arm wrapped around my waist, caressing my belly, pressing his lips to my neck. I sighed and felt like I could melt into him, the boundary between my father and I becoming indistinct, as if we shared the same skin. We smoked the rest of the joint and finished the bottle of Cuervo, and though there was another pint in his backpack, we were both too tired to move.
My father suggested that we share a sleeping bag, placing it on top of the other, a cushion against the shack’s hard wooden floor. I found the strength to get up on my knees, helping him drag one bag on top of the other, unzipping it, getting inside. I could have fallen asleep on the floor, bag or no bag. My father slipped in behind me and pulled up the zipper, enclosing us in the flannel-lined bag. I pressed my bottom against his hips, feeling his penis nestle between my cheeks. He kissed my cheek and reached for the battery-powered lamp, switching it off, and then he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me close.
As I began to relax and drift off to sleep I felt a rumbling in my tummy, not hunger but the need to pass gas. The chili and beans we’d had for dinner began to affect me, and as hard as I tried not to, I couldn’t help but let out a little fart, right on my father’s penis. Almost immediately, it began to smell like there was a skunk in the sleeping bag with us.
“Jeez, Annie,” my father whispered. “You could have warned me.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” I said. “It was your idea to have beans and chili.”
“Yeah, blame it on me,” he said, laughing and kissing the back of my head. Then he let out a fart of his own, so loud that I thought the sleeping bag would start rippling like a flag.
“Daddy!” I laughed. “That’s awful!” I thought my fart smelled bad, but it was nothing like his. There was no point in holding back, so I let another one loose, right on my father’s cock, and I felt him begin to stir.
“Do that again,” he said. I farted once more, and he began to harden between my cheeks.
“Daddy...,” I whispered as he slipped his thigh between my legs, pressing the tip of his cock against my nether lips, entering me, his cock gliding on a carpet of his own semen.
“Princess,” he murmured, his hands coming up to my breasts, cupping them, gently squeezing them, rolling my stiff nipples between his fingers. He fucked me slowly this time, gentle movements and short strokes as he took me from behind.
I reached between my legs and felt his slick shaft sliding in and out of my cleft, my father’s cock, his beautiful tool, his sweet stem. I didn’t care if it wasn’t the biggest penis I’d ever had inside me. It was my father’s, and he could touch me in ways that no other man could ever hope to do. As he nibbled my earlobes with his lips, his breath a warm cloud on my neck and shoulder, I felt my pleasure begin to rise again, a feeling that rose with each beat of my heart, each thrust of his hardness. I began to rub my little button, using his semen as a lubricant, swirling my slick fingertip around my slippery clit, feeling my climax approach.
It wasn’t intense as the last one I’d had, but it was strong enough to leave me limp, like a rag doll in my father’s arms. He felt my muscles contract around his cock and began to pump my cunny faster, seeking his own release. My father wrapped his arms around me, guiding my body back and forth on his thick shaft, using my flesh for his pleasure. I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to him; I’d gladly become a slave to his desire, to let him have his way with me, anytime, any place. I was his daughter. His blood ran through my veins, his semen filled my pussy. I was his, completely.
My father let out a soft grunt, a feral sound, an utterance that wouldn’t have been out of place in a cave a hundred thousand years before. I felt his cock begin to pulse, his glans swelling as he began to fill me with his cum, a hot gusher of cream that warmed my belly and seeped around his shaft to drip down my thigh. He kissed me on the cheek and relaxed his hold on my body, his thrusts slowing to a halt as the last drops of sperm oozed from his penis.
“Stay in me, Daddy,” I said, clamping my thighs together, trapping his softening penis inside me.
“Forever, Annie,” he whispered, kissing me again. “Forever and ever.”
“Thank you,” I sighed, a contented smile on my face as I laid my head down on the sleeping bag, falling asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.
* * *
I was riding a horse through the rust-colored wasteland, a stallion, a mottled palomino. No reins, no saddle, nothing between me and the horse’s scratchy hide but a fringed red loincloth cut from some animal’s tanned and dyed skin. The movement of my mount’s muscles reminded me of something sexual, but I couldn’t quite place what it was. As in most of my dreams, that feeling of uncertainty would stick to the back of my mind like a burr. I held on to the horse’s neck as we galloped between boulders and brush, the hills a blur as we moved swiftly through the desert, the warm wind caressing my bare breasts.
We arrived at a place I’d never seen before, yet it seemed familiar all the same, a rock-strewn box canyon with steep sides. The horse slowed to a walk as we picked our way around the rubble, and then he stopped of his own accord, at a place where the canyon walls were dotted with caves and grottos. As he ducked his head to chew on some weedy grasses that grew on the canyon floor, I dismounted, patting his flanks, feeling the warmth that radiated from under his skin.
There was the smell of a cooking fire coming from somewhere nearby. I sniffed at the air and followed it, my stomach rumbling as if I hadn’t eaten in days. Then I spotted the smoke, wafting from one of the caves, a black hole about thirty feet up from the canyon floor. There was no path up there, just a rocky outcropping below the cave mouth. I began to climb up the rocks, trying to find a foothold in the crumbling stone, sharp edges scratching my hands and feet. I felt a wetness between my toes, my own blood, but I kept climbing until I reached the cave.
He sat behind the fire, just beyond the reach of the shadows. His eyes were closed until he heard me approach, and then he looked up at me, holding his arm out and motioning for me to sit down on a woolen blanket across from him. We sat there, only the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. He had the high cheekbones of a Native-American, but his wrinkled skin and long hair were a delicate shade of white, almost translucent. I thought he might be a ghost, but his eyes were as red as the glowing embers. An albino.
“Katsinme na’am hoomay aw hikwsut pu’aq,” he said in a low, droning voice. “Katsinme homna’angwu.” He reached into a pouch tied to his belt and poured a fistful of yellow cornmeal into the fire.
“Pay katsinam piw yep itawuy taawiy aq hikwsuntiwisa.”
As he uttered a language I’d never heard before, two figures emerged from the shadows, two women, their skin the color of the hills, dressed in dark blue woolen cloaks. They flanked the pale man, squatting next to him as he spoke.
“Pangso hak ahoy nimangwu,” he said. “I’hakiy qatungwu’ata.”
I felt this must be some sort of ritual, sacred words, and I bowed my head in reverence, seeing for the first time that my blonde hair was now black, thick, with bangs cut low on my forehead.
“Niqa apiynipa hik’wsi aniwtiqaa.”
One of the women stood up and came over to me, handing me an ear of corn, perfect, unblemished. She returned to the fire, stirring something in the pot that was suspended over the flames.
“Pam hapi sutsep qatungwu.” The old man threw another handful of cornmeal into the fire. It crackled, sending a cloud of smoke and orange sparks up to the roof of the cave.
Now the other woman stood up, tying a string of t
urquoise beads and animal teeth around my neck. I looked up at her and saw that she had the sharp features of a man. She smiled, revealing some missing teeth, reaching out to gently caress my cheek. Then she returned to the pale man’s side, sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket. There was silence again.
“You bring the rain,” he said. I heard drops begin to fall outside the cave, the sound of distant thunder.
“Yes, Makya,” I replied. I knew his name, and I didn’t know how I knew. I just did.
“I show you this, so you will know,” Makya said, reaching into another pouch tied around his waist, sprinkling a copper-colored powder into the fire. There was another gout of sparks, green and blue this time, and I saw a room in my mind’s eye, a bed, a carpeted floor, the body of a young man. I couldn’t see his face, but there was something familiar about him, a memory of someone I’d known, though I couldn’t remember exactly who it was.
“Who?” I pleaded. “Who is he?”
“He weighs on your heart,” Makya said.
“Tell me who,” I cried. “When? Where?”
“There is no when,” he said. “There is only now.” The woman who had handed me the ear of corn got up and stirred the cooking pot again, and then she ladled some of the contents into a gourd and handed it to me, along with a spoon carved from old silvery wood. Despite all the questions I’d had, the answers I needed, I was ravenously hungry, and I began to wolf down the food. It was a savory stew of beans, chunks of squash, kernels of corn, and some gamy, stringy meat. I used my fingers to scoop the last morsels from the gourd and looked up again, intending to ask for more. But there was no one there. They’d disappeared, leaving me alone with the fire.
And then I was riding again, clinging to the horse’s wet hide, the rain falling in big drops that turned the sandy floor of the canyon into a muddy quagmire. There was a flash of lightning and a second later a booming peal of thunder, and then I heard it, a wall of water, a flash flood pouring through the box canyon, coming closer, gaining ground on us. I spurred the horse on with my heels, urging him to gallop faster, to outrun the deluge behind us.
