Amity sighed deeply. “Now I wish I WAS ovulating!” As I fucked my daughter in earnest, desperate to cum inside of her again, she said, “I mean, two loads of sperm in less than an hour? Are you kidding me? I’d be pregnant for sure!”
I said nothing as I continue to hammer my swollen and throbbing penis into her inner chamber with all of my might and passion. While I grunted with the effort and Amity moaned pleasurably, I recalled the few times I’d taken our mother Rose on that very couch arm, in exactly the same way.
As though she was reading my mind, Amity asked, “Was it always like this with Mom?”
“Sometimes,” I answered. “Sometimes soft and gentle. We’ll do that, too, sweetheart. Later.”
“Good!” she said as if to punctuate my thrust into her tiny frame. “I was hoping that there’d be more of this in the future.” She glanced back at me as best she could from her hunched position. “I really DO want you to knock me up, Daddy. I want you to fill me with every drop of your seed until I can barely walk straight. I want to be so thoroughly fucked by my father that any doubt of my fertility would be blasted away with every jet of your sperm as it paints my womb white!”
Jesus Christ, where did she learn to talk like that?! I wondered to myself. I didn’t pause in pummeling her pussy, but the surprise at her ability to provide such provocative language stunned me. “Where is all of this coming from?” I asked her.
“The dirty talk?” she asked between breaths. My answer was a grunt and forceful push against her ass. “I’ve done a bit of reading myself, once I figured out what you like. Turns out I like it, too. Probably even more. We’ll talk about it later. For now, just fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me until you fill me up with more cum. I want you to wash the womb you’ll be impregnating with every drop you’ve got! Don’t talk about it, don’t think about it, just do it!”
And so I did. We said nothing more as I concentrated on granting her wish. For what seemed like an eternity, I just continued to repeatedly shove as much of myself into her frail body as I could. The heat was building up and we both began to sweat, but my stamina hadn’t waned yet. It had been a little over a year since the last time I’d had sex with our mother and I felt like I was making up for lost time. Yes, I’d masturbated some, but not as much as you’d think. Don’t forget that I’d been grieving the loss of my mother/wife for the majority of that time, so sex wasn’t very much on my mind. It wasn’t until just recently, when I’d realized and started to rail against the attraction I felt for my daughter, that I’d begun masturbating in earnest. And, even then, it wasn’t very much. Sure, I’d read lots of stories and watched lots of incest-related porn, but that had been more out of diluted interest than anything, something I did AFTER taking a cold shower. So my balls were aching for release and now my daughter was proving to be a most welcome receptacle.
Amity’s moans grew in intensity as my thrusts became more erratic. I’d felt her experience a couple of small climaxes already, but there was a huge one building up within both of us and it would crest soon. The crescendo of our passion was just on the horizon, like a freight train coming down the tracks, and neither of us would have been able to forestall it. Not that we wanted to. Our grunts and moans simply encouraged us to reach that orgasmic finish, to the point where it was almost an unsaid but desperate plea that we both shared.
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