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    ljusdesignskovde.se 'father daughter sex story uncle step sister' Search, free sex videos. Every one likes a little spice in there life. This book contians many diffrent sex stories. From guy on girl, to dad on daughter. These stories are just what you've. Luisa: Mein Schlafzimmer ist vom geilen, dreckigen Geruch nach frischem Sex gefüllt und die Spannung im Raum ist beinahe mit den Händen.

    I liked it. He was gentler. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it. I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me.

    We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more. I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew.

    I doubt if any other child had so much love. My father broke up with me. Just like that. End of matter.

    It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden. I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought.

    I thought my birthday would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best birthday present he gives me, a passionate night of love making right out of a romance novel.

    It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of my father obscuring all other thoughts.

    I arrived late in the evening. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest.

    That evening I was at my best. All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.

    Instead, I got the shock of my life. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky. I knew my father; I knew the look on his face.

    It was the same look he had when he shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse to touch me because I misbehaved.

    My father had never hit me or scolded me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would simply refuse to touch me for days on end.

    Such days were hell for me. I could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew was possible.

    I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father. But this was no punishment. This was a cessation.

    This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.

    How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter.

    It was the stuff of heaven. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me. There was no one else either, I knew that much.

    My mother died while birthing me. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her. It would have been awkward.

    My father gave no reason for killing me. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best.

    How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him.

    Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. But his words belied the sorrow on his features. He had said the break up words so casually, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter.

    There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible. The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation.

    It was like mockery. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Death is not a casual occurrence. I felt like dying.

    I wanted to die. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure.

    It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death. And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter.

    We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness? For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth.

    That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love. That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died. It was the last day I spoke or saw my father.

    He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.

    As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming from both our eyelids. I could feel his sorrow; it was thick enough to touch.

    The feeling was apt; death had occurred. The man came for me twice, later. But he came as a father coming for his daughter.

    He should have come for me as a soul for its soul mate, like breath for air, like the dying for life. That was what we were; romance and its love.

    I made a new resolve. I was doing it so hard it was knocking her breath out with each thrust. When I reached down and crabbed her ass again, I stuck my finger into her tight little asshole then I positioned my cock head right against her vagina hole and I came harder than I ever had in my life.

    After I calmed down, I rolled back over, pulled her on top of me, and massaged her back as I felt my cum dripping out of her still virgin pussy.

    We kissed like lovers and she fell asleep on me as I drifted off. Whenever she was horny, she would come sneak into my bad and ask me to lick her.

    We did the same routine every Saturday morning for the next three years. Then one day she got her period. She stopped wanting to do it, but one night I talked her into letting me lick her 13 yr old pussy for an hour.

    I went to prison for 5 years and now she says she hates me and never wanted to do it at all. Now I am banned from her life and I am not even allowed to have a picture of her.

    She told my mother that she feels I abandoned her, but I am not allowed by law from even speaking to her. Its been 12 years, she is now I miss her every day.

    I still love her like my child, but I must confess, I miss her as a lover even more. I want no one but her, so I stay alone, living my life like a robot going through the motions.

    I have been with other women, but its more like masturbation than making love. I dream her and I will some day meet and maybe make love, one last time before I die.

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    1 Comments

    • Vuzshura

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