22 comments/ 89165 views/ 100 favorites The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy By: LordLoxley December 5 - Dear Diary: Well, I almost don't know how to start. So weird! Last night my dad came into my room and woke me up. It was total craziness! I woke up to see my dad rummaging through my closet. WTF, right? I started to say something, but then I noticed his eyes were closed! He seemed to be pretending to gather things into his arms. He would reach into the closet, grab some imaginary something, then pass it to his left arm, which he had cradled to his chest. Weird as hell, right? I just sat up in bed and watched. After a few more grabs, he took his "armful" and walked to my dresser. He placed each imaginary item on my dresser and turned to smile at me, eyes still closed. I couldn't help but smile back. My dad's so handsome! I also have to admit that I glanced down at his body. Hey, I know he's my dad, but he's also like, totally built. His broad shoulders bulged with muscles, and his thickly muscled chest tapered to a classic eight-pack. Loose boxers and below them tree-trunk legs. Yep, he was a world-class hunk. All those years in the military had made him really serious about discipline. Take it from me... I know. Eighteen years with a military dad, and believe me, I understand discipline! Eighteen years old and I've never been on a date! But you already know this, dearest Diary. Sure, I've kissed a few times, but dad has been so careful with me I've never even gotten to second base. Whatever that is! I watched in fascination as he began to mime making a sandwich. He was slathering imaginary something on imaginary bread, using an imaginary knife. Crazy! I didn't know what to do. I mean, my first impulse was to wake him up. Then I looked up at the bunched muscles of his arms as he made the imaginary sandwich. I think I read once that you should never wake up a sleepwalker. You never know what they might do. Suddenly I shivered. Daddy had never hurt me. Not ever. Not even a spanking. But for the first time, I felt a ghost of fear. What if he did something in his dream-state? Like went back to Iraq in his head or something? One punch could kill me. I'm just a tiny girl, Diary... I started to get pretty scared! I've only ever seen Daddy hurt someone once, and it happened so fast I almost didn't see it at all. We were at the county fair, and I think I was like sixteen or something. Anyway, someone tried to steal my purse. It all happened so fast. First, I felt a pull as my purse was yanked away. Before I could even react, dad was a blur. I heard a horrible, meaty "whack" and when I turned around, I saw some dude on the ground. He was holding his hands to his face and blood was gushing out around them. I looked up at my dad, eyes wide, and what I saw made me take one step back. In his left hand dangled my purse. His right hand was clenched in the biggest fist I'd ever seen. But what made me step back were his eyes. It's easy for me to forget that my dad is a soldier. He is so sweet and loyal and kind. He never raises his voice or pushes anyone around. Even when his friends get rude or out of hand, he never loses his cool. He's a giant teddy bear! But on that day I realized something important. My daddy doesn't hurt or bully anyone. Not because he can't, but because he chooses not to. His gentle spirit and calm personality come not from weakness, but from intense strength. He doesn't need to prove anything to anyone. But those eyes... you remember, Diary... I couldn't sleep that night. His eyes were not angry. Not hateful. Not emotional at all. That was what frightened me. They were the cold, lifeless eyes of a killer. He was looking right at me, but somehow not. He was looking through me. I could almost hear his mind coldly assessing the situation. Evaluating further threat. Determining if further punishment would be necessary for the poor dude on the ground with the broken face. And then suddenly he smiled and handed me my purse. We walked on down the midway, and I never did find out what happened to the would-be thief. But I did learn a lesson about my daddy. You do not fuck with him or his. But I didn't feel afraid. If anything I felt even safer. I mean, what girl wouldn't love to have Captain America as a father? But last night I started to get scared. There was no way I was going to try to wake him up. I know he would never hurt me on purpose, but... why take a chance? So I sat and watched him make his imaginary sandwich. It was kinda funny, actually, once I got used to it. He mimed each motion exactly. I could actually see him trying to separate the pieces of lunch meat. This sent a shock through me. Daddy and I were both peanut-butter and jelly people. My heart started to weigh heavy in my chest. Daddy was making a sandwich for mom. I felt a tear trickle down my face as I realized that my sweet daddy was dreaming of making a sandwich for his beloved wife, now dead for three years. It was so sweet and heartbreaking all at the same time. Suddenly, something changed and he straightened a little. He paused in that position for a minute, then suddenly walked out of the room. Hmmmph! He didn't even put away all the sandwich fixin's. And if I even leave the salt out, I get an ear-full. Hypocrite! * * * * * * * December 6 – Dear Diary: Well, it happened again last night! Same exact scenario, all over again. I awoke right away, since I kinda thought he might be back. Sure enough, he gathered all the ingredients again, took them to my dresser, and started making the sandwich. This time he actually got a little farther in the process before going back to his bedroom. He put both the meat and two slices of cheese on the sandwich. Yep, definitely for mom. But that got me thinking about mom. I know it's been a few years, but I knew her for a long time. I don't ever, and I mean ever, remember Daddy making her a sandwich. Not that he wouldn't have. He would have done anything for her. He loved her so much. But she had very traditional ideas about family, and I don't think I remember Daddy ever making himself any kind of food while she was around. She always said, "Nobody takes care of my man but me." To which he always replied, "And no one ever will." Remembering that kind of made me cry again. He was true to his word. I mean, there were constantly women sniffing around the house, trying to win him over. Jeez, come on! Thirty-seven year-old widower. Handsome and fit as hell. Successful business-owner. I can't tell you how many beautiful women have tried to catch his eye through the last three years. To absolutely no effect. Not even a glance. He was polite, and civil, but clearly not interested. I even remember one, that airhead brunette bitch, talking on her phone to a friend. "I don't know, I've tried everything. Even the 'accidental bathing suit malfunction' and nothing works. Maybe his you-know-what got blown off in the war or something." I remember being so angry at that bimbo. To take his loyalty and true-love and try to turn it ugly, God it burned my blood. And besides, I happened to know that nothing had been blown off in the war. Not that I tried to see him, but you remember Diary. I told you all about it. It may have only been a few seconds as he came out of the shower, but I can tell you for sure, he has all of his parts, and they are all... well... perfect. Oh God. Now I sound like a perv. Look, it's hard for me to explain. I'm not trying to say I'm hot for my dad, okay? He just happens to be totally perfect. I'm just commenting on the obvious. Anyways, at first I was glad he was ignoring all those women. I mean, none of them could ever replace my mom, so fuck 'em, am I right? But after a while I realized that I was being selfish. Daddy has a right to feel love again. To have someone to hold hands with. Now I'm kind of hoping he will find someone. He's such a good man. Such a good protector. Soon I'll be gone away off to college, and then who will he protect? Well, anyways Diary, I just wanted to tell you that he sleepwalked again. He's never done that before, and now twice in a row? I wonder if he will be back again tonight? I guess we'll see. * * * * * * * December 7 – Dear Diary: Yep. Happened again. Each time he seems to get a little farther into the scenario. Last night he made it as far as putting the second slice of bread on top and placing it on an imaginary plate. Then he looked up and walked back to his bedroom. So effing weird! And all of this has got me thinking about mom. God how I miss her. Everyone tells me I'm growing up to look exactly like her. I look at her photos but can't see it myself. She had blonde hair like me, and I guess we both have tiny little noses and high cheekbones. But she was way more beautiful than me. Poor mom. She had it all. Perfect family, perfect life. All of it taken away by a drunk driver almost exactly three years ago. Wait, Diary! Maybe we're onto something. Mom died on Christmas Eve, almost exactly three years ago. Maybe these dreams are somehow related to the coming anniversary of her death. I mean, that's why we don't celebrate Christmas anymore. We just pretend it doesn't exist. Which is pretty hard, take it from me. I'm starting to get really interested, Diary. As you know, I'm going to be a police detective when I grow up, no matter what Daddy says. I smell an interesting case. A man with no history of sleepwalking suddenly sleepwalks three days in a row. This sleepwalking may in fact correspond with the coming anniversary of his beloved wife's death. And finally, the mystery of the sandwich. Mom would never let him make her a sandwich. It just didn't make sense. Or, maybe he's just sleepwalking. Maybe he's dreaming of when he was a kid. I don't even know what kind of sandwiches his brother and sister eat. Maybe I'm making this into something more than it is. We'll see Diary. We shall see... * * * * * * * December 10, three days later, night time – Dear Diary: Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!! Holy crap! I'm writing in my bed right now. Daddy just left. Oh my fucking God! I didn't write for the last few days because nothing new was happening. He just kept coming back, every night, making a damn sandwich. Getting a little further into the dream each time. Until tonight. Oh. My. God. Okay, I have to calm down. So Daddy came in, got the ingredients, and made the sandwich. Same as every day for the last week or so. No biggie, right? But tonight, when he finished the sandwich and cut it in half, he came over to the bed and sat next to me. I couldn't believe it! What was I supposed to do? I sure wasn't going to wake him up, so I just sat there, quiet as a mouse, breathing in his clean, manly scent. He turned to me and mumbled something, but I couldn't make out the words. And then he leaned forward and kissed me! And no, I don't mean the way daddies kiss their kids. I mean like a full-on Hollywood lip-lock. I was completely taken by surprise! He cradled the back of my head and simply kissed me. And I have to admit... I liked it. His tongue probed gently but firmly into my mouth, finding my tongue and twirling it with erotic, muscular strokes. He nibbled on my lips in a way that made my tummy flutter. God, Diary, I have to admit, it was amazing. I loved the way he tasted. I loved the way his whiskers grated against my cheeks. I loved the feeling his tongue was giving me. I felt suddenly hot and liquidy inside. I was felling things I'd never felt before, and the feelings were getting stronger. I let out an involuntary moan and suddenly he sat up straight. Once again, he froze in a distracted posture, stood up, and went back to bed. I just sat there, breathing heavily. My nerves were on fire. My lips felt hot and tingly. And oh God. I almost can't admit this to you, Diary, but my panties were wet! I swear I didn't pee! But as I reached down, there was no question. My little woo-woo was slick and hot. I felt strange electric jolts when I touched it. I went to the bathroom, confused and scared. What had just happened? I rinsed my woo-woo in cold water, and that seemed to help the weird fire down there, and after I dried off I came back in here to write. Dear Diary, what the fuck? * * * * * * * December 11, early morning – Dear Diary: Okay, Diary. Last night was crazy. I have no idea how to handle this. I can't wake him up, but I can't let it happen again. I mean... I know I liked it and all, but that's only because I'm a normal human girl, and he is a total stud, and I just reacted the way any one would. Right? But it has to stop. I'm his daughter. He would die if he knew what had happened last night. It would crush him to think he had in any way hurt or coerced me. Time to put on my detective hat. I'm going to get to the heart of this matter. I'm going to start investigating! Starting today! I'll write more later today to keep you updated! * * * * * * * December 11, continued – Dear Diary: Well okay. I understand now. Holy shit. Oh boy, I better explain. And it is not good. First I called Uncle Roger, dad's brother. I asked him if Daddy had ever made mom a sandwich, and he laughed about three minutes straight. When he settled down, he said, "Honey, your mom would have killed him if he'd tried." I thanked him and rang off, but I was starting to have unpleasant thoughts. What if Uncle Roger was right? What if dad never had made mom a sandwich? What if he'd made one for someone else? Someone else who he had then kissed afterwards? Oh my God, I thought, what if dad had cheated on mom? What if he was reliving that experience out of some kind of guilt about the coming anniversary of her death? God, I should never have taken tenth grade Psychology. I started thinking, maybe he had found a woman who would give him what mom couldn't give. Maybe he had found a woman who would let him make her a sandwich! Yea, I know. Laugh it up Diary. You're not so damn smart yourself. Or, well, if you were a person, that is. You wouldn't be... Never mind! But all my silly psych theories got destroyed when I called Aunt Megan. Aunt Megan probably knew my mom better than anyone in the world except dad. Growing up together, they had been pretty close, especially since they were the only two girls in a family of eight. When I asked her if dad had ever made mom a sandwich, the line was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, "Why do you ask, sweetie?" "Oh, no reason," I lied, "dad just mentioned it one time, and something about the way he said it made me curious." Another long silence. I was beginning to think she knew something weird was going on. My story was clearly bullshit. But she trusted me. Why not? That was the first lie I'd ever told her. No, she was silent for other reasons, as I would soon learn. "Honey, your dad made your mother exactly eighteen sandwiches," Came her soft reply. I couldn't contain a little guffaw. What the heckski? How the hell could she know such a thing? Down to the exact number? This case was just getting weirder and weirder. Don't laugh at me diary. It is a case. "The case of the sleepwalking Daddy." And I'm on track to solve it. I guess Aunt Megan took my silence for the stunned shock that it was. She laughed her throaty laugh, sounding so much like mom. "I know, sweetie. That's a pretty exact number for something as mundane as making sandwiches, right?" "Yeah, I guess so," I said softly, my heart beating fast. I knew I was close to cracking the case. "Well," she said in a conspiratorial tone, "let me tell you how I know the exact number." I sat up, pen poised above my little detective notebook I'd bought last summer. I looked down at the clues already listed, and I wrote a large number 18. "Your dad made your mom a sandwich every Christmas Eve," she said softly. "It was a tradition for them." Another long pause. "I don't know if he actually made the eighteenth or not, because that was the night..." The night my mom died. I sadly wrote a question mark next to the number in my notebook. Again long silence on the line. Suddenly I asked, "But why would he even try to make one? Mom always felt insulted when anyone tried to take care of dad, even dad himself." That throaty laugh again. "That's for sure. That is why I know the exact number. Your dad is a special man, sweetie. He got her to break her rule right from the beginning." I perked up. Now this had the sound of a good scoop. Er... or whatever detectives call big new information. I held the phone tight and listened closely. "You see, honey," she continued, "your dad knew just how traditional your mom was. And he approved. He was quite traditional as well. And well, even though we think of such things as old-fashioned these days, as long as both parties are okay with it, the old roles can work out pretty good." I raised my eyebrows, since I know that Aunt Megan is anything but "traditional," being a lesbian biker among other things. But she clearly thought that what my mom and dad had was special. "I was a little suspicious of your dad at first," she said, "I mean, he was a fucking soldier boy, for crying out loud!" She paused. "Excuse my French. But after a while, I started to realize that he was the real deal. He wanted traditional roles, but he took his duties very seriously. Not like some assholes who think the woman should work all day, then cook and clean." "No, he meant to provide for her in every way. He meant to provide and protect and support. That's just how he was built." Another long pause. "As different from my life as that is, I had to respect it. Especially since I knew that was exactly what your mom wanted too." She sighed into the phone and I had forgotten to take notes, so captivated was I by her story. "But your dad really won me over the night he proposed to her. That was the first night he made her a sandwich." I perked up, and wrote "proposal – first sandwich" in my notes. This was getting good! My aunt's soft, reflective voice continued. "She told me all about it. He had invited her over for lunch, but she'd assumed they would be going out. When she got to his apartment, he led her to the kitchen, where he had laid out all the fixings for her favorite turkey sandwich. And he said to her..." I listened as my aunt's voice got deeper, as she heard his voice in her memory, "Darlin, you take such good care of me. You're the best woman I've ever known. And I know how much pride you take in being the one who nurtures. The one who provides the meals and the shelter from the storm. Hell, that's one of the reasons I love you so much." My aunt laughed, and I wasn't sure if it was hers, or her memory of my father. She continued in the deeper voice. "But today, just this once, I'm going to make you a sandwich. And no argument! I know this is the way you show your love for me. And I honor and accept that love. But today, just this once, I'm going to feed you. Nurture you." The phone was silent for a moment, yet charged with the emotion of my father's long-ago speech. "Because I want you to be my wife. And I want you to know that I appreciate what you do for me. And what better way to show you that I understand, and truly appreciate you, than for me to do the same for you?" Aunt Megan's voice returned to normal as she continued. "He made her that sandwich, in perfect silence, right in front of her. She told me it was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen. She took the sandwich from him, tears streaming down her face, and simply said 'Yes.'" There was another long pause as I tried to make sense of how this story related to recent events. Suddenly she spoke up again. "Look, you're old enough to know this, so there's no reason to keep it from you. That was also the first night they made love." The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy My eyes suddenly grew big. Whoooaaah! This was some news. I wrote "first whoopee" in my notebook with a flourish. My aunt continued. "They had meant to wait until marriage, but she said his gesture was so sweet, so loving, that when he handed her the sandwich, she said yes and kissed him." Again she was silent, almost as though she were trying to edit the story in her mind. "She told me the kiss was the best they'd ever had. She said... that she couldn't resist. Didn't want to resist. Sweetie, on that day they shared their love for each other the first time. Do you know what that means?" "Sure," I lied, "but that's only one sandwich. You said there were as many as eighteen." "Well," she said, her voice warming to a beloved memory, "it became a tradition. His yearly affirmation of his love for her. Your grandmother liked to compare it to Jesus washing that woman's feet, but I think that's going a bit too far. I mean, your dads great and all..." I laughed and said, "Yeah. Definitely NOT Jesus." I tried to picture my dad in sandals and long hair. "But as close as they come in this world, kiddo. How else do you think your father and I have gotten along over the years? We're as different as they come... It's because he is a good man, and he loved your mother with a love unlike any I've ever seen." I swear I heard a little note of sadness there at the end. God, had anyone found a love like my mom and dad? All the more tragic that he lost her. Now I had my info. But what to do with it? After saying goodbye to Aunt Megan, I went and sat in my beanbag chair to think. So much to consider! Just then Julie came by! Uggghhh! Terrible timing. I mean I love her to death, and we are besties forever, but now was not the time to gossip about school or what we were going to wear to the winter formal. Now was the time for sleuthing! I had things to think about. But no luck. Julie had already planned a trip to the mall, and six other girls were on board. Have you ever tried saying 'no' to Julie? Not possible, my friend. Not possible. So I just got back from the mall, and it's late. Almost time to go to bed. And I haven't really had time to think about everything I've learned. And more importantly, what is going to happen tonight? * * * * * * * December 12, early morning – Dear Diary: Well, he came into my room again last night. I'm writing today because I fell asleep. My mind is kind of blurry right now, and last night kinda seems like a dream. I'll try to write what happened. Daddy came in again and started making his sandwich. I was feeling really strange. Like a mix of fear at what might happen and... well and... excitement, if I want to tell the truth. I mean, it was so weird that dad had kissed me, but I also couldn't forget the strange feelings in my tummy and the hot electric wetness of my woo-woo. So I just sat there watching him with big eyes. For some reason I was more aware of his body, the way his arm and shoulder muscles flexed as he moved. The way his hip flexor muscles vee'd down into the waistband of his boxers. The way his... oh God, what am I writing? Anyway, clearly I am fucked up this morning. I'll just tell you what happened, okay Diary? After he was done with the sandwich, he came and sat by me. Again. I was statue still. Should I wake him up? I should wake him up. But you're not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, right? But my lips were tingling with memory. And I felt a warm liquid feeling gush deep in my tummy. Suddenly, he reached behind my head and kissed me again. Only this time I knew what was coming. I was less shocked and more able to enjoy. And oh God did I enjoy. As his tongue plunged into my mouth, I reached out and grabbed his biceps, pulling him closer. One of his hands was behind my neck, and the other rested on my waist. It was all happening again. I was wet down there again. I could feel it. Very wet. But for some reason I didn't feel ashamed. I felt sexy. The way he was kissing me... just taking me... made me feel like a true woman. Don't laugh, Diary. You of all people know that I have no experience. All I can say is that I got swept up in the moment. Tasting his tongue deep. Breathing in the smell of his cologne, and under, something more primal, more manly. And now his left hand moved upwards from my waist. Cupping my right tit. My eyes went wide. Should I stop this? This was so fucking wrong. Yet my body was singing a different song. Oh God. My nipples were hard and sensitive, sending electric jolts with his every caress. He was squeezing and stroking my tit now, pausing to pinch and twist my hot little nipples. I could feel the hot liquid flowing freely from my woo-woo. Look, Diary. I know about sex, okay? I know the biology. But knowing and feeling are two very different things. Knowing that the female of the species releases lubrication in her vagina in order to facilitate penetration is very different from actually creaming your undies! I mean, I knew why biologically, but it didn't change the fact that my little woo-woo was gushing warm juice! And all of this because my daddy was french-kissing the shit out of me, and massaging my tit like a horny teen-ager! I was starting to feel overwhelmed. Like I was feeling something start to build up inside... something that wanted to be released, when he stopped again and looked into the distance. After his short pause, he stood up and went back to bed. I just laid there, my eyes hooded with lust. My lips swollen and tingly. And my little cunny... oh God it was so hot and bothered! And wet! So much juice, still flowing out. And my right tit was afire. The nipple still sending signals to my woo-woo and back. Still remembering the strong hands of my father. I laid back, my body on fire, and I fell into fevered dreams. Dear Lord, Diary, what is happening to me? * * * * * * * December 12, bedtime – Dear Diary: Well, this is my second diary entry today. It's about ten minutes before bed time and I'm scared shitless. What the hell am I going to do? I can't wake him, yet if this keeps on going like this he's eventually going to... well, let's be honest. He's probably going to fuck me. Oh God, why did my traitor woo-woo suddenly start tingling when I wrote that? This is so fucked up. I don't know how to feel about this. The crazy thing is, I don't even have a choice. Like it or not, if this goes on, he's going to fuck me. He's going to rape me. So shouldn't I be more scared? I mean, I am definitely freaked out, but I don't really feel scared. Not like the way I do when I feel like I'm in danger. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I also feel a little excited. I mean, I understand the biology of sex, but the reality is WAY more interesting. Then it came to me. The way out. All I had to do was sleep somewhere else. Go downstairs and sleep on the couch. Or maybe even outside on the hammock. Daddy would come in, and there would be no one to molest. Problem solved. So I got ready for bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, ect. I got my jammies on, which are really just loose cotton shorts and a comfy t-shirt. And I grabbed my diary and got into bed. And so here I lay, writing to you, dearest Diary. Why am I not on the couch downstairs, or maybe the hammock? I don't know. I really just don't know. But here I am. Goodnight Diary. * * * * * * * December 13, morning – Dear Diary Wow. I mean just... wow. I had no idea. I just never knew... Okay, let me tell you what happened last night. Dear Lord, I can hardly believe it myself. I just never knew such feelings were possible. I have to admit I feel wonderful this morning. I've never felt better! I think it has something to do with what Daddy did to me last night. So he made his sandwich, yet again, put it on a plate and cut it in half, then he came and sat next to me. I just sat there trembling, waiting for the wonderful kiss I knew was coming. And when he leaned in to kiss me, I have to be honest. I kissed him back. Hard. I snaked my tongue into his hot mouth, loving the taste and smell of him. One hand gripped his shoulder, while I let the other stroke his muscular chest. God! He was overwhelming me with his manliness! He started massaging my tittie, and my little cunny started dribbling again. We just kept kissing, and it was wonderful. One of his huge hands was cupped behind my neck, but the other was now snaking under my shirt. I gasped as he palmed my naked tit. He started stroking and kneading both breasts, occasionally twisting the hard nubs of my nipples. I was on fire! I've never felt that kind of feeling before. Like my whole body was suddenly hyped up. I was breathing harder, moaning into my daddy's mouth. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins and my heart was beating fast. And I was starting to feel a strange, hot needy feeling between my legs. There was no question, my woo-woo wanted to be touched. Bad. It soon got its wish. And then some. Because after only another minute or two of hot making out, he broke away. I almost gasped in disappointment, my swollen lips tingling. He placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me gently but irresistibly backwards. I had no idea what was about to happen! I don't know if I was more afraid or excited. Dear God what a mess all of this is! I was now laying back on my pillows, looking down as Daddy slid his hands sensually down to my hips. There he grabbed ahold of the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down. I almost screamed in panic! What could I do? I couldn't wake him, but I had never been touched down there! This was going way too far! But a part of my brain calmly replied, "What did you think was going to happen?" But it didn't matter anyway. He was twice my size. He was going to do whatever he wanted to do, and there was nothing I could do about it. After throwing my shorts on the floor, he completed my shame by splaying my legs obscenely wide. My little blond-tufted flower was exposed to the world. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. My little pussy lips were red and slimy-wet! The hair around the little hole was matted and smeared with juice. And this from only a few minutes of kissing! What was Daddy doing to me? And then he did something completely unexpected. He kissed my woo-woo. Just a sweet, tiny kitten-kiss right at the top. And oh... yes. Yes, that was what I wanted. Touch. Yes, just that little kiss let me know. I wanted more. More of that right away. And he obliged. God damn, did he oblige. He basically started began making out with my cunny. And I was in total heaven. Oh God how his tongue stroked into my hot little hole. How his lips nibbled and sucked at my tender pussy lips. And from time to time he would return to the top of my pussy to suck and lick the little button there. My woo-woo was on fire. It just felt so fucking good! My clit was super-sensitive, but Daddy seemed to know not to overstimulate. He just kept lapping, going right to the edge of 'too much' then retreating again, plunging his hard tongue into my body, or just licking and sucking the juice directly from my super-horny little cunny. Oh, it was good, Diary. So fucking good. And it just kept getting better and better as I felt my body moving towards some kind of grand release. I could sense that some kind of explosion was eminent. He seemed to sense it too, because he stepped up the pace. Basically he went tongue-crazy on my tender little virgin pussy. And I loved it. I was thrashing my head back and forth, unable to even control the movements of my body. And suddenly it happened. I went off the edge of a massive cliff. All the nerve endings in my body seemed to fire all at once, sending a massive wash of intense pleasure directly to my core. I literally lost my mind for a second there! It was the most amazing feeling I've ever had! My tummy was clenched, and I could feel my hot little hole spasming and grasping, even as it gushed girl-juice. And he just lapped it up. He drank deep of my orgasm. Tonguing. Licking. Sucking. Oh my God it was good. It seemed to last forever. I was a twitching, moaning, drooling mess. And I fucking loved it. Suddenly, Daddy once again lifted his head, as if hearing a distant call, and stood and left the room. Leaving me a literal hot mess on the bed. What the fuck had just happened? I guess that was an orgasm. Somehow, the biology textbook had failed to communicate the reality of the event. I just laid there, breathing hard, my little cunny twitching with aftershocks. I was in a daze. Confused, contented, euphoric, and a little guilty. God what a mess I am. I fell asleep just like that. Legs wantonly splayed. Wet little pussy exposed to the cool night air. I didn't care. I was exhausted. My mind literally shut down from all the stimulation. And now here I sit, writing the next day. What am I going to do, Diary? That was incest last night. There is no way to paint it any other way. My Daddy had his tongue in my pussy! That is not okay. And yet. Oh dear God. That feeling he gave me. It was the hottest, most satisfying pleasure I've ever felt. Just writing about it now makes me want to feel it again. Makes my woo-woo hot and slick. I think I may be addicted. I don't think I can stop now. I know it's wrong. I know Daddy would be so angry if he knew. But I honestly don't think I can live without that feeling again. And soon. * * * * * * * December 18, several days later – Dear Diary: Oh God. I'm the worst person in the world. What's wrong with me? I used to be normal. I used to be a good girl. You know this, Diary! I tell you everything! But somehow I've come to this. Every night, for the last five nights, my Daddy comes to my bed and kisses me until my woo-woo is gushing. Then he leans me back and tongues my hot little pussy until I cum. And oh my God do I cum. It feels oh so good. Every night for five nights now I have not only let my father put his tongue in my most secret of places. I have loved it. I mean it, Diary! I fucking love it. And I love my Daddy more than ever. In the daylight hours, he treats me just as sweet and kind as always. I'm still his perfect little princess. Oh, if only he knew. If only he knew that his innocent princess was receiving a man into her room every night. And that man was sucking her hot little cunt until she squirted pussy-juice into his mouth. Pussy juice that he may have woken still tasting. God, Diary, this is so fucked up. I see him eating breakfast and I want to walk up behind him and stroke his chest. I want to run my fingers through his hair. I want to kiss him deeply. But instead I have to pretend that everything is normal. And wait. Wait for the dark hours of the night, when he is mine. I know it's not real. I know he thinks I'm my mother. I don't care. I live for that short window of time every night. I feel so loved. I feel so womanly. God, he makes me feel complete! He's watching me write in my diary right now, a fond smile on his face. Is there a little heat in his eyes? Something new simmering there? No. I'm imagining things. This is crazy! What if he somehow remembers that just ten hours ago his face had been buried in my gushing pussy, his tongue lapping me from asshole to clit-button? Or worse, and I just thought of this... what if he wakes up in the middle of it? What would happen? What would he do? I feel goose-bumps just thinking about it. This situation is out of control! It must stop. I'm going to stop it, okay Diary? * * * * * * * December 19, morning – Dear Diary: I didn't stop it. I didn't go sleep elsewhere. And last night something new happened. Dear Lord I just keep getting in deeper and deeper! Every night after he eats my pussy until I spaz out with orgasm, he scoots up and holds me while I recover myself. Each night that time stretched out a little longer before he was "called" back to his bed. I was really starting to love that time almost as much as the orgasm. His strong arms comforted and calmed me. As my heartbeat came back down to normal, I felt safe in the nest of his arms. I felt loved and protected. But last night, after our cuddle session, instead of going back to bed, he reached to the back of my head and gently pushed down. Now, maybe the woman in his dream was going along with it, but I had no idea what was happening. But that didn't stop his thickly-muscled arm from putting my head where he wanted it, with or without my permission. And so I found myself staring at the front of his loose boxers. It was fairly dark, with only the bathroom light to see by, but I could clearly see a thick cylinder outlined in the cloth of his boxers. Now, once again, I know what a penis is. I've seen drawings and diagrams in textbooks. But nothing prepared me for the real thing as he reached down and pulled out his thing. I don't have anything to compare it to, but it seemed impossibly huge. It was so thick and veiny! Part of me was grossed out, but another part was fascinated and excited. That part took over and I reached a trembling hand down to touch it. It was rock hard, like a muscle. But the skin was really, really soft. And it was hot! He moaned a little when I touched it. Somehow that moan did it for me. I suddenly realized that now was my chance to give him pleasure like he had given me. So I grabbed him firmly in my tiny fist. He moaned again and I felt the shaft expand in my hand a little. Suddenly I was overcome with a sense of womanly power. I was holding his most vulnerable part in my hands. I began experimenting with lightly stroking his big thing, and sure enough, he responded with moans and thrusts. Here I was, a tiny little blonde girl, making a puppet out of a two hundred and twenty pound slab of muscle! I felt the erotic power rush through my body, and my woo-woo started drooling again. It felt good, but I know it's bad. I'm such a dirty girl for Daddy! I started jacking up and down on his big hard thing and I soon discovered that he leaks too. A clear, slimy liquid was dribbling out of the hole at the tip of his penis. I found that by slathering it around, I could use it to slicken his shaft. (No doubt that is its evolutionary purpose, said a professorial voice in my head). See Diary, I can be nerdy even when jacking my dad's dick. I am one messed up girl. Daddy was just moaning and thrashing when I had an idea. He used his mouth on me, why not use mine on him? So I lifted his cock so that it was pointing straight up, and without even thinking about it, I fastened my lips around the big head and sucked. This caused the biggest moan yet, and I smiled around the cock-meat in my mouth. I started using my tongue to lick and slobber all over his cock head. God, I felt so slutty. Sucking my own father's dick and loving it. But there's no question. I did love it. I loved the taste. The feel. The power. The sheer raunchy wrongness of it all. My pussy was gushing and pulsing. And then he sat up, paused, and got out of bed. "No Daddy!" I actually said out loud as he left my room. Poor Daddy! His dick was sticking straight out, angry red and throbbing with need. And yet he was being called out of his dream. The poor man would get no release. And that's when I made up my mind. I was going to follow him. I would not let him have his release taken from him. I loved him too much for that. And if I was honest with myself, I would have had to admit that I too was close to another release. I needed it just as much as he did. So I tiptoed after him and saw that he had simply pulled back the covers and collapsed into bed. He was laying on his side with his legs bent backwards. He kinda looked like an upside-down question mark. You know, like the ones Mexicans use when writing? Am I getting off topic, oh all-powerful Diary? Fine. The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy His penis was straining out of his boxers, and I could tell he was in discomfort. He was a bit restive, moving here and there, and his quiet moans were not those of contentment. I realized that I was moving into new territory here. I could no longer claim that I was being forced. I was choosing to do this. Even more scary, he was no longer sleepwalking. He could awaken at any time. What would he say if he woke up to the sight of his little princess slobbering all over his schlong? I shuddered a little. Then I kneeled gently on his bed, careful not to cause the bed to shift too quickly. I leaned down and grabbed his big hard dick. This elicited a moan of the right kind, and he thrust his hip forward, unconsciously giving me access. So I took it. I lowered my head once again into his lap and took his delicious cock into my mouth. And I loved it. I just went crazy. I slobbered and sucked and nibbled with my lips and licked the shaft. With one hand I stroked up and down his throbbing thing, and with my other I stroked my own sopping wet cunny. Oh Diary, It was so hot! I had followed my father back to his bed to finish the job! There was no excuses now. I am an incestuous little brat! I am a dirty fucking girl, and I know it. As I sucked on my dad's cock like a madwoman, and stroked my own hot pulsing center, I felt the excitement level rising. Daddy's breathing and moaning were speeding up, and I could feel a tide rising inside of me as well. Suddenly Daddy let out a loud moan and jerked his hips forward. I suddenly felt the shaft expand in my hand and he just started... hosing my mouth with sperm! I mean he just unloaded! I guess that was three years of backed up excitement, but it was almost too much for me. The first two spurts filled my mouth to overflowing. I was so taken by surprise I forgot to swallow. So the next two spurts overflowed my mouth and spilled out over my swollen lips. Finally I found my mind and I fastened my lips back on his cockhead, and simply began drinking his semen as it spewed out of his body. And that's what did it for me. There I was, on my dad's bed. Without his permission. Ass in the air, two fingers buried in my twitching hole. And drinking my dad's sperm directly from his spewing cock. It was too much. Too fucking dirty. My own orgasm took ahold of me and I was reduced to a squirming, moaning animal, who's only purpose in the world was to suck every last drop of cum from her Daddy's thick penis. After a few minutes I came back to myself. I was still suckling on his penis like a little baby. His cock was softening, and I realized he was still asleep. It had been his snoring that had brought me back from my orgasmic coma. I can't believe what I've done, Diary! What the hell is happening to me? I staggered back to bed, my woo-woo dripping juice down my legs, and my mouth filled with the primal, heady taste of my dad's semen. It was all I could do to make it back to bed, where I fell asleep on my tummy, ass in the air. Dead to the world. * * * * * * * December 22, a few days later, afternoon – Dear Diary: I don't know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, I'm so very happy. Every night, a handsome prince climbs into my bed and we give each other deep and powerful pleasure. Every night I feel loved, and sexy, and the needs of my developing body are being fully satisfied. I'm in heaven! On the other hand, he's my Daddy! Oh God. And he has no idea what's happening. I mean, I know earlier I was writing about him raping me, because I have no choice, but I've thought about that. I do have a choice. I could simply move to another room in the house. He is the one who has no choice. He is the one who is being taken advantage of. And I am the one who is raping him. Oh god what a crazy mess. And despite all my self-loathing, every night around bed time, my heart starts beating harder, and I wait impatiently for him to walk through the doorway. Every night my little woo-woo is ready before he even enters the room. I have become such a slut! But I'm writing now to tell you about breakfast this morning. He was looking at me in a strange thoughtful way, and I started to get scared. Was he remembering something? I had to say something. "What is it, Daddy?" I asked innocently. He smiled a rueful smile. "Nothing, sweetie. I guess it's just that these last few years I've been focusing on keeping this family going. You know, fighting the grief and finding a way to live without..." He cleared his throat. "Well, the thing is, I've just noticed lately that you've grown up while I wasn't looking." I smiled, flattered to be considered a grown-up. I was also relieved. My incestuous secret was safe. But as he looked at me, something changed in his eyes, and I saw them flash down to my torso. I was wearing only a spaghetti-strap half shirt and cotton boxers. Basically what I always wore around the house. Something about his gaze reminded me of the bedroom Daddy. The Daddy who sucks on my pussy and who pumps sperm down my hungry throat. I felt a hot flash in my slutty little cunny. Daddy must have felt something too, because he suddenly glanced at his watch and said "Oh, my! Look at the time. Gotta go sweetie!" I noticed as he stood up he kept his hands hovering above his crotch. Had dad just popped a boner looking at me? Fully awake? Wowsers. I thought I had researched and understood all the facts in The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy. But clearly there were things I still did not know. Why his sudden interest in me? Clearly he didn't remember what we were doing every night. Was it something subliminal? I put my detective hat back on. Metaphorically, Diary. Metaphorically. I'm going sleuthing. Back soon! * * * * * * * December 22, same day, evening – Dear Diary: Holy shit! That old perv! I cannot believe it! Okay, wow... I have to calm down and tell you my findings, Diary. This case just keeps getting crazier and crazier! So dad was out at the pool and I decided to put my detective skills to use. I went to his bedroom and found his phone. I got his passcode on the first try. Mom's birthday. Jeez. I'm going to have to have a talk with him about cyber-security! I flipped through his messages. Nothing unusual. Several flirty texts from women that he either ignored or politely deflected. I looked at his phone messages. Nothing weird or suspicious. Then I checked his camera files. And got an eyeful. Of me. That's right Diary, I found dozens of photos of me. And I don't mean "first day of school" or "prom" photos. Nope. Not those. The first one was from that first night he had eaten me out. I just checked back and found the entry. Yep, it had to be the night before my Dec.13 entry. The photo showed me in a deep sleep, laying on my bed. My long slender legs were obscenely spread and my pussy was puffy and red and matted with slime. To me it just looked gross, my slovenly little hole open for all the world to see, dribbling clear goo all over the place. But I guess daddy must have liked it. Because there were dozens of photos from that night. From all angles. Some super close up, others panned back to include my innocent sleeping face. I was shocked! Daddy! The next series was from the night I first sucked Daddy's dick. I remember collapsing on my bed, ass in the air. And sure enough, there it was! My peach-shaped ass, just jutting into the air like some kind of porn star. To me, it was obvious I had cum twice that night, since my little pussy was smeared with cream and slime. Even my thighs were wet and slick. Again, dozens of photos. From all angles. He had been in my room. Wide awake. He would have been able to smell my hot little woo-woo. Did it gross him out? What did he think of the obvious wetness of my little cunny? He obviously knew that I had no visitors. Even if some boy had a death-wish enough to try to climb up to my window, the professional-grade security system would keep him out. As I kept thumbing through the photos, I saw many other nights represented. Other nights I had collapsed back, sexually satisfied, without thought of covering up. The bathroom was down the hall from my room. I guess Daddy had been making a midnight run and happened to glance into my room that first night. What had gone through his head? Seeing his perfect little angel sleeping with legs splayed like a well-used whore? I was also surprised to find a lot of other random photos. Just my face while I sleep. Candid shots of me out by the pool. One or two of me cooking. Was Daddy getting a little obsessed? This idea sent a thrill through my body. The idea that he was actively looking for chances to photograph me got me just a little wet. Suddenly I had an inspiration. I flipped over to his phone alarm and, sure enough. He had set an alarm for one in the morning, set to go off every night. Busted, Daddy! I am such an awesome detective. So dad had a thing for little old me, huh? I'll bet it's making him feel guilty as hell, knowing him. Lord, if only he knew what he was doing to me every night. But that knowledge could very well kill him. He was a man of deep honor. But this made me think of the last mystery in The Case of the Sleepwalking Daddy. What would happen on Christmas Eve? It seemed to follow that the dreams would stop. Oh shit! That's only two days away. Only two more nights with my wonderful Daddy! What am I going to do? Then I had it. I'll start videoing our sessions! God, I should have thought of this earlier. After two nights it might be over forever. At least now I will have some way to remember. I'll set up the camera right away! * * * * * * * December 23, afternoon – Dear Diary: Last night was amazing, as usual. But just the idea that I might have only one more night with Daddy is killing me! I've already watched the video five times! It's in "night vision" mode, so everything is all green, but it's high-res so you can see pretty everything perfectly. It's pretty cool to see it from a different perspective. Seeing him tongue-fucking me like a man possessed. Licking and lapping up the hot, flowing juices. Seeing me grabbing the back of his head, wantonly grinding my crotch into his face. And oh, didn't I look slutty as I slobbered all over his big thing! Like a starving child eating a hot-dog. I mean, I was all over that dong. Sucking, licking like ice-cream. Jerking and squeezing. Sucking his balls. How had Daddy turned me into such a cum-slut? And I nearly cream my undies every time I watch myself on the screen swallow that load. I mean, the resolution is good enough, and I've zoomed it way in. You can actually see the bottom part of his shaft flex and widen as he pumps tons of sperm into my mouth. And I just greedily drink it all down. I've gotten pretty good at it by now, and I don't waste a drop. I suck it all down like a greedy whore. God, I can't stop watching that video. But there's also a part of my mind that cannot forget that tonight is probably the last night. I mean, if I'm right about this being triggered by the anniversary of my mom's death, then it makes sense that once the anniversary has passed, his sleepwalking will stop. On the other hand, it could continue forever! It's almost worse not knowing! I guess in a few days we'll know one way or another. AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! * * * * * * * December 24, morning – Dear Diary: My mom died on this day, exactly three years ago. Exactly three years ago, the greatest love story I've ever seen died along with her. Since then, my Daddy has remained strong. He has kept us above water, kept our heads high. He has fought the grief for both of us. But he lost something that day. Something inside. He tries to hide it from me, but I remember the way Daddy used to be. Sure, strong, dependable, honest, just like today-Daddy. But he had also been funny, and whimsical. He had smiled a lot. Laughed a lot. Not anymore. Last night, after he had sucked my pussy until I lost my mind, and after I had drank deep of his hot seed, we laid there, holding each other tight. I was fully at peace, and I could sense that he was too. Our bodies fit together perfectly, through some magic of sexual geometry. This giant, muscular man, and this tiny woman-child. Like fucking puzzle pieces. Perfect. And I knew at that moment, Diary, that no matter what happens (or does not happen), I will always love him. And not just as a Daddy. I love him as a woman loves a man. And even though I don't know much about love, I do know this: the love I feel is the most powerful emotion I've ever known. It fills me and lifts me and gives me joy like I have not felt since mom died. Hell, since ever! I just want to serve him. Make him happy. Take care of his every need. I want to make him sandwiches. Forever. Am I crazy, Diary? God, of course I am. Daughters do not fall in love with Daddies. It is against every moral law of society! And yet none of this was my fault. And it's not Daddy's fault. It just happened. And I can't deny what I feel. Yet last night was likely the last time we will be together again. That is the last time we will hold each other's warm flesh close, sharing heat and comfort. God, I can't stand this. But a huge new question had opened up in my mind. A big unknown in the case. What about the eighteenth sandwich? I just thought of this today. Mom had died the evening of Christmas Eve. Going to get more egg nog, of all things. Aunt Megan said she did not know if dad had given her that eighteenth sandwich or not. So the question for me, (the detective) is this: did he make her the eighteenth sandwich, and make love to her one last time? If this seems irrelevant to you, Diary, then fuck you. It matters a lot. Because if he did make her that sandwich, and if he did make love to her that one last time... then maybe... just maybe I will have one more night with the man I love. To you I might seem desperate, Diary, but I can't help myself. Plus it's true, it could be possible. I mean, think about it: that first sandwich had been made at lunch-time! Wouldn't the Christmas sandwiches follow this pattern? And yeah, when I think about it, I had spent the night at a friend's house the night before, leaving the entire afternoon to them. I remember being so upset that she hadn't been able to say goodnight to me the last night before she went to heaven. And what if... WHOAH! I am a genius, Diary! What if Daddy was not dreaming of the original sandwich, when he proposed, what if he was dreaming of that last time? Holy crap! It all fits! I am the best detective in the world. It's true, I just know it! Daddy was reliving his last intimate moment with the love of his life. The eighteenth sandwich was theoretical no more. I reached into my backpack and crossed out the stupid question mark in my notebook next to the 18. There was an eighteenth sandwich, and Daddy is going to give it to me tonight. * * * * * * * December 25, late afternoon – Dear Diary: Oh God, I am so happy. And I have so much to tell you. First of all, Merry Christmas! I'm tired of pretending Christmas doesn't exist. It does exist! And it's wonderful! Amazing! Joyous! Oh, no doubt you are bursting at your bindings to hear what happened, dearest Diary, but you'll just have to wait. I'm telling this my way. (Oh, listen to those happy birds chirping outside!) Last night, I sat and waited and watched the door. In all honesty, I got in bed early and just sat there for over an hour, I was so hyped. Would my theory prove true, or was it just wishful thinking? The excitement and tension was about to kill me. I mean, I was ready to just drop dead right there in bed from frazzled nerves! And then he walked through the door. All my nerves and jitters turned at once into a warm, happy feeling deep in my tummy. My prince had come! I sat in adoring silence as he made me, er... I mean mom, the sandwich. When he came and sat next to me my heart was hammering in my chest. I knew that this was probably the last time. I was going to make the most of it. Feel every touch, taste every sweet drop of perfection. Oh, and I was videoing too. I'm a twenty-first century girl, after all. He began with that warm, strong kiss. I had tasted it dozens of times by now, but this one was special. The last one. Even he seemed to sense this as he tenderly cupped the back of my neck. His warm, liquid satin kisses both calmed and enflamed me. I held tight to him as well, one hand tracing his firm jaw, loving the rough grit of his whiskers. Such a fucking man! But such a tender man. He was so gentle as he massaged and stroked my breasts. My love for this man radiated out of every pore of my being, just as my pussy warmed and became slick. Became ready for him. Did we make out longer than usual? Maybe it was only my desperate need to make this moment stretch on forever. My whole world was contained within him. His firm but soft lips. His questing, needy tongue probing my mouth. The manly smell of him, the tang of something dangerous beneath the civilized smell of soap and aftershave. His large, strong hands, capable of killing a man with ease, tenderly stroking me, concerned only with my pleasure. I almost purred, I felt so loved and content. And then he pushed me back. That first little chaste kiss, right on the nub of my clit. Same as every time. And yet this was the last time. How bittersweet! Even as my little woo-woo sang with pleasure at his touch, my heart was heavy. And then all thoughts of sadness fled as his tongue entered my body. Oh yes, said my pussy. Yes. That is what I want. That is what I need. More and more and still more! I could smell the tangy aroma of my excited sex, but I was not embarrassed. I knew it was driving Daddy wild. I knew he liked the taste and smell of me, just as I liked his. Oh how I thrashed and moaned in those sweaty sheets as he ravaged my little virgin cunny. Licking and slobbering all over my tiny flower like a man possessed! And fuck I loved it. I felt intense love for my father mingle with the sensations emanating from my pussy. It was the perfect merging of my heart and my body, as love and lust entwined around this wonderful man's tongue! Suddenly I came. My hot little pussy just couldn't take any more and I went over the edge into the most massive orgasm of my life. I actually blacked out a little. I remember grabbing the back of Daddy's head and thrusting my cunny into his face over and over. I remember electric pulses throbbing outward through my body, each one originating from deep in my tummy. It was like a tidal wave of pleasure and I just rode it as Daddy greedily drank my body's juices. Finally, as I calmed, he once again climbed up the bed and just held me. I cried a little, Diary. I'm not going to lie. I just felt so safe. So loved in those strong yet gentle arms. I don't know if I cried because I was sad that it would never happen again, or if I cried from pure bliss. Jeez, Diary. I was a mess! But my tears receded as Daddy worked his cuddle-magic. Soon I felt calm and happy and content. I wish I could live the rest of my life in that feeling. It was the best. But I knew what was coming next. And boy was I ready. My chance to give my Daddy the same kind of pleasure he had just given me! I waited until his cue, not wanting to rush anything, but as soon as he touched my head, I eagerly reached down and pulled out his rock hard penis. I took a few minutes to just admire it. So hard and proudly throbbing. A nice, thick, veiny shaft that tapered to a heart shaped head. Perfectly designed for... well, for penetrating a pussy I guess. This thought sent a thrill though my tummy. What if I just climbed on top of him and put it in my woo-woo? The sheer audacity of the idea set my cunny gushing, and a thrill rocked through my body.