Chapter 1
FATHERS. Do you have a nubile daughter? Wish to meet others like you for purposes of exchange? Write P O.B. 5762, San Francisco, 94414. Photo a must. Sincere only.
The ad was at first glance hardly noticeable, tucked away at the bottom of the Personals in the classified section of the Bay Barbarian, an underground weekly which Baxter J. Ross, senior partner in the law firm of Ross, Murphy & Associates, would have never given the time of day-let alone his thoughtful attention-if it hadn't been deliberately put in his way by Melanie Ross, his thirteen-year-old daughter by a previous marriage. Melanie's weekend stays at his Swedish-modern Pacific Heights home was part of the settlement-visiting rights along with a substantial monthly sum for child support-which he'd arranged with Tania, his wife, when they divorced seven years ago.
Shortly after this agreement he'd lost all but the most tenuous contact with Tania, but to Mel-anie he remained a faithful and devoted father. In seven years they'd missed no more than five or six weekends together. Despite a growing law practice and a crowded social agenda he always managed to find time for the freckle-faced little girl he called his "horny honeybun," and nothing short of catastrophe was allowed to disturb the two days they spent together as father and daughter each week. From a sassy playful tomboy he'd watched her grow up and change into a willowy sexpot of thirteen, a firm-titted knockout with bedroom eyes and a living-room pussy in which he'd been snuggling his pecker for close to two years.
For a man of Baxter's standing in the legal and social community of the city, the initial courage required to fuck his own daughter had been considerable. The name of Ross, Murphy & Associates had been built up over fifteen years of successful practice in representing the often sticky affairs of corporate interests. It was a business where a lawyer's integrity meant as much as the skill with which he directed his client's case. Plenty of scoundrels hid behind the thickets of law, but Baxter Ross had always been known to stand out front, his hands clean, his conscience clear. Getting involved in a physical way with his own daughter was not something he undertook lightly.
Aside from the moral aspects and the possible psychological effects it might have on Melanie's further development, he'd been forced to consider his reputation as a respected member of the bar. He'd spent at least a year thinking and reading about the possible liabilities attending the act of incest, the threat to his own career as well as to Melanie's personal life if their secret were ever to surface.
Thus, on the day he'd prepared for the big plunge into her tiny crack, he'd submitted her to a legal oath with which he hoped to make her silence binding; prior to their first act of intercourse, he'd made Melanie swear on a Bible that the nature of their relationship would never travel beyond the four walls of his home.
Two years later the ad in the Barbarian was to to make her oath meaningless.
Baxter had never been much interested in reading things which did not have a direct bearing on the practical affairs of his life. The Wall Street Journal, Business Week, the Yale Law Review, the occasional best-selling novel, several weekly news magazines, and the morning and afternoon dailies marked the limits of his literary pursuits. Among this serious assembly of journals and periodicals, the Bay Barbarian now stood out prominently. This had come about quite suddenly as in the past Baxter had rarely rated the paper little more than a curve-ball observation in passing. The revolutionary sloganeering, the headlines that spoke of anarchy and discontent, the clear contempt of the young for traditional values, the irreverent prose and inflammatory pictures-all of these had always combined to make him feel vaguely threatened and put him off buying a copy the few times his curiosity had almost persuaded him to do so.
It was Melanie who finally got him into the habit of reading and even liking it. Soon he found himself looking forward to the arrival of each fresh issue; then he was hooked. He read the Barbarian, not as a tract of anti-establishment views, but as a scroll imparting to him the exotic knowledge of a lost body of sex rites. He never bothered with its journalistic contents, but flipped immediately to the brutally frank solicitations for sex in the back pages-the place where men, women and couples advertised their erotic fantasies in the hope that somewhere a kindred spirit would read their wishes and, by waggling a magic cunt or cock, make their dreams come true.
Baxter loved these ads. Their kinky flavor intrigued him as much as they stirred his own yen for sexual novelty-new cunt, new ass, new tits, a whole new fuck game.. He devoured them, these messages from French experts, super-hung studs and strong butch males who described their endowments with superlatives of "king-sized cock" and a "mouth to make you purr"; couples seeking other couples for "discreet fun" or bi-girls for "threesomes"; middle-aged swingers and handsome bachelors eager to find "buxom housewives" or "soft shy chicks" for afternoon dates; clean-cut gays and passive males stating their interest in "dominant women or men of any race"; young coeds and boy "slaves" promising sexual favors in exchange for room and board; group sex enthusiasts, S&M aficionados, bondage freaks, foxy masseuses, big-breasted amazons-there was no end to the sexual types seeking to be serviced by mouth, cock, cunt, ass, boot, foot, hand, and whip.
The varieties of fuck desires the advertisers were seeking to administer or fulfill were virtually limitless. Some of them, like the requirements of the "leather boys" interested in "dirty" sex, were so far out as to be impossible. Others, such as those from nymphs and fuck-hungry widows, demanded genitalia of a superhuman size. A few were clearly ridiculous.
About the latter, Baxter would laugh together with Melanie after pointing them out to her. She had a weakness for dirty jokes. But for the most part he considered these ads a serious matter. Their contents aroused vivid fantasies in his mind, fantasies that were further embroidered by the discussion of their own fuck likes and dislikes which he would subsequently carry on with his daughter-Would she like to have her menstruation eaten by an impotent man of sixty?-Would it be nice to fuck with an ice cube up the ass? A hot tamale?-Would they enjoy a group grope wearing nothing but peanut butter and jelly?-Would she like a lezzie?-Could he go for a homo?-Would he enjoy watching her screw a dog?-Would she like to dress up in his clothes and fuck him while he wore her heels and training bra?- Would she like to give head to ten men in a row? To a guy standing on his head?-Would she enjoy watching her dad screw a dyke in the ass?-Would she like to lick the balls of a faggot at the same time he was ramming it up her daddy's dirt track?
Their imaginations ran wild as father and daughter jointly scanned the ads and talked, with hoarse voices and flushed faces, about the 1001 novelties to make "it" better, even better than it already was, better than the last time, always better, progressively better, every day in every way better and better.
"Melanie?"
Baxter placed a finger on the ad he'd singled out for Melanie's attention and raised an expectant eye in the direction of the kitchen door. The sound of running water and clattering dishes extended faintly to the living room couch where he lay stretched out, naked, the Barbarian pitched like a tent over his cock.
Melanie had arrived early that Friday, the start of their usual weekend fuck marathon, commuting from her mother's home in Berkeley with a shoulder bag of school books and an ample supply of birth control pills. The latter was a carry-over from her formerly strong apprehensions of getting knocked up by her own father. She'd only been menstruating for little over a year and was still haunted by stories of painful abortions and unwanted children. It had taken Baxter a long time to persuade her that simple modern precautions made her fears groundless.
Nonetheless, during their initial period of sexual contact, he'd been careful to restrain himself from shooting off inside her, letting her mind rest easy until she'd been fitted with a diaphragm. He had personally selected the doctor for the fitting and had been present in the office where the small contraceptive insertion was made. At the same time that the diaphragm was fitted, she'd started taking the Pill. This double assurance against conception had finally swept away the last of her inhibitions and after that there'd been no holding her back. Her little pussy turned overnight into a demanding orifice requiring constant attention. It would do anything to win the favor of her dad's cock. As with so many young girls the initial discovery of sex had turned her into a fanatic of the cunt more rapid than the legions of history warring for gain and glory.
During the week, though, at her mom's home in Berkeley, she let her pussy starve, saving it all for her dad, keeping clean for five days of the week and making up for it with a vengeance during the two spent in his bed. From the moment she set foot in the door there was only one thing on her mind. Using a key given to her by Baxter, she let herself into the house, tossing her school books, purse and coat in the passage of her run down the hall; struggling with her blouse, bra, and neck scarf before reaching the living room; almost tripping over her skirt as she let it slip down her thighs without breaking her run; off with her panties and shoes, her hand on her slitted bun, her tits bounding freely, a little leap, a twitch of her rump and there she was! Home! Home on the stilt of her father's cock standing straight up from his fly in expectation of her arrival. In a period of two years this had become their standard form of greeting. "Melanie!"
Baxter called again, his finger still on the ad he wished to show her:
FATHERS. Do you have a nubile daughter? Wish to meet others like you for purposes of exchange? Write P O.B. 5762, San Francisco 94414. Photo a must. Sincere only.
From the kitchen came a sudden cessation of clattering dishes; the tap was turned off. They'd just finished dinner and as usual Melanie had been quick to clean up so as to be free to spend the rest of the night in undisturbed fuck games. Earlier they'd enjoyed a brief roll on the floor Shortly after Baxter got home from the office. Their fuck had been quick and satisfying-an appetizer to wet cunt and cock for the main course to follow-as it always was after not having been near each other for five days.
With her usually horny haste for action, Melanie had come running into the living room, ready and stripped with a litter of discarded clothing and books in her wake. She'd leapt on his cock. For about fifteen minutes they'd bitten, clawed, sucked, and diddled each other with flailing limbs, grinding loins and howling screams of transport. Afterward they'd both felt better; the edge had been taken off their fierce, pent-up fuck need.
"Sorry, Dad. I didn't hear you-the tap was running." Melanie entered the living room with the perky steps of a hopped-up little bird, fluttering her hands to dry them on the apron she wore tied around an hourglass waist. Her mouth bubbled an apology and small lights twinkled sensuously in her eyes. She looked like a French maid on a post card-nude beneath the apron except for a pair of sheer stockings gartered to her thighs and a frilly white hat of lacebobbing on her head.
She always attempted to dress for the part of the games played with her dad; this evening she'd told him she wanted to play "master and maid"-a sadistic little game they'd played previously in which her father would try to rape her while she struggled to retain her virtue. The last time they'd done this she'd ended up with a black eye; her dad had limped off with his nuts in an uproar and his cock half chewed. They'd had a lot of fun.
Now when she smiled at him, it was the smile of a doll's face framed by chestnut waves of hairspilling onto her shoulders. The little fluff of her bun poking beneath the apron showed the same color as her hair in contrast to her firm little rump which was a peach of pink flesh. When she leaned over to unpitch the paper tent from his cock, her tits broke over the frilly apron top, swinging small and light just above his head. She laid a finger across her pouting lips and examined the ad he'd pointed out to her without saying a word.
Finally she asked, "What does 'noobile' mean?"
From his prone position on the couch Baxter was able to look up her legs as she stood beside him on the floor. The light muff of pubic hair- most of it newly grown-yielded a stark distinctness against the white of her flat, smooth belly. There, beneath the triangular mat of silky growth, was her warm little bucket of cunt-a bucket just big enough to carry the load of his pecker. It hadn't always been a bucket. When he'd first gotten inside it, it'd been no more than a small thimble of flesh which only his cock had scooped out to its present width- an uncommonly large width for a little girl of thirteen. Yet, despite the usual tightness of un-cracked cherry, breaking the seal of her virginity had been surprisingly easy. Baxter had been amazed that at age eleven Melanie's pussy hadn't been more resistant. She'd cried a little, squirmed, tossed and moaned, and then it'd been all over-a small puddle of blood and piss left as evidence of her initiation by the edge of his cock.
Tania, his former wife, had also been a cherry when he got to her; but unlike Melanie she'd bled like a pig. It had happened in a motel near Hayward-Baxter's first date with the big-assed high school pricktease who was to become Melanie's mother; and the next morning, just as he and Tania were making their way out of the motel, the manager had suddenly blocked their path, waving the blood-smeared sheet from their bed and demanding payment for damages.
It might have been there or shortly afterward in another motel that Melanie was 'conceived, for within a few weeks Tania was knocked up and they'd been married in a shotgun ceremony in her parents' living room. Baxter didn't like to think back that far. Melanie had been the only good thing to come out of his wife's cunt; she was like a living fuck doll that drooled from the pussy when he squeezed it. She had the set of Tania's fleshy knockers, a thirteen-year-old mind all her own, but her little pussy was his -his alone to do with as he pleased where and whenever he felt like doing it. He considered himself a lucky man.
"Dad?" Melanie's voice had an impatient ring, "Dad, do you know what 'noobile' means?"
"I think it means something like fuckable. Why don't you get the dictionary from the shelf and look up its precise meaning just as I always do when I don't know a word." He worked his hand between her thighs and felt the moist slit open to his grasp. Then he withdrew it quickly, "Build up your vocabulary. Words can be used in two ways-either to disguise or to clarify. I suspect the former is most prevalent. Now git!" He slapped her rump lightly as she turned on her heels.
To get the dictionary Melanie had to climb up on a chair which she placed against the bookcase which took up one wall of the room. The shelves contained mostly reference volumes and law books, a few archaic pre-Victorian thrillers, boyhood adventure novels, the classics of the ages, leatherbound scores of light operettas and shelf upon shelf of learned sex studies with illustrations and photographs of everything that had ever been done in the field. Melanie had glanced through most of them. Her ass strained as she reached for the dictionary, exposing the round hump of flesh in her underside crotch. When she jumped off the chair, dictionary in hand, her tits bounced lightly and her apron flew up to show the fullness of her honey-bun.
Melanie mumbled while 'leafing the pages, "Noobile ... Noobile ... Noobile." She plunked her naked ass down on the edge of the couch and opened the dictionary in her lap. "Here it is!" she cried, "N-u-b-i-l-e-of marriageable condition or age; physically suited for or desirous of sexual relationship, used especially of young girls or young women."
Baxter repeated the last part of the definition, stressing, "suited for" and "desirous of." Then he faced her triumphantly, sticking two fingers in the slit she'd thrust out at him, "That's exactly what the doctor ordered." He made Melanie repeat the dictionary definition once more and said, "That means you and I. Do you know what the ad means now?"
Melanie was occupied with watching his cock grow hard in excitement. When it was soft it looked like a bald little bird in a nest of crotch hair, but grown to full erection it reminded her of a vulture with a giant beak louring after her pussy. She put the dictionary on the floor and stretched her legs on the couch, reclining her face in his groin next to the throbbing shaft. Her tongue found the root and licked it gingerly. She saw her father lean over from his half-seated position to unfasten the string of her apron; next his hands were on her thighs, rolling down her stockings which he peeled from her feet after she'd raised them closer to his reach. His cock pushed forward right up against her forehead while his knees prodded her flushed nipples. She bit gently into his balls, pushing them up with one hand and feeling their familiar leathery texture chafe her chin. She wished she could swallow them whole. She wished she could curl her whole body around the shaft of his prick. Her lips detached from the wrinkled sac of his balls. "Daddy, will you take that silly hat off my head?"
Baxter tossed the frilly thing to the floor and pulled her body up by the shoulders until she came to rest with her boobs on his chest, her eyes facing his. "Do you know what the ad means now?" he repeated. "Do you know what I'm talking about? This ad is asking parents- fathers in particular-to swap their daughters with each other. In other words ..." He picked up the Barbarian and slapped the page of sex ads. "In other words this ad is seeking members to form a club for incestuous swappers. This is rather unique, isn't it? I'm definitely going to find out more about it," he announced firmly.
This time Melanie knew her father was serious. His eyebrows were knitted in a frown which showed he meant business, that this was no joke. The combination of swapping and incest-a sex cult of parents who fucked their own children, then exchanged them-for others-had caught his imagination. His excitement was obvious; his cock stood up straight like a periscope scouting a new world of tempting fuck thrills.
Melanie was not at all surprised. For some time she'd been aware that her dad wanted a change of pace-a new "lube job" as he called it. Out on the street it was embarrassing the way he eyed the little girls, especially those with big knockers. Their mothers didn't interest him; grown-up cunt with the hole of a crater and the muff of a beaver left him cold. In his desk drawer she'd seen him in nude pictures in all positions with some of the women he'd fucked in the past, all of them full-titted with big buttocks that spread like a pillow where they showed them seated on his face. But that was the past. His tastes had changed. Melanie knew what he wanted now-little girls with big knockers and tight pussies wearing only a shadow of pubic fuzz; little girls with firm young assholes capable of being widened for entrance.
Except for one of these-her being a little girl-Melanie met none of the other requirements to match her father's wishes; her boobies, though firm and well-shaped, were still far from being filled out completely; her pussy after two years of steady cock drill had inevitably expanded and lost its initial tightness; the fuzz on her bun, perhaps stimulated by the hormonal effect of the pill, had changed to a generous mitten of wool; and there was just nothing to be done with her asshole as yet-it was still simply too narrow for entrance. She felt inade-qute. The years would eventually bring her all the things her father now desired but by then it would be too late-she would no longer be a little girl. She couldn't blame him for wanting variety. She only regretted her inability to give him what he wanted.
At first she'd felt hurt to discover her father lusting after new pussy. But she'd also understood it and when she examined her own feelings she'd found them running very much along the same track-different cock, a new daddy, a whole new fuck game! Deep down she admitted to herself that actually she liked the idea a whole lot.
"How would you like to fuck another daddy?"
At the sound of his voice, Melanie's doll face mooned up from between Baxter's knees. He watched her swallow hard and make a familiar facial grimace, her lips twisted like a corkscrew at the filthy taste of his jissom. She scuffed her knees on the floor and opened her mouth to answer, but instead a fat bubble of come burst on her lower lip and tracked down along her jaw; it slipped off her chin and landed on the nipple tip of one of her boobies. Baxter leaned over and licked it off and found it equally unpalatable; he thrust his head forward, his lips puckered at the foul taste of his own come, and planted his mouth on Melanie's, transferring the gob of jissom from his tongue back to hers.
Then he leaned back, his head on the nod. He felt strangely deflated, aimless, empty, lacking both strength and will-the way he always felt after a rough-riding, nut-tossing, scream-ing-meemy blowjob with Melanie so greedy for his juice that she'd as soon choke to death than let his pecker go. He had to hand it to her-she might be a teensy bit small in the boob department, a little broad in the cunt and a wee bit short in the asshole, but she knew how to suck a joint.
She'd mouth-fucked his dick like a lollipop, squatting in front of the couch between his legs and facing his dong, one small hand handling his balls, the other stuck up his asshole, her titties slapping against his knee and her pussy riding his foot in her crotch, giving his toenails a polish with cunt juice that afterward shone like lacquer. He'd been thrilled by the sounds she made, the sawed-cff suck noises of a sliding trombone and the burst of a kettle drum in her throat when he shot his load and her mouth flooded and still she tried to squeeze the last drop from his pecker, groaning like a base fiddle and squirming her face all over his groin while tears of joy and exhaustion rolled down her cheeks.
Whenever her father came, Melanie cried tears of happiness. She shared the release of his fuck tension as if it were her own. Watching him jerk his big ass and go all stiff and then heave like a drunk she considered to be almost as satisfying as getting it herself. It gave her pleasure to know that she could dish it out as well as she could take it. Yet, as she wiped her mouth and heard his voice, she was also reminded that as good as it had been it had been only as good as the last time. She faced the issue honestly: They'd gotten into a fuck rut. It was good-perhaps even great-but may be it would be better with a different daddy; maybe her father would enjoy it more with another little girl. Everything was worth trying at least once, Melanie considered, and if one thing didn't work than they'd go on to something else. The world was full of daddies and little girls. A change of fuck mates might be good for both of them.
Baxter was still awaiting her reply. "Well?" he urged, "Would you like to fuck another daddy?" He took her face in his hands and raised it up from his pecker. Melanie nodded her head; she'd do anything he wanted her to do, still she couldn't help feeling perturbed by one big question. "I've never done it with anyone else," she said, voicing her apprehension.
What bothered her was the fact that a new fuck game required a new set of fuck rules. How should she behave facing the cock of a stranger? Could she be as free with cunt and mouth as she was with her own father? Familiarity with her father's prick dispensed her from treating it with any kind of formality. His cock could care less about the rules of polite society; nothing she could do to it, short of extreme pain, would be considered improper. With her dad everything went. His cock was more than a friend; it was a confidante to whom she could entrust the secret desires of her pussy no matter how intimate or bizarre they might be. But would it be the same with another daddy? How was she to behave? Should she kiss his dong during their first fuck or wait till they knew each other better? Should she swallow his wad or use a napkin? She wondered if she'd be shy with a stranger. "Daddy?" she asked suddenly, "will you stay close to me just for the first time?"
Baxter raised her up further until she was seated on the couch, his cock prodding her rump. He cradled her boobs in the crook of one arm. "Don't worry your little head. We'll screw together or not at all. I'll be there to watch you with your new daddy, at least the first time. If he's no good or funny out he goes." He continued to tell her of the excitement she'd experience at her first sight, touch, and smell of a new cock.
"It's like a whole new world opening up to you. Each cock has a personality of its own, like some are easily angered while others are slow to rise, some fall apart at the first touch of pussy but a few can s and up for hours. You'll learn to tell them apart after a while, separate the men from the little boys, know what I mean?"
Melanie knew what he meant. She jumped off the couch and hurried for the desk. She returned with a yellow legal pad, an envelope and a pen. She picked the Barbarian from the floor and folded it to expose the small ad that excited them both. Slapping it on the table she cried, "Okay, Dad! We've talked about it enough. If you want another little girl you're not gonna get it sitting on your dick. You gotta move. If you wanna get it on, get it on. Don't fuck around. Here's your faggy legal paper, there's the pen. Sit down and write that letter or I'll chew your nuts off. When you're finished put it in an envelope and I'll mail it first thing in the morning."
She pulled him up roughly and jockeyed the coffee table with the writing material in front of the couch. Then she withdrew to the leather armchair by the banked fireplace across the room. She sat down beneath a framed Picasso reproduction showing a man fucking a goat. She opened her legs wide and draped them over the arm rests. Her hand held a long iron poker which she waved suggestively over her woolly bun, though her voice retained its edge of menace, "I'm not gonna let you get near it till you finish writing that letter. Damn it! Do I have to tell you every cocksucking thing?"
Baxter bent over the writing pad, pen in hand. He'd learned to take his lumps quietly when Melanie got into one of her moods. Like most little girls she had a way of suddenly flying into a rage; it was especially bad the odd time when he failed to make her come and she'd grabass with his balls, bite his cock, fight, kick, and tussle and call him every name in the book. Her tantrums were rare but they came unexpected and built up rapidly to a foot-stomping, tongue-lashing fury. In such cases he'd found it wise to humor her passively by doing whatever it was she wished him to do; if she wanted French fries and a thick shake, then out he'd run in the silent streets looking for an all-night diner.
She knew how to make him feel knee high, less than dirt, with a single lash of her tongue while his dick cowered limp between his legs and he'd stop his ears with a pillow to shield them from her taunts-"Hey, Mr. Limp Dick! Am I too much woman for you? Am I wearing you out? Is this little pussy getting too much to handle? You need a tow truck to get it up again?"
Baxter's pen moved rapidly over the paper. He felt Melanie's cold stare resting on the crown of his head as it bent closer over the table. A minute later he handed her the scribbled piece of paper. She read it out loud:
Dear Sir:
My daughter and I read with interest and a great deal of curiosity your ad in the Bay Barbarian of Friday last. However, we found its phrasing vague and would like to know more about your plans. My daughter and I have discussed the intent of your ad and are in agreement to apply for dual membership if the club is seriously getting off the ground.
Sincerely, Baxter Ross and Melanie
"That's fine, Dad. Short and to the point." Melanie placed the letter back on the table and jiggled her boobies excitedly. Her tantrum had passed. She put the poker back by the fireplace and showed him the pink gash of her bun before crossing her legs and making with a mock frown, "What about the picture, though? He wants a picture of us. I guess I'll get the Polaroid. The last time you took nude pictures of me was a year ago." She thrust her hand between her crotch and pulled the fuzzy cunt lips wide. "I've grown since then."
Baxter protested playfully, "It wasn't a year ago. I'll show you the album. I've got them all marked by date." His cock dangled as he jumped to his feet and padded over to the bookcase where he pulled the album from the lowest shelf. Melanie reached for his prick and pulled him closer to the arm chair in which she'd remained seated. She continued to jigger his tool lightly while he opened the album at the last page of photographs. "That was nine months ago," he said, pointing to a close-up he'd taken of her cunt-a bald fleshy rose of pink petals showing three of her fingers stuck in the entrance to the vulva.
Now it was Melanie's turn to counter with a playful protest, "But, Dad! Look at it! It's got almost no hair at all. Look at the bust I've got now-that's at least a year's growth. Anyway, nine months is pretty close to a year." She held the picture face up on the ridge of her mons, comparing the bald rose of cunt in the photo to the thick muff now surrounding her pussy.
Baxter took a critical stance, letting his eyes travel back and forth from the picture to her twat. Finally he admitted that she was correct: the photo didn't do justice to her present swathe of pubic hair. "Mind you," he persisted, "I might have messed up the date. I still think it was taken no more than six months ago. Pubic hair grows fast during adolescence. I didn't grow a full cock of hair till I was eighteen."
"Stop bragging," Melanie said, .handing him the Polaroid camera she'd taken from the bottom desk drawer. She watched her father cup her titties with both hands. Because of their difference in height his pecker came up just below her nipples. During her last visit she'd made him come by jerking the shaft of his dong between her boobs and he'd enjoyed it, though afterward she'd had an awful time washing the goo out of her ears and eyes. "Do you think I've gotten bigger there?" she asked, watching him weigh each boobie and then give an approving nod. "Most definitely," he said. "I think it should be documented."
While Baxter set up the camera on a tripod, Melanie paged through the special section of the album which recorded the growth in her boobs, pussy, and ass from the age of eight until nine months ago. Some updating was clearly in order. Leafing the pages further she stopped at several pictures showing herself and Baxter in a number of different fuck positions. Then she heard him say, "I'm going to set the timing. Now, what kind of pose do you think will be proper to send along with the letter?" He didn't wait for her answer but replied to his own question, "I guess for a father and daughter picture it'd be nice to have you sitting in my lap. With your legs apart, so your pussy shows to good advantage."
He set the timing on the camera and took an immediate leap backward onto the chair where Melanie briefly made room and then slammed her ass back down on his cock. Her legs flung wide, popping her cunt in the eye of the camera facing them. Before the bulb flashed, Baxter managed to work his dick out from under her haunches and hold it between her thighs out in camera range. After one minute he got up, opened the camera's backpack and unpeeled the picture. He waved it in the air a few times to let it dry, finally making a pleased cry of approval when he looked at it closely, "That's perfect." He held it up. "All the little girls are going to like this, don't you think?"
Melanie always enjoyed looking at her own pussy in pictures; somehow it always seemed to look bigger that way. But when she studied the photograph her father handed her, she felt disappointed. At once she understood why he'd been so pleased with it-the whole picture was distorted: the effect of his cock's position standing up between her thighs had foreshortened the shaft to a monstrous size. The big, girderlike prick almost blocked out completely the rest of their bodies. It stood up like a giant tree trunk behind which their bodies had shrunk to near invisibility. Melanie noticed that her boobs looked unrealistically small and she couldn't even see her cunt for the shaft of her father's prick. She pointed to the place in the picture where her pussy lay obscured by his dick. "You can't even see my pussy. Your cock blocks it all out."
"What's wrong with it?" Baxter took the picture back and looked at it once more. "I like the effect. Every daddy knows you've got a juicy pussy, but I want the little girls to know I've got a joint on me-a joint and a half, know what I mean?"
"But, Dad, that's not honest. Your cock is big but not all that big!"
Baxter smiled and shrugged. Melanie grabbed his tool and squeezed it. A scarlet flush suffused the skin of the mushroom; its little slit opened and closed as she continued to milk it gently between two pincered fingers. Then she laid it in the flat of her hand, giving it a long measuring look. "It's hard to say," she finally admitted. "I've never seen another man's prick, so I don't know how it compares. But I still think you should be honest about it. It's like when I buy a bag of chips and when it all settles the bag's half enpty. It's not fair."
"You mean truth in packaging?" Baxter laughed out loud, "There's no such thing. But don't worry." He waggled his dick in her hand. "Don't worry. It's going to drive the little girls wild."