A father intimately fucks his two young girls

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A father intimately fucks his two young girls

It was October, and in Colorado the rain that came down temped just above freezing. This was, and always will be, Tom Leary’s favorite time of year. The dreadful summer heat was now, to him, a distant memory, one he was happy to forget.

As he stood alone in his country home’s roomy kitchen, he waited for the Keurig to fill his mug with coffee. He listened to it brew and leaned his lower back against the edge of the counter’s marble. His gaze found the newest line of photos that his wife, Callie, the five-foot, two-inch beauty he had married nearly two decades ago, had magnetized to the fridge; these were the favorites, the photos privileged enough to be seen by them daily. They’d taken so many this summer and early fall. Most were group shots of the Leary’s time in Cabo, a few were selfies of Callie and Tom, but the photos that put a sudden charging rhythm in Tom’s chest were those of his daughter, Grace Marie, and her best friend, Gretchen. The two eighteen-year-olds had been inseparable since the sixth grade. They’d always been pretty, this he knew … always popular, this he’d gathered. The two girls jogged together on weekday mornings, studied together on Sunday nights, shared a bed most weekends–either here or at Gretchen’s parent’s place in the city–and eventually, they’d graduate together, probably go off to college together as well, or so Tom had assumed.

Grace took after her mother: short, fit, beautiful and blonde, a smile that could steal a heart and an ass you’d want to pay for. Callie loved tight jeans, short skirts and thin dresses, a style that Tom had been thrilled to see rub off on Grace.

In one playful photo, Grace embraced Gretchen, both teens pressing their soft protruding, forbidden parts together; their nipples under tight tees were nearly touching; Tom couldn’t ignore this. The smooth, tight skin of their toned abs had met, and their thighs beneath short shorts, so gently, thoroughly, had dipped between eachother’s; of course he found it erotic, he didn’t know a man who wouldn’t. In another photo, Gretchen’s lips delicately kissed Grace’s cheek, their breasts once again had come together in a beautiful squish; it was an innocent peck for a friend, but the captured moment meant something else to Tom, something dark and twisted, a thing so vile and fucked up that the orgasms accompanying such territory had nearly dropped him to his knees when he’d jacked off to the thought of both his gorgeous daughter and her beautiful friend, naked under a raining showerhead and locked in his arms, their sweet little pussies taking turns clenching around daddy’s heavy, blood-choked cock. He’d fill ’em both up, all night long if they’d let him, as his pearl cream dripped from their slits and lips and ran down their smooth legs.


Tom slipped off his shirt and glanced at himself in the bedroom vanity; his muscles beamed from his shoulders to his bi’s, tri’s and pecs, a gift from years on the job. His muscles were a result of twenty-five years as a Denver Firefighter: lugging hoses, hauling ladders, carrying those he’d rescued down flights of stairs, up flights of lower-level stairs, through hallways and lots. He looked damn good for nearly forty-five, and he knew it, but more importantly, his wife, Callie, knew it.

When the married couple fucked, a rarity by design, their passion seemed immeasurable, and there wasn’t a single sex act they did the same way twice. They had found, if they treated sex as a luxury, and not as a daily meal, they both appreciated it tenfold. The pair had no problem going to bed aroused and resisting certain urges each and every night, because they knew what they were gaining by doing so.

Tom’s denim jeans came off next, then his socks. He crawled into their bed in nothing but his boxers and let the day’s stress that his body had endured, sink into the cool mattress. Callie, wearing a light blue nightdress that cupped her breasts, held her waist and dangled its jiggly silk flounce off her ass–washing the fabric over her creamy thighs like velvet waves–exited the bathroom, lowered her hair to her shoulders and slid in next to Tom. She reached for her nightstand while Tom watched her body bend so elegantly, seductively; she clicked off the lights and as Tom closed his eyes, he reached down between his legs and gripped his massive hard-on. He gave it a squeeze, wanting so badly, in this moment, to ejaculate all over his pretty wife’s delicate, needful face.

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