Little Red, Riding Wood Ch. 03

What sort of man was he? Was sort of man did he want to be?

What sort of man did she need him to be?

She needed him to be strong for both of them.

As he held her there, caught between himself, at war with himself, his darling, beloved daughter inched him forward, tipping the scales ever so slightly. She trembled in his arms, so afraid, and yet in spite of her fear, her delicate hands moved, sliding their way up his chest to encircle his neck.

As those fingers moved over him, tracing a dainty, teasing path along the skin of his neck, his will crumbled. Her lips moved ever so slightly against his, naively, timidly, even fearfully, but they moved. With that motion his own lips exploded with pleasure. Her slight hands moved on as the flesh of her arms slipped up his neck, to embrace him completely and pull herself upward to him.

She was beyond unresisting. As he pulled her to him, she not only yielded, but moved herself to join with him. This wonderful, precious woman that he'd created and raised was no longer a child. She was no mindless trifle to be bought and sold by men.

She was a woman, a passionate, feeling and sensual woman. She was in his arms, and it was where she wanted to be. She'd made it terribly clear what she wanted, after so many months of saying no to so many men. She knew what she wanted, even if it was something neither of them thought she could ever have, or should.

She needed him to be strong. She made her wishes clear. She offered herself to him, openly and without reservation, knowing that he might refuse her. It would crush her if he'd refused her, but she'd had the courage to put herself out there for him anyway.

He was the only man that she wanted, and in his heart he knew he was the only man that could make her happy.

She needed him to be strong for her.

In a moment of final resolve, he released his grip on her arms. She clung to him as tightly as she could, holding her marvelous, soft, warm, beautiful lips against his, her own father's. She clung to him and kissed him as he released her.

He released her, to move his hands behind her. One hand splayed over her back, pulling her more tightly into him. The other drifted down over the smooth curve of her soft, full ass. With that hand he squeezed, and pulled, drawing her hips against his, and allowing her to feel how solid and large he had become under her image, and kiss, and touch.

She moaned as he did so. He kissed her then. He truly and fully kissed her, not as a daughter, but as a lover. His lips moved over hers in ceaseless, powerful, meandering ways, trying to give her every moment of pleasure that he could, and that he himself enjoyed from the touch.

His mouth opened for her. His tongue came out to pry itself between her lips, hinting to her what she needed to do. Her mouth opened for him, willingly and eagerly, letting his tongue pass to find her own, to tangle with it in a frantic, circling race, like two forest squirrels chasing each other around and through the trees.

They kissed, and in that moment they became true lovers, how ever illicit and immoral it might have been.

* * *

The feel of his hands on her ass, and her back, was like nothing she had dared to imagine. Her body came to life in his grip.

The feel of his strong, firm chest crushing her breasts against his sent warm, wonderful shocks through them, feelings like those she'd been able to give herself, but different in an inexplicably joyous way.

The feel of his lips on hers, moving hungrily in a marvelously skillful fashion, with his soft beard and mustache tickling the skin around her mouth, sent thrills from where they touched down to her toes, which felt like they had no solid ground beneath them. His tongue was a joy! She'd never known that kissing could use tongues! It played with hers, invading her and making her feel that she belonged to him, and became a part of him, even as she tried to do as he did, to give him the same pleasures that she was feeling.

The feel of his hard, enlarged wood pressed against her. His wood. His cock! The man's hard, hungry cock fought against the fabric that had dared to exist between them. It strained, as her body strained, to break through and join with her in the most natural and perfect union imaginable between a handsome man and a beautiful woman, and the most sinful union imaginable between a father and his daughter.

He released her suddenly, again. As with the first time, she was terrified that he'd come to his senses, and sought to end their shameful behavior. She needn't have worried. As quick as a lunging wolf, he bent down to sweep her up off of her feet and into his arms. He stared at her with those warm, kind brown eyes, framed by that close cropped, gray hair and beard, with a small, contented, closed mouthed smile to boot.

He stared at her with love and affection as he carried her in his arms to the bed.

* * *

He lowered her onto the four-poster bed as gently as he could, as gently as he had the night that she'd fallen asleep in his chair, trying not to wake her. She kept her eyes, wide and innocent and full of love, on his the entire time. She kept her eyes on his as he sat beside her. She kept her eyes on his as he arranged her curls on her shoulders, feeling the soft locks slipping through his fingers, then curling back into shape as he released them.

He felt her keep her eyes on his as his own eyes wandered inexorably down to the opening in her shirt, his shirt, and the soft, rounded mounds of the inner halves of her breasts. They rose and fell, evenly but mightily, with each deeply excited breath that she took.

He smiled at that. It humored him that she should be so excited by this old man's touch, or by the prospect of finally, after all of these years, showing him the body that had slept untouched beyond a thin wall in the very next room.

His hand slipped on a course from her locks of hair, down between her breasts. He felt her breathing ceases as she held it. He looked at her eyes, to see them closed now, closed and tensely awaiting that next, special moment. With eyes locked on her beautiful face, he slid his hand forward, and in, under the cool cotton of the shirt, under and up and over the finest, most perfect breast that any man had ever cupped in one, grateful, joy filled hand.

She breathed. As he cupped that soft, perfect breast she inhaled deeply. Her chest expanded, pushing an enticingly hard, pointed bud of a nipple up into his palm. The breast seemed to grow in his grip, and a small smile played over her lips.

He squeezed her, gently at first, and the smile widened. He squeeze more tightly, kneading her breasts with an easy rhythm, and from that smile escaped a long, low, pleasured moan.

At last he allowed himself to do what he had ached to do for so many months. Lifting his hand, he guided the fold of the shirt aside, exposing to his eyes the full, miraculous beauty of that one, perfect breast. Without hesitating, without thinking, he lowered his mouth to it, sucking in that pale, pink, erect nipple with the wet warmth of his lips, playing over it with his tongue, and delighting in the giggling squeal of pleasure it elicited from his dear Celia.

"Oh, oh. Oh!"

He smiled as he took the nipple gently in his teeth. When he did so, her back arched, thrusting her breast full into him, squashing it flat against his beard. His hands joined in then, holding and kneading both of her breasts while pushing her back into the bed. As he did so, he played over their skin with the soft hair of his beard.

"Oh, F..."

He knew what she had started to say, and why she was afraid to say it. That didn't stop him. They were past stopping. If he were going to stop, he would have done so. Nothing could stop him now.

"Yes, my Little Red?"

"Oh."

He sucked on her nipple again, then moved to the other.

"Oh, Father."

"Do you like that, my darling?"

He kissed his way around her breasts, as his hands continued to work.

"Yes, Father. Yes."

He smiled joyously into her breast.

"Show me more, Father. Do more to me. With me. Do more with me. Do everything with me."

The words came out eager and frantic and breathless, as if they couldn't keep up with everything she was thinking, and feeling. She was such a joy in so many ways, and no less so here and now, where her eagerness so thrilled and enthralled him, despite or perhaps in addition to her innocence.

Sinclaire shifted the folds of her shirt aside, fully exposing her so feminine beauty to him. He drank her in with his eyes before rising from the bed. He looked down on her, lying there before him, naked, beautiful, and desirable. She looked up at him with those crystal blue eyes, filled with an excited, heated wonder that he'd never seen or imagined there.

With as much restraint as he could manage, trying hard not to appear as eager as he felt, he loosened the ties on his own shirt and let it slide to the ground. She looked him up and down, he thought appreciatively, even though he knew his own, aging physique was no match for the muscles and brawn of the woodsmen she served bread to each work day.

When his own fingers fell to the tie above his crotch, where his own bulging excitement was too plainly obvious, her expression changed from one of appreciation to pure, illicit lust and anticipation. Although she didn't move, he could feel her craning forward, stretching to see the most secret, private object that had given her life, and struggled now with the unconquerable need to bring her pleasure.

* * *

Celia swallowed, deeply, as the sight of it filled her vision. It wasn't the size, which for what little she knew was healthy. Up close, the shape of it was far more interesting, and alluring, than she'd expected. From a distance, and in cold, cooly scientific or even playful observation, a man's cock had seemed strangely shaped and constructed. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the various parts, lumps, bulges, bumps, ridges and overall structure.

A cock, to Celia, had always seemed to be the strangest of contraptions.

But here, now, in this predicament, with her body brought to life by her father's kisses and caresses, faced now with this... lovely, wonderful, desirable object before her, she found new beauty in a man's cock. Her father's cock.

She ached to reach out and touch it, and to hold it. She wanted to wrap her fingers around its shaft, exploring the double sack that hung beneath it, and the domed, purple helmet that capped the top. She wanted to press her lips to it, to kiss it, lick it, taste it. She wanted to take it into her mouth, as some of the girls claimed to have done, and to hear his expressions of pleasure as she hunted for just the way to make her father moan the way she had just done so for him.

She wanted to, but she couldn't. She lay there, frozen, even after all her father had done, unable to move and to take control of events. Her desire for him, to do things with and to him, to pleasure him in any way that a woman can, felt and should have been overpowering.

And yet she lay here, paralyzed, fearful and frozen before him. She wanted to be everything for him, to do everything with and to him, but instead she lay in an oddly languorous panic, unable to move and act, yet desperate to be taken, in an almost dreamlike, half-waking way.

As she hesitated, he moved. He kneeled briefly beside her, to delicately kiss each of her breasts. They exploded with pleasure as he did so, a pleasure that was only intensified by how whisper soft his kisses were. His lips then moved, planting a row of kisses like a gardener seeding a row of flowers, working his way down her belly, past her navel, and further still.

Celia closed her eyes under the nearly painful feel of such ghostly, warm kisses. She felt his hands untie the one knot in the shirt. She next felt a single, long, warm breath, like a summer wind, blow across the petals of her most private flower. She felt the juices churning inside her in her excitement, and knew that he must seem the leaking out for him, exposing her embarrassed, excited eagerness to him.

His lips touched her there, and her brain nearly exploded with a calm, flooding rapture.

"Celia, my treasure, your curls here are red."

He said it with a sense of calmly surprised wonder in his voice. Of course they were red, she thought, not quite the wine red of her hair, a little darker, but never the less a fine, intoxicating red.

His tongue moved about her then. He explored her for what seemed like hours, with lips, fingers and a marvelous, searching, reaching, stretching, teasing, twisting, wet tongue. She had never imagined the feel of a tongue there. Some of the girls whispered about it, with snickers and giggles, hinting that they'd done so with each other.

Celia had always been willing to try, but too timid and shy to broach the subject.

Now she knew. My goodness, now she knew.

"Oh, Father!"

The words came out before she could halt him, as his tongue found that spot that she'd long ago discovered herself, the slight bump at the top of her pussy that brought her so tantalizing close to something that she could never grasp. His tongue and lips worked on her there, as she began to writhe and buck and squeal under his artful efforts.

"Oh, yes, Father. Yes, yes. Yes, Papa, yes!"

* * *

Her pleas and cries were heavenly to him, that she should receive such pleasure from him. He had longed for so long for her to know this sort of union, even as he had cringed at the thought.

He had longed for it, and now, with every excited breath and cry, he was moved to take the final step. He tried to give her as much gentle, teasing pleasure as he could, stalling, putting off that final, momentous act that once engaged could never be repealed.

He hesitated and waited, yet with each high-pitched cry of pleasure from the beautiful girl, his resolve weakened. He listened, and tasted, and teased, and listened, until at least he could wait no longer. He moved his body up along hers, brushing his engorged, enflamed, enamored cock along the smooth, cool flesh of her leg. He let his cock press against her inner thigh, as he again kissed that marvelous belly, the insides of her full breasts, the deliciously pink candy of her nipples, and at last the warm, expansive flesh of her neck.

With his cock poised before her, he kissed her, long and hard, on the lips, drinking her in as he pressed the head of his cock just past the outermost folds of his daughter's ready pussy. She moaned loudly into his mouth as he did, while he for his part felt a triumphant, glorious pleasure at the hot, wet feel of her just around the head of his cock.

He held himself there, just short of entering her fully, as he prepared her and him both for the next, difficult step.

* * *

"This is going to hurt, my darling. I'm so very sorry, and I promise that the pain will pass, but it will hurt, for a short while."

Celia held him tightly then. It felt so good, she could not imagine that it would hurt, but it did hurt, intensely, as he pressed himself past that resistance. There was a horrible, tearing feeling, with a pain as if she'd been stabbed. The pain stayed with her, filling her body and mind as she clung to him. She could hear herself crying out in a terrible, pitiable whimper of a wail.

"Hush, my darling. Sssh. Sssh. It will pass. Papa is here. It will pass."

She heard the words, in a way, and they helped, but they were meaningless things beyond the pain. The sound of his voice was what really helped her. The tender, familiar, thrumming sound of his voice helped.

It hurt. The pain was searing for a while. It hurt, but he was right. It did pass. The pain faded, slowly at first, and then more so, until she was left only with the feeling of his cock inside of her.

And how wonderful that felt now! How amazing and joyous the feel of it was. Her hands moved gently over his strong back, feeling his bulk and his warm skin. He seemed to sense, then that she was ready. He moved more deeply into her, reaching so very much farther than her own fingers ever had.

It felt so good. She cried out, not in pain this time, but in pleasured, searing, magical joy. It felt so good, so very good, as he filled her. She was being stretched inside, her entire body was penetrated, filled and stretched, like a wine sack filled to bursting.

It felt so very good. She clung to him. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him, holding him inside her, as her hands scrabbled across his back, digging into him, trying to merge not only their loins but their entire bodies into one. She felt like she was a part of him, a physical part of him, and she wanted more.

No matter how deeply inside of her she went, it wasn't enough. She wanted more, down there, up here, everywhere.

He kissed her then, pressing his tongue into her mouth, fucking her there just as he fucked her tight, loving pussy. They were joined in so many ways, cock, pussy, arms, legs, mouths, tongues. Hearts, minds, lineage.

They were one now, in a way that Celia had always imagined, yet in truth in a way that she could never, ever have imagined.

* * *

She was past the pain now, he could tell. She held him tightly, but by her sounds and movement he could tell that she was filled with pleasure now. It had been so hard for him to do, but the deed was done. It was done, and he could not have held himself back for a moment longer.

He moved inside of her. He withdrew his cock from the tight, clutching walls of her magnificent pussy, only to thrust himself deeply inside of her again. She rewarded him with the most delightful, high-pitched, trailing moan of pleasure he'd ever heard.

As quickly as he could, he withdrew, then thrust himself into her again, to be rewarded yet again.

"Papa, that's so nice. Oh, Papa, that's nice."

She felt so very good. He'd forgotten, after all of these years, how truly glorious it felt to be with, and inside of, a woman. It astounded him that he'd denied himself this pleasure for so many years, just for her. It astounded him, but he made up now for lost time and opportunity.

"Papa will make you feel good, my treasure. Leave everything to Papa."

"Show me how, Papa. Teach me how."

"Shh, my little girl. Papa will do everything. Papa is here for you."

He fucked her with a frenzied lust that could not have been matched by any man in the village. He moved inside of her, in and out of her, holding her tightly, almost brutally in his arms as she flailed and screamed in his grasp, plainly loving the feel of him upon her and inside of her.

"Papa will show you how, my darling. Papa will show you everything."

"Oh, Papa! My darling Papa!"

He felt her come alive in his arms. She began to move with him, lifting her hips from the mattress to help drive him more deeply inside of her. She instinctively pulled her knees up to his shoulders, resting her ankles on the small of his back, and opening herself to him as completely as she could.

"Yes, Papa. Yes, yes, yes, Papa. Yes!"

For his part, he growled like an animal into her neck, so overcome with desire, lust, passion and pleasure that he was unable to speak further.

She was so gloriously tight, and her body responded to his presence by gripping and clasping his cock with her muscles, literally fighting to hold him inside of her. She clenched his cock, milking it like a goat, hugging it with a pulsing, pumping strength that refused to yield.

"Papa, yes... yes... yes..."

Her words trailed off into whimpers, now, as she lost her ability to speak, as if turning into an animal herself. She ceased to speak, and instead reverted to an ever growing euphony of moans and wails and squeals, and finally outright screams.

With each penetrating stab of his cock, she lifted her hips to his, and screamed. Her passionate sounds formed a charming, magnificent song in his ears, urging him on, begging him to make her sing louder, and longer, and higher.