(Ch 10) My Daughter's Gymnastics Coach [F18/M40], [hand job], [incest]

I remembered I had read something about these topless parties, it was the latest fad, women get together around a pool and talk with their tops off.

I doubted any of the neighbors could seen anything, our backyard is quite secluded.

I snapped dozens of pictures of the topless girls. Taking my time, I made sure to capture each tit, ass, and cunt out there.

But suddenly I felt like a big shitheel, and I stopped.

Let's face it, we're all fucked more or less, whether we die when our head is smashed against the front of a bus, or at age 112 lying in our own shit and piss, all of us are fucked one way or another. But what we can do is live by a code of conduct which we hold dear.

Many women believe all men are peeping Toms and enjoy staring at naked women when they are unaware. Many men are like that, but not me. I've never spied on a woman, even as a boy. I've never taken pictures of anyone naked without their permission. Basically, if you want to show me something, I'll look at it all day long if I like looking at it. But I'm not going to do it without your permission.

Legally, I could have taken hundreds of pictures of the girls around my pool; I was in my own fucking house, and they were sitting outside in broad daylight with no expectation of privacy whatsoever. Legally, I was completely protected.

But it violated my own code.

I walked out the front door and climbed into my car, and there I sat for a moment sifting through the pictures I had just taken. It was difficult, the carnal part of my nature was screaming in rebellion and demanding that I cease, but after I finished deleting them, I felt good.

Some of the greatest victories in life are those over ourselves.

I started my car and drove away. I just drove around aimlessly for a while, but eventually I found myself in the parking lot of a grocery store.

Inside the store, I travelled up and down the aisles deep in thought. I was surprised by how quickly my thoughts shifted from the abundance of beautiful tits around the pool to my case against the coach.

I was organizing my arguments against him. It was actually quite simple, his acts were so outrageous, there's no way he could remain employed by the school after I took my giant shit on him.

When the time came, I drove back to the house and pulled into the carport. Climbing from the car, the sun creeping beneath the horizon was covering everything in a layer of gray. I entered the house.

With her elbows on the big table, working on her science project, Reagan sat dressed in her sleeping attire. Her hair was wet and combed straight back. She always looked so beautiful like that; not a bit of makeup, her hair as simple as possible, yet she looked like an angel.

"Hey, Sweetie."

"Hey, dad." She looked up at me and brightened. "Thanks for leaving me the house, we had a lot of fun."

"Well I'm glad you didn't burn it down. Did you guys just talk or did you do anything in particular?"

"No, we just sort of hung out around the pool."

The innuendo was not subconscious; a feint smile emerged at the corner of her mouth and she was convinced I had not caught it.

For another half hour or so she worked on her homework. I ate some leftovers then went to the family room to watch TV.

I was watching more UFC when Reagan came in, there was a good fight between two high-ranked guys, but glancing at her little face gliding across the TV, I knew instantly we were about to have a serious discussion.

But this time I had done nothing wrong, it was she and her friends who had engaged in the topless teen-titty extravaganza.

Reagan planted herself on the couch and watched the fight for a moment, then decided to interrupt,

"Dad, do you mind turning the TV off?"

"Sure, Sweetie." I lifted the remote and turned it off. "What's up?"

She was serious, but her expression was different than it was the other day after the coach groped her, less indignant, more nervous.

Even after wracking my brain, I had no idea what she was about to say.

"Is everything OK?" I asked.

"Yes, I just need to talk to you about something. I, uh, I saw you walk into the bushes today at the school."

It took me several seconds before I fully comprehended what she was saying. Then it dawned on me; she knew the coach was in there fucking Mrs. Jensen, and she knew that I knew the coach was in there fucking Mrs. Jensen.

"You knew?" I asked in shock.

"Geez, half the people at the carwash knew." She answered embarrassingly.

"What the fuck is going on at that school, Reagan?"

She could plainly see the rage building in me and she tried to speak soothingly to me,

"Dad, the coach is not your typical man."

"Yeah, no shit."

"He has this bizarre sexual appetite, and he--"

"Who else is he having sex with?" I snapped at her.

She clearly did not want to answer, she wouldn't even look at me. It took her a moment, but then she said,

"All of the cheerleaders... and their moms."

At first I thought she was joking. But no, she was dead serious.

"That motherfucker. He's gone, he is so fucking fired."

"Dad, please don't mess this up for me. He can get me a full ride to Stanford. And when I say full ride, I mean full ride; books, tuition, housing, meal ticket, everything."

"Hell, Sweetie, I can pay for your college."

"But you can't get me accepted into the program. If I stick with him, I'll get the whole thing."

"Nope, that Gypsy-dildo is gone. I'm going down there tomorrow to take a giant shit on him."

The next forty minutes were spent with her trying to convince me not to rat on him and me refusing to bend. I would crush him in the morning. It was time to launch this fucker back to whatever circle of hell he came from.

After forty minutes of debate, irritated and tired, we finally parted ways. Walking to our rooms, I mumbled something about us discussing it over breakfast in the morning. But we both knew I was determined to rat him out.

Twenty minutes later, laying in bed, I was just starting to drift off to sleep when someone climbed into bed with me.

I was on my side and whoever it was was at my back, at first I thought maybe Karen had come home early.

"What's going on?" I mumbled in surprise.

"Nothing, I just can't sleep." Reagan answered softly.

Her breath was warm against the side of my face, the minty scent of toothpaste still fresh.

It being Reagan caused me to feel a bit vulnerable. I sleep in boxer shorts and nothing else, and I often sport erections while sleeping, so my brain went to my dick, but quickly I determined it was not erect.

Reagan laid down with me and began snuggling with me. Pressing her big braless tits tightly into my back, she wrapped an arm over me and pulled me in closer.

She had not laid with me like that in many years and I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it. It was very affectionate, I could feel her love entering through my back and straight into my heart, it was quite touching, and I missed it.

"Dad," she spoke.

"Yes, Sweetie."

"I really don't want you to tell on the coach."

She had to go and ruin it. That one sentence completely ruined the whole fucking moment.

I thought about it for a moment, or at least pretended to think about it, then I said,

"Sweetie, we've already discussed this, and we are all done discussing it. You can sleep with me if you want, but please shut your trap and go to sleep."

"Lie on your back, I'd like to speak with you face to face." She said.

"Lay on my back?" I asked. "Whose bed is this?"

"It's yours, but can we just talk about this one more time. One more time then I'll be done, I promise."

"I am very comfortable on my side, Reagan."

"Please just roll over so I can see your face."

After groaning in frustration, slowly I shifted my body onto my back, she was to my right now. As I was shifting, she climbed up to her knees, the hall light was allowing just enough light to illuminate her face.

"Thank you." She said.

Suddenly I felt a small girlish hand creeping across my underwear towards my dick.

"Shit?" I snapped. "Sweetie, what the fuck?"

"Just hold still." She said as her other hand pressed down on my chest.

I suppose I should have brushed her hand away, but has that ever happened? Ever since man, or some man-like creature, first climbed down from the trees, has he ever swatted away the groping hand of a beautiful girl grasping wantonly for his cock? I would guess no, the very thought of it defies nature and logic.

When her fingers began slithering into the hole in the front of my boxers I was about to protest but her left hand moved from my chest and came down gently over my mouth.

"Shhhhhhhhh." She whispered.

Pulling my dick out into the open, she began fondling it. I could feel her hands were covered with lotion. I could smell it too. This was premeditated, she had climbed into bed with me with the specific intent of giving me a slippery hand job.

I gave up, temporarily, or at least made her think I was giving up. I laid my head back, it would take a while before I had an orgasm, I could convince her to stop by then.

She was pretty good at it. Anyone can pound a rock-hard cock up and down, but it takes skill to get a soft dick hard, and mine was getting hard.

After a moment I gently removed her hand from my mouth and gazed into her sparkling blue eyes. Then I asked,

"How many times have you done this?"

"This is my first. But I've had it explained to me, and I've seen it in porn."

After answering my question, her hand covered my mouth again.

"You are a very good father." she spoke soothingly. "I know my body is attractive to you and how badly you want to look at my boobs. I'm not dumb. You want to look at me constantly, just like all men do. But you have a lot of discipline, I rarely catch you staring at my body, and that is love, and I love you for that. But I need you to promise never to rat on the coach, no matter what he does or how badly you want to."

I said nothing in response.

After another minute my cock became hard enough for her small fingers to wrap around. Slowly she grabbed it and began pumping. Another minute passed in silence, I could feel the blood rushing to my balls.

Suddenly she spoke to no one in particular, "I never realized dicks got so warm when they got hard. It feels like a curling iron."

I cracked my eyes and snuck a peek at her beautiful profile. She was staring right at my dick, and rather than just going through the motions, she appeared to be enjoying pumping it.

Her grip tightened around the shaft and she began pumping faster. She also removed her hand from my mouth.

"Does it feel good?" She asked.

"Sweetie, why don't you stop now. Yes, it feels great, you are really good at this, but all you've done so far is play with my weenie a little bit. Every girl is curious to play with a grown man's weenie. There's nothing wrong with it. I'm not going to tell anyone about this, and you're not going to tell anyone about this. If you stop now it's no big deal."

She slowed her speed but continued pumping me.

"If I stopped now I'd leave you with blue balls, wouldn't I?"

"You can leave me with blue balls, it's OK."

"All men love to cum, and none of them like blue balls." She continued pumping me, "So, let me ask you something; Today at the carwash, did you like everyone looking at my big boobs?"

My eyes were on the ceiling. They shifted to her and I noticed her focus was directly on my face waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Sweetie, a part of me enjoyed it. I was proud of your big boobs and tight ass, but also a part of me did not like it and I wanted to keep you covered."

When she realized I was done speaking she looked away, but it seemed the answer did not quite satisfy her.

"All men love lesbian sex too." she continued. "Maybe I can tell you about the old lesbian who fondled me a few weeks ago."

Woah, this is certainly out of nowhere.

"Well, I didn't really enjoy it, but neither was it that big of a deal. It was a lady who fitted me for that new leotard. I was naked and changing in front of her and that horny old bat just could not keep her eyes off my crotch and boobs, mostly my boobs. Everyone looks at them, I'm used to that, but she was just so damned blatant about it. So finally I had to say something, and I asked, 'So, do you like my breasts?' She jumped at the chance to talk about them. She had some kind of weird accent and started blabbing about how developed they were compared to all the other girls and that mine were the nicest she's ever seen, and blah blah blah."

She had been looking at the wall, but suddenly her face shot to my dick, "Wow, dad, you do like this story, your dick is getting really hard."

I remained silent.

I heard her ruffling around and when I opened my eyes I watched her free hand pull the bottom of her shirt up above her bare tits which jiggled a bit.

Dear God!

They were massive, but their shape, make-up, and how they were situated on her chest made them truly glorious. Rather than splaying outward, the two beautiful orbs hung very close together creating solid cleavage just begging for a titty-fuck.

They were beautiful, but in a very primal way. They made her appear very reproductive, and extremely fertile, as if even a single sperm in her pussy would immediately impregnate her.

They made her appear so in control, so powerful, so authoritative. They looked like implants, and soon girls would be sneering and whispering about them not being real.

With one hand working my dick, the other hand continued holding her shirt up over her breasts. Then she spoke,

"You deserve to see these. You've earned them by being such a good father. Back when I first started developing them, immediately I saw the inequality. The girls developing larger breasts received more attention and gained more confidence, and they had more control, even over the teachers. The smart ones could mold all of that into respect and opportunity. The teacher called on them more, they were chosen for sports, and the boys couldn't keep their eyes off them."

She paused for a moment, then continued,

"Everyone wants them, but you've earned seeing them, you deserve them. I will show them to you whenever you want for as long as you want. I'll expose them like this to you and you can masturbate to them. But you must promise to not tell on the coach."

My dick was really raging, and she knew it was time to really push it,

"Give me that promise. Promise me, dad, promise you will not rat on him."

I could no longer fight it.

"OK, I promise I will not rat on him." I managed to say.

Now for God's sake don't stop pumping and make me cum!

She probably smiled in victory, but my eyes were closed too tightly.

She pumped on me hard for another several seconds, then my cock spasmed, my balls contracted, I gasped, and out of my dick launched a string of cum a foot long.

"Jesus" she slurred through a semi-closed mouth.

Splatters of cum landed across her arm and neck. But luckily she knew enough about handjobs to continue pumping my cock.

She was more prepared for the second blast, it came out long and thick just like the first, but now she knew to aim it onto my chest.

The third blast was smaller but still strong, and deep, coming from deep within my prostate.

"Damn, dad, how much do you have in there?" She chuckled.