How I accidentally fucked my father, on purpose

By Trojan Snake
Written for M, she knows who she is!

If I ever meet God face to face, and he asks me about it; I can honestly say it was an accident – sorta.

Well, three accidents really, so it's not actually my fault I fucked my father. I mean, you can't blame me for the first two, and only partly for the third mishap. Of course, my nickname is Miss Hap, because as a kid I was always in the middle of whatever trouble there was. It's not like I'm accident-prone, I just sort of wind up in the middle of trouble by happenstance. In fact, my given name is Happy. Mother was a Republican from upstate New York, and there was this Governor Rockefeller (like the Plaza in NYC), who became Vice-President (I think). Anyway, his wife's name was Happy, and I'm named after her.

The moniker suits me. I am a pretty happy person. And happily I'm a pretty girl too. Not to brag, but above average. I had no more to do with it, than my name. Blame my mom's politics and genetic material for both. However, the fact I look like her, and she was a runner-up for Miss New York State when she was 19, is part of the reason that daddy and I did it. Fucked. I must say, it was not his fault at all, as you will understand when you read my story.

It was fun too. But then sex is, if your a normal, healthy and active female of 22. Which I am, except now I'm a year older. I became sexually active, in my first year of college, at 18. I was ready. We used protection, but then I went on the pill, since I fully intended to screw often with the fella I was in love with. That torrid romance lasted two years. Since then, I have had several relationships of various lengths, and dated quite a bit. So you don't think that I was an innocent, and got taken advantage of. Not at all, but neither am I a slut.

The first accident was with our car. We were on a back road, daddy and me, taking a short cut back from grocery shopping. The right front tire got a flat. It was a bad place to try to fix a flat, and out of the way. We have auto emergency service, but just as I was about to call on my cell, this pickup truck stopped to see if we needed help. Dad thought it would easier for the wrecker to meet him at home, and he could then ride with them back to the car. I would be back home and could start dinner. So we accepted a lift home from the good Samaritan.

I was the woman of our home, graduated from college, and back until I found a job. Mom had died of cancer a couple of years ago. That is the saddest part of my life, but I won't dwell on it. I took care of the domestic stuff, like cooking and errands to the cleaners, etc. Dad lived on pizza and hot dogs the last two years I was at school. But he did help around the house, just he wasn't much good at that sort of stuff. Mom had always been the homemaker; he, the breadwinner. I am determined to marry a man who can cook!

So we accepted a ride from this nice man with the farm truck. Only, the back was all dirty and he had a big tool box on the seat beside him. But we made do, with the tools in the middle and myself on dad's lap. Uh-huh. You see where this is going now. There was one extra tool in that pickup cab. It belong to dad. It was smack dab in the middle – of my butt. I don't know why, of all the times I have sat on daddy's lap, this time he had a boner. But there was no mistaking that feeling. The old man had wood. I wasn't sure if it was because I was older now, or if it was just a natural reaction, after a long abstention, since mom had passed.

I didn't mind. I figured he couldn't help it, he seemed a little embarrassed even. But I had not had a man prod me in a few months and it felt nice. It wasn't as if he was putting the moves on me, not anything that overt. In fact, though we were somewhat casual about dress around the house, since we were family; and were honest about what had been our past sex lives, both being adults; actually there had been but only the chastest of relationships. It was a normal father / daughter thing, which was open and honest, the upright way my folks had raised me. No naughtiness happened as I was growing up, nothing salacious ever, I stress.

But that incident, fifteen minutes of my father's penis pressed against my buns, planted a seed of curiosity in my cunt. It let the faintest hint of incestuous intrigue insinuate itself into my innards. I found myself wondering what dad's dick looked like. It seemed rather large. Mom had hinted as much once. Was he circumcised? Was he veined? How hairy was he, how did his balls hang, did he squirt a lot when he came? Questions on another day I would have gone, 'Ooueh! (with a shutter) Too much information, my mind does not want to go there!' But for some reason, with the instrument intimate in my ass-cheeks, I had the strongest interest in them then.

But I would certainly never had had the gall to try to peek at dad, to discover the answer to any of those questions. That was what the second accident took care of. Now some people say there are no accidents. But certainly unplanned events are not considered to be anything but innocent occurrences. Even if they prove to be fateful. It turned out, that that ride in the truck on my pater's prominence, had an impression on more than just me. Dad too, was erotically stimulated, though, to his credit, he never let on afterwards. I discovered his having been affected by accident, about a week later.

I was going out to see some friends, and had left the house. I told my father that I would not be home for hours. But as I got just a block down the road, I realized I had left my wallet in my other purse. So I turned around in a neighbor's driveway and doubled back. I wasn't silent when I came in, but didn't make a big ruckus. Nor did I call out, because I knew dad was about to take a nap, just as I was leaving. So I was more quiet, than my usual boisterous self. As I passed his room, on my way to my own, I heard him call my name.

I though, 'Oh, he's checking to see if it's me he hears, I'll pop in on pop and confirm that I came back for a second.' I opened his bedroom door. There he is, rampant. He was masturbating. He was calling my name. He was cumming. A stunning moment in a girl's life, believe me. I wasn't offended, but I was surprised. I wasn't startled by the sight, but I was – uh . . . agog. I stared, I have a mental photograph of the vision, which I will never forget. I frankly liked what I saw, and noted, for later analysis, many factors which answered the queries that had arisen, when my father's hard-on had risen under my tush.

He was big, make that BIG. Not monstrous, and I was not using a ruler to measure, but he must have been maybe eight inches, and nice and thick. So mom was not kidding, when she had let it slip, that “dad's dong was a strong long schlong.” I remember laughing at the phrase at the time, slightly flushing, amazed that my mother would use it, or even speak it. He was circumcised, the head a wonderful plum color at the moment. Two blue veins slightly protruded along the shaft. He wasn't overly hairy, and I could see that his sacks were large and loose. And my goodness, did he have a lot of jism erupting from the tip!

From his lips, he murmured once more, “Happy”. I could tell he was, but he didn't mean that. It was obvious that he was thinking of me, because he then added, “Sweetheart, I love you!” I wasn't about to respond, “I love you too, daddy!” Of course I do, and strangely enough, I did even more just then, knowing that he had sexual feelings for me. If it had been anybody but him, I would have said something either sarcastic or amusing. But seeing my father in a very human condition, with needs and desires and vulnerable; I simply loved him the more. I felt tender toward him. It was odd, but there it was . . .

So I tried to close the door as quietly as I could. I thought I had, since he didn't call out to me, or curse, or make any kind of sound that would have acknowledged that he knew I had come upon him cumming. I silently as a kitten scurried to my room, grabbed my wallet and slipped out of the house. Driving away with a minimum of noise, I hoped that the whole thing would be as if it had never happened. But it had. And DAMN! I realized I was damp between my thighs. I had gotten turned on, and not even been aware, until I was making my get away. But I couldn't deny the fact that my dad was one sexy dude and I had seen him in action!

In action and calling my name as he came! What about that! What about that? I stopped the car a half mile from the house and tried to sort out things. What had happened, not the events, but the images? Why had he called out my name, not the reason, but what did it reveal about his feelings? What were my emotions about this? What was the impact on our relationship? What did it mean for the future? What would it lead to, or perhaps nothing would come out of it? Well, something did come out of the immediate aftermath of the second 'accident'. Me, I reached into my panties under my skirt and fingered myself to a climax. It took all of forty-five seconds to reach orgasm, I was so primed!

I deduced that the truck ride/lap dance over the rough road, had stirred up erotic feelings in my father. Such lewd thoughts which he had hidden and never shared, but none the less had allowed to be fantasized when he jerked off. He had to be horny, as mom had been gone close to two years. I knew they had had a good sex life until she got sick, so make that better than thirty months for his celibacy. Poor Daddy! I doubt that I could go that long. In fact, I was already chafing a bit for a chap, or even chomping at the bit for a chump, make that champ. Yeah, I could use the real thing, rather than the dildo I was doing.

I had never thought of dad that way, until the erogenous ride. There's a 'pick-up' line; “Want to sit in daddy's lap, little girl?” However, as I sat in the car, having just diddled myself, thinking of my own father, who had been thinking of his own daughter and thinking things incestuous; it didn't sound so ridiculous - my (dirty) old man and little lonely me. Lust is an peculiar phenomena. It has no logic, though it does have it's reasons. It's power is sneaky and can blindside you when you least expect it. Once it has become manifest (man-ifest?) it is hard to resist. Once you have given in, it is so delicious, and even more difficult to give up. Combine that with true love, and it is overpowering.

I did love my father, but now I lusted for him too. Knowing that he felt the same, made the situations incredibly irresistible. With things getting so hot, there was bound to be combustion; spontaneous, or at least sparked by an 'accident'. The burning yearning in my body was gathering strength, in short, I was in heat. “Heaven help us, when Hap has it in her head for something to happen, it usually does!” mother often would say. It's true, when my mind is made up, I have a way of somehow making the circumstances work to accomplish what I want. In this case, an 'innocent incident' that would lead to incest!

The third accident could have happened even if I had not helped things. But I did, so I'm just a little guilty. Dad was painting the trim on the house. He did this about every three years. The last time was before mom took ill, and he decided that with me home, he wanted to gussy-up the place. He was out back, on a warm late Spring day. It was sunny, so I wore my sun-suit, a bright yellow one piece shorts/halter top; like painters' overalls, but hemmed at the thighs. I asked dad what if he wanted a beer, he asked for ice-tea. When I brought it to him I put the glass to his left, on the board he was standing on.

This was arranged between two stepladders. It gave about four feet of height for him to work on the top of the window sills. He put the can of white paint on the top of the right ladder so he could move along from left to right. I watched him for a little. I noticed that the structure was not the sturdiest, so I went to steady it, holding on to the right end. It swayed every time he bent to get a sip. The can was moving more toward the edge each time. I should have said something. Instead, I maneuvered so that when the inevitable happened, it happened all over me. Dad bent one last time to get a drink.

If I had not noticed the precarious can, it could have cascaded on me anyway. But the opportunity provided possibilities, some of the scenarios gave rise to intimacies with dad. I did not have an exact plan of action, I just sort of acted instinctively. I admit, in the two weeks since I had seen dad on the bed, jerking off, I hadn't thought of any way to create a ruse to reenact his arousal, to allow his reaction to be resurrected if you will, to raise the rearing rod in my direction. You get the idea. I didn't know how to institute any situation that might let dad make a pass at me, or visa versa. I wanted it to include the chance that he could back down, if he didn't want to pursue it.

But I thought that perhaps he would go for the goal of getting me in bed, if he knew I felt the same, had lust in my loins also. Then he decided to do the trim. Well, it looked like he was going to have the prospect of doing a different sort of trim, mine. I could have chosen to not ruined my sun-suit, but I put myself in harm's way. You might say, I knew it was going to be a paint in the ass, literally. Because for my idea to work, I had to be covered, top to . . bottom, front to backside, in white Sherman-Williams' best. Dad straightened from the frosty glass, the whole thing wobbled and down the can came, conking me on the head. It didn't hurt, but the ivory latex went down all over my tits, and washed down the spine to my tush, like a skunk's stripe!

My squeal of surprise was genuine, since I had not expected the liquid to be so cold. My father was off his perch in a flash with apologies and looking abashed at the disaster. I knew I had to disarm the guilt factor for him, so we could move on to the real agenda, which this stunt was designed to facilitate. I smiled at him through the dripping paint, looking like something out of a Max Sennett 1920s slapstick comedy, and said, holding my arms out palm up, “Miss Hap strikes again!” that did the trick, for then both of us burst into sidesplitting laughter. Now I had changed the mood from catastrophe to simple mess, from 'What have I done to my daughter?!' to 'Doesn't Happy look silly, but what a sport she is about it!!'

“Come help me get cleaned up, pop.” I suggested; more like instructed the flummoxed male before me. He followed me tamely into the garage. Just inside, I stripped the soaked and ruined sun-suit off. Leaving me in just scanties and a wet tee shirt. My hair was streaked, and both front cleavage and the flesh from shoulders on down my to my behind were coated. I told dad to lay some newspapers down, from the door to the bathroom, so I wouldn't drip drops of white on the green carpet. He did so, and I scampered to the shower to begin phase two of my seduction. Without bothering to close the door, dad being attendant to whatever I needed, I took off my shirt and undies right in front of him.

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