Please note: For those of you who are not smart enough to get it, this story
is a work of erotic FICTION, and it will more than likely contain explicit
sex scenes involving relationships that could be considered socially
unacceptable; if you don't want to read something like that, then please, for
your own sake, don't read it; however, if you choose to go ahead and read it
anyway and you get upset and decide to flame me, go ahead, I don't mind; just
avoid attacking me personally; that I don't like, and any reviews containing
personal attacks of any sort will be removed and you will have wasted your
time and effort (not to mention mine); for all others, please read, enjoy,
and review my work if you feel like it. ~~Ambush Bug

Lizzie McGuire:
Lizzie McGuire And Her Dad Part 1 - More Than Just A Kiss (Mf,inc,reluc)
by Ambush Bug ([email protected])

It was just a little bit past midnight and I was laying on my bed in nothing
but my panties and a light blue tanktop, leaning back against the headboard
and reading the novel The Kiss by Katherine Harrison. It was a very short
novel, based on Harrison's real life experiences, about a teenaged girl who
is molested by her father. The title was a misnomer, though, since the father
did more (way more) than just kiss her.

I was surprised at how erotic the story was, and how passive the girl was;
she claimed to hate what her father was doing to her, but she went along with
all of it and never told a soul. Harrison never went into much detail about
what her father did to her, but she told enough that I had a very clear idea
of what had happened. Harrison also didn't mention any pleasure she might
have experienced during her and her father's encounters, but I suspected that
she might have enjoyed it, at least a little bit. Especially that one time,
when Harrison is visiting her grandmother and her father comes into her room
in the middle of the night and goes down on her. I'd read that scene four or
five times now (I was on my third reading of the entire book), and could very
clearly see the girl in my mind's eye, laying in bed with her legs open and
her father licking her cunt. She's moaning and fondling her own breasts until
finally (and quietly, so as not to wake her grandmother) she comes. I also
found it really easy to imagine the girl sucking her father's cock until he
came in her mouth, or letting him fuck her between her tits until he came all
over her face. After all, I'd experienced those very same things.

My father had been molesting me now for fifteen months. It had started on my
fourteenth birthday, just as I was getting ready for bed. I'd put on my
bright pink peejays and given my mom a goodnight kiss, then found my dad in
his den, going over plans for some stupid project he and my little brother
Matt were working on. I'd gone up to him, leaned down and pecked him on the
lips, just like I always did, but when I turned to leave he'd taken hold of
my hand and said, "Hold on a minute, Lizzie."

I turned around and faced him, thinking he was going to ask me if I wanted
to help him and my brother with their project (I hoped to God not), but
instead of saying anything my dad simply stood up and took me in his arms
and kissed me right on the lips. A very intimate, unfatherly kiss. No tongue,
but there was no mistaking it. He was kissing me. Just like Katherine
Harrison's father had done. And just like with Katherine Harrison, Dad hadn't
stopped there. He'd kissed me a few more times in the following weeks, just
kissing, but then about a month later he fondled my
breasts for the first time.

That had happened in the garage, when just he and I were home; Mom and Matt
had gone to the store to buy groceries, and I'd come out to tell him that I
was headed over to Miranda's house for the afternoon.

"Okay, sweetheart," he'd said, putting whatever weird mechanical parts he was
handling on his work table. He turned to me and held out his arms for a hug
and I'd automatically went to him, even though in my mind I remembered his
kisses and was afraid he'd do it again. He did, of course, after hugging me
tight, pressing his lips firmly against mine, but then he wouldn't let go. He
just kept holding on to me, rubbing my back and burying his face in my hair.
I had no idea what to do, or what might come next, but I didn't have to wait
long to find out.

Staring at a spot over in the corner of the garage and trying not to get too
wigged, I felt his hands slide up over my shoulders and along my neck. They
stopped on each side of my face and my dad kissed me again, only this time
his tongue slithered over my lips, squirmed between them, and was suddenly
rubbing wetly against my teeth. My heart leaped in my chest; this was so
totally wrong. But I didn't do anything to stop him as he pushed his tongue
the rest of the way into my mouth. At the same time he dropped his hands
down, sliding them along my sides, then in and over my breasts. I felt
something shoot through me, some strange charge of energy, almost like
getting turned on but not quite; I'd been touched that way by a few boys, of
course, and once a grownup guy briefly fondled me at the bus depot, and I'd
felt pleasant sexy feelings, but what was going through me this time was
different. Pleasant but also unpleasant. Naughty. And not in an extremely
good way.

I didn't know what to do so I didn't do anything. I just stood there with my
arms around him and let him push his tongue in and out of my mouth and rub
his hands over my breasts (regretting the fact that I'd neglected to wear a
bra) until he was finished, then I quickly grabbed up my backpack and left
for Miranda's house.

I never said a word about what my dad did, or about all the things he'd done
since then. He'd fondled me several more times, and stuck his hand down my
pants, even masturbated me. I felt guilty about that, believing that I had
to be wrong somehow if I could achieve orgasm from something my own dad was
doing to me, and my guilt only intensified after he started sucking my
breasts and go down on me. That had only started recently, within the last
few months. Dad had begun changing his tactics, sneaking into my room after
my mom and brother were asleep, and doing those things to me. He even crawled
into bed with me.

He'd also started making me do things to him. Making me stroke his cock and
put it in my mouth. Making me suck on it until he came, making me swallow.
I felt even worse about that because I experienced those same pleasurable
feelings that I had with the other things, only not so intense. When I
first took his cock in my mouth and sucked on it and felt that strange and
wonderful warmth course through my body, I knew I was definitely one messed
up girl. How could I enjoy it, even slightly? I was sick, maybe even as sick
as my dad, I was sure of it, but I didn't know what to do about it. Of
course, I knew I should tell my mom, but Mom would just call the police and
then my whole family would be ruined. I didn't want to ruin my family. I
just had to suffer through what was happening, find some way to convince my
dad to stop doing what he was doing. Either that or learn to enjoy it.

Katherine Harrison had counted the number of times her father had had sex
with her; 41 times. That was just sexual intercourse, though, it didn't
include any of the other times her father had molested her. My dad hadn't
even tried that with me yet, and I'd figured he wouldn't; he seemed content
with the oral sex, which he'd made me do fifteen times now. Add the fondling
and masturbation and the number of times my dad had molested me jumped to
forty. I hadn't realized that before. Number fortyone was coming up.

I closed the book and set it on my nightstand. I clasped my hands together
in my lap and closed my eyes, wondering what I could do, what I could say to
get Dad to leave me alone. I'd asked him to stop a few times, but he always
started up again. I'd tried to figure out just why he was doing things to me
but couldn't come up with any kind of satisfying explanation. Either he was
just a sicko or Mom wasn't giving him enough oral sex or there was something
wrong with me, something seductive about me that led him to have sex with
me. Maybe even a combination of all three.

There was a soft noise in the hallway, and a moment later my bedroom door
slowly opened. Dad was coming in. I was suddenly aware of how I was dressed,
my panties and tanktop. I silently cursed myself for not wearing more, then
allowed all of my thoughts to leave my head. What I had to do now was just
get through the next twenty minutes without panicking. I figured I could do
it; I'd been through it before and knew what to expect.

My dad smiled slightly but he didn't say anything as he came in and shut the
door. He was wearing just his pajama bottoms, and was without his glasses. I
watched him as he approached the bed, thinking to myself, Please, Daddy,
don't do anything to me. Please just go back to bed. But he didn't stop, he
came up to the side of the bed and sat on the edge, leaning over me as he
brought his face directly in front of mine. He leaned in closer and closed
his eyes, pressed his lips against mine, and like always I didn't do anything
to stop him.

He kissed me for a minute or two, slipping one of his hands down along my
arm, then over my left breast. He fondled me gently, caressing and squeezing,
and I felt my nipple get hard in response to his touches. I also felt that
unwanted warmth coarse through me, that criminal pleasure. I was sad to think
that, despite the wrongness of what was once again happening, I was going to
like it.

Dad broke the kiss and moved back a little, then, with his eyes roaming over
my barely dressed body, he reached for the bottom of my tanktop and pulled it
up over my head. He tossed it on the floor, his eyes locked onto my breasts,
then grabbed the waistband of my panties. He pulled them down over my hips,
then down my legs and over my feet. I wanted to close my eyes, to pretend
that I was somewhere else, even someone else, but I couldn't; I'd never been
very good at that. The physical sensations of my dad's attentions always
brought me back to reality, to the moment. No matter how much I wanted to or
how hard I tried, I couldn't escape.

My dad touched my knees and I spread my legs obediently. He bent over between
my legs, his shoulders touching each thigh, and kissed my thin blonde patch
of pubic hair, then started licking me. I stared at the top of his head as
the lightning bolts of pleasure shot through me. My hands crept up over my
stomach, sliding up over my breasts. I cupped them, squeezed them gently as
my dad continued to lick me. I knew it was bad, that I shouldn't be having
these feelings, but I couldn't deny them no matter how hard I tried; it felt

I started to move my hips a little, increasing the pleasant feelings in
my cunt as my dad licked and nibbled on my clit. I pinched my nipples, my
breathing becoming sharper, more urgent. A wave of heat moved through me,
starting between my legs and rolling up through my womb, through my chest
and out through my arms and legs. Dad was holding my thighs and sucking on
my cunt, sticking his tongue inside of me, and I couldn't avoid it anymore,
couldn't resist the powerful reaction, the storm exploding within me. I
held my breath and closed my eyes, squeezed my breasts as my orgasm boiled
and spilled over inside of me. I moaned and gasped, hoping I wasn't being
too loud but unable to help myself.

Afterward, Dad lingered between my legs, casually kissing and licking me. I
wondered what would be next; he usually had me sit up and perform oral sex on
him, although the last few times he had lain on top of me and rubbed himself
against me until he came. I wasn't really sure which I would rather have
happen; if it was up to me none of this would be going on in the first place,
but I was trapped, all I could do was try my best to endure it. I didn't like
sucking his cock, the taste of his come in my mouth, but the way he'd lain on
top of me, rubbing his cock against my cunt, simulating the ultimate sexual
act, had been creepy. It felt good, I'd almost experienced a second orgasm
the last time, but I'd also felt smothered, overpowered, totally helpless
beneath my dad's strong masculine body. Besides, he liked to french kiss me
while he was doing it, and I didn't care for the taste of my own sex either.

Dad finally stopped kissing and licking me, crawled up my body, bringing his
crotch right up against mine. He was going to lay on top of me again. I felt
his weight first, then his long hard erection against me, separated by the
thin fabric of his pajama bottoms. I automatically put my arms around him,
placing my hands on his shoulders; he liked it best when I did that, when I
pretended to be doing it along with him. I wondered briefly if he knew that
the sounds I made when he was going down on me or rubbing on me were real.
Did he think I was faking it, or did he know that I was enjoying it, despite
the severe wrongness? I didn't know which would be better.

My dad kissed me, pushed his tongue into my mouth, and I could taste myself.
One of his hands found my breasts, caressed and squeezed them for a minute,
then moved down my body. He pulled his cock out of his pajama bottoms and
began rubbing it against my cunt. I could feel it sliding between my soft
cunt lips, over my clit, and the sensations were terrible and wonderful at
the same time. My dad stopped kissing me and buried his face in my neck as
he rubbed against me and I began to cry. This wasn't fair, that this awful
thing should be happening to me, and that I should be feeling such pleasure
from it. I wished, like I always did, that I could just disappear.

Dad began moving faster and faster against me and I hoped it would end soon.
The feelings between my legs, the heat and the tension, were increasing and
I was afraid I was close to coming. But then he stopped, reached down between
our bodies again, and took hold of his cock. He moved it so that its head was
pushing up against my cunt. He was going to put it inside of me.

I'd been afraid of this for a long time. Despite my hopes, part of me had
always suspected that he wouldn't limit his violation of me to just oral sex
and a strange form of masturbation, that he would eventually want to fuck me
too. I'd lain awake many nights, wondering what to do in case that ever
happened, but had never been able to come up with a way to prevent it other
than to tell my mom or somebody else. I wanted to tell him, to say "Don't,
Daddy," but I knew that if I spoke now I'd just start begging and pleading,
I'd become even more pathetic than I already was, and besides, what if he got
violent? What if he hurt me? What if he raped me? I didn't think he could do
something so awful, but then, I'd never suspected he was capable of even
molesting me until he actually did.

There had been no solution, until about two weeks ago, when I got the idea
that, if I couldn't stop my dad from fucking me, then maybe I could at least
make sure he didn't take my virginity. That was when I asked Gordo to make
love to me. I hadn't enjoyed it with him, mostly because he was just my
friend, more like a brother than anything else, but at least he wasn't
related to me. Gordo had been happy to do it, had even gotten a crush on me
and thought that I loved him too, which was a problem, but it was worth it.
My dad might be able to take a lot of things from me that he didn't have a
right to, but he wasn't going to get my cherry.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and tried to control my tears as my
dad's cock slid into my cunt. He moaned in my ear, held me tightly as he
pushed all the way into me, then slowly began fucking me. I held onto him,
caressing his shoulders and back the way he liked, and moved beneath him,
matching the rhythm of my hips to the rhythm of his thrusts. I tried to
think of Gordo, or of Arron Hill, some other guy besides my dad, but all
I could see behind my eyes was him, the way he must look now, lying on top
of me, kissing my neck and pushing his cock in and out of me. I felt the
same feelings too, the hot and spontaneous electricity of rising pleasure
inside of me. This was so wrong, the worst thing in the world, but at the
same time it felt good, his cock was hard and powerful, filling me up and
bringing me to the crest of release.

I'm bad, I thought, I'm a bad girl. I did something wrong and my daddy is
punishing me, and I'm even more bad because I like it.

I held my dad tighter, bucked my hips as he fucked me, and lost myself in
the wave of orgasm that splashed through me. I gasped and moaned, dug my
fingernails into his back as I came, hating and loving him at the same
time. He started fucking me a little more quickly but not very much more,
and just as I was nearing the end of my climax he came too. I could feel
his cock pumping and his warm come spurting into me, pouring into the
deepest center of my body as he held me and groaned in my ear. I hated
that sound, the sort of grunting sound my dad made when he came, but I
was glad to hear it too, because at least that meant that it was over.

When he was done, my dad relaxed on top of me, breathing heavily and holding
me, his cock growing soft inside of me. I continued to caress his back,
feeling the light sheen of sweat on my body drying along with my tears. I
couldn't believe it had happened, that it had finally happened, my daddy had
fucked me, made me his lover. Just like in the Katherine Harrison book. And,
just like Katherine Harrison, I'd found pleasure in it despite what my heart
told me was right.

And it had all started with just a kiss.



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