The following night I did not fall asleep, but made believe that I was asleep. As I expected, father came in. He looked to see if I was asleep and, satisfied from my regular breathing that I was, he undressed. Raising the bedcovers, he got into my bed and, lying by my side, carefully covered both of us. He then lay close to me and suddenly raising my nightshirt-I felt his shift stiffen-pressed against my naked thigh. Edging my gown higher and higher until it was around my neck, he began playing with my titties. This aroused my passion. I was afraid that he was going to play around the outside again, and that I thus would be cheated out of my share of the pleasure. Still I did not dare to make any advances. Sliding his hands down, he parted my legs. This was easy, for I had partly spread them already. Then he touched me with his fingers, and I did not resist. Instead I began to help him. I knew that from the night before he thought that I was asleep. My movements got him so excited that he immediately got on top of me and when, he started poking around my well with his lance, I got so passionate that I could not resist. I kept moving around in order to get it inside me.
Whether he thought that I was asleep or completely forgot himself, I do not know. But he also began to work and, with one quick push, he got it in as far as it would go! The sensation was so delicious, that I unthinkingly said: “Oh!” Father now lay quiet, his shaft still sticking in me. I knew that I had nothing to fear, and, acting as thought just awakening, I said: “Father! What are you doing?” At the same time I slowly ground my hips in a sensuous circle around his delicious shaft. He was frightened, but did not leave me.
“Father!” I whispered again, still writhing. “For goodness sake, what are you doing?” He did not answer. “Stop, Father! Stop! What are you doing?” And, as I spoke, I began to writhe more vigorously. “Nothing!” he whispered, “Nothing! I was asleep!”
“But, father, what are you doing to me?” “I did not know it was you!” he said, as an excuse. “Yes, father it is! It is I!” I cried, each time giving a harder push. He said nothing. “Why!” I continued. “Father, you are poking me!” And I put my arms around him.
He caught my breast, and, without further words, started to work with furious strokes. Holding him tight, I whispered in his ear:
“This is a sin-father! I am afraid-but oh! father-I love you-faster-faster-faster! There-that is good! But I am afraid-oh, father-!” “That's all right,” he answered. “Nobody knows it, and nobody will find out.” “No,” I said. “No-I won't say anything!” He pushed hard. “That is right. You are a nice daughter!” I asked: “Father is it good for you too-?” “Yes! Yes!” And he again put his mouth on one of my titties. “Whenever you want to, father-” I whispered. “You can poke me all that you want-!” “Keep quiet!” “Father-I am 'coming'. Faster-faster-oh, now!” I was happy. I had waited so long, and now I was satisfied. “Father, are you 'coming' too-?” “Yes, now. Now!-Pepi!-Now-Oh! But that feels good!” We both “went off” together; then, in each other's arms, we went to sleep. The next day father was very shy. He talked in low tones, never looking at me. I went out and waited for the evening. As we went to bed, I crawled over him. Placing his hand on my naked titties, I whispered: “Father, are you angry at me?” “No,” he answered, “I am not angry.” “You did not speak to me today.”
“I have been thinking,” he remarked. “What about, father?”
“Well, I think,” he answered, stroking my titties, “that if the teacher could do this, then it is all right for me.” I reached down, took hold of his shaft, which immediately stood like a soldier at command. It occurred to me that I was created from inside this same shaft. “Father, if you would like to have me again, I will let you,” I said. “In God's name,” he gasped. I then got on top of him and began riding him. He held my breasts. We soon finished another “turn.” My father now was very friendly. During the day, every time that he came near me, he patted my titties, and I, in returned pinched him in “front” He talked about his business, the running of the house, money matters, etc. He bought me new clothes-in fact everything that I could wish for, and even allowed me to keep the rent from our roomer and I felt quite grown-up and very important.
I once asked him: “Father, do you remember what else the teacher had me to do for him?” “No, what was it?” “Shall I show you?” “Yes, I am curious to know.” I put my head down, took out his shaft-which was now limber-and began to suck on it. “Is that good?” I asked. “Yes, that is very blissful and good! Keep it up!” “Father,” I lied, “the teacher did something else to me too.” “Do you want me to do that, too-?” he asked. I nodded.
He threw me across the bed, burying his face between my thighs. He then began to suck-my own father-so vigorously that I almost lost my breath! I was immensely satisfied. About this time we changed roomers. The new one was a waiter in a small restaurant. His name was Rudolph. He was a slender fellow with a yellow, sallow complexion and dark eyes. Although about thirty-six, he had only a few hairs on his lips-a poor excuse for a moustache. I disliked him. After the first few days, he tried to feel my breasts. He eyed me with scorn then, holding me, began pressing my titties. Enraged, I struck at him and kicked him until he had to let me go. “Well,” he replied nastily, “I suppose that only a teacher can touch the young lady?”
“Hold your tongue!” “I see! I see! Only learned men may poke you!” “If you don't keep your mouth shut,” I shouted, I will report you to the police.” He turned pale and, in a rage, finished dressing, throwing his things around in his room. Angrily putting on his hat, he came closer to me and whispered: “Wait! You threaten me with the police, you bitch-just wait! You will beg me to do you the honor some day!” Several weeks later I was washing myself, wearing only an undershirt. Father was just leaving, and he quickly bade me farewell. Reaching into my shirt, he quickly fondled my breasts. At that instant, Rudolph opened his door. Father quickly withdrew his hand. Rudolph meekly asked: “Pardon me, could I have my breakfast earlier? I have to go to the magistrate.” We hoped that he had not noticed anything, but when father had gone and I went into the kitchen to prepare Rudolph's breakfast, he grinned and asked: “So-your father may play with your titties?” “You lie!” I answered, blushing. “But I saw it,” he said. “You saw nothing of the kind!” I shouted back at him. “Father said only that I should wash myself better.” He laughed out loud. Walking to the sink, he quietly took out his shaft and began washing it, saying: “I must wash myself better, too!” He then came towards me and continued: “Yes, I must wash myself better, because today or tomorrow Miss Pepi may ask me to poke her!” I laughed with scorn and he left. But it was he who laughed last. Weeks passed. Rudolph seemed not to notice me. Father and I enjoyed ourselves-not every night, but quite often. We had tried every way which I had learned. Living in this way with father, I remained away from all the others. Only twice did I go to see the priest, and then intending only to go to Communion, not to be poked. The first time that I went to him, I found a little, seven-year-old girl in his room. He had completely undressed her. She smiled at him, lying there on his bed. As I entered, the father was licking her little grotto with his tongue-an act which the little tot greatly enjoyed. (She later told me that her uncle and the butcher did “that” to her too; of course they could not poke her.) His Reverence did not try to poke her, but as a precaution that she might not sin in the future, he was “just cleansing her.” I arrived just in time. I lay on the bed and he gave me a good poke! Then he dismissed us both. The second time Father Mayer and I were alone. I confessed my relations with my father. Clasping his hands, he said: Then you are lost!” I did not believe this nonsense any more, but I played my part in the comedy. I decided that I would earn his “absolution” at any cost. “I will do penance, your Reverence!” I said solemnly.
“What do you mean, 'penance'?” he asked. I knelt before him, took out his shaft and began licking it and sucking so hard that he trembled like a kettle of boiling water. I pushed his holy “wand” away back into my throat. He stopped, lifted me up and said: “Come!”
I turned around. Raising my dress, I reached back and pushed his “holy stem” into me from behind. I worked so hard and fast that he could not hold back, but “went off” in a few minutes. But I did not rest. Immediately I began to play with him again, sucking and using all the known arts. I soon had him going the second time.
We parted the best of friends. My sins were all “forgiven.” I had only to promise to have nothing more to do with father sexually-which I readily promised, knowing that I could easily get his forgiveness every time that I broke the promise. After our first great passions bad been satisfied, father made it a rule to poke me only on Sunday mornings before getting up. This was the custom among all the working classes, for the men were tired during the week, but, on Sunday morning, after a good night's rest they were raring to go. So now I very seldom got a “piece” during the week or at night unless I begged for it. Father seemed to be in the best of humor in the morning while he was dressing and I was preparing his breakfast. I wore no clothes except a chemise or possibly a short skirt. He always played with me a little while before leaving the house. One morning-I think it was a Thursday-we had not done anything since the Sunday morning before. Every time father came near me he felt my breasts. This aroused my passions. Finally, after he had finished washing himself, I was about to air the bedclothes when I passed him and he started to play with my nipples until they got hard. I now was crazy for a good poke. As he stood in front of me in his underclothes, I took hold of his shaft, which promptly shot out straight. After playing with each other a short time, father not thinking, threw me down on the bed, where I was ready to pick up the clothes to take them out for an airing, and we began to indulge in a “little morning exercise.” Father had just raised my skirt and got on
