humiliation, don't she? Ha! ha! I can see your bottom and your thighs-yes, your naked thighs, dear, and your pretty calves and feet!'
Despite his coarse utterances, he did not forget to still batter her martyred bottom with all his might, and the skin being of the finest texture now began to break. Little streaks of blood appeared, oozing out in different directions from the raised bruises which turned black.
Low moans issued from her throat. She writhed and twisted in all directions, once placing her hands behind her in a futile attempt to protect her buttocks. Sand-cross struck at her wrists and she hurriedly drew her arms away.
'Enough, papa! Enough!'
'Beg my pardon!' said Sandcross, as he now inflicted swinging blows at her hitherto untouched thighs.
'Not there! Not there, papa!'
'Will-you-beg-my-pardon? I'll hit you where I like! I'll strip you naked and flay you alive, if I choose! Am I not your father?'
'Yes! Y-e-e-s-pa! I beg your pardon-I do indeed!'
She was now quite subdued and conquered, reclining quietly on her stomach, her body wriggling from side to side, and heaving her buttocks up and down. She sighed heavily, and muffled sobs came from between her ringers, as she now clasped her hands before her face.
'Promise to kiss me of your own free will and I'll let you off!' said the cruel father, as he contemplated with lewd joy Fanny's reddened, fat thighs.
From her loins to the tops of her stockings, not an inch of skin had escaped the effects of Sandcross's awful punishment. All was red, contused, of a reddish-brown tint, and on the buttocks the skin was broken; bleeding in many places.
Fanny's father waited for an answer, as he finally desisted. He was fatigued, both his hands were benumbed, and he felt quite exhausted, but happy, with a glorious exciting inward upheaval of satisfaction. The pleasure of cruel conquest; the delight at having crushed the rebellious spirit of the daughter he coveted was something too great for words to qualify.
His girl's reply came at last, and in such a fashion as to thoroughly surprise him.
She slowly turned round, unable to rise entirely from the bed, and utterly regardless of the indecency of her posture, as she showed fully three-quarters of the front part of her body; her breasts escaping from her twisted stays, the nipple-buds showing above the lace-trimmed edge; her drawers disarranged in front, exposing part of her virgin soft fleece, she held out her arms to her father, and through the tears that veiled the lustre of her eyes, a glorious smile lit up her tearful face. She murmured in French, couched in a low, loving whisper:
'Viens! Prends-moi! Prends-moi! Je t'aime!'
His brain reeling, every nerve thrilling, and a prey to rampant, ungovernable lust, Sandcross threw himself on his daughter. His mouth sought hers, and their tongues met in a libidinous, long, luscious caress. He rolled upon the bed grasping her willing body, and pressing her close to him. They neither spoke, but the father groaned with exacerbated longing, and his daughter gave forth deep sighs of satisfaction. While their mouths were joined, the profligate parent's hands eagerly pressed every bit of naked flesh he could find: the neck, chest, and the upper halves of the beautiful hard breasts heaving by reason of the tempest within; the burning backside and thighs; arms, hands, and hair. He plunged his fingers into the waves of her tresses, and even passed their tips over her face. Would their mouths never separate? They bit and sucked each other's lips, and Sandcross was intoxicated with her velvet saliva, fragrant and fresh.
'Love me, Fan! Love me and let me love you!' he whispered at length, as he sucked and bit at her well-formed, tiny ears, brilliant as pink pearls.
'I love you, pa! You know I do!'
Sandcross fingered at her stays. She disengaged herself from his arms for a second, and unclasping the busk, threw the corset behind her. With insane delight, her father pressed the hard globes, and found both nipples erect. He pulled down the chemise to kiss and lick the twin strawberries, one by one. While he did so, she dragged her arms out of the straps of her filmy garment, and was about to unfasten her petticoat and drawers, when the sucking caress of Sandcross produced the effect he wished, and with a lowing, loving, cooing sound, she fell on his lips again. He tugged at her petticoat. She understood, drawing it off and her drawers too. She was naked with the exception of stockings and shoes. He stood her up erect, admiring her unveiled frame, worthy of being copied in marble, and falling on his knees before her, kissed her thighs, and passed the end of his tongue through the mossy bush that concealed the sign of her sex. She clipped her legs fast together at this soft embrace, and placing her hand on his face, tried to close his eyes with her soft palm. Weak with the awaken-encroaching feelings of lust that racked her virginal body, she fell over him, about to faint with rapture, from the effects of the wave of unknown voluptuous sensations submerging her being. He lifted her up and threw her gently on her back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Standing between her unresisting thighs, he parted them widely. His trembling digits tore at his trousers and braces. He felt that if he tarried but another second or two, nature would betray him. Hastily clutching a towel from the horse on his left, he lifted up his girl, and slipped it under her. She reclined with closed lids, one arm flung over her face, to hide it, and protect her eyes from the strong, searching electric light which made her white body look whiter still. He threw himself upon her. This contact caused her to shudder with delight, and fresh elixir sprung from her hidden source of future motherhood. She pushed up to meet the coming onslaught. Her sex prompted her, but she did not know what was in store for her, as she held out her arms to her father. He bent down and she clasped him to her breast, seeking always for his mouth. His tongue gambolled with hers. Now she shrank from him, and bit her left wrist to stifle her groan of pain. He held her fast now and gained at each powerful thrust. She writhed in agony, and was no longer moist. He panted with delight, feeling the commencement of his climax.
He fell on her breast, exhausted, half unconscious swimming in a sea of satisfied lewd joy, while Fanny sobbed partly in exquisite agony, and feeling a rending pain in each groin.
Sandcross rose at last, and drew the towel, now stained with blood, between her legs, trying to wipe the ensanguined secret recess. This caused her to sit up, and she hid her tearful face on her father's breast.
Now only did he feel a little uneasy. The door was actually ajar. They might have been heard? No, all was quiet. He whispered to Fanny to move gently from the bed, and placed her on the bidet. He kissed the toilet napkin with its scarlet spots, and she smiled through her tears while he did so, and as she saw him fold it up and place it in his pocket. She was not surprised, nor disgusted at seeing her father thus standing before her, his gradually shrinking instrument shamelessly dangling before her eyes.
'Do you forgive me?' he said, one tiny ray of remorse -the first and last-illumining the depths of his soul, obscured by the black clouds of incestuous lust.
'Yes, father. I love you! I regret nothing. I only want you to love me always!'
'Hush, Fan!' he rejoined, fearful as she raised her voice in her excitement. 'I swear never to fail you. You're mine, doubly so, by mutual love and right of relationship. Trust in me and your life shall be one dream of happiness.'
And so they kissed again. He put her in bed and tucked her up comfortably, whispering how he had done that when she was a tiny little baby girlie. She smiled at him, gratefully and happy as an angel, as he enquired if she was in pain.
'Down there-you know, pa-between my thighs- legs, I mean. And behind too! Oh! how you hurt me! I never knew your hands were so hard!'
'Poor girl! I'll never slap you again!'
'Oh yes, you may!'
In most childish confusion she threw her white tired arms around his neck, her lips skimming over his moustache, as she murmured: 'I like it! It was that spanking which made me feel I loved you, darling pa!'
As her nervous system gradually reverted to its normal state of quietude, so the babyish look returned to her violet eyes, and her face was as full of innocence as heretofore.
'Good night, my own papa! Good night, dear love – my father- and my love!'
With a last kiss – a pure, chaste touch of her closed lips this time – she turned and slept like a child, sinking at once into hearty slumber.
Sandcross looked enraptured at her for a second, and switching off the light retired on tiptoe to his own room. Two or three times did he return in the night to kiss his loving girl, who still slept on, until he dared no longer show
