Yes, my darling daughter.

After my release from serving a ten year prison sentence for rape, my daughter seeks to find out how I could have done such a thing. We talk - and I show her.

This was not a conversation I had been looking forward to. Claire had never come to see me in prison and I'd rather got the impression that she'd disowned me as her father. In a way, this came as something of a relief since my brutal rape of a random woman I'd picked up in a bar was never going to be easy to explain away. How could I justify such behaviour to the child who'd loved and trusted me so well and who's love and trust I'd so shamefully betrayed? No, estrangement from Claire was what I deserved and so I simply forced myself to accepted it.

Therefore, it came as a disquieting surprise to receive a letter from her, via the Probation Service. It was the only way Claire could trace me. My conviction had ended my marriage and thus lost me my wife, but also my home, my job, my reputation; in fact, everything. After spending three months in Approved Accommodation (a hostel where my conduct was closely monitored), got myself a bed-sitting room in a house full of bed-sitting rooms. The kitchen and bathroom were communal which afforded little privacy, (not even the bathroom), so the only place I could receive a visit from anyone was in my snug little bed-sit. Through a prison related agency, I'd manage to secure a job in my old trade of printing. I was an experienced press manager and so dispite my conviction, my new employer considered me worth taking a risk on. In consequence, I had a sustainable income that met more than my basic needs. I could see a positive future for myself, but then came Claire's letter.

I suppose I could and maybe should have refused ro see her, thus avoiding a possible embarrassing confrontation, but the chance of reconciliation was something I just couldn't deny myself. She is my own flesh and blood after all. Her letter gave me her email address but not her phone number, so that's how I went about fixing a time and date for Claire to visit me. Other than her aforementioned contact details, her letter merely said "Dad, I have questions, things I need to know if I'm ever going to reconcile myself to the terrible disaster that's torn our family apart. So please, can we talk? After a great deal of soul searching, and with not a few misgivings, I agreed to see her at my place.

I bought in some tasty nibbles and her favourite intoxicant (cognac and peppermint) in the hope that these would help keep our meeting convivial. On the day of ger visit, I bathed, shaved and made myself as presentable as possible. Then, with palpitating heart, settled down to await her arrival.

Claire had been sixteen when I'd last seen her. She was by now twenty seven; a fully mature woman. Me? I was on the late side of middle age but hopefully still recognisable as the father she once loved. She'd want to talk about my offence for sure; so in preparation, I recalled the incident in as much detail as possible. I remembered the woman's slightly frizzy hair, her laugh, her perfume, the way she hogged the conversation while we were in the bar. I vividly recalled tge pattern on her thin cotton Summer frock and the way her voluptuous breasts jiggled within its confines whenever she laughed. I resolved to cop a feel of those gorgeous orbs before tge night was out. I figured I was entitled, considering the number of drinks I'd bought for her. Quite honestly that's as far as I'd intended to go and she quite willingly let me lead her into this darkened alleyway when I suggested a snog and a cuddle. Well, it was in the course of an amorous cuddle that I gave one of the woman's voluminous boobs a squeeze and that's when all Hell broke loose. Cathy, that was her name. She was a Housewife who desperately needed a night away staring at a TV screen in the company of a husband who appeared to have lost the knack of both romance and conversation. She'd told him she was going to Bingo with a female friend, but that was a lie. She just wanted to talk with someone who'd listen and pay her some attention. She'd welcomed the attention I'd paid her so far but my grabbing of a mammary proved to be a step too far. She shouted "No" and knocked my hand away. Her shout alarmed me and her violent response angered me. Cathy was already in my arms and the overall softness of her body had already aroused me so I started to give her a good mauling all over; arse and tits mostly. She started calling me a filthy pervert, which was for me a relief as I'd been expecting ear piercing screams. In my semidrunken state and I'd say we were both in that condition, Cathy calling me a pervert had me thinking along the lines of "oh well, if that's what I am, I might as well go the whole hog." It was at this point that the front buttons ob Cathy's dress got torn open in the struggle, exposing cast mounds of pure white mounds of heaving female flesh that seemed to glow in the alleyways darkness. After that, I just lost all control and as a result, my memories of what happened next became somewhat disjointed. However, at my trial, it became clear that Cmmathy remembered every little thing in intimate detail. She remembered being intimidated by my to such an extent that she felt totally unable to resist my sexual assault however much she wanted to. She remembered me waving my cock in her face before ripping her knickers clean off, falling on top of her and forcing my penis into her hot moist cunt. I remembered how that felt alright. Sex by right of conquest. I shagged her because I could and it felt fucking fantastic. There was no holding back, I went all the way with Cathy. It felt great to have my cock inside a woman other than my wife; to pump my sperm into a potentially child bearing body.......

CCTV camera's in the bar were my undoing. I was identified from the images of me with Cathy they captured and this was the sordid tale I have to tell my daughter. I wish I could tell you that my recollections of my crime filled me with shame and self-loathing, but in truth, the only affect these memories had on me was to give me an enormous erection, just as Claire rang the front door bell.

There was nothing for it, I just had to open the door to Claire sporting my erection and hope she wouldn't notice.
When I'd last seen her, she was a teenager and the human equivalent of a stick insect; all angles with sharp edges. Now though, all those angles had filled out into soft feminine curves with a bust I can only describe as magnificent. For a girl visiting a convicted rapist, I can only describe her mode of dress as provocative. A Summer dress worn off the shoulder to display maximum cleavage and with a lower hem halfway up her shapely thigh. Already aroused by my recollection of raping that bitch who put me in prison for ten long years, the sight of my child dressed in this way was immediately causing a surge in pleasurable erotic tension to course through my body. Had she dressed this way to tempt me or to taunt me?
"Aren't you going to invite me in, daddy?"
I suddenly realised I'd been just standing there and staring at her in silence for an embarrassingly long time. I apologised and led her to my little bit of a house I knew to be empty at that hour. All the other tenants had daytime jobs and I'd taken this particular day off work to accommodate Claire's visit. There wasn't much in the way of furniture in my room due to lack of space. A small table, an armchair, a sideboard and a single bed virtually filled it. Claire took all this in at a glance but instead of making for the chair as I'd expected her to do, she elected to squat on the bed. Thus meant I had to lug that heavy chair around in order to face her. This she watched with a slight look of amusement on her beautiful face.

I'd had some sort of a speech worked out un my head before hand, but my daughter's physical presence rendered me incapable of remembering a word of it. So it was that Claire opened the conversation with "Daddy, you left mum and me at home while you deliberately went out, got drunk and raped some woman you'd only just met. What the fuck was going on in your head that night that caused you to do that?"
"Quite honestly love, I never set out to rape anybody. I just fancied a night out for a change. I popped into this bar only intending to stay for a couple of drinks, but then thus woman and I started chatting and so I just stayed. We talked and we drank and well, one thing sort of lead to another really."
"Really? Well then, please explain to me just how a supposedly happily married man progresses from having an amiable chat with another man's wife in a bar to forcing himself on her up some dark alley?"
I could feel her lovely dark eyes boring into my skull as I struggled to come up with some sort of mitigation for wgat I'd done and the best I could come up with was "I thought she was up for it, but she started fighting me and I just lost it!"
"No dad, you didn't lose it, you had it. You had her because you wanted her. Was your sex life with mum so deadly dull that you needed to go out and shag the first woman that would give you the time of day? We're you gagging for the feel of a different cunt embracing your cock?"
I couldn't come up with an answer, she was right. That's exactly how it was. Claire's harsh words were stinging me but her body was mesmarising me with its erotic perfection. That same lust I was in the grip of when I raped Cathy had hold of me now as I beheld my child. I felt the same hot anger too. I could feel my face reddening and the same need to defend myself. As everybody knows, the best form of defense is attack. The temptation to make the attack physical was great but there was something about about what was happening that wasn't ringing true. It was that dress Claire was almost wearing. What was the word I used earlier? Provocative? That was it. My daughter was deliberately attempting to provoke me into.......into what? The answer was squatting on my bed, face flushed and breathing heavily. As I started to get out of my chair, Claire quietly said "no daddy, stop. Don't even think about it. I'm your child, you really mustn't do this; not with me, not to me........"
I fell on her. She was asking for this and and I was most definitely going to give it to her. With no thought for the consequences, I tore into her; into her clothing until she was completely naked and then into her vagina that was already sopping wet. I expected struggles but instead felt my daughter's arms and legs wrapping themselves around me as I most vigorously fucked her. She'd come for this. That was now obvious. Why? I didn't know and I didn't care. Curiosity? Maybe. Perhaps some insightful lady will write Claire's story and post it on SS69 one day. For now though, rhis particular story ends with me pumping every drop of semen in my body into the body of my sweating, whimpering child as I experienced that feeling of blissful euphoria only orgasmic release into your own flesh and blood can give.