Girls Who Strip for Their Uncles and Daddies


by Lisa Smiles

To celebrate their young ones' eighteenths, brothers Bill and Mike rent a house for a weekend of wine tasting and treating their daughters like grown ups. All it takes is a little tipsy conversation about strippers though and the mask is removed from all their secret hopes from this weekend. Which is best, a niece or a daughter? An uncle or father? A mother or sister? Incest is all good, enjoy it!

A 7000 word story.

This is a story shows, yet again, that physical acts are just what you see on the surface and that embedded within father and daughter (and niece) relations are all the same jealousies, insecurities and heartbreaks that define all of our love lives. The main difference with incest is you can't walk away. The brother who was closer to your sister than you were, is always your brother. The daughter who has piqued your sexual interest with her new hip bones is the girl you played games with on the living room floor, and she still likes her tickles from daddy. The niece on your lap who has had a few drinks is the girl who could complete your own brother—if that's what you want for your best friend and arch rival. These characters live in feedback loops of emotions and urges that are inescapable and, because of that, are very intense. Join them for new insights into addictive cycles of incest and pleasure.


Laying beside her, drawing her fetal curled knees to my tummy, I tell her, “Jazzy, I would never say that.” Then I tell her something her mother has never been told, that I understand genetic attraction. I go on to say, “You have a grandpa and aunty you’ve never met. My sister and father. They moved overseas to get married.”

There’s nothing quite like scandalous pillow talk to keep your daughter distracted while you slide your hand into her tightly clenched thighs and finger fuck her vagina. “I was more or less the age you are now, and couldn’t understand why my mother would want to take an active interest in teaching me and your uncle Bill about sex. I later found out she was just trying to find some way to be involved in something going on between my little sister and father.”

“Wow, how did that feel?” Jazzy asks, as I undo my waist band and steer her hand into my trousers.


“Well, it was confusing for all of us. But at the same time you’re having sex that makes you feel as though your whole body has been injected with some mixture of adrenaline and a paralyzing agent and your dick’s in a vice every time you orgasm.”

“Was that with your mother?”

“No, mainly my sister.”

She has so much to process but the question she asks me is, “How does that compare to having sex with my mother?”

The question is asked so innocently that all I do is smile and shake my head. “It doesn’t Jazzy. It doesn’t. What you and I are doing right now: this is Mount Everest. Everything else for you now, I’m afraid, will just be a fizzer.”

She drops her legs and opens them to give the finger-fuck room. It’s nice. I can feel growing wetness like I am inside of an oyster. Meanwhile I’m training her hand. “That’s it. A little tighter. Rub your thumb here. It’s better that you don’t be too expert.” Running my nose through her hairline—she’s been using that conditioner that makes your scalp feel like it’s freezing—could easily make me come on its own.


About the Author

In their physical details, taboo acts can sometimes be no different from boring old honeymoon love scenes, but that's not my main focus. What fascinates me are relational details, or the way girls do their makeup, or the way incest is bass jumping compared to other sex that's just cricket. Why is that? It's precisely because of the fear. In the arts that fear is called The Sublime. You might feel it in your chest when you read me.

Please, reach out to me however you can. I want to work with you to provide unique reading experiences and valuable products that you will store and return to again and again.

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