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I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.

How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I.

Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the stuff of heaven. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me. There was no one else either, I knew that much.

My mother died while birthing me. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her.

It would have been awkward. My father gave no reason for killing me. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones.

He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me?

He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him.

Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. But his words belied the sorrow on his features.

He had said the break up words so casually, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter. There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible.

The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation. It was like mockery. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Death is not a casual occurrence.

I felt like dying. I wanted to die. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure.

It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death.

And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter. We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness?

For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth. That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love.

That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died. It was the last day I spoke or saw my father. He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.

As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming from both our eyelids. I could feel his sorrow; it was thick enough to touch.

The feeling was apt; death had occurred. The man came for me twice, later. But he came as a father coming for his daughter. He should have come for me as a soul for its soul mate, like breath for air, like the dying for life.

That was what we were; romance and its love. I made a new resolve. Men would learn from me, the very hard way. I have what they want.

My beauty is the glaring kind that every body agrees with. But my heart would be a different matter. It took a while before I could stand the touch of any other man, but vengeance helped me detach my body from myself.

I would forever be grateful for my looks; it was my ultimate shield. It helped me survive and helped my resolve. I set off on a mission, to hurt as I had been hurt.

I soon became very successful. I brought both boys and men to their knees. I killed them and still left them alive. I remember the families that fought themselves over me, the brothers that would never forgive each other, the scandalized churches and governments, the suicides, the bankruptcies.

There is a lot a body can do when it is rightly motivated. Payback is a beautiful side of nature. No man recovered that encountered me. But vengeance was not so much fun.

Sometimes I wondered what the whole point was. Payback did not completely fill the chasm that my father dug in me.

I doubt if anything ever would. In moments of weakness, I would always think about what my father and I had. Thinking about our perfect love brought me tears and gave me joy.

At such moments, I would really try to feel and have fun, I would let my guard down to see if I would be alive again.

It was no use. No other man was like my father. No one even came close. No one was able to get me right, something was always missing.

With my dad it was perfect, he knew just what I wanted, and how. No two people were ever in sync as my father and I was. No other man could bring me alive.

This many years have passed, since I lost my beloved father. And more recently the world lost him too. I just left his grave side.

I have never been able to understand why I keep visiting his grave, despite the distance, despite all. And each time, I always leave with an exhausting longing, a fiery desire, and an intense craving.

Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!

Made me hard. I love getting hard. Cuz once your hard, there is only one thing to do with it. Jack it off. Close to home!!! I am MWM, have grown kids.

My Daddy started with me at age 5 and proceeded till I was He died and I almost did also. She stopped wanting to do it, but one night I talked her into letting me lick her 13 yr old pussy for an hour.

I went to prison for 5 years and now she says she hates me and never wanted to do it at all. Now I am banned from her life and I am not even allowed to have a picture of her.

She told my mother that she feels I abandoned her, but I am not allowed by law from even speaking to her.

Its been 12 years, she is now I miss her every day. I still love her like my child, but I must confess, I miss her as a lover even more. I want no one but her, so I stay alone, living my life like a robot going through the motions.

I have been with other women, but its more like masturbation than making love. I dream her and I will some day meet and maybe make love, one last time before I die.

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Daddy-daughter Confessions Daddy-daughter confession stories and sins. Confession Stories Confessions Current: daddy-daughter.

Views Recent Upvoted Comments. Sex incest love sex daddy daughter. Report Please login to report. It sounds like she really loved you. There was nothinf wrong with this.

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Dad Daughter Sex Stories Video

A Story Of a Father and a Daughter - Kahani Ek Raat Ki - Hindi Short Film

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