"I've seen the way you look at me sometimes, you know? When I come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel or when I'm kind of sprawled out in front of the television – with my legs sort of open…"

"Jesus!" he hissed. His head was spinning. A sense of unreality had fallen over the tormented man, and he wondered if he had fallen asleep in his chair and was dreaming this whole erotic scene – and, if so, if it was going to turn out to be a wet dream!

Her hand moved higher, toward his cock-bulge.

Frank raised his own hand, thinking to nip this in the bud. His hand hovered over hers, open and trembling. Then it dropped back to his side. Debby smiled triumphantly.

"I'm not a virgin, Daddy," she whispered.

He closed his eyes. "Debby – I'm your father! We mustn't make love!"

"Fuck, you mean?" she giggled.

Frank nodded.

"I guess not," Debby sighed.

Frank surged with divided emotions, relieved that his daughter had agreed, yet grievously disappointed at the same time. The forbidden fruits of incest were juicy in his mind.

But then the naughty nymph said: "But there are lots of other things we could do."

Again her hand slid up his leg, her splayed fingers stroking close to the top. His huge prick bucked like a bronco, threatening to burst right through his trousers. He sprawled back in the chair, feeling perfectly helpless, unable to resist anything. He was putty in her hands. She was molding him like clay. She rested her cheek against his thigh. He could feel the warmth of her breath waft up the inside of his leg.

"Nice things, Daddy," she whispered.

Incest is taboo! his conscience screamed.

But his id, that clever definer of terms, asked: What is incest? Fucking, certainly. But other things – those nice things at which she hinted – were they, too, incest?

Stop this, Debby, he silently pleaded. But when he tried to speak, no words came out. His vocal cords seemed as stiff as his prick.