Introduce her to Mother Nature's douche.

You guide Isabella into your master bathroom, a chamber left barren once bereft of your former wife's widgets, products, and makeup. The generous marble tub, large enough for two, was flanked by two massive glass doors to make use of the multiple, stainless steel showerheads. It would be in that chamber of crystal and stone where you would both end up, but for now you're content motioning for her to plop her naked behind onto your toilet. "From now on, you have to keep yourself shaved clean on your own... but I'll help you out this time, OK?" She nods innocently, clearly nervous but no longer bound by the embarrassment or anger over the impropriety of you staring into her vagina.

With a handful of shaving cream, you begin sculpting foam onto her pubic mound, her labia, and down to her taint, occasionally having to re-spread her legs as she fidgets. To your disappointment, the sweaty scent of her sex is replaced by the fragrance of the cream, but you're consoled by being able to so intimately and slowly **** her crotch. With every poke, and every jolt of her body, you find a new, savorable high. You hoped she'd feel uncomfortable doing it herself and ask you again... and if she didn't, you'd surprise her with the occasional examination to find any flaw in her amateur craftsmanship, all as an excuse to do this again. When at last she is fully caked, you wield your razor with the deftness of a businessman, stretching and pressing down her puffy lips to make the flattest surface for a shave. She winces with the occasional prick, inevitable given that you've only ever shaved a pussy twice in your life, but your attention and slow, caressing care reduce her injuries. When most of the work is done, and the tip of her clitoris, all that peeks out of her genitals from between those burger-like labia majoras, you're disappointed to find that her slit is anything but glistening as you had hoped. Despite your earlier fingering, she might even be dryer after this experience...

No matter. You have years to fix that.

With one of the dozen towels behind you, one of the few useful artifacts of marriage that you've kept, you start to wipe the stray bits of foam on her inner-thighs and out from the tiny folds of the tenderest of flesh. With a proud smile, you nod in approval at the perfectly bald, virgin pussy you've crafted for yourself. "There... clean at last."

"Daddy?" You look up, still smiling. She looks down at her own mound and traces a finger on the bare flesh, where once a proud bush existed. "It feels... weird. I wanted to ask earlier but..."

"Never hesitate to ask a thing, honey... especially for father-daughter stuff. If you want the absolute and best-understood truth, you should always ask me first."

She nods, offering an awkward grin that falls away as she glances back down at her bare snatch. "... Why can't I let it grow until marriage?"

"Well, honey," you say, clapping your hand on her thigh, "the truth is that female pubic hair causes fertility... you could get pregnant very easily if you let it grow out like that."

"What? B-But why didn't mom ever tell me-?"

"I'm sure she did, honey," you whisper, trying to look as sad as you can manage, "because she told me she gave you the big 'Talk' all parents fear. You remember it, don't you?"

"Sort of...?" Her eyes squint as she tries to recall the first time her mother likely sat down to discuss sex and reproduction. You never asked, because until now you never cared, but knowing Ashley she probably told her daughter some kind of nightmare version of the truth anyways. "It sounded very complicated... and painful. She certainly made it seem like all men everywhere wanted nothing else, and anything they told me was just to have painful, deadly sex... after all, sex usually kills the mother."

You blink, and chuckle sincerely. Your former wife wasn't just a cheater, then: she misled Isabella here about as well as you intend to right now, perhaps even more monstrously so. In a way, it's wonderful that she made it so fanciful; it made your next excuse much easier. "Oh, baby... I'm sorry, your mother was always so careful but... but that's just another metaphor. I mean, you now know we had you together... but none of that literally happened to her, did it?"

She blinks down at you... and her eyes go wide. "Oh no... oh no! W-When I told Cindy about sex, and she just kind of walked away, I... I didn't...!" Tears well up in her eyes, and you stand up on your knees to wipe a tear from her cheek. You flick it into the toilet, along with the shaving scum and pubes. "Daddy, I... she never talked to me again! Please, teach me!"

"I will, baby," you coo. "But first I have to get you clean! You're long overdue."

She blinks away her remaining tears and nods solemnly. She slowly steps into the shower, sniffling as she remembers her mistake, and turns around... to watch you getting naked. She almost shields her eyes, until she remembers that there's nothing to be ashamed of... but without her guard, her inexperience still forces her to stare, in awe, at the first live penis put in front of her. "Dad, why... why do you have an erection?"

Ah. Right. "To clean you, honey." You step into the shower, and close the glass barrier behind you, trapping her inside. "You've probably built up plenty of filth and nastiness in that tight little cunt of yours." She flinches at your words, though with the normalization of 'cunt' it's more the accusation of having a dirty pussy. "That's why Mother Nature gave fathers the most natural douche of all," you declare, stroking your seven inches of meat as you struggle to stare her in the eye, "... to clean our daughters inside."

"B-B-B-But... But..." Her mind races through barrier after barrier of things that contradict your words so far, overwriting them with the latest truth: your truth. But one remains. "But I'm a virgin!"

"A... Well, you'll still be a virgin," you correct her.

"What?"

"Of course... this isn't sex, sweety! Fathers and daughters can't have sex; it's literally impossible. If it looks or feels like sex, it's just what you already know it to be: bonding. Good, clean bonding."

"But... but what about ****? It was on the news once and-"

"Cleaning accidents. Why do you think I shaved you?" You chuckle as you scratch your own mane of pubic hair. "Don't want a mistake like that to happen!"

"O-Oh..." She rubs her temples as reality reconfigures all around her. "T-Then my hymen?"

You shake your head. "I was always wondering why you never came to me about that... even after the gyno probably told you all about it. A build-up of dirt so bad that you formed a hymen, it's... well honey, it would be disgusting to your future husband. Some fathers are so ashamed of their daughters for having one that they refuse to clean them." You shake your head to emphasize what a shame this nonsense is... and glancing up, you see the horror on her face as she realizes what it means for every friend or woman who's ever talked about their virginities. "But thankfully I'm here to clean you up from now on."

"The hymen is... is dirt?" Her hands go reflexively to her crotch, her expression one of horror. "But why wouldn't the doctor tell me to go get clea-" Of course... because you weren't going to tell her that you were here, to get her cleaned out, until she turned twenty. You watch with wide eyes as she glances at her feet, her mind rebooting and rewriting every few seconds as she tries to understand the entire course of her life through your new lens.

You lick your lips with anticipation. You don't want to **** it with easily beaten oxymorons or contradictions; as rare as AGS is, you've still seen a couple of them on the news as **** victims, describing some insane interpretation of reality that a co-worker or employer or teacher relayed to them. They were inevitably discovered... at least the poorly made ones. But you, and you suppose every **** who was smart about it before you, wouldn't be found out: you'd build the structures of control slowly, the architect of your carnal sin, all in the name of ****.

The bricks are finally in place when she looks back up, tears streaming down her face. "But... when mother said that only virgins go to Heaven..."

"... a metaphor, honey, to keep you from grossing out a future husband." You go forward to hug her... and bend your knees so that your hot stick comes to rest against her closed thighs. "Of course your mother went to Heaven... and I bet you she's looking down at how well we're doing right... now..."

Her mind still reeling, she spreads her legs slightly, jolting quietly in your embrace as your hard-on flicks upwards and slaps her on the clit. "I'm... I'm sorry, daddy, it's just a... lot to take in..."

"Yes," you whisper, gripping the base of your cock to guide it, "it is."