Introduce Penelope to your home.

Soon Mr. Percy departs, and too eagerly so to go unnoticed by his abandoned daughter. Penelope, crestfallen, finds a comforting hand on her back from Isabella. You contemplate doing the same, but for now you'd keep your hands to yourself. "What supplies did you bring with you, Penelope?"

She starts when you address her so bluntly, as if she had forgotten you were there altogether. You realize that it'll be some time before she finds herself at ease around you; even now she stares down at her shoes while answering, possibly even more socially immature then your stepdaughter. "I-I brought as many of my clothes as would fit, and... my toothbrush and- I mean, my bathroom stuff..." Her sudden trailing off brings you a smile.

"What about tampons?"

"W-what- pads?!" she blurts out.

Isabella shoots you a scowling look. "Daaaaad, you're emba- you're making her feel uncomfortable!"

"Ah, sorry, sorry... but I'm doing the shopping around here, so I need to know when next you'll need it. You'll be living with us from now on, so just like Isabella I need to know when you have your period."

Penelope's face glows a bright red, and Isabella gasps in shock. "Dad!"

"Don't 'dad' me, honey, this is important." Incredibly so, even if for less honorable reasons.

"W-Well... it just ended a few days ago... and I brought enough for at least two months..." Penelope never lets her eyes leave her feet as she talks, her cheeks still flaring with color.

"Good, good." Very good... you have time, then, before her next ovulation. While that simpering fool that delivered her on a platter yammered on and called you irritating nicknames, you were already plotting how to turn a risky situation into an opportunity... and while you still needed to figure out how to knock up not one, but two AGS-suffering teenagers without getting arrested, you have no intention of letting Penelope live under your house without a baby in her. That thought gives you pause: you told yourself that knocking Isabella up would be ****, was solely to get back at your dead wife... but now...

"Well, you can sleep in Isabella's room since she's no longer using it." Isabella and Penelope exchange glances, granting you a sigh of relief that they couldn't read your intent or thoughts. As soon as they lock eyes, however, they're off to stare at their feet, at lamps, and anything else that isn't a human being who can recognize whatever adolescent yearnings still exist in these nineteen-year-olds. "Come on then, I'll show you around."

~ that evening ~

The day had progressed fairly smoothly: Penelope settled in with the few possessions she could carry into your home, and the three of you had a nice, family lunch and dinner together. You remained ever the quiet, doting father after your first round of questioning, letting the two slowly reveal Penelope for you: she was interested in journalism and programming. She got accepted into an online university for AGS sufferers, and is interested in helping some allegedly famous medical software company, one developing software that could one day serve as an interface to protect AGS victims from potential abusers online. You let these small facts and conversations reveal their quirks, whatever relationship they might've built in their brief time together at school, and whatever vulnerabilities you might detect in Penelope. The undercurrent of infatuation between them was always there; they were never so bold as to confess to you, or hold hands, or do anything but steal the occasion smile, eye contact, and blush, but it was enough.

"If you need anything at all, Penelope, just knock on our door," you declare at what is now her bedroom door before closing it. Penelope, exhausted by the trip, would want to get to bed early... presuming she'd be comfortable in Isabella's room, given her height. A short walk down the hall and careful, quiet opening of your bedroom door reveals Isabella: on your bed, wearing only the tight pink shirt she'd worn since the afternoon. There she lays, spread eagle and desperately abusing her clitoris with closed eyes. Her breath is heavy, and for once she seems unhesitantly aroused... at least until she hears the door close behind you.

A quiet gasp, and a futile closing of legs. "Dad!"

"Getting ready for today's cleaning? You're overdue, after all... I didn't even get to feed you properly today." Apparently being the antithesis of what she was fantasizing about, you seem to have disappointed her: her eyebrow furrows and she looks away, sighing with frustration. Her pussy doesn't look like a sopping mess, suggesting she had just started. How long did she think you were going to take telling Penelope good night? "C'mon then."

"Daddy, let me just... drink it, please-"

"Hey, shhh," you hiss, feigning alarm, "do you want Penelope to hear us? You know what'll happen if she witnesses what we do..."

It takes your faux daughter a few moments to add it up: if all mentions or education about what fathers and daughters do, what they must do, cause brain cancer, then letting Penelope hear the act or come investigate it would... Her hands both come to cover her mouth as she realizes how careless she's been: she could've killed her old friend with stupid negligence. "Oh my-!" Silence. You start to peel off your own clothes while she contemplates how she can get out of this, and quietly. Some parents have to constantly bully their kids into brushing their teeth, you tell yourself; this is no different. You pull your underwear down. "B-but then, what if I'm... or what if you're... loud...?"

You crawl onto the bed, the danger of your stiff manhood mesmerizing her. "Then you need to take the cleaning... and take it quietly." She flinches as your knee drift close enough to touch her ankle, your approach to mount her unambiguous. Her eyes are glassy as she continues to contemplate the tool of your fatherly love. "I'm going to fuck that tight little teenage pussy full of cum," you hiss, shocking her, "... until I'm sure my little girl is all cleaned out." Your hands slide under her knees.

"W-wait, daddy, please don't, please-!"

"Shhh," you whisper as your head pops into the pussy you know so well, and she seals her nose and mouth with both hands as she whimpers into them. "I know how it feels, honey, but you just need to learn to love me... so we can be a healthy family again." You sink farther and farther into her, finding less than adequate moisture. Your body quivers with the stimulation, every half-dry bump and curve of her birth canal dragging across your head, twitching in its attempt to oust the invader that, with a bit of luck, already got it pregnant. Isabella's legs spasm in your grasp, so you pin them against her skinny little torso and squeeze the two halves of her together, bringing greater pleasure as her body compresses. Leaning forward, your face comes within an inch of hers, trapped between her wiggling ankles.

"Fuck yes, take it you slut-"

You try to catch your own words, hissed into her face as they are, but they slip away too naturally as you bottom out inside of her. Her eyes go wide, and she hisses some complaint or shock into her hands. "Slut doesn't mean what it normally means, not between us, baby... it's just another secret word for us, one we can say when we're... cleaning..." Your presence is doing little to help her get wet, so you get to enjoy this unbelievable tightness and texture for a few more minutes. You slowly piston and drag your meat to and fro: you don't want to hurt her, after all, and possibly weaken the illusion of the knowledgeable, healthy, fatherly love. Looking down, her hairless cootch implodes every time you sink in, pulled by this uncomfortable sex.

You love this sensation, and you want more of it, her pain be damned. You pull out just to wipe your dick dry on the sheets and resume your attack. Inch by inch, you start to moan yourself as she bucks at this new violation. Sadly, it doesn't last: you get to piston only once under this intense, unhealthy new obsession before you feel the pressure at the base of your spine. With her legs pinned under your torso, your hands are free to peel away those that cover her sobbing. That ugly, twisted face of pain and misery does more to enhance your orgasm than stunt it. You **** your tongue into her semi-open, crying mouth as you begin to blast her cervix, reveling in the only real wetness inside of her now being the millions of sperm ready to reinforce all those who've made their home in her uterus. She cries harder, perhaps instinctively knowing you're making her a mother even as her mind tells her that this violation, of her pussy and her future, is natural, loving, familial. Safe. Moaning into her mouth, you tease her tongue out and give it a gentle bite before finally withdrawing. When at last your orgasm ebbs, you address her, never withdrawing your softening meat from her cum-slick hole, buying your seed precious seconds to pool upon, and drain through, the entrance of her womb. "Thank your father, sweetie."

"T-thank you, daddy..."

"What are you thanking me for?" you whisper with a delighted smile.

She looks at you, confused. "F-for the cleaning?"

You shake your head. "Roleplay is going to be an important part of our bonding, baby, now that I know you're a lesbian. You need to get into straight roleplay, if only to make these sessions less painful."

She is stunned by your words at first, but nods slowly. "So... what should I...?"

"Remember how I called you a slut?" She flinches. "Why don't you pretend that these cleanings... actually risk you getting pregnant?"

"W-what?"

"Just role-play, h-honey," you groan. Her pussy flinches with her reactions, and the pleasure of your sensitive cock, even as if softens inside her, is too much for the human nervous system to take. "You should thank me for getting your slutty pussy pregnant."

"W-why?!"

"I just told you: straight roleplay will make these cleanings feel more natural, and less painful. You just need to trust me on this... and the filthier the better, baby. If you get into it, we can truly start to bond properly... and besides, you should focus on reducing pain. After all, you and I have many, many cleanings left to do."

Horror and shame dance on her tear-stricken face, and her mind wrestles with your unnatural request. "I... I don't even know what... ugh." Her train of thought gets derailed as she feels you slowly harden again while still in her grip. Despite her internal pressure, your age, and man's normal modus operandi, somehow you're ready to go back in without ever leaving.

"I'll help you along, sweety." Your voice shudders unexpectedly, and you resign yourself to whispering your recommendation into her ear.

You withdraw to see her reaction... and her eyes narrow. For a moment, barely a split second, you fear the worst: what you just said was so heinous to her that you've somehow cured her AGE. But the moment passes, and she looks down between her legs, where the trunk of your redwood remains firmly planted in her fertile soil. She sighs in resignation. After precious moments, and a few testing pistons into her jizz-slick hole, you're rewarded with a **** smile and wide, glassy eyes. "Thank you for knocking up your dirty daughter's pussy, daddy." Tears stream down her face anew as she talks. "I can't wait to get big and... big and pregnant with your babies..." Her last words come out as confused sobs. "... and be your little... breeding... slut..." Your hand slides against her cheek, scooping her tears up as you cradle her face. She half-buries into the gesture, and she looks up to you, hoping for some mercy or end.

"You're welcome, baby." You piston into her hard, satisfied that there's no reason to hold back now.