There is nothing to hide between father and daughter.

You take the entire day to outline the requirements for her behavior from now on, and how they will be allowed to engage in father-daughter relations as you've twisted them: never in front of an unobscured window, never when company is over, and almost exclusively upstairs, in the privacy of the bedrooms and bathrooms.

"Bathrooms?" she asks with a giggle. "What would we do in the bathrooms?"

You let a smile get away from you. "Honey, we'll need to do plenty of catching up, so there will be lots of changes for things you thought you understood... for example, you haven't taken your bath today, right?" She shakes her head. "Good... because fathers and daughters bathe each other as long as they live together." Her every reaction is priceless: that wide-eyed shock, the turning of the gears somewhere in her malformed logic, and a nod of cautious acceptance. "From now on, we'll be bathing each other... starting this morning."

She hugs herself, but doesn't peel her eyes from yours. "So you'll... we'll.... see each other naked?"

"There is nothing to hide between a father and his daughter," you carefully answer. "Everything I ask of you, you will tell or give to me, like a good daughter... and anything you want to know about or want from me, well, you need only ask." You gently touch her arms, and put them to her sides as you rise to loom over her. "Let's try it: Isabella, stand up in front of me and raise your arms." With naked trepidation, she obeys, raising her arms so that the hem of her shirt totally bares her panties and the V-lines that lead downward to her crotch. "Hold still." You bundle the hem of her shirt against each of her hips... and inhale as you lift it over and off of her. She blinks up to you, and smiles with acceptance of this new truth.

You, with no such illusions, can only exhale as you appreciate her form. Her body is fit from generous exercises alongside her mother, and obviously some miracle of youth that lets her down that much bacon and keep a figure like this. Her belly is smooth but on the verge of muscular tone, and her hips are kept tight by this daily regiment. You can't help let your gaze pause upon her tiny areolas and fat nipples, each one a piece of dark chocolate on her perky handfuls of swarthy skin. "Your tits are beautiful-" It slips out before you can catch yourself.

Wide-eyed and in playful shock, Isabella lightly slaps your shoulder. "Daddy!"

"Hey! Remember, there is nothing like shame or anything to hide between us. You won't feel any shame at all with me, because fathers and daughters... share... everything."

"But dad... but do you have to call them 'tits'?"

You pause... and chuckle. "Well of course! Those words weren't even used outside of father-daughter relationships until recently... they're safe words, but between us they're extra special." You smile up at her.

"Tits..." She scoops her own breasts in her lithe hands, as if re-learning what they even were.

"Not just tits... all those words you were taught as vulgar are just words fathers and daughters use in secret. Tits... cock... pussy... cunt..."

"Even cunt?"

"Especially cunt," you emphasize with a grin.

All this talk is making you impatient, but you manage to hold back from replacing her hands at her chest, much to the chagrin of the lizard brain that demands your prize. Instead, you toss the worn shirt on the bed and hook your thumbs into her panties, wasting no time to pull them down and away. They hitch in her clutching thighs as she tenses from your sudden attack, but her resistance cannot survive the "truth"; she unclenches, more curious than ashamed now. You bend to one knee, pull them to her ankles, and look up and into her sacred, virgin place. "Oh no... honey..."

She looks down as you stare into her sex, her voice alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"We need... we need to get you cleaned up right away! Look at this," your run your fingers across her pubic mound and through the natural bush there, causing a jolt to run through her as she's handled in ways no man ever could before. "Until you're married, you can't grow your bush like this!"

"You ca-?" Her words end in a sharp gasp as your fingers shamelessly duck between her thighs and rub her slit, though you keep that worried, disappointed look going as you her.

"Even here on your labia... well, we'll fix that when I bathe you... right now, honey!"

"Daddy, I'm..." She shivers as you continue to probe her outer lips, using every shred of self control to not plunge a thumb into that forbidden cleft. "I'm..."

"Are you feeling our connection, honey?"

She looks down at you, biting her lip, and nods with a worried expression. You only ask because you feel the moisture building on your finger. "That's wonderful, sweetie... I only wish your mother could see us bonding like this."

"Me too, daddy," she says with a sad smile... which returns to that lustful biting of her lower lip.