The Midnight Lesbians

There's no reason for you to be privy to the ongoing, sweet little love that your pet daughter and her schoolgirl crush share, and really no good reason for you to butt in. It is with a smile that you let your daughter clean your seed out from her nether regions before bounding off to spend time laughing, flirting, and subtly and not-so-subtly caressing her love, that amazonian beauty deposited into your life like a poorly-written twist in a melodramatic play. You smile in satisfaction even, knowing full well that Isabella will not endanger her friend by letting even a hint of your affairs slip in front of her: so she leaps ever off of your softening arousal those first few moments of those first few days only to try and spend the rest of her free time toying with Penelope.

Now it may not be your business, and you may take great pleasure at the idea of Penelope's long, spider-like fingers drifting towards Isabella's sex, only to coat her fingers in whatever of you has mixed with your daughter, and you may find your underwear growing taut as you fantasize about Penelope sharing in those juices, finger-fucking your sperm into her fertile, unsuspecting little twat, possibly planting inside of her a future son or daughter without a care without so much as a touch of your any of your favorite digits... but that doesn't mean you need be satisfied with only this. With simple explanations and your best fatherly tone, you explain to Penelope that your house once had a serious gas leak, and that you actually just bought sensors that will report when certain chemicals are detected. They only look like small, discreet cameras hidden throughout the house, you advise her, and promise that of course they don't actually record any video or audio. Certainly you make no mention of how they're all connected, via WiFi, to your phone, tablet, and computer for live feeds and daily recordings.

It is through that mechanism, of turning your home into a well-monitored prison full of unsuspecting, excited teenage prisoners, that you find yourself entertained even when Isabella does her best to not entertain you. One such example is tonight, just past the midnight hour. You've been aroused awake and, on realizing why, lay perfectly still, knowing that if Isabella realizes you're awake she'll just crawl back into her position next to you. You snore convincingly, and she sighs with relief before continuing those gentle, tiny movements. Once she's slithered out from under the sheets, she stands somewhere in your room, naked as the day she was born though you dare not risk revealing your deception by peeking. Your daughter creeps out of your room, her pussy still warm whatever of your seed had yet to leak from her, and gently closes the door behind her. Satisfied by the sound of Isabella's, now Penelope's, door opening and closing a moment later, you scoop your phone up to spy upon the little nymphs living in your abode.

You are not disappointed. Penelope is already there, naked, glorious in her long majesty, the unrestrained impress of her bosom perky and spilling onto her crossed arms only by virtue of her massive vestments, spread across her bed and ready to be consumed by your daughter who, perhaps by the intervention of your masculinity, is more **** than ever to feed her thirst for a pure, feminine sex. You drink it in, saving the clip of their awkward coitus: Penelope does not, as you fantasized, swap fluids and risk her impregnation, at least for now, but they exchange groins and soon get to work at consuming and licking and flicking all that they find between the virgin thighs of their respective favorite persons. Your own member rises to watch, but you ignore it, deciding it's better spent on Isabella when she comes back. It is difficult to appreciate detail from this tiny, bargain camera's view: you can see their outlines and how jittery their excited heads move as they work, and occasionally one or the other trembles as they're overtaken by their lust for the other. Isabella in particular seems receptive, something you think you might ask Penelope to thank you for in the future, and, while you certainly can't hope for a remote impregnation of your new roommate's mouth, it is, all the same, titillating to know how eagerly the tall dyke unwittingly drinks spermatozoa.

When at last they move on, feverishly so, to more caressing, hugging, nipple-suckling and petting, you find yourself considering the tight deadline Penelope has given you, albeit unknowingly, to knock her up. It still seems mad to do so, of course; you're a gentleman of reason, even if **** has made you a ****. But the desire that is building in you now, and so your lizard brain gropes for reason that coincides with satisfaction. What of Isabella? The protected jewel of her dead mother's eye, already destroyed by your lust... but to make her miserable by taking away the first woman she's ever loved? Is that ****, too, against a dead woman? It is a tenuous strand... but thick enough to grasp, between thumb and forefinger, and pull. The lizard sighs with satisfaction; you have your reasoning, then, to **** your spawn into yet another mentally-challenged, genetically-doomed girl. You need only the will to cross that line twice over.