Excerpt from "Carrots, part 2":
I like it when my daddy digs his fingers deep into my buttocks, going harder now, no more hesitation in his touch. In fact it only takes another little moan for him to pull down my underpants, too, leaving my butt exposed to stare him in the face. I lose his touch for a moment, he’s rummaging around, and for the length of that moment I fear that he might have returned to his old self, his inhibitions overcoming him; but no. A heartbeat later they are back, his hands, squishy again, only this time with something more cohesive, I think, vaseline or something. He is pushing up the flesh of my buttocks with cupped hands, his well-manicured thumbs (not a trace of fingernails there, in his touch) almost touching at the divide. I have to force myself not to tense up, not to squeeze my buttocks together as he pulls them apart ever so slightly, a little more in each go, his thumbs going down a little deeper to where I’ve never been touched except by my own hand protected with five reams of toilet paper. (Yes, I’m one of those girls. Call me hygienic if you must.) He stops a little to refill his hands on vaseline, then startles me by pulling my buttocks apart with one hand and letting the other’s thumb glide straight through the gap between them. My sphincter contracts involuntarily at the passing touch, rocking my whole body and sending shivers of surprise, shock and excitement through my nerves, mingled with surprisingly little revulsion. When he returns his hands to my buttocks, his thumbs again moving deeper and deeper into the crevasse, I find myself almost longing for the moment whe he will touch this place again, the shock-place, the one unexplored place on my body. With a little push of my hips, I make one of his thumbs slide down far enough to touch the rim, and that’s apparently enough for him to take me on. His hands still on my buttocks, he wriggles one greasy thumb into the opening, making me twitch and tremble and breathe hard. I’m thankful in a way that he’s not talking, not asking how it feels, if he should go on, if anyone has ever done this to me, things you would expect from anyone else in his position. Not that you would expect anyone to be in this position, though. Silent and breathing softly, he replaces his thumb with a vaseline-crowned index finger, gently stretching my anus apart with both hands while pushing it into me, going in little circles, expert movements designed to relax my sphincter muscle. I’m wriggling around and helping him, I want him to go deeper, already addicted to this new sensation, this transgression, this completely unbelievable thing that no father should do to his daughter, ever. As I raise my hips a little to push him in deeper I can feel and hear the moisture seeping from my other hole, and I’m momentarily shocked at how aroused I am because my daddy put a finger in my ass.