My Oh So Warm Daughter On A Cold Alaskan Nights

Introduction: Sasha, this story is dedicated to you. Hope you like. WP

It felt so nice sitting in front of the roaring fire. The occasional pop of the pine resin exploding, the fireball hitting the screen the only sound interrupting her reverie. Sasha Yuranova Baranov, the thirteen year old daughter of Yuri Mikhailovich Baranov was scratching her old husky's ears with one hand, the dog lay beside her. She was clad in her night wear, a beautifully embroidered full length white gown.

She lay back, the lynx skin rug, so soft, so comfortable under her, the fire so warm on this cold Alaskan winter's night. Her idle hand slid under her gown, she touched herself. She'd left her panties off intentionally, she liked these peaceful precious moments, she was at home alone.

Thirteen, a teenager with the hormonal changes taking place, budding breasts, her shape changing, taking on the wider hips of a woman, the urges of a woman: to the beat that only she felt, she rubbed herself, between her legs. She'd discovered that the tickle she felt could be assuaged, her own fingers could stop the tickle, scratch the itch. She sighed, deep, deep intake of breath and her fingers were wet. She brought her hand to her nose, smelled herself then tasted. She was salty, the fluid was viscous, sticky, she licked her fingers, then lay back and mused.

She liked the feeling she could give herself but there had to be more, better but she had no one to ask.

Isolated in the Alaskan wilderness, she had many talents, she could cook; caribou roasts that she marinated for two days with oil and spices, stews made from the native hare, hot hearty food, high in calories, high in fat, fuel for the body in this cold desolate place. She could shoot, much of the smaller game, the rabbits and squirrels that went into her pot she had taken herself. She could skin larger game, stretch the pelts and furs that her Papa had trapped or shot; nearly as important as her other skills, the sale of the furs and income from guiding fishing and hunting trips, that was how Papa made the money they needed for staples, flour, salt, and for the electronics that allowed them to bring the world to them, television, telephone, electricity and for the things that were essential for life where her Papa chose to live. His snowmobile and hers, guns, traps, the equipment he needed for his work.

She could do many things that were important for her and her Papa's survival but she could not explain the feelings that her body was giving her. She had no woman to talk to, her mother had passed away when she was ten; influenza, in a city she would have survived but in their remote cabin, medical assistance was over one hundred miles away.

Sasha had started having her monthlies when she was twelve, the tickle had started soon after and it was only getting worse. It wasn't something she felt she could talk to her Papa about, instinctively she knew it was part of growing from a girl into becoming a woman.

Even in their isolation they had links to the outside world, they had a telephone line which was semi-dependable, winter storms would often knock it out but, when it was available she could access the internet, chat rooms, web searches, she knew what was happening to her, she was maturing, ripening into womanhood. She understood what was happening to her but that really didn't help; only her fingers did; she dipped her hand back under her gown and began to rub.

Papa was running his trap-line, he'd have mink, otter and maybe a beaver or two when he came in; a pot of rabbit stew was simmering on the stove, waiting his return, only a one dish meal tonight, carrots, onions, potatoes in the stew and slabs of home baked bread with hot tea sweetened with sugar, creamy with condensed milk then Papa would have the two vodkas he allowed himself each night. Sasha might have one with him, his would be neat, downed in the Russian way, hers would be with a little juice to cut the bite.

They would sit before the fire and chat before retiring for the night.; maybe they, well truly he would talk about the Baranov history, how in the late 1700's their ancestor had come to Alaska as the first administrator for the Russian fur trade, how he'd impregnated an Aleut woman, he never married her but she adopted his name, they were his and her descendents.

Sasha liked sitting quietly while Papa told the old tales. They helped her to understand who she was; her coal black hair, her high cheek bones, her bronze skin tone; bequests from a Native American woman who was her ancestor. Often after her little sip of vodka she'd doze in the firelight.

The door opened, Papa was home. She withdrew her hand from under her gown and sat up, Ivan, the husky ambled toward the door.

Yuri scratched the old dog between the ears then called out, “Solnyshko, my little sun,” he shouted.

Yuri was a bear of a man, hardened by the Alaskan wilderness, the harsh life of a guide and trapper, he was soft only with Sasha, she was precious to him, his Solnyshko, his little sun. And she truly was a little sun, when her smile played across her face it lit the room better than the flames of the fireplace. He shed his parka, pulled off his boots,

“Come my little sun, give Papa a hug,” it has been a very good day. “My traps produced ten mink, two otters and my snares gave me three wolves. But, for you I have two lynx, add that to the two you already have, make the nice soft boots for your pretty little feet.”

She ran to him, her hug nothing compared to his, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around and then set her down, “Give Papa a little kiss then feed your Papa, something smells good.”

A daughterly peck on his cheek, a big bowl of the stew, bread to dip in the steaming broth, warmed by the tea, Yuri was ready for his vodka.

Sasha poured him three fingers and made her own little one; Yuri was sitting in the big chair in front of the fire, Ivan was on the floor beside him,

“Come Solnyshko, sit in Papa's lap, let's talk of our past, let me tell you the stories.”

For as long as she could remember her evening ended and her night began sitting on her Papa's lap, hearing the stories, being held by the mighty man that was her Papa. sl**ping on his shoulder, he would carry her to her bed, turn down the covers, tuck her in and give her a little kiss. Tonight was no different, she snuggled in his arms as he talked.

No, tonight was entirely different, when she settled onto her Papa's lap, her bottom caressed his groin, she felt him and she felt him stiffen under her.

His voice was raspy, “Solnyshko, perhaps tonight it would be better if you sat in front of the fire, just tonight, ey?”

“Why Papa,” she coyly asked.

“Please Solnyshko, Sasha, please, just for tonight?”

As she ground against him feeling his hardness she asked, “No, my please Papa, I like being held; why don't you want to hold me tonight?”

Yuri did want to hold her, his little sun, the light of his life, he wanted to hold her but other emotions, other feelings were overcoming him. He was erect under his little girl and he realized she wasn't so little anymore; she was pretty and she was developing the attributes of a woman, her breasts, her form and right at this particular moment her high tight bottom. He needed to escape, he'd been celibate since the death of his wife. Not many females could be found in the desolate area in which they lived; maybe a sow grizzley or two but; well he wasn't all that anxious to become bear chow.

Sasha got up and moved to the lynx skin rug, she reclined, lay back and her budding breasts were evident to him through her gown. She was becoming a woman and he was a man, he looked away.

Sasha pouted, “Are you happy now Papa, why can't I sit in your lap?”

“Only tonight Sasha, only tonight, I guess Papa needs a little room.”

He gulped his vodka, trying to drown his feelings, Sasha got up, poured him his second and returned to the rug. She lay with her back to him, she cute butt evident, no panty line under her gown, bare girl, teasing her Papa.

Maybe she would have known, maybe it's ingrained in the genes, the DNA, she wasn't certain but the information from the internet she'd learned, her Papa was aroused, he was erect and she'd done it to him. She smiled to herself, now she knew what she really wanted, what could cure her itch. And now she had to scheme, what would it require to get her Papa to take her into his bed.

With those as her final thoughts and with a whimsical smile playing over her lips she dozed in the warmth of the fireplace.

Yuri still sat in the chair, troubling thoughts filling his mind, his Solnyshko, she wasn't a little girl any more, she inflamed a desire in him, he was still hard remembering the feel of her bottom against him; he knew his thoughts were wrong but he wanted her as a woman, it was all he could do to get her to move how he wanted her ro move, he wanted to hug her, kiss her, taste her and make love to her, yet she was his thirteen year old daughter, he couldn't do that.

He picked her up, carried her to her bed, tucked her in, kissed her then went to his room.

He needed to get away, gather his thoughts, he rose well before dawn, packed supplies, tent, guns and ammo, food and was away before Sasha was awake. He left a note, he would be gone a week, hunting.

The cold air against his face was invigorating as the snowmobile sped toward the rising sun. He was loaded for bear, in the actual sense he was loaded for bear.
Two rifles, a Holland and Holland .375 magnum, a Thompson Encore pistol, single shot but also chambered for the .375 mag, his .30-.30 Winchester rifle and the Remington 12 gauge shotgun.

Why the arsenal, simple the H&H rifle was for large game, bear or moose if he should encounter them, the Winchester for deer and mid-sized a****ls, he'd use the shotgun for ducks or grouse for his dinners and the Thompson Encore on his hip in case he had the shotgun or the .30-.30 when he scared up a mama bear.

He'd shot a brace of grouse before he set up his camp. After his tent was pitched and he'd settled in he cleaned the birds and set them to roast over his fire.

He planned to actually hunt, take some hides home but he really was on this adventure to give himself time to think, think about he'd felt about Sasha the previous evening. He was the adult, he knew she was trying to seduce him, that was not uncommon, girls feeling the urge for the first time, the most meaningful man in their life, their Papa, if only he had a wife to confide in, seek counsel from; he didn't, he was a man and not entirely sure how to deal with Sasha's new found sexuality.

He sat looking into the dancing flames, was there an answer to be found there? No, he had no answer, he and Sasha lived in the wilderness, he knew no other life nor did she, it was just the two of them and Yuri was at a loss, how could they, Sasha and he deal with this.

He banked the fire and went to his tent, undressed and crawled into his down sl**ping bag. Then he knew he had a major problem, his hand had found himself, his mind conjured up images of Sasha, Sasha in her beautifully embroidered gown, images of Sasha on the lynx skin rug in front of the fireplace without the gown, the mystery of her youthful body solved, displayed in all it's glorious magnificence in the dancing tongues of the flames.

He unzipped the bag, grabbed his dirty underwear and spewed into it.

In the cabin, before the fireplace Sasha was fighting her own personal war. She felt like a cross between a little girl and a full grown woman, she wanted her Papa to hold her, tell her the old stories, tuck her into bed but part of her wanted to feel his stiffness, the hardness she'd felt the previous night, she wanted to climb into his bed, she wanted him to love her, love her like a woman; open her, split her, even hurt her the first time, there had to be a first time but then she would be his.

Like Yuri her hand slipped down, like Yuri her hand brought her some small pleasure, a release, unlike Yuri she didn't reach for soiled clothing, she wiped her fluids with her fingers and cleaned her hand with her lips.

Mutually, geographically separated by nearly one hundred miles, it was as though they experienced a mind meld, both understood, knew and desired, they were destined to be lovers.

Only on his third day of his escape with no game of consequence Yuri packed his snowmobile and headed toward the setting sun, his Solnyshko, his little sun waited.

Almost as if she could feel him nearing, Sasha bathed, applied a light scent between her breasts and donned her beautiful gown, embroidered with the patterns of her long gone Siberian ancestry, she did have panties on under it this time and her feet were adorned in slippers of otter skin. She waited, she knew he was coming.

Ivan heard it first, he walked to the door and sat, waiting for his master; then Sasha also heard, the whine of the engine of the snowmobile, coming closer and closer. Quiet, silence, the motor dead then the door opened. With a quick scratch Yuri greeted Ivan but his eyes sought out Sasha, their eyes met, they both knew and they both wanted.

She went to him, helped him out of his parka, tossed it aside and gave him his hello kiss. He hugged her to him, crushed her small breasts against his broad chest and let her kiss him. Her tongue sought his lips, his teeth, she wanted to be kissed like a woman, like his woman, his mouth opened, they traded breaths, both were trembling, desire, mutual desire, a mature man a young woman, she tugged at his hand.

Into his bedroom she pulled him along, “Papa?” Questioningly she asked as she began to unbutton his plaid flannel shirt.

Cold weather clothing, she took his shirt off, waffle undershirt, she tugged it over his head, unzipped his pants, heavy material, canvas, they fell to his feet. She had to kneel, take off his boots then the pants. He had on waffle weave long johns, she drew them down, too, took them from him. He stood before her, tall, powerful and erect.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She was truly a beautiful young woman, he lifted her gown over her head, the swell of her small breasts evident as she took a deep breath, and he knelt, removed her skin slippers and rolled her panties down, slowly over her hips, the youthful flare more evident now, down her slim legs and over her feet. He bent to her, circled her hips with one arm and pulled her to him, he nuzzled her, her developing raven pelt then his tongue parted her lips.

“Papaaaa,” A sensation she'd not experienced before.

He stood, another time, tonight there would be pain, tears and bl**d but after, they would be as one.

His tongue had tasted her moisture, her liquid core, she was ready; he led her to the bed, helped her down, on her back and placed himself between her open thighs.

He smiled at her, she almost grinned back, both were exactly where they wanted to be. No protection, no condom, no pills, nothing Yuri let his penis slide along her vulva until he found Sasha's little indentation, he pressed forward.

As the head entered her, stretched her little woman flesh for the first time Sasha gave out a little moan, there was the slightest twinge of pain but she knew there was more awaiting. Papa pressed forward, she felt it when he met her dam, the little membrane separating c***dhood from womanhood; she was ready to be made a woman.

At her virginity Yuri paused, one thrust, only one thrust, Sasha nodded, “Yes.”

When he burst through her hymen she gasped, then moaned.

“Ooooooh,” as he entered her.

Her tender young vagina accepted him, he began to stroke with a slow rhythm, her guttural noises echoing his pace.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh, ungh,” Sasha's song as she was filled by a man for the very first time.

Yuri's own arousal was rising, he wanted her to come with him, cum with him, he rose, riding her higher, his cock touching her clit with each stroke, faster, harder, deeper, his action sped up, two years, even for a hard man like Yuri, he wouldn't last long, next time but not this first time, Oh thank God, she began to tremble, her first man induced climax, swelling breasts, the first time, she didn't know what was happening, her tummy, like the white water of a river, her muscles rippled then she turned liquid, her young vagina drenched the two of them as her fluid flowed, spewing with each convulsive contraction, God it was so spectacular Yuri felt his was just a release, he shot and he spewed into his Solnyshko but he was enjoying watching her, her first time, that he barely noticed his own.

Afterward they cuddled, holding each other, there wasn't much to discuss, they were both exactly where they wanted to be. Finally Sasha got up, went to the bathroom, let the water get warm then wet a cloth, she went to clean her Papa, he let her then reached for the cloth, he wanted to clean her; she shook her head no, took the rag back to the bathroom, rinsed it and started toward her bedroom.

“Sasha, would you like to sl**p with me?”

With a face stretching smile she turned and, like the thirteen year old that she was she ran toward his bed and leapt on; c***d woman, “I love you Papa.”

What a wonderful night, she was his lover and she loved him; as close as there is to perfection.

For the next year life went on much the same, guiding, hunting and trapping for Yuri, hunting small game with her .22 rifle or the little 20 gauge for the table, helping with the hides and furs, almost the same except now they had a spare bed; Sasha shared the big bed in his room with her Papa.

Experimentation, finding what worked best, what fit best but fun, always fun, sometimes with a little pain but always with love.

After the first night they had waited three days, Papa had insisted, the redness and swelling, once they were gone.

Sasha was anxious, once was not enough but Papa insisted, then Heaven.

She'd fixed a nice roast, potatoes, gravy and a treat, a green vegetable. She'd told her Papa that she was going to fix a special dessert, he'd said, no, not tonight, he already had his dessert planned.

She'd given him a strange look, he didn't cook, what was on the menu?

Directly from the table, no vodka tonight, straight from the table he led her to their bedroom. He undressed her, stripped himself and hugged her, taking her down among the furs on their bed.

He kissed her, first he kissed her as he held her, her lips, her ears, her neck then down to her plum sized breasts, she was swollen, her little nipples granite pebbles, he gently sucked each then moved down, her sides, his tongue, her taut tummy, and down, she was filling out, more fur than flesh displayed on her mons, but her scent drew him downward, his tongue parted her labia, left labium he licked and teased, tugging lightly with his lips on her lips, then the right side, finally he lapped her vulva, her liquid core was leaking, her taste so light, so fresh, so moist, her vagina now more than just a dimple, he tongued her there, dip, dip, lick, lick then up. At the top of her slit, glittering like the ice cap on Denali, her clitoral tip, he fell on it, sucking like he was the c***d and she the mother, he pulled her between his lips, hot tongue ice tip, oh no, tip of fire, flick, flick, tip to tip, she gloriously climaxed, writhing, black hair swinging side to side as she wailed,

“Augggggggggggggh, Augggggggggh, oh, oh, oh, Oh, Papa, enough, enough.”

Tonight, he cleaned her, his tongue lapped every drop of her oh so tasty juice.

She'd passed her f******nth birthday, nearly fifteen, she and her Papa had been lovers for nearly two years.

Her monthly did not come, one month and then two. She could feel changes in her body, her breasts were getting larger and her nipples were tender, sometimes her tummy didn't want to keep her food down, she was changing and she thought she knew why.

“Papa, I think I am pregnant, what are we going to do?” She fearfully asked.

His grin rivaled anything her pretty face had ever produced, “We're going to have a baby, my Solnyshko, my little sun is going to give a little son,”
he was ecstatic, he wanted c***dren, sons for him to teach the wilderness ways.

Together the went to their bed, they celebrated their c***d, he wanted her to know just how happy he truly was, their love making that night was spectacular, oral for her, she was the heroine tonight, then long, languid loving, slow strokes into her vagina, little swimmers toward a womb that was already filled, he was so proud and so happy; they would have more c***dren, she would be his wilderness wife, his love and his lover.

95% (11/1)
Categories: HardcoreVoyeur
Posted by adel5000
3 years ago    Views: 863
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2 years ago
So, so sweet innocense, in the Land of The Midnight Sun, where the woman-child has matured in manner, style and ability, buy still young, immature, childish in years, mind and body!
3 years ago
excellent part 2, 3...
3 years ago
Hot part 2?