Daddy’s cock was bigger and harder than ever. He kept moaning things like “you should not be doing this” and “no, Blossom” but I took no notice of negatives. Instead I gripped the bottom half of his thick shaft and marvelled at him anew.
He had been impressive last weekend but surely it hadn’t been as big as this!
‘Blossom,’ he groaned, ‘don’t do something we’ll both regret.’
Right then the only thing I regretted was not watching him harden. He’d sprung out of his boxers fully erect, you see. I had to use my memory to picture his amazing manhood straightening as it suffused with blood, quickly developing a backbone, his foreskin magically retracting of its own volition.
Yes, all ten glorious inches of him, coming erect exclusively for me.
Not that I was there for happy memories. Using my right hand I began to masturbate him, keeping my strokes slow, steady and restricted to the area just above his balls. And, not wanting to be guilty of the slightest neglect, I simultaneously used my mouth, lips and tongue on the top half of him, kissing and licking and sucking.
That stopped the flow of negatives in its tracks.
‘Oh Blossom,’ Daddy sighed. ‘My God, Blossom; that is so good!’
Being too much of a lady to speak with a gobful of cock, I said nothing. But I was enjoying myself too. My knickers were dampening by the second and my nipples were as rock-like as Daddy’s dick.
And trust me; I’d never had my mouth round anything more rock-like than that!
It was Friday evening and our first chance to alone together since Sunday afternoon . . . and my first chance to get back into his pants. I took it as read that Daddy wasn’t going to last very long and didn’t mind in the slightest. Daddy was much more virile than any of my other male lovers. I knew he could keep it up all weekend and that not “very long” to him was a whole lot longer than the best offerings of anyone else.
It would be one relatively quick cum and then on with the show, so to speak.
No, on with the never-ending series of shows.
I cupped his balls in my left hand, my right still gliding along and rotating around him. Abandoning the kissing, I alternately tongue-lashed his cockhead and sucked on him, taking him in as deep as I could, until my lips came up against my so-active right hand.
‘Oh Blossom,’ Daddy sighed once more, ‘Oh my God.’
He was squirming and humping himself up off the couch now. I took that as a good sign and kept on doing what I was doing. Well, maybe I sucked a little harder and masturbated a little faster; anything to help my daddy on his way.
As if he needed any help! He gave a (for him) ungentlemanly grunt and I avidly swallowed all he could shoot into my mouth. And yes, he did shoot copiously; five, maybe even six mighty squirts, every last one of them accompanied by a jerky upwards hump.
Brilliant, I thought sincerely. He must have been saving it all for me.
Sucking and swallowing duties completed, I licked him all over, starting with his swollen cockhead and then progressing down the topside of him before going back up the underside. I took care to squeeze him as well, coaxing out a final drop of white seed and greedily lapping it up.
‘That was exquisite,’ he said, his blue eyes sparkling below his clouded brow, ‘although I’m not going to ask where exactly you learnt tricks like that.’
‘A gentleman shouldn’t ever ask such questions,’ I replied primly.
‘Then I definitely won’t.’
‘But bugger gentlemanly conduct,’ I went on, removing my T-shirt and bra, letting loose my 34 double Ds. ‘Let’s be naughty.’
‘Lotus,’ Daddy said, suddenly uneasy again as I advanced on him. ‘Blossom . . .’
Too late! I had him in my very generous cleavage.
‘Here’s another trick,’ I crooned as I pressed my tits together, trapping him in there so escape was not a possibility.
‘Lotus,’ he gasped.
Still taking no notice of negatives, I began to move up and down, slowly but surely, liking the way his skin adhered to mine.
‘I should have done this last weekend,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve been wishing I had ever since.
*****
Please do excuse me for not introducing myself sooner. As this story is more or less a confession, I’m going to go by the alias of “Nat” or “Natalie” and I’m also going to withhold lots of personal details. Call me cowardy-custard if you will but, as I understand it, the UK authorities still frown upon girls who fuck their daddies. And, as you are about to find out, I have fucked my daddy a lot of times.
Right then; what can I safely say about myself? I’m a final year student at a nameless uni in the south of England. I’m five weeks short of being twenty-one, five foot six with a well-developed body and very nice tits. I have a cheekily attractive face and quite lovely long auburn hair.
And, at the time of the blowjob I’ve just described, I’d been fucking my Daddy for almost a week.
Crazy, isn’t it? I’m an only child and have always been a “daddy’s girl” yet, up until recently I hadn’t ever considered having sex with him. Now I can think of nothing else.
This is where I blame my wicked witch of a mother. She’d only gone and thrown Daddy out of his own house. Worse still, she’d been carrying on with strings of “workmates” for years and her latest toy boy had already moved in with her.
Hell, knowing her, she’d probably had him moving in round the back while poor old Daddy trudged off down the drive, all his worldly possessions bound up in a red and white spotted hanky.
‘Home” is in West Yorkshire, by the way. Since going to university I’d rarely been back. The weekend before had been only the fifth time I’d visited in over two years. And believe it or not, I’d dashed home to console Mother, who’d phoned to tell me Daddy had walked out on her.
What a lying bitch!
Anyhow, that’s enough of my family’s predicament for the time being; let’s get back to the sex.
Sorry, how Freudian of me! Let’s get back to the story.
And, as added background, I’m going to begin shortly before the evening’s first blowjob . . .
Chapter Two
As a born and bred Yorkshire lass I should have known better but, fooled by glorious Indian summer weather “down south”, I’d caught my Friday afternoon train wearing a short black skirt, a skimpy white T-shirt and very little else . . . unless you count my black leather fuck-me boots.
(At this point please accept my apologies for repetitive use of the eff word. Normally I’m quite the well-spoken little madam. Confessing I’ve been screwing my Daddy has brought out a new me. I might be subconsciously hiding something from myself, but terms like “making love” do not seem appropriate anymore. No, “fucking” is the word that best fits the bill.)
Of course I should have known better than to trust the great British climate.
By the time we neared Peterborough conditions overhead had changed significantly for the worse. It had become more like a nuclear winter than any sort of summer. By the time we reached Wakefield it was raining heavily. And, by the time we reached my home town, the rainwater was coming down in stair-rods.
My intention had been to walk the mile between the railway station and that evening’s pub, drawing a few admiring glances as I went . . . but not in that monsoon. Damning the expense, I piled into the first available taxi and, five minutes later, settled up right outside the front door.
‘Call it a fiver,’ my cabbie said.
I could see from the meter that the fare was over eight quid. But my Asian driver (who had introduced himself as “George” and had a much better Yorkshire accent than I did) just grinned at me.
‘Call me direct anytime you need a cab,’ he said, thrusting a personalized card at me. ‘I guarantee to give the best ride in these parts.’
Because he looked like a young Omar Sharif, I returned his grin.
‘Next time I need a good ride I’ll think of you,’ I assured him.
The dash into the pub took me all of a second, but still I got soaked. Hesitating a moment, sheltered in the entrance, I assessed the place. It was brand-spanking-new and, despite my extensive experience of local watering holes, it wasn’t a venue I’d been in before. In fact it must have been built since I left home.
To be honest it wasn’t the sort of place I’d normally be seen dead in. Patently themed, it catered for kids as well as old fogies. That is to say it catered for everyone apart from twenty-year-old students. But at least the kiddie play area was tacked on at the far end of the building (out of sight and sound) and the pensioners were tucked away in a designated dining room, towards the adjoining hotel.
I was prepared to bet there were dozens of identical establishments up and down the land, all selling the same range of drinks and offering the same meal deals. Prefabricated outlets or what!
On the positive side there was a large drinking section right in front of me, with Daddy holding court at the bar, half a dozen blokes round him, hanging on his every word.
That was Daddy all over There wasn’t a homo bone in his body but fellow males adored him . . . and by that I mean straight fellow males. Tall, broad-shouldered and full of bonhomie, what wasn’t there to like?
Yes, he was one of those lucky souls admired by men and women alike. Everyone wanted to be seen in his company.
Well, everyone apart from one specific wicked witch of a bitch.
It was possible that Daddy was entertaining complete strangers; he could do that effortlessly, even in a completely new environment. I reckoned he probably knew this audience though. He was after all in the nearest boozer to his new digs: a delightful penthouse-like pad “loaned” to him by a buddy in the wake of Mother’s betrayal.
Under-dressed and rain-splattered, my entry into the bar caused some disruption. Every male eye in the barroom must have been on me and my slightly damp T-shirt. I felt somewhat conspicuous and was glad Daddy greeted me as a friend rather than a daughter; that made me feel like a saucy young tart, possibly one of the hired variety. And it made me feel good too.
No, it made me feel better than merely good . . .
‘Lotus,’ he said, holding his arms out wide, ‘at last!’
‘I’m bang on time,’ I protested, kissing both his cheeks. ‘Good old British Rail . . . or whatever they call themselves this week.’
Within two minutes we were armed with pints of Doom Bar (by far the best beer ever to come out of Cornwall, in my opinion) and sitting apart from his barfly mates.
Ten minutes after that we were eating a decent steak and chips, me flirting, him cautious.
And before we knew it we were calling another cab and heading for bed.
*****
That last statement is inaccurate, by the way. At that stage of the evening we didn’t go anywhere near a bed. No, we made do with Daddy’s exceptionally plush lounge and even plusher leather settee. And Daddy certainly did not have bed on his mind. Well, not for the same reasons as me, anyway.
While I swigged wine he toyed with a small Glenmorangie and tried to explain exactly why it wasn’t a good idea for us to sleep together.
I told him I had no intention of sleeping anytime soon.
He reminded me that what we’d already done together was illegal.
I said it didn’t matter if only the two of us knew and we weren’t for telling.
He pointed out that if we had an “accident” our “offspring” might be terribly deformed.
I reminded him I was on the pill and other options were available if the worst came to the worst.
He observed that Mother would raise holy hell if she ever found out.
I felt he was starting to repeat himself and, instead of arguing, sucked him off. Then I put his still hard cock between my quivering breasts . . .
And that brings us back up to date once more.
Back up to date and delightfully so, I must admit.
*****
It was great having Daddy’s exceptionally large cock burrowing a furrow in my squeezed-together tits; it possibly thrilled me even more than I was thrilling him.
Trust me; I really was happy in my work. If Daddy had lacked at all the previous weekend it was in not paying enough attention to my tits. Okay, it was partially my fault for not encouraging him enough, but it had been an opportunity missed for both of us as far as I was concerned.
And I wasn’t going to miss it again.
‘So good,’ I said, moving on him, moving on him.
I wasn’t exaggerating at all. His skin really was adhering. And the core of him was harder than hard. A distant bit of my brain recalled school. Some of the gobbiest lads had called the fundamental sex act “boning”. It had been a crude and not very nice term . . . but not totally inaccurate.
Yes, those gobby lads (most of them probably still virgins themselves) had described the feeling quite precisely. Daddy did seem to have a big bone inside him; one that moved independently of flesh and skin and whatever else made up his rock-like cock.
As for me, I liked it. My tits always have been hypersensitive. Fucking my Daddy’s cock with them was the experience of a lifetime. Leastways it was then, when I first broke the ice.
Me and that ten ton penguin!
*****
If I recall correctly I came three times with Daddy between my tits. Daddy came not at all but I hadn’t really expected him to. As I said already, he was incredibly virile but, having cum once in my mouth, he was hardly likely to cum again in the near future. And, three orgasms in and as excited as heck, I began to believe he owed me.
Not that I’m a taker, understand. I would have happily rubbed him off in my cleavage forever and a day. But suddenly I needed more. And I was sure that more for me meant more for him.
Unclamping myself, freeing him from the tight channel made by my breasts, I stood and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall who knew where. Then, too impatient to take off my knickers, I pulled them aside as I straddled him.
You might not credit it, but that was when my wildest dreams were fulfilled. I’d fucked with my knickers pulled aside before without really thinking about what I was doing. Not that time! Thanks to what must have been an act of God, the wet seam of the flimsy fabric only rubbed harder and harder against my clit. That is to say the more I plunged on Daddy’s cock, the more mind-boggling friction I got!
Don’t get me wrong, Daddy’s big cock ensured I always got a very deep penetration. He went deeper than mere boys by a mile. Yet me going on top made it deeper and better still. Call it a control thing if you will. I could cheerfully do deeper and deeper, knowing full well what I wanted . . .
But the feel of that soggy seam . . .
Put it this way: it really was miraculous. My most cunning planning could never have produced friction anything like that.
Move aside Blackadder, you’ve been eclipsed!
Omigod, if I could create a toy that replicated those sensations . . .
Well, Ann Summers would be pounding my door down.
Not to mention Lovehoney . . .
Chapter Three
I relished several cums before Daddy finally shot into me . . . triggering my biggest and best orgasm in years and years (well, in the two and a bit I’d been sexually active, anyway). Then, only too aware he might appreciate a break in proceedings, I spared him potential embarrassment.
‘I need a pee,’ I announced, deftly removing my soggier-than-ever knickers, ‘and another glass of dry white wouldn’t go amiss. What’s the state of your fridge?’
‘There’s no pee in it,’ he replied, surprising me with a mild dash of crudity. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find something to your taste. Unless I’m very much mistaken, that is.’
‘Would you like another glass of Glenmorangie before I go?’
‘Do I look like I can’t help myself?’
I laughed at that. ‘Okay, get your own flipping whisky. And you’d better make it a double. I will be after double rations when I return.’
I tossed my soaked panties to him as I spoke. ‘Have a sniff of those if you doubt me.’
Catching them, he just stared at me.
‘I know you’ll smell them while I’m gone,’ I added. ‘And I’ll be back hornier than ever.’
Daddy’s laugh wasn’t quite as hearty as mine. Still, I knew what he was capable of . . . double rations very much included.
I wiggled my bare ass as I went.
And I could feel his eyes on me every inch of the way.
*****
Call me easily distracted, but I took my mobile into the bathroom with me. Nothing pervy, understand, I’d switched it off while I was on the train (me being socially conscientious, of course) and I’d forgotten to switch it back on later.
Blame it on that monsoon and my dashes to and from taxis!
Not that I’d missed much. My flat-mate Jude had texted, advising me she was sleeping with Tom and Dick that night, saying a little DP was on the cards and hoping that I’d copped of with “some country bumpkin or other”.
(My doing, I must admit; I generally told her every last detail about my sexual conquests, but I’d kept Daddy mum . . . if that’s not a contradictory term!).
My other text was far more intriguing. Roger was easily the sexiest guy on my course. He was also by far the shyest guy in the whole university. Five thousand female students wanting to get into his pants and him unable to exchange two words with any of them!
Yet here he was, texting me, asking for a date on Saturday!!
With genuine regret I responded, saying I was away but back next week, and that I was most certainly up for Tuesday or Wednesday.
In less than thirty seconds he came back with “Tues 4 me!”
I confirmed with “OK – bring a toothbrush” and left the rest to chance.
So I’m a slut and Jude would whine forevermore but hey, fucking Roger would get me kudos as well as sexual satisfaction.
And again please excuse my very foul language. I really am usually not like this. It’s a psychological thing, you see. “Fuck” is normally off my agenda.
At least it was before I started fucking my daddy.
I suppose I’m trying to distance myself between natural love for my father and the thrill of having that granite cock of his inside me.
I also suppose that “love” is a word I should be avoiding.
For Christ’s sake, I can hardly even kiss Daddy. Fucking and sucking comes easy, but kissing . . .
Messed up or what!
Casually wiping myself with toilet roll, fully aware our night was by no means done I was disrupted by the urgent buzz of an incoming call. Not recognizing the number, I accepted it.
‘Oh,’ a familiar voice said, ‘finally!’
Fuck ducks and shag a tree, it was Mother!
‘You only went out for a beer and a burger,’ she went on relentlessly, referring to the week before. ‘Is it safe to say you’re unmolested?’
I sniggered at that. ‘Safer than you,’ I replied snottily.
As usual Mother sailed over me. So far as ships went, she was unsinkable. The Belfast yard that built the Titanic should have used her as a model. Heaven help that poor iceberg if they had.
Heaven help all of us.
‘You said you might be late,’ she went on, ‘but a week is pushing it, even by your standards. Where on earth are you, if it’s not rude to ask?’
I dithered at that.
‘You’re with that bastard father of yours,’ she pounced, ‘how utterly predictable.’
‘Daddy’s devastated,’ I countered, thinking of Mother’s toy boy and his miserable daughter.
‘Folk will be talking,’ Mother persisted, ‘a young girl like you, cohabiting with a man like him.’
Somehow I restrained myself.
‘I’ve been back to uni,’ I said. ‘I’ve only come home tonight.’
‘Home,’ Mother scoffed. ‘I’m ringing you from home. You’re . . . Well where are you? Where’s that bastard hiding away?’
‘You kicked him out, Mother,’ I said, beginning to boil inside. ‘You kicked him out and took in frigging Lionel in his place. And that miserable cow, Emma.’
‘She’s called Amy.’
‘Ask me if I’m bothered what she’s called. She’s still a miserable cow. And I bet she’s still buggering up my scores on Mario 3.’
‘For goodness’s sake, Natalie, stop feeling so sorry for yourself; your daddy and I are history. So live with it. Accept it . . .’
I may be young but I am not a pushover. Not unless I want to be pushed over, if you get my drift.
‘Mother,’ I said, ‘I will never, ever accept what you’ve done to Daddy. And I will never accept the way you’re fucking Lionel in what’s supposed to be your marital bed. Is there a particular bit of “two-timing cow” that you don’t understand?’
‘We need to talk,’ my mother replied. ‘And we need to do it face-to-face, not like this. Okay?’
The idea wasn’t at all okay with me but I struggled for excuses.
‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll change the way I feel,’ I said limply.
‘You haven’t heard me out yet,’ she countered. ‘Let’s make it two tomorrow afternoon, while your dear darling Daddy is at the football.’
‘Football,’ I echoed. Daddy was a rugby league man . . . meaning Friday nights on Sky TV.
‘He was given a season ticket for United,’ Mother persisted. ‘We could meet in the Coffee Shop.’
‘United?’ My head reeled. ‘Nobody in their right mind watches them anymore.’
‘That’s exactly why he was given the ticket,’ said Mother. ‘Two o’clock, then?’
Desperate to seize some measure of control, I rejected the Coffee Shop. ‘Two is okay,’ I said, ‘but I’ll see you in the Masons’ Arms.’
‘Typical,’ said Mother. ‘Two o’clock; don’t be late.’
Chapter Four
Armed with a supersized glass of Chardonnay I returned to the bedroom. Daddy was sipping a rather large whisky but I didn’t comment. Compared to the weekend before he was as sober as sober could be. And my persuasive seduction skills would not be required. I could see that instantly.
I could also see his overall appearance had improved. Although he’d looked good last weekend he’d been unshaven with hints of crescent moons under his eyes. Now the crescents were gone altogether and the stubble on his chin was only twelve hours old.
Indeed now the stubble on his chin was sexy and very, very masculine.
Or was that just me wanting to feel it scraping against my mound?
‘You took your time,’ he said in greeting.
‘Ladies do not rush their toilet,’ said I, somewhat primly. ‘Have you sniffed my knickers yet?’
His blush confirmed that he had.
‘Drink your drink,’ I continued, dropping into the masterful role (somehow forcing the real wicked witch out of my head). If you’re a good boy and sup off you can do anything you like to me.’
Daddy’s jaw dropped at that.
‘Nothing nasty or violent,’ I added, ‘but anything else is allowed.’
‘I’d never be nasty of violent,’ he said.
‘In that case you’d better drink that whisky and tell me what you want to do.’
I slurped my vino and took stock. While I’d already quite swiftly got naked Daddy still had his shirt on; nothing more, just his shirt. Gulping the last of his single malt he stood and undid a few more buttons.
‘Get on your knees,’ he commanded, ‘no, not on the floor, on the settee. That’s it. That’s a good little girl.’
I don’t mind admitting that my heart was thumping as I obeyed. Daddy wanted to take me up my ass. I couldn’t think of any other reason he’d want me kneeling that way. Okay, I knew that lots of guys liked to pussy-fuck from behind; I wasn’t averse to it myself . . . but arse-fucking was different, wasn’t it?
Arse-fucking was every man’s secret fantasy.
And I’d thrown my ass at him like confetti.
Wiggling as I went out of the room. I ask you! Begging for it or what!!
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a complete virgin that way. My flat-mate regularly fingered and thumbed me in that area. Sometimes she’d even “bowling ball” me, if you know what I mean. And one or two of my male lovers had slipped in the odd index finger.
But wasn’t it just my luck! The first time anyone wanted to stick a cock up there he had to be hung like frigging Frankel (Frankel’s the world’s most prodigious stud horse, in case anyone doesn’t know!).
Not that I’d refuse Daddy anything. I’d never go back on my word, never, and a promise made to my daddy was so far above a promise made to anyone else.
My emotions were, I must admit, mixed. Excitement and apprehension, I guess, blended in with a lot of fear. What if I was too tight for Daddy? What if I let him down? What if he couldn’t even get it in?
Fear for my person was non-existent. I genuinely did not care about the ultimate state of my asshole. All I was worried about was pleasing Daddy.
Well, it was so long as my asshole didn’t get too badly reamed . . .
‘Anything,’ I said, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice.
I was on all-fours as instructed, my elbows on the arm of the settee, my ass in the air. I couldn’t fail to feel the leather cushions compress as Daddy positioned himself behind me. And I couldn’t fail to feel the velvety head of his cock circling my ring.
To my surprise, Daddy didn’t thrust ungainly in. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising; Daddy just didn’t do ungainly.
He didn’t do rude insertions, either. Oh no, while I trembled in all varieties of trepidation, he circled me a while then began to run his cockhead up and down the cleft of my bum.
He did it again and again and again.
‘Oh yes,’ I sighed, hardly acting at all.
Then, to my astonishment, Daddy altered his attentions. Instead of rubbing at me, he shifted position so the flat expanse of his cock was running along me. He was fucking the cleft of my ass in the same way he’d fucked my cleavage.
What joy!
Don’t ask me if I was overcome by relief. I honestly can’t answer that; I was still wondering how much a penetration was on the cards. And I was also still wondering how much I wanted penetration to be on the cards.
Call me indecisive, but it was one of those situations, wasn’t it?
Meanwhile Daddy kept boning my cleft. And, taking a leaf out of my book, he was pressing my cheeks together, making a tight channel all of his own, fucking it and fucking it and fucking it.
I was cool with that. I’ve never had a particularly big booty but there’s always been enough to make a reasonably tight channel. And being fucked in it was cool; not quite as good as being fucked in my tit channel, of course, but close.
And it was Daddy doing the fucking; that made everything ten times better as far as I was concerned.
‘Oh yes,’ I repeated. ‘Oh yes oh yes.’
Then Daddy was shifting position again. Suddenly he wasn’t boning my cleft anymore. Thudding like crazy, my heart lurched. This was it. This was penetration time.
And it was, but not where I was expecting, half-hoping and half-fearing. Daddy was pussy-fucking me from behind after all, easing in and out almost effortlessly. I wailed in appreciation then wailed a whole lot more when he grabbed my tits.
As if wailing wasn’t enough I (rather predictably) started to cum. And once I’d started I couldn’t stop. It was yet another long chain of orgasms and I loved it.
‘Harder,’ I urged, ‘yes that’s it, that’s it. Right there and harder!’
I couldn’t begin to guess how often I climaxed but the number must have been awfully big. They got better and better as I went, too. My last one, coinciding with Daddy’s first in a while, many moons after my chain began linking together . . .
Well it was colossal. Afterwards Daddy had to fetch me my next glass of wine. I had rubber bands for legs and no sense of balance.
But fuck me, did I feel good!
Chapter Five
It turned out that Daddy had lent his season ticket to his buddy as part of the penthouse deal.
‘Cookie’s always been fond of United,’ he explained. ‘And I knew I’d be spending this weekend with you.’
I said that was the correct answer then, a tad tentatively, told him about my scheduled meeting with Mother.’
‘She’s up to something,’ he said immediately. ‘I bet it’s to do with the house.’
‘Have you seen your solicitor yet?’ I wondered.
‘No; I’ve been putting it off.’
‘Well let’s see what she says to me this afternoon. You can tell your brief all about it on Monday.’
By then it was mid-morning Saturday We were in bed together and had been awake for a couple of hours. And yes, by then I had got to watch his cock suffuse with blood and his foreskin retract on its own; I’d got to watch that happening on several occasions, if you must know, made visible by electric lamps and by daylight.
I honestly couldn’t watch that miracle often enough.
‘I just don’t trust her with you,’ Daddy went on, ignoring my hand as it burrowed beneath the sheets.
‘She’s hardly going to kidnap me and lock me in the cellar,’ I said. ‘And The Masons is in the middle of town. She’ll never get me home without someone seeing me struggling. Not unless she uses some of her winged monkeys to fly me there.’
Daddy didn’t seem to get that, even though he had heard my wicked witch references.
The enchanted poppy field must have made him forgot all about Oz.
Or more likely it was the Doom Bar.
‘I think I should go with you,’ he said.
‘That could only be counterproductive,’ I replied. ‘And I’m a big girl now; I can look after myself.’
Then, gently squeezing his gonads, I murmured: ‘I’m a big girl and you’re definitely a big boy. Can you look after yourself or do you want me to take care of you?’
Guess which option he chose.
*****
Daddy drove me into town, dropping me off as close to The Masons as he could. Because we hadn’t any idea how long my “meeting” would last, we had agreed to meet up again in Sainsbury’s at three, with the proviso I’d ring him if I was going to overrun.
‘Watch out for her,’ he warned as I shut the passenger door.
‘Never fear, I’ll call on Glinda the Good Witch if I need to,’ I replied.
Wanting to keep Mother on her toes, I diverted into Boots to make a just-in-case purchase, arriving at the pub two or three minutes late. Mother wasn’t there yet but I recognized the sulky-looking girl over by the bar.
What the fuck was Amy doing there?
Before I could ignore her she saw me and waved. And knock me down with a feather, she smiled at me.
‘Hi Natalie,’ she said. ‘What are you drinking?’
Nodding to a couple of lads I knew from my schooldays, I reluctantly joined her at the bar. Determined I wouldn’t make a scene I said, through gritted teeth, ‘What are you doing here, Amy?’
‘I’m supposed to be shopping but the shops are all crap. I’m going to get your mum to drive me to the White Rose.’
‘On a Saturday afternoon; you’ll be in luck!’
‘She suggested it, actually. Now, can I get you that drink?’
‘I’ll have a pint of Theakston’s,’ I said maliciously. Amy looked to be fifteen at most. It would be good to see her being thrown out of the pub for buying under-age. Hell, with any luck she might even get arrested.
As if!
Beckoning the barman Amy ordered “the same again” and my pint. Incredibly, the barman served her without blinking an eye.
‘Cheers,’ she said, passing me a frothing glass.
I shook my head to clear it. Amy was drinking Bacardi and Coke, and a double at that. What had gone wrong with ID cards and alcohol awareness?
Before I could think of anything to say Mother arrived. True to form, she was ten minutes late. Maybe she’d hidden round the corner waiting for me to show up, guaranteeing the big entrance for hers truly.
She seemed surprised to see Amy, however; surprised and not at all pleased.
‘I told you not before half past,’ she said. ‘Natalie and I have things to discuss.’
Amy merely shrugged. ‘I’ll be playing that bandit,’ she said, indicating a nearby fruit machine.
Mother asked me if I wanted another drink. Being a penniless student, I instinctively said yes. Then we took a relatively secluded table by the window.
‘How old is she?’ I asked, watching Amy plough money into the machine.
‘She’s eighteen.’
‘Bollocks! I’ve got shoes older than her.’
‘Believe me, Natalie. She is eighteen, taking a gap year.’
‘Huh,’ said I, ‘I hope she plays bandits better than she does Super Mario 3.’
I could see the girl in question over Mother’s shoulder. Now I came to look more closely, she did have a shapely, womanly body. Perhaps it was the miserable expression that made her seem younger.
Like a female Kevin the Teenager.
That smile had been quite nice, though. And she had a great ass on her . . .
I quickly transferred my attention back to Mother. I’m not a lesbian,’ I reminded myself. I’m not even bi. I just happen to enjoy having sex with my flat-mate.
Bugger Amy’s sexy ass.
Well, not literally . . .
‘Her dad must have been about twelve when she was born,’ I said grumpily.
‘Knowing Lionel he’ll have been a gymslip father,’ said Mother. ‘But enough of that; we need to talk about us.’
I stared back at her. ‘Okay, you kick off.’
Mother sipped her gin and bitter lemon. ‘How’s it going with you?’ she asked, throwing me a little.
‘I’m on course to graduate with a decent enough degree,’ I said after a pause. ‘Naturally I’m up to my ears in debt, but you and Daddy helped more than most parents do. In a perfect world I’d have a gap year of my own and travel the world. But that isn’t going to happen. In reality I’ll either stay on or get a job for a year or two. Balance the books then decide if I can afford to go back.’
‘Very sensible,’ said Mother. ‘There again, you always have been very sensible.’
Unbidden, my eyes kept straying to Amy’s ass. I kept dragging them back to Mother. And for once my mother was oozing sincerity. If it was an act it was a good one. She really did seem to have sympathy for me.
Stop staring at that ass, I told myself.
But it was futile. Back in our flat Jude and I had a harness. Every so often we would take turns to pop in a dildo and fuck each other long and hard. At that moment fucking Amy seemed like a good idea, if not necessarily in the usual, I’m-more-caring-than-a-guy sort of a way.
Dragging my eyes away yet again, I concentrated on Mother’s beautiful, earnest face.
‘My home will always be yours,’ she said, still brimming with sincerity. ‘I do hope you can accept the way things are and share it with me.’
‘With you and miserable Amy,’ I countered. ‘Right, as if I would!’
Mother emitted her best put-upon sigh. ‘I don’t know how long Lionel will last,’ she said in a hushed tone. ‘He’s a good man but perhaps not the man. Do you follow what I’m saying?’
‘I can see the immediate attraction,’ I admitted. ‘And I can see why you don’t necessarily see him as a permanent fixture. What I can’t see is why you’ve ditched Daddy so cruelly.’
Mother sighed again. ‘Natalie, your daddy has been as good as useless for years. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Quite frankly I didn’t.
‘Go on,’ I said, spell it out.
Chapter Six
Yet another sigh ensued. This one came up from the soles of Mother’s stylish stilettos.
‘I suspect that you have the same appetites as me,’ she said, her tone still hushed. ‘You were screwing that shelf-stacker friend of yours endlessly, weren’t you? And I’ll bet you’re screwing even more now you’re at uni. It’s a common bond we share, isn’t it?’
It probably was but no way was I about to admit it.
‘Daddy loves you,’ I said bravely. ‘He always has. I don’t believe you’re calling him “useless”.’
‘Natalie, he’s hardly given me any attention in ten years. At first I put up with it for your sake. Then it got even worse and . . . and I couldn’t take the lack of attention anymore. And since you flit the nest he’s turned into a monk.’
For “attention” I was reading “fucking”. And I was wondering why Daddy had lost his appetite. Like or loathe her, Mother was tasty. Men would have queued up to have her.
In fact men probably did queue up to have her.
‘You’ve been together a long time,’ I observed, trying to sound like a sympathetic agony aunt. ‘Surely you could have found ways to spice things up.’
‘Natalie, excuse me for being blunt, but darling Daddy couldn’t get it up to save his life. All the curry and chili powder in the world couldn’t have added spice to him.’
Somehow I managed not to laugh. ‘This was since I left,’ I said instead.
‘Give or take. But he’d had a dose of brewer’s droop for years by then. That’s why I started going out on my own.’
I swigged my beer and had another leer at Amy’s ass. It was still pert and more inviting than ever.
But I was so not a lezzie!
More prominently in my mind I failed to grasp that “brewer’s droop” business. I could not get my head round it at all. I’d watched as Daddy’s cock sprang to life lots and lots of times, remember? And there had never been anything remotely droopy about the end result.
Was it Mother who was the problem?
That thought secretly thrilled me. I could make Daddy hard with a glance yet Mother was saying she’d failed to make any impact.
Mother unable, me more able than Lolita . . .
It had a certain ring about it, didn’t it?
Cashing in on the unexpected position of strength, I leant across the table until our faces were inches apart.
‘What is it you want, Mother? What is it you want from me?’
Before she could regale me with more lies a metallic crash resounded throughout the barroom, loud enough to make everyone turn and stare. Shit! Sexy-ass Amy had only gone and dropped the frigging jackpot.
And believe you me; I was so jealous I wanted to fuck that ass to kingdom come.
Well-off enough to have gap years and play on bandits; what had she ever done to deserve such luck!
‘Spawny cow,’ said Mother. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘I was just leaving,’ I replied.
Cutting her icily, I marched out. As I passed her Amy was bent in two, scooping dozens and dozens of pound coins out of the fruit machine’s tray.
No, there were hundreds of them!
That saucily round target was too tempting to miss.
Smacking it hard, I marched on.
‘Woo,’ Amy called after me. ‘Promises, promises . . .’
*****
I caught up with Daddy in Sainsbury’s shorty after three. He was in the household goods aisle, deep in conversation with Doreen. Seeing them together made me chuckle, despite my bad mood. Doreen worked with Mother but was not a big fan. She was also only too obviously infatuated with Daddy and always had been. I had noticed it long ago and definitely noticed it again now.
How cool would that be? My boss-fucking mother finding out that her next-desk-neighbour had fucked her discarded husband . . . ideally for hours on end and from all directions.
Don’t get me wrong; I did actually like Doreen, even if she did keep calling me “little Natalie”. If I had to pick a good-looking woman for Daddy, she’d be towards the top of the list.
No, she’d be up there in the top two or three.
If only I had chance to pick someone to drop a casual Monday morning comment such as “Oh, your ex is so bloody big, isn’t he?” Or maybe “Doesn’t he ever want to sleep?”
Well, Doreen was ideally placed, wasn’t she? The comment possibilities weren’t simply endless, that little lady was also perfectly capable of making them.
She had a sexy ass too.
And what on earth was happening to so-very straight me?
I was spot on when I said Daddy and Doreen were deep in conversation. If they’d been in any deeper they would have had tongues down each other’s throats. Not that I was all that jealous. Seeing them together was rewarding, not challenging.
I was a big girl, remember? And I was nobody’s fool. I liked fucking Daddy but knew we couldn’t go on as we were forever, at least not in an every weekend sort of a way. Train fares had got ridiculous and regularly fucking my favourite relative wasn’t a passport to an easy life, was it?
Yes, the way I saw it Doreen could stand in for me. I could keep my “Daddy liaisons” quiet and catch up with him once in a while. Daddy would get to regularly sleep with a beautiful woman and have me as an occasional bonus. And Doreen would get the man she wanted and bragging rights at work.
Win-win all round, in my humble opinion.
What about Mother, I hear you cry. Okay, she was the big unknown. I hoped she’d be jealous as hell of Doreen but she just might be glad. And if she could see an edge in the budding relationship, she’d exploit it like a miner forty-niner.
‘You have to,’ Doreen was saying as I joined them, noting that Daddy’s basket was well-provided for wine but lacking in veg.
‘Oh, hi Nat,’ said Daddy, fudging it.
‘He has to what?’ I asked Doreen.
‘He has to do something about his situation,’ Doreen replied. ‘I’ve heard your mother at work, telling everyone that she’s been to see her solicitor, forecasting her walkover in the divorce court.’
‘Sounds like the message I got,’ said I, being slightly economical with the truth. ‘Get your retaliation in as soon as you can Daddy. She isn’t taking prisoners.’
‘Did she ask you to go home?’ Doreen asked me.
‘Sort of; she told me her home would always be mine.’
‘Well there you go then! She wants to turn it into the family home!’ Doreen’s face was closer than ever to Daddy’s. ‘If she can get little Natalie back she can claim it’s the family home. And, if she can make it look as if you’ve walked out of the family home, you’ve lost before you’ve even started.’
‘Doreen’s right,’ I said, seeing Mother’s game plan at last. ‘But don’t worry, there’s more chance of me sharing a cell with the Yorkshire Ripper than moving back in with her.’
Doreen patted my hand in a curiously maternal gesture. ‘That was exactly what she was angling for, wasn’t it?’
‘I guess it was.’
‘Rounding on Daddy, Doreen gripped him by his broad shoulders. ‘That woman has to be stopped.’
Wow, direct physical contact! She was a fast operator!!
And being impassioned didn’t detract from her appearance at all.
Sensitive as ever, I went to peruse the choice of washing up liquids while Doreen harangued Daddy. And whatever she said had an effect. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring back at her and nodding like a donkey.
Chapter Seven
Daddy and I spent most of the rest of Saturday on the couch, supposedly watching TV but doing little apart from drinking vino and having various forms of sex. Eventually, as the spooky electronic music announced the end of Doctor Who, I produced my just-in-case purchase.
‘I didn’t know you needed that stuff,’ Daddy said as I squeezed the jelly out of its tube, liberally coating his cock. ‘Don’t say I’ve been hurting you.’
I was trembling again and my heart was thudding in my chest. Even so my voice sounded smooth and seductive when I replied.
‘My pussy has no problem with you, Daddy. It’s dripping wet as we speak. But you aren’t going in my pussy right now, are you?’
He gulped. For the first time ever I noticed he had an Adam’s apple. Only a small one, mind, and only visible because that gulp had been an exceptionally big one.
‘No arguing,’ I went on before he could protest. ‘Don’t think, just do.’
Getting into the most whore-like position imaginable, I raised and spread my legs as widely as I could then, rather clumsily, squeezed jelly onto my butt. Then, with Daddy watching very closely, I used two fingers to lubricate my anus.
And believe me; I was by no means relaxed. Daddy’s cock looked like a weapon of war, twitching as it waited to wreak havoc. The very sight of it encouraged me to use all my lubricant supply. Convinced I had finally done as much as I could, I took the plunge.
‘Nice and slow, Daddy,’ I murmured. ‘Slow and easy wins the race.’
I can’t really describe that initial penetration. I remember the feel of him against me, gently pressing. I remember a rush of sheer pleasure when he ultimately entered me. And I remember the sensation of his large cockhead moving deeper and deeper into my insides.
There was no pain, just a moment of discomfort before that pleasure rush.
Then I realized I’d never been so full in my life. Daddy’s enormous dick was suddenly humungous. My lungs didn’t seem capable of drawing in sufficient air. My throat was doing strange things . . . like sort of gulping and contracting without rhyme or reason.
But all said and done Daddy was in me and it wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
And then it got better still; then he slowly withdrew all but an inch or so of cock and, tender as tender could be, pushed back in.
I came instantly. Nothing I’d ever experienced compared to Daddy’s first proper in-stroke. And he did it again and again, never varying the speed, always as gentle as zephyrs blowing beneath the violet.
(Yeah, so I’m paraphrasing Shakespeare. The guy had a way with words just as Daddy had his way with his in-strokes.)
Was I enjoying it? You bet your cotton socks I was. My insides were gripping Daddy’s cock tighter than tight and that bone of his was doing wonderful things. I swear it was applying internal pressure to my G-spot as well as squillions of previously undiscovered nerve endings.
By then I had hold of the backs of my legs, pulling them higher and wider, bending myself in half in my eagerness.
‘Harder,’ I gasped.
Daddy obliged but, being Daddy, he was still tender and gentle.
‘Harder,’ I gasped again. ‘Please Daddy, I need harder!’
*****
I woke first on Sunday morning and sucked Daddy off as he continued to slumber. Such forwardness by then shouldn’t have come as a shock. I always woke first and invariably used that same tactic to pull him out of sweet dreams.
Call me a slut if you like; it’s fun to do and, going by Daddy’s reactions, it’s fun to be on the receiving end too.
And oh my, didn’t he cum!
Later, after an hour or so of fooling around and a relatively fast and furious fuck, my legs still wrapped around my incestuous lover, holding him in place, I made conversation.
‘You need to get close to Doreen,’ I said. ‘As close as we are right now.’
Daddy flinched at that. He liked to be close to me but didn’t like talking about our closeness. Come to that, like most men, he didn’t like talking about relationships at all.
Same as he didn’t like kissing.
And in all honesty, “closeness” and “kissing” weren’t my specialized subjects either.
Not ones of choice, anyway.
Determined to be open, I persisted.
‘Doreen is fit as heck,’ I told him. ‘And she’s gagging for you. Make sure you give her what she wants as soon as you can.’
Daddy blushed, shrugged and otherwise seemed embarrassed.
‘Mother’s gone,’ I said. ‘Mother’s no intention of coming back. She’s going to try to ruin all you’ve ever worked for and bankrupt you in the process. Don’t sit back and let her do it.’
‘I can’t drive her out of our home,’ he said. ‘What sort of a man would I be if I reduced her to being no more than a bag lady?’
‘Trust me, Daddy; Mother will always land on her feet, if not flat on her back. There’s more chance of Kate Middleton becoming a bag lady than her.’
Daddy sniggered at that. I’m not sure if it was the image of my derelict mother tramping the streets or the totally improbable one of the delectable duchess doing likewise.
Whatever it was, it stirred him back into life. Slowly sliding down my body, calling off to say hello to my tits, he steadily and surely made his way you-know-where.
I steadily and surely enjoyed his progress. Knowing full well he was sneakily taking a break from out-and-out fucking, I was happy to let him do his thing. Out-and-out fucking was great but the nuances of Daddy’s mouth-play were not to be missed.
If Mother had been telling the truth about his floppiness I wouldn’t have cared. I’d have settled for his mouth-play any day.
Talk about skilled!
And don’t get me going on girls versus boys. Back then I only had one girl to compare with and Jude was unparalleled. But Daddy ran her close. That other handful of so-called “men” shouldn’t have even bothered.
Not that many of them ever did.
*****
It might sound peculiar, but I had opportunity to think while Daddy went down on me. He didn’t hurry me in any way and, having already had my share of big cums, I was in easy-going mode. There was no urgency from either of us. And, being female, I could of course multitask.
The situation with Mother was bugging me. She was still in the family home but with a different family. And, no doubt, Daddy was still paying the mortgage. Even worse, there was no sign of that ridiculous situation changing anytime soon. Lawyers and courts didn’t exactly race to final decisions, did they?
The way I saw it Mother had come out smelling of roses as usual. Okay, Daddy’s solicitor should soon be rattling her cage and (with any luck) Doreen would soon be turning up at work with shiny eyes and just-fucked hair . . .
But would Mother take such events as setbacks? Maybe she wanted Daddy to fund the divorce. Maybe she wouldn’t care if Daddy screwed away from home. Hell, maybe her plans accounted for or even required him to react like that. Maybe there was more up her sleeve than we thought.
I decided there and then that a third trip north was required. Phone calls were all well and good but a presence on the ground was needed. So I would make the trip again the coming weekend. I could just about afford it and by then Daddy’s solicitor should have at least sent Mother a letter. If needs be I’d find an excuse to meet with her and see if I could tell how she was taking it.
Suss out her baser intentions . . .
By then Daddy should have fucked Doreen at least once; I’d try to find out how Mother was taking that too. In fact I might even get the honour of breaking the news to her.
Hiya Mother Dearest, guess which of your workmates has been riding Daddy’s big dick . . .
I wanted to check out this Lionel character as well. From the little I’d seen of him he was in his early thirties. How could he be father to an eighteen year-old?
That got me thinking about Amy. I could still hear her saying, “Promises, promises.” I could still picture her ass, come to that. Maybe next weekend I’d bring that harness with me. Jude wouldn’t need it with me off on my travels.
Oh my God, I was thinking about shagging Amy!
And oh my God again . . . suddenly I was going to cum!!
Somehow I managed to stave it off. Daddy noticed, however. He was always alert and attentive when it came to eating pussy. Abandoning my clit, removing two fingers from deep inside me, he circled the mouth of my vagina with the tip of his tongue.
The feeling was heavenly.
Putting my worries and intentions of hold, I lay back and appreciated the merrymaking.
And yes, he was making me very, very merry.
‘Oh yes Daddy,’ I purred, ‘you know exactly what I like.’
