Doing It with Daddy

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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.

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