I laid in bed, eyes closed, listening for the telltale sound of snoring, waiting, but still the silence dragged on. For the past ten or so minutes my fingers moved, teasing my mound, occasionally sneaking down to dip into my growing wetness as I waited impatiently.
Then I heart it, the faintest sound. I pulled my fingers from my panties and brought them up, slipping them between my lips, moaning softly, both at my scent and at my taste. And when there was nothing left of my essence, I pulled my fingers from my lips and brought them down to my hips, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and easing them over my hips and down my legs.
I knew I only had a couple minutes before he came searching for me. I had other plans though. Dressed only in a tee shirt, one that would just cover my panties, were I wearing any, I slipped out of bed and crept to my door, easing it open, listening. A moment later I heard it again; the unmistakable sound of a snore.
I slipped out into the hall and padded quietly to the open door at the end of the hall. I stood there for a full minute, waiting, wanting to be sure she was asleep. Satisfied, I crept in, tiptoeing, holding my breath, my heart rate spiking as I drew closer to the bed, my stomach fluttering with excitement.
As I approached, his eyes opened, startling me. I put my hand to my chest, my gaze going quickly to the slumbering form on the opposite side of the bed; my mother.
I bit my lip, giving him a troubled look. “I can’t sleep,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped, lingering for just a moment on my legs before coming back up. He shook his head slowly, though in the dim light, I couldn’t tell whether he was perturbed or amused.
I held my breath, waiting, hoping he wouldn’t send me back to my room. I released a quiet breath a moment later when he lifted the covers. I eased myself in, careful not to shake the bed as I moved. He settled the covers over me and I slid back against him.
For several long moments we lay there, the only sound my mother’s occasional snore. Finally, he turned onto his side, molding himself to my back, his fingers going into my hair, pulling it behind my ear. “You’re getting too old to be sneaking into bed with us, honey,” he whispered.
“But I want to be near you.” I said, turning to meet his gaze. “I love you, Daddy.”
He blew out a quiet breath. “I love you too, pumpkin.”
I wiggled back into him, trying to mold myself to him, wanting every part of him against me. And when his hand come to rest on my hip I took it in mine and pulled it up to my chest, sighing, content.
It wasn’t long before I felt the hard warmth of him against my lower back. It was terribly thrilling to know that I had such an effect on him, that he couldn’t be this close to me without getting excited, without wanting me. I bent my knee and drew the arch of my foot up his calf, the hair there tickling me, making my toes curl.
“Baby…” he whispered, his breath warm on my neck, in my ear.
“Yes, Daddy?” Even as I breathed the words, I drew a finger over the back of his hand, down his finger, the touch soft.
He lifted the finger as I reached the tip and I pressed my palm against it, a moment later wrapping my fingers around it, squeezing gently, the action making us both moan.
“Sweetheart…”
I bit my lip, waiting only a few moments before easing my grip, then I slid my hand up his finger, a fraction of an inch, just enough to send a message. I squeezed again, firmer this time, then again I slid back down, squeezing again, praying he wouldn’t stop me.
I was under no delusions that he’d take me here, in their bed, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Tonight was the second time this week that I’d slipped into their bed; I’d come in last night, claiming a stomach ache.
“What are you doing, honey?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I squeezed him then released him. “Nothing, Daddy.” Again I slid my hand up his finger, stopping with nothing but the tip touching me, then I slid back down, feeling him throb against my back in response.
“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”
I didn’t answer, instead I squeezed him, brushing my thumb over the tip of his finger.
“You need to stop that, sweetheart. We need to go to sleep.”
Reluctantly, I released him, settling my hand between my legs, gripping my thigh. He sighed quietly, his body sagging, his hand squeezing my waist once.
“Night, sweetheart.”
“Night, Daddy.”
Within a few moments I could feel the hardness against my back begin to fade. I moved then, under the guise of getting more comfortable, higher on the bed, only an inch or two. But it had the desired effect; it placed his semi-rigid penis in the crack of my ass, the only thing between it and its destination, his thin silk boxers.
I pulled my hand up, allowing the tip of my finger to trail through my wet lips, gathering some of the moisture there and bringing it up to brush it over my clit. I shivered with the contact, my breath catching. I slipped the finger back into my folds, deeper this time, wetting it, feeling the magnetic pull, the wettest part of me demanding attention. I lifted my knee for room and teased the opening with the tip of my finger, moaning softly.
“Okay, baby?”
I nodded, pushing myself more fully into him, willing him to mold himself to me. I desperately wanted to reach behind me, to wrap my hand around him, to feel him hard in my hand, to stroke him. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself angling the meaty organ down between my thighs and rubbing it against my sex, coating him with my juices, aiming him, wiggling against him as he entered me, making me a woman. Making me his woman.
I moaned again as my finger pushed its way in, teasing my hole.
I felt his hand move off my waist, only to come to rest on my forearm, his fingers wrapping around it, pulling gently, my finger slipping out, over my lips, leaving a wet trail up my thigh and across my stomach. He held me there, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my leg slowly closing.
For several minutes I lay there, eyes wide open, listening to him breathe as he warmed my neck, listening to my mother’s quiet, even snoring, painfully aware of his shrinking penis.
#
I woke to her gentle touch on my cheek, my eyes fluttering open, immediately dropping to the loose collar of her nightie, to the heavy breasts hanging there, swaying gently. I brought my gaze back to her face trying to make out her features in the darkness. I opened my mouth to speak but she pressed a finger to my lips, a moment later taking it away to lift the covers. She backed away from the bed then and held her hand out.
I slid out from under my father’s arm, still draped over my stomach, swinging my legs to the floor, pulling my shirt down as I moved, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
I took her hand and followed her to my room, sliding under the covers when she lifted them. She sat on the edge of my bed, her hand coming up to my cheek. She smiled down at me, moving her fingers into my hair, sifting through it, patient, loving. I smiled then, a lazy, tired smile. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, honey.”
She continued to move her fingers through my hair, her nails teasing my scalp. The moonlight from my window illuminated her in the most amazing way, showing me only her silhouette, her dark hair hanging loose over her arm, her warm, brown eyes black in the shadows. My gaze dropped, drawn to her chest, to the shadowed outline of her breast, clearly visible beneath the shear fabric, so soft and round and heavy, her nipple pushing against the thin material, drawing my attention.
She curled her fingers in my hair then, gathering it, pulling gently, then harder, making my eyes flutter closed.
“Like that, baby?” she asked, her tone low and soft.
I opened my eyes, nodding. She released me and moved her hand back, again closing her fingers, tightening her grip, making me moan. “Feels wonderful,” I said, sounding lazy even to my own ears. Again she released me, and again she moved to a new spot, gathering my hair, closing it in her fist, squeezing. She allowed my hair to fall through her fingers then moved to push a lock of it behind my ear, drawing the tip of her finger over it. I leaned in to the touch, my gaze on hers. She moved from my ear, her finger tracing my brow, her touch unbelievably soft, making my eyelids flutter closed. She drew the finger down my nose then over my lips then down my chin, making me smile.
“Such a beautiful girl,” she said, her tone light.
I opened my eyes then, smiling. She was, by nature, very nurturing, very loving. And I knew, even at my age, that I was very lucky. I knew, listening to my friends complain, that my mother wasn’t like theirs. Where theirs were impatient, mine was calm, with nothing but time for me. Where their mothers were busy, my mother stopped to hug me, wanting to know what was going on in my life. My mother was warm and beautiful, and when I grew up, I wanted to be her.
“That’s a pretty smile,” she whispered.
She leaned forward then, pressing a kiss to my nose, then to my forehead, her lips lingering, in no hurry, allowing me time to breathe in her scent, to enjoy the closeness.
She pulled away slowly, again smiling down on me. She cupped my cheek. “Sleep tight, angel.”
I nodded. Still she remained, her thumb caressing me with the softest touch. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”
When I opened them again, my bedroom was bathed in the light from the sun, leaving a wide band across the floor and onto my bed, warming me. It was the middle of summer; no school, no homework, nowhere to be, and nothing to worry about. I stretched, yawning, groaning. Then I lay there another few minutes before rolling out of bed. I needed to pee. And I was hungry.
I returned to my room for a pair of panties, my gaze landing on the pair I’d removed last night. There wasn’t much contrast between the white satin and the pink cotton of my comforter and I wondered if my mother had noticed them last night. If she had, she hadn’t said anything.
I entered the kitchen to find her standing at the stove, a stack of pancakes forming on a plate, another in the pan. She raised her arm, settling it over my shoulder, pulling me to her, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “How did you sleep, sweetheart?”
I squeezed her, nodding, my cheek against her breast, her scent combining with that of the pancakes. “Good. Thank you for sitting with me.”
“You’re welcome. Why don’t you get something to drink, and grab the syrup.”
“Kay.”
I spent the day with my friends; at the mall, at the park near our house, talking about boys and music and girls we liked and didn’t like. And all through the day my mind would drift to my father; to the feel of him hard against me, to the scent of him, to the feel of his warm breath in my ear.
And at dinnertime, I stole glances at him, admiring, as I did often, his wavy, dark hair and his bright blue eyes and his soft lips and the dimple on his chin and his big, strong hand as he lifted his glass.
I helped my mother clean the kitchen while my father went to take a shower. She asked about my day and I told her all the things we did. She said, “You know I don’t like it when you talk mean about other people, honey.”
My brows drew. “We weren’t talking mean.”
“Yes, you were. Referring to a boy as a dork is mean. Please don’t do that again.”
I nodded, feeling ashamed, like I’d let her down. She hugged me then. “I still love you, honey, but you’re getting too old to act like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
She hugged me for several minutes, swaying us, then she kissed my head. “Your father’s out of the shower. Why don’t you go take yours.”
“Okay.”
I stood under the spray of the shower, arms hanging limp, eyes closed as I fantasized about my father coming in, slipping in behind me, pulling me to him, wrapping me up in his strong arms, his penis pushing into my back as his hands slipped over my skin, teasing my nipples, pinching them, making me moan as I leaned back into him, my head against his chest.
I finished my shower frustrated, having tried to relieve the itch between my legs, but ultimately giving up. It wasn’t my fingers I wanted inside of me; I wanted him touching me, him taking me to the place I so desperately wanted to go.
I towel dried my hair and slipped into a pair of panties and a tee shirt, then, brush in hand, I made my way to the front room. My father was laying across the sofa, his head on the arm, his feet pressed to my mother’s thigh. I could feel his eyes on me as I knelt on the floor at my mother’s feet, holding the brush out to her.
She shook her head, amused. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
She took the brush and used it to describe a circle in the air above me. I turned, moving between her legs, my back to the sofa, my eyes closing as she began to pull the thing through my hair.
I was so relaxed by the time she set the brush aside that I was having trouble holding my head up. She gathered my hair into a tail and tickled my neck with it, making me giggle. She released my hair then. “Come up here and lay down.”
I got to my knees, turning, my gaze going to her thigh as she patted it. I glanced toward my father. He shifted his legs closer to the back of the cushions, making room for me, an unreadable expression on his face. I moved, sitting on the edge, lowering myself down onto her lap, her hand coming to rest on the side of my head, her thumb already moving. I brought my feet up, moving slowly, wondering if he was looking, knowing that if he was, he’d be able to see my panties. The thought thrilled me.
I closed my eyes, tuning out the sound of the TV, concentrating only on my mother’s touch, wanting to be nowhere else.
But soon she squeezed my shoulder. “Let me up, honey.”
I lifted my head then lowered it again when she stood, watching, mesmerized, as the thin film of her nightgown slid down over her panties, partially hiding them. She had, in my opinion anyway, the most beautiful skin, soft and creamy, tanned but not dark. She was an easy four inches taller than my five feet, four inches, with rounded hips and long, tapering legs. I’d seen more than one of the boys checking her out.
His hand on my foot caught my attention and I curled my toes as he pushed a thumb into my sole. He chuckled when I moaned. “How come you aren’t out with your friends? It’s a beautiful night.”
“And miss out on a foot rub?” I shook my head. “No thank you.”
He laughed softly. “You’re like a kitten.”
I remained silent, wanting nothing more than to rub up against him, to purr as he pushed himself into me.
I lifted my head, settling it back onto her thigh, her fingers moving immediately to my ear, tracing it, making me feel loved.
Once I was in bed, my mother came in to say goodnight. “Sweet dreams, my angel.”
“You too, Mom.”
I relaxed into the mattress, breathing in her scent when she leaned down to kiss me, my eyes closing.
And I lay there for many minutes, my mind on my father; on the foot rub he’d given me, his thumb pushing into my sole, pushing into the muscles near my toes, making me wet with desire for him.
I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t know that wanting him was wrong, quite the contrary; I was very aware of just how wrong it was, how illegal, how sinful. I knew that nobody would understand my feelings for him, not my friends, and certainly not my mother. But nonetheless, they were my feelings, and they were very real and very strong.
I pictured myself laying under him while he nibbled at my lips and my ears and my neck while his penis throbbed inside of me, pulsating to the beat of his heart, stretching me as he thrust into me, making me moan, making me wet, making me his.
I came, moaning low, shuddering, moving my legs restlessly against the sheet, wishing he’d been watching me. I brought my hand up under my nose, inhaling, my eyes closing. I slipped the fingers between my lips, tasting myself, swirling my tongue around and between them, stripping my juices off, my head swimming.
A lazy smile pulled my lips as I rolled out of bed, intent on sharing my new-found delight with my father. My plan was to again coat my fingers, then brush them over his lips, hoping he didn’t wake up in the process.
But as I reached the doorway to their room, I saw that his side of the bed was empty. I turned, padding softly back down the hall to the front room, the light from the TV telling me where I’d find him.
I stopped in the hall, my gaze going to the TV. He was watching an old black and white movie, a romance, by the looks the woman was giving the man.
I slipped back down the hall to my room, slipping my panties over my hips, depositing them on my bed, then moving back down the hall.
I was halfway to the front room when I heard the floor creak behind me. I stopped, turning, meeting my mother’s gaze, my mouth opening in surprise.
Her brow went up and she stopped, just at the entrance to my room. She held a hand out to me, palm up, wiggling her fingers, willing me to her.
I moved toward her, dread filling my stomach, knowing that, while she may not have noticed the white panties laying on my bed last nigh, she wouldn’t be able to miss the ones laying there tonight; the black satin would all but scream at her: Look at me!
I brought my hand up as I approached, laying it in hers, allowing her to pull me toward my room, trying as we moved to come up with a viable explanation for her.
She pulled me into my room and I watched, my stomach turning, as her head aligned itself perfectly with my panties. She stopped, staring at them for several moments before turning, my hand still in hers, her brow up, her gaze moving from the panties to my face. I dropped my gaze, unable to meet hers.
“Are those the ones you were wearing tonight?” she asked, her tone more curious than anything.
I nodded.
“What made you change them?”
My brows drew. I caught my cheek in my teeth, shrugging.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said, her tone low, patient.
But I could only shrug.
She reached out then, slowly, catching the hem of my shirt and lifting it, just enough to confirm her suspicions then allowing it to fall, soundlessly, pulling my stomach with it.
She lifted a hand then, setting in on my shoulder, allowing it to slide down my arm and into my hand. She pulled me with her as she moved the two steps to the bed, sitting, leaving me to stand between her legs, facing her, my head down, supremely embarrassed.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
I did, but only for a moment.
She brought her other hand up, lifting my chin with her finger. “What’s going on with you?”
I stared into her eyes, willing the words to come, to explain to her how I could concentrate on nothing but him, on nothing but having him inside of me. I knew, though, that I could stand here until the twelfth of never and I’d be no closer to telling her than I was now.
“Is he forcing you?” she asked, the words so quiet I almost missed them.
My gaze came up fast, my head shaking. She studied my eyes. “You can tell me, baby. I’ll protect you, I promise.”
“He’s not, Mamma, honest.”
For several long moments she stared, her eyes boring into mine, studying me. “How long has he been touching you?”
I shook my head, my gaze dropping.
“Tell me, baby. You’re safe with me.”
He tone was very gentle and easy, calming. I shook my head again. “He hasn’t touched me at all.”
She reached up then, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Not even last night?”
Again I shook my head, forcing myself to meet her gaze, wanting her to believe me.
“What made you take your underwear off?”
I couldn’t help the shy smile, my gaze dropping.
A smile pulled at her lips then. She shook her head. She took and released a long breath. “Was it your idea?”
I nodded once, wishing I could hide my face.
She brought her finger up under my chin again, forcing eye contact. “If you’re going to start playing adult games, young lady, you need to act like one.” She let go of my chin and I held her gaze. “Why did you take your underwear off?”
It was everything I had not to look away.
Intuition told me that I was safe with her, just as I always had been. I took a calming breath and released it. “I want him.”
And then I held my breath, waiting, willing myself to hold her gaze, somehow knowing that if I flinched now, I’d go back to being her little girl, the girl she needed to protect, from my father and from myself.
“So, what, you were hoping to seduce him?”
The words stung, and still I held her gaze, nodding once.
“He’s my husband, baby.”
Now my gaze fell. I took a deep breath and pulled it back up. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered. “I love you.”
Her brows drew, her head shaking just a bit. “Then why him?”
I gave her a pleading look. “I love him, Mamma.”
“He’s your father.”
“He’s safe.”
She shook her head slowly. “He’s safe,” she whispered, almost to herself. She pulled me to her then, my face going into her neck, hers into mine. “And what were you going to do if you succeeded in getting him interested in you?” she asked, her breath warm.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled me away from her, meeting my gaze. “Birth control, honey. You’re much too young to get pregnant.”
I shrugged. “It’s the wrong time in my cycle.”
She shook her head, amused. “You have this all figured out, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Except the part where I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, my tone sober.
“But you were willing to do it anyway?”
I took her hand, bringing it to my lips, nodding. “I need him, Mamma. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
For several long moments I stood there, holding her gaze, holding her fingers to my lips, waiting, refusing to look away.
And then she exhaled, her head shaking, her gaze dropping. “You can’t go out there like that,” she whispered.
I felt my stomach flutter.
“And trust me, sweetheart, you want your first time to be in a bed.”
I reached for her then, wrapping my arms around her neck, squeezing her as tight as I could. “Thank you, Mamma.”
She pushed me away from her, reaching for the hem of my shirt, tugging it. “Take this off.”
The idea of baring myself made me suddenly shy, but I took a deep breath and lifted the thing over my head, lowering my hands to my sides, resisting the urge to cover myself.
Her gaze dropped, her head shaking. “Such a pretty young woman,” she said, her tone soft. She surprised me then, lifting her hand, drawing the backs of her fingers over my nipple, making me shiver. “So pretty,” she whispered.
She lowered her hand to my stomach, drawing a circle around my belly button with a fingertip. “Are you sure this is what you want, baby?” she asked, her gaze coming up.
I nodded.
She stood then, taking my hands in hers, gathering my attention. “You say no at any time, baby, and I promise you he’ll stop.”
I nodded, my stomach full of butterflies. She dropped her gaze to our linked hands. “Promise me something?” She brought her gaze back up and I nodded. She said, “Promise me you’ll remember that this was your idea? That you wanted this?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
“In here or in our bed?”
I dropped my gaze, my head shaking. “In your bed.”
“And you’re sure about this?”
I nodded.
She smiled, her gaze moving down to my breasts then over my stomach, lingering a moment before coming back up. “Remember, baby,” she said, her tone low and husky. “Say no anytime you want. He’ll love you just the same either way, I promise you.”
I nodded, knowing instinctively that she was right.
She gestured toward the bed. “Why don’t you lay down here for a few minutes. I’ll get him settled.” Her brow twitched. “Warm him up a bit.”
I grinned, the butterflies taking off in my stomach at the implication of her words. She placed a kiss to my forehead. “Give me about ten minutes, okay?”
I nodded. And I watched her leave the room, knowing that soon, very soon, I would be laying naked with my father, that he would no longer see me as a little girl but rather as a woman. I would finally know what it felt like to have his hands on me, on my breasts, on my thighs. I would finally have him in my vagina.
I heard my mother’s voice in the hall as she led him to their room, stopping briefly in the bathroom. Then, all was quiet. I stared at the clock, watching the minutes tick by, listening, for what, I don’t know. But when the seven changed to an eight I rolled out of bed and moved out into the hall, still listening. As I approached their open door I stopped, my heartbeat suddenly hammering in my ears. My mother was sitting on the edge of the bed beside my father, one leg tucked up under her, one hand wrapped around his erect penis, stroking it, slowly, up and down. He was moaning, his head moving slowly from side to side, one hand under the hem of her nightie, fondling her nipple, his actions clearly visible through the thin material. I felt a bolt of excitement at the sight.
She smiled as I approached, my gaze going from her face to the hand she had wrapped around his hard shaft. I took the hand she held out to me, allowing her to pull me down beside her, and I watched, transfixed, as she drew my hand toward him. I sucked in a breath when my finger brushed against him, against the spot just below the bulbous head. She released my hand and I took it away, resting it on the bed, content to watch her for now, to see what she did, how she pleasured him. I watched as she rhythmically stroked him while varying her grip, noticing that the harder she squeezed, the louder he moaned and the larger and angrier his penis became, the skin slowly changing from reddish-pink to near purple.
“Doesn’t that hurt,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her ear.
She shook her head. “He loves to be squeezed,” she said, her breath in my ear. “Wanna try?”
I nodded, nervous. Her breath in my ear, she said, “Tight, sweetheart, like I’m doing.”
I nodded. And I watched as she took my wrist, pulling me toward him, letting go. Tentatively, I wrapped my hand around him, knowing the moment his head stopped moving that he knew something had changed, knew that it was no longer my mother’s hand on him. But just as he tried to lift his head, to open his eyes, she moved to him, kissing him, pushing him back onto his pillow. His one hand was trapped between them, the other, though, began to move. She either saw it or she anticipated it; either way she intercepted him, slipping her fingers into his, holding him still as she whispered something to him.
I still had a hold of him, but I was too nervous to move, too nervous to breathe. “Relax, baby,” she said, her voice now reaching me. She moved now, putting her lips to his ear, whispering to him. And as the last of the tension left him, I began to breathe again, my gaze going to my hand. He’d begun to soften some, and I squeezed him, tentatively, not too hard. It felt like a hard slab of meat in my hand, heavy, drooping over my fist, a string of clear liquid stretching from the hole at the tip to his stomach. I squeezed him again, harder, feeling the weight of him, his resulting moan encouraging me.
My mother leaned up now, raking her nails over his chest, her gaze going to my hand. And I watched, fascinated, as she reached out a finger, catching the stringy lubricant, wrapping it around her finger and bringing it up to her mouth, sucking it in, her gaze on mine, her eyes bright with mischief.
I made a face. She shook her head and reached down, wiping her finger over the tip, gathering the drop that remained there and bringing it up, wiping it on my lips. I ran my tongue over them, pulling it in, tasting it, smiling at her.
She shook her head, returning my smile. She reached down then, putting her hand over mine and squeezing. He moaned long and low, his penis pulsing in my hand, the head flaring, the shaft gathering length as well as girth. She removed my hand and re-positioned it, closer to the tip, just below the head and again squeezed me, moving me slowly up and down, further than looked comfortable to him, the skin stretching as we neared the base, his hair brushing against my skin.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t that hurt him?” I whispered.
She shook her head, pulling my hand free, taking him in hers. Watch, she mouthed.
I watched her wrap her thumb and forefinger around him, up near the head, watched as she lifted up, pulling the skin taut then wrapping the rest of her fingers around it. “No extra skin in your hand,” she said, her breath in my ear.
I nodded. She slid her hand down the length of him, the skin getting tight as she neared the base. Still, though, she moved lower, pulling at him, making him moan. She moved back up then, moving up and down only an inch or so, her grip increasing, the head beginning to turn color as blood filled it.
Ow! I mouthed.
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, telling me he loved it. And if his constant moaning was any indication, she was right.
She released him, his shaft falling heavy, bouncing on his stomach. It looked absolutely delicious laying there, twitching. I reached out, taking hold of it, lifting it, squeezing. Then, as she’d done, I circled it with my finger and thumb, though they didn’t quite reach around him, but I lifted as she’d done and then wrapped the rest of my fingers around him, squeezing, moving my hand down, smiling when he moaned.
“Feels nice, sweetheart,” he whispered.
I looked to his face, but his eyes were closed. I continued to pull the skin up and down, squeezing him as I watched his face, listened to his moans.
My gaze dropped and I watched as my mother caught another long strand of his drool on her finger, turning it this way and that, trying to gather it, and when she did she lifted it up, holding it out for me, slipping it into my mouth when I opened for her. My eyes closed, my stomach turning as I swirled my tongue around her finger, cleaning it. She pulled it free and I opened my eyes, smiling, shy.
She shook her head. “Naughty girl.”
She leaned over then, swiping her tongue over the head, gathering the drop there. He groaned then and she grabbed my wrist, pulling me away, allowing the heavy meat to drop to his stomach.
“You don’t want to get him too excited or he’ll come.”
My brows drew. “I thought that was the whole point.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You want it to last. You want to enjoy each other for as long as possible.” I nodded slowly. She pulled back, dropping her gaze. “Are you wet, sweetheart?” I rolled my eyes. She laughed softly. “Let him taste you. He loves that.”
My brows drew, my head shaking. And I watched, my pulse suddenly pounding as she slipped her hand between her legs, her gaze on me. A moment later she withdrew her hand, holding her fingers up, turning them, the faint light from the window making them glisten. She reached out then, holding them under his nose, and a moment later he opened his mouth. She pushed her fingers in and, as I’d done only a couple minutes ago, he cleaned them off with his tongue, moaning as he did. She shivered, pulling them free. Then she met my gaze, one brow up.
“What if he doesn’t like the way I taste?”
She shook her head. “Not likely, sweetheart.”
My brows drew. She surprised me then, laying her hand on my thigh, up high, sliding it closer, her gaze on mine. She stopped when I bit my lip. “Okay?” she murmured. I held her gaze a moment before nodding once. “Breathe, baby.” I blew out a long breath, but it caught a moment later when her fingertips met my lips. I grabbed her arm with both hands, holding it there, shaking my head when she began to withdraw. “Breathe.” I eased my grip on her arm as I exhaled. And I held her gaze as she moved the last inch, slipping through my folds, finding the wettest part of me. “Wet,” she whispered, her voice husky. I nodded, hissing when she began to pull her fingers free, my head shaking. “Like that, baby?” I nodded, a moment later falling forward, my fingers curling into the material of her nightie as her fingers brushed against my clit, teasing it, her touch barely there, making me groan against her chest. She laughed softly then pulled her hand free. I pulled away and watched, open-mouthed, as she slipped her fingers between her lips, her gaze on mine. She shook her head, her eyes telling me what I wanted to hear.
She pulled her fingers free of her lips and moved slowly toward me. And again I gripped her arm as she found me, as she stirred her fingers in me, toying me, making me dizzy. I leaned into her, releasing her arm and bringing my hands up, taking hold of her nightie, my fingers flexing and relaxing in the fabric while I moaned against her chest. I came then, her fingers, wet with my juices, teasing my clit, her touch barely there. She pushed a finger into me then, holding it still while I clenched at her, rhythmically, unable to hold myself up. And when I calmed and the dizziness subsided, I eased my grip and pulled back, meeting her gaze, my head shaking, my smile gone.
She pulled her finger free, making me shiver, and she brought it up, holding it out to me. My brows drew and I shook my head.
“Trust me, baby.”
I hesitated but, brows still drawn, I opened for her, inhaling my scent as her finger slipped in.
Intoxicating.
That was the only word I could think of to describe the smell. And the taste, though not as appealing as the smell, wasn’t bad. I made a face, dubious. She shook her head, smiling, easing her hand between us, back between my legs, making my eyes flutter as she slipped them between my lips, coating them, dragging them over my clit as she pulled them out. And I watched, lip caught in my teeth as she offered them to my father. I hadn’t noticed, but he’d been watching us, though with my mother’s position, he couldn’t see me. Now, though, as I leaned around her, meeting his gaze as he worked his tongue over her fingers. My stomach turned at the sight, at the sound of his moan.
“Like sugar, baby,” he said, his tone low and thick.
I smiled, shy.
“Can I have some more?”
I nodded. My mother got up then and crawled up from the foot of the bed, stretching out beside him, her nightie coming up to reveal that, like me, she wasn’t wearing panties.
My father patted the bed, urging me closer. I moved, nervous, to the spot my mother had occupied. He shook his head. “Up on your knees, sweetheart.” I moved, slowly, unsure what he wanted. “Spread your knees.” I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, in my ears, as I complied, moving my knees about half a foot apart, lip caught in my teeth. My gaze tracked my mother’s hand as she reached out to him, hefting him. His voice brought me back to him.
“Wider, honey.”
Sitting on my heels, I leaned back, taking the weight off my knees, and I began to spread them, watching his eyes, thrilling to see his gaze on my sex. He nodded. “Lean back on your hands, honey.”
I spared my mother a glance. She nodded. I returned my gaze to his and leaned back onto my arms. This was, without doubt, the most obscene thing I’d ever done. Sitting as I was, knees wide apart, I could practically feel his gaze on me, on my lips.
“Beautiful,” he said, his head shaking. He reached out then, laying his hand on the inside of my knee, teasing my skin with the tips of his fingers.
“Sweetheart…”
I turned to meet her gaze. She wiggled his length, offering it to me, her hand still slowly stroking him, though not as hard as before. I reached out, but rather than release him, she moved her hand to the bottom, wiggling her hand, the end of him swaying in the air like a flagpole in a gale. I caught him, wrapping my fingers around him, squeezing gently, turning to meet his gaze. He rolled his eyes, moaning. I smiled. “Does that feel good?”
He nodded. “Feels wonderful, sweetheart.”
She released him then, moving her hand to his thigh, leaving him all to me. I repositioned my hand as she’d shown me earlier and began to stroke him, my gaze on his. He nodded. I increased my grip, catching my lip in my teeth, and I pulled my hand down onto his groin, watching, fascinated, as his head went back, eyes closing, a long, low moan escaping his lips.
I continued to stroke him, watching, mesmerized, as his fingers stroked the inside of my thigh. From my position, though, he couldn’t reach me. And as much as I wanted him to, there was something I wanted even more; I wanted him inside of me. I’d been fantasizing about it for months. And now, with the feel of him in my hand, I longed to lay back and guide him into me, to open my legs and let him at me. Emboldened, I leaned over him, pulling my hand all the way to the base of him, squeezing him, and I swiped my tongue through the gathered juice at the tip of him, making him groan. I met my mother’s gaze, returned her smile before opening my lips for him. And though it was thrilling to have him in my mouth, it isn’t what I wanted just then. I allowed him to slip out. “Can I have him now?”
She brought her hand to mine, running a finger over my hand where it gripped him. “Sure this is what you want?”
I nodded, feeling my stomach flutter. She moved her hand to his stomach, scratching him lightly. “Let her lay down, big boy.”
I released him then, reluctantly, and he rolled up. I laid down where he’d been, the spot warm, his pillow full of his scent, my gaze meeting his. I felt her hand on my thigh, pulling, gently. I moved, opening my legs for him, holding his gaze as my mother pulled more insistently, urging me wider. I continued to hold his gaze as her fingers inched their way up to the top of my thigh, brushing against my labia then pulling at it, opening me, making me moan. And I held his gaze when she teased her fingertips into my wetness, gathering it and dragging it up to my clit, making me jump. Then she patted the top of my mound. “Come here, big boy.”
He moved between my legs, his gaze locked with mine. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispered.
“I want you,” I said, my voice thick with desire.
“You have me, honey. Tell me what you want. You need to ask for it.”
I stared at him, unable to say the words. My mother broke the silence. “Take hold of him, honey. Show him where you want him.”
I reached out to him, wrapping my fingers around him. Though it had only been less than twenty minutes since first touching him, I knew that I was already addicted to the feel of him in my hand. I squeezed him, watching his eyes. Then I began to move my hand, slowly, stroking him, nodding.
“Tell me what you want, baby girl.”
“I want you inside of me.”
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
He leaned forward then and I guided him to me, hissing when he touched me, moaning, struggling to hold his gaze as he began to part my lips. I stroked him slowly, unwilling to let him go but knowing I needed to. I knew then that I’d need to have my hands on him often.
He pushed at me, making my eyelids flutter as I began to stretch around him. I nodded, still stroking the length of him. He pushed against me, his heartbeat evident in my hand.
“Let him go, baby. Lay back.”
I released him, reluctantly, moaning long and low as the head slipped past my lips, spreading me. He stopped, just the head in, giving me a few moments to get used to the feeling. I nodded, reaching for him, running my hands up and down his sides. He began to push in, slowly. I blew out a breath, trying desperately to hold his gaze. I wanted to kiss him, to feel his tongue against mine, but I knew that, for the first time anyway, I wanted to see his eyes as he filled me, as he made me his. He stopped, his penis halfway in, and I wondered if it would even fit. He pulled back a bit then moved slowly in and out, just an inch or so, lubricating himself with my juices.
He pushed further now, gently, slowly, easing more of his meaty flesh into me, moaning as he did. He shook his head. “Tight.”
I nodded, running my nails up and down his sides, wanting more and less at the same time, wanting to scream from the pain of being stretched but also wanting him to push the rest into me, all at once. I released the hold I had on my lip. “Full,” I murmured.
He shook his head, smiling. “Not yet, baby.”
Slowly he worked the rest in until, at last, I felt the curly hair at the base of him, pressing against my clit, teasing me, making me moan as I dug my nails into his skin. I exhaled now, willing my muscles to relax around him, and slowly I settled into the mattress, my head shaking, a lazy smile forming.
“How does it feel, sweetheart?”
I turned to meet her gaze, rolling my eyes, shaking my head. I moaned low in answer.
He began to pull out, snatching my attention from her, my fingers curling, forcing my nails into his skin, my gaze going to his, lip caught in my teeth. I groaned as the head slipped past my lips, then I sagged into the bed, releasing a long breath. “Wow.”
They chuckled. I smiled, but it quickly disappeared as he once again began pushing against my lips. This time, though, when the head popped in, it didn’t hurt as much. And as he began feeding me the rest of his length, I nodded, my gaze on his.
“Like that, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Want more?”
I nodded even as he began to push the length into me, my eyelids fluttering. He continued until again he was buried. And he held himself there, slowly moving his hips, grinding his wiry hair against my clit, making me moan, making me shiver.
I moved my hands from his sides, up under his chest, pushing my arms up the sides of his neck then began pulling him to me, my eyes closing as his lips touched mine, soft and warm. I moaned when he began to nibble at my lips, groaned when he began to pull out again. I shook my head then moaned into his mouth when he pushed back in, hard, pushing me down into the bed. He pulled back enough to see my eyes and again he pulled out then forced his way back in. I cried out, nodding, pulling him back to me, pushing my tongue against his. As my mother had said, it felt absolutely wonderful to have him inside of me, to have him stretching me.
He broke the kiss again, again pulling back to meet my gaze. “Good?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered. “Feels amazingly wonderful.”
He slowed to a stop, his penis pulled half out, his head shaking.
“Don’t stop, Daddy.”
“Gonna come if we keep going,” he said, his voice strained.
“Please, Daddy, don’t stop.”
He pushed in then, hard, burying himself in me, his large, bulbous head pressed against the back wall of my vagina, at the mouth of my cervix. And he thrust against me, over and over, not pulling out, just pushing me down into the mattress. He was moaning constantly now, and he dipped his head, trying to kiss me. I caught his cheeks, holding him a few inches away, holding his gaze as he ground into me. I nodded, feeling him begin to throb. I lifted my legs then, opening myself up to him, fully, staring into his eyes as he filled me, stretched me. And when he began to sag in my arms I pulled his lips to mine, nipping at them, searching out his tongue, toying it with mine. And when I broke the kiss, I moved my lips to his ear. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, baby girl.”
I smiled when I felt her finger tracing my ear. I turned, meeting her gaze. She shook her head. “So fucking sexy,” she whispered. I smiled, shy. She drew the backs of her fingers over my cheek. “Think I created a monster.” My brows drew. She said, “Gonna give him back now?”
I shook my head, tightening my hold on him. He laughed soundlessly. I turned my head, nibbling his ear.
“I need to move, sweetheart.”
I groaned but released my hold on him, taking a deep breath now that he was no longer laying atop me. I moaned as he pulled out.
He chuckled. “Miss me already?”
I nodded, pouting. He rolled to the side, blowing out a breath. My mother moved, laying between my legs, her gaze on my sex. “No blood,” she murmured, moving closer.
I began to close my legs, not wanting her to see the mess I knew was there; I could feel a trail of fluid running between my cheeks, and I knew it wasn’t all his. She pushed her hands up my thighs, spreading my legs, her head shaking. She met my gaze. “Let me clean you up, baby.”
I watched, nervous, as she began to move closer. “Mamma…”
“Shhh… It’s okay, baby. Close your eyes.”
My father moved closer then, bringing his lips to mine, making me moan when our tongues met. I cried into his mouth a moment later, moaning long and low when she began to swirl her tongue around my lips, tasting me, us, teasing me. She spent several minutes down there, her tongue moving around the wettest part, making me pant, making me crazy. But when she came up, flicking her tongue against my clit, I dug my fingers into her hair, pulling her to me, crying out into his mouth as I came, my body shuddering, convulsing, over and over.
She moved then, up between my legs, pressing kisses up over my stomach, between my breasts. My father moved then, my mother kissing her way up my throat, finding my lips, teasing them with hers. I locked my wrists behind her neck as her tongue teased mine, my stomach turning deliciously as I tilted my hips up into her, rubbing myself against her stomach.
It was in those first few moments, her lips fused to mine, her tongue sliding sensuously against mine, her hair soft and silky against my forearms, her lush breasts pressed to mine, my sex pressed up against her stomach, ankles locked behind her, that I realized I would never want to be without a woman in my life. She was unbelievably soft and sensual, and I couldn’t get enough of her lips and tongue.
We kissed until my lips were swollen. And when we finally stopped, we curled up together, holding each other until my father roused us with his gentle touch.
“Dinner, ladies.”
