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I realize I normally put disclaimers, so it feels weird not to have one. Ummm… if you demand absolute realism from your erotica, I don’t recommend this tale. Otherwise, not much to say. I realize I gravitate toward long, multipart premises in my stories, so I wanted to try a one-and-done for a change. I’m not sure how well it works, but I appreciate constructive and nourishing comments… especially if you’re cool, which I bet you are.
All characters participating in sexual activity in these stories are 18+.
* * *
“David!” As the water rained down mere feet away, my wife’s insistent voice came in the darkness.
In the inky blackness of our bedroom, the only sign of her was her whisper, nearly drowned out by the insistent storm still raging outside as it had been since just before midnight.
“Hmm?” I muttered. Lying as we were, I faced away from Janet’s spot on the bed, my back pointed toward her.
“We’ve lost power!” She rubbed my shoulder, trying to get my attention. Going commando as I usually did, her hand felt cold on my warm, tense body.
“I-I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said in a groggy voice. I was far less sleepy than I’d hoped I’d sounded, because spooning next to me in the darkness of our marital bed was our daughter Alice, completely naked.
I had difficulty focusing because my cock was buried deep in in our teenager’s tight, wet kitty. Her self-trained Kegel exercises kneaded and massaged my manhood. “It’s not like we can do much. H-hopefully it won’t be so long the food spoils.”
Alice guided my left hand to her pert breast, encouraging me to maul her mammary mound and needy nipple. She otherwise remained perfectly quiet and motionless, save for the minuscule movements made by the mounting tension in her body.
Janet’s story clearly began a minute ago when she woke up due to a particularly piercing thunderclap.
My story began about 15 minutes earlier, when I was awoken to the feel of warm, wet lips on my soft, sleeping shaft.
“Wha-?!” I started, but I felt a small hand over my mouth.
“It’s time,” Alice whispered in my ear, before returning to work her tongue on my swelling hardness. As I grew in her mouth, she bobbed her head in increasing eagerness. Having successfully encouraged my straining cock to its full length, she started using her hands to rub my wettened shaft while she focused on swirling her tongue along and around my sensitive helmet. Even with the cover of the storm, knowing my wife was asleep mere inches away both aroused and terrified me, and I did everything I could to shift my body and thoughts to be as quiet as possible.
How did this start? I found myself wondering.
I realized 15 minutes ago wasn’t the beginning, but the end of the beginning.
My actual story began months earlier.
Not terribly long after she turned 18 almost a year ago, Alice — I realized in hindsight — set her sights on seducing me.
It began with an “accidental” bump against my crotch on a college tour…
Pressing her ass against me on a crowded subway, seeming to rub her body in inflated reaction to the rumbling of the metal ride…
Snuggling closer than she ever had on family movie night, her hand on my leg, squeezing and rubbing up my thigh on particularly “scary” moments…
The final straw — or the final of the first straws — came after a couple months of this inappropriate escalation.
“What are you doing?!” I remember whispering after a too-brief ride in an elevator alone with her at the modern-art museum. The doors closed, and the jostle of the moving cabin sent her exaggeratedly backwards. Her hand pressed against my chest for purchase before sliding down my stomach, into my pants and underwear.
She leaned her back against me while still holding on, her grip encircling my manhood and giving it a tight squeeze-tug. She started stroking me with insistent jerks. I felt powerless to resist as I grew larger and thicker in that moving metal box.
I knew there were likely security cameras everywhere, but I didn’t know if Alice’s interposition of her body against mine obfuscated her obscene activity.
“What am I doing?” she whispered nonchalantly. “Whatever I want, daddy. Whatever. I. Want.”
“Th-this isn’t right…” I moaned, seemingly petrified to stop her as I strained against her hand. Her thumb slid across the fluid leaking at the top of my cockhead, then encircled it to smear my clear wetness all along the engorged bulb.
“I agree,” she pouted. “This isn’t right.” I swallowed in nervous tension as she continued, whispering, her face and body still pointed away from mine: “It isn’t right because your big, hard dick is in your pants, and not in my warm, waiting mouth… or my wet, willing pussy. Bad daddies don’t give their daughters what they want… what they desperately need. Selfish, selfish daddies.” Her singsong murmur echoed yenimahalle escort through the elevator, until the grinding of its gears came to a stop and she withdrew her hand.
“Oh… ride’s over, daddy.” The doors opened. “For now.” She looked me in the eye as she pointedly licked her sticky thumb while stepping out backwards. Her tongue flitted over her finger’s tip as she turned and walked into the museum.
I quickly untucked my shirt and hoped that the tent-like effect of the garment covered my straining, unsatisfied staff buried in my slacks. It wasn’t until the Förg exhibit that my raging erection finally calmed enough for me to think clearly. I didn’t much care for the paintings — too minimalist for my liking — but at least I wasn’t breathing like a madman.
Alice said nothing more about the encounter for the rest of the tour… or the rest of the day. I didn’t dare say anything — nor could I even think of what I would say.
In the days and weeks that followed, the tantalizing teenager resumed her “unintentional” touches in our day-to-day lives:
On an otherwise ordinary Monday evening, she happened to not be wearing a bra when reaching high for plates on the top shelf, the two open buttons of her sheer white shirt providing a side view of her sultry slopes. She must have sensed me watching, because she paused mid-reach to stretch and arch her arms behind her back, one plump nipple poking out from the front of her garment. She nonchalantly adjusted her shirt, tweaking her nub with her thumb three times before hiding it away. And then she grabbed the dishes.
Another streaming movie night we were all on our lengthy couch, and Alice sat between Janet and me. By outward appearances the young woman seemed bored by Robert Downey Jr.’s Senate-confirmation subplot, and she laid her head down in my lap. She then proceeded to rub her soft cheek in slow, almost imperceptible circles on the crotch of my sweatpants.
Sometimes, I could feel, she was sticking her tongue in her cheek against my stirring bulge, licking the inside of her own mouth and flicking over my concealed erection. She did this for nearly two hours. All the while I rested my hand on her chestnut hair — so like her mother’s — and combed her with my fingers in long and longing strokes that were calmer than my pulse.
All the while my eyes darted to my wife, who seemed oblivious to the display happening mere inches away from her. Janet’s own hand was resting on Alice’s hip in a far more innocent maternal gesture.
Toward the end of the movie, Alice feigned falling even further asleep and put her head down entirely in my lap. With her mouth fully open, she proceeded to gum my straining and restrained shaft through my pants, teasing the pulsing plum at my tip with her tongue through two layers of clothes. This slice of her sensual teasing only lasted about 30 minutes… still more than enough time for her to soak my front with her saliva and me to drench my underpants with my own fluids.
It was an incredibly long film, and I found the ending neither suitably explosive nor satisfying.
Still another evening while Janet was doing yardwork outside, I went to use the hallway restroom. The door was closed but ajar and the light was off — the house’s universal sign that it was available. But when I opened it, I saw Alice seated on the lid-down toilet, furiously rubbing her slick clit with one hand while using the other to tweak and tease her nipple through her open blouse. Cast in shadows, the left side of her body had a cyan hue in the darkened room, lit as she was only by the blue-canary nightlight by the sink.
Seeing me, she just smiled, then sank three fingers into her swollen slit, the squish squish squish of her sopping pussy echoing obscenely in the restroom. Ill lit as the scene was, I could see her dew glistening on her brown matted pubic hair. She never broke eye contact as she churned her lecherous chamber with ever-increasing tempo.
Battling my complete blue-screened brain, it took several moments for me to break eye contact and close the bathroom door with a slam. My every instinct was to run down the hall, to put as much distance as I could between us. I didn’t. Instead, I lingered outside the wooden barrier and leaned closer to hear what I could.
Through the solid wood door, I still heard the shlick shlick shlick of her slippery self-satisfaction, until a few minutes later the plunging sounded more staccato and I heard her moan: “Nngh… nghhh… nnnghhh… d-d-d-D-DADDYYYYYYYYY! Daddy-daddy-daddy-PLEASE-daddy-please-please-PLEASE ngh ngh NNGGHHHHHhhh… “
If I were anywhere else the house, I would have heard her cacophonous cumming with crystal-clear clarity. If anyone else lived at home besides us three, they would have heard it, too. As it was, near-pressed as I was against the bathroom door, yeşilköy escort her blissful braying blasted into my brain like a bullet of lust. I only prayed that Janet was sufficiently outside and away from earshot.
Retreating to my room, I looked at my purple, straining cock. I was breathing like I’d just completed a 5K run, and my cockhead had a pearly-white drop of not-clear fluid emerging from its straining, twitching slit, indicating how close her sonic stimulation had been to triggering my most-primal release.
Within three minutes I took the coldest shower possible, desperately trying to rein in my head, my heart, and my head.
And these were the most noteworthy incidents. They don’t include the countless hallway brushes. Alice leaning on the kitchen counter and pressing her breasts together “accidentally” whenever I was within eyeshot. Her slowly licking Kerrygold butter off a knife at the dinner table. Leaving just her unwashed pink panties atop my clean underwear when I took a shower.
But my daughter’s final domino was put into place when Janet needed to get the Toyota Avalon we received from her parents registered at the Department of Motor Vehicles. My wife had been gone for a while — in the way that DMV trips are often soul-sucking experiences — but the house had otherwise been quiet and calm. I’d gotten a head start on itemizing needed items for the forthcoming taxes, a box of paperwork and laptop my kitchen-table companion.
Alice was at home as well, on the couch in the other room, doing whatever teenagers do on their telephone.
My cell phone rang; it was Janet, the phone helpfully informed me, so I answered it and was greeted by her voice. “Hey, honey… I’m having problems with the registration. Hopefully you can help.”
“Of course!” I said. “What’s up?”
“Well, I’m trying to get the title transferred over, but the Avalon’s loan paperwork is still in Vince and Joanna’s name. Now, they said the loan’s paid off, and I’m pretty sure I remember that’s right, but their system isn’t showing that. Can you help?”
I was distracted by the word “Vince” in my wife’s monologue. Not because I’m particularly startled at hearing my father-in-law’s name (I am), but rather because Alice had taken this as her golden opportunity to slide under the kitchen table, open my pants, and loosen my sexual snake from its underwear. By mention of “paid off,” my cock was entirely free, and by “help” the entirety of my manhood was in Alice’s mouth, where she was sucking and licking my entire package with greedy gulps.
I swear, my daughter must have been twice as fast as an Afghan Hound snatching up a piece of dropped bacon.
“S-sure,” I stammered, desperately trying to concentrate. I shot Alice a glare. The corners of her well-stuffed mouth turned up in a grin, and her eyes lit up in impish delight.
“Everything okay?” asked Janet, the DMV’s background din echoing over the phone.
“FINE!” I said, too excited. “Everything’s fine.” My dick had sprung to life in a way that startled me and must have startled Alice as well, as she gurgled and gasped at the sudden growing intrusion into the back of her throat. “Just… taxes. A little distracting.”
“Ahh, yes,” commiserated Janet. “The magical time of year where the government grabs you by the balls, eh?”
“S-something like that,” I stammered, marveling at my wife’s and Alice’s coincidental synergy. The teenager’s needy hand had freed my sack and was kneading it gently along with her mouthly ministrations.
“So, can you help?” Janet continued.
“Sure! Yes. Right. Proof of… loan… paperwork…” I started typing at the laptop. Fortunately, I scanned everything related to that, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to find. Under normal circumstances, that is.
But when a beautiful teenaged woman was stabbing her own face with my cock, that was a complication they didn’t teach about in Accounting for Dummies.
And my daughter was determined. This was not the slow, playful dabbling Alice had partaken of in past encounters. This was a woman on a mission, with the same sense of purpose as the forces behind the Normandy invasion or the Apollo 11 moon landing… only her overriding order was to deliver the world’s best blowjob, as quickly as possible. John F. Kennedy would have been proud.
“L-let’s see… Avalon, Avalon,” I muttered into the phone, accidentally typing Avalod into Windows’ search function, followed by Abalob and then Sbs;pm my first three times. It was getting more difficult to concentrate the faster Alice’s saliva-soaked hand stroked my straining shaft while flitting her tongue on the underside of my helmet.
“Take your time, no rush… buuuut we’re all in a hurry,” teased Janet. I loved her humor.
“Ngh. L-lot of folks in a hurry today,” I said, to which Alice snickered, the yeşilyurt escort vibrations of her laugh transferring tantalizingly onto my cock. “Anyway, I have it…” I said triumphantly, on my sixth attempt at typing six fucking letters. “It’s a PDF. How do you need it?”
“Can you fax it?” said Janet. And then we both laughed slightly — a running gag about how, no, we don’t use faxes, because we didn’t live in 1987. Our shared joke was interrupted by a question from my wife: “Is… everything okay?”
“Hmm?” I asked, in equal parts heaven and fear.
“I hear… I don’t know… like, the sink backing up?”
I realized Alice’s esophageal efforts were getting louder, the barely concealed gagging of her own thrashing throat coming through crystal clear on Sprint’s Family Plan.
“Oh… oh… oh!” I said in realization, horror, and increasing erotic tension. “I… yeah. No. I mean, yeah,” I said, clearly engaging as the stunning conversationalist that was the reason Janet married me. In fairness, every frantic fiber of my being was on fire from my daughter’s delightful endeavor. “The… dishwasher. I must’ve loaded it weird.”
“Yeah, it’ll do that,” commiserated Janet. “Anyway, no. Email is fine.” She gave me the email address of the customer service representative, and I clicked SEND. Less than 30 seconds later — including another half-minute of wet-and-warm teenage deepthroat action — my wife chirped her approval. “We got it! Thanks, David, for helping put this to bed; I’d hate to have this all blow up in our faces.”
I was so close. I could feel my balls tense up into my body, and Alice’s hand responded accordingly. I was soooooo close… “Yeah, no problem. B-bye, dear!” I stammered.
“Goodb-” and then I hung up.
“Oooohhhh,” said Alice, disengaging entirely from my cock with an audible pop. A thick strand of clear sticky fluid briefly connected my dick and her mouth, before it snapped back to her lips like a liquid rubber band. “Call’s over? Hope it’s okay you got… disconnected.” She smiled, wiping her mouth.
My quivering purple cockhead was inches from her kneeling face, a steady stream of precum flowing from its seeping, seething form.
“W-what?” I said.
“Call’s done. I should let you get back to work now. Bye, daddy!” She stood up and straightened her My Chemical Romance Black Parade T-shirt.
My head was full of the cottony lust and blue-ball clarity. Realizing what had transpired, I desperately tried to salvage some dignity and control. “Alice, this has gone far enough,” I said. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it needs to stop.”
There was a long silence between us as she examined me like a biology student would look at a pinned frog. “You don’t call out mom’s name,” she said.
“W-what?” I said, for the second time in less than two minutes.
“The walls in this house are pretty thin. You’ve been giving it to her good lately. Like, knock the ceiling down. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard as much as I have before… let’s see… about six months ago, give or take. A few months after my eighteenth birthday. I keep hearing you pound pound pound and just fuck the ever-loving shit out of mom. And she loves it. Probably feels like a teenager again herself. She just keeps moaning your name… ‘David, oh, Daaaaavvvviiid… ‘ “
Hearing my daughter imitate her mother’s orgasmic moans while saying my name, my face must have been as beat red as the slowly calming head of my cock.
“You’re not the only one who can listen at doors, daddy.” She smiled.
“I think you’r-“
“And you’ve been so hard on her. You keep breaking condoms, you’re so rough. She got really nervous just about a month ago, almost exactly, as I recall. That was the same night you saw me in the bathroom, daddy, wasn’t it? Mom didn’t think you were going to stop, that night, even though there was nothing between you and her except the tattered remains of the protection futilely encircling your cock base. How hard was it to think, daddy, when you were driving her hips into the mattress over and over? When she was struggling to form coherent thoughts as your insistent thrusting brought her to orgasm after orgasm? I know you stopped, but I also know you didn’t want to.”
“Please, I don’t underst-“
“But here’s the thing,” she interrupted. “That night. Last week. Two weeks ago. Whenever you two are… enjoying each other’s company, lately. You don’t call her name. You used to, I’m pretty sure… before… y’know.”
She kept her eyes on me and continued. “Soooo… your sex has clearly never been better, with mom. She’s screaming your name so that the whole house can hear. So… why aren’t you saying her name?”
She smiled and took a step back from me, looking me up and down like a lion sizing up a gazelle.
“What’re you thinking of, daddy? Who are you thinking of, daddy?” She looked at me with insincere pouting, curious eyes. “Anyone we know, daddy? Anyone’s name you want to say, daddy?”
“Alice…” By now, my erection had subsided enough that I could stuff it in my pants and maintain some parental authority. I took one step toward her and grabbed her hands. “This has to stop. However you think this is going to end, it’s not.”
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