Okay, for better or for worse, here's a continuation of Take Me, Tom. Yeah, I can hear a couple of groans already! God knows how this is going to work, but I hope I can hold your interest. I'm enjoying it, so... The usual thanks to Kenji for keeping me on the straight, and narrow on my punctuation. As always, any and all mistakes land on my shoulders. Comments, as always, are welcome. Thanks...The story, unless otherwise noted, is from Chloe's POV.
Daddy, Take Me
Chapter 1
Chloe, aged 33,
Remembrance of Days Past
If I remember correctly, and I'm certain I do, because there are specific occasions indelibly imprinted in our minds. I'm sitting here on the balcony of our flat, a cool, welcome breeze on my full body, and my mind wandering all over, my belly swelling with our child inside. For some reason, my mind travelled back to my birth father, Jack, and my life since Uncle Tom arrived. So many of those memories have faded now, for better or for worse. God knows why I was in such a pensive mood. Perhaps because there's a new generation being born, adding to our story, and history. Or maybe, I'm just feeling a bit sullen today because the sun isn't shining. Nonetheless...
I was still living at home, twenty, and still figuring out what I wanted my life to be. I was certain it would entail floriculture in some manner, shape or form. I was two years into my three-year horticulture course at Kew, and my life shouldn't have been better. I loved being at home with my family, and was in no hurry to move out. After all, I had two sisters to look after, and the influence of their older sibling would be welcome.
I was in the family office, now moved to the annexe, and using my dad's computer, as I had left mine at Kew. I needed to retrieve some work from the Cloud, and asked if I could borrow his, and he told me to go ahead, foolishly giving me his password. I was searching through the documents, looking for mine that I had uploaded, and saw one labelled, 'Memories--Take Me, Tom.' [Hmmm, I thought.] For all I knew, it had nothing to do with sex, but with the way I had been lately, my mind jumped to conclusions. I knew I shouldn't be invading his privacy, but...I opened the document, and began to read. I read the first chapter, my face flushed, and my imagination inflamed. I scrolled down tens of chapters 'til I came to more recent revelations. Let's be honest, no child needs to hear, much less read, of their parents' sex life, but I was intrigued. I chuckled to myself, as I scanned through a few pages, feeling more like the voyeur I knew I was. I closed down the document, a wave of guilt overcame me, and a sense that, yes, I was intruding, but I had read dad's words, private words, his private thoughts. They were extremely erotic, as my moist panties would attest to!
I had found my paper, and tried to add my notes, to no avail. My mind was wandering to places other than my horticulture study. I had always assumed that our mums and dad were extremely impassioned people but, my God! It was probably true what he wrote, but goodness! I thought that a few details should be addressed, as dad seemed to gloss over what I felt were important moments. So, that was his story, and, dear reader, this is my take.
I was still shocked that he had written about these years of his life, beginning with his unrestrained relationship with my mother, his sister. David and I had known for years about my mum and Tom's relationship. After their disclosure, just after my eighteenth birthday (Happy Birthday to ME!), unknowingly, they had given me the best present ever! I remember chuckling the night they told us, and mom getting mad at me.
As aroused as I was, when I read a small portion of dad's exposé, my mind began to wander, completely forgetting the paper I needed to annotate. I was so distracted that I quickly left the annexe, crossed the garden, ran to my parents' bedroom, and rummaged through the laundry basket, finding his work shirt from yesterday. I brought it to my face, and inhaled my daddy's musky, earthy, manly scent. I ran back into the annexe, adjusted the blinds, slipped off my t-shirt, and brought my dad's shirt around my body, slowly buttoning it up about halfway. He was either my 'dad' or 'daddy', depending on my, uh, mood. Right now, he was dad, but I was certain that would change in a few minutes.
I wasn't wearing a bra because, well, I didn't really need one, I remember giggling to myself. My Mummy Emily needed one. My Mommy Chrissie, hmm, sometimes, I guess. Me? Definitely not, but I did make up for it with my long, tight nipples. I would sometimes wear a bralette, the loose, uncupped material feeling so good against my chest. If I wanted to feel extra good, I'd wear one of my silk blouses, the soft material causing my nipples proudly stick out from under the fabric.
But I should have been doing coursework, not sitting down to masturbate!
My mind, and body wouldn't let me. I had only two options, head out for a long walk, or retreat to my bedroom, and relieve the beautifully-agonising itch that was creeping up my body. I must take after my mums because I quickly crossed the yard again, and ran upstairs to my room.
I slid my loose shorts down my lithe legs, and left them pooled on the floor. I jumped on my bed, adjusted my pillows, and needed to decide, fingers or vibrator? Hmm? Fingers. Definitely fingers. I needed a long, slow buildup for
this one.
I pulled daddy's (see how quickly things can change?) shirt around me, hugging it, as I hug him. My fingers trailed over my now-erect nipples, my fingertips just rubbing the tips. My body shook at the first, glorious twitch of my nippies. [Fuck, this is going to be a good one, I thought!] I ran little circles around them both, teasing myself by not touching them. My fingers swirled around my small mounds, my nipples becoming engorged from the thoughts rippling through my mind.
I thought of my daddy, my strong, handsome, masculine daddy. I pictured his face, his jawline, his lips. God...his fucking lips, I thought, as one hand delved into my tight, smooth panties. I snickered as my scent reached my nose. Mmmm, daddy...I need your firm fingers down...there. My fingers sloshed around my vulva, trying desperately to put off my delicious orgasm. I rubbed my nips a little harder now, the connection between them, and my pussy complete. All I needed was daddy's lips on mine. Fuck! That would do it. Just one little kiss.
My fingers slipped through my labia, delightfully sodden now, as I imagined daddy doing all the things with me that he did with my mums. I stuck two fingers deep inside me, my back arching under the sensation. Would daddy pick me up, slip my panties off and fuck me against the wall downstairs, not even waiting to pull me into his bedroom, just like he did to my mommy so long ago? My God, that first chapter in his memoir stoked my imagination. My fingers pierced my labia, as I had always hoped daddy would. I moaned a long, "Ooooooh," wishing they were his fingers. I pulled my taut nipple, my little shriek filling the room. My thumb ran over my clit, another jolt lifting my petite ass from the mattress. [Make it last, Chloe, I told myself. Make it last.] I quickly pulled my panties off, and spread my legs lewdly. [Look at me, daddy. Please. Just...just look, I thought.] I licked my finger, grasped my hard, yet pliable, nipple and pulled it, stretching the flesh, as I so enjoyed doing. I looked down at my swollen nub, wishing my daddy would open my door, and take it, suck it, lick it, even bite it; I wouldn't care.
I slid another finger in, moving them around inside me, as I imagined daddy doing. No, daddy would be tender, then rough. His proud fingers would be firm and strong, teasing his Chloe, as I was certain, only he could. My thumb began to rub my little clitty more persistently. I couldn't help myself. I could just hear my low moans. "Daddy...just...please...harder, daddy...take it, daddy. Take..." I groaned, and fucked myself with my hand, my thumb pressing down on my clit, and moving it around. I pulled my nipples harder, my breath gasping, as I imagined daddy's cock deep inside me, pleasuring me, taking me, and with a low grunt, I came, my body quivering from the force of my fingers, and my imagination. I thrust my hips onto my fingers, fill
ing my cunt with the hard flesh I so needed.
My daughterly juices flushed from my lips, running down my crevice, and coating my tight, little butthole. My sheets were soaked. My fingers drifted along my labia, still slowly stroking myself. [Damn, why was my boyfriend away this weekend? I thought.] I slowly came down from my urgent cum, rubbing my wet fingers on my breasts, coating them in the vain hope daddy would smell me. I had to talk with my mums, I just had to. They'd understand, wouldn't they, I thought? I wouldn't go behind their backs, much less overtly flirt with my daddy. This wasn't my fault, was it? It's my daddy's for being so loving, and caring...and for being my epitome of a man. I couldn't go on like this. After reading just a bit of his memoir, my mind was made up...I wanted him even more. And my mums.
My life then was a bundle of contradictions, but I kept these to myself. Why, though? Shame? Guilt? Hope, even? I was brought up by my mums and dad, to be honest, and forthright. That's how our family works, and probably why it works. I liked boys, of course, but I also loved girls. It took me a few years to discover that, but I loved the difference that each brings, and not only in the bedroom. But, I knew I was in love with my dad. Not in a schoolgirl-crush way, but really in love. God, he is always so thoughtful, perfect and, yes, forceful. My mums would help me with this. We had very few secrets in this house. They'd understand, surely.
