(Author's note: Anyone engaged in any sexual activity is over 18.)
*
Daddy and I had been fucking each other for more than a year. He is mine, exclusively. I share his bed every night. I am totally in love with him, and Daddy is in love with me.
I heard his car pull into the driveway, and I greeted him at the front door. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled him close to me and covered his mouth with mine. It wasn't a daughterly "welcome home" kiss, it was deep and passionate, including lots of tongue.
"Hi, Daddy."
"Hi, baby girl."
Daddy has called me "baby girl" as long as I can remember, starting when I was a little girl. Now that I'm a grown woman, at nineteen, he still calls me that. I love it.
"Sit down on the couch, Daddy, and I'll mix you a drink."
Daddy is a Scotch drinker, so I poured him a double shot of Glenlivet, with just a splash of soda. I don't like hard liquor, so I had a glass of wine. I snuggled up next to him and asked him about his day.
He is a contractor, specializing in custom homes. Expensive custom homes. The house he built for us is all redwood, natural stone, and lots of glass. It sits on ten acres, surrounded by woods, and we have a beautiful swimming pool in the backyard. Daddy and I swim naked.
Daddy is 42, but he looks ten years younger. He's 6'2" with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He is well muscled, due to his years of construction work. He has blond hair, bleached by the sun, and cobalt blue eyes. I think he looks like a young Robert Redford, with sculpted features and a deep cleft in his chin. He is my idol. My father, my lover, my best friend.
Like I said, we've been lovers for about a year, starting just after my eighteenth birthday. I developed a terrible crush on him just when I entered puberty and my body started to change. I didn't make any overt moves toward him for several years, but I could tell he was looking at me in a different way.
Once my breasts formed their first little buds, they grew rapidly. I was a B cup in the ninth grade, and by the time I was a senior in high school, I had grown into the C cup that I am now.
Daddy was very open and very frank with me when it came to discussing anything of a sexual nature. I learned the mechanics in the Sex Ed class I took at school, and a whole lot more from the other girls, many of whom were sexually active at a very early age.
If I had any questions about sex, Daddy would answer them for me, without any admonishments or judgment. My periods were very irregular, so with Daddy's consent, my doctor prescribed birth control pills to help regulate them. He was quite aware that a lot of teenagers were sexually active, so with the pill, he felt I would be safe. I had a few boyfriends in high school, nothing serious. I did a bunch of making out and a little light touching, through our clothes, but that was the extent of my sexual activity. Until Daddy.
Daddy finished his drink, and I mixed him another one. I sat down beside him, cuddled up, and nuzzled his neck, raining little butterfly kisses all over his face. Fisting his hand in my hair, he pulled my face into his, and crushed his lips down on mine.
Kissing Daddy totally intoxicates me, inflames me with desire. When he kisses me, there is a hotline between my lips and my clit. It starts to tingle, and I squirm next to him. While his tongue was in my mouth, I put my hand on the bulge in his jeans, feeling his erection grow beneath my fingers. His mouth is more insistent as I undo the button on his Levi's and pull the zipper down.
I can hear him groan as my hand reaches under his shorts, wrapping it around his hardened shaft. Gripping him firmly, I slide the loose skin on his penis up and down. I tug on his pants and pull them down, exposing his magnificent cock, totally hard, the bulbous head shining and swollen.
Bending down toward him, I take his cock in my hand and lower my head, taking him in my mouth. Coating him with my saliva, I run my tongue around and around his swollen crown while bobbing my head up and down on him. My tongue flicks over that sensitive place when his head meets the shaft. This drives him crazy, and his hips start to buck, his cock rising up to meet my mouth every time it goes down.
I cupped his balls in my hand, fondling them first, then pulling his scrotum down, in rhythm with my descending mouth. A growl emits from deep in his throat. He throws his head back and fisting both hands in my hair, he pulls my head up and down as his thrusts up into my mouth.
I know he's getting close to his release. He holds me tighter, his balls start to draw up tight, and I can feel the head of his cock swell even more. Gently, I rake my fingernails over his hardened sack, and that pushes him over the edge. Shouting my name, he erupts, shooting wad after wad of cum down the back of my throat.
Swallowing it all, I look at up him and smile. I really love to make him cum like this, because I know how much he'll pay it back when we go to bed that night.
Leaving him sated, I got up and made our supper. Over the years, I've become a really good cook. That night, I made poached salmon, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and baby red potatoes. I opened a bottle of chardonnay to go with the fish. We had just finished dinner, and I went to the freezer to get a carton of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, Daddy's favorite, when the phone rang. I answered it, and with a scowl, handed it to Daddy.
"It's HER," I said.
"Her" referred to my mother; I could never call her Mommy or Mom. I hated her. Daddy talked with her for awhile. I couldn't make much from his side of the conversation, except for an "Uh huh." "I see." "Yes." "I'll be there."
"What was that about, Daddy?"
"Well, it seems Christy is coming to live with us."
"Why, for fuck's sake?" I wailed.
Christy is my sister; at eighteen, she's a year younger than I am. When Daddy divorced HER, I was eleven and Christy was ten. The judge decided we were old enough to choose which parent we wanted to live with. I was always Daddy's girl, so I chose him, and Christy chose to live with our mother.
Our mother became a "born again Christian" after she left Daddy, and Christy was sent to a fundamentalist church-run school, back in West Virginia, where they moved to after their divorce.
Daddy and I hadn't seen Christy since she was fourteen, when she came to visit us here in Northern California for a week. She was a skinny, tit-less adolescent with braces on her teeth, zits, and stringy hair. Her mother made her wear totally shapeless long dresses that covered her up from the neck to the ankles.
It turns out that Christy finally rebelled against the sect they belonged to, and once she was considered an adult, no one could force her to stay there any longer. Once she made it known that she wanted to leave, our mother dis-owned her and she was shunned by the church.
"Shit, Daddy, what is this going to do to US?" I practically yelled at him.
"I guess you'll have to move back to your own room, and we'll have to be really discreet when we have sex with each other."
"Shit-fuck-piss-cunt!" I screamed. "This ruins everything for us. Why did you let that little bitch come here?"
"Number one, she is my daughter, and I love her. Besides that, she has no place else to go. And, she's not a little bitch; she's your sister."
"She was always a bitch, even when she was a little girl. We never did get along with each other. And now, I fucking HATE her."
