Naughty Erotica
"Father's Day Part 1" a sex story by Brian K. Crawford
"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"
Crystal emerged from the kitchen bearing an elegant chocolate torte cake and stood beaming at me from the doorway. She looked so beautiful standing there in her strapless evening gown I couldn't believe she had once been my little girl.
"This is why I wouldn't let you order dessert at the restaurant tonight," she said.
I grinned at her.
"Oh, Princess, you shouldn't have. I'm stuffed from dinner."
She affected a pout, her full lips thrust out in an expression I remembered so well from her childhood.
"But I made it myself," she said, "just for this occasion. It's the first thing I've made in my new apartment."
"Well, maybe just a thin slice," I conceded. It really did look great, with curls of shaved white chocolate all over it.
"Okay." She put it down on the coffee table and bent over it to slice it. Her long thick auburn hair slid over her shoulder and fell around her face. She brushed it back and knelt. I watched her face as she cut the torte. A pink tongue tip peeped from one corner of her mouth. A wave of affection came over me. She had done the same thing when she was crayoning a picture for me sixteen years ago.
She cut us each a slice -- a thin one for me and quite a large one for herself, I noticed -- then came and sat beside me on the sofa. I tasted mine; it was gooey and rich with chocolate, quite good really -- exactly what she liked, I knew. I exclaimed over the torte and congratulated her for it. I had a few bites, then put it down to take a sip of the steaming espresso she'd already brought out.
"Mmm, the coffee's good too." I cut a quick look at her. "You're quite the little hostess," I added, knowing it would goad her.
She looked at me archly. "Daddeee. I am not a 'little hostess'. I'm not a little anything anymore. I'm twenty years old. I'm a grown woman, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I noticed," I chuckled. "I'm not so old yet that I don't know a beautiful woman when I see one. And so did every man in that restaurant tonight. Especially in that dress."
A blush came to her cheeks, but she was obviously pleased. She looked down at herself, putting down her plate.
"Do you like it? This is the first time I've worn it."
"It's lovely. That white sets off your tan very nicely." I looked her over again. "It's sure cut low enough," I added, eyeing the very prominent cleavage between her breasts.
The blush increased. "Don't be such an old curmudgeon, Daddy. It's how they're wearing them this year."
"Is it? I don't keep up with women's fashions, I'm afraid. Yet another place where a single father slights a daughter, I suppose."
"Oh, Daddy," she said chidingly, "don't start that again. You know very well that you've been a wonderful father to me all these years. There's nothing at all I've lacked just because I haven't had a mother."
"Well, thank you for saying that. I have tried, but I know it can't be the same."
She shook her head, putting her hand on my shoulder.
"You've been saying that ever since Mom left us," she said, "but it's not true. You've given me everything a mother could have. You taught me to cook and took me shopping and bought me my first box of Tampax. You even told me the facts of life and warned me about those horrible old boys."
We laughed at that, but she went on. "I mean it, Daddy. I know I was awful sometimes, especially then, when I was getting my period and my hormones were kicking in. But you were always there for me, always patient; and I don't want you putting yourself down. You were a wonderful parent to me, which is more than a lot of kids with two parents can say. I probably didn't deserve so much patience."
"Oh, you weren't so bad -- most of the time."
"Bullshit," she said. "I know I was a little bitch, and I want to apologize for it."
"You don't have to apologize for your adolescence, Princess," I smiled, patting her hand. "Everybody goes through that. Even me, child, way back in the dark ages."
"And that's something else you can knock off," she said, shaking a finger at me like a schoolmarm. "You're always making jokes about how old you are. But you're not even fifty yet. You're not old, but you're going to convince yourself you are."
"I'm forty-seven, Princess, and when you're around a beautiful twenty-year-old girl, that's ancient."
"Nonsense. It's just not true. You're healthy, you keep yourself fit, you've still got your hair. You're still an attractive man, Daddy."
I laughed again. "I wish you could convince some nice woman in her forties of that," I chuckled. "No, I'm afraid that sexually I'm washed up. My door's always open, but I don't think you'll see a well-beaten path to my front door."
"Well, they're not going to come ring your doorbell, no. But they look at you; I see them when we're out together."
"Oh, yes, they're constantly ogling me," I said. "I hate it when they undress me with their eyes."
"Oh, Daddy," she laughed. "Don't be silly. I'm serious."
"Come on. Women don't ogle men."
"Says you! Shows how much you know about it. Maybe we don't openly stare, but we sure as hell sneak quick looks."
"At what? The cut of his jib? The lump in his wallet pocket?"
"No, we..." She blushed again. "Oh, never mind."
"Go on," I prodded. "Now I'm interested. What do you look for in a man?"
"Well, I... well, there's the physical stuff, you know."
"Yes? Such as?" I wasn't going to let her off the hook.
"Well, you men stare at a woman's breasts or ass or whatever."
"I'm perfectly aware of what men like to look at. Your dress is fiendishly designed to make it impossible to forget that."
I thought she would blush at that, but she didn't. She accepted it and went on, serious about the subject.
"Well, women do that, too. You know: tight buns, nice hands, broad shoulders, flat stomachs..."
I sucked my stomach in with a noisy gasp and she slapped my knee with a laugh.
"You don't have to do that, silly. You look just fine."
"For an old fart."
"I told you, don't say stuff like that. You look fine for anybody. But what we... what I look for in a man is his face."
"Weathered but with a distinguished sprinkling of gray, I hope?"
She looked at me intently, her eyes searching mine. "No. I mean his character. I have to see kindness, sensitivity, intelligence, humor. I don't want to see arrogance, self-importance, tough guy macho. I want someone who might care about me, not use me. When I look at a man, I wonder how he would be in bed -- would he be gentle, affectionate, playful, considerate?"
My smile faded. I realized she was seriously trying to tell me something.
"Your point?"
She looked away, dropping her eyes to her lap. "Well, I just think that you're an attractive man. I think lots of women would love to hop into bed with you."
"As I said, my door's unlocked and the front path is still covered with grass. I think I can honestly say I have never turned a woman away from my bed. Perhaps an overly affectionate bag lady or two."
She didn't smile. "It's because you don't let them. You turn them away with a joke about how old you are, or you whip out your wallet to show them a picture of your little Princess. They don't want to see a picture of your kid; they want to see your hairy chest. You do that, don't you? Tell me the truth."
Well, she had me there. I had discovered that trick long ago and had often used it to get me out of an uncomfortable social situation. I hadn't realized she was sharp enough to notice it, though.
"Well, maybe once or twice," I admitted. "But it's a little strange, you know, being a single father, of a girl especially. I didn't want to bring home some strange bimbo. How do I introduce you two in the morning? 'Hi, Princess, this is your mommy du jour?' I had to set a standard, an example for you."
"But, Daddy, I would have understood. At least after I reached puberty. Mom has been gone fifteen years now. She's not coming back. I don't expect you to be a monk."
"I know, Princess. But any woman I brought home would necessarily become a role model for you, at least in a small way. By having her there I would be saying this woman is all right; I like her and want her around. Because you didn't have a mother it would be natural for you to want to be like these substitute mothers, or at least substitute wives of mine. And I didn't want you to grow up thinking it was all right to go home with some man you pick up in a bar."
"But that's your double standard, don't you see? You wouldn't bring home some bimbo. You'd be attracted to nice women, intelligent women, with a sense of humor and something to say: women who didn't just go home with the first male they spotted every night. And there would be nothing wrong with that. It wouldn't be wrong for you, and it wouldn't be wrong for them. So if I did emulate them in some way, even that way, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing."
"You make it sound like you do," I said with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I..." she began, then stopped. She looked at me archly. "We are not here to discuss my sex life. All you need to know is that I have one -- a reasonably normal one, I think."
"How many?" I asked, flat out. Ever since I knew she was having sex, I'd wanted to ask that and could never figure out a way to do it.
Now she did blush bright red. "I don't keep score," she said indignantly.
"Bullshit! Don't give me that. Everybody does. Unless you've lost count already?" I teased. "How many?"
She paused, thinking. "Seven!" she said. "No, wait, eight. There've been eight."
I was a little surprised, but not too much. I'd been afraid there had been even more. But I wasn't going to admit that to her.
"At twenty years old? Jesus, have you contacted the Guinness people about this?"
"That's not that many!" she said defensively. "That's only a little more than one a year."
I did some quick arithmetic. "You mean you were thirteen when you started?"
She reddened. "Fourteen, if you must know."
"It was that little weasel Richard Wright, wasn't it?"
"Dick was nice!" she exclaimed, then realized what she'd said. I pounced on it.
"I'm glad you liked it. But he was a gangling pimply-faced adolescent who couldn't possibly have known what he was doing."
"So was I. But we figured it out," she said haughtily. Then she smiled mischievously. "And he was insatiable. He could do it for hours, even in the back of his parents' old Corolla. Want to hear about the others?"
She could fight back. I held up my hands in surrender. "Okay. I know quite enough, thank you. But you said a while ago that we're not here to discuss your sex life. What are we here for? I thought this was a Father's Day dinner?"
"It is. But I do have an ulterior motive -- a hidden agenda, as they say in corporate speak."
"And may I know what it is?"
"Yes. Your sex life."
"This could be a very short discussion."
"That's it exactly. When was the last time you got laid?"
"Wait just a minute..."
"I told you!"
"That's different. I'm your father. Fathers don't tell their daughters these things."
"Daughters don't tell their fathers either. But I thought we were closer than that."
Ouch. What the hell was I protecting anyway?
"Okay. To tell you the truth, not once since your mother left me."
"Us. She left me too, remember? That's what I thought. Why not?"
"Well, for the first ten years I was so busy trying to raise you and make a living at the same time I didn't have time to brush my teeth, much less roll in the hay. I couldn't even afford to go out, not with babysitting too."
"But after that, when I was dating. You had plenty of evenings to yourself, and you could afford it by then, too."
I thought about it. She obviously wanted an answer and we'd never lied to each other.
"Well, it just didn't seem right somehow. I sent you off on your date with the usual warnings about being a good girl and respecting yourself and all. It seemed dishonest to then rush out and try to pick somebody up."
"Oh, Daddy."
I shrugged. "Well, that's the way it felt."
"I wouldn't have minded. I would have been happy for you. By then I knew what it was, what you were missing -- the closeness, the touching -- hell, everybody deserves orgasms."
I laughed. "I don't remember that listed as one of our inalienable rights. But don't think that I... how shall I put this delicately? I was having orgasms quite regularly."
She giggled. "I know. I found one of your magazines once: 'Big-Busted Babes -- One Hundred Wide Open Shots'."
"Oh, Sweet Jesus." Now I was blushing. I could feel my face burning and willed it to stop.
"Now, Crystal, that doesn't mean anything. I mean, I know it's demeaning to look at women like that..."
"Oh, Daddy, it doesn't matter. It's just a magazine. Hell, I get off on cheap bodice-ripper novels myself. It doesn't necessarily mean I want to have my bodice ripped by some guy with his shirt blowing in tatters in the wind. It doesn't mean anything."
"That's right," I agreed eagerly. "They're just fantasies."
"Right. But the point is, we use stuff like that as a cheap substitute when we can't get the real thing -- meaningful, mutually enjoyable sex with a person we like and value. Jerking off shouldn't be a way of life."
I thought for a few moments about what to say next.
"As you get older, Princess, you'll find that things don't always work out the way we'd like them to. And things that used to seem all-important just don't matter as much. It isn't what I would have chosen, but that's the way things have worked out. We all do the best we can with the cards we're dealt."
"Oh, don't give me that kismet crap," she said. "It's Mom, isn't it? She's been gone fifteen years and you're still mooning over her."
"No! Well, not exactly mooning. I'm not saving myself for her or anything like that. I know she's not coming back. But your mother and I had something... something special. At first it was very special for both of us, and then after a while it was only special for me. Somehow it wasn't enough for her. When she left, I really didn't want another woman -- for years I felt that. Then when I did, when it would have been nice, it had been so long, it was as if I'd forgotten how."
"It's like riding a bike, Daddy. You wouldn't fall off, really."
"No, not that. I'd forgotten how to play the game. At one time I was rather good at it, if I do say so. The opening gambits, when each is so tentatively feeling for the other's desire; the mid-game of thrust and riposte, of telling your story and eliciting hers, of presenting yourself; and the absolutely delightful end-game, when you're both sure and all you want to do is get your clothes off."
I smiled, remembering several specific occasions. "But after so long, the game was different: the rules had changed; the players had changed -- I had changed. I didn't know how to start. The women in the bars were all younger; they weren't looking for a cast-off single father with an adolescent girl. They didn't know Paul McCartney was in another band before Wings. They wanted a young stud that could dance the dances and talk the talk. And we old..."
I saw her eyebrows go up. "Okay, we chronologically challenged individuals, we get set in our ways. I had found ways to cope with the loneliness..."
"The Big-Busted Babes. Jesus, do you remember the cow on the cover? How did she walk?"
"I never particularly noticed Miss Annie Sprinkle (54-26-38)...ways to cope with the loneliness, that were safe and simple and didn't rock the boat."
"Sometimes boat rocking is good for you."
"Not when the boat is also carrying your little girl." I put my arms around Crystal and hugged her tight. She melted against my chest. I kissed the top of her head, smelling the fresh clean smell of her hair. I felt tears suddenly well up and run down my cheeks. I spoke into her hair, so softly she held her breath to catch my words.
"See, Princess, I knew that Annie Sprinkle would never come between us. She'd never want to change you or push you out or turn you against me. That would be more than I could take."
"Oh, Daddy. No one could turn me against you." She squeezed me long and hard.
We sat like that a long time, just holding each other. Finally I felt her move, and I let her go. She sat back. She had tears on her face, too. We both grinned and wiped our faces.
"Your torte is melting," she whispered.
I picked it up and took another bite. "Still good, though," I mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. I busied myself with finishing the torte and espresso. Neither of us spoke. It had felt good to be able to talk about all this with Crystal, but I felt shy and vulnerable now, as if we were on a first date. I rather hoped she would consider the subject closed for tonight. But she didn't. She wasn't even finishing her torte, but was staring down unseeing. Finally she looked up at me. Her cheeks were still wet, but I thought she'd never looked lovelier.
"Daddy, you're still a vigorous man in the prime of life. You can't spend the rest of your life jerking off with Annie Sprinkle. You need a real woman."
"I don't think I'll ever want to go through marriage again, baby. It just cost too much."
"Who's talking marriage? You don't have to find another Great Love. You just need somebody to really make love to you again. To roll around and get sweaty with. Then you'll get your confidence back. After the first one, there'll be more. Maybe someday you'll meet somebody super special again. But until you get out there and start seeing people, it can't happen. You'll end up an old man with nothing but a sticky magazine. Face it, Daddy, you've got to get laid."
"I'll buy that," I said readily enough. "Do any of your friends have attractive single mothers?" She shook her head impatiently. "How about grandmothers? Maiden aunts?"
"Daddy, I'm serious. I'm worried about you. I want you to be happy."
"I'm happy enough."
"No, you're not."
"I am, really."
"You're not, really," she insisted. "A woman can tell these things."
"Oh, now it's intuition, is it?"
"No. Well, maybe. I don't know. But it's like a little bell goes off inside a woman when a man is incomplete, when he needs a woman."
"Damn, it must sound like the belfry of Notre Dame in there. There's an awful lot of horny guys walking around."
"No, not just horny. When he really needs you. That little bell just starts jingling away every time I look at you."
"Do I look wistful and pathetic?" I gave her the big sad-eyed puppy look.
"No, damn it! But you look incomplete. You look like you need someone to be with. Like you've got something to say, something to teach, something to learn about. You need someone to roll around in bed with."
"I look like all that?" I said. I thought about what she had said. Lord knows I'd been lonely for a long time.
I sighed. "Do you really think other women -- other than you, that is -- would find me attractive?"
"Are you kidding? Of course they would. Any woman with half a brain would be attracted to you. She'd see that you look kind, sensitive, intelligent, witty. She'd see you have a nice face, great hands, tight buns, broad shoulders -- all the right stuff. She'd think you look like you'd be good in bed. More than that: like you'd be fun in bed; like you'd make me laugh while you made love to me."
I heard the change of pronoun with a shock like a bucket of cold water. I glanced at her face to see if she'd noticed the slip, and found her eyes searching mine, flicking back and forth between them, waiting for my reaction. That was no slip, or if it was, she didn't want to retract it.
I tried to think of something to say, but failed. As usual, I fell back on humor. "I always said we were a very close family, but..." I began with a weak smile, but her solemn expression stopped me cold.
"Daddy, I've given this a lot of thought. I think you'll never be really happy again unless you find someone else to bring you out of your shell and really open you up to people again. Only a woman can do that. And that means you have to become sexually active again. But the way you still feel about Mom, the first one would have to be someone really special, someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Someone who has absolutely nothing to gain but your happiness, someone who won't bring a lot of her own baggage into it, who won't try to keep you for herself." She looked at me evenly. "And I think that woman is me."
I jumped to my feet. "Wait just a minute. This is crazy. Aside from everything else, you make me feel like a charity case. Are you working for a Girl Scout merit badge or something?"
"I'm completely serious."
I felt my temper rising. "I don't want your sexual therapy, Crystal. When I make love with a woman, I want her to want me, not feel sorry for me. I need a good fuck, not a good deed."
"That's right!" she said fiercely, her eyes flashing. "That's exactly right. For once you've said it. You need a good fuck. And if you think I'm making myself do this for your good, you have a lot to learn about women."
"Do you mean you would really..."
"Oh, shit," she said, mostly to herself. "Daddy, it's taken me a long time to get up the nerve to say this to you. Don't make it even harder for me. Do you want it straight up honest? Okay!" She stood up and walked over to where I stood. She looked up into my eyes. Her voice trembled with emotion as she whispered, "I've wanted to fuck you ever since I knew what the word meant."
I gulped. "You were an adolescent girl. Lots of girls get crushes on their fathers. As the only mature male in the family, naturally you looked to me as a model for your lovers. You imprinted on me. You wanted a guy just like dear old dad. It's a cliché, don't you see?"
"Whatever it is, I'm twenty years old now. I'm not an adolescent any more, I've had eight lovers of three religions, five national origins, and two colors, and I still want dear old dad."
"I'm your own father, for Christ's sake!" I exclaimed. "It would be incest, not to mention illegal. Nothing could come of it."
"Precisely! Nothing could come of it. Incest is such a strong taboo in our culture that neither of us could ever tell anyone. We couldn't become live-in lovers, we couldn't get married, we couldn't have children. We both know that from the beginning. But that's why it's so safe. Don't you see? It's perfect."
"It's not perfect. It's perfectly wrong. It's incest!"
"So what's wrong with incest?"
"What's wrong with it?" I spluttered. "Everything! It's... it's... incestuous. It's a sin."
"You don't believe in sin. You've always taught me to think for myself when it comes to morality. Incest is only illegal because it was a religious taboo for so long. I took anthropology. Taboos are a primitive society's way of preventing people from doing something fun but dangerous. The Jewish taboo against pork was probably because people kept getting trichinosis. Now we know how to prevent trichinosis so we don't observe that taboo anymore. The incest taboo prevents inbreeding and the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. Well, I've been on the Pill for years now and neither of us has any diseases. We can't inbreed. So the only reason to be careful is the law. Well, if you won't call the police, I promise I won't."
She stood there grinning wickedly at me. She threw her arms around my neck. "Let's do it," she whispered in my ear.
I backed away, unwrapping her arms. We stood staring at each other. We were both breathing heavily.
"No! I said firmly. "Crystal, this is crazy. I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but it's wrong. I couldn't do it."
She stared at me for a minute. Then she began ticking off points on her fingers. "One: 'it's crazy'. Correct, but no reason for not doing something you really want to do, as you've taught me. Two: 'what I'm trying to do for you.' It's for me just as much as for you. I've always wanted to know what it would be like with you. Three: 'it's wrong'. Not if we both go into it with our eyes wide open and agree that it can't become a way of life. Four: 'I couldn't do it'. You leave that to me, Buster."
She reached behind her back and in one quick motion pulled down the zipper of her dress. The front of it peeled away from her breasts and dropped to her waist. I stared in complete confusion. I hadn't seen her chest since she'd started to develop little pointed buds back in the sixth grade. I knew she was built, but this was like something in Playboy. Her breasts were large and round but set high on her chest, the nipples pointing up toward me. The bathing suit marks were tiny triangles just covering the nipples and the lower curves, the white in striking contrast to her golden tan. My mouth was dry. I looked up at her face and saw her watching me with a knowing smile. She knew exactly the power she had. She stepped toward me and I backed away again.
"Crystal! For God's sake, cover yourself up! Look, it doesn't work like that. There are natural inhibitions. They're built into us. We're not just man and woman; we're father and daughter. The same feelings don't apply. Pull your dress up!"
She left the dress hanging and glanced down at my crotch. "It looks like the usual feelings are applying to you," she said with a grin. I realized my erection was straining down my pants leg. I dropped my hands to hide it.
"That's a purely automatic physical reaction," I objected, feeling my face burning. "What matters are the feelings we share."
"I love you," she said. "And you love me. We share that. That's all that matters." She took another step toward me, and I couldn't help noticing the way her breasts jiggled as she walked. I backed up again.
"No, it isn't!" I gasped, feeling my resolve weakening. "Not to me. I wouldn't be able to do it because I'd be afraid you were just doing it out of kindness to me, some misplaced charity. Thank you very much for the offer, but when I make love to a woman I need to know she truly wants me."
She stood looking at me as if trying to decide what she could say to convince me, and then she reached down to the dress bunched around her waist. For a second I thought she was going to pull it up. But she slowly pushed it down over her hips. It was tight, and she had to work it down one side at a time. Her eyes never left my face, but I was watching that dress as it slowly went down. It reached the points of her hips, revealing the whole length of her flat belly. A line of dark fuzz appeared, startling between the white of the dress and that of her skin. I realized with a shock that she had been nude beneath the dress all night, while we'd sat in the restaurant, while we'd danced.
I tore my eyes away to look up at her face again. Her eyes were watching mine. Her smile widened, and I saw that she understood my look of surprise. "Oh, yes," she said. "I had this all planned."
"Crystal," I whispered, "you don't have to do this."
"Oh, but I want to," she said. "I've had fantasies about this for years." She winked lewdly at me and gave the dress a push. It rustled down her legs and fell in a heap around her feet. She took a step toward me, stepping out of her dress. She was wearing only earrings and heels. Her long slender body was a study in brown and pink. Her legs were perfect: calves lengthened and shaped by her high heels; her thighs smooth columns tapering to her knees, swelling to her full round womanly hips, framing a thin bush of dark golden hair that did little to conceal the crease of her sex.
I could only stand and stare at the perfection of her. Although I knew she was watching my eyes, I couldn't tear them away from her body. But she didn't seem the least embarrassed. On the contrary, she clearly loved having me look at her. She raised her arms and held them out away from her sides. Then she slowly pivoted around, giving me a good long look at every inch of her. When her back was to me she turned and watched me over her shoulder as my eyes traveled over her back and the rounded swell of her bottom. Then she turned in profile and peeped through a curl of hair as I took in the proud thrust of her breasts, the swell of her belly, the curve of her ass. Then she turned back to face me.
She was more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen. What could I possibly say? I cleared my throat and tried once more to defuse the situation with a joke. "I... I'd threaten to spank you for this, but I think you'd enjoy it too much." If she even heard it she didn't react.
"You need to know that I truly want you?" she said, and her voice was low and husky, a tone I had never heard before. She brought her right hand around in front of her, placed it on her belly just above her mound, and slid it downward. The fingers with their bright red nails combed through the hair, then curled in between her legs, cupping herself. I couldn't tear my eyes away. Her long slim middle finger slowly disappeared from view and I saw her knuckle moving as she swirled it inside her. Then she pulled it out and held her hand up right before my face. Her fingers were wet and glistening.
"Does that look like I don't want you?" she murmured, still in that husky voice.
Almost without thinking, I leaned forward and took her finger into my mouth, sucking her liquor from it. Her eyes closed and I thought for a moment that she was going to fall. I stepped forward and kissed her, then picked her naked body up in my arms. I carried her around the sofa and down the hall, still kissing her passionately. I kicked open the door and entered the dark bedroom She burst into giggles against my mouth. Looking up, I found we were in the bathroom. I tried to back out the door and couldn't -- her feet caught in the door. I gave up and set her on her feet. She took both my hands in hers, her smile lighting the dim bathroom.
"Next door, Daddy," she laughed. "Unless you want to give me a bath first."
I grinned back. "I always used to give you a bath before putting you to bed."
"Mmm, could be fun. But later. Right now I want to go straight to bed."
"That's a switch from the old days."
She backed out into the hall, pulling me after her. "I have a feeling that tonight lots of things are going to be a switch from the old days." I followed, watching the sway of her hair down her back and the rocking motion of her beautiful bare bottom as she walked. She turned into her darkened bedroom and kicked off her shoes and I followed as if in a dream.
She went to the big picture window and pulled the drapes open. She stood for a moment looking out over the twinkling lights of the city, completely unselfconscious about standing there nude. She was silhouetted against the city's pink glow, the light gleaming from the long curve of her hip, the lovely roundness of her breast as she stood with one hand raised, holding the edge of the drape. I went up close behind her and reached around to lift and cup her breasts. She moaned deep in her throat and pressed herself back against me. Her hands came up to rest on mine. I leaned my head against hers and we stood there like that, looking out over rooftops and darkened streets. I could smell her hair, the sweet scent of her skin, a light perfume.
"I feel so happy right now," she whispered. "I've wanted you to hold me like this as long as I can remember. I've stood right here in this window and wished you were here to hold me, just like this."
Her whisper sounded just as it had when she was a little girl. It brought back to me the enormity of what we were doing. "We could stop now and still keep this beautiful moment," I suggested without moving. "We don't have to go on and make things complicated."
"Oh, no," she said, but very softly, confident that I didn't really want to stop. "No, this is a special moment, but the best part of it is knowing that in a few minutes we're going to turn around and get into bed and we have the whole night to make love. I want it to be slow at first, to savor the anticipation. Is that okay?"
I couldn't think of a thing to say to that, except to give her breasts a gentle squeeze. I brought my lips down to the little hollow where her neck met her shoulder and kissed her silently. She tilted her head away from me, then with one hand she reached over her head and swung her mane of hair around over her other shoulder, baring her long neck. I nibbled and licked and nuzzled gently up it until I reached her ear. I took the lobe into my mouth and sucked it, letting my teeth graze it. She moaned again and pressed back even harder against me.
Still kissing her ear, I began stroking her breasts, squeezing gently as I stroked slowly from the underside out to the tips, again and again. Each time her nipples were harder under my palms. Over her shoulder I could look down at my hands smoothing the soft resilient flesh of her firm young breasts. They bulged over my hands and between my fingers, the dim glow from the sky glistening on her skin. I lifted her breasts and pressed them together, running my fingers out to circle each nipple. I could see one standing out now like a little gumdrop, silhouetted against a lighted window in the building opposite. Still, except for the small movements of my hands and my lips brushing and pulling at her earlobe, neither of us moved or spoke. Then I heard her whisper, so low I could barely catch it.
"I can feel your cock against my back," she breathed. "It's like a rock. A hot rock."
"It wants you," I whispered in her ear. "I want you."
"Do you know," she said, "I only saw it once, when I went into your room while you were getting dressed. I must have been six or seven, but I knew what it was, of course."
"What did you think?"
She giggled. "I thought it looked funny. Wrinkled and dangly and hairy and -- complicated. Nothing like a girl's. It didn't turn me on then. But later, when I grew up, I thought about that quick glimpse, again and again. I wondered how it would look to me now."
She pulled away from me and turned around, smiling into my face. "I want to see it," she said, and knelt down on the carpet in front of me. Her hands went to my belt, unfastening it.
Suddenly I was self-conscious. This was my daughter kneeling naked in front of me. I felt like a dirty old man, a flasher or something. But before I could say anything she had my pants open. She took hold of both pants and underpants and slid them down my legs. My cock bobbed out like a flagpole, right in front of her face. She stared solemnly at it, her hands on her knees. My shirttail partially covered it, and I unbuttoned and shrugged out of my shirt. She continued to stare, and I stood there uncomfortably enduring her gaze. What was she thinking as she examined it so minutely? After all, I'm no twenty-year-old stud anymore.
"Well?" I asked after a long minute or two.
She smiled up at me, then looked back at my cock. "I was just wondering how I could ever have thought that it wasn't beautiful," she said. "Of course, it is neither wrinkled nor dangling right now. Quite the opposite, I'm happy to report."
She reached up and gently enveloped it in both hands. "Wow," she laughed. "It's like a damn pump handle."
I laughed too, my nervousness evaporating at her warm touch. "An apt simile. You always could turn a pretty phrase..."
"You made me with this," she interrupted. "I came out of that little hole, didn't I?"
"So we are told, though I must admit I never saw your exit. I was busy at the time."
"Yes. You were fucking Mommy."
I felt a little fatherly shock at hearing her say the word 'fuck' so casually, but was not inclined to chastise her at the moment.
"Yes. I was... fucking your mother." For some reason it was hard for me to say it.
"You put this cock inside Mommy and made me. Not just a baby; you made me: Crystal."
"Uh-huh." I was having trouble concentrating. She had started running her hand up and down my cock. My knees were trembling.
"Did Mommy do this for you?" she asked, and took my penis into her mouth. I gasped at the feel of her mouth around me -- so soft, so warm, so gentle. She took it deep, then drew it slowly out, her cheeks drawn in around it, one hand holding the base. I looked down at her lips, dark with lipstick in the dim light, stretched wide around my cock. How could she look so young and innocent while sucking my cock?
"Hmmmm?" she asked again, and I could feel the vibration of her voice.
"Um-hmm," I nodded. "She did, but it was a very, very, long time ago. And it couldn't have felt this good."
Her free hand came up to cup my balls. Her nails stroked lightly across them. I reached out and twined my fingers in her hair, drawing her to me. Almost without my will, my hips thrust forward, pushing against her face. I felt the first stirrings of an approaching orgasm. But then she drew back. I released her head.
She sat back on her heels and looked up at me. Her mouth was wet and shining. "I don't want you to come yet," she said. "And not in my mouth. Not the first time, anyway," she added with a significant grin.
"Okay," I said, trying to get my breath under control. "Besides, we don't want to compound incest with cannibalism. The thought occurs that you might swallow your siblings."
She looked blankly at me for a second, then burst out laughing aloud. "Oh, Daddy! I love you."
I helped her to her feet, both of us laughing. I felt better now. The laughter had broken the whispering, almost church-like air so far. I sat on a chair to take off my shoes and socks while she pulled the blankets off the bed. I watched her crawl about on the bed, her breasts swinging heavily beneath her, her hair nearly covering her face. How well I knew her, and how little. I knew Crystal better than anyone else in the world, and yet this beautiful naked woman was like a stranger to me. It had all the excitement and nervousness of a first time together; the magic thrill of knowing you're about to make love to someone new; a new body to explore; the pleasure in knowing this woman wants to share her body with you. At the same time, this was my Crystal. I'd wiped that bottom. I saw a small scar on one knee where she'd cut herself playing soccer. At one time her body had been as familiar to me as my own. Now it was the body of a stranger. A very gorgeous stranger.
She got off the bed and then noticed a far corner of the fitted sheet had pulled off. Putting one knee down, she stretched across the bed and struggled to tuck it under. I was directly behind her and I could see the round white moons of her ass, the smooth muscular curves of her thigh. With one leg under her and one back, the furry mound between was clearly visible. A stray beam of light from the window fell full upon it, and I could see the pink lips amidst the fuzz. I thought suddenly how long it had been since I had seen a real live, warm, cunt. It was a curiously intimate glimpse in the midst of a common domestic chore, as a man might see his wife as she made the bed. And yet how unbearably erotic, all the more so because she was unconscious of the gift she had given me.
She finished with the sheet and climbed off the bed. She turned to look at me and saw me staring vacantly, my shoes in my hand. Perhaps she thought I was having second thoughts, for she came over to me.
"A penny for your thoughts," she said.
"Not enough. I had several hundred dollars worth of thoughts just watching you make the bed."
She smiled, reassured. "Did you get any good ideas?"
"Several."
"Good," she said. "Show me." She crawled back onto the bed and lay on her back in the center, facing me as I stood at the foot. Then she raised her arms, reaching toward me.
"Come to me," she said in that husky whisper.
I think she expected me to throw myself on top of her, but I just lay down beside her, close enough to feel the heat of her body, but not actually touching her. She turned her head to watch me. I lay on my side, propped up on one elbow. I reached my hand out toward her breast and let it hover, fingers spread, a half-inch above her nipple. I held it motionless there, both of us savoring the anticipation. One minute. Two minutes. She began to squirm. Finally I lowered it until the tip of her nipple was just touching my finger. Another minute. Then I moved my hand ever so slowly toward her head. Her nipple was pushed over, then sprang back to bump against the next finger.
Her body jerked. I repeated the motion, letting my fingers bump one by one across her erect nipple. Then down: one, two, three, four. Then up. Each time my hand was a little lower, pressing a little more firmly; and each time I felt her body twitch slightly. She had her eyes closed, and seemed to be holding her breath.
Finally I let my fingertips trail in slow lazy circles around the nipple, starting wide then spiraling in, closer and closer, then back out again without actually touching it. It was so hard now it was crinkled, a ring of little bumps standing up around it, a miniature Stonehenge.
She was trembling now; I could feel it in the bed, see her nipple vibrating, even hear it in her breath. She was looking down at her breast, at my circling fingers. Then sitting up beside her, I put one hand on her belly and one on her chest above her breast. Slowly I brought them together, until I was cupping her breast between them. It swelled upward between my hands, a perfect cone rising between my thumbs and forefingers, that beautiful nipple at the tip. I bent over it, peering close, knowing she could feel my warm breath on it.
"I remember," I said, "when your chest was as flat as a boy's. You had a little two-piece bathing suit that you loved..."
"It was blue, with yellow fish on it," she said, her breath tight.
"I think so. What I remember is that the little halter top kept riding up, so you were always walking around with your nipples showing underneath it."
"And I thought I looked so cool in that suit. You never told me."
"You were so cute I didn't have the heart. I can't believe this is that same little nipple."
"Kiss it, Daddy, please?" she whispered.
"With infinite pleasure." I bent down and took it gently in my mouth, pressing it between my lips and running my tongue over it. She gasped and arched her back, pressing up against my face.
For a long time we did nothing more: me kneeling beside her, touching only her right breast; her squirming beneath me as I rolled the nipple between my lips, pulled it out and let it pop back, pressed it down with my nose, gave it butterfly kisses with my eyelashes, licked it and sucked it deep into my mouth.
Finally I released her nipple and ran my tongue up the sensitive skin along the side of her breast to her armpit. I licked her there a few times, making her giggle.
"You tickle!"
My lips brushed on, lightly grazing the skin, until I reached her neck. She rolled her head away from me. I licked around the outer rim of her ear, bit her earlobe gently, and sucked it into my mouth. She continued to writhe and sigh as she had when I had done the same to her nipple.
"Do you like it when I kiss your ears?" I murmured into her ear.
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "Oh, yes."
"I do believe," I said, "that you are one of those fortunate women whose ears are as erogenous as other, more private areas. I firmly believe that I once gave one such woman an orgasm while we were dancing at the senior prom in high school."
She laughed. "'One such woman'? Not Mom?"
"I don't want to shock you, Princess, but Mom was not the only woman in my life." I ran the tip of my nose along the soft crease just behind her ear.
"Oh. I didn't think so, but you never said anything about anybody else. Tell me about them."
I raised my head and she turned to look at me. Her eyes were languid and her lips full and soft. Her mouth was irresistible. I bent and kissed her on the lips as I had so many times before. But this time her tongue snaked between my lips and explored my mouth. I returned the favor.
"A father doesn't usually tell his daughter about his premarital love affairs," I said when we stopped for air.
"A father doesn't usually fuck his daughter," she pointed out, reasonably enough.
"You want me to talk about my other women? Now?" I asked in surprise. "Wouldn't later be better?"
She shook her head. "No. While you make love to me." She put her hands on my hips, pulled me to her.
"Wouldn't that be a turn off? Most women like to think they're the only one in their man's mind at such a time." My hand drifted down her body, my fingertips just touching her skin. She trembled at the touch.
"Daddy, this is the 21st century. No, it would turn me on. See, you taught me so much, about school and growing up and driving and, well, everything. But other than a rather stiff and severe -- and way too late -- talk about birds and bees, we never really talked about sex. I mean about really making love -- how to make it good, how to please your partner. I had to figure it out for myself."
"That's how everybody learns. Your partners teach you." My hand rested lightly on her belly, just above her pubis. We were both very much aware of it there, inches from her cunt.
"But they didn't know much either," she said, letting her hand rest on my thigh, the back of it just brushing my penis. "Just what they learned in dirty stories. But you know a lot. You've been with lots of women."
"Several, dear, not lots. I am no Casanova."
"How many?"
"I don't know." I moved my hand down to cover her pussy. Her hair tickled my palm as I cupped her warm mound. I hoped to distract her and avoid the question, but she turned her hand over and held my cock.
"Bullshit," she said. "'Everybody keeps score,' as a wise man once told me." She grinned up at me impishly, giving me a sharp squeeze.
"How many?"
"Okay. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven if you count one near miss."
"Near miss?"
"Ejaculation without penetration."
"Is that Latin for you shot your wad?"
"Yes, and we never got the chance to do it right, more's the pity."
"Tell me about one of them. Maybe not that one; one of the others."
"Will you tell me one of yours?"
She considered. "Okay."
"Okay. Let me see." I stroked her slowly as I thought. "Well, one time I made love in the back of a Greyhound bus."
"Wow. Was this full penetration? Were other people there?"
"Sure. It was half full."
"You must have been too."
I laughed. "No, we were just young and very hot for each other."
"Was the bus moving at the time of this alleged penetration?"
"On the way from Dayton to Indianapolis."
"Wow. In the wilds of the Midwest, no less. Was it in daylight?"
"No. At night. We were horny, not insane."
"Sounds pretty crazy to me. How did you do it?"
"You mean what position?"
"I mean, how did you get away with it?"
"We were in the last row, the big seat that goes all the way across the bus. The nearest people were three or four rows ahead of us. Most people were sleeping. It was late. A few were reading, with those little lights on."
"I get the picture. And there you were, snuggling in the back with your honey."
"Yeah. We'd been necking and petting for hours. We were wrapped up in one of those stupid little too-small blankets they give you, and I'd managed to get her blouse and bra undone. We were both really hot."
"I can imagine. You're good with tits." She pushed hers up toward my face and I gave them each another kiss.
"You ain't seen nothing yet. Wait till I do your elbows."
"I've been saving them for you. Go on with the story."
"Okay. So she managed to open my pants and get little Willie out."
"She must have seen Free Willie, huh?"
"Long before the movie, dear. Remember, this was just after the Cretaceous era."
"Yeah, yeah. So this babe has your sausage out in the bus."
"Sausage? Yuck. No one eats sausage anymore."
"I do. And she's holding it like this? And she's moving her hand like this? Hmm, yes, that's very nice. I think I see. So what happened then?"
"Okay, so we were already mostly undressed. I decided to make my move."
"Why do guys always think they're the ones making the moves?"
"We like it that way. So we shift around so we're both lying down."
"How? Were you on top?"
"No. Spoon fashion."
"What's that?"
"Like this. Turn over on your side. No, facing away from me. Bring your knees up a little."
She did so. I brought my knees up behind hers and put my arm around her to hold her breast. She squirmed back against me, pressing her ass into my lap.
"Mmmm, nice. Then what?"
"Then we did it."
"Show me."
"Well, she had to lift her leg a little."
"Like this? Oh, hello there." When she separated her thighs my cock slid between them, slapping up against her pussy.
"Um, yes. Then I rubbed it against her."
"Show me."
I reached over her hip and slid my hand down between her legs. I pressed my cock hard up against her lips and began stroking slowly. I felt it sink between her soft folds and knew the head must be stroking her clitoris. She moaned, opening her thighs wider and pressing back against me. Neither of us said anything more for a few moments, just savoring the wonderful sensation.
"Then what did you do?" she murmured.
"Then I slipped it inside her and fucked her."
"Show me," she said again. I hesitated. This was it: the point of no return.
"Are you really sure you want me to?"
"Don't you want to?"
"Oh, baby," I sighed, "more than anything in the world."
"Then do it, Daddy. Fuck your Princess."
I increased the pressure of my fingers and pressed the head of my cock deeper into her. I felt it bump lightly on the bridge of her pubic bone, on the verge of slipping either out or in. Then her fingers came down over mine, pressing hard. At the same time she pushed her bottom back against me, sliding my cock into her.
"Oh, oh, oh," she sighed. "Oh, Daddy, that's so good."
"Oh, it sure is," I agreed. She was so young and firm and fresh. It had been over twenty years since I had fucked a young girl and believe it or not I had forgotten how wonderful it felt.
I slid my hand out from under hers. Her fingers continued pressing on my cock as it slid slowly in and out of her, keeping it pressed hard against her. I slid my hand up her belly to her breasts. One was lying on the mattress, the other lay upon it. I stroked them, running my hand under, between, and over them both. They were so firm and smooth and heavy, the nipples hard and stiff against my palm. I clutched her upper breast firmly and crushed it back against her chest, pressing her more firmly against me. She twisted her head over her shoulder and I managed to stretch far enough to kiss her.
Our motion was slow and peaceful. In spite of my intense arousal, the pleasure was just so complete that I felt no need to hurry to completion. I just wanted it to go on forever. She must have felt the same, for she continued her gentle rocking against me. I ran my hands all over her, reveling in the touch of so much silky young female flesh. I stroked her lightly from neck to knee, up and down over the delightful hills and valleys of her side. My fingers barely brushed her skin, feeling her muscles twitch at the feather touch.
I particularly liked stroking gently, from her raised knee, down the soft sensitive skin of her inner thigh, across her hand still pressed against her pussy, and out along the other thigh. On the second or third such slow pass she took her hand away and simply lay still, letting me caress her, back and forth from knee to knee. Each time I went across her crotch I let one finger brush, as if carelessly, across her clitoris, and each time her whole body twitched.
Read part II here
Copyright November 2005
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.