Ambisextrous

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.