Mommy Dearest

To be more precise, ten minutes of watching Sharon was enough to have me kneeling on the carpet right there between Daddy's splayed legs, his lower garments mysteriously nowhere to be seen.

At this point, although I don't often blow my own trumpet, I'm going to make an exception.

Oh my god, can I give good head!

Being at heart modest (and being not a thoroughbred racehorse) I'm not going to give you a detailed track record. Let's just say I like sucking cocks and have never found the act in the least demeaning. In honesty I find the act empowering.

Kneeling on the floor, making a muscleman wriggle and writhe, bleat, whimper and whine as I control him in the most blatant way possible . . .

What isn't there to like about that!

Not that I wanted to demean Daddy. Please don't misunderstand me. Only wanting to please both of us, I used my hand low down on his thick shaft, slowly, oh so very slowly. And yes, I used my lips and tongue too, kissing up at the top of him, licking him . . .

Perhaps I haven't mentioned this before but Daddy is built like a bull. I'm not in the habit of estimating the size of a guy's manhood but take it from me; Daddy was bigger than anyone I'd previously come across.

(That is if you will pardon the expression!)

My but he was up for it! Using my trusty right hand on him relentlessly, I paid a lot of attention to the top of his erection. And wasn't that top really something! I'm not totally sure whether I should call it a "helmet" or something more politically correct.

Whatever it should be called, it was enormously swollen and anointed with a dab of pre-cum.

Dabbing up the salty dribble of appetiser, I switched from kissing and caressing and sucked in earnest.

Daddy's response warmed my heart.

How turned on was he!

And how turned on was I!

Here's an admission for you. I cannot explain why I wanted to fuck my daddy in the first place. And I most certainly cannot explain why I wanted to keep doing it again and again.

Apart from me being a wanton, slutty whore who gets off on defying conventions, that is.

I have unreservedly loved Daddy forever; that's obviously a big part of it. And degrees of loving are tricky to quantify, unreserved or not, no? Where's the dividing line between being a child who wants to grow up and marry her daddy in the most romantic way . . . and one who grows up and actually, really, physically fucks him?

Apologies if you are expecting an answer. Best I can say is that I grew up wanting to romantically marry a man just like my daddy.

And that actually, really, physically fucking him was little more than a spur-of-the-moment thing, involving no brain-engagement at all.

As for wanting to keep doing it again and again . . .

That one absolutely defeats me. All I have in my defence is the fact it always felt so very, very good.

Added to that, of course, I definitely got a kick out of fucking Mother's man. It's rather petty of me, I know, but true all the same.

Chapter Four

Where was I?

Oh yes, I was sucking Daddy's cock. And I was even more excited about it than he was. As I rhythmically bobbed away at him, swapping the kissing and licking in favour of full oral penetration, I felt myself start to go.

How good was that! I was still fully dressed and stimulating him, but the power kick was stimulating me no end and . . .

Well, I orgasmed and drenched my panties long before I could properly appreciate the power kick. But I never for one instant ceased with my attentions. No, I had a plan in mind and one (not-so-very) little cum wasn't about to change anything.

On I went, like Dewar's whisky, never varying, before so very long bringing Daddy off just as vigorously as I'd brought off me.

Gulping down no less than seven spurts of seed, I persisted, my hand and mouth still working in perfect co-ordination, keeping Daddy hard, all the while wondering at Mother's claims about his lack of virility.

Mommy dearest couldn't possibly have been treating him right. There wasn't one hint of floppiness to be seen or felt.

As for my cunning plan . . . well, it was hardly anything new. Daddy could endure a blowjob for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, which I considered to be reasonably impressive. But "kept interested" after those initial seven spurts, he could last at least half an hour before cumming again.

See where I'm going, ladies?

Eventually, quite satisfied that he was staying up for the duration I got to my feet and removed my clothes as he removed his rather crumpled work-shirt. Then I plonked myself beside him on the settee and kissed him.

Bliss! His mouth tasted of beer and lust and manliness. Having his hands on my tits didn't hurt either, and having my nipples between his lips was perfection personified. But then he moved lower.

Now I love being eaten as much as the next girl. But just then the timing wasn't correct. Grabbing Daddy by the ears I tugged him back up my body.

'Save that for later,' I gasped. 'In me; I want you in me.'

It's tricky to describe how we fucked. Not that I'm going to skimp on details. What I mean is that I can't too easily name the position. Maybe we made up a new one but I tend to doubt that. More than likely we just fell into a method that had worked for millions before us.

There I was, on my back at a slant on the settee, my right leg anchored on the rug I'd so recently knelt on as I sucked, bobbed and cajoled. Daddy wasn't kneeling, not quite, but he had one leg bent and on a soft leather cushion before me, the other was anchored close to mine in that rug.

Then he edged forward and ran that enormous, swollen helmet of his up and down my slit.

Double bliss!!

I dearly wished his hairy, manly chest was rubbing against my tits but instantly forgot such girly urges as he pushed directly into me.

Well, as he pushed that helmet and perhaps a centimetre of thick shaft into me.

Triple bliss!! I'm rather sensitive to shallow penetrations and didn't Daddy know it. Rocking himself in and out, barely moving at all, he very swiftly made me cum again. For my part I lay still and took it like a good 'un, my trust absolute, not wanting to conflict with his delightful precision.

Then he pressed in a little farther, still limiting himself, still thinking exclusively of me. This encroachment couldn't have been more than three inches but he wasn't rocking anymore, he was stroking. At a guess I would say he was moving two inches in and out of me.

But what a two inches! Now that engorged knob-head was almost-but-not-quite leaving me then shallowly easing back in. My retentive muscles were gripping it, instinctively refusing to let it slip easily (or not very easily) out and away of me; every last one of my sensitive local nerve-endings was singing Hallelujah!

Better still, that invasive head of his was repetitively sliding over my G-spot.

Cue orgasms three and four in superfast time.

And then, when life couldn't possibly get any better, it did. Daddy suddenly pushed deeper and all of his awesome length was inside me. Our pelvic bones banged together . . . but fetchingly, not violently. As he retreated and re-advanced I ditched my earlier inertia and moved with him, keen to contribute, well aware that I might be fucking but he was making love.

In case you are wondering, my unanchored left leg set off waving in the air. When Daddy entered me it sort of hooked itself over his shoulder and stayed there, clutching at him, egging him on.

What a workout that was! Never mind half an hour, it was more like three-quarters. And, as breathless as I was when we finished together (his second time, my thirty-third or -fourth), I still found ways to preserve his interest.

Bareback cowgirl set us off on the right foot. Reverse bareback cowgirl added to it and, by then happy to do all the doings, I bounced up and down on him to my heart's content. And please do not ask for a time estimate on that phase of proceedings. I lost track of time soon after his second eruption. All I can really remember is another mutual climax and me being the one who finally flopped.

Daddy, by contrast, had been invigorated. He stood, lifted and carried me into the bedroom in his arms before going down on me for hours on end.

Yes, me with my pussy full of his semen, him obviously carefree . . . or maybe driven to prove a point.

Being eaten by Daddy was exquisite. When he rolled me onto my tummy I was boneless and ready for anything up to and including anal. Not that he did . . . not on that occasion. Instead, exhibiting all of his usual gentleness, he had me vaginally and lasted forever.

As for me, pressed face-first into the mattress, unable to move and as good as spent, I left him to it.

Judgment call or what?

Chapter Five

We conversed around six in the morning, after a well-deserved spell of shuteye. Being the talkative one I went first and told him about Mother's redundancy and the demise of Lionel and Amy (not that I admitted what I'd been up to with Amy at the time).

'Mother's landed on her feet,' I concluded. 'Some guy called Brian has fixed her up at the building society, PA-ing for a rampant lezzie director.'

'Is that Brian from my old local?' Daddy enquired.

'Yeah; he's a very good-looking guy with no wedding ring and no incriminating white band on the relevant finger.'

'That's Brian,' Daddy confirmed. 'He's married to the job, according to him. No time for women.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'Okay, I'll rephrase. He's no time for living with a woman. Spending a night or two with one is probably a very different matter. Was he all over your mother?'

'No, Brian wasn't nearly as much on her case as the lezzie was. And she's going to be Mother's boss, not him.'

'I thought you said she's only been asked in for an interview.'

'Trust me, Daddy, she's nailed on. Yvonne even gave her a starting date.'

Daddy sniggered, surprising me. 'I hope this Yvonne's as rampant as you say she is.'

'Why?'

'Well it's new for Mother, isn't it? It might take her aback.'

I sniggered along with him. 'I reckon it is. And even better, Mother's already told me she's prepared to do anything to succeed. Could that be sauce for the goose or what?'

Then, at last remembering Mother's conciliatory message, I passed it on.

'I know it's the end of the line.' Daddy sighed. 'And I want to stay friends too. So tell her I'll be awaiting her call. And that the lawyers can all go screw themselves as far as I'm concerned.'

'I hate to say it,' said I, 'but that's very mature of both of you.'

Silence ensued for several minutes.

'So what's on for you today?' Daddy resumed brightly . . . maybe too brightly.

'Anything your heart desires,' I replied, only slightly flippantly.

'I'm due on the golf course by ten. It's the monthly mixed medal.'

That news surprised me not at all. Daddy was good at golf and had won lots of medals, monthly, weekly and whenever else they held tournaments. Indeed one of Mother's longest-running gripes was that he'd always preferred the seventh hole to hers.

Not to mention the nineteenth, of course.

As if the lady in question couldn't drink like a fish in any surroundings!

'Who's your mixed partner,' I asked mischievously. 'Please say it's Doreen.'

Doreen was Mother's next-desk neighbour at what would soon be Mother's ex-place of work. I knew she was good at golf and I knew she fancied the socks of Daddy. As a single and very beautiful woman, I had been wishing her well in her pursuit.

No disrespect to Mother, please understand. Although very different in appearance she and Doreen were of an age yet equally youthful-looking. It didn't take a great stretch to imagine their twenty-something work mates wanking over them of a night.

And that was just the girls!

'We're not allowed to simply pair off,' said Daddy. 'It's done by raffle.'

'It's done by raffle?' I echoed.

'Yes, pretty much like they used to draw lottery numbers live on a Saturday night. They have one pot for women and another for men. Shortly before we kick off the club secretary draws the pairings, starting with the first tee time. I get whoever fate gives me, sadly. Given the choice it'd be Doreen all the way.'

My raised eyebrows must have told a story.

'Not like that,' Daddy said hastily. 'Golf-wise we're the dream team. She wins even more often than I do. It wouldn't be fair to pair us up. We'd win every time. That's why we draw lots, to even out the field.'

'So you could end up with anyone?'

'Correct. My partner might be eighteen or eighty-three.'

'Surely there are plenty in-between.'

'I suppose there are.'

'And surely whoever draws you has a fair chance of winning.'

'Blossom; what are you trying to say?'

'I'm trying to say you need to celebrate properly when you win. And not just with me. And I guess that I'm trying to say you should celebrate properly if you don't win . . . whoever you do or don't win with.'

'Right, you got it; me and an eighty-three-year-old granny.'

'Don't knock it until you try it. Experience is a good thing. Take it from me; I know.'

Daddy's expression conveyed doubt, to say the least.

'Don't knock it until you try it,' I repeated.

'What if I draw an eighteen-year-old?'

'Then you forget experience and go for feel.' I laughed, thinking of an old, old guy in the local once; a guy who'd been a farmer and whose eyes had glazed over with that awful blue sheen. "I can't see anymore,' he'd said to a stacked blonde barmaid, "but I can still feel . . . "

I'd laughed at the time, along with everyone else, but I'd wondered how the old guy had known how good the barmaid looked.

Maybe sheer sexuality didn't actually need sight or touch?

'Sixteen is old enough in England,' I said, 'so if you do get an eighteen-year-old, take it as a bonus.'

Daddy rolled his eyes. 'Blossom,' you can be so earthy.'

My hand closed around his semi-hard-on.

'Wanna see how earthy I can be?'

Chapter Six

Laughing when Daddy invited me to caddy for him (as if I was still thirteen and in dire need of a little extra pocket money!) I remembered my promise to drop in on Mother.

'Have sex with your partner,' I reminded him. 'Win or lose, young or old, wine her and dine her. You will feel like a new man in the morning, I promise you.'

'But where will I find a new man at that time of day?' said Daddy in a convincingly effeminate voice.

Omigod, who did he remind me of? Not his real self, that was for sure.

No, it was some major TV star from old repeats, possibly in black and white; that was the best I could do.

'Just hope that she's a she and she has all her own teeth,' I said. Then, giggling like the schoolgirl I once was, 'or would it be even better for you with just gums?'

*****

Mother's car was sitting where she'd abandoned it the previous afternoon: almost in its usual slot, but not quite. It was a shade before eleven and her bedroom curtains were the only ones closed. The rest of the house looked lived-in and awake.

Leastways it did to me, not really paying real attention, my head still stuffed with more of the sexual acts I had just performed with Daddy.

Whatever would Mother do if she found out!

Come to that, what right did she have to react?

Well, biological relationships apart, of course.

Not to mention the potential interest of the local plods. The chance of a nice, safe prosecution that didn't involve drug dealers, gangsters or gangbangers yet with plenty of tabloid headlines; yes they'd be onto a complaint of incest like a ton of bricks.

Kudos a million per cent, risk zero and front page of the Mirror and Sun guaranteed . . .

Instinctively checking for other parked vehicles . . . finding none . . . I used my key to let myself into what had once been the family home. No way was I about to knock or ring bells. Exiled or not, I'd lived here for a big chunk of my life.

Grinning to myself, I tried to predict the extent of Mother's hangover. In the light of her new job I no longer feared she might have done something silly. As I saw it cries for help were well out of the frame. No, I just hoped she'd had far too many glasses of wine and felt like shit.

(A feeling I wasn't exactly unfamiliar with. As yet another aside, I've always had many similarities with my mother, not all of them good. Doubtless that's why we've clashed so often over the years.)

All was quiet downstairs. That half of the house wasn't as lived-in and awake as I'd supposed. Still eager to see Mother under the weather I set off upstairs. And I came to an abrupt halt, more or less on the same step I had snooped in on Lionel and Amy the afternoon before.

But this wasn't snooping in on co-conspirators plotting and comparing notes. This was listening in on sex.

Omigod, Lionel must have wormed his way back after all!

Believe it or not, I hadn't ever listened in on my parent's bedroom activities, even when I'd got old enough to realize it had to regularly happen. Maybe they'd been supremely discreet or maybe Daddy had tired of Mother's witchy ways and didn't bother.

Maybe that was why Mother scoffed at his (alleged) lack of virility.

Maybe she couldn't accept that her man just didn't want her anymore.

Lionel obviously wanted her, however. It didn't take Einstein to realize that Mother was getting one heck of a good seeing-to up there.

The things she was coming out with!

Somehow managing to avoid swearwords she was saying the sexiest things. She was also moaning and groaning, squealing and sighing like an actress in the most convincing porn film ever made.

Move over Fifty Shades and Last Tango.

Not to mention a zillion more recent, much lower budget contributions.

"Yes", "More" and "Harder" featured prominently in her terms of endearment.

Marooned on my step, I tried to pretend I wasn't affected.

But I was. Previously I had dismissed Lionel as a gobby little wimp. Suddenly here he was, starring in a graphic, in-your-face remake of The Stud.

'More,' Mother cried, 'harder, yes that's it, harder . . . Oh good God yes, that's it; that's perfection, more, more, more!'

Out of nowhere my nipples were fully erect and muscles were tightly clenching you-know-where.

Bloody hell, I thought, not as easily as this!

Then Mother came, screaming and yelling, still demanding "More", "Yes" and "Harder".

What a climax that sounded to be. It made me wonder about our neighbour's deafness. Surely even Mrs Smith must have heard that!

It was long-lasting too. Mother's toy boy stud evidently kept going while she shrieked and hollered blue murder . . . Well, blue something. From the odd new, unrepeated word she injected into the gaps it was clear that murder was the last thing on her mind.

'More,' she gasped eventually, breathlessly, 'harder and faster and more, more, more. And you cum with me this time, yeah? Together as one; that's the ticket.'

Lionel grunted something, caveman-style and I blinked in disbelief. I could hear their wet groins slapping together, louder and louder, faster and faster.

'That's it,' Mother wailed, 'more, more, more.'

I have no time for unions but that was it for me. I immediately came out in sympathy. Then I stayed where I was on the step in soggy knickers, time for once meaningless. And don't ask how long they were at it; it was more than five minutes and less than an hour; otherwise I haven't a clue.

How I kept from jilling along with them I will never know.

Somehow I controlled myself. Even so I was in severe danger of "coming out" again when they climaxed as one at last, Mother ten times as vocally as before, Lionel predictably caveman.

And how Mrs Smith next door missed that one beats me all ends up.

Silence finally settled. It was easy to picture the two lovers clasping each other, exhausted but exhilarated as they tried to catch breath and waited for wildly beating hearts to settle.