Taped Confessions - Unsold Cassette

Papa had said to put it inside, and having left his shaft glazed from my kisses, my lips enveloped the head, and then some. Sex with my mouth! Such a wonderful, invasive sensation as he filled my palate and my tongue did its best to massage his flesh. I got a faint taste of the beer that was still in Papa's system from his urethra, which made me feel even filthier, in such close proximity to traces of his urine. Continuing on with my spread jaw, I found it hard to contain the saliva produced, and it began flowing out onto my busy fingers. Without thinking, I slurped it back in, then looked up and excused myself for the lack of ladylike manners.

Papa smiled and looked very pleased, which of course bolstered my enthusiasm. He chuckled and advised me I could slurp and spit all I wanted while not at the kitchen table. Resuming this most intimate but yet somewhat impersonal expression of love and lust, I began to realize the noisy sloppiness was intentionally part of the experience, duplicating the slick confines of a vagina, and replacing the foreign substance of the hand lotion.

I had previously only spit at the dentist, but might have entered an informal adolescent contest or two when challenged by the boys at the state home to demonstrate my accuracy at hitting a spot on a wall. So, possibly more skilled than many young women at saliva as a projectile, at his suggestion I began regularly targeting my papa's penis, to his apparent delight.

I coated it, reveling in the carefree messiness not allowed since I was a youngster, and resumed yanking on it with both hands gripping tightly, seeking the objective of a virulent succession of squirts. My mouth sucked on the upper third, distracted only by feeling his heavy, hairy sack, yet another new and fascinating sensation.

I was so enamored with this orally satisfying act that I didn't want to stop, even after Papa's second, urgent warning of 'Here it comes.' I pulled away just before a white streak flew past my eye and soon the side of my face and hair were dripping with his warm, crisply scented white fluid. I flinched as a bit as more was airborne close to my nose, but Papa's jolting and loud moans of pleasure were more than compensation for the pubic hairs in my mouth and the dousing. I ended up giggling as our eyes met, the sperm of the man I loved dripping off my jaw and tickling one of my still-stiff nipples.

Chapter Four.

Since moving in with Papa, I had allowed myself the extravagance of an occasional fashion magazine, purchased at the drug store or newsstand. I certainly wasn't a little girl anymore, either in age or, now, my intimate life. I tried to dress a little more maturely, but didn't have much to work with, since many of the donated dresses were juvenile and close to ten years old. Late on a weeknight soon after, I hopped into the living room as he watched TV as usual, except I was wearing only panties and one of his old white button down shirts, which of course looked like a dress on me. I curled up next to Papa on the sofa, unbuckled and unzipped his sooty dark green work pants, and was quickly rewarded by a wonderful mouthful of penis. The muscle beneath his heavily sweat-scented skin solidified quickly as I randomly alternated suction, licked, spat, and enveloped it. Papa's hand was entangled in my pony tail and began to press up and down, directing my pace. Here I was, little Bess, ignoring years of moral caveats from the nuns and priests, voluntarily trying to emulate a vaginal cavity with my mouth, and for her own father! I was keeping a rhythmic, tight rein on the moving skin of a penile shaft, slick with my intentional slobber. Oh, the wicked pleasure in noisily, blatantly sucking on the corpulent dick of my papa!

I had worn the easily removed and liberally unbuttoned shirt, hoping to offer glimpses of my titties as I satisfied my newfound oral hunger for him. I had debated about the panties, but they were slipped on at the last moment so as to anticipate the sheer thrill of my Papa stripping them off me the way he had recently rid me of my nightgown. Again I was so enraptured in sucking him, nothing else came to mind until I realized I had forgotten a towel to clean up the chaotic squirts of sperm I would ensure were forthcoming. I tried to excuse myself, but Papa had designs on another type of surprise, and not the vaginal invasion I had wished for. He made his suggestion without letting go of my hair, implicitly giving me no choice.

Swallow it? Reproductive fluid, meant to fertilize an egg deep within a womb? Ugh! It had smelled more clinical than savory. Still, I acquiesced, hoping I could pull away in time and maybe get away with only a sample. As I resumed my sucking, I realized this premeditated ingestion was yet another perverse thrill, maybe the sickest of all, and I would make every effort, to consume the entirety of my Papa's 'wad', as he called it. I sucked even more frantically. A few more minutes he grunted several times in succession as his sperm flooded my mouth, like ice cream that had been melted by a hot slice of pie, but with a briny, nauseating, salty, almost snot-like flavor. I gagged, my closed lips allowing just a spittle of the slime, and looked up, covering my mouth and staring at the plaster cracks in our ceiling until it had descended into my esophagus. But the remorse at my incestuous deeds only lasted a few seconds, until I looked at my smiling papa, zipping up his fly, pleased with me. That was what I wanted, a content father who would never want anyone but me. I slept with my head in his lap until the TV station broadcasted the National Anthem. Papa carried me to my bed once more, and kissed me, his princess, goodnight. I fell easily back to sleep as his fluid languished in my stomach, to no ill effect, except for a single, unpleasant belch.

My fashion attempts came to a boiling point of sorts the following Saturday morning. Hemlines had risen, and by 1967, I thought I was owed a little adult modernity, especially as we would be in fashion-forward Manhattan today, to partake in the treasures of the New York Public Library. I hopped into the living room, barelegged, in my new creation, a simple orange jumper dress, that I had hand altered the hemline on. I might have miscalculated the length a bit, as the crutches gathered the dress under my arms, raising the skirt a bit higher. Papa, who was standing in the living room, took one look at me and was suddenly enraged. I was hurt and shocked, and the angry, defensive facade I had maintained for confrontations at school and the state home instinctively arose. A stereotypical parent-teen verbal altercation turned physical after I facetiously countered that he might like it if the wind blew my short skirt up to reveal my panties.

I had developed a blocking move where I would use my left crutch like a Roman shield, raising it and bracing it against my forearm. I quickly used it to prevent a slap from Papa, who cursed as his open hand made contact with the wood. My move to duck an anticipated backhand from the other direction was overdone, and losing my already tenuous balance, I fell back onto my butt, legs spread, at his feet, crutches at my side.

He bent down, and suddenly his hand was under my skirt, had grabbed a leg hem and was yanking my panties along my thighs!

'See?' he said angrily, demonstrating the risk of my short skirt.

My first reaction was of course to shriek in horror and turn to the side. Papa's expression suddenly softened. He let go of the underwear, which had stalled at the crook of my legs. I began to replace them as he realized he had apparently taken things too far. I was then puzzled as he dropped to his knees.

Was this it? I asked myself. Was the abbreviated skirt too much, and turned his lust into an uncontrollable rage? Why else would he have dropped down onto the carpet over me, if not to fuck? He had a strange expression on his face, like he was getting ready to speak, but then his attention turned to me, as I slid my panties completely off and flung them away.

Papa's eyes got big as I spread my thighs, lifted my skirt to my waist and implored him to 'put it in me'. I remember thinking, 'Come on, Papa, finish the job! Fuck your daughter! She wants you!'

My pulse raced and breath became shallow as my excitement grew. This was it, I was going to get fucked by the man I loved! He pulled his necktie off, then strangely, lowered his face down to the dark-haired triangle that dominated the landscape of my pelvis.

My papa began to kiss my pussy! I was overcome by a mixture of flattery, surprise, and a bit of disappointment that he wasn't going to penetrate me right there on the vacuumed but dust-scented carpet. The disappointment faded quickly at the luscious sensation of his huge tongue rearranging my labia and his large hands under my bare butt cheeks, squeezing and lifting them off the floor to give him a better angle to lick me. How exhilarating! I heard myself crying out with joy as my vagina heated maddeningly. Our eyes met as he appeared only from the nose up, his face intense with concentration at giving me such a wonderful pleasure for the first time. Before I knew it he was lifting me off the rug, carrying me in his large arms while continuing to lap at my pussy like a thirsty animal.

Papa took me to his bed. The moment I had fantasized about in one form or another was arriving! I thought my heart was going to burst I was so excited. I found myself writhing around on my back at the edge of the mattress, legs spread, and begged him to put it in me. I could see his stiff penis making a huge bulge in his trousers. I couldn't get my dress off fast enough.

Soon his massive, hairy upper body was bare, and for the first time during a sexual encounter. I wanted this man on top of me, doing the naughty, heinous things that unmarried women aren't supposed to desire, especially with their own father. Papa's face was shiny with my juice, and I watched the tent in his pants yield to his emerging, beautiful erection, hard, reddish, and ready for me! Dress finally jettisoned, only my bra remained. I unhooked it but left it in place, just so I could watch him remove it and hopefully put his mouth on my nipples, which were solid and craving their share of his oral favors. I wanted his teeth on them, mashing and yanking, sucking them deeply past his lips.

Suddenly I was penetrated by one of his fat fingers. It was wonderfully invasive and gratifying. While his digit slid in and out, he leaned in and with his other hand, deftly rid me of the bra. His fingers returned, dripping with saliva, and brusquely pulled my thankful nipples away from my chest into peaks. He twisted them like corkscrews bottle caps as waves of pleasure flowed through me.

Without warning I was flipped over like a flapjack, and his finger had withdrawn. Unable to see what was happening, and for a moment he wasn't touching me anywhere. I began to panic, fearing he had changed his mind. My body was practically convulsing, and I barely had the breath to ask him what he was going to do next. He didn't answer, but a hand slid under my hip bone and began to rub my special place. I remember involuntarily crying out it, felt so damn good. The rough skin of his knuckles then shoved against my other inner thigh, pushing it forward to create access to my vagina for the thumb that was pressing against my vulva.

Then I realized it. My papa didn't have three hands! Both were already accounted for. It was his penis digging its way into my pussy! The swollen monstrosity I had been literally begging for! I didn't care what society or the church said, I wanted my papa to fuck me! I tried to back my hips further onto it, but wasn't able to get any traction on the odorous, rumpled sheets beneath me. His finger caressing my clit was vaulting me into euphoria as I implored him to gift me with more of his dick. His muscle wonderfully stretched me, my virgin hole unprepared for such a thick invader. The opening of my pussy was rhythmically forced to spread around him with nearly the pain of a muscle cramp, but it also pulsed with intensely satisfying pleasure. That and the fact that there was a male organ inside me, and not just any organ, but my loving papa's scarlet dick, made me orgasm wildly and loudly within a few minutes, although I didn't even know what to call it then.

Once my post-climax mind was able to process motor skills and thoughts once more, I turned back over, sat up and told Papa how much I loved him as he looked at the glistening, sweaty mess he made of me. The air reeked of my juices and there seemed to be moisture everywhere. I did notice Papa had put on a condom, and that only a quarter of it was shiny from entering me. I almost fainted thinking about how much more of his engorged penis my now-sore vagina had yet to receive as I untied my sneakers and tugged off my socks. I vulgarly offered to use my newly found oral skills on him, but he took a rain check, kissed me and carried me to a nice cool bath, and gently helped me wash, his penis still bulging in his boxer shorts.

Chapter Five.

Obviously Papa and I went into Manhattan later than planned that day, and I got a real workout hopping around the city on my crutches, my sore labia a constant reminder of the loss of my virginity, more or less. We did eat Chinese food and saw The Dirty Dozen, but on the reel of tape he recorded, Papa seemed to confuse our route on the trip home with another late night train tour we made. It was near the Bergen Tunnel, not out in the Meadowlands, that I surprised him by unzipping his fly, exposing his dick, and pulling and sucking on it ardently until my mouth felt nearly filled with his briny sperm. Unfortunately I gagged deeply, forcing it back out, along with a sampling of movie popcorn and my number seven pepper steak combination.

His confusion is understandable, as it wasn't the only time I sucked him off on a train. Riding around North Jersey in the middle of the night on dimly lit, often empty railcars is not something most people aspire to. It was an inexpensive adventure, and alongside my giant, armed papa, I felt safe, and enjoyed the game of chance we played, titty or dick sucking, and an occasional scrumptious fingering, interrupted more than once by a drunk stumbling into the car or a tired shift worker, on their way home. If there were too many people in our car, I simply dozed contentedly while leaning on Papa's arm. Sometimes we clandestinely and slowly massaged genitals over trousers or up skirts, ensuring we were nice and horny by the time we got home for a spastic, sweaty fuck into the dawn hours. We had placed a mattress on the floor of the basement, as rhythmic, bed-creaking noises and wailing female orgasmic outcries would be suspect, coming from the apartment of a bachelor with a young daughter, but no apparent girlfriend.

Those outcries were expressions of the joyous gratification I indulged in while straddling my papa's hairy body and impaling myself on his fat dick. I didn't care that we were four feet from the furnace among boxes of junk, I was obsessed. Those long nights, oh hell, and days too, on those first several weekends were heaven on earth, as I basked in the thrill of my inexperienced vaginal walls incrementally stretching to accept a little more of his thick muscle with each fuck. I or Papa rubbed my clit all while I was erratically attempting to stuff my pussy, and I always climaxed spastically and loudly before taking even half of it completely. I then unrolled the rubber and sucked Papa's latex-tasting dick the rest of the way, gradually becoming accustomed to his sperm flooding my mouth. It probably took two months before he was able to slide it in 'balls deep' as the expression goes, and even then it hurt.

That event began in our living room, as we drunkenly danced to the loud hi-fi, aware that our immediate upstairs neighbors were out of town. Papa was carrying me around the room as usual and we had kissed madly and lost our clothes from the waist down. I hung from his neck but facing him straight on as he entered and supported me, holding my ass as we mated. My uncontrolled legs surrounded his hips, feet dangling, and in the midst of me bouncing and luxuriating in the penetration of about half the length his dick, suddenly he decided to remove his hands. I held up almost my full body weight as long as I could. Papa smiled at his slightly sadistic actions, enjoying my struggle to keep myself from full impalement. Despite my considerable arm strength due to my crutches, eventually I had no choice but to let my torso drop. Suddenly receiving the full dimension of his dick, its girth created a spasm and memorable pain deep within me that caused quite a scream. I could scarcely breathe. We shuffled down the hall with his thick, stiff muscle still crammed fully inside me, randomly assaulting the deepest reaches of my unexpectedly stretched vagina. We finished that somewhat painful intercourse on the kitchen table, sliding it across the floor gradually until it bumped against the counter. After I had a stratospheric orgasm, Papa withdrew and practically tossed me on the floor, letting me free fall from about his knee level. My back and ass hit the linoleum with a stinging slap, but the cool surface felt soothing to my sweat-soaked body. Papa stood over me, unrolled the rubber and let it fall onto my stomach, then straddled me and jerked on his dick. I had a nice view of his jolting, hairy balls as he rained his pale, gooey sperm onto my tits and midsection like he was pissing in an alley. His acts that day seemed contemptuous, disrespectful at best, intentionally spraying me. Still, I never resisted and it would become an occasional conclusion, especially if we had argued earlier that day, the crumpled condom tossed anywhere from between my buttocks to the bridge of my nose, surrounded by a generous splattering of his fluid.

Papa would call me at home from a phone booth while he was on break from work, usually to check on me but it evolved into obscenities and promises of more twisted relations. We bathed together frequently, with Papa lowering me into a warm, sudsy tub. Even a simple trip to the drive-in movie bore a vulgar offer by me to suck Papa's dick. I learned to recognize many movie actors by their voices only, blasting from the car window speaker while my face was in Papa's lap, gulping as I practiced taking more and more of his thick shaft into my eager mouth.

At times, we both seemed to grasp the insanity of what we were doing. Even without the biology, we had a man in his forties who exposed himself and subsequently took the virginity of a previously chaste, handicapped girl just out of high school, entrusted to his care. Also we had an insecure young woman, who was initially repulsed but soon was immorally swayed and began essentially asking for it, seeking acceptance, teasing the older man via her scanty outfits around the house. When the element of father and daughter is introduced, you have a twisted, sick, degenerate scenario, causing guilt and frustration, but, at least for me, manifesting itself into a decade and a half of the most intense sex imaginable. I've seen triple-X movies in Times Square, and underground films of every imaginable kink. Still, nothing is filthier in my mind than consensually being fucked by my father.

Simply reading this essay into a microphone this last hour has me wet and ready for Papa's return from his lodge meeting in ten minutes. While his cronies go home to their fat, aging wives, he'll be surprised but happy as his petite, much younger daughter appears in the living room, freshly showered in a thin robe or maybe just a tight t-shirt, and brings him a cold beer, then curls up beside him. He will ignore her awkward gait and omnipresent crutches. He'll continue to be happy he took a big chance that Sunday morning years before by showing her his hard cock. Papa later confessed he had fantasized about exposing it to her even before she moved back in with him. It had never been harder before than that moment when she was gawking at it in shock, he said. My papa will consider himself lucky that his risky attempts to molest his young daughter by forcing her hand onto his genitals were met with quickly diminishing resistance. He will recall the early morning he walked into the kitchen and was greeted by his daughter in only a long nightgown, sheer enough to reveal her lack of panties. My papa will remember thinking it was just a fluke, until such incomplete outfits appeared several days in a row and he finally forced her into his bed to touch his cock. He'll recall his joy as his daughter voluntarily completed her first handjob, and he had shot one of his biggest wads ever that morning. My father will remember how he thought it would take months or years to get his daughter to progress from titty feels and handjobs to blowjobs. In his wildest dreams, he had said, he hadn't expected to be blissfully fucking his handicapped little girl within two months of her moving in.