Three Fathers

***As hard as it may be to believe, a not insignificant amount of what you're about to read is actually based on true events. A charming young lady recently contacted me to say she was a fan of my work. We got into a conversation and she ended up telling me about her somewhat unusual life story. I was so enthralled by her tale, that I begged her to let me write it. She kindly agreed and I am therefore dedicating this story to her. Thank you my sweet, sweet little girl. I'll let you guess which bits are true, and which bits I invented. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Anyone involved in any sexual activity is at least eighteen years old.***

Part 1: Mr Leaf

He ushers me into the room and locks the door.

There's only the two of us in the house, and we should be alone all day, but it's better to be safe than sorry. That's what he always tells me. When we're together.

This is his study. His sanctuary, he calls it. The building itself can't be more than fifteen years old, but this room has been designed to look much older than that. There's dark wood panelling on the walls, plush carpeting on the floor, bookcases full of leather-bound tomes of great import, a large, sturdy desk and a big upholstered chair. How many times has he fucked me on that desk, I wonder. How many times have I sucked his cock while he was sat in that chair?

I stand there in silence, waiting for him to tell me what to do. I'm well trained by now. I know not to say a word. He brushes past me and walks across the room, standing with his back to me. I can hear myself breathing. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. I can feel my clit tingling.

He turns round and stares at me. Looks me up and down. His eyes burning through me like laser beams. I'm wearing a pair of strappy sandals, a short summery dress and my hair is up in a ponytail.

For what seems like the longest of times, he doesn't say a word. I can hear the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the room. I can hear the birds chirping outside. I can hear children playing, further down the block. I wait. I wonder. I'm so turned on I could explode.

"Take off your dress," he says, quietly. Insistently. Without the slightest expectation of dissent.

I do as I am told, quickly unbuttoning the named item, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath I have on a lacy, half-cup black bra and no panties. I never wear panties now. He prefers it that way. He likes me to wear the shortest of short skirts and no underwear. He likes to know I'm not wearing any panties.

Sometimes, when we're with other people, he'll glance in my direction and raise an eyebrow. The most subtle and understated of gestures. I know exactly what he wants and I'll spread my legs apart, just a little, showing him my naked cunt. My glistening, wet, naked cunt. He'll look at me for a moment or two, then nod almost imperceptibly. I'm thrilled to have his seal of approval.

And now here I am, stood before him, almost naked; my nipples hard like pencil erasers.

"Lose the bra," he whispers.

I nod eagerly, and unhook the bra. It quickly joins my dress on the floor, exposing my large, creamy breasts. He walks over to me, almost gliding across the carpet. He's tall, at least six foot, and he towers over me. I feel so small. So delicate. So vulnerable. There is a power, a charisma about him that always makes me tremble with excitement. A sense of danger. A sense of anticipation. It always seems like there is a crackling energy within him; as if he is constantly tiptoeing on the edge, precariously navigating the waters between control and release.

He brings his hand to my face, and cups my cheek, gently caressing my skin. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips barely touching me.

"You're my good little girl, aren't you, Georgia?" He asks.

"Yes, Daddy," I reply, breathlessly. My stomach is full of butterflies, I'm so happy to receive his praise and reassurance.

He rubs his thumb across my mouth, smearing the bright red lipstick I'm wearing. He brushes his fingers across my cheeks, then slides two of them into my mouth. I open wide and accept this invasion, my tongue lapping away at his digits. I suck avidly, licking his fingers, as he pushes them deep inside my mouth, forcing them down my throat. I gag a little, but don't stop sucking. Not even for a second.

He pulls his hand clear, his fingers sliding back between my lips. I almost squeak in disappointment, as he withdraws. But I needn't be concerned, he's only just starting. He reaches down between my legs and strokes my smooth little mound. Not a hair to be found. Another of his special rules. I get waxed at least once or twice a month. Little girls shouldn't have hairy pussies, he tells me.

I can feel his hand pressing against my cunt, his fingers slipping inside me. I gasp, biting my bottom lip. I'm tight down there, but I'm so wet, there isn't much resistance. He's fisted me on more than a few occasions, so I know a couple of fingers shouldn't be too much of a problem. I can feel him inside me, exploring and probing. I squeeze my muscles, tightening my grip on his hand.

But not for long. He pulls his fingers out of me and brings them up to my face. I can smell myself. Smell my arousal. He places his fingers on my cheek, dragging them across my skin, leaving a trail of sticky wetness behind.

"Get down on your knees," he says.

"Yes, Daddy."

I sink down in front of him, dropping to the floor and sitting back on my heels. I can feel the cheeks of my ass pressing into my sandals. He looks down at me, his gaze holding mine.

"Put your arms behind your back. Hold them there until I say otherwise."

As always, I obey without question, locking my arms together, my fat breasts pushing forward in response. I look up at him, submissive, obedient. Content. Happy to be in this position, happy to hand over control to this man. Let him use me in whatever way he wants. I feel safe here. With him. Safe and secure, under his watchful gaze.

Finally, he unzips his fly and fishes out his cock. He's hard and big. It bobs around a little. I follow its movements closely, like someone being hypnotised. I've gotten so used to this cock in recent months, become familiar with its size and its shape. Its taste.

He takes hold of it and slaps my face with it. Gently, to begin with. He taps my cheeks, my forehead, my nose. I reach out with my tongue and try to lick the underside of his shaft. He steps back a little and begins to jerk himself off, his fingers wrapped tightly round his member. The head of his prick is so close to my lips. Every so often I feel it brush against my skin.

After a few minutes, with no warning, his dick erupts and ribbons of cum splatter over my face. I can see his piss-hole suddenly dilate and then my vision is obscured by copious amounts of slimy cream. It lands on my forehead, rolling slowly down my skin. One eye is closed, gummed shut with seminal fluid. I can feel his essence dripping off my nose and cheeks.

"What do you have to say, Georgia?"

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Thank you for what? You have to say the words."

"Thank you for cumming on me, Daddy."

"Good girl."

He walks away, going over to his desk and sitting down. It looks like he's doing some paperwork. I don't move. I remain where I am, frozen in place. Kneeling on the floor, naked, my arms behind my back, his cum on my face. My cunt is streaming, my juices dripping onto the carpeted floor. Goddammit, I'm so fucking horny. But I wait for him. Wait for him to resume his interest.

Maybe twenty minutes later he stands up and walks towards me, unzipping his fly once more. He pulls his cock out, although it's only half erect this time.

"Open your mouth," he says.

"Yes, Daddy."

I do as I'm told, and he stuffs his dick between my lips. I go to work, sucking and licking with all my might, desperately trying to arouse his interest. It doesn't take long, I've become pretty good at sucking cock. Soon enough, we repeat our previous encounter. He mostly jerks himself off, only occasionally letting me lick or suck his dick. Then he cums on me again. Another blast of jizz, now in my hair and on my face.

He sits back at his desk, resuming his clerical work. Rinse and repeat, again and again. Maybe five or six times he masturbates in front of me, cumming on my face and tits. I just kneel there like some obscene canvas, as he splatters his pearly-white paint all over me. I must have been there for what felt like hours, not daring to move. My legs are numb. My face is a mess. I can smell nothing but the pungent aroma of his cum, dripping off me like cooking fat.

The last time, he lets me suck him off properly. Or, more accurately, he decides to skull-fuck me. He rams his cock down my throat, not caring for my comfort or ease. Not caring if it hurts. My tears roll down my cheeks, clearing some of the spunk out of my eyes. I choke and I gag. He doesn't care. But I don't mind. Like I said, I'm happy to serve him in whatever way he wants. I'm happy to be used. I want him to be in control. I want him to be in charge.

Finally, he pushes his dick as far forward as he can, shoving it down my gullet. He cums one last time, although I doubt he produced all that much fluid. Most of the contents of his balls are on my face and my neck and my shoulders and my tits. He straightens himself up, zipping his fly and standing back a step.

"Thank you, Georgia. You're my good, good girl."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"I'm done with you for now, you can go and get cleaned up."

"Yes, Daddy."

Slowly, gingerly, I try to move. My legs are stiff and lifeless. I stretch my limbs, feeling the pins and needles in my arms and legs, as my blood starts circulating again. I'm naked, save for my sandals. His cum is running down my chest. My cum is running down my legs. I practically hobble towards the door. As I reach out to unlock it, his voice rings out audibly across the room, firm and clear.

"Once you're cleaned up, wait for me in my room. Don't bother getting dressed. I may want to use your cunt later. Or your ass."

"Yes, Daddy."

I leave his study, unable to hide the huge beaming grin on my face.

***

Every little girl loves their daddy. That's one of the rules of the road. A law of nature, like gravity and magnetism. We all know it. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The Patriots usually end up winning the Super Bowl. Daughters are a little bit infatuated with their fathers.

Not me, though. Not then. I didn't know my daddy. He was a mystery to me. A complete stranger. I think I had the vaguest of visual memories of a large man, looming over me, as I lay in my bed. The feel of his hot breath as he kissed me goodnight. The stubble on his chin. The barest whiff of nicotine, perhaps. But that was it. Nothing more. My mother never really spoke of him all that much. She just told me that he left town when I was very little.

Later on, I would discover the truth. Later on, I would discover all kinds of things. But growing up, I didn't pay him much mind. At least, not consciously. I suppose it's like those stories you hear about people who lose a limb. They can still feel their arm or their leg itch, even if it's no longer there. That's what my father was to me. A missing limb. A ghost.

I read not so long ago that Freud has fallen out of favour these days. You know who I mean? The German guy - or was he Austrian - who said every boy secretly wants to bang his mom. Well, most psychologists and psychiatrists now dismiss his work, claiming he falsified his results and just made shit up. Who knows whether that's true or not, but I would imagine the absence of a parent must have some effect.

It certainly did for me. I don't know if old Sigmund theorised that all daughters wanted to be fucked by their fathers, and I don't think sex was on my mind when I was a little girl, but I didn't have a daddy of my own. Therefore, I suppose I went looking for a replacement.

The first one was Mr Leaf.

His full name was Alden Leaf, and he was the father of my best friend. I met Francesca - everyone called her Fran or Frannie - on the first day of second grade. Her family had moved to the area that Summer, and she was a newbie in class. Our teacher, Mrs Halliday asked for a volunteer, someone to be her mentor and guide. I put my hand up, and soon enough Frannie and I were inseparable.

We'd hang out all the time, spending endless hours doing what young girls did. She would come and sleep over at my place, and I would go and sleep over at hers. Which is where I met Mr Leaf. I don't remember the first time, our initial encounter, but I quickly became aware of his presence. Sometimes Frannie would tell me we'd have to be quiet because her father was working.

He was this stern entity, the idea of a person, long before I saw him in the flesh. To begin with, he took little or no interest in me. Or Frannie, for that matter. He might glimpse at us briefly as he moved through the house, but mostly he ignored us. What interest would he have in two young girls, playing with their dolls or experimenting with makeup?

But I wasn't going to be a young girl forever. Time moves much faster than you might imagine, and before you know it, you're no longer a child. You're a young woman. And suddenly Mr Leaf was interested. I remember the moment I worked that out. Not that it needed a huge amount of deciphering and deduction on my part. It became apparent very easily indeed.

I was eighteen years old, a little self conscious about my recently acquired curves, but excited about the impact I was beginning to have on the boys at school. As so often, I was staying at Frannie's house, and the two of us were lying in separate beds. Her dad came in to turn off the lights. He bent over and kissed Frannie good night. She then turned over, facing the far wall. Then he turned to me.

"Good night, Georgia," he said, softly.

"Good night, Mr Leaf," I replied.

Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed hold of my breast. He squeezed it firmly. I gasped and looked sideways at Frannie. She seemed blissfully unaware of what had just happened, and didn't move a muscle. Mr Leaf winked at me, and then stood up and walked out of the room, without saying another word.

To say I was shocked was quite the understatement. I couldn't believe what had just happened. My best friend's father had groped my boob, while his daughter was still in the room. But I was unbelievably turned on too. My pussy was leaking like a faulty faucet, and within a few minutes I was masturbating furiously in my bed. Thirty seconds later, I was cumming like a steam train.

For several weeks, nothing more was said. Every time I saw him, I blushed and disappeared from the room. I was confused. I was uncertain. I was horny.

The Leaf family were pretty well off; they certainly had a lot more money than me and my mom. As well as their family home, they owned a second house near the beach. Quite often I would spend a week or two with them there on vacation. That summer, we headed out in the middle of a real heatwave. Frannie and I soaked up the sun and spent time splashing in the sea. It was a blissful time to be alive.

One night, I woke up, needing a drink. Frannie was snoring away quietly, as I clambered out of bed. The house seemed quiet, as I made my way to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water. As I drank it down, I noticed the flickering light of a television screen in the main living room. I moved slowly to the doorway, peering through silently. I saw Mr Leaf sat alone on the couch. I was just about to move away, when suddenly...

"Please come in, Georgia," he said, quietly.

"Sorry, Mr Leaf," I I replied, "I was just getting myself a drink."

"That's fine sweet pea. Please join me."

He patted the seat next to him, and I sat down. I was suddenly conscious of my attire. I was wearing nothing but a little pair of panties and a Hornets t-shirt, which suddenly seemed really small. As I settled down next to him, he rested his hand on my thigh, gently squeezing my creamy flesh.

"Are you having a good time on vacation, Georgia?" He asked, muting the television.

"Yes sir."

"You and Francesca certainly seemed to be enjoying yourselves at the beach earlier."

"Yeah, we sure were."

He sighed, and nothing was said for a few moments. I could hear a clock ticking away in the silence. The TV screen flickered in front of us, a late night movie playing in the dark. I wondered whether I should get up and go back to bed, but then Mr Leaf turned to look at me.

"You really have become such a beautiful young woman, Georgia."

"Th...thank you."

"So has Francesca of course. I remember you both as young children, but now you are young women. Beautiful young women."

"Thank you," I repeated, my body tingling with excitement.

He lifted his hands to my face and cupped my cheeks, his fingers warm against my skin.

"You're my good little girl, aren't you Georgia?" He asked.

"Uh...sure, Mr Leaf."

He chuckled to himself for a second.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You calling me Mr Leaf. You've always called me that. I've known you for so long and yet you still use that formal name. Isn't it a bit silly?"

"I guess. What should I call you?"

"Well, I suppose you could call me Alden. That is my name, after all. But that doesn't feel quite right, does it?"

"N...no," I whispered.

"I have got another idea," he said, somewhat cryptically.

"Really, what's that?"

"Daddy. You could call me Daddy."

I audibly gasped, my mouth falling wide open. He smiled at this reaction.

"I mean, in many ways I do look on you as if you were another daughter," he said, "you have spent so much time in our home, I have developed certain paternal feelings for you."

"You have?"

"Oh yes. I feel like you're my little girl. My good little girl."

"Thank you...Daddy."

He smiled again, a wicked devilish smile, and then he kissed me on my forehead. Then on my nose and my cheeks. Then on my lips. His mouth pressed against mine until his tongue pushed its way inside. My lips parted and I welcomed it with my own. My body was initially stiff and unresponsive, so surprised was I by his sudden advances, but soon enough I welcomed him.

He wrapped his arms round my neck and pulled me tighter, his tongue squirming around in my mouth. He tugged me towards him and I moved across the couch, clambering onto his lap. I could feel his hardness below me, insistent and demanding. I squirmed around on top of him as we made out.

Then he stopped. Suddenly, without warning, he just stopped. His arms fell loose and his mouth detached itself from mine, tiny strands of spittle stretching out between us. He looked at me intently for a moment, then closed his eyes for a few seconds. He reopened them and stared at me some more.

"I'm sorry, Georgia, I shouldn't have done that. That was a mistake."

"Didn't you like it? Did I do it wrong?"

"No, no, no, you were lovely. It was lovely. But I was taking advantage of you. I was doing something I shouldn't."

"It was only a kiss."

"I'm old enough to be your father, Georgia. I'm a married man. You're my best friend's daughter. I shouldn't have to explain why this was a mistake."

"I don't mind. I liked it."

"But you're so young."

"I'm eighteen years old. I'm not a child. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do."

"It's so dangerous though. So unfair to my wife. And Francesca. All that sneaking around."

"I want to sneak around. I want to sneak around with you," I was practically begging. And I could still feel his erect cock grinding against the crotch of my panties.