My partner and I had just broken up. It wasn't that big of a deal, but she had probably been the one I was most ready to settle down with. We'd been together for a year and I had thought that we were on a great track that had a promising future. And I was optimistic that within the coming years there would be equal rights and at least general acceptance of our lifestyle. But when I told her that I didn't think that I was truly a "lesbian", she took offense. It didn't matter that I was genuinely attracted to her, or that we had great chemistry. In the end, I wasn't "real". My bisexuality was a problem and it brought to an end what seemed so bright only days before. As a result I ended up back home over Valentine's Day weekend.
That's kind of how I got into the situation that I currently find myself in. I was thinking that I would just get some time away from the pressures of school and the break up and take a breather. My sisters, normally my support crew, were off enjoying their own lives in different parts of the world and were probably out working it with someone special for the big February 14th. Not me. I would just be home alone with my dad.
That's the other part of my situation, my dad. I love him to death, but sometimes he is a bit immature. That and he is a typical guy. Despite growing up with a coop full of hens, he never did learn much about us. Three daughters and our mother and still never quite got clued in. So when I asked to come over for the romance holiday he had promised me a fun care-free time.
And he had delivered. He managed to take my mind off my break up, my ex, and getting acclimated to a life of singleness all over again. Course, he managed to do that by getting us both smashed. I had driven the hour from campus to the house I had grown up in and had arrived to find a sizable amount of alcoholic beverages and liquors spread out across the counter tops. Typical dad.
The plan for Valentine's Day was to drink. He had about a dozen dumb comedy movies to watch, ranging from the "Three Stooges" right up until the latest straight to DVD "National Lampoon". We had started drinking right away. At first it was cocktails and lighter beers. But by the time we had gotten to "Animal House" we were crashing back shots of the hard stuff in some random rhythm or game. I think the game was based on eighties catch phrases. We each were allowed to choose one cliché and every time a character used it, the other person had to take a shot.
Needless to say, by the time midnight hit, we were both totally smashed. In fact, I don't really remember midnight at all. I just remember hitting the bed. When I woke four hours later, I had a splitting headache and extraordinarily parched throat. I was downstairs in the den bedroom and my role model father was past out beside me, snoring heavily. I tried waking him, but he didn't budge, so I went to the kitchen for several glasses of water.
I was a little surprised by the intensity of the mess we had left and the amount of alcohol we had consumed. I am normally not a heavy drinker and never have really pushed the limits of my intake, but I figured out that I wasn't a light weight that night. Cans, bottles, glasses, and cartons all littered the rooms. Smatterings of snacks and wrappers joined the mix. After finding a somewhat clean glass, that I was pretty sure was mine (the lipstick on the edge kind of was a give away), I poured a glass of water. The filtered stuff was in the fridge, and I was a bit fearful that light would inflict a rise in the already devastating headache.
I guzzled water for a good ten minutes, weakly supporting myself against the edge of the sink until I was sure my bladder was going to blow. I took what had to be a record pee and probably fell asleep sitting on the toilet for a bit too. When I finally made my grand and lady-like exit from the restroom I decided to change and head back to bed. My bag was right by the door where I left it, so I changed into my nightie (a XXL ACDC T-shirt that had been a gift from a friend) and managed to wobbly make my way back to the bedroom.
My dad had managed to move a little farther into the center of the bed and was still snoring quite loudly. Still a little buzzed, I giggled listening to his deep nasally breaths. I had never known that he snored and wondered if this was something related to his drinking or aging. He wasn't really an old man by any means. In early fifties, he was still in what he called combat fitness, a silly term he had picked up from a brief kick in the Marines when he was a youth. His black hair was now laced with gray, which resulted in him having that refined regality that only older men can get. His sharp jaw line and broad shoulders finished the look perfectly. Pretty handsome.
Me, and my sisters, all had gotten our mother's looks. The same long brunette hair, broad curls, coy dark eyes, and pouty lips. We also had gotten her figure- long legs, full chest and hips, and small waists. We could have been models if we had been born ten years earlier, before the advent of the bulimic/ anorexic super model. If we wanted, we probably could still model for plenty of publications. None of them reputable.
But at the point in time, I wasn't thinking about myself, just how cute he looked. It was kind of one of those standing trance things that happens when you are tired and creatively inebriated. After waking from another doze off, I crawled back into bed and snuggled my way up close to him. One of his legs was kicked out, taking up the lower half of the bed so I pushed in, practically spooning. I tried going to sleep, but found myself a little caught off guard by a wave of emotional remembrance. It started with my ex, progressed its way to my mom, then back to my ex again.
I was thinking about the time when I had brought up my bisexuality. We had just finished a regular good night round of love making and were chatting afterwards. She had brought up the possibility of us having a child together, either through adoption or in vitro. I had asked how she would feel if we had a mutual guy friend of ours do it. I had told her I preferred knowing who the dad was and would enjoy doing it the natural way. She had made some off the cuff remark about me being straight and I had just come out and told her that I wasn't entirely convinced that I was completely gay.
Then the fight had started and we had been split up by the time we woke up the next morning. A lot of stuff happens at night for me. And this would be no exception.
By the time I had broken from my daydream I realized that I was a bit aroused. That wasn't unusual as I was almost always horny, but usually regularly satiated during the course of a day. Going one day, much less four days without sex, was a daunting task. And now I had the familiar glowing warmth beginning in the pit of my stomach and spreading downward. But what made it unusual was the fact that I was in bed with my dad.
Only to complicate things, I could feel my dad's penis pushing against my backside, just between my upper thighs and behind the rear of my cleft. Like most guys, he had a perpetual hard on that was rising at the most inopportune of times.
With my labia just beginning to feel the swelling of desire, his mushroom shaped head was a curse. I had tried to ignore its contact at first, but found myself having a growing fascination with its point of contact and the movements it made when he breathed in and out in a deep sleep.
I am sure that some of you are a little grossed out by this revelation. But as I have already said, I had been drinking and wasn't in possession of my full faculties. Considering this, I hope you can cut me some slack for this and for what comes next.
Rather then take the natural daughter reaction and recoil, I lingered. And thought about it some more. And lingered some more. All the while, I got a little more curious, a little wetter, and a little more ready to do something else.
The next move was a small one, cautious to be sure. I pushed back. The movement sent the tip of his penis a little farther in between my thighs and a little closer to the center of all my life's troubles. Now his angled length was just applying a firm presence to the rear lips of my vagina.
And it felt good! Really quite good. I don't know how I managed to disconnect my conscience or common sense or whatever but I did. I had fantasized once or twice in my life about family members, father included, but usually it was just for a story I was writing or for a little role playing. When I was younger my sisters and I had experimented quite a bit, but had gone our separate ways without ever engaging in a truly intentional sexual encounter. Perhaps that all contributed to my disconnect and progression.
My shirt was pulled tightly against my cleft, over my ass, and over my shoulders. It was kind of applying a bit too much pull to my neck, so I pulled it free from between us. The removal of the barrier, even one millimeter of it made it a significant difference. I felt the first of a series of powerful spasms that preempted a jump in lust within me.
I moved my torso a little farther forward on the bed, so that my ass could slight ever so farther back over the head of his penis. The movement enable the desired shift and soon I could feel the thick tip of his manhood pressing through his athletic shorts and into the camel toe that had formed in my panties. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, wondering whether or not he would wake and pondering what to do next.
Of course, it was an obvious decision to make. At least it was for me. I rocked my hips. I was slow, deliberate, and intentional. Ever so quietly I pushed back and forth over his tenting shorts. It was like some sort of taboo masturbation. I could feel my nipples poking through the thin material of my tee as I grew more and more aroused by the sensation of my lips being pulled apart by the combined presence of panties, shorts, and cock. My strokes were slow enough that the warm liquid which quickly filled the gash had the chance to cool.
The shift in temperature and contact was an exquisite torture and I found my own breathing growing heavier and heavier. My hands couldn't resist further temptation and pulled my shirt up over my breasts, so they could have direct access. One of them would support my head in the crook of my arm, while the other tugged and pulled on a turgid nipple or two.
As my father's penis pushed farther and farther into the space of my pussy, my pleasure grew and grew. It seemed as if some itch lurked just out of reach of his penis' touch and the only way to satisfy it would be to ram it into my depths. Of course, that would probably wake him, and I couldn't allow that. So I contentedly rubbed myself off on his cock.
Over and over again I would buck my hips onto the first inch of his penis. I could tell there was more there, if only I could access it. But did I dare?
With my own juices easily lubricating outward, covering my pussy, my panties, and his shorts in a thick coating of mess, I found myself thinking there was no other choice. I momentarily released my hold on my tit and reached between my legs and tugged my boy shorts down, until they were at my ankles.
Then I went to work on his shorts. It was slow going. The first time I touched him, he lurched in his sleep. It startled me and I quickly pulled my own hand back and pretended to sleep for a few minutes, wondering whether or not he was awake. When I heard his snoring return to a regular rhythm, I assumed it was safe to resume my attempt. This time when I touched his penis, he twitched only a little, and I let my hand linger on the hot piece of flesh pressing angrily into is fabric prison.
I didn't stroke him or anything like that. Just petted it a bit. Kind of brushed my fingers up and over it, rubbing the wet tip of his shorts with my thumb, until I was certain more could be attempted. Of course stroking a cock through clothing had its own element of eroticism and my snatch managed to retain its generous moisture level.
After a little more mutual petting of his cock and my pussy, I shifted my attention to the hem of his shorts. It was another torturously slow process, with several near misses and risky moves. But when it was done, I had a well hung man throbbing in my hand.
Once I managed to let go of the warm sizable length, I pressed my naked ass close once more. The cock, now free of its prison twitched and jumped of its own volition, its purple 'shroom shaped head brushing over my sensitive backside and scraping against my soft skin. I was toying with my clit, while I contemplated the contacts and encounters of our two naked regions. I got myself off for the first time like that. He had moved forward, his cock pushing its way between my ass cheeks. The sudden heat separating my two globes had gotten me there. With his cock throbbing against me, I had come, small gasps and shudders of pleasure breaking from my pussy's depths and spreading upwards and outwards until I squeaked to maintain control of my movements. Upon its settling, I found my fingers covered in my own juices and my body dissatisfied.
A little disconcerted that I still wanted more I went to work again. After licking my fingers clean, savoring my taste (a habit an old lover had established), and returning them once more to my quivering lips, I decided to kick it up a gear. With my hand once again coated in natural lubricant, I reached between my thighs and pulled his dick forward once again.
Once it was pressed in that sweet spot at the back of my cunny, I started to rock all over. My shifts and thrusts were gentle at first, but as his dick progress farther and farther over the length of labia and outer lips, I became a little more urgent in my need.
The head of his cock was pasted with my pussy's output and glided easily between my lips and about a half inch in before it slipped out the backside. Course its exit was only temporary. I couldn't handle a second or two without feeling that firm piece of flesh filling me once more.
As my desire built, and another orgasm approached, I became less and less in control of what I was doing. The smooth swipes of his cock through the entrance of my twat faded like a cloud in sunlight. Soon I was pushing his cock a little further inside of me. Each new half inch promised more and my familiar needy itch asked for a little more depth. And silly me, out of control and in heat, granted its wish. With gentle pressure from my hips, the direction of his cock changed a bit.
That bit was the difference between sliding along the outside and between thrusting into me. As soon as his large wedge shaped cock head pushed its way firmly into my pussy and I felt the lower portions of my twat walls falling in behind it, I knew I was a goner. I just had to have more.
Of course, I was very well lubricated from the ongoing sex play that had now progressed a good thirty minutes non-stop. So with the swiftest and least disruptive thrusts I could manage, I penetrated myself on my father's cock. And how heavenly it was.
I felt like I was riding some forbidden fruit, his broad spear shaped organ dividing my cunt temporarily, only to recede before renewing its assault. Like growing waves as the tide comes in, I found myself rushing my pussy farther and farther onto his cock. My hand still busily toyed with my explosive little clitoris, sending those waves out over my body.
My thrusting joined with squirming, with spasming, with grinding to create some sensational auto-erotic experience. Fireworks began to go off in my head as my second orgasm crashed through me. That is probably when I was at the greatest risk of being caught and revealing my use of my father's manhood.
But he didn't miss a beat, his only change a momentary cry of desire of pleasure for my mother, Marilyn in some wonderful wet dream he was experiencing.
I had just completed my climax and was working his cock deeper and deeper into me, when I felt him go off. I thought I felt the gentle tapping of sperm shooting against an inner wall, but wasn't entirely sure, until I heard him groan and thrust up to meet me. I could feel the hot wetness spread deeper within me, filtering into every opening and un-spread fold.
Aftershock orgasms went off in me as my struggled to comprehend the intense taboo and risk I had just taken. I had to stifle a cry with my pussy playing hand and I felt his cock throb and twitch in my tunnel. His balls were spasming against my thighs as they unloaded their burden into my womb.
I would fall asleep, with my sex smelling hand against my mouth and my pussy still cradling my father's length. It would be a fantasy filled rest that lasted a few short hours before I once again woke. My father was rolled off of my back now, his cock limply folded over atop his shorts and a white coating of his sex and mine covering it. I studied him over my shoulder until I was certain that he was still asleep. In somewhat of a disbelief, I slipped my panties up over my own caked cunt and examined him some more.
He was resting more peacefully now, his snoring faded to a gentle roar rather then the foghorn that had sounded last night. I didn't want him to discover our activities before I had the chance to disguise them, so I went to work again.
With an all too eager hand I began to beat him off. I lifted his soft length from his stomach and gently stroked its underside with my thumb. Almost immediately the thing leapt to attention, pointing towards the far off underside of his chin. Obviously he wasn't getting enough ass for his own good. I happily helped out. I spit into my palm and rubbed my fingers into my saliva until they were well lubricated. Then with a tight fist, I began to steadily pump his rod.
The familiar warmth of a hot cock emanated from within my grip as I gave him a furious hand job. A few times during the beat off I bent down and lightly tongued the underside of his cock head. It was on one such occasion that I felt a sudden random pulse on his length and I knew he was coming. I clamped down at the base of his cock, locking his semen inside temporarily and used my spare hand to pull his shorts up a ways. Once they were safely covering his cock's tip I released it.
Another full load of semen sprayed into the cloth, catching my withdrawing hand and eliciting a groan from him. I quickly closed my eyes and rolled over, my cum stained fingers going to my lips.
I had just sampled the goods and was savoring the salty taste of my dad's seed when I heard him wake.
"What the fuc....," he managed before realizing I was "asleep" beside him. With a whispered obscenity, I heard him waddle from the room, obviously put off by the physical manifestation of his dream world meeting with his lover.
With a hardy grin I finished tasting his wares and rose from the bed. I managed to trip and fall as I tried to take my first step, having forgotten that my underwear were still wrapped tightly around my ankles. Giggling loudly I pulled them up, seeming to have gotten away with my night's adventures and molestations.
My dad would behave strangely the rest of the following day and into the next. Eventually his concerns would fade and things would return largely to normal between us.
Course, my life would change a lot eight weeks later. I had missed my period twice and was putting on some weight. After a few early warning tests I became very aware that I was pregnant. I had a Valentine's Day conception! A few months from then my daughter and sister would be born. Craziness.
Alcohol, horniness, and family don't mix.