Neo Note: All of my stories are, to the best of my knowledge, fiction. Any resemblance to characters living, dead or otherwise means you've had one drink too many. Also, if you are below 18 years of age, better get out of here - this isn't for kids.
The moment I walked into the house, I heard my parents arguing in the kitchen.
"I say she is not!" That was my mother's voice, characterized by her screechy voice. "She is eighteen years old, popular, goes out with boys at all awkward times..."
"That's not proof that she is not," countered my father. "Just because she is popular and friendly doesn't mean that she has to lose her virginity."
Aha! So that was the reason. Believe me when I tell you that I wasn't shocked at all; hell, I didn't even blink. This sort of a question had been long on the cards, and not without reason. The three of us had had the talk about birds and bees and their symbolizing certain universal phenomenon attached to teenage a long time ago, around half a decade.
"Hello Amma," I greeted my mother, walking into the kitchen, and gave her a hug. "Hello, Appa." With him, our greeting also involved a light brush against each other's lips. "What's today's topic?"
"Your virginity," my father replied, winking, "Or its alleged lack thereof."
"What do you think?" I asked them, looking first at my father.
"That you are," he replied. "I don't believe you are sexually active yet."
"And I say he is wrong," my mother retorted, giving me a glass of milk. "In today's age, a girl like you would have lost it when she was fifteen!"
Mom shrugged. "Your virginity. I am sure that you lost it to that smart guy you went out with last year - what was his name?"
"Vicky - Vikram. What makes you say that?"
"Nothing," Mom shrugged again, "Just a gut feeling."
This wasn't a serious argument at all, I knew then; my parents had this habit of betting amongst themselves for silly things, claiming that it kept the edge in their marriage. Since both of them worked, Dad as a freelancing consultant and Mom in a bank, they often wagered real money. It didn't matter who won or lost, as long as they played the game, according to them. "What's the wager?"
"Ten rupees," Dad answered, smiling.
"Ten rupees?" I had to ask, and the incredulity showed. "That's the worth you give my cherry?"
"Well," Mom explained, scratching her head, "Actually, I said five. Your dad was the one who doubled it."
I shook my head. Damn, even I would have priced myself higher! Hello, excuse me, I happen to be your daughter, I wanted to tell them.
"So... are you?" This came from my father who now had a very serious expression on his face. "Please, Ani, say that you are..."
"I mean, no, I won't tell unless you increase the stakes."
"I think we hurt her ego," Mom told Dad. "Okay, my only daughter, you name the bet."
"Thank you, I will," I nodded, getting up to put the empty glass in the sink. "How about if the loser has to do everything the winner says for one month?"
They nodded; no one could ever say my parents were poor sports.
Instead of answering right away, I took my time washing the glass and putting it away, quite aware that when I stretched, the dress that I had on would stretch my plump figure that was also, according to quite a few people, voluptuous. I am rather vain of my firm breasts, approximately the size of oranges, and no matter what I wore, nothing could hide their fullishness. Mom had once commented that it was definitely wholesome.
Then I drank a glass of water.
Then I looked at my parents, waiting with baited breath the whole time. Mom seated beside Dad, with a subtle air of confidence. Dad with his naughty grin under his lopsided moustache. Yep, they were waiting for my answer.
"Yes. I am still a virgin. I have an intact hymen. And for what it is worth, I have masturbated only twice. There, you satisfied?"
Dad let out a loud whoop; Mom stared at me, as if she couldn't believe that she had been wrong. It was understandable, I thought fleetingly, because she had gotten pregnant with me when she was barely seventeen. Here I was, eighteen, and still a...
"I don't believe it," she said.
"What's not to believe?" my father asked, laughing. "The girl said she's a virgin, that's good enough for me. Tell me, who would know it better, you or Anitha?"
Mom turned to Dad with an accusing finger pointed at me. "You set this up, didn't you? The two of you planned this so that you could cheat me, didn't you?"
"We did nothing of the sort. If you remember correctly, you were the one who brought up the issue earlier today."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you couldn't have conspired earlier itself, knowing that I would ask you something one day?"
Did I mention that my mother is as stubborn as two mules crossed into one?
"Mom, do you know how silly you sound?"
"You don't talk, Anitha, you always help him. You know what I think? I think you are lying so that your father will win the bet."
"Look," my father was enjoying this, "If it means that much to you, we'll think that you won the bet, that you were the one who said she's a virgin."
"I didn't say she was one, and I won't say it." Mom grinned at us, herself enjoying the verbal combat just as much as her spouse. "And I know just the way to prove it!"
"We'll examine you."
"WHAT???" That, obviously, was me gaping like a fish.
"WE?" That was Dad, and he, on the other hand, was unnervingly sounding... happy?
"Yes," Mom continued, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You, my dear husband, are going to put your fingers inside our daughter to see if she has her hymen; if she does, then I want to see for myself."
Dad was silent for a second, and I actually thought he was thinking of something to stop my mother. That was before he grinned and shook her hand. "I like it."
"Excuse me," I found my voice at last, and filled it with sarcasm. "But has everyone here forgotten that this happens to be MY virginity you are talking about, and that, by some quirk of fate eighteen years ago, I was born as your daughter?"
"Of course we haven't, my dear," Mom answered, her smile too wide for my comfort, "We know that you are our daughter..."
"Is that why you were talking about putting Appa between my legs?"
"Honey," Dad quipped, "In case you missed the anatomy lesson, that's where your vagina is."
For a second, I didn't know whether to laugh or to scream; the next second, I screamed when my mother pulled my skirt up!
She paused, still holding my dress around my waist, exposing panty-clad legs to the rest of the world, which at this moment, thankfully, was defined by my Dad alone. "Yes?" like it was normal.
I slapped the dress back over my legs. I had worn a half-sari to college, a contrasting combination of black blouse and skirt over which lay the red dupatta, spun about me. I smoothed the skirt.
"Come on, Anitha, be a sport," Mom pleaded. "What harm can it do?"
"Yeah, what harm can it do?" Dad joined in.
"No," I shook my head. "I don't -"
"Attack!" Dad shouted, and the next thing I knew, I was being carried into my parents' bedroom, arms and legs flailing helplessly, with my Dad's hands pressed firmly against my buttocks while Mom was tickling my exposed back. In spite of myself, I started laughing. Dad dumped me on the bed as if I had been nothing more but a sack; even as I bounced, he dived alongside Mom and started to tickle me. Hands flew everywhere as they attacked me in perfect co-ordination while I tried to fight them off; quite a few times, I felt hands squeezing my tits, hands too big to be Mom's, and it excited me even more. It had happened in the past, so it was no big deal...
Finally, I gave in.
"Okay," I sighed, still giggling. "You win. You win."
"Not yet," my father corrected, "But I will."
With that, with nothing more than that, he caught hold of the free end of my dupatta and tugged it off. Apparently, he knew not his own power and ended up tearing my blouse off, thanks to the bobby pin I had used to secure the swaying pallu. Mom never stopped laughing, not even after Dad had bared me down to my bra, which, for the record, was unfortunately the naughtiest one I had ever worn - it was tiny (that's the best description) translucent and tight - showing off a lot of skin.
"Wow," came Dad's apology.
"She looks cute, doesn't she?" added Mom, brushing my hands away from my chest. "And she's definitely bigger than me."
Shocking me, Dad squeezed my left breast, causing my nipple to jump out. "And firmer too."
"Ouch!" That was what I came up with when Dad pinched my exposed nipple, right in front of my mother, and rolled it between his fingers.
"Sorry," Dad grinned as he started to pull down the cup covering my right tit. Now it may seem unbelievable to you, but my Mom was still laughing her head off.
"Excuse me," once again, I turned to sarcasm. This time, though, it was to hide the heaviness I felt in my own voice, courtesy my body's reaction to his forbidden advances. "But I think my vagina is down there, right between my legs... I think you got off at the wrong place."
"Told you not to wear this," Mom said, tugging at the front clasp of my bra. Thankfully, it stayed locked, for what good it could do now. "It didn't stand a chance."
"It wasn't supposed to," I reminded her, "It wasn't designed to withstand a mad father wanting to strip his beautiful young daughter naked right in front of his wife, who just enjoys it all so much she can't get enough of it."
"I don't know about mad," Dad commented, "But I'll agree with the rest of it, although I wish to point out that you left out the fact that the mad father is also going to check your cherry."
With that, Dad threw the hem of my skirt over my legs, exposing me almost all the way. His strong hands slid underneath my butt and pushed them upwards even as his fingers kept pushing my skirt back, until the panties were the only thing that stood between his eyes and my dripping hole.
The time, I suppose, warrants a confession. So I'll admit, honestly and sincerely, that I have often thought of my father as more than just my father; I have imagined him naked, making love to me, taking me by force, sneaking up behind me, slipping into the shower with me, sliding into bed with me, nursing me, and even buggering me; in my fantasy world, we even have our own child, a young daughter for him to dote on; a couple of times, we even had threesomes with Mom, but somehow, when the fireworks started, it would be just me and Dad, lying in each other's arms, sweaty, naked and in love.
That was where I had been exercising my sexuality for the last couple of years...
So it was no big deal for me when I felt myself getting wet at his touch, and by now, I knew without looking, it must be obvious. Its heady odor was.
Dad looked at my impatient mother. "Well, what? I haven't even pulled her underwear off."
But to his credit, Dad didn't; instead, I saw him place his palm over the face of my panties - just the mere pressure of his touch so close to my pussy threatened to send me into space, and I fought back the urge.
Dad suddenly withdrew his hand and stuffed his index finger into his mouth. "The heat," he muttered to mother, "It's incredible."
Watching him suck his finger made me realize he was getting his first taste of Anitha, his own daughter... me. A moan almost escaped me - I grew even wetter.
The second time he placed his hand on me, Dad didn't withdraw it. Gingerly, as if he were afraid he would hurt me, he parted the top of my panties from my flushed skin - a jolt ran through me at the slightest touch of skin on skin. It took him close to a minute to peel my panties off my crotch and down to my knees, a period of time which I spent entirely with closed eyes and grinding teeth.
And then, his fingers touched me...
I shivered at his touch, not because I was angry but because it was the first time another's hands had ever probed that territory - that it was my own father on whom I had a huge crush did not help my sense of reality. I bit my lip to keep from crying out aloud, conscious from the shifting bed that my mother had gotten up. I felt her hands - knew them to be hers by their femininity - on my kneecaps, pulling them apart, perhaps to allow her husband easier access to my pussy.
I clutched the sheets, crumpling them until I could feel my own nails digging into the palm of my hands.
Dad finally touching me was like blowing myself up from within - his fingertips parted my lips ever so slowly before meeting flesh; it was so intensely erotic that I even thought I would die of a heart-attack. Dad started to massage me, but if he thought it would relax me... boy, was he mistaken! I was this close to cumming on my fingers when he met resistance.
"Aha," he told my mother, "I told you so!"
"Wait," my mother said, "Let me see!" I felt her put her hands on my opening; an instant later, her right hand was alongside Dad's, nothing odd about it but for the fact that it was within the sloppy confines of their only daughter's only pussy. A virginal one at that... Mom pressed the tip of her index finger against my hymen and gently tested its elasticity - it held.
"Well," she said at length, withdrawing her hand and standing up, "I guess I was wrong."
"Yeah," I offered weakly with a wan smile.
"My dear husband," Mom turned to my father, "Now that you've made your point, don't you think it is time you pulled your hand out of her pussy?"
Since Dad was still kneeling on the floor, his face so close to my flesh I could feel his breath, I had to raise my head to see him. It felt kind of odd, you know, to see your own father with your naked legs on either side, the fair flesh of my thighs a contrast to his dark moustache. Dad saw me looking at him and grinned. "You know, my dear wife, I've been thinking. We can't do this every time, can we? I mean, whenever either of us is wondering whether she is a virgin or not, we can't just carry her in and subject her to such humiliation."
Mom, her right hand still wet from my juices, cocked her head at him. She was just as puzzled as I was. "What are you saying?"
Dad turned to me. "Honey, you know, as long as you are a virgin, this will happen... why not let me solve your problem?"
I didn't understand at first, and looked to Mom; even as I raised an eyebrow at her, she looked at Dad in surprise, then at me, then at us, before shaking her head with a sly smile. "You are incorrigible," she told Dad. "Your own daughter?"
And that was when realization struck. Had I been standing, I am sure, I would have swooned. Of all the things I would have expected to happen in my crazy household, this had not even made the 'at the very least probable' list. Even more amazing, as far as the immediate environment was concerned, was that my mother hadn't said anything.
"Dad, I don't think Mom heard you... would you mind repeating yourself?"
Mom laughed pleasantly. "Oh, I heard him all right, and I understood him even before you did."
Mom shrugged. "You are an adult now, and I've always thought of you to be mature enough on your own. I know it sounds corny, but this is between you and your father. I don't have a voice, so I don't even have an opinion about this. It's your decision, sweetheart, and I am not the one to make it for you."
"Let me get this straight," I said after her words had sunk in, "You are telling me, your own daughter, that it would be all right to have sex with your husband, my father, and it wouldn't bother you?"
"As long as you are willing," Mom added, nodding her head, "I won't stand in your way."
"What about the dangers?"
I opened my mouth to answer, only to find out that I was stumped. Incest was taboo, I had been told over the years, so it had to be wrong and dangerous. And it had been society's overwhelming judgment, so powerful the decree that I had never questioned it.
"Babies," I said finally, coming up with something. You may wonder why I am objecting to something I am so obviously in favor of, but it's one of life's spins that it's only when you get your wish that you wonder why you wanted it in the first place or if it is worth it. Okay, in this particular context, I was neither getting sense nor morals, just cold feet. Having sex for the first time, especially when you least expect it, is scary - having it with a person you are already having another kind of relationship is terrifying.
Having it with the person who gave you life is like going for bungee jumping over a busy city block - the danger is not just for you, it's also for the unsuspecting people on the sidewalk below.
"That's only if you want to have them," Dad countered, too enthusiastically to hide his preference. For some reason, his input had me starting to blush - it certainly did give rise to a warm feeling in my body.
"And even if you did," Mom added, "With today's technology, you won't have a baby with two heads or anything - not that I've ever come across anybody in human history being born with two heads, incest or not, but you get the picture. Inbreeding was dangerous before they could remove the defects."
"So, basically, you don't have a problem with me and Dad... you know..."
"No, Anitha, I don't."
In spite of myself, I pumped the air. "Yes!"
"What?" He still had his fingers dipped in my pussy, but that didn't stop him from asking such silly questions.
"She said yes, you idiot," Mom told my father, playfully ruffling his hair.
"Are you sure?" Dad asked me.
"Well, you started it," I retorted, pretending to be mildly irritated. My father laughed, and I joined him. He slapped my thigh playfully, and I saw him enchanted by the way my muscles quivered freely. He started to caress the back of my thigh, pulling my leg higher until it was almost slung over his shoulder.
"Looks like I am the odd one out," Mom joked as she started to move away, and I am sure she must have noticed the look that Dad was giving me.
"Hold it!" That surprised both of us, that is to say, Mom and I. Dad slid his finger out of my pussy and caught hold of Mom's right hand. Then, right in front of us, he raised it to his mouth and licked her hand, the same hand that had gone into my pussy, clean. My face burned, but I was too turned on to look away; the message had been loud and clear, leaving no room for ambiguity. Mom giggled.
"Pity you never did that with me," she said when he finally let go.
"Don't you dare lie," Dad growled, then turned to me to explain. "There are few things your mother and I haven't done."
"He's the one lying," Mom shot back, "He wants to get you to do things with him I have never allowed with me." She wagged a mocking finger at me. "Just be careful, Anitha, your father so obviously wants the things he was denied."
"Nonsense! You never said no to me."
"Neither will your daughter," I found myself saying. "Don't start over this, Appa. I am giving myself to you, no questions asked, and whatever it is that you wish, you don't even have to ask."
"That's my girl," Dad beamed proudly at me. Bending down, he picked up my dupatta, the torn-off blouse still attached to it. Throwing it to Mom, who caught it cleanly, he had me stand up; like a little girl, I obeyed my father, standing before him with my bra hanging below my breasts and my skirt crumpled into a million folds. Dad stepped closer and reached behind my back for the clasp, before he remembered that my bra fastened in front. He had it off within five seconds.
He threw it in the general direction of my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the cream material land a few feet to Mom's right. As she moved over to pick it, Dad hooked both his thumbs into the hem of my skirt and pulled me towards him, so close that my nipples were rubbing against his shirt. Expertly, Dad undid the hook and whipped it off; then it flew across the room before landing on Mom's head.
And as I stood before Dad, clad only in panties that were now around my ankles, I couldn't help but think that I was going to be the luckiest girl alive. I was going to give myself to the only man that I had ever loved - that I would ever love, I would promise myself later - without having to lose my wife over it. I already had the best parents in the world, and now one of them would be my lover. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Dad removed my underwear and walked over to Mom. "Here," he said, placing it on her hair, "For the next month, you do the laundry. After all, you did lose the bet."
"Isn't that void or something now?"
"Nice try, but a deal's a deal. Unless you want to go back on your word." Dad patted her rump affectionately. "Run along now, Anitha and I will call you in about an hour or so."
Mom raised her eyebrows at me before grinning naughtily and walked to the door, where she stopped and threw my panties on the floor. "Sheesh!" she pretended to be indignant, but Dad and I saw through her immediately. "This stinks!" Then, in a lower, conspiratorial voice, she added, "Have fun, you two!"
"We will," Dad called after her, "And... one more thing."
"What?" came her voice from the corridor.
"You'll never be the odd one out."
There was silence, and I suppose Dad must have thought she hadn't heard him - then my mother came back into view, with eyes that were suddenly moist. "Thank you," she said before turning around and walking off. I felt my heart flutter at my father's sensitive nature - yes, I suddenly decided, I was in love with my father, and he was worth every damnation that I was supposed to have earned with my crime.
"Okay then," my man said, turning towards me. "Are you sure about this?"
"My heart is threatening to jump out," I told him truthfully, "But there is nothing I've ever wanted more."
Dad cupped my left breast, although he was unable to cover all of it. "Hmm," he said, closing his eyes for a second, "I see what you mean. Let me see if I can do something about it."
With that, my father literally swept me off my feet and threw me back on the bed, landing on top of me even before I had stopped bouncing. I gasped when I felt him close his mouth over my breast, the sensation so exquisite I threw my head back and moaned once. Foolishly, I thought to myself that I should not make too much noise; I called upon all my will-power not to scream my head off.
Dad immediately sensed my self-imposed censure. He stopped suckling just long enough to tell me not to worry about anyone hearing us. "Scream if you want to," he said, licking my nipple. "A silent woman is a dead woman. I don't care if anyone hears us."
"Mom might hear us," I said, fully knowing how silly it sounded.
"She's probably expecting it," Dad replied. "She knows what I can do to you."
And so it was, that when Dad attacked my breast again, I let my feelings show. On a later date, Mom would tell me that she was at first shocked when she heard my cry - and she even came running into the room, only to retreat hastily when she saw what I was suffering from. I can only tell you that when the dam was opened, it burst open! For a full ten minutes, as long as Dad carried on with my left breast, I moaned, cried, screamed, made all sorts of wanton noises, and I quieted not only because my jaws were tired but more so because it was too difficult for me to cum and cry at the same time.
My first orgasm at the hands of my own father... how many girls can claim that honor?
I was quite embarrassed to realize that I had let off an immense amount of my juices on to the bedspread; Dad's fingers, responsible for playing with his daughter's pussy non-stop the entire time, were drenched in the sticky discharge. Dad wiped his index finger across my lips, and was quite pleased when I licked it, following which he rubbed the rest of his fingers all over my mouth before he leaned in to kiss me.
It was quite something to kiss my father like that, knowing that he was tasting my pussy on my face, that we were sharing an intimate food. I parted my lips as soon as Dad's touched mine - and then his tongue seemed to swim into mine, conquering everything it felt, probing and teasing my gums. I responded in kind, and our tongues then collided and slid over each other, as if playing games. Dad had a bigger mouth, and it swallowed mine, thus making him my sole supply of air.
As we kissed, his hands moved over my stomach with an authority that even I had never even given myself. I jerked once when I felt him insert his little finger into my navel, where he started to wiggle it, sending a shudder through me that caused my teeth to accidentally graze his tongue. He gave a small exclamation of pain reflexively, and I started to pull apart to apologize to him. As if sensing it, Dad pushed his face forward and kept the kiss locked, until I gave up trying to separate us.