My Father's Garage

by Jefferson

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: A short romance story with a strange location.


Copyright┬ę 2005 by Jefferson

My name is Jack.

I was born and raised in Blacksburg, Virginia. When I was eighteen years old I joined the army as a forward observer for an artillery unit. I swore to myself as I flew to Oklahoma for training, that I would never live with my parents again except for short visits. I did three years in the Army, I got lucky and stayed stateside the entire time and with the exception of a trip to California immediately after an earthquake to support the local National Guard in stopping riots and looting, I never saw any real combat. The only somewhat bad thing that happened to me during my military service was that I became addicted to nicotine, I started smoking, menthols to be exact. When my time in the Army was up, I took my GI bill and went to school.

I love my parents dearly. My mother was a nurse and had taught me compassion for all people that has served me will throughout my lifetime. My father was a construction worker, a carpenter to be exact, and a pretty damned good one. During my lifetime, I don't remember a car ever being parked in the garage of my parents house. The garage was always my father's workshop. As I grew older, he taught me all that he knew about working with wood. I too, grew to love working with wood. During my final two summers of high school I had worked with my father on building new housing sub-divisions. I found, that while I love working with wood, I hated working in the construction industry. If I was going to work with wood, I wanted to build something attractive. I later realized my dream job was cabinetmaker.

So, after my time in the army, I applied and was accepted to a two year carpentry program that would make me an apprentice carpenter. Thanks to the teachings of my father, I breezed through the school with little to no problem. After finishing the school, I was very selective about where I applied to work. I eventually was hired by a small furniture company some one hundred fifty miles southeast of where my parents lived. Moving away from my parents was the only drawback. I liked the boss, I liked the people and I liked the location. I packed my stuff and moved.

One year after moving to North Carolina, I met my future wife, Samantha. Samantha was a wonderful, beautiful young woman, only a few months younger than me, who worked as a social worker with abused and neglected kids. A few months after meeting, Sam and I went to visit my parents.

Samantha and my mother hit it off immediately. Samantha had lost her mother to breast cancer only a few years before and before I knew what was happening, Samantha was calling my mother, Mom. As I see it, it was destiny. Two weeks after returning home, I asked Samantha over for a home cooked meal and proposed to her. She accepted immediately. I then told her I didn't want to wait until we got married and asked her to move in with me. Again, she accepted. Over the next two weekends, we moved all of Samantha's belongings into my apartment. Seven months after I proposed we married in Blacksburg with her father and my parents and a hundred or so close friends and family in attendance. Samantha and my mother were both beside themselves that they were now truly mother and daughter.

Samantha and I had been married for about two years when the following events took place. We had both saved up our PTO (Paid Time Off) and decided to use it over Christmas to go stay with my parents for two weeks. Samantha's father lived only twenty minutes from us and we saw him often. We had spent the previous Christmas with him and felt we owed it to my parents to be with them for this Christmas.

My parents home is a large split level home with somewhere around two thousand square feet. The only reason they still kept the home, considering it was just them, was because my father was so attached to it and to his garage workshop. Upon entering the house through the front door, you came on to a small landing with ten steps leading up and three steps leading down. Upstairs was the living room, kitchen, dinning room, three bedrooms, including the master suite, and two full bathrooms. Downstairs was a large family room, a laundry room, the garage, another full bathroom and a forth small bedroom that I had many happy memories of.

That small bedroom in the basement had been my room while I was a teenager. It made me feel adult to live downstairs all by myself. My parents allowed me to turn the family room into my own personal living room. My father's TV and overstuffed recliner had been moved upstairs into one of the extra bedrooms and it soon became his den. Except to do laundry or get into the garage, my parents largely left me alone as long as the place was kept neat and my grades stayed good.

When I moved out, my parents never reclaimed that family room. So whenever Samantha and I went to visit, we would take up residence in the lower level. My parents had my old twin bunk beds taken out and had put a queen sized bed in. They told me when they did this that they planned to get a king sized bed but that the bed would have taken up the entire room. The queen was just fine with Samantha and I.

Samantha is a "cuddler." She enjoys touching, while awake, asleep and anytime in between. I would lay with my back to Samantha and she would curl up on my back. This was our normal sleeping position. We both, normally, slept in only underpants. I, in my boxer briefs and Samantha in a bikini or panties of some sort. The only times we altered this plan were when we had company or when she was on her period. She then insisted on sleeping in shorts or sweatpants.

The one thing I hated about visiting my parents was the fact that I had never managed to kick the cigarette habit. My mother refused to hear any idea that involved me smoking in her home. So, whenever we visited, I would go outside. My mother compromised with me and told me that at night, during bad weather or during the winter, I could go into the garage. This was a little more reasonable. So it was, that late one night during our visit, a few days after Christmas, Samantha and I were up late. We had been laying in bed watching a movie we had rented on DVD. I was in my normal boxer briefs and Samantha was wearing only a very skimpy little green bikini.

When the movie ended, I announced that I needed to go out for a smoke and Samantha stated she would come with me. We rolled out of bed and, as I circled the bed, Samantha slipped one of my T-shirts on over her head. There were only a few small windows in the garage, there wasn't any real danger of anyone seeing us so we saw no reason to get dressed. The entire visit it had been cold outside but thanks to my father putting a space heater in the garage, even the garage was relatively warm.

Unknown to Samantha and I, we were on vacation after all, we didn't watch the news, as we were watching our movie, it had begun to snow outside and had begun snowing hard. More than two inches of snow was covering the ground when we stepped into the garage. I went immediately to the table where I had left my pack and my lighter and was getting one out when Samantha came into the garage. I heard the snap and knew what it was but it registered just a second to late. I turned, my cigarette lit, just in time to see the door shut. "Samantha!" I screamed as I marched over to her. "Did you lock that door?"

"I don't think so," She stated as I brushed by her and reached for the door knob. I had spent way to many years in that garage to not know what had happened. My father had insisted the door into the garage be able to lock but didn't feel the need to put a good solid lock on. Instead he had put a simple twist lock on the door. My mother and I had both locked ourselves in the garage numerous times over the years because of the ease of which the lock could be turned. It took only one finger lightly brushing over the lock in the right direction to turn it the quarter turn needed to lock the door. I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it.

"Damn it!"

"Jack, are you serious?" I just nodded, my eyes closed and banged my head lightly against the door. I turned around and walked away. As I did, Samantha, apparently needing to confirm it for herself, checked the door and found it locked. "Can't you take the lock off? You've got all these tools?" Samantha asked as I moved through the workshop to one of the shelves.

"Samantha, if it was possible to remove the knob and lock from the outside, it wouldn't do anything to stop a burglar," I said as I pulled an old coffee can off the shelf. "My father used to keep an extra key in one of these coffee cans. If we can find it, we can get back in."

"Jack, there are about a dozen coffee cans," Samantha said as she came over beside me. She was right. When I was a kid, there had only been three or four. Since I'd left home my father had collected a lot more of them.

"You got another option?"

"Why not just open the garage door, go around and ring the doorbell?"

"Samantha, do you want to do it? Look at how we're dressed," I asked smiling at her as I pulled another coffee can off the shelf.

"Oh, I see your point. What about banging, maybe we could wake your parents up?"

"Samantha, they are fast asleep in their room which is on the other side of the house and up the stairs. They aren't going to hear us. My father built this house with his own hands. He made sure it was good and soundproof." Samantha and I went silent. We each pulled down another coffee can and started going through them looking for the key. We found numerous keys and tried them in the door but none worked. We went through more than a dozen coffee cans before finally realizing my father had either found a new hiding spot or had removed the key altogether.

"Okay," I said once we had scooped all of the contents back into the coffee cans. "I'll go around. I'll just wrap up in one of the blankets that my father uses to paint the house." I said and headed over to the other side of the garage. In a cardboard box beneath one of the shelves, my father kept old sheets and blankets he used to paint the house with. "God, listen to that wind. It's gonna be freezing out there." As I was talking and looking for what looked to be the warmest blankets, Samantha grabbed a handy step ladder, went to the garage door, set up the step ladder and stepped up on it to look out one of the two small windows.

"Uh Jack," She said softly. "you aren't going out there."

"Samantha, it's either that or stay here," I told her without looking back at her.

"Jack!" She said, this time a little louder. "It's snowing. Hard!"

This stopped me in my tracks. I had no shoes on and no clothes except my underwear. I turned and looked at her. She smiled and nodded. "It's coming down good. There's about two inches already on the ground."

"We never get good snowstorms this early in the winter."

"Well," Samantha stated with a shrug. "maybe it's one of those freak storms caused by global warming or something."

I went over to the garage door, rose onto my toes and looked outside. I was sure she was teasing. I was hoping she was teasing. She wasn't! "Shit!"

"We're stuck, aren't we?"

"We're not stuck Sam, we're screwed." I said leaning against the cold metal door and immediately regretting it and jumping away. Samantha tried hard to smother a laugh as she climbed down from the step ladder and came over to me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and I grabbed her around the waist and hugged her to me tightly. We kissed briefly and then looked into each others eyes.

"So what now?"

"First, we turn on the space heater," I said. I released her and went to start the space heater. Normally I didn't turn it on when I just went out for a smoke. I was only in there for five minutes or so and the cold made me not want to go out. It was a good way to cut back on my smoking. I got the space heater running and then turned to find Samantha pulling herself up onto one of the shelves where she sat her pretty little butt down.

"Have you ever spent the night out here?" She asked.

"Once, when I was eleven. I was in Boy Scouts and most of my Boy Scout troop was over. We had planned to go out in the backyard and camp out but it started pouring down rain and none of us wanted to get soaked setting up the tents. My mother made us feel better by letting us set up our tents and such in here and we camped out in here for the night. But that was in the middle of summer and we had tents and sleeping bags." I went silent for a moment then quickly turned to the large shelf my father had installed for storage. "Sleeping bags!" I said and almost ran to that shelf.

The shelf was almost a loft. It was well supported and was about three feet from the ceiling. It was his one compromise to my mother who wanted more storage space. Everything that didn't get used often, got stuck up there. I knew my mother used to keep the family sleeping bags up there. I just hoped she hadn't decided we would no longer use them and thrown them away. I stretched and tried to see but couldn't. Samantha quickly brought me the step ladder. I climbed up and could see my old sleeping bag near the back. I started handing things down to Samantha who set the items aside. Finally I found the three sleeping bags. Two were mine, one, a child's sleeping bag from when I was younger and one for when I was an adult and one of them was my fathers. My mother had flatly refused to go camping, even if it did mean fresh fish.

Once we got the sleeping bags down, Samantha handed up all the items we had removed and then we stored the stepladder again. "We can't sleep together in these," Samantha stated.

"What's more important Sam? Being warm or sleeping together?"

"Both. I don't want to sleep away from you," I couldn't resist those big brown eyes.

"Okay," I said, giving in. "We'll use the sleeping bags for a mattress and then use some of the painting blankets for covers. They're not pretty and some have paint stains on them but they should keep us warm enough with the space heater and it will allow us to sleep together and be a bit more comfortable. Acceptable?" Sam nodded.

We worked together to spread the sleeping bags out in the middle of the floor. Laying the two adult bags flat and side by side, we then put one of the better sheets over our improvised mattress and used the child's bag for a pillow. We then laid out a half dozen of the thicker blankets, some of which had holes in them, for covers. Once that was all done, I had another cigarette, then we turned off the single light and settled in beneath the covers.

As usual, I gave Sam a kiss and then turned my back to her. She curled up on my back, pressing as much of her body against me as she could. "How do your feet stay so warm?" She wondered as she wrapped an arm around my middle and the tops of her feet touched the bottom of my feet. This was a regular conversation for us. For whatever reason, I never seemed to get as cold as Sam did.

"Just lucky I guess," I said, giving my standard answer. I closed my eyes and was almost asleep when I heard and felt Sam move behind me. "What's wrong?" I asked, opening my eyes and turning my head as much as I could to look at her.

"This isn't very comfortable, first off," She complained. "And second, I'm not that tired."

I rolled onto my back. I knew I wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon. I knew she would want to talk and so she did. "Did you ever 'christen' the garage?" She asked.

"Christen?" I asked.

"Have sex in here?" She asked. Her face was just barely lit up by a street light outside so I could see the sly smile.

"No, for some reason none of my former girlfriends thought the garage was that romantic a spot."



"Just thinking. Are you aware that, since we had sex in my fathers bed when he went to Florida last summer, that we have now, officially, had sex in every room of my parents old house." Her father had sold the house a few months after returning from his vacation in Florida and moved into a small two bedroom apartment. I just laughed. "How many rooms in this house have you christened?"

"Let's see. Obviously the bedroom. The bathroom down here. The family room," I said listing off the three spots where Sam and I had made love during different visits to my parents house.

"The kitchen," Sam said, I could hear the smile in her voice. I didn't need to see it.

"Yes, the kitchen. Although it was awful quick," I said recalling the time just after our marriage when we had been left alone in the house and Sam was cooking dinner.

I had gone in and wrapped my arms around her and cupped her tits and fondled them as she stirred the sauce for the lasagna she was fixing. By pure chance, we were both feeling a little 'frisky' at that moment. Sam turned around, kissed me passionately and then ordered me to "fuck her brains out." She pulled down her shorts and panties, I lifted her onto the kitchen counter, pushed my mothers apron that Sam was wearing out of the way, Sam slid her ass forward so her ass was just barely on the counter top. I then kneeled down and started licking and sucking on my new bride's clit. I didn't need to lick and suck for long. Within minutes, Sam had an orgasm and her pussy was will lubed so I stood up, pushed my jeans and underwear down around my ankles, Sam wrapped her arms around my neck, I grabbed one of her butt cheeks in each hand, lifted her off the counter, Sam reached behind her and lined my cock up with her entrance then I thrust forward with all my strength and plunged into her in one thrust.

"Oh yes!" She screamed as I continued to fuck her, trying hard to thrust into her so hard that the tip of my eight or nine inch cock would pop out of her mouth. I'm not weak and Sam's not fat, but she did get heavy after a while so I pushed her back against the kitchen counter without ever breaking the rhythm we had built up. I don't think our lips were apart for more than a few seconds the entire time I was inside her. Five minutes after entering her we both had a screaming orgasm. I set back on the cabinet, pulled up my pants and grabbed about five paper towels to clean us both up with. I wiped my cock off first and then handed them to her. She simply set them on the counter beneath her dripping pussy. After re-doing my pants, I gave her a big kiss and hug. "Thank you. That was fantastic," She said with a big smile. "I think I needed that." She nodded. A few minutes later, she jumped down off the counter, threw the paper towels away, now loaded with our combined juices into the trash can, pulled her shorts back on, washed her hands and went back to the lasagna.

"Yeah," She said as we lay side by side, both on our backs in the slowly warming garage. "It was quick but God, it was good. So what about with other girls?" Sam asked. Sam and I had no secrets from each other. I knew for a fact that Sam had been a virgin when I met her. I was her first and only. She was not my first.

"The only other girl I had sex with in my parents house was Joanne and that was in my bedroom and that was only once."

"What about Nina and DeeDee?"

"Nina and I always did it in my car. I had sex with DeeDee only once and that was prom night, in a hotel."

At this point, Sam rolled over and placed her hand on my chest. She was raised up over me, supporting herself on one elbow. The darkness hid her face. "So you wanna try it?"

"Try what?"

"Duh! Christening the garage?" She stated.

"Are you serious?"

"You know having sex always makes me go to sleep." She was right. Except for a very few times, every time Sam and I had sex, and that was quite often, she almost always ended up taking an hour or two nap afterwards, it didn't seem to matter what time of day it was.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Oral Sex /