Chapter 1

My husband and I had always been into role playing games when it came to sex. It seemed to increase our libidos and led to strong orgasms for both of us. We had done several rape scenarios with him breaking in, “forcing” me to strip and submit to his demands. I actually preferred to have him tear my clothes off and force himself on “the helpless housewife.” I also grew to like flashing in public, usually while in the car, or wearing very skimpy swim suits at hotel pools. At 24 I had kept very fit with running, lifting light weights and swimming. At 5’ 7” and 115 pounds my 36C tits looked even larger than they are. Dieting and working out were rewarded with looks from the guys and made the effort worthwhile.

During our rather animated fucking sessions we would often talk about taboo things, one of which involved me having sex with my father. My husband knew how much I disliked my dominating, verbally abusive father when I was a teenager. Even after turning 40 he was an avid runner and manipulative businessman and always competitive. He would threaten and berate my brother while treating me and my sisters like hired help, good for only cooking, cleaning and being submissive.

After marriage, the only time we ventured to my parents home was for rare occasions that were deemed mandatory. My parent’s 25th anniversary was one. We got talked into staying overnight at the house by my mother as we were the only one living out of town at the time. By 11 p.m. everyone was gone or in bed, so my husband and I went into what had been my bedroom during those youthful years. It seemed deliciously erotic to fuck in that room and on that bed for obvious reasons.

The next morning the 4 of us were around the backyard pool eating a light breakfast, me still in my bathrobe and bare feet. Probably should have skipped the brandy in my coffee, but it was a vacation. My father at one point went back into the house, so I took the opportunity to let my robe part a bit below the waist giving my husband a clear view of my trimmed but still hairy cunt as he walked in my direction from the house with his coffee. My mother was none the wiser, sitting on the opposite side of the patio table. The grin on my husband’s face was priceless, maybe due to me opening my legs a second time for an optimal view.

Around noon, my mother wanted to drive into town to pick up several large planting pots. As my father wasn’t interested in helping out with “woman’s work,” my husband volunteered to help out, and she would drop him off at the airport for a two day business trip that had been scheduled in to our vacation. My mother had grown to be a very proper and subservient wife over the years. It bothered me that she never stuck up for any of us when my father would begin his ranting and raving when we were kids. While no beauty queen, my mother was reasonably fit for her age, and my husband once joked that there was no doubt where my full tits came from after seeing my mother in a one piece swimsuit around the pool. So we said our goodbyes, and they drove off.

I didn’t mind being left at my parent’s house with my father as he and I had long ago learned to ignore each other. As the car pulled out of the garage, I walked into the kitchen wearing white sweatshirt and jeans to find my father reading The Wall Street Journal. No one spoke as I finished up with the morning dishes.

The tile floor felt cool under my bare feet. Finally I walked over to the kitchen table to wipe it off, and my father’s only comment, without looking up, was, “Don’t forget the crumbs on the floor.” A sigh and a smirk from me led to his second comment, “You might as well do a thorough job or not do it at all.” Getting just a touch angry I ask him when the last time was he cleaned up after himself. Not looking away from the paper, he responded, “It’s not my job.” Getting more impatient I asked him why he was so special. His predictable response was, “That’s no way for a child to talk to a parent.” I chimed in, “I’m not a child anymore, and I’m not afraid of you.”

His next comment almost stopped my breathing. “You’re not much of an adult. What adult would sit outside next to her mother and expose herself for the world to see? You act like a child you get treated like a child.”

I was embarrassed but still angry. “So I flashed my husband. Big deal! What do you care?” Emotionless he replied, “I don’t. I just doubt you’ll ever grow up. You think a college degree makes you an adult? You are as immature as you were as a teenager. Maybe wearing panties would be a step in the right direction.”

Years of frustration had been building up to this moment, and maybe the earlier alcohol in my coffee complimented the anger with bravery. “You think I’m just a child ... you’re the only adult here? Why did you look ... why did you keep looking? Did you like what you saw?” Again, with disinterest, “Grow up.” I ran out of the house and spent most of the afternoon walking. By the time I got back, my mother had returned and I helped her unload the car.

My parents went to bed around 9 that night; their routine for years being early risers. I sat up in the living room watching television and emptied a bottle of very good cabernet sauvignon, still fuming over my earlier encounter with my father and trying to think of a way to get revenge. It would be nice to somehow put him in his place.

After going to my room at the end of the hall, the only bedroom at that end of the house, I was tired and a little drunk. I went into my large walk-in closet without turning on the light since a bedroom lamp by my bed was on. I undressed with some difficulty, having to do it sitting down as I was still a bit under the influence. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, removed my bra, and slid out of my jeans and panties. The cool air on my naked body was quite stimulating.

I had left my bedroom door about one third open, mostly due to my condition, but that allowed me to see my dad coming down the hall. I could see him from my dark closet which was situated in line with the hall, but he couldn’t see me. He turned and went into the bathroom. I found myself wondering if because a light was on he might come in my room to deliver another insulting remark or lecture. I stood up totally naked, feeling very flushed. I was drunk, angry, but surprisingly confident. I heard the toilet flush, the sink run, and I made a decision.

With my heart pounding, drunk and angry, I stood naked in my dark closet and waited for the bathroom door to open. My nipples were hard from the cool air and nervousness. It felt like one of those “now or never” moments ... and the alcohol was making the choice.

When the water in the sink was shut off, I got ready. My robe lay on the bed, so I would have to walk across the room to get it.

I remember what happened next as if it were happening now.

Thinking my father would glance into my semi lit room, I begin my slow walk to the bed as soon as I hear the bathroom door open. I could feel my big tits bounce a bit as I walked. Glancing left to my dresser mirror (the door is to the right) I could see the reflection down the hall ... and see my father standing a few feet outside of my room looking in. He had a good profile view of my tits and ass. I intentionally turn toward my dresser, my back to the door, to give him a longer look. I pretend to pick through my jewelry box, and through the mirror I could see him move slightly back into the bathroom. He is looking, but is obviously trying to hide from my view. I intentionally drop an earring so I will have to bend over ... showing him my hanging tits and my ass. My heart is pounding more than ever, but I feel in control. My door is only open about 2 feet, but he can see me, my dresser, and the foot of my bed as he hides in the shadow ... I walk to the bed ... facing in his direction but not looking up ... and sit on the end of my bed ... again a profile view for him. I lean over and reach for a hair tie from the nightstand. This requires me to lift my arms and reach behind my head ... giving him a great view of my big tits moving up and out as I attempt to tie my hair back. I am careful not to make eye contact and finally decide the show is over, tossing the hair tie away as I reach for the robe next to me.

I am then shocked to see him standing in the doorway. I quickly pull the robe in front of me and say, sarcastically, “don’t you knock?” He just stares with his “blank businessman look” and shruggs, “Don’t you close your door before you undress?” I respond factually, “It’s late ... I didn’t think anyone was up and I was in a hurry ... you can leave now.” Without much expression he says, “You didn’t think? Sounds just like you. You always know better. You come home, act like you own the place, come and go as you please and never take any responsibility ... just like a child.”

I’ve heard this speech so often before. I’m still drunk and now even more pissed. I stand up and drop the robe. Facing him I say “So you want a good look?” I gestured by holding my arms out to my side ... beginning to feel flushed and a little embarrassed ... but even do a half turn for him. For the first time I realize he is in his light blue pajamas (top and bottoms) ... and I also notice the crotch area seems slightly tented out.

He closes the door. My heart begins to pound even more. “So you’re proud of those tits are you?” I begin to pick up my robe as he walks toward me. He grabs the robe away from me and throws it on the floor behind him. I am about to yell some profanity but he pushes me back on the bed, covering my mouth with his hand. Between his strength and his weight, I can barely move. He says quietly, “You think I haven’t seen you before? Don’t you know we have a security camera showing the backyard and pool? I’ve seen you parade around naked when we weren’t home. I’ve watched that clip several times ... sometimes as inspiration before I fuck your mother. Her tits are bigger than yours but obviously not as firm. I’m going to take my hand away, and if you make any noise and there will be consequences.”