Chapter 2

I’ll be honest, here. If I had known what he was going to do for the rest of the night I would have backed out. It wouldn’t have been because I was scared of getting my cherry popped, or afraid that I wouldn’t like it. I would have backed out because I would not have believed I could survive being drenched in that much joy.

He put his feet down and I stood up, a little unsteadily. The woman on the screen was now sucking one man’s penis while another one was fucking her doggy style. Daddy punched the off button.

“Did you see how fake that was?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but once you put your finger in me I didn’t notice much of anything,” I said, truthfully.

“Well, perhaps we can show you how fake it is at a later date. Right now I want to make you squeal for real, instead of the fake sounds that woman was making.”

“Are you going to do that to me?” I shivered, suddenly.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.” He frowned. “Not necessarily,” he altered it.

I shivered again, but it wasn’t from being scared or worried. I was so excited I wanted to jump around. It turns out really good orgasms make me all energetic. I guess some women like to lie around and nap afterwards, which is actually what orgasms are supposed to do to a woman, but I was different; at least at that point in my life. Later I would want to lie there and let a man’s genetic material soak in, but in those early days I could have run a marathon after having an orgasm like that.

But that would be later. That first night was different, at least until the end of the night, but I’ll get there.

He did take me to bed this time; his bed. I had jumped into that bed before many times, but that had been roughly a decade earlier, when thunderstorms scared me, or I had a bad dream and just wanted to feel safe and secure. The last time I had crawled into bed with him had been when I was eleven or so and the love of my life had said he loved Sandra Feingold more than he loved me. My heart was broken and only cuddling with my daddy had been the medicine that would make me feel better.

It was very different cuddling with him now.

We stretched out and sort of inched closer and closer to each other, until he put his arm under me and I scooted hard to plaster my front against his front. His penis, which was still hard, pressed against my abdomen and I felt butterflies inside me trying to flutter their way through my skin to get to that column of stiffness and heat. It’s silly, but I actually had a very quick fantasy in which he was standing, with his hands on his hips, and his erection was covered with brightly colored butterflies using his manhood as a perch.

That image vanished from my mind as I got more kisses, too many count. They were all kinds, too. Some of them were just constant pressure. Some were those nibbles that made me want to climb all over him. And there were the tongue kisses, which seemed even more intimate than his naked penis pressing against my body.

His hand went between my legs again, and this different angle let him go waaaay deeper inside me, until I felt his fingertip tickling something that barked at me if he pushed too hard on it. I would later find out that was my cervix. My cervix couldn’t make up its mind whether it liked being molested or not, but the rest of my sex tunnel knew exactly what it wanted. It wanted that long, rough finger to slide in and out of me and the faster the better.

I choked on my own tongue as an orgasm wracked my body and I think I screamed, though I’m not sure. Suddenly he pushed me on my back and he got up on his hands and knees and started sucking my nipples while he added a finger and push/pulled both of those in and out of my pussy. Right in the middle of that he went back to having just that one finger in me, with the web of his thumb on my clit, rocking back and forth, back and forth, and the orgasm I had then was completely different. It was like floating on top of warm salt water (I had recently learned in science class that you can float on top of water if there’s enough salt in it) while those joy-bugs crawled all over me and bit me again.

He paused to just let his fingers drift across my skin. I was breathing so hard I was sure I was going to pass out because I just couldn’t get enough air in my lungs and he let me rest until I finally caught my breath.

Then he moved on his hands and knees until he was between my legs. I knew what he was going to do, probably by some arcane instinct I had. I had heard of boys going down on girls but I hadn’t quite really believed it until that moment. I took a deep breath, in a vain attempt to double-charge my lungs with oxygen. I wish I’d had a pillow under my head because I wanted to see what was happening but my neck muscles were screaming at me. When he fastened his lips to my vulva my muscles said, “Well, fuck that,” and just went limp. My head fell down on the sheet with a soft thump and all the energy that had been trying to hold my head up flashed to my hips, which bounced up into the air like a basketball that falls through the hoop and hits the wood of the court.

Well, they tried to bounce that way. One of his hands was right on my mound and it only let me go maybe three inches, while his other hand slid under my butt. Then the one holding me down joined the other one and now it didn’t matter if my hips jumped around because his hands pressed me to his face.

I literally could not get away from the stimulation. Part of me tried to do that, to wiggle away. That part was whining and sobbing about how I was actually going to die of pleasure. Another part of me was laughing maniacally, pointing its imaginary finger at the other part, saying things like, “Pussy! You’re weak! Man up, you wimp and take it like a woman!”

I do know one thing. If anybody would have heard me they would have been absolutely, positively, without-a-doubt convinced that I was being murdered in cold blood. My voice was raw for two days after that.

And he hadn’t even fucked me, yet.

He didn’t that night. I was both relieved and upset by that. He was a smart man, though. He knew that our relationship was forged in fire, but he didn’t want to stress things too much. He didn’t want to take a chance that he’d push me farther than I could adjust to.

So he got up on his knees, held his penis and said, “This is what you do to me, Baby. This is what you’ll do to every man who gets to know you or takes you out on a date. This is the power you have over men.”

And then he masturbated right there between my legs and, when he came, he squirted it from my breasts to my pubes.

Before this I would have been horrified at the thought of a man ejaculating on a woman. I would have thought it was nasty and abusive.

But when I felt his semen on me that night, it was almost the best part of the whole night.

We slept together in his bed that night, but there was no hanky-panky. It was just two people who loved each other sleeping in the same bed. I found out sleeping in the raw is much better than wearing pajamas and after that the only time I ever wore anything to bed was when it was cold.

I woke up first the next morning, because I had to pee. I knew exactly where I was and I remembered every second of the night before. I jumped out of bed and ran to his bathroom, where I sat down and let loose. The washcloth he had cleaned my body with, the night before, was still laid out beside the sink and I touched it. Sperm from those ugly/beautiful balls had been all over me. There was probably still some in that washcloth.

When I was finished I ran back and hopped into the bed, cuddling up to his back. He made a sound and moved, rolling backwards and threatening to crush me if I didn’t scoot back. His beautiful green eyes looked at me.

“You okay?”

“I’m fabulous!” I said.

“You have no idea how glad I am you feel that way,” he said.

“Breakfast!” I yipped. “IHOP!” I squealed. “I’m starving!”

“Have mercy on an old man,” he groaned.

“You didn’t have mercy on me last night,” I said. “I’m surprised I can even move. I was sure I pulled every muscle in my body while you were making love to me.”

I got up and whipped the covers off of him. I basically made a nuisance of myself until he got up and threatened to tickle me to death.

“Can I drive?” I pleaded, fifteen minutes later when we went into the garage. I had my learner’s permit.

“Do you promise not to knock another mirror off the car?” he asked.

I blushed. I had gotten too close to the side of the garage door one time and the mirror just popped off. It was crazy!

“I promise,” I said.

I won’t go on, describing everything we did that day, which was a Sunday. The football team had gotten him Friday night and I got him Saturday night. I wondered if I could get him Sunday night, too. Suffice it to say that we had a wonderful breakfast and the rest of the day was just as normal as it was possible to be. He inquired as to the status of my homework and reminded me that I had not vacuumed yet (he absolutely hated to run the vacuum cleaner). Our breakfast was large enough that we both skipped lunch and we had vegetable beef soup for supper.

I finally brought up our new status.

“Do I get to sleep with you again, tonight?” I asked. I was a little timid about it. We had spent the whole day together and he hadn’t kissed me or groped me or given any indication that he thought of me as anything other than his daughter. Of course I hadn’t done any of those things to him, either, but I was the novice, here and it wasn’t my place to start things. At least that’s how I thought of it.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

I put one hand on my hip.

“If I didn’t want to I would have asked if I have to sleep with you, tonight,” I said, a little snarkily.

“If you do, things will be a little different,” he said.

“Different how?” I asked. There was only one thing I could think of that there was left to do and I really didn’t think it would be all that different. It would blow my mind, too. I was sure of it.

“Last night was about you. Tonight will be about me.”

“Oh!” I said. I felt instant shame that I hadn’t thought about his pleasure at all. “Okay.”

“It might also be intense,” he warned.

Bravado filled me to overflowing.

“Lay it on me, Buster. I can take anything you can throw at me!”

Again, in retrospect, I wish I had chosen my words more carefully.

That night I got to know his penis intimately, and know it like it was my best friend in the whole world. I had always thought of “penis” as something icky in a boy’s pants. I knew they were there, under the clothing, but I had no interest in seeing or touching one. They were just there. It was a little like my breasts. They were just there, hanging off my chest. They got in the way sometimes and males ogled them all the time, but they were just there. I had no idea they could be made to feel so good. I also had no idea that a penis could be fascinating, and fun to play with, and actually, for real, yummy.

We started with plain old, straight up masturbation. I sat beside him, with my knees drawn up. I learned how firmly to hold it, where on it to put my hand, and how fast to stroke it. He got more and more animated until he said, “There!” and his hand flashed to the base of his cock and squeezed it hard. He groaned a little bit and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I had expected to see more of that interesting semen. I had even been trying to figure out how I could get it on me again. He was lying on his back, though and I couldn’t envision how to do that.

“If I actually ejaculate I’ll go soft and it would be a while before we could continue. So I had a different kind of orgasm, called a dry orgasm, so I could stay stiff.”

“Really!” I was shocked. I tried to imagine a way a girl could do that, but it was impossible to imagine.

“How do you like my little friend so far?” he asked, letting go of his penis. It stood there as tall and proud as ever.

“I’m very fond of it,” I said.

“Are you fond of it enough to give it a little kiss?”

I had known this would come up. Before we started I would have given my head a little shake and said, “Not ready for that, yet.” Now that I had gotten to know it things had changed. I was actually curious to find out what all the hooplah about oral sex was about. Obviously I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of things. Now I could experiment with being on the giving side.

Sitting beside him to jerk him off had felt comfortable, but I didn’t want to bend over that much so I changed positions until I was lying on my stomach, beside him, with a pillow under my ribs so my face could get right over the target.

I held it, moved that fascinating foreskin a few times, and made a round little kind of lips to kiss. Those lips were really soft and squishy. They also moved and I felt something under them that wasn’t squishy at all. I pushed the foreskin back and kissed the tight, hard skin of the tip of his glans. He made a little sound and I looked up at him. He was already breathing deeply. He had been smart enough to get a pillow and prop up his head so he could watch.

I didn’t so much resist going further as I delayed it to extend the experience. This was my first penis and, like my virginity, this was the only first time I’d be able to do this. So I kissed the tip a few more times, and nipped at it with my lips. I licked it and tried to taste something, but there was nothing there. I nipped more and more until my lips were halfway covering the head. He was panting softly, now, but he didn’t say anything.

Finally I pushed my lips over the swell of his glans and let them clamp down behind the crown. I gave a tentative, little suck and he groaned.

Believe it or not, I had never felt more powerful in my entire life than I did when I pulled that little groan out of him.

Fellatio can be complicated or very simple. It’s complicated when the girl isn’t into it, or doesn’t want to do it, but she feels compelled to by social pressure, or because her boyfriend (or date) is insistent. If she doesn’t like doing it, then there is no love involved and if there’s no love involved, then it’s really just complicated masturbation. The same goes for intercourse.

On the other hand, if the girl does like sucking a particular penis, then it becomes fun. There is no stigma to it and it isn’t manipulative on the part of the male. She sucks it because she likes sucking it and because she wants the man to feel that kind of pleasure. If she likes it, she’s actually the one in charge and there is nothing chauvinistic going on.

In my case, once I felt the smooth texture in my mouth and then the rougher, softer texture of the skin on the shaft against my lips, I fell in love with sucking my daddy’s penis. It helped that he made these sounds that I never expected to hear come from a grown man’s throat. I suppose if a man had been shot, or run over by a truck or something, and it didn’t kill him, he might make sounds like that. But there was no pain in the groans, moans and whimpers I caused.

I could have sucked it for hours, but he couldn’t last that long.

“I’m gonna cum, Honey!” he blurted. I knew it was a warning so that I could avoid getting semen in my mouth.

But I loved this penis and I had this expectation that I’d love what it produced, too.

I was not disappointed. When he gasped and I felt the shaft kind of pulse in my hand, I felt it shoot against the roof of my mouth. I kind of sucked and moved things around with my tongue at the same time and as the second pulse happened my mouth was flooded with taste. It was strong but difficult to classify. For me, taking a whole mouthful of green olives is strong like that. What was so odd was that, even though it was all still inside my mouth, I smelled something musky, somehow. It all happened so fast it was hard to keep up with. Anyway, I tasted bitter and salt and just a hint of sweet and swallowing it seemed like the most normal thing in the world.

It emptied out too soon and I kept milking the shaft and sucking the tip until his hand pushed at my head.

“Too sensitive!” he gasped.

“Oh,” I said, disappointment plain in my voice.

I moved his penis to make it lie on his abdomen and inspected his balls. That dark, wrinkled, hairy bag felt like nothing else in the whole world and looked like it was elephant skin or something. That sack didn’t look any different at all, even though I had just emptied it.

I knew I’d empty that sack again, many times in the future, assuming he’d let me.

I had killed his penis, though, and it lay there all forlorn and limp and helpless. I laid down beside him and kissed what, on a woman, would have been the side of his breast.

“I liked that very much,” I volunteered, just to make sure he knew.

“I got that impression,” he breathed. “You must have gotten the oral gene from your mother, too, because she used to love doing that, too.”

“I hope to be able to do that again,” I said.

“It’s a good way to make a hard one soft, if you want it to be soft, or a soft one hard, if you want it to be hard.”

“Like now?”

“Well, not this soon after it cums. Give it fifteen or twenty minutes to rest.”

“Can I kiss you while we wait?”

“Sweetheart, you can kiss me any time you want to, as long as we’re here in the house.”

“Yeah, I can just see me throwing my arms around you at school and plastering my lips against yours.” I poked him with a finger. He was a solid as a piece of wood.

“Get on top of me,” he said.

I crawled on top of him and laid down. It was very odd, feeling a body under me. His body was very hard, but at the same time I felt comfortable lying there.

“Rub your pussy against my penis,” he said.

“But it’s soft,” I pointed out, needlessly.

“It’s still a bump. You can masturbate by rubbing your clit against it. You can do the same thing to my balls, but go easy on them.”

I thought that was a silly idea until I actually did it. Even soft, his penis was maybe four inches long and if I got my pussy lips to kind of straddle it, I could wiggle around and move in such a way as to stimulate my clit. I was pretty sure I couldn’t get off that way. He wasn’t hard enough to put enough pressure on my bud for that. But it was fun and it was intimate. This making love thing was a whole different way of looking at the world.

I wanted to kiss him but that meant I was too far up his body to be able to rub, so he put one arm under me and while I kissed him I humped his arm. That was hard enough that I gasped through an orgasm.

I wanted to go on and on, but I got tired and finally rolled off of him to lie on my back, next to him.

“How you doing over there?” he asked.

“How can this feel so normal when it isn’t normal at all?” I asked.

“Instead of thinking of this as breaking rules, I prefer to think of it as making our own, family rules,” he said. “If you look at it that way, then it is normal.”

“Well I must be looking at it that way, because this feels normal to me. I mean I know you’re still my dad, and I have to do what you say, and you might still have to punish me or ground me or whatever, but being here like this still feels like everything is the way it’s supposed to be.”

“I’m really glad you feel that way. I’ve put you through a lot and I was worried you might not be able to cope.”

“Everything is new and I never know what to expect, but it’s always good, at least so far.”

“There’s not much left to do,” he said. “You’re probably already capable of understanding what’s happening to you if you start to like a man.”

“No,” I sighed.

“No?”

“I need a lot more practice,” I said, reaching to take his hand.

I turned my head to look at him.

“And I think I need to see what the rest feels like.”

“You’re sure?” For the first time I heard some uncertainty in his voice.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

And the funny thing was that I was sure I was ready. It was unbelievable, in one sense, because in the space of 48 hours I had gone from a girl who had a prom date and a father who wasn’t sure I was ready to go on a prom date, to a woman, lying under a man, who was hovering over me with a thick, long, hard penis hanging above my virgin pussy. That penis was going to go inside me. I would become a full and complete woman and I wasn’t scared at all.

“Guide me in,” he breathed.

He lowered his hips and I reached, not knowing how to guide him in. But as soon as I felt his penis in my hand I suddenly knew exactly where to put it.

As soon as I felt the tip touch me, it sank in, through my fingers, the shaft moving even though my fingers were not. I pulled my hand back as I felt the stretching begin.

My finger had felt snug. His finger had felt like it was huge. Now something enormous was pushing my tissues apart, stretching me uncomfortably, except at the same time that enormous thing was scraping the tissues it was forcing apart and those tissues loved being scraped. The stretching kept going until I felt like my tummy should be bulging. Then that elephant skin sack bumped into my bottom and my clit got smashed and I saw stars. I was not ready for the orgasm, even though it was a sharp, quick one. It was like a stab of a sword that made my belly bleed pleasure instead of blood. It hit me like a sledgehammer and then it was gone as I felt weight on my body and realized I was being moved by just his penetration. He was all the way in; I knew this, but he kept pushing. I lifted my knees and widened them, trying to let him push even deeper. He groaned and my arms went around him to comfort his pain, except I knew it wasn’t pain.

I also knew that, if my father ever came to me and said he wanted to make love, I would never be able to resist him or tell him no.

And it only got better from there.

I remembered seeing the people in that porn movie changing positions, and I remembered thinking, ‘If it feels good, why would you change positions?’ I sort of subconsciously decided that it must not feel good, or that being in one position for too long strained something. There had to be some reason why they did that. Now, of course, I understand that it was just showmanship, to let the viewer see penetration in different ways.

What I learned that night, however, is that changing positions is like having more than one kind of food on your plate, and that it’s also a handy way of letting a penis cool down enough that it stays hard longer.

After he gave me what seemed like a dozen orgasms, lying on top of me, he had rolled off of me, breathing hard, and told me to climb on and rub, like I had done before. It was entirely different, rubbing on a hard penis and I was able to get off very nicely. It had the added benefit of being able to slide onto that hard penis and then sit up, driving it deep to that barking cervix. I could lean forward and, by jerking my hips back and forth, have an orgasm almost on demand. Then I could slide off of it and rub the bottom a little more, scraping my clit along the shaft, before impaling myself again. I must have done that for a good thirty minutes. I had no idea that it helped him avoid spurting, because the stimulus on his penis wasn’t constant.

Then he got me on all fours and slid into me that way. His weight fell on my back and his hands reached around to cup and squeeze my breasts. He pulled my nipples and my elbows got weak. His cock scraped my insides differently in this position. It was strange in the aspect that, when I was on my back and he was on top of me I felt helpless, and when I was on my hands and knees with him in me from behind, with his arms around me and his weight on my back I should have felt like I could crawl away if I wanted to, except I felt helpless then, too. His arms were around me and his spike was in me and I just knew I couldn’t get away. Not that I wanted to. I just thought about that for a few seconds. Later, when he stood up on his knees and held my hips with his hands while he sawed in and out of my very happy pussy, I could have crawled away, except that was the last thing on Earth I wanted to do, at that point.