I tried to remember when it was that I first noticed someone giving me that look. You know, the furtive look at your breasts or your legs or your butt. The look that’s quickly averted as soon as you notice it, but normally not quite quickly enough. I couldn’t really remember, but I guessed it was when my boobs started getting bigger, and my skinny little figure began to get some curves. Probably when I was about fourteen.

How I felt about it depended very much on who was doing the looking. Old men in the street were very much, eww. Boys or girls at school, yes please. Yes, that’s right, even from a young age I ‘liked’ girls as well as boys, although what ‘liked’ meant changed a lot over the years.

At home, I was really surprised the first time that I thought I caught Dad doing it. To begin with, I figured that I must have been mistaken, but it didn’t take very long to realize that I wasn’t. The thing is that I liked it. I liked it when boys and girls looked at me, but I especially liked it when it was Dad.

I remember being jealous of the other girls at school, with their short skirts, and then one of my friends showed me how to roll over the top of mine to make it shorter. At first, I only did it at school, worried that Mom might tell me off, and then one day I forgot to roll it down on the way home. I realized my mistake the moment I went into the kitchen and she looked down at my legs. I waited for the balling out, but she didn’t say a word. In fact, she looked at my legs for just a little longer than seemed strictly necessary.

No way! I remember thinking. I sat down on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar with my legs slightly apart, and couldn’t believe it when her eyes flickered down between them: she was definitely checking me out! Just like with dad, it made me feel all hot inside, and gave me a little itchy tingle between my legs.

A couple of times, I asked my girlfriends about it in hushed tones during sleepovers, and they all said more or less the same thing: “Yeah, my dad looks at me too. Especially when I’m wearing my school uniform. Not when Mom’s around, though. She’d kill him.” Then they added, “I kinda like it, too.” But what if your Mom’s checking you out as well? I wanted to know, but didn’t dare ask.

Not that I was complaining. I loved the idea that both my Mom and my Dad were looking at me that way ... It made me feel ... sexy and ... special and ... tingly in all the good places. I didn’t dare do too much to encourage them, though, maybe crossing my legs a bit more than I needed to, and bending over at the waist sometimes when I could have been more discreet.

Again, I’m not sure when it was that I found myself looking at them like that. I think the very first time was one morning at breakfast. Mom was leaning over the table, clearing the dishes, and I could see down the front of her blouse. I must have seen her breasts a million times before, but that was the first time that I thought how beautiful they looked: how wonderfully plump and soft-looking they were, and how her bra pushed them together, making a silky valley that made me want to nuzzle my face in it.

Once I’d started, I kept noticing more and more things about both of them that made my heart beat faster and gave me naughty thoughts: the way that tight pants hugged Mom’s bottom, and the way it moved as she walked, and, most exciting of all, the bulge in the front of Dad’s pants and Mom’s erect nipples when they’d been eyeing me up.

It was naughty thoughts like those that fuelled my very first orgasm. I’d been kneeling over my folded pillow, sliding my bare pussy and butt back and forth, fantasizing that I was sitting on Dad’s lap, with my skirt flipped up so that it was only my panties between me and that big lump. I knew by then that it was called a cock or a dick or a penis, and I imagined it rubbing between the cheeks of my bottom and against my ... pussy.

I’d heard people at school talking about cumming and orgasms and stuff, and I’d been touching myself in bed at night for a while, but this was my first. I still remember the sense of awe that I felt as the good feelings just kept getting stronger and stronger, until I thought I was going to explode. And then I did, ramming my pussy over and over against the pillow as my whole body seemed to be alight with pleasure.

Most nights, I’d go to bed, already turned on by the way Dad or Mom, or both, had been looking at me, and get myself off. Sometimes, it was to fantasies about boys or girls at school, but I only ever seemed to climax while dreaming about Mom and Dad.

We carried on like that for about a year, until I was just over fifteen, when things changed, for me at least. What changed? We moved house, and my new room shared a wall with my parents’ bedroom.

I found out on the very first night how much sound passed through that wall. I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but I could hear their cries and moans, and the creaking of their bed, and I lay there imagining what they were doing to each other. I think that was the first time that I actually visualized Dad fucking Mom. Putting that big penis - that I’d only ever seen the vague outline of - into her vagina. It was only a short step from there to fantasizing that the fingers in my own pussy were his cock, and I came so hard I nearly cried out.

After that, I was always very careful not to make much noise in my room when they were in theirs: the last thing I wanted was for them to realize that I could hear them at night.

My fantasies got wilder and wilder the more times I masturbated listening to them. One of my favourites was me, on my hands and knees licking Mom’s pussy. I didn’t know what it looked like, of course, but I’d found a bottle of Nair hair removal cream for the bikini area at the back of the bathroom cupboard, which moved location occasionally. My dream was that she was as bald as a little girl down there. Anyway, Dad would be licking my pussy from behind until I begged him to fuck me. I had many, many lovely orgasms dreaming of variations on that theme.

Inevitably, I suppose, I wanted more. To show them more. Maybe, deep down, hoping that they’d lose control and ... something might happen.

I could see Mom watching me out of the kitchen window. When I’d been putting on my bikini, I was hoping to attract the attention of either her or Dad. Lying on the sunbed in the backyard, it wasn’t long before I saw her face.

I suspected that she thought I couldn’t see her, but I very much could. Although with my sunglasses on, she couldn’t really see which direction my eyes were pointing in. She’d been watching me for some time when I saw Dad’s head appear over her shoulder. Now they were both watching me, and the tingling between my legs got much stronger.

I picked up the bottle of suntan lotion and began with my arms, then my calves. I surreptitiously moved my eyes in their direction from time to time, and saw an expression of bliss on Mom’s face, and I wondered what he was doing to her to cause that.

That was the very first time that they’d ever watched me together like that, and it thrilled me so much that it didn’t seem to be a secret between them. As I began to rub the lotion into my thighs, working up to caress around my pussy, their eyes were wide and staring.

Were they fucking as they gazed hungrily at me? The idea made me very wet, and I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my bikini panties, just brushing the top of my mound. I really wished that I could push them a little deeper and caress my swollen clit, but I didn’t dare.

I became absolutely convinced that I could see Mom’s breasts bouncing as if Dad was fucking her from behind. I just wished I could be there with them, and see his cock plunging in and out of her pussy, all covered with her juices.

Their movements became faster and faster, and I got more and more turned on, until they suddenly stopped, Mom with her eyes closed and Dad still staring at me. They’d cum. I was sure of it, and it took all of my self-control not to pull my bikini panties aside and fuck myself silly with my fingers.

They vanished at that point, and for the next five minutes I sat there, replaying what I’d seen over and over, wondering what would have happened if I’d gone indoors.

Then Mom came out, smiling as if nothing had happened. “That bikini’s a bit small,” she said, basically leering at my barely contained boobs. “Maybe we should get you some new ones? We could get you some new clothes while we’re there?”