"Sex With Daddy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Stephen A.)

Chapter 5

After that initial episode, we slept together every night and those who say Daddy taught me to be a nymphomaniac or that he was some sort of depraved sexual monster are all wrong. I was thirteen and my body was completely developed and rounded as a woman's should be. Because my sexual urge had not yet arrived at its peak and Daddy's was on the decline, we were ideally mated and we seemed to know it instinctively.

Since Daddy only worked part time and then attended a few classes, he was usually home when I arrived from school and we experienced sex when and where we wanted, although not, under any circumstances, outside the apartment. He was quite definite when he instructed me that our true relationship must never be known to outsiders.

For the first three nights following that first evening, the only activity we shared was oral sex. And we even did it "sixty-nine." To say that Daddy taught me this would not be completely true since, even though Daddy was the one to first suggest it, I already knew what to do – I merely copied the position I had seen Mrs. Bradley take some months before. I was proud of the fact that now it was I who was on top of Daddy – not her!

But then, one afternoon, when we were both getting ready to take a swim in the pool, Daddy told me that he wanted to explain to me in detail all about sexual intercourse – or fucking. I'm sure that his reason for wanting to instruct me was that we were both standing there, stark naked, having stripped out of our street clothes in preparation for our swim. Every time Daddy saw me without my clothes on, something seemed to happen, and this time was to be no exception – for which I was very pleased.

Without a word, I eagerly skipped to the bed and lay down on it. He told me that he wanted to show me the way most people have their sexual relations. He asked me to spread my legs wide apart and, kneeling between them, he touched the opening of my vagina, first with his fingers and then, as it became hard and erect, with his prick.

I watched as Daddy moved his penis back and forth slightly, letting it come forward and touch me, then pulling it back as he moved his hips backward. Each time he moved like that, he would look closely at my vagina and occasionally touch it with his hands to see just how far his tool was penetrating. He told me that he would only put the head inside because he didn't want to hurt me or break my hymen.

He asked me if what he was doing felt good and I gasped, "Yes," several times, although I wanted him to put more of himself into me. I was burning with desire and almost out of control with this new form of pleasure he was giving me, but it was not enough. I wanted all of him inside me, not just the very head of his penis.

Yet he refused to go any further. We were both breathing heavily and I could feel a difference in his movements just before he pulled away entirely and grabbed the end of his organ the way he had the first time I had put it in my mouth. I was furious at him, but silently so. I waited for him to return from the bathroom before I asked him why he had done such a nasty thing to me.

"I just didn't want to hurt you, kitten," he told me. "I can't get you pregnant. We don't want that!"

My reaction to his statement included pique and hurt and a desire to get even with him for denying me the pleasure I thought should be rightfully mine. I wanted to get back at him. Even if I had tried, I couldn't have done anything about it because I got my period the following day and knew it would be four more days before Daddy would even gratify me orally again.

But then something happened. I noticed when I first started to flow that I was low on napkins and had to get some more, but this time when I went to the store I decided to get tampons instead. I knew why Daddy hadn't entered me although I couldn't quite understand it – not then, anyway.

He was the guilty one, not I, and I sensed that he might be afraid of the evidence left if my hymen were ruptured by him. Because I knew that he still wanted me and that I wanted him – all the way – I determined to rupture my own maidenhead any way I could. The tampons seemed like the easiest way and surely a practical one, too.

But something else happened which gave me a double idea. While I was in the store, I met Sally, one of my girl friends from school who was also shopping there. She was with a girl I didn't know too well – one who lived in our neighborhood but who went to another school because of her religion.

It seems that each of us had gone to the store for some purchase of our own, instead of family groceries, and because we were friendly, we all stayed together as the purchases were made. After we had left the store, the girl from the other school, Eileen, asked us if we wanted to come over to her house for the afternoon. She said she had found some really wild books in her brother's room after he had been drafted and it would be fun to look at them together.

We didn't have anything else to do, so Sally and I followed her to her house. Once she was satisfied that her mother wasn't home, she proceeded – with a lot of hush-hush theatrics – to dig under the mattress on her bed and bring out several cheaply printed comic books.

They weren't ordinary comic books by any means. She said her brother must have bought them in Mexico, that he certainly couldn't have found anything like them here in the United States, They had the usual, well-known comic characters, but they were out and out pornography showing the Lone Ranger as Tonto's homosexual lover and Superman with a super penis.

Frankly, when I first looked at Eileen's books, I was genuinely shocked. Even though Daddy and I had already experienced several mutual acts of oral sexual expression, it had been a beautiful secret with me.

Sex was something tender and emotionally rewarding, as far as I could understand, but these books painted it as lurid and spontaneous. At the same time, there was something of a terrible beauty about it all. I was fascinated by the drawings and by the words like "fuck" and "cunt" and "prick" written so openly on the worn paper.

But my reaction, at least outwardly, had been somewhat priggish. Both Sally and Eileen admonished me, saying they knew very well that I couldn't be that much of an "old stick-in-the-mud." After all, they said, I was a girl just like they were and I must have felt hot and antsy thinking about boys and wondering what they looked like when they had their pants off.

"You know something," Eileen said, "I even saw my brother doing it to himself once. He was lying on the bed and he didn't know I was home. I just peeked in the door and saw him."

"Really!" Sally almost screamed. "What's it like? I mean, how did he do it and all?"

"Oh," Eileen gave us both a very wise look. "It gets real big and long and it sort of stands straight up only it doesn't, not really. It sort of curves a little. And he just sort of played with it for a while. Then he took it in one hand and started to move it up and down. He just did that for a while, then he shot his stuff all over. It was wild!"

Sally giggled and seemed to be having trouble controlling herself for a moment until Eileen said, "Then he looked up and saw me standing at the door. He came right over and told me I'd better not tell Mom about it if I knew what was good for me. Gosh, I wouldn't have told on him. I wanted to ask him to let me see him do it again, but I was too scared. He was real mad. But it sure was exciting."

Sally giggled again. "I'll bet you wanted him to do it to you," she said.

"That's not true! I didn't either," Eileen retorted, "I just… Oh, you wouldn't understand anyway."

All this time, I stood listening to them, dying to tell them that I knew more than they did, but knowing that I mustn't say a word about Daddy and me. I stood there, listening to them with half an ear and watching them with one eye.

I was also leafing through the books that Eileen had and beginning to feel a strange internal sensation as I gazed at the pictures. I can't really say that I was sexually stimulated by the books or their illustrations. But I couldn't help being aware of sex, particularly when Sally and and Eileen began talking more and more directly about sex and boys.

Sally was saying that she had heard a story of Eileen masturbating a boy on a date.

"Sure," Eileen admitted. "I do that if I like them. What's wrong with it? I'm still a virgin, and that's all that matters. Besides, what do you know? I'll bet if you got one of them in your hand, you'd do the same thing yourself."

"I would not?" Sally insisted, her voice lacking the conviction it should have had.

But where Eileen was a doer with only one taboo, Sally was only tabooed by her own shyness, not by society or religion.

I tried to avoid being caught between the two girls because I was afraid I might feel proud enough to tell them that I had not only masturbated a full-grown man but had also sucked his prick!

As the two girls argued, with Sally wondering how Eileen would ever be good with her husband if she was a virgin, I remained apart still staring at the books. Actually, I didn't pay too much attention to what they were saying because I knew I had to change my napkin. I told Eileen my problem and she showed me the bathroom. I went in, unwrapped my package of tampons and, with only a casual look at the directions, attempted to put one inside me.

Since I really didn't know that much about my own anatomy even then, I didn't realize how difficult a hymen could be, and I just couldn't get the tampon in until I forced it. It hurt, but not badly. I think that I might have ruptured my maidenhead slightly, but not all the way.

Finally, when it was done, I came out to Eileen's room to hear her say, "Is that so? Well, smarty, I'll just show you something. I've got another book that shows everything anybody needs to know!" With that, she walked over to the closet, rummaged around inside for a moment and came back with a small book which was showed to both of us. It looked like a serious book but was full of pictures of a man and a woman in all sorts of positions showing sexual intercourse.

We all looked at the pictures together, and Sally had to admit that, even if a girl was a virgin, she could learn a lot just from looking at the pictures. I didn't say anything. I just stared at the pictures and let one etch itself in my mind. In it, the man was lying on his back and the woman was sitting on top of him, straddling him. I realized that, in such a position, the woman could control the depth of penetration entirely.

After we had all looked at the book, Eileen put it away because her mother would be home pretty soon. Sally and I left.

On the walk home, before we parted, she confessed to me that she was very sexually excited and wished she was not so shy because she was really dying to have sex with some boy.

"Sometimes I just don't know what to do about it. I mean, I hear about how great it is and then I just sort of get all antsy when a boy even wants to kiss me. It's terrible."

I felt like telling her about Daddy and me, but I knew better. Instead, I asked her what she did when she felt like that.

"Oh," she said, "you know."

"No, what?"

"You know," she said again. "I… well… I play with it…"

We walked on in silence for a while before, with a streak of boldness I never knew she had, Sally began to confess her masturbation practices to me. I was so interested in what she was saying that I walked along with her, not realizing that I hadn't taken the turn to my apartment house. But it was still not that late, so I followed her to her house where she continued her confession while I listened avidly.

In her room, she showed me her "thing." It was the end of a broom handle that she said she would put inside herself, working it back and forth until she felt really good.

I must have been the world's best listener, because she even sat down on her bed, slipped out of her panties and said she would show me how. She spread her legs apart and played with the moist pink folds of her vagina with her fingers, brushing her clitoris gently. Then lying on her back with her knees up, she took the broom handle and slowly let it slip all the way inside her! It was only about a foot long, but half of it sunk into her all the way. She was looking at me all the time she was doing it to herself, breathing very heavily and telling me how good it felt.

Then, after several moments of pushing and pulling on the piece of wood, she said, "Now, I'm going to come off and that's the best part. I can feel it about to… oh, yes… it's so good… "

She gave a little gasp and tried to push the handle into herself even farther. Suddenly she seemed to collapse as she let her legs drop and, still with the handle in her, lay on the bed breathing very heavily, a dreamy smile kind of playing across her lips.

After she had recovered, she asked me if I wanted to try it myself. But I told her I couldn't since I was menstruating. Besides that, I was afraid it would break my hymen and hurt a lot.

"Silly, it doesn't hurt when you break it. Oh, maybe it hurts a little, I guess, but all the rest is so good, you hardly notice it. You sure you don't want to try?"

I shook my head and told her I'd better get home. She seemed really disappointed because she wanted to share her masturbation with someone who was a friend, someone to be trusted.

As I started to leave, she slipped into her panties again and just as I got to the door of her room, she asked hesitantly, "You won't tell anyone, will you? I mean, about this and all?"

"No," I said. "I won't tell. You should know that!"

She saw me to the door and I started home just as her mother and father drove up and parked in the driveway. I waved to them as if nothing had happened and headed for the apartment. But my thoughts were far from being as casual as my actions and I knew I had been through a rather unique day. I still had visions of the pictures in the books before me.

Watching Sally with her slim rounded legs bent and her tiny but firm breasts pressing against her bodice as she masturbated herself with part of a broom handle had been very exciting for me, too. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind and I knew I wanted to see her do it again. But I had been terribly embarrassed about my period and thought that my flow might have been offensive to her.

Now I wandered home with thoughts on my mind that I couldn't even express to Daddy, my most trusted friend and confidant.

That night, we ate dinner quietly, as if nothing was wrong and I even reached over the table a couple of times to hold his hand and feel his gentle fingers squeeze mine. As we were clearing the dishes, he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie that night and I said yes. We looked through the evening paper and decided on a show we liked at a nearby drive-in and decided to go there after the dishes were done.

We arrived just before showtime and made ourselves comfortable. As the cartoons started, I slid over on the seat, put my head against Daddy's shoulder and the palm of my hands on his right thigh.

Actually, I was just thinking of being close to him – nothing more. But closeness itself can be a drug. As the show continued, the sky got really dark and the feeling of tight isolation in the car became more apparent, and the closeness itself changed into an overwhelming desire to touch and be touched. The pictures I had seen that afternoon and Sally's masturbation had really stimulated me.

Still with my head on Daddy's shoulder, I let my hand move slightly over his thigh. At first, I just caressed his thigh as I watched the movie. Then, feeling bolder and knowing now that he wouldn't stop me, I let my fingers move to his lap and gently slide half way between his legs so that I could feel his penis under them.

I was not surprised that it was already hard. Ever so gently, I increased the pressure of my fingers on it giving it a lover's squeeze.

"Don't, kitten," he whispered.

"Why, Daddy?"

"Not here, kitten. People will see us."

"They can't see into the car. It's already very dark outside," I said as my fingers began to inch up the length of his fly until I found the top of the zipper of his pants.

He mumbled something else, but I did not hear it and his protestations were not strong. Very slowly, I inched the zipper of Daddy's fly down and reached inside until my fingertips touched the hard, silken length of his penis. Then, still very slowly, I inched my fingers around it and drew it forth so that it was standing up in his lap like a small puppet for me to play with.

I was fascinated by the look of it and the hardness of it. With my head still on Daddy's shoulder, I touched it slightly as I watched my hand moving. Then, allowing my fingers to encircle it and my hand to squeeze the loose skin slightly and pull it all the way down, I held it there for a moment, then inched my hand up, stopping again as Daddy let out a sigh.

"Oh, kitten," he said. "That feels so good!"

"Do you really like it?" I asked.

"Yes, kitten… "

Again, I let my hand slide the length of his erect organ as I myself experienced a trembling of fantastic pleasure at what I was doing. We were both aware of the movie flashing on the screen in front of us as well as the sexual act we were performing. Though he might still have been suffering under some socially implanted guilt feelings, I could sense that they were falling away from him with every slight movement of my hand.

I continued very slowly to move my fingers up and down the length of his penis until he whispered again, "Don't, kitten. I'll come… "

"But I want you to, Daddy. I want to see you come," I said.

He tried to pull away from me then, but I held tighter and moved my hand faster up and down, watching his organ all the time until its love fluid jumped out of the end, seemed to hang suspended for a moment over his lap and then fell in a scalding warmth over my fingers and knuckles.

We sat there just like that for a while without speaking, and then he broke the silence. Taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he wiped away the telltale signs of his orgasm and said, "We mustn't do this any more, kitten. We've got to stop this sort of thing!"

"Why, Daddy?" I asked. "Didn't you like what I did to you?"

"Yes, but… well, it's not right."

"Why?" I asked again.

"Well," he said, "a father and his daughter are not supposed to… to play like this!"

Again I asked him why, this time adding that I liked what I was doing, that it gave me a funny, wonderful feeling to touch him like that.

He then began to explain the horrible incest taboo in all its ramifications, why something like this could ruin a family and cause terrible problems for the people who did it. He told me that he was more guilty than I. That if anyone knew of what we had done, he might even go to jail.

I listened and, even then, understood it all. But I had my arguments, too. Apparently my logic, coupled with Daddy's own desire for me which he could no longer deny, began to shatter his feelings of guilt. How could something like this, I asked him, ruin a family when we two were the only members of the family? How could anyone judge us if they didn't know about us? How could anything so beautiful and thrilling ever be wrong?

He did try to answer my questions, but his replies lacked conviction and the conversation rambled and then stopped. Finally, we both turned to watch the movie, my hand still on his penis and now, his arm around my shoulders.

That night, as we had for some time, we slept in the same bed, both naked, both snuggled tight to one another. Even if I couldn't have expressed it so well at the time, I'm sure that I knew then that we were no longer merely a father and his daughter. Even though we had not yet experienced the full challenge and reward of sexual intercourse, we had become a middle-aged man and his teen-aged mistress. We were lovers and our feelings for one another were completely sincere.

I was totally and completely in love. My love for Daddy was a mixture of a teen-aged girl's first crush and a woman's feelings of mature affection; a love of tenderness and consideration, but one of strange and consuming desire – desire that would grow even greater as Daddy's feelings of guilt began to vanish completely.

But before they were to disappear like morning mist under a noon sun, there was still a final act that had to be performed – the complete union that could only be possible once my hymen was ruptured. After that, our relationship could be nothing but total commitment, or hopeless failure.