Posts Tagged ‘step-father’

He came to me in the night. It was always in the night. In the daylight we both pretended that there was no nightly visitation. But he was highly sexed, and since my mom died, he came to me often at night. He waited until I’d turned eighteen, but after that, he came for me.



“Dad . . .” I murmured, still only half awake.



“Shush. Take this.”



I was on my back and he was straddling my chest with his knees and leaning over me, holding my arms out and above my head with strong fists encasing my wrists. I felt the tip of his erect cock at my lips and I opened to him, and we both moaned quietly in the dark as he stroked his cock in and out of my mouth, hardening it and arousing him further—and slicking up his tool for what he’d do later.



When he was sufficiently aroused, he moved his knees and lips down my chest and belly and swallowed my balls as his hand went to my cock. His hand went to join the other to cup and raise and separate my butt cheeks as his mouth went to my entrance. His hand on my cock was replaced by one of my own, and I lay there, looking dumbly toward the window, watching the wind sway the branches of the willow tree, and stroking myself. For a moment I had the sensation of someone being there, watching us, but I had shut my systems down. I didn’t care and my senses weren’t on alert. I was trying to transport myself to someplace else altogether.



He pulled my sleeping shorts—all that I was wearing—off my legs.



“Turn on your belly.” The voice was low, raspy, needy.



“Dad . . .” I murmured again. It was all I could manage, and I knew it had no effect.



“Turn on your belly, son.”



With a sigh of resignation, I did as he commanded. I always did as he commanded, whether day or night.



A heavily muscled arm went under my lower belly and lifted me to my knees, while a palm between my shoulder blades pushed my chest down on the cool sheet. He was crouched over me from behind, his thighs encasing mine. I felt the stretch and filling of the entry. But no pain. There hadn’t been pain, really, for months. My channel was fit to his cock now. He just slid up into me as I gasped slightly and groaned the almost nightly possession by him.



One of his fists went to the wrist of my left arm and pinned it to the bed above my head. He let me have the use of my right hand—he’d done so for nearly two months now—and I moved it to my cock and began stroking it again to the rhythm of his fucking cock.



He moved his other hand between gripping my waist and pinching my nipple and turning my head toward his face when he brought it down to my head. When he did that, we kissed, deeply, his tongue invading and searching my mouth cavity. This was something else that had only entered the ritual in the last month or so.



My lips freed, I once more turned my head and gazed at the window—and once more had the sensation of someone or something pulling away from it out there as I turned my head. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated again on not being there.



The nature of pretending I wasn’t really involved in what was happening to me in the night had changed in the last month or too also—and it scared me. In the initial months, I had zoned out to deny it was happening. Now I was zoning out because I was beginning to need it—to look forward to it each night.



Of course he really wasn’t my dad—not my biological dad—and nothing that he was doing was something I could report him for, something I could stop, short of fighting him, which, considering our differing sizes and physical power, was a comical notion. And leaving was something I couldn’t do, at least not yet.



My real dad had died when I was eleven, and Tyler had been with us for six years now, arriving a little more than a year after Mom was widowed. I say us, but he really was only with “us” for a bit more than five years. My mom died six months ago. She had been sick for some time before she died, and I think she understood Tyler’s interest in me before she went. But by then she was too far gone to do anything about it. She seemed to be hanging on mostly to be there until I got old enough to leave the house and go on my own.



My real dad’s death and her own quick decline there at the end had bollixed up that idea, though. I’d worshipped my real dad, and his death had been a real blow to me. I just shut my life down for nearly a full year though—and that included school work. So, I was set back a grade. And, so, when mom died, I was no more than a week past eighteen, but I had a year and a half more to go in high school. And what were almost Mom’s last words to me stuck.



“Stick it out until you graduate high school, Chris,” she’d said. “Promise me you’ll get your high school. Then go in the service for a while or something. Get away from this. But promise me you’ll get your high school in first. A man can’t do much of anything without that diploma.”



And so, I promised.



And the way it worked out with Tyler wasn’t wham bang, either. It was gradual. He worked me. He seduced me. And he was smart. He waited until I was eighteen. And when he finally had me, there I was, an adult, and not able even to claim rape. And the longer I stayed, the less anyone would care what I let happen to me. They would have asked, “Why didn’t you just walk?”



Well, I didn’t walk, because I promised my mom I’d get in that last year and half of school, and I didn’t have any other good options. I had no living family left, and I had no means really to live out on my own. I didn’t mind the idea of signing up for the military—I was leaning toward the Navy—but it stuck in my mind that one thing my mom had asked me to promise to do was to get that high school diploma before leaving.



And, as I’ve said. Tyler was clever. And he took it slow so that by the time I really was over the edge, it was done.



It had started the day after I turned eighteen. Mom was in the other room, dying. She’d been to the hospital and was back, under Hospice care, to die at home. I was keyed up and confused and into self-denial and wanting to make it all go away—transport myself to some fantasy land—and because I was a teenager with raging hormones, that meant a flashlight and dirty magazine and beating myself off in the middle of the night.



Which was all fine, but Tyler found me that night, right after my eighteenth birthday. I was terrified and paralyzed in place when he found me. But he came into the room and was calm and sat down on the side of the bed and told me all sorts of mumbo-jumbo over how it was normal and understandable under the circumstances. And while he was talking and holding my attention, he had his hand on my cock. When I noticed and flinched and began to object, he shushed me, reminding me that Mom was just in the other bedroom and that, although what I was doing was normal and understandable, it wasn’t something we wanted to worry her about.



“So, just lay back, and I’ll take care of it.”



And so I did. And he did. And I was surprised at how much different and better it felt when someone else did it.



Three days later, the night before Mom died, Tyler was back and sweet talked me into letting him take care of my fears and tensions again. And this time he ran his other hand over my body as he was slowly jacking my cock off.



When we came home from Mom’s funeral, I was a basket case, and Tyler sent me to my room and told me to try to get some sleep. But I couldn’t and I couldn’t stop crying. And Tyler came into my room and sat on the bed and hugged me close and soothed me with his calm, soft voice—which was really something coming from such a big, muscular man—and with his hands patting and stroking me here and there. He had my cock out of the fly of my sleeping shorts before I knew it. And I was in such a state that I didn’t care—in fact it was comforting. And this time he didn’t relieve me with his hand. He did it with his mouth.



Mom was dead now and there was only Tyler. And he’d already given me a blow job. And I was already eighteen and had promised my mom I’d stick it out through high school. And not only wasn’t I thinking too straight, but I was a teen with raging hormones and Tyler was giving me release and pleasure that, though I knew it was evil and not right, was overwhelmingly hard to resist.



Everything was fine during the day. Tyler was a coping single-parent dad by day. Fitting in getting me to school and being there during my ball games and other activities while still holding down his job. I took up more of the cleaning and cooking duties, but Tyler was hanging in there on those as well. And we said nothing during the day of what was happening at night. The dark covered all of our sins.



But he was coming to me more often at night now. And he cajoled me into taking head, and one night he introduced a dildo into the ritual as he was sucking my cock. The first time I just thought it was his thumb, which he had started strumming rim of my hole with while sucking me, but it wasn’t—it was a dildo. And the second time I knew it wasn’t a thumb—and that it hadn’t stayed at the entrance. By the time he fucked me with his cock, he had me asking for it. And I was over eighteen, and with nowhere else to go.



And now it was four months later.



Tyler had just been to visit me the night before. But he was here, at the door, tonight, as well. I’d heard it. He’d had a video on out in the living room. A male porn film. He was standing at the door, breathing heavily and giving me a scary stare. He was stark naked and had a raging hard on. I was sitting on the floor, on the thick cushion I’d taken off the overstuffed chair in my room; my back to the bed; earphones in, with the music set to something I liked to listen to before I went to bed; and doing my last-minute homework. I already was in my sleeping shorts.



Tyler was on me like a flash, grabbing my wrists with his hands and pushing my arms back on the bed. His cock was assaulting my mouth, pushing my head back on the bed as well. And I was gagging and gasping as he face-fucked me.



Then he pulled me up on my feet and kicked the cushion out into the middle of room as he was stripping off my sleeping shorts. He pushed me down on my shoulder blades on the cushion and grabbed my hips in his hands, and pulled my pelvis up into his crotch and my hole onto his cock, and started fucking down into me with long, deep strokes, thrusting down with his cock, while he pulled my pelvis up into him. Pushing me down as he moved his hips back and then pulling me in again as he thrust forward.



He was fucking me with a fury as he’d never done before, and I hooked my legs on top of the flare of his butt and hung on for dear life, my soothing “go-to-bed” music still playing in my ear from the earphones.



Above the sound of the music, I could hear the sound of the sex. Grunting and groaning and moaning in harmony, but above that, a plaintive cry of “Oh, shit, oh yes, oh gawd yessss, Fuck ME!”



I was shocked—and scared—at the realization that it was my voice.



* * * *



By this time, Tyler wasn’t the only one fucking me. By now, I knew what was done was done—and that I didn’t mind it when I wasn’t thinking real hard—and was thinking why should I give it away just to Tyler for free. I was scraping together whatever money I could to help my escape from here, which was coming within a year. I kept the money in an old can out in the rafters of the storage shed in the back yard.



I figured I knew where I would make some money off this. And I was right.



For years, Mr. Collins, a bachelor living in a house twice as large and tidy as ours just down the street from us, had been giving me the eye and trying to make friends with me when I walked past his house. I wasn’t so dumb that I didn’t know what his interest was—and there were whisperings going around the neighborhood and at school that bore this out.



All it took to get him to come out of the house was for me to stand out on the front walk by his white picket fence one day and look around like I had nothing better to do than stand there. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he sauntered out, acting like he had a reason to be on the move and “accidentally” noticing I was there and coming to the fence to greet me.



“Hi there, Chris,” he called out in a chipper voice. “Great day, isn’t it?”



“Yeah, yeah, it is,” I answered. “Might rain tonight, though. The rains will be heavy this summer, they say.”



Mr. Collins was trembling like a Chihuahua on speed at this string of words from me. It was more in total that I’d ever said to him in all the years he’d been living in the neighborhood. He literally wagged his tail as he came out to the fence, obviously thrilled that I was still standing there.



“Yes, it’s good for the flowers, though.”



“Nice flowers,” I said. “And you got a gardener to take real good care of them, I see.” I was searching for words. The gardener was kneeling at the rose bed that lined the front porch of the house. He was facing away from us, an Hispanic, I guessed, maybe in his thirties. An outdoor worker. I wondered if he could hear us—and if he could understand English if he could.



“I try to keep the grounds up,” Mr. Collins said, his voice full of pride. “Say, I was real sorry to hear about your mother. I—”



“Thanks. Thanks, Mr. Collins. You’re a nice man for saying that.” I turned my eyes on him and smiled.



He practically melted on the spot with pleasure. He had his hands on top of the fence and they were trembling. I put a hand up there too, trying to make it seem like a natural move, and I could see him shudder as our hands touched each other.



“Nice house too. Real nice house. Big. Bet you have lots of rooms in there. Bet you have some nice things in there.”



“Would you like to see inside sometime?” Mr. Collins asked. His voice sounded so hopeful that I felt kind of sorry for him.



“I’m not doing much of anything now,” I said. I tried to keep my voice low, because I could see that the gardener had turned his head toward us—that maybe he was listening to us.



I thought that Mr. Collins was going to melt down to a puddle on the spot at the prospect of getting me in the house.



The gardener looked up from the rose garden as we passed and gave me a tentative little smile. I wondered if he figured any of this out. But then I didn’t care. He was just a gardener.



“How’s school and the baseball going, Chris?” Mr. Collins asked me as we entered the foyer. I walked right on into the living room, which showed that Mr. Collins made a whole heap more money that my stepdad did. “I’ve always been interested in how the kids of the neighborhood were doing.”



“Yeah, I know you have, Mr. Collins. I’ve seen how you watched me over the years. Well, I’m here now. And I’m over eighteen.”



He turned his head toward where I was standing in the living room, surprised by what I said and by the hard tone I’d taken when I said it. And there I was, standing in the middle of his living room, with my fly open and my dong hanging out and cupped in the palm of my hand. I was kind of proud of my cock, and Mr. Collins seemed pretty impressed too. He went to his knees with a loud moan and began sucking my cock in a way that assured me that, as suspected, I probably wasn’t the first neighborhood boy who had visited this house.



We were naked on his bed with him stretched out behind me and stroking his cock inside me from the rear as I propped my knee up on the bed to give him better access when I told him what the deal was: “$15 for you to suck me; $25 if I suck you. $50 for a fuck; $60 for the whole package.”



He didn’t object and signed up for the next visit to be on my way home from school three days hence. My stepdad didn’t get home from work for nearly three hours after my school finished for the day.



The gardener was in the front garden the next day I visited Mr. Collins, and he turned his head and gave me a little smile again when I reached the stairs to the porch and started climbing. I instinctive smiled back, a little nervous because he was there, and because I couldn’t think of a plausible reason to be approaching Mr. Collins’s house by myself if the gardener asked. But he didn’t ask.



The door was slightly ajar when I got to it, and I heard a faraway voice call out from upstairs. “Come on in. It’s open. I’m upstairs.”



I went in and began to climb the stairs. Half way up I stopped dead in my tracks and let out a “Holy shit.” I began to turn to flee the house, when Mr. Collins said probably the only thing that kept me there.



“$75. I’ll give you $75. And you won’t be doing anything special or different. This is for me. This is to make it more interesting for me.”



I turned back and looked up at him again. He was wearing women’s lingerie. A black lace bra, with matching panties and black mesh stockings and black stiletto heels. He also had on a red-haired wig, and his face was made up like a baby doll, a mean slash of shiny, deep-red lipstick across his mouth. He was talking in a funny, high voice like he was playing some sort of game. And I guessed it was pretty obvious that he was.



“It’s no different for you, honey,” he repeated. “It’s just me. It’s just what I like. $75, OK?”



He didn’t look all that bad as a woman. Younger even. And he wasn’t fat; he had good muscle tone and firm arms and legs. A flat belly and a nipped-in waist.



If I closed my eyes. . . . And it wasn’t like I had to get it up. He said it would be no different. And he had topped me earlier, although for the money, I was willing to try going either way.



I started walking up the stairs again, and as we crossed the hall to the master bedroom, I was impressed on how well he walked in the heels. I guessed he’d done this a lot.



“Please take your clothes off and sit on the side of the bed,” he said.



I watched myself—and him/her in the mirrors as I stripped. That was the thing I’d remembered the most about his bedroom from the other day. The mirrors. He had them everywhere. It had been arousing to me to see myself being fucked no matter how I turned my head. I assumed that the mirrors were there because he found it amusing as well. He wasn’t bad looking for an old guy and was a good cocksman—or so I thought, only having Tyler to compare him with. But I thought Tyler must be good at it as much as he was fucking me—and I knew he and my mom really went at it before she got too sick to enjoy it. And, surprising, Collins was as good at it as Tyler was, although he must be at least ten years older than Tyler.



We didn’t do it just like we had the first time. This time Mr. Collins spent more time in setting it up—and he had an extra fetish thing going with the lipstick. The color was something that rubbed off easily. Collins made a point of paying attention to nearly every inch of my body with his lips, and I could see that the lipstick was rubbing off on my skin. And he got up every once in a while and renewed it, so that it was always leaving fresh lip marks.



I found quickly that the panties had a slit in them in front, so that his cock came out without having to remove the panties. I sucked him and then he sucked me, being careful to leave distinctive lip-shaped red markings on my cock. He followed this up with lip attention to the rest of my body, and then he had me lay on my back on the edge of the bed, and he came between my thighs and fucked me to mutual ejaculations while we watched ourselves and each other in the mirrors. Although I had been worried about being able to get it up, the setting was so exotic and he was such an expert cocksman that I didn’t have any trouble at all. The mirrors helped too.



Afterward, Mr. Collins made me stand in front of a full-length mirror and he took photos of the artwork he’d done on my body with his ruby-red lips before he let me shower and gave me four twenties and told me to keep the change.

I had a pretty busy extracurricular activity schedule at school and on the baseball mound, but I did have Tuesday afternoons free, and Mr. Collins signed up for that time slot. He must have had quite a closet, because he was wearing a different set of lingerie each time—and a different shade of lipstick.



Tuesday’s must have been one of his set days with the gardener too, as he was always there, kneeling by the roses and giving me a little nod and smile when I mounted the porch stairs to Mr. Collins’s front door.



* * * *



I rather enjoyed the fucking with Mr. Collins, and it worried me that I did, but the money was too good to deny myself and put the brakes on this stuff. At $80 a week, my tin can in the storage shed was going to need company soon. I’d made it to late summer. One more year, my senior year, and I could just walk away from here—and with some serious cash in my pocket. I’d put it all behind me, or so I thought.



I was getting old enough now to accept that I was just fooling myself. I began to become obsessed with the women’s lingerie—and wondering about it in connection with my nights with Tyler. I have no idea what caused me to do it, but one afternoon, when rain had wiped out a baseball practice and Tyler wouldn’t be home for hours, I stole into the master bedroom and started browsing through the drawers in my mother’s bureau. Tyler had done nothing about getting rid of her clothes.



I found her intimate lingerie in one of the lower drawers and I took a pair of black lace panties back to my bedroom and stripped and put them on and walked around the house for a half hour. It didn’t give me quite the thrill I thought it might, but just the idea of how I wanted it to make me feel made me hard.



And then Tyler went four nights without visiting my bedroom. I didn’t think he was doing this on purpose at the time, but now I think he did. Now I think he wanted me to take that last step. The first two nights I luxuriated in a full night’s sleep. The third night I couldn’t sleep and kept looking at my door, waiting for it to open and for Tyler to slip into the room and into my bed. On the four night I was in a stew, wondering what was wrong, why he wasn’t coming.



On the fifth night I could take it no longer. I padded out of bed, stripped off my sleeping shorts, and slipped on the black lace panties I’d purloined from my mother’s drawer.



Tyler was awake, on his back, no doubt waiting for me—although I didn’t know it at the time. I climbed onto the bed and straddled his pelvis. He laughed and pulled my face down to his and kissed me deeply on the mouth. I could feel his cock come alive. He moved his hands over my bare torso as we kissed and then down to my hips, and I felt the jerk in his cock and heard the low gasp when he learned I was wearing lace panties. He let me know he enjoyed that a lot—but he didn’t enjoy it so much that it prevented him from gripping the flimsy material covering my buttocks on both sides and rending it apart with a low ripping sound and then settling my channel on his cock through the slit he’d made.



He laid there, providing the ramrod, and smiling up into my face as I did all of the work, riding his cock in undulating waves. When he had shot his load up into me, he laughed his ultimate victory over me, the fulfillment of my conditioning.



Later, in my own room again, I couldn’t sleep. I had come in the panties in Tyler’s room and he’d kept them as a trophy, so I was in my sleeping shorts once more.



It had already rained once and then stopped, and I could hear the splatter of precursory rain drops once again on the window. They were promising quite a storm tonight.



I liked watching storms, and Tyler’s laugh at the conclusion of our sex had awakened me to what he had conditioned me to do—that final step of me coming to him, wanting it, and willing to do all of the work to get it. This depressed me, and for the first time I wondered if staying around to complete high school was going to be the end of it—whether I could break away from Tyler even after that. And, even more depressing, I was beginning to doubt if the high school diploma was the real reason I was staying around—whether I wasn’t completely under Tyler’s spell now.



I couldn’t sleep, so I got out of bed and took a Coke from the refrigerator and walked out onto the front porch, just in my sleeping shorts, to welcome the coming storm and to try to force my racing brain to be lost in watching the thunder and lightning show.



I had finished the Coke and gotten tired of waiting for the storm to arrive. I turned to go back into the house, but I was grabbed from behind and tossed out into the yard. I landed on the wet grass and someone was on my back, his knee in the small of my back, and my hands were pulled behind me and being tied off. A burlap sack was pulled over my head and I was roughly pulled up and frog marched across the yard, tossed into the back seat of a car, and, after doors slammed, the car was on the move.



I have no idea how long we drove; I was too stunned by the sudden assault to keep any sort of track, but the car eventually stopped after a particularly bumpy ride at the last. I could hear the pattering of rain on the metal roof. The storm was starting. I heard a door open at the front of the car—and slam shut—and then one of the doors to the rear seat opened, and I almost tumbled out of the car. Strong hands grabbed me, though, and lift and tossed me toward the other side of the car. Someone was in the back seat with me. His chest was pressing in on mine—he was bare-chested, so I knew it was a man, and heavy muscled and slick with sweat. I heard and felt the ripping of my sleeping shorts—and heavy breathing. Whoever it was was too agitated to just pull my pants off. I was wedged, facing up, in the back corner of the seat. The seat was wide and plush, I figured some older model car—something American and from the 60s, maybe.



Rough hands were forcing my thighs apart and raising my legs, and the man was between my legs, and I screamed as a cock far thicker than either Tyler’s or Mr. Collins’s split me and forced itself deep inside my channel and I was being furiously fucked. He bit into my nipple and I cried out in pain again. I began to sneeze from the dustiness of the sack over my head. I tried to suppress it, thinking, “No, please don’t take the sack off, please don’t take the sack off”—knowing that if he did I would see what he looked like. And if he didn’t care if I knew what he looked like, then . . .



I couldn’t suppress the sneezing, though, and also began to cough. And the sack was drawn off my head.



It was Mr. Collins’s gardener.



“Why?” I cried out.



He backhanded me across the face and growled, “Shut the fuck up.”



And I turned my head toward the window in the passenger door I was wedged up against and watched the storm roll over us. There was thunder and lightning aplenty, and it seemed like each clap of thunder and flash of lightning was accompanied by a ramrod splitting me asunder. Each time the thunder clapped, I lurched at the thrust of his cock inside me, each time thinking he couldn’t go further down inside me, widen my channel with his monster tool any wider, but, with each thunder clap, he did.



He fucked me with intense purpose and abandon, and I moaned and groaned at how much fuller and more intense his taking of me was than Tyler’s and Collins’s fuckings were. He wanted me and drilled me in ways they hadn’t done, moving deep inside me, relentlessly fucking, making me writhe and whimper and cry out, afraid of what came after this, and then, because he was at it so long and so deep, afraid that this was the last of me—fucked to death. I had ejaculated a long time before he exploded and fell on top of me, sweaty and panting. Holding me tight, his breathing becoming less ragged but his cock coming back to life inside me the longer he held me there.



The second fucking, in consort with the abating of the thunderstorm into a gentle rain, was slower, more methodic and longer, with his hands now searching my body more, as if assuring himself that I actually was here, that the snatch and furious fuck that went before were real, not just one of the longing wet dreams that had driven him to do this.



When he was finished, he covered my head with the sack again and went over the front seat back into the driver’s position while I whimpered, exhausted and taken as neither Tyler nor Mr. Collins had ever done with me.



We drove on for a half hour or more, and I sensed when we turned off asphalt and onto gravel and then, eventually onto dirt—probably mud now. The last quarter of a mile or more was on jarringly rough road.



I was bundled out of the car, across uneven dirt, and up onto a wooden porch—which I discern because I was barefooted, and then through a door which was closed behind us. I heard two bolts being thrown on the door and the scrape of a key in a lock. The sack was jerked off my head again.



He had prepared for me. This wasn’t a casual snatch. We were standing in a log cabin that was about twenty feet square. The windows were all shuttered from at least the inside. There was a double bed in one corner and chains were welded to the wall above the headboard. At the loose end of the chains were wrist clamps, and this was where the gardener herded me—over to the bed, where he pushed me down on my belly. He untied my binding and turned me over on my back on the bed and forcing my wrists into the wrist clamps. The chains attached to the walls were short, and I couldn’t move my hands below my shoulders as I lay on the bed.



The gardener stripped off his wet jeans and his briefs and came down on the bed, forcing his knees between my thighs and sliding them under my buttocks. Then he thrust his cock inside my channel again, and fucked me for a third time—long and hard, with animalistic noises like he’d been building up to do this for months and hadn’t had sex in the meantime.



He said nothing to me, didn’t answer my whimpered questions or respond to my pleadings. If he hadn’t told me to shut up in the car in half-decent English, I would have thought there was a language barrier between us. There certainly wasn’t any other barrier between us.



He got out of the bed and padded around turning off lights. I had only a brief opportunity to see what was there, while he was doing so. Just one room. A small kitchenette area over on the front wall by the door we’d come through. This bed was in one back corner and a raised tin square about three foot square was in the other back corner. A shower head was on the wall above this. A toilet was set in the wall at one side of the open shower square and a white porcelain sink on the other. Thus, the room was completely exposed. There was an old couch with the stuffing coming out. A small desk against the front wall, on the other side of the door from the kitchenette—with a laptop computer on it—a round wood table with three mismatched straight chairs in the center of the room, and an overstuffed chair that didn’t match the couch.



Just this one bed. When he’d turned out the lights, he came back to the bed and stretched beside me and almost instantly started to snore. It took me longer to go to sleep, and shortly after that, he was waking me again, turning me on my belly—with my chained arms crossed above me—and straddling my hips and fucking me again.



When I woke in the morning, he’d changed the chains. They were longer now, enough so that I could get out of the bed and stand and walk maybe three feet from the bed. There was a hunk of bread and a cup of cold coffee on the nightstand next to the bed and two tin bowls on the floor below that. One was about a third filled with water and there was a sponge floating in it. The other was empty and had a half of roll of toilet paper in it. I could pretty much tell what both of those bowls were for.



The gardener was pissing in the toilet on the other side of the room. He was still naked, as, of course, was I. I listened as he emptied his bladder in a long, steady stream going on for almost a minute.



I wolfed down the bread and drank the coffee as the gardener moved to the sink and brushed his teeth and shaved. He still looked like an Hispanic to me. But he had a well-worked body, muscles bulging on muscles, and his cock and balls were hanging heavy. He was taking side glances at me as I sat on the edge of the bed and chewed on the bread, and I could see that he was getting hard again.



So, I wasn’t surprised when he put his razor down when he’d only half shaved and came over and grabbed for my legs while I sat on the bed. I slapped at his hands as best I could and told him no as emphatically as I was able, but he just stunned me again with a backhanded slap across my face that snapped my head to one side, and roughly grabbed my legs, tipping me back on the bed, and crouched been my thighs and fucked me to his ejaculation.



When he was finished with me, he just left me there, my heels dug into the corners of the bed and my legs spread and trembling, and me moaning softly, and went back to his shaving. He took a shower, dressed in his gardening work clothes, and was gone for the rest of the day.



The first thing he did when he returned to the cabin that night was fuck me again. He obviously had been building up to this and looking forward to it for some time. After that, he usually didn’t do it more than once a day, but he never got tired of doing it.



When the first weekend came up, he brought out some red lace panties he had been keeping hidden somewhere, put a slit up the middle of them in back with a knife, and forced them over my legs. He then sat on the edge of the bed, forced me onto his lap and cock—through the slit in the panties—with me facing away from him and stroked my cock through the material of the panties until we both had come. He hung the torn panties with my cum in them on the bedpost, where they remained for a week. I now knew that he’d been peeping on me at Mr. Collins—and probably at my own house too while Tyler was fucking me.



And I now also knew what had prompted this elaborate scheme.



I stayed with Julio—for after the first few weeks I ascertained at least that much about him, that his name was Julio—for thirteen months. I knew it was thirteen months, because he had a calendar hanging above the desk and he delighted in marking off the days. He delighted even more in the first few weeks he held me captive in marking off each time he fucked me. And there were more of the latter marks than the former.



Slowly, over the initial months, he lengthened my chains in stages of trust. The longest addition, permitting me full access to the cabin so that I then could shower in the corner stall too and go to the toilet properly and have access to food and drink was the night I woke him up and straddled his cock and fucked myself on him. That was a watershed of him believing I wanted him now and that he’d won me over.



He took the shutters off the windows soon after that, and I discovered we were in the deep woods, with a clearing for a power line not far in front of the cabin and railroad tracks in back. I’d already ascertained that a train ran by somewhere near at three set times a day, as it was about the only sound of life outside the cabin I’d heard for two months at that point. It didn’t escape my notice either that the train ran slow in this section of the forest.



By that time I’d figured I was here for good—or at least until something drastic happened. No one had come for me; there was no hint that anyone was looking for me. And I thought that figured. I was over eighteen. The school system couldn’t touch me if I’d decided just to drop out. And Tyler wouldn’t come looking for me; he would just have figured that I’d had enough and had cleared out that night I disappeared. I had screamed obscenities at him the night I’d left—mad, frustrated, and angry that he’d tricked me into coming to his room on my own for the fuck and begging for the fuck—and taking all responsibility for it. Tyler would neither wonder at me leaving that night nor want anyone to look into my disappearance too closely.



So, I was on my own. And seeing the effect of initiating the fuck on Julio—which I had tried as an experiment—had given me hope of being able to work on his vanity. I was making use now of what Tyler had taught me in his conditioning—he had taught me to move from one frame of mind to another just by gradual reconditioning. In Julio’s case the method could still be sex, which Julio was obsessed with, but the goal would be developing a level of trust that would, I hoped, eventually set me free.



I made him believe I couldn’t get enough of his cock now—and I admitted even to myself that it was, indeed, a very nice cock. I went after him and gave him master head, something he’d never had done before, and more often than not I was initiating the sex—and complimenting him on what a great lover he was. I asked him to bring more lacy and silky panties, and we repeated the fetish that he seemed to enjoy so much.



Increasingly, he was giving me little freedoms and favors here and there. And I was showing appreciation for them and doing my best to convince him that I was here by choice now.



Then, purposely, I went into a blue funk. He, of course, asked me why, noticing that my end of the lovemaking had become lethargic. I told him I was bored—and wanted to use the Internet. He said that wasn’t possible. I cried and pouted and told him that I wanted to study—that I could complete my high school via the Internet by taking GED—general education diploma—classes on line. He told me he couldn’t really trust me alone on the Internet, and I said, he could use the keyboard and I’d just sit there and do the class work.



He wanted good sex again, so he gave in to me. I started working on a GED on line to complete my last year of high school—thinking that if nothing else in life I could try to fulfill the promise I’d made to my mother. And, in turn, I gave Julio great sex again.



After a month of acting as intermediary for my studies, Julio got bored and let me do the classes myself. I was careful to stick to only that on the Internet, though, as he tested me several times to make sure that was all I was doing. And I gave Julio really great sex, thinking of inventive positions that he’d never even dreamed of before.



I had him convinced in the first eight months that I couldn’t live without him, that all of the police in the state couldn’t close in on the cabin and pry me from his bed.



The chains came off completely. But I was still naked. Julio had never permitted me to wear a stitch of clothes. That was one hedge on me not going anywhere. He had locks on the doors of the drawers and closet he used for his clothes and he kept them all secure.



For a couple of more months he still locked me in the cabin and shuttered the windows, using the outside shutters, when he went to work. I gave him no reason to think I’d even thought about trying to escape, and I always had my legs open for him, begging for it, when he came home.



He was the world’s greatest stud. I couldn’t go five hours without a cocking by him and by him only. I made him believe that.



I had complete freedom of the cabin and its environs for a full month during which he laid many a scheme to catch any sign that I’d tried to leave him.



At the end of that month, I completely finished my online GED work. I went to a virtual graduation ceremony, without inviting Julio to it or telling him that I had finished the work—and had a graduation certificate waiting for me on line for whenever I wanted to download it.



The next day, a Tuesday, while Julio presumably was pruning Mr. Collins’s roses, I put on trousers and a T-shirt of Julio’s that I had kept out of the wash and Julio hadn’t noticed were missing when he’d locked his clothes away, dug the pair of old boots out from under the bed that Julio had thought he’d taken to the dump with other trash, and held my breath until I heard the whistle of the train somewhere down the track, where it blew its whistle three times a day at almost exactly the same time.

Quick note: The following is not the typical story with lots of set-up or specific descriptions of individual sex acts. That said, I think there’s enough in here sexually(including hetero and lesbian sex, group sex and father-daughter incest) that it may find an audience. All characters are over 18 years of age at all times



Dear Diary,



I suppose I should start by introducing myself. My name is Heather Miller. I’m twenty-three years old and work in public-relations. I’m about five and a half feet tall. I’d like to think I’ve been well blessed. I have long, naturally curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. I have a body that’s equally parts kind genetics and a rigorous combination of yoga/jogging/Pilates. When it needs to be tape measured, said body comes in at 32-23-34 at those three magic spots. Because it comes up in these kinds of things, my cup size is D-elightful at most times, but can give me a ba-DD back ache when I’m not my trimmest. Anyways, get that picture in your head because this is the story about just how beneath my relatively sweet and innocent exterior lies the heart of what some judgmental people would call a dirty, filthy slut.



Ever since the first time I had it, I’ve loved sex. I can still remember that first time vividly. It was a hot august night. I was in the back seat of my high school boyfriend’s parent’s car. We were doing our usual making out when he made a move to take it further. I stopped him at first. It’s hard to believe now but I’d stayed a virgin longer than any of my friends and, because I was still a virgin, I wasn’t sure. The furthest I’d let Bryan get before that night was some over the bra boob grabbing.



I remember Bryan making his case. We were seniors. College was only a few weeks away. I don’t know if it was his arguments or the moonlight or the bottle of vodka we’d stolen from my parent’s liquor cabinet working it’s magic but I agreed. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I just bit my lip and nodded. I practically thought Bryan’s eyes were going to bulge out of his head. Everything he did from that point on seemed to be in a rush. Like he was afraid I was going to change my mind if he didn’t get it over with as quickly as possible.



No sooner had I agreed than Bryan had his pants off and his cock out. I remember thinking how strange it looked. Now, of course, I know it was more or less unremarkable but then, I can’t remember ever having seen anything so alien. I know that anyone who knows me now would have a hard time believing this but I really was sheltered growing up. I’d never seen porn, never even seen a picture of an erect penis. I’d never even masturbated. It was almost a relief when he rolled his condom over his erection, masking it in a thin sheet of latex.



I stripped and straddled him and held myself over him for the briefest of seconds, fearing the pain I’d been told by girlfriends came with losing your virginity.



Looking back, I know that there was nothing particularly good or memorable about the sex. It was over quickly. Bryan came and I didn’t. For most girls it would have been their disappointing entry into the world of sex.



Not me though. I loved every second of it. The feeling of his hands and mouth on my naked breasts, the thrill of doing something forbidden, the look of lust and desire in his eyes and knowing that I was the cause of that. Combine that with the heady, magnificent, fulfilling and filling feeling of having a thick cock inside me, stretching and shaping the delicate walls of my cunt around it, and I was instantly hooked.



Later that night, after Bryan had driven me home, I masturbated for the very first time. I masturbated thinking about what I’d done. My hands were inside my panties, frigging away at my stiff clit, as the words describing what I’d done ran through my mind. His hard cock had been inside my virgin pussy. His stiff, aching prick had shot all the cum in his balls because my cunt was so wet and warm and tight. The words, the thoughts, they were almost as good as the actual act. As my teenaged body burst in it’s first delicious orgasm, I knew there would be no going back.



That’s actually stuck with me. I love cumming during sex but, really, it’s not necessary. A man losing control and spurting his dick inside me or on me can drive me wild later on when I’m alone in my bed or in the shower. Just knowing that I made a guy cum is enough to inspire toe-curling orgasms of my own later.



The change in me was immediate and drastic. My mother had always said that only a slut would have sex before marriage and that sex was for procreation early. Before that night I’d agreed with her. After that night, it just made me feel sorry for my step-father. Not that I thought my mother was wrong, exactly, maybe it did make me a slut. However, as I fingered myself to orgasm that night, the idea of being a slut didn’t seem all that wrong to me. In fact, it seemed exactly right.



After that night, and being awoken to my desires, I quickly learned that my sexual appetite was not normal. It was the very next night that I had called Bryan up and asked him for another date. This time I went over to his house, ostensibly to watch a movie, but we’d barely made it inside the house before we were naked and on his couch. In those last few weeks of summer vacation before college I got quite the sex education. Bryan and I fucked every single day. When I went home, orgasm or not, I went on the internet and, having easily guessed that the password on the parental controls was “password”, I began looking up sex things on the internet. I saw pictures, videos and stories that showed and detailed things, all of which I’d try the next day with Bryan. I sucked cock, swallowed cum, jacked him off, got fucked on my back, on my hands and knees and while on top. If we both weren’t due to leave town I’m sure Bryan and I would have done everything else I eventually came to do.



But those weeks ended and college came and that’s when my real dilemma started. Bryan was on the west coast and I was on the East. We tried to stay together but both of us knew it wouldn’t last. We did all the usual things, promising to stay in touch and so on but the relationship ended. I think he’s an actuary now.



My sexual appetites didn’t abate whatsoever. Now, though, I had no outlet for it. It wasn’t debilitating. It wasn’t like being around anyone attractive had me dripping wet and panting. I just got urges. Urges that needed to be satisfied just so my mind could be cleared. They’d just hit me out of the blue. I’d know I needed to be fucked and my mind couldn’t focus on anything other than it. I’d shift in my seat, have trouble paying attention in class and generally be a nuisance. Masturbation didn’t help much. It was like methadone to a heroin addict. Really, all it did was make the need burn hotter.



I was a wreck that first week. I needed to fuck someone and I didn’t have a boyfriend. Desperate, I confided in Erica, one of my best girlfriends from back home and someone I knew wouldn’t be shocked by my needs. She’d been the first of my friends to have sex and I knew some people called her a slut. She was the one who said the words that really changed my life.



“You don’t need a boyfriend. Just find someone to fuck.”



That’s exactly what I did. I knew there was a guy on the floor above me who’d gotten a reputation as being quite a ladies man and no sooner had I logged off than I’d been knocking on his door. I didn’t beat around the bush much. I asked him if he wanted to have sex. Surprisingly, when asked for sex from the cute 18 year old blonde, that dormitory Lothario agreed. We fucked hard and fast, him between my thighs and me spread eagled on his thin dormitory bed.



So that was me satiated, right? Well, yeah, until a few days later when that burning urge came back. I decided to take the same route. I was upstairs, knocking on the same door. This time, however, my stud on call was not there. His roommate was though and, well…I think you’re starting to get the picture.



Since then, well, I’ve had dozens of sexual partners. At least. Truth is, I’m not terribly picky. I’d like to think that’s one of my better qualities. I’m not shallow. I don’t only want a guy with a tan and nice abs. When I need to get fucked, well, just about anyone will do. Just as long as they’ve got a hard cock that wants to fuck a tight wet pussy I’m on board. I’ve been with 18 year old guys with lovely cocks that can stay hard even after they’ve blasted a thick load of cum on my face and 70 year old guys who show me everything they’ve learned about fucking over the years. Big muscle bound black studs who just want to bang my head against the headboard and thin geeky types who want me to dress up like an Elvish maiden before they defile me. Truth is, I like it all. There’s no telling what I’ll be in the mood for.



It usually goes the same way. I focus on my life as much as I can during the week but every day or so I get that itch and, well, I do what it takes to scratch it. I know some of you might be saying, you know, a high sex drive is normal but that I should find a boyfriend or girlfriend who wants to do it as much as I do but, the reality is, part of what turns me on is the variety. The spontaneity. I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship where I couldn’t fuck who I wanted and someone who wanted to be in a relationship probably wouldn’t be OK with my promiscuity. So my arrangement works. I’m single and free to choose whoever I want to fuck. Now, if someone’s particularly good at making me scream their name they’ll get a repeat performance or two but just so long as we agree that it’s just about sex.



One of the unforeseen consequences in the changes of my life is that my views on who is or isn’t an appropriate sex partner have almost entirely fallen by the wayside. As long as they’re a consenting adult, well…let’s just say I haven’t reached my limits yet. Remember Erica? The girlfriend from back home who got me started on this path? Well, the first time I saw her after college she pressed me about how her advice turned out. We both started telling stories and we got so worked up that we ended up fucking that very night. It was my first time with a girl and I soon found that tonguing pussy, sucking clit and lapping up the orgasmic juices of a beautiful woman shrieking in delight are just as much to my tastes. I’m firmly bisexual, all may apply.



I’ve played the butch, bending a pretty young thing over roughly and finger fucking her into obedient bliss. Sucking on bouncing tits as I turn good girls into dirty lesbian sluts. I’ve also played the femme, getting that massive, ever-hard fake cock rammed into me by a big strong butch dyke. Some of my hardest climaxes have come like that. Again, for me, it’s not the attractiveness of my partner that does it for me. I just love receiving, and especially giving, sexual pleasure.



I’d love to be able to say that my transgressions against the norm were strictly limited to occasional diversions into homosexuality. I mean, it’s 2012, right? That’s barely even noteworthy.



Alas, that is probably the least of my sins. In my junior year of college I was waitressing at a Steakhouse when a group of men came in. They were real Wall Street types. Suits, cell phones and cuff links. There must have been six of them, their ages ranging from thirty to fifty. I was getting that familiar itch and, when I saw them, I knew I’d be fucking one of them. As I looked them over, trying to decide which one was going to defile me for the evening, a thought hit me. Why choose? When they asked for the bill, I made my proposition. They eagerly accepted. I got my co-worker Emma(who loved it when I’d finger both her cunt and ass at the same time) to cover my tables for a few hours and led the group of men to the bathroom. The next hour or so was a blur as I sucked cock after cock, getting pounded from behind while on my hands and knees of the men’s room. Honestly, I don’t even remember how many times they spurted their cum down my throat, on my face or in my cunt. I just remember cumming like a firecracker, intensely turned on by being used for the sexual fulfilment of others. It was the kind of thing that would have almost certainly gotten me fired if it weren’t for the fact that my manager and I had an “understanding” of sorts in that I understood that I could get away with murder so long as I occasionally walked into his office and begged him to fuck me in whatever hole he wanted.



So, yeah, I’ve been gang banged or had group sex or whatever you want to call it. Usually I’m more or a one on one girl but every now and then the urge is such that one cock, no matter how spectacular, isn’t enough. Whether it’s a cock in all three holes at once or five guys coating my face with thick, creamy cum, sometimes you just need to go that extra mile.



At this point I want to make a quick digression. Some of you may be inclined to call me a whore. I want to clarify. I’m a slut, not a whore. I do all these things because they turn me on, not for money. I mean, if a guy or girl wants to call me a whore while we’re fucking then I’m all for it but it isn’t technically accurate. I’ve never fucked for money. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true either. But it’s not in the way you think. I’ve never told someone that if they give me 100 or 1000 dollars they can fuck me. Just, sometimes, there’ve been financial benefits. I don’t even mean that some of my old, rich beaus have given me gifts, although they have.



Well, here’s an example of what I mean. After graduation I moved to the city to attend Grad School. I got a nice little apartment in a building owned by this big, burly Polish man and his wife. They were real sweet people, around 60 or so. Anyways, that first month my rent check bounced because I was in the process of changing banks. When my landlord came into my apartment to talk to me about it, I was just getting out of the shower. I yelped a little to find him in my kitchen, just a small white towel clutched around my wet, naked body. He apologized for the intrusion but I could see the look in his eye as it hungrily stared at my barely covered breasts. He told me the situation and, rather clumsily, said that if I was “nice” to him that the problem could go away. My first instinct was to explain the mix-up. I wasn’t a freeloader and had the money. But as I felt the heat of his gaze cause my sex to drip with anticipation, well, I let him know my answer by dropping the towel and down to my knees.



After we were done, and I was on my bed with his jizz leaking down my thigh, he told me between gasps for air that my first month’s rent was covered and that any future month where I let him ravish my body would see my rent cut in half. I readily agreed. I mean, I’d have agreed to fuck him anyway, why not get a few extra shopping binges out of the deal?



So, I mean, to my mind I’m not a whore. Not so long as I’d do those things anyway. Plus it has lead to some of my more fun adventures. If I get a good ride from a cab driver I almost always offer to return the favour. There’s an older woman I know who runs the local sex toy store, one that’s exclusively for women. She lets me have the pick of the new toys provided I let her try them out on me. You should see the eyes bulge out of heads when I act out a porn cliche, answering the door for a pizza delivery man in just a tight t-shirt and panties. I don’t not pay for the pizza or anything but I have been known to be extremely generous with my tips.



God, that makes me sound like such a porno movie cliche, doesn’t it?



Well, here’s something you won’t see too much in your average skin flick. Remember how I was talking about appropriate sex partners? Well, the six stock brokers were nothing. I fucked my father.



As mentioned, my parents aren’t together and haven’t been for a long time. My father was never overly attentive after the divorce. I’d see him once a year, if that. Mainly his presence in my life was my mother’s constant complaining about him. I’m sure some of you reading this may attribute my condition to that fact but, well, I’m not complaining if it is the cause.



Anyways, shortly after my move to the city I got a call from my father telling me he’d like to see me. I hadn’t seen him at all while at college and so this would be the first time I’d seen him in quite some time. I agreed to have him over for dinner. He showed up, not always a guarantee with him, and we exchanged some pleasantries. He talked about how grown up I looked, how I was a spitting image of my mother.



I remember I was wearing pretty normal clothing. A green sweater and jeans. Still, I guess when your breasts are as large as mine and your backside is shapely enough even that simple attire can make a man’s mind turn to impure thoughts. All throughout the dinner I could swear I was seeing that familiar look of lust on my father’s face as we stumbled through our usual awkward father-daughter conversation. I could barely believe it on his part but, worse still, his gaze was having the effect on me that most men’s gazes did. I remember having to excuse myself to the bathroom before I felt my inhibitions totally leave me.



In the bathroom, despite the slickness I could feel between my thighs, I tried to reason my way out of it. He was my father. The man who’d fucked my mother some 22 years earlier to make me. Problem was, that line of thought just got me into more trouble. I started imagining that night. Did he fuck my mother doggy style? Did she suck him to get him hard or was he ready to go? Did he try to pull out and end up getting her pregnant by accident as he spurted on her stomach or did he lose control, plunge himself deep inside her as he emptied the full contents of his balls into her.



That made me think of his balls. In his pants, right now, were the balls that contained the cum that had made me. It made me think of them as huge, potent, powerful things. After all, I was pretty impressive. And those things had made me. Looking in the mirror, I knew it was pointless to fight the urge. The cum that made me? I was determined to find out what it tasted like. Those balls that gave me life? They were going to get tongued and sucked clean in gratitude.



Each step I took out of the bathroom felt as loud as a jackhammer, as did the beating of my heart. Still, I knew my mind had been made. A quick trip to the bedroom and my uninspiring underthings(after all, who dresses in sexy lingerie for a dinner with their father?) were exchanged for a beautiful little white babydoll. I even slid on some thigh high white stockings.



I walked back out to find my father engrossed in the rest of his dinner. When he noticed I’d come back and looked up I froze for a moment. What if he turned me down? The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. As I mentioned, I don’t get turned down a lot. Still, I sucked up the courage to make my desires plain.



“Daddy?” I remember saying, “Daddy, I need you to fuck me”



The look on my father’s face when he heard that instantly allayed any fears I had he’d reject me. I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he was jumping up from his seat and pulling me towards the bedroom.



As soon as we were in the bedroom I began tugging at his pants. When I finally got them off I got my first pleasant surprise of the night. My father’s cock remains one of the most impressive I’ve ever seen. Long, yes, but nearly as thick as my wrist. Even for as dedicated a slut as I was it was an intimidating sight. He also, as per my dreams a few minutes in the past, had an equally impressive set of balls hanging below. I attacked them, licking tonguing and sucking on each heavy, bloated, cum-filled and life-giving orb.



Then I sucked his cock. Frantically, desperately. I tried to stuff as much into my mouth as I possibly could all the while bobbing my warm, wet lips up and down it’s length. He didn’t last long. Eventually I found out how that cum of his tasted. My attention to his balls must have done the trick because I don’t know if anyone has ever pumped as much cum into me in one shot as my father did in that first blow job. So much that even as I was desperately drinking down his seed it was running down the sides of his mouth. When I finally had to pull off for breath he still had a few bursts left in him, enough to streak my face and stain my lingerie. When he was done I was a cum stuffed, cum coated mess. Even still I used my fingers to scoop what hadn’t been shot down my throat into my mouth. I savoured the taste.

[ This is a work of fiction, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This should be read only as a work of fantasy]



************



Charles’ wife Kathy died five years ago, in an automobile accident. He was married to her for twenty years. When he lost he never thought he would love anyone again. Charles found himself after five years of mourning, feeling lonely, and felt he needed to start looking for the next love of his life. Charles soon met Becky, she was wonderful, she reminded him of Kathy, but not in a way that made her a replacement. Becky was different, first of all she was white. Charles never felt he would be attracted to a white woman, but soon fell in love, and married soon after.



Becky had a 19 year old son, by the name of Chris. Charles knew that Chris didn’t like him that much. He knew it was because, it was now final that his mother and father were not getting back together. Charles understood how Chris felt, it felt familiar to the way his life changed when his wife died. His life had changed and it would not ever go back.



The first thing that Charles got to know about Chris, is how lazy he was. He was 19, he didn’t have a job. He dropped out of college. He lived off his mother’s enormous income. Chris pretty much laid around the house in his underwear, and if he did go out it was to his friend Reggie’s house to get drunk all day. Charles’ though would always wonder what the hell was the kid’s interests. Charles wanted to connect with Chris, but every time he tried, he got the cold shoulder.



Charles worked at the lumber yard, of course he didn’t really have to work, because of his wife’s income. He felt he needed to contribute, though, and plus the work kept him strong, and fit. he knew Becky loved his physique, and being held in his arms when he made love to her. His job kept he and his wife happy.



It was summertime, and working in the lumber yard was hot and tough work. The lumber yard bosses decided to shut down early one day, due to the day reaching record temperatures of triple digits. Charles clocked out said goodbye to Jerry, and King, his co-workers and best friends.



Charles knew when he got home, he would have to deal with Chris laying around in his underwear. Playing video games; probably already drunk off his ass. He really felt bad that he couldn’t connect, but I guess he would need to give it time.



Charles drove in to the driveway, and got out of his car. Charles instead of going through the front, and went to the back gate, to check out the pool to see if it had been cleaned by the pool man. It was so hot out, a dip would make him feel a lot better. Charles saw the pool was clean and then went into the house through the back door. Charles went into the kitchen to grab some water, and he thought he heard some noise in the living room.



The sounds coming from the living room sounded like someone was having loud sex. The sound actually sounded like two men having sex. Charles walked quietly into the living room, and peeked around the corner. Charles was taken aback at what he was seeing in the living room.



Charles saw in the living room, a gay porn playing on TV. The scene was of a large black man, fucking a small white guy from behind. He did not notice Chris at first, but when he looked at he saw him right there watching the action going down on the TV.



Chris was on all fours on the couch, fucking his as with a huge dildo. Sliding it in and out of his ass, as he jerked his cock. He was moaning loudly. That was not the most shocking thing he was seeing. Chris was dressed up like a girl



Chris wasn’t just dressed up, he was dressed up in a schoolgirl uniform. He was wearing white thigh high stockings, black shoes, a plaid skirt, and a white blouse. Chris was wearing panties which were pulled to the side so that his ass and cock were fully exposed. Chris’ long hair was tied up into pig tails, and he could tell he was wearing full on make-up. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing happening.



Charles also couldn’t believe that the scene was making him aroused. Charles felt guilty.



“This is my step-son for god’s sake, get a hold of yourself,” he thought.



His hand though kept going back to his hardening cock, in his pants. Charles decided he needed to do something about this.



Charles walked into the room quietly, and stood there watching Chris pleasuring himself. He was so into it he didn’t notice him standing over him. Charles could tell Chris was getting close to cumming. Charles began rubbing his cock more, and more.



Suddenly, Chris let out a girly sounding moan, and began shooting his load onto the floor.



Charles thought, “Thank god, this is tile floor”.



Chris laid there panting hard, and slowly removing the dildo from his ass. He laid there for a few minutes. Charles knew it was time to reveal he was not alone.



Charles cleared his throat, and said “I hope you are going to clean that mess up you made”.



Chris jumped up, and pulled his panties up quicker than Charles had ever seen someone do it before. He was red faced, and shocked.



“What the hell are you doing home so early,” Chris stammered. it was all he could think of to say.



“I got off work early, due to the heat. Now do you mind me what the hell you are doing dressed like that, and watching porn in the living room. I don’t think your mother would be very happy with this situation,” Charles stated firmly.



Chris looked down and felt ashamed. “Please Charles, don’t tell anyone, please. This is something I have just gotten into recently. I promise I won’t do it again. I actually don’t really even like it,” Chris explained.



“That’s not what it looked like from here, it looks like you were enjoying it plenty.” Charles chuckled. Charles lifted up Chris’ skirt, and could tell that some felt over cum was pooling in Chris’ pink panties. “Where did you get the idea to get dressed up like this, and who’s clothes are these,” Charles asked.



Chris answered shyly, “Well, I don’t know I saw some porn on the internet, and started going to crossdressing forums, and then went from there. I bought the clothes at Goodwill, during Halloween. I thought it was a sexy outfit.”



Charles ogled Chris some more, and said, “Well I guess it couldn’t have been too hard to find an outfit in your size you are a pretty small guy” Charles thought, he can’t be much taller than 5’3″, and weigh more than 120lbs. “I must say though you are right about one thing, you do look sexy in that outfit,” Charles stated coyly.



Chris was shocked in what Charles had said. His own step-father was calling him sexy. He should have felt aversion, he hated the man for replacing his father. What happened though was arousal and interest.



Chris’ cock jumped and tingled in response. Chris looked at Charles’s crotch and could see his hardness growing, and growing. Chris’ saw that his step-father’s cock was as big or bigger than the guy in the porno, that was still playing in the background. Chris was hard and aroused once again, making his skirt tent up.



Charles smiled and saw Chris look at his bulge, and see his skirt tent up. “Well, it looks like you are ready for more, I remember being 19 like you, I was always fucking horny. If I wasn’t fucking some hot pussy, I was stroking my cock,” Charles stated.



“Yeah, I just can’t help myself, I guess, I am always looking for something more arousing than the last, and I guess that is why I am dressed like this. I think I have the best orgasms dressed like this, while watching some hot guys go at each other,” Chris admitted.



“So, your mother, knows nothing about this, and you don’t want her to know, so how about we come up with a deal,” Charles said.



Chris replies, “Yes Please! I do not want mom to know about this, I think she would worry too much about me, and I think she might even kick me out of the house.”



“Yeah I don’t think she would be very happy with you dressed up like this, and making a mess on her floor, so I intend on keeping this a secret but you are going to have to do something for me,” Charles replied.



Chris says, “Okay, what do you want me to do, I will do it, I vow it.”



Charles laughs, and says, “You vow it, now that is what I am talking about. Okay I want you to first start respecting me, I am your step-father, I love your mother. I am not going anywhere, and second I want to spend more time with, get to know you, and connect with you. Are you willing to do that for me?”



Chris has look of relief on his face and says, “Yes I can definitely do that. I am sorry about disrespecting you , I won’t do it anymore. I will definitely make more of an effort to get to know you.”



Charles looked at Chris and says, ” You look relieved, about this?”



Chris replies, “Yeah, I thought you were going to make me do something else, like make me have sex with you or something.”



Charles smiles slyly and says, “Well, that is kinda what I meant by quality time, Chris.” Charles unzips his pants, and pulls his large 10″ cock out, stroking it to hardness, again.



Chris is shocked at the sight, he hasn’t seen one this size even in a porno. It actually makes him kind of afraid. “I don’t know Charles, that thing is much too big, plus I am your Step-Son, don’t you think that is a little bit gross.”



Charles responds strongly, “Now look Chris, you just made a vow to do as I say, this is how I want to get to know you, I don’t think this is a gross thing to do. Chris I want you to start calling me father, dad, or daddy, no more of that Charles , shit.”



Chris felt ashamed and looked down at the floor and replies, “Yes Dad.”



“Good, now how about you give me a little twirl and show me your outfit,” Charles says as he goes to sit on the couch.



Chris spins slowly around, with his hands behind his head. Chris decides to have fun with it, and arches his back, giving a slutty pose. Chris then bends over and shows off his pink panties.



Charles gets up and closes the blinds in the room, dims the lights lows, so the only light is some sun shining through the curtains, and the glow of the porn showing a small white guy now taking it from two large black studs. Charles turns up the porn louder, the porn music is thumping in the speakers, and the men’s moans vibrate through the walls. Charles goes to the a/c and shuts it off. Charles goes back to the couch and starts stroking his cock again.



“MMMMM, this is so awesome, Dad, I just love hearing these guys moans fill the house, and the room is now nice and dim. it makes me feel sexier,” Chris says in a girlish voice.



“You bet, sweetheart. Now come over here and sit with your daddy. Let’s watch these guys fuck for a little bit,” Charles replies.



Chris walks slowly over to the couch, sits prettily down next to Charles. Chris begins watching the porn, all the while his cock his getting harder and harder. Chris is not sure if its the idea of what is going on in the porn, or if it is having his step-dads watching it with him. Chris looks over at Charles, and can see his dad’s cock is now rock hard. Charles looks back over at him and smiles. Chris goes to reach for his own cock, in his pink panties. Charles suddenly slaps his hand away.



Charles puts his finger in Chris’s face, and says,”No way, you already came today, its my turn. Plus girls like you are whores, and are here to be used. I never heard of a whore deserving of getting off. So, how about you don’t touch that tiny white thing you got in your panties, until I say so.”



Chris is shocked, and takes his hand away.



Charles pets Chris’s head, “its okay, I am didn’t mean to get angry, I just think this is the way it should be, if you are going to be dressed up like that. Oh and one other thing, since you are a dressed up like such sissy slut schoolgirl, we will now call that thing of yours a clitty, and that ass of yours a pussy. God knows, that thing is probably small enough to be considered one,” Charles says laughingly.



Chris nods, and says, “okay, but if you are going to do this, you have to treat me nice, like you would your own daughter.”



Charles says, ” Okay, I can see that is fair.” I kisses Chris on the cheek, and smiles. Now since we had that talk, let’s get back to our quality movie time.”



Chris and Charles put there attention back on the porn. The scene has evolved into a huge five man gangbang. Four black guys are taking turns on the white boy, and moans are getting louder and louder. Charles is hard again, and then takes Chris’s hand, and wraps it around his cock.



Chris looks down at his hand holding the huge cock. His boyish hand looks quite small when wrapped it. Chris then takes his other hand and massages his step-father’s balls. Charles lets out a moan. Chris then begins slowly massaging Charles’ cock. The cock is so silky and smooth in his hand.



Chris begins pumping his step-father’s cock, at first he starts out slow, and then speeds up. Charles is in total ecstasy. Chris hands are so soft and smooth, just like a girls hands. Charles isn’t sure how much more he can take.



Charles removes Chris’ hand, and then shoves Chris’ head down into his crotch. Chris smells the sweaty must coming from his daddy’s balls, and it smells so good.



” It’s time now, you learned how to suck big cock. I assure you it will help you in the future.” Charles said with a wink and a smile.



Chris nods his head, and begins licking the huge shaft up and down, flicking his tongue across the head. Chris then goes down to Charles’ balls and begins sucking them as hard as he can. Chris had never done anything like this before, but he sure as hell learned a lot from watching porn.



Chris then stares up at Charles, and then sticks the head of his step-father’s cock in his mouth. Charles lets out a grown, and puts his hands on the back of Chris’ head. Chris takes a big breath and inserts more than half of Charles’s cock in his mouth, and begins moving his mouth up and down, sucking on the huge black cock. Chris moans, and hums as he moves his mouth. Chris can taste the salty pre-cum, oozing from the cock. The taste of his step-dad’s cock is making him hot, along with the smell of sweaty sex in the room makes Chris feel like he is going to cum without being touched at all.



The living room is now warming up. The hot summer day and the a/c being turned off has turned the room into a sauna. Chris and Charles are sweating profusely. The sound of the porn playing is overtaken by the moans and groans of Charles.



Charles takes his cock out of Chris’s mouth. Charles can see that Chris’ makeup is ruined. His mascara is running down his face from sweating, and the lipstick he was wearing has been smeared around his mouth.



“Okay Chris, its time my pretty little girl, its time for you to lose your virginity. Don’t worry my sweetheart, I will be gentle.” Charles says to Chris.



Chris replies, “okay daddy, please be nice, I have never had the real thing, and I have never had anything that big inside of me.”



Charles takes the lube Chris was using for his dildo, and squirts a liberal amount and rubs it all over his massive cock. “Okay Chris, I need for you to get on all fours, it will be easier on that cute pussy of yours” Charles says.



Chris pulls his panties all the way off, and then gets on all fours on the floor. Chris hikes up his plaid schoolgirl skirt, showing his ass off to Charles.



“My god, Chris, I must say you really take after your mother. I could possibly say your ass might look even more girly than hers. It is so nice and smooth, and I can tell you are still nice and tight.” Charles says, while rubbing Chris’ ass, and fondling his asshole.



Charles crouches down low, rubs some lube on Chris’ asshole. Charles rubs his cock head on Chris’ entry, teasing it. Then, Suddenly, Charles pushes his cock into Chris, Slowly fro the first few inches. Charles lets Chris’s ass get used to his girth, and then plunges the rest of the way in quickly.



Chris gasps, as he feels the large member enter his ass. “Oh god, daddy! I can’t take that much! I though you were going to take it easy for my first time.” Chris stutters in anguish.



Charles replies, “I did take it easy, but I saw that you were taking it well, so I jumped on in. Anyways, I am your fucking father, and I basically get to do whatever I want, in my own house.”



Chris resigns himself and doesn’t reply. He just relaxes his ass, and begins feeling the pleasure of fullness.



Charles begins pumping his cock in and out, at a standard pace. Moving his body up and down like a pile-driver into his sissy son’s tight ass pussy. Charles can’t believe how tight it is, and how good it feels to have something like this to fuck.



Chris is shuddering now from pleasure, and small amounts of cum is leaking out of his tiny 4″ cock. He has never cum before like this, and he is sure it is not the last time he will cum like this. he moves his hand to his cock, in order to increase his pleasure, when Charles grabs his hands, and pulls them behind his back. Charles says, “Oh hell, no, you don’t get to cum like a man no more, you will cum like a sissy only. That means no more stroking your cock. The only time I want cum to come out of that tiny thing of yours, is if you are being fucked in the ass. You got that or do I have to pull this arm back harder.”



Chris’ arm feels like it is going to break it is being bent back so hard. Tears roll down his cheeks, and Chris says, “Yes, Sir.”



Charles smiles, gives back Chris his arm, and says, “Good Girl, Now let’s finish this up.”



Charles begins pumping faster and faster. Chris moans uncontrollably. Charles grunts loudly, as he drives his cock into Chris’ ass, his balls slapping against Chris’s ass cheeks. Chris can feel Charles’ cock twitch, and can tell he is about to cum.



Charles yells, “here it comes baby, daddy’s going to fill up this ass…”



Before Charles can finish his sentence, he shoots his load. Chris can feel the warm cum filling up his ass, and filling it up rather quickly. Chris can feel the massive load, leaking from his ass, and dripping down to his balls. Charles pumps his cock in and out, making sure he deposits the whole load into Chris’ sissy ass.



Chris can’t believe how much cum that is being shot into his ass. Charles finally finishes, and removes his cock.



Chris turns around and takes Charles’ cock and begins cleaning it off with his tongues. He has never tasted cum before, and immediately he is addicted. He loves the salty, warm taste. Chris wishes more was there on the cock, but he has cleaned Charles’ cock entirely. Chris can feel cum dripping from his ass, puts his hand to catch some, and puts it in his mouth, swallowing the dirty cum. Chris licks his hands clean, and looks up at Charles smiling.



“mmmmmm, so yummy, I never thought it would taste so good.” Chris says in a cute girly voice.



Charles says, “Wow darling, you are such a hot dirty slut. I am so glad you enjoyed that as much as I did.”



“Daddy, now remember since I did that for you, you can’t tell Mommy,” Chris says.



“Well Chris, here is the thing about that, I won’t tell your Mother, but from here on out, you gotta do your part around the house. You gotta clean up around here, do all the duties of a woman in a household. I don’t want you going out late with your buddies drinking anymore. If you go out, you need to be dressed up like a sissy, and have a man who can protect you. I don’t expect you to dress up when your Mom is around, but whenever she is not, you must be dressed as a sissy. Those are the rules, do you think you can follow them” Charles replies



Chris doesn’t know what to say, but he feels in his heart, that he has stepped into being a part-time sissy. “Yes, Sir. I will do whatever you want me to.”



Charles replies, “good, now clean up this mess you made in the living room, before your Mother gets home.”

Dear Readers,



It has been six years since I began writing this series and I have left it unfinished for far too long. You deserve an explanation.



Many of you have noted that most of my stories involve a step-father and a step-daughter. I have tried to write about those things which I understand best. This story about Ron and Miss Sarah is based on a real relationship in my life.



I had a step-daughter who was Miss Sarah. Of course, I have changed the names of the characters and a few details for the protection of all concerned, but “Miss Sarah” was my step-daughter. Many of the details in the story represent my fantasy about our relationship, but I have left enough of the actual details in place so that, if Miss Sarah reads this series, she will recognize the story . . . but that will probably never happen.



I never consummated my relationship with Miss Sarah but, nevertheless, I was obsessed with her. She was estranged from her biological father due to the extreme favoritism he showed to his other children. She had been raised by a step-father who she called “Daddy,” but he had died a sudden coronary death shortly before I entered her life. Initially, when she came to live with me, she did not call me Daddy, and I did not expect it. Eventually, she called me “Daddy” a few times and there is no other feeling in the world that can compare to how I felt when I heard that word.



Early in our relationship, Miss Sarah, her mother, and I all went camping. We had one large tent with one double sleeping bag for the ladies and one sleeping bag for me. At the end of the first evening, her mother was already asleep and snoring softly when Miss Sarah and I retired for the night. Miss Sarah had obviously planned to sleep in just her panties and bra. She looked at her sleeping mother and said to me, ‘well, I guess you’re kind of like family now,’ and she stripped down to her underwear before getting in the sleeping bag. She never made any pretense of modesty around me.



Soon, Miss Sarah and I began to have outings which were like dates. I would take her to a nice restaurant so that she could learn how a lady should be treated by a gentleman. When we arrived at our destination, I would open the car door for her. As she swung her legs around to exit my car, she would sometimes flash a glimpse of her panties at me. When she caught me staring, she simply gave me a sheepish look and then smiled demurely.



On occasion, I would take her shopping after our dinner dates and she often wanted to go to Victoria’s Secret. She would hold up skimpy panties and bras and ask my opinion. I laughingly told her that I would buy anything that she was willing to model for me when we returned home. She would simply smile at me and proceed to select lingerie that was more revealing than concealing. I never actually asked her to model any of her purchases but her mother was always at home when we returned from our outings.



After about a year, Miss Sarah began to sleep in just her panties and bra and she left her bedroom door open. I was always the first in the house who was awake and Miss Sarah was always awake before her mother. I would often look in on her in the mornings and I don’t think her mother knew that Miss Sarah was constantly exposing herself to me. In fact, on a few occasions, Miss Sarah slept in just her panties and I was treated to the sight of her exposed breasts. They were quite lovely.



There were several afternoons when Miss Sarah was in her bedroom changing and she left her bedroom door ajar. She may have felt that her bedroom was private as it was at the end of a hallway with only the laundry room and garage (which was never used for parking cars) beyond it. On several occasions, I walked past her room and saw the back of her body clad only in a thong bikini as she stood studying the clothing choices hanging in her closet.



We had a very private pool and Miss Sarah often sunbathed topless. Anyone at the pool could be seen from within the house but not by any of our neighbors. She never sunbathed topless if I was at the pool but she frequently did so when I was at home. My wife and I usually went au naturel when we were in the pool and I saw Miss Sarah looking out at us on a few of those occasions.



My wife took a train to go visit friends in her old hometown and she was gone for three glorious weeks. During that time, I had to constantly restrain myself from my primordial urges but, when it was all over, I had been a “good boy.” As much as I longed for Miss Sarah, I never wanted to do anything that would hurt her and I never wanted to take advantage of our relationship. That, Literotica readers, is why this forum exists for the expression of our fantasies. For many of us, they are only fantasies.



Despite my desire to be a decent and honorable step-father, I do not know what I would have attempted to do, or what I would have allowed to happen, if I had remained with Miss Sarah for much longer. I felt my resolve weakening and my desire for her body increasing. I longed to suckle at her breasts and to savor the juices of her arousal as I brought her to orgasm with my tongue. I wanted to plunge my manhood into the virgin receptacle of her femininity and I wanted to leave my seed deep within her. I wanted to kiss her sweet lips and hear her say that she loved me, not as a father-figure, but as a lover. I wanted to hear her say that she would never leave me. I was insane with my desire for her.



Unfortunately — or fortunately – her mother and I divorced and, of course, Miss Sarah remained with her mother. Because of the apparent closeness of our relationship, her mother demanded that Miss Sarah cease all contact with me and she obediently complied.



I continued to fantasize about my nubile goddess and my obsession waxed and waned as I experienced other sexual relationships in my life. Eventually, I realized that my obsession was perhaps interfering in my other relationships and I began writing this series, hoping that I would have a catharsis which would release me from the chains of my sexual longing for Miss Sarah. As I approached the end of the series, I realized that this story was my way of saying goodbye to Miss Sarah. Not wanting to release my grasp on all of those pleasant recollections, I avoided writing my conclusion. But alas, an ending is inevitable.



Now it is time to say goodbye to Miss Sarah. I will stop searching for her on the internet and I will try to banish those memories from my conscious recall. I will shed a final tear of remorse and I will accept that which I cannot change. I will forever feel an emptiness in my heart for the goddess of youthful joy and delight, my Miss Sarah.



Now, faithful readers, I give you the conclusion of “A Cabin With A View.”



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



Miss Sarah continued to visit me for a few hours during week nights and weekends and, occasionally, she would stay with me overnight if her mother was out of town. We continued to have sex in almost every way I knew and Miss Sarah made up for her innocence and ignorance of sex with her eagerness to please me. All of her visits did not result in us having sex but we were doing it at least twice a week.



Eventually, the date of the cruise arrived and Miss Sarah and I drove to the port to embark. We had a one bedroom cabin with a balcony that made my teen sweetie squeal with delight. She had brought her dressy clothes for fancy dining and she had brought her skimpiest bikinis for poolside and, of course, she had her birthday suit for our intimate moments.



The first night aboard ship, we had a wonderful dinner and then we went dancing in a lounge which was more appropriate for my age than hers. She was dressed in an elegant cocktail dress and she looked like a young girl trying to please an older man. As we slowed danced, I felt her rubbing her pussy against my thigh.



“Are you tryin’ to make yourself get wet?” I asked.



“No . . . I’m already wet,” she replied.



“Well, if you keep doin’ what you’re doin’, my pants’ll be so tight I won’t be able to move,” I warned her.



“Then let’s go back to our room, dear,” she said in a sultry voice.



As soon as the door closed, she turned to me and said, “I wanna do somethin’ that we haven’t already done,” she said. Her tone of voice indicated that she had something specific in mind.



“What’s that, honey?” I asked. It was difficult to believe that she had been an innocent virgin just months ago.



“Well, I tried that 69 thing before but guys always quit as soon as they came and I know you won’t do that, so I wanna do it the right way and see what all the fuss is about.”



“Honey, I won’t stop until you beg me to stop,” I promised her. I was surprised to realize that we had never done 69. She had given me oral pleasures many times and I had tasted the nectar of her aroused cunt on multiple occasions, but we had never given each other an oral orgasm simultaneously.



It only took a few moments for both of us to be out of our clothes and on the bed. My head was on the pillow and my feet at the bottom of the bed. As soon as I was settled into my position, Miss Sarah got on top of me with her knees straddling my chest and her feet by my ears. To hell with foreplay!



Within a few seconds, I felt her tongue exploring my member. When I opened my eyes, I looked up and saw her beautiful shaved pussy and her obscenely and naughtily exposed asshole. My tongue was inexorably drawn to her pussy like a magnet pointing to the north. As soon as I made contact with the folds of her bare cunt, she began to moan.



“Ooh, don’t stop, Daddy!” she entreated me. “That feels so damn good!”



I had my hands on her rump, gently rubbing in circles. I rubbed in wider circles, bringing my hands closer to her forbidden valley. As soon as my fingertips grazed the outer folds of her pucker, her cheeks squeezed together.



“Should I stop?” I asked briefly as I withdrew my mouth from the lips of her very wet pussy.



“You’d better not!” she retorted, immediately returning to her work on my throbbing dick.



I reached to my bedside and grabbed a bottle of lubricant. I opened it and squeezed a few drops onto my right index finger. As soon as I had secured the bottle, I placed the tip of my index finger at the entrance to her naughty hole. I applied a slight pressure to the middle of her orifice and waited for her response.



She immediately began to rock backwards as if she wanted my finger to thrust into her. I plunged my finger in up to the second knuckle and she went wild. This only caused me to redouble my efforts on her clit as I sucked it into my mouth and then released it, as if I were giving her clit a blow job.



“Oh gawd, oh gawd, oh gawd, ooooh . . .,” she wailed as an orgasm consumed her body. Her ass cheeks were pulsating and squeezing my finger as her pussy flooded my face with the nectar of her sexual release.



Her moaning pushed me over the edge and I warned her, “I’m gonna cum . . . oh, jeez, I’m so close . . ..”



She didn’t hesitate to keep sucking as I began to erupt with spurts of hot cum into her mouth. The end of my dick felt as if she had sucked a golf ball through a drinking straw. As I emptied my seed into her mouth, I tried to catch my breath.



“So good! So good!” It was all I could say.



She turned around in bed and snuggled up to me. “So THAT’s what all the fuss is about,” she said. “Wow, I thought my coochee was gonna explode! Can you do that again, Daddy?”



“As often as you want,” I replied, “but there are still other things for us to explore.”



“Like what?” she asked.



“For now . . . sleep, my dear,” I replied.



“Daddy, I love you,” she whispered.



“I love you, too, Miss Sarah,” I responded.



“Daddy, I don’t love you just like a daddy. I mean that I love you like a woman loves a man. I’m in love with you,” she said. There was a timidity in her voice, an uncertainty in her expression, as if she was afraid that her love would be unrequited.



“Miss Sarah, I am in love with you, too, like a man loves a woman. If you’re afraid that I’m gonna stop lovin’ you, you need to stop bein’ afraid. When I’m with you, I’m in heaven. And that’s not just when we’re havin’ sex.”



She turned to me and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips.



Within a few minutes, we were both asleep, happy and contented with our lives.



When I awoke next morning, she was awake and standing at the balcony door. She was not wearing anything except her smile. As she stood at the door, she was facing outward, looking past the railing, and she did not turn when she heard me arising.



“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it, Daddy?” she asked as she looked out at the open sea.



“Just beautiful, Sweetie. This is certainly a cabin with a view, a magnificent view,” I said. My eyes never left her naked young body. I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her warm breasts. Her nipple began to harden and my dick began to fill with desire for her body.



“Daddy, do you love me just for the sex?” she asked.



“Why are you feelin’ so insecure? Honey, I love havin’ sex with you but I love you for much more than just that. Why . . . do you think that I’m obsessed with havin’ sex with you?”



“Well, yeah, but I’m not complainin’ about the sex, ’cause its wonderful. I just need to know that this isn’t just about sex,” she explained. “Will you still love me a month from now, or a year from now?”



“Sweetie, it’s quite normal, when you find somethin’ that you really, really like, to want to hold on to it and never let it go, but . . . life can be funny sometimes. Things change, things happen that you never expected, and suddenly life is much different than you ever thought that it would be. You just can’t predict the future. You can’t.”



“Daddy, are you tryin’ to say that you won’t want me forever?”



“No, no, no! Honey, I want you for as long as you’ll have me,” I insisted.



“Even if that’s forever?” she asked in her little girl voice.



“I hope it’s forever,” I answered.



For a moment, I became lost in my reverie. I really did hope that it would be forever. I realized that Miss Sarah was everything that I wanted in a woman. Of course I realized that our age difference would present problems but I thought we could handle whatever difficulties arose.



The bigger challenge was the fact that I had been married to Miss Sarah’s mother. Since my marriage to Gretchen had ended in divorce, Miss Sarah was not legally my step-daughter. A relationship between us was not forbidden by the laws against incest but polite society would still view our union dimly. Gretchen would become my mother-in-law, but Miss Sarah seemed so distant from Gretchen that I didn’t know what the future would hold for their relationship. Perhaps Gretchen wouldn’t be such a big problem.



‘What if we had children?’ I thought. ‘Children!? Why am I thinking about children?’ My sudden rush of thoughts was overwhelming and I quickly retreated back to the here-and-now.



“Daddy, is it okay if we go get breakfast now instead of havin’ sex? I’m kinda hungry. We can do it later,” Miss Sarah said with a gleeful anticipation.



“Sure, honey, sure,” I replied.



Over breakfast, we began talking, once again, about the possibility of her living with me. We both saw the advantages and Miss Sarah, of course, saw no disadvantages.



“Honey, I’m not tryin’ to talk you out of the idea, but if you live with me, your momma will probably never talk to you again.”



“Well, she doesn’t have to know that we’re sleepin’ in the same bed every night,” she offered.



“Right, but just the idea of you living in my home will push her off the deep end,” I explained. “If she thinks that you and me are engaged in somethin’ more, she’ll probably try to have me arrested. It won’t do her any good, but she’ll sure enough try.” I felt very confident about this.



“Then I’ll come visit you in jail every day,” Miss Sarah promised with a laugh.



“Honey, as much as I want you, I don’t want to tear you away from your mother. She’s the only mother that you’ll ever have and — despite all the bad things that I can say about her, or that you can say about her — she’s the one that gave birth to you and wiped your ass when you didn’t even know you had crapped in your pants.”



Miss Sarah laughed at my crude humor. “That’s all true, but if she comes between me and you, I’ll never forgive her and I’ll never have anything like a mother-daughter relationship with her, anyway, so what difference does it make?”



“Miss Sarah, you don’t have to rush into a decision about this. I just brought it up for you to think about,” I said.



“I don’t need to think about it anymore. I’ve already thought about it and it’s what I want,” she replied. “How soon can I move in?”



“If you’re sure about it . . . when we get back home, we’ll go right to my place to unpack and then you can go get your things.”



“You’ll come with me, won’t you?” she asked.



“If you want, but you and your momma might wanna have a private conversation,” I tried to explain.



“You mean so she can tell me what a son of a bitch you are?” Miss Sarah asked.



“Something like that,” I responded.



“Well, I already know what you are and I know what your faults are and I love you anyway, so it won’t matter.” She seemed quite determined to not.



She certainly made love to me as if she wanted to capture my heart forever. For the next three days, we continued to enjoy excursions on shore, fine dining and dancing in the evenings, and wild, hot sex late at night and in the mornings.



We didn’t have sex the same way twice. I came in her hand. I came in her mouth. I came in her pussy. I came on her tits. I came in her ass. She came with my finger in her pussy. She came with a vibrator in her pussy. She came with my tongue in her pussy. She came with me sucking on her nipples. She came with me fingering her ass. She came while humping my leg. She came from masturbating while I watched. We had so much sex that my dick was sore from overuse (but I’m not complaining.)



What we had was love. It wasn’t just fucking. Fucking is what you do when you have sex just for your own pleasure and there happens to be a partner in bed having sex with you. Love is what you do when you want your partner to feel as much pleasure as possible, when you want your partner to know how aroused you are and how much you appreciate them for being with you. We made love and I knew that I was not just infatuated with Miss Sarah, not just in lust with her, but in love.



When our ship returned to port, we drove the two hours back to my apartment and I brought all of the bags inside. I told Miss Sarah that I had an errand to run and that she should start unpacking her bags and making room in my bedroom for her stuff.



A few hours later, I returned and saw that she had wasted no time in changing the bedroom to accommodate her and her things. I told her that it was time to go see her mother and we both got in the car. After a few minutes, it became obvious that I was not headed towards Gretchen’s home.



“Where are we goin’, Ron?” she asked.



“Well, I remembered that I have one more stop to make before we go see your mother. So . . . just bear with me and we’ll get through all of this together. You trust me, right?” I asked.



“Absolutely,” she responded.



About ten minutes later, we passed through the entrance of the state park. Because it was a mid-week day, I quickly found a parking spot.



“What are we doin’ here, Ron?”



“You’ll see. Just trust me,” I said.



I opened the car door, grabbed her hand and led her across the walkway over the dunes and out to the sandy beach. Once we were on the beach, we began walking northward, so that the sun was not in our eyes, and I began talking.



“Miss Sarah, I cannot imagine anyone else ever makin’ me feel the way that you do. You’re such a beautiful girl and I know that you won’t be this young forever, but your beauty is more than just your physical appearance. There are so many ways that you make me feel special, that you make me feel loved! When we were on the ship, I thought that you were feelin’ insecure about our future and I spent some time thinkin’ about that. If you are willin’ to be a part of my future and commit yourself to a lifetime with me, then there is only one right and honorable thing to do.”

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