Bible Belt Bride

I would like to thank Grania2 for editing and advice during the development of this story.

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A young girl from a very repressive mother finds sexual satisfaction by rebelling against her conservative background. After early incest, she explores the world of swinging and orgies when she marries an indifferent husband.

This is a three part story of a frustrated young bride who finds sexual satisfaction outside of her new marriage.

As far back as I can remember my family spent Thursday evening at bible study. Then, we spent the better part of every Sunday morning at worship services. It wasn't ever an option to skip a week. Momma made sure of that.

My name is Chastity-Lynn, but never call me that. I go by Lynn with all of my friends. The Chastity part was Momma's idea. I guess she thought if I was constantly reminded about the virtue, I wouldn't stray far from the "path of righteousness and virtue." Momma had a bible-verse for any occasion. If you didn't finish your dinner-plate you sinned against God by wasting. If you ate too much, your sin was gluttony. Really, pretty much anything you did, you were in peril of going right straight to hell for.

I had two brothers Matthew and Mark. Yeah, I know, but at least those names didn't draw the wise-cracks I got. I thought my name cute until about six or seventh grade. Then, I discovered what it actually meant. I spent most all of high-school answering only to Lynn. By graduation my body had gone through the "changes" as Momma called them. I was now in immediate threat of going to hell if I showed the slightest bit of my sexuality. Make-up was the "devils paint-brush" you know. Any figure revealing clothing was outright scandalous, as I would only invite a rape, and that would be my fault. Both I and my rapist would spend all eternity in a fiery hell for my vile act.

Momma's most intense treatment was focused on my papa. He was a lineman for the local electrical co-op. He reluctantly followed us all to services just to spare us the lecture and ass-chewing that would surely follow if he didn't comply. I got along great with Papa. Momma always said I took after his side of the family anyway. Papa spent most of his off-work hours holed-up in the tool shed he had built. It was just a garage maybe a hundred feet from the house. He mostly used it as a workshop for car or tractor repairing. Many of his friends would stop by and shoot the breeze with him as he fixed their engine problems. He was the local go-to guy for fixing things. He always had to be hollered-for at dinner time.

After high-school graduation many of my friends went off to colleges. No one in my family had ever gone that way yet. My grades and talents would not have gotten me far with any more schooling. I was destined to follow the ones that would stay behind and just get on with life. I took a job at the local grocery and started making pretty good money as a cashier. As a cashier it was expected I had to look nice for the customers. This got me in some heated arguments with Momma over my choice of clothing. A form-fitting shirt and dark slacks were the stores rules. So, I often left the house with the slacks undone just to give the appearance of looseness. I pulled my shirt out and down over my hips just to deflect attention. Before reaching work I'd tuck-in my shirt and zip the pants up tight. The grocery store I worked at was only about a ten minute walk from home. This saved me the expense of a car.

Only If Momma was off on some church function was it safe to leave the house dressed properly. Papa didn't see the harm. In fact more than once he commented on just how filled out I was becoming. I took this as a compliment. I never heard anything positive like that from Momma.

One evening I had to stay late at work. It was inventory time, and all had to stick around until the job was finished. Momma was furious, and called the store manager about keeping a young girl out past dark. I was so totally embarrassed, and the manager seemed to not want to get involved. I promised her to be with co-workers when I left. I felt so ashamed, but finally the task was finished. It wasn't a far walk, and I had grown up in the area and saw no problem with a walk after dark. As I approached our house I saw the lights in the work-shed still on. I knew Papa was probably still working on some project. For no particular reason, I just got the urge to walk around back to the rear window. I thought I would get a glimpse of Papa elbow-deep in an engine or something. Maybe, I would spook him by tapping on the window or something.

As I approached the rear window, the ratty curtains were drawn partially closed. The curtains were old kitchen ones my mom had changed out. Papa recovered them and used them to block some of the sunlight in the shed during the day. They didn't really fit the entire window. As I approached the window, I could see Papa sitting over in a corner of the garage in an old recliner. We kids had worn it out years ago, but Papa always recycled everything. Papa was sitting leaned-back in the chair with a magazine held up in-front of his face. His pants were pulled down to about to his knees and his one fist was beating away at his cock.

I was so shocked. I don't know what possessed me to stand there in the dark and continue to watch him, but I did. I knew he had never figured someone might spy on him, but I just couldn't pull myself away. I stood there in the darkness and watched as he thrust his hips upward. His fist would change speed and every so often he would pause and pull at the shaft and let it stand upward. He would grab at the very end and twist at it and then stroke hard at it some more.

Girls in school had always talked and laughed about guys doing this. I figured both my brothers did it too, but I never figured that my papa would still be doing it at his age. I had just never considered Papa as a person having sexual needs. I guess most daughters don't.

My mouth became dry instantly. I couldn't look away. This was something I knew I would always remember and I guess I just wanted to gather in every detail. Papa moved the magazine and flipped to a new page. He resumed a steady beat. Stroke after stroke he continued to work at rubbing his cock. I had never considered what a man's cock actually looked like, especially one that was being used for sex. I knew enough from friends, but that was all just girl-talk. This was an actual cock being worked.

I was at the window maybe less than five minutes when suddenly Papa started jerking his hips rapidly. His fist seemed to crush the end part and instantly a rope of white cream seemed to leap out the end of it. Several more spurts followed and landed back in his lap. The hand holding the magazine shook so bad he finally had to put it down. His hips were still convulsing. Several puddles of the goo had landed back on his fist and he was using it to lubricate his hand and still kept on going. His grip seemed to look as if he were trying to choke off the flow of cream. His face seemed all wretched in agony.

Okay, this is the sickest thing ever, but I got to say it. I enjoyed watching this. I couldn't help myself. The feelings stirring in my body were incredible. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My breathing had dried my mouth to the point where I couldn't wet it again. My heartbeat was racing. I could feel my own heartbeat pounding inside of my head. I couldn't even feel my legs. Something was happening in my body that I had never felt before. My hands were quivering. I knew it wasn't fear. I felt sweat forming on my forehead. My face flushed with an intense heat from within. Worst of all, I realized I had been unconsciously pressing one hand between my legs in time with his thrusts.

Papa stayed there now slowly rubbing the goo all over his dick. It seemed smaller and bent more easily. His face looked drained and weak, and yet very satisfied. He stayed that way for several minutes. Finally, he grabbed a rag to try to clean up the mess he had made. He wiped himself up with it. I drank in each detail of what he was doing. He struggled to bring the recliner back to upright. I watched as he checked the magazine for goo splatter. He seemed to almost be crippled as he struggled to get up. He then bent over to a small toolbox that had been sitting nearby on the floor. It had been there next to his chair the whole time. I just hadn't noticed it. He opened the box and placed the magazine in it. He then put a padlock through the catch. I watched as he hid the key on a nail on the backside of his workbench. He picked up the tool box and placed it on a high shelf near some other ones. His dick was now just hanging lifeless as he finished wiping himself off.

I still was recovering from the wave of heat that had gone thru my body. I didn't know if he would be leaving soon or not, but I pulled myself together and quietly made my way up to the house. The sweat on my forehead was cooling and I needed to wipe it away. Momma was ironing some clothing in the kitchen. She scolded me about being out so late.

"The devil works his evil in the cover of darkness," she reminded me.

Momma noticed my face and asked if I had been running. My flushed face and pink cheeks were noticeable I guess.

"No," I said, "maybe it was just the cool night air."

I had no interest in arguing with her. I told her, I loved her, and would be careful to watch- out for the devil. Momma recited some verse about the "foolishness of the innocents."

I went up to my room replaying in my mind what I had just witnessed. I cleaned up, crawled into bed and just lay there. I kept a small nightlight on, and continued to replay the whole event over and over again in my head.

Momma had never discussed sex with me. I knew her phrase for it though. She called it "matrimonial duties." She made it sound like something a wife had to do, just like "cleaning the toilet." It was an obligation, a chore, something necessary you to have to put up with. I pretty much already knew Momma and Papa probably didn't have sex anymore. They had separate bedrooms since my older brother had moved out. Momma said it was on account of her bad back. I kind of knew she just didn't want Papa getting any ideas. To Momma the children were already born, and there was no need "sinning" by just doing things out of lust.

My mind was racing. Was I a deviant or something? Sure the girls in school all talked about it. Some knew more than others, and of course there were always a couple girls that ended up pregnant before graduation. But this was the middle of bible country. Church-going folks held high standards. Even in this day and age an out-of-wedlock pregnancy around here was still an outrage. True, the school wouldn't throw you out, but believe you me, the Church-goers would shun any unwed girl carrying a baby around.

"My papa jacking-off" the words were difficult to even say. I had never seen a mature adult dick before, much less one fully erect for sex. Yes we had computers at school, but they were heavily censored. Momma wouldn't allow our home computer to be hooked up to the internet. She called the internet "the devil's playground."

As my mind replayed what I had seen I found myself again rubbing my hand between my legs. How long had Papa been doing this? Exactly what was in that magazine that interested him so much? This was mind-blowing. My thoughts drifted from excitement and lust, to feeling sorry for my papa. Momma's years of repressive control over our lives had warped all of our outlooks. I guess I didn't really hate Momma for it, but I was finding it hard to continue to submit to it privately. Still, it was as if I had tasted an addictive drug. I wanted it again and more. Momma was right about one thing. I was definitely from Papa's side of the family.

The next morning when I awoke Momma was in the kitchen getting ready to leave. The church ladies were cleaning the floors and windows at the church center. Momma wouldn't miss this duty. Juicy gossip was the main reason. And if you didn't show up they might just be talking about you. Mark, my younger brother had left for school already, and Papa always left before the crack of dawn. I had the house to myself till eleven when my shift would start.

The events of the previous evening still played in my head. That toolbox, I couldn't let it go. I needed for some reason to see what Papa found so exciting. After Momma left and I had cleaned up my breakfast dishes, I headed down to the shed. I had always loved the smell of the shed. The oils, fuels and greases combined to fill the place with an aroma which I had long ago begun to associate with my papa. This time I wasn't going there to be beside him while he worked, it was to pry open some dark nasty secret he had hidden in there.

The morning dew soiled the toes of my shoes as I made my way to the shed. Everyone in the family knew the location of the key. Papa always kept it between two bricks sitting near the door. It seemed strange somehow to be snooping in a place so familiar. The quiet building was typically full of noise and activity. My mission today was something I had never thought I would be doing. I located the hidden key on the frame behind the workbench where I saw him put it. I was tall enough to reach the toolbox and brought in down. I tried to remember every detail as to how it was placed and at what direction. I wasn't sure if Papa had the location marked so as to know if the box got disturbed or not.

I carried the tool box to the work bench and turned on a light. When I got the box open I was stunned. I picked up the top magazine. The worn cover was almost pulling through the staples. The title words splashed across it "Incest with Daughters." The cover was a full color shot of a dark-haired girl about my age. She was naked. Her legs were spread slightly and she had her hand partially covering her sex. A much older looking man was standing nearby seemingly ready to pounce on her. She appeared to be inviting him to have sex with her. That heartbeat pounding started in my brain again. I flipped over the cover and began to realize the magazine was filled with depictions and stories of father-daughter sex.

My hands were shaking so bad I had to place the magazine back on the workbench. God almighty! Is this what turned him on, incest? My palms began sweating, and I had to steady myself by pressing against the worktable. I flipped through the first few pages. Each page was filled with picture after picture of daughters engaging in intercourse with their fathers. There were pages of text. All seemed to be graphic descriptions of the sex with "Daddy." I guess told by the girls, or the fathers or maybe both.

The explicit pictures showed in very clear detail large stiff dicks pushed up inside the daughters, some so completely in that there was no space remaining between their bodies. I felt a trickle of sweat running down the back of my neck. My breathing was in short gasps again. The pounding in my head had reached a level as if my arteries would burst. My legs became weak. I started to read the text of a story of one girl and her affair with her father. She was so descriptive in her words as to how fulfilled she was. She described the sensation of being fucked by the very cock that had created her. The description of her enjoying the flood of cum being pumped into her body was in such detail, that I felt she couldn't have been making this up.

Seeing the words cock, fucked, cum were foreign to me. Sure, I had heard them before and knew what they meant. It's just that seeing them use so casually in the descriptions by the girls was something I just hadn't experienced before now.

I initially thought that maybe this was just the one magazine. Maybe he had stumbled across it accidentally. But, no, there were more, five or six in total, all on the subject of sex with daughters. All lay neatly stacked in the bottom of the toolbox.

I guess many daughters would be horrified to find something like this. Was Papa really fantasizing about having sex with me? I was shocked yes, but my body was reacting in such a way that I couldn't control. The throbbing now seemed to begin a sensation between my legs. I was wet there. I could not stop myself from seeing and reading more. I needed to sit. l looked around, the recliner, it was the only option. I took the magazine over and sat back and started reading another story. The accompanying pictures graphically illustrated the entire story. A young girl, terrified of men was being shown the ways of sex by her father. She went into such detail describing the mind blowing sensations that she felt. My hand again found it way between my legs and even though I was fully clothed, I could not stop rubbing myself.

Maybe five minute into this and my eyes blurred and my head snapped back against the recliner and the most wonderful throbbing sensation flooded through my entire body. I know that I moaned loudly. I was alone, but still felt ashamed of the racket I was making. The sensation washed me clean of all worries. I felt comfortably and completely numb. I had just had my first orgasm ever.

I remained completely still for several minutes. I ran my hand up and down the armrest. The presence of my papa was there. Probably dried semen remained all around me. I was so content I didn't want to get up. I left for work on time, but had a very off-day. My manager had to correct several errors I made. He even commented about it too. "Girl where is your mind today?"

That evening walking home I noticed that several of Papa's buddies had stopped by. They were all down at the shed. The garage door was open and from a distance I could tell they all had something in their hands. Momma forbade alcohol. Most families did. This was in fact a dry county. Alcohol could not be sold in any stores. We all knew men still found a source. As I was spotted, I could see the hurried attempts to finish and hide the evidence. Normally I would have gone directly to the house. For some reason though, I decided to crash the party.

I recognized one man. Mr. Evans, his son Kenny and I had been in many of the same classes in high-school. I always liked Kenny and asked Mr. Evans how he was doing now. Mr. Evans said he had taken a job at a local trucking firm. He liked it there. I said I missed seeing him at school and told him where I was working. I told him to have Kenny come by sometime. I missed my old high-school friends. I was still in my store clothing and noticed how intently Mr. Evans was studying me. I'm not trying to sound vain, but even with Papa right there I got the "look."

The "look." There are three of us young girls at the grocery store. We somehow started a little game just to break the monotony and to pass the time. If the store manager wasn't around, we had a little competition going to see who got the most "looks." The game is simple. Whoever gets the most leering stares per week "wins." We don't mean casual glances. It has to be an out and out "mental undressing look." I think Tina started this all by casually unbuttoning the top of her blouse anytime a young guy headed into her line. She would often find a reason to lean over and let the guy have a good view down her shirt. Or she would accidentally drop something and have to bend over to pick it up. We all had to witnessed the "look" and judge it to count. Some of the best have come from married guys with their wives standing right next to them.

It might have been the whiskey or the shine that they were drinking but, yeah, Mr. Evans had given me the "look" alright. I flirted for a while. I think Papa was even a little shocked how I seemed to be throwing myself out there. The men all had that glazed-look in their eyes. I finally had to excuse myself and head up to the house. I knew Momma was probably wondering what I was doing also.