First Orgasm With Daddy

Do you remember the grandfather in the movie "Little Miss Sunshine?" At one point, the old man advises his grandson to "fuck a lot of girls," as if that was the secret to happiness in life. Well, when I was young, that's exactly what I did; I fucked a lot of girls. I won't claim that most of them were goddesses. Back then, I had a friend who advised me that 'you have to lower your standards if you want to lower your drawers,' and that's what I did. I had sex with ugly girls, I had sex with fat girls, I had sex with sluts, I even had sex with a cute but sorta plump cousin. I had sex with lots of girls and not all of them were losers. Some of them were cute and some were nice but not too many of them were the kind of girls that you would take home to meet your mom and dad.

All that was happened when I was younger. When I got a little older, I realized that I didn't actually want to marry a slut or a chubby girl who was so desperate for a dick that she would do whatever she was told to do. You know, marriage isn't just about somebody to have sex with on a regular basis (and, yes, I know that many of the older married guys are wanting to jump in with their jokes about how sex becomes infrequent after you get married. Too bad you have that kind of marriage!)

I actually wanted to have a family and I wanted to find a woman who would be a good mother to my children. So . . . I found a girl who was virtuous and upright, and eventually I married her. Sarah McKenzie was divorced and had a two year old daughter, Rachel. Sarah divorced her husband because he was unfaithful to her. I understood that; for all of my fucking around when I was younger, I never knowingly had sex with a married girl. If you wanna screw around, go for it, but don't get married . . . and don't have ex with a married girl, because you just might screw things up for her family and innocent little kids will be affected just because you wanted to have an orgasm and cum inside their momma. So, the bottom line is . . . have sex with whoever you want, just as long as you are single and your partner is, too. That's my code of ethics.

Back to my marriage: Sarah was not a glamorous angel but she was fairly attractive. She had golden blonde hair that was straight and hung below her shoulders. She had lovely blue eyes and a cute little nose. Her boobs weren't big; in fact, they were small: 34B bra size, but I like small boobs. She wasn't exactly a hard body but she wasn't overweight and she was very well proportioned.

There was just one problem. Sarah was virtuous. I know, I said I wanted to marry a virtuous girl, and I certainly did find what I went looking for. Holding hands and kissing were fine, and every now and then she would let me feel her boobs. On one or two occasions, I even got my hand under her dress and felt her pussy through her panties, but that's as far as I ever got before we got married. I wanted to have sex, but . . . no, they had to wait until we were married.

As you might have guessed, Sarah was a churchgoer. Now, I'm not against anyone going to church, but some people get obsessed with it and it becomes like part of a mental illness with them. At times, I wondered about Sarah and whether her church activities were a bizarre obsession or just a devotion to duty. But, aside from her virtuous ways and the lack of sex during our courtship, I was very happy with her. I had no problem with taking her home to meet Mom and Dad and I knew that Sarah would be a good mother to our children.

Well, anyway, she promised me that she would make me happy after we were married but she wanted to wait until she had a ring on her finger. At times, I thought she was just playing hard to get. If that was her game, it worked. I became obsessed with the notion of fucking Sarah. I wanted to fuck her in every way I could. When I jerked off, I fantasized about fucking her pussy in the missionary position and I fantasized about fucking her doggy style. I dreamt of eating her pussy and having her suck me until I came in her mouth. I desperately wanted to cum on her little boobs. I wanted to suck her nipples while I fingered her asshole. I wanted to lube my dick and ram into her back door. I wanted to fuck her every way I could and I wanted to fuck her so bad that it was driving me nuts.

* * *

Eventually, I proposed and Sarah accepted. I think she believed that anyone who could last with her, not having sex, must really love her . . . and I did. I really loved her. But I also really, really, really wanted to fuck her until she begged me to stop. We had a short engagement.

On our wedding night, Sarah made my dreams come true . . . partially. We had sex. I fucked her in the missionary position and she had an orgasm just before I came inside her. I suggested that we do it doggy style and she said that she had never done that. I was a bit surprised but eager to teach her. I told her what was involved and she was a bit self-conscious at first. She said, "That means you'll be lookin' at my behind!"

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?" I asked.

"You're not supposed to see me back there. That's private," she responded, as if that explanation was so self-evident that it warranted no further discussion.

"Honey, we're married now, and you shouldn't be ashamed to let me see any part of your body, whether it's your boobs or your cooter or your behind. Now that I'm your husband, you're supposed to trust me with that."

"Well, I suppose we could do it dog style with the lights out so you don't see anything."

"Fine by me," I replied. I turned off the lights and we did it doggy style. I could tell that she wanted to be prim and proper but she was also really getting worked up with my dick sliding in and out of her fuck hole.

When I could tell that I was about to cum, I announced it in very unmistakable terms. "Oh, baby, I'm so close. I wanna cum in your pussy so bad . . .."

"Bad . . . boy," she uttered. She was winded and aroused and moaning like she wanted to be quiet but couldn't keep her arousal a secret.

"Here it cums," I said as I released my jets of sperm inside her. As soon as my seed entered her vagina, she started cumming hard, moaning loudly, panting, her back arching as she experienced the waves of muscular contractions that undeniably indicated her orgasm.

A few minutes later, she told me that she had never had an orgasm that strong in her entire life and it felt really hot to do it "dog" style because her backside was towards me. It was as if a guy had never seen her butt before and, besides that, the lights were off. I could see a bit but not very well. It was then that I realized how sexually inexperienced she was, especially for someone who had previously been married and had a child.

Over the next few weeks, the extent of her inexperience became painfully obvious. She had never given or received oral sex and thought the whole idea was gross. Of course, she had never had anal sex and had never had anyone express any interest in that other hole. Most amazingly, she told me that she had never masturbated - not once – in her entire life and she had never seen a vibrator or dildo.

During the next few months, with the assistance of some occasional alcohol, I got her to relax a bit. The alcohol definitely helped, but she was not much of a drinker, so this didn't happen very often. She wasn't a tee-totaler but she just didn't want to drink very often.

* * *

About a year after we were married, I got her to drink a few piña coladas; we were at home and I made the drinks, so I made hers as strong as I could. She got a bit tipsy and I got her into bed when she was still very much under the influence. I finally got to eat her pussy and I definitely enjoyed the experience. Judging by the loudness of her orgasm, I know that she did, too. Hearing her moan like a dog in heat got me plenty aroused; my meat was as hard as it ever gets. When she came down from her orgasm, she leaned down and started kissing my dick. She very tentatively licked on it and kissed it but she seemed to be at a loss about what she should do. I gave her some encouragement and she finally took my shaft in her mouth and sucked on it for a while but then she stopped, saying that she was afraid I would cum in her mouth.

After that night, we continued to have oral sex occasionally but I never got to cum in her mouth. You probably guessed that we never had anal sex and I never even got to touch her bum hole. Hell, I don't remember ever seeing her bum hole; I'm sure she had one, but I never saw it. I wasn't obsessed with anal sex, but . . . I guess that it being the forbidden act, the taboo practice, made the idea more exciting to me.

But we never did it. Sarah seemed rather content to have me suck on her nipples and then get on top of her and slide my manwich inside her. At one point, I bought some DVD's that were intended for younger folks who were totally inexperienced; they had a couple who demonstrated almost every sexual practice that two people can do in their own bedroom. I got her drunk one night and showed her the DVD and her idea of expanding our horizons was for her to get on top and take me in her pussy. Yeah, it was different so that made it exciting but it was far short of the experiences I wanted.

Despite my frustrations, I didn't have any desire to be unfaithful to her or to divorce her. She was my wife and I loved her. In her heart, I knew that she was doing what she thought a good girl was supposed to do and, within her screwed-up inhibitions and self-imposed boundaries, she was trying to please me as much as she could. So I was patient. And I loved her.

* * *

I also loved Rachel. At this point, "our" little girl was now eight years old. I called her "our" little girl because her father had disappeared when Sarah threatened to take him to court over the delinquent child support and we hadn't seen him in at least three years. Rachel had started calling me "Daddy" and I loved it. She was a very sweet child, rarely caused problems, usually did what she was told, and she was cute like a younger version of her mom.

Sarah had quit her secretarial job and started home-schooling Rachel in first grade. Sarah had compared notes with other women at the church and she was convinced that attending public schools would lead to overwhelming moral degradation for Rachel. I wasn't very happy about the public schools, either, for other reasons; there is just way too much violence and not enough education in our public schools. So Rachel was home-schooled. That means that her social experiences were limited to the children who lived nearby and the other children who attended church. (I'm not an atheist but I didn't attend church with Sarah and Rachel.)

* * *

About four years after we were married, Sarah gave me the news that she was pregnant. She was ecstatic and so was I. We had been married long enough to have established our relationship and having a family of my own was part of my motivation for getting married. Within weeks, she rushed out and bought a crib and a stroller and most of the other gear that you need for a baby.

Then, two months later, our world crashed. Sarah started bleeding and we had to take her to the emergency room. Within a few hours, they told us that Sarah had miscarried and would need a D&C. Of course we were both devastated but we had started to recover when, a few months later, Sarah's doctor told us that she wouldn't be able to have any more babies.

After that news, I was depressed and Sarah was depressed. We tried to shield Rachel from the heartbreak that we were feeling but, of course, she sensed that something was wrong. Sarah devoted herself to Rachel's schooling and to their church activities. Sarah became even less interested in sex and that part of our marriage became very mechanical; she didn't deny me sex, she just acted as if it was a duty she was fulfilling rather than something that she enjoyed.

Sarah kept our home clean, she cooked good meals, and she took fairly good care of Rachel, but it was obvious that Sarah never recovered from the miscarriage. We took family vacations and enjoyed weekends but . . . there was a spark that was missing. Sarah became more active with her church activities and I'm sure that others never saw that anything was wrong. I suggested counseling a few times but Sarah wasn't receptive to that idea.

* * *

As the years passed, Rachel continued to do well, despite Sarah's depression, but I was concerned that she was being sheltered a bit too much. Her grades on the standardized tests were great; she was almost always in the 99th percentile in every category that was tested. Everyone who met her commented on how bright she was and we were both proud of our little girl. Nonetheless, Rachel seemed to be naïve and a bit behind her peers on her social skills.

Her slow social development became apparent when she reached age 13. I could tell that she was starting to develop breasts. They appeared to be tiny little "buds" that I could just discern through her pajama tops or tee shirts. I couldn't see the actual little tits, of course, because Sarah had taught Rachel to be very modest around me. It was almost as if she thought that Rachel was competition for my affections. Up until she was 8 or 9 years old, Rachel would sleep in just her panties and a tee shirt and it wasn't unusual for her to sit and watch TV dressed like that. I had stopped supervising bath time when Rachel was about 7 years old and I never saw her naked, but she was comfortable being in just her underwear around me, and occasionally I would see her topless – not that there was anything to see, of course, because she was just a little girl. But as Rachel approached puberty, Sarah got more concerned. I never saw Rachel unless she was wearing at least pajamas or shorts and a tee shirt. To me, it wasn't a big deal but Sarah seemed really uptight about that stuff and it was easier to just let her have her way.

When it first notices that Rachel was starting to develop little breasts, I asked Sarah and she told me that, indeed, Rachel had started having a period and she was developing physically. I could see that she was losing some of her "baby fat," she gained a few inches in heights and she got a bit more curvy in the places that men want women to have curves.

Despite the physical development, Rachel did not express any interest in boys. She didn't want the tween or teen girls' magazines that had pictures of the latest boy teen heartthrobs. She didn't develop an interest in talking to the boys at church or in our neighborhood and she didn't do any of the other things that girls do at that age.

Sarah was happy with Rachel's lack of interest in the opposite sex but I was concerned, but, again, Sarah saw no problem . . . because, in my mind, Sarah was the problem. So things continued the way they were. Rachel wasn't pathologically immature; she wasn't still playing with dolls or talking baby talk. She just wasn't playing with boys or flirting, either.

* * *

Maybe I should have felt relieved, because Rachel had become quite a cute girl. By the time she was 17 years old, she was 5' 2" and she weighed 115 pounds. She had the same golden hair that her mother had, though she kept it a little bit shorter and in a more contemporary style that did Sarah. She had a clear complexion with emphasized her blue eyes and, of course, she had the same cute little nose that she had as a child. Her chest had developed enough so that she was very clearly a girl, but she wasn't overly endowed. In fact, her bra size was 34A, which I knew because I occasionally used the downstairs bathroom that Rachel used; she would occasionally leave her clothes on the bathroom floor after her shower and, being curious about the state of her development, I looked at one of her bras to see the size.

By this time, Rachel had actually begun to talk to a few boys at church and she actually started going to events that both boys and girls attended. The church didn't call them group dates but, at that age . . .. In any event, the events were chaperoned and there was no risk that anyone would do anything more than hold hands. Rachel did develop an interest in Hank, a nice but awkward kid who had lots of IQ points and who was clearly clumsy with females. No, Hank wasn't a smooth-talking lady's man, by any means, so I was comfortable with Rachel spending time with him. In fact, he acted as if he had been home-schooled by an overprotective mom just like Sarah had done with Rachel.

Of course, it was not a serious relationship and I was quite certain that little Rachel was still a virgin. In fact, I would have been surprised if she had done anything more than holding hands and kissing. I was right; the relationship didn't last and Rachel was still a virgin (according to Sarah) and the only thing of which I felt fairly certain was that our little Rachel would never grow up to become a porn star. Over the next year, Rachel developed an infatuation with a few other similarly innocent and unsophisticated boys but nothing ever went further than spending time together at our house or his house.

* * *

Rachel reached the big milestone – her 18th birthday - during her senior year. She was definitely a candidate for college but her mother didn't want her moving away from home so Rachel had applied at the local college and been offered a full scholarship.

The home schooled kids got to graduate with the other kids at the public school so we attended a graduation ceremony. After the graduation, Rachel stayed out with some friends from church until 11 PM and then she was home. Up to this point, you may think that I've been complaining about Rachel's delayed social development, but I also saw the advantages it offered. Other parents worried about their kids getting drunk after graduation an doing who-knows-what, but not our Rachel.

* * *

Two weeks later, life as we knew it abruptly came to an end. Rachel had spent the night at a girlfriend's house and they were going to the beach the next day. The plan was that Rachel would be home for dinner around 7 PM. I went off to work and Sarah stayed at home alone.

When I came home that afternoon, Sarah was not home. Her car was gone and she had not left a note telling me where she had gone. I tried calling her on the cell phone but got no answer. Sarah had still not returned home when Rachel finally came in around 7 PM. I tried calling Sarah's few friends from church but none of them knew anything about Sarah's whereabouts.

At 11 PM, I called the police and reported Sarah as missing. An officer came to our home and took a report, together with a recent photo of Sarah. At 2:30 AM, I received a call that the police had used Sarah's cell phone to track her location and they had a fairly good idea where her car was. At 3 AM, I got a call that Sarah's car had been located and that Sarah was inside the car, unresponsive, and Fire Rescue was en route to the scene. I was given the location and Rachel and I jumped in the car to go there.

When we arrived, we were told that Fire Rescue had taken Sarah to the hospital but that it appeared that Sarah was dead. The police had found an empty prescription bottle in the front seat beside her, together with a suicide note:

Tom,

I have completed my work in this life. Rachel has graduated and she is 18 years old so she is ready to face the world. I have gone to be with my other baby and I hope that you will understand that he needs me more than you two need me. I love you both.

Sarah

You cannot imagine the wave of emotions that flooded my world. The note confirmed for me that Sarah had been mentally ill, that she had been chronically depressed and never recovered from the miscarriage. I was angry, sad, bitter, and I had no idea what to do with all of these feelings inside of me . . . and then I realized that 18 year old Rachel – an even larger victim of Sarah's mental illness - was standing next to me. She had just learned that the only biological parent in her life had just committed suicide. My own feelings couldn't be anything compared to what she must be feeling.