In Love With Daddy Ch 04

*This particular installment of the series In Love with Daddy has little to do with Taylor and his father. Instead, it focuses on Lauren, and her relationships with her mother, and her sister, Christine.*

*At the time of sexual activity, all characters are 18 years of age or older*

I had woken up early that day—at 6:30am instead of 7:00—and needed Mom to sign a permission slip for my class's field trip that day. I was 12 or 13, don't quite remember. I do remember going up to my parent's door and knocking on it, softly. Daddy was gone on a business trip, so I knew to only expect Mom. But no one came to open the door. She must be in there, I thought, because no one was downstairs yet—my sister Christine and my brother Taylor were still asleep in their rooms.

Carefully, I tried the knob on the door, and found it unlocked. I pushed myself in and found Dad and Mom's queen-sized bed empty, covers thrown aside. Their bathroom door was partly closed, and a mix of yellow light and puffs of steam were streaming from beneath it and from the part that was open. I heard the shower water, and could tell she was moving around a little under it since the sound the water made changed every few seconds.

I don't know what propelled me then, but I made my way to the door and slowly pushed it in so that I would have enough room to stick my head in. I did so and, through puffs of steam and a blanket of heat, I saw my mother's peach-colored outline through the see-through glass door to the shower. She was slim, had a nice round butt and long legs, and—what really got me excited that morning—a beautiful, perky set of full and heavy breasts. I watched, fascinated, as she turned in a little circle, going from a profile view to backside and around to the front again. I didn't know it then, of course, but I was aroused—maybe the first time in my life. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

Now I was just about to back away and pull the door back to where it was a moment ago, when suddenly the shower door swung wide open and I found Mom facing me full on, looking at me with those doe eyes of hers. She was dripping—and the shower was still on. Her nipples were straight and hard, her big areolas surrounding them looked like two great eyes. Below, her trimmed brown pussy hair glistened at her crotch.

"Lauren!" she had said then, bringing her arms up to fold them across her chest—her breasts. "What are you doing?"

I fumbled my way through an explanation of the needed permission slip.

"Oh, okay," Mom had said. "Just wait a minute and I'll be right out." Her eyes had lingered upon mine, a puzzled expression upon her face. Then she had just closed the door and was in the middle of another one of those circles of hers as I shut the door behind me.

Somehow that little event changed me, I realize now. Incest, of all stripes, had always held a very special place for me since then. I had never acted out on my desires, but they remained strong anyway. Especially those feelings for Mom. I never looked at her the same since then. In fact, it might have been even somewhat of a crush. I found myself stammering around her, anxious to say the right things. I had fantasies about everyone in the family—in all sorts of combinations—but my deepest, and most affectionate, secret feelings were always for Mom. When she died almost 10 years ago, when I was 22, my sister 20, and Taylor 19, I was absolutely devastated. I had spent weeks grieving over her. It was then that the incest fantasies had started to fade, and I had started to date around for the first time—with a few flings but no big successes, leaving me single though I am now 32 years old. The fantasies had, I thought, become a thing of the past—until now.

When I caught Daddy masturbating to pictures of his own son, I was secretly thrilled but years of conditioning had made me feel an obligation to pretend to be disgusted. It was only later, at home touching myself over the idea, that I really remembered my old dead fantasies.

I masturbated to the video I'd shot of Daddy and Taylor six or seven times, in the few days that passed afterwards. My favorite part was when Taylor begins to cry, telling his father how much he has appreciated him his whole life. I was disappointed when he and I had lunch and he informed me of his brief affair with this nurse, Jason, from his work at the ER. I had told him to be honest about his feelings, to just tell Daddy about it no matter what happened. I went home second-guessing myself. What if Daddy can't take the news?

After masturbating to the video again that night, I was about to call Taylor to find out how everything had went when my phone vibrated and, looking on the caller I.D., I saw that Christine was calling.

"Hello?" I answered. "What's up?"

"Hey sis," Christine said. "How have you been?"

"Fine, thanks," I said. I was sitting there naked in front of the T.V., where I had just paused the Daddy/Taylor video on an image of Daddy sucking one of Taylor's nipples. "How's Andrew? The kids?"

"They're fine . . ." Christine said. I could hear a tinge of worry in her voice, though. She was married to Andrew, and had had two little boys with him. "Well, no. We are not fine . . . I caught Andrew cheating." She said the last part very quietly.

"Oh no," I said, honestly concerned. I got up from the couch and made my way to the kitchen, where I pulled a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

"Yeah . . . Andrew has been sleeping with this woman from his firm. Her name is Sarah. She's a real bitch."

"I am so, so sorry," I said, pouring the orange juice into a clean glass. "What are you guys going to do? I mean, with the kids too and—"

"I am done with him," she replied quickly. "I have already kicked him out of the house. I am a wreck right now though, sis . . . I was freaking out this afternoon so one of my neighbors here said they'd take the kids for a couple days for me."

I had known my sister's relationship had been on the rocks for a while, but this was altogether surprising, and sad. I felt complete sadness for her then . . . it sounded like she needed me somehow. "Do you want me to come over tonight?" I asked. "We can talk about everything."

"Umm . . ." she started, sounding legitimately unsure. "I wouldn't want to cause too much trouble for you. And don't you have work or something in the morning?"

"No, I don't work the rest of this week. I can come over. I'll bring my things—I can even spend a couple of days with you, if you want."

"Okay . . . if you don't mind. It is a pretty far drive though, and it's already almost—"

"Sis!" I said, laughing lightly. "It takes me 40 minutes to get over there. That is not far! I'll be right over!"

"Thanks . . . You are the best."

She hung up. I finished my orange juice and went upstairs to take a quick shower and get dressed and packed. I decided on jeans and a spaghetti string top since it wasn't too cold out. As I got ready, I noticed that my heart was beating a little faster, my palms were a little sweatier, and I felt dizzy. I looked at myself in the mirror—average sized breasts with a little cleavage, thin but with a few extra pounds here and there, brown eyes, dirty blonde hair—and found that yes, I was completely flushed. I was even a bit horny again—must have been. But it was not the intense Daddy/Taylor video this time; it had come on from thoughts of my sister! It is true that she had played a part—a minor one—in a few of my incestuous fantasies, it was never really at her that any of my most erotic feelings had found a home. I was, I thought, a lot more interested in Daddy, Taylor, and of course Mom. But she was always very attractive, even now at 30 years old. It's just that she had kind of done her own thing while I'd always done mine. We had never been too close.

I drove the 40 minutes to her suburban home and, grabbing my things up in my arms, I rang her doorbell. A moment later and there she was, wearing a dark skirt and a green blouse. She was a brunette, gracefully slender, full breasts (bigger than mine), had a nice butt. Growing up, people had sometimes said she was the prettier sister. That used to really hurt me but I had gotten over it.

"Come on in," she said, with a gesture. "I set up the guest bedroom for you. Gosh, sis, it's been so long since we've spent a lot of time together! This should be fun!"

I followed her upstairs to the room, where I put my bag into the closet. "Well, tell me about Andrew," I said when we were back downstairs, in the living room.

"Do you want something to drink? I have a few things I can mix up," Christine said. "Or some wine? I have a good red."

Before I could reply she was up, retrieving the wine. I wasn't going to decline her offer anyway, though. She came back with the glasses and put the bottle on the table in front of us. We sipped as we spoke. She told me all about the steamy affair between her husband and this redhead Sarah, who was ten years younger than Andrew. Christine told me how she had been suspecting something for a while and had decided to hire a private investigator to check things out. He had come with the news yesterday morning, and the proof.

"I cried, sis," Christine said after she was through with the story. "I cried again today. I just . . . Well, and now we have to do this to the kids—the divorce and all that, I mean. I am not excited." We had finished the wine and had started on a new bottle. I was buzzed and I could tell she was too.

"You are such a beautiful woman, too," I said. "Why would he even think about cheating on you? I can't believe him."

"Thanks," Christine said. "I appreciate that . . . Oh, I heard from Becca today, about her and Taylor."

"Oh? You mean, about the divorce and all that?" I asked. The sex scene on the tape flashed into my mind just then—Daddy bent over Taylor, his tongue slipping in and out of his son's anus—and my heart started thumping again in my chest.

"I already knew about that part of it," Christine continued. "I didn't know why she wanted to leave him though. Taylor never talks to me. But Becca told me that it was because she had found out about him and another man. He had been cheating on her with a guy! Also, I heard he started wearing womens clothing. Did you hear about this? Have you seen Taylor recently?"

"Yeah, saw him earlier today, in fact . . . and yes, he is gay and a crossdresser."

"I am so surprised," Christine said. She put her wine glass down and stretched herself across the couch, looking up at the ceiling. I looked at her moist lips, those protruding big mother's breasts—and found myself suddenly yearning for her as I had never quite done before. And she did kind of look like Mom, in a way . . . I could see it now.

"I have talked with Taylor about it," I said. "I understand him . . . and he does actually look pretty good dressed as a woman, Christine. It is tasteful. I always thought he had nice skin tone, and yours and mother's hair. And about him being gay, he told me that he thinks he was always gay and that—"

"Didn't he move in with Dad?" Christine asked, interrupting me. She had this distanced, glazed-over look just then.

"Yes," I said. It was nothing secret.

"Sis," Christine said. Then, slowly, "I know that Dad and Taylor are having sex. Becca told me about it. She said that you . . . knew also."

I think I went pale then. I put down my wine glass and hugged myself, trying to figure out what to say next. I didn't get the chance since Christine just continued.

"I know you're okay with it," she said. "I also know that . . . Well, how you felt about Mom when we were teenagers. I found your files, on the computer in our room. The ones that contained those stories of yours, the ones about Dad and Taylor, and especially Mom. You wrote poems about her."

I swallowed, and reached for my wine glass again. "Christine," I began, searching for words. "I might have to tell you—"

"I read the stories about me too, Lauren. You didn't seem to like me much though—I was kind of just there in your big orgy fantasies or whatever they were." Christine flicked her hair back and smiled at me, her tongue sticking out very slightly. "What, don't you find me attractive, sis?"

"Well, growing up you and I were just never close," I said, honest, and sipped my wine. "You see, the fantasies are about more than just sex. It's hard to explain. I think that Taylor and Daddy see the same thing now, though. It's all about being very, very close to someone you love in an altogether more profound and affectionate way than a simple family relationship is alone. Does this make sense?"

Christine reached out and touched me on my thigh, that smile still on her lips. "Well," she said, sitting up and scooting over next to me. "I need that kind of intimacy, sis . . . right now, in my time of need." She rubbed my thigh and put her arm around my back.

"You are drunk, Christine," I said, my heart going wild in my chest. I was already getting wet down there. "You might . . . Well, are you sure you want this?"

"I want you," she replied. With that she leaned towards me and kissed me lightly on the lips. "You're my big sister, and I need you right now." Her hand slid up my jeans from my thigh to my pussy, which she began rubbing gently. She kissed me again.

"Oh, Christine," I exclaimed softly. "That feels so good, but . . . I mean, our relationship will never be the same again. We will always remember this when we're around each other."

She seemed to not even be listening anymore. Her lips had come down upon my exposed neck now, as she continued to rub me between my legs. I put my arm around her, on her butt, and pulled her closer to me. With my other hand I touched one of her breasts through her shirt. It was soft, giving way beneath the light pressure of my fingers. I ran my thumb around her hard nipple there, feeling it there behind her bra. In another moment, I found myself unbuttoning her blouse, starting at the top.

"You have great breasts," I said to her, looking down. "You have Mom's—Mommy's—breasts."

Christine chuckled. "Yeah, you would know! I wouldn't! I wasn't the weird sister with a crush on her own mother!" I could tell she was joking . . . even being flirtatious. I kissed her again on the lips as she continued to vigorously touch my moist pussy. I felt her tongue slide in and then out of my mouth, flipping up against my top teeth every so often.

Meanwhile, I continued to fumble, awkwardly, at her blouse. I finally managed to have all buttons undone. Christine could tell and so she drew back a little from me and helped me slip the shirt from her. She leaned back, her bra in view. I put my hands on her bare shoulders, kissed her, and turned her around a little just so I could reach her bra strap. I did, and carefully unclipped it. Turning back to face me, she smiled and let the bra drop. Her breasts really were just like Mom's—dark hard nipples, big areolas.

"Do you want to suck them?" Christine asked. She shook a little so as to make her breasts bounce in a cute way.

"Of course," I said, smiling. Christine had let go of my pussy.

"I meant that you could drink from me," she said. "In those stories with Mom you'd always drink her milk, like a baby."

"Umm . . ." I bit my lip, looking into her eyes now. "But . . . you're not Mom, Christine."

"I know," she said. "But I am a mother. And I have the mother's instincts. I want to feed you . . . daughter." She winked at me, and smiled. "Go ahead, Lauren."

"Can I put my head in your lap?" I asked, finally deciding to do it.

Christine nodded. "First . . . let's get all naked," I said.

After stripping off all of our clothes—my own breasts so small compared to hers—I arranged myself so that I was lying on the couch with my head in her lap. I looked up and her breasts swelled above my face. "I'm ready, Mommy," I said, my voice breaking.

"Okay sweetie pie," Christine said. She bent slightly so that her right nipple was next to my lips. I took it into my mouth and sucked, and sucked, and sucked. And, what's more—I drank. I loved the taste of the warm milk upon my tongue, and the slurping noises I had to make while drinking from her. "There, there, cutie," Christine said now, her left hand on my side near by butt. She slid it down and again pressed it against my pussy, rubbing. I felt alive with pleasure.

Soon I felt an orgasm coming on—as her fingers explored the inside of my slick pussy, and played with my clit—and as I continued to drink her mother's milk. I wanted to moan but couldn't because I was too busy with the milk and those wonderful breasts in front of my face.

"Do you have to burp?" Christine asked.

I laughed so hard then that I had to let go of her nipple, and felt milk dribble from my lips. "God, Christine," I said. "You're going to make me laugh so hard milk will come from my nose. But anyway, Mommy. I'm full."

I instantly turned my body around so that I was facing her lap, with her shaved pink vagina exposed to me. She repositioned herself so that her legs were spread out past the width of my shoulders. She had, of course, stopped touching my pussy in order to do this. It was okay; I would be a good big sister to her now.

I ate her out until she shook with orgasm. As I did, she ran her fingers through my hair, calling out my name. Afterwards we lay there on the couch in each others arms, kissing every so often.

"That was so good," Christine said. "Do you have experience with lesbian sex, sis? Maybe another secret of yours?"

"No, first time with a girl," I said. "I've thought about it a lot, and have seen a lot of porn over the years."

"I am impressed," Christine replied, chuckling. She became somber and just looked into my eyes. "This is nice . . . Now I feel like there is nothing between us, at all. I think I understand what you meant when you said it's more than just sex—incest, I mean. It's a breaking down of these, well, barriers I guess, right?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, Christine. You are seeing me for who and what I really am, and I you. That's what Daddy and Taylor have too, even if they aren't quite aware of how to describe it, in this way . . . I still feel like a sister to you. We've just added on to it now."

I stared at her breasts again, and was about to shower them with kisses when I heard my phone vibrating from my jeans pocket—where it was on the floor somewhere. Christine let go of me and I fell to the floor to answer it. It was Taylor.

"Lauren," he said.

"Hey," I responded. As I spoke I looked at my beautiful sister on the couch, her arms folded beneath her breasts. "Bro, I have something to tell you . . . I am over here at Christine's right now. Well, you know how—Taylor? Are you okay?" I heard sniffles, and a cough.

"Lauren, I told Dad . . . about me and Jason . . . he is really, really hurt . . . I don't know what to say to him right now," Taylor went on. "I don't know. He started crying. He's upstairs right now."

TO BE CONTINUED