As he laid his thick, rotund mass over her petite little Thai body, the male's rigid penis drove into my Mom's small frame, stretching her 38 year old pussylips wider, driving so deep until his balls were bouncing off her soft golden asscheeks. I watched her small Asian hands gripping his fat white buttocks, pulling her business partner's erection even deeper into her married twat, while her high-pitched voice shrieked across the room to me, as I was hiding behind the partition near the steps.
"Oh yeah baby," my Mom purred in a lusty, uncontrolled squeal, "do me, fuck me!"
Watching my own mother (whom I hate, no loathe completely) cheat on my father (whom I dearly love unbelievably so) with such a rather unhandsome man should have made me want to puke. I hated seeing it. But I also couldn't pull my eyes away, it was the most ridiculous discovery I could imagine.
And it made me want to fuck my own Daddy even more.
* * * *
I was supposed to be at the Science club meeting after school. I'm a senior now, and the teachers appointed me a co-team captain, although I'm not sure why. I don't have the absolute best grades, and I'm pretty shy in groups. I guess they figured, maybe having an Asian (well, in my case, half-Thai) girl would look good, you know, so we didn't have two white guys as the captains of a mostly Asian and Indian group of students. Whatever.
My ambivalence to the club gave me cause to blow off the meeting. I told a teacher I was not feeling well, and I sort of alluded to the fact I was having that "time of the month." He told me to go home, so I did.
The house was eerily empty, as I took a shortcut through the backyard and walked through the back patio doors. My father -- my awesome Daddy -- usually works out of the basement, in his home office. But that day he was at meetings in his company's downtown offices, and he wouldn't be home until well past dinner. My Mom, I expected, was still at the Mall, working at her lingerie store she owned. Well, she co-owned it with a business partner; she ran the store, he was the money man. It was a Tuesday, and if she wasn't at the Mall, she would be running errands around town. With both of my parents gone, it wasn't surprising that all of the lights were off, and there wasn't any noise.
I put my book bag down and sat at the kitchen table with graham crackers. You might think that's all innocent, a petite, 90-pound half-Asian smarty pants from school having cookies after school, what, before I'd do my homework? Actually, my thoughts were totally elsewhere. My bald, shaved pussy ached; I was just filling my stomach quickly, before I planned to go up to my bedroom and strip nude, and finger-fuck myself to a few orgasms. Yeah, it was happening daily now, it's all I thought about.
I was going to go upstairs and fantasize about my hot, sexy Daddy fucking me. I loved the dream so badly. I loved Daddy, he was the perfect father, such a gentleman to me, treating me like a princess all my life, and he was so hot and sexy too. I had seen the pictures of him fucking my best friend Melanie, and that had driven my fantasies to a whole new level. I wanted to fuck him too, and if he fucked my blonde 18 year old friend, then wouldn't he want to fuck his horny, petite, 18 year old daughter too?
So I quickly downed a couple of layers of the graham crackers, washing them with swigs of flavored water, and I prepared to dash up to my bedroom and take care of the aching in my jeans. Kristen wanted to fuck herself, it's true. I hardly thought about my current boyfriend anymore; he was a geek with a small dick, and he didn't make me cum nearly as much as my own fingers could. I'd just lie there under him and picture other men fucking me anyway, when he and I had sex; I might as well cut him out of the picture and do it better myself, right.
I headed to the middle of the house, about to go upwards to my room, when something caught my attention. A noise. A moan. A thump.
From downstairs.
I froze, wondering if I wasn't home alone. We don't have any pets; that wasn't a machine I heard. That was a person.
My first thought was, Daddy was home in his office. It didn't really excite me, because I would now have to lock my door, and worry that he might barge in and interrupt me fucking myself. I probably shouldn't strip nude, I figured, but just put on a skirt and fuck myself under it. Whatever, I could do that, I did that every day.
Only, it didn't sound like Daddy; it sounded like my Mom. I stood there, silent, intently listening. No, nothing else, maybe my ears were making it up.
Wait.
There, yes, there it was. A voice; a whisper, a soft, short series of words. It was my mother's voice, definitely. She has a high-pitched voice, still with a slight Thai accent despite living here with my Daddy for about 20 years. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but she sounded cheerful and friendly, and even excited.
So that made no sense, right. She and Daddy didn't get along much; it was why she was hardly ever home, burying herself in her work at the lingerie store at the Mall. Daddy worked at home, so, she made herself scarce. But, the point is, even when they are both home, they were hardly laughing with each other. It was a polite arrangement they had; they slept in the same bed, they ate together, they acted friendly to each other, but they didn't laugh and get along like mates. They were sort of roommates. How sad, too, because my father is such a sexy, loving guy. Women fawn over him; he's a great, successful architect; he treats me like the only person on earth who matters to him. Why my Mom was so turned off by him? No idea.
I had to investigate, something was weird. Call it women's intuition. I kicked my sneakers off, leaving me in socks that wouldn't make noise as I stealthily snuck down the stairs to the basement. I listend more, hearing soft voices -- Mom's, and someone else's, a male. A chill went down my slender spine, I knew something wasn't right. I kept in the shadows of the stairwell, walking deftly on the carpeted steps, then stopped halfway down.
The steps to the basement have a ninety-degree turn, halfway down; the last fourth of the steps are pretty much exposed to the basement, but there's a partition wall hiding the top three-quarters. Like some small kid spying on Santa, I went down right to the edge of the wall, crouched down, then carefully poked my head around the edge to look into the basement recreation room (our "rec room").
And my jaw dropped.
My mother was sitting on the lap of her business partner, David, on our leather sofa. Mom's back was to me; I couldn't see his face, her big hair and back were blocking the view, but I knew it was him. He's not a skinny guy -- I mean, not grotesquely massively fat, but, he could stand to lose 50 pounds. He's about Daddy's age, only time hasn't been nearly as good to him. He's balding, not in shape, and not married. He runs a bunch of lingerie stores and other small operations, so while I always thought he thinks of himself as some kind of business tycoon, he's mostly just a barnacle on the economy.
He's a jerk and a pervert, too. Last summer, he fucking hit on me at his house, while my Mom and Daddy took me there for a pool party. He was checking me out, then started asking if I'd do some modeling for their lingerie store -- well, more like, if I'd be interested, he'd let me come back to his house and he'd see if I would be a good model. The way he was looking at me, I pretty much knew, he wasn't looking to hire a model. I mean, I'm smart enough to realize, the store doesn't have its own models -- they just sell stuff from big companies that have real models. How stupid did he think I was? So I politely declined, and basically haven't really talked to him since.
Mom had her blouse on, but it was clear to me -- even though I couldn't see the front of it -- that it wasn't totally closed. David had his big fucking hands on her fake tits, while my Mom sat in her skirt on his lap, looking down towards him. She's even shorter than I am, she's like 4 foot 9 or something -- I mean, really short -- but before I was born she got a pair of silicon tits that are now completely disproportionate to her small frame. I'm sure her real tits were like mine, meaning, small. But Mom had like D cups now, this big circular, fake breasts. I never wanted to look like that.
Instantly, I was fuming. I mean, fucking pissed. This woman basically stopped taking care of my Daddy, letting herself fall into her little business world. Now I could see why she wasn't doting on Daddy anymore; she had basically replaced him, hadn't she?
"Ooh honey," I heard my Mom moan, in a lusty, throaty tone I'd never heard from her before, "that's so good."