Preacher's Sinful Daughter

Sinning with a Woman

"You take care of your father," Mother said as she stood in the foyer of our house, the summer heat spilling in through the open, front door.

"Of course I will," I said, trying to keep the naughty smile off my lips. I would take care of him so well. A weekend without Mother. She was about to leave on her annual women's retreat. It was every July. I have been waiting for this weekend.

Tomorrow night, Daddy promised me a treat. Finally, he had found the woman who would have a threesome with us. I shuddered, anticipating the wicked, sensual delight of being with a woman, to hold her breasts--I loved squeezing my Double D's--kiss her stomach, and to lick her pussy.

Especially that.

I loved tasting my own tart musk. After masturbating, I would always lick my fingers clean of my juices. And after a man has cum in my pussy, I had the salty treat to clean up, mixing both naughty flavors together. A hot shiver ran through my eighteen-year-old body.

Was there ever a preacher's daughter more sinful than me?

I gave blowjobs to my classmates for a dollar, I sold my pussy for $5, and my ass for $7. For the last three Fridays, I've danced at the Pink Velvet, an all-nude go go dancing club. I strip naked before the men, then work the room, giving

intimate

lap dances all while Daddy watches.

And even he pays for my pussy. The right, honorable Reverend Gary Powell, shepherd of Thousand Oaks Methodist, decrier of all manner of sexual immorality, fucked my cunt. My body was too tempting for him to resist.

I made him sin over and over in my sucking mouth, my wet cunt, and my tight asshole.

"You are growing up into such a fine, young woman," Mother said, a big smile on her lips. She looked around, then bent in, whispering, "So I want you to be extra careful this weekend while I'm gone. I know the summer heat will drive you to the public pool. The boys will be there, their lecherous gazes trying to see your flesh. Be as modest as possible and don't let them excite you into sinning. You have to be a pure, young woman. Only in marriage, and then only for procreation, is sex permitted."

"I've heard all of Father's sermons," I said, trying not to crack a smile. Daddy was such a hypocrite. He could lecture on sexual immorality to the congregation while his dick was still wet with my barely legal cunt.

If Mother wasn't such a prude, Daddy might have all the sexual satisfaction he could need from her. He wouldn't be tempted by Donna Paxtor or me or the other sinful ladies of our church. He wouldn't cheat on Mother.

But then I wouldn't have learned the joys of being a whore. I would still be repressed by my mother's lectures and my father's sermons. I would love to seduce Mother, to show her how wonderful sex truly could be. As she hugged me, her large breasts pressing into mine, separated by our blouses and bras, I imagined kissing her, guiding her, seducing her.

Maybe it was a project I should consider after I've been with a woman.

As she went to kiss my cheek, I turned my head. Our lips brushed, warm and wet. My mother froze for a moment, then she pulled back, spots of color dancing on her cheeks. "Alexandra, why did you turn your head?"

"Sorry, Mother," I said, feigning innocence. "I wasn't thinking."

"I hope it wasn't a boy making you spacey," she said, shaking her head, her blonde hair--styled like Jackie Kennedy's, who Mother thought embodied the modern woman--dancing about her neck. "That can lead to the sinful act of self-pleasure. Even that will ruin you."

I gave a big smile. "No, no, just thinking about the ministering Father and I have been doing on the Sunset Strip. All those men I've helped."

With my cunt. Ministering to the homeless on Sunset Strip was the excuse Daddy gave to cover our trips to the Pink Velvet Club.

"I am so proud of you," Mother gushed. "You are turning into a fine, young, Christian woman. You'll make your husband very happy."

"She will," Daddy said, announcing his present with a booming voice.

Mother and I both turned. Daddy wore a black suit, looking so handsome and authoritative. His face chiseled and strong, his shoulders broad. Even the wings of gray streaking back from his temples through his dark hair made him seem so experienced, so sexy. He moved with confidence. It was no wonder my pussy clenched and my nipples hardened at the sight of him. I gave him a smile, hoping he loved how innocent I looked in my conservative dress and pigtails. I even wore white, knee-high socks that just reached the hem of my skirt.

"Well, it is time for me to go," Mother said, embracing Father. "I see Suzette is pulling up. Take care of yourself, darling."

Daddy embraced mother, and she planted two chaste kisses, one on each of his cheeks, her hands resting lightly on his hips. Then she broke away, snagging her blue, hard-sided suitcase in a tight grip.

"Take care, dear," Daddy said as she strode out.

"I will," she nodded.

Then she was marching out to Suzette Donnar's car, two other ladies already crowded into the Studebaker. They were off to the retreat. I should go, too. At eighteen I was old enough. But Mother didn't press it, and I wasn't about to volunteer. The Studebaker trundled off, the women off to their conference at the Millennium Biltmore in LA. I shuddered, watching them vanish.

And then Daddy handed me the silver dollar. I clutched the coin tight as he lifted my skirt, already tempted into sinning with me. I closed the door and shuddered as he pressed me up against it. He ripped down my panties and found me wet and dripping.

As Daddy fucked me, I imagined who we would have a threesome with tomorrow. Redheaded Donna Paxtor, the woman who I had spied Daddy fucking and led to my sexual awakening; the flirty Missy D, a busty brunette dancer at the Pink Velvet I had such a crush on; or another woman; blonde and busty Mrs. Carpenter, my Sunday School teacher; one of my teachers from school, like Miss Wendal, seduced at a parent/teacher conference; another housewife from church bored in her marriage; one of the eighteen-year-olds from church, girls who were no longer my friend because they knew the rumors of my schoolyard blowjobs; or someone I didn't even know. I knew Daddy had other lovers besides me and Donna Paxtor.

He was such a virile man. But he never revealed them to me. Just like he didn't reveal my existence to them.

As I came on Daddy's cock, such wonderful, wicked thoughts shot through my mind. What would it be like to have a threesome with another woman and Daddy? I had enjoyed Daddy and another man several times. Last Friday, at the Pink Velvet, I had Daddy in my pussy and Emmy, the club's owner, reaming my ass.

Emmy loved my asshole.

"Sinful harlot," Daddy grunted in my ear as he pulled out of me. "Mmm, you need to get ready for ministering tonight."

"Yes, Daddy," I shuddered. Tonight, I could leave in my go go dancer outfit. No changing to keep Mother from finding out. I loved being a wicked whore.

* * *

Dancing at the club helped to control my eagerness. Last night, I was too busy giving lap dances to be excited for tonight. I savored men squirting their cum into me as I writhed on them to the beat of the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Four Tones, the Turtles, and more. I had my best night, walking out with seventy-three dollars after Daddy's and Emmy's cut. I was so exhausted, I slept until noon.

And only then did my excitement really crash through me. Daddy was gone, heading to his office at Church preparing for Sunday's sermon--just because we were having a wild night with a woman didn't mean he couldn't slack on his duties as a preacher. He had a flock to lie to.

And I hoped his sermon was on the evils of homosexuality, particularly between women. I wanted to listen to it tomorrow while remembering the taste of my first female lover.

Since I had the house to myself, I put my record player on its loudest setting, the Beach Boys booming through the house as I did my chores, doing all of Mother's normal chores plus my own. I didn't even wear clothes. I was so wicked, running around the house naked, my large breasts bouncing and heaving.

I really wished someone had come to the door, a handsome man, maybe delivering a package or a salesman needing to please me to win a sale. My pussy grew so juicy with all those naughty possibilities when I wasn't thinking about licking a woman's pussy or sucking on her nipples.

Oh, I was so ready for tonight.

As evening approached, and my chores were finished, I readied myself for tonight's fun. I had a brand new outfit purchased. I bought a pair of silk, black panties that hugged my rear and cupped my pussy in sensual caresses. Then I had a new garter belt, dark-red with black laces, to hold up my first ever pair of thigh-high stockings. My bra was also black, with dark crimson lacing circling the cups and boning to lift my breasts into lush mounds. My dress was a sleek evening gown, red and tight, hugging my body like a sheath with a wonderful, low-cut bodice.

I showered then began my beauty regimen. I styled my hair into a wonderful, bouncing delight of blonde curls and applied my makeup. I had learned a lot from Missy D. Mother didn't believe in wearing much makeup. "Just enough to enhance what God has given you, and not to accentuate your features in selfish vanity like a cheap whore."

My lips were bright red, my eyeshadow dark, making my blue eyes pop. I rouged my cheeks, highlighting my cheekbones. I applied perfume, a dab on my wrists, on my neck, between my breasts, and a dab each on my inner thigh. And then I dressed, garter belt on first--Daddy suggested I wear my panties over my garter belt.

That way my thigh-highs didn't have to come off to remove my panties. It was so smart of Daddy.

Bra fastened, I pulled on my dress just as Daddy walked into the house, calling for me. I had the bathroom door opened, so I shouted back. He followed my voice and paused in the doorway as I adjusted my gown.

I smiled at him, turned away, and asked, "Zip me up?"

"You are radiant," he said as he stepped in and pulled up the zipper.

It rasped up so slowly. I shuddered, savoring the sound. I felt so grown up, a woman instead of a girl. I had a sexy dress and a sexy man to wear it for. He looked so sharp in his tuxedo. He had changed at church. I turned, staring at him and shivering at how handsome he was. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. Tonight was about more than me being a whore.

He was taking me an a date. It was almost like he was courting me. My heart fluttered as he offered me his arm. I walked with him through the house on my new heels. They were so high. It was so different to walk on them. They clicked and made my ass sway.

"This is going to be so much fun, Daddy," I purred. "Who is it? Who's the woman?"

He just gave me a smile. A mysterious smile.

"Ooh, you're having too much fun with this," I gasped. I smacked him playfully with my clutch purse, red to match my dress, another new purchase.

"I am," he said, his eyes falling down to my cleavage. "That is a daring dress you bought. Does your mother know you own it?"

"Of course not," I answered. "She doesn't look in my closet. You know that, Daddy. It's her way of saying she trusts me."

"How foolish of her."

"I know," I smiled. We reached the front door. "But if she didn't trust me, us, we would never have fun, would we?"

"Oh, I doubt your mother could ever keep your sinful body from tempting men."

"From tempting you."

He shuddered. "You are irresistible, Alexandra. You blossomed into a radiant flower. You draw men to you like a rose draws the honeybee."

"They smell my sinful aroma," I laughed, "and have to nuzzle into my petals and drink deeply."

"So deeply," he groaned, opening the door of our family Buick. I slid into the bench seat, the worn leather creaking. I was careful with my skirt, making sure it wasn't caught in the door as Daddy closed it. He moved around, slipping in from the other side.

I could see the bulge in his trousers.

I loved inspiring him into lust. I slid across the seat, cuddling against his arm as he started the car. The Buick was bought in the fifties, predating the new fad of seatbelts. Nothing restrained me from sitting next to Daddy as he backed the car out of our driveway.

"Can you at least tell me where we're going to meet this woman?" I asked.

"Sunset Tower Hotel," Daddy answered.

"Oh, that place is beautiful," I gasped. I had seen it before. It wasn't in the seedy part of the Sunset Strip, where the Velvet Club and Sunset Playhouse resided, but in the nice part. It was a large, white building rising up over the street, built in the twenties in the gorgeous Art Deco style. I always wanted to go in there. "Thank you, Daddy."

He patted my thigh as he nodded his head.

I bounced in excitement as we drove out of our suburb and into LA. Daddy navigated the traffic. I grew more and more excited, especially when I spotted the white exterior of the hotel rising above the city. The palm trees passed us as it grew closer and closer, larger and larger. I let out a girlish giggle as we pulled up front and a valet--an honest to goodness valet, just like in the movies--greeted us in his red jacket, white gloves on his hands.

"Good evening, Miss," he smiled, holding out a hand to help me out of the car. I took it, a huge smile on my lips as I stepped out before the hotel.

Daddy walked around the car. The valet handed Daddy a slip, then Daddy took my arm and we headed inside as the Buick was whisked away. The lobby was so beautiful. My head cast around, drinking in the marble floor and the decorations on the wall. It was so wonderful. I was here with Daddy.

"Thank you, thank you," I whispered on the walk to the front desk.

"Ah, good evening Madam and Sir," the concierge said, in a black jacket, white gloves on his hand. "And do you have a reservation with us?"

"Under Powell," Daddy said, his voice stern.

The man looked down at his book, finger scanning through the list of names. "Ah, yes, here you are. In one of our corner suites, room 1502."

I took in the beauty of the lobby and the glamor of the guests as Daddy signed the guest book and did all the other stuff. Then we had our key, and Daddy escorted me to the elevator. I giggled nervously when the elevator lurched up, leaning against Daddy. I had never ridden one before. I could feel it moving around us, my stomach sinking.

"It's okay," Daddy whispered as I leaned against him.

He was so wonderful.

We reached the fifteenth floor, and Daddy navigated us to our room. He opened the door. It was lovely. There was a small living room, complete with a couch and love seat, beautiful paintings on the wall, a dish of potpourri on the marble coffee table. Daddy swept me through it to the bedroom. A four poster bed dominated the room, wood dark mahogany, the cover pale cream.

Daddy didn't lead me to the bed, but to the closet. It had louvered slats. He yanked it open, revealing an empty space, wire coat hangers ready to be used, hanging from a wooden bar.

"You'll wait in here," Daddy said, pushing me in. "Watching, hearing. I'm going to make love to her first."

My eyes widened. "She doesn't know I'm here."

Daddy shook his head, a large smile on his lips. "Once I finish, you'll come out and enjoy her. She'll be blindfolded and helpless. I'll be watching. Make love to her. Seduce her. Show her how much you love her body, but don't let her know who you are until she's orgasmed at least once."

"Oh, that's so wicked, Daddy," I groaned. "So I do know her?"

He nodded his head.

"It's Miss Wendal, isn't it," I gasped, picturing my lovely History teacher, a black-haired, doll-faced beauty with blue eyes and lush breasts that always stretched her blouse and had all the boys, and me, drooling. "I knew it. She'll be so shocked to learn her student licked her pussy."

Daddy gave me a big grin.

"Or is it Mrs. Carpenter from Church?" She was an elegant, older woman, Mother's age, who taught me Sunday School as a child. She had dark-blonde hair as fine as cornsilk. "You seduced her, didn't you?"

"She is full of sin," he admitted as he closed the door. "Our paramour will be here soon. Be quiet. Don't let her know you're here."

He closed the closet doors. It was dark. With the louvers slanted down, not much light spilled in from the bedroom. I peered through the slats, but it was hard to see a complete picture through them, and I could only see half of the bed's surface.

I trembled, my pussy growing hotter and hotter as my heart beat quickened. I was in the dark, waiting to sin again. It was just like my seduction of Daddy at church. Back then I had tried to be anonymous, to not let him know that he was about to have sex with his daughter. I hid in the dark baptismal changing room, positioning myself so the light spilling in from the hallway wouldn't fall on me. All so Daddy wouldn't know he was about to fuck his daughter.

And now I got to do it again. Ooh, I hoped it was Mrs. Carpenter or Miss Wendal or Donna Paxtor or Middy D or our neighbor Mrs. Yancy or Carolyn. Ooh, it would be so hot to be Carolyn. She was the girl who stole my boyfriend because she would put out and I, at the time, wouldn't.

I would love to make it with Carolyn.

But does Daddy even know her? Carolyn doesn't attend our church since she was a Lutheran.

My thoughts raced. I had no idea how long I had been in here waiting, soaking my panties. Was it only a few minutes or close to an hour? I trembled, my heart beating so fast. I squirmed, my hips writhing back and forth, my nylons whisking together as I pressed my legs tight, trying to contain my excitement.

Where was she? I was so eager for tonight. I glanced at the open doorway. I could hear Daddy in the sitting room, shifting on the couch, waiting for our paramour to arrive. I almost prayed to God to hurry her along, but I doubt he would approve of our activity tonight.

And then there was the knock at the door, loud, confident. Bold.

The woman had arrived.

A hot shudder rippled through my body. I almost moaned aloud. I trembled, my heart thudding in my chest as Daddy stood and walked across the hotel room, his footsteps soft on the carpet. My senses were so heightened in the closet, hearing every noise. The doorknob twisted.

"You are late," Daddy said.

"I had trouble getting away," a flirty voice purred. I tried to picture the owner. She sounded so sexy and confident. Clearly a married woman, sneaking off from her husband and family, a whore needing the hunky preacher to fuck her, luring another married man into sin.

My hands rubbed at my skirt over my thighs, my body trembling as I listened to their kiss. Hot and passionate. I knew there was tongue involved. I pictured the woman plastered to Daddy, arms tight about his neck. I could hear her moans, hear the rustle of their clothing. She writhed, grinding on him. Was his hands on her ass?

Yes.

I pictured a round, curving ass. His hands kneaded her, pulling her tight into his bulge. My pussy clenched again. Rushes of heat shot through me. I leaned against the closet door, breathing heavily, my large breasts feeling constrained in my clothing.

Why was I even wearing the dress? I should have taken it off. The woman would be blindfolded. The dress was for Daddy. He had seen it already. I should be naked and ready to have fun. As they kissed, I reached behind me, straining to grasp the zipper. My arm twisted. I groaned, glad they were still kissing and moaning and not hearing my grunts. I snagged the zipper.

It rasped as I pulled it down. My dress fell loose as Daddy and the woman broke their kiss. I wiggled my hips, and it fell to a puddle around my legs. My hands rubbed at my naked belly, sliding up to my breasts, cupping them through my bra as Daddy and the mystery woman came into the room.