Rewarding Dad

I'm not out to make a distinction here. I enjoyed what I did and that's enough.

Of course, titillating circumstances contributed much to my sexual development. It punctuated my life with honest pride, in which later, I found myself absorbed. Yet, five fabulous years of reckless wallowing in the mud can make even a pig like me feel bloated, full.

What else can a number of men offer but his cock? Whether rigid, stout, massive or long, it remains their first instrument of choice for instant pleasures. But when it becomes limp, everything else vanishes with it. So that eventually, I sought once more what I cherished before—the warmth, sincerity, and comfort of my father's love—true, honest, and real no matter how we endured.

You see, I had an intimate relationship with my dad, which turned complicated. I was not expecting others to understand it, corrupting our situation with their malicious minds, waggling their dirty fingers at our brief, wonderful love affair. I guess I was either too naïve or just dumb, or simply stupid at the time...

"Honey, will you drive Tia to school? I'm late for my appointment!" shrieked Rona, my mother, already on her way to the garage, adding kindling to the tempest in my flesh. It was only 5:30 in the morning when I heard her called my dad. I had a restless sleep, rolling anxious in bed, aroused and dreamy, half-naked in a sheer chemise. My hands kept sliding between the inner smoothness of my thighs, my fingers inserted deep in my pussy hoping to calm the wet excitement oozing so hot and sticky inside.

My breasts shook proud, engorged with the heat of my lust this early in the morning as I rubbed myself vigorously. My nipples popped out, indecent and puffy while my fingers traced and squeezed the pointed succulence of my tits—ooh, so silky and warm!—yearning for a lover's greedy mouth. Cradling the roundness of both, I crushed the velvety softness hard against my arms, gasping at the tingling pleasures at the hardened tips.

I stood up, feverish, catching my breath. I inhaled deep. I can't wait any longer—my wetness raged, smouldering in my pussy. My luscious tits bobbed, felt wicked and vulgar in my flimsy dress, waiting for someone's lips to slurp and gobble up each mouthful, to suck and nibble its ample globes. In a rush, as I made sure I heard Mom starting her car—and without bothering to change my clothes or check how I looked—I went downstairs.

I found my dad sitting at breakfast in the kitchen nook and yelled also, "I'm late, too, Dad!" surprising him. I mimicked Mom, shouting for her benefit so she will not suspect. I kissed my father, unmindful of my nakedness bared in the sheer night dress falling off one shoulder, and allowed him to see my sexual cravings already bursting in the yielding warmth of my flesh.

My father laughed, and kissed me also on the cheeks. But without hesitation, pulled me closer and embraced me tight as our lips met—our tongues ravenous—entwining, licking the heat of our lusts within. I sat astride on his lap at once and felt little prodding eruptions tickling my whole body, his hands groping free all over me—pulling, squeezing, stroking further under my chemise the fire already ablaze within me before I went downstairs. Our warm breaths merged in every excited exhalation, eager and wanting as always for the touch of each other's skin.

Oh, how I love my father! His natural scent mixed with the aroma of fresh ground coffee, blended with the earthy scent of raw clay and glaze paints he used in his studio—his muscles, strong, firm, and tireless after long hours of moulding, shaping earthenware—excited me anytime I'm with him. Long-haired in casual dreads and often in baggy clothes—a loose rock t-shirt and faded shorts with his bright orange crocks, his favourites—he's an artist so open and candid with me, treating me more like a bestfriend without any pretentions, excuses, or show of parental authority—especially, when we're together alone.

"Hey, baby, what's up...," he muttered in my ears, while I pushed myself down on his lap in a circular rhythm, testing his arousal, teasing his cock, glancing in a hurry where Rona could be. I felt Dad's cock hardened. Elongated more, as I moaned delighted, kissing his neck. "You're so hot and wet like your pussy, Tia," he whispered, and fingered me slow and deliberate. His strong large fingers wriggled gently between the lips, seeking deeper the slippery warmth raging inside, opening my thighs wide as I quivered involuntarily in ecstatic pleasures.

A tremor so sweet and exciting jolted and seized me, permitting my father to fondle and feel with abandon the simmering lust in my wet pussy. His fingers stroked the fat lips, while his large thumb pressed and tickled lightly the uncontrollable excitement wrapping my moist clit. His mouth, like a suction cup, gripped my breasts one at a time—alternating, swallowing, igniting the purest pleasures provoking my indecent moans.

"Oohmm, Dad—Daad, oohh!" He sucked my tits, my nipples; his lips and tongue tasting, tickling, teasing the luscious plumpness of each. I gasped, giggled loud, and squirmed. My hips trembled and I let go, gyrating, mashing my naked pussy on his cock, digging it free from his shorts as soon as we heard Mom's car zoomed out of the driveway.

I was no longer a virgin, to my dad's consternations, shock, and regret when we first fucked. I was eighteen when it happened and became his captured and obedient beloved pet, although he did not expect it to be so, even if he wanted me that much. I guess I was in love with him all this time, and our feelings were mutual.

We kept a discreet agreement between us, unspoken and erotic, yet clear and certain as my alluring sexuality betrayed its raging peak. Often, I would find him staring at me, eyeing my body where I sat in my skimpiest shorts and shredded tank top. My choice of clothes around him whenever we're left alone in the house, allowing him a peek at the lips of my pussy, the bountiful swells of my breasts, the luscious bounce of my butt. He knew I don't wear any undies, especially when Mom was out.

It's my costume of seduction, enjoying the torrid temptation no matter what small opportunity found us alone anywhere in the house. Blossoming at eighteen, I was a sexually active woman-child, a nymph cavorting with my dirty desires glimpsed in my passionate, innocent eyes—my full lips wild and pouting, begging for his attention and love.

I was confident Rona will not catch or notice us, either with Dad stroking my pussy in the car or sucking and mashing my tits behind the door. Or me, giving him a blowjob under the table or when we both hide, fucking, bent in the laundry room, wherever and whenever a chance came up.

"Am I beautiful, Dad?" I asked him often, flirting with him, fingers caressing his face, loving every moment we shared, demanding his devotion reserved only to me—wanting him, watching him, wooing him—often jealous of my Mom.

I tore off my night dress and shoved the softness of my aching tits in his face again, the delectable mounds brushing, melting against his greedy lapping lips. His cock enlarged some more, elongated further, then glided its full length and rigid mass inside my hot slippery pussy. I felt his massive cock tore open my hole, entered and pounded my pussy without hesitation or regard for my youth or delicate beauty, sending torrents of prickly shivers in my flesh—a thrilling sensation I only felt with him, always.

"I want you, Dad...," I whispered, bucking on his lap, licking his ears; my pussy pushed down in slow pumping motion on his cock with all my weight. "You're on my mind all night, Dad—you know, caressing me, loving me—oohh, oohh!!" I said, moaning with the electrifying heat of pleasures coursing through my flesh, nibbling his face as his initial hesitation with Mom catching us doused off quickly.

Dad was aware I was already immersed in my wanton eagerness even before he ate me for breakfast. To secretly fuck during breakfast before he drives me off to school was a shared habit— knocking me out of my mind with wicked ecstasy—if Mom was out, like today. We did it right beside the breakfast table, amidst the clutter of plates, glasses, cups, fruits and food. Dad devoured me, eating me in a lazy deliberate way, pouring honey on the jutting cones of my breasts—laughing and smirking as my body shuddered, tickled—massaging and stroking my fiery desires with his mouth and lips.

We kissed, long and languorous while he quickly lifted and fondled my breasts, squeezing both. He milked the pointed nipples with his large strong hands, moulding and kneading hard the globes in circular motions along its tips—my pussy wobbled, folded and dripped in uninhibited wetness, rubbing in anxious rhythm against his hairy crotch—his cock thumping inside me up to the hilt in a deliberate, naughty tickle.

He grabbed my hands with a sudden forceful jerk, steadying my body. My arms stretched on my sides, my shoulders straight—bobbing out my breasts, bared obscenely in his face. He burrowed greedily again, his face squashing my tits, harsh and wild with savage abandon. Like an obedient servant, I obliged my master—a strict, demanding teacher to an adoring pupil—his rigid cock pumping upwards, relentless, ravaging my youth, fucking my innocence to shreds with brutal pleasures of carnal madness.

I felt his cock sliding in and out inside me, hard and massive in length and girt, pushing deeper in each eager stroke, separating wide my quivering hole...The tickling sensation growing stronger and powerful, the mounting pleasures trembling in my flesh—my body quivered from the top of my head to my toes. I can no longer delay the swelling delirious thrills.

My legs kicked out. I wriggled—a captive, simmering animal unable to escape the excitement of lascivious delights. My head bounced back, my body tipped away from him, my whole being shuddering in shameless spasms. His massive erection pumped continuous and jabbed upwards deep inside the soft, warm hole of my pussy—the smacking, sloshing, slushy rhythm of our union our lusty music in the kitchen nook—as I squeezed his cock, too, his face contorting in a smirk of pleasures surging within him.

It was a trick I probably inherited from Mom. Thrilled to hone it later in school—cutting bananas and breaking raw eggs with my sorority pals—then practiced it alone with my sex toys and wanton experiences with strangers, boyfriends, and a handful of lucky profs. But I still have to try opening a beer bottle, though I think, it would be much later.

Dad treated me as his whore whenever we fucked, his forbidden bitch in the house, his lovable toy and pet, excited to rape me each time. The cruel, almost violent manner with which he fucked me chilled my flesh, terrified my senses, humiliated my being, tore my values and discarded my morality, reducing me to an unspeakable creature of carnal delights—and yet, I glowed with it—I loved it!

I enjoyed fucking my father too much. After all, I am a dirty slut as I rode his cock while he bucked like a horse, counter pounding his heavy upward thrusts each time. I started to slobber, whimpering—a moaning, quivering slave of his pleasures on the verge of losing my sanity. The bursts of delicious ripples gushed out spreading wild in my trembling body, coming one after the other in successive, explosive force.

"Dad...Oh, Daddy—oohh, oohmm!!" I cooed, and showered his face and neck with lewd wet kisses. My fingers gripped him tight, clawing his arms as I wilted at the onset of my squirting series of eruptions. I felt my body convulsed, arching wild backwards while he held my arms—the heat of youthful, reckless arousals overwhelmed me early—spraying his body with my juice.

My orgasms came in copious sprays—splashing his belly and thighs with cum, if not his face. I screamed, bounced hard, trembled and exploded again, and again—a playful sprinkler showering both of us with the warmth of our love.

"You're so gorgeous, baby...Oh, you're so beautiful!" my dad whispered. "Lucky is the man who'll pluck your heart away from me, Tia," he continued, trying to hush the tremor in my still quivering flesh, my pussy gripping hard his cock, forcing ejaculation. He exploded outside my body as we both laughed and giggled hard like kids under the stairs. His cock jerked on its own, shooting his hot fluids on my breasts, belly, and thighs.

I know I cannot control my seductive provocations any more than I can hide my love for my father. It wasn't animal lust or immoral desires but more of an innocent passion, an admiration where I find my dad not only attractive but also possessing the physical good looks and sensuous, tender behaviours I wanted and adored in a man. Add to this his sexual expertise, his sincerity and honesty—caring, loving attitudes expressed before, during, and after violent sex—which I enjoyed very much with intense pleasures, that I extended and hid from everyone our secret unions.

My mother, unfortunately, was deeply inhibited, if not conservative. The fact that I was the only child attested to her cold, weary interest in sex. Although ironic and truth of the matter is, my father met her when she worked as massage attendant in one of the prostitution dens posing as spas. For whatever reason unknown to me and not privy to, Rona lost her appetite for sex, and made life open and exciting for me and my father, allowing us to enjoy our forbidden relationship.

Suffice it to say my dad and I communicated on an emotional and physical level, understanding one another by mere hints and glances—where no words or explanations were necessary or required. We plunged into the depths of our desires without fear, hesitation or inhibitions or doubtful disgust. We enjoyed ourselves and did what we most liked—proud, open, naked and childlike—without guilt and thrilled beyond ourselves no matter how trivial or brutal our wishes and demands. Dad made me feel always young and fragile, even innocent at my naughty age, yet at par with him—tireless, energetic, and full of enthusiasm, loving every moment we shared.

Still, I knew he approached and avoided our delicate familial relationship with extreme care and a father's cautious control. Later, both through safe sex and moral accounting of my selfish behaviour, he kept me responsible and obedient at arm's distance.

I kept bugging him though, not contented with just his fingers, lips, and tongue, which did the enviable duties of satisfying my wants from boobs to cunt in some small portions. He's there for me, always at my command, services, and lascivious pleas—seducing him for long vigorous fucks at the most suitable time.

Thus, he went about his obligations and chores as father and house husband, and managed to pursue his craft. He creates arty ceramic wares, and sells them online. This kept him indoors most of the time—and since I was a precious only child—gave me more intimate hours with him than with Mom.

Now don't think I encouraged this, as any illicit affair in erotic stories and porn flicks tend to happen and unfold. No, though my secret indulgences with my father were stoked by circumstances brought by some free time we enjoyed together, in and outside the house...

"Oh, Dad...We should do this often," I whispered hot in his ear once, breathing hard, still crumpled in the seat of the car, half-naked with my school uniform strewn on the seats and floor. We were parked in the shades a few meters from my school—a strict coeducation Christian college where I was enrolled in Mass Communication.

I gave him a long wonderful blowjob as we drove from house to school, passing through deserted side streets and vacant back lots, and then I fucked him, as we parked. I got dressed as best as I could, and with a wet kiss, winked at him and mooned, my twin cheeks naked under the long skirt of my school uniform, both of us laughing and lolling our tongues out with malicious promises of doing it again.

This arrangement between us felt too good to last, as I was always anxious to find any free time we can have together anywhere. I had no qualm at all doing it in public. In fact, it seems the presence of people and the danger it posed for us to be discovered excited me more. There was not an instance we did it in a public place that I wasn't dripping wet or ablaze with the heat of my arousals, teasing and prodding my father to fuck me hard.

"My god, baby—take it easy...There are—ooh, people—uuhh!" he whispered one time, nervous as he tried to warn me, terrified we might get caught. I pulled his pants down as soon as we got inside the old service lift at the back of the school museum on our way to a ceramics exhibit, pushed the buttons for the top floor and flicked the express switch on. I masturbated him, prepared him for a blowjob inside the slow-moving elevator while it climbed to the gallery on the top floor.

The door opened and we heard voices along the corridors. Dad's reaction was quick as he jammed his hands on the elevator buttons sending us back down. His cock slipped in the 'O' of my wet lips, sliding in and out as I savoured and felt all the curls and knots of the veins livid in the long, massive stem. His eyes rolled in nervous anticipation.

I teased his cock, licked the edges of the crown. My lips played along its smooth bald head, and tongued the slit with rapid flicks, squeezing it open at the tip. "What if the elevator—oohh, opened suddenly—ahh, shit!" he said, grabbing my head, unable to stop me as his legs folded and jerked. I was already on my knees and his cock inside my slurping, sucking mouth—the obscene familiar sounds soaking the emptiness of the descending lift.

I giggled, wiping his cum off my face and mouth. His explosions sprayed my face and hair with hot thick semen as he held my shoulders trying to free his cock from the tight grip of my mouth. "Relax, Daddy...," I said, "We can always go up if we ran out of floors." I climbed on top of him standing up, edging his cock inside me without any assistance from my hands. I sensed the elevator moving up again.

My pussy opened and gobbled the head of his cock still swollen and rigid after his furious ejaculations, and slid the length all the way through with my weight pressing down on him. We fucked fast, humped with eagerness as if it was our first time.

Dad braced me against the wall of the moving elevator, and crushed my pussy and tits like a rapist so overjoyed at the opportunity of finding a lovely teen like me alone in the lift. His cock banged hard inside me, pounding, squashing the wetness in my hole with every jerk and jab as he pulled and squeezed my tits. And true to my estimates, my delirious screams died down before we reached the basement parking lot. We missed the exhibit, attempting for the fourth time.

In these delicious short spurts of sexual amusements, my mother, Rona, never once suspected why I would sometimes insist on staying home rather than go with her shopping, even if the promise was a new dress or a pair of shoes. Maybe it was because my dad tried to indulge my mom also, doing his duties when she required or whenever time allowed.

Rona's business schedules as salesperson in a kitchenware company sometimes kept her busy, coming home late, spent and tired, which did not allow Dad to perform his obligations for her in bed—or maybe, consummate his own sexual needs, too, each night. But my mother was a beautiful woman, conscious of her body and sexual appeal, though she abruptly stopped thinking of having another child as soon as I was born.

Still I believe even to this day there were other unforeseen factors—call it coincidences or divine providence or preordainments that contributed, if not facilitated, my clandestine affair with my father—and therefore, felt it was really meant to happen anyway.