She's a Slut

“Bob, can I talk to you?”

This was my step-daughter, Katie, the night I found out for sure that she knew what was going on. She’d still come to visit on occasion, even though she didn’t have to anymore. She was sitting across from me on the couch, wearing sandals, white shorts that covered almost nothing and a pink t-shirt that was pulled way too tight across her chest. When she asked me this I wasn’t really expecting what came out, but I had always been her sounding board and I didn’t see any reason to not be this time. “Sure,” I said, “you know you can. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s about Mom, and you I guess. You’ve been together a long time.”

She was talking slowly, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to really speak the words, so I listened patiently, waiting for her to find her own way to the point.

“I remember that I started coming here when I was very young. I guess I was only two or three years old. You were very good to me and you did all the things my real dad wouldn’t. You’re still good to me, even now that I’m all grown up.”

I thought she was leading up to a big ‘Thank you’, or maybe laying the groundwork to ask for some favor that she needed. Then she must have made up her mind to just spit it out. It floored me when she said, “She’s a slut. And you know it, don’t you?”

Yes, I knew it. I had known it for a long time. I just hadn’t been sure that Katie knew it. She was talking about her mother, Kathy, of course. I had never talked bad about her mother to Katie, but I knew. I had met Kathy one spring day and fell for her the first time I looked into her sparkling blue eyes. Kathy was a beautiful, dark-haired woman of twenty-four when I met her. Everything about her drew me to her and I had to have her. I was thirty-two and had been married before. My first marriage was horrible and I had vowed never to marry again. It had been almost ten years since the end of that first marriage and I’d thought I had it beat. I was single, had a decent job, a nice home and went out frequently. I’m a fairly good-looking guy and I can be fun and interesting when I want to be, so I had more than my share of dating partners. Without even thinking hard I can recall there being six or seven women that I dated, and fucked, on a regular basis. It was a time in my life when there wasn’t any one special woman. Most of them dated other people too. We all knew and we were all fine with it. It wasn’t cheating because none of us had any claims on any of the others. I wasn’t looking for someone new and, since I was getting more than my share, I wasn’t really looking for sex. Still, I had to have her. It was like I was under a spell.

When I met her she was with her boyfriend, but in less than a month I had taken her away from him. He took it really hard and for most of the summer he kept trying to get her to come back to him. He finally gave up though and left us alone. Now, I still had memories of my first marriage haunting me and I wouldn’t consider even talking about a second one. We lived together for three years before I finally softened up and we got married after all. During those three years she treated me like a king. She seemed so perfect. She kept the house spotlessly clean, but never complained if I made a mess with one of my many hobbies. She was a wonderful cook and always had supper on the table when I got home. She didn’t mind me having friends over, even if we stayed up all night playing cards or whatever. You name it, she could do it well, and with a smile on her face.

The sex was great, too. So good, in fact, and plentiful, that I didn’t feel I had lost a thing when I broke the news to all my old girlfriends that I was no longer available. Any time, anywhere, day or night, I could start with her and she would just drop whatever she was doing and fuck me silly for as long as I wanted. Sometimes I would be laying on the couch, watching some show on TV and she would come into the living room, sit on the floor next to me, take out my cock and give me a mind-blowing blow job, just because she thought I could use one. She never refused me anything. If I said, “Babe, leave the dishes for a while and come in here. I want to fuck your ass”, she would do just that. She’d wipe her hands, pull her clothes off and happily present her ass to me, ready to be fucked. We did it every way a man and woman can do it, in every room of the house, out in the back yard, in the park, in the men’s room at restaurants. Unless we were going out or expecting company she would be dressed only in a satin nightie that stopped just below her bush. If I wanted to I could just step up to her, raise it a couple of inches and push my rod in, or walk up behind her and bend her over to fuck her from behind. She had lots of them and she looked damned good in them. Nothing I asked of her was beyond reason. One night I tied her hands and feet to the railings on our brass bed and had my way with her for hours. She loved it and it became a regular thing with us. One afternoon I ate her pussy and fucked her while she talked on the phone with her mother.

I haven’t told you what she looked like. She still looks good today, twenty years later, but back then she was all that, and more. Go back those twenty years. At twenty-four, she’s five foot nine and weighs 130 pounds. Her hair is brown, but it’s so dark you’d easily mistake it for black, with a natural waviness to it. When it was short those waves became curls and I told her she reminded me of Betty Boop. She has what they call a widow’s peak, but usually you can’t see it because she most often wears her hair with bangs down to her eye brows. She’s got the clearest deep-blue eyes that I’ve ever seen. Her lips make you want to beg her for a kiss. Her tits stand up proudly and are topped with tanned circles a little bigger than a quarter. They’re 36-C and easily excitable. There’s a gentle curve in at her waist, then her hips flare out suddenly full and round. Her legs are long and fleshy, not flabby, but firm and well-muscled with just enough of a layer of fat to make them smooth and tasty-looking. Her ass is big enough to be a nice cushion when you’re fucking her from behind, but if there’s anything extra there I never found it. Her pussy is the kind that looks neat and all tucked in. To see her inner lips you have to pry it open and it’s covered in a thick curly bush of dense, dark fur. To look at her is to want her. I know. It happened to me and I saw how other men’s eyes followed her wherever we went. They could be sitting at dinner, talking to someone across the table and just forget to finish a sentence while they watched her ass as she crossed the room. I’ve even seen guys with their hands up some gal’s skirt freeze where they were and watch her pass by. Yeah, my Kathy was drop dead gorgeous by anyone’s standards, and she was all mine.

Anyway, she was until I married her. I guess then she knew she had won and moved on to other challenges. I started getting lots of hang-up calls at all hours and finding little slips of paper with phone numbers and guys’ names on them. She had to work late two or three nights each week, but the extra hours didn’t show on her paychecks. We hadn’t been married three months the first time she stayed out all night. Those of you who’ve lived it know what I’m talking about. I knew. For some reason though, I didn’t want to admit that I knew, not even to myself. When she was home she still made life so good for me that I guess I just didn’t want to give it up. The one time that I did she tried to turn it around and make me out to be the villain. She said that I just wanted her to be my cook, my maid, my baby-sitter and my sex toy. She said that I didn’t really care about her, I just wanted a slave. She left me for most of a month and I was miserable while she was gone. I was still with her almost twenty years later when I heard Katie, her own daughter, call her a slut.

Let me tell you about Katie. I met her shortly after I met Kathy. She was two years old and the cutest little girl I’d ever seen. She got her auburn hair from her grandmother and she was a big ball of excitement. Everything made her giggle and she couldn’t sit still for a minute. She was from Kathy’s first marriage and we picked her up every other weekend and the Wednesdays in between. She would talk non-stop all the way home, telling about the things she had done since she’d last seen us. We played games together and watched cartoons together, her leaning over the arm of my chair with her head resting on her hands while her little ass wiggled back and forth because she had so much energy to get rid of. We took her to the park to swing and to amusement parks to ride rides. As she grew up she took dancing lessons and tumbling, she was a cheerleader from middle school through graduation. She was a Girl Scout and a volunteer worker at her church’s many functions. If it’s out there for a girl to do, she did it, and she did it well. I watched her grow up from that little butterball that she was when I met her into the mouth-watering beauty who was talking to me that night. During those years we got to be buddies. When we had gone to the park, I was the one who pushed the swing. I rode the rides with her at the amusement parks. I was the one who went to her dance recitals and ball games and helped her sell her cookies and all the things that dad is supposed to do. I heard about all her crushes and boyfriends. I helped her with school work when she got stuck on something. She was the little girl I never had, but she never called me Dad. I was always just Bob, right from the start and all the way up to today.

She was five when I married her mom and before she was six she was spending a lot of time with me on those weekend visits because her mom was ‘working late again’ or had to go ‘visit a friend’ or whatever. I guess Katie played a bigger part than I realized in why I never left her mom. Katie’s real dad paid for most of the activities she was involved in, but he often wasn’t the one who took her there and picked her up, or showed up for her special nights. Too often her mom had other things to do; things that little girls and husbands weren’t invited to. If I left her mom, where would that leave Katie and what would I do without my little girl? I don’t know that I ever really thought about it that way, but I know I looked forward to seeing her on those weekends and I missed her as much as I missed her mother during that month that we were apart.

Now, Katie is all grown up. She’s not her mother made over, she’s her mother made better. She’s self-reliant, beautiful, keeps a job, has her own home and pays her bills. She has her mother’s eyes and her figure, but her auburn hair and rosy cheeks mark her as her own woman. She still doesn’t sit in one place for long, but now and then she’ll watch a movie with me. For some reason she still comes to visit, even though she knows that, as often as not, Mom won’t be here. Maybe I did something right. But, back to the question at hand.

I said, “Yes, I know it. You’re right. She’s out with somebody right now and I don’t expect her home till late tomorrow, or maybe even the next day.”

“Well, why do you put up with it? Why don’t you throw her out? It can’t be good for you to live this way.” Then she sat there with that look in her eye that says I can’t give her some flip answer. She wants something honest and true.

For a minute I don’t say anything. I finally answer her with another question. I say, “Then what, Katie? What am I supposed to do with myself after that? I’m not the young stud that I was when I met her. I can’t just go out and find someone to take her place. It’s not that I have to have someone to cook and clean for me; I can do that and I have been for a while already. And I don’t need sex five times a day like I used to, goodness knows that I don’t get that anymore anyway, but I do need it. I don’t know, maybe it’s time. I’ll have to think about for a while.”

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes and then Katie said to me in a voice just a little above a whisper, “Well, think about this. If you do, you’ll be better off. I hate the way she’s treated you, you don’t deserve it. She’s my Mom, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see her for what she is. You deserve someone who’ll be good to you.” Her voice picked up a little bit as she went on to say, “If you do, I’ll come by at least once a week to help you clean and I’ll do your laundry while I’m here. If you want I’ll even cook and make you up plates and put them in the freezer, so you can just stick them in the microwave when you want them. I’ll even take care of all the rest, but only if she’s not here.”

I said, “What?” I thought I’d heard an offer and I couldn’t believe that she meant it the way I took it. “What do you mean, ‘all the rest’? ”

When she answered, she wasn’t looking at me, her head was down and her voice went back to that almost whisper. “I mean what you think I mean. I want to take care of you, all of you. And I know what that means; I’m not a virgin. I’ve had boyfriends, lots of them. Sometimes I get aggravated because the guys just won’t leave me alone. I know I’m pretty because they’re always hitting on me. When I’m out with other girls I’ve noticed that I’m the one that the guys watch and I’m the one that they approach first. You know I’ve never had to buy my own drinks? Not one, there’s always someone who will offer to buy them for me. I’ve been able to pick and choose. The other girls have always been jealous of me. But none of my boyfriends ever measured up to the standards I set for them.” Then she raised her head and looked me in the eyes as she said, “You’re the standard. I’ve seen it almost all of my life. I’ve always thought you were handsome and sexy. I used to watch you cut the grass with your shirt off, sweat running down your back and your chest, and imagine what it would be like to rub my hands in it. I saw the way you’d look at Mom sometimes and the front of your jeans would swell up. I wished that it was me that made you that way, and I wished it was me that you were going to use it on. I saw the way you were devoted to Mom, even when she didn’t deserve it. I saw how you stayed here and took care of me when she was out with some guy. I used to hear the two of you when you thought I was asleep. When I was little I asked Mom about the sounds I heard and she said not to worry, it was just something grown-ups do to have fun. When I was a teenager I knew what I was hearing and sometimes I would stand with my ear pressed up against your bedroom door and listen for the thrill of it, with my hand in my underwear. When I grew up and had boyfriends of my own I wanted it to feel so good that I would make those sounds myself. But you know what? None of my boyfriends ever made me feel that way. None of them ever made me want to make those sounds or say the words that I heard coming out of your bedroom. And I want that. I want you to give that to me and in return I’ll give you anything and everything that you want from me.”

I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? I said the first stupid thing that came out of my mouth. “Katie, you don’t mean that. You don’t want an old man like me. I’m more than twice your age. There’s someone out there for you if you just keep your eyes open.”

She sounded a little angry when she shot back at me, “Don’t say that. You’re not that old and I do mean it.” As she was saying this she came over to me and leaned down to hug me. She buried her face in my shoulder and said, “Am I not good enough for you? Am I not as pretty or as sexy as Mom? Why don’t you want me?”

I hugged her back and let her ease down until she was sitting in my lap. I brushed her hair out of her face and said, “That’s not it, Katie. You’re more than pretty; you’re beautiful. And you’re sexy, too. Your mom’s got nothing on you, neither does anyone else.” While I was saying all this I was coming to the realization that it was all too true. I also realized that she was having an effect on me, sitting in my lap with her breasts pressing into my chest. If I bent my head down just a little I could have kissed them, and I wanted to. Her ass felt so good pressing down on my groin. I had one arm around her, holding her side, and my other hand was on her tight, flat belly.

“Well, then, what is it? Why don’t you want me? I’ve wanted you so long.”

As soon as she asked it, I knew that I did want her and I told her so. “Katie, I want you. I’m just not sure I should have you. I want to taste your lips and feel your bare skin under my fingertips. I want to do all the things you want me to do, and more.”

She said, “Then taste,” and she bent down and kissed me and I was lost, “and feel,” and she pulled my hand up under her t-shirt. I felt like I had come alive again after being not alive for a long time. My head spun as I continued the movement she had initiated. I pushed my hand up higher and pushed her bra out of the way so I could cup her breast. I knew as soon as I had it in my hand that it was larger and firmer than her mother’s had ever been, and the nipple was standing out in excitement. I kissed her again and she squirmed in my lap, as though she was trying to find my hardness beneath her. She did find it and she started slowly rocking back and forth on it as it got harder still. She opened her legs and reached down between them to fondle me. She stroked my shaft through my pants and cupped my balls and moaned into my mouth. “, and do those things to me,” she said, as she parted her lips from mine.

All of my arguments were forgotten. I knew that I was going to have her, had to have her. In all those years I had never cheated, but now I was going to, and with the one woman in all the world that I shouldn’t have had in the first place, my wife’s only daughter. When she started lifting her t-shirt I ran my hands up her sides and helped her get it off. I reached behind her and snapped her bra fastener with a quick flick of the fingers on one hand, while the other took a firm grip on her breast. She pulled her bra away and flung it on the floor with her T-shirt and I saw her globes for the first time. The last time I had seen her without a shirt she had been as flat-chested as a little boy. Now she was all woman and she put her hands under them and lifted them up, as if for my inspection. I feasted my eyes on these glorious mounds and then I feasted for real. She pressed one, then the other, into my eager mouth and I sucked and licked and kissed them like a fifteen year old boy. I couldn’t get enough. As I lapped at her milky white tits I remembered that it had been me that first noticed when it was time for her to start wearing a bra. I had seen her jumping rope on the front porch and noticed that there was a little bounce going on beneath her shirt. Her mother didn’t have time for that either, so a few weeks later I gave up waiting for her and took Katie to the store myself. I had to get a lady to take her into the fitting room and help her find out what size to get. Now I marveled at what that little bounce had turned into as I sucked happily on one hardened nipple, then the other.

Katie had returned her hand to my lap and was again stroking me through my pants. I could feel my pulse beating in my hardened cock and then I felt cool air as she pulled the zipper down to get it out. She reached inside and rubbed my balls, then took a firm grip on my shaft. She stroked it a couple of times before she pulled it free of my pants into the open air, then she pressed it against her crotch and started rocking in my lap. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes to enjoy the sensations. I felt a tugging and realized that Katie was trying to get my shirt off, so I helped her. She slid off of my lap to kneel between my legs and started working at my belt buckle. When she got it unfastened I stood up and let her slide them down my legs, then I stepped out of them. Her eyes were fixed on my red, throbbing cock with its one glistening eye pointed at her.