Trade Agreements

I am one horny bitch...Always have been. Since I first passed puberty, I'm hyper aware of my environment and observe everything related to sex, whether from a recreative or a procreative standpoint. If there are cocks or pussies in the room, my mind overflows with libidinous scenarios and as a result, I become withdrawn. Most people, including my husband and my parents think I'm introspective. I'm not. I'm simply protecting my image as a good girl.

I'm also a daddy's girl. My mom and my husband both think nothing of it, but sometimes I'm so demonstrably affectionate, it makes my dad nervous. That daddy's girl approach to choosing a mate led me to glom onto my husband as a life-mate, as soon as we met in college. He is very much like my dad.

My dad and now my husband are academic scientists. Both have doctorates in medical research. My mother is a nutrition consultant working on contracts granted by the United Nations, which takes her to really exotic or far flung locations for extended periods of time. I often wonder whether she and dad have some arrangement that lets each of them have dalliances with others when they are apart for more than a couple weeks.

Recently, three things happened that added dimension to my own sexual needs (and desires): I gave birth to our first child; a girl. My mother accepted a post in Sri Lanka for the summer. And, my husband was asked to guest lecture for a summer course across the pond, as some are want to say.

This prompted my husband and my parents to suggest I stay with my dad for the summer, as he could help out with all my needs and the baby could stay close to her pediatrician.

Little did any of us suspect what "all my needs" would entail, but that's the purpose of writing this short piece, so I can finally divulge just what those needs were and how they came to be satisfied.

About a week after I moved back in with dad, Lucy (my baby girl) started not feeding as often or drinking as much as she'd done the previous few weeks nor anywhere near the amount she drank right after she was born.

I took her to the clinic, but they told me some babies taper back on consumption a few weeks after birth. But, as her growth was on target, and all her vitals were fine, I shouldn't worry unless some other changes began to take place.

Everything seemed fine, until my boobs started to ache from over-production of mother's milk.

One night, after trying to get Lucy to drink more, I put her down for sleep, and sat back on the couch rocking back and forth, moaning softly hoping my discomfort would diminish.

Just as I was about to get up and go get my pump and alleviate pressure, my dad stuck his head in from the kitchen and asked if I was okay.

"I'm fine dad," I answered.

"Really? Then why the moaning?"

"My boobs are sore. Lucy's not drinking enough to drain all I produce and tonight, she hardly drank anything at all."

"Oh."

"Right. Oh..."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you want me to get your pump?"

At that moment, I thought to myself, "I wish you'd suck me dry."

My dad cocked his head and his posture told me he was confused.

Then I realized, I'd expressed my "thoughts" out loud.

"Oh my god, dad. I don't for the life of me know what made those thoughts turn in to words."

Dad smiled. "I'm guessing there are several pressures at work on your psyche at the moment."

"I know dad, but jeez. I just thought a very wicked thought...OUT LOUD!"

"Listen sweetie. Don't be too hard on yourself. I'm sure you're missing Dan (my husband), and breast feeding can be a bit of a turn on as the sucking works on nerves that some think are erogenous. As to thinking about me, well, everyone knows you've always been a daddy's girl."

"You know?"

"Of course I know. Well," he hesitated for just a second, "I didn't until your mother pointed it out when you were in your early teens."

"How embarrassing," I mumbled as my eyes lowered followed by my head lolling down until my chin rested on my breast plate.

Dad walked up to the couch and lifted my head up. He waited until we made eye contact, then he bent and kissed me on the forehead. "Now don't fret," he instructed. "Let me get your pump."

For the next two or three days, everything went back to normal, sort of, until the morning of the fourth day, a Saturday.

I was in the kitchen just after putting Lucy down when I looked down at my blouse. I was leaking as Lucy was once again, not willing to suck as much from me as I had to offer.

Just then, dad came in through the door that leads to the garage. He was sweating profusely as the day was already hot, and he'd just finished his morning run.

"Hey honey. How're things this morning?"

I was still a bit lost in thought when dad, tired of waiting for a response, turned to walk past me, and said; "I'm thirsty..." at the very moment I held my breast up looking at the big wet spot on my shirt, and said; "Here, I'm leaking."

But I'd been responding to his original question of how things were going.

We froze.

We were caught in the no-man's-land of entwining thoughts and answers, and we couldn't seem to extricate ourselves.

"Oh honey. Though the thought..."

Before he could continue, I exclaimed, "Listen to me. I need..."

Again, we went mute. The only sound in the room was the refrigerator humming a barely perceptible hum.

Then our eyes met again, and we burst out laughing.

Dad walked up to me and gave me a big hug, crushing my milk engorged breasts against his sweaty t-shirt. When he finally released me to walk to the fridge to get water, I realized we were both a bit flush.

Dad broke the conversational ice.

"I've got titty milk drying with my sweat," he said looking down at the big stain on his shirt.

"Hey," I exclaimed. "That's my titty milk you're talking about. Show some reverence."

Dad about spit out the water he'd just started to sip.

"Our discomfort is making us regress to infantile expressions," I observed.

Dad nodded.

"I'll go change."

Dad put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from rising then he sat down in the chair next to me.

"Let's talk," he said.

"Like adults," I asked?

"Yep. I think we can both calm down and sort this out."

"Okay. But I'd like to hear what you have to say first."

"Fine," dad responded.

He gathered his thoughts, then...

"Here goes,"

I waited.

"Have you been thinking about moving back to your place?"

I nodded.

"Because, you're embarrassed?"

"And a bit turned on."

"Me too sweetie. I think it's natural for two healthy people living in proximity to see, and smell everything that's going on around them, no matter what convention dictates with regard to behavior."

Oh my goodness. He knows exactly what I've been going through for more than half my life.

"I know dad. I am hyper aware of everything around me, including the smell of your sweat."

"That's the new mom talking."

"No. It's more than that. I've been this way for as long as I can remember."

"Really?"

"Yep. I can even remember times when," I hesitated.

"When what, dear?"

"This might be embarrassing for us."

"Probably. But the only way we'll get through all this awkwardness, is to get it out in the open, so we don't have to walk on eggshells around each other."

I thought for a moment and finally decided to go for it.

"Okay, there were times, about the time I hit puberty, when I could smell your semen dripping from inside mom."

"What?"

"Like I said. I'm sure, there were times when the two of you had sex and then came out of your room to either make breakfast, or whatever."

"Of course. I'm not denying that. But you thought you could smell it?"

"Yeah. Even though I'd never seen it or smelled it or tasted it, I knew what it was. Of that I'm sure."

"Wow."

"And one time, I was being playful with mom, trying to kiss her, but she kept turning her head. Finally, I head faked her, and planted one smack on her lips. She gently pushed me away, and as she did I caught a whiff of her breath. Though I'm not positive, she tasted and smelled like you'd just cum in her mouth."

"Oh my goodness."

"Yeah. Huh?"

"You don't have much in the way of any reservations about being blunt about things, do you?"

"Nope. Why should I? We agreed to be adult about the way we express ourselves."

"It's just," dad hesitated.

"I know, I'm your little girl aren't I?"

Dad looked at me and nodded.

"Well guess what daddy (emphasis on daddy rather than dad). I, like mom when she's with you, have swallowed a lot of Dan's cum. I've let his sperm find one of my eggs. I've delivered our child, and I get turned on when Lucy suckles until I'm empty. And, before Dan left, I let him suck both my breasts until he too, emptied me for awhile. I am, to reiterate what I admitted earlier, hyper aware and hyper horny most of the time."

Dad was dumbstruck.

"In other words, I'm a woman, not a little girl."

"Got it."

We were quiet for a few minutes, letting all these new revelations sink in.

Finally, dad broke the silence.

"So what should we do now?"

"I don't know. You're the father. You figure it out."

I was frustrated - very frustrated. But I didn't intend to sound mean spirited about it.

"Honey,"

Before dad could go on, I cut him off.

"I'm sorry dad. I've never been this frustrated in my life. I'm having thoughts, I probably shouldn't and I don't know where to turn."

Dad thought for a minute.

"Let's call your mom."

"What, are you..."

Before I could go on dad continued.

"Your mother is a very generous, loving and understanding woman. She'll know how to advise us. Trust me, we don't want this to become an uncomfortable daddy/daughter secret."

Dad was of course, right about that. So we called.

Because of the time difference (thirteen and a half hours), we caught her just as she was going to sleep for the night.

"Hey mom," I greeted her as she answered.

"Hi Sweetie. Is everything okay?"

"Mostly."

"Is your dad..."

"He's right here."

"Hi hon," dad offered

So for the next hour we worked out what was going on and mom, being completely at ease and understanding finally took control of the conversation.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. Your breasts are producing too much milk, it makes you horny, and you want dad to help you express the milk. Is that about it?"

"Sort of."

"Oh Sweety, if you're worried dad will get an erection, let me tell you in no uncertain terms, he most certainly will."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"But you'll feel guilty, because you're getting both relief and pleasure, but you're causing him pain."

"Yes,..."

"And you don't want his seed washing down the shower drain two or three times a day."

"Well," I hesitated.

"So suck his dick."

"WHAT?" I nearly screamed.

Dad just chortled, shaking his head like he knew what was coming all along.

"I said, suck his dick."

"Mommmm."

"Mom nothing. From what you told me about you and Dan, and from my own first hand knowledge of how much your dad loves shooting his stuff down my throat, I see that as not only the only solution but I see it as the perfect solution."

"But that's cheating," I reminded her.

"It's only cheating if one or more parties to the events are kept in the dark. That's cheating. Besides, now that I've mentioned all parties," mom paused for dramatic effect.

"Go on," I said, beginning to see the problem with keeping Dan out of the loop. That would be cheating.

Mom, obviously more in control of the situation than I could have ever been, solved the dilemma. "Let's conference him in to this call."

"Dan?" I stammered, as if she might be referring to the Prime Minister of Canada.

"Yes, Dan." Then the phone went silent for about 20 seconds.

"Hello," I heard my husband's voice.

"Hi Dan, it's mom."

"Holy crap" he exclaimed, coming from a sleep to a wide awake state in less than a second. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course, but you may want to make some coffee."

So for another hour we filled Dan in on our dilemma, and when it came time to fess up to the obvious conundrum of whether I should suck dad's dick or not, mom once again, had the perfect solution.

Before any back and forth conversation that might undermine our relationship could progress, mom began to outline her plan.

"Dan, I want you to listen carefully and not answer one way or another until you've had a chance to understand all implications that will be on the table."

"Okay, I guess," Dan offered.

Then mom continued.

"Look, your class is over about a week before I'm due to fly home, right?"

Dan confirmed mom's guess about his schedule.

"So here's what you do."

We all listened intently and it was only much later in the fall, when I was thinking back on the phone call that changed our world, I realized we all wanted everything to work out with no recriminations or ill feelings of any kind.

"First, change your flight home to come to Sri Lanka. Then, when I'm done, we'll take a few days and go home through a couple countries in Southeast Asia, the Philippines, Japan, and finally home."

"Why take so long?" I asked naively.

"Because," mom continued, "by summer's end, Dan and I will need to catch up on some together time, to make up for the times you and your dad will have had together."

"Oh," I said.

"Huh," Dan said, trying to process it all.

"Listen Dan, you and I need to make up for lost time. I figure if we take a week or ten days to get back home, we can fool around on four or five beaches, in five or six luxury hotels, and I can suck your dick every time we reach altitude and the seat belt sign is turned off."

Dad was laughing. When he saw the look of consternation on my face he said: "Oh, believe me she will do just that, and probably more."

Dan finally understood all the implications but seemed to be okay, or actually enthusiastic about mom's solutions. As we were getting ready to end the call, Dan asked one final clarifying question. No, actually it was more of a request.

"Will you wean Lucy slowly so I can get a couple gallons when I get back?"

"Of course," I promised.

When the call was ended, dad and I just sat looking at each other.

Finally, dad stood up.

"I'm going to shower."

"Wait, I need something before you do."

"Sure Sweetie, anything."

I took off my shirt and unhooked my bra, letting my boobs fall free. Both nipples had little indications of milk at the tip.

"Please, dad. I can't wait any longer."

"But I'm caked in sweat."

"I don't care. Please."

Dad shrugged his shoulders and moved to his knees in front of me. He hefted my left breast and gently squeezed, sending a little squirt of milk straight onto his nose. He then repeated the same procedure with my right breast but this time, he had his mouth open, and the little jet of milk went straight between his lips.

He moved his mouth to my nipple and gently licked around my aureola sending bolts of electricity straight to my lower abdomen.

When he began to suckle and the milk began to flow, I came. Not a huge cum, but by far one of the most satisfying releases of frustration I'd ever experienced. I stroked his matted hair and thought I finally had my daddy just where I'd always wanted him.

For the next twenty minutes or so, he drained me dry. I became at once completely relaxed, but burning in my psyche was a desire I'd never known.

When dad sat back down on his chair, I looked at him. I had that mischievous glint in my eye.

"Stand up dad," I commanded.

"Honey, I'm all..."

"Stand up. Hurry, I've never wanted anything more in my life. So please, stand up so I can know what its like to have you in my mouth.

"But..."

"Now dad. I don't care if you taste like dried sweat."

He stood up, and in one fluid motion yanked his running shorts down to his knees.

There was no hesitation on my part. This wasn't going to be one of those blowjobs where one expresses love or cock worships. This act I was about to perform was strictly to get cum out of him as fast as possible.

I leaned forward, mouth open, felt his knob brush my lower lip as his cock passed over my tongue and I began to suck.

As I fellated my own father, I wasn't thinking of anything other than getting the cum. I wanted it in my belly, so the stuff it was made up of, could help replenish my own cells and add nutrients to my body's depleted stores.

He came without warning.

I had just felt the head of his cock poke against my throat, when the first jet shot out. I pulled back about an inch and sealed my lips around his shaft and sucked.

Another jet shot out.

Now the cum was pooling at the back of my mouth.

Then, in quick succession, three more shots, each with a substantial amount of semen and sperm, filled my mouth, almost to overflowing.

I swallowed.

It was salty and thick.

I swallowed again.

Dad came again.

I kept swallowing and he kept shooting.

He must have pulsed at least eight to a dozen ropes of cum into my mouth.

In the end, I had achieved an equilibrium with my universe. Everything at the very moment I swallowed the last of his offering resonated in perfect harmony with all the thoughts I'd ever had that led up to that moment. For me, it was Bliss with a capital B.

When I finally spit his cock out of my mouth, I realized how much sweat was caked in his neatly trimmed pubes and on his ball sac. I started licking it all off, wanting everything he could give me, even if some people think dried sweat is a gross thing. When you're in a heightened state of awareness, there is no such thing as gross or any other negative thought.

"Can you go again?" I asked looking up into his eyes.

"When will your milk stores replenish?" he answered.

"Not for a while. You drained me of every drop. Why?"

"Well, that's about how long it will take me to fill up the tank again."

"Cool. Now let me check on Lucy and then we'll shower together."

So that's how it went for the next two months. We called it our express summer. Sometimes dad would express the milk from my breasts and other times, I'd express the "milk" from his balls. When ever we said the word express, we'd giggle but we both ate our fill.

We'd also give updates on our "extra curricular" activities to mom and Dan. We weren't being mean about it or teasing, as it was usually one or the other of them that would ask.

I suspected, and dad agreed, that when we had long conversations with our respective spouses, that one or the other or both of them would masturbate as they listened to us recount our sexual adventures.

About six weeks after our first episode, dad and I finally had intercourse. It wasn't planned, so much as it was just a natural extension of our comfort with each other. After the first night I'd sucked him off, we slept together the rest of the summer, with Lucy's sleeping bassinet beside our bed.

We both slept naked, and sometimes, in the early morning if I woke up first and he had morning wood, I'd blow him, swallow his load, and go back to sleep. But usually my first serving of milk in the day went to Lucy, so dad, bless his heart and patience, usually had to wait until he came home from the lab for his special meal.

In the middle of the night one time, as dad and I were spooning, I shifted and his erection found its way to the entrance of my cunt. By instinct, and still in a fog from sleep, I scooted back until he penetrated me. It was I who instigated movement, as it took dad a couple of minutes to wake up and realize what was going on.

Without any hesitation, he nuzzled my neck, said, "I love you," and shot a load deep inside my womb. We both immediately went back to sleep.

Though we sometimes made jokes about our behavior, we had a deep and abiding respect for our boundaries and for the future when mom and Dan came home. We knew this was a temporary arrangement, and were both comfortable with that knowledge.