It was Saturday morning. Last night I had the best sex of my life with my eighteen year old stepdaughter. We slept in our own separate beds afterwards. She wanted to lay in my arms and cuddle close, as she put it, "in mommy's bed," but I put my foot down. If her mom came home early, and caught us, there would be no way to explain it away.
"Then spoon me on the couch, in front of the TV," Christy said. "If we hear mommy, we can sit up before she sees us."
It seemed like sound logic at the time, so I agreed to it at first. But the moment we were spooning, and I had my arms around my girl, I panicked. I didn't trust myself to wake up, should her mom come home early. So I stayed awake, eyes half open, fighting the urge to sleep, until I heard my baby's slow, steady breathing. After half an hour, I slowly, cautiously unwrapped myself from her, saddened that I wasn't going to feel her warm soft skin against mine for the rest of the night, and I crept up to my bed.
Now it was Saturday morning, and I woke with a start as Christy jumped on the bed.
"Wake up daddy!" she shouted. That ball of energy was giddy and bouncing, playful as a puppy whose master had just come home. She was wearing a short pleated red skirt, and a tight pink T-shirt with the words Love Pink emblazoned across the chest. She fell to her knees, right next to where I was laying. Even on her knees, she was still bouncing with a barely-restrained enthusiasm.
"Let's do it again," she said.
"I don't know, sweetheart..." I began.
"Daddy, you promised!" she pouted. I hated to see her pout. "Last night, you promised you would fuck me whenever mommy wasn't home. Remember? You promised."
"Yes, sweetheart. I remember."
She looked at me, with big, sad, pleading eyes, waiting for me to honor my word.
"Okay, baby," I said, and Christy wriggled with joy. "But not here," I continued. "What if your mom comes back?"
"Mommy didn't come back last night. She doesn't get back until tomorrow night. We didn't cuddle in bed last night because you were so worried. You can make it up to me now. I want you to fuck me in mommy's bed."
"No," I was firm. "We're going somewhere else."
She could see in my face that my word was final. If she wanted to fuck today, it would have to be somewhere else. And I could see in her face that this wasn't the last time she would ask. One way or another, she was determined to have me fuck her in mommy's bed, even if it wasn't going to be today.
"Okay, daddy. We can go to a motel. How about we go ..." and she proceeded to describe a motel in a distant part of the city, far from anyone either of us knew. Christy knew the name, the exact location, and how much it would cost. How she knew these things I didn't know, and I didn't want to know.
"Great," I said. "I'll get dressed." I pulled her head down to mine, and kissed her on the mouth, tasting the sweet honey of her lips. My heart was racing, and I was getting stiffer right then. Christy put her hand on my cock, and could feel how hard I had gotten so quickly. I pushed her back, before we got carried away, jumped out of bed, and started putting on my clothes.
As I was changing my underwear, Christy saw my full erection, bobbing up and down like a springboard. She squealed, and laughed.
I finished getting dressed, grabbed her by the elbow, and said, "C'mon, you bad girl."
"Say it," she ordered me.
"Say what?" I asked.
She looked at me with pleading eyes. The events of the night before came flooding back to my mind, including what those eyes meant. She wanted to hear one specific phrase.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too daddy!" she exclaimed. "Let's go."
- - -
We drove to the motel. Christy was in the passenger seat, humming to herself, dancing in her seat to a song only she could hear in her head. I was lost in my own thoughts, excited about all of the pleasure I was about to receive, happy to know we wouldn't get caught.
Christy turned to me, the familiar mischievous glint in her eye.
"Can I see your dick?" she asked.
"I'm driving."
"I just want to see it."
"You saw it earlier this morning. And you'll see it again in fifteen minutes."
"But I want to see it now!" she whined.
How could I say no to that face?
"Okay fine," I said.
She happily unbuckled my belt buckle, unbuttoned my jeans, pulled down the zipper, slowly, teasingly, and reached in through the hole in my boxers. She pulled out my hard rod, which was ready for her since she first jumped on mommy's bed this morning.
"Oooh, there it is. Hello," she said to it. "It's so unfair of daddy to keep you hidden, isn't it? Did you miss me?"
She looked up at me. "He said he missed me," she told me.
"Did he? Well, he's telling the truth."
"I missed him too," she said, and then she started to lower her head down onto my cock.
"Wait," I said. "That's distracting. What if I get into an accident? What if a cop pulls us over."
"What if ... what if ..." she mimicked, in as nasal and cowardly a voice as she could muster. "Daddy, you're not going to get into an accident. And if a cop pulls us over, what's gonna happen? You'll get a ticket and pay it. I'm over eighteen, and our IDs have different last names, so you're not gonna go to jail. Now relax," she said soothingly.
She can be really persuasive, I thought to myself, as she made her way down into my lap.
She slid her mouth over my ready and eager cock, sending a jolt of ecstasy through my body.
"Mmmm," she moaned. She pulled her mouth away. "You taste so good daddy, just like last night." She continued to pleasure me.
I looked down, and noticed that her long, shiny, healthy hair was tied into a ponytail, held in place by a scrunchy that I bought her one time, three years ago, when she was fifteen, and I had only just met her a few months previously. We were at the mall, she pointed to it and squealed, "Can I have it daddy?" and I bought it. It was only a couple of dollars, and it brought her so much joy. She still wore it to this day, and it made me happy to see even a small part of her dressed in a gift I bought her. The scrunchy wasn't nearly as expensive as the diamond stud earrings I bought her three years later. And her mom's reaction to the two gifts was very different - polar opposite even. She loved that I bought Christy a scrunchy that made her so happy, and felt it was good that her daughter and her new husband-to-be were bonding. But when I bought Christy the diamond stud earrings three years later, for a week her mother yelled at me for spoiling the girl with something so expensive.
And now I was looking at the first gift I ever bought my little princess, the rainbow-colored scrunchy that held her beautiful shiny hair in a neat ponytail, keeping her hair out of her face while she gave me an thrilling blowjob on our way to a seedy motel on the other side of town.
We pulled into the motel parking lot, and parked. I was right at the edge of climax, and just needed Christy to suck for ten more seconds, when she pulled her mouth off. She knew I was close. She had to know by the sounds I was making, by my body tensing up, by the way I was stroking her hair less tenderly and more intensely. And yet she pulled up anyway.
"We're here!" she cheered.
"Keep going baby. Daddy's so close."
She went back down to finish the job. Just before putting her lips around my shaft, she looked up at me, her cute face with those big green saucer eyes, proud eyes which asked me "I'm doing a good job, aren't I daddy?"
She was so adorable, and I was so stimulated, that even though her mouth wasn't around my cock, just looking at her cute face made me cum. I spewed my sticky juice all over her adorable little face, and spewed some on the dashboard and the steering wheel too.
"Daddy," she scolded. "You just came everywhere. And I wanted that in my mouth." She tried her best to pout and look angry, but I could tell that she was pleased. She smiled the moment I first started cumming. I could see it in her eyes - she loved watching me cum.
"Don't worry baby," I reassured her. "I'm building up plenty more for you."
Christy wiped her face with her Love Pink T-shirt, dabbing the corners of her mouth like she had finished a meal at a fine dining establishment. She took off her shirt, leaned her tight little body over me, and wiped the steering wheel and dashboard clean. She brought the shirt right up against her nose, inhaled deeply, and said, "Mmmm. Smells like daddy."
She put her sticky shirt back on, and we walked into the motel lobby.
Behind the bulletproof glass stood the manager of the establishment, a grizzled old man with unkempt grey hair and a week of stubble. He was skinny all around except for an oversized gut. He looked like a man who had seen it all and no longer cared. The lines on his face showed that he had spent his entire life scowling.
"Names," he asked gruffly.
"John Smith," I said.