[M] [F] [inc] [pee] [preg] The champagne room

I have a confession to make. One that weighs on me so heavily. One that I think only you can hear. I don’t even really know where to start, and despite having a lot of reasons to justify, to defend, they sound more like hollow excuses to me. I will let you be the judge.

This story starts many decades ago, in Silcox, a small town in Wyoming. My name is Jack De Vaalt, and I was born there. So was my wife, Janice Pershing. The town was run more like a Christian cult than anything else. Strict morals, curfews, you name it, we had it. Everything in the pursuit of purity. I was never made for that. I was made for the pleasures of life. I was made to sit by the ocean sipping a drink. I was made for love. For bliss. Or, as they would call it there, eternal damnation. I got an early start of trouble by getting caught making out with Janice in a parking lot. The only solution? Getting married of course. And so we did. I was 21, she wasn’t even 18 quite yet. We had to get a special approval. But off we want, to married life. It took us a couple years, but we ended up pregnant. We gave birth to our first, and only, child, sweet lovely Nicole Anne De Vaalt. And a few years later, I managed to persuade Janice to leave Silcox and start a new life. We basically had to run off in the night, like rats through the sewers. We picked Las Vegas. For a man like me, the perfect place. All amusement, all entertainment, available. A true haven of pleasure, an endless supply of endorphins at your fingertips. Janice accepted her fate, more out of obedience than true desire of freedom.

Twenty years have passed since that day. I am almost 50. My daughter is going to college. My wife works as a secretary at a lawyer’s office. I worked my way up the ranks at a local bank, until I managed to get a windfall and settled into early retirement. We have enough, between the interest on my settlement fund, and my wife’s paycheck, that we lead a comfortable life. We’re not rich. But secure in our lifestyle.

But I have a dark secret. For, you see, my wife, born and raised in a cult of chastity, she never quite got the hang of sex. After Nicole’s birth, we’d go through the motions once in a while. With no pleasure. No gusto. Nothing but me on top, pumping for a bit, and then pulling out at the last moment, and finishing in my own hand. Eventually, even that stopped. I love my wife, I truly do. She is a wonderful friend. A dear companion. But by no means a lover. So I look elsewhere. Once a month, I take a few hundred dollars out of the bank, I tell my wife I’m going camping for the weekend, and I head to a strip club instead. I tried a few, all around Vegas and even as far as Cal-Nev-Ari.
This year, I finally found the one for me. The club. And the girl. It’s in Vegas, a bit far off the strip. A brunette with huge tits and the sultriest voice works there. She goes by Pixie Dust. So, every month, I call the club, and ask to book three hours in the champagne room with Pixie Dust. I pay cash. We drink champagne. She dances. She listens to me talk. Sometimes, she gives me a hand job. More often, she lets me rub my own dick as she rubs all over me.

Last week, I called. Yes, I’ll be there on Friday. Three hours. Pixie Dust. And off I went. I showed my ID to the bouncer. “Sorry, Mr. De Vaalt. Pixie is out sick this week. We picked another girl for you, though. She is new, but customers already love her. She will be with you shortly. Third room on the right, as usual” he told me. I was a bit disappointed. I almost thought of cancelling, and coming back next month. But, as men, some deep seated instinct to spread our seed far and wide, it’s always in the back of our minds. I had never fucked Pixie, nor would I fuck this new girl most likely. And yet, that little voice of primal desire, it told me, no, go ahead, meet the new girl. And so I did. I headed to the champagne room. Sat on the couch. And waited. I started playing on my phone. And then the door opened. “Hi babe” a voice said at me. I looked up. She looked at me.

Even in the dark pinkish glow of the club, we recognized each other.
“Nicole!”
“Dad!”
“What are you doing here?”
“No, what are you doing here?”
“Does mom know?”
“Does she?”

For you see, I was clearly cheating on my wife with strippers, but my daughter was clearly a stripper. We were both in huge amounts of trouble. We both had dirty secrets to keep. A fact that dawned on us quite quickly.

“You can’t tell mom”
“Well neither can you”

We decided our mutual secrets would be safe. And we confessed. I was sexually frustrated in my marriage. She needed money for student loans. I would help her more with school now that we could afford it. She would quit stripping in a few months, just time enough to pay off a few debts. It was a good honest deal.

She asked me to stay. If I left, the club would ding her. And we could definitely not explain the story. It would be too weird. It would damage her. And me. So we decided I’d stick around, we’d drink the champagne, and that would be it. On my way out, I would smile, tell everyone that Cherry Kiss did an amazing job. Oh yeah, my daughter picked Cherry Kiss as her stripper name. I should have probably mentioned that detail, uh?

We had a glass, then two, then three. And then she realized she hadn’t started the music yet. “Someone is probably thinking it’s weird” she said. So she put on some sultry strip club music, and started dancing to it. Even if I had done a good job at ignoring it all so far, with her dances moves on, even I had to acknowledge it. My daughter was sexy. Dark hair with pink stripes and a nose ring, they gave her a hipster and rebel look. I knew her green eyes. What I didn’t know was her petite body. We hadn’t really gone anywhere she’d be in a bikini in years, and even then I had not really paid attention. But now I could see the gentle soft curve of her breasts, her luscious hips, her firm thighs, her tiny peach shaped ass. My daughter was on display as she danced around the room, sipping champagne and laughing.

She sat on my lap, got up, started moving around me, teasing. “What are you doing?” I told her
I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she leaned in closer. “Since we’re here, might as well make the most of it, don’t you think?”
And with that, her grinding became more aggressive, more direct. I could feel her tits against my body, I could feel her pelvis grinding mine. She smelled of perfume, sweat, and booze.
“But, but, but I’m your dad” I tried to retort

What she said next left me dumbfounded. “Oh dad, I know. I know. I have always wanted you. Growing up. All my hormones, you’re the first man I ever wanted to fuck. I know you noticed too. You were admirable. So respectful. But I know you looked. I know you wanted too. I wanted so bad”. She leaned in, and whispered in my ear. “So fucking bad I wanted for you to come to my room and fuck me silly. Dad, let’s have fun” as she let her hand slide under my shirt, caressing my chest, titillating my nipples

I should have pushed her away, pulled back, but the sensation.. it was heaven. Her words, they sounded crazy. Had I wanted my daughter all along? I didn’t think so. Did I look at her blossoming body? I didn’t think so. But she saw me and she saw a man to lust for. And she thought I lusted too. And now, it was her one opportunity. The chance to get what she never had. To be her father’s lover.

She unbuttoned my shirt. Took her bra off. She let her nipple slide in my mouth. One. Then the other. She begged me to suck on them. I did. I am horrified at myself as I write the words. But I did. I sucked my daughter’s tits. They were tiny, not more than a B cup, but soft, firm, perky, and they tasted delicious. I could have sucked them for hours.

She let her nipples rub against my chest, her chest against mine. She kissed me. I kissed her back. I tasted my daughter’s mouth. I tasted booze. I tasted cherry lipstick. And now I knew. Cherry Kiss. The lipstick. I was horrified. Disgusted. And aroused. There’s no sex in the champagne room. And I had never wanted sex in the champagne room more than I did that night.

She unbuttoned my pants. Sat on my lap. She found my cock hard. Throbbing. Twitching. And she rubbed herself on it. I could feel the dampness of her pussy through her panties. I could hear her soft moans. She was fucking herself. Clearly. Her back arched. Her hands holding onto my shoulders for support. Her eyes closed. Her expression ever so intense. As if she was focused on a hard impossible task.

“Dad, I want to fuck you” she told me, as she poured some champagne on my chest, and lapped it off me.
And as she said that, she .. she pissed on me. I felt the trickle. I felt the warm liquid on my lap. I felt it on my cock. And I watched. Speechless. I watched as I saw warm piss ooze from Nicole onto me.
“What the fuck is that?” I whispered
“It’s pee, dad. It’s my pee. I like marking my territory. And you’re mine now” she said, a smirk on her face, as she lowered herself onto me.

I gasped. The sensation to strong. So pleasurable. Her juices. Her piss. They made everything just wet enough. She was tight. And I was inside of her. She lowered herself all the way. Our eyes staring into each other’s soul. “Dad. I want to fuck you. I want you to cum in me. I want to have a baby. Your baby” she said.
I should have done something. Anything. But I did nothing. I did nothing as my daughter rode me. She kept drinking. And fucking. She licked my neck. Kissed my mouth. And rode my cock. I was hard. She was wet. Clearly there could be sex in the champagne room. For my daughter was trying to knock herself up right then and there.

I told her no. I begged her to pull out. But she was the boss. She knew what she wanted. There was no begging. I could try to resist her. I tried. I did math in my head. Thought about war crimes. But her pussy was too tight. Her hips didn’t lie. She knew how to ride a man. She was clearly my daughter: someone made for carnal pleasure, someone made to enjoy life. And tonight, she would let me cum in her.

“I have dreamed of this for so long, dad. So long. You feel so good. Just like in my fantasies. All those night I fucked myself hoping you’d hear. Hoping you’d come finish the job. When you finally stopped fucking mom I hoped. Only a matter of time I told myself. But you never came. Never. Until tonight. Dad. Fuck me. Cum in me. Dad. I beg you” she said.
How had I never noticed any of this? Her lust? Her longing? How did she know about my sex life? How? Was this a dream?

And then I felt it. I felt the explosion. She rode one time too many. She rode too deep. Too hard. Too fast. I came. With a grunt. I came inside my daughter. I came harder than I knew a man could come.

We got dressed. The three hours were almost over. I had to leave soon. “You’re on the pill right?” I asked. “No, dad, I am not” she said.

It’s been a week now. Tonight, in a few hours, Nicole will be home for Christmas. And I am afraid of it. Will she try to drag me in her childhood room and fuck me again? Will she spill the beans? Is my daughter crazy? Will she be pregnant? I have more fears than I knew possible. And the biggest one is, Reddit, that I would give anything, everything, I would give it all away, for the chance to fuck her one more time.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ef3i0y/m_f_inc_pee_preg_the_champagne_room