The Making of a Bad Girl [MF]

Sex is sin. This is what was drilled into me since I was child. First by the priest in my Sunday school, then by my mother when I was eight and then by my father when I first became a woman. And every time they told me that, I would nod my head in agreement, but every time I nodded, I was more tempted to sin.

My name is Christina. Aged 24. In a relationship with a loving man. I’m an advocate who is now studying MBA. And a complete nymphomaniac. But before I became all that, I was a good girl.

Born and raised in a Catholic household in a southern town in India, I was taught more about man’s sin than about gravity. And I had no qualms in believing it because they all came from trusted sources. if sex is sin, then so be it. If masturbation is sin, then so be it. If sitting next to a boy and kissing him is a sin, then so be it.

I was pure and blessed and I wanted heaven. But one can only be pure till their childhood and to give away sex for heaven seemed like a bad bargain.

I was 16 then and my need to touch myself had become intense than before. It was a summer afternoon and I was in the school and was having forbidden thoughts again. My pussy was on fire and was already slightly moist on the inside, I was sure. It was begging to be touched. Terrible and impure thoughts flooded my mind and I stared deep and hard at my teacher, Hari with what must have been hungry, lustful eyes. Somehow the way he walked and his legs made ripples between my thighs. My eyes followed his torso and down to his crotch and I wondered what was underneath those layers of cloths. I wanted to sin. And I wanted heaven. So I wished for the bell to ring so that I can run away from the temptation to home.

When I reached home, I realized not everything was normal. The door was locked and that was odd. Mom would always be home at this time of the day. Sitting in the living room, watching T.V or in the kitchen. I fished out my bag for the spare keys and entered the house. And I stood frozen at the doorway.

I heard sounds coming from upstairs. It was muffled and damp but they were definitely a woman’s sounds. My mom’s. I raced upstairs, my mouth running dry. Images of horrific instances flashed through my mind like a deck of cards, but none of it prepared me for what I saw.

My mom was on the bed, naked, her leg raised up at the ceiling, her thighs against her belly, moaning and screaming. Her fair, slightly chubby body, jerking with every thrust, her saggy boobs slapping her body in a rhythm. My dad was bent over her, his thick strong hands on her breasts, holding onto it as if his dear life was on it, his hips moving on her like a blur. I gasped for air. And I guess at the very instant, laying a few feet away from me, so did my mother, although we both gasped for two wildly different reasons.

I stood in the corridor in my school dress replete with white shirt, navy blue skirt, white shoes and black shoes, stunned, as I watched my parents engage in a passionate, rather intense sex from the barely closed door. Realizing how vulnerable I was on being spotted by them and fearing the consequences, I hid myself, while peering at them through the crack.

My dad then stopped and pulled out his cock from her pussy. It was long, thick and what seemed pretty huge. My mouth was dry by now. It seemed impossible that any woman could accommodate something that huge in her, no matter how much she wanted. He spat on his cock and slathered it all over his shaft, reaching every portion of his huge rod. The act was so lewd and that it made me so horny. I realized that when I found myself involuntarily clenching my thighs. My eyes were transfixed on his huge cock and I could feel the wetness in my crotch at the very despicable thought.

He then slammed his cock into my mom again, this time with full vigour and force, so much that I heard my mom swear for the first time.

“Fuck” she cried.

“You like that, bitch?” my dad asked.

I bit my lower lip as I touched my panties.

“Do you like it, you fucking bitch?” he snarled, as he sent another shockwave of pleasure and pain in her body.

I nodded my head.

“Oh, fuck, yes. Fuck me.” she cried.

Taking her leg in his hands, my dad then began ploughing her pussy, and watching him do that, was enough to send me tingles of pleasure through my body. I pulled my skirt up and touched my panties. It was moist. My heart raced. I reached inside and found my hand roaming across my pussy as I intently watched my dad fucking my mother with the passion and perverse of two pigs fucking each other. I began to flick my clit, slowly at first, but as my dad began thrusting his cock deeper and harder into mom, my pace increased.

I do not know what came over me. Was it the idea of seeing dad naked, aroused and fucking like an animal or was it watching two people make love, no fuck. I was washed over by an overwhelming feel as I began touching myself. My body ached for more. My pussy lips trembled. It was wet and it wanted to be touched, prodded and fucked. I wanted to be fucked. I inserted a finger into my pussy, with no caution of a first timer. I knew I wanted to masturbate and I half wanted to be caught. My pussy lips gave in easily and I was hit by an inexplicable feeling of pleasure that was at once amazing and addictive. A soft moan escaped my lips. The rhythm of dad’s cock fucking matched my finger fucking, until it reached a frenzy and I closed my eyes as I felt my legs weaken and I slumped down.

I was breathing heavily. My bosom heaved like tides of waves. My parents were still fucking, my mother’s moans growing louder and my dad’s animalistic grunts getting more pronounced. But now, I was more focused on the pool of mess I was sitting in. Did I pee? I inspected it. It sure wasn’t pee. But I was the one who made it. I saw my pussy was wet and dripping. I touched it again but this time I shuddered. It was really sensitive. Did I just squirt? Is this what squirt is? I had over heard Riya, a girl in my class, talk about it a few weeks ago. She had said that only a small fraction of women can actually squirt. Does that make me special or weird?

I heard a long drawn out moan escape from my parents signing that their sex session was drawing to a close. The reasoning part of my brain weighed in that now must be the time I should consider leaving the spot, although I couldn’t stop wondering how it must feel to have dad shoot his load. ‘Christina stop. Stop’ my mind warned. It was a filthy thought and I shouldn’t be having it. It’s better to just leave.

Hours later, I was back in my room. My mom bustling about in the kitchen and my dad in the dining room, working on his papers. I was on my bed, reading a book, or convincing myself to read it. It was Biology and I had a test that week. Although I was pretty good in the subject and it was something I loved reading, I could pull myself to actually concentrate on it. My mind was still frozen at the images of my naked parents, the grunting of my dad as he thrusted his hip into mom’s inviting pussy. I imagined his sweat covered body. His lips mouthing obscenities. I imagined his powerful thrusts as he fucked with scant regard to the pain he would inflict. But underneath him, it wasn’t my mother who lay with spread legs; it was me.

I snapped back to reality. It was a disgusting thought, really. Fantasizing my own dad. I felt so repulsed at myself. If someone has asked me who did I love more-mom or dad, my answer, as it would with thousands of other children, be ‘both of them’. But if I were being honest, I’d say dad. Not because I harbored any kind of sexual fantasies for him- but because I liked him. I don’t know as what or about the mechanics of it, but I did like him more. He was in his late forties and was a tall man, with strong arms, a powerful neck, almost chiseled torso, although he did sport the beginning of a middle age paunch. He had a greying hair but that only made him look more hot. Mom, on the other hand, was a short, slightly chubby woman in her late thirties, with long hair and big eyes. She was curvy and busty, but the fact that she was only 5 inches tall meant its significance didn’t amount to much.

I clambered out of my bed, partly out of desperation and partly instinctively. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was short and petite, with the face of an angel (as my dad has always said), eyes gleaming with innocence and an enviable physique with well toned calves, perky boobs, trimmed waist and perfectly jiggle-able bubble butt. Every time I wore something tight-fitting or something that clung to my body and accentuated my curves I would get ‘that’ look from men. I know their lustful looks as their eyes wandered around my body. And that would make me feel good. I knew it was a sin to enjoy a male’s gaze, that they are only thinking of impurifying my body, but I would enjoy that attention. Yet I never stepped over the line. That is, until now.

My boobs weren’t nearly as big as my mom’s, but they were firmer. I touched my breasts. Standing in front of the mirror, I pulled the top down so that the neckline plunged down, revealing my prominent cleavage and putting my boobs on display. I wondered how many men would like to see that. And I wondered how dad would like to see that. And so, without a second thought, I removed my dress and stood naked in front of the mirror.

I gazed down at my thighs and my hips and at my pussy. I evidently looked more mature than a girl my age. There was patch of light, black pubic hair right above my pussy lips and stray strands of hair on the side of my pussy. Instinctively, I slid my middle finger into my pussy. It wasn’t as wet as it was a few hours ago, but it was moist. A little shiver slithered up my spine. With my free hand, I touched, teased and pinched my nipples. Light brown and perky, they had become hard and erect. I knew I was crossing the line as I fingered my pussy, but I wanted to. I was becoming a bad girl and that excited me. I imagined laying on my parents bed, naked, legs spread while my dad mounted me and fucked me hard. A moan escaped my lips as I saw myself finger so shamelessly. I bit my lower lip and looking straight at my reflection I mumbled ‘fuck me’.

I had, until then, never used any kind of expletives, let alone fuck. The word rolled out of tongue naturally. It excited me. The sound of it, the filthy images it brought and the traces of dirt the word left behind in my psyche. ‘Fuck me’, I said again as I inserted a second finger into my pussy and began masturbating thinking of my dad’s cock.

I had become a dirty girl.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jwg7ym/the_making_of_a_bad_girl_mf