Sweet home, Kentuckibama [inc]

*Hi, all. This is my first attempt at writing a story set in the US. Hope I got it close.*

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“Girl, that was a great dinner, I think the best you’ve made in awhile,” he said, wiping his lips across his shirt sleeve and tossing back the last of the white lightning in his jar. “I ain’t had chicken and greens like that since….well, since before your momma died.”
He put his empty jar carefully on the table, and looked down at his empty plate. “Been five years since your momma died. Still can’t believe no one got word to me that she got that fever just after the army shipped me across to Korea. Still can’t believe you was on your own all those years until I got back six months back.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry again, kitten. I’da never left you here on your own if I’d known.”
“Pa, it’s all right! I’ve told you that again and again since you walked back through that door! This farm needed workin’ and I worked it. I done proved it the whole while you was gone, and I done proved it the whole while since you got back, ain’t I?”
“Yeah….yeah, I’d say you did. Hey,” he smiled at her, “did you know you turn 21 next month? One more month, and in the eyes of the glorious state of Kentuckibama you can drink all you want!”
She laughed at that and raised her own glass of lightning at him; she’d been drinking since he’d left and never once gave it any thought. “Yeah, pa. I just can’t wait to have my first real drink!”
He looked back down at his empty glass. “Your momma….she’d have been so proud to see you now.”
“I know. Here, you go out and listen to the radio and let me clear up the dishes.”

He washed his hands and refilled his jar while she went to don her apron (well, her ma’s apron, but she guessed it was hers now) and went out to their screened-in porch – so proud he was of it, so that they could enjoy the cool evening air without the mosquitoes enjoying *them* – and as she gathered up the dishes the first strains of music floated in on the deepening twilight. She washed the plates and the cups, the forks and the frying pan, dried them and put them away in their cupboard. She wiped down the table as music turned to news and swept the floor as the news turned back to music. She hung up her apron, washed her hands and dried them on her skirt, then joined her pa on the large wooden rocking swing there on the porch. The swing was her favorite place to sit and listen to the shows; an wide wooden swing with a single board high up across the back to support them sitting up although you had to be careful not to lose things through the gap at the back.

She loved it there on the porch in the evening, the stars bright against the black of the sky, fireflies darting and hovering throughout the trees and the sheds, the soft trills of the birds and the hoots of the owls. The evening breeze off the stream cool after the heat of the day, the radio bringing in shows and news in music from exotic places like New York, Seattle, from a whole world that she knew her pa had barely seen and she herself might never glimpse.

He smiled at her, and set the swing to rocking. The radio was turned down low, and they listened to the soft music in silence for a few minutes while the last of the evening shadows were swallowed by the night, then he idly reached over and ran his fingers up along her leg. She sighed happily, leaned back a bit, and moved her legs apart so that he could run his fingers up along her thigh, then a little more so he could begin to stroke her between her legs, slowly and gently. She kicked along the floor while he did, setting the chair to rock each time it slowed to a stop, and when he could feel her wet through her panties he ran his hand down the front of them and slid one, two fingers inside of her, up the first then the second knuckle. She felt a slight scratching on the sides of her vagina, and made a mental note to remind him it was time to trim his nails again before settling in and enjoying the feeling.

In and out his fingers went, around and around and back in again while they sat and listened to the radio, until he pulled his hand away, and said, “Girl, I’m thirsty again. Run inside, wash me a beer, will you?”
“Sure thing, pa,” she said, got up, and went into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, pulled out a long-necked bottle of beer, and popped the cap off it. Putting the bottle on the table, she pulled off her panties from under her skirt and tossed them in the laundry bucket. Taking the beer, she went back out onto the porch where he was still rocking on the swing bench.

“Here you are,” she said, showing him the bottle.
“Thanks,” he said, “Did you wash it for me?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well, go on then. Get it clean for me.”
“All right, pa.” She put the bottle on the swing, undid the buttons on her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She folded it neatly and placed it on her end of the swing, then took the bottle back, knelt on the floor beside the swing, and manoeuvred the bottle neck to the opening between her legs. Slowly – she’d learned over the last few months to be careful – she pushed the neck of the bottle up inside of her, and – holding the bottle steady – moved up and down along the neck of it, up to the top and down to where the neck flared out, where it got too big to be comfortable. She washed it for a minute or so, until the fizzy air from the beer trapped inside of her started making her feel more like a balloon than a woman. The noise the bottle made when she pulled it out always reminded her of the sound a balloon made, too, when you let out all the air.
“Clean?” he asked her.
“I think so. Try it and see.”
He took the beer from her, and took a long pull from the bottle. “Yeah, that’s nice, real nice. Come on back, and sit with me some more.”
She sat back beside him, and happily let him touch her again while he drank. The calluses on his knuckles rubbed her in *just* that *right* spot, and she happily leaned her head against his shoulder while he did, relaxing in the feeling.
He finished his drink, and sat in silence for a minute, listening to the music playing from the radio. Then he set the swing to rocking again and said into the night, “You know, I do miss your mama.”
“I know.”
“I’m happy you stepped in for her after I got back from the war. You didn’t have to.”
“I know, pa. But it needed doing, so I’m doing it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Pa?”
“Yeah?”
“You never explained why you like your beer washed before you drink. Does it taste that much better when it is? Did momma wash your beer, too?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah she did, and yeah, it does. You taste different than your momma did, you know, but that just makes it better.”
That brought her up short. “I do?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“How?”
“Hmm? Oh, well, you’re a little saltier than she was, but that’s not a bad thing, just different.”
“Oh.”
He smiled. “Me, I done found I like my beer with a little salt.”
“Oh,” she said again, and smiled to herself in the darkness while they sat and listened to the radio again, he gently fingering her in the night. “Salty, am I?”
“A little,” he admitted, running a finger around her clit. “But it’s a good thing. Really.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She sighed again happily, and leaned back against the swing, enjoying the feel of first the fingers sliding in and then out, his thumb rubbing against her before his fingers again slide in, scratching along her clit *ever* so nicely as they did.

She was just starting to lose herself in the night when a thought struck her. “Hey?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“How else am I different from ma?”
“Well,” he said, seriously, “you tend to use too much salt on the greens when you cook, you don’t always hang the wash early enough to dry by evening…”
“Pa!” she squeaked, slapping his hand away from between her legs. “You know what I mean!”
He laughed softly, then sobered. “You sure you want to know?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I *am* the lady of the farm now, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, you are. But I ain’t sure I should say anything.”
“Why not? Didn’t you always say that knowing things is like drinking your friend Ed’s corn likker?”
He chuckled. “No, I said a little education is a dangerous thing.”
“Ain’t that the same thing?”
“Heh. Guess you got a point. OK. Well,” he said, “she….you sure you want to hear this? This ain’t really talk for a lady, you know.”
“*Pa*! Yeah, I wanna know! You think I don’t know about any of this stuff, after years of taking care of the chickens, the goats, the pigs?”
“Well….well, all right.” He moved his hand back to her and ran it down her stomach. “Your ma was softer here,” – he ran his hands through the patch of hair at her waist – “and you’re a little higher here.” He ran his fingers down the soft lips between her legs. “You’re a little dryer in the beginning,” – and here she squeaked in indignation – “*but*…you get a lot wetter when you get closer to finishing. In fact”, he grinned in the darkness at her, “I sometimes think that between the hair you got and how wet you get that we could just have you run the supper dishes between your legs and get them cleaner than the washing tub ever could.” He grew serious again. “And you and she are about the same inside. Soft and warm and wonderful.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She squeaked happily and pulled off her blouse, and when he stood she lay down on the blanket that covered the bottom of the swing, resting her head on her skirt She put one foot down on the floor on the front of the swing, and the other on the floor through the gap in the back. “C’mon, pa. Let’s go.”
He chuckled to himself, pulled off his clothes, and carefully lay between her legs. She breathed a little “oh” when he slid inside of her, and another when he teased one nipple before moving between her legs, in and out. She closed her eyes and felt his breath on her ear, and thought – not for the first time – that she’d never felt anything as wonderful as what was happening tonight.

She wrapped her leg around his, and her arms around his back. She began to thrust her own hips ever so slightly in time with his. Her breath started to come quicker, and she knew she was close. “Really, pop? Really soft and warm and wonderful?” she whispered in his ear.
“Really. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
She groaned softly into his neck at his words and wrapped her free leg tighter still around his as she came, the feel of him inside of her while she quivered feeling like the nothing else she knew. He continued moving for another minute, then after she had caught her breath said to her quietly, “You know, it’s a beautiful night, with the moon new, the stars bright and the fireflies out….we should enjoy it.”
She laughed to herself. “A little hard lyin’ where we are, ain’t it, looking in the direction we’re looking in?”
He laughed as well, and agreed that yes, where they were it was a bit difficult but “There is a way we can.”
“How?” she asked, curious.
He pulled out of her and stood up, beckoning at her to do the same. “Here’s how. Come over here to the railing,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her over to the edge of the screened-in porch. “Now, lean down and place your arms on the rail.”
Not sure where he going, she did as he asked. “OK, now, step back a bit…OK.”
She waited for a second, then felt his hands on her hips. He stepped up behind her, and she felt him push around for her opening, fumble for a bit, then find it at last and slide up and inside of her.
It was….*different*, and to be honest the angle they were both were standing at was more than a little uncomfortable. She felt herself starting to go dry in self-defence, and after a couple of thrusts he noticed that.
“Is everything all right? Is it uncomfortable?”
“It’s fine, pa, really, but…” she bit her lip.
He stopped moving. “But?”
“No, it’s fine, pa, really. I guess it don’t feel as good as the other way.”
“OK, I got you. My fault; I forget that your slit’s a little higher up than your momma’s was. Let’s try this. Move forward a bit..,” she took a half-step forward, “and lower down on your arms a little more. There. Let’s try this,” and he slid back inside of her, and this time there was no discomfort, just new feelings, new sensations in new places. “That better?”
“Yeah, pa. That *is* better,” she said, as he began to again move back and forth inside of her. “That feels right nice.”
“Good. That’s good to hear.” He stroked her back and stoked her hair as he moved back and forth between her legs, every so often reaching around her and stroking first one nipple than the other. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “And how is this?” as he reached forward again and began to stroke her *there* with his fingers as he moved within her, and she decided right then that it made the first minute all forgiven.
“*Ooooohhhhhhh…..,” she breathed, and she began to match him stroke for stroke…not hard, but just enough that his head ran *just* here and *just* there and….”Oh, oh *pa!* That’s good, that’s *good*, please don’t stop, please don’t *stop*, please don’t…don’t…*don’t*…”

But he did. He took his hand away and took hold of her hips again and began to move faster and faster still, so she touched herself instead to hold on to that feeling, and every time her hand touch him he breathed a little harder as well, and once even pulled out her altogether so that she had to take him in her hand and guided him back inside of her. She let just the tip back in, and used her hand like she was milking a bull before finally pushing back to take him as deep within her as she could so that he could feel the whole of her hand before the whole of *her*, and she was close, close, *so* close again…
“Pa! Pa!” she whispered urgently. “Touch me! Touch me *again*, pa, again, *please*…” and his thumb was there, and there on the porch, leaning against the rail in the starlight she came once, twice, and as she shivered he in turn thrust *hard* once, twice, a *third* time and she could feel him come inside of her, deep inside of her, and she felt at once all soft and warm. And wonderful.

They stayed like that for a minute until their breathing calmed, and tonight, instead of pulling out, he gently pulled her upright, and carefully walked them both back to the porch swing. Still inside of her, being careful never to slip out completely, he sat them both down gently, and they rocked until he was too soft to stay in her and the come from them both ran out of her and down their thighs, his arms around her, watching the fireflies dart and hover in the warm night air.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/r6oukk/sweet_home_kentuckibama_inc