I sit at the dinner table, silghtly quivering from the anxiety, the nervosity. I mustn’t let dad know about what I was truly doing tonight. He mustn’t know that I know the truth, that he is not my biological father.
If he were to know that I know, he would start asking questions, how I knew, if I had visited my real father, and sooner or later I would tell him everything. Dad always told me to trust him with everything, but I know that knowing the truth would break his sensitive heart, and I fear how he would react to it.
To him, my plans of the evening were as follows: I would eat dinner, give Dad and Mom a little farewell kiss, then I would walk over to my friend Audrey’s house for a little slumber party. All girls, of course, though the odd remark from my mother came off as if she expected me to be lesbian.
Mom doesn’t know Dad is not my real father. It… is strange. Dad obviously didn’t tell me why, but when I squeezed the truth about it out of my bigger brother, the fatherhood tests told the truth. And when I found the only candidate to be my father by genetics, resembling looks and an odd genetic quirk, he told me the story. A night of drunkenness, he said, one where he forgot to put on a condom, and she drunkenly called him “Harry”. My dad’s name.
“Sally? You seem a little… out of it today.” My dad asks me, inquisitive as he can be, with fork and knife sunk deep into his steak. His plate looks battle-worn, as if the task of eating was synonymous with slaying a mighty dragon in a plateau. Not that my mom’s plate looks anything like that: Her plate is almost scrubbed clean once more, save for the one, two pieces of potato, still untouched, and the faintest spot of sauce.
It completely contrasts with my plate, almost untouched, only a small bite eaten from my plate. I was not hungry, and if I had been, the nervosity nourished me enough so that I am not quite sated, but not hungry in the slightest.
At my complete lack of a reaction, my dad prods further: “Sally, you are not… forced to go, are you? If anyone tries to bully you around, tell me. I can pull some strings and-”
I interrupt him: “No, god, no, dad! I…” I reach out in my mind for an excuse for my lack of eating, for my nervosity. I had to interrupt him, but now that I did, I failed to know how to calm the situation. “…I just am thinking about… stuff. Things Audrey asked me earlier today.”
Seemingly pleased by the answer, dad stops prodding, thankfully. “Oh, if it is that. Still, unless you are done, please eat some more. It would be a shame if this lovely steak were to go to waste.”
“Sorry.” I say. “I just don’t feel hungry…”
“If that is so, could you pass me your plate?”
Now, my mom interjects. “Harry!”
“What?” She isn’t going to eat it anyways… Oh, I am sorry, do you want a piece of it?” My dad replies.
***
I pick up my back and head out of the door, when dad calls for me. “Sally?” He says in a quite hushed tone. Mom currently watches TV, and he must have taken this moment to talk to me in private.
I try to calm myself, steel myself for any confrontation that might come now. “Yes, dad?”
“I know you said it was a girl’s only evening, but just in case this Audrey has something more… naughty in mind…” He pushes something small in my hand. I open it to find three condoms.
“Dad, I…” I stutter, think. “No. No matter what, I won’t need them tonight.”
“Are you sure?” He asks. “You never know what might happen.”
“No, I planned ahead for myself.” I reply. It isn’t a lie. I don’t need the condoms for my plans. I doubt they would even be an object of relevancy.
“Fine. Well them, go have fun with your little sleepover!” He says, smiling as he opens to door for me.
“Will have!” I say, as I turn southwards, and walk up the street, in opposite direction to Audrey’s house.
***
It wasn’t long until I had walked to the Newshire Avenue, and I walk the steps to the house number 4 with a smile on my face. The whole street is run-down slum shacks, left and right. It looked icky, and felt so wonderfully dirty. Less posh and perfect than the place I call home, and it showed me some real disconnect between the person I called dad, and the man I called papa.
I knock on his door. He was expecting me, and opens for me. He seemingly has taken effort to look like a good father, orderly, and he has fresh clothing on. A black tank-top that does absolutely nothing to hide his curves, and the blue jeans are new. He had shaved, and what little of hair was left on his head is well-groomed.
“Ah, Sally. Glad you could make it.” He says, inviting me inside.
“Of course, Papa!” I reply. “I can stay the night, even!”
He looks surprised for a moment, then a smile settles on his face. It is devious, yet so charming. “That is lovely. I am going to be right back, I will just prepare a room for you so you can use it later, okay?”
“Alright.” I say, nodding in agreement. He leaves the room as I sit down in the living room, on a used, abused couch, sitting before an TV that was very, very old. At least it projects the poker game in color, although remotes as well as buttons on the TV are nowhere to be seen. I lean back and lose myself to my thoughts.
***
Papa, or how his name really is, “William”, had at first been visited by me by mere curiosity. I had visited other potential fathers, hitting them up in an claim to “meet the friends of my mother”. Most of them were friendships lost to time, and William was no exception. Yet, when I rang at the door, and he opened it for that first time, he looked nervous, and his look told me what I suspected. He was my father.
I had talked with him about stuff, like his interests, how he got to know mom, and brushed against the topic of when I might have gotten concieved. My mom was married faithfully, and so the only option besides my father being the father was her cheating on him. He told me sheepishly, nervously, about his one-night-stand. She had been somewhat drunk, and so had he been, and he could remember her gasping for her husband while he had finished the deed inside her. He seemed relieved when I didn’t push for details.
I visited him again and again, and shortly after the second or the third visit, I began to feel something. Something I hadn’t felt that strongly before, and should not have felt. I felt love to my biological father, but not the familial love one would assume. No, it was lust, and it was painful to admit to myself that I spent nights sleepless because I brought myself to climax on the mere fantasy of his voice, of him doing the same thing he did to my mom.
Papa didn’t get to know, but I wanted to spring the question tonight. He could say no, even call it wrong. If that was the case, I would probably leave and return no more. I couldn’t resist if I were to return, and I had little to lose by not returning, safe for my love.
Yeah, I would ask him today…
***
With steeled resolve I breathe out satisfied, and look back on the TV. Shortly after, Papa returns with a glass of OJ for me, and a clear liquid for him.
“Water.” He says at my questioning look. “*Vodka*” I think to myself.
I put down the OJ, and it is only by some overwhelming perception of mine that I notice something odd. I noticed a small, white spot, shortly reaching the inner walls of the glass, before being taken inside the juice once more. I know what it is, and it takes not long to piece the puzzle together in my mind what it implied about my mom, not knowing that he was the father. What it meant about my dad, not talking about Papa. What it meant, about what was to come.
A part of me wants to confront him, to ask him to tell everything. To spill the beans, and to then make him pay for what he did. The other part…
I drink the juice, gulping down the pill, and smile sheepishly. “Sorry, Papa. I was thirsty.”
“Oh, no need to apologize, dear.” He says, smiling, grinning. “Anyways, I prepared a room for you. Go and tell me when you are tired, I don’t want to keep you up for too long.”
I smile now. “Papa?” I ask him, and as he reacts, I lean against him, my arms tangled around his as he serves as the warmest pillow. Sleepyness overcomes me, and I let out a last: “I love you…” before I drift off to sleep.
***
I wake up, undressed, untouched, on his bed. Papa was on his computer desk, talking to himself.
“What am I doing… I shouldn’t have done that! She is my daughter, for christ’s sake. And she trusts me, loves me… why did I do that…”
I get up, slowly. He does not hear me, and mumbles to himself, speaking of regret again and again. I put my arms around his body, and as he jolts in surprise, I merely say: “Shhh…”
He calms somewhat, and I pull him around to me. He is sitting in his chair, facing me. “It is okay, Papa. I wanted this to happen. I wanted you to take me, and if you hadn’t made the first move, I would have done it this evening. Now, then…” I smile, and turn around, laying down in the bed of his. My face is buried in his pillows, slowly intoxicated by the knowledge that I lie where he sleeps, that I am currently breathing in the pillow he rests his head on, and my bubbly butt was presented to him, rahter cold with nothing, nobody to warm it. “It is rather late, isn’t it? And I wanna be tucked in nicely. Come here, Papa.”
He gets up, and undresses. “I must be going mad…” He says to himself. He lies on top of me, gently, yet the mass of his squishes me, pushes me deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t feel oppressive, no: He feels covering, as if a warm, self-knitted, eight-sheet blanket is covering me, pressing down on me, protecting me from whatever could harm me in the night.
He put his arms around me, and softly kneads my breasts. It didn’t feel like he was using me, more like he had too many emotions to keep them to himself. His touch is rougher than mine, yet more delicate than any other’s I had ever felt. He lowers one of the hands, and I almost want to protest him abandoning my left boob, though he makes up for it by rubbing my belly, and breathing into my neck softly.
“I… I have fantasized about this…” I tell him. “Every night since we met, I have laid awake at night, my legs spread, while I please myself thinking of you and me.”
“And? What did you think of me doing?” He says, licking my neck. He sends shivers down my spine with his wet touch, and I arch my back, pushing against him, pressing my belly deeper inside the mattress, firmly against his touch.
He moves the hand on his belly lower, past what could be “suggestive” and clearly into what is “taboo”. I moan as I tell him about my fantasies. “Ah! I, gosh, I dreamt about you, filling me up, taking me to your room, and just abusing me, pleasing yourse- Oh!- on my young body, just like how you told me you did with my mom.”
His finger dips slightly into my opening, the rest of the hand tending to the outside, delicately, gently. “Well, I must disappoint you then…”
I let loose a long moan as he retreats his hands to put them left and right of my head. I smell my own wetness on one of his hands, and I coo at the sensation as he lifts his torso from me and presses oh so much more down on my loins.
He puts his dick at my wet entrance, prodding eagerly. “I will do so much more to you.”
He pushes inside, and I feel a sting. The pain is the least on my mind, and a part of me wishes it would sting longer, more, that he would thrash my bottom. “Papa…”
His warm rod retreats back outside, only to fill me once more. My toes curl, seemingly trying to dig themselves in something like they did so often before. I push limply against him, though I feel that I contribute little more to our pleasure than the mattress does. Our pleasure is controlled by Papa, and he is the one in control.
“Sally…” He moans. “You look so much like your mother like this…” Suddenly, he jerks up, and I feel him retreating back out. “Wait, I almost forgot!” He got up and I feel the cool air of the night, assaulting me. “Condoms, condoms… Where did I have them…”
“Don’t worry. I took care already.” I tell him. A lie, but I wanted this. If I got knocked up, I would tell mom and dad that someone from my school knocked me up. Matter of fact is that I want to have his seed inside me, and in a way, even his child in me.
He got back to me, and put it back inside. It hits all the right places, and I start clawing my finger inside the mattress, in a need to hold on. “Yes, papa! Pound me harder!” I beg him, feverishly wishing for an orgasm, for more pleasure.
“Oh, sally…” He cries out, and quickens his pounding, gasping. Again and again I feel his weight, slamming against my butt, squising at my entrance.
Stamina seems to not be his strongest point, as he quickly cries out my name a last time, and collapses on top of me, his seed pumping inside my needy womb, shot for shot, hitting inside me.
He lies on top of me, catching his breath as I am squished once more, and I feel his hard rod inside me. It teases me, makes me feel tense, giddy. I squirm, and notice how it is not shrinking.
“Sally… Papa needs a moment to catch his breath, and then we can continue… I took some pills before, and…”
I interrupt him. “Shush, Papa. I think you did enough today. Lay back and let me do the work, okay?”
He complies, and I rise up carefully. I want to spill as little as I can, yet the cum oozing out of me won’t heed my wishes. Some drips on the bed, and some I catch to put in my mouth. Salty, slightly sweet, and leaves such a burning in my throat, begging for more… Perhaps later.
I am now positioned above him, and primed to let him enter me. I heard from some girls that the Cowgirl style is good because you set the tempo, that you can take it slowly to get used to it…
I dropped down on his cock, impaling myself on him in a reckless speed. It hurts, and the pain throbs inside of me, almost making me tear up, but the pleasure, the feeling of being truly taken, the satisfaction I felt as Papa gasped, cried in pleasure, and pounded back… All that outweighs the pain.
I put my arms on his soft torso, looking him in the eyes with a mad pleasure as I move up and down his rod, as it pokes the needy little folds, bumps and nooks of my gripping flesh.
Hiz gaze does not seperate from mine, and we look each other deep in the eyes as our erratic movement quickens once more. I am the first to falter, jerking upwards to face the ceiling as the tingling spark of orgasm rushes over me. Papa is the one to take the lead again, pumping inside my sensitive flesh as I shake about mindlessly. I so want to be Papa’s good girl, I want to stay awake, yet my senses overwhelm me and I feel myself lose conciousness in the bliss of climax.
***
When I wake up my Papa and I chat a little. Share thoughts, wishes, feelings… fantasies. His are twisted, yet he still is surprised by the ones I propose. The surprise is even greater when I ask him to help me with one on that day still. My eyes rest still on the box of tablets, one missing from the package, as I initiate him into my plan.
***
I had messaged my brother that I was on the way home. It is thirteen o’clock, and he had send me a message describing that dad was waiting at the doorstep, looking infuriated.
*Perfect*.
I arrive with Papa at my side, and knock on the door. The door opens, and dad stands before me, looking very angry.
“Care to tell me why you were not at Ashley’s?” He says, before realizing who was standing next to me. “You were with him?!”
“I was, I had… to talk about something with someone who could understand my situation. Now I know what to do, and how to. Sorry I made you upset by not telling you. Can you forgive me?”
Dad sighs, and took a look at Papa. They had a stark contrast, both in behaviour as well as looks. Finally, he reaches out to me for a hug. “I forgive you. Just… tell me next time.”
I hug him closely, and whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry, no matter what, you still are my daddy.”
He moves his head back and looked at me, bewildered. I take this opportune chance to place a kiss on his lips. He’s surprised, confused, and so it is quite an easy task to push my tongue inside his mouth, and to put two small pills inside his mouth.
He gulps it down unsuspectingly, but seperates us immediately. “What was this for? Sally, why did you do… My god, I feel dizzy…”
He falls down to the ground shortly after, and I step inside with Papa, and heave him up. My big brother comes rushing down the stairs, and whispers, though he might as well been shouting from how loud he was. “What the hell did you do, Sally? T- Oh, hello, William.” He shortly interrupted his rant.
“Hey, Bob.”
“Anyways, why did you do that? One he wakes up, nobody knows what he’ll do! I only know that it can’t be good… Oh god, and if he thinks that William made this happen – Do you even know how much this might break our family apart?”
I shake my head and take out a package out of my pocket. The pills, three missing. “Bob, listen. I decided to take action, enjoy my life. And I know you want to do the same. Here, take these, and do what you want with it. Though, as much as I know you, you should go to the kitchen first.”
“Sally, you can’t be seri-”
I interrupt him. “Do with them whatever you want. Put them away, frame me, mom, Papa, or that perv living next door, or do what I expect you to do. Come on, we are two apples off of the same tree, Bob. We both know what you are going to do.”
Reluctantly, he takes the pills. “Alright… If you look for me, I will be in the kitchen, with mom.”
“That’s a good brother. I will be upstairs with Papa and Dad.”
We both seperate ways as we two heave dad up to his room, and as Bob goes into the kitchen to follow his own desires.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/713a2b/str8_fm_inc_dad_me_and_my_lovely_papa
well that branches off in interesting ways
hope to see more