Hallie
His savory flavor is still on my lips when I wake up. I flip over, furrowing my brow when I feel the chill in the bed. I fling my arm toward his side, desperate for his warmth, but it falls on the solid mattress.
“Jackson?” I stutter, licking my lips. His heady taste floods my mouth again, and I think I love it more than I should.
God, I sucked his cock. The man I think of as my father. I gave my first blow job and he talked me through it but he also used my face like I was his dirty little whore.
Why is that such a turn on? The way he moved between caring Daddy and indifferent sex offender had me wiggling and desperate by the time I swallowed that massive, salty load he blessed me with.
His computer monitor sleeps, the screensaver casting a soft light, displaying a collage of photos of us on the screen. The time is embedded on top of the images.
3:46 am.
We ended up in bed around one I think. I was sure that he would turn me over and spread my legs.
I was expecting him to drive that thick ten inches that almost choked me out into me. But my adrenaline must have crashed because I was asleep before anything could happen.
The worn fabric of Jackson’s old t-shirt across my nipples. My panties are sticky against my lower lips as I ache for him. I wish he were here with me to take care of the throbbing in my core.
I fumbled with a few boys in college but never did more than a little dry humping.
I hated that my heart felt attached to Jackson.
My dreams of him taking my virginity took up so many nights and daydreams. How could I want him like that?
He’s the father I never had, the man of the house and nearly twice my age.
But, God, he’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And now that I’ve seen his cock? No other man or boy would or could ever, ever measure up.
Literally. That thing has Guiness Book of World Records written all over it. How many pints of blood does it take to fill that thing I wonder as I sit up with a huff, tangling my fingers into my hair on both sides of my head.
He’s come to his senses I bet. That’s why he’s not here with me.
I’m sure the ‘this can never happen again’ talk is coming. He’s going to let me down as easy as he can, but it’ll still crush me.
As much as I do not want to have that talk, sitting here in the dark without him feels impossible. I need him, my body needs him. I’m dripping wet just knowing I’m in his bed and I got up close and personal with his dick.
And, the sound he made when he came? It was like Christmas, my birthday and the Forth of July all wrapped up together.
I made him happy.
I made him roar at the ceiling.
I made him come like a freakin’ fire hose.
Pride swells in my chest as my nipples burn. The memory of his hand on my ass and on my head doesn’t help things either.
I’m obsessed with my step-father. No matter how many ways I tell myself this is wrong, my body heat and the fluttering in my stomach tell me otherwise.
So, I crawl out of bed and pad my way down the hallway, running my fingers along the wall to keep myself steady. The flicker of gold and shadow from the fireplace in the family room casts a glow on the wall as I take the last few steps. As I get closer to the light, I can hear his ragged breathing.
He’s taking these grunting, heaving breaths.
As I creep closer, I press my fingers against my lips so hard, my teeth cut into the soft flesh. The noises he’s making are so sexy that a moan threatens to spill from my lips.
With the wall solid against my back, my vision adjusts in the dimness of the room. My belly flips when I see his hand around that massive length. He moves his hand in long, quick strokes, his head laying back on the top cushion of the sofa.
The head is a deep purple, the way it looked when he popped it out of my mouth earlier. A little thrill runs through me at being able to see it again. He’s completely erect again, and I can’t help but imagine how the thick jets of cum I swallowed would look shooting out of the tip.
My pussy clenches and gushes, and I have to lower myself into a crouch before my knees buckle.
I make myself small the same way I used to when I would watch him on Saturday afternoons.
Only then, he’d be sitting in that sexy man spread on the sofa.
His favorite college football team would be on the television as he growled and yelled at the screen. I’d watch in awe..
This is a replay of that, but so much more erotic and shameful. I know this is a bad idea but that doesn’t stop me from focusing on the movement of his hand. I inch closer, as close as I dare, my gaze never leaving his length.
God, why is that so sexy to watch?
His face is knotted in pleasure. He strokes himself faster, chasing his climax. When his thumb brushes over the tip, he lets out a shuddering moan.
I want that cum on me. I want it in me. I’ve wanted it before I even understood what it meant. I hold my breath as I scoot forward on my knees with eyes wide. When I take my hand away from my mouth, I worry my bottom lip with my teeth.
This man’s cock is the thing of dreams. I’ve seen it so many times in my sleep, but the real thing is so much better.
I want to feel him on top of me, experience the weight of his body on mine.
I want him to relieve the pressure that’s building in my feminine parts, give me the release I’m dying for.
“Spread your legs wider, baby. You’re gonna let Daddy in there one way or another…”
My clit is aching. I don’t even bother trying to keep from rubbing myself for a little relief. I slide my fingers into the drenched space between my body and my panties, finding that achy spot and press.
I bite back the moan creeping up my throat but I’m not fast enough.
Jackson’s head snaps up, then turns my way.
I flick my eyes from his down to where his hand stalls its frantic movement. A trickle of pre-cum dribbles out of the tip. Without thinking, I lick my lips, wanting to taste him again.
“You sneaking a peek at your father thinking about you?” he asks, his voice rumbling across the void between us. He’s so close, but still so far away.
All I can manage is a nod. I’m so wet, there might be a puddle forming under me.
“You didn’t get enough earlier, did you?”
“No,” I reply with a shake of my head, remembering every long inch that he shoved down my throat earlier.
“Then you crawl over here like a good girl,” he demands. “Hands and knees. I want to see my daughter crawl to me.”