{ASSM} <HoF> "Bondage Daddy" (Mf inc oral anal tools <*>) by Father Ignatius
Father Ignatius
Bondage Daddy: Playing with Daddy's Tools
(Mf inc oral anal tools <*>)
(c)July 2001 Father Ignatius FatherI...@hotmail.com
This story was the entry for Eros in the "ASSTR Hall of Fame
Writing Game" (http://www.asstr.org/Rui_Favorites/HoFWG/)
-----
Part I of "Daddy's Little Girl", by Eros, appears at
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Collections/Old_Joe's_Collection/Incest/Eros/eros-Da
ddysLittleGirl.txt
and ends with the note "To be continued". I can find no evidence
of any continuation, however, and--as far as anyone knows--Eros
has stopped writing, so I decided to continue the story myself.
Eros is now in the ASSTR Hall of Fame
(http://www.asstr.org/~ASSHoF/#Eros).
-----
Dad kept his distance for some days after I first got him to fuck
me. He avoided me by sticking close to Mom around the house.
Like I said, she wasn't interested in screwing him to start with,
for whatever reason, so this tagging along just irritated her and
made things worse for him.
He didn't talk to me if he could avoid it. He wouldn't catch my
eye when we passed in the passage and stuff. The guilt thing, I
guess. And he'd have been dumb not to be scared of going to jail.
I've heard things about what happens to sex offenders there,
especially guys who fuck their little, flesh-and-blood, under-age
girls.
It was never going to last though. He's a real horny guy, like I
told you, and getting nothing from Mom. I paid attention to
listening for sounds of passion from their bedroom. I'm pleased
to say there weren't any. In fact, at one stage I heard Mom say
irritably, "Shit! Every time I turn around, there's that damn
thing pointing at me. Leave me alone, for God's sake!" So I
reckoned it was only a matter of time before poor old Dad had to
point his thing in the direction of his little girl to meet his
needs.
I took to staring at him a lot, at his crotch and stuff,
especially when we were all three together, like in the kitchen
for breakfast or whatever. He would see me staring and get
embarrassed. At these times, he stuck close to Mom, pissing her
off even more. I would stare at his crotch and squeeze my legs
together. I would remember what it had felt like to have his
thick cock stretching my fuckhole like it was never stretched
before and what it was like to feel his big, rough hands on my
ass.
As the days passed and he got more and more overdue for relief,
sticking close to Mom ceased to be an option 'cause he got a very
visible hard-on whenever I started staring. "I started staring one
time at breakfast when he was waiting for the toast to pop, and he
had to sit down at the kitchen table to hide his erection from
Mom." When the toast popped, she looked at him, expecting him to
stand and get it.
"Allow me," I said, and passed it over.
She looked at me a little strange, and then shrugged. I usually
don't help around the house at all. I could tell she didn't want
to make a remark over a hopeful sign and maybe start a fight. I
sat down to watch him butter the toast. I squirmed one foot out of
my school shoe and slid my toes up against his foot. He jumped and
moved it back. Mom looked at him quizzically. I put my foot on his
knee. He couldn't move that back. My own knee banged the underside
of the table. Mom jumped and glared.
"What's going on around here?" she demanded.
"Nothing," mumbled Dad.
"Sorry," I said. I twisted my foot so my toe-nails were against
the inside of his thigh and ran my foot quickly up to his crotch.
He jumped, too.
"Sorry," he said.
Mom glared at us suspiciously. She sensed something was going on
but she didn't know what. She'd never have guessed that her
husband and her not-quite-fourteen-year-old daughter and were
playing footsy under the kitchen table during family breakfast.
I sat sipping my coffee, using both hands to hold the cup by the
rim, and pretended to stare out the window into the back yard. But
I was peeking at my captive father while my toes burrowed around
in his lap. I could feel the hard bar of an enormous erection
fighting against the cloth of his pants. It lay squashed between
his belly and his thigh and, when I pressed against it with the
tip of my big toe, it clenched up involuntarily, half a second
later. It reminded me of this sea-anemone I saw on a school outing
to the aquarium. Every time a fish swam past nearby, it clenched
up just after the fish had passed and then it unclenched again.
It was a really strange feeling and I was having fun experimenting
with it. Dad gave up trying to look as if he was eating breakfast.
He sat staring at the wall behind me, hands gripping each side of
his plate of eggs and bacon. I could see the muscles of his jaw
clench. Mom was staring at him with a "Say, what?" expression.
I kept on doing it, again and again, experimenting with the weird
feeling, until I felt his cock pulsate not just once but over and
over and over. He gave a kind of snort or grunt or whatever and
let go his plate to grab under the table but my foot was back
under my chair where it belonged.
"What is the matter with you?" Mom said, bugged.
"Nothing," he mumbled, blushing like a kid caught with his hand in
the cookie jar.
Mom got up and grabbed her car keys. "Come along," she said to me,
"Time for school." And to Dad, she said, "Aren't you going to
work? If you don't leave now you'll get caught in traffic." He
usually leaves first. He kind of grunted and didn't reply
properly. She shrugged and got up to go herself.
"Come along, you," she said to me. I hastily squished my foot
half-way back into my shoe and hobbled off for my lift to school.
"Don't walk on the backs of your shoes like that," said Mom.
"Sorry," I said. "Bye, Dad!"
And off we went to school, leaving dear old Dad sitting at the
kitchen table, praying for us to get the fuck out of the house so
he could hobble back upstairs to get a shower and a change of
clothes. He was going to be caught in traffic, all right.
I felt it was going to be a good day. I wasn't even at school yet
and already I had got my Daddy to come in his pants in front of my
mom without getting caught.
"I just feel that today is going to be a good day," I said sweetly
to my grim-faced mom. It works every time. The irritation faded
right out and she smiled at me and rumpled my hair.
"That's great, kitten."
* * *
Come Saturday, Mom was going shopping, leaving Dad and me together
at home. I planned to take advantage. As Mom's car backed down the
drive I delved into my wardrobe to see what I could find. I came
up with a white top with a deep, round neckline and short, full
sleeves that used to fit me a few years ago before my boobs
started growing. I stripped and struggled into it. It was a tight
fit now, and it was not designed to stretch. My boobs were crammed
uncomfortably in like grapefruit in a too-small shopping bag. It
was short and would leave my midriff bare, especially if I was
wearing something with a low waistline.
Low waistline. Hmmmm. I burrowed some more and came up with some
stretch shorts that I also hadn't worn in a while. They were
bright turquoise and very pre-teen and un-cool. I squeezed myself
into them. They were as tight as a drum. Like, I could scarcely
walk. And they left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "No
panties" was their message, shouted loud and clear across the
room.
Dad was out back, doing something at his work-bench. I'd only
manage an un-sexy hobble if I went out there barefoot over the
gravel pathway so I decided that it was pre-teen day and completed
my ensemble by digging out my old Doc Martens.
I took a look at myself in the mirror. I was a dirty old man's
wet-dream. A total mall-rat. My mother would have freaked. That
gawky, zitty guy down at MacDonald's would have blushed and given
me extra fries.
As a finishing touch I unwrapped a raspberry popsicle and
practiced twirling it around between my pouting lips, sucking it
in and drawing it slowly back out again. I brushed my fringe
forward so I could peek cutely up through it at the world of adult
males. Hell, if I couldn't get laid by my Dad I could go down the
mall and pull someone else.
When I got outside I was surprised to see that Daddy was wearing
his gym kit. Boots, his mattress pants and a thick, cotton,
washed-out kangaroo top with a hood and a lace-up neck where his
thick, curly, black chest-hair showed through.
We call them his mattress pants because they are made of this
coarse cloth striped blue and gray. Grandpa calls them that 'cause
he says mattresses always used to be made from cloth like that.
Grandma said to Mom, when she thought I wasn't listening, that
it's cuz mattresses used to have this funny, nubbly stuffing
inside them that made them bulgy and uncomfortable to lie on.
Granny giggled but Mom got all prissy. Whatever. They're shorts
and very short ones at that. A lot of guys at the gym wear them.
The point about mattress pants is that they lace up the front so
the guys can pull the laces tight and make them fit as snug as
they like. The more buff they get, the snugger they go for. Dad is
in good shape, like I told you, and has a good, all-over tan. His
mattress trousers showed off his big, sexy, round beefy butt. But
most eye-catching was the big bulge in his crotch under the laces.
He looked really hot. Not suave or subtle or sophisticated or
anything like that. Just big and meaty and hairy and sexy. I felt
myself moistening up as I looked at him.
"Hi, Daddy," I mumbled through the twirling popsicle. I fluttered
my baby-blues like the tarty little mall-rat I was.
"Hi, sweetheart," he said, not looking up. He was focused on his
woodwork. He had a big plank over two trestles, in front of his
work-bench. I went and leaned over the end of the plank, on my
elbows, so it stuck into my belly. I propped my cheeks on my
fists and worked on sucking at the popsicle and looking up at him
through my fringe. He took no notice.
I stood up and put one hand behind me on my butt, pushing my mound
out at him. I could feel sawdust and shavings stuck to my midriff.
He was a real man and randy as hell. He should have been gaping at
me wide-eyed like little kids watching the guy at the mall who
makes up candy-floss for them. He should have been getting hard.
He should have been dragging me under a bush and fucking us both
to a standstill. But he didn't even look at me.
It was like when I was a little kid I would go out back to his
work-bench. He'd be focused on what he was doing and not pay me
any attention. I would play with his tools on the work-bench to
get him to take notice of me. He would always start out by saying
"Don't play with Daddy's tools, sweetheart," but he still wouldn't
notice me.
This one time I had to cut myself on this chisel and scream before
he took notice. He got startled and irritated and spanked me. Mom
came out to see what was going on, and there was this shouting
match between them, and she took me off to put a plaster on my
hand. But I got plenty of attention, which is what I was after.
So I knew just what to do. I bent over the near trestle, rested my
elbows on it again, reached out for the tools and started
fiddling.
"What's this thing for, Daddy?"
"Don't play with Daddy's tools, sweetheart,"
Bingo. Right on cue. I carried right on fiddling with one hand and
twirling the popsicle in my mouth with the other. I stared up at
him, wide-eyed, through my fringe. He had to look at me now. He
did. I saw him noticing my outfit. There was no way he could
misunderstand that my agenda for the morning included a follow-up
to our recent little pool-party. He tried to play it cool but it
was too late. I started the crotch-staring game as he worked. He
lost focus, and now and again I saw his eyes flickering over to
me. He quickly away when he saw me seeing him watch me. Sure
enough, I could see his bulge starting to grow. His concentration
for woodworking went completely to hell. It was a battle of wills
and I was going to win.
"It's all right," I said, "Mom's out shopping."
He didn't reply.
I took a big screwdriver off the bench and started playing with
its plastic handle like it was an erect dick and I was giving it a
hand-job. I squeezed it and ran my thumb over the round bit at the
end, around the slot behind it, and up and down the slots on the
side. He still tried to be cool. I plopped out the popsicle and
was getting ready to suck the screwdriver's red handle when he
grabbed it from me.
"I said '_Don't_ play with Daddy's tools, sweetheart'!"
I just put the popsicle back in my mouth and twirled it around and
stared at him cheekily with wide-open eyes. He dropped the
screwdriver and suddenly grabbed my wrist. He took the roll of
masking tape in his other hand, and pulled tape off it with his
big, white teeth. He got a whole long piece of tape and wound it
'round and 'round my wrist. Then he yanked it forward and wound
the tape around the trestle furthest from me. I was pulled all
bent over and couldn't move back.
"Hey!" I said. The popsicle fell out of my mouth onto the ground.
I twisted my neck 'round, trying to see his face. I couldn't tell
if he was laughing or cross. I didn't know if I should be scared
or not.
He said, "I said '_Don't_ play with Daddy's tools, sweetheart'!"
It was my left wrist he taped down. That meant I definitely
couldn't fiddle around any more with the tools on the bench. My
right hand was still free, though, and there was one of Daddy's
tools in reach of that. I decided to go for broke. I stuck out my
hand, reached for his crotch and grabbed at his bulge. Yep, there
was a big cock-stand in there, keen to get out and about.
"What about this tool, Daddy? Can I play with this tool? You came
out here to do woodwork, Daddy. Do you want to do some work with
this woody? Huh, Daddy?"
He grabbed my wrist and tried to pull my hand away, but I grabbed
the laces in my fingers and wouldn't let go. He went for the roll
of masking tape again, using both hands this time, and yanked off
a length. He moved so he was standing right next to the far
trestle, with his balls almost resting on it. That put my wrist on
top of it and he quickly taped it to the trestle, same as the
other one. I was terribly excited but squeaked in pretend dismay.
"It's all right," Daddy said, "Mom's out shopping." I got the
feeling he was teasing me.
"Okay, Bondage Daddy," I said, "what are you going to go to me
now?" I let go the laces straining to contain his package,
allowing him to move away. But he didn't. He stood there next to
me. I couldn't turn my head around far enough to see his face but
his crotch was right by my cheek. I could just reach to scratch
under his balls with the fingernails of two fingers. He seemed to
like it.
But he wasn't the only horny person present. Time to move matters
on.
"I think you're a mean Daddy to tie me up like this," I whined,
writhing around and wiggling my butt. "Just for that, I'm not
going to let you fuck me."
And I spraddled my legs out so I could hook the heels of my Doc
Martens around the outside of the trestle.
"So there," I said. "Now you can't get my pants off."
I expected the pants to split any minute which would have been
just great, but Dad did just what I wanted. He went round the back
of me and yanked my heels free. He pulled my ankles back at waist
level so my legs were straight out behind me. He wrapped one
strong arm around my knees while I squeaked and struggled and
pretended to be scared. But I was really loving every second of
it.
I felt his big, rough workman's hand under my belly, reaching for
the big, kitsch plastic turquoise button holding my pants closed
above the zip. He fumbled around a bit and I thought he might just
yank it right off. That was fine by me--I was as turned on as I'd
even been and desperate for his big cock to be inside me. But he
eventually managed it, despite my squirming, and the pants peeled
readily apart as he pulled the zip down. His fingers were right by
my clit and he teased me with a lightning-quick slide of his
fingers along my slit before pulling the pants away down my legs.
They caught on the Doc Martens, but he yanked them off roughly.
I was hoping he'd grab me by the thighs and sink his huge cock
into my sopping, hungry cunt, but he had other plans. I saw his
hand out of the corner of my eye, picking the roll of tape off the
bench. He tore some free. I felt him grip my ankle. He hooked my
heel back round the trestle the way I had it hooked before and
taped it to the trestle leg. He tore off more, hooked my other
ankle outside the other side of the trestle, and bound it as well.
While he was there, he taped my knees to the trestle as well, and,
for good measure, he tore off lots more tape and put a belt of it
round my naked back and under the plank. It held my bare belly
firmly down onto the scratchy sawdust and shavings on the plank.
So there I was, lying face-down on a plank in the back yard, legs
stretched wide apart, taped down hand-and-foot to two trestles. A
ridiculous little cut-off blouse held my reluctant boobs captive
as they pressed into the plank. Apart from that and my boots, I
had nothing on. My legs were so far apart that I could feel my
ass-hole pulling in as the cold got to it, and I could feel a
gentle breeze wrap itself chillingly around my wet, swollen cunt
lips. And I was more desperate than ever for my Daddy to fuck me.
But he wouldn't. He came around to stand in front of me. His
bulging package was right in my face. I could see every stitch in
the fabric of his mattress pants. I stretched out my tongue to see
if I could lap at it. I succeeded in swiping at the laces briefly
with the very tip of my tongue, but then he moved back a fraction
so I couldn't quite get to him. So near and yet so far.
"Okay, you little cock-teaser," he said, "You think you're ready
to play with the grown-ups? Well, let's see if you can take some
of what you've been giving me these past few days."
His hands appeared in my line of vision and undid the knot in his
laces. He pulled the laces loose and his enormous erection shoved
at the loosened cloth. He put his palms to his hips and rolled the
tight shorts down over his big, round butt. His cock flopped out
and banged the tip of my nose on its way down. It caught on my
lower lip. In a flash I opened my mouth and sucked the head of my
Daddy's cock greedily into my mouth. It was huge. Much bigger than
my boyfriend Ricky's, but Ricky's only fourteen. I just had to
open my mouth wider than it ever opened before, is all.
As soon as my lips were round his dick, Daddy let go the mattress
pants and put his big hands on the side of my head. The rolled-up
cloth of the pants formed a sausage snuggled under his butt and
balls. The pants weren't going anywhere. They were too tight. I
was in a position to get a very good view of this because he took
my head in a grip like a vise and pulled my face down into his
crotch as he thrust his huge cock into my gaping, eager mouth. I
tried to get right to work with my tongue but, truth to tell,
there wasn't much room to work in.
The head of his cock rammed its way quickly across the roof of my
mouth and buried itself forcibly in my throat. Suddenly, I wasn't
so eager any more. I couldn't breathe, and I gagged and tried to
pull back, but he grunted, "No way, kitten." I felt his fingertips
digging into the back of my head, holding me right where he wanted
me. "Oh, yeah, baby," he said as my throat convulsed frantically
around the head of his frighteningly big dick.
I began to panic. The thought flashed through my mind that I would
have to bite to escape but he was 'way ahead of me on that one. As
the idea was still forming in my mind, his thumbs pressed hard
into my cheeks, pressing them in between my teeth, like when you
force the bit into a horse's mouth. To bite him, I'd have to bite
through my own cheeks and his thumbs first.
Just as panic overwhelmed me, he pulled out. I lay gasping and
choking on the plank, with saliva dribbling out of my mouth onto
the ground. His drool-slimed cock brushed against my ear.
"Okay," said Daddy, "it seems that's a grown-up game my little
girl suddenly finds she isn't big enough to play after all. Let's
try something else."
I heard him pick something up off the work-bench. He held it where
I could see it for a moment. It was a bottle filled with thick,
gooky stuff the colour of dark honey.
"Linseed oil," said Daddy.
I heard the cork squeaking out of the neck of the bottle and then
a steady little dribble of oil on my shoulders, like pouring salad
dressing or something. Daddy moved down my side towards my butt
and I felt the little tickly feeling of the dribble travelling
around and around and slowly down my back until oil was pouring
down my butt-crack. With my legs held that far apart, it flowed
straight down onto my ass-hole and down to mix with the wetness I
was making for myself.
The dribble went back up to the small of my back and held still a
while. I felt a little lake of linseed oil forming there. The
bottle clinked back onto the bench and I heard a rattle of Daddy
picking up something else.
"Screwdriver," he said. It appeared briefly where I could see it.
He was holding it by the shaft. It was the one with the handle I'd
been giving the hand-job to tease him while, I now realised, he
was waiting to ambush me into this. It had a big round end, to
push against the palm of your hand when you're using it, and deep
slots all down its length, to make a better grip for turning with.
I felt him twirling the handle in the oil-lake on my back, next to
my masking-tape belt. He twirled it like I twirled the popsicle
when I was working at getting myself into this mess. I could see
the popsicle lying in the dirt below me.
Daddy started dragging the handle along my ribs, working up my
back, spine outwards, rib by rib, all the way up the one side and
then all the way up the other. My back was beginning to hurt from
being taped down and from the tension of trying to pull away from
being choked by his cock. The screwdriver handle provided an
excellent hard massage. Mmmmmh!
When he got to the top again, second side, he ran the handle,
pressing hard, down my spine. He got to the masking tape around my
waist and skipped over that. The handle continued down to my tail,
between my butt-cheeks, and pressed firmly against my ass-hole,
which clenched again, involuntarily. Daddy kept pressing it with
the handle, and then relaxing. My ass-hole would clench, all by
itself, and then relax again. I was reminded of what his cock did
when I was pressing it under the kitchen table.
Again and again, he kept doing it, steadily harder and harder, and
every time my ass-hole would clench, and relax. We kind of got
into a rhythm and then, suddenly, just as my ass was unclenching
the one time, he pushed the handle in again, hard, when I wasn't
expected it. Ooooh! The round bit of the handle popped into my
ass, which clamped into the groove behind the ball.
"Hey!" I said. I never let Ricky fuck me in the ass. I don't think
he really wanted to--he was just curious. But I certainly didn't
want him to, and he'd never made that big a deal of it. But now,
here I was, taped to a plank and my Daddy had just stuck an oily
screwdriver handle up my virgin butt!
"_Hey!_" I said. But Daddy just said, "You wanted to play with my
tools, so we're playing with my tools."
My embarrassed, tightly-clamped sphincter could feel the
beginnings of the grooves that went down the rest of the handle
that was still sticking out of my butt. I felt Daddy start turning
the handle and the ends of the grooves, snuggled up to my
gripping, trying-to-escape, nowhere-to-go ass-hole, went
rub-rub-rub on the side of the ass-muscle and it was _nice_! I
felt tears squirting from in my clamped-shut eyes as I pressed my
cheek against the rough plank. Mmmmmh!
I realised that the muscles of my butt, my oily back, my
hamstrings, the inside of my spraddled-wide thighs, were clamping
just as hard as they could. And the sphincter muscle, too, of
course. I realised that the muscle was tiring, trying to crush the
plastic handle and getting nowhere. It wasn't going to let me
relax it, but it could not stay that clamped forever either.
The handle stopped turning, at least allowing me the chance to
breathe, but Daddy left it jammed up my butt. I could hear
clanking as Daddy fiddled around on the bench, and the noise of a
plug going into an electrical socket. A power drill appeared
briefly in my line of sight. What the...!?
"Power drill," said Daddy. He pressed the trigger and there was a
loud, roaring whirr as the drill spun round. I saw his fingers
click a switch on the drill.
"Maximum slow," he said, and clicked another. "Hammer-drill
setting," he said, and then "Chuck key," showing me that little
screwy-in thing for tightening when you put drills in.
I then learned what it feels like you have a screwdriver handle up
your butt and someone chuck-keys the shaft into a power drill.
It's a weird feeling. I got worried.
"Daddy..." I said.
"It's all right," he said, "Mom's out shopping."
Now he was holding the handle in my butt by the drill handle, I
immediately felt he could move it around a lot more easily and
more forcefully.
"Daddy..." I said.
"Right, kitten, are you ready for this?"
"No! Daddy, please!"
And he hit the trigger, just for a second. I screamed in the roar
of the drill and, as it slowed and clattered to a halt, I felt
tears streaking the sawdust on my cheeks. There was so much
feeling that I couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure. My
clenched butt muscles were aching with the strain. I couldn't
speak. I couldn't breathe. And I felt my Daddy pushing the handle
further in. My ass was too tired to fight it and it let go the
groove round the handle it had been clenching and allowed the
round end to advance further into virgin territory. I became aware
that my oily sphincter was now gripping, as hard as it still
could, the deep slots around the handle of the screwdriver. If he
hit the trigger now...
He hit the trigger.
The top of my head came off.
I screamed with breath I didn't have, bucking and yanking against
the masking tape, for the seconds that it took for the drill to
stop again.
Daddy waited patiently for longs seconds until I started to draw a
long, shuddering breath, and then he did it again. My stomach
muscles cramped, butt, thighs, everything, and again I screamed.
But it wasn't pain. It was pleasure.
As I lay on the plank, making this discovery, I felt Daddy gently
pull the screwdriver out. My trembling sphincter felt the slotted
part of the handle retreat, closed down gratefully on the groove
it had clamped so hard before, and unresistingly opened for the
big round bit at the end to come out. When it was all out, and the
round bit at the very end nestled against my ass, Daddy hit the
trigger again, this time for a full five seconds, and I came in a
way I'd never heard you could come.
When it was over, I had no strength left in any muscle. I lay on
the plank, all slack, like a stuffed toy.
"Chuck key," said Daddy, again. I felt the cold, metal teeth on
the bevelled head press against the oily sphincter that had no
resistance left. The head popped in and Daddy pushed the short
shaft in until the little lever at the top, that you twist to
tighten the drills, was nestled in my butt-crack. It occurred to
me that I could walk around all day with that thing up my butt and
no-one would even know. I hoped that was a good sign that Daddy
would want to fuck his bound daughter from behind, like he did the
previous time by the pool, in a way that he couldn't have done
while the shaft of that big screwdriver was sticking out of my
ass.
"Paint brush," said Daddy.
I heard him picked up the bottle of linseed oil and felt the
tickling dribbled as he topped up the pool in the small on my
back. I felt bristles in my back, dabbing into the reservoir as
Daddy loaded the brush. And then he started to paint me with
linseed oil.
He started by working out from the pool on my back, painting my
back, painting my butt, swoosh-swoosh, back and forth. The feeling
was weird. Smoothness as the brush goes one way, little bristly
prickles when it turns around and smoothness. He moved down my
butt-crack, painting my ass, which didn't clench any more, partly
because the chuck key was protecting it, sort of, and partly
because it couldn't any more. And then he started painting my
labia, swoosh-swoosh, with my clit getting both the smooth feeling
and the bristly feeling in turn and unable to say which it liked
better. It liked both, a lot, though. My
"I-want-to-be-fucked-good-right-now" feeling got stronger and
stronger and stronger.
I felt my bum writhing around luxuriously and went "Mmmmh!" I
heard Daddy catch his breath as I did so and prayed there was a
rampaging erection right behind me that could only be sorted out
in one way.
Erection or not, the paint-brush was building me rapidly to a
shattering orgasm when Daddy moved away and started painting the
insides of my thighs, up and down, from trembling knee to
trembling ass. I whimpered a protest at my clit going on the back
burner when I was in sight of coming. Daddy understood and said,
"Seems to me that little fuck Ricky who took your cherry couldn't
show you too much about foreplay, huh?".
But again, I heard that little catch in his breath and thought,
"Yes! Finally!" when I heard him put the brush on the bench and
take me round the thighs in his big hands. I could feel the
roughness of his hands prickling through the lubrication of the
oil. I felt the head of his cock press against my cunt. He waited,
and took it away again.
"Daddy! Please! Fuck me! Please!"
He pressed again, and then, in one movement, rammed it all the way
in. His balls slapped against my supercharged clit, and I felt him
gasp as his big, hungry, linseed-lubed cock bottomed out in the
deepest recesses of his teenage daughter's cunt. He hung on hard
to the front of my hips, and I felt two big fingers, one from each
side, sliding their way towards my clit. They met there and
massaged and the orgasm that had been building for longer than any
orgasm I ever had before swept through me as my Daddy began
steadily to pound into me.
My orgasm peaked rapidly but was kept on the peak by his fingers
and plunging cock. He thrust strongly but took his time, too, and
gave himself a good fuck inside his taped-down daughter. And all
the time he fucked, I kept coming and coming and coming beyond
what I ever thought I could do. Very gradually, he speeded up, and
I felt his panting breath behind me as he bent more and more over
me. His hairy chest pressed into my oily back, squashing my abused
boobs even more. He got to the short strokes and grunted like an
animal as he jetted his spunk into his little girl.
He lay, gasping, with his full weight on me as he recovered. After
a while, I became aware of someone's head over the back garden
wall.
"Daddy," I said, "How long do you suppose Mr. Bryant from next
door has been watching us?"
At that point, we heard Mom's horn in the driveway. It was the
blast that means, "Come and help carry in the groceries." We
hadn't even heard her car in the driveway.
-----
- Thank you for reading me.
- I would be pleased to hear from you, at
FatherI...@hotmail.com, about whether or not you liked this
story, and why.
- The Stories of Father Ignatius are at
http://www.asstr.org/~FatherIgnatius/Stories.html
- Thanks to DrSpin, Denny and Alexis for encouragement, guidance,
proofing and editing.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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