I hadn't intended to go into quite so much detail about my first time with my dad, as it's kind of personal and I didn't want to turn it into "just another dirty story". I've felt the need to talk about our first time for a while now, as no one really knows the truth where we live now - we're just considered an age gap relationship. But please, if you'd like to read part 2, please let me know by dropping a note or emailing me at beckycooper@ymail. com. I'm sorry if the grammar and the action isn't quite graphic enough, but I'm not all that good with talking dirty either. I promise though, I'll try and improve with the way I communicate.
I suppose for any of this tale to make sense, I should start from the beginning and explain a little bit about myself. As I am today, I’m 18, a redhead with 36c breasts, 27 inch waist and 34 inch hips – I’m not a bad looking girl by any stretch of the imagination, so I suppose to a lot of my friends today, my chosen lifestyle wouldn’t make much sense – I could probably go out every night and have a new fella take me to bed at the end of it if I so desired. The thing of it was, I had become sexually aware when I was. . . 11 I’d guess, just starting to mature sexually, and my focus had always been fixed primarily on my dad – subconsciously at first, but more and more intently as I grew from a girl first experiencing hormonal rushes, into a young woman at the age of 18 My fascination had come about when I’d gotten up to go to the toilet one night when I was just a little girl, and happened to bump into my dad who was barely cupping his testicles with one hand, and a slightly erect penis just slipping out of the side. Of course, I don’t think any girl can really say they had a full understanding of cock at that age, so to me back then, it just. . . mesmerised, as it looked.
From that night on, I’d spend quiet moments looking at examples of naked men, venturing into my first throes of masturbation, and for a good few years I admit that even though it was my father that put me on my path towards sexual awareness, the memory of seeing him naked faded a little as I grew. I remember dwelling all the time though, wanting to touch it and experience for myself – not really thinking about the taboo or even that it was my dad, but always drifting towards the only memory I had of a real cock.
So anyway, spinning on a bit, I’d gone through school being fairly popular – My comprehensive had a reputation for being a bit rough in Plymouth, but as long as you’re friendly and get on with your work, no one really bothers you, and life can be pretty cool – I met a guy when I was 16, and was pretty happy with having my first real boyfriend; my dad wasn’t too chuffed, he called him “a bit of a scrote”, but that didn’t stopped me. I loved simon as much as a girl who happens to be 18 could, so much so that during the first opportunity that presented itself, I ended up naked on his bed, with him making a fairly half arsed effort in taking my virginity – I knew from the other girls in my year that it was going to be painful, but simon made it excruciating. . . No foreplay was really involved, we were both really nervous about getting caught, and I basically finished off with giving simon a blow job to stroke his ego, so to speak. After that, I ended up walking home by myself, feeling particularly sore, and my first relationship fell apart after that.
My dad, bless him, had noticed that I was feeling particularly down, had guessed it was something to do with simon, and suggested that we go and see a film like we used to when I was feeling low.
A couple of minutes later, my dad followed and lowered himself into the drivers seat. He turned over the engine, looked over to me to smile kindly, and then took a second look. “What?” I asked with concern “Is everything ok?” I ventured further, nervously.
My dad, ever the optimist, took control of the situation, checked the listings for the local multiplex, and suggested a comedy.
I could feel the lump in his jeans pulsing, and could only conclude that I was the cause – suddenly that fascination, that temporary flush I had felt as a little girl pushed forward, and combined with more than a little lust; I turned my head slightly, looking back up at my dad again, just catching him looking back up at the screen – now I got it. The T shirt I was wearing flashed a little more breast than I’d anticipated, and he’d been looking every so often. I turned my head again, and rested my lips carefully, nervously where his cock resided, taking that final step and kissed his zipper region. Looking for a reaction, I received none whatsoever, so I slipped brought my hand up to my head, and rested it on his lump; he again fidgeted, but I decided that the risk of him shouting at me was worth the risk; I pulled the zipper down carefully, at which point he finally spoke “becky. What are you doing?!” he hissed quietly. I looked up, and despite his protests, pulled his zipper down completely, reached underneath his boxer, and pulled out his thick, veiny cock. My god, it was better than I remembered, and felt so unreal – I could feel the blood pulsing through his member as I closed my hands around him, slowly wanking him off to get him fully erect. Every now and then he uttered protests of how wrong it was; not only because the public nature, but because of the father/daughter relationship.
I slipped my hand down to the base of his shaft, and placed the head of his cock in my mouth, sucking nervously; he slipped one hand down and started stroking my hair, as well as giving me queues of where to lick and suck; I positioned my hand so his shaft was revealed, and licked my way up and down the entire length; I kissed each of his testicles, then licked my way back up his shaft before finally enveloping his beautiful cock in my mouth.
I looked up at him with a horny, satisfied feeling as he responded with a smile across the face. I wiped the cum from the sides of my mouth, licked my fingers clean and swallowed the remaining semen, before leaning in, suckling on his cock, kissing it finally and popping his manhood back inside of his trousers and zipping him up. Sitting up, I leaned over, kissed him on his cheek, only for him to turn and kiss me on my lips; our tongues gently intertwined between the moments when we weren’t tasting each other’s lips, caught in a moment of intense passion. Leaning back, I looked into his eyes and asked if there’s any way he could think of keeping me out past midnight without mum getting suspicious.
“I’m sure I can think of something” he replied, sighing in relief, as we turned back to the last 40 minutes of the film with me snuggled into him.
.
