by Sylvia Fox
He withdrew his face, but his grip on my hips was unrelenting. He lifted my ass back into the air, and his hand was between my legs. In the sticky, quivering wetness that used to be my pussy.
His middle finger and then his ring finger found no resistance and slipped inside me. His palm was down, toward the deck, and the two fingers inside me began to massage and strum at me. At a wonderful, hidden place.
How did this man know my body better than I did? How could he know these parts of me that I, living in this body for almost nineteen years, knew nothing about?
His fingers were pressing and aggressively rubbing something in me that sent deep surges to my core. Jolts of pleasure that were steadily increasing, getting more powerful, growing.
I heard myself whimpering again, begging for him.
“I need your cock,” I whispered. “Uncle John… Please. You’re old enough to be my father. Don’t you want this young pussy?”
“Good girl, Josephine. Just relax for me. You’ve done so well. Let it build. Don’t give in to it yet. Hold off as long as you can. It will be so much better. Trust me with your body,” John’s voice was commanding, but soothing. He was here with me. I had to trust him. He knew what was best. He knew my body better than I did, that much was obvious. I tried to nod, my whimpering became a guttural sort of humming.
He was sawing those two fingers in and out, finding that place inside me again and again, massaging it then pumping. Then rubbing it again.
I was in darkness, a winding passage. A light flickered somewhere. Up? Over there? No, straight ahead… it was frustrating, but it was there. Right in front of me. Just reach out and grab it.
Slap!
His hand crashed down on the left cheek of my ass, even as his left continued its wicked work on my cunt.
The spanking made me lose sight of the torch, the mysterious light, the release for which my body so desperately clamored.
Just as I settled into the rhythm again and found the path, he spanked me again. I gasped at the force of the blow, and the heat from where his palm landed surely must have exceeded the temperature of the water.
Again and again, he let me get close, so close, fingertips from what I needed more than the crisp mountain air I was sucking in by the lungful. But then he’d force my focus to shift to my ass. To the sharp, punishing spanks with which he was tenderizing my full, round ass.
My tears were a combination of the overwhelming climax I’d had, the pain his hand was delivering, and the frustration bubbling over inside me. Words tumbled from my mouth.
“Please, please Uncle John, oh fuck, please, I need to oh, oh, I need so badly, I, please…”
His palm massaged my ass in soothing circles and he replied in a calm, quiet voice. “What, Princess? What do you need. Tell me and I’ll deliver you. Just tell me, sweet girl.”
At this point, neighbors or not, distinguished professor at my school or not, best friend of my father or not, I didn’t. Fucking. Care.
I screamed.
“I need to come! John, I need to fucking come!”
And what did he do? What did this man, who had demonstrated complete mastery of my body do, when I expressed, with every fiber of my being, what I needed?
He chuckled.
“Good girl,” he said. “Yes, you do.”
The fingers inside me assaulted that place, what must be the g-spot Cosmo was so fond of. And then I felt his beard again, between the cheeks of my ass. He was licking me back there again, while at the same time pounding away at my spot.
I was reminded of a scene in a movie. That movie about the soccer team or rugby team or whatever it was in the plane crash in the Andes. A group of them climbed to the summit of a nearby mountain, hoping to see their foundation, and instead they were faced with miles and miles of ever-higher, more imposing peaks.
Orgasms I thought were good and satisfying just hours ago, were molehills. What John had done to my ass a short time ago was a mountain. What his fingers and mouth were doing to me was dropping me at the summit of Everest.
I screamed myself hoarse, bucking and twisting there on his deck, while he calmly massaged my g-spot.
And ate my ass.
And the agonizing ecstasy that wracked my body and rocked my soul short-circuited everything. I lurched and quivered and almost blacked out.
And then.
His cock, slowly pressed against my most sacred of holes. It wasn’t my pussy, no. Not my swollen, desperate pussy that needed him so much.
John was slowly penetrating my asshole with his cock.
At first I wasn’t sure. His tongue had felt so good, yet still taboo. But John’s size and girth was something else completely.
“I can’t…” I started. He ran his hands up my naked back.
“Please,” he begged me. “I need to have your ass. I need to pump it with my seed, Josephine. It won’t hurt for long. But if you give it to me, you’re truly mine. Has anyone fucked your ass, Princess?”
I shook my head as he slowly pushed in further, causing me to wince a bit. It was so tight there. I didn’t know how he’d fit.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “I won’t be able to stop, Josephine. My good girl. Can we role play again?”
I nodded. “Yes, Uncle John.”
He leaned in, pushing even further into my ass. Tears sprang to my eyes. It hurt, but it was an exquisite kind of pain. I wanted to give him it. I was desperate for him to have it.
Then he’d really be mine.
“Instead of Uncle John,” he whispered. “Why don’t you call me Daddy? Because this is so dirty, Princess. And you screaming out for your daddy to fuck you in the ass would make me come so hard, baby. I think it would make you come too. Wouldn’t it?”
Fuck. Yes. This fantasy would be my undoing. My nipples ached with the arousal at the forbidden thought.
His slow thrusting suddenly became faster, making me feel as if I was being split in two. But I bit my lip and I clutched the side of the bench, knowing that I was giving John the greatest pleasure of his life.
“Oh, my good girl,” he said as he buried himself in my ass. “It’s the tightest thing I’ve ever fucked. I can barely fit. I’m going to come so hard inside your ass, Princess. Do you like when Daddy fucks your ass?”
“Yes!” I screamed out into the night. “Your princess just wants to please you, Daddy. Please. Fuck my virgin ass. No one fucks me like my Daddy.”
“Fuck!” he cried out. I’d said the magic words.
He clutched my hips. He pounded my ass as if it was my pussy. He was relentless and I cried out with him, feeling his seed fill me. I could feel him throbbing and emptying himself into the most forbidden part of my body.
I could have died then and been happy. I’d given my all to the man of my dreams. He’d cried out for me as he’d finished and in that moment, the power roles were reversed.
I held the power when it came to John. Because he needed me as much as I needed him.
And that was scary.
The next thing I knew, I was in bed, between the softest sheets and beneath the heaviest, thickest comforter I’d ever felt.
It took me a moment to realize where I was, but the exposed wood all around me, the pure, rustic masculinity of everything, brought it all rushing back to me. I was in bed, in John’s master bedroom.
The door was open, and I could see shadows dancing on the wall outside, which made sense when I inhaled wisps of smoke from a fire that must have been roaring in the living room.
I lay there, replaying the drive, the dinner, and the hot tub in my mind. I ran my hands up and down my body, to find that I was completely naked. Brushing my fingers across my nipples made me shudder, and I let my hand linger between my legs a moment, finding everything there hyper-sensitive. And needy. Hungry for more.
I’d had two orgasms that defied description, that bankrupted the English language with any attempt to properly describe them. And my clit had been left completely untouched. I t
ouched it now, coaxing it out to play, gently caressing it. A small orgasm arrived quickly, and if I’d hoped one more climax would extinguish the fire in my loins, I was sorely mistaken. My body was on fire.
Only he was equipped to extinguish it. Only John knew what I needed, knew how to help me.
But first, I needed something for my head. I hadn’t realized how my head was pounding, a byproduct of beer and wine and blacking out.
I pushed myself up onto an elbow and surveyed the room. I smiled when I glanced at the nightstand. Three bottles of Gatorade, red, green, and blue, next to bottles of two different over-the-counter painkillers.
A hand-written note was folded between the pills and the drinks. I opened and read it by the moonlight and flickering firelight spilling in from the next room.
Josephine, I wasn’t sure which flavor you preferred or what you’d want for your headache. If you need something stronger, I either have it or will get it. Sleep as long as you like. Wake me if you need anything. Happy Thanksgiving – John
I shook three capsules into my hand and washed them down with a red Gatorade, sitting up in bed. I ran both fingers through my hair and stretched my arms above my head and then out in front of me.
I had a splitting headache, but my body felt fantastic. The food and sleep and the orgasms had me feeling like I’d spent a month at the spa.
A clock hanging on the wall with either a moose or an elk on it read 5:14. Had to be AM, I surmised, although in this new world of mine, a world of Thai food and mind-bending sex in which a man old enough to be my father made me chase orgasms.
I wasn’t sure if time mattered. All that mattered was John, and the secrets he knew about my body.
I slipped my legs over the side of the bed, my feet falling straightaway into the furry slippers I was sure I’d left packed, but that had somehow been placed perfectly on the floor.
I smiled and shook my head. If only I had clothes on, I was ready to go in search of John.
But did I really need clothes? He’d seen every part of me. Done things to me that not only had no man ever done, he’d done things to my body I could scarcely imagine.
In case I’d been dreaming, although the dull soreness in the muscles deep inside me, dormant sinews not used to such vigorous clenching, led me to believe it had all been very real, I couldn’t face him naked.
I stepped silently over to the dresser where my clothes had all been put away, and I pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and a Moultrie hoodie. Not my sexiest ensemble, but comfortable, and I didn’t figure John could possibly protest a shirt splashed across the front with the name of his alma mater and employer.
I found John on his sectional, stretched out in front of the fireplace, his shirtless chest serving as a bookmark for a thick novel he’d fallen asleep reading. He had on blue pajama pants, slung low, and it appeared nothing else. I stood and stared at him, his features sharp and handsome in the light of the fire. I glanced out the window to see heavy, wet flakes of snow falling through the pines.
My attention returned to John, and the wisps of salt and pepper hair traveling down from below his belly button in a straight line to the top of his pants. I’d heard that hair referred to as a “happy trail,” but had never given it much thought until now.
In my hyper-sexed state, it was a fucking jubilation trail. What it led to, consumed me. I bit my bottom lip and absent-mindedly let my right hand dip between my legs, rubbing myself through my yoga pants while staring at him.
Stop it! What the fuck was wrong with me? As soon as a started, I stopped, overcome with shame. Was I really going to stand here and rub myself off staring at a sleeping man? Old enough to be my father? Basically my dad, 2.0? I couldn’t.
Unless he told me to, of course.
I was his. After what he’d done to me, I was smitten. Obsessed. My body was making the decisions now. My libido was in charge. He’d planted something in my soul, my orgasms watered it, and it had grown like wildfire as I slept. Whatever, whoever, I had been before I got picked up for my trip to the mountains, that girl was gone.
I watched a video once of a colt, a young horse, who’d been born and was raised in a zoo or something, somewhere he’d lived his entire brief life on concrete, maybe dirt, but had never set foot on grass. He was taken to his new home in a trailer, and when the doors opened and ramp was stretched out to allow him egress, he gingerly padded down until he encountered this strange, soft, green stuff. He was terrified. He sort of half-stepped onto it with one hoof, but quickly withdrew. He bent low and smelled the blades of grass, shaking out his mane. He let his hoof again settle onto the ground, testing it to make certain it could support his weight. A few more steps, and it seemed safe. Within moments, he was the happiest pony you’ve ever seen, bouncing and frolicking in the pasture. What he’d been missing his entire life, but never knew it, was grass. And outdoors. Room to run.
Watching that video, I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced happiness to match it. Maybe if all my Christmases and birthdays were stacked up on top of each other. Maybe. But probably not.
I needed to frolic. To experience more of this wonderful, new world John had introduced me to. I glided around the sectional and knelt down in front of John’s prone body.
Any chance the events of last night could be blamed on a drunken mistake, or left undiscussed, chalked up as a moment of madness, were about to vanish. I needed him. Now.
I swallowed hard and reached a softly trembling hand for the crotch of his pants.
Chapter Six
I stopped short a fraction of an inch from touching John. If there was no turning back before, which it seemed there surely wasn’t, I would surely be jumping off the cliff with this. I held my hand there and inhaled deeply, trying to slow my pounding heart. The whole room felt charged with electricity, like during a storm, but in reality snow was falling quietly outside, a fire heading toward dying out a few feet away, popping and crackling, and John’s impressive chest rose and fell slowly.
Only I was in an excited state, it seemed. An aroused state, to be certain. I looked at his face, where the slightest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Was he dreaming? Of me?
His pajama pants had a button fly on them, and summoning all of my heretofore unrealized safecracking skills, I let my fingertips find the top button, slipping it free, my eyes watching John’s face for any sign that he’d been disturbed by my activity. He remained deeply asleep, his breathing unchanged, so I let my fingers drop to the second button, which would prove to be a challenge. The material around it was stretched, straining to contain what was inside. Resting heavy, laying there. My prize. His cock.
The opening I’d created would allow a finger inside, maybe two, but it wouldn’t allow me to reach what I so desperately needed. Perhaps there was a way I could adjust him, take pressure off that second button.
I let my index finger slip inside, still monitoring his handsome, sleeping face. My finger encountered an obstacle almost immediately, a spongy softness I knew could only be one thing. I dragged the nail slowly along, feeling like I could jump entirely out of my skin at any moment. I was strangely giddy at my naughtiness.
I let my finger caress and explore, and although his breathing remained deep and his eyelids clamped shut, his cock began to respond. I watched as it slowly unfurled, searching for somewhere to move to stand tall and erect, to harden completely. Searching for something to fuck.
I withdrew my finger, finding the second button was no unencumbered, and I popped it loose, creating the opening I needed.
My heart was absolutely pounding in my ears; if Id turned to find a guy dressed in full marching band uniform behind me hammering away at a bass drum, it wouldn’t have surprised me. I’d never before been so aware of my own heartbeat.
I could now access John’s manhood completely, and my hand reached in and took hold of his hardening shaft pulling it out into view only moments before it would have been too long and too hard to remove without t
aking his pants off completely, surely awakening him.
It sort of lazily rolled across, all on its own. It was somewhere between halfway there and fully hard and throbbing. But already a mouth-watering thickness. The number of penises, erect or otherwise, that I’d seen in my life was a pitifully small number. But I knew, in that moment, that I’d never see one more perfect. More masculine.
It was flared and muscly, and even over the aroma of the fire, I could smell the essence of John. The faintest aroma of sweat along with an undefinable musk that could only be pure testosterone.
I was mesmerized by his cock, letting my index finger gently caress its length, feeling the heat radiating from it; its weight. Its power.
My hand opened around the shaft, encircling it right in the middle. There was plenty of room left at each end even with my hand on it, and my thumb and index finger couldn’t touch without putting some pressure on it. Pressure which caused it to yield a bit. It wasn’t even all the way fucking hard?
I subconsciously licked my lips, giving it a slow stroke with my fist, feeling a deep throb course through it as it swelled a bit against my fingers.
“Put it in your mouth, Josephine. Suck Daddy’s cock.”
My blood turned to ice water.
John was awake.
Awake to find his good girl on her knees, stroking his cock.
I felt like someone in a horror movie, who just heard the slasher behind her, but who knows that if she turns around and sees him, that it’s over. As long as she doesn’t look, he won’t really kill her. Right? My eyes remained transfixed on the large cock in my hand, and I hoped against hope that the voice I’d heard was just my mind playing tricks on me.
The old joke about dogs who chase cars revolves around wondering what they’ll do with them if and when they catch them. I was the dog who’d gotten her teeth onto the bumper of that SUV down the street; what was my next move?
