Note from Greg: Since the first installment of this series received such a wide range of responses and interest, I thought I would continue on with Shelly’s story.
My sister had read my first story, and was fine with it being shared publicly. She was somewhat taken-back however, by some of the rude comments. She had always been ok with me writing, and posting our story, and hoped it would be well received.
For this next section, she offered an interesting suggestion. She volunteered to tell this part from her first hand perspective. I liked the idea. We will see how it goes over.
Shelly is not that much into writing. So I’ll do the actual typing and editing, but it is pretty much written in her own words.
First off, let me say how amazed I am at the number of hits on my brother’s first story. He had told me a while ago that he was considering doing something like this. I was fine with it, and a little bit curious about the whole thing. I was a little pissed at a few of the comments that came in response to it, particularly the ones about me being a “bitch or whore.”
I have turned out just fine by the way, Thank you. I grew up ok. I got married to a sweet guy. I’ve got two wonderful sons, whom I love very much. I have a good paying job that I like. My husband was in the military, and shipped out overseas. He was killed 3 years ago in an accident aboard a ship. It wasn’t combat related, someone just got careless.
For those thinking I’m all messed up mentally or something sorry, I’m just fine there too. I really don’t understand all the judgmental attitudes out there. For Pete’s sake, we are all adults. My story is on an adult web site being read by grown men, who choose to go there. Why be so judgmental about my life? For me, sex is fun and a part of life, with anyone. What is the big deal, we all do it, we all want it, and we all need it. Why can’t everyone just enjoy it for what it is? To me sex is best with someone you love, be it friend, spouse, or even a relative. What’s the difference? My family members are my best friends, and I love them the most. Greg’s giving me nasty looks now, so I better end my speech, and get to the story.
In Greg’s first story you heard how he got involved in my sex life. I know he wrote that it was all dad's doing, but I have to confess a lot of the initial stuff was me teasing and pushing things. True, dad jumped at the chance, as most men would. This is my version of how things got started. And by the way, for those who were worried that Greg never got “any.” I’ve got his cock in my hand right now. He says he writes better with a hard-on.
My earliest memory of all this stated when I was almost thirteen. Dad always sat in the living room in the evenings watching TV. My brother Greg usually cut out right after dinner to go to his buddy’s house until our 9:30 curfew. He was always late getting home.
Remember, all this happened in the era before computers, video games, cell phones. I was bored, and maybe just looking to gain some attention.
After finishing up kitchen chores, getting Trish off to bed, and homework, I would find some excuse to join dad on the couch. Being an affectionate kid, I would go and try to snuggle up next to him. With mom gone in the evenings at work, we had lots of time alone. I think things really got started because I got so bored with what he was watching.
I had started resting my head on his lap. He never objected to this, so I continued doing this for a while. I soon became aware that if I gently rocked my cheek into his lap, he seemed to get uneasy. I noticed other things also. He never said stop, so I persisted. Thinking this was a game he was playing, and trying to ignore me, I continued and watched him fidget around. I was playfully rocking my face around once, when finally he grabbed my head. He held me still, and then pushed the side of my face tightly against his lap. That is when I really felt the pressure from his stuff against my cheek. My constant teasing had finally gotten him aware of me. I had gotten his attention.
I think I was pretty na? about things. I wasn’t even thinking about where this was leading. At some point he called my bluff, and asked me if I wanted to see what I was doing to him? I didn’t think he was really mad or anything at me, so I just kind of acted “like whatever.”
At this, he undid the buckle on his belt, unsnapped the top of his jeans, and drew down his zipper. I just sat there, unsure what he expected of me. After letting me sit puzzled for a few moments he made some statement like,
“Well, take a look at what you got started girl”
I wasn’t going to do anything but look, but just as I leaned towards him he grabbed the back of my head shoving my face down into his crotch.
Dad always wore white briefs, “Tighty Whities,” I called them.
He pressed my face right against the fabric which was bulging up from the open fly.
With my face held there, I stiffened up. I guess he thought I would fight back, jerk my head up, and try to pull away. I have always had a little competitive, or tom-boy streak. So, I went with it, and stayed passive, sort of like “Yea, so what”
When he finally let me up, I looked to see him smiling.
“Well then, why don’t you have a real peek?” He said, challenging me.
I tried to peel open the slot in his underwear, but you knows how tight those things are. After me fiddling some, he finally stood up and dropped his jeans and shorts to about mid thigh, then dropped back on the couch. I sat there staring at the first male cock I had ever seen.
I know guys are all hung up on size. I don’t have any measurements I can give you.
I’m not good a guessing how many inches or whatever something is. All I could think of was how do you walk around all day with something like that between your legs? Doesn’t it get squashed or pinched when you move or sit? I was thinking it was always that size. I hadn’t realized that I had caused it to swell up like that.
Dad was pretty hairy around his balls, and the majority of his cock seemed twisted and bent. The end of his cock was buried down in his ball sack. I was totally absorbed by how alive it seemed to be. I seemed like a coiled up living thing. Dad reached down and straightened out the shaft. Sort of letting it fall across his leg closest to me.
The crown is what fascinated me the most. It was a deep crimson color. I had sort of figured a guy’s dick would be more like a finger. Remember, I had never seen a real cock, and had nothing really to compare it to. Anyway, dad just left it lying on its side sort of pointing toward me.
Dad said that I could touch it if I wanted to.
I wasn’t about to fall for the same trick by leaning over to get a better look, so I put a hand on his thigh and moved his leg somewhat to see if I could get it to move more. At my touch, it seemed to try to stand on its own.
I gently reached for it, and lifted the shaft part upward. I was stunned at how heavy it felt. It didn’t need much help to keep standing upright after that.
I started just sitting by him, and playfully tickling it after that. I have always enjoyed the feeling that I can make any man respond to my touch. I would lay there along side him blowing at it, or softly caressing the sides of it. Often I’d just trace little circles in the soft skin of his ball sack with my fingers. That would usually launch his dick. I was so fascinated with it moving, as if of its own free will.
I remember a certain ease during all this I wasn’t scared, ashamed, or anything. It just seemed to be something we fell into naturally. At first I had no idea what to do beyond this. Besides, I really did just like watching it twitching as I teased it. We continued to mess around like this for a several weeks.
I don’t think I would have thought of it, so it was probably at dad’s suggestion that I began using my tongue and mouth more. I became accustom to the regular taste of it. But, I noticed a change as things went on. I didn’t know back then that it was really “pre-cum” that I tasted. It never turned me off though.
Finally, one time dad actually had a cum. With very little warning, a torrent of the semen stuff just erupted from his dick. I was scared at first. He groaned so loudly, and shook all over. It really scared the hell out of me. I though maybe he was having a heart attack or something. Afterwards, as he lay there recovering, he said he was all ok. He asked me to lay my head back down in his lap, and just be still. I remember watching the cum dribble down the cock, I was fascinated by the whole experience. The aroma of the semen seemed so masculine. I remember touching it with my finger to feel it, then sniffing it. Dad watched intently to see what I would do next. I must have brought it near my lips to get a better whiff of it. Dad saw me do this, and seemed pleased that I wasn’t put off, or grossed-out.
Seeing the look on dad’s face, made me want to please him. I remember it being so warm, actually it was hot. Finally, I touched it with my tongue. It didn’t have a bad taste, maybe just a little salty. So I just continued licking, and eventually licked up all of the cum. I can’t say I particularly loved the taste of semen, but he got such a kick out of seeing me do it. So I kinda just did it for him. .
As I learned what would happen, and in what order, this started to become a common thing for us to do.
I remember him telling me that this was our little secret, and not to tell mom. Since I liked the attention, and didn’t want it to end, I kept quiet about it.
About a month into this I had started removing my tops and bra. Dad said the warmth of my skin on him was really nice. My boobs were not big by any measure, but they were still filling in. To keep from messing up his jeans, he began taking them off also. For some reason I never felt shy about seeing him naked, or with me having very little on.
This went on for several more weeks, and eventually it got to where I would hold onto his prick as it spewed out his load. I liked the feeling of control I had over it. I remember the pulsing of the shaft as jets of cum coursed upward and out. I got to where I always cleaned up every drop of his spunk with my tongue. I liked the sensation of watching his cock shrivel up as I licked about on it. Dad would just lay back, smile and watch me work.
One evening dad brought out a video, and allowed me to watch a man and woman actually making love. I was mesmerized by the whole process. The moans and cries from the women sort of scared me at first. I know now that this was mostly just acting. I hadn’t realized that, by the woman doing these things the guy would orgasm. It was kind of hard to tell if they were enjoying the whole thing or not. I knew you had to have sex to have babies, but I had never thought about exactly how the exchange took place, or about the act itself. Remember, we did live out a ways. We weren’t isolated completely, but I didn’t have a lot of contact with any girls that had actually done it yet.
This one time I was sitting upright on the couch next to him, and from the start to finish actually jacked his cock thru the whole thing. I loved looking down and feeling the hot goo dripping down over my hand. I remember for the first time feeling that I could cause a man to spew when ever I choose to. This left me with such a feeling of control that I had never experienced.
I wasn’t very good at the blowjob stuff, until we started watching the videos. Now I realize that I had no idea what I was doing at all. Dad had never complained though.
Why do they call it a blow job anyway? For a long time, I had been actually trying to blow at it like a candle.
You’re probably interested in the first time we actually fucked, Huh? That was at least three months into this.
I had gotten used to seeing graphic examples on the TV. Dad also had some old magazines he would get out. We’d sit and look through them. Dad would give me the names of all the positions. I preferred the magazines over the videos, because I could study the pictures longer. There was always too much going on in most of the videos. But I still liked them both. I guess fucking was just the next logical step.
I always had lots of questions, and wasn’t sure if dad really wanted it to go that far. He did always tell me his sperm “won’t make anyone pregnant.” He had been “fixed” after Trish was born. I didn’t fully understand, but I trusted what he said.
One evening I was on top of him. I had gotten to the point of removing my panties by then also, just to prevent leaving any stains. Dad was really rock- hard at that point and breathing real heavy. I don’t know if I did it on purpose, but I scooted down and started pulling his cock back against my pussy. The heat from the shaft was amazing. I had him really wet from spit. I used to spit on it to lubricate the shaft. Anyway, I started poking the head at the folds of my cunt. Dad was lying back on the couch, and I was facing his feet. I think it’s called a reverse cowgirl. Anyways, I always liked this position because I could switch hands if one got tired. I especially liked watching the cum leap up from the end of his dick when he would shoot. I didn’t weigh all that much. I could then slide down on him easily, and lick him up easily when he stopped bucking.
This time for some reason, I started really poking the shaft against my pussy. Dad started thrusting upward while I was doing this. He nearly threw me off of him. I remember turning around to look at him. His eyes were all glazed over, but he seemed to be encouraging me to continue. I had seen the actual act itself in the books, and on TV, but wasn’t sure if that big thing would really fit inside of me. I poked the head a few more times against my cunt but, I was kind of just fooling around yet. Finally, I just grabbed the shaft about half way bent it over, and started for real, to jam it inside of me just to see if it would go in.
It must have hurt him, because he let out a yelp. I froze, and then suddenly dad grabbed me by the waist and threw me off the top of him. I was scared he was mad.
He suddenly got up, and got in front of me. He grabbed me by the arms lifting me up.
He pulled me roughly against his chest, and grabbed me just below the butt, then hoisted me up and against his chest. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind because he just kind of stood there a moment holding me. He had become real quiet. Suddenly, he turned and started walking away from the couch, carrying me. I didn’t say anything as we crossed the room, and headed towards the hallway. I sort of locked my legs around his waist. I remember my heels bouncing against his butt as he walked. He turned, entering his and mom’s bedroom.
I had my arms wrapped around his neck. I was looking back towards the couch in the living room. The pillows were still strewn on the floor.
From the time we first started messing around, that is were we always did it. As we passed the doorway into their bedroom I knew that this would be different. In my mind I knew I was about to be fucked for real.
Dad carried me over to the bed and laid me down on my back. He followed me down. I was still clinging to his neck. He kissed me softly on each breast. I loved it when he did that. He seemed to know exactly how to position himself, and without missing a beat he lined up his cock to me, and pressed solidly against me. I felt a great pressure, and thought I was going to be ripped in two. I started to cry out in pain, but just as I was about to burst, something gave, and he seemed to fill my entire body. I stayed still not sure if I should be doing something or not. Dad’s head stayed down along side mine. He was huffing and gasping for air.
He hadn’t said a word since we left the living room. I’ve learned since, then that once he got in to his “horn-dog state,” there was no stopping him. Dad was generally easygoing while we were messing around, up to a point. When he stopped talking, I knew he needed a release.
I should probably explain “Horn dog.”
Several years earlier I was at a school friend’s house. We were out behind her barn, watching one of her pet male dogs trying to mount a female. The poor male dog was in such a state of frenzied excitement. He was jumping, and lunging all around the bitch. He would wine so pitifully. I felt so sorry for the poor guy. My friend called him a “horn-dog”. For some reason, that’s how I always referred to my dad’s lusty state also.
When dads got a “nut-on,” and really starts rocking, you had just better go along with whatever he wants.
Dad was slow at first, his thrusts rocking me rhythmically. I remember the bed started squeaking. My sense of panic had instantly vanished as his friction against me increased. A feeling of completeness, and calm came over me.
I remembered all the videos we had watched, and was never sure about all the wailing and moaning. Sometimes I thought the women were in pain or agony. Now I think it dawned on me, it was due to the pleasure they were feeling.
Dad had only been pumping on me for a few minutes, before he had a cum. It was way too soon for me. He let out a several grunts, and his body shook me for a least a minute.
I remember the pressure of his body on mine. I had kept my arms locked around his neck. As he slowed his thrusts down I could feel the tension, and stress leaving his body. Dad wasn’t fat or overweight. As his orgasm subsided, he sort of just collapsed on top of me.
Some women I know complain when their lovers collapse on them like this. They call it a suffocating feeling. I loved it. As long as my lover stays off my chest, and I can breathe, I relish the sensation of being crushed. It feels as though they are melting right into me. I share their orgasm in my body as they compress on me. I can’t think of a more satisfying place to be, than to be pinned under a guy, wracked in the throes of orgasm, knowing that I caused it. I love sensing their last little jolts of pleasure. I guess this is why I’ve always favored the missionary position. Also, because this is how I was first fucked.
The pressure and smell is a vivid memory I think about to this day. I should clarify that by “smell” I don’t mean it in a bad way. Even though dad worked outside all day, and came home looking pretty rough sometimes, he always cleaned up. Unless he was working on something at home, or outside, he would shower and shave just after supper. Being a roofer he had to be on the job early, and got into the habit of getting cleaned up in the evenings before.
What I mean is, I can still recall the scent of his aftershave. To this day, I still occasionally stop in the men’s fragrance aisle at stores. I search out an “Old Spice” cologne kit.
More than once, another woman has walked up on me as I had a bottle pressed up against my face, and my eyes closed, recapturing old memories.
I often get a sly glance from them. I think they understand what I’m doing.
Sorry for my divergence from the story, Greg can take this out if he wishes.
After my dad’s orgasm finally subsided in me, he came around. He drew his head back. I was looking right at him. His face and neck were red. The veins in his neck were pulsing, his forehead covered with beads of sweat. I was afraid to move, or even look at my crotch. Finally, as he pulled back, I could sense the suction of his dick leaving me. As the dick slid out, a little fizzle noise happened. I could feel the warm trickle of cum as it leaked down my crack. I started to grab for him. I didn’t want him to stop. My whole body felt like something important was being taken from me. The feeling of being filled with cock was something I immediately wanted more of. I wanted it back in. I have always loved that “completely filled” tight feeling.
I think right at that point in my life, I had discovered the thing that makes me the happiest. This, I thought is what I was born to do. Being physically connected to another human being is what takes to make me feel complete.
Dad was struggling to get up, but then flopped down along side of me. I instinctively scooted over, and snuggled against him.
There’s more I’ll talk about later, but I think I stop here for now. Greg is about to flip out if he doesn’t get some relief.
PS, this was sort of fun. Hope you all enjoyed also.