Gender: Male Age: 63 Location: N/A
|Introduction: How I accidentally fucked my father, on purpose|
IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, HONEST!
How I accidentally fucked my father, on purpose
By Trojan Snake
Written for M, she knows who she is!
If I ever meet God face to face, and he asks me about it; I can honestly say it was an accident – sorta.
Well, three accidents really, so it's not actually my fault I fucked my father. I mean, you can't blame me for the first two, and only partly for the third mishap. Of course, my nickname is Miss Hap, because as a kid I was always in the middle of whatever trouble there was. It's not like I'm accident-prone, I just sort of wind up in the middle of trouble by happenstance. In fact, my given name is Happy. Mother was a Republican from upstate New York, and there was this Governor Rockefeller (like the Plaza in NYC), who became Vice-President (I think). Anyway, his wife's name was Happy, and I'm named after her.
The moniker suits me. I am a pretty happy person. And happily I'm a pretty girl too. Not to brag, but above average. I had no more to do with it, than my name. Blame my mom's politics and genetic material for both. However, the fact I look like her, and she was a runner-up for Miss New York State when she was 19, is part of the reason that daddy and I did it. Fucked. I must say, it was not his fault at all, as you will understand when you read my story.
It was fun too. But then sex is, if your a normal, healthy and active female of 22. Which I am, except now I'm a year older. I became sexually active, in my first year of college, at 18. I was ready. We used protection, but then I went on the pill, since I fully intended to screw often with the fella I was in love with. That torrid romance lasted two years. Since then, I have had several relationships of various lengths, and dated quite a bit. So you don't think that I was an innocent, and got taken advantage of. Not at all, but neither am I a slut.
The first accident was with our car. We were on a back road, daddy and me, taking a short cut back from grocery shopping. The right front tire got a flat. It was a bad place to try to fix a flat, and out of the way. We have auto emergency service, but just as I was about to call on my cell, this pickup truck stopped to see if we needed help. Dad thought it would easier for the wrecker to meet him at home, and he could then ride with them back to the car. I would be back home and could start dinner. So we accepted a lift home from the good Samaritan.
I was the woman of our home, graduated from college, and back until I found a job. Mom had died of cancer a couple of years ago. That is the saddest part of my life, but I won't dwell on it. I took care of the domestic stuff, like cooking and errands to the cleaners, etc. Dad lived on pizza and hot dogs the last two years I was at school. But he did help around the house, just he wasn't much good at that sort of stuff. Mom had always been the homemaker; he, the breadwinner. I am determined to marry a man who can cook!
So we accepted a ride from this nice man with the farm truck. Only, the back was all dirty and he had a big tool box on the seat beside him. But we made do, with the tools in the middle and myself on dad's lap. Uh-huh. You see where this is going now. There was one extra tool in that pickup cab. It belong to dad. It was smack dab in the middle – of my butt. I don't know why, of all the times I have sat on daddy's lap, this time he had a boner. But there was no mistaking that feeling. The old man had wood. I wasn't sure if it was because I was older now, or if it was just a natural reaction, after a long abstention, since mom had passed.
I didn't mind. I figured he couldn't help it, he seemed a little embarrassed even. But I had not had a man prod me in a few months and it felt nice. It wasn't as if he was putting the moves on me, not anything that overt. In fact, though we were somewhat casual about dress around the house, since we were family; and were honest about what had been our past sex lives, both being adults; actually there had been but only the chastest of relationships. It was a normal father / daughter thing, which was open and honest, the upright way my folks had raised me. No naughtiness happened as I was growing up, nothing salacious ever, I stress.
But that incident, fifteen minutes of my father's penis pressed against my buns, planted a seed of curiosity in my cunt. It let the faintest hint of incestuous intrigue insinuate itself into my innards. I found myself wondering what dad's dick looked like. It seemed rather large. Mom had hinted as much once. Was he circumcised? Was he veined? How hairy was he, how did his balls hang, did he squirt a lot when he came? Questions on another day I would have gone, 'Ooueh! (with a shutter) Too much information, my mind does not want to go there!' But for some reason, with the instrument intimate in my ass-cheeks, I had the strongest interest in them then.
But I would certainly never had had the gall to try to peek at dad, to discover the answer to any of those questions. That was what the second accident took care of. Now some people say there are no accidents. But certainly unplanned events are not considered to be anything but innocent occurrences. Even if they prove to be fateful. It turned out, that that ride in the truck on my pater's prominence, had an impression on more than just me. Dad too, was erotically stimulated, though, to his credit, he never let on afterwards. I discovered his having been affected by accident, about a week later.
I was going out to see some friends, and had left the house. I told my father that I would not be home for hours. But as I got just a block down the road, I realized I had left my wallet in my other purse. So I turned around in a neighbor's driveway and doubled back. I wasn't silent when I came in, but didn't make a big ruckus. Nor did I call out, because I knew dad was about to take a nap, just as I was leaving. So I was more quiet, than my usual boisterous self. As I passed his room, on my way to my own, I heard him call my name.
I though, 'Oh, he's checking to see if it's me he hears, I'll pop in on pop and confirm that I came back for a second.' I opened his bedroom door. There he is, rampant. He was masturbating. He was calling my name. He was cumming. A stunning moment in a girl's life, believe me. I wasn't offended, but I was surprised. I wasn't startled by the sight, but I was – uh . . . agog. I stared, I have a mental photograph of the vision, which I will never forget. I frankly liked what I saw, and noted, for later analysis, many factors which answered the queries that had arisen, when my father's hard-on had risen under my tush.
He was big, make that BIG. Not monstrous, and I was not using a ruler to measure, but he must have been maybe eight inches, and nice and thick. So mom was not kidding, when she had let it slip, that “dad's dong was a strong long schlong.” I remember laughing at the phrase at the time, slightly flushing, amazed that my mother would use it, or even speak it. He was circumcised, the head a wonderful plum color at the moment. Two blue veins slightly protruded along the shaft. He wasn't overly hairy, and I could see that his sacks were large and loose. And my goodness, did he have a lot of jism erupting from the tip!
From his lips, he murmured once more, “Happy”. I could tell he was, but he didn't mean that. It was obvious that he was thinking of me, because he then added, “Sweetheart, I love you!” I wasn't about to respond, “I love you too, daddy!” Of course I do, and strangely enough, I did even more just then, knowing that he had sexual feelings for me. If it had been anybody but him, I would have said something either sarcastic or amusing. But seeing my father in a very human condition, with needs and desires and vulnerable; I simply loved him the more. I felt tender toward him. It was odd, but there it was . . .
So I tried to close the door as quietly as I could. I thought I had, since he didn't call out to me, or curse, or make any kind of sound that would have acknowledged that he knew I had come upon him cumming. I silently as a kitten scurried to my room, grabbed my wallet and slipped out of the house. Driving away with a minimum of noise, I hoped that the whole thing would be as if it had never happened. But it had. And DAMN! I realized I was damp between my thighs. I had gotten turned on, and not even been aware, until I was making my get away. But I couldn't deny the fact that my dad was one sexy dude and I had seen him in action!
In action and calling my name as he came! What about that! What about that? I stopped the car a half mile from the house and tried to sort out things. What had happened, not the events, but the images? Why had he called out my name, not the reason, but what did it reveal about his feelings? What were my emotions about this? What was the impact on our relationship? What did it mean for the future? What would it lead to, or perhaps nothing would come out of it? Well, something did come out of the immediate aftermath of the second 'accident'. Me, I reached into my panties under my skirt and fingered myself to a climax. It took all of forty-five seconds to reach orgasm, I was so primed!
I deduced that the truck ride/lap dance over the rough road, had stirred up erotic feelings in my father. Such lewd thoughts which he had hidden and never shared, but none the less had allowed to be fantasized when he jerked off. He had to be horny, as mom had been gone close to two years. I knew they had had a good sex life until she got sick, so make that better than thirty months for his celibacy. Poor Daddy! I doubt that I could go that long. In fact, I was already chafing a bit for a chap, or even chomping at the bit for a chump, make that champ. Yeah, I could use the real thing, rather than the dildo I was doing.
I had never thought of dad that way, until the erogenous ride. There's a 'pick-up' line; “Want to sit in daddy's lap, little girl?” However, as I sat in the car, having just diddled myself, thinking of my own father, who had been thinking of his own daughter and thinking things incestuous; it didn't sound so ridiculous - my (dirty) old man and little lonely me. Lust is an peculiar phenomena. It has no logic, though it does have it's reasons. It's power is sneaky and can blindside you when you least expect it. Once it has become manifest (man-ifest?) it is hard to resist. Once you have given in, it is so delicious, and even more difficult to give up. Combine that with true love, and it is overpowering.
I did love my father, but now I lusted for him too. Knowing that he felt the same, made the situations incredibly irresistible. With things getting so hot, there was bound to be combustion; spontaneous, or at least sparked by an 'accident'. The burning yearning in my body was gathering strength, in short, I was in heat. “Heaven help us, when Hap has it in her head for something to happen, it usually does!” mother often would say. It's true, when my mind is made up, I have a way of somehow making the circumstances work to accomplish what I want. In this case, an 'innocent incident' that would lead to incest!
The third accident could have happened even if I had not helped things. But I did, so I'm just a little guilty. Dad was painting the trim on the house. He did this about every three years. The last time was before mom took ill, and he decided that with me home, he wanted to gussy-up the place. He was out back, on a warm late Spring day. It was sunny, so I wore my sun-suit, a bright yellow one piece shorts/halter top; like painters' overalls, but hemmed at the thighs. I asked dad what if he wanted a beer, he asked for ice-tea. When I brought it to him I put the glass to his left, on the board he was standing on.
This was arranged between two stepladders. It gave about four feet of height for him to work on the top of the window sills. He put the can of white paint on the top of the right ladder so he could move along from left to right. I watched him for a little. I noticed that the structure was not the sturdiest, so I went to steady it, holding on to the right end. It swayed every time he bent to get a sip. The can was moving more toward the edge each time. I should have said something. Instead, I maneuvered so that when the inevitable happened, it happened all over me. Dad bent one last time to get a drink.
If I had not noticed the precarious can, it could have cascaded on me anyway. But the opportunity provided possibilities, some of the scenarios gave rise to intimacies with dad. I did not have an exact plan of action, I just sort of acted instinctively. I admit, in the two weeks since I had seen dad on the bed, jerking off, I hadn't thought of any way to create a ruse to reenact his arousal, to allow his reaction to be resurrected if you will, to raise the rearing rod in my direction. You get the idea. I didn't know how to institute any situation that might let dad make a pass at me, or visa versa. I wanted it to include the chance that he could back down, if he didn't want to pursue it.
But I thought that perhaps he would go for the goal of getting me in bed, if he knew I felt the same, had lust in my loins also. Then he decided to do the trim. Well, it looked like he was going to have the prospect of doing a different sort of trim, mine. I could have chosen to not ruined my sun-suit, but I put myself in harm's way. You might say, I knew it was going to be a paint in the ass, literally. Because for my idea to work, I had to be covered, top to . . bottom, front to backside, in white Sherman-Williams' best. Dad straightened from the frosty glass, the whole thing wobbled and down the can came, conking me on the head. It didn't hurt, but the ivory latex went down all over my tits, and washed down the spine to my tush, like a skunk's stripe!
My squeal of surprise was genuine, since I had not expected the liquid to be so cold. My father was off his perch in a flash with apologies and looking abashed at the disaster. I knew I had to disarm the guilt factor for him, so we could move on to the real agenda, which this stunt was designed to facilitate. I smiled at him through the dripping paint, looking like something out of a Max Sennett 1920s slapstick comedy, and said, holding my arms out palm up, “Miss Hap strikes again!” that did the trick, for then both of us burst into sidesplitting laughter. Now I had changed the mood from catastrophe to simple mess, from 'What have I done to my daughter?!' to 'Doesn't Happy look silly, but what a sport she is about it!!'
“Come help me get cleaned up, pop.” I suggested; more like instructed the flummoxed male before me. He followed me tamely into the garage. Just inside, I stripped the soaked and ruined sun-suit off. Leaving me in just scanties and a wet tee shirt. My hair was streaked, and both front cleavage and the flesh from shoulders on down my to my behind were coated. I told dad to lay some newspapers down, from the door to the bathroom, so I wouldn't drip drops of white on the green carpet. He did so, and I scampered to the shower to begin phase two of my seduction. Without bothering to close the door, dad being attendant to whatever I needed, I took off my shirt and undies right in front of him.
He acted like I was still six and was not outwardly affected by his grown daughter's nudity. However, the eyes widened slightly and he most certainly did not look away. I had him hooked, now I had to reel him in. I told him to throw the clothes in a plastic garbage bag, they were ruined, so I didn't care. Then he should return, in case I had more requests. Dad commented, “Thank God it's water washable at this stage, the paint takes an hour to set.” He continued, “You ought to be able to wash it off easily, just jump in the shower, Hap, and it'll be fine!” advised my father, as he carted away the painted panties, etc.. I got in the spray and did my hair, first thing, that was important. I didn't want to be pre-maturely gray, make that white!
As I heard him returning, I called out, “Dad! I need help! Come here!” he came through the still opened door of the bathroom, though the shower stall glass made my image blurry.
“What do you need, Sweetheart? What can I get you?”
“I can't reach some places, to make sure I got it all, come in here with me.” He started to open the stall and enter with all his clothes on, including his boots! “No! You'll get your clothes all wet. And I don't want you stepping on my toes with your big shoes! Take off your clothes, then come in.” He stripped down to his boxers and joined me. Progress, but while I was nude, I wanted him to be as well. “DAD! I know what a man looks like, for goodness sake, don't be such an old fuddy-duddy prude!” I yanked his shorts down before he could rationalize an objection. Then they were a swimming swath of material at his feet, so he kicked them into a corner.
I handed him the bottle of liquid soap and my scrub sponge, turning my back to him. “Make sure that you get everything on my back, I can't reach there.” Mt father was in a daze. He scoured my shoulders and backbone gently to clean the skin to a glowing pink. Then I made it real tough on him. I couldn't see if he had a boner yet, but I was pretty sure this next move would make him sprout his manly stalk. “Make sure you get any that went down the crack.” I bent over, exposing my crotch, crude but effective. “Kneel down daddy, to see if any got in there, please. That's important!” he did so.
He rubbed just a little at the top of my backside split, to insure there was none. Then said in a husky voice, like he had swallowed too much of a mouthful of hot potatoes, “You're good to go.” When he stood up, I was slower to unbend, and I could feel the risen and rigid royal scepter that went with the family jewels. I turned around, so close to my pop that my puckered hard nipples scrapped against his chest. “Happy,” he began with a contrite whisper, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get . . . It just . . . forgive . .”
I put my fingers to his lips to stop him from trying to talk, he wasn't managing it well, anyway. “Dad,” I said softly with a tender tone, “I know what a man looks like . . . like that.” I put my arms around him and hugged him. My heart seemed about to bust with love for the dearest man in my life, and the nearest man in my world too. Indeed, we were so close that my pubic hair was tickling his erect penis. I put my cheek on his, so I could whisper in his ear, “I know what you look like . . like that too!”
My father put his arms around me then, and hugged me back. His hard-on was pressed firmly into my pudenda. “So that was you! I thought I might have imagined it, it was so surreal, the timing, just as I released my ejaculation. It was the ride, I haven't been able to not think about it. You look so much like your mother when I met her. I guess that's what the psychologists call transference. If I didn't know better, Happy, I would think you tipped that can of paint on purpose. Why am I in the shower, naked, with my incredibly sexy daughter?”
“Because I wanted you to be.” I kissed his lips. “Because I want you.”
“Hap . . .”
I stopped his mouth from talking, with my mouth. I gave it something else to do, by sticking my tongue in it. He let our oral digits dance. His hands slid down to my nether globes and squeezed. My breast swelled into his chest with a deep breath and my left hand went up to the back of his head and caressed his hair. “Daddy, I love you too. Like the way you meant it, when you were cumming, thinking of me. That made me hotter than you can imagine. I want you to make love to me.” My other hand reached down and grasped his manhood, it was a marvelous mass of muscle. “Fuck me, Daddy, Please?”
Then, I could sense a change come over the masculine being in my arms. Like the sunlight returning after a cloud has passed, the energy and spirit were filling him. The grief that had haunted him since mom's death seemed to pass, the shadow no longer covered him from the shade of her loss. He was now dominate, not in any cruel or crude way, but he took charge of our situation. It was not anything he did specifically, but some how a mental adjustment that I was aware had come upon him. His hands were running over my body, up the spine and round to the twin globes of my bosom, fingering my points. His mouth was firm and purposeful, in the lips as they kissed in a caring way. It was altogether thrilling!
The water still ran, the soap had long been rinsed. But I was wet and slippery down there, and ready to be screwed. Dad turned me around a few moments after the shift of the fresh new man had taken control. He made me bend slightly at the waist. Flexing his knees, he reached between my legs and made sure of his target, then move his hips so that his member entered me. He didn't thrust hard, but it was a steady penetration, a movement knowing of angles and tissues. Flesh firm, met flesh yielding and made it's way in, not even using the full length! It withdrew, but maintained enough of a presence that the next stroke was right to the heart of my pussy.
So my father began to have me. I gladly gave myself to him. We continued this fantastic fuck for long minutes, but then he disconnected. I was certain that was but a good start, and I was correct. Dad turned me and backed me up to the solid wall on the side. His hand moved the spray out of our faces and then he reached behind me, his big paws clutched my haunches and he lifted me. Then I was wrapping my arms around his neck, my thighs supported on his pelvis as his cock centered in my sex. Then we were going at it again! With this position I received more depth of his instrument and could enjoy his girth even more. While this was a more athletic stance, it allowed us to have direct eye contact. His look was mirrored in mine, the pent up lust had to be unleashed here and now!
I clutched him to me, to drive my tits into his pects, to feel the slap of our stomachs together as the joining of our bodies worked in unison to make the most of the moment. As is there were never going to be another time we got to grind our genitals together. I was pleased that he had not cum yet, but that was oh so near for me right at that point. His pushes picked up pace and I knew instinctively he was striving to bring me to climax. I let it happen. It was like I had been holding back, like when you save the icing for last, on your birthday cake. Now it was time to release the tension that had been building since that wild cum in the car. In fact, I realized as the tremors began to shudder my whole self, I had not had one since then. Like I was waiting for daddy to do it to me and make me cum.
And I came. Quaked, shrieked in ecstasy, wailed in womanly heaven; as I sailed up to clouds nine through thirteen, then floated for long moments, until I descended, not quite landing. About six inches off the earth, though dad had to let my feet touch the tiles eventually. Yeah! Make that YEAH!
My father drew me out of the stall, turned off the water, and began to dry me with a big fluffy towel. It was like I was six again. He was rubbing my hair and running the terrycloth over my parts like he had sixteen years ago. He examined me, looking for any signs of paint. “Good as new!” he pronounced. He had said that too, back then. I had giggled as a girl, and I did again. I kept looking at his handsome, if middle aged body, sans any covering at all. It made me remember that it was just minutes ago he had ravished me, to my great delight. His dick still had some tumescence, the pubic hair beginning to crinkle as it dried. The head had a bright color from our recent encounter. The thinning hair was displaying even more scalp damp. His abdomen was flatter than I expected though.
My thoughts were interrupted, when my father scooped me up, then carried me, like a bride in a groom's arms over the threshold. He was very careful not to knock me into door frames or walls, we went the short distance to his bedroom. He set me down on the mattress, like I was a patient who was delicate. The way Cary Grant carried Deborah Kerr at the end of the movie, romantic . . .
Then my pop did something they didn't do in those old movies. He moved between my legs and crawled up to put his face at my most tender spots. He began to lick. Lightly, on my thighs, moving up and inward, getting closer and closer, teasing until at last the lapping reached my labia. But that was not the only point pop nibbled. He was a master at cunnilingus! Lucky mom, lucky me now! As his mouth made love to my most private parts, I was close to peaking, then I did! And again! He had me going like a backfiring old car; bang, bang clitty clitty bang bang! It was Happy hour, you know exactly what I mean. Finally, I had to catch my breath.
I pulled him up by his still nibbling head to lay on me, though he did not rest his whole weight on my torso. I ran my hands over his back and we hardly said much but “I love you” “And I love you!” donut holes, sweet nothings. Then I reached down and fiddled with his stick, in fact, he had a cello, he was a big fellow. The cock came to life once more, under my practiced manipulations. I thought I perhaps knew why my father had foregone his own pleasure so far.
“Dad, I'm on the pill. It's safe to cum in me. I want you to. I want to feel you release that huge load of jism in my cunt, and have your climax throb in my body. Do it again, fuck me. This time don't hold anything back. Do it the way you want; hard, if that is your pleasure, fast when you want to, any position that you like. I'm yours. I love you. Make love to your Sweetheart, just like you fantasize, but this is for real. And not the last time either, just the first night!”
With that speech, he had full permission to do as he pleased. I knew, whatever he did, it would please me too. I was not disappointed. THE END.
Oh! you want to know what happened next? Well I guess, since we have cum this far – I'm such a tease!
Okay, the next thing was he was getting on top of me, missionary style. There is more to what we did on subsequent evenings, but that was what was on the menu for that course. I spread my thighs to allow him access, and he reached down, I thought to guide it in, but he's a tease too! The tip just played in the outskirts of my womanhood. It addressed the parts I kept under my petticoats, with nudging and dipping and all manner of manly messing about. Until finally, my mind was mentally shouting, 'Come on already, deliver the male!'. And like he was reading my mind, he sank the plum to plunge in my vagina. Three inches, five; it kept going – smoothly, silky and fat, and I swear, now I could feel those veins as seven was made within. Then at last, the stretched, incredible entire long strong schlong was right up to those family jewels, the balls bumping on my buns.
I was surprised that it felt full but not stuffed, I had expanded to fathom my father's abundant meat. He had a package to be proud of. I guess mom was genetically a match, to make the most of his missile. I inherited that part, as well as her looks. Inner beauty - so to speak, as well as her smarts and perky personality. But right then I wasn't thinking, about anything, I was simply a vessel for the pestle my dad was grinding in me. Happily so, loving every second of the awesome sex he was socking to me. Yes, he was touching bottom at my womb, the nubs were having a great time, but he was everywhere else too, so much more than just circumference and size. He knew how to use that prick to ram all areas of my erogenous zones inside, while his mouth and fingers made magic on the places outside. In ways no guy had before, just as he gave my guts all the glory they could handle.
I really don't remember how many times I came with all that wild fucking we did. But he must have been pacing himself. When it came time for his cum, his climax was simple and satisfying. The pace quickened, and didn't slow like it had when he was doing his showboating in my pussy. Then it became a little jerky, irregular and obviously urgent. Ultimately, he just locked in tight as possible and let go. I felt the thick steam of goo blast out in a warm gush, in my vagina. It triggered one final paroxysm of my own. And we were done for the night, but there were many more nights to share. I'll share, but let me tell about our post-play, and bed talk. Afterwards, we caught our breath and wipe the sweat from our faces.
The sheets were drenched, like if we had fucked in the shower with them on the floor. Neither of us cared, it was warm enough, and they weren't clammy. Later we slept in my bed. But generally I would sleep with dad. However, I'm getting ahead of myself. I told dad that I had masturbated in the car, after seeing him. He admitted that he had his libido restarted in the pickup, and had jacked to my imagined image every day since. He had sworn an oath to himself, that he would never touch me, nor let me know of his lusty urges. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry, when there is a wily female on the prowl. They don't call us foxes for nothing! Miss Hap had it in her head for something to happen, and it did. And dad was glad.
Dad had marvelous hands that smoothed over all my skin, using only talc to lubricate. He put me to sleep that way that first night, that and a little wine I went and got. We talked about what we had done, not analyzing, but me saying how I really liked his oral technique tonging my tummy and he said I had great tits. I made him suck them a bit to taste them, so he could really be sure. Then he had me go down and try pop's 'lolly-pop'. We like oral, but we saved more adventures for the next day. He stayed home and his morning woody is a great breakfast treat. But it was time to go to sleep, he gave me that nice massage, then drifted off. I think I heard him say, “Honey, you understand.” but he wasn't addressing me. Mom was his Honey. I think she would have too.
Maybe she can explain it to the Divinity, “Your Heavenly Holiness, it was an accident. That's why we called her Miss Hap. Honestly, I'm not trying to white-wash what she did in the shower, your Majestic Mightiness, but when she has it in her head about something . . . Happy things just seem to happen!
To be continued: - if M wants me to.
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