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I am now 31 years old, but something happened with my step father when I was 14. I have never told anyone this, not even my husband. Our family used to go up north for the summer to rent a cottage and do summer things like fishing and hiking etc. One year (when I was 14) my mom got a really bad stomch flu while we were there. My step dad had to sleep on the couch. He is a big guy and the couch really wasn't. So my mom asked if I would mind if he slept in my room and if I would sleep on the couch. I reluctantly said ok. Well the second night of sleeping on the couch, I was very uncomfortable, so I just got in bed with my stepdad. It was a double bed and I've never been very big, so I got under the covers with him and dozed off. It was the middle of the night when I woke up with him spooning me! I was pretty wierded out but I noticed that he had an erection, and it was pressed against my ass. I tried to move, and he started humping me! I didn't know what to do. I just layed there for a bit then he stopped. He rolled on his back. When he did he pulled all the covers off of both of us. His p**** was sticking out the leg hole of his boxers. I was in shock. Never saw a real one before. And knowing what I do now about c**** , his was quite large. I was pulsing and bobbing with his pulse. I just layed there staring. Then it went soft. So I got comfortable and tried to fall asleep. I couldn't cause I got h**** seeing his c*** and I could see if if I just opened my eyes. He was still laying on the blankets. It started getting hard again. I had to touch myself, it was driving me crazy. I have never had the hots for him. Not that he was bad looking. Back then he was in great shape and he was attractive. But I never saw him like that. Well tonight he was a sexy piece of meat to me. I was masturbating and got a nasty idea and put his hand on my p**** and moved it around like he was doing it for me. I came hard. Then I got dirty. I put my wet fingers under his nose. His c*** jumped as he inhaled deeply. I was stuck about what to do next. He rolled back on his side. I layed on my side and slid up against him like before. I grabbed his c*** (which was so incredible to me at the time) and put it between my legs and closed my legs on it. It was resting right on my wet p**** . He just layed there so I started rocking back and forth. He must have got the hint cause he started humping again. Only this time he was rubbing his c*** along my p**** and was rubbing my c*** .I looked down and I could see his c*** sliding in and out from between my legs. I was in heaven. I came again! The he started breathing heavy and moaning. I was hoping my mom didn't hear. Then he came! I saw it shooting out of his c*** and landind on the bed infront of me. Then he woke up. Confussed and wondering what happened. I was scared so I pretended to be asleep. He then said "oh s*** ! " And some other stuff under his breathe. After all he woke up spooning his step daughter, with his c*** between my legs, and come all over us. He went to the washroom and grabbed a clothe. He was wiping the bed in front of me muttering. I pretended to be sleeping. The next morning he took the sheets off the bed and took them to the laundry mat. I know he never told my mom. She would have killed him. It never happened again, but over the years I thought about it a lot and wanted to do it again, but never had that opportunity. Kind of glad I didn't, because as I got older, I wouldn't have been satisfied unless I got that large c*** inside of me. That would be a whole other can of worms! I hope I get some feed back here. I know some people will be harsh, but I want to know if someone has ever had a similar experience. Man or woman. Or am I the only wierd chick in the world. Lol. Thanks for reading
Picked up a young fellow after work.He put his bike in my van,I asked him where to go .He told me the cemetary,we i parked he hoped out to take a leak.0ff came his clothes,he said spank me and f*** me hard .Which I did whow.I met him other times,he was hot for a young fellow
My stepdaughter teased with loose clothing and no underlothes. We are close and touchy. I lost it one night and slid it in her without any clothes removed. A month later we are going strong without anyone knowing. As a precaution, she is now on birth control and we make sure family schedules will keep our s** unknown. It's the best thing ever to happen to the both of us. And I add we are only 14 years age difference. To put it in perspective, her father is twice my age. And obviously her mom is old and longer gives me satisfaction. Young is the way to go.
I remember as a 13 year old girl seeing my step dads big thick c*** for the first time.I had seen c**** before but none as big and thick a my step dads c*** .I found out after he f***** me it was 9 inch x 4. I also remember how much his c*** hurt my tight little virgin c*** the first time he f***** me. It was a good thing my mom was away that night because i let out this loud scream when i felt him push his monster c*** in my c*** . It took me about 10 minutes to get use to his c*** f****** my tight count. I do have to amit once i got use to his c*** in my c*** and there was very little pain i really enjoy it f****** my c*** . Me and my step dad f*** every chance we get no when my mom is not home
I like your story!! You’re so brave to share it with us!!! I got an instant bonner reading this! I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgotten that night, he must be looking forward to part 2!!! Remember to share it when it happens!! It will happen!!! You want it to happens!!!
Your the sickest. I love this story right on good for you :) U shound fck him after all that finish the story right
My gfs daughters friend lil sister stayed the night. I was looking up her shorts and noticed she had no panties on! Her puss was so fat. Yes I put her leg over the arm of the chair and she was fully exposed! I gave her kisses…
Don't worry, you where young. All of us have gone though odd experiences when we where young. I saw my mother naked in bed and I got hard. I wasn't attracted to my mom, I was just seeing t*** and v***** . No, I did not have s** with her. I masturbated.
YOU ARE SO LUCKY.I REALLY WANT S** , TO FEEL A NICE BIG D*** UP THERE,I WANA FEEL HIS C** ,AND THE STIFFNESS OF 'IT'.I WISH I WAS U.
I only wish I had such a hot experience as you...
lol you are seriously one of the f****** lucky daughter :p
You was young and experimenting.... its fine.
Wow. That above post was uncalled for and rather rude. It's not exactly the... most ethical thing to do, but there's no need for those types of comments! I mean, scheisse.... Maybe I'm just not seeing this for what it is, but in any case, so unnecessary. You're probably not the weirdest chick in the world, o worries there. I can guarantee you that there are stranger people. Things happen...
Your sick...kill yourself...your mother should shun you and divorce him. you filthy w**** ...
Be a little more inappropriate. Christ, man!
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/1591075-The-Night-I-Slept-with-My-Father
Rated: XGC · Short Story · Erotica · # 1591075
A young woman and her father try to cope with the death of their mother and wife.
Created: August 14th, 2009 at 9:31 am
Modified: August 14th, 2009 at 9:31 am
© Copyright 2009 miatetangco (miatetangco at Writing.Com).
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It was cold at the funeral. The leaves dropped like dead flies. A few landed on her coffin. It suddenly looked like Halloween: orange leaves laid against a dark wooden box. My father stood silent beside me. His eyes were red-rimmed, yet I had never seen him cry. He had been in this state of almost-crying for a week now. Good for him; I hadn’t shed a tear, and my eyes were nowhere near red. No, not even pink.
I didn’t feel guilty. Death didn’t scare me; talking about it didn’t bother me. Death wasn’t sad, it was just natural. I was young when I knew that I would never cry at anyone’s funeral. Not a friend’s, not a grandparent’s. Not even my mother’s. And I was right.
It was my mother’s funeral and my second cousin’s sister’s mother-in-law was crying harder than I was. Even the dogs howled their mourning, sniffing forlornly at the edges of the sinking casket as it was lowered into the earth.
I didn’t miss her. I wasn’t sad. All I could feel was a bland acceptance. To be honest, I hardly knew her. All I was sure of was that she loved to talk, and she would never shut up. On long drives, she would keep rambling on and on in the car, not knowing that everyone else had fallen asleep. She’d never notice.
I loved the quiet and she loved to talk. I didn’t miss her.
The soil thudded onto her coffin wetly. It had started to drizzle, and black umbrellas – perfect for solemn times like this – popped open one by one. From the sky, I imagined, it would look like a large black canvas had materialized across the grass.
I gripped my umbrella tightly, studying my dark gloves, shimmering in places where the pale sunlight hit them. I had no other gloves. The ones I was wearing were for dinner parties. They were itchy and I couldn’t wait to take them off.
*
I was home. And I couldn’t remember what had happened after my gloves. I remembered thinking how pretty the raindrops looked as they made sinewy trails of water on the windows of our black limousine, but that was all.
I stood on my bare feet in the middle of my room. I took my gloves off and threw them in some dark corner in my closet. I scratched furiously up and down my arms, irritated that my father had forced me to wear gloves even if it wasn’t too cold out. He’d insisted. He’d told me my mother had loved it when I wore those gloves. She’d bought them for me from Spain. She had loved Spain. That was another thing I knew about her.
My father said I looked more like her everyday, and that the gloves – elbow-length – made us look like twins if she had been a few decades younger. Because my mother’s favorite accessory had been gloves. It was strange how she loved them so much. I recall a faint memory of her telling me it had made her feel like a movie star when she was little, that she had grown attached to the way they looked, the way they felt, on her pale arms. To me, it felt constricting. As if my arms had been wrapped in gauze.
*
Dinner that night was quiet. It was to be expected. My father and I had said nothing to each other since we got home. I could hear the dogs in the corner. They whined occasionally. They licked their paws, eating up the mud that had accumulated between their black-padded toes.
A ringing started in my ears, punctured by the sharp sound the forks and spoons made on our plates. Each sound seemed magnified. My ears felt like they were being continuously stabbed.
Finally, my father spoke. The ringing stopped. The clanging stopped.
“You’re not eating much.”
The silence was awkward. I didn’t know what to say.
My father cleared his throat. “You looked nice today. At the funeral.”
“It was kind of warm.”
“Because of the gloves. I know you didn’t want to wear them. I’m glad you did.”
“It was pointless.”
My father drew a deep breath. “I’m sure your mother appreciated it. She loved the way they looked on you.”
“Mom’s dead.” The two words grew huge in the silence. The room seemed to darken, the lights to dim.
My father nudged his temples. I had started a headache in his skull.
“What would you want me to have said?”
“Nothing.” His head shook once, slowly. Left to right.
“Not nothing. Never nothing. What would you want me to have said?” My voice was louder. It was growing, feeding off of what it found inside me. Whatever it could grasp. “It only makes sense. It only – ”
“You are… so stubborn. So insensitive.” From my father, it came out an angry shout. “I ask you this one thing – ”
I was annoyed. That’s all I was, but I was shaking. I looked like I was furious. But I only felt a shallow annoyance. I burst, without warning: “How come something negative about someone only becomes endearing after their dead?”
My father shifted in his chair, blinked, and looked at me. I couldn’t stop. Not now – not anymore.
“Why not just tell them you love their stubbornness, or their hot-headedness while their alive? So they actually know that you love them for who they are. Why is that? Is it just politeness? You don’t want to speak ill of the dead because they might haunt you? Because they’re dead? Is that it?”
“What – what are you saying, sweetheart?” My father was confused, surprised. He had been angry then called me sweetheart. I saw him flinch: he was also hurt. I couldn’t blame him; I was, too. I was all the things my father was. But I had started, and it was too late to stop now. My father wanted – needed – an explanation.
“I heard you at the funeral.” My hands were fists. The utensils dug into my palm, cold and hard and unrelenting. “I heard you say how much you loved how
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