Doing More for Daddy

Bbc Sissy

Introduction

To protect the not-so innocent I’m going by the alias of “Nat” or “Natalie” and I’m also withholding lots of personal details. All that I will reveal is that I’m a final year student at a university somewhere in the south of England; I’m almost twenty-one; five foot six with a good body, nice tits and long auburn hair.

More to the point, I’m a girl on a mission.

Yes, I’m as bitchy as bitchy could be.

You might have read the earlier accounts of the breakup of my parents’ supposedly perfect marriage. I’ll give a quick summary anyway, to bring everyone up to speed and to save the bother of looking up old news.

Okay, so here goes. After thirty years of being at first adoring childhood sweethearts and then loving husband and wife, everything suddenly went pear-shaped. And it was all down to that wicked witch of a mother of mine. As it turned out she’d being having affairs with a succession of workmates for some considerable time. And, since her only child (me!) had flown the nest, she’d got progressively worse.

So much worse, in fact, that she’d thrown Daddy out of the marital home and immediately moved in her latest toy boy as his replacement.

As if that wasn’t wicked enough, the toy boy had brought his sulky eighteen-year-old daughter as part of the package.

What sort of a ménage a trois was that!

Apart from one I would never accept, of course.

Right then, that’s enough of the back story. Let’s just say sides had been taken and my self-imposed mission was to balance the books. Not that I had any intention of getting my parents back together again. Oh no, things had gone much too far for a reconciliation. Reuniting them was the last thing on my mind.

Murdering Mother Dearest was a distinct possibility, but reuniting them was out of the question.

By the start of this latest story I had, coincidentally, been fucking Daddy for a fortnight. I’d loved him forever but had only thought of him sexually since he had been so foully betrayed. And did I just say “thought”? Our new-found relationship wasn’t totally cerebral. Even if it had set off as a momentary lapse, an awful lot of our lapsing had been physical . . . an awful, awful lot of it.

Yet, fun as lapsing was, I couldn’t see us being a long-term arrangement. Daddy needed stability just then more than ever, not a series of lengthy and strenuous sex sessions with his own daughter.

The way I saw it the winds of change were blowing. So far they’d been blowing in Mother’s favour. If I had my way I’d divert them and sail her permanently off course.

With any luck I might even sail her past the “Here Be Monsters” sign and off the flat edge of the Earth.

Chapter One

Breaking the habit of a lifetime (well, the habit of the last couple of weeks) I caught an afternoon train north on Thursday instead of Friday, changing at Leeds and arriving in my home town early evening. The weather had taken a turn for the better, I noticed, but only a slight one. There was no trace of the recent Indian summer but at least last weekend’s monsoon had passed.

I smiled wryly as I left the station. I’d dressed more conservatively this week but there was déjà vu in the air: the first taxi on the rank was driven by my Asian friend; the one who looked like Omar Sharif and called himself “George”.

‘Hey up lass,’ he said in greeting. ‘Where’s thar been? I was thinking you’d dumped me.’

I told him I’d been “back down south”, studying.

‘A student, eh,’ he replied. ‘You’ll be after a discount for one of my special rides next.’

More déjà vu ensued. When I arrived at Daddy’s new local he was holding court at the bar, half a dozen blokes round him, hanging on his every word . . . just like last time.

Less under-dressed and not rain-splattered, my entry into the bar still caused some disruption. Okay, I’d ditched the short skirt and bare legs look, but I was wearing my black leather fuck-me boots. And I was quite clearly less than half Daddy’s age.

Hoping his new cronies didn’t know who I was, as good as certain that some of them had me down as a young whore (possibly of the paid variety) I gave him a less-than filial kiss.

‘Blossom,’ he said, breaking our embrace and holding me at arms’ length. ‘You made it.’

I grinned at that. “Blossom” and “Lotus Blossom” had long been Daddy’s pet names for me. But used right then “Blossom” made me sound even more like a lady of the night, and not necessarily a cheap one.

Wanting to keep everyone guessing I took control, ordering two pints of Doom Bar and asking for a menu. After making his excuses Daddy joined me at a suitably remote table.

‘Do they know?’ I asked discreetly, nodding towards the knot of barflies.

‘Do they know what?’

‘That you’re going to fuck your darling daughter tonight . . . And hopefully sooner rather than later.’

‘Natalie!’ Daddy rolled his eyes. ‘Do you have to swear?’

‘I’m telling it as it is,’ I said. ‘So do they?’

‘They don’t know you’re hatay escort my daughter,’ he admitted. ‘But most of them think that I’m . . . I’m sleeping with you.’

‘Best not let them find out then,’ said I. ‘Details like that might mess up your divorce case. And please say you’ve set the ball rolling.’

‘Do you mean with the solicitor?’ Daddy nodded. ‘I saw him on Monday, just as you insisted.’

I nodded back at him. Although I had reservations about Mother’s intentions I’d decided Daddy had to strike first. Mother could be devious but, even if for some reason she secretly wanted him to instigate action, it seemed important that he kicked it off. Besides, he was still paying their mortgage. Divorce cases could roll on for years. Lines needed to be drawn as soon as possible.

‘So what’s this solicitor done?’ I enquired.

‘He’s sent an introductory letter. Apparently your mother replied referring him to her own brief. It’s a bit like a tennis match at the moment; I’m the guy with his finger on the net, waiting to call “let”.’

‘You haven’t heard directly from Mother, then?’

‘There’s more chance of . . .’ Daddy tailed off. ‘Well, I don’t know what,’ he added limply. ‘I’d say that there’s more chance of Town getting promoted, but that’s just happened. Anyway, I haven’t heard a dicky-bird.’

That was much as I’d expected. Reassured that at least things were moving, I moved on to objective number two.

‘What about Doreen? Have you progressed with her?’

Daddy sighed at that. Doreen had been infatuated with him for ages. She worked in the same office as Mother but the two women had never been close. Now, with Mother suddenly out of the equation, she seemed to be bumping into Daddy very regularly indeed.

And she’d become brazen with it. He might not have noticed but, as a fellow female, I certainly had. I’d seen her talking to him in the supermarket. Yes, “brazen” was the word all right. She’d all but put her pussy on a plate and offered it to him.

For my part, purely intent on vengeance, I wanted Doreen to fuck Daddy. I knew I couldn’t keep doing it myself indefinitely and saw her as a perfectly adequate substitute. And she didn’t need to keep quiet about it, did she? There could be advantages in that.

‘We went out on Tuesday,’ Daddy finally admitted, avoiding my eye.

‘Did you fuck her?’ I wondered.

‘Natalie!’

‘Sorry. I meant to say: Did you end up making mad, passionate love?’

‘We kissed goodnight,’ he mumbled, ‘and that’s all you’re getting.’

‘When are you seeing her again?’

‘She mentioned Saturday. It’s her birthday but you’re here, aren’t you?’

My latest grin nearly split off the top of my head. The idea of Doreen turning up at work on Monday, fresh from screwing her next-desk neighbour’s estranged husband . . .

Shiny-eyed and with just-fucked hair. . .

Oh to be a fly on that particular office wall!

‘I told you I have to be back for Jude’s match on Sunday,’ I said (lying through my teeth; I never went to watch my flat-mate’s boring football matches). ‘That’s why I came a day early. I’ll catch a train on Saturday afternoon. You get yourself out with Doreen. And don’t forget your toothbrush.’

Daddy tried to change the subject. ‘I hope you’re not missing too many lectures tomorrow.’

‘I’m known as the course swot,’ I said, waving such a trivial diversion away. ‘A couple of lectures won’t make any difference. And never mind me: ring Doreen now; arrange a proper birthday celebration.’

When Daddy hesitated I plucked his mobile out of his shirt pocket. Doreen’s number was easy to find. I dialled it before he could stop me and she answered on the second ring.

‘Jim,’ she said eagerly, obviously recognizing the caller number.

‘It’s me,’ I said, ‘little Natalie, calling on behalf of Jim. He’s too shy to ask you out for a very romantic, candle-lit dinner for two on Saturday, so I’m ringing on his behalf.’

Doreen fell silent at that. ‘Does he know you’re ringing?’ she asked eventually.

‘Yes, he’s here with me. I’ll put him on.’

I swigged beer while Daddy awkwardly took back his phone.

‘Excuse her, Dor,’ he said, ‘she always has been precocious.’

My grin grew even wider. They were “Jim” and “Dor” now, were they? Maybe Daddy had noticed that tempting plateful of pussy after all!

While I sniggered to myself Daddy shut up and listened, flushing a little, still avoiding my eye. Using my fellow woman skills again, I deduced that Doreen was hinting at the sort of birthday treat he might like to give her. Or, rather, the treat she’d prefer to be given.

And judging by the length of time he was listening, it had to be quite some treat.

‘I’ll call round for you a seven,’ he said when he could get a word in, ‘in a taxi. Yes, me too. I’ll see you then.’

Chapter Two

Back at Cookie’s place . . . meaning Daddy new, borrowed penthouse home from home . . . things got heated rapidly. And for once it was Daddy being harshatayota.com precocious, not me.

Yes, honestly! I was still sipping my first glass of Chardonnay when he ripped the clothes off me.

Oh, okay then, maybe I ripped a few clothes off him too.

Anyway, before I knew it he had me positioned on all-fours on the settee, with my elbows on the arm and my ass waving provocatively in the air.

Then he had me, period.

I’m not going to be “ladylike” and pretend I didn’t enjoy it. Daddy’s cock was massive and, even if I have previously exaggerated the size of it, it was still far bigger than anything I’d had before.

He also used what he had more skillfully than any guy I’d had before; infinitely more skillfully.

Taking it on all-fours was good, as well. Taking it like that felt as if it was in me deeper than deep.

Yum, yum!

And it got better. Just as I was congratulating myself for my orgasm control (if in a bemused state of mind, wondering where that unexpected ability had materialized from), Daddy shifted the goalposts. Suddenly grabbing me by the tits he heaved me upright, his cock in me deeper than ever.

Sheer heaven!

My back was up against Daddy’s hairy chest. I could feel my shoulder blades moving on him, moving on him . . .

The change of cock angle was astounding, it was satisfying parts I hadn’t known I had.

In all honesty I’d never experience anything remotely like it. He was still thrusting powerfully into me; I was plunging onto him, simultaneously grinding and writhing.

Forget what I just said about orgasm control; I came abruptly then, perhaps thirty seconds later, came again.

Meanwhile Daddy was mauling my tits, inflaming me. Fucking me and mauling me and . . . and . . .

And at last I could feel him readying. By then I knew all of Daddy’s nuances, especially readying. I did my best to assist, plunging, grinding and writhing even more frantically.

‘Yes,’ he groaned. ‘Oh yes, Blossom, yes!’

Daddy’s cums were always strong but that one was exceptional. Still mauling my tits, still doing quite wonderful things to them, he pressed all the way into me and shot and shot and shot.

Then, pushing me into a more orthodox, sitting sort of a position on the settee, he knelt between my legs and ate me.

That was as erotic and exotic an experience as I could remember. And what a man he was! It took a real man to lick his cum out of a girl . . . in my opinion, at least . . . and Daddy did it with relish. Okay, I knew he was buying recovery time, not so much between fucks as cums, but how could I even begin to complain?

Normally Daddy set off with my clit. That time he set off under and around my vagina, lapping up our blended love juices. Then, lapping duties fulfilled, he circled my most precious mouth before easing in his tongue. And then, half an inch at a time, he eased it in deeper and deeper.

Forgive me for being “girly” but I’d always loved to be eaten. And I had never been eaten by a guy half as hungry as Daddy. A whole seven course meal later, when he replaced his oh-so clever tongue with three fingers and launched a simultaneous attack on my clitoris . . .

Well I screamed and screamed.

Thank God we were in an isolated apartment. Given neighbours we’d probably have been visited by the fire brigade as well as ambulances and police cars.

*****

I hesitate to call it a “family tradition” but I had got into the habit of sucking Daddy awake of a morning. He seemed to enjoy it and I definitely did. I loved to see his cock becoming erect. I loved to feel how it became erect in my hand too and, better yet, I loved to feel it hardening in my mouth.

Call me a dirty slut if you will. Maybe I am. But Daddy had pleasured me many times the night before; it was a pleasure to pleasure him in return.

Taking all the time in the world, I licked, sucked, stroked, squeezed and caressed. At some stage he came awake but I missed that. No, I kept going and going until . . . well, until he came, full stop.

Please don’t think I was avoiding the taste when I took him in deeply and swallowed. I knew the taste of him and it was one I really liked. To prove that conclusively, after he’d finished I kissed and nibbled every inch of him, enticing out and avidly consuming every last drop of seed.

Yum, yum once more!

(Here’s a quick aside: I immediately swallowed because, on one of the rare occasions I’d got him to talk about sex, Daddy had told me that an immediate swallow gave him a sense of completeness. I didn’t exactly understand why he sensed that but, if shooting his stuff straight down my throat lit his candle . . .

Well, I was Daddy’s girl, wasn’t I? It was my duty to give him a sense of completeness.

Face it, the wicked witch wasn’t going to do it for him, was she?)

Not that another mighty spurt was likely anytime soon. Having got every last drop I kept on caressing him with fingers, lips and tongue, ensuring he wasn’t going to flop. Then, deciding the time was right for me to indulge myself, I climbed aboard.

What is it country folk do of a morning? When they’re riding out their horses? Is it one or two miles, or more? Not wanting to give short change, I rode at least thirty on Daddy, cumming every few furlongs or so.

Then, while I was catching my breath and wondering what to do next, Daddy announced he needed to get ready for work.

Bugger! I knew there was a down-side to visiting on a Thursday.

I stayed where I was on the bed while Daddy showered. If there was a smile on my face you will have to excuse me. I was thinking of Mother by then, you see. I’d met up with her the previous Saturday for a powwow, supposedly to bury hatchets. And what had she told me?

What great lie?

She’d only claimed that Daddy had been incapable of having sex for years!

Well excuse me, I knew different, didn’t I? I’d had far more boyfriends than I should have as a twenty-year-old, and I’d never met anybody more “capable”.

Was it me, I wondered. Was I the only one who could get Daddy up? Or was Mother the problem? As good-looking as she was, her demeanour could be off-putting. It seemed quite possible that she could have an adverse effect on a guy . . . particularly if the guy had already been fucking her for decades.

Speak of the devil . . .

Daddy came back into the master bedroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, otherwise naked.

‘What’s the plan for today?’ he asked casually.

I smiled at that. He was speaking to me as a lover, not a daughter.

‘I’ve booked an appointment at Deb’s Hairdressers this morning,’ I told him. ‘After that I’ll either lounge about else go to the sports centre. Then I’m meeting you at six o’clock in the pub. You can take over the planning from there. All I’ll say is that a repeat of last night would not go amiss.’

Daddy didn’t notice that my fingers were crossed behind my back as I spoke. Deb’s and the pub were factual enough, but the bit in the middle was baloney.

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said. ‘You enjoy yourself.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘I will.’

Chapter Three

My hair appointment was at ten o’clock so I stayed in bed after Daddy hurried off to work, thinking.

No, I stayed in bed justifying the afternoon to come.

In my opinion I wasn’t bisexual, I couldn’t possibly be a lesbian and I certainly wasn’t bi-curious. I was certain about not being bi-curious because I regularly slept with my flat-mate, Jude; there wasn’t a hell of a lot left for me to be curious about.

If that last paragraph makes me sound confused then perhaps I was. We’d been halls neighbours and I’d flat-shared with Jude since the end of our first year at uni. Since then we had regularly shared her bed too. We were very best friends, you see. I loved her like the sister I’d never had and we’d done all sorts of disreputable things together.

Drinking, going out on the pull, swapping boyfriends (sometimes midway through the night, to keep us all on our toes); you name it and we had probably done it.

Sleeping together one-on-one was a natural progression. We’d started by agreeing solo masturbation was sad and lonely. Then, after a couple of lengthy sessions masturbating in each other’s company, we’d agreed it would be more fun if I did her and she did me . . .

Let’s just say one thing led to another and, by the Friday in question, I had had over a year’s worth of experience of having sex with Jude. As I said earlier, how could I be curious when there was nothing left to be curious about?

There alone on Daddy’s bed, I realized I was changing. Until recently I’d never looked at other women with sex in mind. Then suddenly I was seeing possibilities everywhere. Suddenly I was finding the toy boy’s daughter attractive. I was seeing Doreen as a very seductive older lady. And I was noticing girl’s tits and asses on campus all of the time.

I blamed the toy boy’s daughter, Amy. She’d gatecrashed last Saturday’s powwow with Mother, being there in the pub before either of us. She’d greeted me with a smile, transforming her usual miserable mug into a picture of beauty. And, when I’d playfully smacked her ass in parting, she’d called out after me.

‘Woo,’ she’d called. ‘Promises, promises . . .’

Okay, so my smack wasn’t really playful. Mother had just wound me up about Daddy’s alleged lack of prowess. Hatchets still unburied, I was actually storming out of the pub. And Amy . . . the girl who had not only moved into my house and home but into my personal, private bedroom . . . had just dropped the jackpot on a bandit.

A hundred quid straight off, and then it had held, the spawny cow!

The saucily round target of her ass was too tempting to miss. It might as well have had a bull’s eye on it.

Her words stuck with me, though. When they were still in my head on Tuesday morning I decided to do something about them. Way I saw it was simple. Amy wanted me to fuck her and fucking her didn’t seem to be such a bad idea. Not that it helped as far as punishing Mother was concerned; best will in the world I couldn’t see how fucking the toy boy’s daughter could possibly do that.

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