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“Hey Daddy — I’m gonna just go up and fuck on the computer for a while, okay?”
My father, whom I still call “Daddy” but whom everyone else calls Robert, looked embroiled in a pile of spreadsheets and thick contract papers on the kitchen table. He usually brings work home from the office, so that he and I can have dinner together and, you know, spend our quality time together and stuff. Now usually he doesn’t get to his work until well after dinner, because he and I usually can’t stop from getting it on at least once before or during dinner. But tonight I was getting home later than normal, because I went to the mall with my pals Cherrie and Dominic, so I guess he just dove into his work early.
Daddy smiled at me through his glasses and gave me a friendly wink. “Lacey, I’d offer to take care of your needs,” he muttered in a low, anguished tone, “but I promised the client I’d call him with the answer to a question, and I haven’t figured it out yet.” Never changing, as he spoke he didn’t look in my face but instead was staring straight at the curves of my perky B-cup titties in my tight short sweater. You’d think that a man that gets to fuck me nearly every night of the week would grow tired of staring at my tits. But I still hadn’t found the limit for his lust for me (bless his heart).
Putting my shopping bag and purse on the kitchen counter, I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Deer Park (best damn water on earth) then stepped to his side to look over his shoulder. I didn’t exactly try to figure it all out. “Looks pretty complicated, Daddy, I’d offer to help, but I doubt I could.”
He swung his head around his shoulder and gave me a toothy grin. “Thanks, baby. It’ll be about an hour or so. I’ll order in a pizza for us, if you want, or did you eat already?”
“I’m not really hungry,” I shrugged, opening the water and taking a swig. “But if you want I can make you something.”
My daddy shook his head. “Don’t go to the trouble, I’m fine myself — and I guess you’re probably horny and would rather go upstairs to get off?”
“You got that fucking right.” I kissed my 45-year-old father on his temple, putting my hand on his shoulder. Instantly I felt his hand slide up my low-rise jeans and rest on my asscheek, his fingers gently curving around my butt and grope it. “I kind of promised this guy I met online last night that he could have phone sex with me this afternoon, but I don’t know if he’ll still be there or not.”
Daddy hardly blinked at my explanation; he was used to things like that about me. I mean, he’s eaten other guys’ cum out of my cunt when I’ve gotten home from dates, and he’s watched home-made DVDs I had other guys make of me fucking them. So my doing phone sex was practically boring to Daddy. “Well, have fun, if he’s not there, I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding a cock to get off.” For emphasis his hand squeezed my butt again, then it caressed across my small ass to my other side and groped the other firm little cheek too.
Already tingling from thinking about playing with men online, my pussy started to really ache with Daddy’s hand on my ass. Normally I’d probably just strip and get to fucking him on the spot, but I had to be good and let him do his work. Undoubtedly he’d bang me at bedtime — we sleep together, usually without a stitch of clothing — so the intelligent decision was to let him be alone for a while.
I kissed his temple again and turned to leave the kitchen, but Daddy slipped his fingers into the pocket on my ass and prevented me from getting too far away. As I shrieked with a laugh and turned to him, he gave me a big fake pout. “Well I might be busy with work right now,” he frowned, trying to look deprived of joy, “but give me something to look forward to — I mean, if you’re going to fuck online or on the phone, you do have to be naked, don’t you?” His eyes went from my face to my chest then my crotch in my tight jeans, and I saw him lick his lips quickly.
I stepped back and out of his grasp, giving him a scolding look. “Now, Daddy, don’t you have work to do? Here, I promise.” I leaned forward, my hands on my knees as I stood a couple of feet away, with a very large smile on my lips. “I promise that, if you do your work good, Daddy, your baby will give you the biggest cocksucking of your life tonight, including some tongue up your hairy ass, how’s that for incentive?”
Daddy giggled and pretended to think it over. “Well, alright,” came his delayed, slow response, “but still, the least you could do for your old man is let me strip you before you go upstairs.”
“Geesh, really now.” Actually, I was thinking myself of letting him get my festivities started, but I didn’t want to do something that would lead to something else, and something else, and so on. But since he offered, I wasn’t going to say no. “You are such a perv, Daddy. Fine.”
I lifted one foot and put my boot on the front edge of his chair, right between his thighs. Daddy smiled warmly, looking down my thin Beylikdüzü escort skinny legs at my light-brown suade boot going halfway up my calf. He put one hand on the back of the boot and used his other hand to unzip the boot’s zipper, then he held the heel in both hands so I could pull my foot out of it. Since the floor was kind of cold from the wintery weather outside, I left my sock on. I went to put my other foot on his chair but, to be playful, I lifted my foot even higher and pressed the ball of my foot against Daddy’s crotch. I could tell he had a pretty good hard-on inside his pants. Daddy pretended not to notice as he unzipped this other boot for me, then removed it from my small sock-clad foot.
Stepping in front of Daddy now, I put my hands over my head, pulling up some of my long, curly blonde hair. “Do the honors now, Daddy,” I giggled. He reached out both hands and took my soft sweater at its bottom edge on my sides, even with about my belly-button, and pulled it straight up over my raised arms. My wavy hair flew around my face then dropped down in a disheveled mess. I quickly ran fingers of both hands through my hair to straighten it out, and Daddy was already working on my low-rise jeans. I stood quietly watching him unzip my jeans then unbutton them, and I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself as my father stripped off my jeans. I carefully stepped out of them, leaving me in a white bra and black lacy thongs (plus the small ankle-high white socks).
Without a word I spun around, showing my father my almost-nude ass, lifting my hair to let him unfasten my bra. He expertly unsnapped it in a hurry, then brushed the straps off my side so I was topless. Turning to face him now just in my thong and socks, I stepped forward one last time and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“What,” he pouted again, “don’t you want the thong off too?”
“You silly!” I shook my head with a grin. “That might come off later — depends if the guy is hot or not!”
He sat back and threw his hands up. “Can’t blame a father for trying. Now go up there and leave me alone, and have some good cums.”
In a high pitch I blurted out one last, “Thanks, Daddy!” as I turned and grabbed my water bottle again. I made sure to put a swing in my step, so my small heart-shaped ass shook side to side, as I left the room. I couldn’t resist turning to look back at him, to make sure he was staring at my virtually nude butt outlined in my skimpy thong, and of course his eyes were turned right towards it.
“I’m fuckin’ that ass later, count on it,” he grinned from across the hallway at me.
“Oh, okay,” I said with a big voice, circling my finger and thumb for the “OK” symbol. Then I proceeded up the stairs to my bedroom.
To be clear, I don’t sleep in my bedroom. It’s “my” room — it’s got all my clothing in it, my old stuffed animals from childhood I never threw out, my CD, all my stuff. Well, most of my stuff; my makeup was in the master bedroom, on what used to be my mother’s vanity. It was entirely my vanity now; any bitch that leaves her family when I was only 8 doesn’t exist any more, as far as I’m fucking concerned. Anyway, I keep my own room just so that, if we have regular visitors over, it’s not weird or anything that the 19 year old daughter doesn’t have her own room. But about the only thing “my” bed is used for is fucking — phonesex, or Daddy and me wanting to get it on in a different room, or sometimes if I bring a date home. (Daddy sometimes likes to watch from the closet.)
My computer is in my room, which is the main reason I’m ever in the room in the first place. Snapping it on, I pulled up my computer chair and sat in it cross-legged, sitting on my ankles. I felt the strap of my thong dig into my asscrack as I crossed my legs under me. My nipples were hard, but mostly from the cool air of the house, and my thong’s front panel was damp from juices starting to leak from my pussy. My Daddy got me a very new computer that turns on and gets everything ready to go in like 10 seconds, it’s the fastest one I’ve ever seen. So within a couple of minutes I was logged into my emails and getting ready to go into a chatroom.
Not a lot of email traffic today, just four new emails. (On a “good” day, I might have 10 or more.) A couple of the emails were from guys I’d screwed online or on the phone in the past, and I wasn’t interested in reading them, neither really turned me on enough for a repeat. One email was from my buddy Ligner, he’s someone I knew at school last year and he was just checking in on me. I hadn’t seen him in forever, although we trade emails all the time. The really funny thing is, he’s a doll and very smart, but he’s just a good friend, not a fuck buddy or anything. Most guys who are my friends don’t have my “sexy” email address, I just give them my “boring” email address. Ligner actually found one of my ads in a local website, however, that my Dad put there for me, and although the ad doesn’t have my name or face pic, Ligner Beylikdüzü escort actually figured out it was me. (I think the ad said something about my fetish for Greek food, which along with the picture of my tits, he was able to deduce it was me.) He teased me about being a slut for older men, and I teased him about needing a girlfriend by looking online, but we’ve basically just corresponded through my sexy email address. I figure that, like most guys, he probably would fuck me if he had the chance, but he’s never really asked. I don’t know, maybe he was being good to his girlfriend or something stupid like that. Me, I mean, live a little, huh?
The fourth email was a new name, it was a response to another one of my online ads. From some guy named Charlie, he said he saw my ad looking for hung married men in our area. “I have what you want,” he wrote, “it’s 7 inches, extremely thick, married, lasts a long time, and loves to fuck college girls like you.” What really caught my eye was that he actually followed the directions in my online ad — he included his cellphone number (with times of when it’s good to call), plus a face pic (handsome!), plus a nude pic of him from his knees up to his face. And, ohhh mercy yes, he had one BIG erection. My already-tingling pussy creamed at the sight of the picture. I instantly clicked on the link to his profile on the website, and saw a different picture, a close-up of his sexy penis (huge head, I might add), plus his scant bio. This man wasn’t a lot for words. The bio did tell me he lived in a town I’d heard of, but didn’t know where it was around us, so I figured he was probably 30 to 60 minutes away.
Mmm, yes, I’m going to fuck this man for sure. Nice big cock. I’m very bad; I love helping married men cheat. The sex is so nasty and fun, and they tend to be both experienced plus sexually frustrated — plus, the guys aren’t exactly trying to worm into every aspect of my life. I have my Daddy for that!
I looked at Charlie’s email again, which said I could call him 10 am to 2 pm any work day. Since it was nearly 6 pm, I wasn’t going to call of course. Iinstead, I wrote him something that I thought would get his attention:
“Charlie — your cock is a dream. How many girls have you stuck it in lately? I’m so happy you emailed me. I’m not really into dating or going out, but if you want to get together and fuck, I would love to. How far away do you live? I have a car but am still learning my way around, I’ve only been driving 3 years. I can pretty much meet you any time you want, I don’t go to school anymore, and I don’t have to work. Will you make me your little slut for a few hours? I do anything! xXx oOo xXx oOo Lacey”
That last line — about being a little slut and doing anything — I put in most of my emails to men. Daddy taught me that’s what men want to hear, and he’s right. Plus, the line is true. It’s not like, I’d say I’ll do anything, then during sex I’d have to say, “No, I don’t do that,” so it wouldn’t be anything, would it? I’ve said “yes” to guys tying me up tight, putting just about anything in my pussy and asshole, deep-throating, even one guy wanted me to dress up like his daughter and call me her name. So that’s basically anything, in my book.
For good measure, I attached to the email four pictures of me: me nude, lying on a bed with my legs spread, a full-body picture with my face; me licking off a penis that had just cum all over my face (it was Daddy’s penis, but I wasn’t about to tell anyone else that); me in a thong bikini at the beach, with one of my bikini top’s triangles pulled to the side to expose my nipple; and finally, me in a big snow bunny costure I wore a couple years ago in a high school play. I like this set of four pictures, it shows my fun self, plus you can tell they’re real, I mean, no one could get four like this from an online porn site. (Who has pictures of girls in bunny costumes?)
Off went the email. I knew I’d be hearing back from him!
My vagina was pretty anxious now, thinking about getting a cock like Charlie’s, so I logged into one of my chat accounts on my favorite chat room. The chat website had rooms for many different locations around the country, so by picking my home state, I could always find people who lived nearby. I’d only met, I think, two of the guys for actual sex, but I liked the idea of chatting with guys who actually live around me, it makes the chat so much more edgy and sexy. If I chat with a guy from across the country, it’s like he isn’t real, you know? That’s what the fucking phone is for, of course.
Pretty quickly after logging online, I started getting bombarded with whispers (IMs, or PMs, or bubbles, or whatever you want to call them). My screen name, 19yearoldslut, pretty much gets attention. I ignore most of them. But one of them was from a name I recognized, “Buckitz,” it was the guy I was supposed to have phonesex with today.
My creamy pussy shot a bolt of electricity through me, I just get all excited knowing a hot Escort Beylikdüzü man is looking out for me. I minimized my other whispers and read his; it was a boring “Howareya, remember me?” I giggled to myself and grinned as I proved my memory. “Yeah, you’re name is Paul, you’re married, you don’t have kids but your wife is pregnant, and you sent me a picture of your big dick last night.”
I don’t know if I impressed him, but he wrote back with an attitude: “And you’re Lacey, you’re 19, have very hot tits, and you promised that you’d send me a picture of your butt, which you never did!”
“True,” I typed quickly, “I forgot, but here it is….” I opened a box to attach a picture, and I selected one of me naked on my fours, with my knees parted, the camera showing my asshole and clean-shaven pussy from behind. I always get complements from that photo.
“FUCK!” he wrote in his immediate response, with a really big font. I guess he liked it too. Then he typed, “That is one fuckable ass and pussy you have, if that’s really you!”
I was liking his attitude, it’s better than guys who pretend to hang on every word I write, like they are getting on my good side. I prefer a guy who doesn’t give it up quite so easy, you know? And I can’t blame him, the only pictures I’d showed Paul so far were on the verge of being porn, which anyone can get from websites these days. “Oh it’s me,” I wrote back, “here, see for yourself.” Now I attached a bunch of other pictures, basically throwing some randomly from the My Pictures folder. Me in the bunny costume, me with my Daddy at a fancy ball, me pouting in the passenger seat of the car refusing to get out of it (long story there), me when I was 15 years old at a Christmas party wearing antlers on my head. Then, the sexy ones: me nude spreading, fingering my vagina; me with cum on my tits (Daddy’s); me on my fours getting fucked from behind, with my head turned to look up at the camera (that was Daddy too); me nude riding a guy’s fat cock (not Daddy; the guy took the picture with his cellphone).
It must have taken a while for the photos to get across to the guy, but after a delay (during which I lightly rubbed my nipples) he wrote, “Lacey, you are incredibly beautiful! Thank you so much for the fabulous pictures, would you mind if I save them?”
“Don’t send them to anyone,” I answered, which drew an immediate agreement from him.
“I won’t,” his words said on my computer screen, “I just want to be able to open them and see what a ridiculously hot girl you are — and I’ll probably grab my dick and jerk it off.”
I giggled at his obvious comment. “You better!” I typed for a laugh. My vagina was thinking about the picture of his cock from yesterday. “Is your cock hard Paul?”
“You better believe it!” he quickly responded. “I’m naked stroking it looking at your pictures.”
My throbbing clitoris pulsed harder at those words, I was visualizing his penis in his hand. I love seeing males stroking their dicks; it’s just that, in person, I rarely stay away from them just to watch. But I wanted to be sure fun with Paul wouldn’t be interrupted. “Are you home alone?”
“Yes,” he wrote, “my wife has a late OBGYN appointment after her work, she won’t be home for about three hours at least.”
I smirked at the news that the pregnant wife was at her doctor’s for an appointment, while the woman’s cheating husband was at home nude stroking his cock trying to get off with other girls. This was exactly the sort of jerk I loved to fuck; I wouldn’t in a million years want to marry a guy like this, or even date one, but these jerks are really fun in bed.
One of my standard questions came to mind. I wrote, “Is your wife pretty,” not sure if I asked him that yesterday.
His response took time, but it was because he attached a picture. It was him and his wife smiling for the camera at what looked to be a restaurant, maybe a wedding reception. She had short blonde hair, kind of a squared-off face, nice big eyes, she was attractive without being hot. He wrote with it, “Here she is, she’s okay-looking I guess, but she’s not sizzling hot like you!”
See? What a jerk; it was making my pussy so fucking wet. I wasn’t touching myself there, and my thighs weren’t even closed. I like getting really horny and building the need to touch it. Instead, I stroked one hard nipple with two fingers, all the way along the fingers, until then I used my flattened palm to caress the hard nub. Then I typed again, sure to play to his ego. “Awww you’re so sweet!!!!” My arousal was more than doubling or tripling, having seen the picture of the woman he was actually cheating on. Knowing what she looked like made his infidelity so much hotter to me. “So Paul how long has it been since you cheated on her?”
“You mean for real?”
He had a good point, I mean, most wives would think cybersex or phonesex is cheating, which is hot to me; but what’s really hot, of course, is that married guys actually sneak around sticking their dicks in other women. “Yeah for real?”
Paul’s response was entirely evasive and defensive. “Well you have to remember she’s pregnant, she has gotten pretty big and she is worried about hurting the baby, so she and I don’t fuck now.”
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