Ron Taylor - Do me, Daddy!

"Enough to fuck me," I pointed out bluntly. "You love me enough to rape me and fuck me. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"If I burn in hell for it," he said passionately, turning around to face me, "I can't keep my hands off when you throw yourself at me! And I will burn in hell for it."

"Someday, maybe, but won't I, too?"

He ignored the question. "I'm burning now. When I see you or touch you, it's like being addicted to a drug. I want you and I can't have you – mustn't have you – God, I'm a rational, sensible man! Why is this happening to me? Today, knowing that you and your girl friend were making love, that she was touching you and I couldn't – it ripped my heart out, Jenni. I had to hurt you, to make you see how much it hurts me. I didn't want any of this to happen. If I had the last month to live over again, none of it would have ever happened. I'd never have laid a finger on you."

"Hmmm," I cut in with an arch of my brows. "Remember, I seduced you. You just went along with it. Do you think you could have turned me off? I wanted you, I took you. It was that easy. And you liked it. You told me you did, you just said you were addicted to me. Why can't you just lie back and enjoy it? I'm good. Why do you have to be so Goddamned archaic?"

"You're a child." The lie choked him. "You're not a child. You're a woman, slim and beautiful and hot and desirable. Maybe the world is moving faster, Jenni. Girls are growing up more quickly."

"I don't want a boy," and I put my arms around him. "I need a man. You just said I was mature. Okay. I'll share you with Mom. As long as I get my fair share. That's reasonable, isn't it? Adult? Sensible? We can play our games and you and Mom can play your own."

Beep-beep! from outside. "Oh, shit!" I groaned, letting him go. "She's home already. You better run into the study and get me my jeans and panties. Mom might wonder why they're lying on the floor and not covering my slim, beautiful, hot, desirable body."

He moved quickly, nodding.

"Oh, and Roy," – he turned – "…you'd better put your cock back inside your pants and zip up. She might wonder about that, too."

Neither of us had much to say. Roy put his clothes on and went into his office, taking a bottle of vodka with him. I picked up my shorts and halter, went into my room, and tossed them on the bed. Mom was in her bedroom, crying now as bitterly as I'd been crying a few minutes ago, and I suppose it was all my fault. I rustled through a drawer, found a shirt, and put it on. The tail was long enough to cover the panties I donned, and, summoning up all my courage, I went through the bathroom connection and into Mom's room.

She was on the bed. A bottle of brandy was on the nightstand, and she was tossing down a water glass of the stuff. Her eyes caught mine and she turned her head away. I felt about two feet tall as I went to sit down beside her.

God, the look on her face! Even before, when I didn't know, I'd never really considered her side of it. I mean, she was my mother, and I was balling her new husband on the side. So what? But when I saw the pain in her blue eyes, I realized for the first time that she was vulnerable, that she could be hurt, that she had been hurt.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She put down her glass of booze and I saw that it was already having an effect on her. God, she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast, just a cup of coffee – the stuff must be on an airline to her head!

"I know," I told her then. "Roy told me. And I'm really sorry. I started it, before he had any idea."

And we were crying together, hugging, our wet faces close. Two women, sharing a sorrow. Until Mom sat back, her face tense.

"I'm going to kill him," she said. "He might not have known when this all started, but he Goddamned well knew later, and the two of you weren't playing jacks today."

Her voice was a bit thick, as if it were clogged by brandy, and I knew she didn't really want to kill Roy. But she leaned towards the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and brought out a small revolver.

I hadn't even known they kept a gun in the house, and the sight of it made my stomach turn. "You'd better have another drink," I suggested, giving her the glass. She put down gun, took the glass, and poured the brandy down her throat. While she was drinking, I slid the gun out of sight.

She seemed to forget about it instantaneously, as it was. When I looked back, she'd put down her empty glass and was yawning. "I'm sleepy," she said. And kinda drunk.

"Why don't you take a nap?" I suggested. She nodded happily and began to take her clothes off. It was a simple slacks and sweater outfit, black and expensive, but she was having a lot of trouble with it, so I gave her a hand. We got her sweater off, and then the pants, and she lay down on the bed in her undies. I couldn't help noticing how attractive her body was, in spite of the situation. Her bra was nylon, a step-in model without hooks or clasps, and it was scandalously sheer and flimsy, allowing her nipples to stick out prominently. And her panties were of the skimpy, mini-bikini variety, low-cut and clingy. They fit her womanly hips as if they were painted on, and a few stray curls of pussy hair peeked out at the legs.

Why, I wondered, was Roy stupid enough to fuck around with me when he had a gorgeous, foxy lady like Mom? She lay there, almost naked, her long legs stretching in endless shapely curves, her tits jiggling as she breathed, and I thought I'd never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. I was proud to be her daughter, and I loved her more than I ever had in my life.

I thought of the years she'd spent with Daddy – oops! – with Dick Wexford, never loving him, trying to make a home for me, and all the while in love with another man. And now, when her sacrifices had finally paid off, I'd fucked it all up with my sluttish horniness. I wanted to crawl under a rock.

Mom sat up. I sat beside her and she put her arms around me. She kissed my face wetly, breathing brandy on me, and I huddled closer.

"Poor little baby," she whispered, and she stroked my shoulders.

Her hand dropped lower, caressing the upward slope of my tits, and through the material of my shirt I could feel my nipples getting warm and stiff. It seemed only natural to embrace her in reply, and I touched the flesh of her bare back beside one bra strap. She was warm, too, her skin soft and satiny, and touching it made me feel good all over.

Mom didn't seem to know that she was holding my titty in the palm of her gentle hand. Or did she? I couldn't guess. All I know is that she began to squeeze rhythmically, still kissing me on the cheek and puffing onto my face, and something popped inside me.

I brought my hand around and touched her on the well-filled left cup of her brassiere. The nipple was already sticking out and I brushed it with my fingertips, upon which it seemed to grow even stiffer, longer, warmer.

What are you doing, Jennifer? I asked myself and I didn't have an answer. For the first time in my life I was at a loss. I only knew that I had to do something.

She was still cupping my boob, and I cupped hers in reply. It was plump and round and full-shaped, and it filled my palm beautifully. I squeezed harder, and felt her do the same to me. I wanted to cry out but I couldn't, because I'd just brought my lips around and planted them on hers.

Mom stiffened and strained when I kissed her that way, but she didn't really resist. I don't think she knew what I was doing, honestly, but neither did I. One thing seemed to lead to another, and I merely followed.

I pulled my lips from hers with a smack, then nibbled on her chin, and kissed my way down her neck. She wiggled as I caressed her, but she lay more quietly when my mouth ventured onto the rise of her tits.