Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

Had I been older or freer in my habits, I'm sure I would have followed the classic path of meeting some man at the office or at a bar for a one-night stand, and discover that way that love is vital to any satisfaction of the heart. But I had no office and I couldn't get into bars.

My only real friend, and my only close companion of my own age was Sally. We had been swimming one afternoon and Sally had lain in the sun for some time trying to get a tan. She was wearing a cute little two-piece suit that really made her body look wonderful, even though she was still sort of skinny and not completely developed yet.

After a long time in the sun, I asked her if she wanted to go inside with me and have a drink of iced tea. She agreed and we both went up to the apartment. We were in the kitchen and just because I felt wild, I asked her if she had ever tasted a martini.

"Gosh, no," she said. "Have you?"

"Sure," I told her. "Lots of times."

With that, Sally seemed even more impressed than usual and said she would like to have a martini with me. As she watched me mixing the drinks, she began to play with herself through the bottom of her swimming suit. She always did that when she was particularly excited about something – whether that something was sexual or not.

I finished making the drinks, poured them into glasses and handed her one. I suggested we go into the living room to drink them, but remembering our swimsuits were still wet, I asked Sally if she wanted to change before we had the drinks. She agreed and followed me into the room that was supposed to be mine, although I hadn't slept there in all the time we had lived in the apartment.

Sally peeled out of her damp swimsuit bottoms, revealing slender legs and a thin, muscular hip line dotted with only the slightest punctuation of pubic hair. Then, still as casual as always, she untied her flimsy bathing suit bra and let it fall to the carpet. I don't know what came over me – I had seen her tiny erect breasts several times before – but they seemed remarkably beautiful and firm, almost as if they were asking to be touched.

Forcing the thought from my mind, I slipped into a sunsuit and halter. Sally stood naked for a moment playing with her private parts almost as if she was scratching, although I knew she wasn't. She asked if she could wear a bathrobe of mine instead of getting dressed. I agreed and when she had slipped her arms into it and looped the tie cord around her slender waist, we again went to the living room to sip our forbid-, den drinks.

Sally sat on the couch and I in a chair, and again she began to play with herself. She would take a sip of the martini, wince from the taste sensation of it and the heat of the alcohol sliding down her throat and into her body and then clutch at her genitals. Finally, she just lay back against the couch, raised her left leg with the glass in her left hand and the fingers of her right violently stroking her clitoris.

"Don't you ever do this?" she asked as casually as if she were inquiring about the time of day.

I shook my head, stifling an urge to mention that I didn't have to. I wanted to say that I already knew the total pleasures of sex with a grown man and that I didn't have to play at being a little girl anymore. I wanted to tell her a lot of things about what I had experienced in my father's arms, but I knew I must keep our secret.

"Oh, it's really the greatest," she said, and then with a jerk that almost spilled her drink, she tore her fingers from her vagina, placed the glass on the table and almost screamed, "I know what!"

"What?" I asked.

"Let me do it to you," she said, excitedly. "You'll really like it. Ill get a hot dog or something. You got a hot dog in the refrigerator?"

"Sally… I… "

"Don't be an old square," she said… "It's really great!"

She leaped off the couch and, like some sort of legendary fury, dashed into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open, scurrying sounds for a moment, and then the sound of it closing again. Sally returned to the room with an eight-inch-long wiener in each hand and stood waving them triumphantly in front of my face.

"It'll be great," she announced. "I can do you and then you can do me!"

"But, Sally," I managed, "I don't really want to. It's not like-"

"Like what?"

"Nothing."

She looked at me for a long time before the expression of doubt on her face turned slowly to one of complete knowing accompanied by a strange, totally illuminating smile. "I know," she said, "you don't have to tell me. I know! You've let some boy do it to you! You've gone and gotten yourself fucked, haven't you?"

"Oh, what's it like? I mean when a boy's got it all hard and hot and puts it in there? What's it like?"

I was trapped and I knew it. My only recourse was to let her think that I had had some experience with a boy my own age instead of with my own father. "It's… " I began, "sort of… well, it's good. It feels good."

"Oh, come on now. Please. We're friends, aren't we? You can tell me about it. It's real good, isn't it? Tell me, please!"

In my own young and fumbling way, I tried to tell Sally what real sex was like. As I explained about the prick, she sat again on the couch, her eyes getting wider and wider as she took another sip of her martini and slowly leaned back, slipping the whole length of the wiener all the way up her moist vaginal tract.

Somehow, I experienced a strange perverse sensation at that moment and took an intense vicarious pleasure in going into great detail. First, I told her what a rod looked like when erect, but when I saw how excited she got, I went back to elaborate each detail as I remembered it. I told her how the tip felt, just before the length completely plunged into me, and how great that first surge of filling pressure always felt.

Then I went on to other details, telling her how the man often put his hands under the girl's buttocks so that he could pull her tighter to him as he thrust harder and faster against the delicate seething walls of her sexual pleasure.

Each time I mentioned something new to Sally, she would try to do it to herself. She was lying on the couch now with both legs up and her hand holding the wiener, moving it fast as she pushed her masturbation tool back and forth.

I tried to remain dispassionate over the spectacle, but I couldn't. Something about her openness in showing how intense her pleasure was, brought a surge of excitement to me. When I saw the robe fall away from her beautiful young breasts, I seemed to cross the room in a sort of hypnotic haze. I was still talking to her and saying things like, "And then he starts kissing me all over and maybe even running his hands up over my boobies like… "

My hands were no longer a part of me. They were acting on their own. I was beside the couch, as I looked into Sally's eyes for a moment and then, still holding her gaze locked to mine, placed both hands gently over her breasts. I moved my fingers just the slightest bit to caress the nipples as mine had been caressed so often. In that instant, she twitched and spasmed into an orgasm that sent an involuntary gasp from her throat, making her body quiver like a leaf in the wind.

"Oh," she gasped after a moment. "Oh, that was the greatest. When you touched me there… oh…"

She fell back on the couch gasping for breath with a happy, satiated expression on her face, the like of which I had never seen before.

Embarrassed by what I had done, I returned to where I had been sitting and lit a cigarette before taking a sip of my drink. We remained silent for several minutes until Sally started to sit up on the couch. At first I thought she was going to start masturbating again because her hand was working slowly around her private parts. But when she spoke, I realized what her problem was.