(Yeah, so I’m paraphrasing Shakespeare. The guy had a way with words just as Daddy had his way with his in-strokes.)
Was I enjoying it? You bet your cotton socks I was. My insides were gripping Daddy’s cock tighter than tight and that bone of his was doing wonderful things. I swear it was applying internal pressure to my G-spot as well as squillions of previously undiscovered nerve endings.
By then I had hold of the backs of my legs, pulling them higher and wider, bending myself in half in my eagerness.
‘Harder,’ I gasped.
Daddy obliged but, being Daddy, he was still tender and gentle.
‘Harder,’ I gasped again. ‘Please Daddy, I need harder!’
*****
I woke first on Sunday morning and sucked Daddy off as he continued to slumber. Such forwardness by then shouldn’t have come as a shock. I always woke first and invariably used that same tactic to pull him out of sweet dreams.
Call me a slut if you like; it’s fun to do and, going by Daddy’s reactions, it’s fun to be on the receiving end too.
And oh my, didn’t he cum!
Later, after an hour or so of fooling around and a relatively fast and furious fuck, my legs still wrapped around my incestuous lover, holding him in place, I made conversation.
‘You need to get close to Doreen,’ I said. ‘As close as we are right now.’
Daddy flinched at that. He liked to be close to me but didn’t like talking about our closeness. Come to that, like most men, he didn’t like talking about relationships at all.
Same as he didn’t like kissing.
And in all honesty, “closeness” and “kissing” weren’t my specialized subjects either.
Not ones of choice, anyway.
Determined to be open, I persisted.
‘Doreen is fit as heck,’ I told him. ‘And she’s gagging for you. Make sure you give her what she wants as soon as you can.’
Daddy blushed, shrugged and otherwise seemed embarrassed.
‘Mother’s gone,’ I said. ‘Mother’s no intention of coming back. She’s going to try to ruin all you’ve ever worked for and bankrupt you in the process. Don’t sit back and let her do it.’
‘I can’t drive her out of our home,’ he said. ‘What sort of a man would I be if I reduced her to being no more than a bag lady?’
‘Trust me, Daddy; Mother will always land on her feet, if not flat on her back. There’s more chance of Kate Middleton becoming a bag lady than her.’
Daddy sniggered at that. I’m not sure if it was the image of my derelict mother tramping the streets or the totally improbable one of the delectable duchess doing likewise.
Whatever it was, it stirred him back into life. Slowly sliding down my body, calling off to say hello to my tits, he steadily and surely made his way you-know-where.
I steadily and surely enjoyed his progress. Knowing full well he was sneakily taking a break from out-and-out fucking, I was happy to let him do his thing. Out-and-out fucking was great but the nuances of Daddy’s mouth-play were not to be missed.
If Mother had been telling the truth about his floppiness I wouldn’t have cared. I’d have settled for his mouth-play any day.
Talk about skilled!
And don’t get me going on girls versus boys. Back then I only had one girl to compare with and Jude was unparalleled. But Daddy ran her close. That other handful of so-called “men” shouldn’t have even bothered.