He nodded. “Feels wonderful, sweetheart.”
She released him then, moving her hand to his thigh, leaving him all to me. I repositioned my hand as she’d shown me earlier and began to stroke him, my gaze on his. He nodded. I increased my grip, catching my lip in my teeth, and I pulled my hand down onto his groin, watching, fascinated, as his head went back, eyes closing, a long, low moan escaping his lips.
I continued to stroke him, watching, mesmerized, as his fingers stroked the inside of my thigh. From my position, though, he couldn’t reach me. And as much as I wanted him to, there was something I wanted even more; I wanted him inside of me. I’d been fantasizing about it for months. And now, with the feel of him in my hand, I longed to lay back and guide him into me, to open my legs and let him at me. Emboldened, I leaned over him, pulling my hand all the way to the base of him, squeezing him, and I swiped my tongue through the gathered juice at the tip of him, making him groan. I met my mother’s gaze, returned her smile before opening my lips for him. And though it was thrilling to have him in my mouth, it isn’t what I wanted just then. I allowed him to slip out. “Can I have him now?”
She brought her hand to mine, running a finger over my hand where it gripped him. “Sure this is what you want?”
I nodded, feeling my stomach flutter. She moved her hand to his stomach, scratching him lightly. “Let her lay down, big boy.”
I released him then, reluctantly, and he rolled up. I laid down where he’d been, the spot warm, his pillow full of his scent, my gaze meeting his. I felt her hand on my thigh, pulling, gently. I moved, opening my legs for him, holding his gaze as my mother pulled more insistently, urging me wider. I continued to hold his gaze as her fingers inched their way up to the top of my thigh, brushing against my labia then pulling at it, opening me, making me moan. And I held his gaze when she teased her fingertips into my wetness, gathering it and dragging it up to my clit, making me jump. Then she patted the top of my mound. “Come here, big boy.”
He moved between my legs, his gaze locked with mine. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispered.
“I want you,” I said, my voice thick with desire.
“You have me, honey. Tell me what you want. You need to ask for it.”
I stared at him, unable to say the words. My mother broke the silence. “Take hold of him, honey. Show him where you want him.”
I reached out to him, wrapping my fingers around him. Though it had only been less than twenty minutes since first touching him, I knew that I was already addicted to the feel of him in my hand. I squeezed him, watching his eyes. Then I began to move my hand, slowly, stroking him, nodding.
“Tell me what you want, baby girl.”
“I want you inside of me.”
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
He leaned forward then and I guided him to me, hissing when he touched me, moaning, struggling to hold his gaze as he began to part my lips. I stroked him slowly, unwilling to let him go but knowing I needed to. I knew then that I’d need to have my hands on him often.