She pushed me away from her, reaching for the hem of my shirt, tugging it. “Take this off.”
The idea of baring myself made me suddenly shy, but I took a deep breath and lifted the thing over my head, lowering my hands to my sides, resisting the urge to cover myself.
Her gaze dropped, her head shaking. “Such a pretty young woman,” she said, her tone soft. She surprised me then, lifting her hand, drawing the backs of her fingers over my nipple, making me shiver. “So pretty,” she whispered.
She lowered her hand to my stomach, drawing a circle around my belly button with a fingertip. “Are you sure this is what you want, baby?” she asked, her gaze coming up.
I nodded.
She stood then, taking my hands in hers, gathering my attention. “You say no at any time, baby, and I promise you he’ll stop.”
I nodded, my stomach full of butterflies. She dropped her gaze to our linked hands. “Promise me something?” She brought her gaze back up and I nodded. She said, “Promise me you’ll remember that this was your idea? That you wanted this?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
“In here or in our bed?”
I dropped my gaze, my head shaking. “In your bed.”
“And you’re sure about this?”
I nodded.
She smiled, her gaze moving down to my breasts then over my stomach, lingering a moment before coming back up. “Remember, baby,” she said, her tone low and husky. “Say no anytime you want. He’ll love you just the same either way, I promise you.”
I nodded, knowing instinctively that she was right.
She gestured toward the bed. “Why don’t you lay down here for a few minutes. I’ll get him settled.” Her brow twitched. “Warm him up a bit.”
I grinned, the butterflies taking off in my stomach at the implication of her words. She placed a kiss to my forehead. “Give me about ten minutes, okay?”
I nodded. And I watched her leave the room, knowing that soon, very soon, I would be laying naked with my father, that he would no longer see me as a little girl but rather as a woman. I would finally know what it felt like to have his hands on me, on my breasts, on my thighs. I would finally have him in my vagina.
I heard my mother’s voice in the hall as she led him to their room, stopping briefly in the bathroom. Then, all was quiet. I stared at the clock, watching the minutes tick by, listening, for what, I don’t know. But when the seven changed to an eight I rolled out of bed and moved out into the hall, still listening. As I approached their open door I stopped, my heartbeat suddenly hammering in my ears. My mother was sitting on the edge of the bed beside my father, one leg tucked up under her, one hand wrapped around his erect penis, stroking it, slowly, up and down. He was moaning, his head moving slowly from side to side, one hand under the hem of her nightie, fondling her nipple, his actions clearly visible through the thin material. I felt a bolt of excitement at the sight.
She smiled as I approached, my gaze going from her face to the hand she had wrapped around his hard shaft. I took the hand she held out to me, allowing her to pull me down beside her, and I watched, transfixed, as she drew my hand toward him. I sucked in a breath when my finger brushed against him, against the spot just below the bulbous head. She released my hand and I took it away, resting it on the bed, content to watch her for now, to see what she did, how she pleasured him. I watched as she rhythmically stroked him while varying her grip, noticing that the harder she squeezed, the louder he moaned and the larger and angrier his penis became, the skin slowly changing from reddish-pink to near purple.