Note: This was a smash hit on Reddit. I’ve gotten more requests to finish this story than any other, so I’m sure I will.
I’ll say this: I’ve always known my dad had a big dick. It’s not the kind of thing you can hide — he flops around in shorts, bulges in his jeans, and tents his sweats around the house.
Plus he’s 6’5” with size 15 feet. It’s kind of obvious.
And I knew from mom that he was a bit of a lady’s man back in school, and that he cheated on her, but that she couldn’t say no. “You probably have a dozen half-brothers in this town,” she told me once. “The bastard. Don’t ever date anyone local.”
But I’m not going to lie. Dad is handsome. Even sexy. He’s an ex-Marine with the kind of body that sells old spice. Hairy, but in a good way, and you can still see his muscles through all the hair. And his eyes could get a table to spread its legs.
But I’ve never told anyone this: when I was little, I would listen to my parents having sex.
I mean, it was hard to miss with my mom screaming for like 3 hours? But what started as just quietly sitting on the couch, pressing my thighs together and getting wet… ended with me crawling down the hall on my hands and knees and peering under the door.
I’d be able to see mom’s ankles at the edge of the bed, her pale feet. And dad’s huge shoes stomping into frame. “You really want this?” he’d ask.
“God yes,” mom would say. “Now.”
“My dick is still wet from her cunt. You can still see her lipstick.” There was a smirk in his voice. “You sure you want it?”
“Damn you,” mom would say. “I told you I would… do anything.”
He unbuckled his work jeans. They dropped to the floor with a bang.
“I get everything I want anyway. But now I fuck you and your sister both.”
A long pause. Then: “Just fuck me, Michael.”
My dad’s name is Michael.
“Call me ‘Daddy,’” he said. He was masturbating. His arms moved in huge up down strokes.
“Fuck me, Daddy,” she said, breathing fast.
Then he said something that shocked me. And I’d been listening to this kind of stuff for years.
“Say it like she would,” he said. And his shirt landed next to him on the floor. Unlike mom’s panties, it was still dry.
She hesitated, then said, in a much higher voice: “Fuck me, Daddy.”
And dad stopped jerking off and climbed on top of my mom, yanking her to the end of the bed and mounting her with a wet slicing sound.
“Fuck yes,” he said. “Say that shit again.”
“You sick bastard,” mom said. “Is that what you want? Your baby daughter’s pink cherry slit? Huh? You want to fuck your own little girl?”
“Yes,” he growled. “You fucking know I do.”
“Fuck me Daddy,” mom said. “Fuck my tight little pussy! Fuck my tiny pussy, Daddy. Ruin me in my fucking crib you evil prick!”
Of course I wasn’t that young. But it made dad groan like a bomb going off, and he fucked her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. Repeatedly.
He would fuck her and cum and keep going. “I can’t believe how you do that,” she’d say. “I can’t fucking believehow you can do that…” and then she’d go back to using my voice. “Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me! Fuck your little girl!”
This would happen a lot. It wasn’t always about me. Sometimes he wanted her to know how many women he fucked. How he didn’t use condoms, and never would. How my little baby cousin probably wasn’t a ‘cousin’ and how her baby brother had eyes just like his.
I didn’t always get it. But I always enjoyed how excited he got when they pretended she was me.
I’m 18, for the record. And still a Junior. Let’s just say I flunked a year. And mom flunked too, he threw her out in January.
Yeah, he still has her back now and again.
He spanks her like he does me — on the couch, out in the open, pants around her ankles — carries her up to bed and rides her all through Friday night television.
I keep the sound off. Cross my legs. Close my eyes. Listen carefully. And bounce my leg. First slowly, then quickly. It takes about an hour for something to happen this way but when it does… I have to use a pillow not to scream.
I guess screaming runs in the family.
But anyway, one time when he was with a girlfriend, she wanted an extra pillow, and he leapt to the door before I could move and caught me when he jumped out into the hallway.
We looked at one another.
His full erection, standing out from between his legs, was as thick as his wrist. It had veins as thick as my fingers. And his balls were so big and heavy they might as well have been bricks against his thigh.
He stared at me on the floor.
“Did you get it?” she asked, from the bed.
“Just a second,” he called, not taking his eyes off me.
I was flushed, and my blonde hair was matted on one side where I’d pressed myself to the ground. My fingers were wet, and the hallway smelled like pussy, I knew it did.
I was so embarrassed.
“I’m going to spank you tonight, Amy,” he said, carefully. His face was blank.
“Yes sir,” I said, quietly. I didn’t always say ‘Sir,’ of course. Just when he spanked me.
His look became intense. Even angry.
“Call me Daddy,” he said.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, immediately.
We continued to stare at one another. He knew. He knew it all, just by looking.
“Spank me, Daddy,” I said, my heart pounding so hard I was deaf, the way mom would say ‘Fuck me, Daddy’ when they were together.
His mouth opened. Not out of shock, but because he started breathing that hard. His cheeks turned as red as mine.
Then, he raced across the hall and grabbed two of my pillows.
One, he tossed into his bedroom without a word.
The other, he carefully sat on the ground outside the door.
“Sit,” he said, in the voice he uses with puppies and cadets.
I crawled over to the pillow and sat.
He left the door ajar when he went inside.
He fucked the girl in his bed so hard that she passed out. She came so hard that she passed out. She actually asked him to marry her a dozen times before he came back out to the hallway, his big dick wet and swinging, snapped his fingers and pointed at my door.
I hadn’t moved an inch. The pillow I’d been sitting on was soaked.
I hopped to my room and went inside.
He stood in the hallway and stared, silently, at my pillow.
He picked it up.
Slowly — so slow it was like a dream — he lifted the pillow to his face.
He closed his eyes.
And he breathed in the smell of me, of my wet pussy, his daughter’s sex, with a shaking, growling breath.
His penis inflated so quickly it slapped against his furry, well-defined stomach.
He took the pillow into the bedroom , and I never saw it again.
I never saw the girl again either. He hates clingy women.
Over the next month or two, he left the door ajar when he was with a woman. Then open. Then he fucked them out on the couch.
I hid in the closet or up the stairs and listened. Looked.
I bounced my leg or masturbated with a hairbrush and came screaming into my palm.
He fucked mom in my bed, squeaking the little frame so hard it broke.
Then I started to find my clothes stretched out after she left. My cheerleading uniform especially, but also my most childish pajamas.
Once, my baby blanket, on my bedspread, was stiff with his cum. It hardened like plaster.
And the spankings became a daily event.
Here’s how he spanks me.
He makes me apologize, bends me over his knees, has me pull up my skirt — women under 40 do not wear pants, he’s always insisted — pulls my panties down to my ankles, and pauses.
The cold on my backside is always strange. Humiliating.
Then he spanks me with swift, explosive strikes, his huge hand covering my entire butt. He Moves down my thighs after I get red and makes them red.
He is not gentle.
Then he makes me walk up to my room still exposed.
And often, he walks into the bathroom and, I know now, he masturbates into the toilet.
Once he left it in there, in the bowl, and the water was more like milk.
I’ve taken to masturbating with a hairbrush afterwards, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about… well, I can admit it. Him. About him inside me. About him spanking me. About him spanking mom. Fucking mom. Fucking my aunt. My teacher. My classmates.
And I bite my pillow and scream until I finish cumming.
Which takes a long time, after I’ve been spanked.
But that night, the night of the pillow, the night he caught me, he spanked me slowly.
And I’m ashamed to say it, but he got wet. Both his hand and his knees.
And I don’t know, I’m not sure, but I think I caught him licking his fingers when I glanced back on my way upstairs.
And my panties were in the bathroom trash the next day, as stiff as the wood he uses to make birdfeeders.
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this now instead of later.
Well, something big happened.
When I came home, my room was empty. My bed was gone, the wood chest dad made me was missing.
For a minute I thought I’d gone into the wrong house.
“In here, Amy,” he called.
I dashed across the hallway into his room.
He was putting my bed — newly repaired — across the room from his. And my chest was against the wall.
“I’m turning your room into study,” he said. “You can sleep in here from now on.”
We looked at one another for a long time.
“Do you have a date tonight?” I asked him.
He walked up to me. Very close to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his chest. He looked down into my eyes with his blue bedroom stare.
“Yes…” he said, slowly.
“Do you want me to-”
“I want you in bed by eight,” he said, in the voice he used when a cadet had been sloppy. “You understand me?”
I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.” I hadn’t had an eight O’clock bedtime since I was twelve.
He moved even closer. He didn’t wear cologne, he didn’t need it. But I could smell the pine soap and lye he used on his hands. His breath smelled like the outside after a rain.
“I want to make this very clear, Amy,” he said. “Are you listening?”
I swallowed. My cheeks were apple red. I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“I’m going to fuck your mother in my bed tonight.” He said the word ‘fuck’ with such force I jumped. “I’m going to fuck her right in front of you.” Again, I jumped.
His cheeks were as red as mine.
“And then, Amy,” he said, and I could feel his erection throbbing lightly against me, as he backed me against the wall, “then I’m going to fuck. You.”
I was breathing so hard it made a noise like asthma.
“You’re going to fuck me, Daddy?” I said, finally, and my pulse was like an earthquake at sea.
His pupils were enormous. His smile was like a wolf before meat.
“Say that again, baby girl.”
I didn’t bother with the pretense. “Fuck me, Daddy,” I said, in my softest little girl voice.
He reached out with his hand as wide as my chest and took my chin in his hand. He forced me to stand up perfectly straight, and stare into his smirk and his eyes.
“Say it again,” he whispered. His lip quivered.
“Fuck me, Daddy,” I said, in a voice like an obedient little girl.
Which I am.
I twirled my hair around each of my index fingers, making quick little pigtails of my gold-colored hair. I bounced on my heels, and my small, pert breasts hopped against his chest.
I’m not large enough to need a bra, when I’m not doing sports. But like my mother, my nipples are very thick. I knew he felt them.
“I love you, Daddy,” I said.
He groaned deep in his throat. His thumb slipped into my into my mouth and pressed down on my tongue. Rubbed my perfect little teeth. Gagged me, gently, with the tip.
Twice.
The second time, I barely gagged at all.
“I love you too, baby,” he said. And his cock was like a spear against my leg.
Then he drew his thumb out of my mouth, and slid it into his own, as he turned and walked away.
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Her Tongue 