Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories

by Amira Bradford

  "Claire ... it's not that I don't want to?" Gretchen answered, notably blushing a little, "But ... there are some things about me you don't know. And they're things that most people get a little freaked out by. Okay, well, one of them is." She closed her eyes for a second and nodded. Claire looked her over a little apprehensively, unsure what she could be talking about.

  She didn't have to wait that long to find out. Gretchen threw her bra to the side and turned around, letting Claire see all of her at once. Most of it was what she had expected: she saw her average-sized, but perky breasts, her flat stomach, the pale tone of her skin, long, graceful legs that were admittedly just a little more toned than she'd remembered them being ... and one thing she didn't. Between those legs hung what looked to be a rather large penis and a set of balls, completely shaved so there was really no mistaking what she was looking at. It was standing at attention, almost like it was staring at her.

  "Yeah ... for about five years now," Gretchen made herself say after a few seconds as Claire, a little shocked, stared down, "Not the girl part, the that part. I just woke up one day and ... yeah. I'm not sure how or why ... okay, look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you in the first place, but after you turned me down, I didn't think ... I didn't think you'd ever have to know. I'm REALLY good at hiding it. Just ... not right now." She closed her eyes, wincing a little at the embarassment. She was bright red in her cheeks, wishing she was somewhere else not here right now.

  Claire finally found the courage to step in right then, moving towards her. She pushed herself up a little, shorter than her roommate who now stood completely bared in front of her, and kissed her. As she put one hand on her hip and the other behind her head to pull her towards her, Claire could feel Gretchen's body tense, then relax. Her hands moved to Claire's hip and pulled her into her. Claire could feel the hard member against her sex and gasped into Gretchen's mouth, making her break the kiss.

  "So ... not a problem?" Gretchen asked her, looking down with a nervous smile. Claire grinned back and shook her head, just glad to be able to feel close. Besides, she had to admit that she was very interested in Gretchen's ... unique situation. She'd never been with anyone intimately and the idea alone seemed foreign and arousing. That it could be with this beautiful woman AND what was one hell of an impressive dick ... it wasn't a losing situation.

  Claire slipped away and back into the room, leading Gretchen by the hand a little towards her bed. She sat on it while Gretchen slipped between her legs and kissed her again, hands trailing down her body slowly. Claire reached back and unhooked her bra while her tongue gently slipped along the edges of the other girl's mouth, casting it aside quickly to free her taught breasts, nipples hard and eager for attention.

  Gretchen kissed down her neck, sucking just a little her thumb's slipped around the edges of Claire's panties. She moved down and tugged them down as her lips wrapped around Claire's right nipple after a few soft kissed around it. Claire gasped and wriggled her legs to let her panties fall free, her hands starting to ball against the covers. Gretchen moved to the other breast and slowly sucked as her teeth bit just a little. Her hands slid back up Claire's legs, gripping a little at her thighs. Claire felt lit-up, nerves starting to stand on end as Gretchen played with her.

  She bit her lip as she watched Gretchen sink down her body, kissing over her stomach and down to her pussy. She could feel that she was already wet and gasped a little higher as she felt her friend's tongue slowly move up her slit. Gretchen's hand's slipped in between Claire's legs with her head and she slowly slipped two fingers from her right hand into Claire's mound. Claire's fingers balled the sheets as she started to groan, Gretchen's tongue lapping at her clit while her fingers slid into her. Her mind swirled and one of her hands reached up and wrapped its fingers through Gretchen's dark hair, steadying herself and pushing down just a little.

  Claire's eyes widened a little in surprise as she felt Gretchen replace her fingers from one hand with those from the other, then prod the slippery digits at her asshole. She could tell Gretchen was waiting for an invitation or rejection, so, despite initial internal resistance, spread her legs a little wider. Claire reminded herself she couldn't feel pain as she invited Gretchen into her tightest, most forbidden area, and moaned as her fingers pistoned her ass slowly while her tongue and other hand worked her sex.

  Claire's clit was engorged and starting to throb as Gretchen worked her over eagerly, muslces pulsing as she felt herself on the edge of orgasm. "Oh, God, don't stop!" Claire panted, "Please don't stop!" She moaned loudly, muscles contracting to grip at Gretchen's finger as she came. She pushed Gretchen into her mound and felt her fingers digging at her own palm against the bed, tilting her head back as her pitch heightened between ragged breaths.

  She loosened her grips and let herself slide back to laying on the bed, catching her breath for a second. Gretchen looked up from between her legs, pulling her fingers out of Claire as she stood up to look over her quivering, naked body.

  "How was that?" she asked, her smile no longer the shy and nervous one Claire was used to. It was more mischievious, a knowing smile that reflected her ability to push Claire beyond her normal restrictions now. Claire sat up and kiss her deeply, tasting herself as their tongues batted gently against each other.

  "Great, but you knew that," Claire answered after a few seconds, "Show-off. Now lay down." Claire stood and pushed Gretchen to her bed. Gretchen obliged, pulling herself to lay down completely, and Claire straddled her. She pushed her wet sex against Gretchen's rock-hard dick, not letting it penetrate as she started to grind against it. Gretchen sighed and grabbed Claire's hips, pulling her down hard.

  "Who's the show-off?" she managed to gasp out as Claire teased her. Claire pushed down and started to gyrate harder.

  "Do you want to fuck me?" Claire asked, surprised a little at how dirty it sounded.

  "You know I do, you can FEEL that I do."

  "I know. But you don't get to if you don't tell me."

  "Mean!"

  "Even meaner in a few seconds ..."

  "Yes, I want to fuck you. I want to push myself inside you and ride you like a goddamned racehorse. Happy?"

  "Very," Claire responded as she started to pant a little again, getting herself worked up. She lighted herself up and reached underneath herself, gripping Gretchen's cock. She lined it up with her sex and slowly let it drive into her. Although she was a virgin, her hymen was LONG gone from the physical trauma her body had seen and there was no blood as Claire stretched around Gretchen's impressive tool.

  She leaned down and started to suck Gretchen's breasts as her hips moved gently, riding her friend just slightly as she appreciated her body. Gretchen's hands moved from Claire's hips to her ass, gripping it tightly and pulling it down to her, her breaths deepening as she felt Claire move on her. Claire grinned, enjoying both the feeling of control and how Gretchen felt inside her. She started to thrust her hips back harder as she propped herself up, hands braced against the bed. She gasped as Gretchen's hands moved back towards her hips and the both of them thrust alternatingly.

  Claire bounced on top of Gretchen, groaning as her sex tightened around Gretchen's cock. She could feel herself starting to sweat as she thrust down on the beautiful woman beneath her, nerves on fire and she rode her harder and harder. Gretchen was panting, occasionally letting out a moan or gasp as she felt Claire contract around her as they fucked. Claire was just barely starting to ride into her when she felt Gretchen stop and her grip strengthen to keep her from pushing down.

  "What?" Claire panted out, clearly impatiently.

  "I can't ... keep fucking you," Gretchen said as she caught her breath, "I don't have any condoms."

  "Why would-"

  "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting this to be your plan for how we spend today trapped inside," Gretchen said. Claire lifted herself off Gretchen, letting out a weak grunt of frustrating as her dick fell out of her sex. Claire stood up and stopped for a second, thinking, then turned to
Gretchen's bed and bent over it, hands against the bed, and looked back at Gretchen with a wicked grin.

  "You can't keep fucking my pussy ..." Claire said, shaking her ass just a little towards Gretchen. Gretchen sat up, eyes a little wide in disbelief. "I don't feel pain," Claire explained, "and I liked it when you fingered my ass. So why not?" Gretchen shrugged and stood up, approaching Claire from behind.

  "You've got a point," she finally said as she gripped Claire's firm ass and spread her cheeks. She lined her dick's head up with Claire's tight little hole and slowly pushed into it. Claire groaned, already overly sensitive from coming and having been started in on. Her ass gripped Gretchen's dick like a vice as she buried it all the way into her. Gretchen's hands moved up to her hips and she started to thrust, her rod in a stranglehold inside Claire's ass.

  Claire moaned openly as Gretchen built up speed and effort, sensory nerves freely accepting the pleasure without any of the normal uncomfortability getting in the way. She felt exposed and dirty, but also safe in the knowledge that Gretchen wouldn't hurt her even in such an open state. Her fingernails pressed against her hands as she pushed back against Gretchen's thrusts, arching her back as her muslces started to contract again.

  Shortly, Gretchen was throbbing inside Claire's ass as she pounded it in a manner that would be vicious for anyone else. Claire, however, just groaned and breathed raggedly, inches away from coming again. The feeling of the huge dick in her ass was much more intense and she felt herself clamp down as she started to come.

  This time, Claire screamed, unable to contain herself as her pussy even squirted a little bit. Gretchen's constant hammering dragged it out, drenching a small area of the carpet beneath her. Gretchen wasn't far behind, Claire's tight ass clamping down on her not something she was prepared for. She moaned as she started to come, shooting her hot seed up Claire's ass in wave after wave until she felt almost empty. Claire, on the other hand, felt incredibly full as Gretchen's spewed hot cum up her ass and collapsed forward on the bed. Gretchen pulled out of her and pulled her legs to the bed, then sat down beside her.

  "This was a much better day than I thought it would be," Claire mumbled as Gretchen brushed her hair out of her face, Claire's arms laying at her side and feeling to numb to do it. As she felt herself starting to drift off to the pitter-patter of the rain outside, Gretchen curled up next to her and she smiled.

  Because this time, she was glad that it was going to be a long day.

  The End.

  Looking For Love and Foucault

  "Remember, you have type 3 hair, so promise me you'll use a good conditioner, and don't borrow some other girl's," she said.

  "Okay, Mother, you can leave now, my hair and I will be fine."

  "And sweetie, the most important part of this year is rush. So start researching the sororities early, and focus on a few superior ones that you think you really have a good shot at."

  "Yes, Mama--"

  "And don't fall into the habit of snacking. The 'freshman 15' has doomed more girls' chances of getting that M.R.S. than drugs or getting you-know-what."

  "Okay, Mama! You can go--"

  "My little girl, gone to college--" she started to tear up.

  "Not here, Mother!" I said, getting more formal again.

  "Right," she said, and pulled herself together. Years of competition-- she had been Miss Low-Till Farming in 1977 and Miss Soybean in 1978, and I had been Miss Cledmore County and come in third at the state finals last year-- meant that she knew how to conquer her emotions and put on a brave face. "Have a wonderful time and find a wonderful boy, preferably pre-med or business school," she said, kissed me on the cheek, and then there was just the clacking of her heels down the hallway.

  I looked around my private room-- Mother had insisted on paying for one, she was very concerned that I not end up with a roommate who might stand in the way of landing the right husband. Well, considering how well she had done with Daddy, and Stepdaddy Jim, and Stepdaddy Brad, she could afford to give her little girl the very best. It didn't entirely have Mother's personal touch-- she hadn't had time to paint it dusty rose-- but it did look like a flower factory had exploded in here. That was her style, for sure.

  I unpacked some things and thought back, a little nostalgically, on my last few days in Croweville before moving up here to the university in Sparta. My last date with Trent had gone badly. He knew he was being dumped, that Mother wanted me to find someone more collegiate than a guy who was likely to work in his dad's body shop the rest of his life, so he tried to finally get me to do it with him.

  I got out of it, as usual, by giving him a BJ-- Mother had taught me early on that there were ways to keep a boy happy without risking a baby-- but as I worked on his thick, bumpy, stinky little pole until he splattered his goo onto the Kleenex I kept handy, I couldn't help but think that this was a pretty high price to pay just for having a boyfriend to go places with once in a while. Would sex with the future doctor husband of Mother's dreams be any more satisfying? Or would it just be the price I paid for the house and the cars and the trips, too?

  That night, as I lay in bed on my first night away from home, I thought about the path Mother had laid out for me-- for the first time, or at least it seemed like the first time. It was so simple, and it had worked for her so well, that I had never questioned it-- find the first husband, if things didn't work out encourage him to have a fling by cutting him off in the bedroom, then catch him in the act, big settlement, find next husband, repeat as often as necessary. It sounded like a great plan, except for one thing-- what about love?

  Where did love fit into it? Where did finding your soulmate and growing old together come into it? Mother had nobody but me now, and now I was gone from her house, at least, if hardly her control. Was that how I saw myself, 20 years or so from today-- sending my girl off to college and coming home to a big, admittedly very big and nice, but empty home?

  Suddenly college was making me very sad, and scared.

  * * *

  The social life in a dorm is so busy in the first few weeks that I had no trouble meeting lots of boys. But there were so many of them and they were so much the same-- all bony elbows and pawing-- that I think my doubts started to show. I heard a couple of stray comments about "boring" or "stuck up" or "doesn't seem interested." And you know what, they were right. I was just kind of freaked out by the whole thing-- that I was supposed to look over all these young stud bulls and decide which one had the best earning potential for me, and then rope him and brand him. ("Ring by spring...")

  Meanwhile, I was kind of getting into the school part of college, believe it or not. High school work had always been easy for me, but for the first time I had professors who weren't just teaching to the dumbest kids in the class but actually forcing me to think, analyze things, use my head. Mother had always warned me about seeming too smart, that that rarely helped a girl get a man, but suddenly, smartness didn't seem such a liability, even if it was a surprise for them sometimes to hear something bright come out of a tall blonde with good beauty habits.

  So I kind of let my participation in the social part slide and focused on my classes for a bit, as much as that would have disappointed Mother. We talked every day and I could tell she was getting a little frustrated at how vague my answers were about who I was seeing, and what social events I was planning to attend in the next week.

  One afternoon I went to the campus bookstore in search of books by an author one of my professors had been talking about, that sounded like it had some interesting things to say about sex. I only knew how the name was pronounced, not how it was spelled, and I wasn't having much luck finding the author on the shelf, so I tried to find somebody who could help me. The first guy was helping another customer, so I kept wandering in search of someone who could help and soon found myself in the kids' section.

  Then I saw her.

  What was it about her that struck me so? It certainly wasn't beauty. She was overweight and, at that moment, display
ing an ample crack in the back of her jeans as she sat on the floor, shelving a stack of picture books. It wasn't style-- she had wildly unkempt black curly hair, black hornrim glasses and no makeup, all of which gave her a certain boyish look.

  No, what wowed me was that she seemed free. Free of all the things I'd come to school with-- the need to dress up like every day was a job interview (which, to Mother's mind, it was), to impress boys, to be somebody I didn't know if I wanted to be.

  She looked up at me. "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, I'm looking for a book on a French philosopher-- it's something like Fooko or Fuckall--"

  "Feuh-kohhh," she said, trailing the last syllable out.

  "Right," I said.

  Then she kind of smirked at me and said "I'll see if we have something... for you." As if someone like me was never, in a million years, going to be capable of understanding this big-brained French dude. I felt my face flush-- fortunately my blush would disguise the fact-- as she led me to the philosophy section.

  We looked at the books for a minute-- she reached for one called Foucault For Dummies and I dismissed it with a haughty glare-- and eventually arrived at a thin introductory volume. All the while, though, I was looking at her-- her fat breasts loose under her Obama T-shirt, a roll sticking out on one side of her hips, her ample butt squishy in her jeans. There was something monstrous about her, large and hairy as she was, something repellent and yet magnetic, the sight of a woman my age so completely devoted to a different way of presenting herself to the world. I tried to imagine letting myself go like that-- no, it was too awful. And yet I couldn't tear away.

  I took the book and thanked her, and as I walked away she sort of shook her head a little and smirked again, as if in amazement at the exotic creature she'd met today.

  * * *

  I devoured the book and was back at the bookstore within two days. I was eager to tackle Foucault's major work, The History of Sexuality, but just as importantly, I wanted to buy it from her, show her that I had been capable of reading such a work and understanding it.