Bdsm Sex Stories

by Olga Menson

  We were only a few days away from his trip to town. I was going to get him to make us a joint account. I wouldn't ask for any money, just say it was for what I have with me (my life savings of $542). Once it was set up I would use the online banking codes and dump the other accounts into it, then I could shuffle that money out in a number of ways. At that point, I thought I'd move money to his stock account, buy a bunch, and then sell the whole portfolio and deposit it elsewhere.

  I thought that he trusted me enough to set up his own doom, just in case I decided that it was time to escalate a bit. The goal was to build trust and connection so that he'd be blind to what I was actually like. So that night, after dinner, I'd kiss him. Just an innocent girl falling for an older man. Fairly chaste stuff. That was the intent anyway.

  I made us dinner, simpler this time, just frozen food. We sat on the couch and watched old Hammer films. It turned out we both loved the Christopher Lee films. I always thought his voice was sexy and dad thought he was the best actor to ever play Dracula. At some point, I cuddled up to him. I felt him tense at first, but then relax as he realized that I wasn't doing anything overtly sexual. Maybe he thought I was just a lonely little girl who needed a father figure. I guess I was.

  I mean, at this point I actually did think that I wasn't trying to seduce him. Just tease. I mean, I was pressing my warm, nubile body against him but I wasn't grinding on his cock or moving his hand onto my tits or anything. And the kiss I had planned was basically going to be the old "oh I meant to kiss you on the cheek" trick, except "accidentally" hitting him on the lips. Just a gentle touch of the lips. This wasn't my first long tease of a man. I knew how to start slow and work up to it. If you did it right, they wanted you a lot more than if you'd just blown them.

  I kind of fucked it up.

  I got us both some wine as we were about to watch the next film (Dracula Has Risen From His Grave). I was being the good little submissive daughter stand-in. Which is pretty hilarious now that I think about it in hindsight. I handed him his glass, then set mine down. Then I decided I'd just up the ante a little. I wasn't ready to admit to myself that I'd been looking forward to this kiss. And I'd had a few glasses by then.

  I straddled his lap like the little slut I was and kissed him full on the mouth. Long and slow, letting my tongue dart in his mouth and my hands move through his hair. It was not the kiss of an inexperienced little girl. It was the kiss of a too-experienced girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it. And I wanted my...my daddy. I should be honest here, even if I wasn't with myself. In the course of pursuing revenge I'd also spent a lot of quality time with a man who I both desperately wanted validation from and found intensely attractive. He'd been nothing but a gentleman which I was completely unaccustomed to, and that worked like a tease on me, wearing my weak self-control down. I'm aware of how ironic that was.

  I didn't expect him to set his glass down and return the kiss. I certainly didn't expect him to be a good kisser, either. A really good kisser. I felt his hands on my back as we made out and I shivered. I felt them on my ass and I trembled. I stopped kissing him and, thinking only with my lady parts, wanted nothing more than to feel my skin on his. So I took my shirt off.

  My breasts are small but very nice. They fit in the palm of the average man and they have a perky upturn that everyone seems to love. I don't need to wear a bra, which I love, and they bounce really well when I take my shirt off. I did it nice and slow to emphasize that little bounce. It worked, maybe too well. He was on them in seconds, kissing them, fondling them, suckling on them. And he wasn't rough either. He was fucking perfect. Just the right amount of tongue and gentle pinching.

  I have a very sensitive chest. Some girls couldn't really care less and for a lot it's just one erogenous zone among many. For me, it's probably the second best after my pussy. So it drove me wild. I ground my pussy against him, feeling his hard cock. And it wasn't small. In the depths of my mind, I realized that I was engaged in some seriously lewd shit with my own father, and that...that really turned me on even more.

  I reached down and loosened his belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled his cock out. I did it so well while I was drunk there really couldn't have been any doubt in his mind that I was a little fucking slut and not some pure waif in need. But I fucking wanted to touch it. I needed to hold my daddy's cock in my little hand. To feel him respond to my touch, proving that even if he didn't love me like he was supposed to, he felt something for me.

  I made him feel something all right. His cock twitched in my hand and I giggled sinfully. I have a really great giggle. Sometimes I call it my "bedroom laugh". He responded by unbuttoning my own jeans and pushing his large, warm, and rough hand down against my tiny, tight pussy. Oh fuck that was good. I couldn't think straight for a second. My daddy was finally loving me the way I wanted. Oh god, it was so fucked up but it felt so right. I'm getting goosebumps just writing about it.

  Again, he was gentle, and he found my clit very quickly. For once I actually felt like an inexperienced little virgin and he was like some kind of sex god. I jacked him off awkwardly in fits and starts while he fondled my little pussy and teased my clit until I was wild with desire. If he'd asked me then I'd have taken his cock in any of my holes. When I reached a point where I was almost crying with need, he used his palm to steady me and give me something to grind against while his long, agile finger slipped inside me. Fuck. I'm wet now, writing this. I can't help it.

  I wasn't able to focus on his cock now. He had me in a grip where I ground against his palm and then ended up fucking myself on his finger. And he had it hooked just right so it hit my g-spot. He got me coming and going. Pretty soon I was cumming on my daddy's hand, shaking and trembling. And then I said the first thing I regretted.

  "I love you," I mumbled out after I was a quivering limp wreck, laying in his strong, protective arms, "and I want to make you feel good."

  As manipulation goes, it's fine. A good choice of words to make him care about me even more. But I meant them. I fucking meant the fucking words and I was losing my focus. I didn't stop there. Now that I had release I spat on my hand, grabbed my daddy's cock and was determined to make him cum.

  I looked him in the eyes and bit my lip.

  "Come on baby, cum for your little slut," I said, very excited at the idea of seeing my daddy's sperm, "Cum for me. Please. I need to feel it..da...James."

  I almost called him daddy right then. I was so fucking horny for him, so filled with the need to please him.

  "Oh fuck," he said, "I'm..."

  It had been a while for him, and he came hard. I expected to get my hand and maybe my belly a little messy, but daddy's cock surprised me in the best way. It sprayed thick ropes of sperm onto my belly, on my breasts, on my face. Some even got in my hair. He must have been a little frustrated from all the days of being near me after all. Again though, I was just happy to have made him cum, and to feel his...his love all over me like that was heaven. He had marked me. I was his. That's how I felt. I'd given men hand jobs but I'd never enjoyed it like this. And he didn't even hesitate to reach out and pull my head in to kiss me. Not for a second did he think I was dirty or gross for having his seed all over me. I didn't even know that men like that existed.

  After a minute or two, I realized how badly I had fucked up. I got up and practically ran to the bathroom. I'm sure that confused him a lot, which probably helped me. I didn't feel bad or wrong for having had that experience with my father. That was the problem. I felt good and right. I just wanted to let him clean me up and then settle in his lap and fall asleep. I wanted him to tell me he was sorry for having been a bad father and then take me to his bed. I looked myself in the mirror, my father's cum dripping off of me. The sight both turned me on further and made me feel loved.

  "Goddammit Gemma you stupid bitch get your head in the fucking game," I sternly told my reflection.

  It seemed to help. I was cold and certain inside again. It was time to act. I needed to get the envelope
and see what other account information was there, and then begin the asset transfer to the stock account. I figured if one or two of them went through then the rest would be child's play. They probably dealt with the one percent transferring far greater sums every day. With any luck, I could be gone before he noticed that he was broke.

  In the pit of my stomach, I felt something heavy. I think it had been there a while, but I hadn't noticed. I didn't understand why it was there or why it seemed to be getting worse. No, I pretended not to understand. I was very good at pretending by then.

  Why didn't I just stop and think for just one fucking second?

  I wish I had. I'd have been a lot less trouble for everyone involved.

  -- James --

  Hoo boy. That was something all right. After finishing me she just ran off. She wasn't crying but she didn't seem happy about what happened. I thought about chasing her but I was too shocked to even think about comforting someone else. I hoped that I hadn't hurt her or pushed her too far.

  She was an adult but I was definitely the more responsible party. That's how I thought about it. I felt pretty bad about having done something like that with Bill's daughter. On the other hand, I didn't. I wasn't using her for sex. I wasn't withholding help from her on the condition that she satisfy me. I...I enjoyed making her feel good just like she clearly loved making me feel good. Was there any reason (other than society judging age differences) we couldn't have a fulfilling sexual relationship? I couldn't think of one. And hell, if she decided against it I was still going to help her in any way I could. I went to bed and slept better than I had in months.

  In the morning she seemed a little awkward at first but then she came up to me and kissed me on the cheek.

  "Last night was...was actually pretty good. I don't regret it, but I got a little confused after. I just don't know if I'm ready to go any further. I'm sorry if I misled you."

  I smiled. I had prepared myself for something like that.

  "It was wonderful for me, but you take all the time you need. If you don't want to do anything else, I won't be upset. I...I do care for you though, more than a friend."

  She blushed. I hadn't actually seen that before. It was adorable and charming and, well, innocent. Even knowing what I do now, I would still call it innocent. She clearly wanted to say something to me, but for whatever reason, her smile disappeared and she didn't. We sat down and ate breakfast together. It was a little melancholy, but it still felt pretty natural to be with her.

  "D...James. Can I go to town with you tomorrow? I'd like to do some banking. I've made some decisions for my future. Maybe you could help me with them?"

  And I admit, they seemed like good decisions. An account for her was perfect, and that she was willing to trust me as also having authority on it was flattering. I mean, it was likely I'd just be putting money into it, but it was still a big deal to me.

  In the meantime, I had a lot of fencing to inspect. It didn't interest Tanna and I didn't blame her. I told her to take it easy and maybe we could make dinner together that night. She smiled and said that she did have things she needed to do during the day. She said it with a mysterious little smile that I found charming.

  I didn't look forward to the work, but the sooner I started the sooner I could be finished. It was about mid-morning when my phone buzzed. I looked at it. It was an automated message from my bank.

  "Your account has been accessed from a new computer. If this was not you, please click here to report a security violation."

  Shit. I'd received texts from the bank before and this was real. I hadn't gone to my online bank in at least a month, so someone had clearly hacked me. I started to move my thumb to click the link.

  Then it hit me. I was so stupid. How could I not have seen it?

  It was her. It had to be. Was she a con artist? How much work would it be to find out about Bill and where he lived? Was her goal to convince him that she was his long-lost daughter all along? Or did she know he was dead? Was I a target the whole time? That would make sense, given the royalties from my books. Fuck.

  After I stopped cursing myself for being a trusting fool, I started to think. I opened up my banking app and checked the accounts. Nothing had changed, nor had there been any requests to move funds. Something wasn't adding up to me, and now that my brain was apparently working it had noticed some problems with the con-artist theory.

  An experienced criminal wouldn't have set off that bank alert in the first place. Hell, if her goal was to steal money from me I could think of easier ways. I was ready to sign Bill's farm over to her or its monetary equivalent. That was a lot. And my gut told me something else too. Some of what she'd said and done might be lies. A lot of it might. I wouldn't pretend otherwise. But there were moments where she was clearly unguarded, vulnerable, and truthful. When we were just talking at dinner. When she was out helping me with repairs. When we had nearly fucked last night. If she was out to take me for all I was worth then she was conflicted about it.

  And I felt, deeply, that I was still missing something. There was a motivation that ran deeper than greed. I couldn't place it, and I'm still embarrassed about it. I made a decision. I would place a semi-hold on my accounts for a few days. I called the bank and informed them that I was traveling. They were a small regional company but they had the ability to make it so every single transaction had to be approved by text from my number. I never really left my phone unguarded and I was sure she didn't know the code. I felt kind of crummy for setting a trap, but I also knew it was kinder than just calling the cops or telling the bank to start investigating.

  I finished up my repairs up early for the day and headed back to the house. I expected a number of different possibilities. Would she be gone? Would I catch her in the act? Hell, I even thought that she might be dangerous, and there were guns in the house, though I kept them locked up when I wasn't using them.

  I entered the house quickly. Not stealthily so much as suddenly. If she were up to something then she'd have to scramble and I'd hear it. I waited.

  "Hey," she said, looking over from the couch. She was sitting there, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, legs up. Her eyes were big and rimmed with red. Was she sick? Had she been...crying?

  "Hey," I said, my suspicion and confusion turning quickly to concern, "Are you all right?"

  It seemed odd to suddenly be worried about someone who I was sure was lying to me. She looked so forlorn, sitting there, and every part of me told me that it wasn't acting. She was not the same girl that she was when I left that morning.

  "Yeah," She said, showing me a real, sunny smile, "I just don't feel so well. If it's ok with you I might turn in early. Not sure I can make it to town either tomorrow. I'm...I'm really sorry."

  She didn't apologize like someone who couldn't make a trip. It was...I don't know what it was like. More serious, maybe?

  "That's fine, honey. Go rest. I'll check up on you in a bit."

  She nodded, stood up stiffly, and slowly made her way up the stairs. It was like all the life had gone out of her.

  I meant it, too. I was going to check up on her. I wish I knew what was going on. Well, I was sure I'd find out one way or another if I waited. Like any good hunter, I could be very patient.

  I'd know the truth sooner or later.

  -- Gemma --

  I was all set. I had his accounts open on my tablet browser. In another tab I was logging into the stock agency. I had accounts, passwords, usernames.

  But the brokerage wanted a four-digit pin. There was nothing like that in any of the pictures that I'd taken of his documents.

  "Fuck."

  Such a simple word, but so much frustration in it. Both with my inability to finish the task and with the small part of me that was happy that I couldn't log in. The stupid, small, weak little girl who was in love with her Daddy. If that part of me was standing in front of me, I'd have killed her.

  I went back upstairs. He was out repairing fences but that could take all day or just an
hour or two. I ran to the back, found the bolt hole and took the whole envelope before replacing the board. I would just have to return it when I had a chance. I needed to go through everything and I didn't want to do it in his bedroom. It was dangerous, to be sure, but it also made me uncomfortable in ways that I didn't want to address.

  I went to the bathroom by the guest bedroom and locked the door. There. That was probably about as safe as I could be. Lord knows he'd knock before even attempting to come in here, and I could always say I was sick. I was still fighting that cold, so I suppose it wasn't entirely a lie. In fact, it felt a little worse.

  I began to flip through the papers. No pin yet, but there were personal documents here that didn't relate to finance. Correspondence from lovers, family photographs, an address book that must be decades old. I would have to check all of this for dates, years and any four-digit numbers. I was getting desperate.

  Letters from his wife? That would make sense. No. I mean they were wholesome, touching, and even a little erotic but really not what I was looking for. Maybe something on a picture? Goddammit was he the only person who didn't write dates on the back of photos? Fuck.

  And there was one more letter. I guess he had written to mom after all. But he had left a little out. I felt something building in my chest. I ignored it. I had to read it. I needed to know what she really told him. Would she finally give details about what he did?

  'James,

  I will admit that I opened your letter with some trepidation. We didn't separate on the best of terms. I was therefore pleasantly surprised when you took responsibility for the things you'd said and the ways in which you had been inconsiderate. I think you might be a bit hard on yourself. We were both young and are certainly not the same people that we were then.