This is one of my early attempts in English posted in a popular website four years ago. The story got more than 119K views since I last checked. Not bad for a first try since there were lots of new submissions weekly. Also, it got a high rating of 4.29 out of a possible 5 with several encouraging comments. Thus, I rewrote and edited some portions to improve the story before posting it here.
Initially written with the intention of a literary approach to erotica (i.e., not a “stroke story” for instant arousal and gratification), the story stretched itself into a six-part novella. (I already finished “Part Two” and will post it soon.)
Thus, I wanted to start English sex stories under the title of “POREROTURE,” a term I coined after combining PORN, EROTICA, and LITERATURE. That is, sex stories with the lyrical sensibilities of erotica combined with the steaming details of porn to describe the sex plays, yet tempered with the disciplines of writing literature.
However, the difficulty of finding and choosing the appropriate pictures to portray my main character became a hindrance. (The teen web porn model, Ms. Alexis Adams from coedcherry.com and teenport.com was the only one that seemed suitable at the moment.) I beg the reader’s indulgence on this shortcoming. My idea was only to aid visualization by adding pictures and not for the reader to fix on the picture as the MC.
I would love to hear the reader’s thoughts on whether providing visuals as support for reading is necessary or only a hindrance to the individual’s own imagination. May you all enjoy the read and continue to follow Poreroture, my sex stories in English.
Thank you very much, and welcome to POREROTURE!
I came out now not to make a distinction here. I enjoyed what I did and that was enough for me.
My name is Tia, and I’m an eighteen-year old college student. You see, I had an intimate relationship with my dad that turned complicated. Still, I did not expect others to understand. Most people we knew corrupted our situation with their malicious minds, their envious lies. They waggled their filthy fingers at us, dipping into the dirt they thought existed in our honest but brief love affair. Perhaps, I was either too naïve or just dumb or plain stupid at the time.
Of course, titillating circumstances contributed much to my sexual development. It punctuated my life with honest pride, where I found myself later absorbed. However, five fabulous years of reckless wallowing in the mud could make even a pig like me feel bloated, full.
For what else could a number of men offer but his cock? Whether rigid, stout, massive, or long, it remained their obvious instrument for instant pleasuring and gratification. Yet, when it turned limp, everything else would vanish with it. So that eventually, I sought again what I cherished before—the warmth, sincerity, and comfort of my father’s love. He’d always been true, honest, and real for me no matter how we endured . . .
“Honey, will you drive Tia to school? I’m late for my appointment!” shrieked Rona, my mother, already on her way to the garage that early morning in May. Unknown to her, she had added kindling to the tempest in my flesh.
I had a restless sleep last night, rolling half-naked and anxious in bed. I felt so aroused, so dirty and sexy in a sheer chemise. My hand kept its slow caressing slide between the inner softness of my thighs, my fingers at play plucking the heat of the velvety petals of my cunt.
I had hoped to calm the wet excitement oozing so hot and slimy inside my hole with a vigorous fist fuck when I heard Rona called my dad at past five.
My breasts trembled at the provocation of that delightful opportunity, the bobbing succulence engorged with the passion of my lust. Early on before sun up, as I rubbed myself and felt more sinful inserting a butt plug, my father’s tough countenance greeted me with his approving smile in my mind.
In each quivering thrust of my fingers in my hole, I heard the shameless squelch and splotch got louder, faster in melodious beat with my moans. My nipples popped out pointed with scandalous pride, puffy while my drenched fingers traced and squeezed the delicate softness of my tits.
Ooh, they’re so smooth and warm, yearning like me for a lover’s greedy mouth!
I cradled the bloated roundness of my tits and mashed both vigorously against my arms, squashing them slow and deliberate. I dreamt and waited in despair all night for someone’s lips to gobble up my breasts and choke on each mouthful. To suck and nibble its ample juicy cones—any fucking one will do, dammit!
I gasped and saw myself running away from filthy laborers in a greasy empty pier. They pounced on me, shrieking with scandalous thrills. They began to molest me. Their calloused hands grabbed and milked my breasts while coarse repulsive lips sucked my nipples, pulling at the
yielding roundness of my tits. My body jerked, shuddered twice as my flesh tingled with the malice of my make-believe indulgence in my depravity.
Already feverish, I stood up and caught my breath. I inhaled deep. My wetness raged and dripped, smoldered and leaked between my thighs. My luscious tits wobbled in its tempting nakedness: I felt so wicked, so sinful in my flimsy dress. I couldn’t wait any longer.
In a rush, I sat up with a decision. Still, I made sure Mom had already started her car. Without bothering to change my clothes or check how I looked, I went downstairs with an impish giggle.
I found my dad sitting at breakfast in the kitchen nook. I crept closer behind him and yelled—“I’m late, too, Dad!” surprising him. I mimicked Mom, shouting for her benefit too, so she wouldn’t suspect or be wary of anything. And before my father could react, I dashed forward with a chuckle and kissed him on the cheeks, my nakedness bared in the sheer nightdress. As the slim straps fell off my shoulders with a studied seductive laughter, I allowed him to see my sexual cravings already bursting in the simmering sheen of my flesh.
My father laughed and stared and swallowed his surprise before kissing me. Without hesitation, he pulled me closer with a tight embrace. Ravenous, his slobbering kisses touched my lips. Our tongues entwined, slithered together in a lascivious twist. The heat of our passion parched our breath as we savored each other’s carnal thirst.
At once, I sat astride on my father’s lap and felt little prodding spasms tickled my whole body. With his growing erection thumping in my loins, his hands groped free all over me. He patted, squeezed, and stroked my silken nakedness underneath my chemise, the warmth of our desires singing in each excited exhalation. Secretly eager and wanting as always for the touch of our skin, the fire within me gushed ablaze with the blistering passion of our love.
Oh, how I love my dad! His natural scent seemed a mixture of fresh ground coffee blended with the earthy aroma of raw clay and glaze paints in his studio. His muscles bulged, strong, firm, and tireless for long hours of molding, shaping earthenware with his hands. These excited me nonstop anytime I sat with him.
Longhaired in dreds and often in casual clothes—his favorites, a sleeveless hard rock t-shirt and faded baggy shorts with his neon orange crocks—he was an artist so open and candid with me. Dad treated me more like a best friend without any pretentions, excuses, or show of parental authority, especially, when we were alone.
“Hey, baby, what’s up?” he stroked the words warm in my ears while I pushed myself down on his lap in a circular rhythm. I enjoyed testing his arousal, teasing his cock yet glancing in a hurry where Rona could possibly be. My anxiety resolved, I felt Dad’s erection stiffened more, grew larger. To my delight, it elongated further with the thrusting motion of my hips. I lapped his neck with kisses and whimpered like an adoring, obedient dog.
“You’re so hot and wet like your pussy, Tia,” my father whispered and fingered me, slow, mushy and deliberate. His strong large fingers wriggled gently between the lips of my cunt, seeking deeper the slippery warmth raging inside. I opened my thighs wider for him and erased his hesitations to fondle and feel the burning lust in my wet cunt without guilt.
My flesh melted, quivered in the rush of intense ecstatic pleasures. A tremor so sweet and exciting jolted and seized me, penetrating the scorching flesh of my indecency. His fingers stroked the fat lips of my pussy, opening them wider while his large thumb pressed and tickled lightly the uncontrollable excitement wriggling in my moist clit. His mouth, like a suction cup, gripped my breasts one at a time—alternating, swallowing, sucking—as he provoked my shameless moans with obscene consistency.
“Oohmm, Dad—Daad, oohh!” He played with my breasts and sucked my nipples, his lips and tongue tasting, tickling, teasing the luscious plumpness of each. I gasped, giggled loud, squirming with uncontrollable itch expanding in my pussy. My hips trembled, my flesh convulsed and I let go this time. I gyrated on his crotch—mashing, brushing, sliding my naked pussy on his cock. Fast, I dug it free from his shorts as soon as we both heard Mom’s car zoomed out of the driveway.
I was no longer a virgin at eighteen, to my dad’s sad consternations. He was a bit shock, regretful as he found out when we first fucked. Yet I became his captured and obedient beloved pet from then on, although he did not expect it to happen even if he wanted me that much. I guess I was truly and sincerely in love with him after all, and our feelings had always been mutual.
Unknown to Rona, my dad and I kept a discreet agreement between us from the start. Unspoken and erotic yet clear and certain, it betrayed my alluring sexuality raging in my early adolescence. Often, I would stumble on my father at work and he would stare at me, eye me with lascivious want where I sat in my skimpiest shorts and flimsy tank top. My choice of clothes whenever around him or when left alone in the house, I knew it gave him a chance to take a peek at me. The soft mound of my pussy, the bountiful swells of my breasts, and the luscious cheeks of my ass displayed all its immoral promise before his eyes. It was not a secret between us I didn’t wear any undies at home, especially, when Rona was out.
In a way, it had been my costumes of seduction. Thrilled as I was to enjoy the torrid temptations of whatever small opportunity found us alone anywhere in the house. I did blossom at eighteen, a sexually active woman-child, a nymphet cavorting with my earliest dirty desires. Glimpsed in my passionate, half-innocent eyes, my full lips wild and pouting, I begged for Dad’s attention, comfort, and love.
I had always been confident Rona would not catch anything or would she notice us. Either me with my Dad while he stroked my pussy in the car, or I sucked him while he mashed my tits behind the bathroom door. There were times I gave him a blowjob under the dinner table while they both ate, or when we hid eager to fuck, bent in a giggly way inside a closet, wherever and whenever a chance for us came up.
“Am I beautiful, Dad?” I asked him often, flirting with him. My fingers caressed his face, loving every moment we shared. I believe I demanded for his devotion reserved only for me—wanting him, watching him, wooing him—often jealous of my Mom.
That morning of our first fuck in May, I tore off my night dress and shoved the softness of my aching tits in his face again. The delectable mounds brushed, mashed, and melted against his greedy lapping lips. His cock enlarged some more and elongated further at its full length, then glided its rigid mass inside my hot slippery hole. I trembled with the excitement of an inexperienced teen as I felt his massive cock bore through my pussy. I wept in delirious ecstasy as he entered and pounded my hole, pumping upwards without hesitation or regard for my youth or delicate beauty. The electrifying currents of lascivious desires sent torrents of prickly shivers in my flesh, a thrilling sensation so unforgettable I always felt it only with him.
“I want you, Dad,” I whispered, a bucking cowgirl on his lap. I licked his ears, my pussy pushed down to the hilt of his cock with all my weight in slow pumping motion. “You’re on my mind all night, Dad, you know—caressing me, loving me—ooh, oohh!” I whimpered and nibbled adoringly his face as the simmering bursts of pleasures coursed through my flesh. I smiled, confident his initial hesitations of Mom catching us that morning faded off quickly.
My father knew of my deep lascivious want even before he ate and fucked me. To touch myself during our breakfast before he drove me off to school was my delicious treat for him. He knew it always knocked me out of my senses with wicked ecstasy if Mom sat with us while I secretly pleasured myself. On that day in May, we did it right beside the breakfast table, amidst the clutter of plates, glasses, cups, fruits, and food pretending Rona watched and ate with us.
Dad devoured me. He licked me with a lazy deliberate flick of his tongue. He sucked me while he poured honey on the jutting cones of my breasts. We laughed, sniggled, and teased one another as my body shuddered, convulsed with the rush of a most pleasurable tickle that spread in every fiber of my flesh. Dad caressed and stroked the fire of my wanton desires with his greedy lips, tongue, hands and mouth.
We kissed, long and languorous as he lifted and fondled my breasts. Squeezing both, he milked the pointed nipples with his large strong hands while his knuckles molded and kneaded hard the globes in circular motions toward its tips. I felt my pussy opened, folded and trembled, dripping its warm unrestrained wetness. Rubbing my cunt’s succulent softness against his hairy crotch in excited anxious rhythm, his cock pulsed inside me with a deliberate naughty tease.
Dad grabbed my hands with a sudden forceful jerk that steadied my body. With my arms clipped straight on my sides and my shoulders stretched wide outwards, my breasts stood out with an obscene invitation, proffered maliciously in his face.
Without a moment lost, he burrowed against the swelling roundness greedy and noisy like a pig. My father’s face squashed my tits, rough and wild with savage, slurping abandon. He made me obedient, a servant obliging her master—an strict, demanding teacher to an adoring pupil. His rigid cock pumped upwards, relentless all the while as he ravaged my youth. Dad fucked my remaining innocence to shreds with brutal pleasures of carnal madness.
I felt his cock slid in and out of me, hard and massive in length and girt. He pushed deeper in each eager pumping stroke, and opened wide the quivering petals of my hole. The titillating sensation grew stronger and powerful as the mounting pleasures electrified my flesh. My body shook, trembled from the top of my head to my toes. I can no longer delay the swelling thrills ready to bursts inside me with a delirious scream.
My legs kicked and jerked out from under me. I wriggled, a teary-eyed captive slave smoldering in the exploding excitement of my carnal delights. My head bounced back, my body tilted away from Dad as my whole being shuddered in shameless tremors of orgasms. His massive erection pumped continuously, jabbing upwards like a machine programmed for deep penetration inside the soft warmth of my pussy. My oohs and ahhs spurted in riotous rhythm with the smacking, sloshing music our obscene union made in the kitchen nook.
With the wave of rising ecstasy nearing its insurmountable peak again, I squeezed hard my father’s cock with my cunt. Dad’s face contorted in impish surprise as he surged uncontrolled forward, his body swamped with pleasures of our simultaneous orgasms.
Perhaps, it was a pussy trick I inherited from Mom. Thrilled to hone it later in my freshman year, I cut bananas and crashed raw eggs along with my sorority pals, ha-ha! Yet I practiced doing it alone, with my sex toys and wanton experiences with strangers, boyfriends, and a handful of lucky professors to sharpen my muscle skills. Still, I have yet to try opening a beer bottle. Although I’m sure, I’d deal with it much later.
Dad treated me as a whore whenever we fucked. I was his secret forbidden bitch in the house. I became his lovely toy and loving pet, excited when he raped me each time. The cruel, almost violent manner with which my father fucked me seared my flesh, terrified my senses. Often, I would feel his perverse actions humiliated my entire being, tore my moral values to bits while discarding my decency, enshrouding me with shame. In short, Dad reduced me each time to an unspeakable filthy creature obsessed with carnal pleasures and hungry for illicit sexual delights.
And yet, I glowed—I loved him, and I adored him for it!
I enjoyed fucking my father too much. After all, I was such a dirty slut. I rode his cock while he bucked like a horse, counter pounding his heavy upward thrusts each time. That morning in May, I started to slobber, whimpering—a wilting slave of his pleasures on the verge of losing my sanity. The little delicious ripples gushed out, spreading wild in my quaking flesh.
“Dad—oh Daddy—oohh, uunghh!” My fingers gripped him tighter, clawed his arms. I slumped powerless at the onset of my squirting series of eruptions. It came one after the other in successive, explosive force that I almost past out. I screamed and cried at the same time. I felt my body convulsed, arching wild backwards while he held my arms. The heat of youthful, abandoned arousals overwhelmed me early, and sprayed his body with my simmering juice.
My orgasms came in copious sprays splashing his belly and thighs, if not his face, with cum. I screamed, bounced hard, trembled and exploded again and again—a playful sprinkler showering both of us with the warmth of our love. I cooed, limp in his sweaty embrace. I peppered his face, neck, and shoulders with lewd wet kisses.
“You’re so gorgeous, baby . . . Oh, you’re so beautiful!” Dad whispered. “Lucky is the man who’ll pluck your heart away from me, Tia,” he continued, trying to hush the tremor in my still quivering flesh, my pussy gripping hard his cock, forcing ejaculation. He exploded outside my body as we both laughed and giggled hard like kids playing under the stairs. His cock jerked on its own, shooting his hot fluids on my breasts, belly, and thighs.
I know I cannot control my seductive provocations any more than I can hide my love for my father. It wasn’t animal lust or immoral desires but more of an innocent passion, an admiration where I find my dad not only attractive but also possessing the physical good looks and sensuous, tender behaviors I wanted and adored in a man. Add to this his sexual expertise. His sincerity and honesty—his caring and loving attitudes expressed before, during, and after violent sex which I enjoyed very much with intense pleasures. Thus, I extended and hid from everyone our secret union.
My mother, unfortunately, was deeply inhibited, if not conservative. The fact I was the only child attested to her cold, weary interest in sex. Although ironic and truth of the matter was, my father met her when she worked as a massage attendant in one of the prostitution dens posing as spas. For whatever reason unknown to me and not privy to, Rona lost her appetite for sex and made life open and exciting for me and my father, allowing us to enjoy our forbidden relationship.
Dad and I communicated on an emotional and physical level, understanding one another by mere hints and glances where no words or explanations were necessary or required. We plunged into the depths of our desires without fear, hesitations or inhibitions, or doubtful disgust. We enjoyed ourselves and did what we most liked—proud, open, naked as a child. We did everything without guilt, thrilled beyond ourselves no matter how trivial or brutal our carnal wishes and demands.
My Dad always made me feel young and fragile, even innocent at my naughty age, yet at par with him—tireless, energetic, and full of enthusiasm, loving every moment we shared.
Still, I knew he approached and nurtured our delicate romantic relationship with extreme care and a father’s cautious control. Later, both through safe sex and moral accounting of my selfish behavior, he kept me responsible and obedient at an arm’s distance.
I kept bugging him though, not contented with just his fingers, lips, and tongue, which did the enviable duties of satisfying my wants from boobs to cunt in some small portions. He was there for me always at my command, services, and lascivious pleas—seducing him for long vigorous fucks at the most suitable time.
Thus, he went about his obligations and chores as father and house husband, and managed to pursue his craft. He created arty ceramic wares and sold them online. This kept him indoors most of the time, and since I was a precious only child, gave me more intimate hours with him than my Mom.
Now don’t think I encouraged this as any illicit affair in erotic stories and porn flicks tend to happen and unfold. No, though my secret indulgences with my father were often stoked by circumstances brought by some free time we enjoyed together, in and outside the house . . .
“Oh, Dad . . . We should do this often,” I once whispered hot in his ear. I was already breathing hard, still crumpled in the seat of the car, half-naked then with my school uniform strewn on the seats and floor. We were parked in the shades a few meters from my school—a strict co-education Christian college where I was enrolled in Mass Communication.
I gave him a long wonderful blowjob as we drove from house to school, passing through deserted side streets and vacant back lots, and then I fucked him as we parked. I got dressed as best as I could, and with a wet kiss, winked at him and mooned, my twin cheeks naked under the long skirt of my school uniform. Both of us laughed and lolled out our tongues with malicious promises of doing it again.
This arrangement between us felt too good to last as I was always anxious to find any free time we could have together anywhere. I had no qualm at all doing it in public. In fact, it seemed the presence of people and the danger it posed for our discovery excited me more. There was not an instance we did it in a public place where I wasn’t dripping wet or ablaze with the heat of my arousals, teasing and prodding my father to fuck me hard.
“My god, baby—take it easy . . . There are—ooh, peop—oohh!” he whispered one time, nervous as he tried to warn me, terrified we might get caught. I pulled his pants down as soon as we got inside the old service elevator at the back of the school museum on our way to a ceramics exhibit and pushed the buttons for the top floor. With an impish grin, I flicked the express switch on. I masturbated him, prepared him for a blowjob inside the slow-moving elevator while it climbed to the gallery on the top floor.
The door opened and we heard voices along the corridors. Dad’s reaction was quick as he jammed his hands on the elevator buttons sending us back down. His cock slipped in the ‘O’ of my wet lips, sliding in and out as I savored and felt all the curls and knots of the veins livid in the long, massive stem. His eyes rolled in nervous anticipation.
I teased his cock, licked the edges of the crown. My lips played along its smooth bald head and tongued the slit with rapid flicks, squeezing it open at the tip. “What if the elevator—oohh, opened suddenly—aahh, shit!” he said, grabbing my head, unable to stop me as his legs folded and jerked. I was already on my knees with his cock inside my slurping, sucking mouth—the obscene familiar sounds soaking the emptiness of the descending lift.
I giggled, wiping his cum off my face and mouth. His explosions sprayed my face and hair with hot thick semen as he held my shoulders trying to free his cock from the tight grip of my mouth. “Relax, Daddy,” I said, “We can always go up if we ran out of floors.” I climbed on top of him standing up, edging his cock inside me without any assistance from my hands. I sensed the elevator moving up again.
My pussy opened and gobbled the head of his cock still swollen and rigid after his furious ejaculations. The length slid all the way through with my weight pressing down on him. We fucked fast, humped with eagerness as if it was our first time.
Dad braced me against the wall of the moving elevator. He crushed my pussy and tits like a rapist so overjoyed at the opportunity of finding a lovely teen alone in the lift. His cock banged hard inside me, pounding, squashing the wetness in my hole with every jerk and jab as he pulled and squeezed my tits. And true to my estimates, my delirious screams died down before we reached the basement parking lot. We missed the exhibit, attempting to leave the lift for the fourth time.
In these delicious short spurts of sexual amusements, my mother, Rona, never once suspected why I would sometimes insist on staying home rather than go with her shopping, even if the promise was a new dress or a pair of shoes. Maybe it was because my dad tried to indulge my mom also, doing his duties when she required or whenever time allowed.
Rona’s business schedules as salesperson in a kitchenware company sometimes kept her busy. She would come home late, spent and tired, which did not allow Dad to perform his obligations for her in bed, or maybe, consummate his own sexual needs, too, each night. But my mother was a beautiful woman, conscious of her body and sexual appeal, though she abruptly stopped thinking of having another child as soon as I was born.
Still, I believe even to this day there were other unforeseen factors. Call it coincidences or divine providence or preordainments that contributed, if not facilitated, my clandestine affair with my father. Therefore, I felt it was really meant to happen anyway.
For one, I was exposed and became enthralled with sex early. Aside from my physical allure, curiosity, and interest in sex, I browsed quite often most of the porn sites in the guise of research projects. My malicious giggle while browsing online betrayed me more than my actions that I couldn’t help sometimes but share with my father what I found.
“Dad, it says here size matters. They say it’s more pleasurable―”
“Size need not concern you yet, baby,” he said then, calm and feigning indifference. Yet his eyes stole glances at my sleeveless tee and tight shorts. I sat relax on the floor with my laptop in front of his worktable, comfortable of not wearing any undies at all. My cleavage exposed and emphasizing the swells of my firm protruding breasts. My long legs bent on its knees, opened and spread apart, the skin so smooth that a fly would slide on it.
For how many times did I notice Dad lapping with his eyes the lips of my pussy bulging with its soft, luscious cheeks, all wet and succulent? “When it happens, Tia—you’ll understand why,” I heard my father continued, assuming a semblance of disinterest, but only for a moment. The lump of his hardening cock pushed against his work shorts, his eyes darting fast to check the door of his studio, hoping it was locked. I stood up and walked to him, my smile suggestive and impish, jiggling my breasts.
“Understand what, Daddy?” I whispered close to his ears, my breasts brushing soft against his arm. Already consumed of my selfish arousals, my nipples stood erect with the areolas puffy, ticklish against my tees. A warm wetness swelled luxurious against the thin cloth of my shorts. On fire and confident of what I wanted, I opened slow my seductive game, exposing myself in small salacious portions for the appreciation of my dad, trapping him inside my irresistible sexuality—as I did to other men, for pleasure and fun.
It was something I indulged in before. Unknown to my father and Rona, I worked in a strip club far from school and home. I’d come home late armed with excuses, and because they knew I was a sultry attractive teen, both assumed it was a boyfriend. Until I rented a condo unit, yet told them I was in a school boarding house.
Yet later, I confessed. I did everything at the time only to support the demands of my luxurious lifestyle—keeping up with my rich and gregarious classmates.
“All of it was peer pressure, Dad . . . My eagerness to please them, to be with them, to be their equal,” I said then, admitting my little adventure after he asked me where in hell I learned to dance so daring and tempting it never ceased to give him a hard-on. “I was hoping my friends were honest, sincere with their affection, their attention . . . But instead, they gave me false friendships,” I continued, and calmed his concerns with a mushy, slow hand-job.
We were sitting on the couch in the living room that afternoon after school, his fly opened as I inspected and measured the rigidity and length of his cock. He enjoyed it, more so when my lips and tongue took over—sucking and licking all around the thumping pipe of his cock—when he remembered to ask suddenly where I learned these pleasurable indulgences.
Thus, without hesitation, I told him how it happened and showed him, too, what I learned. Not as a bonus though, but to indulge our arousals heating us up, his jealous concerns betrayed in his eyes. “I needed fun money,” I began between gasps. His long enormous cock all the way inside my mouth, ripping and jolting my flesh with thrills and pleasures I always imagined yet remained new and surprising to me—a discovery titillating my throat each time. He was giving me a face-fuck.
At the time, as I continued my story, I swallowed everything whole with embarrassment. I plunged into the lewdness required of strip acts in the clubs. I closed my eyes, humiliated at the perversity of the performances required. I was still new in school and new at the game, yet I needed to prove myself to everybody. The experience introduced me without hesitation to the wanton joys of depraved exhibitionism, which I found suited me. The performances filled my senses with unexpected joys all alluring and flattering, splattering away any standards I had for decency.
I was a tall, slender teenager with the desirable body of a voluptuous woman-child—more than mouth-watering to satisfy every lonely man’s sexual dreams. My face could turn the glances of motorists in the highways, more so, if I threw in a smile. My steady struts could provoke wolf-whistles from the crowd, whether from admiring educated men or naughty truck drivers. They did not bother me a bit.
Of course, my sexy, uninhibited pride of my beautiful body, my breasts, butt, and pussy magnified by the clothes I wore left no doubt to anyone what I wanted. I was an innocent, desirable hot angel from hell, overflowing with unspoken cravings and wanton desires only a teen can imagine. And every man was invited to take part in it, but only in their wet dreams. For what I was, and all that I am, was reserved only for my loving father.
Yes, I got paid a lot with tips and fat commissions, more than snack money that allowed rent in a condo unit. The club was always full. The sly owner unmasked early the truth of my con—that I was younger than I claimed to be—capitalizing on it, seizing the unexpected opportunity of a decent college student dancing in his den.
True, I was hesitant and anxious at first. Yet my carnal appetite and eagerness to learn and wallow in the secrets of seductions lured me. Who wouldn’t when every performance was a proud testimony of my enticing, delectable beauty? And with Dad on my mind in each mischievous, sexy performance, I did my best always.
The rowdy customers included college boys and I was afraid at first the school would know. And my parents would find out also. Yet, after all my guilty examinations of intentions, my initial shedding of inhibitions and moralistic values, I felt delighted to try.
“I was so excited to do it, Dad . . . Aroused, in fact,” I said, already naked lying on my back on the couch, my father’s mouth busy sucking the jiggling globes of my plump tits. “I-I got nervous during the interview—oohmm, oohmm!” I screamed, electrified by the thrill shooting down my belly, wriggling and curling inside my pussy as I pressed, rubbed my warm wet body closer and tighter against him.
“I-I came early one afternoon to apply,” I continued, already perspiring and nearing my explosive itch, “I saw the cheap WANT AD.” It was a flyer tucked in the bulletin board along the corridor near the ladies’ room, the usual school prank, as several of my classmates giggled and kidded themselves around, reading the ad.
The club was looking for “. . . Pretty young thing, with good and sociable personality—eloquent, eager to prove herself a winner, to be trained by professionals. Interests must include dancing, singing, or anything related to entertainment; good salary with commissions, etc., etc.”
The owner was looking for dancers, period. And I was not stupid not to know. It was a strip club called The Golden Horn, with sauna, massage parlor, and billiards downstairs. The private stage shows, the dance hall, and the expensive bar were all upstairs.
But what attracted me to the ad was the location. It was a 20-minute commute from school and the place was not a hangout choice for my rich college pals. The club was quite isolated, and together with some pool halls, game rooms, one Chinese restaurant, an old movie house showing adult films, a beer joint, and a mini mart with dirty comics in bookshelves at the back, it completed the menagerie of entertainment in the area for the local folks.
There were several houses and business offices within the vicinity, and perhaps, some rich kids, too, but that was all and nothing less. A perfect place for me to earn a little cash without anyone knowing it while I get sex education and be stimulated, simultaneously.
It doesn’t mean I was still a virgin then.
I really didn’t care—nor did I ask my father if he did—when or to whom I lost my virginity. But something tells me, his artist’s dirty mind would bet I lost it by myself—ha-ha!—and not to any dude or lover in school.
True, I masturbated, even with Rona cautioning me against the dirt and evil of using sex tools when I reached the surging heat of my youth. I guessed I got carried away, enjoyed and indulged in the desires and vivid pleasures whenever I fucked myself. The mother-daughter consultations did happen though, as I did with my dad. Except that the questions between me and Dad were different as it became more actions than queries, more physical and salacious, often lascivious and wild.
I already displayed a candid wantonness that skirted along the insatiable itch of a nymphet to that of a rutting bitch in my youth. And rather than see any shit fucked me at will, my father obliged my tease, showing his love and care for me than anyone else. I think and honestly feel he was only doing a loving father’s concern in our forbidden relationship, instead of corrupting me, his only child, whom he loved very much.
Thus, I came confident and prepared to apply for the strip job. I’ve been enjoying my sex life with Dad, and with no boyfriend at the moment or steady, yet with lots of dates lasting only after my target of a dozen orgasms per guy were achieved—no matter how short, long, or serious the relationship—I was having fun. A healthy sex life was my priority, not promiscuous but safe . . . Still is, up to now.
I wore my wide dark sunglasses then, careful not to bump into someone I knew, and proceeded straight up to the third floor, to the office of the manager, or perhaps, the owner of the club. There were no other applicants, and I was relieved to know I had been a little early.
“Early bird swallows The Horn, Dad—ha-ha!” I said, stroking his cock, my lips still wet with cum, preparing him for another round. “I was eager, Dad, and this was how it happened—believe me,” I said, continuing my tale . . .
“Hey, sweetie pie—you’re just in time,” the man greeted me after I knocked and pushed open the door where the loud MANAGER plastic sign was attached, together with the want ad stuck on it. ‘Hey! Hey! Want to play?’—the flyer said, with a photo of a cavorting strip teaser beckoning a finger to her pussy.
“Like this, Dad,” I said, palming my pussy in a suggestive way to make the photo come alive in his eyes. My breasts bounced as my body undulated with each self-pleasuring stroke. I got excited as my father’s cock hardened again, elongating—a stiff pole once more.
“I was about to put a ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign and make calls—but what the heck,” the man said behind the wide glass-top table, smirking at me. “You’re here and you look cute—so, come in, come in. Don’t be shy,” he continued, and waved his hand at me as if swatting a fly.
“You cannot be in this business if you’re shy, sweetie pie,” the manager said, the foul smell of fruity wine, floral air freshener, and cheap cologne tumbled and reeked inside the room. The air conditioner barely hummed a cold sigh.
Though spacious, an assortment of male and female adult magazines, boxes of beer cans, ladies’ dresses, various underwear, sexual paraphernalia—the kind seen on X-rated movies—fancy jewelries, sex toys, give-aways, and lots of assorted whatever filled the room.
A mismatched sofa leaned sadly near the table. One perched on the opposite side, perhaps for visitors. A red-brown carpet with an embroidered logo of The Golden Horn—a white, funny-looking goat against a circle of black background bordered by the club’s name in gold fancy letters—adorned the floor. The faded carpet looked like thick, braided woolen fibers ready to unravel any minute out of the curl.
It seemed like no one to clean up the place.
The manager ambled in front of his table and sat on the edge, pushing a bit of the confusion with his butt. “Closed the door, please,” he motioned to me, waving a vigorous hand. “Let’s see what you got.”
I entered and shut the door. I was not born during the Holy War not to know what the man wanted. Yet, I bided for time.
“How much?” I said, and took off my sunglasses.
My school pals said I’m pretty, while the boys angling for a date think I’m sexy. I really think I’m beautiful, and Mom felt I would be a Miss Universe contender someday. My confidence at that moment soared above my head. I heaved a deliberate seductive sigh, bobbing my breasts for better protrusion. I didn’t wear any undies as I chose to do so in school.
“Hey—heeey! I don’t buy what I don’t see, sweetie pie,” the man said with a sticky leering stare. He folded his hairy arms on his chest and eyed me with impatience. “Tell you what—give me a hard-on, okay? And the job is yours,” he said, and hiked up his pants in front to emphasize the bulge of his cock. It looked large, yet for his age, I doubted if I could do it.
The manager or owner was about sixty five or seventy years old. A burly, squat man with a shock of curly white hair, he had a large head quite big for his height. If this was his business, if this was how he earned a living, he knew what he was talking about, I supposed.
“Go on . . . Do what you do in your bedroom,” he added, indifferent. His eyes weighed my willingness to undress, testing the appeal and tease of my nakedness to arouse him. But if his business meant mingling with nude, attractive women everyday, how would he react to my naked body? How would I look different from the rest?
“It crossed my mind, Dad . . . I’m game, but I also considered my options.” Once more, I inserted my father’s cock inside my pussy, riding it slow and easy. The rising tremor in his body rose, despite my earlier blowjob and fuck.
I knew it would be difficult to bargain for a price if the man did not have any idea of what I had to offer. Any lecher and shrewd businessman would not tolerate this. It was their business, first and foremost, and I was only a merchandise. “I felt conscious, Dad, really nervous. What if he rejected me?” I changed my position as he mounted me from behind to begin a rhythmic, delicious pounding of my pussy. I must admit my story added obscene fuel to our stolen fuck inside the house. With me excited to tell him the result of my job interview, and my father anxious to know how I got it, what I did to earn it, I counter pumped as he pushed hard on my ass.
“‘Okay,’ I told the man, ‘but no touch.’” I kicked off my stiletto shoes one at a time. Considering everything fast, I decided not to strip since he was used to the act. My only advantage was my youth as lied to him about my real age. Yet I noticed he knew I lied as he correctly guessed I was still in school—a college freshie, no less. Thus, I acted as he and other dirty, horny men expected a teen to behave: quickly aroused and burning with seductive, unrestrained lust.
Drifting to this small club instead of the popular, better joints in the city made me a precious catch for the man. But without music to accompany me if I decided to dance, put me at a disadvantage. The man wanted me to give him an erection and I could not just strip and do a dance number. I felt he was already numb by the act.
Still, my confidence assured and allowed me to face the challenge with a comforting thought. Didn’t my father ogle, drool, and leer at me even in my casual clothes? Didn’t his erection bulge in his shorts whenever I made a quiet parade—cat-walking in slow mischievous struts in front of him while deep in concentration with his art? Didn’t we fuck after each and every game I played, rousing him?
I wore a loose, one-piece dark green dress with spaghetti straps. Tiny floral patterns scattered at the hem, a foot above my knees. The low neckline allowed a peek at my cleavage—no buttons in front or zipper at the back. Without bra or panty at all, the delicate dress languorously hugged my curves. The cloth, not enough to be translucent but light and soft, made me comfortable and sexy.
“May I?” I said, and gestured on the sofa beside the table. Quickly, I pulled it on its coaster wheels and dragged it in front of the man before he could nod or say yes. I positioned the chair about two meters from the table facing him and sat down.
The man eyed me with a curious grin. He sensed my inexperience, and enjoyed my seeming unease, my hesitation. My youth and unfamiliarity with the vacant job already exposed. This, I wanted him to believe as I decided fast on my act. It was uncommon with dancers applying in a strip club to dawdle or give a second thought in taking off their clothes in the presence of many men. And here, with only the manager, I had to pull a chair, nervous and buying time, thinking of options or way out . . . Or so he thought.
“You’ve done this before, sweetie pie?” he said, a bit sarcastic, impatient. His grin widened, confident of his assumptions—unaware of a growing nervous quiver in my flesh. He smiled to himself, certain I was a good investment. With little practice and exposure, I could gain confidence and learn to dance and be a star in his club.
He did not suspect my mounting anticipation—an eagerness to display my allure, to show off my captivating charm—delayed my performance. I already lied to him about the truth of my sexual experiences while admitting my real young age. I played a fresh pussy shuddering at the thought of disrobing, of dancing in front of leering men and women. Seeming overwhelmed with embarrassment, yet my hesitations doused by my extreme need for cash—or so I wanted him to believe.
Thus, the manager sensed he found a jackpot.
The sofa was a narrow, low bucket type with worn black leather cushion. It swished air as I dropped my full weight on it, my butt lower than a foot from my folded knees. My dress hiked up and exposed my thighs. I sat unmoving at first, half-slouched, yet allowed my legs locked at the knees to slowly separate.
As the man stared and waited, I leaned out and arched my body upwards, my head touching the backrest. At once, the bobbing globes of my naked breasts popped halfway out of the neckline of my dress. The luscious yielding softness, silken and aroused, jiggled in its provocative mounds. The nipples jutted out bulbous against the cloth—aching to be mashed, squeezed and sucked,.
With my body bent outward in a horizontal arc on the sofa with my arms stretched on the armrest for support, I parted my legs wider, slow and deliberate, in front of the man. As I lifted both feet on tiptoe, the hem of my dress slid down my thighs some more, exposing the sinful wetness of my pussy. The slippery gloss of the lips gaped open, inviting a peek at the hole within.
“Wow,” the man whispered, eyes wide rolling all over my body. He fidgeted and looked around, as if his wife would see him. He wiggled back and forth on his heels, agitated in an unabashed attempt to see more under the rising skirt—my legs spreading apart all the more.
“How much?” I said, and opened my legs wider still. I could feel my pussy burning, the hole soppy and hot. My flesh tickled by the man’s nervous reactions, swallowing and licking his lips, eager to see more.
“Uurhmm . . . uh, can we deal?” the man said, the bulge of his erection already obvious. His cock pushed hard against the front of his pants, a massive rod pointing at me.
“How much do I get?” I said again, and slowly lifted my legs bended on the knees, high from the floor. I set my feet apart on the edge of the sofa while my hands cupped and mashed the succulent globes of my tits in a circular tease. My body curved upwards in a languid, gentle swirl—rotating, pumping, fucking air. My luscious cunt smacked in the man’s gawking face.
“Ahh—l-let me think,” the man said, coming closer. He saw what every hot-blooded male wanted to see: The inner lips of my young, pinkish pussy already moist with arousal from behind the subtle wisps of pubic hair. My hole delicately opened, oozing with the heat of wetness I could feel rolling, dripping down between the cheeks of my butt.
The man felt the strong rush of uncontrolled erection in his extending cock. His tongue licked his lips with indecent delight, eyes bulging in horny anticipation of a free fuck . . . Excited to come across an adolescent in badly need of cash.
“Oohhm, well, uh—I’ll give you, ahh—5% commission of the ticket sales for the night,” he said, evaluating his investments. “Plus, of course—uurhmm, your salary . . . 70 a show, 3 times a night, 3 times a week. Okay?” he continued, assured of my worth. His cock thumped wild in his pants, certain of a complimentary fuck as I continued my unabashed seduction in his face.
True, the quick, salacious demonstration made me all wet and aroused and with only a dirty old man to watch. What more would it be, I imagined, when I’m already on the stage and dancing? Would I cavort and display without inhibitions my naked, gorgeous body for every male to lap, see, and devour? Would they admire, crave, and want me? I was more than certain everyone will get a hard on.
“‘Make it 10% and a hundred per show’—I told him, Dad,” I said and stood up. I crouched on the couch low, wanting a doggy-fuck in the ass, and offered him my butthole from behind. This was one of my favorite positions, which we often did anywhere outdoors, adding excitement to the adventure. “‘Twice a week,’ I told the man . . . ‘I’m still a student. And please, no I.D., no papers to fill, no questions asked—oooh, Daad!” I screamed, my ass crushed by my father’s wild violent fuck. His swollen cock got bigger and harder inside me in every stroke.
I became feverish, flowing with the rhythm of my dad’s cock pushing and pulling in and out of my ass. The banging sound of my butt smacking faster and faster on his crotch as he fucked me harder grew louder, adding to the malicious pleasures of my moans and whimpers. “‘I-I’ll do my own choreography and music,’ I told the manager. Oooh—‘provide costumes, which I’ll choose’— ooh, oooh—‘and a dance instructor. No touch—deal?’” I said.
The man, reeling from my impromptu performance, groped with both hands the edge of his table on his way to his chair. His eyes still ogled me, caressing my body. “Umm—okay, it’s a deal. Uh, when can you start—and what do I call you?”
I fixed myself then and put on my shoes. I had to get out of the room before I lose control and change my mind, fucking the old man on the spot. “I felt terribly hot, Dad . . . aroused, I was so aroused,” I muttered, as Dad reached in to mash my breasts, squeezing both hard in rhythm to his pumping, pounding motions.
“The man’s eyes—he devoured my wet pussy . . . Oohh—how my body throbbed—oohmm!” I wriggled in my crouching, begging position as streams of excitement swelled and rose. “The man made my skin quivered with pleasures, Dad, and—oohmm—with the thick swath of his cock bulging large and obvious, it was irresistible—ooh, oooh, Daddy, shit!” I screamed, convulsing in orgasmic explosions.
I turned around quickly to face my father. I pushed my pussy on his cock as he pumped hard upwards. I met every thrust he made, my pussy squeezing his cock, then letting go. “Just as thick and large as yours, Daddy,” I said and teased him. I smiled adoringly at him, pulled him tighter closer to me and licked his face. We exploded together, entwined and very happy.
“‘Give me two weeks,’ I told the man then and stepped out of the door. “And call me Greek.”
I left in a hurry, giggling, careful to avoid bumping into other applicants who arrived on my way out down the stairs.
Next, Rewarding Dad (Part Two): “GREEK”