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Introduction:

It's fathersday - I'm staying with my father, and I want to cross boundries with him a second time. Sequel to Cold Night
Sequel to Cold Nights:

The sun was beating down on me. My skin glistened with sweat. A tight sports bra clung to my volcanic peaks that rose from my chest. Its straps clung to my neck. The cool June winds blew through the air, relieving my skin of the broiling glare of the sun. My hair tied up in a ponytail waged back and forth as I jogged. My neighborhood was nice – full of moderately sized yellow houses most of which had tasteful gardens blossoming around them. I waved to a few neighbors as I past. My I-pod blasting Bruce Springsteen in my ear – a fourteen year old who loved the Boss, one of my more elegant quirks.

I finally rounded the corner coming to my father’s house. Of course, it was different. Why make a home that looks like all the others when you can make it out of stucco? A rounded my father’s Ford station wagon a few times slowing down. My heart banged against the inside of my chest, my lungs seemed to heave themselves like the bellows of a great church organ. I practiced like my dad had taught me. Counting to three on every breath.

I glanced at my mother’s empty spot in the driveway. She had left my father some time ago now. They had joint custody of my brother and I – but to be perfectly frank I had better experiences with my father than my mother. I knew she cared about me, but my mother was an absolutist. Her way or the highway. Almost like she could never be wrong. My father at least talked to me – though my recent exploits with punching that boy had gotten him rather terse. But school was out for the foreseeable future. Plus that boy had been teasing my friend, Eliza. Wasn’t her fault her spinal column didn’t develop properly. So pushing her down a ramp seemed like a punchable offense.

I took a deep breath, my brain winding down from the thoughts. I turned towards the door, popping open my water bottle and downing a good few squirts of cool water and spraying the rest on my face to get the salty liquids from my eyes. The porch brought a pleasant shadow over my face, and I could feel the desert heat drop a few degrease as the screen door swung open.

The sound of liquids sizzling on the stove hissed from the kitchen and the smell of onions and bell peppers permeated the room. Who knew what my father was whipping up – in my experience he could make a five-star meal out of an empty fridge.

“Hey dad, home!” I called waling in and putting my white-water bottle on the table and whipping my face, “Smells good what is it?”

“Figured we’d make some chicken today, I know you were getting tired of the salmon,” He chuckled and glanced over at me, “looks like you went for quite the run?”

I giggled slightly and nodded,” yeah – gotta at least try to stay in shape – you’re cooking is too good to pass up – have to keep an eye on my weight.”

My father glanced over at me. I felt his eyes wander around my stomach region. It was mostly flat, but not entirely. I wasn’t too worried about that though. I gave my father a smile – ever since the snowy Christmas a few months ago my father’s mood towards me had changed. He tried to hide it, but I caught him looking at me now and again, even left my room open at times while I dressed – more to see if he’d glance in. His gaze always lasted far longer than he meant it to.

You see, that Christmas my father had been lonely and I had been willing. We ended up going way farther than I think either of us intended to. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed it, but I knew my father felt a lot of guilt over that day in bed. But today was a special day – today was Father’s Day. I took a deep breath in and glanced around the room: where had I left it. My eyes fell on an envelope near the couch, across from the kitchen table. Sweeping it up I put it by my father’s place at the square table by the window as the smell of cooking chicken came to a rest.

After we ate our meal and had a discussion about my summer plans, I learned that mother was officially filing for divorce. I honestly had been expecting this for a while. Of course my parents made it a point to assure me it wasn’t my fault – and on every level I knew it wasn’t. Still hurt to hear it. Like some force had attached an anvil to my stomach and dropped it off a skyscraper.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work, kiddo,” My father placed a hand on his forehead, “I suppose it’s my fault – so I understand if you hate me – I just want you to know I’ll be here if you need me.”

I reached across the table and took his hand, “Dad it’s not your fault,” I gave him a smile, “I saw you two when you were happy together – and then I saw you get the new job- and I watched it fall apart: but it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t blame your mother,” My father said reaching over and cupping my hand in his sandwiching it, “She would never forgive herself if she thought you blamed her.”

“I don’t,” I smiled, “I blame your job and I blame her impatience – but I don’t blame either of you.”

“When did you get so wise?” He patted my hand affectionately before withdrawing and seeing the note, “what’s this?”

A rolled my shoulders back and forth in what I hoped was an enticing motion, “Happy Father’s Day,” I smiled.

He chuckled and smiled back at me as he picked the envelope up, pulling the leaflet apart, and pulling the card from the envelope. His eyes darted over the card as he read the words. I felt my heart jump, I knew what the words said, but I wasn’t sure how he would react. We crossed a barrier that I knew made him uncomfortable, but I wanted him to know … it was all right.

Taking a deep breath my father put the letter down, “Thank you, Kiddo” his smile trembled ever so slightly, “I’m not sure you completely understand what it feels like to be a father who stepped over that line – it was the ultimate …”

I cut him off with a finger to my lip, “Dad, you don’t have to feel bad, or embarrassed,” I reached for his hand but he pulled it away.

“Look, this is a conversation I’d rather not have right now,” My father folded up the letter, “But I’m glad we are okay – you and I. It would break my heart to never see you again.”

“It would break mine to never see you,” A smile tugged at my lips, “I love you dad.”

“I love you too, kiddo,” My father replied as he rose and grabbed the dishes from the table.

I stood up and helped him with the glass where. I stared at his peppered hair, his dark eyes and thin figure. Like me, the man loved his exercise, and standing at a good six feet he towered above my tiny frame. I still wore my sports bra, one of the luxuries at his house – the dress code wasn’t as formal. I shifted from one foot to the other – as I remembered that day in the up the valley in the deep snow.

“Sometimes I still catch you looking,” I bit my lip as I spoke, “a peek around the corner or a lingering gaze.”

My father took a deep breath as he looked at me. He didn’t say anything as he turned on the water and began scrubbing dishes. He grabbed a brush and began working on the dark oily stains on the pan he used to cook the kitchen. I put my hands behind my back, pushing my chest forward and cracking my back slightly. I felt the cooling air from the window flow through the air and tingle my sides. My skin swelling into goose bumps.

“It’s okay,” I added.

His hands stumbled over the pots as he scrubbed away. He muttered under his breath and paused for a moment. I could see his thoughts turning as he tried to say something – but as usual, in a tense situation he was silent. I walked over to him, his arms moving back and forth on the pan. A sensation burned inside of me again – just like it had at the cabin.

I reached a hand out and clasped it around his arm. The movement came to as stop. He turned to look at me, his eyes flashed, but as he saw me they drooped again. His wrinkles around those deep brown eyes betraying his forty-five years of life on this planet. How short a time, how microscopic a period for life to consider you middle aged. I pulled his hand away from the dishes, it was still soapy, and warm from the heat of the still rushing water.

“it’s okay,” I aid again in a quiet, soft, but powerful whisper.

I took his hand in mine and pulled it to my hip where I placed it. It was large enough that I felt him thumb fall near my spinal column. He looked away, I could see his neck pulsing as his heart raced. I felt a burning sensation at his touch, an expectant heat between my legs. My other hand reached over and twisted the faucet off. I then ran a hand up that arm and across his chest, where his pecs tensed. I smiled at him, tracing one of his muscular breasts through his T-shirt. My left hand took his and turned him to face me. I came up to his chest, I felt so short sometimes.

Smiling and pulled his hand towards my chest. He resisted, pulling back from me. But his hesitation was, itself, unsure. I pulled his hand closer and let it fall gently on my left lump. He shook his head slightly, bud did not pull his hands away. I moved closer, until I felt his body up against mine, his hands maneuvering to let me closer. I bumped into his groin, and I knew where his mind was.

“I –“ He began as my hands slid up and down his sides, “It’s not ….”

“Who cares what it’s not,” I replied running my hand over the one on my chest and pushing it down on my small volcanic peak, “lets focus on what it is.”

I drifted my hand over his groin that was pressed against his lower stomach. The round, thick lump beneath becoming defined in the palm of my hand. My fingers closed around it and tensed. My father’s eyes widened as he stared down at me, his mouth opened ever so slightly as his drew in air.

“You turn me on, too,” I smiled, “it’s okay.”

His hands freed themselves. I felt one of them pull away from my chest and slide along one of my thick black bra straps. The other ran up my side sending shivers through me. Warmth burned inside of me as he moved. I felt bliss seeming fill me momentarily, roiling about on the edge of my skin. My strap lifted off my chest, as his other hand pulled the tight elastic straps up. The fabric slid off my body and over my head exposing me.

My father stared down at me, one hand tracing my arm, and the other tracing my face. He moved towards me, bending over. I slid my arm over his shoulder onto the back of his head as he bent and pulled him towards my lips. We met. Contact was dry at first as his mouth opened our tongues brushed past each other.

His hands began to explore my body, rolling around my back as we kissed. My one free hand reached out, gripping his swollen pants in my hand, rubbing them between my thumb and forefingers. I felt him gasp through the kiss. After a moment, we pulled away. He looked at me, his eyes on fire, as was my body. I pushed him backwards, following with him. Finally pulling him towards the couch. He sat down as I grabbed the few remaining curtains.

My father had pulled his shirt off, as I came around, he stared at his pants, as if unbuttoning them would somehow change the world. A knelt down next to him and reached over to his pants. He stopped me, grabbing my wrist with his hand. He looked at me.

“You shouldn’t do that,” He said sighing heavily, “Last time we ended up scared for a week and a half – and I’m going to want to …” he trailed off, “maybe this is far enough.”

I smiled at him, as I stood up and pushed him against the couch and leaned in kissing him on his more than willing lips, “Father, it’s all right – there is nothing to be afraid of.”

“I can’t get you pregnant,” He replied looking at me, “Aside from the general problems of your age group being pregnant there are other risks.”

I kissed him again drinking up his lips for a moment, “It’ll be all right, dad,” I laughed at my father’s overbearing concern in this matter as I quickly unbuttoned his pants. I leaned back as his penis sprung through his briefs. It was hard as a rock, standing tall and bending ever slightly towards my father. It wasn’t record breaking, but for a girl my age it was really big. From the tip of the fingers to just past my wrist – I imagined. His head glistened as excited precum that seemed to ooze from the creasing at the top.

My dad seemed to give up any resistance as my fingers wrapped around it. I felt his cock jump at my touch, precum dripping onto my hand. I eased up and down a few times. Every time my fist moved up his shaft, clear white fluid spilled from his tip flowing down to my hand.

“its precum,” My father explained as reached for a blanket on the couch, “you can wipe it off your hands,” he said handing me the blanket.

I pulled my hand away and looked at the clear sticky liquid on my fingers. Without any adue I took my two sticky fingers and ran my tongue up them, catching the salty liquid on my taste buds. I swooshed it around in my mouth a swallowed. My body lurched as the stringy stuff slid down my throat. I hid it under, what I hoped, was a stoic look of curiosity. My dad dropped the blanket, his eyes seemed to glisten as I opened my mouth to show him nothing was there.

“Did you really,” He seemed to almost moan the words.

I stepped back and nodded with a smile. Pushing myself up I pulled down my pants and underwear, kicking them to the side. I stood in front of my father, stark naked. I rolled my hips from side to side as I slipped a hand between my legs. I could feel the boiling heat and moisture down there. My father seemed to shiver as I did so.

“Oh god,” He whispered looking at me.

His cock jumped a few times as more liquid seeped from the tip, as if he was ready to unleash his liquids like he had the first time. It hadn’t taken him long, which was too bad – but the truth was my father didn’t get much time to practice anymore.

I moved forward, spreading my legs over his lap. My father seemed to shiver as I approached. He put out a hand to stop me, as one of my pointed breasts made contact with him, however, he seemed to give a little. Even sitting he seemed larger than I was, towering over me now that I was on his lap. His head rolled back as I slid forward. I felt his hot warm cock touch my belly and groin as I did so. He shivered at the touch.

“No further,” He hissed, “This is as far as we can go.”

I knew my father was worried about me, he was worried about me having a baby. I wasn’t sure I cared. We would cross that bridge when we got to it: yes? I pondered his words as my hands weaved over his chest. I knew he was battling the desire to plunge that beautiful, thick cock inside of me – I knew he wanted too. The sticky ooze that had started to smear on my belly told me that. Why not? He would love it! But it was father’s day.

“Trust me?” I whispered in his ear.

My legs rose me up sliding over his cock, till I felt my moist wet lips brushing its tip. Reaching a hand beneath me I angled his cock towards my vagina and slid down. I felt his head press against my lips, pushing them aside. He met resistance quickly as my tight whole pressed back. He moaned out loud. Then my vaginal walls seemed t ogive and his cock thrust into me, pressing my walls apart. The boiling hot cock filled me like an inferno. I gasped out loud, as ever millimeters sent spasms shooting through me. My body clamped down around this new entry.

My father gasped in response as my walls snapped around him. I sunk farther, as his cock dug into me. I felt my insides boil over with pleasure like some sort of euphoric drug. I let out a moan as I did so. I sank even further. Pain shot through me as my body settled. My father heaved deeply between movements. I took a moment to let my vagina get used to the massive boiling cock buried in my burring hot tunnel. I began to roll my hips back and forth as if riding a horse.

My father cried out as I did so, looking at me with longing brown eyes. I felt his hips press up against me, again and again. He gasped. I arched my back, my cry silenced suddenly as a wave of pleasure filled me, I felt my walls pulsate around his cock, as my father thrust up into me again and again. My body tightened up as if paralyised, wave after wave of pleasure soaring through my body. I felt his cock in all of its glory as my walls clamped down around it. My father sputtered and gasped in response, as I returned to rolling my hips. My walls still pulsating, reeling from their first orgasm. My breath came in heaves, and my heart pounded at my chest – even as my father hands engulfed my small volcanic tits, rubbing my hardened nipple between his fingers. It was like electric shock after shock.

“Oh god!” My father moaned, “Oh my god!”

I nodded in response, only able to give him a few monas in response, and few high pitched cries like an injured wolf screaming for its kin. But there wasn’t o injury – just overwhelming pleasure. The world seemed to fade in and out as he thrust in me, my pussy seemed to drip liquid like a leaky faucet.

“You have to get off,” My father gasped, “I getting close?”

“Close to what?” I gasped as my voice seemed to return.

“Cumming,” My father eyes widened, “You have to get off now!” He nearly cried in desperation.

“Are you sure?” I knew it felt better inside me when he came – I also wanted to fane some ignorance – buy myself a few more seconds on his amazing cock, “It’s okay if you want to!”

He shook his head for a brief second and then thrust up into me. I rolled my hips with his. My father suddenly let out a gasp as he pushed up again. I felt his cock begin to jump inside me. I knew I should get off, sense told me to, but it was already too late wasn’t it? I pressed down and let out a cry. His cock pulsed inside me, I could feel his mussels tensed up.

“Fuck yes!” He screamed as his hips rose up nearly lifting me and him off the couch.

Suddenly, a jet of warm liquid erupted into my vagina. It was like the ambrosia of the gods. Waves erupted from my vaginal walls like an explosion. I let out a cry as my walls constricted around his cock again. Another jet and then another jet of hot gooey liquid bumped inside me. It burned like wild fire, but broiled into a second orgasm. I felt it fell me like a balloon, streaming down my walls and his shaft. Each burst pumping the rest closer to my opening. Suddenly I felt it erupt from my opening, dripping down my leg, clinging to my skin. Cooling.

The orgasm passed as the colors of the world made a resurgence. I panted, my body feeling like it had undergone the workout of ages. My father still leaning his head back, shuttering. I felt his cock throb every now and again, adding a few more droplets to the load inside me.

“That was the best thing I’ve had in months,” My father said breathing, “Mom has some mourning after pills in her closet she hasn’t picked, you are taking one tomorrow, no excuses.”

I nodded rolling back and forth on his fading cock. Finally, I slid off him and leaned up for a kiss. I felt his cum drip down my leg, flowing from my opening every time it pulsated. The stuff that was already up there though felt like warm love, engulfing my womb with a great hug. I gasped, catching my breath, feeling the wave of pulsating pleasure every few seconds.

“I love you dad,” I said running a hand over his chest and snuggling up to him, “whatever is out there, I don’t and will never regret this.”

My father nodded and smiled, “I love you to, kiddo.”

I leaned over him as his hand touched my breast, “This was a happy Father’s Day gift – no lie,” I smiled, “But anytime you want to, just ask.”

My father grinned slightly, “You serious?”

I nodded, “Absolutely.”
3 comments

Don'sdickReport

2017-06-21 15:57:57
Since I jacked a load earlier reading Cold Night, I'll re-read this one in a while and bust another load.
Your story line is great.
A little proofreading wouldn't hurt a thing, but if you write it, I'll damn sure read it.
BTW, I could use a Fathers Day present... :)

al bellReport

2017-06-18 03:59:08
Try writing in English next time or have someone proof read it.

freshkissReport

2017-06-18 01:49:44
beautiful relationship, so she invites him to fuck her anytime he wants, if i was her dad i wouldnt hesitate to screw her pussy as much as i could, she should even get pregnant to make their love bound for life. write more, my pussy is dripping...

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