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This is a story of passion between my father and me. Initially, I tried to portray the sexual acts in a lighthearted manner, deliberately trying to appear as a well-mannered lady, distinct from the typical promiscuous woman.
But as these memories were gradually put into words, my inner passion betrayed me. The primal, instinctive urges and the blood-soaked desires within me, like a seductive wind sweeping across the mountains, swirled like petals in the sunset of memory, making me unable to resist recounting the exquisite beauty and tremors of each time he entered my body or the depths of my being. My body and soul danced with him, and I realized that this was actually the grand stage of my innermost being.
Therefore, you can treat this article as an alternative erotic tale told by a promiscuous woman, because most of the time life needs to be direct and simple. If you are fortunate enough to feel the deep emotions beneath our passion, then please quietly savor the passion and love of life; of course, if I disgust you, then amidst your anger, you might as well be thankful, after all, people like me are very, very far removed from your life and extremely rare.
I've never thought there was anything wrong with my relationship with my father. I'm used to my personality and way of thinking often being different from others, and these haven't prevented me from having a happy family and being a good wife and mother. I'm so grateful to my father for not only allowing me to grow up healthy but also giving me more love than others; I love him deeply.
My father was a typical intellectual of that era, passionate about his profession but somewhat frustrated by his lack of recognition. Fortunately, he was an optimistic and carefree person. He had a lot of time to play with me. Often he was doing his "important things," and I could only watch from the sidelines, but I still thought it was great. Occasionally, I could lend a hand, which would make me happy for a long time.
My mother's workplace was far from home, so she usually didn't come home for lunch and sometimes even worked night shifts. Therefore, my father and I were especially close from a young age. I remember that most of the time he bathed me, and I loved the feeling of his strong, large hands touching my body. I
vaguely remember one day I suddenly barged into the bathroom and asked to bathe with him. Facing his naked body for the first time, I was a little flustered and just quietly looked at him. Naturally, the dark thing between his legs was my biggest source of curiosity.
He was quite embarrassed at the time. He scolded me, but couldn't get rid of me, so he took off my clothes and bathed me naked. That's when I first saw his big, hairy penis, sleepily stretching and finally standing proudly before my eyes. I was terribly shocked.
My father knew he couldn't control the situation, so he was quite open and uninhibited. When I timidly reached out my little hand and grasped his erect penis, he didn't refuse or say anything.
I curiously asked why it got bigger and harder. He said the caterpillar was angry. At that age, this joke suited my taste perfectly, and I became even more curious. While lathering him with soap, I couldn't resist rubbing it for him. It grew harder and harder in my little hands, standing straight up almost to the height of my head, its magnificent peak quite tall and imposing.
We played like this about seven or eight times. Sometimes my father wanted to refuse me, but each time he repeatedly told me not to tell anyone! Back then, the children in the yard always played together. I vaguely knew that in other people's eyes, intimacy between boys and girls was definitely a shameful act.
All of this ended in second or third grade, but I still liked being close to my father's body. He had a special scent that made me want to snuggle against his broad body. I also liked his warm and firm caresses. Whenever I was naughty, my father would pull down my pants and pat my little bottom. When my mother wasn't around, he would touch it for a while.
Sitting on my father's lap and acting spoiled, he would often hug me from behind. Occasionally, I would feel his slowly hardening thing pressing against me, making my heart race, but he would usually move me away quickly, and I didn't dare to ask for anything. In
the second year of junior high, I started to grow some pubic hair, and my breasts began to change. On the day I got my period, I squatted in the toilet screaming. My father rushed over, and I pointed to my genitals and showed him. Actually, I already knew what this was from a book; I just wanted to proudly announce to my father that I was now a woman.
My father grumbled, scolding me for making a fuss and being disrespectful, but at the same time comforting me, telling me to quickly wipe myself clean. I begged him to do it, and as always, he always listened to me in the end. Watching him carefully wipe my genitals, my heart started pounding, and I felt a little hot. That evening, my parents prepared a special meal to celebrate, and I was truly happy that day.
With such a good start, I no longer needed to worry about my secrets in front of my father. Sometimes, when my mother wasn't around, I would seriously discuss physiological issues with him, pulling up my clothes to let him see my breasts or genitals. My father would always scold me a bit, but I didn't care.
During that period, my father's body attracted me differently than before. In addition to the warmth, there was a lot of restlessness. I often rested my breasts against his arm, and every physical contact made my heart flutter.
It was around that time that I learned to masturbate. The object of my fantasies wasn't necessarily my father. Literature had only recently been unbanned, and the gentle kisses in those texts were enough to make this ignorant girl's heart flutter and keep her tossing and turning at night.
One day, our whole family went swimming at the beach. My mother seemed to have left about the towel. I said I wanted to practice kicking, and my father supported my chest and lower abdomen with his hands. His hands firmly gripped my breasts, and I immediately felt dizzy, my heart pounding, and my bones melting. Suddenly, we both fell silent.
My feet only symbolically kicked the water, and my father's hands occasionally kneaded my small breasts, while his other hand was almost touching my vulva. The heat flowing between us made me feel a hazy, passionate sensation.
When I wanted to rest because water got in my eyes, he put me down, but his hands didn't leave my breasts; instead, he hugged me from behind, his erect penis gently pressing against me through my swim trunks. My mother returned shortly after.
The next night, my mother worked the night shift. I sat on my father's lap, my heart pounding. We both knew what was about to happen. I pulled down my shirt collar, and my breasts were faintly visible, my nipples just beginning to bloom. I told my father it had grown bigger, and he said, "Really?" He reached out and stroked my breasts through my clothes, whispering in my ear,
"They're really big now, Daddy likes them!" My breathing quickened. Soon, my father undressed me, and his warm, large hands cupped my lotus-like breasts.
Then, right there on my bed, he leaned down and pressed his warm lips to my breasts, taking the pink, delicate nipples into his mouth. I was both shy and timid; I hadn't expected my father to do this. This was the most shy I'd ever been in front of him, but at that moment, I was already aroused and overwhelmed by boundless pleasure.
My father had somehow stripped me completely naked and kissed my virgin body, which was like a flower bud just beginning to bloom, fragrant and dewy. His lips gently pressed against mine, as if melting my thin, fragrant lips instantly. My father was a wonderful teacher. He gently pried open my mouth with the tip of his tongue, skillfully teasing my tender little tongue, leading me into the city of desire. We danced in the first, blazing bonfire, merging my first kiss into a sea of passionate fervor.
By this time, my body was already flowing with spring water. My father's hand swiftly moved towards my secluded paradise, his fingers like a gentle April breeze caressing the budding peach blossoms. I gasped softly, my waist swaying like a willow in the wind. Soon, a massive climax surged forth. My father, holding me like a mountain, made my climax linger.
With his warm, soft body in his arms, his passion still lingering, he naturally couldn't bear to let go, continuing to caress my body. I, too, was filled with irrepressible desire, and reached out my slender hand to grasp his hard, hot penis.
My father grabbed my hand and taught me to slowly stroke it up and down. I could tell he was enjoying it. His thing was getting bigger and bigger in my hand, as if it was trying to pry open my little hand that was wrapped around it. I was powerless to control this horny worm, so I had to use my other hand to help.
My father's hand was still caressing me. Although I was also wildly aroused and confused, I didn't seem to have any intention of letting him penetrate me at that moment, perhaps because he was already making me feel very comfortable.
After a while, my father suddenly told me to push harder, and then simply grabbed my hand tightly, vigorously stroking his large penis up and down. His breathing began to become rapid. I didn't understand what a male orgasm was, and I couldn't help but feel a little scared. After all, my father was always so kind in front of me. Seeing my father so crazy and out of
control for the first time still frightened me. With his deep, lion-like roar, I felt something splash onto my face. Looking down, I saw streams of semen gushing out like a fountain from my father's purplish-red glans, a spectacular sight, landing on various parts of my body.
My father lay down, panting. I was bewildered by the semen splattered on my body. He quickly noticed and took out some tissues to wipe it clean. Seeing him back to his usual self, still loving and caring for me, my earlier fear vanished instantly, replaced by a joy at having glimpsed my father's final secret.
Afterwards, he inevitably reminded me not to tell my mother. By then, I was much more mature, so I behaved very well in front of her. After this incident, my father seemed a little anxious. He bought me many books, often took my mother and me out, and paid significantly more attention to my grades. I knew he was afraid this incident would make me addicted and unable to extricate myself.
I just secretly found it amusing. My life didn't change much. I didn't think much about these things; I only knew that my father would give it to me at the right time, a feeling that stayed with me for many years. However, my father's good intentions made those years very happy and fulfilling.
We played like that from then on, and slowly I started to feel the urge for my father to penetrate me, but I never dared to. My father's large penis, as beautiful as in European porn films, always carefully avoided my vulva, never getting close easily.
One day, my father suddenly told me to lick his big little worm. Of course, I only felt affection for this cute little brother, so I met it with my tongue and lips, experiencing an unprecedented intimacy.
The worm became erect, which might have been too powerful for a 13-year-old girl, but seeing its glans with its little mouth open and drooling, I felt it was like a little bird waiting to be fed. So I couldn't help but slightly open my lips and gently take the glans into my mouth. My father sighed and gently pressed his penis against my front teeth. Afraid that my teeth would hurt it, I quickly opened my mouth wide, and the thing took the opportunity to pry open my mouth and slide in between my tightly closed lips.
This abrupt intrusion made my tongue feel somewhat embarrassed, so I had to stick it out a little. My little tongue became slightly more at ease and then, like a master, diligently intertwined with it.
The penis was making a passionate thrusting motion between my lips and teeth. The large glans and shaft stretched my little mouth so much that I had to exhale to catch my breath. My father held his bright red penis and rubbed it back and forth against my mouth with a somewhat triumphant air. I couldn't help but grab it again, swallowing and licking it like I was teasing a beloved pet.
Before long, my father guided my hand and made me masturbate faster and faster. The penis, as hard as a stick, suddenly bulged with veins and changed color. Thick streams of semen gushed out, like white ribbons flying through the air and hitting my mouth and face heavily. One of them shot into my mouth!
The strong taste of semen and the sudden impact made my face pale. I cried out in a spoiled manner. My father, not having time to savor the blissful pleasure, quickly cleaned me up. Looking back, it was actually quite fun.
Later, my father started licking my vulva again. His thick, warm, and soft tongue gently brushed around my labia, then swept over my moist, luscious opening, sending my body into a frenzy. One of his hands didn't miss my two small, white breasts, and soon I was completely smitten.
After starting work, I watched an adult film with a female companion. Half of us were married, and half were single. It was basically the first time for most of us. The oral sex scenes in the film made most people scream and cover their faces, but I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Actually, the only thing that felt a little strange in my relationship with my father was oral sex, and now I could finally enjoy it openly.
My father often held this warm, soft woman in his arms, watching the spring water trickle by the grassy bank. I imagine it wasn't easy for him to keep his eager member in check, so he had to find other ways to comfort his little brother.
At first, he made me bend over on a blanket with my buttocks sticking out, and he thrust his penis back and forth between my buttocks. Later, as my breasts became fuller, he straddled me, placed his penis between my breasts, and then squeezed them together to form peaks, while his penis moved back and forth between these soft valleys until he was exhausted.
Until I graduated from high school, I never had real sexual intercourse with my father. It wasn't that I thought it was wrong to have sex with my father; it was just that, like any other well-behaved girl, I thought it was something that could only be done when I grew up. I always thought that what I had with my father was merely an intimacy beyond the norm, a rather passionate physical intimacy, an unreserved expression of true feelings between father and daughter.
Despite having a secret with my father, I was quite at peace with myself. I just thought I was different in some way. I consider myself a person with principles. I know that this kind of thinking is somewhat like "stealing books isn't stealing," but excluding reproduction, incest itself is just a psychological issue, while stealing books is a practical one.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my father had wanted to make love to me back then? I don't know, but I'm sure that not being able to go all the way would have been torture for someone like him who's been through it all. But thankfully, I had my mother.
Perhaps because of my relationship with my father, my mother is more like an older sister to me. No matter how open I am about my relationship with my father, I still feel guilty towards my mother, at least because my father and I kept this secret from her. So I always try my best to make up for it, to the point that people say I treat my mother better than my father.
I've never seen my parents make love, and I'm often curious. I once asked my father how I compared to my mother, and he scolded me for talking nonsense. Of course, he wasn't angry, but I haven't dared to say anything about it since. I've never been jealous of my mother. I love her, no matter what others think. I know she's an inseparable part of my father. Without my mother, I wouldn't have such a loving father. I often feel that half of my father's love for me comes from my mother, so I'm full of gratitude towards her. I secretly believe that my father is a great gift my mother gave me.
Despite the loving atmosphere at home, I know my world is far bigger, and I know that sooner or later I will leave them to find a new home of my own, so I...

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