4. How sweer is your daddy's dick?

“Can one be envious of her mother?”

Envious in a sexual way. In a way that you wanted, or maybe needed her husband, all to yourself. Even though you know it is a wrong thing to do, but it felt right.

Having endless lustful fantasies about her husband. Your father. Not stepdad, not adopted dad, the one whose spermatozoa had fertilized your mother's egg, and you were sure he was. The DNA result was in one of his documents; you had seen it before.

It wasn't right; I mean, how can one be sexually attracted to her biological father when there were a million and one sexually active men out there looking for a hot chick like you? But since he was the one who had brought you to the world, you felt the prize you had to pay was offering him your most sacred treasure. Your virginity.

You didn't know how it'd happen. Where it'd happen, when it'd happen, and probably why it'd happen, but you know, the wait was going to be worth it. He was your father after all.

“Michonne!’ He suddenly stopped. Covering his flaccid penis with his hand while searching endlessly for a cloth to cover his nakedness, and he finally settled for one. It did little or no justice, as I could still see some strands of pubic hair on the lower part of his abdomen.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked, puzzled by my mysterious appearance in his room, and honestly, it was never in my thoughts that he was in the bathroom, as his room was en-suited with a bathroom. I could feel the rage in his eyes and the anger in his voice. An intense irritation and annoyance.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I—I was. I stuttered. A slight degree of petulance had crept into my voice.”

“I was—

“Did you see it?” He cut in sharply. I stood at the spot, frightened. I was inhaling and exhaling rapidly, praying that the ground would open and swallow me. I have never, in all my twenty-one years of existence on earth, seen my father that angry.

“Did you see it!” This time, it wasn't a question. I could assume that he was trying so hard to control his vexation.

“See what, Dad? Did I see what?” “I am sorry, Dad, I never knew you'd be in the bathroom.” I didn't know what to say at the time. Then, likened to an ice melting, his exasperation turned, ironically, into an odd, elated mood.

“You saw Daddy's big black cock?” He asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat, while trudging towards me. I was scared, making a retro walk as he approached me.

“I—I—am sorry, Dad. I am,” I pleaded, but he was bent on achieving whichever desires were on his mind. I hit my back on an obstacle. It was the wall. It was my last stop. I couldn't move right; I couldn't move left. I was stuck; my once-upon-a-time harsh-looking father was approaching me, a witty smile hovering over his face. This time, the piece of clothing he had covered his lower body with had loosened, and at my face it was glaring. My father's huge black cock. It was bigger, way bigger than I had imagined or even thought. It was flaccid a few minutes ago; now, I couldn't help but imagine it finding a way into my virgin pussy. It was gigantic, and the veins on it were struggling to break out.

He was totally naked, and now he was right in front of me. His body was compressed and pressed against mine, which was resting on the wall. I tried to open my mouth to say a word, like, maybe still apologize for whichever mayhem I had caused that had turned him into a monster, but when I had opened my mouth to talk, no word came out.

“Do you want to fuck, Daddy?” His timbre was now soothing, and I felt relaxed, though a part of me wanted to break free from the intimate prison I was in, but a greater part of me wanted him to do what he had asked if I had wanted to do. I wanted him to fuck me.

“Do you want to fuck Daddy?” He asked again, running his fingers through my hair. He was now close to me. I could perceive the fragrance of the soap he had bathed with. I couldn't tell if it was vanilla scented or lavender or both; what I knew was that I loved it. My fear had successfully turned into concupiscence. But I was still breathing hard. We were both breathing into each other's nostrils, mine unhurried, his mild and slow.

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” I finally found the courage to speak to him. I could see the spike in his eyes. Spikes of excitement, sexual excitement building up in his eyes.

“This was what I have always wanted, Michonne” he paused. Studying my face. I was already relaxed. His fingers were still trailing through my hair.

“I know you have always looked at me in a seductive way,” he continued. I bite my lips in guilt, knowing fully well that I have been caught. “I know you've always wanted to satisfy your curiosity or maybe erotic desires of going down with me, but your mother was the only obstacle. I know.” He raised my top with ease. I was putting on no bra, making my cherry like breast visible. He took time to admire my body. I was naked already.

I had just that big jersey top on me when I came his room

“You know,” he smirked, his lips making for my neck. I could feel his breath on my black skin. I was scared once again.

“I have been on this earth long, long ago to know what is white and which is black.”

Those words were gradually building passion and tension. My father was already getting my heart racing by softly blowing on my neck and this time, lightly trailing his fingers from my shoulder to the nape of my neck. Kissing me slowly and gently, starting from my collarbone.

“I had you when I was young. You're twenty-one already. I'm fifty. So I read the meaning of those signs—I couldn't let him finish up his words. He was talking too much already. We were the only ones at home, and I knew I had to utilize this opportunity. I pulled him closer to myself. Thank goodness we were of the same height, so there was no need to stretch my legs to meet his height.

I pulled his head closer to mine, and we started kissing off so greatly.

“God!!” This was what I had been missing.

His full lips, despite the coldness, were so succulent, juicy, and tasty, and I couldn't help but drag them so passionately and with an intense pressure.

He led me to the bed, lying on his back. While I was on top, fully wet and anticipating the sensual season that was helplessly coming my way. I sat on his thighs, making his bulge evident and glaring at me. I was playing with it, tickling and stroking it so gently, happy that I was finally getting to feed on the same food my mother was taking for years. He could feel my wetness on his skin. His palms found its way to my ass, massaging it so gently.

“You've got a soft ass, baby. More softer than your mother's.” I looked at him enviously but didn't say a word.

He gently lifted me from his body, placing me on the bed, putting himself on top of me, and for the first time since I got to know my father, I realized how handsome he was in his vulnerable state. His dick rubbing on my thigh. It was thick.

Still staring into my eyes, his fingers went into me. He tried to insert a finger; it was tight. I nearly screamed and jumped out of my skin. He was shocked, staring at me again. This time, my eyes were heavily shut.

He tried to insert a finger inside, and he felt the same resistance.

“Are you still—

“Yes.” I didn't let him finish it.

“I have been keeping myself for you, Dad,” I confessed. He wanted to say something but maybe couldn't find the right word.

“I'd take it easy on you, baby.” He stood from the bed, made for the closet that was at the end of the room, and brought out a container, which I later got to know was lubricant. I lay unclad, motionless, while he did his thing. It'd be my gift to him for bringing me into the world.

He then started gently by exploring my body.

He was calculative enough to not just pay attention to the obvious parts, but he was kissing my feet, my arms, my neck, and my head.

“You're one of the most gorgeous creatures I'd ever met in life.” I didn't know if I was to smile, blush, or say a “thank you. I was just enthusiastic about the whole thing.

“Are you loving it?” He'd ask at intervals.

Making sure he wasn't going too hard on me. I would always nod.

The exploration finally ended up in my pussy.

He tried to insert a finger; it was too tight, and I panicked. “I'm sorry, baby.”

“Just fuck me, Daddy, please,” I pleaded, breathing shakily. The process was already becoming boring, and I just wanted to feel his dick inside of me, knowing fully well that I had produced enough lubricant from his words and touches, and he also had an extra lubricant to aid the process if need be.

Gently, he tried to slide a finger in.

I clutched the bedsheets, feeling the pain. A pleasurable type of sweet pain that one wouldn't pray it ends because I was already prepared for it, mentally, emotionally, physically, and psychologically, as long as it was from him, my father.

“If you ever feel the need to stop, please don't hesitate to.” His words were messing up my thoughts. They were just what I needed.

He tried again. His fingers went in; it slipped in with ease. The lubricant and my wetness were enough to make a way where there seemed to be no way. He made one or two thrusts, then held his dick. First, the glans.

Stimulating my clitoris with it. I had opened my eyes, staring into his as he gradually inserted his cock into me at a very slow pace; his mouth came to find mine again as we started kissing furiously and with so much ecstasy and excitement. I couldn't take in the whole cock because I was in pain. A sweet type of pain.

I had circled my hands around his back.

Burying my fingers into his skin. “Aaah. Awwwn, each thrust of his came with a different type of trust.

He was taking his time, going all easy on me.

“Should I cum inside of you, baby?”

I felt some fluid finding its way to my thigh. He paused. He knelt down; it was my blood. The bed was stained. My hymen was gone.