Asian

My name is Pam Smith. My mother was tragically killed in a car crash on my 18th birthday. They had installed a new stop sign a few weeks previous where there hadn’t been one before. I think she was probably thinking about my birthday party and just cruised right through. A truck plowed into her and she was killed instantly.

She was a beautiful woman, a teacher, beloved by her students and, obviously, by us, her family. She was tall and blonde and well-endowed. My dad practically worshiped her. She was so beautiful and a very good person, as well. She was always kind and did lots of things to help people in the community and was involved in church work.

Mom had been very excited as we planned my 18th birthday party. My brother, Jeff, was home from college, our family were all invited, as well as my friends and a lot of people from church. Mom had gone to pick up some last minute things. The time came for her to be back and she wasn’t answering her phone. I started worrying because it wasn’t like her to be late or not be in touch. After a half hour or so, we were all getting worried and my Dad was frantic. Then the police car pulled into the drive and we knew something had happened. We never expected, however, that the news would be that my beloved, beautiful mother had been killed.

When the policeman informed us, I burst into tears and my Dad fell to his knees. “This is your fault, you selfish little bitch!” he yelled at me, but immediately hugged me around the legs and apologized profusely. I knew, in my heart, that he didn’t mean it, that it was only an expression of his deep grief, but his words cut me to the core and, I must admit, it still brings a deep hurt and tears to my eyes when I recall them.

My mother was dead. I could not believe it. I kept repeating that it must be some mistake. It could not possibly be her. But it was. Making the funeral arrangements with my brother and some other family members drove that fact home. Daddy was so distraught that he had to be given medication which, thankfully, put him to sleep. Hundreds attended the funeral. People she had taught, people that she had helped, church members, family members, some people I didn’t even know.

And then it was over. My brother, Daddy, and me were alone. Everyone else had gone home. There were tons of casseroles and every kind of food imaginable that friends had brought by, but we didn’t want to eat. We sat and stared at each other. My Dad, still somewhat medicated, just sobbed and couldn’t even talk to us.

I sat in Jeff’s lap, for comfort. He was 2 years older than me and, from the time my little boobs started growing, he had more than a brotherly interest. He and I had played “doctor” and several other naughty games throughout our teen years. We had never had sex, though, and I was still a virgin at the ripe old age of 18.

After Dad excused himself to go to bed, Jeff started trying to feel of my tits, which normally would have been welcome, as I never considered him a threat and it felt good. But Mom had just died and I felt nothing. I was a little peeved that he could think of anything sexual at that time. I just wanted his arms around me to comfort me. I had tried to hug Daddy, but he couldn’t offer any comfort in return. Jeff could have comforted me, if he had just done it. In a time like that he should have known I just needed to be held. I needed some sense that I was still loved and that life would go on.

Because he kept trying to feel me up, I moved over to the couch and he tried to find something on TV to watch. Nothing seemed right. We talked about how we were worried about Daddy. Neither of us had ever seen him depressed or angry or sad for very long. He just wasn’t himself. I asked Jeff if he thought he might try to hurt himself, but he dismissed it. We talked awhile longer and I went to check on Daddy, who was in bed sobbing hysterically. I tried to talk to him, but there was nothing I could do to make him or myself feel any better.

The next morning we couldn’t even get Daddy to get out of bed. We had several visitors, but he didn’t want to see them. Besides my own grief, I was very scared for Daddy and eventually called a doctor that is a friend of our family. He stopped by that afternoon and prescribed him some medicine to sleep and others for anxiety and depression. He told me he would contact me every day to see how he was doing. I cried. Everything made me cry. Every act of kindness, every word about my mother, and even her belongings, which were scattered throughout the house.

This went on for several days. Daddy would only get up to eat and he didn’t eat much. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want a hug. He didn’t want anything but my mother. He was angry and sad. I was scared to death. I couldn’t even mourn for my mother because I was so concerned that Daddy was suffering so much.

Then the other shoe dropped. Jeff announced that he was going back to school. I had assumed that he would sit out a semester to help us get adjusted. But bostancı escort bayan no, he wanted to get back, and he didn’t care that I was going to have to deal with my own grief and Daddy’s situation as well. I begged. I pleaded. I offered my body to him. Yes, I told him I would give him my virginity and I would give him whatever hge wanted, whenever he wanted. That’s how desperate I was.

I don’t know if this is an appropriate time to tell you what I looked like at the age of 18, but I do want you to understand that he had quite a bit of willpower to turn down my offer. I was about 5-8, slender, 34C, brown hair to my shoulders, and brown eyes. I was hot and, even though I had been taught humility at church, I knew I was very desirable. I had had several boyfriends, but I was “saving myself” for marriage (and for my brother to mess around with sometimes, knowing that he would stop when I said to). If my boyfriends got too insistent, I broke up with them and was known variously as “frigid”, an “ice queen”, a “goodie two shoes”, and so on. I didn’t really care. I masturbated frequently and was quite naughty with my hunk of a brother, so I was pretty satisfied with my sex life.

As I was saying, Jeff went back to college. Daddy went back to work, but often came home in the middle of the day. He was depressed, but didn’t want to take medication. He cried every day. He was aware that I was grieving, but could not bring himself to have much of a conversation with me. I was so fearful that he was going to harm himself.

My bedroom was upstairs and Daddy’s was downstairs. My bedroom was immediately above his and I would lay down on the floor and listen to see if I could hear him. I often heard him sobbing. I would lay on my bed, trembling, hurting, and weeping. I was so sad and my grades, once near perfect, were suffering. I was so scared that Daddy was going to hurt himself. I thought I was going crazy.

One night a couple of weeks after Jeff had gone back to college I woke to hear my Dad saying my mother’s name. I assumed he was sleeping, but it was heartbreaking. I made my way downstairs and crept into his bed. He was very much asleep and was laying on his left side. I cuddled up behind him and put my arm around him and slept like a baby.

Upon waking, Daddy shook me and asked, “Pammy, why are you in this bed?” He sounded a little perturbed. I explained that I couldn’t sleep and I just needed to be near him. I started crying and he held me. I was aware that I wasn’t wearing anything but a tee shirt that barely covered my crotch and a pair of panties. I didn’t think that it would affect Daddy, but still, it was an unusual situation. I felt better afterwards, though.

In the next few weeks I found myself more and more often descending the stairs after Daddy was asleep, to cuddle up behind him. I always fell asleep almost immediately and I started feeling better, even though I still missed my beloved mother so very much.

One night I crawled into Daddy’s bed and he was laying on his other side, the right one this time. There wasn’t room for me to crawl up behind him, so I just laid down and faced away from him. I reached back and found his hand and put it on my hip. Soon I was sound asleep. I woke with my Dad spooning me. Not only that, but his arm was around me and his hand was fondling my breast. I froze. What was he doing?? Then I realized that he was asleep. So how to extricate myself? I certainly didn’t want to wake him up and embarrass him.

Then I had a eureka moment. Daddy was dreaming about Mama, but more importantly, he was a grown man who was used to getting sex regularly and now was being deprived of it. I knew he and mom had sex regularly because I could hear them in my room. Usually not very clearly, but enough for me to know what was going on.

I was still feeling guilt over my Mom’s death. It was because of me, I had convinced myself. If Mom had not been thinking about my birthday party, she would not have run that stop sign and she would still be alive. Daddy would still have the love of his life and his sexual needs would still be being fulfilled. Oh my goodness! This was my fault. Daddy was dreaming about sex and he was frustrated.

I then realized that there was something very hard against my butt. Daddy was hard! This was horrible and it was my fault! I found myself thinking about how big my brother’s cock was and wondering if Daddy’s was that big. I assumed it was, since he was bigger than my brother, but what did I know? It felt big against my bottom. I realized that, just as when I had played around with Jeff, that I was turned on. My nipples were hard and I could feel that familiar tingling between my thighs. I wanted, oh so badly, to push my ass back against Daddy’s cock and for him to massage my breasts to his heart’s content. But that was wrong and I had been taught that all my life. I had to both get these dirty thoughts out of my mind and extricate myself from beneath Daddy’s big strong arm.

I ümraniye escort very slowly turned my body so that I was lying on my back and lifted Daddy’s arm, placing it back on his side. He grunted and turned over. So much for that, but my panties were wet and my nipples were hard. I realized that I was horny for the first time since Mom’s death. I stealthily left Daddy’s bed and climbed the stairs to my own room.

Upon entering my room, I removed my tee shirt and panties and lay down on the bed, totally naked. I needed to cum and I knew that I was going to masturbate thinking about my Daddy’s hand on my breasts and his big Daddy-cock on my ass. My pussy was wet and practically dripping juices onto the bed. I pinched my nipples with both hands, thinking about how it would feel for Daddy to touch them, kiss them, suck them, just like my handsome brother had done so many times. I reached one hand down to rub juices on my swollen clit and my orgasm washed over me, my body quaking, trembling, my legs open wide with brief, wonderful visions of my sweet Daddy laying down between my legs, sinking his huge Daddy-cock deep into his little girl.

Over the next few weeks I thought more and more about my “Daddy” fantasy. I still worried about him, so sometimes I would get up and go make sure he was ok, and crawl into bed with him. This had happened so many times by now, that Daddy didn’t say anything against it. If he was aware, he tried to stay on his side of the bed as possible. If he said anything like “you’re too old to sleep with your Dad”, my reply would be that I was sad and needed to be near him. That always satisfied him.

As time went on, there were more and more occasions when Daddy would roll over and “spoon” me in his sleep. Invariably, I could feel his hard cock on my ass and sometimes he helped himself to a handful of my breasts. He even muttered words that were obviously intended for my mother.

More and more I worried that I was the cause of his frustration. I wondered if he masturbated. I was really naive and had been told that it was painful for men to go without sexual release. It was my fault. And now, here we were. Just us. Mom was gone. Was I now the woman of the house? I was 18; an adult. I cooked. I cleaned. I bought groceries. Was I supposed to be the woman in every sense of the word? If it was my fault that Mom was dead (and I didn’t allow myself to dwell on that very often), did I owe it to my Daddy to take her place in every way?

The thought was perplexing, scary, and extremely exciting. To say that I thought Daddy was sexy was an understatement. He was tall, slender, with a flat belly and with a muscular chest and arms. He kept in shape by going to the gym occasionally, running, and swimming in our pool. He was tan, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was always clean shaven and neat. He was the man with whom I compared every other man. Besides being handsome, he was good. Moral. A church-goer. He lived the Golden Rule and had tried to teach us humility and to always turn the other cheek.

One night Daddy awakened me by scooting close to me, obviously asleep, and stroking my body, including my breasts. I could feel his cock hardening. He squeezed a nipple very lightly and kissed the back of my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my body. He whispered, “Ann, I love you.” Ann, of course, was my Mom.

I pushed my bottom back against his hard cock, trying to detect its size, wondering if it was bigger than my brother’s. I surreptitiously reached my hand behind me, my hands shaking, wondering what he would do if he woke up. I managed to grasp his cock through his boxer shorts. FUCK!! It felt HUGE. Definitely bigger than Jeff’s! I could feel its heat even through the cloth.

I didn’t massage or squeeze, for fear of awakening him. I just loosely held it and felt of it. It felt long, but of course I couldn’t be sure. It just seemed BIG. I was so nervous, but so turned on. Assuming that he had not been masturbating, he had not had release in 3 months or more. I knew from experiences with Jeff that “saving it up” produced massive loads of cum. I was naive, but not stupid. I assumed that teenagers produced more than men Dad’s age, but still!

As young teens, Jeff and I had experimented with each other. As I said, we never had intercourse, but we did engage in oral sex. I liked oral sex. To this day I can’t understand why a woman does not want the cum of her lover. It is the ultimate expression of love to drink his love nectar. I never minded the taste and learned to love it and even crave it. Anyway, I was thinking that my Daddy needed release. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to help him? Didn’t I owe that to him?

The room was dark. I wanted to see it! I knew that turning on the bedside light would probably awaken him, but if it did, so what? I reluctantly released his cock and scooted over to the edge of the bed, safely away from him. I leaned over and turned the light on, fully expecting him to awaken. But he didn’t. In fact, when escort kartal the light came on, he snored and rolled onto his back. I waited a couple of minutes to make sure he was still asleep, uncovered him, and could see from the bulge in his boxers that he was at least still somewhat aroused. I got on my knees and carefully lifted the elastic of his boxers so that I could look into them. FUCK!! It was not fully hard, but it was thick and beautiful. It looked menacing, which excited me no end. My heart was racing, my nipples were hard, my breath was shallow, and my pussy was soaked.

I pulled the top of his boxers down as much as I could without really pulling hard, trying not to awaken him. His cock lay there against his hairy, flat tummy. To me, it was beautiful. A work of art, even though it seemed to be shrinking. I was so scared to touch it, but I reached out and lifted it in my hand. It immediately started hardening again. I was mesmerized. I watched, not moving, as it continued to inflate, the head becoming swollen and shiny. FUCK!! I was so turned on. I wanted to stroke it. I wanted to lick it. I wanted to suck it until he flooded my mouth with his pent-up Daddy-jism!!

I had not noticed that his breathing pattern had changed. “Pammy!! What are you doing? NO. NO. NO. NO!!” and he jumped out of bed with such a look of grief and perplexity that it scared the shit out of me. He stood there, regarding me, with a look of utter disgust on his face.

I burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. Please don’t hate me! Please??”

“What were you doing? he demanded.

I was sobbing, practically hysterical. Tears ran down my face. I was shaking all over. Had I just ruined my relationship with my Dad? I tried to talk, but was shaking so much that I was incoherent. Daddy sat down and put his arms around me. “Shhh… Honey, don’t cry. I love you. But what you’re doing is inappropriate. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

He said he loved me! I hadn’t ruined our relationship! I could explain this. Couldn’t I? Daddy got some tissue for me to blow my nose and I calmed down. I said, “Daddy, it’s my fault that Mom is dead.” At that I broke into tears again and I could see tears pooling in his eyes.

“Pammy. No. It is not your fault that Mom is gone. Are you still thinking about that horrible remark I said when…” tears coursed down his cheeks as he stroked my face and hair…”when we got the news? Please, Honey, please forgive me.”

At that, his body started shuddering and he slipped to the floor, laying his head in my lap, weeping, breaking my heart. My poor Daddy. I loved him more at that instant than I ever had before. I stroked his hair and continued telling him, over and over, that I loved him.

Finally he got back on the bed and covered himself with a sheet. He was sniffling. I said, “Daddy, I felt like I took her away and I needed to take her place. I love you. I know that men have needs and I was just trying to do what I could…” I stammered, not quite being able to explain what was in my heart.

“No, Pammy. You are not your mother and nobody can take her place. Especially not THAT way. That’s wrong, Honey. You know that. We’ve taught you about sex.”

“But Daddy, doesn’t it hurt? I heard that it hurts a man not to… you know.”

Daddy managed a laugh. “Don’t believe everything you hear. No, it doesn’t hurt. I shouldn’t talk about this with you, Honey. I don’t think you should sleep down here anymore. If you get scared, come and wake me up, but this is just inappropriate.”

“Please, Daddy?” I protested. “I get scared that you are going to hurt yourself because you’re so sad. I only wanted to make sure you were OK. When you rolled over against me, it made me start thinking that you needed a woman, and that it was my duty. That sounds stupid. I’m sorry.”

Daddy enfolded me in his arms and kissed my forehead. “You are the most precious person on this earth to me now, Pammy. I would never, ever hurt you. I’m certainly not going to harm myself.” He kissed me again, and I leaned up and pecked his lips with mine.

Despite his admonition that I could not sleep in his bed anymore, I did it anyway. He protested a couple of times, but I insisted that I needed to snuggle with him for comfort. He would say, “no funny business” and we would both laugh. Little did he know that my mind was still filled with the image of his hard cock and I could still feel his hands on my breasts. I often would get so excited when I snuggled with him that I would go upstairs and masturbate, then come down again and sleep the rest of the night.

As a way to get his attention, I changed my nightly ritual by getting dressed for bed shortly after our evening meal each evening. I nearly always wore a tee shirt with panties underneath. The tee shirt rarely went far past my panties. I was tall, and unless I had an over-sized tee shirt, it wasn’t going to come down very far. My breasts were fully developed and had been since I was 15 or so. The tee shirt enhanced them nicely. I wanted Daddy to notice. For years I had craved his compliments, whether it was for a dress I wore to church, or an outfit for school, or just a “you’re so pretty”. I wanted him to notice me; I wanted him to see me as a woman. A sexy woman.

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