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More Stories - Satin Slippers
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Synopsis: A voyeuristic young virgin finally musters the courage to
discover what goes on behind her father's bedroom door.
Sins of the Father I
By Doxy Wringer ©
Click the play button to listen to an audio excerpt
Click the play button to listen to an audio excerpt
Author's Note: This story may not be duplicated or re-posted on another
website or in any medium without the written consent of the author.
It is a work of fiction, and intended as a pleasure derived from the
viewpoints of both the most tender and the most carnal hungers
that swell within the human animal.
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I always met my father's one-night stands at breakfast.
The names and the faces changed often, but the routine remained the same. Tall, leggy, slender women with few brains, if any. They'd bubble away as the servants brought us eggs benedict and crepes, completely unaware of the fact that Daddy had already gotten whatever it was he wanted from them.
I didn't remember my mother at all, and Daddy never seemed bothered raising me by himself. The only time we'd spoken of her, my father had explained that she'd been a woman he'd met one night. Nine months later, she'd shown up on his doorstep with me. A few blood tests later and Daddy gave her a large wad of cash in exchange for me. He knew she'd died of a drug overdose a few years back, but little else. He'd asked if I wanted to learn more about the woman, but what was the point? People like that you survived in spite of, not because of.
You really couldn't blame the one-nighters, though. Daddy had to be the most desirable man on earth. His physique was something you'd expect out of some old pirate story. Six foot six with the body of a god. He was broad and muscular without being bulky. All that muscle was lean and hard, with thick arms and legs. His dark hair was sleek as a raven's wing, and hadn't begun to silver in his forty years. His cold, penetrating gray eyes could flash charming when they wanted to, and when they joined forces with his crooked boyish smile, there wasn't a woman who could resist him.
The power of him extended beyond that magnificent body. Years of money and influence had given him a chiseled confidence that simply didn't back down. For as far back as I could remember, Daddy could face down corporate raiders, politicians, and mobsters with deliberate, poised calm. Growing up with him as an example, it's no wonder I never seemed able to date; what boy could have possibly measured up?
I'd slept in my Daddy's bed until I was eight, when Aunt Faye's blathering finally convinced him he could somehow be warping my mind. So, instead of cuddling close during the night, and waking up safe in my Daddy's comforting arms, I took the room next door. It was close enough to calm my childish fear of separation, but far enough away to make Daddy feel he could bring women home.
I spent nearly every night of my adolescent years listening to the sounds that passed from his room to mine. The hard, hot sounds of fucking - moaning, screaming, begging. The grunts of pleasure, and the cries of release. I first masturbated to the sounds of Daddy's voice urging some woman to suck him…swallow him…deeper…harder.
One thing there was no mistaking, Daddy liked it rough. Often I would hear the women he took to his bed whimpering in tormented pleasure, crying out in pain. He dominated them completely, sometimes slapping them around when they objected to the orders he gave. It was difficult to reconcile the man who was so cold and brutal to these women was the same man who held me in his arms like a delicate little bird, afraid he'd crush me if he held on too tight.
I'd look across the breakfast table at these women, and feel sorry for them. He never cared about them. And they all seemed to think there was going to be something beyond that one night. But of the dozens and dozens of faces I looked across the table at, I never saw the same face twice.
I had started to fill out early in life, my baby fat melted away by the time I was thirteen. That same year, my breasts took on a firm, but ample bounce, and my legs grew slender and long. My curly auburn hair was streaked blonde from the sun, but still shone red in the right light. And I learned how to flash my baby blue eyes in all the right ways, flirting and playing coy with the many business associates that Daddy met with at his home office. By fifteen, my full, pouty lips were aching for their first kiss, and I got a very chaste peck from one of my father's business partners after a late supper. Unfortunately for the man, Daddy walked in on us. Not only did Daddy win the brutal fight that had ensued, but I later learned that he'd driven the man out of business and destroyed him completely.
That sort of cooled my heels on flirting and dating for a long while. But I continued to hear those animal sounds coming from Daddy's room late at night. I continued to see those women at breakfast. And, I couldn't drive the fantasy from my mind. When I would reach down into my panties and caress my virgin clit, it was my father's image I thought of.
I began to wear less and less around the house, hoping that he'd notice. All my tutors were women, and they clucked heartily with disapproval, as did Aunt Faye when she visited, and Daddy would finally look at me, sigh, and say "Baby girl, go put something on over that." But he never asked me to do that when we were alone together.
I wore skimpy, ass-hugging shorts to emphasize my tight, firm bottom, and bare-midriff shirts that clung to the curves of my c-cup breasts. Usually the tight fabric teased and rubbed my nipples to hardness, until the large, pink peaks pressed forward in aroused protest. I kept my legs shaved, and endured bikini waxes so that I could also wear scanty swimsuits when I went outside for sun. And I wore high-heels as often as I could. Although his conquests were all buxom, there was no denying it, Daddy was a leg man. And I knew I had a pair of stems that were just his style.
I would sunbathe outside his office window intentionally, and often I could hear his business conversations. More than once one of his business partners would remark at how grown-up I was getting, and how Daddy must have his hands full. After that, Daddy usually drew the shades until the men left. He always opened them back up when he was alone, though.
If Daddy took any notice, he made no sign. He was as affectionate as always, embracing me often, dancing with me and holding me on his lap. And every time we were close, I waited for his hand to stray over my ass, or for his arm to brush my yearning tits…but nothing. He kissed my forehead and cheeks sweetly, and cradled me tenderly when we took our walks together. Chaste and innocent and affectionate as ever.
It was enough to frustrate a girl to tears.
But as the nights passed, the sounds coming from his room grew more and more violent. There seemed to be more pain than pleasure in the passionate exchanges. One night, unable to bear the wondering, I crept slowly from my room and tip-toed to Daddy's door.
The room was illuminated by a soft lamp in the headboard of his four-poster. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, but through the slightly ajar door, I was able to see Daddy sitting on the bed. His eyes were closed, which was lucky, for he would have been facing me otherwise. His taut, hard boy was naked, but I couldn't get a glimpse of the mystery between his thighs because his latest evening distraction was on her knees, bent forward, obviously giving him a blowjob.
I strained forward, eager to see him, and I felt my panties get damp in a rush of excitement and fear. I wanted him to see me, and I was terrified that he would see me. But oh, I wanted a glimpse of his cock, knew it had to be as glorious as the rest of him. More than anything I wanted to be that woman on my knees, tasting him, pleasuring him.
Except he didn't look pleasured. Daddy's face was contorted in grim frustration, and I realized that the woman on her knees was struggling to get up. Daddy's powerful hands held her there as he flexed forward, thrusting himself deep into her throat. She was helpless to do anything more but take it, while he fucked her mouth, grunting and ramming like a madman, ordering her to suck him, suck him…suck him harder.
Finally, with a roar of anger, Daddy yanked the woman up, and rose to his feet, dragging the woman with him. She had to bend awkwardly as she extended upward on her knees, but he twisted his fingers in her hair and began to thrust harder, forcing himself deeper into her throat. The woman gave a few muffled wails, and began scratching and hitting at his thighs - it was no use. He was driven, thrusting with all his force, but it did no good. I could see in his face that for whatever reason, he wasn't going to cum.
Daddy must also have realized it wasn't going to work, because all at once he pushed the woman to the floor in disgust, and as she collapsed in a crying heap, I finally saw my father's massive cock. It stood forward, its weight tugging it down slightly, pulsing with the blood that engorged it.
My breath caught in my throat. He was longer and thicker than I imagined a man could be. It was more than my virginal mind could fathom. The monstrous organ glistened from pre-cum that had oozed forth, and the saliva of the young woman's mouth. I felt myself trembling at the very idea of taking that magnificent cock inside my virgin pussy, of giving Daddy the gift of my tight, hot little box. My clit swelled from the very idea, and I had to slip a finger into my panties just to stoke my aching button.
Daddy had dropped to his knees and was struggling with the young woman. She resisted him meekly, but eventually there was no denying him. He roughly turned her over onto her hands and knees and grabbed her hips in his fists.
"Malcolm, you're hurting me!" She wailed in a high, squeaky tone. "Let me go."
He delivered a hard slap on her round ass. When she continued to struggle, he grabbed her around the stomach and began spanking her full force. His open hand came down again and again and again. Each stinging slap resounded through the room like a gunshot. This was not love-play. Either she was going to behave, or Daddy was going to get rougher. I rubbed my clit a little faster.
"Please." The girl whimpered. "No more."
He stopped immediately after she spoke, and began to rub her tender ass. "Tell Daddy you're sorry you've been a bad girl." He ordered in a lustful tone.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." She immediately responded.
"That's alright, baby girl." Daddy comforted, and I gasped when I heard him use the endearment he'd called me by since I'd been just a sprout.
It had been the barest sound, but somehow he'd heard me. And Daddy's merciless gray eyes snaked to the door. I flushed ten shades of red in that moment, standing there, caressing my own clit while I watched him with his sex slave. I wanted to run away, but something in his eyes pinned me to the spot. He didn't look away, and I didn't dare look away from him.
Without looking at the woman, Daddy grasped her hips and drew her back. With his other hand, he pressed down on her neck until she was staring at the floor. He did this so that there was no chance of her seeing me. And as he rammed his gigantic prick into her, he was looking straight into my eyes.
"That's it, baby Girl." He urged hotly. "Rub your clit for me. Let Daddy feel how tight you are." The woman on the floor complied, reaching between her legs to rub her own throbbing sex, but she had no way of knowing it was me Daddy was talking to. He was fucking this woman on the floor, practically raping her like a wild animal, but as his eyes bore hotly into mine, I realized it was me he was really fucking. It was my body he was forcing his way into…and my fingers worked frantically against my clit, playing with my hot, wet cunt. I'd never been so excited. My legs were trembling, and I had to slump against the doorframe to support myself.
The woman had begun to cry out. He was going too hard, he was hurting her again. She wailed protest after protest…he was ripping her in half, it hurt…it hurt…it hurt…but Daddy was like a driven lunatic…thrusting, ramming… harder… harder... harder. All the while those smoldering gray eyes boring into me, somehow transferring that violent, animal lust to me instead of that poor pathetic woman on the floor.
I bit hard into my bottom lip when I came, muffling the scream I wanted to let loose. It was so much more intense than the innocent, small orgasms I'd achieved listening in my bed at night. And when I looked at Daddy, a satisfied leer came over his handsome face, he pushed forward harder than he had before…once…twice…and then his hypnotic eyes finally closed, and he growled low in his throat as his body wracked from the force of his own release. He cried out through clenched teeth, pumping a few more times as he delivered his hot spunk into the shaking and weeping girl who had really been nothing more than a surrogate pussy between me and my father.
I had to get away before Daddy opened his eyes again, or else I knew I'd never be able to move. I stumbled awkwardly backward, The scent of my own musk was all over me. I felt sticky moisture between my legs, slickness on my fingers. And though I had experienced my most intense orgasm ever, I was throbbing for more. Unsatisfied. Aching. I rushed into my room and collapsed into bed. But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Daddy staring back at me. That hot, feral look. So masculine, so primal. I was frightened, excited, frustrated and shocked. It was too much for my virginal mind to keep straight. My heart pounded frantically, my pulse thundered, and I trembled from head to toe. Violent spasms overtook me; something like shock, and darkness and dizziness began to draw me in.
I wanted him. And, drifting off into my own fitful sleep, I vowed to have him.
Click HERE to read the sequel to Sins of the Father
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