You Can Call Me Daddy - Chapter 5: (MFg MFf ped oral swallow inc father/daughter)

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Chapter 5

Dr. Green left me one voice mail. Just one. He called the evening after I'd stormed out. I saw the caller id while drunkly flirting with a guy at my local bar and ignored the call. The next morning I checked the message and heard him say:

Miranda, this is Dr. Green. I apologize for how things went earlier today. I should not have been so direct with you or implied that you were lying. I do want you to understand that I have a lot of experience with people misleading me, giving me false stories for their own reasons, some of them good reasons, and as much as I wish to believe you here, I ask that you play back in your mind what you've told me and try to see it from my perspective. I just want to help you, Miranda, with whatever it is you seek to gain from our sessions. It is frustrating not understanding your purpose, but I'm willing to try so long as we can put this incident behind us. I apologize for what I said and I hope you will return to continue our work together.

All told, it was a fairly reasonable response, but that morning I wasn't really in a mood to consider going back to see him. The guy I'd flirted with was very cute and very funny and turned out to be very gay, so I was frustrated sexually. Plus, my period had decided to rush in overnight and I still had to scrub the bloody discharge from my sheets. My hangover wasn't helping either.

Two weeks went by and I'd largely decided I was done with Dr. Green. When he correctly noted that I loved fiercely, going all in when I wanted something, he should have known that I was just as fierce when I'd decided things were done. He wronged me in a way that was very personal. He doubted what I said, and few things in the world make more more angry than being thought a liar.

It was an letter that arrived on a Tuesday afternoon which made me reconsider.

Addressed to me at my apartment with no return on the outside, I tossed it on the pile on the corner of my kitchen counter. Like so many others, I figured I'd get to it eventually. It wasn't a bill, so I wasn't too worried.

It was unusual though. I never got letters in the mail anymore. The friends and family I had sent me emails or texted or called me. That's why, after going for an afternoon jog, I decided to sit and drink a cup of tea and open the letter.

My body tingled with a memory as I opened it with my pocket knife. It took a moment to understand what happened.

It was a scent.

A very light, barely-noticeable scent that had come along with the letter, probably something its writer had been wearing. It smelled like Holding by Kate, the fragrance my Mom wore while she was alive. I inhaled against the letter and it sent chills racing down my spine. The last time I'd smelled that scent was the evening my parents left for that tragic vacation in Paris. I closed my eyes and cried freely for long moments, sad but still thankful to be able to smell that small part of Mom on the letter.

When I'd managed to calm down and move on, I opened the letter and read the contents.

Miranda,

My name is Auburn Green. I am Martin Green's wife. I know it may seem odd for me to contact you, but please, please read what I have to say before you throw this away.

I understand that Martin asked for and received your permission to discuss your situation with me, and for that, we are both grateful. I often help my husband when he needs a second brain to consider things he may not see, and with permission, I do what I can to assist.

We've spent many nights talking about your life. He's shared his notes and his thoughts about what you've told him. He's genuinely interested in helping you and is heartbroken that you have declined to return to his office to let him repair the wound he inflicted.

I imagine that you can probably understand why your life's experiences might sound unlikely, even to someone with salted hair like my husband. Even though you have yet to describe the most vivid, intimate experiences, what you have revealed so far is fascinating and, I hope for you, well worth the time it took to tell him. We are both genuinely interested in how this turns out and what, in the end, has brought you to seek assistance.

I also imagine that it took a great deal of courage and will to open your private life for someone to analyze, silently passing judgement and criticism on your most difficult secrets. My husband is human, after all, and I think perhaps the way he explained himself left a lot to be desired, and did little to acknowledge that you are very brave to have let yourself be so vulnerable in front of him.

I'm not writing you to ask that you see my husband again. I do not know if you have decided this was a bridge too far. Instead, what I wanted you to know is that your life is unique, interesting, fascinating, and, for what you have already shared with my husband, and with me, I thank you. I would love to meet you one day, if you felt that was appropriate, but I will absolutely respect your privacy and not contact you again without permission. I wish you a wonderful life, and happiness in all things no matter how you decide to move forward.

My sincerest fondness,

Dr. Auburn Green

I held the letter in my hand a moment trying to measure my reaction. Perhaps it was the scent Mom wore that primed me to be receptive to her words, but Auburn's message did make me reconsider my decision to walk away from my therapy. I knew that, if it wasn't Dr. Green, I wasn't interested in trying this all again with someone new. And I did have a goal in mind, it just wasn't easy to describe without the context, without all the background. Maybe Auburn's kindness offered me a way to save face and go back on my decision. But again, I considered as I inhaled the last faint traces of the fragrance, it was that comforting scent that made me think of my mother.

I waited until I was sure Dr. Green would be out of his office for the day before I called and left a message with his answering service. I was short and to the point, asking for an appointment at his convenience. I wasn't all that surprised to get a call from the man a few minutes later. I didn't answer, but his message told me he had a morning slot free the following day.

Dr. Green greeted me at the door with an apology. “Miranda, I am truly sorry. Please accept that I meant no disrespect, and I would like to talk to you again if you can forgive me.”

I nodded, still a little cold in my thoughts, but willing to sit in his office and consider my options.

We said nothing further as he settled in his chair and took out his pen and notepad. “I believe you, by the way.”

“I doubt that,” I muttered.

“Seriously,” he replied, “I said what I said because. . . because in some ways, I almost hoped that this was all a lie, that what you're telling me isn't accurate. I'm not sure why I feel that way. Perhaps. . . perhaps you are right that I am. . . more interested in what you have experienced than serves my needs as your counselor.”

I recognized this as admission that this man, roughly my father's age, was sexually aroused by descriptions of my life when I was young. I know it may sound cruel, and I recognize the danger in such admissions, but it did sooth my anger greatly to have him acknowledge, even if couched in less specific terms.

“I accept your apology. Fine. You believe me.” I let out a quick breath through my nose. “So what do we do now?”

“Continue from where you left off?”

I nodded. “Before I do, I want something from you.”

I saw him hesitate. “That is?”

“Thank your wife for her letter.”

“What?” He said, tilting his head. “What letter?”

I smiled, “she sent me a letter that arrived yesterday. That's the only reason I came back.”

Dr. Green blinked a few times, then replied, “I'll do that.”

I closed my eyes, and picked up where I'd left off two weeks earlier.

- - -

My father's penis was just inches from my face, barely covered by the pajamas he wore. Even my eight-year old brain saw the way the buttons held the front together, leaving a way to free his erection without him moving. There was a tension that was thick and stabbing and uncomfortable, especially in my gut. I was so nervous that I worried I'd pee right there. I knew I was doing something no child should do, even if I didn't comprehend all the reasons, and I was doing something my parents had just spelled out was not to be done. I was certainly a willful child at times, and faced with a temptation of my own, I didn't let nerves stop me from what I wanted to do.

My hand moved quickly to Dad's crotch and in less than a second, I had opened a large hole over his genitals. I saw his cock immediately and took hold of it, not waiting to consider the new sensation in my fingers. I heard Dad suck in his breath and Mom started to speak, but before either could stop me, I pushed my head down to Dad's lap and let his penis slide between my lips.

I held still, not really sure what to do next. It's not like I planned to give Dad a blowjob, nor, beyond that minute or two watching Mom that night, did I have a clue about how to suck a dick. Dad tensed, and I felt his excitement immediately.

The warm, salty flesh of his penis rested on my tongue, rich and meaty, soft and firm at once. I loved the sensation, the taste of Him. There was a thin slickness that pulsed against my cheek, and a second later, I tasted something more salty and sweet. I didn't know it then, but Dad had just instinctively throbbed his penis, hardening, releasing a glob of precum into my mouth.

I heard my Mom stutter something, felt Dad's arm start to move to resist what I was doing. I closed my eyes, remembered what Mom had done, and moved my head up and down Dad's length. The effect was immediate. Dad groaned and stopped his resistance. I bobbed again, probably taking no more than two or three inches into my mouth, maybe half his length at most. I let out a contented moan that rattled in my throat, vibrating his fleshy shaft. “Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm” I knew he was enjoying it when the arm he'd held tightly around my body relaxed and fell limp.

I could hear them talking, maybe to me, maybe to each other, but I was lost in the heat of that moment. When I think of heaven, whatever or wherever it maybe, it surely includes, for me, my father's penis between my lips.

“Miranda. . . ” My father's voice drifted into my trance. My name. He called me by name as I took him in my mouth. Heaven just got better. “Oh. . . Miranda. . . ”

I pulled off just a moment, my jaw feeling strained already, saying, “do you like this, Daddy?”

He groaned and I sank my lips back down his shaft. I felt his penis pulse against my tongue, again, again, his body starting to strain and his hips rose slightly. I didn't know what exactly would happen, but he said those words he'd said to Mom all those nights ago, “I'm cumming, Miranda. . . swallow Daddy's cum, now. Swallow it, Princess. . . unghh. . . oh. . . Princess. . . ungggghh. . . unghh. . . ”

Warm, salty, pungent fluid flooded my mouth and I nearly choked. Each pulse of his dick sent more of his sticky cum into my throat. I held my breath, not really prepared for this moment. I didn't care about myself, though, all I cared about was making Dad feel good.

I swear he came a gallon. Short thrusts into my mouth sent spurt after spurt to pool against my tongue. I remembered what he said about swallowing, and something clicked in my brain. His cock still shooting sticky jism into my mouth, I didn't gag as I pushed the bulk down my throat and into my stomach. Again, I swallowed, and again. I was filled with the unbelievable fulfillment of taking into myself something special from Dad's body. He came in my mouth and I swallowed it down as if it was the most wonderful, natural thing in the world.

- - -

I had my eyes closed, imagining that moment even as I described it. My mouth was partially open, and it was almost as if Dad was filling me again. I could nearly taste his cum on my tongue. It was quite a disappointment to open my eyes to remember that Dad was dead and I was sitting in Dr. Green's office.

He was staring at me with a desire that couldn't be masked by his rushed attempt to hide his erection. He looked away, flushed.

“That's how it felt, Martin. To me, at least. I can understand why you or anyone would think I'm wrong, or more specifically, that Dad was wrong for not stopping it. But, I honestly say, it was perhaps the most amazing and contented moment in my life. I think I've been chasing that moment ever since.”

Dr. Green was breathing a bit too quickly for a man who was trying to remain objective and calm, and I smiled. “I'm sorry. I suppose I do get rather explicit in my descriptions. I just want you to understand my side of things.”

“Good, uh. . . good. Yeah, I'm. . . happy you feel able to share that with me.” He twisted his mouth to one side, then said, “perhaps this is out of place, Miranda, but I can honestly say that that was the most erotic thing I've ever heard in this office, and I make my living talking to people about their sex lives.”

I tilted my head in a gesture acknowledging his compliment. “I do what I can. . . ”

After a moment of fidgeting, Dr. Green asked, “that was some shock to everyone, I imagine, how did the three of you react?”

“You know, it's pretty bland after that. I mean, wonderful, but I remember being sleepy,” I explained, “and curling up with Dad. Mom was there too, holding against us somehow. I don't think anyone spoke, maybe someone cried, I don't much recall. The experience had been. . . shattering. In good ways. I made Dad feel pleasure, and it made me feel very good. I smiled. I remember that. Probably still had semen on my lips and teeth, but damn, did I smile.”

“There had to be a moment you talked about it, right?”

I nodded, “naturally, but it wasn't that night. I'm sure we all knew we had things to talk about, but we seemed to realize there was a moment of bonding that shouldn't be broken. My only regret was that I hadn't made Mom feel as good as Dad. I didn't know anything about that, yet.”

“And how soon after that night did you talk about it?”

“The next day. During breakfast, as I remember it.”

“And. . . ?” he prompted when I had closed my eyes, trying not to lose the last sensations of memory of Dad's dick in my mouth.

I shrugged. “They were both honest with me, as best they could I think. Dad had loved what we did and was eager to do it again if I was certain I would like that, and Mom expressed her reservations in half-hearted tones before admitting that seeing me suck Dad had been a fantasy of hers for years. And then. . . they got very detailed about things. Honest.

“Mom gave me a brutally-clear picture of what was happening, how easily what we were doing could end up with them in prison and me sent to live with some other family. I cried to think that might happen. Both Dad and Mom strongly suggested that they would stop everything to keep that from happening, but agreed that, if we, as a family, could keep this secret, they were more than willing to share physical love with me forever.”

Dr. Green asked, “why did they trust you not to tell? Brutal honesty, Miranda, you were eight. I don't know much about kids, but what I do know is that secrets are hard to keep in the best of circumstances, and children have a hard time not spilling the beans whether they mean to or not.”

It was a question I'd never really considered before, but the answer seemed pretty obvious. “I think it's because of Misuki.”

“Who is Misuki?” Dr. Green asked.

“For a while, she had been my babysitter.”

- - -

Misuki kept an eye on me a couple of nights a week and sometimes on weekends starting when I was four. She'd have been about twelve at that time. I don't remember her all that well, but I recall she was a Japanese-American, long, straight black hair. She liked to wear little butterfly ribbons tied into the strands.

I'm not sure exactly when it started, but I was five or so the time I caught them with her. That is one of my earliest clear memories.

Mom and Dad were supposed to be leaving for a government function one Friday night, and Misuki had come over an hour early. I never considered why she was so early, a frequent occurrence, but it became clear eventually.

Misuki would disappear somewhere I didn't see, and one of my parents would be keeping an eye on me in the living room. Then, they would swap places I think. Sometimes, I was alone in the living room for five or ten minutes before all three returned.

Well, it was one of times of me alone that I got restless like I still do. I was bored and looking for Misuki to come play with me. At five, I knew little about privacy, given my parents unspoken disregard for nudity or embarrassment in places like the bathroom, so it wasn't all that unusual for me to open my parent's door and walk in.

I remember there being soft music playing, and a candle burning and making the room smell like vanilla. I love that scent so much that I didn't even notice what was going on for several seconds.

Then I remember seeing Mom on her back, naked, legs in the air and spread wide. Misuki was bent over the bed, head between Mom's thighs, with Dad holding her hips and moving against her body. Remember, I was five, none of this had any context or understanding in my brain. No one noticed me at first, so I just watched. I can sorta remember the way Misuki moaned, the way Dad cried out as he came. When he did, I remember watching his face. Obviously, I had no idea what was happening, but he looked both pained and pleased, a twisted, strained smile on his face. I was confused, but more so, the odd assortment of bodies in front of me was humorous.

I have no idea why I started laughing.

There was chaos as bodies flew around the room, some putting on clothes, others hiding inside the bathroom. I remember words hitting my ears, but I couldn't stop laughing. It had been so delightfully absurd, like a festival of naked clowns. Sounds I'd never heard, smells that were unfamiliar, and bodies twisted in ways that held no meaning for me. I laughed, and I just couldn't stop.

It was a bit awkward for my parents when they had to leave for the event, kissing me and telling me we'd have a long talk when they returned. Misuki was mostly a stone, sitting still on the couch, staring into the television. She didn't look at me, and only spoke if I asked her the same question twice. She was mortified, and it actually scared me a little towards the end of her stay.

My parents returned and ushered me into my bedroom, telling me to wait there. I assumed they were having a very frank and hurried conversation with Misuki about what might happen and perhaps they were getting their stories straight should I tell anyone. I dunno, I'm just guessing here.

When the finally came back to me, they sat down on my bed and started to explain something about sex and love, but I don't recall the details. They told me everything was fine, Misuki was just feeling a bit ill, and that they loved me. That repeated that last part several times, maybe they thought if they hammered that in, it might make me think twice about telling something that would hurt them.

And then Mom explained, probably in much the same way she did a few years later, after I sucked Dad's cock, about secrets and how this was one I couldn't tell. I remember asking questions and she and Dad answered me directly. Whatever was said, it was impressed upon me that I had to hold this secret very tightly and never tell anyone. The consequences as they described them made me cry, but my dad was right there to fill me with love in his hairy arms.

- - -

“Until just now, I kept that promise.”

“So, they had to trust a five-year old never to talk about how Mommy and Daddy were having sex with an underaged babysitter. I suppose if you kept that secret for three years, they might feel you were able to keep the new one, too.”

I nodded, “I suppose so.”

“Did they stop hiring Misuki to sit for you?”

I shook my head, “not remotely. It was another couple of weeks as I recall before she came back to sit. I found out much later, when a different babysitter started to come some nights, that they continued their relationship with her up until she moved away a few weeks short of my eighth birthday. In fact, I found out only a few years ago that Mom and Dad still met up with Misuki from time to time. She's probably thirty-two or so these days. I've thought about looking her up again. It's been many years since I saw her. Before I decided to see you. . . she was actually the one I thought might be able to help me. . . who might understand me. . . ”

“She might at that,” Dr. Green said.

The timer clanged and Dr. Green rose to his feet. “Miranda, let me apologize aga—”

I held up my hand to stop him. “Enough, Martin. When I said I accept, I meant that was the end of it.” I smiled at him, “so long as you send my thanks to your wife, what happened is no longer of issue. And. . . I apologize if I. . . overreacted. I can see it from your side, and. . . I know you are only trying to be honest. I appreciate that more than you'll ever understand. I need honesty, Martin. Telling you all this. . . well, I need you to be honest about what you think of my life. Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded, “and you as well, Miranda. Auburn will be delighted to hear from you.”