This is the story of how I became involved - sexually-
with my six year old stepdaughter. It wasn't planned. It wasn't contrived. It
just happened. I hear you, adult male, six year old, yeah right. Well here's my
story.
It was my first marriage. Her second. She'd had a sheltered
childhood, that led into a sheltered teenage hood, and into a sheltered young
woman hood. She finally broke away from her overly protective mother and
domineering father by going to college. The break wasn't clean, though, because
she was still living at home, but she now had reasons to stay out late. She met
him at the home coming game. He was pre-law and she was pre-spouse. The
courtship lasted long enough for her to get pregnant and then they
married.
He turned into a prick. Yeah I know, 'best part of a man', but
we're talking figuratively here. Anyway, she couldn't really say when she first
realized he was an asshole, but it wasn't long after they both said 'I do', and
it was immediately after he hit her with the two and half quart sauce pan that
she said "Oh, no you don't."
He boarded the cross-town bus to the Tombs
Lockup, and she boarded the cross country bus to sunnier climes. That's where I
came in.
She had a two year old daughter and was managing a small
apartment complex. I had a two year old degree and was managing a writing
complex. I was supporting my 'career' by careening through LA traffic in a
yellow cab. I worked nights mostly so I was around during the day. I used to
offer her my assistance. You know, moving stuff, a little light plumbing (No!
Not that kind!), a little light painting, a little yada, yada, yada.
We
became pretty good friends. We shared quite a few meals and quite a few glasses
of wine. She would confide in me about the 'asshole du jour', and I would
confide in how I had no sex life. I don't know when we fell in 'looooooove', but
little Sam was four. Samantha was a great little kid. Cute as a button and smart
as a whip (whatever that means). I asked her if she would, she said she could,
and we both said we did. Everything went along fine, I got a day job at a small
newspaper and did some free-lance for a music sheet. She gave up her managerial
position and got a job buying stuff for a large retail chain. It was a big chain
and she bought a lot of stuff. Between the two of us, we were doing pretty well.
She talked me into giving up the paper work and going totally free
lance.
I was as happy as a clam (whatever that means).
At the age
of five, Sam or Samantha, if we must, developed a strange quirk. I told Leslie
it was natural, but she said it was 'un'. It started one night, right before
going to bed, Leslie went to check on Sam then came to get me. I knew something
was wrong because her eyes were popping out of her head. She told me to hush and
pulled me to the door leading to Sam's bedroom. She held a finger to her lips
and slowly opened the door. It was dark in there and I couldn't see anything,
but I could hear a slight creaking sound and I could hear Samantha mumbling. I
thought she was dreaming, but as my eyes adjusted I could see Samantha clearly.
Her little butt was in the air, she was face down, and she had her pillow
between her legs. She was rocking back and forth on it.
Leslie closed the
door and pulled me into the kitchen.
"My God!" she exclaimed, grabbing my
shirt front. "Did you see that?"
"Well, hon, I'm not really sure what I
saw. What was I supposed to see?"
"Well, she, she...." Leslie stammered.
"She, well, you saw!"
"I saw a child rocking herself to sleep," I
replied, but didn't know how much conviction there was in my voice. Apparently
there was enough, because Leslie stopped fidgeting and said, "You think
so?"
"Yeah, that's probably all it is. I don't really think she was
humping the pillow."
After I recovered from the punch on the arm, we both
turned in and I thought that was the end of it. About a month later, Leslie's
mother came to visit. I hadn't seen her since the wedding and was hoping that
memory would last a lifetime. But no, she had to come refresh it. The second
night she was there she insisted on checking on her granddaughter before calling
it a night. You should have seen her face when she came back. She had a pale
Irish complexion, but this was ashen. If this had been a horror flick, I would
have been warming up the car two seconds later. She spent the rest of her stay
pilling on that Catholic guilt. Day after day. It was like watching Hercules
cleaning out the Agean stables. That pile of guilt became a mountain of shit,
and it stank.
She convinced Leslie to get rid of the pillow. I agreed,
because I had a feeling the only other choice was female circumcision, and I've
heard that ain't a pretty sight. Then she went out and bought her a big stuffed
elephant to make up for the loss of her pillow. Man, was that a bad move. After
Mama-Lou left, we were treated to the nightly vision of Sam humping this stuffed
animal. There was something a little weird about that, but hey, it wasn't that
nasty pillow.
Things were moving along smoothly. The marriage seemed to
be working well. The money was rolling in and then wham! With hit that wall
called success.
Let me tell you a little about Leslie. I remember when I
first met her, I thought, "Brrrrrr!"
But, I later realized that it was
the after effects of a puritan upbringing. You could never joke around Leslie.
Well maybe a knock-knock joke or the like, but sexual innuendoes and double
entendres were received with a mute stare or ignored completely. I mean, how's a
guy supposed to pick up a girl if he can't make her think he's a total
chauvinist anyway? I never understood how she hooked up with those beer
drinking, butt scratching, crotch adjusting neanderthals. I know a lot of guys,
from the apartment complex, who tried to hit on her and came away saying, "She
must be a Lez!" But, she weren't. Quite the opposite. Leslie was a sexual organ.
Her entire body, once you turned it on, exuded sex. It vibrated, it oozed, it
glowed, it frightened the hell out of me sometimes.
All it usually took
for me to get her going was an open mouthed kiss and a little nipple action and
from there it was all frenzy. She didn't care for oral sex. Mine or hers. She
just wanted me to climb in the saddle and hold on. The bell would go off, she'd
be out of the gate, and I'd be holding on for dear life hoping to hear someone
yell, "eight seconds!"
She had a dominant streak in bed. She also liked
it doggy style. I usually had to grab a pillow and place it between her and the
headboard or she'd have one hell of knot on her head in the morning, and she'd
be wondering where it came from. She liked getting on top. And when she did, I
felt that I was no longer there. Her eyes would be closed and she'd be pumping
and jumping. She' d grab her breasts and squeeze, and pull, and twist, and
pummel. She would often have bruises around her nipples. She was what all men
dream about in a wife. A wanton slut. But, once you've got it, you realize that
maybe it's more than you bargained for; just like the old saying.
Her
employer solved the problem. The same energy she had in bed, she had at work.
She went up the corporate ladder so fast she had to be using Jacob's ladder.
Within a year of getting the job as buyer she was promoted to head of purchasing
for the western district. Luckily, the position didn't require us to move. But,
she traveled a lot. She'd be gone a week at a time. She'd usually be home on
weekends, but then those started disappearing too, which brings us to the crux
of this story.
The first time we knew Leslie would be away for the
weekend, we spent a few days preparing Sam. She wasn't too happy with her mommy
being gone so often and now she wouldn't be able to spend time with her on her
non-school days. So, I promised her a trip to the zoo, and perhaps a movie, if
we weren't too tired after getting monkey shit thrown at us.
We usually
didn't set an alarm on the weekends. One or the other of us would wind up
getting up around eightish to check on Sam and make her breakfast. This was
quite a switch from weekdays when we had three alarms going. Did I mention that
Leslie is not a morning person. She had an alarm at her bedside which was set to
when she had to get up. Then she had one on her vanity set for fifteen minutes
later when she had to really get up. Then she had one inside the bathroom, set
for fifteen minutes later than that for when she really, really had to get
up.
After she got the promotion, and was gone many a night, I got her
interested in a little nookie on weekend mornings. Hey! A man's got to have his
nookie. This is something we hadn't done before because of Sam, but if we made
sure she had her toys or if she was watching a morning cartoon we would rip off
a piece. This worked out fine until the morning when I felt this excruciating
pain in my lower back, and the small child, who had just struck me with her toy
vacuum cleaner, said, "Don't hurt, mommy!"
Leslie had ushered her out of
the bedroom and explained to her that we had just been fooling around. Well, two
or three hours later when the paralysis eased I had gotten up to find a very
chastised little kid. I told her it was okay and that the limp would probably go
away in a matter of days, or at least a week or two. So a rule was laid down
which stated that no one under the age of twenty-six was allowed in the bedroom
on weekends. Non-school days to anyone who didn't know what a weekend was. So
the stage is set. Mommy's out of town for the first time on a weekend and the
child's head is filled with promises of wild animals and animal
cartoons.
I'd been awake for a few minutes and was trying to decide if I
should get up and empty my bladder or just try to reach the toilet from my prone
position when I heard the slow creak of the bedroom door opening. I glanced over
and large pair of blue eyes was looking through the partially opened door. I
smiled and said, "It's okay! You can come in if mommy's not here."
Well I
should of set some stipulations because what happened next was this six year old
child turned into a fair imitation of a GI storming Normandy. Sixty odd pounds
of flesh and bones traversed twelve feet in the blink of an eye and now sat
astride my ruptured spleen.
I said, "Shit!"
And Samantha pressed a
hand to her mouth, opened her blue eyes wide, giggled, and said, "Daddy, you
said the 'S' word!" She then bounced up and down on my stomach a few times and
said, "Daddy, can we fool around?" She'd been calling me "Daddy" for a couple of
years now.
I said, "What?" Having been caught off guard by her choice of
words and then remembered that Leslie had used that term the previous weekend
when we had been caught in 'flagrente'. Her sitting on my bladder made me
realize I hadn't gone to the bathroom so I pushed her further down.
She
bounced up and down a few times and I started to worry about ever fathering
children again when she landed square on top of my piss hard-on. She rocked to
and fro like kids do when they're playing horsy and she said, "Giddup,
horsy."
I said, "Whoa there, cowgirl." And was considering extricating
myself so that I could attend to my morning duties.
Suddenly, she stopped
for a moment and I felt her make slight adjustments to her position and realized
she was lined up square on my engorged cock. She made a couple of experimental
forward and back motions and I saw a smile appear on her lips. My mind went into
high gear and it yelled, "Do something quick!" And then it yelled, "Wait! Don't
scare her! Move slowly!" But, by then it was too late. She was rubbing her
little cunt along the length of my cock like a fifty dollar lap dancer. My cock
was pointing towards my belly button and she was rubbing on the tender
underside. I hadn't had any in a week and it only took about four seconds for
that good feeling to show up.
Her little face was the perfect picture of
concentration. Her eyes were unfocussed, she was chewing on her bottom lip, and
a small frown crease her small forehead.
"You've got to stop her," I said
to myself. "Oh, but, you don't want to traumatize her," I then replied to
myself. "You, moron," I added, "what trauma, just ask her to stop so you can
take a leak."
Suddenly the quiet was broken by a slight humming sound,
and it wasn't coming out of me. I watched her face and realized it was coming
out of her throat as though she were purring. Her tongue came out and licked
around her entire mouth. I guess all that heavy breathing was drying her lips,
and she was breathing heavy. She sat there rocking and going, "hmmmm, hmmmm,
hmmmm..."
I was fascinated. Hard as rock and fascinated. Close to cumming
into sheets, hard as a rock, and fascinated.
I hadn't dry fucked anyone
since high-school, but I didn't remember it feeling that good. I realized that I
had my hands on her little hips and was helping her keep the tempo.
My
mind finally reached out and slapped me in the face and I was about to lift her
off when her mouth formed a little 'O' and her eyes opened wide. The humming
stopped short and she moaned a little, "ooh-ooh," and then collapsed on top of
me. She snuggled her head into my chest and I thought she was going to
sleep.
I lie there stunned. My step daughter had just used me to get
herself off. My little six-year old step daughter.
I heard her tiny voice
ask me something, but I couldn't make out what she said, so I said,
"What?"
She raised her head a little and asked, "What was
that?"
"What was what, sweetie?" I asked, wondering if she was asking
what an orgasm was and how was I going to explain that one.
"That thing
in your pants?" she asked innocently.
"Uhhh, that's daddy's pee-pee," I
answered cautiously.
"It's was really big," she said. More a question
that a statement. Leslie and I had tried not to force prudish conventions on her
and she had seen both of us naked on occasions. It was hard for Leslie, but she
was trying to break the tradition of inherited guilt.
I coughed and said,
"Well, daddy has to go pee-pee real bad, and when daddy has to go pee-pee real
bad like that his pee-pee gets big." All that talk about pee-peeing sort of
brought the necessity to the forefront and I wound up proving the statement by
pulling the sheets off my naked body and letting my cock lead me to the
bathroom. I noticed Sam's eyes had once again gotten rather large as she stared
at my fast moving and swollen member. Well I stood in front of the urinal, but
you know how hard taking a leak is when the wrong tube is opened up. I went back
to the bathroom door and told Sam to go watch television and that 'daddy' would
be taking a shower.
Her gaze never left my cock and she muttered,
"hunn-hunn."
I walked into the glassed in shower stall and turned on the
water. I grabbed the soap and started lathering up. A moment later, I felt a
sudden release and let a torrent of urine flow down the drain. (Hey! Ladies!
Remember, the definition of a sissy is someone who leaves the shower to take a
leak. So, if your husband does, hmmm?
I let the golden shower mingle with
the regular shower until nothing was left and then went back to scrubbing. I got
down to my crotch and realized that my cock was still as hard as a broom handle.
I hate to admit it, but visions of Sam ridding my cock kept popping up in my
head. So I did the only possible thing I could think of and started stroking my
meat. I kept applying soap to lessen the friction and I was having a grand old
time. I felt my balls contract and that good old feeling started working up my
shaft. I reached down with my free hand and gently fondled my balls. I arched my
back and let a stream of cum splatter against one of the glass panels. Then
another and another and another. When the last rope of cum had sprung from my
loins, I opened my eyes to admire my handiwork and there was my cum oozing down
the glass shower wall and right on the other side of that wall was Sam. Her eyes
were wide and she stared at my cum as it slithered down the wall. I noticed that
she had a hand shoved down into her pajamas and a tell tale motion indicated
that she was working on round two.
I thought she would stop when she
realized I was watching, but she kept on looking between my cock and the slime
it had spewed. I let the water drip off my body for a while then reached for a
towel.
"I thought daddy asked you to go and watch some TV?" I
asked.
"Your pee-pee isn't big anymore, daddy!" she replied.
"I
told you it was only big because daddy needed to go pee-pee, and I did, so now
its small again."
"Unn hunh," she nodded. Her hand was still in her
pants, but it wasn't moving around anymore. She placed a finger on the shower
wall opposite of a large blob of cum that hadn't washed away. "Does that taste
good, daddy?"
"Wha...?" I tried to say. My mind went into high gear.
Where the hell did that question come from. I tried to remember if Leslie and I
had had any oral sex, where Sam might have seen us, but like I said earlier,
Leslie wasn't big on sucking cock and if she did she didn't swallow.
I
tried not to sound weirded out as I asked, "Why do you ask that,
sweetheart?"
Samantha looked up at me and immediately looked away. A
blush crept up into her face and she half whispered, "It's supposed to be a
secret."
You can imagine the thoughts that went through my head. Was
someone trying to get her to suck them off. Had they. Had she. I was standing
there naked. The act of drying off totally forgotten.
"Who asked you to
keep a secret, Samie?" I figured this would be a better approach than lifting
her up and shouting, "have you been sucking cock!" into her face.
She was
still staring at the floor and there was a slight sway in her body as she
mumbled, "Debbie."
Debbie was her closest little friend. They had known
each other since we had moved into this duplex. Her family lived a couple of
doors down from us. She was also an only child. The husband was a warehouse
manager for some food chain and the mother worked at an electronics assembly
plant. We had little interaction other than watching each other's child and
ferrying them to school and such.
"When did Debbie tell you that that
stuff tasted good?" I figured if I asked direct questions she would be more
likely to provide me with pertinent answers.
"A long time ago," she
answered, no longer whispering. She had turned to face me and I realized she was
once again staring at my dangling prick. I wrapped the towel around myself and
squatted down to her level. I smiled and continued my interrogation.
"Why
did Debbie say that it tasted good?"
"It's supposed to be a secret," she
once again supplied.
I thought for a second then a light went
on.
"Did Debbie tell you it was a secret or did someone tell Debbie it
was a secret?"
I thought I had lost her with that one. I could see her
eyes focus on a distant point as she digested the question. She smiled suddenly
having reached a conclusion.
"It was Debbie's daddy. He told Debbie it
was a secret."
"Oh!" I nodded. Inside I said 'gotcha'. "So, Debbie didn't
really ask you to keep a secret she just told you about one?"
Sam frowned
a little and said, "I guess."
"So," I pressed on, "why did Debbie tell
you that stuff tasted good."
"Because her daddy told her."
"Did
Debbie say it tasted sweet?" I asked and then wondered where the hell I was
going with these questions.
"Noooo!" Sam replied with a smirk. "Debbie
didn't taste any. She just said her daddy said it tasted good."
"Ohhhhh!"
I replied accepting her correction. Where do I go from here I wondered and
thought for a moment. Samantha was staring quizzically at me and I realized that
my face must of given away some of my thoughts, so I stood up and walked into
the bedroom. I grabbed a clean pair of pajama bottoms and we headed for the
kitchen and some breakfast.
We had been sitting there for a few minutes,
crunching on our individual breakfast choices. Sugar Pops for her and Cheerios
for me. I was trying to think of a way to resume our conversation without making
her feel self-conscious. I needn't have worried because she did it for me. I
guess she was as curious about the subject of cum as I was about how she had
found out about it.
"Debbie's daddy does the same thing you do, daddy!"
she informed me.
"Oh?" I asked, "he writes stories?
"No, silly!"
she giggled, knowing I was misleading her. "He plays with his pee
pee."
"He, does!" I intoned, trying to sound
interested.
"Hun-hun," she nodded, "but he plays with it in bed." She was
on a roll now. She was looking at me, a drop of milk rested on her chin, spoon
poised over her bowl.
"Debbie says that when her daddy's home alone with
her, they go into her bed and he lets her play with his pee-pee. Debbie says
that it gets big and hard, just like yours did. Debbie says that her daddy likes
it when she plays with it. Debbie says that when she plays with it for a while
that that stuff shoots out of it. Debbie says that one time it shot out and hit
her in the eye. Debbie says she cried."
"Debbie said that hunh?" I
supplied, wondering if I wanted to hear more of what Debbie had said. But, I
wasn't to be spared.
"Debbie says that her daddy wanted her to taste it,
but she was scared it would hit her in the eye again so she just tasted a little
bit that was on her hand."
"I see, and she said that it tasted good?" I
asked, never having known anyone who said that cum tasted good.
Sam
hesitated for a moment and then leant forward and stage whispered, "Debbie's
daddy told her it tasted good, but Debbie said it tasted like
medicine."
I stifled a smile and whispered back, "I see."
We both
went back to our breakfast cereals and our thoughts. I didn't know what she was
thinking about, but I was thinking about whether I should do something about
Debbie's dad, which I found ironic having just this morning allowed my step
daughter to rub herself to orgasm on my cock.
It had been under the
sheets and there had been no actual touching, but technically I was in
trouble.
I also wondered how long before Debbie found out about this
secret.
I had just taken a mouthful of little 'Os' when Sam
asked.
"Daddy, can I play with your pee-pee next time?"
Have you
ever passed a toasted little O through your nose? I don't recommend it. I held
my napkin to my mouth and tried to stem the spray. My eyes watered and it took a
moment to regain my equilibrium. I looked at Sam. She sat stunned. A fine spray
of milk drops were splattered across her face...
"Daddyyyyy!" she
whined.
"I'm, I'm," I coughed and a little 'O' came hurtling up out of my
lungs. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It just went down the wrong pipe," I wheezed. I
reached over and wiped her face off with a clean napkin. I took her bowl and
asked if she wanted more, but she said she was done. I was trying to ignore the
question. I figured the near necessity of doing the Heimlich on her dad might
have driven thoughts of cocks and cum out of her mind. But, of course, you know
I was wrong.
"Daddy? Can I?"
"I don't think so, sweetie. That's
not something daddies and their little girls do."
"But, Debbie's daddy
did it!" she whined.
"I know, honey. But he shouldn't. That's why he told
Debbie it was a secret."
Her eyes got bigger as she realized she had
violated her little friend's trust.
"Daddy!" she cried. "You can't tell
anybody!"
"I won't, sweetie." I said, hoping to alleviate her
anxiety.
"Do you promise?" she asked.
She had me now. She knew I
felt that a promise to her was just as good as a promise to her mother. I had
taught her that a promise was not something to give easily and that one should
always keep her promises. I figured, 'what the heck. I'll promise this and
figure out a way around it."
"Not even to mommy?" she asked. Her arms
were crossed and she had an eyebrow raised. She looked just like her
mother.
I said 'Damn!' And out loud I said, "Okay, Sam, I promise." She
put out her hand and we shook on it.
She looked at me out of the corner
of her eye, as though she was sizing me up, and added, "If I promise, will you
let me play with your pee-pee?" God, she was quick. There was no moss on this
kid.
"No, honey. I don't think so," I replied, shaking my head, but
inside of my pants there stirred an objection.