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Mother’s Little Twin
Dear readers of Literotica Forums,
I suppose that we all have our secrets that we’d rather keep hidden forever. My secret would be just as embarrassing as anyone else’s, were it to be made public and associated with my name. I am a married woman with two children, and also a professional. I’ve been keeping this secret hidden for so long, however. Since others in these forums have seen fit to tell of their own, shall we say, unexpected encounters with members of their own family, I feel it is high time for me to say my piece and get this heavy burden off my chest.
This took place in the late 1980s, after I graduated from high school but before I moved away from my parents’ house and went to college. I was eighteen years of age, still unsure of what field I should pursue. I hadn’t even applied for my first job, as I was very, very shy back then.
I remember being a little taller than most women my age, with breasts only the size of apples, which hadn’t yet ripened into what they are now. My waist and hips were narrow, as I’ve always been of slim form, and my thighs were and have always been what I call ‘fleshy.’ My figure was very similar to that of my mother’s. My father sometimes jokingly referred to me as my mother’s little twin.
I did somehow manage to nab a boyfriend, but he was as hesitant and shy as I was. We were both so awkward when we first met. We continued in that same way all through our relationship. This young man would be afraid to kiss me in public and hardly ever held my hand. When he made love to me, he was just as timid. It felt as if some religious laws were being broken because we were, in his word, fornicating. We made quite the couple, with me so shy and him so nervous. I often fantasized of some muscular brute, such as those seen on the covers of romance novels, stepping into my life and taking me with real ardor and passion.
My father worked at a tuna factory, where tuna was shredded into bits in great machines, and stuffed into tiny tins that were then distributed all over the state. He’d worked there for many years, fixing the machines on the assembly line. He made good money. At the time this took place, my father was in his late thirties. He worked the late second shift at his job. That is, he clocked in at 4, 5 or 6 in the afternoon, and he clocked out sometime past midnight, depending on his schedule.
He was very angry when, shortly after I graduated from high school, my mother decided that she was going to find a job. In those days, in the part of town where we lived, it was seen as a failure for a man’s wife to work. A man was fully responsible for keeping a roof over his family’s head and for paying the bills on time. It embarrassed him greatly when his friends and neighbors would comment over my mother working. Her stubborn decision would lead to many arguments between my father and my mother.
It was always a mystery as to why my mother decided to find a job in the first place. My family wasn’t wealthy, by any means, but we weren’t lacking, either. The best I can guess is that after 18 years of raising me, and with no other child to worry about, my mother became bored and wanted to try something else. At any rate, she worked at a bakery, where she would prepare dough and put it into ovens, Her schedule had her going off to work very early in the morning. She would leave at 3 or 4 sometimes, but when the arguments between her and my father worsened, she started leaving even earlier. Often, my mother would be gone by the time my father got home. Although my father could never prove it, he always suspected that she was cheating on him.
When she was home, my mother took to sleeping on the couch in the living room, just so she could avoid my father and his bad temper. My father would come home from work, see her there and wake her up for another ruckus, even in the middle of the night. Afterward he would storm off into the bedroom. After a time, they both tired of the constant fighting. My father would come into the house, lock up after himself, and skulk off into the bedroom to spend the night alone. All without turning on a light in the living room and waking my mother.
My biggest mistake took place one night while I was talking to my boyfriend on the telephone. I was in the living room and had the TV on, and we talked and talked as young lovers tend to. My mother went off to work, early enough that my father hadn’t yet gotten home. I tried to convince my boyfriend to come over and pay me a visit, but he was a hard catch. He did tease me by saying that he might show up, right before we said our goodbyes and hung up. I found myself still sitting on the living room couch and waiting for him, instead of heading off to bed like I should have.
You see, back in those days, the phones we used had these short cords on them that always bunched up in the wrong places. I didn’t have a phone in my room, and so I was waiting for my boyfriend to call me back. Although he never called back that night, I still held casino siteleri out hope that he would. After waiting so long, I shut off the TV and lay back on the couch. I suppose I only intended to take a short nap, and planned to head to my bedroom later. As it turned out I stayed on the couch, and as I said before, much longer than I should have.
My father carpooled, and on this particular night, his friends from work stopped off at a bar. Although my father was never anything like a heavy drinker, he must have had enough alcohol in his system to cause him some impairment. He came up the walk as he usually did, and by using the light from the porch, he unlocked the front door. As had become his habit, he did not turn on any lights in the living room. Had he followed his normal routine, my father would have walked through the living room in the dark and gone off to bed.
For whatever reason, he didn’t do that on this night. The porch light shining through the front door showed him a portion of the living room, enough to reveal to him that the couch was occupied. He must have assumed that my mother was sleeping there. As he closed and locked the front door, I can only imagine what thoughts were going through his head. Perhaps one of his friends had commented about my mother working, and this had angered him. Perhaps he’d seen some woman at the bar that he found attractive, and this had stirred up some desire in him for my mother. I don’t know what he was thinking; I was simply sleeping on the couch.
I remember him talking out loud and waking me. I didn’t catch any of it. All I knew was that my father had come home because I recognized his voice. I didn’t even get a chance to fully wake up, before I felt my legs being pulled and my body being dragged off the couch. I ended up with my face and chest in the cushions. I wasn’t wearing much, just a long tee shirt and panties. Before I could even blink I felt the first being yanked up around my back, and the second being pulled down to my knees.
I was scared, and I did what I always do when I get scared; I froze. I had my butt out in the open and my first impression was that my father was about to spank me for sleeping on the couch.
Just imagine how surprised I was, when I felt my father’s hand prodding around behind me, rubbing along my sex until I started getting aroused. I was 18! It hardly took anything at all for my boyfriend to get me excited, as he could rub on me while I still had my clothes on and do it. Then my father did something that my boyfriend had never done, when he pushed two of his fingers into me. He made me gasp. I don’t know whether or not I sounded like my mother when she gasped, but I don’t think I ever stopped.
His fingers found places inside of me that I hadn’t found myself, during my fantasies of being taken by a rugged, handsome man. My father played with the edges of my sex. He teased my insides and he found a spot that caused me to nearly scream out loud, except I shoved my face into the cushions to muffle my voice.
His hands went everywhere. He touched my butt and my sides. He reached up to squeeze my breasts. He wasn’t gentle, like my boyfriend was; he was deliberate and forceful. This brought sensations out of me that made me want to explode, sensations that no other man has given me ever since.
I remember my father saying my mother’s name. That’s when I realized that he didn’t know it was me that had been sleeping on the couch. I could have stopped him there, as he gave me a couple of moments to breathe while he was fumbling around with his clothes.
If somebody asked me then, why I didn’t put a stop to things, I would have said that I was too scared. That’s not the truth. I didn’t stop him because I wanted him to keep going, even though he was my own father. He’d worked me up into such frenzy that I didn’t dare stop him. After all he’d done with his hands, and in such a short amount of time, I wanted to see what else he could do to me.
I pushed my head into the cushions when I felt him pressing closer to me. Then he wouldn’t hear me cry out and be able to tell it was me. He used his fingers again to push into me. He must have understood how wet he’d gotten me, as he didn’t waste any more time. His cock hovered close to me; I could feel it there on my thigh, before it slid all the way in. My father’s hips were pressed tight against my butt. It was the most incredible feeling I’d ever had, to feel how hard and hot he was, and to discover that a man could make a woman feel this way.
When my father started rocking into me, I couldn’t help but want him over my boyfriend, because my boyfriend was so clumsy and awkward when he made love to me. My father made love to me like a man would, and not like a boy. Every time he pushed into me, I could feel him straining to get as much of himself in as he could. He wanted to reach my core, my essence, with every single stroke. I couldn’t help but drench those cushions with my wet moans every time he succeeded.
He pummeled canlı casino into me, in turn pummeling me into the couch. I heard him grunt and gasp in ways I’d never before heard from him. And when he tensed up and gripped the sides of my waist, I slipped into my first, real orgasm. My father shuddered behind me, and inside of me. I remember our moans mixing together and crowding up the house.
He didn’t stay long, once he was finished. He just picked up his clothes and made his way into his bedroom. Maybe he was tired from work, or maybe all of the frustration he felt toward my mother surfaced. He just left and that was that.
I tidied myself up and went to sleep in my room, where I should have been in the first place.
The next afternoon, one of the biggest arguments ever broke out between my mother and my father. I was in the living room, talking on the phone with my boyfriend when it happened.
My father must have mentioned how he’d had such a good time the previous night to my mother, still not realizing that it was really me he’d slept with. My mother, and I suppose rightly so, blew up at him and accused him of sleeping with some woman at the bar. The argument got bad enough that the neighbors were privy to hearing their raised voices and the clamor of broken dishes. Before things got any worse, I left the house and went over to my boyfriend’s.
Certainly, my father was not a stupid man. After a few days passed, he figured out not only that he’d slept with another woman, but that the other woman was me. He never said a word about it to anyone, as far as I know. He certainly didn’t bring it up to me. Who could speculate what sort of shame would have fallen upon his head, if such a scandal were ever publicized in our close-knit, highly conservative neighborhood?
I tried to be pacified by my boyfriend, but he was so bland and he had no imagination whatsoever. He wouldn’t put a hand on me when we went to the movies, unless I forced him to. He never went past the same missionary style of having sex, with the same motions and the same length of time, and the same attitude. Even though we had sex and somewhat enjoyed it, it was still some sort of sin for him. My boyfriend felt he had to feel guilty about it until the next time we got together. I needed more excitement than the little my boyfriend was giving me.
I don’t think anybody sees their parents as being sexual, unless the parents are somehow blatant about their sexuality. I know I didn’t see my father that way before that night. Something inside of me changed, however, and I started looking at him differently. Here I was, wanting a strong, manly figure to come into my life and take me. And here this man, my own father, had done just that. I stopped fantasizing about the men on the covers of the romance novels, and I started fantasizing about him. I wanted him to take me again, but I wasn’t going to tell him. I was much too shy for that.
Instead, I started sleeping on the couch, on nights when my mother had already gone off for work. My father would come in, and through the light from the porch he would discover that someone was sleeping on the couch. I wonder what thoughts ran through his mind when he saw a person there. I know that my father had trouble keeping up with my mother’s schedule at the bakery, because it changed so often whenever a big order was being prepared for a customer. Sometimes it changed in the middle of the week. He could have imagined it was my mother on the couch or that it was me. He never laid a finger on me as he had that first night, at least not at first. I was starting to wonder if I should change tactics on him, when he finally made the bold move I was hoping he’d make.
My father came home from work one night, and I was there on the couch. He must have stood there for a few moments, in the doorway. He let the light from the porch brighten up part of the living room, long enough to realize that I was there. Then he shut the door and locked up as he always did. My father started his little journey across the living room. Unlike other nights, he must have paused there in the dark, to think about things. This time, his resolve came out in my favor.
I know he slid my legs off the couch again and moved me around. I ended up in a leaning-back position, with my thighs and half my butt hanging off the couch. My lower back was on the cushions, and my upper back and head curved against the backrest. I was just rousing up, when I felt my father’s hands sliding across my thighs and towards my middle. He was in a sort of rush, probably because he was afraid of getting caught by my mother. But as I mentioned, his resolve was in my favor that night, so he wasn’t going too fast.
He rubbed my sex through my panties, but he didn’t go any further until I started to respond to him. I moaned and I squirmed. I guess this let him know everything was okay on my part. Then he slid his hands over my thighs and up to my waist. His fingers went around my breasts. I wanted him to suck my kaçak casino breasts like my boyfriend did sometimes, but my father must not have been ready to take that step. From the way his hands were playing with my body, I would have let him do anything to me that night.
His fingers went back down to my middle. I must have moaned extra loud when they slipped below my panties. He rubbed my sex in a circle and he put a finger in me. My father probed around until he found that spot that made me want to scream out loud, loud enough for the whole world to hear. Then he moved away and took a moment to take off his clothes, in the dark.
I knew he’d come back when his hands found both of my knees, as my legs were still stretched out and wide open for him. His fingers slid across my thighs, getting nearer and nearer to my middle. Just the thought of him creeping forward like that, with his cock inching closer to my sex, was enough to make me writhe in anticipation.
He moved my panties aside and poked me with his finger, as if making sure my sex was still there, right before his thighs further parted my legs. His cock found me. As part of it buried itself inside of me I gasped and moaned right into my father’s face. He only had to move closer by a few more inches, before I had all of it inside my body. It felt as wonderful as it had the first time.
My father took me to a whole different dimension than my boyfriend ever did, as his body began rocking back and forth. My insides were eager for him, wet and hot. They parted for him so easily, so smoothly, and so unlike how they responded to my boyfriend. I felt his length, his form, massaging the soft tissues they came in contact with within me, setting off tingling and desire all through my body. I felt a bliss I never imagined I could have ever felt from being with a man.
I could tell when the want increased in him, when the desire for me broke through his willpower. That’s when he started rocking into me hard, throttling me against the couch so the entire couch shook. I don’t know how to explain this; but I ascended. Each thrust my father gave me pushed me higher and higher into the clouds. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any higher, he thrust into me again and again and took me to a whole new level.
I was crying out by then, loud enough that the neighbors could probably hear me, but I didn’t care. Let them hear. My father didn’t slow down a bit, either, not until he started giving me hard grunts. He lifted my legs up so that the backs of my thighs rested against his chest. My father was trying to hold himself together, as if he didn’t want to, as if he refused to climax. I both sensed and felt when he couldn’t hold back any longer. He twitched against my thighs, and inside of me his cock twitched as well, just before he spilled his hot essence into me.
My father gave himself up to his climax then, by bucking into my thighs and sex more roughly than before. His hips were slapping against my legs, and his grunts were nearly as loud as mine. Until finally, he gave me everything he had to give. He simply slipped out of me and seemed to waver there on the carpet.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to say something. But no, he simply picked up all of his clothes and went off to his bedroom.
I went into the bathroom to tidy up, before I went into my room.
Over the next few days, my father ignored me.
He looked to be making amends to my mother, as if he was trying to get back into her good graces. My mother wasn’t having any of that. Her impression was that my father was trying to kiss up to her, for having cheated on her with some tramp from the bar. I guess that was partially true, except I didn’t think of myself as a tramp. I was simply a victim of circumstance.
What I do know is that men like to have sex, even dumb ones like my boyfriend back then. If my mother wasn’t paying any attention to my father, then it was very likely that he’d go out and find that attention elsewhere. I didn’t want my father to go anywhere else. I wanted him to come to me, and after a few more nights of waiting, he did.
My mother went off to work, and I lay there on the couch waiting for my father to get home. I was still awake when he walked in. To my disappointment, he walked on by. I thought he was heading off to bed at first, until I heard him shuffling down the hall and into the bathroom. Shortly after that, I heard the shower running.
This wasn’t like him, I remember thinking. Usually, my father took a quick rinse at his job, since he ended up stinking like tuna most of the time. He changed from his work uniform into his regular clothes before he left work. This time, he was doing something different.
When he came into the living room, all the lights were still off. He must have been wearing only a towel, because when he slid over on top of me, he was fully nude and wet with cool droplets from his shower.
My father didn’t say anything, but he did kiss me. This was the first time he’d done that. He kissed me along the neck, around my face on both cheeks. Finally, he pressed his mouth against mine. These weren’t cheap kisses, either, but full-blown romantic ones, just like those from the romance novels.