My mouth gaped open in shock. Nothing could have prepared me for this.
Plastered on the side of the box was the life-size image of my father’s cock, molded from the real thing. I had seen enough of the video to begin to anticipate its shape, size, and contours without even realizing it. From behind the slightly embossed graphic was my father’s headshot, smiling in the smarmy way 90s porn stars smiled, all cheesy and definitely not sexy. What made it all the creepier was that this was my father making that face.
A violent shudder coursed through my entire body.
Sitting atop the box opening was a joyful yellow sticky note. I couldn’t make out the writing from where I was sitting, and I didn’t want to get closer in order to read it. I knew it wasn’t going to make any difference, however, as I’d already gone too far – much too far – and I got on my hands and knees and moved closer to the note.
That was when I knew. If I had had any doubt that Mr. Rawlins was correct, what was written on that little scrap of paper completely destroyed any hope of being able to hold on to my dignity.
Now you can see if you would have won the contest. I wouldn’t – at least not with my mouth. -S
My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt my stomach churn in fear and nausea. She knew! She knew I would open it!
There was so much that was stated in that note that my mind couldn’t unpack it all fast enough. She knew that I had watched at least some of the video, which meant that she knew that I had watched my father in a porno! How did she know? Did she just guess? Was she just assuming that I had watched it?
The second half of the note was equally as disturbing. She’d used it! She’d tried to deep throat the dildo, but apparently didn’t get very far. She implied that she could have taken it all somewhere else, though, but where?
What I did next is something that I will never be able to explain. I have no idea what possessed me. I had a flashback to the girl on the video who looked like Simone who had been spanked by my father before being drilled in the ass, and the same protective, visceral emotion swelled up inside of me in the moment.
Before I realized what I was doing, I opened the box and fished out the dildo, horrified that Simone had defiled it. Holding it in my hands, I realized it was sticky, and a sickening realization washed over me like an ocean wave.
She didn’t clean it, a calm, detached voice echoed inside my head.
Of course she didn’t clean it. That was all part of the plan. She knew what was going to happen, knew before I did. She knew I was weak, that I was going to open it. She knew that I would be sitting here, right now, with my hands touching her pussy secretions coating my father’s lifelike dildo.
Only the head was completely sticky. The rest of the dildo was dry, except for a streak down the underside ridge. Immediately, I realized she had gotten the head in, and then stroked the massive girth up and down her wet slit, leaving a trail in a vertical line across the shaft from tip to balls.
Did she make herself come on it? Did she make herself orgasm knowing exactly how much I would be in the palm of her hand? I suddenly had an image of her rubbing the cock against her cunt, knowing that I would figure it all out, and having her own mind-blowing orgasm. I had heard of people getting off on control, and I was convinced Simone was one of them.
I swallowed, but my throat was dry. Jesus Christ, she was living in my head, rent-free.
Holy fuck, she did own me.
Before I realized it was even happening, I was crying in huge, spiteful sobs. I couldn’t see any longer, watery rivulets of tears blinding me. I doubled over, not realizing that I was still clutching the massive sex toy in my arms like a baby doll. I felt surprisingly detached, however, as if my mind was watching my body from the inside, waiting patiently for the stress, tension and anxiety to work its way through my emotional nervous system.
Feeling numb, I lost coherence for a while, floating amidst a bobbing sensation of negative emotions as they flushed through me. I didn’t even bother to fight for control, but merely allowed it to run its course. I felt a sense of utter despair, the realization that there was no way to undo any of it. I wanted desperately to go back in time and destroy the box without opening it. My arrogance and teenage defiance only served to spite myself. I couldn’t believe that it was possible to hurt this badly, and this lesson was among the harshest. I suddenly felt very young and stupid, nowhere near the woman I had been pretending to be.
There was no way to lie about it, either. Simone obviously could read me like a cheap novel, could anticipate what I would do. This is what Mr. Rawlins had meant, and I saw it now. He had meant that Simone had already known that I would do exactly what I did, and that knowledge of me, that complete understanding of me, that is how she owned me. She knew me better than I knew myself. The only way to prove that she couldn’t reach me in that way was to not do what she knew what I would do.
But I had done it. I had proved to myself that she was the stronger person.
Once more I grew angry at Mr. Rawlins. Why couldn’t he have just told me this in the first place? Why did he have to play these kinds of games?
Because he didn’t know what Simone knew, you idiot.
I began calming down, only to find myself gripping the dildo tightly in my hands. I looked down at it, and realized that neither of my tiny hands could adequately wrap around its girth, and even holding them so that the fingers didn’t touch at all there was still room at the top and bottom. I had watched several chapters in the video but had failed to comprehend exactly how huge it was in real life.
There’s no way I could –
With a start I recoiled, throwing the toy to the ground, releasing it with my hands thrust outward, fingers splayed just like I had received an unpleasant electric shock. I was holding onto a replica of my father’s cock!
It landed on the carpet with a soft thud, bounced once, and rested mere inches away from me. I stared at it, unable to tear my eyes away from its monstrous size. It was hard to imagine something like that could be attached to a real human being, much less my father. My mind began to mull over the implications of everything that had happened, and I began to realize that I couldn’t simply leave it lying on the floor. My mother would see it, and – oh god, what would she think?
Don’t think about it, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think…
Grimacing, I reached over and picked up the dildo and grabbed it. Standing up quickly I dashed into the bathroom, threw it into the sink (it didn’t quite fit), and turned the water on. Soon the hot steam began to rise from the basin and I watched as it showered over the silicone. I screwed up my face in determination, put some soap on my hands, picked up the cock and began to lather it.
I had never used a sex toy before, much less cleaned one, so I did the best I could. Soon it became obvious that the best way to clean it was to, in effect, give it a handjob.
Thing is, it was so big that it was difficult to handle. I found that I couldn’t quite get my hand far enough around the girth to clean it properly, and had to turn it over and around several times. More than once I began to wish that I had an additional hand so that I could get a better grip on the damn thing.
As I cleaned it, my hands began to find a natural rhythm, however. Before long, I began to feel the contours of its shape as it crossed over my palms, my fingertips passing over the fake veins in the texturized silicone. Attempting to be thorough, I reached down to the fake balls which were unpleasantly hard, and not what I was expecting at all. I didn’t really like them very much. In the video they looked much more pliable –
I swallowed, the realization of where my mind was headed creating confusion and discomfort. I wasn’t sure when I had lost myself in the moment so completely, but to my horror I came to realize that I had completely normalized touching my father’s likeness without shame or guilt – even if only for a few moments.
Could I… could I have been enjoying it? Even a little? Just… what… was I thinking about, anyway?
Thinking about it made me feel queasy. I tried to imagine I was doing nothing more than washing dishes, with no more emotional attachment than I would to a plate or a drinking glass. I tried humming to myself, wracking my brain for a song – any song – to latch onto and distract me. However, unlike those moments when you get a song in your head that you can’t get rid of, this time nothing at all came to mind. Desperate, I droned a tuneless song.
It worked enough to let me get through the job at hand, so to speak. Taking a towel I patted the toy down to dry.
This is no toy, this is serious business! The joke just popped into my head, unbidden.
The absurdity of it all took hold of me. For no reason I could think of I burst out into laughter, even putting my head down on my forearms on the edge of the sink. The laughter came in huge, expulsive guffaws, my eyes squeezing shut so hard that the watery residue from tears mixed in so that I didn’t know which was which.
Slowly I started to realize that the laughter wasn’t really laughter. The barking guffaws were giant sobs, the tears of laughter were actually tears of pain. I was so upset that I couldn’t even tell the difference at first, but now there was no longer any confusion about my true emotional state. After a time my crying went silent, the air in my lungs expelled to the point where I didn’t even have enough to make a sound.
Oh god, I thought. I’m losing it!
“Shanny? Are you in there?”
My mother’s voice shocked me back into the real world. Thank God I had shut the bathroom door!
“Yes,” I croaked. What was she doing home? She wasn’t due for hours!
“Can you hurry up in there?”
“I’ll be right out,” I shouted, perhaps a little too loudly. My heart raced in a panic. How the hell was I going to hide this? I could’t just walk out of the bathroom swinging a giant dildo around.
A crazy thought went through my head. Would my mother recognize it?
I didn’t have time to contemplate that, or all that it implied. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions. I needed a place to hide this damn thing. I opened every cabinet in the bathroom, but there was nowhere that a part of this thing wouldn’t lewdly stick out in an obvious fashion.
Finally, in a moment of sheer desperation, I took the top off the toilet tank and tried to stuff the penis in and around the plumbing. There wasn’t much room, but it seemed to fit. Barely.
Gingerly, I replaced the tank lid, trying not to make any noise that would alert my mother to what I had just done.
I opened the door and my mother waited patiently for me to step out. “Thanks, honey,” she said, “I wasn’t feeling well so I – Shannon! What’s wrong?”
With my pale skin, there was never going to be a way I could hide the red eyes and blush across my nose and cheeks. Thinking quickly, I lied to my mother.
“I stubbed my toe really hard,” I said, making a show of stretching out my foot and flexing my toes to show that they weren’t broken. If they had been, my mother would have likely panicked as well and insisted that I go to the hospital.
“Oh sweetie,” she said, genuinely concerned. “You are such a klutz.” I knew that my mother was relieved that I wasn’t seriously hurt, but also a bit disappointed that I hadn’t inherited any of her gracefulness. Even years of ballet only served to reinforce that I didn’t have the talent or coordination that she had in droves.
Her face softened into that pitying look that I had seen so often in my life. Then, she said, “As I was saying, I left work not feeling too well, and I really just want a long, hot bath before going to bed.”
I swallowed and nodded. She closed the door, and I went back into my room. Realizing that today’s charity loot still littered my floor, I began clearing everything away and throwing everything under my bed, mentally reminding myself to go back and clear it all out later before my mother decided – for whatever reason – to check under there.
Most of the knick-knacks had been successfully hidden when I heard an exasperated scream from the bathroom. My blood froze.
Oh shit!
I peered out of my bedroom, and looked at the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” I called.
The door flew open, and my mother stormed out. “Now the toilet doesn’t want to stop flushing. I can’t believe how bad today is.” She began to walk down the hall.
“Where are you going?” I asked, confused.
She turned back to me and dramatically threw her hands into the air. “I have to call the plumber now, don’t I?” she explained.
It would be an understatement to say that my mother is not mechanically inclined. She once referred to a hammer as “that poundy-thingy.”
I watched her turn the corner and didn’t waste any time. I raced into the bathroom, took off the lid, and extracted the giant dildo from the tank. The one thing I hadn’t counted on was that the plunging mechanism would get caught and fail to seal properly when my mother flushed. I replaced the lid and peeked around the doorframe, trying to locate my mother. To my horror I heard my mother on the phone in the other room, but her voice was getting closer.
Without thinking I rubbed the wet dildo across my jeans to get most of the water off, and threw the dildo across the hallway and into my bedroom. I could not have practiced a better shot. The massive penis hit the edge of my bed, bounced upwards, and then landed dead center on the bedspread in plain view. I tried not to think about how I had just dragged my father’s fake cock across my thighs.
“Well, I don’t know,” my mother was saying into her cell phone. “I’m not the plumber, you are!”
She stood in front of me, phone up to her ear. Behind her, in plain view, was the dildo. If my mother even so much as turned around, she would clearly see what was in my room, it’s shape and form unmistakeable from this distance. Without realizing it, I held my breath.
Behind me, the toilet stopped, and the bathroom was silent. My mother, confused, looked at me, and then said, “What happened?”
I shrugged, and said, “I jiggled the handle.”
A look of utter pride came over my mother’s face. “Never mind,” she said into the phone. “My daughter can obviously figure it out better than you can.”
Normally, I would have been slightly miffed at what my mother said, but at this point it felt like a good idea just to keep my mouth shut.
She hung up the phone, and then gave me a huge hug. “Oh Shannon,” she said. “My little genius.”
Torn between the mild amusement of my mother’s ineptitude over common household problems and the sheer panic of her finding out what was on my bed just behind her, all I could do was stand there with my eyes wide and breath caught in my throat.
She started to turn around, but I caught her by the arm. “Mom,” I said, and she looked up at me. “Why don’t you run your bath. I’ll go make you some hot tea.”
She smiled, and nodded. Moving past me, she bent over the tub to turn the faucet handles on. I raced into the bedroom as she began talking about how much she was looking forward to this.
I grabbed the dildo and frantically looked around the room for a place to shove it, but uncertain as to what to do. I only had a few seconds. I yanked the pillow off the bed and stuffed the dong into the pillowcase and placed it back on the bed with the soft side up. It looked only slightly larger than usual, and I doubted my mother would perceive any difference.
I finished not a moment too soon, as it turned out. My mother popped her head into my doorway. “Tension soother,” she said.
“Hmm?” I asked, turning around. If I looked half as guilty as I felt, she’d surely have noticed something was up.
“I’d like Tension Soother tea, please,” she said.
“Oh, sure,” I said, and walked out of my room, past her, and into the kitchen.
The teapot began to boil and I began to mull over the events of the past week. Given the comical and slapstick nature of the day, I began to think about how my mother and my father made such an unlikely couple. Well, at least for the short time they were a couple.
My mother was not the brightest bulb in the box, which is one of the reasons why she needed me so much, and probably why my father never married her. I don’t know what it was like back then, back in the last century, but I remember people talking about needing to get married when the girl got pregnant at some point. Whether it was common or not, my parents never married.
Despite her obvious lack of mental achievements, my mother was very sweet. She managed to find that her ditzy persona attracted a certain type of man, but to her credit she realized that none of them would be good father-figures for me growing up. From a young age I became my mother’s fact-checker, an easy role for me to play as my bookish, shy nature and natural skepticism led me to keep potential bad elements from taking advantage of an attractive single mother who wasn’t all that bright.
By the time I was seven years old I knew my mother was stunningly beautiful and saw that she used it to her full advantage. She had made men her lifetime occupation, managing to attract, keep, and be supported by various men throughout my entire life. We were never rich, but we were never poor, either. I always had a suspicion that she managed, somehow, to get ‘donations’ from her boyfriends at crucial times, but I never asked her about it.
In a way, she was everything that I wanted to be. She seemed absolutely perfect: graceful, dancer’s body, beautiful waspish face, full, natural breasts, and – of course – perfect eyesight. Plus, she had a personality that was friendly and approachable, which made it very hard not to like her. She loved to call herself a ‘girly-girl,” and thoroughly embraced her femininity, with all the benefits that implied.
You would have thought that after years of watching my mother flirt to get what she needed or wanted – especially from workers who came to fix the house for silly things like a jiggly toilet handle, that some of this would have wore off on me. Nothing could be further from the truth.
My mother, bless her, had tried for years to teach me in the art of flirtation, but it never seemed to work. If I ever got up enough courage to flirt with a cute boy, or was misfortunate enough to have my mother pick one out for me, it always ended up in a complete disaster. All elbows and knees, I felt like I was holding my skinny body together through sheer will as I walked awkwardly over to introduce myself to some boy. I always felt like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, with my obvious joints and stiff limbs.
Worse, I’d fidget. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, or how to hold my weight over my hip, which meant that I was constantly moving. I would shift from side to side, brush my thin, stringy hair out of my face, and push my glasses back up my nose. Even at the time I was doing it I knew I was the anti-sexy girl, and nine-times-out-of-ten I aborted the attempt at the last second. I got to be somewhat good trying to make up last-minute request for directions. I don’t think I was fooling anyone, really.
I took the tea from the kitchen and brought it back to the bathroom, where my mother was sitting on the side of the tub, swirling the bubbles around. She had removed her clothes, leaving her matching bra and panties on while the bath water climbed to a temperature she liked.
“Here’s some tea,” I said, and offered her the cup.
She smiled, and stood up to come take it from me. As she did, I couldn’t help but notice – again – how much I wish I had what she had. To me, she was perfect. Long, brown hair fell across her shoulders and down her back. Her perfectly toned body and teardrop shaped breasts that hung in a dark flowered bra seemed to defy gravity. Her matching panties sat low across her hips, pulled across a thin, flat stomach. My mother had always kept her figure and, even pushing forty, no one would ever know. On more than one occasion she had been confused for my sister, but most of the time very few people recognized us as related at all.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, and I finally heard the congested tone of her voice. She was at the beginning stages of a cold, and the bath was probably a very good idea. Involuntarily I took a step back while holding out the cup of tea so that I didn’t catch whatever she had.
“Probably a good idea,” she said. “Nothing feels better than a hot bath and a hot cup of tea. You should do this too.”
“I’m feeling okay,” I said.
She smiled as she took a sip. “Who said anything about needing to be sick to enjoy a hot bath and cup of tea?”
She winked, and then closed the door. A moment later I heard the water swishing around again, and then the faucet turned off. I returned back to my room, hunting down anything I might have left out that would incriminate me.
I felt a bit of the rebellious nature rise inside me once more. I didn’t know what I was afraid of, after all. My mother wasn’t the type of person to freak if she caught me with a sex toy in my room. Hell, she might have even congratulated me for loosening up a little!
Come to think of it, maybe that was the reason why I didn’t want to let her know. My mother had always tried to get me to “learn my femininity,” use it as a tool for getting what I wanted out of life. As I put the cards in boxes and the stuffed toys into my closet, I happened to look up to see the hanging clothes that my mother had given me over the past couple years to “encourage” my feminine side.
Thing is, my mother couldn’t seem to understand that flattering, sexy clothing wasn’t entirely school-appropriate, and even if it was I simply couldn’t wear the clothes she thought were “so cute.” My mother’s natural curves had conditioned her to look for clothing that emphasized breasts – breasts that I didn’t really have. I looked at myself in the mirror, and frowned at the skinny girl in glasses in a plain white undershirt. The small, soft mounds on my chest barely seemed to register even when I turned sideways.
The only useful thing about them, it seemed, was my extremely sensitive nipples which seemed to grow hard the second they were touched, even by the t-shirt. Right now, for instance, they were jutting straight out, hard, and aroused. In fact, it was the only reason why I needed to wear a bra at all, or else I’d walk around feeling a nipple buzz and projecting them for all the world to see.
Knowing that I was going to probably regret it, I pulled off a set of bra and panties lingerie that my mother had gotten me for my previous birthday. On the hanger, they looked promising, even enticing. The panties had a mesh lace in front with a stretchy sheer fabric across the ass, and the matching bra mixed the fabrics so that the breasts were encased in a thin, sheer nylon with lace patterns across the nipples.
When I had opened the present, my mother squealed with delight, clapping her hands together like a hyperactive cheerleader. “Oh Shanny, they’ll look so gorgeous on you!”
Despite my mother’s enthusiasm, at the time I was hit with an instant bout of depression. I hadn’t even tried them on, and yet I knew that they wouldn’t fit. Somehow, without even giving them a chance, I knew that my tiny, skinny body would make even something this beautiful look like a mistake.
“Michelle,” one of her friends said in a scolding tone. “Is that really appropriate?” My birthday party was attended by most of her friends, not mine, something that I was quite grateful for now that I had just unboxed some pretty sheer lingerie.
“Oh please,” my mother said dismissively. “She’s eighteen now, and it’s about time she started making the move into womanhood.” She shimmied her shoulders to emphasize the word “move.”
Her friend rolled her eyes.
“Besides, a girl should look and feel sexy, even if no one else knows why,” my mother continued.
“Thank you! I can’t wait to try them on,” I lied, pasting a fake smile on my face.
“Do it now, do it now!” my mother squeaked.
My heart jumped into my throat. “Maybe later,” I said, looking around. “It would be rude to leave everyone now, don’t you think?” I whispered conspiratorially to her. She smiled and nodded, seeing my point. I could see she was a bit disappointed and probably wouldn’t let it go later on.
To my surprise, however, she did let it go. In fact, she never brought it up again. The lingerie hung in my closet since my birthday, never seeing the light of day… until now.
I took the hanger over to the mirror in my room, and removed some of the clothes that were draped over it. I rarely used it, so it had become something of a clothes rack. Standing in front of the mirror, I held the bra up to my white t-shirt, trying to imagine what it might look like. Similarly, I held the panties up, but with my current underwear covered in unicorns and faeries it was too difficult to imagine anything sexy about them.
“Shannon?” my mother called from the bathroom. I hung up the clothes on the mirror and went out into the hall.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Honey, can you make some soup for dinner? I’m just going to have a little bit and then go to bed.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Thanks, baby,” she called after me.
An hour later my mother was tucked into bed, fed with some canned chicken noodle soup, and I was standing back in front of the mirror with the lingerie. I had never tried them on – had never tried on any lingerie, in fact – and I didn’t understand what the big deal was. Yes, they were pretty, and the fabric felt good across my fingertips, but after all it was just underwear.
I put the hanger back into the closet, and thought about my hidden VCR and the treasure within. I debated about whether or not to risk setting it up, as I hadn’t dared do it when my mom was home before. I was feeling an itch, though, and felt a strong desire to scratch. I chewed on my lip for a couple of minutes.
“Fuck it.”
I went to my bedroom door and peered down the hall to my mother’s room. The soup and some cold medication had done the trick, and she was out like a light. I closed my door and began connecting the VCR back up to my TV.
I threw myself upon my bed, almost giddy with excitement. Before I had even hit “play” on the remote, I was already touching my pussy lips through the cotton fabric underwear. I thought about the lingerie in the closet, and confirmed that I didn’t need it. I liked the feeling of fresh cotton against my skin. I loved how soft it felt, and it made me feel comfortable.
Even through the cotton, though, I felt my lips had distended and a hot dampness surround my fingers. I was more primed and ready than I had thought.
The screen came to life, but this time instead of a girl talking to the producer, my father’s face filled the screen in a close-up. He sported a goofy grin, more than a little smarmy, and he cocked a wicked eyebrow towards the camera.
“You ready for this next one, Rod?” the producer asked.
“Always,” my father drawled.
“What kind of woman do you think is next?”
My father thought for a moment, looking up and to the side as I’ve seen him do so many times when he was thinking. “I think you’ve got a redhead waiting back there” he said, finally.
The producer laughed. “Well, you’re partially right,” she said. “Come on out!”
The camera started off at the floor and began to pan up. Four-inch stilettos on impossibly tiny feet began to walk towards the camera, and slowly panned up two of the thinnest pairs of legs I’d ever seen. The camera pulled back to reveal the girl, and I gasped.
A skinny, flat-chested punk girl with a bright red mohawk sitting on an otherwise shaved skull sauntered into view. Aside from the stilettos, the only thing she wore was a black bra and panty set, attached to a garter belt to sheer nylons. Well, that and an ivy vine tattoo that crawled up from her ankle and wound around her leg all the way up to her shoulder. It was a gorgeous tattoo, and it was bad ass.
The part that grabbed me, though, was that the girl was as skinny as I was, with a chest about the same size as mine, but all attitude.
Everything I had ever thought about myself being unsexy because I was skinny suddenly went out the window. This girl commanded every step, worked every sexual muscle in her body. Cockiness echoed off the floor with each step, and pure sexuality surrounded her like an aura.
No other girl in the video had had such a commanding presence, and even my father seemed taken aback by this girl’s confidence. Every movement she made was driven and purposeful, even though she moved slowly across the room. There was nothing soft or demure about her; the was practically feral.
She slinked next to my father and sat next to him, crossing her legs seductively. My father dwarfed her, physically, but he recoiled in just the slightest way when she reached for him. She draped her hand across his bare chest, and slid it down his tight abs, smiling at the sensation. When she finally got to the meat inside his briefs, she growled.
“This’ll be fun,” she said. Coming from her, it sounded almost like a torturer preparing for an interrogation. Her hand seemed microscopic compared to the bulge underneath. She looked at his face and smiled, leaned into him and took his lower lip in her mouth. She bit the lip, a little more than playfully, and then in a slow, exaggerated movement she stuck out her tongue and licked under his chin back up to his mouth.
When I saw the tongue stud, I shuddered. How could she find room in her mouth for his cock with that in her tongue?
Then it hit me. “Ohhhh,” I said out loud, comprehension dawning.
She pulled away, slightly, still keeping her hand on his cock, but with her free hand she pulled the bra aside and exposed a nipple. Grabbing the back of my father’s head, she drew him to it, and he sucked, tugged, and pulled at it like a man obsessed.
I stared, dumbfounded. This girl not only was completely in charge, but she had none of the features I thought you had to have to get a man to want you, and he was loving it.
I had been convinced that no man would ever want to come near my chest, skinny and underdeveloped as it is. Yet now, everything I thought I knew about what sexy could mean was tossed out the window.
“Yes! Bite it, take it in your teeth!” she hissed, and he did. Her hips jerked forward, and it didn’t look fake to me at all. I raised a hand to one of my breasts and tweaked the nipple as hard as I could stand, hoping to mimic the pressure he was placing on hers. I didn’t get anywhere close to it, though, as my breasts were far too sensitive for that kind of abuse.
I did feel a strong connection with my pussy, however, and once I released my nipple a strong pleasurable sensation enveloped it. Curious, I pinched again, a little harder, and upon releasing it I felt an even greater sexual relief. Also again I felt a strong rush between my legs. This was new!
The girl’s bright red hair – spiked, naturally – jerked with her head whenever he struck a particularly “good” spot on her chest. She kept his head pressed to her chest, refusing to let him extract himself.
Once more I marveled at the girl, how she was able to use her breasts even though she had none to speak of. I ripped off my t-shirt, exposing my own tits into the air, and felt them with both of my hands. For the first time in my life I was bigger than “the sexy girl,” and it confused me. All my expectations were now changed, and I stole a glance at the lingerie in the closet with a new curiosity.
Suddenly the punk girl stood up and stepped in front of my father, her legs spread apart and looking straight at the camera. With a swift motion of her hand, the bra sprung open, revealing… nothing. Her body was tight, muscular, and very thin. Once more i saw strong similarities with her body type and my own.
She looked down at the reddened area surrounding the manipulated nipple, encircled it with her thumb and forefinger, and gave the camera a sneer.
Once more I pinched my nipples – both of them, this time – and held on for as long as I could stand it. When I let go, I had an overwhelming desire to have them sucked on as the pleasurable sensation flushed through my body like a tidal wave. I was convinced that if someone has started sucking on my tits right then I would have come without ever touching my pussy. I wished that I could reach my nipples with my mouth, but there was no way. I huffed in frustration.
Punk Girl turned around, and shifted her weight so that her impossibly tiny ass perked into two little bubble globes, split by the thinnest of thongs. She pulled my father up off the bed and placed him next to her so that the camera could see them both. There, compared to my father’s large frame, she appeared practically Lilliputian.
Even so, she was nowhere near intimidated. “Oh, you are so in trouble,” she said, again with a sneer.
Her hands reached up his thighs, and he took a step closer. One hand snaked in between his legs and cupped his ass, then violently pulled him towards her. She pressed the bulge of his cock against the side of her face, forcing it into his cock before closing her eyes in joyous rapture. Each movement was sharp, then luxuriously slow, a stop-start cadence that kept my father off balance.
Still holding his ass, and keeping his pelvis practically immobile, she yanked down his underwear. If her face hadn’t been pressed up against him, his dick would have sprung free, but it just pointed straight down as it pushed strongly against her cheek. She never opened her eyes. Instead she immediately began rubbing her face into his groin as if she were washing it with his flesh.
With her free hand, she took hold of his cock and pulled it aside, lathering his balls with her studded tongue. The camera zoomed in closer to get a better look at what she was doing, but her movements were too erratic to follow any kind of true pattern. She licked him all over his balls, getting everything so wet it practically drooled when she moved on. She began to bathe the base of his cock with her tongue next, working her way from the bottom.
This is new, I thought to myself again, one hand staying on a breast and lowering the other between my legs. I was beginning to ache, wanted to be touched in the worst possible way. I was determined, however, not to do it until she at least tried to take him orally. I knew the anticipation would be worth it, even if Punk Girl had no chance in hell of fitting my dad’s cock into her mouth.
There was no denying that she was incredible to watch, however. She constantly changed up her pace, alternating between fast and slow, tracing her way around the circumference of my dad’s prick until she started approaching the head. My hand hovered above my clit, ready to extinguish the fire there with a single press of a fingertip.
For all the vigor that she attacked the shaft, it was nothing compared to what she did to his head. She kissed and licked the knob with gusto, the shiny stud flashing wet in the studio lights. When she was done, a single trail of saliva draped from the tip to her tongue, which she held out in front of her.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Never looking at the camera and focusing intently on the head, she began to close in on it. Her tongue rested on the underside of the glans and then slid forwards as her mouth began to open to take him in.
I touched my clit at that moment, but almost instantly stopped.
I watched as Punk Girl, the skinny little bitch smaller than me, began to absorb my father’s cock into her mouth. Her jaw opened, and seemed to keep opening, and in what seemed like a heartbeat the head disappeared behind her lips. So far only one other girl had gotten this far, and had a tremendous difficulty in accomplishing this milestone. Punk Girl, however, was completely in control.
The first inch of my father’s cock past the head was now gone, then another, and another. Punk Girl had no signs of slowing or stopping, though, and before long she had taken half of my father’s cock into her throat. I watched in awe as this girl made the impossible look easy.
Another inch, then one more. She was now three-quarters of the way down. In the first sign of any struggle, she squeezed her eyes tight, hitting some internal blockade. She wrapped her free hand around her lips, and began to pull back off the giant penis. When she finally was able to come up for air, I gaped at the amount she had managed to accomplish. Her fingers, still situated around the base of his cock, told an amazing tale.
Remembering that I had hid the dildo under my pillow, I fished it out and looked at it in amazement, mentally comparing the size of the object in my hand with how far Punk Girl had gone. I fumbled for the remote and paused the video, which jumped between frames in that annoying way that VHS tapes did from time to time.
I held the dildo in my hand, completely forgetting the horror and awkwardness of only a few hours ago. I mentally checked off rough inches from the head down the shaft, stopping to where I guessed Punk Girl had bottomed out. I estimated that she had managed more than seven inches, but given the girth of the cock, it was a truly impressive feat.
Dropping the dildo I reached for the remote one more time, and pressed “play.”
As shocked as I was at her ability to take him as far as she did, what happened next floored me. She took him in her mouth once more, but now having felt him inside her throat, she knew how to gauge her limits and began to deep throat him back and forth.
It was like deep-throating one of those really large beer cans.
In what was apparently a superhuman ability in muscle control, this tiny girl had complete mastery over my father. I watched as his ass muscles clenched and squeezed, but her arm kept his pelvis secure so that he didn’t buck into her throat and choke her.
I resumed playing with myself, stuffing my hand down my panties. I stole a glance at my underwear and watched the fairies and unicorns dance across the back of my hand. Before, I had pretended that I was making the fantastical creatures move playfully across the cotton, but now such “girly” fantasies seemed out of place. I looked back at the screen.
Punk Girl – as she would forever be known in my head – was like me, but she wasn’t like me. Put us side by side naked, and we could have been practically twins if it weren’t for her wild hair. Side by side, though, and you would see day-and-night differences. She was all attitude, and I was a complete mouse.
I began to feel anger rising inside, mixed with the unbridled horniness. Why hadn’t anyone told me I could be like that? I thought, as if it was something that anyone could have taught me. Or that I would have listened, anyway.
I kept looking back and forth between Punk Girl devouring my father’s cock and my own hand underneath my underwear.
My cotton underwear. With unicorns and faeries.
I tried to imagine Punk Girl in white cotton undies with unicorns and faeries. I just couldn’t do it. She was beyond such girly things.
Why wasn’t I beyond such things? My mother had certainly tried her best to bring me into womanhood. I had been at fault this whole time.
Punk Girl suddenly moved on the screen, leaping to her feet. My eyes flew to the action, my mouth dropped open, and my fingers froze mid-fap.
Once she was on her feet, she leapt onto my father. She must have weighed as light as a feather to him, and he caught her with ease. His giant dick, mostly wet with her saliva (but not all of it, I noted), jutted underneath her tiny ass.
As he held her, she reached between her legs and grabbed it, and stuffed the head into her pussy. “Fuck yes!” she growled. “Give me that beast!”
It was cheesy, and it was typical porn dialogue. Coming from her, though, it actually sounded completely appropriate. The look on her face was absolutely ferocious. She steadied herself, and wrapped her legs around my Daddy’s waist, and with a sudden squeeze of her thighs she slammed herself down. As he bottomed out, she screamed in primal satisfaction.
I watched in paralyzed fascination as her pussy compressed onto his pelvis. Somehow, in some way, his monstrosity was embedded entirely inside Punk Girl’s tiny body. Not a single centimeter, not one millimeter, of his cock was showing.
Everything stopped. The look on my father’s face was priceless. It was a mixture of surprise, pain, and… glory. Punk Girl gripped him tightly, with her arms and legs clawing onto him and holding him close to her. She looked like a sexual version of a Face Hugger from Alien, in her own way. There was no way he was going to be able to extract her from his body.
Somewhere, off camera, I heard a crew member say, “Oh my God!” It was faint, but audible.
Punk Girl was breathing heavily, which didn’t surprise me. I could not believe that I… I mean, she, could take him all into her body like that. I looked back at the pillow which poorly hid the behemoth toy, and tried to imagine it fitting inside of my own body. The thought of it ramming tip to hilt in one motion made me shudder in fear.
And yet, that’s exactly what she had done. She may not have deep-throated him, but so far she was the only one to actually consume his dick all the way.
Then she started to move. I’m not saying that she wiggled, nor shimmied, nor anything small and controlled. She started to hump him, her legs flexing and contracting faster than I ever thought possible, his cock emerging and then disappearing into her too quick to follow.
My father was long enough and big enough to give her stability as she chaotically fucked him, a rail to guide her fleshy channel. Her wild red mohawk flailed about as she raged against his body.
My fingers had found their spot again, and I was rubbing furiously. It wasn’t quite in time with Punk Girl – there was nothing that could match that! – but I pounded away at my own flesh.
My emotions were all over the place. I found myself getting more frustrated, more angry at myself. I saw this girl, and it was impossible not to see myself as a spiritual cousin to her. She could have been me in another life, in another attitude. Her face looked nothing like me, but I could place my body, my physique, mapped onto hers.
When I looked down at my hand in my underwear, now darkened and sopping wet with my own fluids, I hated it. Unicorns? Faeries? Are you fucking kidding me?
I pulled my hand from underneath and, taking the fabric with both hands, I pulled with all the strength my skinny, weak arms could muster. Wet cotton fabric is easy to tear, however, and the fabric tore almost immediately, decapitating a few fantastical creatures in the process.
My pussy lips, red and distended, were now free. It felt like they approved of my actions. Glistening and throbbing, demanding attention, my clit ready to be assaulted, as if to say, it’s about time, bitch!
I pawed at my pussy with a new vigor, and was instantly rewarded with a shocking orgasm. I felt it in my spine, and my ass clenched in glee as the rhythms of the orgasm pounded into me like ocean waves.
More! More! I felt my clit tell me, so I obliged.
Punk Girl was screaming in joy as she rode through her multiple orgasms. Every time she came, she arched her back, pressing her groin into his. Her tiny nipples seemed to point straight into the sky, and my father leaned forward to take one in his teeth. She came again. I came again.
And again. She arched. I lifted my ass off the bed for some reason as mine hit. It made no sense because there was nothing there, but I wanted to push against something with my pelvis. I was having orgasms too, but I really, really, really wanted to fuck something.
Something.
I looked at the pillow.
No! a voice screamed, from somewhere… far away.
That’s when I heard my father’s breathing on the video. It was growing strained, more guttural. I turned my attention back to the video and saw Punk Girl grinning sardonically.
Lying on my bed, my legs were jelly. She, on the other hand, effortlessly, pulled herself off of my Daddy’s dick, and grabbed it with one hand while still staying locked to his torso. Despite my sexual focus, I still marveled at her muscle control.
Once again, she had his cock in her hand, stroking it. On her tiny body, the head came to her tits. It was impossible not to wonder how the fuck did she get that thing inside of her.
“Give it to me,” she snarled. “Come on! Give it to me!”
I raised my hips into the air again, my fingers fucking my own hole. I wanted him to give it to her too.
He did. That marvelous cock…
Did I just think that?
… erupted onto her body. Within seconds her neck, chin, and chest were coated.
My own free hand found my chest, and I ran it across my flat breasts until it found the nipple. I squeezed as hard as I could, and my world became a turbulent whirlwind. I felt like I was on fire, the searing pain/pleasure of my nipple being squeezed, the grasping of my pussy attempting to amputate my fingers, my clit throbbing in approval.
I rolled over on the bed and bit into the pillow to stifle my screams and breathing. I couldn’t afford to wake my mother and have her find me like this. Without looking, my hand flopped on the bed to find the remote. A little fumbling, and I found the “stop” button. The porno went to black.
Then, so did my world.