East Texas Whore Ch. 03

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My father had rudely interrupted my morning.

I had just returned from having sex with a client. It was my first act of prostitution in what felt like ages, and I was totally satisfied with the experience. In fact, on the drive back that morning I was thinking it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to make a little extra money whoring on a more regular basis, as long as I didn’t overdo it.

Let’s face it, I was no spring chicken and whoring was not an option that would be available to me much longer. I might make decent money at it for another five years, but I in no way saw myself whoring into my 40s.

But with my father there in the parking lot, nursing a hard-on for me and admiring my tight outfit more than a daddy should, all those thoughts evaporated, and I thought to myself that it was a good thing I took a shower before I left my client’s residence.

“Daddy, you don’t want to do this,” I insisted. “This isn’t you. You’re just all worked up because I taunted you, and I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

He moved his hand from my hip to my bottom, squeezing my broad butt cheek. He leaned into me enough that I felt the knuckles of his other hand moving against my abdomen; the other side of that hand was squeezing his penis.

Ewww! I thought, This isn’t even remotely exciting me. Fucking my father-in-law is one thing, but my own father?

“What do you say, Terri?” daddy asked. “Your papa puts in a good word with your children, smooths over those hard feelings, and you show your papa what a nasty girl you are.”

“Daddy, stop it!” I was feeling guilty for inciting him to this. “This isn’t you talking. You’re a good man. Mama, she’s the only woman you ever had sex with in your whole life!”

“That may be true, yes, … ” he started.

“Not maybe. Not maybe. It’s a fact,” I insisted.

“But we haven’t been intimate in six years,” he said.

“Uhhh, too much information! And don’t you need to work that out with her?” I reached down and pulled his hand away from my butt and took a step back.

He frowned and his expression transformed to agitation.

“Why are you being hard to get? Aren’t you the one who can’t get enough of this?” he asked as he shook his hand on his penis. “How is it you can open your legs for every other man in this county but you get all righteous with your own father who has needs too!”

I was feeling sorry for him, but I still didn’t want to fuck – not even remotely interested.

“Pa, all this talk about making my babies like me again, it’s bullshit. You can’t take back what you said to them. You can’t turn them on and off like they are toys. They hate me! They hate me! That’s, that’s a thing that will take years to change, if it ever does change. So, don’t come round here telling me you NEED to fuck me! I’m not the only whore in Liberty County.”

“You, YOU! are the only whore that I want!” he shouted as he shook a finger at me. And tears welled up in the eyes of his contorted face.

It made sense that he would fantasize about me, after all the crap that I had pulled. I wanted to be understanding, but this whole situation was so fucking weird. I felt like our little parking lot drama was stuck in black and white. I was some dark, malignant she-devil and he was this poor, mortally wounded old white knight.

I remembered the beating he gave me when he found out that I was whoring. It was so vivid in my mind. The weeks that passed when it was so hard to get out of bed because of the broken ribs he gave me. I remember the expression on his face when he beat me.

He was so hurt, so completely devastated. And now he needed me, in a sick way, but he had come to me seeking relief.

That look in his eyes now, it was years in the making, and it was my doing. I broke down. I felt a resignation to at least make an effort at providing my daddy a mercy fuck.

I sighed and nodded my head to one side, “Come innnnn!” I groaned.

I turned and walked toward my lonely apartment. I stepped inside and the loneliness of it wrapped around me. For the thousandth and umpteenth time I was reminded of the happy noise that was not there because my parents had custody of my two older children.

Father followed me inside as I stared at the carpet around his shoes and chewed at the corner of my bottom lip.

“Where is your son,” he asked. “Where do you leave your baby when you go whoring?”

“He’s with a friend,” I said defensively. “I take good care of him.”

“And whose father does he come from?” he asked, already knowing the answer; it wasn’t as if we had not had this conversation before.

“Let it go, daddy!” I complained.

“Are you still filthy from that man you sold your body to last night?”

“Jeez!” I retorted. “You know, you’re not exactly putting me in the mood for this … and no! I’m not still filthy. I took a shower daddy. I’m a cleaned up whore! Do you want me to take another shower? Would that make me more fuckable?”

“Yes, please,” he said, unable apparently to keep silivri escort from insulting me. “Take another shower. You look dirty to me.”

I rolled my eyes and thought about saying something smart, but I bit my tongue and said, “I’ll take another shower. I’ll clean out all of his cum, not there is any left!”

I went alone into the bath and undressed there. I showered for 30 minutes, not being in any hurry to get out. I figured – wishful thinking – that he might lose his nerve or his patience and just leave.

But when I stepped out of the bathroom with a big yellow towel wrapped around me, enough to cover my breasts and bottom, he was sitting patiently at my little dining room table, reading an old newspaper that Morton had left behind.

I pulled up a chair and sat next to him close enough for my knees to press against this left thigh. He raised his head and looked into my eyes. They were mournful eyes. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

I began to unwrap the top and let it fall so daddy could see my bare breasts. I watched him and his eyes moved up and down from my face to my chest to my legs and up again.

Then I decided to speak my honest mind.

“Daddy, it’s not like this is the creepiest thing I have ever done. Lord knows, some of the men I have been with are the god-damndest pigs to ever get up on two legs; they belong in a swamp. If you really, really want to do this, I’ll help you through it. But it’s liable to mess your head up more than it will mine.”

I reached out and held his hand. He squeezed mine and said, ‘I miss my little girl. Where did she go? Why must you be this, this kind of woman?’

I didn’t answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question, anyway. I lifted his hand to my bare breast and pressed his palm against it, spreading his fingers across the surface of my fleshy white melon with my finger tips.

“Have you no shame? It is so easy for you to behave this way?” he said, his voice inflecting a little anger.

“This is what you came here for, isn’t it?” I said.

After all, wasn’t I — just as much as he — in a position to question motives and character? I looked at him and he looked old, older than I remembered. It occurred to me that I had not really taken a good look at him even on those occasions where we had most recently been in eye contact.

His brown hair had turned almost all white. He was 56 now, and the sun had beaten wrinkles and blemishes all into his face. It occurred to me that I could not remember the last time I saw him smile. I didn’t think I would be able to make him smile now, either. He had clearly come here on a mission to have himself some kind of misogynist revenge fuck, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

His ‘fuck-my-whoring-daughter’ fantasy seemed to have run its course while I was taking my shower. I just didn’t sense the same tension in him that was there when he first stepped into my apartment. But he had questions. He wanted answers.

“What I am, it disturbs you. It disturbs you as my father,” I said. “But it disturbs you as a man, too. And I know all about that kind of disturbance,” I said.

I pulled myself up enough to get out of my seat, but not nearly enough to stand straight. I was stooped toward him and I stepped forward, and with my bath towel still wrapped around my waist I slid my thick, white inner thighs over his knee and pressed my washed pussy down on the muscle of his thigh.

“Remember how I used to sit on your lap pa?” I said.

He nodded a yes but did not speak.

The heat of my pussy expanded, radiating heat into his thigh. We sat together quietly, looking at each other intently.

“You did not sit on my like this, when you were my girl,” he said.

We kept looking at each other intently. My breasts heaved as I took a deeper breath. He glanced down at my chest. I had my left forearm resting casually on the edge of the table, I let it slide to his lap and my fingernails scratched at his penis like a cat clawing a scratching post, or the form of it within his pants.

Our eyes were locked down on each other, and I said, “I’m still your girl, papa.”

I took his hand again, and again placed it on my bare breast. He allowed his hand to rest there, unmoving at first. Then he squeezed at it slightly.

I moved in for the kill. I pressed my lips against his ear, “Don’t think about the others. You’re the only here now. It’s just you and me.”

All this time, these long moments with his hand on my breast, and my right hand holding it there. My father seemed frozen, an old stone unable to break free of his petrified state.

“When I made that dvd, of me FUCKING my hole with that dildo, begging you to put your COCK in me, I wanted to feel YOU – uhhhh! – FUCKING ME soooooo hard, mmmmmmmm.”

His hand moved, it squeezed harder at my breast. I felt motion in his crotch with my left hand. His old penis was finally twitching to life.

“Were you always so nasty?” he şirinevler escort asked.

“Mmmmm, yes daddy. I wanted to be with the bad boys. I wanted them to teach me how to be a slut.”

I licked at his neck. He pawed at my breast. I found the zipper tab and tugged. His cock twitched.

“Tell me all about it,” he said.

I pulled the zipper down. I moved my right hand away from his wrist – he was doing fine working the tit now. I used my right hand to pull at my bath towel, I lifted myself just enough to yank the towel away from my waist and let it fall to the floor. I sat down again, keeping the heat of my pussy on my father’s thigh.

“I would tease men behind Randy’s back, even when we were dating in high school,” I said.

“I thought Randy was the one, that he was the evil influence in your life.” he said.

“No, daddy. He found out I was cheating on him. He was the saint. He forgave me. I was fucking black men and Randy forgave me. I wanted to see what it was like to give my body to a black man. And I did. And Randy found out.”

“Ahhh! So he treated you like a whore because you were already acting like one,” my father said.

“Yess, daddy. Your little girl was very, very bad.”

My hand went inside, my fingers slipped around his penis. It was semi-hard. Our eyes never broke contact.

I was beginning to feel arousal. I was in control. I was seducing my father. I was feeling the tension of anticipation. I knew I could have talked him out of it. I could have made him leave.

But I’m a bad girl. And even though the idea of fucking my father did not turn me on. The idea of twisting him around my little finger did. That was my sexual high in this.

My papa was in an erotic trance. He was into this in a way that was over his head. He was not used to sinning, to letting the devil ride him like a bitch. He was panting hard, like an old man running up stairs.

“And you still delight in your wickedness?” he asked as he began to perspire from sheer lust.

“Oh yesss, papa. I love being the whore.”

His cock twitched hard in my hand. I pulled it free of his pants and stroked it, rubbing the head against my upper mid-thigh.

“You are so … able … with the … you KNOW these things … so well,” he said, observing now with some amazement my abilities at applying pressure and motion on his old penis.

“Old cocks, young cocks, white cocks, brown and black cocks … I’ve handled hundreds of cocks, papa,” I said in a sensual, husky soft voice.

“Whores belong to the Devil. Is that what you want? Eternal damnation?” he asked.

“Yess, papa. That’sss what I want,” I said with a lascivious grin.

I began to rock my hips, humping my bare, hot, pussy on his thigh.

“Shameless!” he said.

“Yes, papa. Your little girl is shameless,” I said, and the tension between our eyes became so taut I half expected to hear a thunderbolt. Something had to give.

His organ grew hard in my hand. It was hard, and I was a little surprised. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to get him that solid without a pill – not that I didn’t have plenty lying around. Morton used them frequently.

I had a moment of inspiration. I thought of the perfect move to break our eye contact. I stood up and turned, showing him my back. I went to my knees and rested my arms and head on the seat of my chair. I pulled my hair over my shoulder to give him an unobstructed view, and I said, “See, I belong to him.”

There was one very large tattoo on my back. It had been there for a few years now and the colors were not as vivid. But the image was shocking in its vulgarity.

It was a hoof-legged red devil. His beastly legs straddled wide and the hooves were resting on my kidneys. A donkey-sized dark cock hung across the lower third of my spine and dripped cum drops on the dimpled triangle Y at the top of my big white ass.

The horned devil smiled with slanted firey. His face was situated between my shoulder blades. He had one, long-fingered hand with claw nails holding his huge cock, and the other hand was scratching into my rib cage and drawing rivulets of inky blood.

The whore mongers that fucked me loved taking me from behind, doggy-style, to watch the devil dance as their thrusting cocks shoved in and out of me, shaking my backside, my whole body in a slutty ass-slapping fuck frenzy.

How hard would it be for my father to envision those whore mongers, this constant stream of wicked men – who having paid a small price for their piece of whore meat – happily fulfilling their desires, pleasure themselves, thrusting themselves inside this white trash bitch.

I heard loud breathing. I closed my eyes and smiled. I knew he was masturbating.

“You ….” he said in the course of interrupting his heavy breathing. “You chose to give your soul to Satan! I did not have anything to do with this. It was …. uh! … not my doing.”

I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder, şişli escort I smiled and said, “Want to cum on my back, papa?”

“Don’t look at me!” he hissed. “You are trash, you are garbage!”

I shrugged my shoulders. I closed my eyes and again I rested. This was too easy.

I arched my back, raised my thighs away from my calves, and I began to tease him with a slow fucking motion with my hips. The devil started dancing on my back, taunting my father to fuck his whore daughter.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t!”

I smiled and looked, not at him, but at his penis and jerking hand. I opened my mouth and swirled my tongue around my lips.

“Oooo, papa. Your cock looks sooo good to me now!”

“You are trash!” he protested. He was resisting. He wanted to put it in me, but he didn’t want to. He knew what a terrible sin it was, what a terrible victory for the Devil if this God-fearing man should take his daughter’s pussy – even if she was just a common whore.

I reached behind me, and with my fingers I parted the lips of my labia as I continued to shake my hips and make the Devil dance on my back.

He leaned in and grabbed my hair. He pulled my head back.

“Stop moving like a dirty bitch!” he said, the tension in his voice rising to a low growl.

But I kept shaking my hips, and fondling my vagina.

“What’s the matter papa, not man enough to stick it in me?”

He dropped to one knee, he let go of my hair to undo his buckle while he kept his other hand jerking the cock.

I turned and looked at him, wagging my tongue, my eyelids dropped low, then my eyelids flipping up, and then my eyeballs rolled up into my skull and I said, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me! Fuck me, papa, fuck your little bitch! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck that hole, fuck that pussy hole, fuck it!”

“Nnnnnn!” he moaned. “Huhhhhh!”

He pushed the head in. The head of his – my daddy’s hard cock – pushed it in, pushed in more, pushed it in.

He moaned like a horny girl: “Nnnn, uhhh, ooooo!”

Emotionally, it felt like role reversal. I was clearly fucking him. I was the dirty talker and he was the bitch taking it. He was under my spell, moaning for my pussy. He was the one saying, “No, nooo, noooo oh don’t stop. You shameless …. nnnn! oh god forgive me!”

“Yeahhhh, yes papa. Oh, he’s gonna forgive you. Cuzzzzz itsssss all my fault, all my doing. I made you come here. I tempted you into this, into committing incest. Uhhh, yeah! How does it feel, papa? How does it feel? All this incestuous FUCKING!”

“Ahhh! Nnnn! Stop! Stop your filthy talk! You whore! You plaything of the devil. Damn you to Hell!” he cursed as he pumped his hard, hot, white daddy cock up into my wet and willing hole.

My restraint was gone. My initial aversion to having sex with my father had blossomed into the sick and twisted thing it was meant to be.

This was one of those rare moments in life where I stopped lying to myself. I stopped trying to tell myself that I was or could be a decent and good woman. This was all my doing. It really was. I knew when I made the dvd, that if my father actually saw it, it would be too much for him. It would lead to further corruption and possibly this.

And if he had not fucked me, he would have fucked another whore – also, for the first time in his life. And he would have imagined her to be me. He was now a good man gone bad because of the disgrace and temptation his daughter had brought on him.

How hard must it be for a father to know – to have all doubts pushed aside – to know without reservation that his daughter has become a prostitute, and that she did so willingly, and that she is devoted to committing every sin he had dreaded, every sin that he had hoped with all his heart she would avoid.

I pushed back in the parking lot to make him lust after me more. I felt sweet wickedness. I felt the glow of a wicked deed accomplished. I felt the transcending satisfaction of victory, of my power of papa. I felt him thrust inside me like a tortured beast trying to get rid of something it can never quite get out completely.

“You will never be rid of me,” I said in triumph.

He grunted. He ejaculated. He panted and whined, “eee-nough! eee-nough!”

He rested his hairy round belly into the small of my back while his cock was wracked in the last of its ejaculating twitches.

I declared the obvious.

“I have in me my father’s semen.”

He moaned a low, hurtful, “ooooohhh ooohhh!”

“Yes, daddy! You came inside your whore daughter! Mmmmm!

I felt like I had taken a boy’s cherry. What must it be like, I wondered, for a boy to lose his cherry to a whore?

I pushed away the chair that I had been leaning on. I scooted around on the floor to look him over. He had his pants down to his knees. He was on both knees. His head was hung low and his eyes closed. His pecker was not shrinking but it was limp.

His breathing was beginning to calm down. I had a vicious urge to interrupt his rest. I stood up, straddled his knees, grabbed his head and pressed my pussy against his face. I found my clit rubbing on the tip of his nose.

“Lick my clit!” I demanded with a full-throated bark. He shivered, then he obeyed.

His tongue expertly worked the nub – my pink and fleshy little pleasure zone.

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