Who is my husband? Who is my lover? My husband works part-time and lives far away.
Basically, we only see each other once a month.
I also worked and moved in with my dad’s family for convenience.
Dad’s suite only had one bed.
Dad said he couldn’t let his daughter sleep on the couch, and I couldn’t have Dad’s bed all to myself.
Also the closets are in the sleeping quarters, which is inconvenient.
So what about co-sleeping? No fear of the inconvenience of father-daughter co-sleeping.
Dad also refused rent and meals.
What a novel arrangement for married daughters and fathers to sleep in the same bed to save money, time and convenience.
Being the practical person that I am, I said yes in a heartbeat.
We’re all adults, so of course we understand what “co-sleeping” means.
When we moved to his house, my dad joyfully carried my suitcases into my sleeping quarters for me.
I saw him make a point of cleaning up and vacating the closet to hang my clothes.
The sheets were new, and a pair of pillows had been put in, all new.
Before we went to bed, we changed into our pajamas, and his pajamas were new, taken out of the plastic bag with the price tag still attached.
Dad waved the double blanket away and we slept together.
The two fathers and daughters were not outsiders, but lying head to head in bed together was obviously uncomfortable for all of them, and for a long time everyone could not sleep.
Dad asked me if I was tired. I said okay.
Dad said politely that there had to be a first time anyway.
Is it okay to do it on the first night? It’s all up to you, I said.
He said, “I won’t do it if you don’t want to.
I said, come on.
He then rolled over, wrapped his arms around me and was about to kiss when he did.
I shrugged him off and stripped myself of my pajamas and underwear.
The first time I had sex with my dad was a bit of a handful, and the clasp on the back of my bra was always out of reach when I fumbled with it.
Or dad untied for me, said, tits all day to hold, are sleeping without wearing a bra.
The bra came loose and I covered my chest with both hands.
Daddy helped me fold my underwear and bra and set them aside before taking off my pajamas himself.
When I removed my pants, I asked if I wanted to wear a hat. I bought a couple packs for the bed.
I said, “No, I take birth control pills.
Dad said, “Then I won’t wear it.
Trust that Dad is clean and hasn’t touched a woman in a long time.
I said, “I’m screaming so loud, am I disturbing the next door? He said, each family can mind their own business.
You just scream and let Dad know you’re happy.
So we got under the covers one after the other.
Dad wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, it was a weird feeling kissing my dad, I instinctively ducked and ended up sucking mouth to mouth.
Then it was time to receive Daddy’s caresses as I lay like I was frozen, letting him touch me all over my body.
He ran his hand down there and teased it a few times with his fingers, and the labia opened up and got wet down there.
Two fingers probed deep and dug in a few times, giving him a feel.
Well, I just hummed it.
Daddy’s skillful hands, pinching my nipples, all hard and taut, mounted me and pressed down.
While I waited for it to be done, Dad got a little nervous, hovering outside the door and bumping around underneath me.
Impatient, I touched the swollen and slippery thing, thicker and harder than I’d imagined, like an iron pole, which surprised me a little, and lifted it, shoving it in fast.
Dad wrapped one arm around me, cupped my hips with the other, sank down and thrust deep, to the hilt, all the way in, jerking a few times without slipping out.
The tingling of my vagina from the grinding was unbearable, and I began to scream my head off.
He knew that if I was happy, he was happy, and he was happy, and the bed frame shook and creaked.
I was afraid that next door and downstairs would give us the sound of sex, and told my dad to say enough is enough.
Dad asked me if I was coming. I said, come on.
After a few more deep thrusts, Dad winced and then came, filling me full of cum.
I pushed him away this time, and Dad jumped up and ran naked to the bath room to get a towel out, and saw his diminished thing wiggling between his legs, alive a little boy.
He took the towel and wiped it clean for himself as he went, and went to wipe it for me as well.
While Dad washed off the stains from the sheets, I hurriedly put my panties back on and fell back to sleep.
A night of no words. It was our first.
I can’t imagine it was that easy to get off to a good start and set the tone for the first night of future sex.
The second night, Dad offered to have sex and I didn’t object.
However, the back clasp of my bra kept failing to cooperate with me, and Dad skillfully undid it for me.
It’s still the same line, they’re all asleep and wearing them to get in the way.
The motions of intercourse were repeated from last night, with me spreading my legs as wide as I could and relaxing so that Daddy didn’t have to help with the smooth penetration and completion of the coitus.
For the kissing aspect, I let my dad suck on my mouth and stick his tongue out, I don’t open my mouth, I just let lick my lips.
I don’t really like him touching all over and gouging underneath me, although it’s weirdly comfortable and I’d rather he stick it in quicker.
When he was done, he handed me the pillowcase to wipe first.
These preparations that would have been done by a woman, he did.
Since Dad hadn’t smelled a woman in a long time, his libido was high.
Love the freshness, too, and proceeded to ask me every night for a week if I wanted it.
I’ll let him.
To be honest, I didn’t hate having sex with my dad, I just never thought I could have this relationship with someone so close to me and not have anyone know about it.
My husband just knows that I live at my dad’s house, and when I talk to my coworkers about male/female relationships, they all count what I do with my dad as my husband’s fault.
In short, it’s embarrassing.
Trying to visualize sex with my dad as a public affair, for everyone’s convenience.
But Dad always had a way of making me feel good and comfortable enough to give me an orgasm, teaching me to feel a little sorry for my husband who was all alone.
Actually, never wore a bra to bed, and I can’t say I’d want to sleep with my dad wearing it.
In the days to come, only a bra was worn in the sleeping room, a small pair of panties, unbuttoned in bed, and made love only for Daddy to take them off, the panties were self-removing.
Dad and my husband are both men, and the difference is that Dad was so dumbfounded by the curves of my body that he didn’t miss every opportunity to look at it naked.
Could it be that a daughter’s nudity is particularly attractive to a dad? Though co-sleeping, a dad staring lustfully at his daughter’s boobs and ass would scream embarrassment.
Day long, to see the habit, in the narrow suite, undressing and dressing to hide in the bathroom is too much trouble, are sleeping in a bed, sexual intercourse has become commonplace, what can not let Dad see? So, simply put self and dad as two couples like, in front of him to undress, dress, by him to see a full.
There’s no hiding or embarrassment in the bathroom, especially when you’re rushing to work every morning and two fathers and daughters are crammed into the bathroom, you showering, me pulling a yagami, and each of them not ducking out of the way.
We had a lot of father-daughter sex in the beginning, and it must have been a long time since Dad smelled a woman’s scent.
Then, gradually, they abstained, much like the average newlywed couple, about three times a week.
Make it four times, possibly with holiday additions, a couple glasses of white wine, and people are relaxed, so you might as well add an after-party.
Ordinary days, everyday life, sex is one thing outside of the seven things in the woodwork, just for the sake of sexual desire and the need for a solution, there is no romance or passion.
In addition to sex can not be avoided to be naked, kissing and caressing, but usually do not do those kissing ah, holding hands ah intimate action.
Only make out in bed, habit becomes nature, can’t say who is active and who is passive.
Who wants to have sex, give a code word.
All Daddy had to do was stroke my nipples and I took off my pants and let him on.
Sometimes it’s the cock that my thighs touch, whether intentionally or not.
He wore loose flat-footed short underwear and pitched a tent every night, at the touch of a button.
I sometimes ask myself, what am I doing? I have a bottom line in mind, don’t overdo it and be happy.
When you don’t want to do it, turn your back on him or say you’re tired, he doesn’t force it.
Instead, whenever I asked him for it, Dad never pushed back.
The eve of my monthly get-together with my husband is my abstinence day.
Again, that shadow of feeling sorry for my husband is at work, and I’m going to make myself act sex-starved when I have sex with him.
That’s what Dad understands.
As it is, it’s been a few years, and the subtle feeling is that the days of sex in bed with dad are predominant, and the days of meeting and having sex with hubby are short.
Dad became my de facto husband, sharing my bed twenty days a month or so, living as a married couple.
What’s not normal is that my normal sex life is with my dad.
Having sex with your husband once a month is a bit of an affair and cheating.
Making love with my dad was one way of cooperating, making love with my husband was another, to make up for the pain of his abstinence for me by using all my skills to make him happy.
Until once, home and husband get together, with a woman’s sensitive nose, smelled the bed sheets have other women’s odor, and even the pillow to detect other women’s hair.
Husband dead set on not admitting he slept with another woman, got into a huge fight with him and kicked him out of his sleeping quarters.
With a heavy heart, I went back to my dad’s.
In the sleeping room, he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed not sleeping, sat up, patted me on the shoulder, put his arms around my neck and asked me what had happened.
I told him the truth.
Dad said, “You can’t blame your husband for your lack of time together and away from each other.
Men have sexual needs, like me, they have to find a woman to solve them.
By kicking him out of bed, you’re pushing him to another woman.
You should go home more often.
Compare your heart to yourself, if there is no me by your side, lonely, meet a man, teasing you, can hold it?” Hearing these words of my father, I was so sad that I cried.
It turned out that my father was always thinking from my side, but I never paid any attention to my father’s feelings, and only cared about my own convenience and happiness. I didn’t realize that my father was the one who always selflessly gave me everything, regardless of whether I was warm or cold to him.
I cried out, twitching against his shoulder.
Dad swept my back and couldn’t stop comforting me.
Then, involuntarily, I fell into his arms, opened my mouth, spit out my tongue, and kissed him frantically.
After I had calmed down a bit, he kissed me again, caressed my breasts and thighs, and unbuttoned my shirt to reveal my beautiful body.
It was a first for him to see his daughter’s completely naked body nestled in his arms in the light of the lamp, and so dependent on him, claiming his caresses and kisses.
Dad treated me like a curio, caressing my breasts and ass slowly.
We kissed inseparably, supposedly I wouldn’t let his lips leave mine.
I offered my body to Daddy, laying my soft, supple body on the bed, softly at his mercy, letting him kiss me all over, licking my pussy, gently touching my nipples with his tongue, and the more they pushed up, the more pleasurable it was for me.
Dad never spoke when he made love, no sweet words on his lips, not a word about how he loved me.
In fact, that husband of mine stopped telling me he loved me after the honeymoon.
What is love all about? I’m confused.
This from a body pressed against mine, feeling love? I had always thought that my sex life with my dad was a trade off, and a trade off between being lonely in our respective ways.
At the moment, his thing was majestically erect, but he didn’t care about penetration, still with his caresses with care and compassion, he put him in no hurry to give out, pumping and caressing my breasts while waiting for the urging of my screams.
It turned out that Dad was so good at sex that I didn’t have the patience to appreciate it and missed out on all the pleasure that no man had ever given me.
Dad’s final push took me up to Yogi Wonderland.
I clamped down on Daddy, squeezing every last drop of cum out of him and not letting him quit, to give my husband all that I deserved.
After this, I was transformed into a different woman.
Next month’s vacation, I’m bringing back all the nightgowns, scented lingerie that I left on my husband’s side of the family.
After dinner it was into the sleeping quarters, usually no sex on the nights my husband and I return from our get-togethers, I went to bed first and Dad stayed in the dining room to watch TV.
I summoned him to come in quickly.
He couldn’t believe it was true when he stepped into the room and saw me waiting for him in a short spaghetti strap nightgown, vacuumed across the bed.
I told him not to take off his pants and get into bed anytime soon.
Dad got a rush of color from the sexy teasing and swooped onto the bed, embracing me in a deep kiss.
Daddy didn’t understand that I was wearing this nightgown, waiting for him to take it off for me, coveting the sensation of caressing my body through the silky material.
I whispered in my dad’s ear: I’ll listen to you, go to bed without a bra, you feel it.
Dad groped here and there, reluctant to remove my nightgown completely, only lifting it up to reveal my breasts and bottom.
It’s the first time a man has made love to me without stripping me naked.
Still meet with nominal husband once a month, have intercourse once a month, routinely maintain the relationship as a couple.
The rest of the day, I was someone’s wife.
I will be like a wife, gentle and considerate, serving my dad by his side.
And, forbiddingly, calling Dad his husband.
Dad and I have treated me with respect since we’ve had sex.
I live and sleep in his. It’s like he’s in my debt.
Now I think of him as my husband. My dad does all the housework, the cooking.
Now, all my underwear, bras, clothes, he washes and dries them by hand.
When I forgot my towel in the shower, I would yell at my husband to bring it for me, rewarding him with a few more glimpses of my naked body.
When I couldn’t find my underwear, it was his debtor who brought it for me.
When we have sex, I call him my husband.
Call him husband when you come back from work, too.
He often reminds me that calling him husband husband at home is a joie de vivre and not objectionable, but don’t ever let it slip out in other people’s mouths.
No more counting how many times a week I have sex with my dad, no harm in doing it more often.
It’s okay to do it every night.
However, I have a requirement for the quality of the sex.
Changing the mood, it was time for Dad to use his watchful eye.
I’d buck my hips and do colorful foreplay with him, and his old man’s wheelbarrow would come, thrusting deep, two big palms gripping my breasts and pushing, pushing, pushing.
I learned a trick to make the Goddess of Mercy sit on the lotus, the Bodhisattva arrived, in front of his eyes, waves, two tits rise and fall, Dad could only worship me under the pomegranate skirt.
I think of being a kid, riding bulls and riding on my dad’s back.
Now, Dad’s letting me ride again.
In short, it was only fair to myself and my de facto husband if he made me sweat and swoon.
It turns out that the saying that fathers and daughters are lovers in a previous life is false, and that this life is a renewal of a previous relationship.