Mindbomb Revelations
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Passionate Revelations free porn video
Passionate Revelations by Prada
“Excuse me, does this come in a size 6?” A young lady asked to a saleswoman, holding up a floaty gray-blue dress.
“Why yes it does, I’ll just run to the stockroom and grab one for you,” the woman said before turning and striding away in the opposite direction.
The younger one, Rachael, looked down at the dress, her eyes roaming over the chiffon material, the same color as a stormy sky, the strapless bodice, the flowing hemline, the small bow that tied the waist at the back. She flipped over the price tag, the slip of paper reading “Chloe. Iron gray. Size 0. $5,200.” in small black letters. She turned toward one of the many mirrors that filled Bloomingdale’s and held the dress up against her.
She was slim, about 5’8, with copper colored naturally curly hair, her skin was pale as cream, and freckle free. She had an oval shaped face, her cheekbones defined by the peach colored blush she had on, her large almond shaped leaf green eyes highlighted by the eggshell eye shadow and jet-black eyeliner, and her small mouth brightened by her clear gloss. With her B-Cup breasts, full hips, and effortlessly flat stomach the 17-year old always managed to look older than she was. Shaking her elbow length hair from her face she critiqued the garment in her mind, finally deciding that it was perfect for her piano recital and began subconsciously pairing shoes.
When the saleswoman returned with her new dress Rachael had gone through her entire shoe closet, and had already resolved to look for a new pair while at the department store.
“Here you are Miss. Size 6. Beautiful dress. For a special occasion?” the woman asked politely, handing over the new dress.
“Actually, yes. For my piano recital,” she replied warmly, her lips curving up in a smile.
“I see, have you been playing long?”
“11 years give or take.”
“Impressive. Well enjoy your dress and I wish you luck in your performance,” the woman said in a final sort of tone, another customer catching her eye and flagging her down.
“Thanks,” Rachael said as the woman walked to the new person.
Setting off for the dressing room she held her dress delicately, as if it was made of rice paper. Closing the door to her spacious fitting room she stripped off her outfit; consisting of 7’s black skinny jeans, a Theory fitted tuxedo shirt and black and utterly destroyed Converse high-tops. Left in a lacy black La Perla bra and panties she removed the dress from its silken hanger and threw it over her head. Turning in the mirror it was obvious that she would be getting the dress, and that she would probably wear it as much as fashionably permitted. The dress was not tight anywhere, the entire thing was loose and flowy, the fabric feeling like air caught and woven into a garment. Her eyes found her black bra straps, and she noted that she’d need to ,obviously, wear a strapless bra; and as she slipped the dress over her head to hang back up she was very happy about her discovery of the piece, and rather excited about wearing it to her recital.
She quickly slid back into her clothes and as she walked from the dressing room, her face was alit with an expression related with Adrenaline. Her friends would call it the ‘Shopping High’. Shoes next. Rachael thought to herself, moving to the shoe department and examining the rows of Prada, Jimmy Choo, Valentino, Marc Jacobs…staring at the wicked black leather studded spike heeled Blaniks, the elegant sling back Louboutins, the delicate Fendi sandals…She shook herself out of her on coming coma and put her blinders on the task ahead. Shoes. Recital.
She strode around the luxurious department, before finally settling on the perfect pair. Prada. Peach peep toe stilettos with delicate flowers on the ankle strap. Beautiful. She picked up the shoe, and asked the salesperson for a size 39. Once the woman returned she rang both the shoes and dress up for a grand total of $6,800. Rachael smiled brightly as she swung the little brown Bloomingdale’s bag at her side.
Walking outside into the bright California sun she checked her watch and received a shock of panic. She was late. Her father would be home any minute and she needed to be there to greet him. She nearly sprinted to her car, a white Smart-Car for-two, and leapt in. Slamming the door behind her, tossing her shopping bag and recycled-juice-wrapper-purse into the seat next to her and backing out of her parking space as quickly as law-abidingly-possible. In a few minutes she pulled into the garage of her family’s Santa Monica ‘Tiffany’s box blue’ beach home, once she scanned around the large space she breathed a sigh of relief as her father’s Mercedes was not in the garage. Climbing out of the little car she slung her purchases, and purse into the crook of her arm before walking up the stairs that led to the living room.
Passing through the airy all white furnished room she climbed even more stairs to reach her loft bedroom. The space was massive, framed by windows, with a large walk in closet, and uniquely decorated. With the white Japanese style floor bed, all glass desk (with her Macbook sitting sleekly atop), white Baby Grand Piano, white Victorian style wing backed chair, and steel art Easel. She strode over to her closet, hung her dress on a hanger, placed her shoes in a cubby, and slid off her own outfit once more. Pulling on a pair of black silk short shorts (Stella McCartney), a purple t-shirt reading ‘Surgeon to be’ in white letters (her own creation), and a pair of black gladiator sandals (Jimmy Choo). She barely glanced in the mirror before moving to her Macbook and quickly navigating to her best friend’s chapter-by-chapter online book. Her eyes scanned the piece, appreciating the literary excellence (Cassandra, her friend, being an amazing writer) and once ending the newest chapter, typing in a comment: “Excellent as always, can’t wait to read more! You’ll be the next Rowling. -R”
The sound of the garage door opening awakened her from an internet zone-out (consisting of her absently playing Runescape and googling random things that popped into her mind). She quickly shut down her laptop and ran downstairs to greet her father.
“DAD! Welcome back!” She said happily as he walked up from the garage. It had been two months since she’d seen her dad, George, he had been away on a business trip, and she had been left alone in the house for what seemed like years.
“Love, its great to see you again, I’m so sorry for being gone so long. This job is bloody ridiculous. Are you sure you were fine without me?” he asked seriously, his features locked in a concerned expression, his English accent crisp as always.
“I can survive by myself for a few weeks, Dad,” she replied easily, smiling widely at him, trying not to let him know how much she‘d actually missed him.
With his stick straight chocolate colored hair, naturally olive skin, sky-blue eyes, and strong jaw he bore no resemblance to his daughter at all. She strode over to his side and beamed up at him (he towered over her with his slim 6’2 frame) and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. “But just don’t leave again anytime soon, because this house is way too big for just me.”
She noticed there was something different about the way he looked at her about an hour after his arrival, as she was making dinner. His icy eyes roamed over her body the way hers looked over her new dress, lustfully and covetously. “Could you grab the drinks?” she asked as she carried their dinner plates outside to the patio.
“Of course,” he said and picked up the glasses of water and following after her. Placing the plates of tofu stir-fry on the glass topped table, and sitting down in one of the cushy overstuffed white outdoor-fabric chairs. He joined her in a few seconds, setting her cup of water next to her plate. She noted how close he was sitting next to her.
During the meal they discussed his trip, moving on past that to her time alone, and then to her piano recital.
“Did you find an outfit today?” he asked tilting his head at her, having heard from an email that she had been planning to go get the dress today.
“I did actually. This amazing grayish blue summer dress. Absolutely gorgeous. I hope I’ll do it justice,” she said jokingly.
“Rachael. You’re just as stunning as any dress. Don’t worry over that,” he said reassuringly, and she noticed the lustful look in his eyes once more. She quickly finished her meal, and excused herself, wandering back upstairs to her loft. She felt a pang of guilt at the disappointed expression on her father’s face.
She sat down at her piano and flipped her book open to the piece she’d be performing in four day’s time. Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no. 3 Ossia. It had taken her 2 months to learn the piece, and even now it wasn’t perfect, for her tiny hands just were not nearly as large as the composer had intended to play the piece. She began to play, feeling herself become calmer, though some minute errors lacing the song due to her continuous pondering over her father’s actions.
Glancing out the window that overlooked the deck she saw him walking down to the pool, strip off his button down shirt and jeans and dive into the clear blue water in his either swimming trunks or boxers. She honestly wasn’t sure. But they were horrid enough to fit the bill of swim trunks, with their thick white and red horizontal stripes. She saw that her father was extremely fit, even from a distance, with obvious muscle definition and long lean limbs.
She saw him emerge form the water and shake back his dark hair. She also saw her neighbor, a divorced woman with bleached hair, sitting on her deck, staring at the man in the pool with unwavering attention. Her music became a little too fast. The blonde waved and she saw her dad raise his hand in response. The song suffered a much to forceful string of notes.
The blonde made a motion with her hand, something that said to Rachael ‘Come hither.’ And she instantly thought of the woman as a slut. She stopped her song abruptly when her father shook his head, and glance up at the 3rd level of their home. Where her room was. She began the music once more, trying to keep her eyes away from the window, which gave view to her father climbing out of the pool, after swimming a few laps, grabbing a towel from a small table, and walking inside.
She heard a door open and shut gently. She heard footsteps on the bamboo floors, and then heard the sound of someone climbing the stairs to her loft. In a matter of seconds her dad was in her room, a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a little child in a cape. She finished her song and turned to her father with a quizzical look.
“Wow. So that’s the song? Its amazing. You’ve really become a ruddy prodigy,” he said in a deeply impressed, and proud tone.
Rachael smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Why thank you. I’ve been practicing religiously.” Standing she asked, “SO do you want to see the dress you just bought me?”
“Hm, I dunno, is it really worth it?” he asked playfully.
“I’d have to say yes.”
“Well, okay then.”
She walked over to her closet and opened the door, lifting the dress by the hanger and holding it up for him to see. The fabric swirled in a cascade of steely iron blue when she turned to face him. She could see him examining the dress, but she also saw his eyes flick to her legs, or her face, but only for a moment. After a few seconds of his pondering he said, “It's just as stunning as you said. Absolutely perfect for the recital. So are you inviting your boyfriend?” he asked innocently.
“What boyfriend? He dumped me a month and a half ago. I should have told you, but I didn’t really think it was worth it,” she said bitterly putting the dress back in the closet and shutting the door.
He blinked, and walked over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, she noticed how strong his grip was, and felt a small twinge in her stomach. “He’s not worth it. He was an asshole anyways. You deserve better,” he said confidently, with reassuring, bracing, and consoling tones in his voice. Impossibly perfect sounding.
“I’m personally not so sure. But I don’t care. I need to focus on my art, music, and career at the moment. Not boys,” she said intending to imitate his confidence, but failing miserably.
He looked down at her shrewdly, with a glint in his eyes that she’d always noticed when he’d looked at her. Ever since she moved in with him after her mother died at age 13. She’d seen the look at all her recitals, when she made straight A’s on every report card, when she told him she wanted to be a neurosurgeon, when she finished a painting ,of a fairy dancing with a prince, that she‘d spent her entire Easter Holiday on.
She’d supposed the look was pride. The way he looked at her was with his complete attention, as if he’d never see her again, as if she was a painting comparable to the Mona Lisa, as if she was his best friend and biggest treasure. She’d always loved that look of complete attentiveness. It made her feel special. Important. As if her father knew exactly who she was and all she had to offer.
She met his chillingly cool eyes and felt a small shudder run through her veins, something that had never happened with any of her boyfriends (a very small group). “That’s a very good point. You shouldn’t worry about boys. You should wait for men. They’re a lot more decent. Though I support you not dating for a while,” he said with a touch of protective father syndrome.
She laughed, a loud and overall funny noise. She hated her laugh, always thinking it sounded odd. He smiled widely at her, and bent down and kissed her forehead before lifting his arm from around her shoulders.
“I think I’ll go put some clothes on. I think that Ms. Casters wants to invite me over,” he said moving to walk away.
She was struck by a sudden feeling of jealousy. The fake blonde, orange spray tanned woman in too tight clothes with silicon C boobs and over plumped lips was actually going to get to spend time with George- she mentally corrected herself- her father? That wasn’t going to happen. Before he got a chance to walk away she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.
He responded instantly, with much more enthusiasm than she’d ever expected. He twisted one strong, tan arm around her waist, and another lifted her off her feet, and supported her legs. His lips moved against hers wildly, her own lips parting and his tongue flecking around in her mouth. Her eyes closed, her body on fire with desire as her father kissed her with more passion than she’d ever felt in her life. Until now.
Her tongue traced his lips, tasting the deliciousness of his being, and before she knew it he had laid her down, gently, on her white down comforter of the platform floor bed. She understood completely what was going to happen next, and wanted it just as much as he did. As he leaned over her, him sitting on his knees, on the bed, she felt one of his hands twined itself in her copper mane, and the other cup her face. And all too soon he had, reluctantly, broken the kiss.
“What in the bloody hell was that?!” he exclaimed, looking down at her with wide, regretful, eyes. She sat up, a guilty expression consuming her features.
“I’m sorry…when you said you were going over to her house, I…got…a tad jealous…and I just wanted you to stay…I’m sorry…” she mumbled, not meeting his gaze, but instead staring down at her sandaled feet.
“Please…don’t apologize. That was…uhm…” he said clumsily, something he’d never done, he was always well-spoken and confident. She looked up in surprise, and saw that his expression wasn’t angry at all.
“Absolutely fantastic…?” She filled in for him tentatively.
“So…what does this mean? You’re my daughter for Christ’s sake…” he said chewing his lip where hers had been, just moments before.
“I have no idea…but it wasn‘t unpleasant...” she said bashfully.
He blinked down at her, his icy eyes bright and intense. “Do you want…to...keep going?” he asked slowly, as if giving her time to cut him off and be completely disgusted by his suggestion of incest.
“Yes,” she answered promptly. “If you do.”
“I think its kind of obvious that I want to…” he said pathetically. “But you’re not concerned that its…naturally wrong?”
“Doesn’t that make it even…better?” she replied tilting her head at him. “Knowing how forbidden it is?”
“I have to agree,” he said, a grin flashing across his youthful, ageless face. She smiled widely, her eyes flashing in the warm light of the afternoon which spilling in the massive windows. He leaned down, and kissed her once more. The passion rekindled immediately.
She ran her hands across his muscled, but not too so, chest, eventually slipping them down to his hips, tugging at his boxers (judging by the cotton fabric. She found it slightly amusing that he’d chosen to go swimming in his underwear.) and sliding them down his legs. She broke the kiss, to lift her tee shirt from over her head, and he helped her out of her sandals and shorts, leaving her in her black Italian lingerie.
His eyes drank her in hungrily, as if he could never look at her enough. She unsnapped her bra, and slid off her panties, becoming completely nude, her pale, plump breasts, and soaked snatch, which had a slight smattering of copper hair. She studied her father’s nude form as he did her, she saw, with rather wide eyes, that his erection was rock hard, a good 8 or 9 inches, rather thick, slightly wet at the tip from pre-cum and just as tan as the rest of his body.
And then suddenly his lips were back on hers, an electric sensation filling the air as if lightning was about to strike between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she laid down upon the soft bed, bringing him down with her, one of his large, powerful hands massaging her breast. Two fingers pinched her nipple and she let out a soft moan into his mouth.
She felt his other hand travel down her flat stomach and softly rub her clitoris. She felt a shudder run through her body, her spine curving upwards as jolt after jolt of pure ecstasy shot through her. His lips left hers and she felt him kiss her neck, trailing kisses down her collarbone, his lips soon reached her breast and his tongue flicked at her nipple.
She moaned again as he sucked at her breast, the hand at her crotch increase its tempo, like a piano piece beginning to journey up the hill that ended in climax. She was now moaning in a continuous string of sound, her eyes shut tight, waves of pleasure rolling over her. And then he lifted his mouth from her breast, and positioned himself with his head between her legs, she watched him with intensity, and without warning he started eating her out.
His tongue flicking her clit as she moaned, even more loudly than before. And then she felt the jolts coming sooner and sooner, the power behind them increasing spastically, and before she knew it she was letting out a scream that she’d never actually realized she could make. Her fingers clenched the comforter, her short nails digging into the feather filled blanket, before releasing as the final wave crashed over her. He lifted his head from her legs and smiled at her, a wicked glint in his beautiful eyes.
Without a word she stood from the bed, pulled him back into a standing position, sank to her knees, and from that position gripped his steel hard shaft in her small hands. She ran a hand up the smooth skin, as he watched, captivated, and she leaned closer, kissing the delicate skin her fingers had just run over. Her tongue poked through her lips, and she began to lick him, moving her head so that she began at his balls, and ended at the very end of his quivering head. After a few good licks she started to take him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down, like she’d seen on the adult movies she’d watched when she was curious about sex.
She sucked in her cheeks, and felt him shudder in her mouth. Each bob of the head she took in more of his full length, until she had him fully in her mouth, easily over powering herTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
“Excuse me, does this come in a size 6?” A young lady asked to a saleswoman, holding up a floaty gray-blue dress.
“Why yes it does, I’ll just run to the stockroom and grab one for you,” the woman said before turning and striding away in the opposite direction.
The younger one, Rachael, looked down at the dress, her eyes roaming over the chiffon material, the same color as a stormy sky, the strapless bodice, the flowing hemline, the small bow that tied the waist at the back. She flipped over the price tag, the slip of paper reading “Chloe. Iron gray. Size 0. $5,200.” in small black letters. She turned toward one of the many mirrors that filled Bloomingdale’s and held the dress up against her.
She was slim, about 5’8, with copper colored naturally curly hair, her skin was pale as cream, and freckle free. She had an oval shaped face, her cheekbones defined by the peach colored blush she had on, her large almond shaped leaf green eyes highlighted by the eggshell eye shadow and jet-black eyeliner, and her small mouth brightened by her clear gloss. With her B-Cup breasts, full hips, and effortlessly flat stomach the 17-year old always managed to look older than she was. Shaking her elbow length hair from her face she critiqued the garment in her mind, finally deciding that it was perfect for her piano recital and began subconsciously pairing shoes.
When the saleswoman returned with her new dress Rachael had gone through her entire shoe closet, and had already resolved to look for a new pair while at the department store.
“Here you are Miss. Size 6. Beautiful dress. For a special occasion?” the woman asked politely, handing over the new dress.
“Actually, yes. For my piano recital,” she replied warmly, her lips curving up in a smile.
“I see, have you been playing long?”
“11 years give or take.”
“Impressive. Well enjoy your dress and I wish you luck in your performance,” the woman said in a final sort of tone, another customer catching her eye and flagging her down.
“Thanks,” Rachael said as the woman walked to the new person.
Setting off for the dressing room she held her dress delicately, as if it was made of rice paper. Closing the door to her spacious fitting room she stripped off her outfit; consisting of 7’s black skinny jeans, a Theory fitted tuxedo shirt and black and utterly destroyed Converse high-tops. Left in a lacy black La Perla bra and panties she removed the dress from its silken hanger and threw it over her head. Turning in the mirror it was obvious that she would be getting the dress, and that she would probably wear it as much as fashionably permitted. The dress was not tight anywhere, the entire thing was loose and flowy, the fabric feeling like air caught and woven into a garment. Her eyes found her black bra straps, and she noted that she’d need to ,obviously, wear a strapless bra; and as she slipped the dress over her head to hang back up she was very happy about her discovery of the piece, and rather excited about wearing it to her recital.
She quickly slid back into her clothes and as she walked from the dressing room, her face was alit with an expression related with Adrenaline. Her friends would call it the ‘Shopping High’. Shoes next. Rachael thought to herself, moving to the shoe department and examining the rows of Prada, Jimmy Choo, Valentino, Marc Jacobs…staring at the wicked black leather studded spike heeled Blaniks, the elegant sling back Louboutins, the delicate Fendi sandals…She shook herself out of her on coming coma and put her blinders on the task ahead. Shoes. Recital.
She strode around the luxurious department, before finally settling on the perfect pair. Prada. Peach peep toe stilettos with delicate flowers on the ankle strap. Beautiful. She picked up the shoe, and asked the salesperson for a size 39. Once the woman returned she rang both the shoes and dress up for a grand total of $6,800. Rachael smiled brightly as she swung the little brown Bloomingdale’s bag at her side.
Walking outside into the bright California sun she checked her watch and received a shock of panic. She was late. Her father would be home any minute and she needed to be there to greet him. She nearly sprinted to her car, a white Smart-Car for-two, and leapt in. Slamming the door behind her, tossing her shopping bag and recycled-juice-wrapper-purse into the seat next to her and backing out of her parking space as quickly as law-abidingly-possible. In a few minutes she pulled into the garage of her family’s Santa Monica ‘Tiffany’s box blue’ beach home, once she scanned around the large space she breathed a sigh of relief as her father’s Mercedes was not in the garage. Climbing out of the little car she slung her purchases, and purse into the crook of her arm before walking up the stairs that led to the living room.
Passing through the airy all white furnished room she climbed even more stairs to reach her loft bedroom. The space was massive, framed by windows, with a large walk in closet, and uniquely decorated. With the white Japanese style floor bed, all glass desk (with her Macbook sitting sleekly atop), white Baby Grand Piano, white Victorian style wing backed chair, and steel art Easel. She strode over to her closet, hung her dress on a hanger, placed her shoes in a cubby, and slid off her own outfit once more. Pulling on a pair of black silk short shorts (Stella McCartney), a purple t-shirt reading ‘Surgeon to be’ in white letters (her own creation), and a pair of black gladiator sandals (Jimmy Choo). She barely glanced in the mirror before moving to her Macbook and quickly navigating to her best friend’s chapter-by-chapter online book. Her eyes scanned the piece, appreciating the literary excellence (Cassandra, her friend, being an amazing writer) and once ending the newest chapter, typing in a comment: “Excellent as always, can’t wait to read more! You’ll be the next Rowling. -R”
The sound of the garage door opening awakened her from an internet zone-out (consisting of her absently playing Runescape and googling random things that popped into her mind). She quickly shut down her laptop and ran downstairs to greet her father.
“DAD! Welcome back!” She said happily as he walked up from the garage. It had been two months since she’d seen her dad, George, he had been away on a business trip, and she had been left alone in the house for what seemed like years.
“Love, its great to see you again, I’m so sorry for being gone so long. This job is bloody ridiculous. Are you sure you were fine without me?” he asked seriously, his features locked in a concerned expression, his English accent crisp as always.
“I can survive by myself for a few weeks, Dad,” she replied easily, smiling widely at him, trying not to let him know how much she‘d actually missed him.
With his stick straight chocolate colored hair, naturally olive skin, sky-blue eyes, and strong jaw he bore no resemblance to his daughter at all. She strode over to his side and beamed up at him (he towered over her with his slim 6’2 frame) and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. “But just don’t leave again anytime soon, because this house is way too big for just me.”
She noticed there was something different about the way he looked at her about an hour after his arrival, as she was making dinner. His icy eyes roamed over her body the way hers looked over her new dress, lustfully and covetously. “Could you grab the drinks?” she asked as she carried their dinner plates outside to the patio.
“Of course,” he said and picked up the glasses of water and following after her. Placing the plates of tofu stir-fry on the glass topped table, and sitting down in one of the cushy overstuffed white outdoor-fabric chairs. He joined her in a few seconds, setting her cup of water next to her plate. She noted how close he was sitting next to her.
During the meal they discussed his trip, moving on past that to her time alone, and then to her piano recital.
“Did you find an outfit today?” he asked tilting his head at her, having heard from an email that she had been planning to go get the dress today.
“I did actually. This amazing grayish blue summer dress. Absolutely gorgeous. I hope I’ll do it justice,” she said jokingly.
“Rachael. You’re just as stunning as any dress. Don’t worry over that,” he said reassuringly, and she noticed the lustful look in his eyes once more. She quickly finished her meal, and excused herself, wandering back upstairs to her loft. She felt a pang of guilt at the disappointed expression on her father’s face.
She sat down at her piano and flipped her book open to the piece she’d be performing in four day’s time. Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no. 3 Ossia. It had taken her 2 months to learn the piece, and even now it wasn’t perfect, for her tiny hands just were not nearly as large as the composer had intended to play the piece. She began to play, feeling herself become calmer, though some minute errors lacing the song due to her continuous pondering over her father’s actions.
Glancing out the window that overlooked the deck she saw him walking down to the pool, strip off his button down shirt and jeans and dive into the clear blue water in his either swimming trunks or boxers. She honestly wasn’t sure. But they were horrid enough to fit the bill of swim trunks, with their thick white and red horizontal stripes. She saw that her father was extremely fit, even from a distance, with obvious muscle definition and long lean limbs.
She saw him emerge form the water and shake back his dark hair. She also saw her neighbor, a divorced woman with bleached hair, sitting on her deck, staring at the man in the pool with unwavering attention. Her music became a little too fast. The blonde waved and she saw her dad raise his hand in response. The song suffered a much to forceful string of notes.
The blonde made a motion with her hand, something that said to Rachael ‘Come hither.’ And she instantly thought of the woman as a slut. She stopped her song abruptly when her father shook his head, and glance up at the 3rd level of their home. Where her room was. She began the music once more, trying to keep her eyes away from the window, which gave view to her father climbing out of the pool, after swimming a few laps, grabbing a towel from a small table, and walking inside.
She heard a door open and shut gently. She heard footsteps on the bamboo floors, and then heard the sound of someone climbing the stairs to her loft. In a matter of seconds her dad was in her room, a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a little child in a cape. She finished her song and turned to her father with a quizzical look.
“Wow. So that’s the song? Its amazing. You’ve really become a ruddy prodigy,” he said in a deeply impressed, and proud tone.
Rachael smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Why thank you. I’ve been practicing religiously.” Standing she asked, “SO do you want to see the dress you just bought me?”
“Hm, I dunno, is it really worth it?” he asked playfully.
“I’d have to say yes.”
“Well, okay then.”
She walked over to her closet and opened the door, lifting the dress by the hanger and holding it up for him to see. The fabric swirled in a cascade of steely iron blue when she turned to face him. She could see him examining the dress, but she also saw his eyes flick to her legs, or her face, but only for a moment. After a few seconds of his pondering he said, “It's just as stunning as you said. Absolutely perfect for the recital. So are you inviting your boyfriend?” he asked innocently.
“What boyfriend? He dumped me a month and a half ago. I should have told you, but I didn’t really think it was worth it,” she said bitterly putting the dress back in the closet and shutting the door.
He blinked, and walked over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, she noticed how strong his grip was, and felt a small twinge in her stomach. “He’s not worth it. He was an asshole anyways. You deserve better,” he said confidently, with reassuring, bracing, and consoling tones in his voice. Impossibly perfect sounding.
“I’m personally not so sure. But I don’t care. I need to focus on my art, music, and career at the moment. Not boys,” she said intending to imitate his confidence, but failing miserably.
He looked down at her shrewdly, with a glint in his eyes that she’d always noticed when he’d looked at her. Ever since she moved in with him after her mother died at age 13. She’d seen the look at all her recitals, when she made straight A’s on every report card, when she told him she wanted to be a neurosurgeon, when she finished a painting ,of a fairy dancing with a prince, that she‘d spent her entire Easter Holiday on.
She’d supposed the look was pride. The way he looked at her was with his complete attention, as if he’d never see her again, as if she was a painting comparable to the Mona Lisa, as if she was his best friend and biggest treasure. She’d always loved that look of complete attentiveness. It made her feel special. Important. As if her father knew exactly who she was and all she had to offer.
She met his chillingly cool eyes and felt a small shudder run through her veins, something that had never happened with any of her boyfriends (a very small group). “That’s a very good point. You shouldn’t worry about boys. You should wait for men. They’re a lot more decent. Though I support you not dating for a while,” he said with a touch of protective father syndrome.
She laughed, a loud and overall funny noise. She hated her laugh, always thinking it sounded odd. He smiled widely at her, and bent down and kissed her forehead before lifting his arm from around her shoulders.
“I think I’ll go put some clothes on. I think that Ms. Casters wants to invite me over,” he said moving to walk away.
She was struck by a sudden feeling of jealousy. The fake blonde, orange spray tanned woman in too tight clothes with silicon C boobs and over plumped lips was actually going to get to spend time with George- she mentally corrected herself- her father? That wasn’t going to happen. Before he got a chance to walk away she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.
He responded instantly, with much more enthusiasm than she’d ever expected. He twisted one strong, tan arm around her waist, and another lifted her off her feet, and supported her legs. His lips moved against hers wildly, her own lips parting and his tongue flecking around in her mouth. Her eyes closed, her body on fire with desire as her father kissed her with more passion than she’d ever felt in her life. Until now.
Her tongue traced his lips, tasting the deliciousness of his being, and before she knew it he had laid her down, gently, on her white down comforter of the platform floor bed. She understood completely what was going to happen next, and wanted it just as much as he did. As he leaned over her, him sitting on his knees, on the bed, she felt one of his hands twined itself in her copper mane, and the other cup her face. And all too soon he had, reluctantly, broken the kiss.
“What in the bloody hell was that?!” he exclaimed, looking down at her with wide, regretful, eyes. She sat up, a guilty expression consuming her features.
“I’m sorry…when you said you were going over to her house, I…got…a tad jealous…and I just wanted you to stay…I’m sorry…” she mumbled, not meeting his gaze, but instead staring down at her sandaled feet.
“Please…don’t apologize. That was…uhm…” he said clumsily, something he’d never done, he was always well-spoken and confident. She looked up in surprise, and saw that his expression wasn’t angry at all.
“Absolutely fantastic…?” She filled in for him tentatively.
“So…what does this mean? You’re my daughter for Christ’s sake…” he said chewing his lip where hers had been, just moments before.
“I have no idea…but it wasn‘t unpleasant...” she said bashfully.
He blinked down at her, his icy eyes bright and intense. “Do you want…to...keep going?” he asked slowly, as if giving her time to cut him off and be completely disgusted by his suggestion of incest.
“Yes,” she answered promptly. “If you do.”
“I think its kind of obvious that I want to…” he said pathetically. “But you’re not concerned that its…naturally wrong?”
“Doesn’t that make it even…better?” she replied tilting her head at him. “Knowing how forbidden it is?”
“I have to agree,” he said, a grin flashing across his youthful, ageless face. She smiled widely, her eyes flashing in the warm light of the afternoon which spilling in the massive windows. He leaned down, and kissed her once more. The passion rekindled immediately.
She ran her hands across his muscled, but not too so, chest, eventually slipping them down to his hips, tugging at his boxers (judging by the cotton fabric. She found it slightly amusing that he’d chosen to go swimming in his underwear.) and sliding them down his legs. She broke the kiss, to lift her tee shirt from over her head, and he helped her out of her sandals and shorts, leaving her in her black Italian lingerie.
His eyes drank her in hungrily, as if he could never look at her enough. She unsnapped her bra, and slid off her panties, becoming completely nude, her pale, plump breasts, and soaked snatch, which had a slight smattering of copper hair. She studied her father’s nude form as he did her, she saw, with rather wide eyes, that his erection was rock hard, a good 8 or 9 inches, rather thick, slightly wet at the tip from pre-cum and just as tan as the rest of his body.
And then suddenly his lips were back on hers, an electric sensation filling the air as if lightning was about to strike between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she laid down upon the soft bed, bringing him down with her, one of his large, powerful hands massaging her breast. Two fingers pinched her nipple and she let out a soft moan into his mouth.
She felt his other hand travel down her flat stomach and softly rub her clitoris. She felt a shudder run through her body, her spine curving upwards as jolt after jolt of pure ecstasy shot through her. His lips left hers and she felt him kiss her neck, trailing kisses down her collarbone, his lips soon reached her breast and his tongue flicked at her nipple.
She moaned again as he sucked at her breast, the hand at her crotch increase its tempo, like a piano piece beginning to journey up the hill that ended in climax. She was now moaning in a continuous string of sound, her eyes shut tight, waves of pleasure rolling over her. And then he lifted his mouth from her breast, and positioned himself with his head between her legs, she watched him with intensity, and without warning he started eating her out.
His tongue flicking her clit as she moaned, even more loudly than before. And then she felt the jolts coming sooner and sooner, the power behind them increasing spastically, and before she knew it she was letting out a scream that she’d never actually realized she could make. Her fingers clenched the comforter, her short nails digging into the feather filled blanket, before releasing as the final wave crashed over her. He lifted his head from her legs and smiled at her, a wicked glint in his beautiful eyes.
Without a word she stood from the bed, pulled him back into a standing position, sank to her knees, and from that position gripped his steel hard shaft in her small hands. She ran a hand up the smooth skin, as he watched, captivated, and she leaned closer, kissing the delicate skin her fingers had just run over. Her tongue poked through her lips, and she began to lick him, moving her head so that she began at his balls, and ended at the very end of his quivering head. After a few good licks she started to take him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down, like she’d seen on the adult movies she’d watched when she was curious about sex.
She sucked in her cheeks, and felt him shudder in her mouth. Each bob of the head she took in more of his full length, until she had him fully in her mouth, easily over powering herTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
Barbie
- 14.03.2020
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- Category:
- Incest
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