Who's Your Daddy, Jennifer? free porn video
"I hate to tell you this, Jennifer," Mom's voice was tentative, scarily so, across a thousand miles of telephone wire and microwave signal, "but Ricardo is your father."
"WHAT!" I screamed it out. I understood her words instantly, could easily conjure up a fact pattern that made them true, but I wasn't ready to accept them. "Daddy died two years ago, Mom." I could hear the pleading, the strain in my own sounds.
"Jennifer, you've known all of your life that I was already pregnant with you when I married your Daddy."
"I always thought that it had been Daddy who made you pregnant, Mom."
"You were supposed to," she said softly.
"But how can you be so sure, Mom?"
"Well, you said that he used to live in St. Louis, right?"
"Yes, he was wearing a Cardinals sweatshirt when I met him. That's how I noticed him."
"And you just e-mailed me his picture, didn't you?"
I was at a loss for words. Then, "But still, how can you be so sure that it's him?"
"Jennifer, if a man ever leaves you pregnant after a drunken one night stand and a broken rubber, you'll remember him."
"Oh, shit," I mumbled, my eyes filling with tears.
Two days earlier: I finally opened my eyes. Hovering over my face, maybe three inches away, was his cock, held parallel to the bed by his hand holding it by the root. To me, that day, it was the most manly and powerful cock I had ever seen, and of course, earlier on, I had thought the same thing about each cock that I'd entertained. It was shiny slimy, glistening with the wetness of my own discharge mixed with remnants of his sperm that had clung to it as he had pulled out of my cunt. A recognizable droplet was forming at single eye of his tool. Doesn't he ever stop cumming, I asked myself, crediting myself for his virility.
I hate to fuck with the lights on. To be polite, I've told him that the brightness of the ceiling fixture bothers my eyes, though in fact his head over my face as he slams his meat into me usually blocks out any glare. In truth, the real reason is that his — no, make that any guy's — cock and balls are not attractive. Be it a puny five or six incher or a monstrous black ten, a cock is not a pretty organ, not even the seven incher still wet from my juices, nowhere near as pleasant to view as any smooth curved pink labia with a clit poking its head out. And balls, that crinkly, hairy, sensitive sac of two that men hold so sacred, are biology's definition of ugliness.
But in the dark, nothing can beat that three-piece set for pleasure. The smooth silky warmth as the blood courses through that hard shaft, the faint irregularity of the skin covering the head, similar to fine grain sandpaper, the way his two little nuts scamper away from even the most gentle and loving touch of my fingers or tongue, these things keep my pussy soaking with girl sauce. The way those seven inches of man meat spread my folds as they stroke gently inside me, the way that it pounds my depths when the stroking ceases to be slow and gentle, the squishing sound as it rubs my gushing vaginal walls, these are to die for. And then the grunt from his throat, the throbbing of his ejaculation, the spurt of creamy fuck sauce filling me, those things bring me back to life.
And the taste of his spend when he cums in my mouth or when he gives me his cock to clean when his balls are empty, as then, is such a sweet nectar that I need it, like water, like oxygen even. Many before him had desired to empty their cum in that location. Some had even been allowed to do so, albeit grudgingly in compensation for some pleasant evening, some fabulous orgasm, expert pussy licking or the like. But none of them had ever had the egotistical pleasure of having me swallow, and none of their cum tasted worthy of being consumed that way.
Then along came Ricardo; Ricky, Rick, Dick, Richard, Dickie Boy. That last is the code word I use when we're out in public and I want to tell him just how much I need that cock inside me, in my cunt or mouth. Or when circumstances don't allow that, in my hand as it massages him to Nirvana, to Paradise.
My Ricardo has made me an addict for his sperm, unable to live a day without it, needing it more and more. I love him so much, love his cock so much that sometimes when he's cum in my mouth, I won't let him go, won't let him get up and run to the bathroom, so that he has to empty his bladder there in my mouth also. I've gotten to actually enjoy the flavor. Tara, my first roommate when I moved to Richmond and still my occasional bedmate — I don't call that cheating on Ricardo since Tara's a woman, not a man - thinks that I'm weird to drink the stuff, but as long as I don't insist on it with her, she can't complain.
And so I reached my head up, keeping it in the shadow of his body, and licked that new drop off. Then I took his slippery wet love muscle in between my lips and quickly cleaned and dried it, savoring as always the taste of our mixed fluids. I say quickly for I was beginning to feel his cum begin to ooze out of me and trickle down toward my ass. Hurry, clean me up, I thought silently, for sound was not needed. He loved the taste of taking his own cum back from my mouth or cunt equally as much as I loved the feel of his tongue between my legs bringing me to my second or third orgasm.
For this to me was a sign of his love for me, the fact that after he had just had an orgasm, he still had enough interest in my pleasure to keep working on my clit. Most of the men I had known, and the boys before them, considered their grunts of ejaculation as requests for permission to go pee, and when they hear no answer, they do just that.
But not my Ricardo, whose tongue quickly lapped up the creamy gift seeping out of me — and who also dove inside my cunt to get back the sperm that would have stayed with me. Then he just latched onto my clit and sucked away patiently, like a baby at the teat until he brought me over the top again. At that point I released him to pad over to the bathroom. He wiggled his nice tight ass as he walked, knowing that I was staring at it. Well, at least it looks better in the light than his cock and balls, even if it doesn't give me as much pleasure.
Back in bed, he spooned his lap against my ass and wrapped an arm around me, his lips nibbling my back and neck, his fingers diddling my nipples. We lay wordlessly as I enjoyed the warmth of his body against mine. It always took a half hour or more before he was ready again, hard enough and energized enough for that ride into my darkness that would bring us to shower time.
It was Ricky who had taught me that unorthodox method of coupling, what people call the Greek way. Some of the others in the past had asked for that pleasure — pleasure for them, but not for me — and I had always been able to turn them away with a gentle 'it does nothing for me.' In fact, the very idea of being entered from the rear terrified me with imagined pain that sometimes I couldn't even finish the evenings off with them with plain old blow jobs. It had cost me some boyfriends, but they weren't worth keeping anyway.
But my lover had waited patiently, for months into our relationship, until we had long past those first scary words of love, until they came out of our mouths as easily as 'hello.' And even then he had just attempted a single finger, holding it inside me without moving it when my body stiffened in surprise and fear. Only my love for him kept me from screaming and jumping out of the bed. Three or four nights it happened, his unspoken request to be allowed to bugger me, to put his hard cock inside my ass and to deposit his cum there.
And then I was ready, rewarding his latest finger entry by reaching under the pillow and sliding out a tube of KY. I've read, maybe just heard, that an experienced whore can take it up the ass almost without even feeling it. That first night, such a prospect was inconceivable. When I'd felt my lover's one lousy finger pronging my back door, felt the discomfort of something that didn't belong, I knew that his much fatter cock would hurt like a son of a bitch. And yet I was ready to submit that to him out of my love for him. I knew that I would never receive any pleasure out of being fucked in the ass, save for the joy of giving pleasure to my lover. And I guess that after all, giving pleasure to a lover is kind of the definition of love anyway.
So I gave him the tube, twisted my hips to make his finger pop out of me and rolled over onto my face and knees. My ass was raised up, presenting itself for his use and enjoyment. Looked at from the side, it would have appeared like submission to dominance, more demeaning even than being on my knees before him as I suck his cock. But seen from the inside, from my heart, it was merely me giving myself fully, completely, whole-heartedly to the man I love.
He was experienced. Twenty years my senior, I would have been sad for him if my delicate ass had been his first. As well as sad for myself if he didn't know how to prepare my anal opening properly. Twenty-three already myself, I had given up mouth and cunt to the same man on a single evening for the first time nine years earlier, and I grit my teeth as I was about to lose my final cherry. I was so glad that, without conscious planning, I had saved this ultimate gift for my Ricardo.
Happily, he had known what to do. He spread my knees and knelt between them, behind me. His thumbs pressed my cheeks outward, exposing that sensitive area that had known only a single finger. He bent and his tongue reached out to my crinkled opening, washing the area. What pleasure that might have given him I couldn't comprehend, and yet it was clearly a signal, his signal that he considered the area to be clean and that he was thanking me in advance for allowing him to enter me that way. Or maybe it was just a simple message that he loved me.
And I accepted it that way, as a compliment. While still afraid, I began to welcome what was to come. Gentle fingers entered me from behind, first one, then a second. Each was accompanied by globs of cream, inside my colon, coating what was possible at my sphincter muscle, and outside me on the slopes of my ass cheeks along the path that his cock would take. Each motion of his fingers was a twist and expansion to stretch the protective muscle. His lips never left my back.
I began to relax as I became accustomed to the size of his two fingers. Knowing from experience that his man meat was larger around than those fingers, still I began to know that I could handle it. With some pain, surely, but I could handle it. He removed his fingers and greased up his cock, then reached around me to play with my clit. I relaxed as best I could, ready but afraid.
"I'm ready, my lover," I whispered shakily. Both my hands were behind me, spreading my cheeks for him, helping so that he didn't have to remove his one hand from my clit. I felt his other hand holding his cock, guiding it to the starburst surrounding my 'perfect circle.' He pressed the crown forward and I strained to accept it, the perspiration pouring off of my body.
And then he was in, only just, barely a fraction of an inch, not even deep enough to stretch the muscle. But it was a start, and it didn't hurt yet. His hands gripped my hips tightly, actually uncomfortably; I thought that it might be the old doctor's trick of squeezing the finger hard so that you don't feel the tweezers taking out the splinter. Aah, but Ricardo wasn't taking out anything, not just yet, he was still busy sticking it in.
He pushed again, and that crown which always felt so good in my mouth began to feel not quite so good in my ass. I strained, trying to relax my sphincter. It helped a little. I reached back to grasp the shaft of his cock, not knowing whether I wanted to pull it into me or to hold it out of me. So I just held the greasy lance, savoring the touch as he pressed forward ever so slowly.
My discomfort increased, finally approaching the expected pain. My brain told my body to accept that discomfort, recognizing that my beloved was doing everything he could to minimize it even as his own brain and body succumbed to the ancient male urge to dominate the female, to subjugate her (me) to his lustful needs.
Finally, it had seemed like forever, my lover's crown was inside me, past the sphincter, which began to relax back toward its normal position, wrapping itself around the thinner shaft. He stopped, and we waited silently, his hands gently caressing my back, bringing me down to acceptance of this strange object where it didn't belong. But of course it truly did belong there, because it pleased my beloved Ricardo, and whatever pleased him pleased me unquestionably.
My only complaint was that I couldn't see him, couldn't see his face as he was inside me, couldn't see his eyes, his smile, his love as he enjoyed the last of my entrances for the first time but not, oh definitely not, for the last time.
I felt him fumbling as he re-lubricated his shaft and began to slide into my depths, still slowly but not quite as slowly as earlier. He stopped only when his balls lay against my pussy slit. I reached back underneath us to give them a little squeeze, to welcome them again to the enjoyment of my body, to let them know again that I was ready for their creamy gift. Ricky at the same time reached around me, sliding two fingers inside me. I shivered at the thrill of my lover taking me from behind and from in front at the same time.
Unless my Ricardo had been stepping out on me in the two years that we'd been lovers — always possible for any man, I knew, any man at all, but I hoped and believed that he had not — then this was his first anal sex in at least that long. I convinced myself of that, accurately or not, by the change is his style of love-making. Rather than the slow, gentle, relaxing stroking method that he uses whenever he is inside my cunt or my mouth, at least until he's ready to cum, that time he immediately began to thrust maniacally, rushing his orgasm and totally ignoring the possibility of my own with him. Even though he still had two of his fingers inside me, they were not in any manner doing anything to help me cum.
And I didn't care, for I was there at that moment only for him, only for my lover, only for his pleasure, only for his release. As I read what I've just typed, I realize that it's not quite true; I was also there for the delightful throbbing that I would feel as he spurted his cum into my bowels.
I was right. When I heard his grunt, felt the throb, felt the wetness, I put my head down on the pillow and my body shook with delight. I had pleased my lover once again, and I was again fulfilled.
And so we made love again and again, morning and night and nooners when we could. Those nooners were rare. Ricardo was a successful architect and I was an up and coming trainee for one of the major management firms in the country. We weren't yet living together full time, though each of us had a closet full of clothing in the other's place.
Ricardo had never met Mom, since she still lived in St. Louis while we did our snuggling in the Richmond area. I hadn't seen her since my Dad's funeral. Whenever we spoke, she would ask me about my love life and I would make some casual remark about playing the field. If she had ever known about how serious he and I had become, she would have been nagging me daily about setting a wedding date.
Anal fucking became our weekend ritual, when we could expend all our energy and not be afraid to sleep late. I had gotten into the habit of cleaning off his cock whenever he pulled out after cumming in my ass; it was no big deal. He reciprocated by cleaning up the cum that oozed out of my ass, just the way he did it from my cunt. All in all, a win-win situation.
That weekend at the start of this story, just before the phone call from Mom, we had just cleaned each other up from the pre-shower ass fuck. We were lying next to each other in my bed, enjoying our post-coital cigarettes. OK, no fucking lectures from you now. Nothing about smoking, or smoking in bed, or ass fucking, or fucking bareback; it's what we do and we're not about to change.
What was about to change were our living arrangements. My Ricky asked me if I would consider moving in with him on a full time basis, and I had agreed. That meant that I had to tell Mom that I would have a new phone number and that sometimes a man would be answering the phone. Don't misunderstand. My Mom did not think that I was a nun or even a virgin. I didn't think that she ever learned that it had been Daddy who had taken my first two cherries, but she did know enough to put me on the pill back in high school.
In any event, she oohed and aahed when I told her about my planning to move in with my boyfriend. I told her that he was older than me, but not how much older. She asked all the right questions, including the one that mattered, could I email his photo? And you heard about her call back to me.
Oh, I guess you'd like me to tell you about my doings with Daddy and Mom before I finish telling you about Ricardo. Am I right?
Always a precocious kid, once I hit thirteen, I kind of left childhood behind. My tits were coming in very nicely, thank you, and I was not averse to letting some of the boys play with them in a dark movie or at a party in someone's basement — where the boiler room was always dark. One night I even gave one of the boys a sort of hand job, rubbing his hard on from outside his jeans until I felt him cum. It was a good thing that it was his sister's party, so that he was able to sneak upstairs and change. When I left the party, he slipped me a baggie with his cum soaked underpants. I've still got them hidden someplace, though I forget the guy's name. I used to use them when I masturbated, but I don't do that very much anymore.
When Mom had to go up to St. Paul in Minnesota to help her mother take care of her father after an accident, Daddy and I stayed in St. Louis. I was old enough that he didn't have to do much to take care of me, except feed me, which consisted of going to restaurants for three meals a day. Mom had been gone for two weeks and we were in an Italian restaurant. Daddy was sipping a little Chianti but he wouldn't let me drink anything but soda. One of the waitresses walked past our table; she was about eighteen, pretty, well built, actually ripe. I could see Daddy's head move as she passed by, could actually see him undressing her as he stared at her ass.
Sometimes I open my big mouth when common sense demands that I should keep it closed.
"Missing Mom, are we, Daddy?"
He didn't answer me. He just kept staring at the waitress' body until she turned a corner out of view. Then he turned toward me and stared at my face, long enough for me to feel creepy, before he simply resumed the conversation right where we had left it off. But his blush took a while to go away. For some reason, my panties began to feel damp.
That night, I slipped out of bed and went to my dresser, where I had hidden that pair of underpants full of cum. The odor had gone out of them, and the fabric was still stiff in the spots where the cum had dried. Once again, I remembered the thrill when it had been my hand that made the guy cum in them, and it always excited me when I used them to rub my face while I played with my clit. At the same time, I couldn't get out of my mind that look on Daddy's face as he had examined from a distance the body of that waitress.
Daddy was horny, Deadly Sperm Buildup the girls called it, and Mom wouldn't be back home for at least another week. My mind raced. I was fourteen already, and Daddy needed me. It wouldn't be my first hand job, but I figured that it would be my most important one. But first I had to make myself cum.
A plain vanilla flannel nightgown was what I usually wore to bed back then, not like nowadays, when I want to look sexy in bed. I slid my hand underneath and spread my labia. The underpants lay on my face, a sweet reminder of my first ever conquest. Funny word, conquest, especially when used to describe a boy who was having so much enjoyment that he shot his cum into his shorts. I found one of the dried spots and began to suck on it. It had no taste, but the very wickedness of what I was doing turned me on.
My free hand slid inside me, into the slick channel that had been opened months earlier by one of Mom's cucumbers. The thought brought a smile to my face, the recollection of devouring that cucumber, tinged with blood and the scent of my pussy. Eating that was like a queen bee killing a drone after she had sex with it, knowing that it had died for a good purpose. But unlike the cucumber, the drone had probably enjoyed getting laid before he died.
Thumb and forefinger hung on to my clit, sliding up and down as their companion fingers reproduced the sensation of that first cucumber. Every so often I brought that hand back to my mouth, to suck my fingers dry, to inhale the lust from my body. And each time that I returned it to my cunt, it brought me closer and closer and closer...
Suddenly my body stiffened, as though I had been electrocuted. My legs and one arm were splayed out, in a snow angel position while my remaining hand finished off my orgasm. I rolled my head into my pillow so that my moans would not wake Daddy, and I began to sob the soft sob of orgasmic relief.
I lay there relaxing, waiting for the soothing pleasure of the cum to slowly pass out of my system. And then it was time, time for me to go to Daddy's bed and wake him up and make him think all over again about that lovely waitress. I thought the possibly he had masturbated himself to sleep thinking about her, but in my youthful arrogance, I was confident that I could get him off again anyway.
As I slid out of bed, realization hit me. I was not going to Daddy's bed to please him, to help him out while Mom was away. No, I suddenly knew, I was going to his bed to please myself. Not as a surrogate lover, but as a teen-age slut looking for maturity. And there was no way that Daddy was going to deny me the pleasure of pleasuring him — and myself.
I padded down the hall, my nightgown barely keeping me warm under the nighttime thermostat setting. Daddy was sound asleep, as attested to by the soft 'poohing' coming from his bed. He was lying on his side, facing away from me. Perfect! Holding my nightgown down chastely, I slid in to the bed behind him. As I inched up toward his ass, my nightgown rode up a bit and I felt a wet spot on my leg.
It took all of my willpower to keep from bursting out laughing as I realized that Daddy had indeed gotten himself off even as I planned to take care of that little chore for him. But as the mailmen say, that wouldn't deter me from my appointed rounds. I pulled my gown down again and slid closer, moving my lap against his ass. He was naked; I could tell from the absence of clothing rustling when I touched him.
Madison
- 20.05.2022
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