Daddy Teaches

I storm into my bedroom and slam the door, then throw myself down on the bed and sob.

“And you stay there until your Father gets home!” my Mother screams from downstairs.

I grip at my pillow case until my knuckles are white, my tears pouring uncontrollably. I had just gotten into a huge fight with my Mother about my boyfriend; I hadn’t ever had a boyfriend before and just wanted to spend some time with him before he had to go to work tonight, so I invited him over to hang out for a bit.

I’m 18 now and this is my house, too! I should be allowed to have company over without my parents there to supervise my every move and it isn’t like my Mom came home to find us fucking or anything like that; we were just making out, seeing how compatible we were, and yeah…our hands were wandering, but it was an innocent exploration and only on top of the clothes. I wouldn’t let him touch my bare skin, yet.

I’m still a virgin, after all, and he’s my first boyfriend ever. Plus, I’m not a slut!

I mean, shit. I only just started dating after my 18th birthday last week when my Daddy had finally put his foot down and told my Mother to relax a bit with her stupid rules; before that, I’ve spent my whole life being treated like my Mother getting knocked up with my older Sister as a young teen way back in the day was MY fault and, if I even LOOKED at boys, my Mother would ground me for the entire week.

Daddy would fight her on it every time, of course, and remind her that I’m my own person, that she can’t keep treating me like I’m going to make the same mistakes as her; he would tell her that she needed to relax with me because I’ve been such a good girl for my entire life and that they should trust me more, that she was going to push me away like she did my Sister, but it wouldn’t matter.

Mental Mama would put her foot down and Daddy would just roll his eyes, shake his head, look at me with a sad expression, then he would vanish into his study or the garage. He would stay in there until way beyond bedtime, I think to keep from having to see me pout or to deal with my Mother’s rage at him “undermining” her authority.

My Sister moved out when she turned 18 and stayed away. That was almost 4 years ago.

All because of our too-strict Mother’s insanity when it comes to boys.

I hate her.

I was so embarrassed by the scene she just threw, screaming at me in front of my new boyfriend and making him leave before I could explain anything to her; she called me so many rude names in front of him, too. Never in my life had I ever heard my Mother speak the way she did to me and the way she spoke about my body was completely uncalled for, let alone in front of a complete stranger.

I think she’s just jealous of my body since she stopped caring about hers forever ago.

I was considered tall for a woman, 5’10 without shoes on. I inherited my warm, honey-colored complexion from my Italian Daddy, my Mother’s pale Irish roots skipping a generation completely with my birth. I also inherited my Daddy’s chocolate brown hair and kept the wavy tresses long, almost to my butt; I also got my Daddy’s golden hazel eyes and thick eyelashes that never needed eye makeup to enhance.

I wasn’t a skinny mini like I was in junior high school, all skin and bones. I started growing into my body in the 10th grade, my chest filling up to a 36C bra and my baby weight distributing more evenly around my hips; I had a plump and firm, curvy ass thanks to puberty. My arm and leg muscles thickened when I had discovered a love of volley ball, but my Mother put a stop to that when she saw the team uniform was the tiniest pair of shorts. I was a healthy size 8 and worked hard to keep myself fit.

I was captain of the senior class track team and ran every morning before school; it was the only sport I was allowed to participate in since the uniform allowed the school’s sweatpants and t shirts. I was surprised that my psycho Mother approved of it; but only as long as I bought the pants a size or 2 bigger than my actual size, of course.

Truth be told, I was my Daddy’s clone; but with boobs and longer hair.

It wasn’t fair that my Mother punished me for that, too.

She would only buy me plain bras and panties in neutral colors to go with my plain baggy t shirts and loose sweat pants; she very rarely bought me jeans and, when she did, they were usually a size too big. She never bought me dresses or skirts, even when I begged for them; I was even willing to compromise and wear something ankle length, but she adamantly refused even though she wore skirts and dresses that could sometimes be considered way too short to be appropriate.

She wouldn’t even let me get a job because she said that I would use the money to buy “harlot gear” like the other sluts at my school. She made sure that either she or Daddy picked me up and dropped me off every single day so that I couldn’t get into any trouble, though it was mostly Daddy because he taught illegal bahis at the college a few miles from my school.

Downstairs, she had said that I had a whore’s body and a mentality to match; she claims that she had always known it, too, which is why she had been so strict with me. She told me that only the whore daughter of a whore Father would sneak a guy in to the house when nobody was home and let his slimy hands touch all over my too-big titties like a common street walker. She had told me that she knew the second my slut body started to develop into the sexier shape that it would only be a matter of time before I behaved like the slut I resembled; I had been mortified because not only had it all happened in front of my boyfriend, but she was screaming it all loudly enough that I knew even our neighbors had to hear her and all I had done was make out for the first time, ever!

I hate her so damn much.

I think my Daddy does, too, but I think he didn’t want to leave her and risk a custody battle. I wonder if I can convince him to leave her now that I’m 18 and can go with him without any fight from her. I sniffle and rotate onto my back, then sit up and hug my knees, my mind considering the possibilities of a life without my strict Mother.

I mean…my Daddy doesn’t really NEED my Mother. I’m woman enough for him now and we have gotten much closer over the years; hell, with no other boys allowed anywhere near me, of course I started to develop a crush on my Daddy.

Besides…It’s not like he even smiles with her around, anymore…

I’ve always been closer to him, anyway. I laugh a lot when we’re home alone together or in the car when he drives me to and from school each day. I get special after school treats from him most weekdays behind my Mother’s back; an ice cream cone from one place or a fancier shampoo and conditioner than the generic one my Mother buys me. I also get a small allowance from him each month behind my Mother’s back and he never tells me what I can or can’t spend it on, just that I have to keep whatever I buy hidden from her as carefully as I can; I usually buy little lipsticks or eye shadow packs that fit in my school bag and I, of course, leave it in my locker at school to be put on in the mornings.

The best thing of all that my Daddy got me was on the day of my birthday last week. I feel like it changed our relationship for the better and it finally made me feel like a woman instead of the little girl my Mother keeps treating me like I am; I felt grown up, desired, and horny as fuck for my Daddy’s big cock.

The morning of my birthday, Daddy had waited for my Mother to head to my Aunt’s house to pick up my birthday cake; my Mother was cheap as hell when it came to anything for me and my Aunt owned a pretty popular bakery, so she offered to make my birthday cake for cost and she had jumped on the offer.

Daddy had watched her leave with a twinkle in his eye; my Aunt’s house is over an hour and a half away in each direction on days without traffic and it was a Saturday, so he was excited to have at least 2 or 3 hours uninterrupted with me. With the happiest smile spreading his lips that had made his dimples pop, he had told me to get dressed for a special birthday surprise he had for me, then we happily loaded into the car.

Much to my delight, he took me to a popular lingerie store that I have heard all of the girls at school bragging about. We had looked at one another, me in surprise and he with pure excitement; then he had put the car in park and we had climbed out of the car to go into the store where he then bought me my first ever “racy” pair of panties.

They were royal purple, a dark and sinful purple with little lavender flowers dotting the entire thing that seemed to have shiny silver mixed in that reflected in the lighting; my Daddy’s favorite color, naturally. The panty is a kid short made entirely of lace with a patch of black cloth lining only the crotch area; it barely covered my clean-shaven pussy lips, but covered absolutely NOTHING else.

I remember my eyes going wide as I stared at the panty in the fitting room mirror. I had turned my back to the reflection, then glanced over my shoulder to see my entire rounded ass showing through the net-like material, the lace ending in the middle of each toned cheek so that the bottom curves were bare; the crotch portion easy slipped between my plump ass cheeks and vanished between my legs like a hotdog perfectly fit in its bun.

I had never felt sexier and had turned back around to see how the crotch of the panty hugged my pussy lips, the lace barely reaching the top of the smooth thickness of my firm thighs. I had giggled to see the top curve of my mound completely in view, the tiny scrap of cloth between my legs barely concealing it.

Daddy had stopped breathing when I had emerged from the fitting room just to shown him. He had asked me to turn every way possible and had even asked me bend over with my back to him. illegal bahis siteleri He had made the strangest sound deep in his chest after I had spread my legs a bit to make the crotch a little less tight between my legs, but he had already returned to sitting when I had turned back to face him.

He was leaning over in this weird way that didn’t look very comfortable, his face pinched and red like he was in a tremendous amount of pain; but he had dismissed my concern when I had hurried to his side to make sure he was okay. He had crossed his legs, adjusted his shirt, then glanced at the sales woman to get her attention.

That was when he had asked for a bra to replace the plain beige one I had on.

He had liked how the panty looked so much that he had even bought me the matching bra.

The matching bra to the panty has these puffy push up cups that make my already large chest look outrageously big and the material was so soft when I had caressed my fingertips over the straps. It was the same dark purple color, but was trimmed in black lace with the same lavender flowers dotting it beneath the cups and halfway up the straps

My Mother would blow a gasket if she saw me in these things!

Daddy’s eyes had widened so hugely on his face when I showed him how it looked on me that his eyelids had practically vanished. He had waved me closer to him, had asked me to bend down in front of him so that he could better examine the bra; he had turned so incredibly red when I had told him to feel the wonderful material, but then he had carefully run his fingertips over the cloth covering my nipple. He had moaned when my nipples pebbled under this touch, then had whipped out his credit card and handed it over to the saleswoman without blinking.

I was so wet by then, my body so hot with need for him.

Daddy had called me his Princess and told me to leave them on for the rest of the day. He had told me that they were a birthday present and that I should enjoy them for my whole birthday; then he had told me that he would come to my room that night to help me get them off and that he would take them from me to hide them from my Mother.

I had thrown my arms around him, plastered my body to his, and thanked him. I had pouted a little when he had pushed me away, but he softened the blow with a gentle kiss to my forehead and then he had turned me toward the dressing room to get my clothes.

Back at home, my Mother had had no idea that we had gone out while she was gone and had come home telling me to put on nicer clothes because my Aunt was right behind her plus that other guests would be arriving shortly. She had hurriedly moved around the kitchen heating up the meal stuff she had prepared the night before.

I had run upstairs to change out of the t shirt and sweatpants that I had worn to shop with Daddy, but had completely freaked out when I noticed my new bra showing through the white dress shirt even though I wore a white camisole with it. I was just about to change out of the bra when Daddy stepped into my bedroom and closed the door. I explained to him what the issue was, my heart breaking a little bit, but he had merely left the room for a minute and had returned with one of his lavender work shirts for me to wear.

I had been overjoyed at the prospect of wearing a color other than white or beige and had eagerly removed both the white dress shirt as well as the camisole I had on beneath it. I had stepped to my Daddy as he had held the shirt open for me, then slid my arms into it and turned to him to let him button it up for me; I had giggled and told him that I was more than old enough to dress myself, but he had insisted that men’s shirts are different from women’s and that it had to be done a certain way to fit properly.

He had asked me to lower my pants so that he could tuck it in properly, then he had kneeled down in front of me and had shoved the pants to my ankles while he had smoothed his hands along my thighs to sweep the shirt up; he had smiled when I giggled at the feel of his hands on my skin, then he had tucked the ends of the shirt into the rim of my new panties with his fingers brushing along my bare belly as he moved.

He had pulled the black sweatpants back up my legs, his thumbs sweeping upward along my flesh to my waist; he had reached behind me, chest to chest with me, to cup my ass cheeks and make sure the shirt was tucked in properly at the back of my pants. He had sighed as he squeezed me there, then he had pulled back and given the shirt one last fluff at my waist line before leaning forward to kiss the middle of my forehead.

My body was so hot from the contact and I think he had known because he had smiled.

At the party, my Mother stopped talking to my Aunt mid-sentence to storm over and ask me what I was wearing. She had been furious to see me in the colored blouse after she had so carefully ironed out the white one for me and had pulled me away from the crowd of guests canlı bahis siteleri to yell at me about it; she demanded to know where I had gotten the shirt from.

Daddy had stepped between us with a smile on his face, then he had carefully plucked my Mother’s hand off of my arm and shoved me toward my school friends. He had said something to her in hushed tones that nobody else could hear, but she had blushed and her eyes had gone wide. He said something else to her that made her glare my way before she had stomped back over to my Aunt; Daddy had only winked at me and walked away.

Later that night, long after the guests had gone and my Mother had finished cleaning up, she was passed out cold in bed and Daddy knocked softly on my bedroom door. He told me that I could keep the dress shirt that I had hung neatly on a hanger for him, then he stepped behind me to undo the hooks on my new bra for me.

It felt incredibly more intimate than a Father helping his Daughter out…

He had lifted my long hair and draped it over my left shoulder, then he had run his hands up my arms from wrists to shoulders before brushing his fingertips down my back to the bra. He had tucked his fingers into the bra, undid the hooks, then massaged at the skin to make sure it wasn’t sore before he smoothed his hands up my back to slide them beneath the straps; he had met my eyes in the mirror along my wall as he slowly, so slowly, pushed the bra straps down my arms. The full weight of his hands were pulling it down toward my stomach until my breasts were then in full view.

I had stopped breathing, my nipples stiffening in the air conditioned coolness of the room.

Daddy had released one of the straps so that the bra swung across my stomach, then he pulled it off and draped it over his shoulder. “Now the panties.” he had whispered softly, his eyes drifting down my body in the mirror before glancing down at my bared bottom. He surprised me by dropping to one knee, his thumbs tucking into the waist of the panty. “Spread a bit, Baby Girl.” he had commanded roughly, his voice soft enough to not carry beyond my bedroom; he seemed to stop breathing, too.

I had spread my legs slightly apart for him, just a few inches, and watched in the mirror as my Daddy’s thumbs had shoved at the hem of my panties; I felt his warm breath drift across my lower back, then over my bare bottom as he slid the panties down my legs. I felt the crotch portion cling to my feminine lips a second before it snapped free to catch up with the rest of the panties as he pulled at them.

Daddy pressed a soft kiss to my right butt cheek.

I had moaned.

“Lift.” Daddy ordered with a tap to my right ankle.

I obediently bent at the knee and lifted my right leg.

Daddy slipped the panty off, then tapped my other ankle; he had placed his right hand on my naked right hip to keep me balanced as I lifted my left leg and watched in the mirror as he lifted the panties to his nose. He locked gazes with me in the mirror, his head level with my intimate area and his hand still at my waist. He smiled wickedly as he inhaled the smell of my panty, then gave my hip a squeeze.

He had leaned forward, again, and kissed my left butt cheek this time.

I had moaned, again.

Daddy had then leaped to his feet, kissed the top of my head, then left my room.

I had heard the sounds of my parents fucking soon after that and had masturbated so hard, pretending the entire time that it was my Daddy’s fingers rubbing me. My little clit was so stiff and tingly with need, my pussy had been so wet. My body had been on fire as I recalled the warmth of my Daddy’s hand at my hip, the way his eyes had glowed with mischievous intentions; I had never fantasized about my Daddy while fingering myself before that night, but I hadn’t ever cum as hard as I had after that, either.

It was the first time I was ever jealous of my psycho Mother.

Daddy became an every night fantasy since then and it made me feel guilty; it made me feel like a perverted freak, lusting after my Daddy the way I was even though he had given me every indication that he was feeling the same way about me.

I had gotten a boyfriend just to try and replace my Daddy in my fantasies at night, but now my Mother has ruined that for me. I was sure that I wouldn’t have a boyfriend, anymore, after her tirade at him today and that I would be the center of gossip to boot.

I really hate her.

As if on cue, my Mother’s voice comes screaming up to my room and snaps me back to the present. “You need to have a talk with your precious not-so-little girl!” she screams a second after the front door clicks shut. “Do you know what I found when I got home from work this afternoon?” she shrieks shrilly, her voice high-pitched with anger. “I’ll tell you!” she fumes, her voice a bit louder as if she were standing directly at the bottom of the stairs just then. “I found the little whore sprawled out on her back pinned to the sofa with a boy’s hands all over her.” she growls loudly, her anger still fresh. “Her lips were all swollen as if she had just sucked him off and loved it.” she adds nastily.

I gasp in shock at her lies, my eyes wide.