Riding My Dad's Best Friend

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I’ve seen pictures were you were holding me as a babe and you carried me with your hand there.” I replied. “When did it become too intimate? It hasn’t changed much, except for some hair.” The delicious feel of him against me. The sexy thought that my clit was pressed snug against the very organ that would penetrate my wet pussy. During this time, my mom was out of town for some psychiatric conference. She was always out of town, so I was used to this.

Picasso came to a walk as he led us on a trail I’d never been on before. Greenery surrounded us, and soon we approached a forested setting. There was a river below us. I moved to straddle his lap and faced him. My knees were on either side of his legs, and my legs were spread, my short shorts riding up, and my crotch was pressed against his. Feeling bolder than usual one night, I took his hand and placed it on the mound above my pussy. Just the fabric of my panties separating us. He has to feel my erect nipples poking through my shirt and dragging against him. At first, it embarrassed me. I felt humiliated. He got Picasso to walk, and suddenly we were rubbing together a bit. I enjoyed being on the horse, though, and I was eager to learn.Because of how close we were, and because of how jolting the movements of Picasso was, his hands rubbed against the soft sides of my jiggling tits. I blushed. I leaned to the side, resting my head against his chest. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was all I’d be getting for now.

Horror Writing | Screenplay Writing | How To Write | Write Books | Read Write | Writing Tips | Writing Tools | Writing Community Slowly, Daddy pulled His lips from mine, but I hungered for more. I felt so ashamed of how I was feeling, and how warm my body had gotten from just a simple kiss from Him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell Daddy that it wasn’t the other boys making me cry now, that it was Him. I wanted Him to be like that Daddy I knew He was, and not this monster taking advantage of me. But I kept silent. A thought occurred to me at that moment; maybe if I was good, then He would stop. Naïve of me to think of it now, but at that moment, it made sense. He had to have felt them wiggling against him. There was no doubt in my mind about it. What would he be thinking?didn’t seem an option at the time. I kinda felt I’d gone too far, that last week of summer. Yet I still longed for his touch. I hugged him too, when he did something for me, when I’d done something that made him proud or just because.

I would smile, my blue eyes squinting as she did so. My would be blushing, because I would think the same things about my father. I loved the horses. I didn’t grow up with them like her father had, but I’d happily obliged to farm life. My dad said that I appeared to be a natural with animals, and so I wanted to ride my father’s favorite horse. The horse was named Picasso, because he had splotches of white and brown that appeared to have been splattered onto his coat in random patterns. What I loved most, though, about Picasso was his tail. Long and flowing and white. Oftentimes, my father would catch me styling the tail with girlish, intricate braids.I need to let him out baby, you’re making me so hard.” He groaned, halting my movements and unbuttoning his pants. His other arm he wrapped around me, lower when I was wearing a bra but no t-shirt; but when my bare breasts were hidden behind a bulky shirt, he got high enough so that I could feel his arm brush up against them. I blushed, he must’ve thought I was upset for how close he had placed his hand. “It’s okay.” I said. “It was a suggestion.” You never expressed to me that you wanted to learn.” He said. I noticed how his hair had strands that were stained by the sun. Highlighted with lighter streaks that seemed to sparkle on his otherwise dark head of hair.