My Father's Second Wife

"You're early," he said as he rounded the corner. "That's a promising start." He was dressed for work, suit and tie, holding his newspaper in one hand and consulting an electronic tablet in the other. He sat down at the table and finished what he was reading, before he looked up at me.

"Your ability to follow instructions, however, leaves something to be desired," the tone in his voice was mild, but disapproving.

I was crestfallen. What had I done wrong? "Don't you like them," I asked as I turned in one leg and lifted my foot to show off a shoe.

"The shoes are beautiful, honey. Now, what else did I tell you to wear?" he asked, pointedly.

My mistake hit me like a punch in the gut. "Nothing," I said meekly.

"So why are you wearing anything else?" he asked. I didn't have an answer and didn't say anything. I just shrugged my shoulders.

"So why are you still wearing them?" he said slowly, as if speaking to a foreigner.

I grabbed the hem of the teddy and pulled it over my head. Before it had even floated to the ground, I was bent forward pushing the G-string off, being careful not to lose my balance in the high heels. I had to steady myself with one hand on the table to get it off one foot and then the other.

While I was struggling with my panties, dad explained "At this stage of your employment you need to follow instructions precisely. When you're told to do something, you need to do exactly that: no embellishments, no additions, no substitutions. If you can't do exactly that, ask someone."

I tossed the panties on top of the teddy and stepped back from the table again. I'd stripped naked for my father twice in the last 24 hours. I was beginning to wonder if this was going to be a regular exercise.

"See, now I can enjoy the wonderful job you've done on your pussy" he said brightly. "I have to say that shaving has improved your looks. You were already pretty, but now you're sleek and elegant, like an Italian sports car." I couldn't help but smile. "You should keep yourself that way from now on."

I nodded in agreement.

"How are your oral skills?" he asked.

"Like, giving a speech?" I queried back.

"No, oral sex. Blowjobs," he said. "And don't start a sentence with 'like.'"

"I'm OK, I guess. I've never had any complaints, if that's what you mean," I replied.

"Then come around here and get started," he said as he pushed his chair back and angling himself away from the table.

I walked around the table to stand in front of him, but didn't know what to do next. OK, I knew what to do—take dick, put in mouth—but I wasn't sure exactly how to approach him. I'd already make one mistake today.

He saw my indecision and started giving instructions.

"Kneel down."

Getting onto your knees in really high heels isn't easy. I steadied myself with the edge of the table as I lowered myself onto my left knee, my right leg bent upwards by the extra 5 inches of the shoe. I had to tip over to the left to get my right foot off the ground, this causing my breasts to wobble sideways.

"Unzip my pants."

"Reach in and take it out."

I had my hand fished through the fly of his pants when I encountered his cock. "That answers the 'boxers or briefs' question," I thought to myself. The correct answer was "none of the above."

I could tell his cock was big. I felt down until I found the tip and pulled it through the opening in his pants. It was just starting to get stiff. Any stiffer and it would have been problematic getting it out.

Once in view I could admire my dad up close. It was big. Not "freak show, horse cock" big, but substantial in every way. It wasn't the longest cock I'd ever seen, and it wasn't the thickest. But in combination it was probably the most massive piece of man meat I'd held in my hands.

I reached my other hand in, cupped his balls, and pulled them through the opening too. His balls were shaved. I was learning new things about my dad by the minute.

His balls were normal sized, which means they were small in proportion to his penis. I think this made his dick look all that much bigger. And it was getting bigger. I could feel it growing in my hand.

I focused on the tip, his cock's most distinctive feature. On a lot of cocks, the tip is just an end cap. They're about the same width as the rest, sometimes narrower, giving the effect of just one smooth cylinder, like my vibrator. In contrast, my day's head was massive. I've heard the term "helmet" before, but this is the first dick that actually looked like it was wearing a helmet. His tip was dark, almost purple, and the head was wider than his shaft, like a little baby fist at the end of a chubby arm. He was circumcised. It looked like a mushroom.

As I leaned forward to get a closer look—my mind hadn't yet progressed to the ramifications of putting that in my mouth—I froze. I head soft footsteps behind me. For an instant I thought one of dad's bimbos was waltzing in, but no, of course not. It was Kwan. It had to be Kwan.

I didn't know what to do. Without moving my head, I looked as far right as I could, to catch a glimpse of Kwan's signature outfit: sensible flats and a crisp cotton shirt-waist dress. Kwan didn't have a uniform, but she always dressed to make it clear she was staff and not family or a guest.

My mind was reeling. The woman who cleans my room, retrieves my bikini bottoms from the hot tub, makes me midnight snacks, and stocks the video library with my favorite DVDs just walked into the room, a room where I'm kneeling in front of my dad, buck naked, holding his cock mere inches from my ruby red lips. I didn't think "Hey, what's up?" was an appropriate greeting.

Kwan walked up behind me. As I was bent forward on my knees, I knew she had a spectacular view of my ass, asshole, and my freshly shaved pussy. I heard china clink on the table. She was bringing dad coffee!

"Good morning Mr. Grant" she said in her slightly eerie accent, the origin of which I've never determined.

"Good morning, Kwan" was my father's polite reply, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Had he somehow forgotten about the pretty naked girl holding his cock?

"Will you be wanting anything to eat before you leave?" she asked, clearing something from the table. As she leaned forward, the hem of her skirt brushed against my bare back. It was like being stabbed with needles.

"No, I'll be leaving shortly. I'll grab something when I get to the office."

I wondered "Am I invisible?"

"Will Miss Charlotte be eating anything this morning?" she asked.

So she did know I was in the room! A moment of silent passed as the two shared the joke.

"Will Miss Charlotte be eating anything else, this morning?" she corrected, emphasizing the word "else."

Ha, ha, very funny. I wanted to make some biting retort, but I just couldn't work up the nerve. This was just too bizarre, in a "Oh yea, I always chat with my staff while having sex with my daughter" kind of way. I was out of my depth. I remained motionless.

"Char can eat what she wants later" my father said, resolving the situation and dismissing Kwan at the same time.


"Very well" was her proper reply. Her soft footsteps drifted away, once again disappearing into the house.

My focus returned again to my father's cock, but I was still immobilized from the interruption. I simply stared at his dick.

"I'm leaving in twenty minutes" my father announced. "You've got that long to dazzle me."

No pressure. OK. Deep breath. Cocksucking 101: Open mouth, insert cock.

I opened my jaw as wide as a could and lowered my head. I wanted to envelop it, like a giant fish engulfing its prey. As the tip made contact with the back of my throat, I brought my lips around the shaft. I actually had most of it in my mouth. It was still soft, pliable. I knew it wouldn't stay that way long.

I started to kneed it with my mouth, opening wide to take it all in, then closing and withdrawing, stroking the entire length with my tongue and lips. It was working. With each pass his cock grew a little. The head pressed more insistently against the back of my throat. The shaft swelled. I could no longer take it all in my mouth.

Within a few minutes, I could only get my mouth halfway down the growing bulk. I wrapped my hand around the base and started to stroke. This is my best cocksucking technique: work the top with my mouth while pumping the shaft with my fist.

I picked up the pace. Now I was just bobbing my head, bringing my lips just to the base of his head, before plunging down again until the head smashed against the back of my mouth. My hand was beating his shaft, going twice as fast as my head, creating a nice rhythm: back, stroke, stroke, down, stroke, stroke, back, stroke, stroke, down, stroke, stroke.

I kept this up for some time. His cock was really big now. My mouth wasn't going more than a third of the way down now. I attempted to go lower and was rewarded with a gag reflex. I pulled off and coughed, swallowed, took a deep breath, and went back on. I put both hands on his shaft.

After another minute, I instinctively began to stand up. I was about to do what I always do next, get up and fuck the guy. But I remembered my father's words from earlier: "no embellishments, no additions, no substitutions."

My dad only said "blowjob," so that must mean that's all he wanted. This lead to another thought: I've never gotten a guy off this way. For me a blowjob is a warm up, an appetizer before the main meal. I only suck guys until they're hard. Who gets just a blowjob—unless they're gay? I honestly wasn't sure how to finish this.

Well, I was sure as hell going to try! I spit on dad's cock (saw that in a porn flick) and started pumping furiously with both hands. My tits were bouncing wildly up and down from the exertion.

I hadn't once looked up until this moment. Our eyes met. My dad's expression was detached bliss. That unfocused gaze you get when you haven't had ice cream in, like, forever and that first cold creamy taste hits your tongue.

He was getting close. I could sense it. I held his stare while pumping for all I was worth. This was a handjob now.

It began from the base of his cock. The muscles twitched, lifting his cock higher, trying to wrench itself from my hands. I held on. There was another, and then a third.

Without warning, he placed his hand on the back of my head and pulled me forward, impaling me on his member. I can't think of any other way to describe it. At the same moment, he erupted. Sperm hit the back of my throat. I felt like it had been shot from a water cannon.

I choked. I jerked my head back, mouth wide, coughing, gasping for air. Spit and semen were flying everywhere. I held onto his cock, which continued to spurt cum, each spasm a little less, until it was just dribbling on the back of my hand.

There was cum on the floor, on dad's pants, in my hair, on my tits, and on my arm. The cum on my arm was starting to drip onto my thighs. As I surveyed the wreckage, I couldn't have been prouder than if I'd just won first place at the science fair. "My first real blowjob," I thought. And it was roaring success.

I grinned up at my dad, a little droplet of cum clinging to my chin. He smiled back, a genuine, warm, I'm-proud-of-my-daughter smile. I don't think I'd ever seen that smile.

"Honey, that was nice," he said after catching his breath. "A little amateurish, but that just gives you something to work on."

"Amateurish," my fine white ass! That was the best blowjob in the history of blowjobs, as far as I was concerned. But I accepted the compliment. I wasn't going to spoil this moment.

My dad scooted his chair back and stood up, his cock only slightly deflated.

"Sorry about you choking. You will need to learn to swallow. We can't have a mess like this every time. I need to go change slacks and get going. We'll talk later." He spoke the words as he walked out of the room.

I sat back on my heels, the hard leather of the shoes pressing into my butt. The sunlight glinted off the droplets on the floor. I was exhausted. I was exhilarated. I felt different. I felt accomplished!

And I was covered in cum.

The house was quiet again. Dad probably went out the garage door and was on his way to work already. I took off the shoes and got to my feet.

I didn't know what to do about the mess. "Do I have to wipe this up?" I wondered. "What is the proper way to ask your housekeeper to clean up your father's sperm?" I laughed at the absurdity of it all.

What I did know was that I needed another shower. I turned and noticed my teddy and panties was gone. On the sideboard was a neatly folded silk robe, courtesy of Kwan. I wrapped the robe around my cum splattered body. With the shoes dangling from one hand, and using my other to keep the robe closed, I padded quietly back to my bathroom.

Fuck, this was a weird morning.

----------

I woke again around nine. I was still naked. Seriously, after this morning what was the point?

"Well, your ass wouldn't get cold, for one thing" I argued with myself. I slipped on a pair of gym shorts and a burnout T. I was hungry.

I found Kwan in dad's office, concluding a phone call. "Hello, Miss Charlotte" she said cheerfully. Not even a hint about the earlier debauchery.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asked, obviously concerned that my father's sperm was inadequate sustenance.

"You know, Kwan, I'd love an omelet. Do we have any eggs?"

Kwan's eyes lit up. She truly loved to serve this family, and she practically glowed when someone asked her for real food. When you asked for "toast and coffee," she'd be visibly disappointed.

She rose from the chair and headed towards the kitchen. "Come along, let's get you fed" she said as she walked.

I sat and watched her work the stove. Every motion was a study in efficiency. I glanced through the passageway through to the breakfast area. No evidence of any depraved acts remained.

The omelet was perfect: fluffy, savory, and tender. I was marveling at the blend of cheeses when my cell phone rang.

I didn't remember bringing my cell down, but there it was on the sideboard. I picked it up and looked at the screen. It was dad. Kwan must have brought it down. Did Kwan know dad was going to call? She's starting to freak me out a little.

I punched the answer button. "Hey, lover" I said in a husky voice.

"Well talk about that later" was his abrupt reply.

Without giving me time to answer, he said "Kwan will lay out an outfit for you to wear. Tone down the makeup from this morning. Drive to the Il Fioré Italian restaurant on East Chester at eleven O'clock. They'll have a lunch prepared. Pick it up and bring it to my office" he said.

"OK, sure. So what are we doing?" I asked.

"You'll find out when you get here" he said jovially, and hung up.

"I guess I will," I said into my dead phone. My phone dinged. Someone texted me two addresses.

I finished the omelet, scraping the plate. "That was a great omelet," I reflected. I hadn't had a regular breakfast in a long time, mostly because I hadn't gotten up before noon in a long time.

I would have complemented Kwan directly, but she had, as usual, disappeared again. I hiked back to my room to find a black, spaghetti strap, sun dress with an intense, deep red, floral design that started just under the right arm and swept dramatically down to the hem.

The dress was laid across the bed. Below it was a pair of white strappy sandals, with one-inch heels. "Tasteful" was the word that came to mind.

It didn't see anything except the dress and the shoes. My father's words played again in my head: "no additions." There won't be any panties under that dress.

I redid my makeup, toning down the eye shadow, eyeliner, blush, and lipstick. Basically, toning down everything. I pulled off my shorts and shirt and slipped on the dress. The hem stopped a few inches above my knees.

The dress was neither loose nor tight. It was slightly shimmery, but not silken. (A rayon blend, maybe?) It was tailored to drape, not cling. It was alluring, not sexy.

On the bed, the neckline appeared square. Filled out with actual breasts, it billowed around them. The thin straps were set very wide on the shoulders, creating a broad arc of fabric across my chest. When standing, the neckline draped inward, showing almost no cleavage—quite disappointing, really. Lean forward, and it was a different story. The fabric fell away showing a lot more than a little cleavage. It was a down-blouse perv's dream.

The fabric had a slight stiffness to it. If I swayed my hips back and forth, the air would gently caress my thighs. Without panties or pubic hair, even the slightest gust of air was palpable. "Breezy," I thought. The sandals, which I'd never laid eyes on before, were a perfect fit.

Now all I had to do was wait until 11:00.

----------

I decided to borrow dad's other Mercedes, the one he doesn't take to work. This was the sporty one. "It goes with the dress," would be my excuse.

I left the Benz with the valet while I went inside Il Fioré. A gust of wind plastered the dress to my front and crawled up my backside. This gave a table of suits a pretty clear idea of what I looked like without the dress on, and me the expression you get when someone unexpectedly pinches your bottom. The dress billowed and lifted in the wind. I instinctively reached behind my back and smoothed the fabric down over my ass, idly wondering how much of a show the valets had gotten.

Once inside, and after mentioning my dad's name, they were all smiles. A few rapid-fire exchanges in Italian, and I was being handed a square woven picnic box. I took the handle.

"Do I need to pay someone for this?" I asked.

"No, no, all taken care," came back the broken reply. More smiles and hand gestures shooing me out the door. I heard "godere," "divertire," and a bunch of other Italian words I didn't know.

I drove to the second address, my father's new office. I'd never been to his new office. That's how out of touch we'd become.

The elevator ride ended on the 6th floor. The doors opened to a bright, and open, reception area. I walked across the wood floor to a sweeping, burled wood, reception desk. I told the statuesque girl at the desk I was here to see my father. I was rewarded with a blank stare.

"Donald Grant," I clarified.

That got her attention. She immediately straightened up and practically jumped off her stool. "Yes, of course. Follow me, please."

She was wearing a solid yellow dress with cap sleeves. It was nicely tailored, conforming to her hourglass figure. She was monstrously tall, easily over six feet. In heels, she risked hitting her head on low doorways. "What is it about tall girls and high heels?" I wondered.

Every step I took reminded me I was bare-assed underneath. I've only gone "commando" in a skirt a few times, mostly when leaving a party, and for the simply reason that I couldn't find my panties.

The Amazon girl walked me to an office with an outer reception area. "Donald Grant, CEO" was stenciled in gold on the door. She stopped at the threshold and gestured to the two large doors that guarded the inner office. I got the feeling that this was sacred ground, which she wasn't allowed to tread on.

I thanked her and walked in. The outer office was empty. I approached the two doors—massive, parquet wood structures—and opened one. It opened slowly. Once there was enough space for me and the picnic basket to squeeze through, we did. The door closed itself behind me.

My father was setting at his desk. The office was spacious. Blond wood flooring dotted with white throw rugs, bamboo tile walls, and a massive cherry wood desk in front a picture window with a view of the city. Wood, wood, wood, and glass. My father was nothing, if not consistent.

He was on he phone. He smiled and gestured for me to sit down on one of the two couches. They, along with two over stuffed chairs, were arranged around a table in a loose conversation group at the far end of the room. I sat the basket down and waited.