Peeping Coed's Hot Surprise

Where does the story start? I think it starts with dad and I going to bed.

It was all perfectly chaste, of course. It was in my dorm room, in 1977. My roommate Carrie was in the next bed over. My dad was staying over after buying us dinner for my 19th birthday. I'm a small girl, I always have been, and Dad may have been tall but he was pretty skinny, so we both fit on the twin bed... just. I usually just wore a t-shirt and underwear to sleep in, but in honor of our guest I wore the baby blue button-down flannel pajamas he had gotten me before a winter trip to Canada in high school. Dad also had on pajama bottoms, old green plaid ones that he never wore, and a white t-shirt on top.

It was the first time as a grown woman I had ever gone to bed with a man. It didn't matter that it was my father. We still had to do the dance of finding a comfortable way to lay together. I had the side against the wall, and Dad had the outside, and we turned a few times, trying this way and that to get sleepy. Eventually, my Dad lay on his back, his arm under me, and I rested my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. He reached over to turn off the light, and I kissed his cheek and closed my eyes.

I would have been perfectly comfortable, except for Carrie.

Carrie and I had only known each other for a month or so. I liked her very much as soon as I met her, and she liked me, but it turned out that at the time, she really liked to shock people about sex stuff. It was beyond just being forthright. That first night, having moved all our things in, shared a joint with a couple of girls down the hall, and gotten in bed, just before she turned out her light, she said, "Lela, I have something I have to ask you. It's kind of embarrassing."

"What is it?" I said.

"Well..." She drew out the word, relishing the suspense. "See... the thing is, I'm used to masturbating at night. Every night. It helps me sleep."

She paused, but I couldn't think of what to say.

"So I'm going to masturbate," she said. "I'll try to keep it down."

"Okay," I said. I thought for a moment, and said, "Everybody does it."

"Join me?" she said.

"No thank you," I said, "not tonight, I guess." I turned my back and closed my eyes.

With the light out, I couldn't help following every sound that she made. The soft swish and the little exhalation as her fingers slid under her underwear up against her pussy, the gentle groan of the mattress spring as she rolled her hips. The rustle of fabric as she pulled her underwear off, then her tank top, and then a moment later, kicked off the sheets. The wet sound as she touched herself, light and slick when she frigged her lips, thicker and gooier as she thrust her fingers in and out, in and out. I didn't dare turn, although I was curious. I wanted to see what she looked like, doing it, but I didn't want her to know I wanted that. So instead I lay, back turned and hands resolutely above the covers, as her breathy sounds came faster and faster, faster and faster, until she suddenly was dead silent. No sound at all. Then a kick, as her foot hit bedclothes. Then silent again.

Finally she breathed again, and almost immediately pulled up the covers and slept. I lay awake for a while, aroused, but although I had masturbated some before then, I was too repressed to try it in front of a roommate... even a sleeping one.

Carrie did that every night, and if the timing worked out I would listen to her, and then we would both fall asleep. After a week or so, she didn't bother putting on any nightclothes. One night, after splitting three bottles of Boone's Farm Strawberry Wine with the girls down the hall, I watched. It was what I had imagined, although I hadn't heard her free hand squeezing her big boobs and pulling hard on the nipples. She seemed quite self-possessed while did it, but she knew I had turned to watch her. After she finished, she kissed the fingers that had been inside her and blew the kiss to me. I reached out and caught it, and blew a kiss back to her. Then I rolled over and went to sleep.

I was not sure what Dad would think about all that. I was sure I didn't want to find out.

Add to that, that Carrie had confessed (joyfully and with an "aren't I awful" air) to wanting to seduce our freshman English professor, a balding Russian in his 50s with a Dostoevskian beard. "I have a daddy thing," she said. "I love that maturity and confidence. It makes me sooo wet. I think if we were going on a date, and he was wearing a jacket and tie, and he walked around and opened the car door for me I would cum right there."

"Like, as the latch opened? Or when the air rushed in?" I asked.

"Mmmm," she said, "when his fingers slid around the handle and his thumb pushed in the button. Right then."

When she found out my dad would be staying in the room, she teased me terribly about how much she was going to masturbate with him in the next bed.

"I'm going to be so worked up, Princess, that I won't be able to stop myself." (She called me Princess as a joke, because Lela rhymed with Leia. My full nickname was 'Princess Lay-ya', and if she had ever told that to anyone else that fall I would have been humiliated. She didn't.) "With that daddy of yours in bed, pressed up against you, I'll start thinking about it and I'll get all worked up. I might not even have to touch myself. But I know I'll moan. O-o-o-o... Oh, I hope he sleeps naked!"

I was pretty sure she was teasing. Pretty sure. But not totally sure. I couldn't shake the idea that I might wake up to Carrie putting on a show, legs spread wide and fingers busy, while Dad watched goggle-eyed. The idea was mortifying. It was also kind of arousing. I made a mental note to try it out next Wednesday afternoon, while Carrie was in her Astronomy class and I had an uninterrupted two hours to take my sexual anxieties out on my eager beaver.

But it was Saturday night, and right now I was torn between the rough comfort of my father's strong hands and the fear that gripped me every time Carrie shifted in bed. Each rustle had me on edge. My father's face was turned slightly towards me. We'd had and Italian dinner, and I could smell the wine he'd drunk. It smelled great. He smelled great. I loved my father in a very uncomplicated way. I knew about the imperfections of adults, but somehow I hadn't begun to associate them with Dad. He was still the tall strong man he'd been to me when I was little. I think, in the anxiety of leaving home, I needed him to be that for me. He wasn't so much sheltering me, as I was burrowing into him.

I mean, let's talk about boys. I had been at college for a month, a whole month, a co-educational college and I hadn't really talked to one boy. I'd watched Carrie flirt with them (and later declare them "too, too imature") and I'd shyly slipped away from their awkward hellos and sometimes on Wednesday afternoons imagined what their erect penises tasted like, but I'd never had one conversation. Back home, I'd been a flirt and even had something... not quite sex but definitely intercourse... with a boy, but here I couldn't say a word.

I'll give you another. I had kept a diary on and off through high school, but that fall semester I wrote in it every single day. Everything. Every brief scrap of desire, of fear, every awkward exchange, everything I ate or drank or smoked, every homework assignment. It all went in there. I was petrified that I would disappear, the me I'd been. I can't explain why I was so freaked out, nor how I shook it. Starting in spring and definitely by my sophomore year, I was back to normal. But in the fall I was working through a lot of things that I didn't understand.

Dad was breathing deeply. His one hand held my head (I'd cut most of my hair off before going away to school) and stroked my hair. His hands were large and strong, but he could be so gentle. He was a carpenter, the strong quiet type, and he was so proud of his little girl going to college like her mother had. I nestled in against him, my forehead against his cheek, smelling his neck. I wasn't sure if the wine I smelled was on his skin, or my breath up against him. I wanted to curl up inside him. I slid my leg over across his, luxuriating in his warm strength.

Then, I heard it.

The long, sneaky slide of underpants on a journey: over hips, past a full bush, rounding a full, broad ass, down a pair of soft round thighs, slipped over knees and shapely calves, and the whisper of skin on skin as the feet slid past each other, pushing the little silky wisp off completely.

Dad was still facing me, but I didn't want to imagine him turning his head and seeing Carrie frigging away. I reached over and took hold of the muscles of his upper arm. "Spoon me, Daddy," I whispered. Then I turned, and pulled him over me like a blanket until he was wrapped around me and we were both facing the wall. There, I thought. That ought to keep her show private.

What I hadn't counted on was just how warm I would get with Dad's full length up against me. The heating in the dorm was pretty oppressive, and my pajamas were thick flannel. Before too long I was starting to boil. Dad was breathing evenly, so he had gone to sleep... but he might wake at any moment if I let him turn around, and who knows what he'd see. I opened most of the buttons of my top, just leaving one between my breasts. That helped some, but soon I was just as hot and uncomfortable as ever. I knew what I had to do. I pushed off those hot flannel pajama pants, then nestled back in next to Dad. He felt even better with my legs bare. I thought how it was that there was just a little bit of panties covering me down there, and how funny it was that Dad was the only one to appreciate it.

I don't remember going to sleep, but I must have, because some time later I woke up with Dad's hand inside my top. The last button was opened, and he was holding my nipple between his finger and thumb. He was not so much pinching it, as rolling it back and forth. I had very little in the way of breasts back then, but I had long nipples that got quite hard (Carrie called them my 'betrayers',) standing out visibly through my shirts and dresses. "It's cold," I'd say, if anyone brought them up. Well, it must have been very cold indeed in that bed, because my nipples were sticking out strong and proud. The tips of Dad's fingers were rough and calloused, but he was so gentle.

Foggy with sleep, I knew I didn't want to wake Carrie. I stayed quiet. Besides, it felt very, very good. I wiggled back, closer to him, letting Dad have his way with my tits. He was still breathing deeply and regularly, and his whole body was very relaxed. He must still be asleep, I thought, and was kind of relieved. That meant I could enjoy what he was doing to me without any worry of an awkward discussion in the morning.

And make no mistake, I was absolutely enjoying it. If I'd been awake, I might have thought about the taboo he was breaking... that we were breaking... but in that precise moment it hadn't occurred to me yet. It was more like I was in the most comfortable, loved, safest place I could possibly imagine, and then somebody had started to pet me. I wanted to purr. Even as I felt his cock stiffening against my panties I was melting in pure pleasure, perhaps, even, his stiff cock contributing to it. What seems funniest to me now is that I never thought for a second it would go any farther.

It went farther.

Dad began to kiss my hair, and make wider circles, letting his hand stray down to my tummy. He whispered something, so quietly I couldn't understand. The hairs on the back of my neck were all standing up, but I didn't know why. Excitement? Disgust? Fear? Arousal? I began to stroke up and down my father's arm. His touch was incredible. I wondered who my Dad imagined he was making love to in his sleep. Whoever she was, she was lucky and I was jealous of her, even thought I was her. Dad's hand strayed even lower, passing across my underwear, and back up across my bare breasts, once, twice, five times. And then the big circles stopped, and became little circles, What would Carrie say, I thought, and then I thought, she'd say, "Oohhhhhhhhh..."

I couldn't help it. I moaned myself.

Maybe I could have helped myself. I didn't want to. Because part of what I was thinking about was Carrie, frigging herself in the other bed, thinking about me and the mystery of what was happening in this bed. She's imagining my dad's fingers in me, I thought, and she's wetter than fuck! And then I started feeling my dad's fingers circling me, tracing the contours of my pussy through my underwear. I shuddered, and emboldened, he pulled my underwear down. He sat up, turned me on my back, and pulled them down to my knees.

I think he might have been awake. I had my eyes closed, though, and maybe he would think I was asleep. Even with my eyes shut, though, I could feel him looking at me up and down, because his hand was touching where his eyes were going. My chin. My neck. My clavicle. My breasts, my right nipple, the mole just under. My ribs, my belly. My left hipbone, bony and sleek, my round thigh. The short curly hair, clean and uncombed, just over my pussy. The full, round, outer lips, and the inner lips, the edge peeking out like a suggestion of crumpled pink silk. He pulled my knees up, slid my panties down, and when he let go my knees fell apart like a magic trick. When his fingers (two) went in me I began to roll my hips and I moaned, "Oh daddy." It didn't slow him down for a minute. Either he believed my shut eyes, or he'd made up his mind what he wanted and didn't care if I was awake or asleep.

Shffff, plap. That was the sound of Dad slipping my underwear off my ankles and dropping it on the floor. Carrie's going to know, I thought, irrationally. Kiss, kiss, kiss, my dad made sounds as he kissed his way down my bare body and over my spread thighs. Lick, lick, lick, my dad went to work in earnest on me. I opened my eyes and looked down to see the top of his head, hair full but graying, between my legs and right up against me. His eyes were closed. He was concentrating. I stole a look across the gap between the beds and was transfixed. Carrie was under the covers, barely, her knees lifted and trembling, her hands busy at her clit. She had seen every last stroke of our little daddy-daughter dance, and she was pale and sick with desire. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, met mine, and I saw her orgasm bubble up. And I saw that it was me who had brought this on her, my own desire mirrored in her wide eyes and slack mouth, and as I saw her cumming, watching me, the sight made me cum too... unless it was me who came first, and watching me go off that triggered her. Whatever it was, in an instant two hot young girls were cumming together, keening and shaking in adjacent twin beds while my Dad didn't miss a lick.

My Dad was a gentleman, and never acknowledged Carrie or her loud cum. Instead he watched me as I reached down and pulled his pajama bottoms off him ,and felt all around his hard cock with both my hands. I didn't suck him. I was too naive, and the thought didn't occur to me. When I relive that night, I sometimes imagine if I had, and I know it wouldn't have thrown him. Nothing could have. Soon he was fucking me, me on my back with my hands and heels dug into his big solid ass, urging him deeper. "Daddy, daddy, fuck me," I sang, partly to urge him on and partly to urge on Carrie. She had kicked off the covers and was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands stern on her cunt and asshole. When he came, he pulled out and came all over me. After a bare moment of hesitation, Carrie had crossed the gap between the beds and licked up his cum, first off me, then off him.

He fucked me twice more that night. Ever the gentleman, he waited for me to stagger off to the bathroom before silently switching beds and fucking the hell out of my roommate. The last time, I was on the floor on my hands and knees while he did me from behind, and only when I felt the thrusts of his cock growing erratic did I look back to see Carrie licking Dad's asshole. Jealous, I suddenly wanted him to cum inside me, and cried out in frustration when he pulled out to spray my ass with his nearly clear semen. Misunderstanding my cry, he rolled on my back and licked me to one more orgasm. As I came, I could see the light of dawn on the clouds. I kissed Dad a big sloppy kiss. I could smell my aroused cunt all over his face. Then I passed out in Carrie's bed.

Dad was already dressed and reading at my desk when I woke up. We had a quiet breakfast together at a diner. I told him I was glad he'd come to visit. He didn't say anything, but he looked a little relieved. That was as directly as we spoke about it. Then he hugged me goodbye like you'd hug your freshman child goodbye, shook Carrie's hand, and got back into his Buick for the long drive home. Carrie and I held hands as we watched him drive away. He gave a final wave as he went out of sight.

It was like we'd been censored and could suddenly speak our minds. We raced back up to the room and burst into conversation, gasping with the need to talk about it. Whether it was the shared secret or some lingering arousal we both found ourselves incredibly wound up, and began masturbating. Before long we were both doing it in one bed, and well before lunchtime we had turned to full on sex, gasping out things like, "When you licked his ass..." and "Just watching I was wetter than you" while we sucked and fucked.

That night, we brought home our biology study partners, we each fucked both of them. It was lovely. I was sore for days but I felt lighter and wiser. Like how they say you're supposed to feel when you lose your virginity. That was the day I felt my education truly began.