TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 16
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-16
SUMMARY  : Sarah shares her dreams with her dad.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2010-02-03
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |spanking|cheerleading|cheerleader|catholic|incest|domination|lesbian|


<i>Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.</i>



* * *



Sarah lay naked in her bed. Her hand was spread slightly, over her pubic mound, the third finger inside her pussy, gently poking in and out of the warm, wet center of her sex. As she masturbated, occasionally rubbing her clitoris with her cunt-slick finger or humping her labia with the heel of her hand, she mused upon the sexual activities--or adventures--she'd had--and mostly enjoyed--since Bertha Bigg's tenure as South Catholic High School's cheerleading coach. Under the tutelage of the squad's previous coach, Jane Chambers, there had been no sex of any kind among the cheerleaders, and the girls had felt embarrassed even to undress and suit up in their uniforms or to take showers after the day's practice. Now, they loved being naked as often as possible, for any or no reason, and they'd paired off, at Coach Bigg's insistence, into lesbian couples.



Sarah's finger continued to probe her pussy, glistening as it emerged for a moment, before poking back inside the red, ravenous maw. She felt a twitch of her thigh muscles, and quickened the pace with which she finger-fucked herself, jiggling her clit inside its hood of flesh as she humped herself with her hand. She gasped as a wave of orgasmic delight rolled through her, although, she knew, she was minutes away from full-fledged ecstasy. Over the past few months, she'd become an expert at providing self-pleasure, and she knew her body and its responses better than she knew anything else. Her pussy was wet, though, no doubt about that, and she moaned softly as another insistent spasm of pleasure throbbed inside her tingling clit. Her nipples were stiff and swollen, and a flush had crept over her breasts--other sure signs of approaching orgasm.



The other girls had been permitted to select their own lovers, but Coach Bigg had assigned Marilyn Madison, the redheaded newcomer to the squad at the time, to Sarah. The coach had made it clear to Sarah that she'd wanted to break the blonde's spirit. Sarah was an alpha female, Coach Bigg had said, and the other girls tended to follow her lead. The coach was having none of that. There wasn't room on the squad for any leader but the coach herself. Consequently, Coach Bigg had initiated a full-scale assault upon Sarah's dignity, referring to Sarah as "Owens"; fisting her fore and aft, in the cunt and asshole, in front of the rest of the squad; making her the cause of the rest of the squad's rides on the spanking machine known as The Carousel; verbally abusing her; assigning her to a dominant lover who was into bondage, discipline, and sadism; making her assist Marilyn in modeling the so-called exercise known as scissoring, in which two girl rubbed their vulvas, labia, clits, and pussies against one another, in front of the other girls; and making her--and everyone else on the squad--scissor her lover in front of not only an immense mirror, but also before the entire boys' varsity football team! Finally, after accepting a male-to-female transsexual, Amanda Meeks, onto the squad, the coach had insisted that any girl become Amanda's lover, and the shemale cheerleader had insisted upon engaging in a threesome with both Marilyn (who'd sucked her cock) and Sarah (who'd been compelled to lick and probe her asshole with her tongue).



Sarah gasped again, as another telltale sign of imminent orgasm flashed through her loins. Her pussy was so wet that its juices had begun to trickle down her perineum, and she felt the slight tickle of the fluid as it meandered over her bare flesh, down the bottoms of her buttocks. She took her finger from her sopping cunt and began to stroke her clitoris with the dripping digit. Her head thrashed back and forth on her pillow, as she grunted and groaned, feeling the surge of orgasmic pleasure building inside her. Moaning, she licked her lips and quickened her assault upon the hard nub at the top of the vertical slit between her silken thighs.



"Uh! Uh! Uh!" she cried, between gasps, remembering the slender, supple cane of The Carousel slashing her bare, defenseless ass; the machine's spinning dildos drilling her asshole and cunt; the boys watching her as she was caned and as she bumped and ground her clit against Marilyn's; Coach Bigg's whole hand inside first her rectum and then her vagina as the bovine woman fisted her in front of the rest of the cheerleaders; the mortified high school quarterback opposite her on the spanking machine, being drilled in his asshole while a transparent sleeve masturbated his cock; her face buried between Amanda's ass cheeks while she licked at the shemale's anus as if it were a flower and she were a hummingbird who couldn't get enough of the blossom's sweet nectar; her mother, naked across from her on the spanking machine her father had bought, christening it The Teeter Totter; her dad spanking her bare bottom, his cock erect all the while; her walking in on him while he was watching a porn flick about an older man spanking a nubile young chick.



The images kept coming and coming, and Sarah's fingers stroked and pinched and pulled and jiggled and shook and kneaded and twirled and flicked the hard button of her clitoris until, at last, the building orgasm broke, as if it were the water behind a burst dam, flooding her thighs, perineum, and buttocks. The sheet beneath her gyrating pelvis was drenched with her fluid, too. She was scarcely aware of anything, though, but the orgasmic waves that crashed through her body and soul. Her hips rolled and thrashed, her heart pounded, her lungs panted, her pulse raced, and her hard, throbbing clit shuddered as her thighs flexed and shook, making scissoring movements.



"Sarah!"



Even in the throes of orgasm, the ecstatic blonde recognized the male voice, shocked and angered, that had shouted her name, but, beside herself with bliss, Sarah couldn't answer; all she could do was ride the crests of pleasure that assaulted her nerves and muscles, her blood and brain. Her hand, soaked with the fluids of her pussy, pressed and stamped her soaked, slick mound, while her finger flicked at and twirled about her pulsing clitoris. She heard a loud, undulating, almost frantic cry of irrepressible ecstasy, as if she were listening to someone else caught in the throes of orgasmic delight, realizing that the keening wail was her own. She bit her lower lip--hard--and the wavering cry became a series of loud, frantic whimpers. Her legs continued to flex and twitch, spasm and scissor, as her flooding cunt gushed more fluids over her inner thighs, perineum, lower buttocks, and bed sheet.



"What the hell do you think you're doing?" her father demanded.



She hadn't heard her bedroom door open, any more than she'd heard her father knock--if he had knocked--but she heard it slam. Her father was more than annoyed; he was totally pissed off. In a moment, Sarah knew, he'd be taking his rage out--literally--on her ass. Still, she couldn't help but to gasp and moan, to groan and whimper, and to grunt and sigh, as wave after wave of orgasmic delight flashed through her.



Violently, her father seized her wrists in his fists, jerking Sarah into a seated position, and then pulled her from her soaked bed and onto her feet. She moaned, swaying, so caught up in the grip of orgasm that she couldn't stand, but her dad kept her from falling. He sat on the edge of her bed, drawing her down with him and across his lap. Through his slacks, she felt something hard and cylindrical press against her wet, naked pubes--his cock, rigid and thick! Then, even as her pussy continued to pour forth its liquid contents, and she moaned with pleasure, she felt his hand smack her bottom. Pain flared in her buttocks, but it she'd hardly recognized the sensation before it was swamped in the pleasure that still gripped and flooded her sex.



"Ugh!" her father cried, pushing his daughter away. Sarah rolled off his lap, over his thighs, and onto the floor. She saw a dark stain at the crotch of her father's slacks, and, for a moment, she thought he'd ejaculated in his pants before she realized that the wet mark on the front of his trousers was from her pussy. She'd wet his pants with her cunt juices, the same way she'd wet the bed--and he didn't look a bit happy about her having done so.



He stood, unbuckling his belt, and Sarah, looking up at him, through the mental haze of her orgasm's afterglow, winced, suspecting that he intended to use his belt upon her bottom. Instead, though, he unfastened his slacks, unzipped the fly, and slid the trousers down his pasty, hairy legs. He'd been wearing slippers instead of shoes and socks, probably as he was watching television--another porn movie?--or reading a book, so he was able simply to step out of his slacks after kicking off his slippers. 



He stood over his daughter wearing nothing below the waist but his white cotton briefs, the front of which bulged with his erection.



Sarah couldn't believe her eyes. Never had she seen her father in his underpants, nor would she have believed that she'd ever witness such a sight, yet, here he was, standing before her in such a state of undress, the length of his thick, hard cock clearly outlined beneath his tented underpants.



"Daddy!" Sarah cried, shocked by the sight of her father's erect penis bulging against his underwear and by the ghastly vision of his bare legs. She didn't give a thought to her own nakedness, having become so used to being in such a state that it seemed entirely natural to her, even now.



He didn't look at, or otherwise acknowledge, his daughter. Instead, he uttered another sound of disgust as he noticed that his daughter's cunt juices had seeped through his slacks and into his underpants; the briefs were also wet with his daughter's pussy lubricant.



Before Sarah's astonished eyes, he quickly slid them down his thighs, over his knees, and along his claves, stepping out of them and casting them aside as well. Now, he wore nothing but a tee shirt.



The bottom of the shirt was also wet, so he tugged it off, shrugging out of the last item of apparel he was wearing when he'd rushed into his daughter's room, and now stood utterly naked in front of her.



"Daddy!" Sarah cried again, the syllables an ejaculation of shock coupled with disbelief. She couldn't help but look, and she was amazed--and terrified--at the sight of her father's rigid, thick standing upright against his belly. As thick as her own wrist, the mighty member was the girth of two teenage boy's erections and longer than any she'd ever before laid eyes upon, either in the flesh or in a photograph. Her father was one magnificently endowed man, she thought. If he were a porn actor, he might credibly adopt the stage name of either "Long Dong Silver" or "The Italian Stallion" (except that he was of English, rather than Italian, descent).



The man had meat, for sure. Huge, his cock was red, and its tip, or glans, was purple. His balls were high and tight inside the bunched pouch of his risen scrotum. The appearance of his genitals made it clear to Sarah, even as limited as she was with regard to guys, that her father was, as it were, ready for action.



She swallowed hard, several times, at the sight of his rock-hard cock. She wanted to look away, but, fascinated by her father's display, she found she was unable to do so. It was as if the sight of her father's naked cock and balls had hypnotized her. She swallowed again.



Finally, finding her voice, she shrieked, "You're naked!"



"And what do you call your own state of undress?" he demanded.



"I'm in my own room," Sarah pointed out.



"Yes, masturbating!"



"Daddy, I--"



"Hold your tongue, missy!"



Sarah looked down. Her face was red, she knew; she could feel the heat of her blood in her cheeks, so she knew she was blushing--as much from anger as from the extreme embarrassment she felt in the presence of her naked father. Secretly, though, deep, deep down, in her soul, Sarah was also excited. Her father was a good-looking guy and sexy for his age, which was only thirty nine, after all, and he'd kept himself trim and fit. His muscles were well toned and distinct. He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, six-pack abs, powerful thighs, muscular calves, compact buttocks, and a strong back. He had nice size balls, neither too big or too small, and an unbelievably long, thick penis. Even flaccid, she reckoned his manhood would dangle to a length of nine inches. Erect, it was more like eleven, she judged, and circumcised, just the way she liked them. Maybe her sexual attraction to her own father had also brought the blood to her face. She looked up again, and her father's genitals immediately caught--and held--her gaze.



"Get up!" he ordered.



Sarah stood.



"Bring your ass over here," he commanded.



She walked toward him, aware of the stiffness of her swollen nipples, the swinging and bouncing of her breasts, the glide of her legs, the shifting and swaying of her buttocks, and the wetness of her drenched and still-dripping cunt. She was quite a sight herself, she thought, and, on some level, her father must be enjoying the charm of her charms, she thought, just as she herself appreciated the beauty of his masculine physique.



"Masturbation is wrong," he told her.



She didn't say anything, nor did she avert her gaze from his. She held his eyes with her own, looking deeply into them. She willed him to feel, instead of think; to lust as well as to love; to want her sexually, as a woman and not to think of her as just his daughter.



If he could fathom her thoughts, though, he'd be more likely to be outraged than to be flattered, she mused. Her thoughts were dangerous, she thought, but she couldn't stop thinking them or stop feeling the emotions that gave rise to them. Look at me, Dad, she said, but to herself, silently, I'm a woman, not your little girl. I'm sexually active, in a lesbian relationship; I've masturbated a boy--and a girl--not just myself; I've sucked another guy's cock; I've eaten a transsexual's asshole as if it were a pussy. I'm all grown up now, Dad.



"It's self-abuse, self-pollution."



She made no reply but to stare deep into his soul.



"It has to stop," he decreed.



"I had a dream the other night," she heard herself say. She hadn't known she was going to say it; the words had just spilled out, of their own accord, as she stared into her father's eyes, into his soul. "About you. About us."



He looked shocked. "What?"



"The last time you spanked me," she said, "I fell asleep, crying, my bottom on fire. I didn't know, until the dream, that my heart is on fire, too, Daddy--on fire for you."



"You talk like a Jezebel!"



"I talk like a woman, Dad. Like the woman I am."



"You're a child."



"Is this the body of a child?"



He tried not to look, she could tell, but he did, quickly, dipping his head to glance at her firm, high, round breasts, the nipples of which were still stiff and swollen with desire; her bald beaver, the pink lips of which were soft and delicate like the petals of a blossom in full bloom; and her long, smooth, shapely legs. He couldn't see her buttocks, but he'd seen them plenty of times already, when he'd spanked them. He'd seen her completely nude before, too, on more than one occasion. Hastily, he tore his gaze away, looking her in the eye again.



But her gaze, he noticed for the first time, was sultry, not innocent. It was inviting, enticing, demanding even, bold and brassy--and womanly. It was a look such as he had not seen upon his wife's face in what seemed ages. Marlene still loved him; Max was sure of that, but she'd never been a keen lover. Her interest in sex had always been little to non-existent and, after Sarah was born, Marlene figured that she'd done her duty as a wife, by becoming a mother, and she'd fended off her husband's sexual advances, other than once a week (or a month, sometimes), leaving him to his porn movies and his secret vice, the very self-pollution he'd accused his daughter of practicing just a few moments ago.



Now, here was his beloved daughter, Sarah, looking lovelier than hell, offering herself to him, a gift of the devil himself.



"In my dream," Sarah said, still holding his gaze with her own, "I masturbated you, Dad--or, rather, you masturbated yourself, using my hand."



The blow came so swiftly that Sarah didn't know she'd been struck until the flame of pain flashed through her face and she stumbled backward several steps. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back, staring through them at the wavering image of her father. "You wrapped your hand around mine, and jerked off as if my hand were a glove," she continued.



He astonished her. She'd expected him to lunge at her and deliver another slap across her face. Instead, he pressed the heels of his balled-up hands against his ears. His face contorted, not in rage, but in anguish. "Stop!" he screamed, but it was a plea, not a command.



The sight and sound of her tormented father melted Sarah's heart, and she went to him, held him close, his naked chest pressed to her bare breasts, his erection squashed between their bare bellies. She pulled his arms down, held him, and whispered, almost cooing the words, "Daddy, it's all right." She repeated them over and over, stoking his hair. "It's all right."



"Stand back!" he cried.



She held him in her naked embrace.



"Get away from me, you harlot!"



She hugged him close.



"I liked doing it, Dad," she confided.



He glanced at her. The horror, the anger, and the hurt seemed to have vanished. Instead, there was the trusting, needy look of a young, uncertain man on his face. His gaze flickered, as did his smile. His body relaxed, though--except for his dick, which remained stiff and swollen, with needs of its own.



"I'd like to do it again," she said, "but for real." She waited a moment, then added, "Wouldn't you?"



When he didn't reply, she took his silence as consent, and seating him, she sat beside him, thigh to thigh, on the edge of her bed.



"Sarah," he said, his voice soft and uncertain, scared a little.



She shushed him. Laying her palm alongside his jutting erection, she said, "Put your hand around mine, and make a fist," she told him.



Hesitantly, his hand shaking, he did as she'd instructed. "Now what?"



"You know."



Tentatively, he began to stroke himself, pumping his daughter's hand, inside his own, up and down upon his stiff, swollen cock. Her hand, much smaller than his own, was dainty and soft, and it felt wonderful, wrapped around his rigid prick. Within a few tugs and shoves of her hand in his, up and down, upon his trembling shaft, instinct kicked in, and he forgot himself, forgot that it was his daughter who was seated naked next to him, with his cock in her hand, and he pumped her hand with greater force and vigor.



A shudder went through him, and his erection lurched and strained, twitching and trembling. Something deep inside him convulsed. His thighs quaked, and his belly heaved. His lungs were bellows, his heart a drum. Abruptly, though not unexpectedly, jet after thick, warm, white jet of semen launched from his trembling prick, and his cum was like a geyser erupting from the ground of his soul, from the depths of his being.



The sight of his daughter's bare buttocks as he'd spanked her naked during the past several weeks; the sight of her, nude and masturbating; and the sight of her now, still naked, on the bed beside him, her hand inside his, around his cock, masturbating him had all, finally, been too much, even for his staunch Catholic faith to repress and condemn, and he had succumbed completely to the sinful demands of the flesh.



The fountain of his seed was proof of his fall as a devout man of faith and of the triumph of the sinful man's irrepressible urges. The semen continued to gush from his prick, erupting as if from the pit of hell itself, in fluid streamers that splattered against not only his own chest but his daughter's magnificent breasts as well; not only against his own rippled abdomen, but against his daughter's firm, tight tummy, too; not only against his own hairy pubes and manly genitals, but likewise against Sarah's bald pussy and womanly sex organs. His semen rained down upon them both, anointing father and daughter alike with the thick, rich fecundating fluid of his loins.

<hr pg="2" />"I'm sorry, Sarah," he murmured.



She laughed. "For what?"



"Everything."



She kissed his cheek. Then, turning his face toward her own, she kissed him again, hard, on the lips, penetrating his face with her tongue. She was thankful beyond words that he kissed her back, his own tongue probing her mouth as hers probed his.



"You want to hear the best part of my dream?" she asked him.



He waited.



"We do other things together, too, besides this. Plenty of other things. Fun father- and-daughter things."



This time, it was Max who had trouble swallowing, but he managed. "Tell me about them."



"I'd rather show you, Daddy."



"Max," he corrected her.



She smiled at him. "Max," she agreed.



"Show me your dreams, Sarah," he said.



And she did.

