Taylor Maid Ch. 01: Breakthrough

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All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.

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When the dog days officially began in Denver, Megan Taylor was in the doldrums, if not actually depressed. The summer was slipping away. Her best friend, Nel Martin, was moving to a great new house across town. Megan was still working, with her brother, Wally, in the family pizza parlor. What was worse, ever since Nel’s Uncle Claude had shown Megan the difference between fucking a real man and screwing around with boys, she had been regrettably celibate, not counting masturbation. Her plans to seduce her dad had, so far, gone nowhere, while Claude was lavishing all his attention on Nel and her mom.

Megan could understand this, since, after all, they were pregnant with his babies. But, knowing, and keeping, the secret only made her jealous and glum. “Pinky Swear!” She still could hear Nel making her promise. “Dammit!” She thought, again, as she lay on a long lawn chair, soaking up the Colorado sun’s rays in the Taylor house’s fenced backyard. “I’m going to be 20 years old in a couple of months… Why can’t I have a baby, too?”

Megan stopped taking her birth control pills the next day following the glorious fuck-filled overnight in Manitou Springs with Claude and Nel. She monitored her cycle, took her temperature, counted days on the calendar and had everything going as it should be, except for the cock part. She frowned, squinting through her Ray-Bans at the bright warm sky, and remembered seeing the bold exclamation mark on her bedroom calendar for today, August 1, 2006. As yet, the symbol she had selected to signify her optimal ovulation dates, served only as a mocking reminder of her failure. “Might as well go into a fucking nunnery!” She nattered angrily to herself. “Oh sure, Travis and Trevor Perkins are always hitting on me, but, how stupid would THAT be to let them dip their wicks and make a baby?”

“Ugh!” Megan snorted derisively and rolled over on the chair, reversing herself. Flattening the chaise, she lay prone, with her butt between the plastic covered aluminum tube arms, her legs and chest on the webbing and her feet and arms draped over the frame ends. She drug her fingers through the short grass, imagining she was teasing Uncle Claude’s steel-wool pubes.

Just then a shadow crossed Megan’s face as a cloud blocked the sun. She raised her torso, pushing her left hand onto the lawn, and tipped her sunglasses down on her nose with her right hand. Looking over the rims, she said, “Oh! Hi, Dad!” She smiled, raising her eyes, from his knees to his waist, as he stood in front of her. Megan tilted her head and laughed a light laugh as she finally focused on her father’s face. “I thought you were a cloud!”

John Taylor stared down at nearly all of his buxom daughter’s revealed features. Her voluptuous pose, and her minimal bikini, made his throat dry and his dick jump. He swallowed hard and coughed. “No cloud,” he rasped, hoping God would not strike him down for his lustful thoughts. “Just your old dad… wondering if you were, uh… thirsty for iced tea.”

While John spoke, a rivulet of perspiration tracked down Megan’s spine from her shoulder blades to her bra strap. It tickled as it trickled. She bowed her back, thrusting her 38DD tits out, threatening the security in their neon lime, deeply scalloped, bikini bra’s cups. Reaching back awkwardly, with her right arm, she could not quite wipe the maddening streak. Her stretched right boob stressed her Lycra spandex suit. Her nipple stiffened, poking itself, and the surrounding beige halo, past the inside seam into daylight.

John involuntarily groaned. Megan seemed not to notice. “Dad, my back is getting sweaty and it itches.” She said, with no hint of a hidden agenda. “Could you grab that towel and dry it please?” She twisted around and dropped back to onto the chair, concealing her chest, much to her father’s relief.

“Uhmm,” John hesitated, licking his lips and pushing his growing cock into a more comfortable spot, behind his double-knit golf pants and boxer shorts. Unfortunately, touching himself only made his prick thicker. He looked furtively at Megan. Her chin was pillowed on her crossed arms and her eyes appeared to be closed behind her sunglasses. He stabbed his right hand under his waistbands and pulled his turgid penis upright, against his abdomen. “OK, Petunia,” he agreed, moving to her left side. He picked up the towel and gingerly daubed at the sparkling beads, now pooled, just above the hooks of her bra strap. He saw more perspiration had popped and collected in the hollow of Megan’s lower back, just above her rising green bottom.

“DA-ad!” Megan complained, “Rub me down harder, I’m wet!” She shook her shoulders and ass as she spoke. “You’re tickling me worse than the sweat, for goodness sakes!”

John felt torturously trapped. Last fall, when he accidentally found Megan’s birth control pills, his concept of her was radically transformed. Until that moment, he had been blithely unconscious that bursa escort his little girl, his ‘Petunia,’ had become a woman and was sexually aware, if not active. He had tried fighting the tide. He had yelled, cajoled, threatened, forbidden, all to no avail. He was certain, in his mind, she was no longer a virgin, although, in his heart, she always was his innocent. Lately, Megan had openly teased, tempted and aroused him by her dress, her walk and her mannerisms. The past couple of months had been hell for him, as he struggled with his inner devil. “Forgive my sinful thoughts!” He prayed. “Give me strength to resist my carnal desire!” John knelt in the grass beside his daughter. With a determined look and a set mouth, he swabbed her back, assiduously avoiding her bikini’s edges.

“Hhhnnnnn,” Megan purred, “Yeahhh, that’s better Dad!” She wriggled beneath the terrycloth beneath his strong hand. “My legs itch, too… it’s like there’s ants or… something… on the backs and insides of my thighs.” She widened her knees’ spread on the poly webbing. “Dry my down there, too… Please?” Her inflected beg made John’s nuts ache. He pushed the towel over Megan’s rump, onto her hams, and used both hands on both her legs at the same time, shoving down to behind her knees. His thumbs drug along the inside, while his curled fingers slid on the outside, of her toned muscles. “Nnnaahh,” Megan moaned, “Ohhhh, Daddy… that’s perfect… Hhhnnnnn.” She felt her cunny tingle and knew the new wetness there was not sweat. Grinning, she raised up and said, neutrally, “I’m starting to feel… hot. Did you say there was iced tea?” She asked with interest.

John pulled the towel from the teenager’s legs, unintentionally touching their junction with his left thumbnail. Megan’s bottom contracted and the green spandex rippled on her concave cheeks. “Yes,” he replied, huskily. The single word caught in his throat like a fishbone. “Uhh, uhhp in the house.” He finished with a struggle. John stood, turning his back to hide the shameful growth between his legs. “I’ll go and pour you a glass.” He walked, uncomfortably, as quickly as he was able, to the patio slider to the kitchen.

Megan sat up, then stood and turned. Watching her dad hustle up to the house, she determined she needed to be more aggressive and less ambiguous. “What can it hurt?” she asked herself. “Certainly playing it cozy hasn’t gotten me anything!” She pushed her exposed right boob back into its pocket and juggled the jug to assure its security. Her inner tigress chuffed as she marched across the lawn, stalking her prey.

At 5’2″ tall, and 144 pounds, Megan was, strictly speaking, overweight. However, most observers were too aware of her pulchritude to fret about her body mass index. Her full firm bust was balanced by 37″ hips, guarding her athletically toned ass and her long plump pussy. Her 30″ waist was slightly thicker than it might be, but, the resulting soft tummy was home to a perfectly round, luxuriantly deep, belly button. Megan’s thighs and calves were highly developed from years playing catcher on girls’ softball teams and, later, as a midfielder on the high school soccer varsity squad. Her form was topped off by a head of thick, nearly black, hair, cut in a helmet-shaped bob, and a cute round face with ever-sparkling eyes. Her general stockiness might work against her on a fashion runway in Milan, but every other aspect of her pure Italian heritage was ‘Ciao, Bella!’

Megan’s bright bikini bottoms blinked out as she strode from the sun-drenched patio, through the glass door, into the darkened kitchen. Her dad had his back to her as he poured iced tea from a pitcher into two tall glasses. She watched quietly, from across the room, while he added a good measure of Amaretto Di Saronno to one of the drinks.

It was Tuesday. Her mother, Francesca, was playing bridge with her clubbies and would not be home before six o’clock. Her brother, Wally, had opened the family’s restaurant two hours ago, at 11 a.m., and would be there working until at least seven. Her father’s regular foursome teed off at the country club every Tuesday at 6:30 a.m. and he was home, for lunch and liquor, like today, by 12:30 like clockwork.

“Dad loves his routine,” Megan thought, with an impish grin. “Let’s see how he handles a curveball.” Her bare feet were silent as she swiftly closed the distance to the counter and slipped her arms around John’s waist. Her grapefruits compressed against his back and she laminated the crotch of her suit to the seat of his slacks. John flinched, straightening up in surprise, but did not spill the beverages as he replaced the glasses on the granite countertop.

“Hey, Dad,” Megan breathed against his neck, loving the way he involuntarily rolled his head as she did so. “Can I have a little of that in MY tea, too? You know how much I like marshmallows.” She rubbed her breasts, through her bikini, against his Izod polo shirt and watched as the small hairs on his nape stood to attention.

“You’re bursa escort bayan too young,” John protested feebly, knowing full well that he had given her nips of various alcoholic drinks, off and on, for years. “And, it’s the middle of the day.” He added, despite the fact that this argument applied with equal logic to himself.

Unperturbed, Megan lowered her hands, pushing them into the slash pockets of her father’s loose-fit trousers. “It’s Tuesday, Dad… your day off… and it’s the middle of summer.” She rejoined with a sly soft titter. Megan stretched her fingers, sliding them as far as possible along his legs. She enjoyed the radiant warmth she found.

John shifted his weight, but, could not easily escape her invading touch. “Oh, Lord,” he silently invoked, “What is she doing?” Aloud, he groaned, “unnhh,” as he caved in and added a small amount of Amaretto to the second glass. “Alright, Petunia,” he sighed, “But you need to give me some room to move, sweetie.” Even as he said it, and she withdrew from his pants, he regretted the lost sensual contact.

Megan side-stepped to her left and pivoted 90 degrees to the right, facing her dad’s profile, as she picked up the tea. She considered him while she took a long draw, skimming the sticky, sweet, liquid over her lower lip. At 5’8″, and 160 pounds, he was certainly not as tall, or as large, as Claude James. Neither had his 42 years on the planet aged him, in the same rugged manner, as Nel’s uncle, 15 years his senior. Still, Megan thought her father’s swarthy chiseled face was undeniably handsome and his dark, wavy hair looked a perfect playground for scampering fingernails.

“Mmmmm,” Megan murmured, returning the tall glass to the stone countertop and trailing her right index finger up John’s spine, from his waist to his collar. “That’s tasty, Dad, thank you!” Her hand continued to move up until her palm cupped the back of her father’s head and her fingertips interwove among his thick locks. She scratched his skull lightly, grinning as she felt him shiver.

John turned to face his daughter. Even in the shadowed room, Megan discerned a flush crossing his dark cheeks as her hand continued its subtle work. “G-good,” he stammered, fighting the hot churning sensation in his gut, while knowing, at the same time, it was a losing battle. He hastily gulped at his own drink, buying time. Condensation flew from the bottom of his glass and sprinkled the tops of Megan’s breasts. She advanced a step closer, encircling his waist with her left arm. The leading edge of her bust bumped his ribs.

“Oooh… now look!” She purred. “I’m wet… again.” Quick as a cat, Megan pulled her hand from her John’s head, snagged a tea towel, hanging nearby on the oven door handle, and grabbed his left hand. She raised the hand and the towel, as a unit, and placed them on her watered bosom, holding John firmly by his wrist. “Wipe me, Daddy,” she commanded softly, then inhaled, lifting her shelf and impressing it against her dumbstruck dad’s rigid fingers. Megan stared into her victim’s brown eyes while she guided his cooperative strong hand, first left, then right, over her swelling melons. On the return pass she felt John flex his fingers and begin massaging her of his own volition, whisking the wrinkling damp cloth with steadily increasing pressure.

Megan relaxed her grip, then released him entirely, moving yet another step in and dropping her right hand to his golf pants’ flat front. She found it was not so flat. John’s hard-on was like a thick cucumber behind his fly. Sliding her small hand down its length, Megan closed her palm, between his legs, around his nuts, hanging like fat figs in his loose scrotum within his shorts.

“Uhhnnaahh,” father and daughter groaned together as they each felt heat rising through their bodies. John dropped the tea towel and hefted Megan’s tits with both hands, pressing his thumbs hard against her thickened nubs. Megan clawed his shirt from his waist, scrambling her left hand across his bare lower back, up to his scapulae, while she pulsed her right palm on his large captured eggs.

“Nnnahh, Da-Daddy!” She panted, sensing her lubrication percolate in her pussy.

“Hunnhh!” John growled, lowering his head, seeking Megan’s mouth. She found his first and seized his lips with her teeth before smashing herself tight to his face.

John turned with Megan, dancing her backward across the kitchen tiles. His right hand pushed under her bra, grabbing her left tit, while his left hand, behind her back, popped her strap, untied her neck strings and slid down her spine, disappearing beneath her neon bikini bottom’s elastic waist.

Megan fumbled at her father’s crotch until his trouser tabs were unhooked. She unzipped him and pushed, front and back, until his shorts and slacks fell, from their own weight, around his feet. John hopped, hobbled, kicking off his shoes and clearing his feet of the hindering harness. Naked from the waist down, he finished stripping Megan. escort bursa He snatched her flapping bra and flung it across the breakfast alcove toward the patio door, where it landed and hung, like an emerald boa, from the slider’s handle. Arching the back of his hand, he stretched the bikini bottom’s seat panel over Megan’s round ass and forced it past her sturdy thighs. She squirmed, bounced and wiggled in John’s arms as her briefs were sawn to her knees, then, dropped to the floor. She used her feet to flip the useless garment away to her left.

Still locked in a ferocious kissing duel, John and Megan growled and snarled with passionate heat through each other’s teeth. John was beyond accountability or guilt. His testosterone fueled tempest raged unchecked. Megan’s cunt liquified. She hopped and hung her legs around John’s ass, clinging to his neck, flattening her breasts against his chest, pleased to feel his hard raisins drill through the knit Izod and set fire to her own nipples and areaolae.

John caught her as she jumped, lifting her ass and targeting her open welcoming gash with his wide iron rod. As he felt Megan’s heels hammer his hams, he pulled her cheeks in and down, thrusting his cock up and forward. “YEEEEEE!” She yelped, still stifled by her dad’s tongue, shoved into the back of her mouth. Megan, impaled on John’s lance, was propelled against the smooth cold stainless steel refrigerator/freezer door. She tossed her head, finally severing their kiss, and screamed “AYAYAYI! DADDY!” as her climax crashed through her. John continued his rough assault. He pounded his loins against her pussy, slamming her against the appliance, as his dick drove deep into her tunnel.

“HUNH! uuunn! HUNH! uuunn!” John grunted with each thrust and retreat.

“EEEE! annhh! EEEE! annhh!” Megan bent her head and whimpered, responsively, through gritted teeth, against her father’s neck. Her orgasm rushed non-stop as she desperately clung to John’s lurching torso.

“YEAHHH BAYBEEEE!” John shouted exultantly, clenching his ass and flexing his straining quads, as his fully charged balls exploded. He held his daughter, tightly pinned to the Amana and solidly sealed to his groin. His cock throbbed and twitched. Megan’s cunt grabbed and squeezed. With shot after shot, John pumped 30 milliliters of rich cream into Megan’s thirsty twat.

Florid and gasping, John relaxed his grip. Panting and flushed, Megan uncrossed her ankles and stood. She leaned weakly on her dad, while still pressed against the refrigerator. “oh… daddy… daddy… daddy,daddy,” she babbled, open-mouthed and slack-jawed, kneading her nails into his broad back.

“Oh, Jesus! Megan!” John blurted out, as the reality of their act erased his animal lust and triggered recriminations. “Oh, God! What have we… what have I… DONE?”

Megan, recovering her senses, softly stroked her father’s back and buttocks with her left hand, while massaging his head with her right. “Something WON… derful, Dad,” she crooned soothingly. “You… we… have done a wonderful thing! I LOVE you SO much!” she raised her face from John’s wet shirt collar and kissed him. Her tears of joy washed their faces as they warmly, gently, explored each other.

“You mean,” John asked, when they broke for breath, “You mean, you don’t hate me for… for… RAPING you?”

“Oh my God, NO!” Megan exclaimed. “It wasn’t like that at ALL!” She kissed him quickly and continued. “I am happy… I love you and I want to FUCK you again and again. Oh, DADDY! Don’t stop fucking me!”

John stepped back from Megan. His hard cock glistened with their juices. He looked at his daughter’s dripping thighs. Her long bald cunt winked beneath its short black mustache. “Oh, Petunia,” he sighed, “I know it’s wrong… a sin against God and Man…” his voice quavered. He fell to his knees before Megan’s quivering quim. “But, I don’t see how I COULD stop, now!” He reached behind his daughter’s ass and pulled her against his face, burying himself in her sloppy cunt. His tongue pushed in, sliding up and down; a slithering snake in her Garden of Eden.

“Uuhhnn,” she moaned, seizing his ears, squeezing and rubbing their shells, as she held him tight. His lips found, and latched onto, her swollen bean. As he suckled her clit, she came anew, squirting against his avid mouth. “AYAYAYI! DAAADDDY!” Her screams echoed through the kitchen, resounding from the glass patio door.

John’s resurging vitality refilled his softening dick with blood. His renewed hardness slapped his paunch as he hunched over Megan’s button. He backed off and stood, scooping up the twisting teen in his arms, then half trotted with her down the hall. Crossing the threshold to Megan’s bedroom, he dumped her, sprawling, onto her unmade double bed.

Megan rolled onto her back, extending her widespread arms and legs, beckoning with bent fluttering fingers. “Daddy! DA-A-AD!” She cried, begging, “FUCK me! OH, FUCK me PLEASE!”

John launched himself between her legs and filled her pussy once more with his stiff cock. “UUNNHH!” They each grunted, as Johns balls, smaller than before, but, still seeking release, slapped against Megan’s uplifted bottom and his prick plunged to its root in her sleeve.

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