My husband, Greg, was masturbating. We still had sex often, maybe three times a week and always on Sunday morning. But it seemed to me that he masturbated most of the days we didn’t have sex and maybe even some of the days we did. I didn’t think he was especially unusual. Guys masturbate a lot more than I do.
“Porn videos or porn images or porn stories?” I asked.
“Well, uh,” he hesitated.
“You don’t seem to be doing porn chat? Webcams? Can they see you?”
“Uh,” he said again.
“You’re masturbating to Kelly again, aren’t you?” I asked.
Kelly was our sixteen-year-old daughter. I knew Greg jerked off to pictures of her every once in a while, but it seemed like it had become more often than that. I looked at him, his hand on his hard cock, his eyes staring at the monitor attached to his laptop.
“There’s no harm in jerking off,” he said defensively.
I wasn’t going to argue with him. I had put up a fight when I first noticed him masturbating to his daughter, but when we’d gotten to his asking me, “Well, what do you masturbate to?”, I had to turn and huff away. The truth was that I mostly masturbated to thoughts of women having sex with women, generally with me, and more than a few times the other “woman” was Kelly. It had seemed different when mom did it until wasn’t.
Greg had returned to stroking his cock and admiring his pictures. I walked around behind him and watched along. The pictures were fairly provocative, Kelly being overtly flirtatious, but none of the images showed her nude. I guess his imagination filled in details and who-knows-what. As it happened, I had pictures of her naked, but Greg didn’t know that and wouldn’t find out.
His hand jerked faster. He’d moved however unconsciously toward the end of his cock, shorter strokes, and he grunted loudly.
Greg came like he usually did, leaning back in his chair and pointing his cock at his chest. Two long streams of cum shot out, splattering a nipple and trailing down to his tummy. Shorter bursts dripped to be caught in the towel he sat on. I watched him stand and clean himself up using the same towel, his hand pulling on his dick more than strictly necessary. He left the room to throw the towel in the hamper in the closet. Greg was, above all, tidy.
“At least you don’t call out her name when you cum,” I said as he walked back into the room.
Greg grunted. He actually said very little during sex and nothing at all when he masturbated. It fell more to me to be the one jabbering.
“Oh, Kelly, oh, Kelly,” I said in my lowest possible, most breathless voice.
That made him smile. “I could do that,” he said. “And she’d hear me and come running into the room and ask to fuck.”
“Or she’d call the police,” I replied.
I’d forgotten this bit of discussion when we next had sex. I did notice, however, that Greg opened the door to the bedroom a couple of inches.
“Why is the door open, honey?” I asked.
“I’m hoping Kelly will hear me,” he said.
“Oh, Greg, are you still having masturbatory fantasies? I’m not sure you should be acting them out.”
His cock was hard and it angled up like the gun on a tank, a drop of pre-cum at the end. He didn’t reply to me but walked to bed, leaving the door open just a crack. Greg climbed on top of me, spreading my legs and taking his cock in hand to rub it up and down between my labia. When he’d decided I was wet enough he plunged in, slowly sliding his cock into me almost to his balls.
“Oh, fuck!” I called out, totally forgetting the door and responding to the sudden pressure inside me.
“Yes, Kelly,” he said rather loudly, “Fuck me. Talk to me. Tell me what you like.”
I felt him pumping away, his eyes staring at the wall behind the bed, although occasionally he would lean down to kiss my nipple. We’d roleplayed more than a few times in the past, although I’d never played being his daughter before. It had never crossed my mind.
“Daddy,” I said, as loudly as he had, “fuck me. Fuck your baby girl. Your cock feels so good inside of me, daddy.” Then I whispered, “How was that, you jerk?”
He pumped a little faster as I spoke and slowed down a little when I stopped talking.
We continued like that for maybe five minutes. Greg said very little, but about once a minute I’d say something like included “daddy” and “cock” and “pussy”. I saw the door, which I’d been watching attentively, open a couple more inches.
I couldn’t see her and she probably couldn’t see in, but Kelly was definitely at the door.
“Honey,” I whispered, “Kelly is listening at the door to the bedroom.”
“Kelly,” he said, “your pussy feels so good. You’re so tight. God, I love fucking you, Kelly.”
OK, not a great speech, but at least he’d spoken. Was that a good thing?
“Give it to me, daddy,” I said, “I love your cock. Fuck me, daddy, fuck me. Empty your balls into me. Fill me up with your cum. Give it all to me, daddy.”
I saw the door open a little further and I could see the edge of Kelly’s face including her eye. I knew what she could see from there, her father’s ass bouncing between my outspread legs. I didn’t say anything for a couple minutes, just looked at my daughter at the door to our bedroom, watching us. Greg groaned loudly and came.
“That’s it, daddy,” I cried, “give it to me. All of it, give me your cum. Fuck me!”
He spurted into my cunt. His cock rammed as deep as it would go and I could, for a change, feel his first squirts inside me. His back was arched, his head back, his neck muscles straining. I looked at the door just as Kelly’s face disappeared. I couldn’t hear her walking back to her room. Greg collapsed on me and I felt most of his weight. He’s a heavy guy.
Three nights later, I was in bed, reading. Greg stuck his head in the doorway and said, “Come here, Gwen. Hurry.”
I climbed out of bed and into my slippers. I walked behind Greg as he sort of tip-toed to Kelly’s room. The door was closed, but I could hear sounds from the other side. Greg turned to me and put his finger to his lips. He grabbed the door knob and turned it slowly. He pushed her door open maybe a foot.
“Daddy,” Kelly said, “fuck me, daddy. Oooohhhhh.”
She didn’t say a lot, really, but she made a bunch of moaning sounds. I peeked into her room and saw she was masturbating with a dildo, a small one, pushing it into and pulling it out of her pussy. I left and returned to our room. Greg followed five minutes later.
“Did she cum?” I asked.
“Not while I was there,” he replied. “She was still going at it when I left. Oh, and I left the door open.”
“But she’ll know we were listening. Watching.”
He shrugged. “Look,” he said, “we know she watched us, you said so. She’ll know, probably, that we watched her masturbate. I think we should just all admit what we’ve seen. There’s no reason for it to be a secret, anyway. She’s sixteen! She’s either already fucked some guy or she will soon. What’s the big deal?”
Well, parents and their kids just didn’t talk about these things, share these things, right? Did they? I was pretty sure not. Although I couldn’t think of a good reason why not.
Why, for that matter, didn’t more parents have sex with their kids? Pregnancy would be an obvious problem for daughters, but Greg had gotten a vasectomy less than a year after Kelly was born. At least vasectomy dads should be able to fuck their daughters? Of course, it was easy to imagine that most daughters might not want to fuck their fathers. I’d thought about having sex with my own father, but I’d never do it. As Greg said, masturbating was safe.
The next night, as we were starting to eat dinner, so it would be a little bit harder for her to leave, I said, “Kelly, your dad and I saw you last night, masturbating. We just want you to know that it’s fine with us, it’s a totally normal thing to be doing and, well, I just wanted to say that.”
Kelly blushed furiously. I could see her neck and face turn deep red and I suspected her chest was red, too, maybe her whole body. She didn’t say anything for several seconds, then croaked out, “OK.”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” I asked.
She shook her head no. She looked at her plate but didn’t eat.
“Like maybe you saw your dad and me making love?” I asked as gently as I could.
Kelly nodded, short up and down movements of her head.
“Did it scare you? Bother you?”
She shook her head no and finally said in a very small voice, “I kind of liked watching you two. That’s how I was made. And I got it see it, sort of.”
“Would you want to watch again?” Greg asked, more forthrightly than I would have, his eagerness clear in his voice.
Kelly nodded and a small smile crossed her lips.
“OK, I’ll knock on your door tonight around eleven o’clock. You can join us in our bedroom if you want.”
She nodded one last time and ran to her room. I have no idea what she was thinking.
At eleven o’clock, I lay in bed, naked, but with the sheet and bedspread pulled up to my neck. Kelly and her dad walked into the room, hand in hand. Kelly was wearing her usual pajamas, tops and bottoms, although the bottoms were very short shorts and showed a lot of thigh. They were just a single color, a shade of pink, no cutesy animals or anything. Greg just wore his boxers and nothing else. The early signs of a hard-on tented them out a bit.
He led Kelly to the foot of the bed and she sat. He turned away from her and stripped off his boxers, then turned back. His cock was in the process of stretching from semi-hard to rock-hard. Kelly put her hand over her mouth and blushed some more.
Greg pulled down the covers and I was totally exposed. My boobs were on the small side, a round B-cup, with large areolae and what I thought were normal-sized nipples. My pubic hair had been waxed, a sort of wide landing strip along my labia and a neat triangle at the top, sort of a martini glass, however old-fashioned that was. I was a little overweight, but not too bad.
