By Greg

As far back as I can remember my family spent Thursday evening at bible study. Then, we spent the better part of every Sunday morning at worship services. It wasn’t ever an option to skip a week. Momma made sure of that.

My name is Chastity-Lynn, but never call me that. I go by Lynn with all of my friends. The Chastity part was Momma’s idea. I guess she thought if I was constantly reminded about the virtue, I wouldn’t stray far from the “path of righteousness and virtue.” Momma had a bible-verse for any occasion. If you didn’t finish your dinner-plate you sinned against God by wasting. If you ate too much, your sin was gluttony. Really, pretty much anything you did, you were in peril of going right straight to hell for.

I had two brothers Matthew and Mark. Yeah, I know, but at least those names didn’t draw the wise-cracks I got. I thought my name cute until I discovered what it actually meant. I now only answered to Lynn. My body had gone through the “changes” as Momma called them. I was now in immediate threat of going to hell if I showed the slightest bit of my sexuality. Make-up was the “devils paint-brush” you know. Any figure revealing clothing was outright scandalous, as I would only invite a rape, and that would be my fault. Both I and my rapist would spend all eternity in a fiery hell for my vile act.

Momma’s most intense treatment was focused on my papa. He was a lineman for the local electrical co-op. He reluctantly followed us all to services just to spare us the lecture and ass-chewing that would surely follow if he didn’t comply. I got along great with Papa. Momma always said I took after his side of the family anyway. Papa spent most of his off-work hours holed-up in the tool shed he had built. It was just a garage maybe a hundred feet from the house. He mostly used it as a workshop for car or tractor repairing. Many of his friends would stop by and shoot the breeze with him as he fixed their engine problems. He was the local go-to guy for fixing things. He always had to be hollered-for at dinner time.

After graduation many of my friends went off to colleges. No one in my family had ever gone that way yet. My grades and talents would not have gotten me far with any more schooling. I was destined to follow the ones that would stay behind and just get on with life. I was nineteen years old now and Momma was fine with me living at home until I got married. I took a job at the local grocery and started making pretty good money as a cashier. As a cashier it was expected I had to look nice for the customers.This got me in some heated arguments with Momma over my choice of clothing. A form-fitting shirt and dark slacks were the stores rules. So, I often left the house with the slacks undone just to give the appearance of looseness. I pulled my shirt out and down over my hips just to deflect attention. Before reaching work I’d tuck-in my shirt and zip the pants up tight.The grocery store I worked at was only about a ten minute walk from home. This saved me the expense of a car.

Only If Momma was off on some church function was it safe to leave the house dressed properly. Papa didn’t see the harm. In fact more than once he commented on just how filled out I was becoming. I took this as a compliment. I never heard anything positive like that from Momma.

One evening I had to stay late at work. It was inventory time, and all had to stick around until the job was finished. Momma was furious, and called the store manager about keeping a girl out past dark. I was so totally embarrassed, and the manager seemed to not want to get involved. I promised her to be with co-workers when I left. I felt so ashamed, but finally the task was finished. It wasn’t a far walk, and I had grown up in the area and saw no problem with a walk after dark. As I approached our house I saw the lights in the work-shed still on. I knew Papa was probably still working on some project. For no particular reason, I just got the urge to walk around back to the rear window. I thought I would get a glimpse of Papa elbow-deep in an engine or something. Maybe, I would spook him by tapping on the window or something.

As I approached the rear window, the ratty curtains were drawn partially closed. The curtains were old kitchen ones my mom had changed out. Papa recovered them and used them to block some of the sunlight in the shed during the day. They didn’t really fit the entire window. As I approached the window, I could see Papa sitting over in a corner of the garage in an old recliner. We kids had worn it out years ago, but Papa always recycled everything. Papa was sitting leaned-back in the chair with a magazine held up in-front of his face. His pants were pulled down to about to his knees and his one fist was beating away at his cock.

I was so shocked. I don’t know what possessed me to stand there in the dark and continue to watch him, but I did. I knew he had never figured someone might spy on him, but I just couldn’t pull myself away. I stood there in the darkness and watched as he thrust his hips upward. His fist would change speed and every so often he would pause and pull at the shaft and let it stand upward. He would grab at the very end and twist at it and then stroke hard at it some more.

Girlfriends had always talked and laughed about guys doing this. I figured both my brothers did it too, but I never figured that my papa would still be doing it at his age. I had just never considered Papa as a person having sexual needs. I guess most daughters don’t.

My mouth became dry instantly. I couldn’t look away. This was something I knew I would always remember and I guess I just wanted to gather in every detail. Papa moved the magazine and flipped to a new page. He resumed a steady beat. Stroke after stroke he continued to work at rubbing his cock. I had never considered what a man’s cock actually looked like, especially one that was being used for sex. I knew enough from friends, but that was all just girl-talk. This was an actual cock being worked.

I was at the window maybe less than five minutes when suddenly Papa started jerking his hips rapidly. His fist seemed to crush the end part and instantly a rope of white cream seemed to leap out the end of it. Several more spurts followed and landed back in his lap. The hand holding the magazine shook so bad he finally had to put it down. His hips were still convulsing. Several puddles of the goo had landed back on his fist and he was using it to lubricate his hand and still kept on going. His grip seemed to look as if he were trying to choke off the flow of cream. His face seemed all wretched in agony.

Okay, this is the sickest thing ever, but I got to say it. I enjoyed watching this. I couldn’t help myself. The feelings stirring in my body were incredible. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My breathing had dried my mouth to the point where I couldn’t wet it again. My heartbeat was racing. I could feel my own heartbeat pounding inside of my head. I couldn’t even feel my legs. Something was happening in my body that I had never felt before. My hands were quivering. I knew it wasn’t fear. I felt sweat forming on my forehead. My face flushed with an intense heat from within. Worst of all, I realized I had been unconsciously pressing one hand between my legs in time with his thrusts.

Papa stayed there now slowly rubbing the goo all over his dick. It seemed smaller and bent more easily. His face looked drained and weak, and yet very satisfied. He stayed that way for several minutes. Finally, he grabbed a rag to try to clean up the mess he had made. He wiped himself up with it. I drank in each detail of what he was doing. He struggled to bring the recliner back to upright. I watched as he checked the magazine for goo splatter. He seemed to almost be crippled as he struggled to get up. He then bent over to a small toolbox that had been sitting nearby on the floor. It had been there next to his chair the whole time. I just hadn’t noticed it. He opened the box and placed the magazine in it. He then put a padlock through the catch. I watched as he hid the key on a nail on the backside of his workbench. He picked up the tool box and placed it on a high shelf near some other ones. His dick was now just hanging lifeless as he finished wiping himself off.

I still was recovering from the wave of heat that had gone thru my body. I didn’t know if he would be leaving soon or not, but I pulled myself together and quietly made my way up to the house. The sweat on my forehead was cooling and I needed to wipe it away. Momma was ironing some clothing in the kitchen. She scolded me about being out so late.

“The devil works his evil in the cover of darkness,” she reminded me.

Momma noticed my face and asked if I had been running. My flushed face and pink cheeks were noticeable I guess.

“No,” I said, “maybe it was just the cool night air.”

I had no interest in arguing with her. I told her, I loved her, and would be careful to watch- out for the devil. Momma recited some verse about the “foolishness of the innocents.”

I went up to my room replaying in my mind what I had just witnessed. I cleaned up, crawled into bed and just lay there. I kept a small nightlight on, and continued to replay the whole event over and over again in my head.

Momma had never discussed sex with me. I knew her phrase for it though. She called it “matrimonial duties.” She made it sound like something a wife had to do, just like “cleaning the toilet.” It was an obligation, a chore, something necessary you to have to put up with. I pretty much already knew Momma and Papa probably didn’t have sex anymore. They had separate bedrooms since my older brother had moved out. Momma said it was on account of her bad back. I kind of knew she just didn’t want Papa getting any ideas. To Momma the children were already born, and there was no need “sinning” by just doing things out of lust.

My mind was racing. Was I a deviant or something? “My papa jacking-off” the words were difficult to even say. I had never seen a mature adult dick before, much less one fully erect for sex. Yes we had computers, but Momma wouldn’t allow our home computer to be hooked up to the internet. She called the internet “the devil’s playground.”

As my mind replayed what I had seen I found myself again rubbing my hand between my legs. How long had Papa been doing this? Exactly what was in that magazine that interested him so much? This was mind-blowing. My thoughts drifted from excitement and lust, to feeling sorry for my papa. Momma’s years of repressive control over our lives had warped all of our outlooks. I guess I didn’t really hate Momma for it, but I was finding it hard to continue to submit to it privately. Still, it was as if I had tasted an addictive drug. I wanted it again and more. Momma was right about one thing. I was definitely from Papa’s side of the family.

The next morning when I awoke Momma was in the kitchen getting ready to leave. The church ladies were cleaning the floors and windows at the church center. Momma wouldn’t miss this duty. Juicy gossip was the main reason. And if you didn’t show up they might just be talking about you. Mark, my younger brother had left for school already, and Papa always left before the crack of dawn. I had the house to myself till eleven when my shift would start.

The events of the previous evening still played in my head. That toolbox, I couldn’t let it go. I needed for some reason to see what Papa found so exciting. After Momma left and I had cleaned up my breakfast dishes, I headed down to the shed. I had always loved the smell of the shed. The oils, fuels and greases combined to fill the place with an aroma which I had long ago begun to associate with my papa. This time I wasn’t going there to be beside him while he worked, it was to pry open some dark nasty secret he had hidden in there.

The morning dew soiled the toes of my shoes as I made my way to the shed. Everyone in the family knew the location of the key. Papa always kept it between two bricks sitting near the door. It seemed strange somehow to be snooping in a place so familiar. The quiet building was typically full of noise and activity. My mission today was something I had never thought I would be doing. I located the hidden key on the frame behind the workbench where I saw him put it. I was tall enough to reach the toolbox and brought in down. I tried to remember every detail as to how it was placed and at what direction. I wasn’t sure if Papa had the location marked so as to know if the box got disturbed or not.

I carried the tool box to the work bench and turned on a light. When I got the box open I was stunned. I picked up the top magazine. The worn cover was almost pulling through the staples. The title words splashed across it “Incest.” The cover was a full color shot of a dark-haired girl about my age. She was naked. Her legs were spread slightly and she had her hand partially covering her sex. A man was standing nearby. She appeared to be inviting him to have sex with her. That heartbeat pounding started in my brain again. I flipped over the cover and began to realize the magazine was filled with pictures and stories of incest sex.

My hands were shaking so bad I had to place the magazine back on the workbench. God almighty! Is this what turned him on, incest? My palms began sweating, and I had to steady myself by pressing against the worktable. I felt a trickle of sweat running down the back of my neck. My breathing was in short gasps again. The pounding in my head had reached a level as if my arteries would burst. My legs became weak. I started to read the text of a story. A girl was having an affair with her father. She was so detailed in her words as to how fulfilled she was. Her account of being fucked by the very cock that had created her was so detailed that I felt she couldn’t be making this up.

Seeing the words cock, fucked, cum were foreign to me. Sure, I had heard them before and knew what they meant. It’s just that seeing them use so casually in the stories was something I just hadn’t experienced before now.

I initially thought that maybe this was just the one magazine. Maybe he had stumbled across it accidentally. But, no, there were more, five or six in total, all on the subject of incest. All lay neatly stacked in the bottom of the toolbox.

I guess many girls would be horrified to find something like this. Was Papa really fantasizing about having sex with me? I was shocked yes, but my body was reacting in such a way that I couldn’t control. The throbbing now seemed to begin a sensation between my legs. I was wet there. I could not stop myself from seeing and reading more. I needed to sit. l looked around, the recliner, it was the only option. I took the magazine over and sat back and started reading another story. The accompanying pictures graphically illustrated the entire story. My hand again found it way between my legs and even though I was fully clothed, I could not stop rubbing myself.

Maybe five minute into this and my eyes blurred and my head snapped back against the recliner and the most wonderful throbbing sensation flooded through my entire body. I know that I moaned loudly. I was alone, but still felt ashamed of the racket I was making. The sensation washed me clean of all worries. I felt comfortably and completely numb. I had just had my first orgasm ever.

I remained completely still for several minutes. I ran my hand up and down the armrest. The presence of my papa was there. Probably dried semen remained all around me. I was so content I didn’t want to get up. I left for work on time, but had a very off-day. My manager had to correct several errors I made. He even commented about it too. “Girl where is your mind today?”

That evening walking home I noticed that several of Papa’s buddies had stopped by. They were all down at the shed. The garage door was open and from a distance I could tell they all had something in their hands. Momma forbade alcohol. Most families did. This was in fact a dry county. Alcohol could not be sold in any stores. We all knew men still found a source. As I was spotted, I could see the hurried attempts to finish and hide the evidence. Normally I would have gone directly to the house. For some reason though, I decided to crash the party.

I recognized one man. Mr. Evans, his son Kenny and I had been in many of the same classes in high-school. I always liked Kenny and asked Mr. Evans how he was doing now. Mr. Evans said he had taken a job at a local trucking firm. He liked it there. I said I missed seeing him at school and told him where I was working. I told him to have Kenny come by sometime. I missed my old high-school friends. I was still in my store clothing and noticed how intently Mr. Evans was studying me. I’m not trying to sound vain, but even with Papa right there I got the “look.”

The “look.” There are three of us girls at the grocery store. We somehow started a little game just to break the monotony and to pass the time. If the store manager wasn’t around, we had a little competition going to see who got the most “looks.” The game is simple. Whoever gets the most leering stares per week “wins.” We don’t mean casual glances. It has to be an out and out “mental undressing look.” I think Tina started this all by casually unbuttoning the top of her blouse anytime a guy headed into her line. She would often find a reason to lean over and let the guy have a good view down her shirt. Or she would accidentally drop something and have to bend over to pick it up. We all had to witnessed the “look” and judge it to count. Some of the best have come from married guys with their wives standing right next to them.

It might have been the whiskey or the shine that they were drinking but, yeah, Mr. Evans had given me the “look” alright. I flirted for a while. I think Papa was even a little shocked how I seemed to be throwing myself out there. The men all had that glazed-look in their eyes. I finally had to excuse myself and head up to the house. I knew Momma was probably wondering what I was doing also.

That evening after Momma had gone to bed, I noticed Papa quietly slipping outside. I went into the kitchen and watched him head in the direction of the shed. I waited until I saw the light come on through the door. Once he was inside I quietly left the house also. I walked to the shed, and went around back as before and found that sure enough he was at it again. I stood in the darkness as he settled back in the recliner and again with the magazine. This time he had a mason-jar bottle just within arms-reach. I guess that one of his friends had left it there. He took several long swigs of the clear liquid, one just right after the other. He settled in and worked his trousers to his knees. In just moments my thoughts were bouncing between how sad this was and just how turned-on I was. This wasn’t right! Momma had sentenced Papa to a life of secretly sneaking off alone to get some satisfaction.

If a man marries someone, he should have a right to expect some physical interaction with his wife. Between touching myself and feeling sad for Papa. I was a mess. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided it wasn’t right. I couldn’t just stand there watching someone I loved in this kind of situation. Yes, I knew it was wrong and I really hadn’t thought this all the way through, but I had to do something. Dammit, I had to do something I just couldn’t watch his misery.

I guess if I had thought about it more I wouldn’t have done it, but I walked around to the other side by the door and knocked firmly. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say or do. And then I began to panic. What would I say? What would I do? I almost turned to run away.

Then, I heard the latch inside unhook. The door sort-of flew open. The light kind of blinded me. I stood there looking at Papa. His face was flushed. The liquor had taken effect. He looked bewildered as to what I was up to.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

Papa had a surprised look on his face. He stood still, as if he had not understood the question. I sort of just pushed by him. As I past him he had the distinct odor of the alcohol about him. He must have quickly hid the magazine and the rest of the booze. I walked in and sort stood trying to think of something to say. I was looking at the recliner. The imprint on the seat hadn’t even left yet. Papa began to say something, but stopped as I walked over and sat in the recliner. I think he was uncomfortable seeing me sitting right where he had just been jacking-off. Maybe the magazine and booze were still nearby. Whatever!

Papa sort of stumbled over to where I was sitting. He stood right in front of me looking down. I noticed something I hadn’t seen as I walked in. His zipper was still down. The bulge in his crotch was still noticeable too. I think in his hurry to hide things, he had simply forgotten to pull up his fly. His erection hadn’t had time to soften either.

“Papa I need to talk to you about something,” I said.

“I know what you have been doing out here, and I know why,” I said looking up at him.

Papa’s face seemed to lose color. He immediately began to stammer trying to put something into words. I pointed to his open fly. He looked down at the visible bulge. His attempt to zip-up was far too late to hide his oblivious guilt. I tried to smooth his embarrassment by shifting things to be about Momma.

“Momma is wrong to force you to be this way,” I said.

He seemed hesitant about saying anything more. A misspoken word here, and he would have confirmed his guilt. Even under the influences of the liquor he was still trying to find a way out of this.

“No grown man ought to have to do this,” I said, “Alone.”

Papa hadn’t moved. As if something was guiding my hand, I reached out and placed my hand right on top of the bulge in his crotch. He batted my hand away instantly. Again, I placed it back, firmly this time. Our eyes met. His glazed stare was a look of utter shame. I thought he might even begin to cry. I didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling. The world seemed to stop. Even the crickets chirping outside seemed to hold their breath. Papa exhaled noticeably. He was totally out of excuses. His resistance now completely faded.

Papa’s head was slumped. He could no longer look at me. This awkward moment dragged on with neither of us knowing what exactly to do now. I guessed I had started this, and I felt I should do something. My fingers began prying at his belt. I noticed that in his hurry to buckle it he had even gotten it in the wrong hole. He sucked in his stomach and allowed me to peel open the front. I pulled his jeans to his knees. I reached back up and slid his boxers down revealing his now limp cock. It unfolded and dropped hanging loose and as sorry as it could have been.

I felt no hesitation, guilt or shame. I leaned forward grabbed him by the hips and pulled him in close. Using only my tongue I sucked his cock right into my mouth. I held his hips and began pulling at him in and then away. His cock didn’t take long before it came alive again. I knew what the bible called this. It was incest! I knew there were more than a few references to it. Several old-testament kings were reported to have had children with their daughters. Yet, they were “saved.” I realized those were different times, but the sin was the same. My mind began to try to justify this. Maybe it wasn’t incest unless you actually had intercourse? Would Papa be satisfied with just a sucking-off? Would it be less of a sin anyway?

I didn’t know exactly what Papa would like so I just kept switching things up. I’d suck for a while, taking him deep into my mouth. Then, I’d tilt my head and used my tongue some. Once he was fully hard again, I used just my tongue to lick at his ball-sack. I’d flick the tip of my tongue around just the tip of his cock and watch as it bounced. Papas cock was now standing stiff and proud. He would groan every time I tapped his cock off my wet tongue. Papa placed his hands on the top of my head and guided my movements. I just stopped thinking about anything. The feeling of having that much warm cock in my mouth was totally absorbing.

In some way the knowing we were severely sinning somehow added to the intensity of the act. It did occur to me that this might be the first blow-job my papa had ever gotten. Mamma certainly would have never done anything deviant like this for him. We were maybe fifteen minutes in to this, and I was thinking about what I was going to do when he would want to cum. We both seemed to just be going along with our natural instincts at this point.

Soon though, I could feel his need. I couldn’t see just letting it spurt all over the place. I didn’t want to insult him either, so I just kept my mouth on his cock. He began to groan. I probably winced a couple times, more out of being unsure more than anything else. A couple of strong spurts hit the back of my mouth. I felt the warm flow of liquid pouring into my mouth. It wasn’t a bad taste, more like a warm dinner gravy.

In the magazine that I had read earlier that morning, the one girl described it as fulfilling. I couldn’t find any issue with it either, so I just let it fill my mouth. I knew we were both sinning and Momma would have said we would be “damned forever.”

As that girl had described, having the very juice that had created you flowing back into you was mind-blowing. I came too. My body began to convulse and that heat had rolled up through me again. I was still holding a full load of cum in my mouth, when my body spasmed four or five times. My head spun and I nearly blacked out. The glow from the heat removed every other feeling from me. I rested my head back against the back of the recliner and let the load of cum slide down my throat. Papa stood over me watching as I enjoyed the sensation.

It took me several minutes before I felt like getting up. Papa wobbled more than a few times.

I stood up and still with the taste of him in my mouth I kissed him on his cheek. I didn’t say a word as I left the shed and headed up to the house. I cleaned up and went to bed. I had not slept that soundly in a long time. The next morning the sun seemed to welcome the most glorious morning ever.

Some of this might have been a rebellion against my upbringing at first, but I soon I discovered that I had needs too. The life of constantly denying my desires was not something I wanted to do. I thought this was the most wickedly exhilarating thing I had ever done.

So that is how we carried on for a couple years. Whenever Papa got horny, I would satisfy his needs. We both found it was the most releasing thing we could do for each other. We never fucked though. Although, I did begin to remove my tops and let Papa play with my titties.

Early on with my papa, I discovered something that I could do. I didn’t even know it was even a thing. I just could. All the times I let Papa cum in my mouth, never once did I choke on it. It wasn’t something I willfully practiced or anything, but I could literally slide objects into my throat without choking on them. I didn’t know if it was some defect in me from some early childhood illness or what, but I don’t choke, and Papa wasn’t small either.

Only two other people knew I had this talent, Tina and Becky from the grocery store where I worked. One day when we were short on help the manager had the three of us help unload a shipment of vegetables. We were back in the storage area filling carts to transport to the front of the store. Tina picked up a long cucumber and started waving it at me. Becky egged her on by trying to hold my shoulders still from behind me. They pretended the cucumber to be a guy’s dick and she started poking it at my face. No one else was around us and for some reason I opened my mouth and dared her that I could take it. One thing led to another and soon we had a bet on. Five dollars from each of them, if I was able to get the whole cucumber into my throat. I did it! It hurt like hell, because it didn’t bend to my throat, but I got the whole thing in my mouth and closed my teeth. Easiest ten dollars ever.

When Papa came, I would always lie back in the recliner and let him release his load. Papa would cradle my head just before he’d cum. I’d let his dick just settle in back in my throat and spurt away. He seemed to get a huge kick out of this, so that is how he usually liked to finish. I never even gave it much thought. When he pulled out, I’d lick his dick clean. Often, I wouldn’t even rinse my mouth afterwards. I’d head back to my room and drift off to sleep with the taste of cum still present in my mouth. It became almost like a tonic. After a time my body craved it. I slept better and more relaxed with it. I’m not saying it was completely because of the cum, but maybe just the whole experience was satisfying to me. If Momma didn’t want it, I’d have it.

Momma would have thrown us both out of the house had she ever caught us, for this had to be the most unforgivable sin ever. You know somewhere in this I figured that really once you are dammed forever what is the point of stopping now. Papa had needs and I found that I did also. We satisfied each other, that’s it.