3 comments/ 59822 views/ 3 favorites Repeat By: WFEATHER Standing just inside the screen door, I looked out across the lawn. Within the tall iron fencing, I saw her rising from the far end of the pool, ascending the ladder, her long wet hair seemingly plastered to her back, her wet blue swimsuit hugging her curves nicely and emphasizing her femininity. She had certainly grown up over the years. Starting as the little girl I had adopted, she had transformed into a wonderful woman, both in body and in spirit. I wondered if she knew that I was watching her, that I was taking a break from my work and had come to the kitchen to retrieve another Coke from the refrigerator when I had noticed her swimming again. I wondered if she could feel my eyes upon her, caressing her with the intense intimacy and the sincere respect of a deeply-trusted lover. She bent forward to pick up the towel she had left on the lounge chair and began to dry herself. Her back was still toward me, and I wondered if perchance someone in the neighboring houses was also watching her, admiring her, wishing to become one with her. I no longer needed to wish. I could still vividly remember how she had returned from college at the end of her first semester, crying instead of thankful that the semester had ended, tearful instead of eagerly anticipating the holidays. The breakup had occurred just as she was about to drive home, and I was quite amazed that she had made the two-hour drive at night and not hit anyone or anything along the way despite the tears overflowing her precious blue eyes. I remembered holding her close, kissing her forehead as I had done so many times before, kissing away her tears, and then how she had kissed my lips and did not stop, and how I had been too surprised to stop her... With her first year of college behind her, she was home for the summer, enjoying a few weeks off before she would spend the summer babysitting a neighbor's twin boys once school had ended for them. I watched as she set down the towel on the side table, drank from the bottle of water, and then turned toward the pool. The lone yellow stripe across the upper front of the blue swimsuit drew my gaze to her chest. How many times on her visits home during the holiday break and on weekends throughout the semester had I gently suckled a breast? How many times had she pushed them together around my erection until I had splashed her neck with my undying love? How many times had she given me a lap dance and rubbed her swells against me while I tried to refrain from touching her like a proper "customer?" She saw me. I was standing close enough to the screen door for her to plainly see me even though I was definitely in shadow and she was very much drenched in sunlight. Even at such a distance, I could see her smile, and I noted how her eyes softened. I gave a wave which she returned before I stepped away, retreating to the small home office and closing the door. It was hard to concentrate. My mind did not want to get back to work, instead remembering the first time I had made love to the woman near the pool. In my mind's eye, I relived that night of her return: the way the kisses were soon joined by caresses, the tentative undressing, the lengthy foreplay which had her gasping even before I slowly pressed into her supple body, her tight clutches as her climax forced me to succumb to her shameless giving of her all... A soft knock startled me from my thoughts, and she entered, her eyes consuming me. Even though we lived alone and had no visitors at that time, she closed the door behind her, for a moment leaning against the wall while wearing only a wet form-hugging swimsuit and her favorite fake pearl earrings. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. The interruption of my thoughts had not interrupted my arousal, and I noted how her eyes quickly descended me and again rose to my face. I did not mind, and in fact made her very aware of my arousal as I pressed myself against her. We kissed. It was a kiss full of desire, of love, of respect, yet there was a tangible undercurrent of need. Outlook alerted me to a conference call with a client which was scheduled to begin in five minutes. Sadly, I tried to step back from her arms, but she held me firmly to her. "Quickie," she suggested. "Please, Daddy..." How many years had it been since my last quickie? I remembered that -- in a hotel room following the final night of a trade show, bending a competitor's sales rep over the bathroom counter and truly fucking her with all my might as she bit her lip hard enough to bruise in her effort to not scream from the plundering while she rapidly rubbed her clitoris. That was just days before the adoption was finalized. ...and it seemed that my next quickie would be with the girl I had adopted, although she was very much not a girl anymore. She was very much a woman, and with her body and her heart, she definitely appealed to the man in me. I was torn. I was hard, throbbing, wanting desperately to plunge into her warm wet depths, wishing I could bathe her soul with my love. Yet I had a duty to the client. ...and to her. I do not believe that I could ever be so violent toward her. Our lovemaking had always been exactly that: lovemaking. We had always taken our time, worshipping each other like deities, enjoying the subtleties from initial touch to foreplay to climax to cuddle. "I'm sorry, Princess," I admitted, fortunately retaining my ability to think with my head. "I need to be fully and mentally prepared for this conference call." "Okay, Daddy." There was no mistaking the sadness in her voice or in her eyes. I tried to content her by giving a breast a gentle squeeze before finally escaping her hold and returning to my desk. Yet as I was picking up the telephone headset, I felt her hands on my shoulders. Throughout the conference call, for all fifty-three minutes of it, she massaged my shoulders and the back of my neck, and twice even kissed the small bald spot atop my head. She had me quite relaxed, yet she also had me quite aroused throughout the conversation with the client. "Please," she whispered into my ear as I set the headset back onto its holder. "I'm wet for you..." I stood and took her into my arms, hugging her tightly, enjoying the feel of her breasts against my lower ribs. Certainly she was aware of my erection pressing against her. And then I picked her up, and not for the first time, I carried my daughter up the stairs to her bedroom, the room which had really become her storage area instead of the place where she slept at night. Not since Spring Break had we made love upon her bed, and I knew the symbolism of such an act in her bedroom would not escape her. As soon as I had settled her upon the bed with her head resting on one of the larger pillows, she reached to her side and brought the stuffed Wish Bear to her chest, the old Care Bear giving her a girlish appearance and charm despite the very adult act about to take place upon her powder blue bedspread. She smiled seductively, countering the presence of Wish Bear, although the fact that his face was practically being squashed into a breast presented an intriguing contrast in its own right. As she lay upon the bed, I stood and slowly undressed. Her eyes ravaged me, my age clearly not repulsing her and my status as her Daddy clearly not deterring her. That was fine, for while I still in some ways viewed her as my daughter, as much my daughter as if she had been formed in part from my own genes, I could also see well past her daughter status to the loving heart within her, the loving heart I had helped to hone over the years. As I stepped out of my underwear, she rose from the bed, leaving Wish Bear resting against a pillow as she dismounted the bed and knelt before me. "Princess..." I whispered, brushing a hand through her blonde mane as she took my engorged sex into her small hands and cradled my testicles and my erection as if they were fragile and priceless artifacts from an ancient civilization. She closed her eyes, parted her lips, and moved her head forward. Still officially properly dressed, she took me, her Daddy, into her small mouth. The bobbing of her head, the languid movements of her tongue, the suction behind her lips all combined to thrill me to the point of softly moaning, of trying not to thrust too much into her mouth given that we knew from several previous attempts that she could not take me into her throat. My hands seized her head, yet I tried not to guide her bobbing motion, allowing her to pleasure me with her mouth as her fingertips gently kneaded my heavy testicles. Soon, however, I simply had to nudge her away. I was breathing hard, dangerously close to climax, such was her always-improving ability to entice me. Accepting my offered hands, she rose to her feet, grimacing briefly from the protest of her knees, standing before me, a hand dipping down to grasp me again and stroke me gently as I groaned into her mouth during the promising kiss. My hands rose to her shoulders and began to peel away the swimsuit. She released me, stepping back slightly, blushing just faintly under my appreciative gaze as she removed her lone garment and rendered herself barren before me. I noted the wetness at the crotch of her swimsuit and was inwardly thrilled and amazed that I had made her so thoroughly aroused without really having done anything for her yet. We kissed again as I backed my daughter toward her bed, separating as she sat and then fell backward, her legs dangling over the edge. With great care and respect, I parted her thighs and gazed upon her wet sex before kneeling, closing my eyes and inhaling her amazing musk. "Please..." she pleaded softly again. I sampled her. I savored her nectar, as well as her escalating breaths and the feel of her thighs closing around my head. I held her open for my tongue to better worship her. I occasionally dipped a pair of fingers into her precious passage to explore within her. Once or twice I even groaned, for my slow adoration of her body kept sending pulsing signals of increasing need directly to my groin. "Daddy!" she squealed. That was the last clear sound I heard before her thighs were crushing my ears, her fingers pulling at my short hair, her body in constant motion against my face as a deluge of love washed over my hand and wrist and anointed my chin. She was still breathing fairly hard as I stood and positioned myself. I somehow found the willpower to take my time in penetrating her very womanly body, which resulted in our voices singing an intimate duet intended only for us to hear and enjoy. Fully sheathed within her, I carefully repositioned her legs so that her ankles were hooked over my shoulders, and as I securely held her thighs, I made love to her. I made love to my daughter. No quickie like she had requested earlier. This was lovemaking: slow, gentle, respectful, heartfelt lovemaking. It was just as amazing as the first time -- perhaps even more so given that, unlike the first time, there was no nervousness, only the solid confidence of true lovers engaging in the most intimate of joinings. Through several positions, the lovemaking continued, even though the phone in the small office rang several times in an attempt to dissuade us from our mid-afternoon conjoining. Our lovemaking culminated with a lengthy cuddle as my erection faded within her. Even long after the act, the intimacy was still very much evident in how we touched, how we kissed, and even in how we gazed. But at last, it was time for me to return to the office downstairs, to momentarily leave the idyllic romance behind and once again plunge into the world of logistics consulting. When I walked out of the office and closed the door to officially end the work week, I returned to the kitchen to retrieve another Coke from the refrigerator when I noticed her swimming again. I could only smile to myself and hope that a repeat of the afternoon was at hand. Repeat Ad Lib "Henry?" I opened my eyes blearily. "I'm a witch." At first I didn't react. My brain wasn't working. I was euphoric after the best sex I'd ever had with Anna. We had just celebrated our engagement with a party at her flat. All the guests had gone and we had gone to bed to make passionate love. Whether it was the limited amount of alcohol I'd drunk or the occasion, I don't know, but I had been able to spend hours on foreplay, arousing Anna to screaming orgasm several times before we had coupled frantically. After more foreplay and more intercourse in different positions I had drifted off to sleep holding her in my arms. "What did you say?" "I said: I'm a witch." "Why, Anna?" "What do you mean, why?" Anna was far more awake than I was and her tone of voice warned me that I'd better get with it soon. "Why did you say: I'm a witch?" "Because I am." I sat up in bed. As I did so, the bedclothes slid down exposing my chest and Anna's breasts that I loved so much. I looked down at her. She appeared to be serious, slightly worried, and waiting for a response from me. "OK, Anna," I said. "We're engaged. Officially engaged. Last night we celebrated our engagement with our friends and very satisfyingly in this bed. Is your statement the dark secret you've been hiding from me, or is this a test?" Anna's face crumpled slightly. I could see the glistening of a teardrop. "Yes, it's a secret. No. It's not a test. I am a witch." I hugged her tightly. "OK. You're a witch. What does that mean to us? Do I have to become one too? Do I have to escort you to midnight assignations at Stonehenge? Will you park your broomstick in the hall?" The humour wasn't working. I tried to be serious. "Anna. I love you. I love you for what you are. If that includes you being a witch, then I love Anna the witch too. Does that answer the question?" I kissed her forehead. She snuggled against my shoulder. "Thank you, Henry. I love you too." Anna kissed my bare chest. "Well?" I asked. "Well what, Henry?" "Aren't you going to give me details? What does being a witch mean to you? Did you choose to be a witch? Did you go to evening classes to get a diploma of witchery?" Anna giggled slightly. "No evening classes. I was born a witch, daughter and granddaughter of witches. I have inherited powers that I have learned to develop and use. I don't have, and won't have a broomstick. I can't fly except in my imagination." "So what can you do? What powers does my Anna the witch have?" "Well..." Anna paused. "There's this one." Her hand dropped to my hard-used penis. She stroked it gently. The soreness vanished and the erection returned. "I think many women can do that to those who love them," I suggested. "But can they take the soreness away?" "No," I admitted. "And can they do this?" Anna sat back on her heels. Her breasts stood out. As I watched, unbelieving, her breasts grew three or four inches larger, still firm with erect nipples, but much larger. "Or this?" Her brunette hair coiled itself, unaided, on her head and changed colour, getting lighter and lighter until she was a natural blonde. My eyes dropped. Her bush was blonde too. "OK. You're a witch. I like what you've shown me. Are there any drawbacks about you being a witch? Do I have to sell my soul?" Anna was shocked. "Of course not! I'm a white witch. There are some drawbacks. You need to trust me..." My kiss answered her. As I withdrew my face I said: "Of course I trust you. We're engaged to be married. We wouldn't have become engaged unless I trusted you -- with my life." "But you need to trust me as a witch too. How do you know I didn't cast a spell to make you love me?" "If you did, it rebounded. You love me too." She kissed me. We hugged. Her larger breasts dug into my chest. "Oops!" Anna said. She pulled away slightly. Her breasts returned to their normal size. Her hair dropped to her shoulders turning brunette again. We resumed kissing and hugging. "I do have one useful power," Anna admitted. "I can play with perception of time. Would you like a demonstration?" I nodded as far as I could as her lips met mine again. ... I took Anna's hand as we walked into the bedroom. She spread-eagled herself on the bed. I started to stroke her body gently following my hand with my lips. She squirmed slightly as she responded to my caresses. I tried my hardest to make this night as enjoyable as possible for her. My fingers and tongue brought her to ecstasy again and again, to screaming orgasm after orgasm before we came to together for a shattering climax. I repeated my inspired foreplay throughout the night until we fell asleep, exhausted and satiated in each other's arms. ... "Henry?" I opened my eyes blearily. "I'm a witch." ... Copyright Oggbashan October 2010 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. Repeat After Me She was standing on the platform reading a hardcover book, wearing this adorable yellow sundress and, unfortunately, a button-up cardigan. I leaned against the wall behind her, pretending to be absorbed in a book of my own, but mostly just fantasizing. And planning. When we got on the subway, she found a seat. It was crowded enough that I could stand fairly close to her. I held onto the pole that rose up from her seat, standing with one foot between her slightly spread, shapely legs. She glanced up at me as the doors closed, but I kept my eyes on my book, and she soon returned to hers as if everything was normal. I noticed, though, that she was breathing somewhat harder now, and I smiled to myself as I watched her breasts rise and fall from the corner of my eye. At the next stop, more people entered the car, so I shifted my position slightly, moving my leg between hers even more, so that my knee just grazed the hem of her little yellow dress. She didn't even look up. But, once again, her breathing increased. Always a good sign. I lowered my book so I could watch her boobs rise and fall with the excitement I had incited. That cardigan wasn't helping things though.... I tried to focus all my thoughts on getting her to remove it. But my power to control women worked mostly through spoken suggestions and commands, not actual mind-control (though I was trying to work on that...) So when the mind-control didn't work, I decided to try suggestion. I turned to the man closest to me and said, "Hot in here, isn't it?" I couldn't resist a little skin-to-skin contact with her leg when I turned. The man just nodded and looked the other way, but the effect on the girl was magnificent. Without looking up from the book in her lap, she slowly began to peel off her cardigan, flushing and breathing harder, as if the train were 100 degrees. There were exquisite beads of sweat forming around her parted lips and between those breasts, which I could now see a lot more of. Her blonde curls still covered too much though. I focused my thoughts on getting her to move her hair. This time it worked! She brushed her hair over her shoulder and turned the page. Okay, maybe that was just a coincidence... but still, those boobs seemed to be rising and falling even faster now. I moved my leg in closer, pushing her hem up and brushing her inner thigh. She continued reading. But was she breathing faster? I kept my leg against hers a while, watching her breasts rise and fall. Then, at the stop before mine, I repositioned myself, pulling my leg away from her thigh and backing up slightly. She suddenly looked up at me, then looked away quickly, and back to the book, breathing harder. She then shifted positions herself, leaning forward (improving my view of those tits) and resting her thigh against my leg again. That's when I knew she was mine. I rubbed my leg higher up her thigh, then back down again, teasing her. Her other leg moved into an open position, as if inviting me in. Her cheeks were pink and her panting parted lips were red. The train rumbled along, surely increasing her arousal with the vibrations. Suddenly the train stopped and the doors opened. "Sorry doll, but this is my stop," I whispered. "...this is my stop..." the doll echoed breathlessly, standing up. She followed me out the doors, leaving that useless cardigan on the subway seat. She seemed unaware of me as she walked up the steps and onto the street. I walked behind her to get a closer look at the ass I'd be enjoying later... I grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Excuse me, miss?" I said, pulling out my most ambitious line, "I'm a photographer and I'd love to take some pictures of you." "...take some pictures of me..?" she breathed. "Yes," I affirmed. "...yes..." she said in an almost moaning exhale. "Where do you live?" I asked. "...Where do I live?" she echoed. She pointied to an apartment complex just up the block. I smiled deliciously. This sexy, suggestible creature lived just around the corner from me. Thoughts and fantasies of my hot new fuck neighbor began flooding my brain... I couldn't just wait until I got into her apartment. I had to test her suggestibility right now. "Have you ever done any modeling before?" "...modeling... " she almost had to struggle to say a word of her own- "...No..." "Well the important thing to remember about modeling, " I said, keeping my hands on her body, "is to do whatever the photographer tells you. You have to obey my every command." "...I have to obey your every command..." she echoed. "Yes." "...yes.." she moaned, breathing harder, making those tits rise and fall. I didn't even bother to pretend not to look at them. In fact, I couldn't resist giving her her first command. "Reach inside your dress and squeeze your nipples for me." The blonde did exactly as commanded, squeezing her nipples for a stranger on the dark sidewalk with her boobs popping out of her little yellow dress. "Harder," I said. Her hands squeezed harder and her neck and back arched from the pleasure of following my order. I pulled her toward me and kissed her, pushing my tongue into her warm, wet little mouth. Her hands left her breasts as she sucked my tongue deeper into her eager orifice. I quickly pulled away and corrected her. "Did I say you could stop squeezing your nipples?" She immediately flushed and returned her hands to those hard pointy nips. "Harder," I said. "And twist them." She was probably going to hurt in the morning, but she clearly liked the feeling. I couldn't wait to get her into her apartment, but I couldn't parade her up the street with her boobs out. I needed a way to make sure she remembered the whole way that she was mine. "Now, " I said positioning my mouth over hers, "You've heard the term 'swapping spit," right?" She nodded, working her tits obediently, mindlessly. "Well, I'm going to kiss you again, and this time I'm going to spit in your mouth. And since you're a good, obedient model, you're going to hold my spit in your mouth until I give you permission to swallow, understand?" The girl nodded, still twisting her nipples. "Harder," I whispered with a smile, just before I kissed her, and I could feel her body writhe with the pain and pleasure. As she squeezed and twisted her nips even harder, I pushed my spit into her sucking little mouth. I kissed her longer than I had intended, filling her mouth with my spit while my hand wandered up her dress, stroking her thigh... When I stroked the wet part of her underwear, she convulsed, sucking my tongue deeper into her hungry hole and pressing her tight body even tighter against me. I could feel those fingers still twisting and squeezing subserviently. I rewarded her obedience by rubbing that wet spot a little longer. Then I pulled away. "Cover yourself up and take me to your apartment," I said. "You can give your tits a break, but keep that spit in your mouth." She did as she was told, and soon enough we were walking through her door. "On you knees," I said casually, as soon as the door closed behind us. The little slave put her hands behind her back without even being told. I turned her face up toward me and commanded her to open her mouth. Her flushed red lips parted to show a mouth so full of spit that it started to drip out down her chin. "Good girl," I smiled. "Stay." I left her drooling on her knees while I found the bedroom and set up the cameras from my bookbag. (To be continued.. my first story here!!)