Filling an Empty Space

My father finished up his anecdote from a quarter-century ago. He was smiling cheerfully and looking at me the way he used to look at my mother. I saw him look around conspiratorially. He leaned towards me, whispered, "I don't see your rugrat around right now. We have a few minutes." Rugrat. He was talking to my mother. YOUR rugrat. Not OUR rugrat. Me.

"Audrey?" I asked.

"Yeah, I don't see her. Come on. We don't know how much time we have," my father said. I didn't even think about what he was saying. I just felt the last little bit of wind go out of my sails. I slouched down in the chair, buried my head in my hands. He hated me. He didn't think of me as his daughter. He was never going to say...those things to me. To mean them about me. My tears still fell, bitter now.

As I cried, I could hear my father shuffling in the bed. Hear him gasping an grunting. Finally, I heard him settle back into his bed. "There we go," she said, "come on." Purely on instinct, I looked up at my father. I made a strange choking, gurgling sound. My eyes bulged in my head.

My father was sitting in the middle of his adjustable bed. Entirely naked. His arms and legs had withered away in his old age. His chest was almost concave. Every inch of his body was covered in craggly, gray-black hair. His pot-belly was gone, saggy skin now in its place. His feet were craggly, the nails long. All of that was repulsive enough. But, what was far worse, was that he wasn't even wearing underwear. My father's...penis was out. And it was hard. I didn't even think he was capable of erections anymore. The shaft was long and thick...longer than I expected. His balls were large and hung down very, very low between his split legs. Old man's balls. I retched. My father didn't seem to notice.

"Come on Lea," my dad said, "just a quickie." He sounded excited. As he spoke his hand reached up and wrapped around his shaft. He stroked it twice. My stomach did flips. I looked around the room, desperately trying to find the 'call' button to get his nurse in. Get him back in his clothes and get me out of here. I was embarrassed and disgusted, to add to all my

"I told you, she isn't around," My father said as I searched desperately, "Come on, sweatheart." My father's final word bore into my brain. Sweatheart. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers, squeezed the bridge of my nose.

"No, I...uh," I said, trying to throw some sanity into this situation.

"Oh don't say no baby. This isn't just for me. You know Daddy always takes care of his good girl, too," My father said. I froze on the chair. Daddy. Good girl. He said that so...playfully. Maybe it was some sort of game that he and my mother played. She was young enough. Hell, I had friends with fewer Daddy issues than me who called their boyfriends "Daddy" in bed.

But to understand the impact my father's words had on me, you have to understand my frame of mind in that exact moment. I was up, down, and sideways in the span of a few moments. I was overflowing with love and forgiveness for my father, only to have it cut out from under me. There was humiliation and anger then. And, hot on its heels, repulsion and fear. Still, having him call himself "Daddy" and referring to me as his "good girl"...Even knowing everything...it felt good. I felt that those positive feelings, those good emotions from earlier in our conversation were still there, somehow. I realized that all of my emotions were backing up on top each other. There wasn't enough time for any one feeling to subside. They were all still there, just cutting across one another, leaving my head swimming and my body trembling.

And with all these contradictory and exceedingly painful emotions swirling in my mind, it drove home a few concrete realizations. It made me think about what my options were here and the consequences of those options. I could call in the nurse, like I planned on. And my father, confused, would be subdued in some way. He would wonder why "Lea" was rebuffing him. He'd be angry and hurt by my late mother. It would be a betrayal. Not of my father, but of the love my mother bore for him (for whatever reasons she bore it). That I simply couldn't do.

I could do everything in my power to convince my father that I was, in fact, who I was. I could tell him that I was Audrey. I could keep explaining it until he either slipped back into incoherence or he believed me. Given the sharpness of his eyes, I think I could have convinced him. That would mean having him realize that I was his hated daughter. My mother's rugrat. It would almost definitely end with him saying something, intentional or not, that cut my guts out and spilled them all over the floor. I was in enough pain, thank you.

Or, what? I could... indulge my father's fantasy about my mother. I could pretend that I was her and just...calm down an old man. Make him happy. I would avoid any unpleasant scene. And maybe, you know, he would say more nice things about it. I would know, I guess, that he didn't really mean it about me. But maybe, for just a few minutes, I would get to feel what it was like to have my father care for me.

My hand rose, trembling, from my side. I looked at my father again. I felt no attraction to him at all. If anything, his appearance was more grotesque every time I looked at him. His eyes were hungry, crazed even. But I knew I wasn't going to turn back now. I needed this at least as much as he did. And besides, I had resolved that I wasn't going to do much. Just the bare minimum to satisfy him. To keep him saying nice things.

I realized that I was too far away. I rose up slightly in my chair, pulled it and shuffled forward. Soon, my knees were pressing against the side of my father's adjustable bed. I sat back down. My father's smell was stronger now, familiar and foreboding. I breathed it in, not sure why. But once again, my hand rose. My father's eyes were on my fingers. I think he was holding his breath.

Afterwards, I liked to tell myself that there was a little part of me, in the back of my mind that resisted. Or, if not resistance, as such, at least protested. That part of me was crying out "no, this is wrong and crazy and bad." But, if I am being honest, I don't remember that voice. I just remember that the thoughts were so thick in my mind that they were just a sort of amorphous buzz. I thought everything and so I thought nothing. I moved on instinct, on the need for my father's love, and nothing else.

I felt my fingers brush my father's cock, just below the tip. I felt the hard, hot shaft press into my palm. My fingers wrapped around it. It felt heavy, thick in my hand. I heard my father groan, and my eyes turned towards the shaft. It looked even bigger with my small hand around it. It seemed to pulse against my fingers. I realized that it was probably one of the larger cocks I'd ever held in my hands. I felt both disgusted and excited by that, more confusion.

"Stroke Daddy's cock," my father's voice grumbled. My scrambled mind convulsed further.

"Yes , Daddy," I said, and I felt a chill run down my spine. I instantly complied. For a moment, I realized that I'd do anything that my father asked, if he asked me lovingly. But I didn't want to think of the implications of that. Instead, I started stroking his cock. My hand squeezed on his shaft, not too tight but enough. I left my hand slide down the smooth, thin skin. I felt my fingers sink into his drooping balls. Then, I moved my hand up again. I felt the hardened muscles rippling against the palm of my hand.

"That's a good girl," my father said, and I felt his hand against the side of my head, stroking my hair. I turned and looked up at my father, saw his eyes, soft, looking at me. I bit my lower lip, and stroked slightly faster. I was pleasing him. I felt good, god help me.

As I stroked, I noticed a slight amount of friction, my skin catching against my father's. I didn't want him to say that I was hurting him. I didn't want him to wince and tell me to stop. I moved my hand away from his shaft, just for a split second, I moved it up towards my lips. I ran my tongue wetly across the expanse of my palm, coating it in my spit. I realized that that palm had just been on my father's dick. I could taste him on it. It tasted like he smelled. I groaned slightly and moved my wet palm back to my father's shaft. I glided over him now, no friction. I stroked for several more seconds, feeling his urethra pulsing against my palm.

"Ugh, so good!" My father groaned and I felt my lips pull back in a smile. "But if you want to lick my dick, cut out the middleman!" He said and snorted a little, a laugh. I kept stroking, but looked at my father's cock. It glistened slightly with my spit, but it was drying again. There would be friction soon. I licked my lips. But I didn't dare move anything, besides my hand, stroking up and down my father's shaft. I squeezed him a little tighter.

"I..." I started, not sure what I was going to say. I was going to refuse, somehow. Just wanted to finish him off with my hand as quick as possible.

"I know, I know. You don't want to do that. You never do," my father said, sighing slightly in his familiar, exasperated voice, "You know, girls these days don't think twice about sucking a dick. If you weren't such a good little girl, I'd trade you in for a younger, bolder model." He laughed his mean-spirited laugh, the one that cut me to the quick. Two thoughts instantly raced through my mind. The first was that my father was growing annoyed with me, and my heart seized. The second was that my mother...refused to perform oral sex on my father. And he was a jerk about it. But I didn't have any hang ups about that generally. I sucked dick, anytime a boyfriend asked. I was fundamentally incapable of refusing. I could do something that would make my Daddy happy, maybe even proud, that even my mother couldn't. He loved her and I would do what she wouldn't. Or couldn't. Once again, there was no choice. My actions were compelled. I could already taste my father's cock on my tongue. What difference did it make?

"Okay Daddy," I said and I rose up out of the chair. My legs felt weak as I rose, I didn't know if I could trust myself. I couldn't just stand next to the bed. I let my father's penis slip out of my palm and moved down towards the bottom of his bed. I felt his eyes following me. He looked like he didn't quite believe I was going to do it. My mother never would, apparently.

I placed my hands on the bed, near the old man's feet and used my arms to hoist myself up. I felt my shins bump against his feet, felt his long toenails scratching at me. I was wobbling, not really sure of myself. But I managed to scramble up into the bed. I straddled my father, putting my knees on either side of his calves and felt my ass sink down onto his shins. Then I began to lean forward.

My eyes flickered up as I began to bend down into my father's lap. I could see my father looking down at me, his eyes excited and his mouth twisted into a rictus grin. "Take your top off. Let Daddy see those big titties while you do it." He croaked. That was my father all over. Getting what he always wanted, and asking for more. I guess that would have been a good time to second guess myself, to think this through. Nothing was ever enough for him anyway. Why shouldn't I stop? But then he said, "You have such a sexy figure. You shouldn't hide it." And the praise eliminated any chance of rational though. After all, he might be thinking of my mother. But he was looking at MY body. He wanted IT.

I sat up sharply again, and quickly slipped my shirt up over my head. I was wearing a comfortable sports bra and I was able to rip it off as well. Soon I was straddling my father, topless, the cool air of his room making my nipples hard. My father's hands rose instantly and before I had even had a chance to think about how bizarre the situation was, I felt his palms pressing against my nipples. His spindly fingers squeezed around me, firm and scratchy. I groaned.

"One good thing about the rugrat," my father said, "Breastfeeding made your tits bigger. And the still sit up nice and firm on your chest." My father squeezed harder, pinching so much that it almost. Of course, there was greater hurt in his words. Another dismissive reference to me. But, at the same time, praise for me. My body, as a woman. Bigger than my mother, even though I'd never had a child. It felt good even though I knew it was...backwards. It seemed that everything just reinforced my confusion. I just ignored the hurt, let it roll passed me. I didn't have the capacity to consider the contradictions. I could only focus on one thing. I chased his approval.

I began leaning forward again, more quickly now. My father's fingers slipped from my breasts. My hand returned to my father's shaft. The base of it I felt my fingers resting on my father's scrotum. His shaft bulged in my hand. But I wast still bending forward. My breasts brushed against my father's thighs and I could feel that he liked it. Good. I looked down at my father's rigid penis, saw the precum dripping down it. It was just a few inches from my lips. My father's scent was heavy. This was just...overwhelming. I hesitated for a moment. And then I felt my father's hand on the back of my head, pushing me gently, but evenly, down.

"Don't stop now," he said. The expectation in his voice...I couldn't let him down. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. With my hand wrapped around the shaft, I didn't need to see. I positioned the tip of my father's penis against my mouth, felt the bulbous tip touch my lips. My tongue slipped out and grazed the tip.

"That's Daddy's good girl!" My father groaned. I felt my body tremble with excitement. My lips spread farther, and the whole tip of my father's penis slipped into my mouth. My tongue swirled around it, tasted like salt and my father. I could feel his excitement and approval as he cock quivered in my mouth, as he thrust his hips up. Somehow the fact that I was pleasing him made my father's penis taste better. It was irrational, but true.

Once again, I felt the slight pressure of my father's hand the back of my head. Not enough to actually move me, but enough for me to know what he wanted. I didn't need anything more than that. I kept my lips tight around my father's girthy shaft. But I forced my head down. My father's shaft moved across my tongue, which I continued to swirl around his penis. I moved steadily, easily, using all the skill I'd ever learned. In a few moments, I felt my father's penis pressing into the back of my throat, felt tears in my eyes. But I kept pushing down and down. My mouth,my throat...they felt so full. Soon, I moved my hands away as my nose buried in my father's gray, scraggly pubic hair and my chin pressed against his droopy balls. My father' smell was intense. Bad and good in equal measure. But I could feel the tension, the excitement in his body. And I knew that was all good.

My father groaned, his hand squeezing on my head. I smiled around his cock and the shook my head to either side, feeling my father's penis rattle around inside of my throat. I needed to do more. I kept his cock buried in my throat as long as I could, until tears were running down my cheeks and saliva dripped from my chin. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I pulled my head back, my father's cock slipping out of my throat, and I gasped for air.

"Jesus, woman! This is your first time?" my father asked. I smiled around the tip of his penis, my eyes turning up to look at me. Lust. I could see that on his gaunt face. And that was good. Good enough, really. But I could see more. I could see...pride. He was impressed by me! It was the purest positive reinforcement I'd ever gotten from my father. I needed more. And could tell that he did too.

I moved with absolute abandon. In one rapid movement, I let my father's cock slip between my lips and then down into my throat. Just like that, I was once again buried in my father's balls and pubes, his old man smell thick on me. The last flabby remnants of his pot belly against my forehead. And I loved it. I can say that now. It felt...amazing. But I didn't linger there. No, I rapidly pulled back, letting my fathers cock slip out of my throat until only the tip remained inside my lips. I swirled my tongue against it, tasting more of his salty flavor. But I waited only long enough to take a breath, and then I was down again. And then again and again and again.

I'd never given a blowjob like this before. I wasn't so much that I was sucking my father's dick, I was fucking it with my throat with complete disregard for myself. Up and down and up and down as fast as I could move. There might have been some pain... I don't know, I ignored it. I choked a few times, but I just let my throat wrap tight around my father's throat. My head just bounced up and down on my father's lap as fast as my neck and hips would move me.

As I let my father face fuck me, I was only vaguely aware of the rest of the world around me. I knew that my breasts were rubbing against my father's thighs, sort of bouncing on them. The sensation as pleasant. I also knew that saliva was dripping down my chin and onto my chest, onto my father. I knew the room was filled with clipped, wet, choking sounds. But I didn't think about that really, either. My eyes were open, looking up a his face, judging his reaction. Did he appreciate that I held nothing back? I wanted to give my father more than he expected. I wanted to know I was better than anyone else at...something.

My relentless effort paid off quickly. Or, maybe it wasn't that quick. Maybe it jus felt quick because I was soaking in my father's approval, which was written on his face. Regardless, after some amount of time, I felt my father's body go rigid. I heard his breath catch in his throat and his hands squeezed on my head. I instantly dropped my head straight down into my father's lap, just in time to feel his low-hanging balls seize against my chin.

"Christ a-mighty!" I heard my father yell. I felt his urethra pulsing against my tongue. And then it was there. Deep in my throat. Hot and slimy. My father's sperm was filling my throat. The same batter that had once made me. One, two, then three hard pulses of liquid. I choked slightly, pulled back and felt more sperm spurting down my throat. And then tip of my father's penis was against my tongue and more and more cum was coating it. Salty, but also like...him. There was no mistaking it. I tasted the complete essence of my father. I finally had his complete attention.

At long last, my father's cock stopped pulsing in my mouth. My cheeks bulged with his cum. I pulled my head back further, and my father's penis slipped wetly from my mouth and slapped against his belly. I kept my lips tight as I sat up. His flavor was thick on me, I felt it fill my nose. My father was looking at me, his eyes roaming my breasts, my face, my cheeks. He looked stunned. I grinned and then tilted my head back slightly. I opened my mouth, showing my father's his pearly spunk on my tongue, between my teeth. I knew men liked this. I knew my father would like this. His eyes pulsed. And then I closed my mouth, swallowed him down. I felt warm all over, like my Daddy's sperm was coating me, head to toe.

For a long while, my father just stared at me, dumbstruck. Then he smile again, shook his head and ran his gnarled fingers through his hair. "First time... I can't believe it." he said. Then he titled his head looked at my eyes, "I am... proud of you." He said. I felt rocked back on my heels. What had he said?

"Daddy?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "you've never done that before. But you didn't flinch! That shows gumption. You were wonderful! I always say, you need to be a lady on the street to make me proud. And a whore I my bedroom. Well.. You've done it. My little whore. And I am so proud of you." He said, coming off as earnest. Again, the contradictions were overwhelming I could taste my father's cum on my tongue and he'd called me a whore. I know that I was disgusted by myself. Shame was just below the surface. I could sense it there. But, for the first time in my life, he was proud of me. Proud of me for something I'd done. He was confusing me with my mother, yes, but he was praising my actions. And I had taken those actions, me and no one else. A whore with a belly full of cum, but it felt like a badge of pride.