How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio?

"How did you learn to love cocksucking?"

She blushed deeply with frown. I had said something very wrong – stupid youngster! She was the first girl to suck my cock, only the third girl I had slept with. But she had done it so good! And it had been her initiative. It couldn't have been her first time. I would never have asked her to, so she must love to do it. How could I have been so tactless to ask?!

She was still frowning, stuck her tongue out at me. I deserved that, but tried to disarm my question, remarking:

"I know how good you do it; love it. Sorry for my question."

"Shouldn't have asked then, she replied, her blush fading.

"Too late, I know," I answered, then adding:

"But I know you do."

She nodded, involuntarily I thought. She had a funny expression on her face. After a few moments, she murmured:

"I do, but I shouldn't tell you."

"If it wasn't good; sorry that I asked."

"Oh, it was, but I shouldn't tell you."

"Then don't. Sorry – again – for having asked."

She nodded again and was silent, then a smile playing on her lips. I waited, terribly curious. Then she murmured:

"Oh, it was good. You're right, I love to, but I shouldn't tell you."

Just "shouldn't tell"? She could, might? She had made it sound more interesting than a blunt answer to my so tactless question. After a long, silent pause, she sniffed and murmured:

"Oh, it was good, but all wrong, with him."

"Then don't tell me."

"But one wants to tell someone. You're not going to criticize me – us?"

I shook my head, very wondering about her last remark. Why could or should I criticize her – them – for what they had done, if I liked it so much. It had been much better than with those other two girls, probably my own fault.

"Don't say anything!" she insisted.

I nodded again. She was going to tell. She scowled and said:

"You'd better not!"

I nodded again, confirming: "I won't, doesn't matter with whom."

She nodded and muttered: "I hope so, my father."

I caught my breath, hoping my expression just seemed sympathetic, now understanding her hesitancy, but it had been so good with her father, that she wanted to tell someone. I would also have, tell someone how good she had sucked my cock. She snorted with a wry smile and started her story.

* * *

I shouldn't tell anyone. When Mom told me how babies were made, long before my first period, the next Sunday, or was it a week later? Anyway, Sunday mornings we had breakfast in pajamas, and then Mom went to church. She was on the church council, RC, not like Dad and me.

Yeah, so Dad and I were in the kitchen like that, and I said:

"Mom told me about babies. Can I see?"

I didn't think my question was anything funny. Maybe he did: he sort of smiled and said that he guessed I could. For sure, he understood, just standing up and letting his PJ bottom drop. It didn't look like anything I had anticipated from Mom's embarrassing lecture. It couldn't stick in anywhere. I stared. He smiled slightly, when my eyes glanced up at his face. He didn't seem to mind my looking. But then it moved. That was interesting, that it could. He shrugged, and I watched it grow, longer and thicker. If I had understood Mom correctly, nothing like that could fit between my thighs, where she had said it could. Maybe Dad's was now bigger than when they had made me, but still, it wasn't just bigger, beginning to stand up. Well, that looked more like how Mom had told it would be, but not where I had understood she said it would be.

Dad looked a little funny about my staring at it, but didn't say anything. Then I asked:

"May I touch it?"

I remember saying 'may' instead of 'can'. I was looking up at him, but thought it twitched. He shook his head and replied:

"When you're a big girl, if you still want to, eighteen."

I nodded and looked down at it again, wondering if I would remember how it looked.

So then I was eighteen. Don't think I remembered how it looked, but I remembered what he had said. Till then, I had sort of forgotten about all that, maybe also because I was in a girls school, no guys to remind me about how babies are made.

Anyway, there he and I were again, after Mom went to church. My birthday party had been all about becoming an adult, his "big girl." That expression had fallen a couple of times, his saying:

"Now you're a big girl."

Only that Sunday after my birthday, did it occur to me that he could be remembering what he had said years before. I did, and there we were again in the kitchen, Mom off to church. Did I dare ask him again, and really ask him if I could touch it?! We smiled across the table. I murmured:

"I'm eighteen now."

"I know, kind of hard not to see."

My nipples popped out under my top, now a shorty nightgown instead of the PJs I wore as a kid. I gathered up my courage and said:

"You said I could see again."

He smirked slightly and replied:

"Guess I did. Sort of thought that – well – maybe you didn't have to now."

"Daddy!" I replied, blushing at his suggestion that I could have seen a boy's cock.

Did he really think I could have done that much with one? He shrugged and replied:

"Seen it before, not much difference."

He stood up and let his bottom fall again, across the table from me. Yeah, like I remembered, except that it wasn't as small as it had been at first back then; but that didn't seem to bother him, nor my staring at it. Shit! Did he see that my nipples had popped out? If he was letting me see his cock, I guessed that was only fair, kind of liking that he could, wondering if he had been able to see them before, had wanted to, want now to really see them? Did I want him to?!

Oooh! His cock wagged, now really standing up. Did it want me to touch it? Had he made it wag, wanting me to? I wanted to. Without glancing up at his face, still staring at it, I murmured:

"You said I could touch it now."

"Did I? I guess so, but I'm not so sure now."

"You said so; why not?"

I was still staring at it, seeing it twitch. He murmured:

"Didn't know back then that you were going to be so grown up."

"But you said so. I want to."

His cock was bobbing at me across the table. What was going to happen, if he let me touch it?

"Want to let me see you too?" he murmured.

Anything, if he let me touch it. I gathered up my shorty and pulled it up, hearing him hum, as it slid up past my breasts, feeling it flip my tight nipples. He was really going to get to see them! When my head slipped out of my shorty, he was staring at my breasts, and his cock was twitching, now even higher. He couldn't be more aroused than I was, I was thinking, but enjoying the feeling.

He sighed with a hum and murmured:

"Like your Mom's twenty years ago."

Had his bobbing cock been like that twenty years ago? Probably, must have been; they had made me, and now I could imagine that it could fit, where two of my fingers did. I still wanted to touch it, more than before, but it was on the other side of the table. We managed to look up at each other, and I managed to ask:

"Are you going to let me touch it now?"

"I shouldn't," he murmured, but moved to the end of the table. I didn't dare to look at his face, as I moved to join him. I guess my hand was already extended. What was I going to do: touch it and make it wag even more; holding it, slip my fingers around it? It was so big and stiff. I stared at it. It looked so lovely; its round knob now so shiny and light purplish-pink. I just stared, watching it twitch slightly up and down. He murmured:

"You said you wanted to touch it."

Did he really want me to now? I had too, had told him that I wanted to. I brushed my fingers against it, pushing to it to the side, then watching it spring back – and twitch higher once. It sounded like he almost chuckled. I did that again, pressing it further to the side and watching it spring back again. This time he did chuckle, and I did, glancing up at his face. He was smiling slightly. If he had said that he shouldn't let me touch it, he apparently didn't really mind that I had.

I did that with my other hand, pushing it to the other side, with the same result and eliciting another chuckle. He really didn't mind, not at all; he murmured: "Having fun?"

I just nodded. I wanted to see it closer up. I murmured:

"Want to see it close up," and dropped to my knees.

It twitched up higher again. Oh, and his balls – I knew that much about male physiology – hanging down below his cock, and the back of his knob – funny, how the groove around it came up and the little ridge of skin. It almost looked like it wanted to be tickled. But first his balls:

"Can I touch them too?"

"I guess so, if you want, may as well."

Oooh! Nice, my fingers could move them. I watched them tap them from behind, each of them moving. He chuckled again. What did it feel like for him? He certainly wasn't objecting to my playing. Would he, if I held his cock? I warned him: "Want to hold it."

It twitched up again, but he only snorted. My fingers slipped around it – so nice and firm – and it twitched again. Suddenly, I thought that it reminded me of the handle of my tennis racket, and chuckled. He also chuckled, and it twitched again in my hand. If he had also chuckled, I could tell him why I had:

"Feels sort of like the handle of my tennis racket."

"Hmm! Never thought of that; I guess it does."

He also played tennis. Then he really chuckled, almost laughing, and said:

"Maybe that's why girls like to play tennis."

"I will, now," I replied, and we both laughed, looking at each other.

Was he enjoying this as much as I was? Why not? I looked back down at his cock in my hand, seeing again the funny place behind its knob. It really did look like it should be tickled. Oooh! My tongue was twitching between my lips. Yeah, it looked just right to be tickled with the tip of my tongue. I glanced up at him again and murmured:

"I almost wanted to lick it there, tickle it."

"Oooh! There?"

"That funny place."

"It is ticklish, very, but maybe you shouldn't do that."

Just 'maybe'? He had said that he shouldn't let me touch him, but he had had let me and enjoyed it, chuckling and laughing with me. I hummed with a grin and asked:

"But if I did?"

"You shouldn't."

I looked back down. That wasn't saying that I couldn't, that he wouldn't let me, and his cock had twitched a couple of times more in my hand. I didn't want to do anything to make him say no and ruin my fun, but I wanted to know what would happen if I did tickle it, suddenly thinking that I couldn't be the only person who had had the idea. His cock twitched again. Without looking up, I asked:

"Do you think anyone does that, wants to lick it there?"

He hummed, after a long pause replying:

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Um-hmm."

"Hmm? Then it must feel good?"

"It does, anything there does."

"Oh, arousing?"

"Shouldn't tell you, but, yes."

"You know?"

There was another pause, before he responded:

"Um-hmm."

"You know; does Mom?"

"Hm-umm."

He knew, but Mom didn't do it; someone else must have! It had never occurred to me that he had a girlfriend before Mom, and one that licked his cock! Well, at least tickled it there. They must have done everything else, if she did that. And he had said that it felt good, arousing, but Mom didn't do it. Why not? If it felt good, that must be a little disappointing for him.

"Pity," I murmured.

"Um-hmm," he agreed softly.

"Why not?"

"She thinks it's only for procreation, you know, the church."

I don't know what answer I had been expecting, not that one, but it was good. Of course, he wasn't going to tell me anything about their love life, and the discussion was getting too ticklish – just not my wanting to tickle that place on his cock. It seemed less stiff in my hand. I looked up at him with grin and replied:

"Then I should have lots of sibling."

"Um-hmm, but, well, you could have; she's not quite that good of a Catholic."

"Pity," I replied with a grin, liking this new topic, adding:

"Would have been nice to have an older brother."

He chuckled with a nod, then replied:

"But then you probably wouldn't have had to wait to ask me."

"Hadn't thought of that," I agreed with a grin, squeezing his softening cock, then adding:

"But he probably couldn't have told me that."

"Oh, he could have told you where it's ticklish; all boys discover that."

"Like girls do."

"I didn't ask," he replied with a smile and shrug.

"But we do too. But he couldn't have told me ... well, about licking."

"I hope not. I shouldn't have, either."

"You didn't, I just asked."

"Too much."

"Whom else could I?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I guess. If you asked your mother, you would have gotten different answers."

"And she couldn't let me touch you."

"No! Glad it's not so aroused any more."

"I'm not; I liked it the way it was.

His knob had lost its shine and nice purplish-pink, but I was still holding his cock and wanted to

return to our discussion of it. Without looking up from it, I murmured:

"So Mom doesn't, but, well, .... Hmmm! Someone must have; never thought about the fact that you could have had girlfriends before her."

"Only a couple – that good. Oooh! Shouldn't have said that!"

"But you did – 'that good' – that, well, tickled you like that?"

"Too late to deny it."

"With their tongue?"

"Only one of them."

His cock was feeling firmer in my hand. Unconsciously, I jogged my hand on it. It was even firmer. I replied:

"I like that, that she also felt like I do."

"Hmm?! I'm not sure you should, at least not with me – this way."

His cock was nice and stiff again. He didn't mind that I thought I would like to lick it. And I had learned that he was unlikely really to say no. He still could – if he wanted to. I murmured:

"I want to, anyway."

His cock twitched. His knob was all shiny again. He didn't say anything. I licked. His cock twitch stronger than ever before. He almost groaned. I licked again. That funny place felt delightful on the tip of my tongue. I had to hold his twitching cock to lick there again. He groaned again and murmured: "You shouldn't."

I knew now that that just meant that I could, that he wasn't going to stop me, but what was going to happen, when I continued? I did, and he just groaned, and then I felt a drop of liquid ooze down on my tongue. It tasted good, salty. Was that it?

"Stop!" he demanded.

Reluctantly, I did, raising my head and seeing clear liquid oozing out of his little slit. I couldn't resist licking it up. He groaned again, and more oozed out. I had to lick that up too. She must have also liked that; why didn't my mother?

"You shouldn't be doing this," he murmured.

That "shouldn't" again, and "be doing this," not "shouldn't have done that." He wasn't saying – couldn't insist – that he didn't want me to do more. What? Had that girl done something else – this way? Why shouldn't I, if he had liked whatever she had done so much, and Mom didn't do it?

"You shouldn't be doing this," he repeated.

"I wanted to, I want to, it was so good."

"Almost too good."

"That tasted good."

"But it wouldn't have, if you had done more."

"Oh? That wasn't 'it'?"

"Hm-umm."

"That doesn't taste as good?"

"Why your Mom doesn't do it."

"But she did, that girlfriend?"

"Um-hmm, said it taste real strange, but she did it."

"She didn't have to taste it – well, not much – licking like I was."

"She didn't just lick."

"Oh?" I murmured, and a light went on: she must have had his cock in her mouth.

"'Didn't just lick'?" I asked: "It in her mouth?"

"Um-hmm," he responded very softly.

"And that was good?"

"Too good."

"Better than ...? No, but so good?"

"Almost 'better than'."

"And Mom doesn't do it. I want to. If she did, and you said that, I want to. I will."

He just moaned, as his cock twitched. He was going to let me! Should I have said "I shall," instead of "I will," I had already said that I wanted to, volition. My tongue was already lapping up that nice, ticklish place, finding more nice salty liquid that had oozed out, while we had been talking. He just moaned; he was going to let me do anything I wanted to. I pulled his cock forward, and my lips slipped down around his knob.

It felt so nice in my mouth; why hadn't I immediately wanted to do this? And my tongue could still lick where his cock was so ticklish, and now its twitches couldn't escape my tongue. Why didn't Mom want to do this; it was so delightful! Oooh! And arousing for me too; my pussy felt like it did, when I started to rub it. And he was moaning. I loved it, the sensations and knowing he liked what I was doing.

"Suck," he murmured.

I did, rejoicing that he was past worrying about "shouldn't." He wanted me to; I should! What was going to happen? What was it going to taste like? She had said it tasted real strange, but if she had liked it; I would.

He was groaning, his hips trying to thrust his cock deeper in my mouth. Boys' hips must move like that when they were about to come, not that I had ever thought about that before. How was it going to taste?

He grunted, and his cock thrust deeper in my mouth, so deep that I involuntarily swallowed, just aware that a spurt of liquid had shot deep in my throat, but then I tasted it, when his cock spurted again and again, not so strongly. Yeah, it tasted real strange, but I had wanted it; I did want it!

He was gasping and sighing, my Daddy! I had done something so good for him, something Mom didn't do! He must love that I had, love that he had let me, as much as I loved that he had.

* * *

She snorted, barely smiling after her so heartfelt last sentence. I didn't know what to say, nothing about her having done it with her father. I could so well understand his compliance; I knew how irresistible her desire to suck my cock was, and now understood it even better. Lucky father! Lucky me! And anyone in between? Lucky him, if there was one. I replied:

"That was too good."

"Um-hmm, she agreed, adding then:

"It was. Hm-hmm! I liked that you asked. Well, not at first, but then I wanted to tell someone, it was just so good, have to tell someone."

"Mmmm! Guess you can't tell him how much I appreciate that he let you."

She smirked, then replied:

"Not sure I should."

"Hmm? Sounds like what he said."

"I guess so. I could, maybe. That was only the first time. After that, we didn't have to talk. Well, we did the next Sunday, his telling me what he did with her and then doing it with me."

"Hmm! And now I know why you like that too."

She grinned and replied:

"You do it as good as he does."

"He 'does'?!"

"Oooh! Sorry. Yeah, why he doesn't like me to have dates Saturday night."

"Oh?! But doesn't mind ones Friday night, tonight?

"Maybe, but when Mom closes the front door, we forget about that."

"Every Sunday morning?"

When I don't have my period, then I do it to him twice."

"Lucky Pops!"

"Um-hmm, but most other Sundays we both do it twice."

"And nothing else? Shouldn't have asked.

"No. We talked about that, you know, incest, but we don't do that."

"Sounded like he likes what you do even better."

"He said that too. Don't know if it's true. Especially not after being with you, and what he does is just as good. Oh, well, just almost."

"And what you do isn't 'just almost'."

"I love it!"