Precocious Sophie 01

Literotic asexstories – Precocious Sophie 01 by etiennesurlaplage,etiennesurlaplage Any and all sexual activity in these fictional stories strictly involves humans who are 18 years of age or older.

I am a deep lover of language. Which is to say I take a lot of liberties. So you might not find absolute adherence to such rules as capitalisation etc. I might veer sharply from a ponderous anachronism to the trendiest, latest insult to the language – oops I mean neologism – within a single sentence.

And, I’m still test-driving different methods of portraying conversation. This story’s dialogue is written in a way that to me feels like a hybrid between conventional prose and a theatre script.

Oh, and I mug the reader once in a while – appy-polly-loggies to those who find this distasteful, or worse.

Kind thanks to @kenjisato for his thoughtful, thorough editing. We don’t always agree on this or that point of grammar, but goddess-bless him, he is sticking with me, so far. He’s so great at keeping me honest and more consistent with my tenses, to name only one thing.

This story might be a bit slow getting going for some readers.

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Precocious Sophie 1

Finally home from the dance recital/competition. Probably Sophie’s last one, ever, as she is off to uni in the fall. It’s always been the three of us at these events: Sophie at the helm naturally, I mean, on top of all the choreography she’s memorised, performance nerves etc. – she’s got every detail of the entire day in her head – like a real-time, 3D, animated flow chart – with her mom Teresa and I acting as pit crew. Teresa takes care of tights, tutus and makeup while I keep track of wig boxes, shoes, and navigation, i.e. herding us to the proper room at the proper time. We make a pretty good team – but it’s a loooong day.

– Mom can you come up and help me undress?

– coming.

The two of them rather stomp their way upstairs while I take the leftovers from our on-the-way-home take-out into the kitchen – and, vitally, put some coffee on.

A few minutes later Teresa comes into the kitchen:

– hey, your presence is required upstairs.

– oh?!

– you’re not surprised are you?

– guess not.

I give Teresa a peck on the lips and a ((-n) hopefully obviously affectionate) smack on the tush as I turn and head up to Sophie’s room – where I find her, starkers, flopped down on her bed.

– I’m soooo tired. my whole body hurts.

– what can I do for you, mademoiselle?

As if I didn’t know…

– just the usual…

– *sigh*

I’m so wrapped… Wistfulness aside, the precedent has been long set, and truthfully I knew it was coming. I stretch out beside her on the bed for a moment.

– aaaahh that feels good.

A minute-ish of comfortable silence.

– so… probably our last time doing all this: how does it feel?

– yeah… good. I won’t miss the craziness! I don’t know. I mean it’s not as if I’ll never dance again right?

– true. but prob’ly not these big to-dos..

– I guess… you sound like you miss it already!

– busted!

Another comfortable pause.

– come on then, turn over: let’s do dis thang.

– yay!!!!!!!!

Sophie rolls onto her front and I straddle her, sitting on her bum.

I start by getting all her hair up and out of the way to begin our usual cool-down massage routine. First I lightly and slowly run my fingerpads all around her back, shoulders, neck and head, to calm and centre both of us a bit.

After a minute I use my whole hands, still softly caressing all of her that I can reach, in no particular pattern – and lots of stopping and simply pressing in, to get that flow of energy oscillating between us. All the while regulating my breathing, trying to get into the zone.

After another minute or so I start the massage proper, working her shoulders first. With strong targeted fingerwork I force her traps and her delts into submission.

– ohhhhh… soooo goooood… you’re the bestest, Daddy 2.0.

– mmm.

Too tired to call her on her mangling the language. Tho’ tired as I am, I love giving massages so am quickly able to shed that silly petulance I’d been feeling – at having something ‘expected’ of me.

– ah, oops. forgot… lift up for a sec.

I get off and get Sophie to tuck a pillow under her chest and shoulders, taking pressure off her neck and allowing her to rest her head on her forehead without smushing her nose. Now I can work her neck, trying my non-professional best to soothe rather than irritate the small muscles, ending up again lightly caressing up and down. Sliding my fingers up into her hair and scalp elicits more moans from the madam. Then down her back, spending a good bit of time on her lower back.

As I climb to one side of her I give her bum a gentle pat:

– hey, turn ’round.

– k

I slide back against the headboard with my legs spread wide and get Sophie lying face up with her head between my legs. Having the lower back support of the headrest makes all the difference and I can get pretty good range of motion. It’s a stretch, but not painful. I recommence with her shoulders and upper arms, using a decent amount of pressure, as I know Sophie likes. She emits a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan as she melts into the mattress, surrendering to the massage.

I first connected with Teresa 9 years ago when Sophie was a super-bright, precocious 9-year-old. The 3 of us have been a tighter and tighter unit ever since. I have come to adore Sophie as if she is my own daughter – and I know she also feels a deep love for me, such that in time she bestowed upon me (whether I’d wanted one…) my ‘official title’: Daddy-2.0. I know, doesn’t it just glide off the tongue: daddy two point oh. Yeah… (True fact: after a while she started trying out abbreviations – I put my foot down. DT-0 or D2pO are names for robots, or AIs, am I right?!)

Sophie’s mom and I are both pretty progressive, socio-politically speaking, and nudity is not a ‘thing’ for us – Sophie has been brought up to believe it’s not a huge deal. Everyone has a body, and every body has parts: they simply exist… Further, importantly, they’re not always sexual. Sometimes they’re only, well, biological. No need to get all worked up about it. Sophie even came to a nude beach with us a couple of times when she was a kid. There were mostly other families there so the three of us got comfy pretty quickly. Sophie enjoyed it. All of which is to say: us being naked around each other is not an issue.

I start to alternate between massage and a simple gentle caress using just the pads of my fingers. Sophie moans again as I move up her neck so I am running my fingertips around her ears, her cheeks – passing with the lightest feather-touch over her closed eyes – passing sloooowly across both eyebrows – I move in small circles on her temples, right next to her eyes. You know, that lovely little soft spot we all have? …Not so much pressing as merely testing its elasticity – then across her forehead, and into her hair. I gently scritch her scalp, then finger-comb her hair.

– daddy-2.0 make sure to do my boobies, k?

– really!

– oh stop-puh. I’m not kidding that bra really hurts and I’ve been wearing it for hours and hours.

– k

– don’t even know why I have to – ha ha! I mean ‘had’ to – wear the damn’ thing. I mean it’s not as if I have actual breasts…

– dunno… isn’t it in like the Official Rules?

– well, it’s a stoopid rule… *sigh* Pleeeeease, just keep doing what you’re doing but do my whole body! love ya tee hee!!

– wow. *pause* just wow.

I sigh to myself, expanding the range of my hands’ motion gradually down Sophie’s neck, shoulders, arms and finally, still using just the pads of my fingers, my hands slowly move down her torso from her shoulders to her pelvis, moving over her chest without giving her breasts any special attention. I switch to full hands again, moving up and down and back and forth across her torso several times before starting to apply a bit of pressure and working particular muscles. Bending forward I can reach to her hips – even getting into her upper glutes ’round underneath.

– aaahhhhh, sssssssoooo sweeeeeet…!

– ooo is that an LOTR reference?!

– yessss, my preciousssssss. boom.

– nailed it!

– ok back to work now.

– harumph!

– *faux-gag* …you didn’t seriously just ‘harumph’ me!

I wag a finger at her accusingly:

– ah ah aaah.

– ah ah ah what-tuh?

– oh, I thought you were going to come back with, I don’t know, pshaw or, or fiddlesticks.

– *giggles* fiddlesticks – what even is that?! I have never heard that in my life. you are such an idiot! a loveable one, but still. you know, everyone knows that you’re capable of speaking english, it’s like you just choose not to… *pause* …but stop-puh. no more jokes. you’ve taken me out of the zone. we’re supposed to be in zen mode.

– sorry, you’re right. *pause* for the record though, a second ago you were being pretty chatty: I wasn’t exactly prying it out of you… *sticks out tongue*

– same to you buster. come on: back to it.

– k

I refocus on the massage with slow, medium-pressure passes down and up her torso.

Eventually I move up to her breasts. It’s a source of frustration for Sophie, but her body has simply been late blooming, physically. So even now, at 18 (…and a half, she’d correct me!), her breasts are barely there, and lying on her back they are flat except for the puffy flesh around her areolae. Honestly, she’s really not bothered herself, she loves her breasts – she loves her whole body. It’s just bloody annoying getting teased all the time – the nerve people have. The casual cruelty. I let my open palms lie flat on her breasts and allow for the transfer of warmth and energy to move back and forth between us. Then I start to move my hands around in small, slowly widening circles – still open-palmed but concaved a bit, trying to make contact around where red marks from the frame of the bra are still visible. This elicits an immediate response from the Madam.

– yesssss. thank you thank you thank you…mmmm…

I try to line my hands up with the irritated parts, still with my hands concaved. When I get them as close as I can I ever so slowly rotate each hand. I rotate about an inch, then a gentle sort of pulsing for a bit, then repeat – hopefully soothing the sore flesh, and getting the blood circulating in the still-flattened grooves. Sophie seems lost, oblivious, apart from her slightly elevated breathing and the occasional coo.

After a couple of minutes of this I can no longer resist getting more ‘digital’, first gliding the tips of my fingers all around her breasts eventually converging in the middle, gently pulling on her always puffy areolae. This elicits an unambiguous moan from Sophie, which in turn causes a surge of sexual energy within me. I immediately feel guilt for getting aroused – she is basically my step-daughter after all – but touching her like this feels so wonderfully intimate… I decide not to make an issue of it – there’s really nothing wrong with me giving my ‘de facto step-daughter’ a loving, if rather sensuous, massage, considering she did ask me to. I don’t want to disappoint, do I?

After a minute or two (or twenty?) of massaging her chest – was I doing anything more than caressing? – and no sounds in the room apart from Soph’s gentle sighs and moans, she suddenly sits up:

– oh. my. guh-guh-Goddess. that was so freaking awesome. you have no actual idea! holy. you know, the way you were like – what were you doing…?

I put my hands into the shape again, holding them up for her.

– yes that! that felt so amazing.

– glad to be of service.

– aaaaand, what you were doing after was nice too. *giggle*

After launching off from her ‘aaaand,’ she suddenly speeds up on that last sentence, like a G&S patter song, just to be silly. Sophie hasn’t been brought up in a repressive household as I was, so she doesn’t have the same impulse toward guilt and shame that I so easily assume. But she knows I struggle with it, so she resorts to humour to distract me. Pfft, as if I need more distraction…

– umm. legs now, k…!?

– cheekeh monkeh. [Ed.: sorry, feeble attempt at Brummy.]

She spins around so her legs are now in my lap and she holds them up for me, sizing me up with a twinkle in her eye. She playfully sticks a foot right up in my face and actually taps my nose! Bloody cheek! I grab it and start to tickle mercilessly. Sophie screams and writhes trying to pull her foot away but I’m not letting go. I use her foot to pull the rest of her closer and start to tickle her ribs, her neck, underarms, behind her knees, all her known weak spots until she is a tangle of writhing, flailing limbs. It’s actually amazing either of us have mustered such vigour, given the day we’ve had. What can I say, we know how to push each other’s buttons. Finally she kicks away from me, falling right off the bed in a heap of laughter – and a thump – on the floor. Beaming, she jumps right up and leaps into my lap, straddling me and hugging me tightly.

– I love you daddy-2.0. like I said, you’re the bestest.

I can’t suppress a little over-the-top theatrical outburst (though due to Sophie’s proximity I am unable to pound my chest very satisfactorily):

– aargh… English, thou fairest of tongues, I weep for thee.

– shut up-puh!

I wrap my arms around her and we stay that way, quietly sharing the intimacy of the moment.

In walks Teresa:

– well don’t you two make a pretty picture… here’s your coffee, loverboy!

– ahhhh you! are! Awesommme!! …speaking of the goddess!

I lean my face upward, tacitly requesting a kiss. Which I receive: a gentle, sweet peck.

– do you want any more of that food tonight?

– not for me, thanks.

– me neither, mom.

– k. see ya in a bit.

And she’s gone. I take a couple of sips over Sophie’s shoulder, grooving on the almost-immediate caffeine buzz, not to mention the deliciosity of the brew. I wrap both hands around my mug for a moment and take another sip before putting the mug down and applying my heated hands to the madam – right on her buns. She jumps a bit in surprise, but soon realises how lovely the heat is.

– ohhhhhhhhh that is unreallll. ooo put them on my back. right here.

She reaches behind, quickly moving my hands to her lumbar. I lace my fingers to keep my warm palms flat. Too bad the heat doesn’t last longer.

– I love you Andy.

– awwwww. I love you too.

– …again…?

– ‘course.

I reach for the mug with relish.

– it’s a win-win, ’cause I get more coffee!

– ugh, you and your coffee…

– aaaaah, you’ll succumb someday. *pause* huh: succumb someday – that’s fun to say. you should try it.

– you are an idiot.

– ththffphffphfft!

I wrap my hands around my mug again as I take a couple more sips. Then apply my freshly heated hands right on the perfect spot just above her hips.

– ohhhhh…

Comfortable silence. After the heat’s fully dissipated, I reach down and give her bum a pat:

– k, down you get – on your tummy.

This is more serious business. Her legs definitely worked hardest today so I give them a proper massage. I get the massage oil and deeply work her feet, calves, and thighs.

Fuck her legs feel sooo nice in my hands. They are taut muscular dancing machines – graceful thighs, elegant knees, ah the curves of her calves. And her skin – so silky soft, with that special turgidity of youth. Her feet are a little bit ‘beat-up’ though, as are any dancer’s… Fuck, how could anyone not get at least a little aroused doing what I’m doing?! I’m going to hell.

I apply more pressure as I work the bigger muscles of her thighs, leaning forward and putting my full weight on the heels of my hands at the very tops of her thighs where hamstrings meet glutes. Strong as her body is, she is no match for my dead-weight and her whole midsection concaves, or is that convexes?, into the mattress.

Sophie can only kind of croak:

– oh. my. goddess. that is so fucking good.

– mmm breathe…

And then after another minute:

– ohhhh. stay just like this for-e-verrrr.

– wish I could… hands getting sore…

I let up, getting off the bed, shaking my hands out and having another couple of sips. It’s the perfect temperature now. Mmmmm, coffeeeee. [Simpsons ref.]

– roll over and we’ll do your hamstrings.

– yesss. thought you’d never ask. *giggle*

– still with the cheek!

– oh you love it, mister.

– do I now…?

– obvie!

Soph rolls over and presents her right leg to me. I gently straighten it, then begin to push it up towards her head. She’s slight enough that I can apply enough pressure with one arm, leaving the other free to massage her hamstring. I can’t help reacting again: caressing the unbelievably soft skin of her leg, while she lies naked under me, her vagina on full display. Crap. I’m only human, right?! Typical male of the species. My hand gets pretty close to her vagina as I stroke up and down, trying to deepen the stretch, but I don’t touch it. I’ve got to stop going on and on about it. Just ignore it. I should be trying to help Sophie zen her way through these stretches to get the most benefit.

Soph fidgets a bit, moving her hips, while trying to breathe deeply, enjoying the stretch. I’m using my fist now, rolling it up and down the very centre of her thigh, going tête-à-tête with her hamstring, trying to get right into the tendons as well – man, they are strong… I catch her eye, while trying to sync my breathing up with hers. We stay that way for a while – I kind of lost track of time a bit. After however long it was, Sophie eventually smiles a loving smile and wiggles her leg, indicating we’re done. I slowly put her leg back down on the bed.

– ok. other leg.

As I grab her left leg I glance between her legs and notice she looks pretty wet down there. Doesn’t exactly help my state of mind… I stretch out her left hamstring but she’s getting fidgety.

– what’s up darlin’?

– can you get me a kleenex? I’m, um, I’m making a mess…

– I noticed. what’s the biggie? you’re always wet down there, aren’t you?

– yeah but… I don’t know. sometimes it’s a bit embarrassing.

– really? I would have thought it’s a good thing.

– most of the time yeah. but, in front of a, well an almost-parent…?

– not an issue for me. don’t overthink it. you’re tired. you’re sore. simple physical response to stimulus… just enjoy your massage.

She feels down with a hand and lightly rubs her vagina with a finger, taking up some of the wetness. I can see the wheels turning…

– I guess you’re right. it’s making a wet spot, tho’.

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Sophie likes to come into our bed in the mornings and cuddle. She developed the habit with her mom, before I moved in, and decided to keep it up.

One morning, Sophie is almost nineteen, I wake up lying on my back and initially think I’m alone in bed, until I feel the mattress shift. Soph has scooted down in the bed and is getting up-close-and-personal with my morning erection, touching it, gently squeezing the head, then cradling my balls. Of course it feels nice. But it’s Soph, my might-as-well-be step-daughter. Why, fucking why, does she do this?!

I take a breath, to tell her to stop when all of a sudden I feel her tongue on the head of my cock. That gets my attention.

– Soph! not fucking appropriate! jesus.

– language, mister!

– fuck language: behaviour, madam.

– come on… you’ve never stopped me before.

– …you’ve never…

– oh-wuh I’m only playing around.

– yeah, but… must you?

– well, it’s like, there. and it’s so hard. it’s always there, like, every morning – I can’t always ignore it…!