Role Reversal Ch. 02

Literotic asexstories – Role Reversal Ch. 02 by TheGraduate88,TheGraduate88 The next morning I was surprised that there was no awkwardness between us.

Actually, it was about as far from awkward as it could be. I woke to her kisses covering my face and the weight of her leg moving across my thighs. Like the rest of her, the leg was heavier than it was seven months ago. No longer the lean, distance-runner’s leg, it was a momleg, thick at the thighs but tapering nicely I thought.

I was hard, as I usually was in the morning, and she straddled me before scooting forward, lifting herself, and then settling, accepting my length into her body.

“Good morning, Daddy,” she said with a bright smile and I saw, for a brief instant, the seven-year-old I congratulated so effusively when she won her first gymnastics meet.

“Good morning, bride-to-be,” I said and her smile spread even more.

I sighed as she settled onto me and she giggled.

“You know,” she said, her hips moving in a slow, gentle rocking motion, “We don’t really need a ceremony. Our last names are already the same after all.”

“Would you be happy with that?” I asked.

“Daddy,” she said, leaning forward and kissing me, a soft loving kiss, “I’ve been your wife since you said you wanted me. Anything else is just window dressing.”

“And I have been your husband since you said ‘yes,'” I said.

The movement of her hips increased and I laid back, lacing my fingers behind my head, making her do the work now. And as her movements got faster I continued holding still.

“Are you going to help me?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said, “You need the exercise.”

“I could cut you off,” she said and I chuckled.

“You could, but you won’t, will you?” I replied.

She giggled and moved even faster.

“The problem with marrying your Daddy,” she said in an oddly conversational tone, “is that he knows you too well. Now HELP me or I’ll be puking on your chest.”

That got me moving of course. I started thrusting, matching her rapidly speeding rhythm watching as her oversized and full boobs flopped up and down as she bounced.

She came, grunting and laughing, and then pulled off of me suddenly and ran toward the bathroom, her hand covering her mouth as the morning sickness took her.

She didn’t quite make it and I slipped, almost falling, in the vomit on the floor as I made the turn to follow her into the bathroom. That got me laughing, which I was doing as I made that treacherous turn and found her on her knees, her face in the bowl, her back arching, the loud sounds of her retching echoing through the room.

Somehow, this morning, after what had happened last night, she looked different. Oh, she was still my daughter, but she was something else as well. She was my wife and my lover and as such, she needed to be treated differently. And I realized it was going to take some time for me to adjust.

I got her hair back, out of the way, but it was wet with her puke. It felt slimy in my hand but, to my surprise, my cock jumped erect and quivered at the feeling.

My laughter registered on her and she turned to look at me.

It struck me, and I laughed again, that her sickface, her pukeface if you will, was exactly the same as her cumface. Well, except her cumface didn’t have thick runners of snot pouring out of her nose and mouth and red eyes with tears overflowing.

“You think this is funny?” she asked.

“No, Teddy, not this,” and I rubbed her back softly, “I’m just adjusting.”

Before she could say anything else another wave took her and her face was back in the bowl.

Suddenly, it was 19 years ago and it was her mother there, throwing up loudly, and I knew what she liked.

I rubbed her back and told her she was beautiful as wave after wave of nausea wracked her body. She was sweating with the exertion and moaning when her body would allow her a respite before she was sick again, her body rebelling against the parasite growing in her.

I grabbed the old towel I kept handy and draped it over her ass. The way she was straining made me think I would have quite a mess to clean up.

She continued puking and I continued telling her I love her and that she was beautiful, using the same words I had used with her mother.

And the thing is, it was true. Every damn word of it was true. She was beautiful in that way only a pregnant woman suffering through her morning sickness can be. She was beautiful in that way of a pregnant woman with her belly hanging, moving as she retched and heaved. She was beautiful in that way of a woman you love. And it was true that I loved her, now as a lover and a husband, no longer just a daddy but still as a daddy too.

Okay, I was a little fucked up right then. I would never deny it.

Eventually, she was reduced to little quivers and deep whooping gasps of breath.

When I was sure she was done, at least that the morning pukefest had passed, I patted her on the ass lightly and said, “Stay right where you are. I’ll be right back.”

I got up and started the water in the shower. I ran it until it was hot, almost as hot as I like my showers. Once I had that adjustment done, I returned and said, “Come on, Honey, let’s get you cleaned up.”

And she seriously needed cleaning up. There was a puddle and a pile between her knees and when I pulled the towel off of her ass it looked like it hadn’t since I changed her diapers.

“Be careful,” I said.

She murmured a soft, “Sorry Daddy” as she stood and sidestepped around the mess.

“No,” I said, taking her into my arms in that awkward embrace any man has with a pregnant woman, bowing my back around her belly, “No,” I repeated, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I kissed her, the smell of vomit on her breath and the taste on her lips just another part of her right then, not something offensive or disgusting.

I made it a good kiss, holding it until she relaxed into my arms.

When I broke the kiss she smiled up at me, said a soft, “Ewww,” and giggled.

She was a bit unsteady, this morning’s pukestorm had been particularly bad. But I supported her and got her safely to the shower.

This was another first, and I loved the wonderful closeness I felt as I washed her face, being very careful around her eyes, and then washed her hair. Teddy’s hair is very curly, just a tiny bit this side of kinky, suggesting that my ex’s family had some African blood in that tree somewhere. It was that curly. I shampooed it, working my fingers through it carefully, and then rinsed before shampooing a second time to make sure the last traces of vomit were gone. I did a conditioner rinse, the thick white creamy goop feeling like I was working semen into her hair.

Once her hair finally hung clean and free I did her body.

I started with her hands, doing each finger separately before starting to work my way down her arms. Once again, I had that feeling of deja vu. The ex, when she was pregnant, complained almost constantly about how the hormones of pregnancy had hair sprouting in the damnedest places. Teddy, apparently, was having the same reaction although, to be honest, I hadn’t noticed. But now, seeing that she had obviously stopped shaving under her arms, I decided I’d check closely. I sudsed up her armpits and rinsed them carefully with the handheld shower head.

Then I started on her body in earnest. I did her shoulders, washing and rinsing, and then kissing. I did the interesting spots, those hollows her collar bones made, and the boring spots, the skin over her sternum that separated her very full, heavy breasts.

I got captivated by her belly. Jesus, it was absolutely gorgeous. I washed and rinsed and kissed and then sucked on her protruding belly button. It was the bottom of that belly though, where the stretch marks spread and her mons was another round area merging into that beautiful belly that truly got to me. I washed and rinsed and kissed and licked, fascinated by the way that thick curly pubic hair ran up the roundness there. And, of course, those full nether lips needed kissing so I kissed them thoroughly.

I did her legs and feet, forcing her to grab my shoulders for balance as I carefully washed her feet, getting between each toe and making her giggle when I did “Piggies to Market” on them.

I turned her and started up her back the same way, calves, thighs, and then, of course, lingering on her ass. Her hips had flared with pregnancy, but her ass was still the small butt of a distance runner, almost lost in the softness of her hips and lower back. I spread her cheeks and made sure the lovely circle and tiny puckered orifice of her asshole was nice and clean before I worked my way up. She had developed soft pads of fat at her shoulder blades and I was struck again by how much she reminded me of the ex. That was both a good and a bad thing. I had loved my ex right up until she disappeared, but now there was such a reservoir of anger that it was hard to get past.

I carefully washed the little line of hair that ran from the back of her skull down her neck. I knew she had never seen that, and liked that I had a little secret that I would never share. I thought it was sexy as hell.

Done, I turned her again, making her howl with laughter when I spit a mouthful of water into her face.

“Your turn,” I said, handing her the soap.

She looked a little surprised at that but took the soap and mirrored what I had done. She washed my face, rinsing carefully, and then did my hair, shorter and straighter than hers, not to mention greyer, taking much less time. She did my chest. I’m not a hairy guy and that didn’t take long either. Then she did my belly and then the thatch of my pubic hair. She giggled when she found me hard and worked up a good lather as she masturbated me, taking me to the edge but not finishing me before moving down to balls and thighs and knees and shins and feet. I had to grab her shoulders, as she had done mine, when she did my feet and damn near fell when she grabbed one and started tickling.

She turned me and did my back, slipping a finger up and giving me an impromptu prostate exam along the way. I liked it.

When she finally turned me and handed me the soap the kiss that followed was good. It was not perfect, we were still working out our positions. But it was good. Our hands roamed and explored while our mouths touched and our tongues fenced. A very good kiss and one I thought would get better with practice.

Finally, I turned off the water, dried her, and started her to the bedroom.

“Ewww,” she said, stepping around, giving the pile and puddle in front of the toilet a wide berth.

I laughed and said, “I’ll get that after I get you tucked in.”

“Daddy,” she said, as I helped her into bed, “I’m hungry.”

“I know, Baby,” I said, “I’ll make something as soon as I get the mess cleaned up.”

I smoothed her hair back, laid her head on the pillow, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Lay back, Mommy,” I said, kissing her softly, “I’ll bring your breakfast.”

Back in the bathroom, I had to laugh. My daughter had been one of those kids who shit slightly dark mustard almost until she was two. The ex and I had shared a celebratory drink when she finally managed to fill her diaper with a “firm, well-formed turd.” It was clear that she could still produce that. So I picked up the firm, well-formed turd, dropped it in the toilet and flushed, and then used an old towel to mop the floor before I headed down to the kitchen.

I’m not a cook, but I know how to make a good omelet. I broke a half dozen eggs into a soup bowl, whipped them with a fork, added a splash of milk bringing them to a pale yellow color (buttercup yellow as my great-grandmother had taught me), and set them aside to come to room temperature. I got out the flat-bottomed skillet, squirted some olive oil into it, shredded a small potato, got out a second pan and set it warming, and peeled off a half dozen slices of bacon. It sounds harder than it is and the whole process took about two minutes. I might be lost if you asked me to bake a cake or prepare Chinese dumplings, but I DO know how to do breakfast.

I loaded everything onto the little serving tray that was a de facto general-purpose tray, filled a glass with orange juice, and went back to the bedroom.

And I realized I had an interesting logistical problem.

The serving tray had little legs and the couple of times I had brought the ex breakfast in bed like this she sat back against a pile of pillows and I sat the tray on her lap. Teddy had no lap.

I put the tray down, helped her scoot up and sort of recline against a three-pillow cushion, and placed the tray on the bed at her right side.

I stopped and just looked for a few seconds making her giggle and blush. The sheet had started across her belly but had slipped and now only covered from the thighs down.

“God, Daddy,” she said with a giggle and a blush.

“You are SO beautiful,” I said, shaking off the spell, carefully placing the tray at her right side, and climbing up to sit, cross-legged, beside her.

There is something about feeding a woman that is a special closeness.

She felt it too.

After the first bite of the hash brown potatoes, she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the pure sensuality of relaxing and being fed.

God knows I enjoy it. I would brush a bite across her lips and watch as she opened her mouth and then took the egg or bacon or potato from the fork and chewed. And she was clearly making it a sensual experience too, the way she chewed slowly, enjoying the way her jaw muscles worked along with the scents and the tastes.

I took a bite for every two or three I fed her, carefully wiped her lips after each bite, and told her I loved her over and over.

About halfway through breakfast, her womanscent joined the pleasant breakfast scents and my erection was instantaneous as the pheromones of her desire did their job.

By the time I rolled off the bed and placed the tray on the floor, her hips were moving and her legs were kind of slow motion kicking. The sheet was gone and when I used my hands to gently part her legs by pushing her ankles apart, her readiness was visible.

At seven months there was still a little space between the bottom of her belly and the top of her mons, but her labia were already swollen and the pressure from inside had the delicate pink inner lips, her labia minora, peeking out. The most obvious sign of her readiness was the thick white product of her mucus membranes combined with the secretions from her Bartholin’s and Skene’s glands, a woman’s natural lubricant, laden with “come here” pheromones. I kissed my way up her legs, taking time to lick the little patches of very wiry hair I found just above her knees at the inside of her thighs, before using my tongue to taste her desire.

God, she was delicious. She was salty, of course, but there was a heady mixture of tastes too with an interesting bitter undertaste. I covered her swollen pussy and sucked, very gently, and I felt sudden tension in her body and heard, as if from a great distance, her softly hissed, “Yessssssssssss.”

I inhaled deeply, her scent an aphrodisiac much stronger than any pill, and sucked very gently, her taste better than anything any five-star Michelin restaurant ever produced.

I don’t know how long it lasted, that first time I brought her to orgasm through cunnilingus (ate her pussy if you must be crude about it). I felt the tension in her body slowly building as my palms lightly caressed her hips and belly.

It was a sudden movement in her belly as the baby turned that took her over the top. I felt it with my hand and damn near came myself.

When she came she didn’t exactly, you know, “squirt” like you see in those porno videos. It was almost like my ejaculation. Her scent and taste changed subtly as the baby moved and her body tensed. I felt that thick white nectar rush out and on some instinctive level I knew what would please her so I moved my face so I accepted it, as so many women on the porn sites accept a man’s semen. It was hot and thick and sticky and she came in four distinct waves. The first hard contraction left a line of her nectar across my forehead and forced me to close my left eye. The second hit right between my eyes, closing them. The third hit my lips and my nose. I felt her strain for the fourth and a small rush of stickiness hit my chin.

I knew she was done and I kissed her, where her pleasure had centered.

I crawled up beside her and managed to get my right eye opened to see her eyes so big.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, making each word a separate sentence.

I started to roll out of bed, saying, “I’ll go wash my face,” but she caught me and pulled me back.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, and kissed me.

I felt her hand find where I was so hard I was throbbing and start to stroke me.

“Don’t stop,” I said softly.

“Say please,” she said, just as softly, but slowing what she was doing.

I had a brief moment of panic. She was establishing dominance, just as her mother had.

And I was just as helpless to prevent as I had been with the ex.

“Please,” I said.

And that is how my first morning married to my daughter ended, kissing, embracing, and begging her to finish me.