The Ghost of Mum

Literotic asexstories – The Ghost of Mum by Atomica24,Atomica24 Thank you for reading my story, I hope so much that you enjoy. Mica xx Yorkshire England

I did not want to play the events of the weekend in my mind; I had sex with my dad. I don’t know how it happened or why. I fully participated, I was totally willing, but it absolutely is not something I expected or wanted to happen. Sex is sex, I enjoy it, oh yes I enjoy it, but a girl does not expect her dad to be her sexual partner. A brother is awkward enough, but your dad? I mean, he co-made you, you are of his DNA, and intercourse should not happen.

I was not conflicted, I wasn’t all a dither needing to talk to someone about it, no, I was rational. Dad and I went out into the countryside, found ourselves in somewhere secluded, and we shagged. I had feelings of how mum would have felt with dad, it was almost an out of body experience, but I was more a someone else in my body experience.

Leo called round and asked how dad had been.

“He was fine Leo, he is coming to me on Sunday for lunch, and to you the following Sunday, we are alternating Sundays.”

“Eh, okay, s’pose, but why?”

“Because he a little maudlin, feeling left out and hasn’t got over mum passing away.”

“Well, neither of us have either.”

“I know that, you know that, but it won’t help him if we tell him that. We just have to show him that we still want him in our lives.”

“Okay.” He got up and leant to me and kissed me, his hand caressing my right breast.

“Don’t Leo, not today.” I was still processing dad; I didn’t need my brother adding to my mixed emotions.”

He took his hand off my breast and stepped away. “Oh sis,” he said pulling a sad face. I almost relented, perhaps a good shag is what I needed, but no, I had to think and process, not mindlessly rut with my brother, no matter how attractive that proposition was.

Dad rang after Leo had gone.

“I was looking through your mum’s stuff,” he said after the usual greetings, no mention of shagging his daughter, “and I have put some things together, I really would like it if you could wear them on Sunday when I come for lunch.”

Wear them, goodness. “If they fit dad, then yes I would love to do that for you.”

“There is her favourite nail and lip polish too.”

Well, that is no fuss, I can always take that off after dad has gone. “Okay dad, are you going to drop them round, only I have to go out in a bit.”

“I’ll leave them inside the door, I have a key.”

“Okay dad. Drive safe. See you Sunday, I am doing roast pork, okay?”

“Lovely, bye love.” And he was gone.

I checked the back of the house was secure, windows closed, door locked and I headed off. It was time to meet Kazi in town. There is a coffee shop by the precinct called ‘Jamaica Java’. No idea why they call it that, they proudly declare that their coffee is from the finest Columbian beans. No matter. But they do gorgeous pastries and it had been a while since Kazi and I had met up, today was the day. Coffee and pastries.

I parked up in the multi story and headed down into the precinct and then out and into the coffee shop. Kazi wasn’t there yet, so I just grabbed an empty window seat and waited. She wasn’t long, she saw me through the window and waved. Gosh that was a brave skirt, it barely covered her knickers.

“Hello you,” she almost screamed as she came into the coffee shop, and of course absolutely everyone turned to look at her. Good job we didn’t want anonymity.

“Hiya K,” I answered, “I haven’t ordered, I just grabbed the free table.”

“No worries,” she said as she dumped her bag on the table. “I’ll go and order, anything in particular?”

“No, cappuccino and any pastry, thank you.”

She wandered off and placed the order and then came back with a number 37 on a stick which she placed on our table so that the server would know where to deliver.

“What’s new? I asked her as she finally sat down and relaxed.

“Well, I got rid of Mike. He was okay in bed, but starting to get a bit possessive, and so, bye bye.”

“Possessive?”

“Yeah, he started dictating where we were going to go, like I was a possession or something.”

“No, not a good move. Okay in bed?”

“He is like all blokes with a big dick, he thinks that is all there is to it. I think I only Orgas’d once with him.”

“What? No licky licky or even linger with the finger?”

“Nope. What about you?”

“Oh no one, not even a sniff of any meat, I may go down the Pint Pot on Friday see if anything is happening?” I most certainly was not going to mention my dad, or even my brother for that matter.

“I find that a bit dead these days. I was thinking of trying The Rum Runner.”

“I’ve not been there for yonks, what’s it like?”

“A lot of hard core reggae and some rather large guys that seem to spend all the time in the gym, but also a load of really nice ordinary looking guys. We should give it a try.”

“Yes, we should.”

The server arrived with our coffees and pastries. I had no idea what my pastry was, it was flaky, had yellow goo and was very shiny. After one mouthful I was hooked.

“Oh my God this is to die for,” I said between mouthfuls.

Kazi just nodded her agreement, her mouth was full and she was trying to lick her fingers.

“I would do your brother,” she said eventually, “he is lush.”

Well yes, I suppose he is, but that is not something you admit about a sibling. I faked a finger in my throat.

“God, Leo? Are you mad?” Obviously she wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to agree with her.

“Oh he is. Has he got a girlfriend? I would so have him in a heartbeat.”

“I think you have lost your sense of taste. It is too many of these pastries.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

After more banter and agreeing that we needed to go to the Rum Runner, but not this coming Friday, we split and I headed home. Inside the door was a bag left by dad. I took it upstairs and tipped it onto my bed.

Dress, old style bra, pretty large, old style knickers with a control panel in the front, suspender belt, stockings, lipstick and nail polish. I held the dress up, it was a deep blue colour, cinched in at the waist, dart under the bust and probably mid length, maybe a little shorter. The lipstick was a poppy red and the polish the same. The stockings had a seam up the back.

Interesting. Was this a pile of mum’s old clothes, clothes that she wore all the time, or were they her dress up for dad clothes? I quickly stripped and tried everything on, everything was a pretty exact fit. I had thought myself a different size to mum, but it seemed not. I took the clothes off and put them to one side to wear on Sunday for dad.

Sunday morning came before I knew it. I dried the pork joint and then sprinkled it with salt and put it in the over to crisp the crackling. I washed some new potatoes and made a small red salad to go with it. Whilst the meat was cooking I went up to get ready. I had shaved yesterday, so no worry about any razor burn irritation.

I showered and then moisturised. I looked at the clothes that dad had brought and decided bra first, knickers, belt, stockings then dress. The bra had about six clips, it was a serious piece of engineering, none of that do it up at the front and swing it round business, of no, round the back, one clip at a time. I was almost out of breath by the time I was done, then the suspender belt, thinking about it, it had to really go under the knickers, then the knickers. Talk about lower body control. I threaded the suspenders through the knickers and then say and unfurled the stockings up my leg. Gosh they felt good, were they silk I wondered?

Clips tightened and then I looked at the seams, gosh they were awful, this would take some doing. I must have spend fifteen minutes sorting the seams and making them run straight up the back of my legs. Then the dress. A hook and eye at the top above an invisible zip. I stepped into it and rested it on my shoulders. With some effort I managed to get the hook in the eye, but the zip needed a bit more work. In the end I used a coat hanger to pull the zip up.

I looked in the mirror, crumbs, I have to say that I thought I looked good. The underwear had a way of shaping me to fit the dress. I was a bit impressed. Mum, you old thing you, no wonder dad was a bit besotted. I did my lips next, this lipstick was rather old school, a bit oily to touch, but it did flow once I learned how to apply it. Cupid lips, done. I gave the polish bottle a good long shake and then applied to my left forefinger first. It seemed that straight bottom to top wipes were the way, and the whole nail. It took a while, but I got all ten nails polished. I sat there for about fifteen minutes to let them harden. I stood and looked in the mirror.

There was something missing. I went through my shoe boxes and found what I was looking for, some blue satin kitten heels. They went perfectly. I stood back and looked again, gosh, that was perfect. I really did look a lot like mum did. I went downstairs and layed the table. I checked the pork, the crackling was superbly crispy and a skewer came out clear. Everything was ready. I put the ready bought apple pie in the oven to warm, and took the thick cream from the fridge.

“Only me love,” dad said as he walked in through the door.

I sort of went dizzy for a moment and looked down the hall to him.

“You had better wash your hands Mikhael, dinner is ready.”

“Sorry Masha,” He said and disappeared into the downstairs cloaks. I was confused, why was I calling him Mikhael, why was he calling me mum’s name. I shook my head and went back into the kitchen and put the pork onto the carving board, Mikhael so liked to carve the meat.

I took the carving knife and prongs from the drawer and put them on the board ready for Mikhael to use. I rinsed my hands to make sure I had no grease or fat on them, put a plate in our places and served up the new potatoes. The salad went in a bowl in the middle with the wooden salad serving tongs.

He came back in and sat down. I passed the carving board to him and he cut the crackling off and then sliced the meat, three slices for me, three for him. He took a portion of salad and then passed me the tongues.

“You look lovely today Masha,” dad said, and I am sure I blushed.

“Thank you, Mikhael, you look so handsome yourself.”

“Alexa, play Swing Music,” he said and the sounds of Glenn Miller rounded through the kitchen as we sat at the dining table. He took some of the apple sauce and spread it over his pork and cut a potato to go with. He chewed and nodded his appreciation, taking his cue I took some of the potato and pork, added a little apple sauce and put it into my mouth. Oh, that was delicious, I nodded to him, yes I thought, this is just so good.

I felt like I was looking though someone else’s eyes, it felt odd. I was calling dad by his given name, I don’t do that, he was calling me my mum’s name, our conversations were remote, it was as if I was reading a script. I tried to say dad to him, but I couldn’t, the word would not form in my mouth, I could only say Mikhael.

We finished our pork, and I cleared away the plates, the rest of the pork and potato and salad. I took clean bowls from the dresser, one in front of Mikhael, one in front of me. I sliced the pie, a portion for Mikhael, a portion for me. Putting them on the table. Mikhael took a large dollop of cream, I did the same, trumpets and clarinets playing in the background as we ate. Dad, not Mikhael I told my brain. It ignored me.

When we finished I put the bowls in the sink and as I turned to dad he took me in his arms and we danced.

“Oh Masha, such a lovely lunch, thank you.”

I turned to say something but his lips stopped me, crushing his chest against my bosom, kissing me with a rare passion, and there was no reticence from me, I was kissing back with full fervour.

He pulled back slightly, “Oh Masha my love, you look so beautiful, as I knew you would.”

He is not senile, I know that, I didn’t understand why he was treating me as mum and not me.

“Let’s go upstairs husband,” I said. What?

I lead the way to my bedroom, dad following. I slipped my heels off and sat on the edge of the bed. Dad sat next to me and put his hands on my face.

“Oh Masha, I have missed you so much my darling.”

“And me too my love, so very much, but we have this time, borrowed, to enjoy.”

Mikhael kissed me again, a hand cupping my breast, seeking my nipple through the material. A hand at my neck, and the fastening to my dress was undone and the zip lowered. My back felt cool as the air of the bedroom hit it before his hand caressed my shoulder, his finger nail running along the seam of my bra.

He leant back and pulled my dress forward, revealing my bra in all its engineering glory, my breasts feeling a good two sizes bigger under his gaze. I stood and he eased my dress down to my ankles. I took it from the floor and placed it on my chair and stood looking at my husband, parading my beauty in my lingerie. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his waist band, removing it, dropping it on the floor, his chest bare, his hairs showing. I loved to curl my fingers in those hairs.

He stood and unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers. His undershorts showing his arousal, how much he wanted his wife. I sat back on the bed and then lay down in the centre.

“Come Mikhael,” my mouth said, “come, show me your love, show your wife what she means to you.”

It felt like I was mum, I couldn’t speak as me, he wasn’t my dad, he was my husband Mikhael, it felt as right as it felt wrong. He lay next to me, kissing me, a finger rubbing over the outside of my knickers, tracing my valley. He rolled me to him, laying on one arm, the other above. I felt his fingers working my bra, slowly the tightness decreased as he undid the clips, then pushing me on to my back he pulled it away, his eyes gorging at the sight of my nipples.

“Oh my love,” he gasped as he leant down and took my right nipple into his mouth, gently tweaking it between his teeth, pulling it, feeling it tighten and stiffen, before addressing my left. As he played with my nipples his fingers eased between my waist and my knickers and began to push them down. I raised my hips a little to allow the satin to slide down and reveal me. He used a foot to push the knickers completely down, just the left ankle holding them. I eased my legs apart.

A finger traced around my sex, drawing patterns on my skin before delving into my secret, teasing apart the lips of my sex, his fingers found their way into my valley, sliding along my wetness, slowly running past my clitoris, my urethra and down to my entrance, circling, my arousal helping his fingers to slide. Back up he went and stroked my clitoris and my electrics began.

I was sure I was fizzing, the little shocks building and escaping, my buttocks clenching to try and stop them, to no avail. Pressure was building within me, I was sure my fanny was convulsing and would provide a barrier to his intent, but no. Two fingers slipped past my entrance, through my opening and inside me, opening, widening, stretching me, my pulses growing as his fingers shagged me.

I reached across and felt his hardness, pulling it through the fly in his undershorts, pushing his foreskin down along his shaft and then releasing, hearing his groans of approval as they accompanied my pants of desire.

His fingers left me and pulled at his underwear, pushing them down and off before he covered me, above me, his dick nudging at me. I used my hand and guided him to my entrance and he pushed, slowly he entered, not rushing, separating the walls of my fanny with his hardness. I felt his foreskin as it rolled, I felt his rim as it crossed my ripples and bumps inside, and then he was pressing at my depth, his balls between my thighs.

I wrapped my legs around his buttocks and my arms around his back and he began to shag. Out then back in, picking up his tempo, moving faster and faster, always pressing at my depth, me gasping at full penetration, me loving my husband, me loving my dad, I was not only conflicted, I was being shagged to within a second of an orgasm, my breath was catching.

I found myself slightly out of body, looking down my head to the side of dad’s, my arms and legs around him, his arse rising and falling, moving back and forth as he shagged me, the sounds of the slap accompanied by my gasps providing a truly erotic soundtrack, and then I was back, looking up at the ceiling, feeling the movements, my stomach being pressed forwards and then back, my fanny full, then feeling empty, the wetness making movements easy.

Dad pulled back and then he pushed hard inside me and he gurgled and I felt his spurts within me, filling my fanny, filling my womb and as his last spurt hit, my own orgasm erupted, exploding through me. My legs pressed hard at dad’s buttocks, my fingers dug into his back, electrics shot through my body, tingles at my ears, my nipples, fingers and toes, my breath finally releasing in a scream and then I slumped back, my arms falling to my side, my legs slipping back down and I felt like Jelly.

Dad rolled to one side, his dick leaving a snail trail across my thigh.

I felt mum leave and I was myself again, a post orgasmic shattered self that had just had sex with her dad.

“Thank you baby,” dad said, “your mum has gone now.”

“Er, okay dad.” I wasn’t sure, had I just been possessed by the ghost of my mum?