Taking Mommy's Place Pt. 01

All characters are at least 18 years old.

*****

My name is Pam Smith. My mother was tragically killed in a car crash on my 18th birthday. They had installed a new stop sign a few weeks previous where there hadn’t been one before. I think she was probably thinking about my birthday party and just cruised right through. A truck plowed into her and she was killed instantly.

She was a beautiful woman, a teacher, beloved by her students and, obviously, by us, her family. She was tall and blonde and well-endowed. My dad practically worshiped her. She was so beautiful and a very good person, as well. She was always kind and did lots of things to help people in the community and was involved in church work.

Mom had been very excited as we planned my 18th birthday party. My brother, Jeff, was home from college, our family were all invited, as well as my friends and a lot of people from church. Mom had gone to pick up some last minute things. The time came for her to be back and she wasn’t answering her phone. I started worrying because it wasn’t like her to be late or not be in touch. After a half hour or so, we were all getting worried and my Dad was frantic. Then the police car pulled into the drive and we knew something had happened. We never expected, however, that the news would be that my beloved, beautiful mother had been killed.

When the policeman informed us, I burst into tears and my Dad fell to his knees. “This is your fault, you selfish little bitch!” he yelled at me, but immediately hugged me around the legs and apologized profusely. I knew, in my heart, that he didn’t mean it, that it was only an expression of his deep grief, but his words cut me to the core and, I must admit, it still brings a deep hurt and tears to my eyes when I recall them.

My mother was dead. I could not believe it. I kept repeating that it must be some mistake. It could not possibly be her. But it was. Making the funeral arrangements with my brother and some other family members drove that fact home. Daddy was so distraught that he had to be given medication which, thankfully, put him to sleep. Hundreds attended the funeral. People she had taught, people that she had helped, church members, family members, some people I didn’t even know.

And then it was over. My brother, Daddy, and I were alone. Everyone else had gone home. There were tons of casseroles and every kind of food imaginable that friends had brought by, but we didn’t want to eat. We sat and stared at each other. My Dad, still somewhat medicated, just sobbed and couldn’t even talk to us.

I sat in Jeff’s lap, for comfort. He was 2 years older than me and I had known for quite a while that he was attracted to me — and I definitely was attracted to him, despite the fact that he was my brother.

After Dad excused himself to go to bed, Jeff started trying to feel of my tits, which I might have let him do under normal circumstances — after all, I was 18 and I thought he was as hot as anyone I knew! My Mom had just died and I felt nothing. I was a little peeved that he could think of anything sexual at that time. I just wanted his arms around me to comfort me. I had tried to hug Daddy, but he couldn’t offer any comfort in return. Jeff could have comforted me, if he had just done it. In a time like that he should have known I just needed to be held. I needed some sense that I was still loved and that life would go on.

Because he kept trying to feel me up, I moved over to the couch and he tried to find something on TV to watch. Nothing seemed right. We talked about how we were worried about Daddy. Neither of us had ever seen him depressed or angry or sad for very long. He just wasn’t himself. I asked Jeff if he thought he might try to hurt himself, but he dismissed it. We talked a while longer and I went to check on Daddy, who was in bed sobbing hysterically. I tried to talk to him, but there was nothing I could do to make him or myself feel any better.

The next morning we couldn’t even get Daddy to get out of bed. We had several visitors, but he didn’t want to see them. Besides my own grief, I was very scared for Daddy and eventually called a doctor that is a friend of our family. He stopped by that afternoon and prescribed him some medicine to sleep and others for anxiety and depression. He told me he would contact me every day to see how he was doing. I cried. Everything made me cry. Every act of kindness, every word about my mother, and even her belongings, which were scattered throughout the house.

This went on for several days. Daddy would only get up to eat and he didn’t eat much. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want a hug. He didn’t want anything but my mother. He was angry and sad. I was scared to death. I couldn’t even mourn for my mother because I was so concerned that Daddy was suffering so much.

Then the other shoe dropped. Jeff announced that he was going back to school. I had assumed that he would sit out a semester to help us get adjusted. But no, he wanted to get back, and he didn’t care that I was going to have to deal with my own grief and Daddy’s situation as well. I begged. I pleaded. I offered my body to him. Yes, I told him I would give him my virginity and I would give him whatever else he wanted, whenever he wanted. That’s how desperate I was.

I don’t know if this is an appropriate time to tell you what I looked like at the age of 18, but I do want you to understand that he had quite a bit of willpower to turn down my offer. I was about 5-8, slender, 32C, brown hair to my shoulders, and brown eyes. I was hot and, even though I had been taught humility at church, I knew I was very desirable. I had had several boyfriends, but I was “saving myself” for marriage. If my boyfriends got too insistent, I broke up with them and was known variously as “frigid”, an “ice queen”, a “goodie two shoes”, and so on. I didn’t really care. I masturbated frequently, so I was pretty satisfied with my sex life, having never experienced anything else.

As I was saying, Jeff went back to college. Daddy went back to work, but often came home in the middle of the day. He was depressed, but didn’t want to take medication. He cried every day. He was aware that I was grieving, but could not bring himself to have much of a conversation with me. I was so fearful that he was going to harm himself.

My bedroom was upstairs and Daddy’s was downstairs. My bedroom was immediately above his and I would lay down on the floor and listen to see if I could hear him. I often heard him sobbing. I would lay on my bed, trembling, hurting, and weeping. I was so sad and my grades, once near perfect, were suffering. I was so scared that Daddy was going to hurt himself. I thought I was going crazy.

One night a couple of weeks after Jeff had gone back to college I woke to hear my Dad saying my mother’s name. I assumed he was sleeping, but it was heartbreaking. I made my way downstairs and crept into his bed. He was very much asleep and was laying on his left side. I cuddled up behind him and put my arm around him and slept like a baby.

Upon waking, Daddy shook me and asked, “Pammy, why are you in this bed?” He sounded a little perturbed. I explained that I couldn’t sleep and I just needed to be near him. I started crying and he held me. I was aware that I wasn’t wearing anything but a tee shirt that barely came down to my crotch and a pair of panties. I didn’t think that it would affect Daddy, but still, it was an unusual situation. I felt better afterwards, though.

In the next few weeks I found myself more and more often descending the stairs after Daddy was asleep, to cuddle up behind him. I always fell asleep almost immediately and I started feeling better, even though I still missed my beloved mother so very much.

One night I crawled into Daddy’s bed and he was laying on his other side, the right one this time. There wasn’t room for me to crawl up behind him, so I just laid down and faced away from him. I reached back and found his hand and put it on my hip. Soon I was sound asleep. I woke with my Dad spooning me. Not only that, but his arm was around me and his hand was fondling my breast. I froze. What was he doing?? Then I realized that he was asleep. So how to extricate myself? I certainly didn’t want to wake him up and embarrass him.

Then I had a eureka moment. Daddy was dreaming about Mama, but more importantly, he was a grown man who was used to getting sex regularly and now was being deprived of it. I knew he and mom had sex regularly because I could hear them in my room. Usually not very clearly, but enough for me to know what was going on.

I was still feeling guilt over my Mom’s death. It was because of me, I had convinced myself. If Mom had not been thinking about my birthday party, she would not have run that stop sign and she would still be alive. Daddy would still have the love of his life and his sexual needs would still be being fulfilled. Oh my goodness! This was my fault. Daddy was dreaming about sex and he was frustrated.

I then realized that there was something very hard against my butt. Daddy was hard! This was horrible and it was my fault! It felt big against my bottom. My nipples were hard and I could feel that familiar tingling between my thighs. I wanted, oh so badly, to push my ass back against Daddy’s cock and for him to massage my breasts to his heart’s content. But that was wrong and I had been taught that all my life. I had to both get these dirty thoughts out of my mind and extricate myself from beneath Daddy’s big strong arm.

I very slowly turned my body so that I was lying on my back and lifted Daddy’s arm, placing it back on his side. He grunted and turned over. So much for that, but my panties were wet and my nipples were hard. I realized that I was horny for the first time since Mom’s death. I stealthily left Daddy’s bed and climbed the stairs to my own room.

Upon entering my room, I removed my tee shirt and panties and lay down on the bed, totally naked. I needed to cum and I knew that I was going to masturbate thinking about my Daddy’s hand on my breasts and his big Daddy-cock on my ass. My pussy was wet and practically dripping juices onto the bed. I pinched my nipples with both hands, thinking about how it would feel for Daddy to touch them, kiss them, and suck them. I reached one hand down to rub juices on my swollen clit and my orgasm washed over me, my body quaking, trembling, my legs open wide with brief, wonderful visions of my sweet Daddy laying down between my legs, sinking his huge Daddy-cock deep into his little girl.