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She’d snuck into her parent’s bed a few times over the years, something she hadn’t grown out of since her childhood. But to her credit it always got her a good night’s sleep after a bad dream. After she hit puberty, she’d been told she had to go back to her own bed, but after giving her dad a sulking pout she was always allowed to stay until she calmed down.

“I didn't always look like this,” she continued, caressing her hand slowly down my thigh, making me shudder, and then gasp as she reached between my legs, taking my too-hard dick in her hand and gently starting to stroke. “Would it help if I gave you some context? I want you to remember me, Brian, that's the whole point! Would it help if I told you how many times I sucked this dick?” She suddenly squeezed my shaft in her hand, making me gasp. “How many times I swallowed your cum? At least twice a week for an entire year, Brian! Would you remember me then?”

That previous single thought of her own indecency was wiped out by the tidal wave of her curiosity. About the only thing that she was still aware of was her father’s steady breathing and making sure not to wake him. Taking care not to cause too much disturbance on the mattress, she gently shifted further down the bed. Her dad was still unfolded like starfish, so her legs had to slide out alongside them as she brought her face down to the level of his pelvis.