Kelly Osborn Chronicles

I almost didn't open the video. Truthfully, I don't know why I clicked on it; call it impulse. I was like a man entering a science fiction novel, only to pull the first lever he could get his hands on, regardless of the consequences. It's always been a knee-jerk reaction of mine, and it's landed me with several dozen computer viruses that my son had to fix over the years.

My son...

Both of my children were away at college. Michael was 19, his sister Becky at 18 had just moved into the apartment my wife and I paid for to join him at the University of Texas. I could see the living room clearly, the floor plan exactly how I remember it as another person hooted and jeered at everything going on outside of view. The video then turned to my son, stripping his sister naked in front of the hollering crowd.

That Michael was capable of doing such a horrendous and horrid thing to his sister seemed completely unbelievable, even looking back on their almost adversarial relationship. In hindsight, it seemed like less of a surprise and more of a willful ignorance of a parent indulging and enabling their child, even if they're nearly at burgeoning adulthood. Michael had always been overly sexual—I knew he was always banging some girl or another, then dropping her for the next piece of ass that came along. It seemed immature, hedonistic, and completely reckless to tell the truth, but I never knew how to talk to my son about these things. The sex talks we had were abridged, factual, and entirely devoid of feeling or anything resembling the complexity of human interactions. And I let Sarah handle everything with Becky...

So maybe this was my punishment for being absent as a parent on the one thing—the most important thing—that a parent needs to communicate, if only so that they can one day become parents themselves. I had skipped out on the sex talk because it made me uncomfortable. And here I was watching something that made me more uncomfortable than any conversation could ever do.

Not just watching it, obsessing over it. Letting the erotic display worm its way into my brain until I could feel the twinge of arousal stirring in my shorts even as I tried to banish it down.

Now in reality, people make porn. Our kids too, all the time— the second they get that phone and feel "grown up" even as Daddy pays for their apartment and tuition. But when I was growing up, being a pornographer or a porn star meant becoming so financially desperate, or so sexually deviant, that the idea of someone seeing you naked no longer held its intrinsic shame. Nowadays, I know that sending naked pictures to each other is something that the younger generation does with such a cavalier carelessness that it won't be long before everyone has a naked picture on display.

But Michael did not send me a naked picture of his sister. Amateur Webcam Lovers would've been difficult, but something I think I might have dealt with, but who knows? It's always easier to compare with worst-case scenarios.

It was a 30 minute video, complete with different angles and perspectives so that I could see every detail on my daughter's face as she was taken by my son and his friends. But that wasn't enough, they had to stand her in a kiddie pool—the kind I had gotten her when she was little, long before I sent her to college with the naïve idea of her bettering herself. When she was in the plastic container, each of them took turns urinating on her so that the pool could collect, until the liquid could become something for her to literally wallow in.

It was absolutely disgusting; the most terrible thing I had ever watched. And yet I couldn't turn away, couldn't keep myself from seeing the scene displayed in full view in front of me, almost as if by an expert videographer documenting all the details of my daughters sordid affair with her brother. She did everything he asked. She swallowed as man after man unloaded his urine into her mouth. She sucked cock after cock that pushed into her face, letting the men pull her long blonde hair as they forced her onto cock after cock, with absolutely no indication that they understood they were using someone's actual daughter as their sex toy.

Certainly they had no idea that I would be watching.

They made her say the most humiliating things. She had to call herself a little piss pot—or pee pot—I can't quite remember. I only noticed that she had to speak-sing it to the tune of I'm a Little Teapot, an image that completely destroyed whatever construction I had of my daughter as this wholesome young woman who could never do anything wrong, let alone so abhorrently slutty.

Perhaps it was a little easier to give in at this point because of that. Or because I felt so much guilt at having raised both such a spectacle and the man urging her on—that Michael would do that to Becky made it all the more worse. But it became easier to get aroused, or more accurately, became harder not to find the pleasure in such submission. Or maybe it was because one of their friends kept insisting that Becky call him Daddy through a mouthful of pee that leaked out the corners of her mouth, even as he unloaded his seed all over her face.

As a father, you tend to suppress every sexual thought when your daughter grows up and blossoms into a woman. I remember looking away, trying not to notice her tight ass in her sweatpants or those tight shorts—the ones she always used to wear to track. I remember washing her bras and trying not to think about the flesh that fit inside of them, or the times we would go to the beach the summer before college—I could see just how much her cleavage extended out from her bikini. Now seeing those erect pink nipples, completely exposed, seeing her face covered in cum and piss, seeing her dip her head into the pool to swallow greedily at the mixture—I couldn't deny it anymore.

I had my hand on my cock for barely a minute, just sort of grabbing it through my shorts with a hard enough grasp to really feel it when I shot my load into my shorts, leaving my underwear and jeans a sticky mess. I felt such an overpowering sense of shame and sorrow at what I had done. I knew it was something I would never be able to come back from, and yet I continued watching the video.

Later Jane watch the entire video with me, my wife's mouth agape as she watched our son take our daughter's virginity, forcibly fucking her in a giant pool of piss.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

I didn't know how crazy we would go with our consequences and at what point our own sexual desires, twisted and repressed after nearly 30 years of marriage, took over and dominated what we ended up doing to our son. It's something neither of us is proud of, and as the kids go back to college, we aren't sure we beat them so much as we joined them on the same depraved path. But I know at least we started with the best of intentions, even if we ended up understanding the motivation behind such an extreme display of depravity.

*****

I don't think either of us realize the extent to which Becky had been corrupted. After the initial fight—the complete screaming match that ensued as we confronted both of our children about how they had so thoroughly embarrassed and disgrace the family—she simply doubled down on her depravity, insisting that this was an essential part of her sexual nature. Unlike his sister, Michael was quiet, seemingly willing to take any consequence as long as the conversation ended quickly.

We stopped paying for their apartment, locks were placed on their doors, and their time was completely controlled and supervised. But it didn't work. We couldn't keep a watch on them every second of the day. The two of them still needed to go to the college classes we were paying through the nose for, and we needed to work. There were signs all the time of the two of them still sneaking off together; we would come home and find the two of them under the covers together, not wearing any clothing, or worse, locked in the bathroom. So we felt we had no choice but to start becoming very drastic and Draconian in our ideas and the implementation of them.

"You can't be serious!" I remember Becky saying, almost screaming.

I was trying to look away, but I couldn't help but stare face-to-face at my son's cock. I expected it to shrivel, but to my surprise, it started to swell and grow as I placed the plastic sheath over his uncircumcised head. I knew most of these cage devices were intended for sadomasochistic fantasies, but I could think of no other option to keep the two siblings from engaging in every form of sexual congress whenever they had the opportunity.

I was new to the whole process—this wasn't a fantasy that I have ever engaged in—but the idea of having so much control over another person so that they can't even use their own penis was intoxicating—the look of desperation and the pleading from my son as he felt the snaps around his balls click into place—even as I fumbled with the device allowing his cock to grow so large that it wouldn't even fit into the case while erect. I remember having to pause, giving time for the swelling to go down, before I could lock the final pieces into place and attach the key onto my ring.

While Michael took this new form of punishment with silent acceptance, never complaining, Becky had a complete meltdown. She started a new almost fanatical passive resistance to everything that we did. She refused to pee in the bathroom anymore, instead simply standing wherever she was and urinating on the floor. The first time as my wife cleaned up the puddle in the kitchen, I had to restrain Becky to keep her from splashing around in it, and spattering her mother with the vile fluid. After that, I made Michael clean it up, who had adopted a dour, beaten expression.

But then Becky started picking targets. Before we put the locks on her own bedroom, she saved up nearly a days worth of water and soaked our sheets and mattress with her piss as though she was marking her own territory. We learned to cover the couch and anything of value with plastic, but that wasn't good enough for her machinations. We had to take away her cell phone because she kept recording herself and sending pictures and videos of her drinking her own urine to family members. I'll never forget the look on my wife's face when her best friend Rebecca called to tell her about the GIF she received of Becky drinking her own urine out of our Wedding China.

Our carpet was ruined, our house a disaster. Becky refused to wear clothes. I would have to force her into whatever outfit she was wearing for the day. The idea of her going out in public or having company over was completely ludicrous. She was an animal, desperate for her brother—trying to get bred by him to the point of almost fanatical devotion.

And the only way, it seemed, to actually change her behavior was by threatening Michael, who—in all fairness—had taken the brunt of the punishment without complaint. For weeks he had been wearing the plastic cock cage without any relief, except for when I would release him once a day to wash. As this was the only time I could permit him to be free without worrying about the risk of them sneaking behind our backs, I started allowing him to masturbate in the shower. At first I didn't watch, leaving him locked in the bathroom safely.

But Becky started to figure out ways into the bathroom—hiding behind the shower curtain, or once crawling out her window and into the bathroom. I only noticed when the shower was taking too long, and I had to barge my way in, pulling back the shower curtain to see my daughter on her knees with her brother's cock in her mouth. I had to drag her away—kicking and screaming—my arms holding onto her naked breasts inadvertently as she fucked her ass back against me, landing blows here and there, before I locked her back in her room.

After that I started supervising my son's shower, watching him intently the entire time as he soaped and washed his muscular teenage body. His cock was nothing to sneeze at, though I had him beaten in that department. I was easily 8 inches or more, though Michael was certainly close in that regard—I certainly didn't see all of it. After a week of being caged up with no release, he nearly begged me with pleading puppy dog eyes and a completely broken voice if he could have an orgasm before he went back into his cage.

I watched him wank in the shower, his hand moving up and down, pulling the skin of his penis all the way up to the head and back, and going faster and faster with that steady fapping sound until he shot his load, in seconds, at the shower wall. I definitely understood what his sister saw in him, even if I felt it was my parental responsibility to prevent any further engagement.

There was a part of me that couldn't help but be mesmerized. It was a kind of lost summer for me. I was between jobs and having a hard time finding something that I wanted. After a couple of months of looking unsuccessfully, I decided to just go with the flow and take the time off. I needed some money coming in, of course, but there are always interim sources of income. I was lucky enough to find one that provided some money but also a lot of leisure time - house-sitting for a professor and his wife who were on sabbatical for the summer.

It was a nice house in a fairly upscale suburban neighborhood. Most of the residents were married couples and families, so I didn't really fit in, but I didn't mind because it was a quiet neighborhood and a very nice house, with lots of amenities and plenty of windows so I could indulge in one of my favorite pastimes - people-watching. All the neighbors seemed to be out on the street a lot, but it was one particular neighbor who caught my eye. From overheard "Hellos" I soon learned that her name was Mary.

I'd see her almost every day, often more than once a day, out for a run or walking her two little dogs, her thick blonde hair blowing in the breeze, usually dressed in some skimpy workout clothes. The clothes were just shorts and t-shirt, but the shorts weren't the comfortable, loose-fitting kind that most people favor. These were "old school" athletic shorts - tight and skimpy. The tee was usually tight too. The whole ensemble was clearly intended to show off Mary's physical assets - full breasts pushing against that tight shirt, a nice, narrow waist and a firm, round butt. She was in great shape for a woman her age, which I guessed to be around 40. No, she was in great shape for a woman of any age, and she knew it. She definitely caught my eye. I wanted her.

What really caught my eye was Mary's bottom. It wasn't the kind I'm usually drawn to, not the classic "cute tushy." No, it was fuller than that, but oh so firm - like two ripe, fleshy beans stuck together there on her rear. There was just a tad of extra meat there, just enough to put a little jiggle in her buns when she walked. It was the kind of jiggle that a girl just can't help but notice - at least a girl like me. Whenever she turned around, I couldn't take my eyes off it. It just drew me in, begging me to touch it, squeeze it, kiss it. I kept thinking about how warm and soft it would be between those luscious cheeks.

So I guess it was Mary's bottom that finally made me do something to try to get with her. Of course, I needed an excuse to interact with her. It soon occurred to me that she had already provided the perfect one - her dogs. Mary was pretty consistent about the times she walked her dogs, so I could just be ready around those times and pop out onto the street when she came by. What could be more natural than a girl like me to fussing over some cute little doggies? And what dog-owner doesn't love that?

So there I was, a few days later, lying in wait for Mary to come by. Spotting her, I let her get a head start so as not to be too obvious. I knew that she always made a circle around the block, so once she was far enough past the house, I started off in the opposite direction. Within minutes, I encountered her coming toward me.

I put on my brightest smile and said cheerfully, "Oh, I love your dogs. They are so cute!"

Mary responded with a crooked smile. "Thanks," she said with a laugh. "They are cute, but I'm afraid they're spoiled rotten." As she smiled, I noticed the subtle "laugh-lines" in her face and the hint of crow's feet at the corners of her eyes - two things that I always find attractive in mature women.

"Well," I said, bending down to pet them both, "that's what cute little dogs are made for, aren't they?"

Mary laughed. I was encouraged. This was moving easier than I'd hoped, but I decided to play it cool. After a few more niceties I moved on and let Mary go. But I had laid the seed.

Two days later, I was out again. This time I caught Mary just as she was starting. I made another fuss over the dogs (they really were cute) and asked if she minded if I walked with her. To my delight, she agreed, though she added, "I have to warn you, though, I go pretty fast." I told her that was okay with me because I needed the exercise. I explained that I was out of my usual workout routine because I was house-sitting.

"Oh," Mary said, "so you're watching Scott and Jen's house? I noticed the lights were on at night and wondered if someone was there."

I told her my situation, that I would be there for the next couple of months and that my usual gym was all the way across town. That's when I hit the jackpot.

"Oh gosh," she said, "I'm a personal trainer! I do it part-time, in my home, right up the street. I have free weights and some workout machines, too. If you're interested," she added with a smile, "I'll give you the 'neighborhood discount'."

I really didn't have much spare money for a trainer, even at a discount, but this surprising opportunity was just too good to pass up. I immediately told her I was interested. We exchanged numbers and continued our walk.

Later that week, I called Mary and set up an initial appointment. Mary had suggested that two or three workouts a week would be a good schedule and I settled on three. Paying for three sessions every week would put a real strain on my current finances but I couldn't turn it down. The possibilities were just too promising.

The first sessions were surprisingly tough. Mary had warned me that she was a challenging trainer, and she was true to her word. For those first few workouts, each time I left her house I was tired and sore all over. But I was also happy, because things were moving along. Mary was a "hands-on" trainer, touching me in various places to show me which muscles each machine or activity worked on. I loved that. And she opened up to me to a surprising degree, complaining more than expected about her husband. I found out that this was her second marriage. Mary had never had a lot of money in her life, and her husband made a lot, so that was nice. But the marriage was going a little stale. She even hinted that her sex life left a lot to be desired. "Thank God for vibrators," she said once, quickly blushing with embarrassment at letting that secret out. She explained that her husband was self-employed (she worked for him part-time) and was totally absorbed by his business - no time or interest for Mary's needs. That was definitely a plus for me!

I was in my third week of workouts with Mary when I decided it was time to take a chance and make a move on her. I knew I was pushing it, probably going too fast, but I also knew I was running out of time before I had to leave the neighborhood, so I decided to go for it. I just needed an opening. Luckily for me, Mary is about to provide one.

Mary was telling me about a new exercise she had found. In the explanation, she raised her arms over her head and suddenly reacted to a painful twinge in her shoulders. When I asked what was wrong, she said that she had overdone it the previous day and that she probably had pulled a muscle. "I'll just have to rest it for a while," she said, "though that's pretty hard for me."

Maybe this is it, I thought. It was a long shot, but worth a try. "Why don't you let me massage it?" I offered. "I took a few classes and I'd be happy to help." Mary declined my initial offer, but I insisted and eventually she relented.

I sat on a chair and had her sit on the floor in front of me. I started to knead her shoulders, and it seemed to help, but that wasn't going to get me where I wanted this to go. "You still seem tense," I said. "Why don't we get into a more comfortable position?" Luckily, Mary agreed. Whether she didn't detect my deception or was complicit in my little game, I still don't know. In any case, we moved to another room with a large couch. Mary got face-down on it and I climbed onto her, seated on her butt, and continued the massage.

Mary did relax as my hands worked on her shoulders. "God, that feels so much better," she said. "You have a wonderful touch."

"You should do this more often," I offered. "You work so hard." Moving slightly lower on her back, I added, "I can do more than your shoulders if you like."

"Mmmmmm," she replied with a little laugh, "how can I say No?"

I suggested that she remove her top and was thrilled when she didn't object. That left her sports bra. "That, too. Come on," I said innocently. She gave me a quick, slightly questioning look, but took it off. I got a brief look at Mary's full breasts before she plopped back down on the sofa.

I took it slowly, giving her a seemingly innocent massage, but blending in some sensual, suggestive moves. I spent a long time just running my hands softly over her skin, not just one her back, but along her sides and even down to the edge of her ass, moving her shorts down just a tad to expose the top of her butt crack. Then I moved down to her thighs, which did actually seem a little tense. I kneaded them as I had her shoulders, letting my hands wander up as far as the bottom of her butt cheeks before retreating. Mary let me do all of this with little objection, only an occasional "Oh" of surprise at my boldness.

Since she did not seem inclined to stop me, I decided to take a bigger chance. Scooting back a little to sit on her upper thighs, I leaned forward and lowered myself on top of her. Mary started to object, but I headed her off, telling her that the weight of my body would help her relax. It was a ridiculous idea, but she bought it, or maybe she just was giving in to the situation.

I continued to knead her shoulders as I rubbed the length of my body over hers, enjoying the warmth and the closeness of her. Mary closed her eyes and smiled. She was starting to give in. I was thrilled ... and getting more excited with each passing second.

I decided to get really bold. I quickly slipped off my top and bra and returned to my previous position atop Mary's back. She felt my bare skin against her own and responded with surprise, her eyes opening wide as she uttered a startled, "Oh!" But then, as I started to rub against her again, she relaxed and said, almost in a whisper, "Oh my, that does feel good."

I was so excited. My nipples were stiff and erect now, and I wondered if she could feel them as I rubbed against her. If she did, she didn't mind, because she let me continue with my little body-massage for a few minutes. I nuzzled my face into her neck and whispered in her ear, "I want to make you feel good, Mary. You've been so nice to me. I want to make you feel really, really good. You deserve it."

Mary's only response was a warm smile and a barely audible "Okay." Her eyes were still closed and she looked very content, obviously enjoying what I was doing to her. I took the next step and, as I nuzzled her neck again, placed a soft kiss just below her ear. She didn't object, so I did it again, several times, then added a bit of tongue, licking sensuously along her neck, drawing a wonderful little whimper from her.

I knew then that I was good to go. After a few more neck kisses, I urged her to turn over, and she did. She was breathing heavily now, as she looked deep into my eyes, holding my gaze with a combination of question and anticipation. I was sitting up on her hips, and as I looked down I noticed the tan-lines on her chest. It excited me, made me aware that I was one of the chosen few who got to see her this way.

I reached down to place my hands over her breasts. They were full and oh-so-soft, filling my hands with a lush warmth. Mary's nipples were a deep pink, the areolas wide and stippled with little goose bumps. I was dying to take them in my mouth but it didn't feel right yet, so I continued to gently knead then with my hands. Then I leaned down to give her our first real kiss.

A placed my lips on hers, just a brief, chaste smooch, then went back for more. This time a ran my tongue over her lips, staying outside her mouth for the moment. But she showed no resistance and I couldn't help myself. I slipped inside her seemingly passive lips and found her own wet tongue, licking it slowly, gently in a circular motion.

To my surprise. something in Mary suddenly switched on. All at once, she was returning my kiss with hot passion, her tongue moving eagerly over mine as she moaned shamelessly into my mouth. She clutched me to her, her right leg wrapping urgently around my upper thighs. All question and inhibition were gone now, and we were off and running.

My arousal soared as our tongues worked together, savoring the sweet taste of her mouth as my hands moved over her, the right one squeezing gently at her breast while the left one snuck under her slipping into her shorts to find the firm, soft delight of her butt cheeks. Mary moaned quietly in response to my caresses. It was absolutely wonderful, exactly as I hoped it would be.

I broke the kiss and moved my head down, lingering briefly at her neck before descending on her lovely breasts. I took one luscious nipple into my mouth and sucked it as my tongue rolled over it. Mary uttered a lovely, "Ohhhh," as I felt her little nubbin harden and grow between my lips. I was whimpering myself now as the thrill of finally having her overcame me. I moved back and forth between her tits, utterly enjoying the feel of that soft flesh. I tried to hide how excited I was, but it was difficult. It just felt so good to have her in my mouth.

Mary was definitely into it now. She continued to moan and whimper, and her body writhed slowly on the bed, silently asking for more. I was happy to give it to her. Reluctantly leaving her breasts, I moved down her body, licking over her ribcage, settling briefly on her flat, firm midsection. Mary's stomach rippled in response and she uttered a breathy "Oh God." She knew what was coming. She wanted it.

I wanted it, too. God, did I want it! dropped to my knees on the floor and quickly slipped her shorts and panties down and off in a single motion, then nudged Mary into a new position on the couch, spreading her legs apart, raising the left one to rest against the back of the couch while the right one dangled off the front. I settled between them and took in the sight. Damn, she looked hot now, her legs splayed open wantonly while her chest heaved with passion. She caught my eye and held it for several seconds, seemingly wondering if I was really going to do this.

Of course I was. I looked between her legs now and got my first good look at her cunt. It looked wonderful. It was a mature woman's cunt, the lips full and meaty, so pink and swollen now with desire, with just a hint of moisture evident inside. And above it was a nicely trimmed bush of blonde hair that I longed to feel against my nose.

I started slowly, kissing up and down the inside surface of her raised leg, then giving the same treatment to the other one, purposely bypassing her crotch as I did so. Then I went back for a second pass, this time letting my tongue slip out to run a wet, swirling trail along each leg. Mary responded with a quiet, frustrated groan that told me I was teasing her just the way I wanted to. I did this several more times, and each time Mary's reaction grew stronger.

Mary clearly was ready for more and so was I. On my next pass up her thigh, I didn't skip over. Instead, I placed my tongue at the bottom of her cleft and licked oh-so-slowly up the entire length of her vulva. Mary's hips rose off the sofa and she uttered and long, heartfelt "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" I slipped my hands beneath her to cup her lovely bottom.

I licked up and down in her slit several times, each time feeling her juices coating my tongue. Mary responded with a pathetic moan of desire. I licked around the edges of her cunt, placed a quick kiss on her clittie, and then used my thumbs to open her lips, revealing a drooling pit of vivid pink flesh inside her. I applied little feather-licks all over her pink treasure and she responded with a groan and began pumping her hips, begging for more. I covered her opening with my mouth, gently sucking at it before plunging my tongue all the way inside. We both moaned then. Her cunt felt so warm and juicy surrounding my tongue.

Mary was moving franticly on the couch now, totally turned on and in need of release. I moved to her clit, licking swirls around it and then taking it in my mouth. I sucked it in while simultaneously tickling the head with the tip of my tongue. Mary pretty much went crazy then, crying out, "Oh Gawwwwwd!" and franticly grabbing my head, pulling me into her. She was obviously close to cumming and I was intent on getting her there. I stayed on her clit, licking and sucking it until finally her body shook and she cried out as her orgasm hit her.

I licked her through her orgasm until she relaxed just a bit, her legs shaking with the aftershocks. But I didn't stop. Before the shaking had subsided, I started on her again, slowly once more, hoping to build her to another raging climax. She uttered a pathetic, "Ohhhh," as she realized I was going to do her again, but of course she didn't stop me.

I gave her pretty much the same treatment, since it had worked so well the first time. It worked even better this time, quicker at least, and in a minute or so I had her hips twitching and her body arching and was licking up an abundant dose of her cunt cream. It was heavenly. I could have done her all day, but decided that was enough for now, so I backed off and just watched her recover.

Mary was panting, gasping in air as the effects of her climax continued. "So good," she murmured, "... so good." Then she just lay there quietly as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

Finally, she looked up at me, a big, satisfied grin filling her face. "Thank you," she said in a near whisper. "Oh my. That was wonderful." I just smiled in return. Mary smiled warmly again and turned over on the couch, resting her head blissfully on her arms. I took the opportunity to once again run my hands over her lovely body, gently caressing her as she wallowed in the afterglow of her multiple orgasms.

I kept doing that for a while, as Mary relaxed, her eyes closed, and contented smile on her face. But I wanted more. And I still had my eyes on her lovely bottom. Several minutes had passed when I decided to make my move.

"Wow," I said quietly, trying to sound nonchalant, "you have such a nice rear." I put my hands on it as I spoke, lightly caressing and squeezing it.

"Thanks," she said with a warm smile, "I'm pretty proud of my butt. It's one of the first things to go as you get older, so I work hard to keep it looking good. Mmmmm, that feels nice."

"Well," I said, doing my best to hide my true feelings as I continued to touch her, "It's nice, absolutely wonderful."

"Mmmmm."

I played with Mary's butt like that for a long time, like I was just giving her another light massage. I squeezed her cheeks, then stroked them with my open palms, delighting in their warm, silky softness. Occasionally I would pull them apart to sneak a peek at her darling little orifice. The sight thrilled me each time, but I hid it, until once I forgot and let out a little cry of excitement that Mary could not help but hear.

She turned her head to look at me, first startled by the sound, then mildly shocked as she realized what was going on. "Oh my God," she said, her voice almost a whisper, the astonishment obvious on her face, "You wanna toss my salad, don't you?"

I could feel my face redden with embarrassment. She'd caught me, and her language surprised me. I never use that particular term, always finding it somewhat crude (and never understanding the "salad" reference). But she was absolutely right, I did want to "toss her salad." There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to bury my face in her lovely ass. And now that language, coming from her, from sweet, "suburban" Mary, had me turned on even more. I continued to knead her creamy cheeks as I answered meekly. "Yes. I'm sorry, I ... I do ... I really do." Then, hesitantly, I asked, "Would that be alright?"
https://pornvideos.me
Despite my own heterosexuality, my eye was on my son unloading his impressive manhood against the tile of the shower wall. His eyes met mine as he did it, silently thanking me for such a sweet release. And I couldn't help but be reminded of the story of the ancient Sultan wandering the desert for days without anything to drink and marveling at how rich and luscious that first sip from the poorest peasant tasted. As deprived and demeaned as he had been, giving my son the small pleasure as a reward for his compliance seemed an appropriate sacrifice.

Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do about Becky. She adamantly refused to wear clothes, she marked her territory wherever she went until we had to cover our house entirely in plastic, and she needed to be restrained. She could not be taken out in public for fear of embarrassing herself with her sordid sexual details and history, which she would brag about to the nearest person. Rather than be ashamed of anything that she had become, she fully embraced being her brother's slut.

We couldn't think of anything else to do. We couldn't think of anything more to do but to find a way to show both of them how serious we were about their behavior and how badly it needed to stop. We felt we were out of options and over our heads—completely devoid of any good choices. It's the best explanation as to how this all happened, or at least how we managed to reconcile ourselves to the idea of sacrificing our son to reclaim the wild child that her daughter had become. The best thing that we could consider doing was exposing Michael to the exact same treatment he had inflicted so gleefully on his sister, right in front of Becky.

I don't know why we thought that would work, but we spent the week organizing, and by the end of that time, we finished making phone calls to friends and other deviants who understood our situation and that were willing to break our daughter of her bad behavior. We had prepared all of the supplies, and laid down enough plastic tarp to prevent our daughter from creating any scandalous scenes—not that she didn't make her best effort.

My knock on her door was little more than a pretense.

Live Sluts on Cam sat naked on her bed, a sight I still have not gotten used to. I couldn't help the feeling that was stirring in my pants at the sight of her small but firm breasts—her nipples engorged in the cold air conditioning we had tried to use to make her put on some clothing. Her blonde hair was tied into pigtails behind her shoulders. As I entered, she made her acknowledgment of me by spreading her legs like she was some Hustler model, deliberately trying to show herself in a way that would make me the most uncomfortable. Underneath her tiny little landing strip, I could see the spread of her lips and exactly where my dick would go if I ever lost control and decided to treat my daughter like the woman she was behaving as.

"Let's go," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere until I can fuck my brother whenever I want."

kelly osborn was stony, but completely typical of the kind of remarks we usually got from her when asking her to do anything. Only this time I didn't beg or cajole her to do what I felt was right. I grabbed her by both of her pigtails, and she gave a cry of protest as I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the room, her body kind of going along with her head and neck forward into the living room.

"At least fuck me if you treat me like this! Come on Daddy you know you want to fuck your little girl. You're just jealous that Michael got to me first, but you could still take my ass..."

She went on, but I tried to ignore her. This is another a tactic of hers, to try and make me uncomfortable or so aroused that I would actually take advantage of her. To think that my own daughter was trying to actively seduce me with the most salacious and sensational things, each more descriptive than the last.

I ignored her the best I could as I letter to the area we had marked out for her in the corner. It had the most plastic sheets on it and the more simple restraints.

There was a simple pair of leather handcuffs, attached to each which with a metal clasp that I forced Becky to accept, like a police officer placing handcuffs on an uncooperative arrest. She kicked and flailed, her body thrashing and raving as she hurled her insults at me. I couldn't help but touch her bare bottom, tight and a little flat, but still nubile and tempting to a man who has been with the same woman for nearly two decades. It was all I could do to suppress the feeling in my own jeans as she bucked her tight little crack against me, simulating how she would feel with her tight butthole wrapped around her father's cock. She gave out a loud moan as she writhed against me and I backed away as quickly as I could, leaving Becky tied to the wall, her hands held tightly behind her back.

She gave out an animalistic wail of disapproval, and yet another as her brother was led out completely docile into the living room, his once beautiful big cock caged against his leg, almost bouncing back and forth as he walked. It was nothing impressive anymore, but we insisted that they were close around each other all the time, even if Michael was the only one who actually obeyed this rule voluntarily—made her give out another howl. Only a week ago she had been caught fucking her brother in the shower, and now it was locked up and her brother was not capable of doing anything of the sort to anybody.

"Let it out Daddy! Please! Pretty please! I'll suck your cock too, just let me have his cock pound into my pussy. I need my brother's cum dripping down my leg."

I knew better than to engage in this. Any sort of acknowledgment of her misbehavior would only drive her to continue ad nauseam. So instead,her mother simply led Michael to the other section of the room within full sight of his sister. Given her recent behavior, pretty much the entire living room had been covered in a cheap layer of plastic sheeting that prevented any sort of perverted display of outrage from doing much damage at all. Even so, there was something about it that Becky knew still pissed off her mother and I. So in an act of devilish and immature retaliation, she put her finger on one lip, and without even spreading her legs, let flow a large stream of urine. She had clearly been saving up to show us.

Visit us at kellyosborn.com