Too Big: Man of the House 2

Too Big: Man of the House 2

by Natalie Deschain

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Copyright 2014, Natalie Deschain

Published by Natalie Deschain

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This is a work of fiction, featuring consenting adults in sexual situations.

All characters depicted as engaging in sexual activity are eighteen years of age or older. No blood relatives engage in sexual activity of any kind.

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I rolled up to the house around nine o’clock. I hadn’t been home since fall break, making this the longest stretch away from my home, my mother, and my stepfather in my life. My first semester of my freshman year was now behind my belt and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was reasonably sure I’d pull the Dean’s List, so I felt light and happy.

It hadn’t been snowing at school but it was snowing here. I pulled up in the drive and shut off the car, got out, and pulled up my hood. I ducked under the shoulder straps and put on two bags criss-cross and pulled my heavy wheeled suitcase out of the car, and dragged them all up the driveway. I resisted the urge to catch a snowflake on my tongue, but just barely.

The drive home took an hour longer than expected, making it almost five hours. I had to pee. Once I’d yanked all my bags into the porch I dropped them where they lay, unlocked the back door and rushed up the stairs, and straight into the bathroom.

I skidded to a stop, wobbly on my snow-wet boots. The bathroom door had been open but it was full of steam. My stepfather was toweling himself off from his shower. He was toweling off his head.

People usually don’t wear clothes in the shower.

I tried not to look but I did anyway. For a man in his early fifties he was shockingly lithe and muscular, without any ounce of fat anywhere on his streamlined frame. His broad swimmer’s chest was coated in fine gray hairs that matched the thatch between his legs where the biggest dick I had ever seen swung like a pendulum. My eyes locked on it.

He lowered the towel, which had been covering his face as he dried his hair.

He screamed.

I screamed.

I bolted out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, chest heaving.

“Erica?”

A shudder flowed through me. My voice came out high and squeaky. “Daddy? I’m sorry. I have to pee.”

“It’s okay, hon. It’s all yours.”

I crept out of my room. He was in the hall, comfortably swathed in his bathrobe. He was shaking, or at least his hands were. He stuck one in his robe pocket and scratched the back of his head with the other.

We looked at each other for a second. I darted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I shoved my pants down and dropped onto the toilet, and sighed in sweet relief, but the image of his gloriously sculpted naked body wouldn’t leave me alone.

I’ve never considered myself a size queen. The truth is, I was a virgin. I had a vibe but I never, you know, put anything in there. Just my finger. The thought of something like that inside me gave me the shivers. I started to wonder if he would like it if I licked it.

Then I realized I was sitting on the toilet thinking about my father’s penis and freaked out again. I forced myself to calm down before I left the bathroom. I shimmied back into my pants (why did I have to pick the yoga pants today?) and leaned on the sink and stared at myself in the vanity for a while, until the pink left my cheeks.

When I looked mostly composed, I headed out. I stripped off my scarf and my coat and tucked my arms under my armpits. I went downstairs that way, sheepishly folded up and trying to hide as I went to retrieve my bags. Dad was in the kitchen, in his pajamas. He looked up when I came in.

“Erica,” he said.

I froze. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I-”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, turning . “While you were away your mother and I got in the habit of not closing the door. It’s my fault. Let’s not worry about it anymore, okay?”

I smiled. “Okay, Daddy.”

Easy for him to say. He was hung like a walrus and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The image of his manhood had etched itself in my mind and the harder I tried to dismiss it the more tenaciously it clung to the tip of my brain.

Once my bags were properly dragged up into my bedroom, I closed the door and locked it. I turned the lock in a slow, secret motion, gripping it until the tips of my fingers went white from the pressure to stop my hand from shaking.

I sat on the bed and looked around. My bedroom had become an alien landscape. I was a refugee on planet pink, at the mercy of the plushie people. I had to unpack but it was a five hour drive and I was tired. My yoga pants came off and coiled up at the end of my bed like a used snakeskin and I stripped down to my t-shirt and curled up. I went to sleep hoping that the memory would fade. It was four in the afternoon.

When I woke up my hand was between my legs. New sweat beaded and prickled on my forehead, between my breasts and along the inward curve of my back from my rump to my shoulder blades. My hand was in my panties and my fingers were on my clit, and I was already in a dull haze.

So I kept going. I tightened up, heat building, my legs drawing up and squeezing together. A dull smile spread on my face and my eyes drifted half-shut. I was in that hazy place between asleep and awake and my pussy was throbbing.

My underwear was heavy with moisture. In my half-dream the image of my daddy’s huge cock came back easily, on this time it was fully erect, huge and thick and long but so hard it arched up and bobbed against his belly when he moved. He took a step towards me and then there was a knock at the door.

Bolting upright, I was jolted to full awareness. Another knock.

“Erica?”

It was my mother, home from work. I slid my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. I pulled my hand out of my underwear and looked at it. My fingers were wet and when I looked down and canted my hips forward I could see a spot on my crotch. Great.

“Mom?”

“Honey, it’s time for dinner. What are you doing in there?”

“I took a nap, mom. Long drive.”

“Well, come on and eat, okay?”

I sighed, and scrambled to change. I stood there bottomless for a minute and thought unsexy thoughts, but it didn’t help. I pulled on a pair of underwear and dark, loose sweat pants and changed into a knee-length, ratty t-shirt for good measure. It wasn’t until I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail that I realized I was dressing as deliberately unsexy as possible. I shrugged, unlocked my door, and slowly crept down into the kitchen. Dad was working the frying pan, turning strips of chicken with tongues. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and kept humming to himself. Mom was on her chair at the table, one leg propped under her, the other dangling in front of her. She’d taken off her jacket but she was still in a skirt and blouse and had her hair in an undo from work. She was reading a magazine that came in the mail and nibbling on a pretzel.

“Erica,” she said. “There you are. I thought you were hiding from me.”

“What? Oh, no, just taking a nap.”

“You said.”

I sat down at the table and squeezed my legs together. Mom looked up at me over the thick rims of her reading glasses. “How do you think your grades will turn out?”

“Good,” I said. “I had a lot of trouble with the math test.”

“Oh,” she said. “Why?”

“I’m not good with statistics. I had to draw a box and whisker plot.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Dad came over, pan in hand, and put a slab of well-turned chicken on my plate.

“It’s too big,” I said.

He looked at me and his eyes went wide.

“The meat, I mean. The meat is too big.”

He coughed and switched the chicken from my plate to his.

“I want a small one, too,” said Mom. “I just don’t think I could take a big one right now.”

I coughed.

She looked at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, feigning a gravely throat. “I just need a drink.”

I hopped up and went around him over to the cupboard as he carried over the mashed potatoes and began spooning them out. When I opened the cupboard, I sighed. The bottom shelf was empty and there was a pile of glasses in the sink, stacked up in nesting bunches.

“The little ones are all dirty,” Mom said, idly. “Just take a big one.”

I covered my mouth and grabbed a big glass. I filled it to the brim with water from the jug in the fridge, downed half of it, and filled it up the rest of the way. Then I sat down, pulled my chair up to the table, and stared into my plate. Mom and Dad were already eating. I started cutting the chicken.

“How’s work?” said Dad.

“I wish I could just take the rest of the year off, like some people around here,” she said, eyeing him. “I’m working on this huge account. Absolutely massive. It’s almost too much for one woman to handle. The idiots in acquisitions let it slip through out fingers, and now it’s ready to blow up in our faces. You should see the load they dropped on my desk this morning. Erica, what’s wrong?’

“What?” I squeaked.

“You’re purple. Are you alright?”

“Fine, Mom,” I said, hastily. “Just, uh, chicken. Down the wrong pipe.” I drank a big gulp of water for emphasis.

Dad gave me that look, the same look he gave me when I accidentally killed my first hamster, Secretariat, and he covered it up for me by saying she escaped.

“That’s a shame, dear,” said Dad, hastily changing the subject. “You know, I am working on a paper.”

“Right, publish or perish. I know, I know. At least you get to be home. I’m lucky I made it for dinner.”

He shrugged. Dinner went on. I decided to skip desert. It was all I could do to help clean up and pile the plates up next to the sink.

“Erica,” said Mom. “Don’t you think you should help out with the dishes?”

“Mom,” I sighed.

“I’ve got it, dear,” said Dad. He gave her a pat on the butt and leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She grinned, and I looked away, embarrassed.

My pussy was throbbing. I ran upstairs and closed the door, and rolled onto the bed. God, it was terrible. I got up and locked the door, my hand trembling around the cold, clammy brass knob. I ran to my bed and pulled over my bag, and rummaged around until, beneath the clothes, I pulled out my “massager” and rolled onto the bed. I turned it on and shoved its bulby rubber head between my legs and trapped it there with my thighs and hands, and let the quivering, rumbling vibrations spread through my body. I let out a long, contented sigh, but it wasn’t really enough. I felt a squirming, hollow need deep in my belly, and every time I closed my eyes I saw that big cock swaying in front of me, so I forced them open. I slipped a finger inside myself, slowly. I was so tight, the idea of that… that thing fitting inside me was absurd, but that only made the thought hotter…

I sat up and yanked the vibrator out of my pants. I was thinking about fucking my father. I curled up in a ball and whimpered, but my hands worked down between my legs anyway. I slipped one finger inside and worked my clit in slow circles, anxious to get off, to get this need out of my body and think about something else. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and his prodigious manhood so I didn’t even try. The thought carried me off into a haze that led very gradually into what may have been the most bland orgasm of my entire life. It just sort of faded out, and I went back to sleep.

Later on, I woke up. I’d left my light on, so I clicked it off and headed out into the hallway, creeping slowly towards the bathroom, afraid I’d wake my parents. Usually, they slept with the door to the bedroom open. I didn’t notice that it was closed until I came out of the bathroom. Then, in the eerie quiet of the late-night house, I heard a low, throaty moan. Frozen in place, I listened, and the more I listened the more I heard, the sounds coming into relief.
 

There was a low, throaty moan.
 

“Jesus, Michael,” my mother groaned, “It’s so fucking big.”
 

That was it. That was the last straw. I bolted into my room, closed and locked the door (quietly, of course) and put my ear up to the wall. It sounded like listening through a drum, but I could hear her moans as plain as day, and her soft grunts.
 

“That’s it,” Mom purred, “Roll me over.”
 

Then I heard soft, rhythmic slaps. My hand was between my legs before I even knew it. My mind filled in the gaps, built the visuals. I saw my mom fisting the sheets as she lay ass-up and Dad mounted her from behind, arms hooked under her hips so he could root that slab of a cock in her body to the root. She cried out and her voice squeaked.
 

“Erica will hear us,” I heard him say, barely a whisper.
 

I could almost feel Mom clenching her teeth as the whimpers whined out between them. I fell down onto the bed and curled up around myself, two fingers in my cunt as I rubbed and finger myself, feeling the heat grow and spread through me. My head started to spin and I lay there, melting into the bed, and sighed in relief as the pressure broke and heat rushed through me. I fell asleep, curled up on the top half of my bed with my hand down my pajama pants.