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I am a Military Brat. My dad is a retired Army Master Sergeant. He is a stud. You can translate that in any way you choose and probably be right.

I am a single child. Though both parents spoiled me, my Dad went overboard. I had my own motorcycle when I was nine. It was a little Suzuki Trailhopper. Dad rode dirt bikes and I wanted to ride with him. I traded the motorcycle (with Mom’s help) for a pony when Dad was assigned to an unaccompanied tour in the Far East.

Mom gave me my own private phone line when I was eleven and spending far too much time talking to my first boyfriend. And when I was seventeen, Dad gave me his Fiat Spyder 2000 Convertible. Though I was still in the eleventh grade, Dad called it my graduation present.

We moved to Germany in the mid-70s, arriving in the summer months allowing me to become more accustomed to our surroundings before the start of school. I attended a school specifically for military dependents and the children of civilian Defense Department employees. We lived there for more than seven years, both as a military family and as a retired military family working for a Defense Contractor.

I graduated High School, got a job and took several college courses at University of Maryland European Campuses. Returning to the states was a culture shock.

I am now married with one child. This story will focus primarily on our life in Germany and our assimilation into the German culture and a more European lifestyle.

I was very proud of my dad and loved him dearly. I liked being close and just being seen with him. He did stand out in a crowd. Dad was six-four but not so muscular. He was tall, straight and a bit skinny. He was prematurely gray. His short hair was almost completely white. To female soldiers, he was “The Silver Fox.” To male soldiers, he was “Old Stone Face.”

Seeing him in a dress uniform, especially the summer Tropical Worsted Khakis, he was every woman’s idea of a hero. A large cluster of ribbons and badges were pinned to his chest with the Screaming Eagle patch of the 101st Airborne Division on his right shoulder speaking to his combat service in Vietnam. Dad commanded respect, bordering on fear.

Mom was nearly a foot shorter than Dad. She kept her red hair cut and styled in a stylish at the time “Afro.” She was slightly built with “less noticeable” breasts and “more noticeable” butt that made her look very sexy in tight jeans. With her quick smile and outgoing personality she was much more approachable than Dad. Mom loved to laugh. Dad was much more stoic.

I was a typical long-legged, lanky adolescent with buckteeth. Mom had decided to make me pretty when we were stationed in the States. She talked Dad into spending the money he had been saving for a motorcycle (a motocross bike) on my teeth. The dental work did not get finished before we left the States but that was a good thing. The Army picked up the tab for completing the work. And Dad pretended to be upset that he had wasted all that money. He kiddingly called me “Motorcycle Mouth” for years after bahis firmaları that.

Dad was so cute – and embarrassed – when he took me to the clinic to schedule an appointment with the Orthodontist. He told the receptionist that he needed to make an appointment for his twelve-year old daughter with the Obstetrician. The receptionist stared at me. I turned red and Dad was totally blank. He had no idea.

As we settled into our European life and many adventures I grew more and more attached to my sexy, macho man Dad. His interest in motocross and photography turned into a Press Pass and Journalist Credentials from the Stars and Stripes European edition. He covered World Championship Grand Prix Motocross during spring and summer.

Sometimes, after I started to look more and more like a woman, Dad would let me go with him to cover the races. I was seventeen and HOT. Riders, mechanics and the sponsors paid a lot of attention. All were eager to be interviewed by my “Motojournalist” Dad. I sort of liked the attention.

The races were three-day events. Friday was a travel day, getting there late and finding a room. Or, sometime sleeping in the car. Saturday was timed practice and qualifying for the riders. That was the day the riders were more approachable.

Sunday was more serious; it was race day. Depending on results, some riders were much less approachable. There was only one winner. Losers were angry or depressed – much less approachable. And we had to drive home on Sunday afternoon and night. Dad had to be at work early Monday morning.

Mom took a few trips with us. She was pretty hot too but motocross riders are usually much younger than Mom. When she was with us it usually turned into Mom and I shopping while Dad covered the races. Dad would usually rent a car when the whole family traveled. His TR-7 was a two-seater and the tiny back seat of my Fiat Spyder was too small for passengers on longer trips.

We covered events throughout Europe but because of Dad’s security clearance we were not allowed in Communist Block Countries – Russia, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Bulgaria, etc.

When it was just Dad and me, he would get a room rather than make me sleep in the car. I loved that my dad was so thoughtful, especially when it came to his very spoiled daughter.

Sometime there would be only one bed in the room. That was fine with me but Dad would always ask. I took pleasure in cuddling close, knowing that it made Dad very uncomfortable. But, we made it through several uncomfortable nights during our first year of covering races together.

Dad’s photography led to much more than sports. He won several contests with his more artistic work. And he was constantly hounded by people wanting him to shoot a wedding or special event; even portrait work. He loved outdoor and wildlife photography.

On one occasion he talked me into going on a two-day guided hike up the Zugspitze. It was in June but a freak snowstorm hit that night as we slept in Knorrhuette – a hiker’s cabin in the Alps. I felt bad for Dad. kaçak iddaa He was so concerned for me. I was in tennis shoes and had to finish that hike with plastic bags on my feet. It was miserable but just another experience that bonded my dad and me even more firmly.

Mom and my grandmother, who was visiting from the states, had taken the cogwheel train from the recreation center in Garmish and met us at the lodge on the summit. The adventure was miserable for me. Dad loved it. He got some great photos of hikers strung out single file in the snow.

When he got a medium format camera for portrait work he wanted me to pose. I was thrilled. For the last few months I had been deliberately exposing my “womanly” body to him. I was still in High School but had turned eighteen in January. I thought he might go along with some really sexy poses. It was okay for me to pose in a bikini but he was too embarrassed to let me pose naked or even in panties and bra. Most of my panties revealed more than swollen labia; my pubic hair was clearly visible.

Dad had seen me naked. I had made sure of that. But it always embarrassed him. So, we kept the poses sexy but not too much so for him to develop his black and white film where others might and get the wrong idea.

I knew that Dad had a book by David Hamilton, the photographer whose images of nude and partially nude adolescent girls was subject of the ongoing and heated discussions of “what is art and what is pornography.” I do not think Dad was affected by images of adolescent girls so much as the technique used by Hamilton to create the soft focus, dreamy effect. I had seen my dad shoot an entire trip to Venice with Vaseline smeared over a lens filter, creating the “Hamilton Effect.”

I remember the discussion we had (with Mom present) on nude photographs and the Hamilton Effect.

“Dad, why can’t we make some pictures like those in your David Hamilton book?”

He turned me down quite bluntly, “Those girls were not Hamilton’s daughter.”

“We’re studying Anthropology, Sociology and Margaret Mead – nature vs. nurture controversy in school. I think some of society’s silly rules on sex and family are far too restrictive, especially since the invention of the pill. Inbreeding problems are really no longer a factor. Incest is more about religion than science,” I shared my teenage opinion.

Mom stepped in, “That’s enough, Tina. Your dad could get into a lot of trouble over pictures like that, regardless of intent. He could lose his clearance and a high-paying job. We have to be extremely careful with nudity and any suggestion of incest. But, it is a creative idea. I’ll be his model,” Mom smiled at our befuddled husband and father.

That discussion led to a major change in our family lifestyle. Sex life became more open and Dad gradually began to consider a more intimate relationship with me. What followed is the subject of a story written by my dad, SlonEazy, about Mom’s pictures and a daring new episode in the lives of he and Mom. And, in Mom sharing a story with me about kaçak bahis a very erotic relationship between my parents and two other couples from their early days in the Army.

That story was shocking and sexually inspiring. It revealed a side of my dad that had not been previously apparent. It led to me being more openly seductive toward my macho dad.

Mom and Dad started what they called their “Sex Manual” with pictures from several photo sessions and the addition of another man with Mom. It was way HOT. Mom shared their Sex Manual with me and, for the first time, shared Dad with me.

Dad refused to take the chance of me being seen naked in his photographs. But he finally succumbed to my insistent desire for incest. We did it on the couch in the living room with Mom watching.

Mom and Dad were browsing the “Sex Manual” when I came into the room. Dad tried to close it but Mom kept it open, even sharing with me. We sat on the couch looking at pictures of my mother sucking another man’s cock – a huge cock. That photography book was filled with such images.

I pulled my jeans down and started to finger myself with mom and dad watching. Dad pushed my hands away from my pussy and sucked my clit into his mouth. Mom got naked. Dad kept eating my pussy. When he stuck his thumb up my ass it put me over the edge. I groaned loudly and squirted into Dad’s mouth. Yes! I do mean “squirted.” It was the first time I had ever done that. I still get hot thinking about that first time.

Dad rolled onto his back and mom went for his hard cock. She had recently learned that swallowing was not as disgusting as she had always thought. Dad held the back of her head pushing completely into her mouth. I watched my mom suck my dad but interrupted before he could cum into her mouth.

“Mom, stop. Don’t make him cum. He needs to fuck me. Please, Mom.”

I lay on the floor and slid between my mother’s legs. She squatted enough to lower her pussy to my mouth. I looked up into the patch of red pubic hair and licked her juicy pussy while she sucked on my dad’s cock. I felt like I would cum again, just from the situation that we were in. It was steaming hot. Mom lifted her pussy and rolled away from me.

“Fuck your daddy. I’ll wait,” Mom encouraged me.

With dad on his back, I straddled that throbbing cock and scrubbed his pelvic bone with my aching clitoris. It didn’t last long. I came again, not squirting this time but a very satisfying climax.

I rolled off and mom climbed on. She gave Dad a good fucking. He came hard in Mom’s overheated pussy. She pulled up and let his cum leak down the under side of his softening cock, pooling on his balls.

We never had second thoughts about fucking. We spent the entire night together in mom and dad’s too small double bed, fucking when Dad could and eating pussy when he could not. It was so sexy, nasty, but it was just the beginning. After that day, nothing was taboo for us. However, it was absolutely verboten to share this deep, dark secret. Dad’s clearance was subject to the rules of our society, not our own opinions of social mores.

The story continues. The upcoming racing season would get a lot more interesting. And, my two best friends manage to become a part of our liberal sex lives.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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