Misadventures of Stan

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Part I

When I moved to the country in my retirement, the garden out back was considerably small. I had no family left and in a short period of time afterwards I felt myself growing weaker by the day. Perhaps that what happens to people who have no one left to talk to, no one who calls to check how you are, even if it is just a nurse from a hospital. The physical side takes care of itself, but the mental side is the one that decides whether life has been worth it. But at 54 years of age I should not have been as close to death as I found myself.

The only redeeming feature of my bleak existence was the internet. Just like in a computer game, I had a set amount of gold to spend, but it wasn’t gold that would accumulate. In effect, it was all that I had left. For some reason the state pension was not picked up and I couldnt be bothered to talk to automated voice messages that had previously denied that I was Stanley Thomas, despite providing them with the information they requested. Eventually I was too tired to argue. I had all but resigned myself to my fate.

Still, I was considerably excited about the prospect of what to spend in my final days, even though there was a cliched element of ‘last meal’ about it. It was almost a pleasure lying in a house with no one to bother you, or worry or annoy you. No, my kids had departed these shores long ago, somewhat alienated by my attitude towards them. Even as adults I spoke down to them, because I was a control freak at times. Wouldn’t give it up for anything. I had so much power, it drove them away. I was happy for them. My reason for being stern was intentional; that they had outlived their stay in the nest.

My son, Peter said goodbye to his mother and left me a post it note. That was time I heard from him. As for my daughter, Penelope; she stayed a while longer. It wasn’t all smooth sailing however. I recall the time she walked in on me by the laundry basket one day, and watched in stunned silence as I joyously rubbed her silk panties all over my face. I was so intoxicated by the smell of her cunt; it was like sniffing a fine wine. She just stood there, hands on hips, the apple of my eye, as I, her perverted father became fully aware of her presence. I was sat on the bathroom floor, as dizzy as hell. If I had found any more of her erotic wear I would have become drunk very quickly.

Suffice to say, Penelope still wanted to stay. She loved me so much, ankara escort and in her eye I was her hero. We had a heart to heart and she told me to be more careful. After that, she would take her dirty panties or lingerie for a detour to my room for what she called ‘processing’ and let me be perverted in the privacy of my room, with her consent of course.

I must agree it was a fine arrangement. She had quite a collection and only left me the most erotic, skimpiest and tiniest underwear. Jesus, I could play with them for hours. Bits of cotton, polyester, satin, velvet or silk that had chaffed against her pussy and even, he imagined, got caught between her cunt. Little clefted panty rubbing against her inside her denim jeans or mini skirt. It was a realistic possibility, one that I relished the thought of.

My daughters tiny panties – Oh the sweet sweet smell! from the cunt of my little precious girl was exceedingly welcome and my nasal passages were in heaven. She was, of course a grown woman now but in the eyes of their parents, offspring will always be their child.

It wasn’t until my wife passed away when everything changed, almost in the blink of an eye. We hadn’t been intimate in years, and rarely spoke to me much near the end. I felt like an arse myself, thinking such terribly thoughts in her absence that spilled out like an oil tanker that had gotten too close to the rocks. Thoughts of a nature that were extreme to say the least. I dreamed of turning her over in her coffin and fucking her up the arse a lot. I even filmed it all somehow and then the dreams would get worse. There would be a passage where my son was visiting his mothers grave using Google Earth: Cemetary View and caught me fucking her corpse up the arse. It was quite demented. I was looking forward to just what else my uncontrollable imagination could cook up.

Unfortunately, Penelope was not coping as well, but I couldn’t really see it, I just assumed thats all. Therefore, there was nothing particularly unfortunate about that, other than my own suffering.

She was a struggling artist, was Penelope, and I was… becoming more depraved by the hour. It was as if, my sadistic nature was always there, but my wifes presence had held it at bay all that time. Now I felt the spell was lifted. I felt unbound, and Penelope would feel the brunt of it all I suppose.

It wasn’t that my inhibitions were never there – I just had escort ankara no desire to control them any longer. Thus, I adopted a new stance which involved wandering around the house completely starkers. Often, my aimless walks would lead me to the entrance of my daughters room. Here I stood, one hand one floppy dick, demanding the keys to her belt.

RAP RAP RAP! My receding knuckles went..

‘Yes dad?’ Her voice would call out charmingly.

‘Can I fuck you darling.’ I asked, hoping she would open it.

She was so nice, she would always open the door and let me in. But we never once had sex. Not like I hoped anyway. She wasn’t particularly pleased by my perverted nature, as she was a submissive being, and believed in Jesus and other moral things, like equality and freedom of speech and thought. We would talk for a while while I sat trembling beside her, bum cheeks sunk into her pink duvet.naked, rubbing my dick with her red see thru’s.

We were quite a pair the two of us and our postures did not betray the fact. I sat slightly hunched, moaning and eyes half open like a sex mad zombie and she had her arms crossed, fully dressed and back straight like Mary Poppins, the expressions on her face concerned but not surprised. If her face could speak it would say ‘What am I ever going to do with you?’ and if she could read my mind it would be saying ‘feed me a spoonful of sugar.’

‘We can’t do it dad. I hope you understand the reasons why.’ She explained softly. Her brows never once pinched.

‘We can’t do what dear?’ I teased, hoping to coax the word out of her. I had never heard her curse before and wanted to hear it coming out of her lips, even if it were just the once.

‘We can’t,’ She paused and took a deep breathe ‘…fuck’

She said it softly and to hear someone say it lacking any agressive edge whatsoever was so erotic. Like I had just broken her verbal cherry yet she would remain a virgin if she kept saying it like that. I rubbed her panties along my 8 inch shaft that much harder as a result and some precum immersed itself into the fabric of my daughters naughty number, creating a wet patch at the front, the same area that her cunt would fold and neatly tuck into her pussy. .

‘I am curious…’ I began. ‘If you are so sweet and innocent, why do you have so much lingerie?’ I wondered. Now I really was drunk! What a state of bliss!


She ankara escort bayan sighed. ‘Its kind of normal you know dad. Girls dont exactly wear bloomers anymore.’ She explained with a sheepish smile. I kind of managed to laugh with her. She had a good sense of humour but I wasn’t finished drilling her.

‘Do they all wear crotchless knickers too?’ I asked. It was a good question, and one that made her think, because she had a few pairs of cotton splitters.

‘Not all of them dad. I don’t know…. Do you think I should not have bought them?’ She countered.

I leaned back but kept up my rhythm.


God her panties were flimsy and ever EVER so tiny. ‘Goodness no. I’m glad you bought them,’ I beamed with my red horny perverts face. My grin was momentary. I licked the salt gathering at the top of my lip. I loved the way Penelope just sat there in her prim and proper way, and watched me masturbate. Happy days!

She cupped my chin and said ‘Awww, thats so sweet.’ She responded well to compliments. Knowing I had approved her selection of underwear did not change anything for me however. Her clothes were still firmly hugging her gloriously curvacious figure, so the only chance I had of fucking her was a hard cock and a prayer, and I didn’t pray much.

Again, I asked her for sex . Invariably, she used the ‘f’ word again, followed by no. She waited for me to shoot my cum somewhere over her bed and then she would escort me to the bathroom followed by my room. We established a new routine for each afternoon that touched on the theme of incest, or at least I did. Everytime I would end up cumming all over her bed or her floor, or on her knickers. Then she would clean me up and tuck me in, kiss me on the head and sometimes even sing me a verse from the holy book itself.

I’m glad she put up with a bastard like me for so long.

The last straw came eventually. I was beating off as usual one evening in her room, while she watched. She was playing with a toy bear I bought for her birthday and it slipped from her hands and fell over by my feet. She advanced forward and her cascading hair landed on my thighs, brushing them unintentionally. Somehow, her face was hovering over me, dangerously close to my dick. When she picked it up, her neck pivoted slightly lower and I felt her lips caress my thigh before she regained her original position by the bed. As I went to say something she put a finger to my lips. ‘We can’t do it daddy.’ She said. I noticed the ‘daddy’. She always called me dad you see. This meant she was feeling a bit different tonight – A bit horny maybe. Hopefully.

[End of Part I]

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