Aubree Learned a new Profession - Sex Stories

Aubree Learned a new Profession

... wasn’t wearing anything below her bra and my father was hammering her as if he had a time limit. I’ve been on a couple of cocks since I found out my pussy is a good source of favors and influence, but the sight of my father’s ass and his swinging nuts as he banged the bitch drove spikes of nausea directly to my stomach.

I pulled away from the window and then stood quiet, I was puzzled, not upset or mad. I mean, I couldn’t be mad because he needed to empty his nuts and took a side trip on the way home. But what could make me mad was that he made me wait in the fucking rain, in the fucking cold car, and ruin my fucking shoes. I was standing in the relentless drizzle while he was nice and dry, getting his rocks off. That’s what was pissing me off.

I calmly opened the shop door again, stuck my head into the spotlight then requested of Ms. Tattoos, “My father is back there getting screwed by your sister. Please tell him to get off and get out, his daughter is waiting. I closed the door and then went back to the car to wait. I’d never seen a velvet skirt before.

Three minutes later my contrite parent slipped quietly into the car to continue to my version of Hell. I didn’t challenge or question him, but I did ask, “Feel better?” He didn’t answer but started the car and then backed away from the storefront.

I hated living on the third floor of the apartment building. The elevator was usually jammed by some impatient asshole who wanted to keep it on an upper floor so I had ...

... to go up the cement stairs that had no step backing or walls. Anyone behind or below the stairs could watch someone walk up the stairs. It wasn’t uncommon that Wally Osmmit would stand under the stairs when I came home so he could see up my skirt as I went up the first flight. Even if I had pants on, he stared. I hated that punk asshole; it was probably him who jammed the elevator. I hated the dump we lived in, but it was better than the last. The best memory I had of that place is when my mother would take umbrage with something I did and beat my ass black and bruised a few times. One icy morning when mom was taking me to school, some fucked up crackhead tried to outrun the cops. Didn’t make it. The druggie went to a halfway house for three weeks, Mom went to heaven, I had a pleasant visit at the health factory, and my dad slept inside a bottle until we were kicked out of the old apartment for not paying up. As I walked through the front door, I thought the newer place was at least an upgrade, barely.

I went in to change into house duds and start dinner. My dad went to his adjoining bathroom to shower away his afternoon delight. It wasn’t until we cleaned up after dinner that I asked, “How often? When?”

My father and I had been talking shorthand ever since I could talk, “A couple of times a month, about a year after your mother died.”

So, my dad had been buying relief for over a year? “And you pay?”

Dad looked at me directly for the first time since we got home, ...