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Introduction:

This is a three part story of a frustrated bride who finds sexual satisfaction outside of her new marriage.
Bible Belt Bride Chapter 1

By Greg

As far back as I can remember, my family has always spent Thursday evenings at bible study. Then, we spent the better part of every Sunday morning at worship services. It wasn’t ever an option to skip a week. Momma made sure of that.

My name is Chastity-Lynn, but never call me that; I go by Lynn with all of my friends. The Chastity part was Momma’s idea. She probably thought that if I was constantly reminded of the virtue, I wouldn't stray too far from the "path of righteousness." Momma had a Bible verse for any occasion. If you didn’t clear your dinner plate you sinned against God by wasting. If you ate too much, your sin was gluttony. Really, pretty much anything you did, you were in peril of going right straight to hell for it.

I had two brothers, Matthew and Mark. Yeah, I know, but at least those names didn’t draw the wisecracks I got. I thought my name was cute until about the sixth or seventh grade. Then, I discovered what it actually meant. I spent most of high school answering only to Lynn. By graduation, my body had gone through the "changes," as Momma called them. I was now in immediate danger of going to hell if I showed the slightest bit of my sexuality. Make-up was the "devil's paintbrush," you know. And any figure-revealing clothing was outright scandalous, as I would only invite a rape, and that would be my fault. Both my rapist and I would spend all eternity in a fiery hell for my vile act.

Momma’s most intense treatment was focused on my papa. He was a lineman for the local electrical co-op. He reluctantly followed us all to services just to spare us the lecture and ass-chewing that would surely follow if he didn’t comply. I got along great with Papa. Momma always said I took after his side of the family anyway. Papa spent most of his off-work hours holed up in the tool shed he had built. It was just a garage, maybe a hundred feet from the house. He mostly used it as a workshop for car or tractor repairs. Many of his friends would stop by and shoot the breeze with him as he fixed their engine problems. He was the local go-to guy for fixing things. He always had to be hollered at for dinner.

After high school graduation, most of my friends went off to college. No one in my family had ever gone that way yet. My grades and talents would not have gotten me far with any more schooling. I was destined to follow the ones that would stay behind and just get on with life.

I took a job at the local grocery and started making pretty good money as a cashier. As a cashier, it was expected that I had to look nice for the customers. This got me into some heated arguments with Momma over my choice of clothing. A form-fitting shirt and dark slacks were the store’s rules. So, I often left the house with the slacks undone just to give the appearance of looseness. I pulled my shirt out and down over my hips just to deflect attention. Before reaching work, I’d tuck in my shirt and zip the pants up tight. The grocery store I worked at was only about a ten-minute walk from home. Walking saved me the expense of a car.

Only If Momma was off on some church function, was it safe to leave the house dressed properly. Papa didn’t see the harm. In fact more than once he commented on just how filled out I was becoming. I took this as a compliment. I never heard anything positive like that from Momma.

One evening I had to stay late at work. It was inventory time, and everyone had to stick around until the job was finished. Momma was furious and called the store manager about keeping a young girl out past dark. I was so totally embarrassed, and the manager seemed not to want to get involved. I promised her to be with co-workers when I left. I felt so ashamed, but finally the task was finished. It wasn’t a far walk, and I had grown up in the area and saw no problem with a walk after dark.

As I approached our house, I saw the lights in the work shed still on. I knew Papa was probably still working on some project. For no particular reason, I just got the urge to walk around back to the rear window. I thought I would get a glimpse of Papa elbow-deep in an engine or something. Maybe I would spook him by tapping on the window or something.

As I approached the rear window, the ratty curtains were drawn partially closed. The curtains were old kitchen ones my mom had changed out. Papa recovered them and used them to block some of the sunlight in the shed during the day. They didn’t really fit the entire window. As I approached the window, I could see Papa sitting over in a corner of the garage in an old recliner. We kids had worn it out years ago, but Papa always recycled everything. Papa was sitting leaned-back in the chair with a magazine held up in-front of his face. His pants were pulled down to about his knees, and his one fist was stroking away at his cock.

I was so shocked. I don’t know what possessed me to stand there in the dark and continue to watch him, but I did. I knew he had never figured someone might spy on him, but I just couldn’t pull myself away. I stood there in the darkness and watched as he thrust his hips upward. His fist would change speed, and every so often he would pause, pull at the shaft, and let it stand upward. He would grab it at the very end and twist at it, then stroke hard at it some more.

The girls in school had always talked and laughed about guys doing this. I figured both my brothers did it too, but I never figured that my papa would still be doing it at his age. I had just never considered Papa as a person with sexual needs. I guess most daughters don’t.

My mouth became dry instantly. I couldn’t look away. This was something I knew I would always remember, and I guess I just wanted to gather in every detail. Papa moved the magazine and flipped to a new page. He resumed a steady beat. Stroke after stroke, he continued to work at rubbing his cock. I had never considered what a man’s cock actually looked like, especially one that was being used for sex. I knew enough from friends, but that was all just girl talk. This was an actual cock being worked.

I had been at the window for maybe less than five minutes when suddenly Papa started jerking his hips rapidly. His fist seemed to crush the end part, and instantly a rope of white cream seemed to leap out of the end of it. Several more spurts followed and landed back in his lap. The hand holding the magazine shook so badly that he finally had to put it down. His hips were still convulsing. Several puddles of the goo had landed back on his fist, and he was using it to lubricate his hand. He kept on going. His grip seemed to look as if he were trying to choke off the flow of cream. His face seemed all wretched in agony.

Okay, this is the sickest thing ever, but I gotta say it. I enjoyed watching this. I couldn’t help myself. The feelings stirring in my body were incredible. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My breathing had dried my mouth to the point where I couldn’t wet it again. My heartbeat was racing. I could feel my own heartbeat pounding inside of my head. I couldn’t even feel my legs. Something was happening in my body that I had never felt before. My hands were quivering. I knew it wasn’t fear. I felt sweat forming on my forehead. My face flushed with an intense heat from within. Worst of all, I realized I had been unconsciously pressing one hand between my legs in time with his thrusts.

Papa stayed there, slowly rubbing the goo all over his dick. It seemed smaller and bent more easily. His face looked drained and weak, and yet very satisfied. He stayed that way for several minutes. Finally, he grabbed a rag to try to clean up the mess he had made. He wiped himself up with it. I drank in every detail of what he was doing. He struggled to bring the recliner back to an upright position. I watched as he checked the magazine for goo splatter. He seemed to be almost crippled as he struggled to get up. He then bent over to pick up a small toolbox that had been sitting nearby on the floor. It had been there next to his chair the whole time. I just hadn’t noticed it. He opened the box and placed the magazine in it. He then put a padlock through the catch. I watched as he hid the key on a nail on the backside of his workbench. He picked up the tool box and placed it on a high shelf near some other ones. His dick was now just hanging lifeless as he finished wiping himself off.

I was still recovering from the wave of heat that had gone through my body. I didn’t know if he would be leaving soon or not, but I pulled myself together and quietly made my way up to the house. The sweat on my forehead was cooling, and I needed to wipe it away. Momma was ironing some clothing in the kitchen. She scolded me about being out so late.

"The devil works his evil under the cover of darkness," she reminded me.

Momma noticed my face and asked if I had been running. My flushed face and pink cheeks were obvious, I guess.

"No," I said, "maybe it was just the cool night air."

I had no interest in arguing with her, so I told her I loved her and would be careful to watch out for the devil. Momma recited some verse about the "foolishness of the innocents."

I went up to my room, replaying in my mind what I had just witnessed. I washed up, crawled into bed, and just laid there. I kept a small nightlight on and continued to replay the whole event over and over again in my head.

Momma had never discussed sex with me. I knew her phrase for it, though. She called it "matrimonial duties." She made it sound like something a wife had to do, just like cleaning the toilet. It was an obligation, a chore, something necessary you have to put up with. I pretty much already knew Momma and Papa probably didn’t have sex anymore. They had separate bedrooms since my older brother had moved out. Momma said it was on account of her bad back. I kind of knew she just didn’t want Papa getting any ideas. To Momma, the children were already born, and there was no need to be "sinning" by just doing things out of lust.

My mind was racing. Was I a deviant or something? Sure, the girls in school all talked about it. Some knew more than others, and of course there were always a couple girls who ended up pregnant before graduation. But this was in the middle of a bible-carrying area. Church-going folks held high moral standards. Even in this day and age, an out-of-wedlock pregnancy around here was still an outrage. True, the school wouldn’t throw you out, but believe you me, the churchgoers would shun any unwed girl carrying a baby around.

"My papa jacking-off," the words were difficult to even say. I had never seen a mature adult dick before, much less one fully erect for sex. Yes, we had computers at school, but they were heavily censored. Momma wouldn’t allow our home computer to be hooked up to the internet. She called the internet "the devil’s playground."

As my mind replayed what I had seen, I found myself again rubbing my hand between my legs. How long had Papa been doing this? Exactly what was in that magazine that interested him so much? This was mind-blowing. My thoughts drifted from excitement and lust to feeling sorry for my papa. Momma’s years of repressive control over our lives had warped all of our outlooks. I guess I didn’t really hate Momma for it, but I was finding it hard to continue to submit to it privately. Still, it was as if I had tasted an addictive drug. I wanted it again and more. Momma was right about one thing. I definitely took from Papa’s side of the family.

The next morning when I awoke, Momma was in the kitchen getting ready to leave. The church ladies were cleaning the floors and windows at the church center. Momma wouldn’t miss this duty. Juicy gossip was the main reason. And if you didn’t show up, they might just be talking about you. Mark, my younger brother, had left for school already, and Papa always left before the crack of dawn. I had the house to myself until eleven, when my shift would start.

The events of the previous evening still played in my head. I couldn’t let it go. "That toolbox." I needed for some reason to see what Papa found so exciting. After Momma left and I had cleaned up my breakfast dishes, I headed down to the shed. I had always loved the smell of the shed. The oils, fuels, and greases combined to fill the place with an aroma that I had long ago begun to associate with my papa. This time I wasn’t going there to be beside him while he worked; it was to pry open some dark, nasty secret he had hidden in there.

The morning dew soiled the toes of my shoes as I made my way to the shed. Everyone in the family knew the location of the key. Papa always kept it between two bricks sitting near the door. It seemed strange somehow to be snooping in a place so familiar. The quiet building was typically full of noise and activity.

My mission today was something I had never thought I would be doing. I located the hidden key on the frame behind the workbench, where I saw him put it. I was tall enough to reach the toolbox and bring it down. I tried to remember every detail as to how it was placed and in what direction. I wasn’t sure if Papa had the location marked so as to know if the box got disturbed or not.

I carried the toolbox to the workbench and turned on a light. When I got the box open, I was stunned. I picked up the top magazine. The worn cover was almost pulling through the staples. The title splashed across it was "Incest with Daughters." The cover was a full-color shot of a dark-haired girl about my age. She was naked. Her legs were spread slightly, and she had her hand partially covering her sex. A much older-looking man was standing nearby, seemingly ready to pounce on her. She appeared to be inviting him to have sex with her. That heartbeat pounding started in my brain again. I flipped open the cover and began to realize the magazine was filled with stories and depictions of father-daughter sex.

My hands were shaking so badly that I had to place the magazine back on the workbench. God almighty! Is this what turned him on—incest? My palms began sweating, and I had to steady myself by pressing against the worktable. I flipped through the first few pages. Each page was filled with picture after picture of girls engaging in intercourse with their fathers. There were pages of text. All seemed to be graphic stories of sex with "Daddy," which I guess were told by the girls, the fathers, or maybe both.

The explicit pictures showed in very clear detail large, stiff dicks pushed up inside the daughters, some so completely that there was no space remaining between their bodies. I felt a trickle of sweat running down the back of my neck. My breathing was in short gasps again. The pounding in my head had reached such a level that I thought my arteries would burst. My legs became weak. I started to read the text of a story about one girl and her affair with her father. She was so vivid in her words as to how fulfilled she was. She detailed the sensation of being fucked by the very cock that had created her. She told of her enjoying the flood of cum being pumped into her body was so detailed that I felt she couldn’t have been making this up.

Seeing the words "cock," "fucked, and "cum" was foreign to me. Sure, I had heard them before and knew what they meant. It’s just that seeing them used so casually in that way, was something I just hadn’t experienced before now.

I initially thought that maybe this was just one magazine. Maybe he had stumbled across it accidentally. But, no, there were more—five or six in total, all on the subject of sex with daughters. All lay neatly stacked in the bottom of the toolbox.

I guess many daughters would be horrified to find something like this. Was Papa really fantasizing about having sex with me? I was shocked, yes, but my body was reacting in such a way that I couldn’t control. The throbbing now seemed to begin as a sensation between my legs. I was wet there. I could not stop myself from seeing and reading more. I needed to sit somewhere, so I looked around.

The recliner was the only option. I took the magazine over, sat back, and started reading another story. The accompanying pictures graphically illustrated the entire story. A young girl, terrified of men, was being shown the ways of sex by her father. She went into great detail about the mind-blowing sensations she felt. My hand again found its way between my legs, and even though I was fully clothed, I could not stop rubbing myself.

Maybe five minutes into this, my eyes blurred, my head snapped back against the recliner, and the most wonderful throbbing sensation flooded through my entire body. I know that I moaned loudly. I was alone, but I still felt ashamed of the racket I was making. The sensation washed me clean of all worries. I felt comfortable and completely numb. I had just had my first sexual orgasm ever.

I remained completely still for several minutes. I ran my hand up and down the armrest. The presence of my papa was there. Probably dried semen remained all around me. I was so content that I didn’t want to get up. I left for work on time, but had a very off day. My manager had to correct several errors I made. He even commented about it too. "Girl, where is your mind today?"

That evening, as I was walking home, I noticed that several of Papa’s buddies had stopped by. They were all down at the shed. The garage door was open, and from a distance, I could tell they all had something in their hands. Momma forbade alcohol. Most families did. This was, in fact, a dry county. Alcohol could not be sold in any store. We all knew men still found a source. As I was spotted, I could see the hurried attempts to finish and hide the evidence. Normally, I would have gone directly to the house. For some reason, though, I decided to crash the party.

I recognized one man. Mr. Evans, his son Kenny, and I had been in many of the same classes in high school. I always liked Kenny and asked Mr. Evans how he was doing now. Mr. Evans said he had taken a job at a local trucking firm. He liked it there. I said I missed seeing him at school and told him where I was working. I told him to have Kenny come by sometime. I missed my old high school friends. I was still in my store clothes and noticed how intently Mr. Evans was studying me. I’m not trying to sound vain, but even with Papa right there, I got the "look."

The "look." There are three of us girls at the grocery store. We somehow started a little game just to break the monotony and to pass the time. If the store manager wasn’t around, we had a little competition going to see who got the most "looks." The game is simple. Whoever gets the most leering stares per week "wins." We don’t mean casual glances. It has to be an out-and-out "mental undressing" look.

I think Tina started this all by casually unbuttoning the top of her blouse anytime a young guy headed into her line. She would often find a reason to lean over and let the guy have a good view down her shirt. Or she would accidentally drop something and have to bend over to pick it up. We all had to witness the "look" and judge it to count. Some of the best have come from married guys with their wives standing right next to them.

It might have been the whiskey or the shine that they were drinking, but, yeah, Mr. Evans had given me the "look" alright. I flirted for a while. I think Papa was even a little shocked at how I seemed to be throwing myself out there. The men all had that glazed look in their eyes. I finally had to excuse myself and head up to the house. I knew Momma was probably wondering what I was doing also.

That evening, after Momma had gone to bed, I noticed Papa quietly slipping outside. I went into the kitchen and watched him head in the direction of the shed. I waited until I saw the light come on through the door. Once he was inside, I quietly left the house also. I walked to the shed, went around back as before, and found that sure enough, he was at it again. I stood in the darkness as he settled back in the recliner and again picked up the magazine.

This time he had a mason jar bottle just within arms' reach. I guess that one of his friends had left it there. He took several long swigs of the clear liquid, one right after the other. He settled in and worked his trousers to his knees. In just a few moments, my thoughts were bouncing between how sad this was and just how turned on I was. This wasn’t right! Momma had sentenced Papa to a life of secretly sneaking off alone to get some satisfaction.

If a man marries someone, he should have the right to expect some physical interaction with his wife. Between touching myself and feeling sad for Papa. I was a mess. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided it wasn’t right. I couldn’t just stand there watching someone I loved in this kind of situation. Yes, I knew it was wrong, and I really hadn’t thought this through all the way, but I had to do something. Damn it, I had to do something; I just couldn’t watch his misery.

I guess if I had thought about it more I wouldn’t have done it, but I walked around to the other side by the door and knocked firmly. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say or do. And then I began to panic. What would I say? What would I do? I almost turned to run away.

Then, I heard the latch inside unhook. The door sort of flew open. The light kind of blinded me. I stood there looking at Papa. His face was flushed. The liquor had taken effect. He looked bewildered as to what I was up to.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

Papa had a surprised look on his face. He stood still, as if he had not understood the question. I sort of just pushed by him. As I passed him, he had the distinct odor of the alcohol about him. He must have quickly hidden the magazine and the rest of the booze. I walked in and sort of stood there, trying to think of something to say. I was looking at the recliner. The imprint on the seat hadn’t even left yet. Papa began to say something but stopped as I walked over and sat in the recliner. I think he was uncomfortable seeing me sitting right where he had just been jacking-off. Maybe the magazine and booze were still nearby. Whatever!

Papa sort of stumbled over to where I was sitting. He stood right in front of me, looking down. I noticed something I hadn’t seen as I walked in. His zipper was still down. The bulge in his crotch was still noticeable too. I think in his hurry to hide things, he simply forgot to pull up his fly. His erection hadn’t had time to soften either.

"Papa, I need to talk to you about something," I said.

"I know what you have been doing out here, and I know why," I said, looking up at him.

Papa’s face seemed to lose color. He immediately began to stammer, trying to put something into words. I pointed to his open fly. He looked down at the visible bulge. His attempt to zip up was far too late to hide his oblivious guilt. I tried to ease his embarrassment by shifting the subject to be about Momma.

"Momma is wrong to force you to be this way," I said.

He seemed hesitant about saying anything more. A misspoken word here and he would have confirmed his guilt. Even under the influence of the liquor, he was still trying to find a way out of this.

"No grown man ought to have to do this," I said, "Alone."

Papa hadn’t moved. As if something were guiding my hand, I reached out and placed my hand right on top of the bulge in his crotch. He batted my hand away instantly. Again, I put it back, firmly this time. Our eyes met. His glazed stare was a look of utter shame. I thought he might even begin to cry. I didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling. The world seemed to stop. Even the crickets chirping outside seemed to hold their breath. Papa exhaled noticeably. He was totally out of excuses. His resistance now completely faded.

Papa’s head was slumped. He could no longer look at me. This awkward moment dragged on with neither of us knowing exactly what to do now. I guessed I had started this, and I felt I should do something. My fingers began pulling at his belt. I noticed that in his hurry to buckle it, he had even gotten it in the wrong hole. He sucked in his stomach and allowed me to peel open the front. I pulled his jeans to his knees. I reached back up and slid his boxers down revealing his now limp cock. It unfolded and dropped, hanging loose and as sorry as it could have been.

I felt no hesitation, guilt, or shame. I leaned forward, grabbed him by the hips, and pulled him in close. Using only my tongue, I sucked his cock right into my mouth. I held his hips and began pulling at him, first in and then away. His cock didn’t take long to come alive again. I knew what the Bible called this. It was incest! I knew there were more than a few references to it. Several Old Testament kings were reported to have had children with their daughters. Yet, they were "saved." I realized those were different times, but the sin was the same. My mind began to try to justify this. Maybe it wasn’t incest unless you actually had intercourse? Would Papa be satisfied with just a sucking-off? Would it be less of a sin anyway?

I didn’t know exactly what Papa would like, so I just kept switching things up. I’d suck for a while, taking him deep into my mouth. Then, I’d tilt my head and use my tongue some. Once he was fully hard again, I used just my tongue to lick at his ball sack. I’d flick the tip of my tongue around just the tip of his cock and watch as it bounced. Papa’s cock was now standing stiff and proud. He would groan every time I tapped his cock with my wet tongue. Papa placed his hands on the top of my head and guided my movements. I just stopped thinking about anything. The feeling of having that much warm cock in my mouth was totally absorbing.

In some way, knowing we were severely sinning somehow added to the intensity of the act. It did occur to me that this might be the first blow-job my papa had ever gotten. Mamma certainly would have never done anything deviant like this for him. We were maybe fifteen minutes into this, and I was thinking about what I was going to do when he would want to cum. We both seemed to be just going along with our natural instincts at this point.

Soon, though, I could feel his need. I couldn’t see just letting it spurt all over the place. I didn’t want to insult him either, so I just kept my mouth on his cock. He began to groan. I probably winced a couple times, more out of being unsure than anything else. A couple of strong spurts hit the back of my mouth. I felt the warm flow of liquid pouring into my mouth. It wasn’t a bad taste; it was more like warm dinner gravy.

In the magazine that I had read earlier that morning, one girl described it as fulfilling. I couldn’t find any issue with it either, so I just let it fill my mouth. I knew we were both sinning, and Momma would have said we would be "damned forever."

As that girl had described, having the very juice that had created you flowing back into you was mind-blowing. I came too. My body began to react and that heat had rolled up through me again. I was still holding a full load of cum in my mouth when my body convulsed four or five times. My head spun, and I nearly blacked out. The glow from the heat removed every other feeling from me. I rested my head back against the back of the recliner and let the load of cum slide down my throat. Papa stood over me, watching as I enjoyed the sensation.

It took me several minutes before I felt like getting up. Papa wobbled more than a few times.

I stood up, and still with the taste of him in my mouth, I kissed him on the cheek. I didn’t say a word as I left the shed and headed up to the house. I cleaned up and went to bed. I had not slept that soundly in a long time. The next morning, the sun seemed to welcome the most glorious morning ever.

Some of this might have been a rebellion against my upbringing at first, but soon I discovered that I had needs too. The life of constantly denying my desires was not something I wanted to do. I thought this was the most wickedly exhilarating thing I had ever done.

So that is how we carried on for a couple years. Whenever Papa got horny, I would satisfy his needs. We both found it was the most releasing thing we could do for each other. We never fucked, though. Although, I did begin to remove my tops and let Papa play with my titties.

Early on with my papa, I discovered something that I could do. I didn’t even know it was even a thing. I just could. All the times I let Papa cum in my mouth, never once did I choke on it. It wasn’t something I willfully practiced or anything, but I could literally take things right into my throat without choking on them. I didn’t know if it was some defect in me from some early childhood illness or what, but I don’t choke, and Papa wasn’t small either.

Only two other people knew I had this talent: Tina and Becky from the grocery store where I worked. One day, when we were short on help, the manager had the three of us help unload a shipment of vegetables. We were back in the storage area, filling carts to transport to the front of the store. Tina picked up a long cucumber and started waving it at me. Becky egged her on by trying to hold my shoulders still from behind me. They pretended the cucumber to be a guy’s dick, and she started poking it at my face. No one else was around, and for some reason I opened my mouth and dared her that I could take it. One thing led to another and soon we had a bet on; five dollars from each of them, if I was able to get the whole cucumber into my throat. I did it! It hurt like hell, because it didn’t bend to my throat, but I got the whole thing in my mouth and closed my teeth; "Easiest ten dollars ever."

When Papa came, I would always lie back in the recliner and let him release his load. Papa would cradle my head just before he’d cum. I’d let his dick just slip back into my throat and spurt away. He seemed to get a huge kick out of this, so that is how he usually liked to finish. I never even gave it much thought. When he pulled out, I’d lick his dick clean. Often, I wouldn’t even rinse my mouth afterwards. I’d head back to my room and drift off to sleep with the taste of cum still present in my mouth. It became almost like a tonic. After a time, my body craved it. I slept better and more relaxed with it. I’m not saying it was completely because of the cum, but maybe just the whole experience was satisfying to me. If Momma didn’t want it, I’d have it.

Momma would have thrown us both out of the house had she ever caught us, for this had to be the most unforgivable sin ever. You know, somewhere in this, I figured that, really, once you are damned forever, what is the point of stopping now? Papa had needs, and I found that I did too. We satisfied each other, and that’s it.
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