Dad straightened me up

After I turned fourteen, everything shifted. Jenni and I had been best friends since we were little—she lived three blocks away, and we’d bike to each other’s houses every summer. That year, something in the air changed. Our bodies were waking up, and we didn’t know what to do with the heat that pooled between our legs.

At first, we both had boyfriends. Mine was Derek, a junior with a lazy smile and hands that always found their way to my waist. Jenni’s was Marcus, a quiet guy who’d hold her hand during movies. They were nice enough, but as the months passed, we started comparing notes. Derek would push for more than I wanted, then pout when I said no. Marcus would get jealous if Jenni talked to other guys. They weren’t gentle the way we were with each other.

I broke up with Derek first. It was a Tuesday after school. He’d tried to finger me in his Dad's car, but he was rough, pinching instead of stroking, and when I told him to stop, he called me a tease. I dumped him right there. Jenni was waiting at my house when I got home, and I told her everything. She hugged me, and I felt her breasts press against mine, and a jolt went through my clit. I ignored it.

A few weeks later, Jenni and I started hanging out with Marcus together. We’d let him kiss both of us, touch us over our clothes. It felt safe because we were together. I let him fuck me once, in his basement, while Jenni watched. It was awkward—and he came too fast. But having Jenni’s eyes on me, her hand on my thigh, that was what made it hot.

Then he let his buddy Ray suck his cock. Jenni found out through a text. She was furious, crying, and I held her. That night, we broke up with him too. But our libido was still high. We were frustrated, horny, and didn’t want boys anymore.

It started as a joke. We were in her bedroom, studying for a biology test, and I mentioned how hard it was to concentrate with the memory of her hand on my thigh. She laughed, but her eyes got dark. “We could just… help each other till we get new boyfriends,” she said. My heart hammered. I nodded.

She leaned in first. Her lips were soft, tentative. I kissed her back, and our tongues met. It was nothing like kissing a boy—softer, sweeter, more patient. Her hand slid up my shirt, and I moaned into her mouth. We broke apart, and she whispered, “Can I see you?” I pulled off my shirt. She did the same. Her breasts were perfect—round, with pink nipples that hardened when I touched them. I leaned down and sucked one, and she gasped, arching her back.

That first time, we only used mouths. I kissed down her stomach, over her belly button, until I reached the waistband of her jeans. She lifted her hips, and I pulled them down. Her panties were already wet. I slid them off and saw her pussy for the first time—neatly trimmed dark hair, slick lips parted. At least she had started growing hair down there unlike my hairless mound. I was nervous. But I wanted to taste her. I spread her open with my fingers and licked from her asshole to her clit. She cried out, grabbing my hair.

I learned what she liked quickly: long, slow strokes of my tongue up her slit, then flicks over her clit. When I sucked the little nub into my mouth, she came, her thighs clamping around my head, her cum sweet on my tongue. Then she pushed me onto my back and returned the favor. Her mouth was better than any boy’s cock. She knew exactly where to lick, how hard to suck. I came in under a minute, shaking.

Then we discovered fingers. She’d slide two inside me while her thumb rubbed my clit, curling up to hit that spot that made me see stars. I did the same to her, feeling her inner walls clench around my fingers. We learned each other’s rhythms.

Our favorite was rubbing pussies together. We’d lie face-to-face, legs intertwined, pressing our wet cunts against each other. The friction was incredible—her clit grinding on mine, our juices mixing. We’d hump like that for minutes, building toward a shared orgasm, our moans filling the room.

At first, it was just for fun, an experiment. But soon we were doing it almost every day. I’d go over to her place after school, her parents still at work. We’d spread our textbooks on the bed but end up naked within ten minutes. We’d study with my head between her thighs, or she’d ride my face while I recited history dates. It became routine, natural. This was how lesbians did it, I realized. I am not as straight as I thought. This was love. I was dating my friend and I had to admit it. Before I spoke to her, I decided to come out to my own family.

One evening, at dinner, I told my family. Mom had made spaghetti, Dad was reading the paper, and my brother was texting under the table. I took a breath and said, “I have something to say.”

Mom looked up, smiling. “What is it, honey?”

“I’m a lesbian.”

Silence. The fork clinked against my plate.

Mom’s face lit up. She got up and hugged me. “I’m so proud of you for telling us,” she said, and I felt her hand on my back. My brother grinned and said, “Cool, that’s awesome. At least we are diverse.”

But Dad set down the paper. His jaw was tight. “No,” he said.

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, no?”

He slammed his hand on the table. “You’re not. You’re too young to know that. It’s just a phase. Those urges are wrong, and you’re going to regret this.” His eyes were hard. “You will not be doing that under my roof. We are traditional and that is how it will always be.”

I felt my face burn. Mom tried to calm him, saying, “Robert, she’s our daughter. We support her.” But he wasn’t listening. He pointed at me. “You need to stop hanging out with that girl. It’s disgusting.”

I stood up, tears welling. “It’s not disgusting. It’s love.” I ran to my room, slammed the door, and threw myself on the bed. A minute later, my mom came in, sat beside me. “He’ll come around,” she said softly. “Give him time.”

I didn’t believe her. But I knew one thing: Jenni was waiting for me tomorrow at her house, and nothing he said would keep me away from her pussy, her tongue, her hands. I was a lesbian. And I wasn’t going to hide.

The next morning, I woke up with a hollow ache in my chest. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and I was still wearing the shirt dress I’d slept in—loose, pale blue cotton, no panties underneath. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I hadn’t moved when Mom knocked and said she was leaving for work, or when my brother yelled goodbye through the door. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying Dad’s words from last night. Disgusting. Wrong. A phase.

But I wasn’t crying. I was just mad.

The house fell silent. I heard the front door click shut around 9 a.m., and I stayed in bed, thighs pressed together, thinking about Jenni. The way she tasted. The way her fingers curled inside me. The way her clit would grind against mine until we both came, gasping into each other’s mouths. My pussy got wet just remembering, a slow drip that soaked the fabric under me. I squeezed my thighs tighter.

Then I heard it—a car pulling into the driveway. Tires on gravel. Engine cut off. My heart lurched. It was too early for anyone else. I scrambled off the bed, ran to the window, and saw Dad’s sedan. He was home. Why was he home?

I darted back to my bed, pulled the covers up to my chin, and tried to look like I’d been asleep or sulking. Silent. I heard the front door open, his keys clatter on the hall table, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. They stopped outside my door. A pause. Then the door swung open.

He stood there in his work slacks and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. His face was different from last night—softer, maybe a little guilty. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of my bed. The mattress dipped.

“Sorry, baby,” he said quietly. “I overreacted. I think you’re too young to decide such things, that’s all. I love you.”

I stared at him. A part of me wanted to stay angry. “Daddy,” I said, my voice small, “Jenni makes me feel good. Way better than how the boys made me feel.”

He frowned, but not in anger. Worry, maybe. “Baby, you’ll find better boys. They’ll make you feel good too. Just be patient.”

I shook my head. “No, Dad. I like rubbing my pussy with Jenni. It feels so good, Dad. You won’t understand.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You… rub pussies?”

“Yes.” I said it firmly, watching his face. “We kiss. We finger each other. We suck each other. All of it.”

He stared at me for a long moment. His eyes darkened, and his breathing changed—slower, deeper. “Baby,” he said, his voice rough, “I never knew you were so naughty.”

“Daddy, I’m not naughty. I just like…” I trailed off, embarrassed.

“What do you like?” he prompted, leaning closer.

“I like to feel good.”

He reached out and cupped my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip. Then he leaned in and kissed me—on the mouth. Soft at first, then pressing harder. I froze, but my body responded before my mind could catch up. My lips parted, and his tongue slipped inside. It was warm, tasted like coffee. He pulled the blanket down.

“Daddy can make you feel good too,” he whispered against my lips. “You don’t have to be a lesbian for that.”

He pushed the blanket off completely, and I was exposed in my thin shirt dress, which had ridden up to my hips. He looked down at my thighs, then gently parted them. A gleam of wetness shone between my legs, slick and clear. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been dripping just from talking about Jenni.

He lowered his head. His tongue touched my clit, and I gasped. He licked slowly at first, tasting me, then more urgently. His tongue worked my slit from bottom to top, circling the little nub, flicking it. I moaned, grabbing his hair. It felt different from Jenni—his tongue was broader, rougher, more insistent. He sucked my clit into his mouth and I cried out, my hips bucking against his face. Within minutes I was cumming, my whole body shaking, a rush of warm pleasure flooding through me.

I lay there panting, shocked. None of the boys had ever done that. None of them had even tried.

He lifted his head, his chin glistening. “Does it feel like how Jenni does it?”

I nodded, still breathless.

He stood and unbuckled his belt, sliding his slacks and boxers down to his knees. His cock stood thick and hard, the head red and swollen. I stared at it. He moved closer, positioning himself at my eye level.

“Daddy’s going to show you that you aren’t a lesbian,” he said.

I nodded again, not wanting to think, just wanting to feel. He guided his cock to my mouth, and I opened. I licked the head first—salty, musky—then took it in. He groaned as I sucked, my tongue tracing the vein along the underside. I tried to remember what I did for Derek. I wrapped my fingers around the base though it couldn't fit around the cock and I worked my mouth up and down.

He pulled out after a minute. “Enough. I want to be inside you.”

He pushed me back on the bed and spread my legs. The head of his cock pressed against my wet opening, and then he entered me. I gasped at the stretch—he was bigger than any boy I’d had—but I was so slick it slid in without pain.

"Mmh so tight baby." He fucked me slow and deep, each thrust reaching far inside, hitting a spot I’d never felt before. I moaned loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard.

“Oh, Daddy…”

His pace was steady, deliberate. He watched my face, my tits bouncing under the shirt dress. I felt another orgasm building, and this time it crashed over me hard, my inner walls clenching around his cock. I came with a long cry, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He slowed but didn’t stop. “What do you think, baby? Are you still a lesbian?”

“Daddy, just fuck me,” I begged.

He grinned and picked up the pace, harder now. Slamming into me, the bed frame knocking against the wall. I came again, a third time, coating his dick with my cum. It was too much, but I didn’t want it to stop.

Then he pulled out, his face red. He stroked himself twice, three times, and came on my mound as he grunt in pleasure —hot ropes of cum landing on my skin, dripping down my slit. He collapsed beside me, panting.

I lay there, chest heaving, his cum cooling on my belly. “It feels so good, Daddy,” I whispered.

He turned and kissed me, messy and deep. Then he got up, grabbed a towel from my closet, and cleaned himself. He wiped my stomach and pussy with gentle strokes.

“Baby, leave your door open when you sleep tonight,” he said, tucking his shirt back in. “I’ll come in later.”

I nodded, still dazed. He left, and I stared at the ceiling. My pussy was sore and satisfied. But my thoughts drifted to Jenni. How could I explain this to her? How could I tell her that my father had given me three orgasms and made me cum on his cock?

I didn’t know. But I wanted Jenni to experience this too. I wanted her to feel what I felt. So she could understand.