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My loving abajaan Part 1

My Loving Abbajaan (Father, adult daughter) Searching for Mr. Right doesn’t always lead to him. Sometimes Mr. Right is Mr. Wrong, and sometimes Mr. Right was there all along in the last place we would have looked. I got married early, to a guy I thought I was in love with. I became pregnant almost immediately, and had a beautiful baby girl. For the first couple of years my marriage was perfect, but then my Basheer, my husband, lost his job. He began to drink heavily, and the bills went unpaid. He began to get angry and sullen, and started snarling and cursing me at the slightest provocation. Then, one day, he hit me. It was only a slap, but sent me flying back against the wall.

From then on every time he was around me I walked on eggshells, fearful and worried. Several more times he hit me. At first they were slaps, then he started punching me. I left him and took my daughter, Anita, home to live with my father. Abbajaan was happy to put us up. He still had the big house me and my five brothers and sisters had grown up in, and since we’d all left, and Mom had died, I guess he was a little lonely there. Abbajaan and I hadn’t been especially close when I was growing up. He was always working, doing lots of overtime to support us all, and when he did have spare time I guess he mostly spent it with my brothers. Going from the constant menace and fear that I had lived with to my Abbajaan’s house was an overwhelming relief.

Living with Basheer, even though he hadn’t actually hit me that much, had reduced me to a kind of fearful mouse, afraid of saying the slightest thing that would cause him to get angry. Now I was home. Safe. I had the big old house to be alone with Ann, and I had my Abbajaan to look after me. I think that I was so timid and jittery from my time with Basheer that I went out of my way to be nice to my father, insisting on doing the dishes and housework, scurrying to meet his every need. I felt so safe there, and so grateful to him, that my love for him just seemed to grow and grow, and I often hugged him just from sheer happiness. I even took to slipping onto his lap now and then, kind of reliving my girlhood days. Only now I had Abbajaan all to myself, and he had more time for me. He didn’t work overtime any more, and would come home promptly at five thirty.

I greeted him at the door, kissing and hugging him, and having his dinner ready. One day I was wearing a thin summer dress. It was one of those flowery things, with spaghetti straps over the shoulders to hold the top up. I had no bra under it, but my breasts were firm and round, and not really big, so I didn’t really need one. I hugged Abbajaan when he came home and he had his dinner, then I cleaned up the dishes. I was hot, and I was being especially nice to him because I wanted to suggest that he get an air conditioner. I was acting just the way I used to as a kid, I guess, buttering up the old man to get my way. After I’d cleaned everything I went into the bathroom and checked my hair. I gave my blonde locks a few more brushes, setting the bangs just right so I looked sweet and cute, then went out into the living room. “Abbajaan?” I asked. “Yes, honey?” I slid onto his lap and he brought his arm around behind my back as I rubbed my head against his shoulder a little. “What now?” he asked, his voice sounding a little amused. “What do you mean?” I asked, all innocence.

“When you use that tone of voice and start acting like a big eyed puppy I know you want something,” he snorted. “But I love you,” I pouted. I shifted myself a little, putting an arm over his shoulder, and it was then I felt something hard against my ass. I blinked in surprise, for I knew he had a hard-on. At first I was shocked, but then a whole bunch of feelings swirled around in my head. First, I felt an amazed delight, that I had managed to make him hard like that without even trying. I guess that was the lund-tease in me. Then there was the understanding that since my mom had died five years ago he must’ve not had any sex. As for me, I considered sex almost irrelevant. I had been taught it was something you pretty much had to do for your man, and the best thing you could do was to relax and hope it didn’t hurt too much. Sex with Basheer had always been rough and fast.

He’d get on and hump away for four or five minutes, then roll off with a sigh and go to sleep. I’d heard about orgasms, but never had one on my own. I was so naive I hadn’t even masturbated. Like I said, it wasn’t that I thought sex was dirty or shocking or nasty…just…unimportant. Shrug. But I loved Abbajaan so much then, that I was delighted that he was getting a hard-on. I hardly had to think for a second to realize that he would probably like to fuck me. Even Basheer at his drunkest had liked fucking me. So I got a kind of wicked smile on my face as I felt my Abbajaan’s hard-on pressing into my ass. I rubbed myself deliberately against him, and kind of turned a little, to press my breasts right into his chest and rub them there. “Abbajaan, I was wondering,” I cooed. “Why can’t we have air conditioning?” “That again,” he sighed, licking his lips. “It don’t cost that much,” I whined. “It’s not necessary.

We hardly ever get the heat that bad.” “Maybe you think so,” I sniffed. “The heat is plenty bad enough for me.” “It’s a waste of money,” he said. “Pleeeease?” I kissed him on the cheek, then on the neck, then on the cheek again. “Saloni,” he said, his voice a little husky. “Your kinda my man, aren’t you Abbajaan?” I asked, all wide eyed innocence. “Huh?” “Well, the man is supposed to provide for his woman.” “You’re not my woman. You’re my daughter.” “Right now I’m your woman,” I said. “I cook for you, and clean the house, annnnnnd, I could do…other things for you.” I ran my hand over his broad chest, then kissed him on the lips. He drew back in surprise, swallowing nervously. “Saloni,” he said warningly. “I’m not a little girl, Abbajaan,” I said. “I’m a grown woman.” “Well you ain’t acting like it.” “Sure I am,” I grinned. “That’s why you’re getting all hot and bothered.” “What? I…” I slid my hand down and squeezed his lund gently, and heard his breath inhale sharply. “Saloni! Stop that! Get off!” He tried to push me off but I held onto him.

I put my arms around him and hugged him tight, clinging to him as he tried to put me off. “Saloni, you do as I say!” “Abbajaan,” I said, raising my eyes to his and looking at him firmly. “I know what men need. You’re a man, and I’m a grown woman.” I gripped his wrist, pulling his hand from my arm and placing it against my left breast. At first he jerked it back, but I leaned forward against him, pushing my breast into his hand. His lund throbbed beneath me, and his eyes stared down at my chest as his hand shook against my tittie. I reached behind my back and untied the spaghetti string and the front of the light dress fell down, exposing my breasts. He gasped and licked his lips, and I had to take his hand again and press it against my naked breast. I was kind of feeling hot too, though I seldom did with Basheer.