Eat, Sleep, Masturbate

      Yorum yok Eat, Sleep, Masturbate

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_This is a work of fiction. I’ve mapped this in my mind as a multi-part story. We’ll see if I get there. Though I write for my own enjoyment, I am grateful you’ve stopped by and perhaps chosen to spend some time with my writing._

_And the usual disclaimer: All characters are 18 years of age or older. And no animals were harmed in the creation of this story._

= = = = = = = =

I shuffled to the kitchen. Abundant mid-morning sun poured through the windows and patio doors. I could feel the heat of the day already, but a light breeze swirling through the house encouraged me as it slid around my body; the stone floors were cool beneath my feet.

“Morning, Dad,” I said, retrieving a coffee cup from the cabinet.

“Good morning, Alex,” my dad replied brightly, looking over the edge of his bifocals, his head still tipped toward the newspaper spread across the kitchen table. “Sleep well?”

“Yup,” I answered in a curt teenaged way as I poured coffee. I turned and asked, “You?” A subtle jolt shot through me as I leaned my bare skin against the countertop. I lifted my cup to my lips, pulling the brew’s fragrance into my lungs.

“Yes, I did,” my dad replied. Lifting his cup, he asked, “Can you give me a top-up?”

I twisted to grab the pot from the coffeemaker. “What time did you get up?” I asked.

“A little before seven, I’d hazard. You slept in….” His voice trailed as I padded to him.

“Nah, I’ve been up for a bit,” I informed as I approached the table.

“Ah! Masturbating, I take it?” He inquired matter-of-factly.

“You know me too well,” I confirmed in equal candor, pouring his refill.

Growing up, my dad went out of his way to build a strong relationship with me. Traveling heavily for business, he made sure to call me every night to talk, surely fighting bitterly against jet lag and time zones to do so. But it set a solid foundation where we could talk about anything. He and my mom recently parted ways, and he bought himself a little place near the tropics. Now retired, it’s a place where he can spend, as he puts it, six Saturdays and a Sunday lounging nude; hot much of the year, and being on his own, he had no use for clothes.

He embraced a simple pragmatism in this house and encouraged me to adopt it. Myself a 19 year old simmering exhibitionist, I adored being nude, and grateful that my dad gave me space to engage and explore. He also saw no reason for erections to be hidden or suppressed. He maintained they’re a natural function of a man’s body and didn’t believe that a penis becoming erect is in any way inappropriate, let alone shameful. When erections happen in pants, one doesn’t scurry off, so to do so when an erection happens in the nude seemed absurd, he reasoned. Living nude was heavenly but being able to stroll through the house erect, since I found myself hard more often than not, without misgivings was magical. I was relieved that I didn’t have to wait for my morning erection to subside before leaving my bedroom. In truth, I loved the the feel and sight of my hard cock swaying as I walked; the sensations of walking with my loins engorged was elating.

Listening to our bodies was another of his ideals. He believed the body’s perfect design and rhythms superior to the construct of the clock. Eat when you’re hungry; sleep when you’re tired. Further, my dad concluded that sexual urges are no different than any other, so he drew this to a logical extension: if you’re desirous, masturbate. If the urge was unavoidable — or if you just wanted to indulge — there was freedom to do so, wherever, whenever. One doesn’t sneak off to a special room to eat in secret, so why should one feel compelled to do so to masturbate? I don’t know if this was a concession to me, being nude and commonly wound-up, but I cherished this freedom; I was grateful that I wasn’t going to spend most of my time in my bathroom.

Dad did have two steadfast rules within these house latitudes: One, please use proper terms. He loathed slang and nicknames. A nose is a nose; a finger, a finger; so a penis is a penis, he would say. I did finally get him to concede that slang was acceptable aksaray escort in the “throes of passion.” But he also advised not to underestimate the power of the proper terms, revealing that some of the best sex he ever had was the night his first wife begged him, “Penetrate me…now!” I saw his point.

Number Two: Please use a towel and be mindful. Masturbating anywhere is permitted; secretion stains on the furniture are not.

“Am I correct in thinking you didn’t ejaculate?” He sought.

“Yeah, you’re right, but how can you tell?” I asked curiously as I finished pouring.

“Your penis says all.” He dropped his glance and pointed: a pendulum of crystalline precum swayed from the tip of my penis, which was flaccid but still weighty with tumescence. My dusky glans had a patchy patina of dried secretions. I should be more enlightened by my dad’s house rules, but I confess: I loved when my dad acknowledged my penis so directly, especially about something as primal as its — and my — sexuality; it sent voltage through me that surged into my cock. (My dad mandated proper terms, but I preferred slang in my internal dialog.) It stirred and plumped.

“Ah!” I exclaimed at the discovery. Thinking nothing of it, I caught the tear on the tip of my index finger and prudently smeared it on my thigh.

The coffee carafe replaced, I returned to the table. I unfolded a kitchen towel across the chair and sat, feeling the tip of my cock graze along the fabric as I did.

I grabbed a section of the newspaper, mindfully turning the pages. My penis’ scuff along the towel fanned the spark within; I could feel it thicken and lengthen. The heat of the day and the light breeze dancing around my lengthening cock heightened my awareness of my own nudity. And sharing my nudity with someone else, including my own dad, was exhilarating. I was yearningly erect in no time.

Like a moth to the flame, my left index finger was lightly caressing the taut, smooth skin on the side of my torrid erection as I attempted to read the news. My face tightened and electrified as my caressing became more profound. My finger brushed against the bloated ridge of my glans; my cock shuddered. A rivulet of precum glided along the underside of my shaft, pausing and cooling on the contracting skin of my scrotum. I leaned back in my chair, abandoning the newspaper for the feeling of my fingers gently soothing my urgent cock.

The phone shattered the serenity and my spell. My dad and I looked at each other silently for a pause, eyes locked. The phone rang again. “I’ll get it,” I acquiesced.

“Hello? … Oh, hey, Diana. How are you?” Diana is my half-sister, a product of my dad’s first marriage. 23 years older than me, I wasn’t particularly close with her. I chatted cordially with her, lightly tugging at my pubic hair as I leaned against the arm of the family room sofa. “Cool. … Yeah, well, you know — gettin’ wide in dad’s rad bachelor pad … Yeah, hold on a sec.” I extended the phone to my dad, mouthing, “It’s Diana.”

My dad’s demeanor turned especially warm and soft, joyed to be talking with his eldest. My erection likewise softened, but I was still in a hungrily erotic mood. I strode to my room, retrieved a vintage Penthouse from a treasury that my father had given me, and returned to the kitchen table. I folded the paper and slid it under my father’s stack; my erection hovered imposingly as I leaned over the table.

I turned the pages slowly, delighting in it all — the photos, the contours, the textures, the letters, the stories, the concepts, the conceits. With each turn, my cock distended; a particularly delicious photo or vivid letter would make my cock twitch and pulse. Occasionally I’d deliberately contract my muscles, making my cock bloat and seek and dispense more precum. I resisted touching myself, my denial fostering a smoldering edge. Blood pounded in my head. My prostate, congested and suffering, became uncomfortable to sit on. My dad’s phone conversation drifted into the ether as I lost myself in the magazine’s wonderland. I was at a tipping point.

“OK, Di. That anadolu yakası escort sounds great. … I love you, too.”

My dad wrapping his phone conversation pulled me out of the moment.

“So what’s up with Diana?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. A ’70s porn model stretched across my side of the table; my cock strained, pointing at the underside, crying for relief. I could feel my face was flush.

Setting the cordless phone down purposefully on the table, he delighted in the news that my sister had found a new job, but she had arranged herself a couple of weeks off between the end of her current job and the start of her new.

“Uh huh,” I said, standing to take the phone back to its cradle. My cock, in angry hues of red and dusty purple, pulsed in beat with my heart.

“Her last day was a few days ago, and she said she’d like to come a visit for about a week. Which I think is a great idea. It’ll be nice to see her, and I think it’ll be good for you two to spend some time together. I think it will be good for you both,” my dad posited.

“Oh? Why’s that?” I queried.

“Well, I’d like to see the two of you build some bonds. And I think you’ll like having her here.”

“Uh huh,” I cautiously affirmed.

“She enjoyed being nude herself when she was your age.”

“Oh!” I don’t know why, but I was taken aback. I really shouldn’t have been surprised — a different child of the same father — but I was. I guess the thought never occurred to me. The news did cause the color to drain from my face; it also caused the blood to rush to my cock.

“I had no idea.”

“Indeed. To be sure, it was rare for a girl, especially in that era,” my dad continued, “but her mother and I tried to make it nurturing and safe, and she took to it. She’s continued to live her life thus, and I don’t foresee her abandoning it for her visit.”

“Oh, OK. Cool,” I said with cool detachment.

“And since it’s just family, I’ll reassure her to go nude here too. I think she’ll oblige.”

“Great,” I continued, trying to be intellectual about it. “When’s she due in?”

“Oh! OK,” I answered pleasantly, without trying to sound too eager.

But my body betrayed my indifference: my cock shuttered and belched a dollop of semen that splatted audibly on the tile.

“That was the reaction I was expecting,” my dad said, pointing at my quivering erection.

“You want me to be aroused by my half-sister?” I asked quizzically.

“No, but let’s not be obtuse with false dismay: I think you’re naturally going to find yourself aroused by a nude woman here at the house. And I don’t expect you, nor would I demand you, to stifle your body’s design when you find a nude woman sensual and arousing, even if she is your sister. So let’s just acknowledge it and accept it. And your semen leak just then, particularly because you haven’t ejaculated properly yet, just affirms this is the wiser course. Now that doesn’t absolve you of your manners and courtesy. But my guess is that her being here nude will make you denying your sexuality challenging, if not impossible. So if she arouses you, be aroused. Just be honest about it.”

“Does she know about the house rules we have?” I asked as I squatted to sop my seed of the floor with my towel.

“Well, the house rules when she was 19 were not much different from what they are for you.”

“Oh?” I was genuinely curious. I grabbed a fresh towel from the kitchen island for my chair and sat.

“Yes. Now, being female, obviously erections weren’t an issue for her when she was nude at home,” my dad admitted lightheartedly. I laughed.

“Did you allow ’round-the-house masturbation for her?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered. My cock surged at the reply.

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“It was a different era, to be sure. But her mother and I encouraged her to learn and be comfortable with her body and not ashamed of it in any way. So, like you, we didn’t see a need for her to sneak off to masturbate if the mood struck. We wanted her to celebrate her sexual identity and sexuality, so we fostered the ataköy escort freedom for her to explore her body and be comfortable in it and with it. And that included masturbation.”

“And she was comfortable with that?”

“She took to it with more ease than I anticipated,” he said with a lightness. “With us all nude at home, she got comfortable being nude herself, with being nude around others, being nude around a man. Her mother taught her some techniques to better understand her body and what might heighten her pleasure.” My cock trembled; precum drooled down my shaft. “And 19 year olds are pretty similar, regardless of gender or, dare I say, era, so she was indulging frequently,” my dad confessed with a chuckle, reminiscing. “She always seemed to have her hand attached to her vulva,” he revealed, his mind clearly recalling those days. Through the glass top I could see my dad idly caressing his own penis. I had wistfully surmised some time ago that my dad, a man well into his sixties who ate (and drank and smoked) like a man that age, was impotent. While visibly unresponsive, there was something endearing in seeing that caressing his own penis still brought him pleasure.

My fingers enveloped my superheated cock, slathering the copious precum along my shaft and across my frenulum, which felt exquisite.

“Now that she’s in her forties, I imagine she’s only more comfortable with her body,” my dad exclaimed with glee. My mind swirled at the possibly of my sister nude, masturbating around the house. My cock concurred, convulsing in my grasp.

My dad confirmed my prurience: “So, frankly, I don’t see you two not masturbating together. I think you both will find that quite rewarding.”

That thought short-circuited me. Adrenaline lightninged through my veins. My cock jittered uncontrollably in my hand.

“Holy shit, dad,” I croaked as I looked at him. My back arched as I gave my cock three erratic strokes. My dad sat back in his chair.

I could feel my orgasm roiling deep within. My dad’s words reverberated in my head as I watched him care for his cock out of the corner of my eye. My ass clenched, pushing my cock through my encircling grasp. I relented for a beat. In the pause, I growled, “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“I thought you might,” he admitted.

An orgasmic shockwave shattered throughout me. My cock heaved, violently expelling a rope of semen that flew across my torso, splashing on my chest and left shoulder. The second shot blasted past my navel. Subsequent spasms pushed out more of my opaline gel, which poured down my shaft and over my hand. Much got caught in my pubic thicket; some spilled through the channel where my thigh joins my groin. I was spent, breathless. I took a sip of my cooled coffee, trying to regain my composure, my bearings.

My dad look at me pleased. “That looked like a good one.”

“Ha!” I guffawed. “Yeah, that one was very strong. Kind of snuck up on me. I mean, the thought of having a woman nude around the house really sparked my imagination, but then to think that we could be masturbating together? Phew! Plus,” I revealed, motioning down with my glance, “it was nice kinda having you join me. I can’t recall the last time I saw you masturbate. It was pretty hot. All of those inputs pushed me over the edge.”

“Definitely erotic,” my dad affirmed, smiling. “Like I said, I think it’ll be nice having her visit.” He lifted himself, extracting his towel from beneath him and handed it to me. A dark spot hinted that, perhaps, he had emitted some precum too.

“Not sure my poor heart can stand it. I just hope my penis can!” I joked, wiping my semen from my hands. I left the splatter and spill on my chest, mound and cock, which was receding and arcing downward over my relaxing testes. My cum cooling on my skin felt invigoratingly pleasant.

My dad smiled. “Well,” he said with some exuberance, “there’s nothing scheduled for the day. I would like you to make up the guest room for Diana as she says she’s coming in tomorrow, please, but beyond that you’re free to enjoy the day as you see fit.”

“After that orgasm, I may need a nap!” I declared. My dad smiled knowingly, returning to his paper with a faint chuckle rolling in his throat.

I stood, kissed him on the head and, tossing him a towel from the counter, chided him: “But hey, Dad! If you’re going to be masturbating at the table, no secretions on the chairs. Use a towel, please.”

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