Fuck it.
I get up, shut off the TV and put the ice cream in the freezer, tiptoeing the fifteen or twenty feet to the half-open door and perking my ear into the space. Schluck-schluck-schluck. It's encouraging, but nothing else. I hear him pause twice, hit the space bar, and continue. Not frantically, not even close. I know I shouldn't barge in when he's reading, but something isn't quite right.
“I had a feeling you'd be in here soon,” Dad says, turning slightly to face me, his paw clutching his length.
“Do you like it so far?” I ask, feeling my sheath fill out at seeing him. Just because he's supposed to be proofing it doesn't mean he can't be sexy as well. But he's not worked up enough; I can tell as much from his posture as the scents floating around my nose. “Oh, you don't.”
“If I didn't like it, son, I wouldn't be stroking away now, would I?” He turns to me full-on and crosses one thick leg over the other. “But I do have some issues with your narrative.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Nah, not uh-oh, exactly. It's like you weren't quite there when I was blowin' you, Hector. I mean, you creamed after a few minutes.”
“Daaaaad,” I whine, “Papa Xavi was humping up into my ass! Of course I'm not going to be all there!” Grampa Xavier didn't top me often, but once he got his head in, I kind of gave him free reign. And he took it, like the male's male he is. I was so sore the next day, but...damn!
“I realize that, and you may have been distracted,” Dad says, sliding off the desk chair and knee-walking halfway over to me by the door, “but you have to tell a compelling story by including all pertinent angles. You can have paragraph after paragraph of hot buttsex, but you have your dad on your cock on the other side. Glossing over that doesn't do justice to the act, or to me. I like to think I do a good job.”
Dad's paws make their way up my calves to the insides of my thighs, stroking up to the fur of my belly, and by the time they're where I know they're headed, I'm already hard. I love the look of dedication in his eyes, along with stern resolve.
“You're going to go down on me, aren't you?” It's pretty much a statement, no question about it.
“I'm going to give you a reminder of what you should be describing in that story,” Dad says, his muzzle wavering just an inch from my tip. “Now pay attention.”
He takes the whole thing like he always does: no hesitation, no problem, down to the sheath without gagging. Like a pro. His paws around my waist and clutching at either side of my rump, he bobs and suckles, murmuring positively.
I have to watch. As much as I want to curl my fingers around his ears and drive him, I let him do as he wants, looking down and watching my thin black length disappear between his expert lips. God, the things he can do with his tongue!
As the pleasure builds, without the distraction of Grandpa's length buried in me, I can feel the differences in sensation when Dad's tongue slides along the underside of my cock, as opposed to when he flicks it around the head, or when he bottoms out and slides it into my stretched sheath. One paw remains on my backside while the other strokes and pulls on my sac, encouraging its contents to give up their load. Mental notes fill up the pages of my mind, adjectives and adverbs (but not too many!) stringing together into coherent, erotic imagery.
Dad starts humming when he can feel me swell in his muzzle, and he pauses long enough to say, “You watching like I asked?”
“Mhm,” I whimper, thrusting into his fingers now. “I'm gonna...”
“I know, just watch and record. Worry about sorting your feelings after. Mental notes.” He switches to sitting cross-legged, stroking lightly along my tip, the surefire way to finish me off. He wants a shower.
“Yeah, okay.” With that I tense up, force my eyes open and hold back as long as I can, finally sending streams of white over Dad's head, onto his face and onto his proffered tongue. His glasses are smeared and sticky, but they're washable. Tension floods my body, then washes away in the next second. The image of his smiling, cummy face is etched in my mind for when I'll need to fill in details later. At last, my senses come back to me, and it's a miracle my legs haven't buckled yet.
“How was that for research, son?” he asks.
“Looks good on you, Pa.”
“That suffice to improve upon what you've done, or will it need a full rewrite?” he asks, licking runnels of seed off his lips, smacking them at the musky taste. Such the consummate cum aficionado. Cum and pipe tobacco.
“I think I can combine both sets of notes into one thorough narrative. Like I've told you before, you're one of my best inspirations and my best critic. If anyone can proof a story, it's the guy who's in it.”
“Only too happy to help,” Dad replies, standing and planting a deep, slow kiss on my muzzle. I taste myself on his tongue, and I file that one away for a later date. “Now go put more fellatio in that story.”
“Yes, sir!” I say dutifully. I aim to make my father proud, after all. I would be remiss to let all that research go to waste, after all.
***
Hector and Sébastien are \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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