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Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?
I took Christy to Club Mogador to meet my dad.
Beforehand, she�d pretended to be cool about it but I could tell she was nervous. She didn�t want me in the bathroom for the cleaning, but I insisted. Even with a good amount of the grease, it took a little push to get the nozzle through her tightness. As she filled up, I refrained from asking how it felt. I left the room for the emptying, but I stood at the door. We did it twice more, then I kissed her there. She squirmed and twitched at first, involuntarily, I think, but then she relaxed, letting the tip of my tongue lick the crinkled rim of her little button. I knew my tongue wouldn�t be strong enough to push in, so I didn�t try. Instead I gave her a semi-soft swat and had her dress: the mauve top and matching mini-skirt. No underwear. No jewelry. Her silver stilettos completed the outfit.
We held hands in the cab, neither speaking nor kissing. I paid the driver and helped Christie out, then escorted her through the anonymous door and the sterile lobby to the little elevator. �Nineteen� I told Henry. �Very good, sir,� he said, and he took us up, one tiny lurch to get started, then smooth and slow. Christy took my hand, involuntarily, I think, and I gave her a reassuring squeeze.
�We�ll have drinks first,� I told Helen, after surrendering our coats. I ordered a Cream de�Mojito for Christy, a Shiraz for me, and we settled into the pink chairs in one of the alcoves. During the day there was a nice view of the city and the park, but now it was dark and the drapes were drawn. Soon our drinks arrived, and we clinked our glasses and took a our first sip.
�This is good,� Christy remarked.
�A specialty of the house,� I replied. �I�m glad you like it.�
We took our time, enjoying the quiet of the room.
�Maybe he�s not coming,� Christy speculated.
�Are you apprehensive?� I asked.
She shook her head. We ordered a second round of drinks.
When Conrad delivered them a few minutes later, I saw through the slitted curtain my father handing his coat to Helen. �Do you have to use the bathroom?� I asked Christy. She shook her head. I told her I�d be right back.
When I returned, the club�s gray cat, who by coincidence also has the name Christy, had claimed my chair. My father was talking to my Christy. �I love your outfit,� he was saying. �It�s a good color for you.�
�Thank you,� Christy said, watching my dad undress. Soon he was as naked as me. I�m sure she could not help but observe his cock as it came erect, no doubt comparing it to mine. Tactfully, Conrad took away my dad�s clothing.
�Shall I undress, too?� Christy asked, half turning to me. There was a touch of tremble to her voice.
�There�s no rush,� my father said, but Christy stood and quickly pushed the mini-skirt over her slender yet shapely hips. She stepped out of the garment, and bent to pick it up, but I said, �Leave it. I like the way it looks on the floor.�
�Oh,� Christy said, and her hand went to the top button of her blouse.
�Why don�t you leave that on, for now?� my father requested. �There�s something suppl�mentaire about being half naked.� He took Christy�s hand and kissed it gallantly.
�Would you like something to drink?� I asked my father.
�Maybe after the fuck,� he said, and he gathered Christy�s eyes into his own. �Are you ready, my dear?�
She nodded and he sat and she lowered herself onto him. I�d explained to her before how it would best go: vaginally first, to ensure Pop was adequately lubricated.
Christy bit her lower lip as she sank slowly down.
�Gah, your girl�s got a tight cunt,� Dad said, �but very wet and warm.�
Christy shivered, whether from the penetration or the words, from pleasure or pain, I didn�t know.
�A little more,� Dad said. �Almost there.�
�Fuck!� Christy blurted, and then she blushed. Dad apparently had bottomed.
�Yes, it�s okay,� I said. �Fuck him now.�
She obeyed, slowly lifting herself, letting herself fall. In the quiet of the alcove, I could discern the unmistakable squelch of sex as Christie gradually increased her pace, straining upward, crushing down.
�That�s it,� I said. �Get him good and wet from tip to root.�
She rode him a while, and I noticed her eyes began to flutter, her lips to part. She wasn�t far from coming. �She�s ready, Pop,� I said. �Time to��
�No,� Christie moaned. �Not until��
�Yep,� I said, my voice a slap, and I yanked her up and off. The pop was audible. She whimpered. I slapped her cheek. Not hard, but hard enough to get her attention. I�d never really hit a person before, and I think we were both shocked.
She lowered herself again. Dad, I knew, was holding himself stiff against the tiny aperture of her anus.
�Do it!� I commanded Christie. �You need to.�
She looked up at me, fear in her eyes. �I can�t!�
�Take your shirt off,� Dad said, his voice soft but commanding. �Straight off, now.�
Christie lifted the shirt up over her head. Several of the small buttons flew. The fabric did little to muffle her scream.
I had the shirt now, her mouth and eyes were equally wide, and Dad�s prick, I was certain, was fully ensconced in her ass. I let the blouse flutter to the floor.
�Good girl, good, girl, good girl,� I chanted, softly and gently, while I squeezed one of her erect nipples.
�There,� I said, �you did it. That wasn�t so bad, now was it?�
She looked at me with wide angry eyes, her mouth now a gritty snarl. My fingers still had her nipple. I squeezed the resilient flesh. �How you doin� down there, Pops?� I asked.
�Good,� he grunted. �God, she�s a tight one. Tight as fuck.�
�Good,� I said, continuing to squeeze Christie�s distended nipple, establishing a rhythm.
Her eyes locked on mine. But she was squeezing to my rhythm. I could see it by the tightening of the muscles in her thighs and calves.
Meanwhile Dad reached around. His palm cupped Christie�s mound. His middle finger sought her slot. He pressed his finger in. Christie has the most sensitive clitoris. Almost immediately she convulsed. Her eyes slammed shut. Spasms slashed through her body. And from the fist Dad made of his free hand, I was sure he was emptying himself deep into her ass. They bucked together like bull and bull rider. �Yee, yee, yee,� Christie yowled, as Dad milked a second cum from her cunt.
For a time after that they sat quietly, still locked together, Christie sprawled back, her legs loose, one stiletto free from her foot and on its side, a yard or more away. Then Dad move his finger a fraction of an inch, but enough to nuzzle Christie�s clit and send her into a fresh series of sharp aftershocks.
That pattern continued through the evening. Christie must have come a dozen times, until she said, �No more. Please, no more.�
�Can you coax her into one more good hard cum?� I asked Dad.
�No, no, no!� Christie said.
But Dad could. Held by his strong arm, impaled on his yet erect cock, frigged by his relentless fingers, Christie couldn�t keep from coming. I clamped my mouth to hers, kissing her through the climax, though I�m not sure she had any idea what I was doing or even who I was. I heard Dad�s voice, �Son, I�m going to... GAH.� The jolts of his ejaculation snapped and jerked Christie�s body. Her head thrashed in my hands, but I held firm and managed to keep my mouth fastened to hers. I had the strange sense that I could taste my Dad coming right through the conduit of Christie, and though I found this idea not erotic at all, neither did it turn me off. I sucked her all the harder.
Finally they were done. Christie slid off, curled on the floor, and fell instantly asleep. She looked so innocent. I�d never wanted to fuck her more, but instead I covered her as much as I could with the torn blouse. Dad was lying back in the chair like a beached whale, his eyes slitted, a sated smile on his lips. Mimicking his pose, his cock lay along his thigh, its wrinkled length streaked with cum. Frothed sex juice matted the hairs of his belly and pubis. The cat had left my chair and was off in the corner batting at a stray button. I sat down, letting the two lovers rest while I finished off my glass of wine and Christie�s mojito.
On the cab ride home, we held hands. �I like your dad,� Christie said as we turned onto our street. �We should have him over for dinner sometime soon.�
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
