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Chapter 1, A Call for some Respite
A week and a bit into the holiday things were getting along fine. Your daughter had got over her initial excitement at having you available to her all day long and you were finally able to get some work done in between bouts of lovemaking. She had even gone out with old friends a few times, leaving you a moment’s peace to cool off some rather overworked testicles. Jane had also been invited round a few times, to your delight: You were really starting to like the quiet, polite little redhead. She seemed to be the only other female your daughter could much stand the presence of.
Still, there remained a lot of time left to be dedicated to the pleasures of the flesh. You maintained your three orifice quota with your young sapling, filling her up time and again. In fact you even began having to loosen those guidelines, as she simply couldn’t keep her mouth off your cock for so long. You found yourself being milked for semen so often that it hardly even registered any more. You’d simply be sat at your desk working and she’d wriggle her way under, to pop up between your legs. A warm softness would envelope you and a tongue begin winding round your length, all while you tried to stay focused and finish whatever paragraph you were working on. Your body seemed to be adapting to this nigh constant stimulation, not only by producing more and more spunk to fulfil her appetites, but in taking longer to reward her with the salty gulps she craved. The girl was no quitter though. She would lap and suck and slurp at you for as long as it took, happy just to dedicate her talents to this evolving challenge.
It was during just such a morning moment that you received a video call from your publishing agent. Forgetting yourself, you answered immediately. Good fortune being that the camera was angled high enough that he would catch no sight of your girl working away earnestly below your waist. The man himself was named Graham, an older gentleman in his early fifties. He had been working with you for so many years now that you were more like family friends than simple colleagues. He knew you and your daughter well and would send birthday presents and christmas cards to you both, asking how her school life was going and whether you were going out and getting enough exercise. You trusted the man immensely, both personally and professionally and couldn’t ask for a better guide through the complicated world of literature networking.
“Hello Sir!” He opened with in his normal cheering manner. “I’ve just finished looking over your last few month’s submissions… Excellent stuff!”
You glanced momentarily down at your daughter below the desk. She’d cheekily decided this was the moment to start sucking in and nibbling at your balls. Eyes glinting up at you with distracting glee. The old man on the screen continued on, unawares.
“I’ve got to say, something’s definitely changed in your style of late… not that I’m surprised after all that’s happened. You’ve slowed down a bit, but the quality of what you’re sending is just so high I can’t begin to complain. It’s almost a different story altogether to be honest… One full of dark and secret happenings hidden just below the surface… It makes me shiver almost… but in a good way! You might have to go back and alter the start to make it fit, but boy, I’m not going to stop you now you’re on a roll.”
The girl was sucking on you as hard as she could now, like a warm, wet vacuum clamped to your cock. You had to grip the desk slightly with one hand to deal with the pressure of it and could only answer Graham in nods and grunts. He paid no heed.
“Now, is the young lady of the house around? I’d like to say hello, now she’s off school.”
This startled you. Not that it was a particularly unusual request of his, he and your daughter had a teasing, amiable friendship as much as you did. She was fond of the old eccentric and he, having no children of his own, spoilt her as the daughter he’d never had. Pointedly not looking down you called out to the house at large: “Honey! Grahams on the line! He’d like to say hello!”
Down below you felt a pair of lips leave you as the girl shuffled her way back out from under the desk. She stood up and stomped loudly to the door before bouncing back toward you, illusion achieved. Once she was in view of the camera she had to be quite careful however, the loose-fitting, checked shirt she was wearing was the ONLY thing she was wearing. She sidled her way in front of you, keeping her naked crotch below the level of the desk, but then reached down behind herself as she plonked into your lap. This of course meant that while she bobbed a friendly hello to the old man and began chatting to him about school, you found yourself buried up inside her. She bounced around quite innocuously while telling her tales, yet each bump sent shivers up your spine at the thought of fucking islahiye escort her in front of this innocently unaware old friend. When they had finished catching up she leant back to allow both of you in the shot, while continuing to grind her hips in circles atop you. Graham smiled to see you still so close with each other after all these years.
“What I was going to say to you both was that I have just gained access to a little holiday lodge, up in the mountains. Now, I know you’re both not big fans of crowded resorts or other such tourist destinations. But, if you’d like, you are both very welcome to head up there at the end of summer, to get away from all the hustle and bustle. It’s buried deep in the forest, right near a river and has all sorts of amenities, up to and including a hot tub I believe! It’s already booked to be all yours for a week, should you desire, with plenty of room to bring a friend or two as well.”
Your daughter practically ricocheted with excitement, bounding up and down on top of you and simply mixing her joy of this proposal with that of secretly engulfing you. She leant forward to hug the computer screen. Presumably giving the old man a generous view of what cleavage she had, while simultaneously allowing her more time to bump her hips against your lap, your cock finding itself gulped in and out of its own close embrace.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Said the agent, after he was finally freed from a screenful of teen. “Well excellent, I’ll send you the keys and directions as soon as possible. In the meantime, you two look after each other, alright? And make sure your Dad keeps working hard, y’hear me angel?”
“You can count on me Unc!” Your daughter gave a bouncing salute. “I won’t let him go soft for a minute!” They both chuckled at that as the call was ended, though you suspected for very different reasons. Then he was gone. Your girl turned round to kiss you. Then proceeded to continue fucking herself upon you, slowly and unobtrusively… while you got back to work.
Chapter 2, A Room with a View
As the summer days trickled on, blue skies sliding past, life became a comfortable drift from one into the next. Your daughter had begun waking up later and later, whiling away the evenings with you then snoozing through till noon.
Naturally you also began slipping into such a pattern, but as an older traveller, adapting to such changes in pace took longer. Often you would wake to find her still snoring softly beside you, the sun beaming high through the curtains. No longer were you blessed with the instant gratification of her morning attentions, but you did not mind. Sometimes you woke her yourself. Sometimes you would simply use her sleeping beauty as an erotic expresso, leaving your own shot of cream upon her to wake up to. More often though, you would simply leave her to rest, safe in the knowledge she would come claim some herself when she was ready. The pair of you simply drifted in and out of each other these days, there being no separation between the times you were making love, from the times you weren’t. You tantalised each others nerve-endings whenever it felt right to do so: you’d spank her peachy cheeks whenever they looked in need of reddening, she’d swallow down your cock whenever her tongue told her it craved the taste, or simply spend hours idly plying it between soft fingers while focussed on other things.
Still, you got the feeling this lifestyle was beginning to bore her. This was all that she’d once aimed for and she revelled in its accomplishment. But… even your mind kept drifting back to those few, more adrenaline-fueled moments: When you had both been testing the limits of each other. Risking discovery by chance or fault. It was not safe to crave such things… not sane to lose sight of how dangerous this taboo normality of yours already was. Yet, both of you felt the same dark inclinations to go further. You were sure of it. You began catching twinklings in her eye whenever a new idea formed, schemes that worried you more by their failure to become apparent. You even took her back to that windswept headland, in the hopes of regaining the reinvigorating experience you’d had yourself there. It did not work. The journey was safe and contrived. No surprise barriers appeared. No unlooked-for observers. You went there and fucked. It was pleasant enough.
So it was no great surprise to you that she began to go back to her old habits of scanning the internet and television for arousing amusement. Porn became a backdrop to your existence once more. She watched it, she listened to it. She painted and sketched it in creative escapades of an afternoon. Some of them were incredibly good actually, she had a real flare for catching moments of imagined debauchery; perfectly capturing the euphoric or leering faces of her subjects. She would paint islahiye escort bayan scenes of young girls surrounded by faceless men, delighting in a rain of cum falling upon them. She inked a young man accosted by herds of tiny naked fairies: Biting and caressing him in equal measure. Tearing his clothing and clambering over his body. Another showed a shadowy feminine figure smiling viciously down at you, translucent black gown flapping open as she pressed a heel down toward the observer.
You were awed by her ability to produce such masterpieces, and so quickly. Enough that you couldn’t argue when she began to position them around the house. You supposed you could take them down again if you ever had visitors. As it was, only little Jane ever entered your sanctuary, and she was very proudly shown every new creation as it was produced. Blushing at the subject matters, but seemingly unsurprised by them.
You managed to ask her why once and the girl simply replied: “Oh, she always paints things like that in school… A substitute teacher made a complaint about it once, but Miss Fae stuck up for her with the principal. Said it was ‘healthier for a young lady to be exploring this sort of thing in art, than repressing it all her life or having it jumped upon her by strange men.’ He dropped the complaint… Most of the male teachers don’t like to argue with Miss Fae.”
A cryptic answer. And one that brought your child’s relationship with her personal tutor to mind again. The two seemed to have a strong bond. Heck, the woman was the only teacher you had ever heard your girl talk about enough to remember the name of. Yet the hostility she’d shown that other day had been real and strong. So your daughter had been producing such lewd imagery all along, proudly and in public. Yet her primary educator had been nothing but supportive. You were not sure where that left you, in terms of outside suspicion over the double life you both led, or in indications of your child’s mentality.
Jane hardly seemed to think any of it was particularly odd… but then the short ginger girl was beginning to strike you as one of the most oblivious people you had never met. Not stupid, by any means, just… detached… distant… Away with the fairies. Like she was too shy to even really dwell in her own skin, preferring to be off somewhere else and let others lead her body around. It was one of the things that worried you a little about the girl, and seemed to draw out what remained of your parental spirit. You could see a similar effect in your daughter too, she genuinely cared for her friend and seemed determined to try and pry her out of this shell.
There were other changes going on in your home too. Visible indications of the shifting dynamics therein, akin with the dripping distribution of overt artwork. Your daughter kept making requests of you to purchase various home-decor supplies. It became her regular excuse to call Jane round, to get her to help with this or that grand idea for redecorating a room. Her friend always looked to you in puzzled askance as they set out on these endeavours, but you had never had much interest or conditions for such things. You were happy to let them paint and drape and shape such things, it washed away some old, painful memories. Slowly your child’s boudoir stylings were claiming the whole building. Giving it a sensual, film noir-esque cabaret overcoat.
You could still see the hippyish traces of her absent mother, but now with a deeper, shadowier flourish of unchecked teenage sexuality. You were fairly certain it was how your girl imagined brothels in Paris looked, having never seen anything but hollywood’s visions of such. Either way, such projects kept her out of trouble and, you had to admit, did provide quite suitable surroundings for you to incestuously invade her every other hour.
Chapter 3, Life as a Canvas
One morning, or more accurately during the last dregs leading toward noon, your daughter piped up with another of those creased-brow-teased requests. She had just finished breaking her fast with her usual, salty few-gulps of you: A between meal snack that was increasing in regularity again, rules be damned.
When out of nothing more than the blue skies and bitter taste on her tongue, she asked if she could ‘paint’ you this afternoon. Now, you had never been much of a vain man… Seeing no particular reason to step in front of a mirror more than to check you had actually remembered to put on pants this morning. Plus, while her various erotic creations so far might be considered in bad taste, one OF you led you more toward that awful word… Evidence. Yet, looking down into her innocent query; lapping up the last dribbles of your ejaculate, and having only just become parley to her budding talent… You found it impossible to refuse.
Thus, a few hours of preparation escort islahiye later, during which you tried, and failed, to get any work of your own done. You approached her neatly arranged workshop, out on the veranda.
Two things surprised you as you sidled through the sliding doors: One: the set up arrayed before you looked nearly identical to the one when you were receiving a massage; and Two: Jane was there, looking as nonplussed as you felt, perched to one side as her best friend bustled about. Your daughter hardly noted your arrival, so busy was she in digging through old boxes for tubes of paint. Yet from inside one of these boxes came the off-hand command: “Okay, take your clothes off Dad.” Spoken as casually as it ever was when you were alone, not that it ever really needed saying. However, in present company, it resulted in those two nonplussed faces turning instantly bright red.
“Is that…errm… necessary? I mean… or err? Appropriate, Love?” You replied, surprising yourself by not needing to feign embarrassment, even after all the time you’d spent naked in just her presence.
Your daughter didn’t seem to even acknowledge your reason for being so, still buried in her supplies. “What? Yes. Both. Why not?”
“Well because… Jane… and you’re my daughter… Neither of you wants to see…” You played it well… truly hoping she’d catch the hint and wasn’t really so haphazard about protecting your secrets…
“Ah! Found em!” Was her first reply, turning around with what was clearly a specific plastic box of paints. Still seeming puzzled by the fact that you were not undressing.
“Jane doesn’t mind, she’s used to helping me work with nude models. Besides… she knows we’re more relaxed about that sort of thing in this family…” She laughed, cleanly and honestly. That jaunting peel warmed your heart and relaxed you.
“So stop making it more awkward than it has to be and get your kit off Dad! We’ll turn around if you want… but it won’t make much difference in a minute…”
Out of excuses, you did as you were told. The girls indeed turned around in modesty until you were positioned face down on the massage mat as instructed. From there it was much the same as any other time you’d received a massage while Jane was present: You just did your best to keep things covered for her, though what kind of painting required all this you were still clueless to. The girls chatted conspiringly to each other in a corner, looking over some sketches your offspring had drawn. You just tried to relax and catch a few moments of dozing while they planned out whatever they were up to.
It was with great surprise then, that the next thing you felt was an intense tickling against your back. You jumped, startled by the experience, only to receive a stern: “No moving Dad! You’ll ruin it!”
Glancing back over your shoulder you were greeted by the vision of both young girls leaning over you, thin paint-brushes pinched in their fingers. In an instant it all became clear… You were not having a portrait painted of you, you were having artwork painted on you. Not for the first, or for the last time: You were amazed both by your daughter’s wicked creativity in finding new ways to tease and tempt you… while hiding all signs of her plans.
You were trapped now. Pinned beneath the delicate bristles of two lovely young ladies, nothing but a canvas full of nerves that they were carefully alighting upon. There was nothing else to do but slump back down and enjoy the experience. Trying to work out which was which by the feel of the stroke and wondering which would be worse to be aroused by…
Chapter 4, A Mess of Exposure
Time ticked away beyond your notice as you lay in half-dappled sun. You had closed your eyes and become nothing more than a receptor for art and the tactile sensations of it being applied. The constant dance of two brushes upon your back was mesmerising, a constant stream of lightly focussed movements. The initial strokes tickled a little, but never reached the point of irritation. You could feel the careful intensity and dedication of each girl as she manoeuvred them across you; whether in long, sweeping curves or delicate, feathering flourishes.
Always this was followed by the cooling breath of the paint: Highlighting every slight breeze that passed in fading intensity as the liquid dried. They crisscrossed your back in perfect symmetry, but alternating paces. Misting your mind into guesses of who was where and where else they might head next. They passed up to your neck and shoulders, then down to your arms and calves. You half expected avoidance of your bared ass, or giggles. Yet everything was done in perfect seriousness, except for one smiling comment from your daughter… About how it would be a lot easier if you’d let her wax your legs. You hurriedly declined.
And then it was done… or at least your rear half was. You were in such a coma of relaxation that you hardly noticed the dropping of tools or ceasing of caresses until their ghosts had truly faded. You certainly didn’t need to be told not to move still, just to let the last bits dry. What did wake you up however was the next instruction, not directed at you:
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