The Turgid Details
I crept upstairs like a burglar, feeling my anticipation growing with every step I took. The skin on my arms rose with goosebumps, and the back of my neck felt hot and prickly. I was passing my bedroom, when a soft moan brought me up short. I peeked around the doorway and spied my father sleeping restlessly beneath the sheets. For one brief moment, my breathing hitched so hard I thought I might faint, and then I went inside and sat beside him.
And then, I stifled a gasp of disbelief.
Dad was rubbing his penis through the top sheet. The hidden organ was majestically engorged, so much so that I actually moaned. A small wet spot appeared where his knob lay against his belly, and my innocent pussy responded in kind.
My fingers ached to touch that throbbing bulge, and my mind spun senselessly. Ever so gently, I reached out —
Dad grunted and shifted beneath the sheet. I withdrew quickly, my mouth dry and my chest heaving. He muttered, and then fell still.
Again, I reached out, desperately trying to control my panting. Delicately, tenderly, I slowly ran a fingertip along the massive, rigid outline. Even through the sheet, it burned like a log in a fireplace, and I sucked in my breath when I felt and saw it quiver. The wet spot grew wider, and my pussy flexed moistly with joy. My swollen nipples felt like steely marbles, and I tweaked one gently through my tank top. A jolt of energy juddered my tits, and I immediately grew wetter down below.
When he put his hand on mine and we rubbed his beautiful manhood together, I bit my lip hard enough to almost draw blood.
“Dylan…?” I whispered, my entire body trembling.
He grunted again.
“Dylan, wake up…”
I shook his shoulder, and he jerked awake with a cry of alarm. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and then his jaw dropped open incredulously.
“Jesus Christ, Shina! You scared the hell out of me!”
I put my small, dainty hand on his gorgeous blood-filled monstrosity, and he gasped in shock, squirming.
“What were you dreaming about just now?” I breathed, staring openly at his bulge.
“I don’t remember.”
I squeezed it tenderly. “Were you dreaming about me?”
He shook his head, gasping, but the guilt that flooded his face spoke volumes.
“We can’t,” he hissed.
“Don’t think of me as your daughter tonight, Dylan,” I murmured, my heart pounding so hard I was getting dizzy. “Think of me as your wife.”
I rubbed the massively quivering tool, and shuddered with anticipation.
“Oh God, Dylan,” I breathed. “It’s sooo big.”
His cock twitched and dribbled again, and I saw his moral resolve crumbling like the walls of Jericho.
“You have another one to compare it with?” he croaked.
“No,” I said simply. “I’m still innocent.”
“Then you’re not my wife,” Dylan said, and pulled me down to him.