The Club Number 1

Well, Gentle Reader, here I am, asking for guidance again. You folks are better than any editorial board anyway.

A few weeks ago I ran across an open submission for a science fiction/horror anthology with the subject being "future sex." This is not the story I submitted, but that story did suggest a storyline, the future of sex in which a client is, basically, transported into an alternate reality and, effectively, becomes someone else. Call it the ultimate in virtual reality.

I envision doing dozens of these very short stories, quickies if you will.

Let me know if you think this is a project worth pursuing.

And thank you, as always, in advance for your time and attention.

"Count backward from 100," he said, an old joke.

"99," I said and went to sleep.

As always happens when I wake, I was aware of my morning wood. My erection was so damn hard it ached. I reached down and as I stretched I gave my hardon its morning squeeze, smiling, and thinking for about the bazillionth time how lucky I am.

I swung out of the bed and padded into the bathroom.

My Daddy, as he almost always was, was sitting on the toilet. He's very regular.

"Good morning, Baby," he said, smiling as I bent and kissed him.

He patted my boner and said, "Brush your teeth, Honey, I'll be in in a couple of minutes."

I kissed him again, reached down and gave his dick a little pinch, and did as he said.

I brushed my teeth anyway. But then I stood and waited, displaying my hardon for him.

He smiled and said, "Oh, Sweety, that is going to cost you."

With a grunt, a wave of earthy smell, and a look of satisfaction, he finished.

I always found something wonderfully sexy about watching this 50-year-old man lean over to wipe, check the paper, and wipe again. There's something so intimate, so private about the act. I like watching.

He smiled and said, "Go ahead and pee, Randy."

So, that was my name. Why had I forgotten it?"

I sat, my ass far back on the seat, and bent forward so that I could point my erection into the toilet. It's hard to pee when you're this hard. I was concentrating, my eyes closed, when I felt his hand lightly stroke my hair.

When I opened my eyes his beautiful cock was right there. It wasn't hard, yet, but it wasn't exactly soft either. When he's like that, in that gorgeous in-between stage, he's full and his dick hangs along the roundness of his scrotum. He's one of those men who, when he's completely soft, is short and stubby. He's never very long, but he's pretty thick. The guys on his rugby team had nicknamed him "Girth" based on that thickness.

I kissed it and in that moment of relaxation, I could pee.

He chuckled, patted me on the head, and said, "You are so predictable," as he walked back into the bedroom.

I finished, breathing that soft sigh you do when you've finished peeing after you REALLY needed to go, shook, stood, and washed my hands.

I thought about it and took the time to wash my face and then quickly put on a bit of that very red lipstick I know he likes so much.

I ran a brush through my hair and fluffed it so it hung past my shoulders, another look I know he likes.

I was soft now, the way he likes me, and I put an extra bit of swing in my hips making my dick swing. He likes that too.

I like pleasing my Daddy.

On the bed he was lying in that Burt Reynolds pose from

Cosmopolitan

.

Daddy is handsome. He looks like he should be on television, answering questions on some news program discussing business or economics. He's 50 with close-cropped grey hair and a ridiculously handsome face. He looks a little like John Hamm, you know, Don Draper from

Mad Men

, but a bit, well, thicker. He's well-muscled, more like a wrestler than a bodybuilder, and completely hairless below the neck since I talked him into regular visits to the wax and torture emporium.

To me he's beautiful and all I really want to do is please him.

I crawled into bed with him, smiled, and kissed him lightly, just a brush of my lips on his so he could feel and taste my lipstick.

"Whatcha hidin' here, Daddy?" I asked, my hand lightly tracing down his chest, tickling his belly button along the way before I began tickling the back of his hand, strategically placed to hide his cock.

"Okay, Baby," I said, and started following with my lips the line my hand had traced.

I kissed his throat and then his chest, moving side to side, kissing each nipple in turn and nipping it. As I started working my way down, kissing his belly, probing his belly button with my tongue, and then finding what we both wanted, his hands were in my hair now, not pulling and hurting but controlling me.

"You are SUCH a bad boy," he said, and I quivered a little. Bad boys get punished.

But I didn't care right then. The very core of his maleness was right there, and I kissed it.

"That's nice," he said in his low voice.

In my 22 years, I have never found a sensation to be more intimate, more loving, than the feeling of my Daddy's cock getting hard in my mouth.

His fingers pushed me down as I sprang erect in response. I swallowed hard as his glans triggered my gag reflex but my control was good and I accepted him into my throat, my own erection so hard it felt like the skin might split.

I swallowed hard, over and over, loving the catch I heard in his breathing. He loves it when I masturbate him with my throat.

I felt the pressure in my hair change and he pulled me off slowly. As his glans passed through my gag reflex on the way out my body hunched and I felt that delicate flow of my pre-ejaculate fluid, my precum if you want to be crude about it as my body retched a little before he pulled free.

I loved the look on his face, that sort of unfocused gaze of his arousal when I kissed my way up to kiss his mouth.

"I love you, Daddy," I said as I turned and arched my back, offering him what I knew he wanted.

I relaxed, letting my sphincter muscles go slack, as I felt his touch and then his hands cupping my breasts, a legitimate A cup with the prolactin I overdosed on daily.

There was just a hint of pain as I stretched when he entered me and then that deliciously full feeling that always made me wonder if this was anything like what a woman felt during lovemaking. His hand moved slowly down in that way that always made me lose my breath until he could squeeze my erection and then lightly tickle my scrotum, my balls inside shrunken from the hormones I was taking.

"I love you, Baby," he said and I felt his full length slip deep into my rectal vault.

"Oh, God," I cried out as his cock hit my prostate and I came like a fountain.

"Okay, Mr. Morgan, wake up," I heard and reality came back in a rush.

I felt the warm towel wiping the mess from my belly.

When my eyes opened I saw Cheryl, the cognitive android smiling down at me as she used the warm, damp towel to clean up a bit more of my semen from between my pectoral muscles.

"I see you liked Mister Fredericks," she said in that clinical tone all 'droids in her profession use, "should we schedule him for next time?"

"No," I said, stretching, getting the kinks out of overworked muscles, "I think I'll stick with the shuffle option. I DO enjoy the variety pack."

"Very well," she said, "see you next week."