An Artists Cum

Since I was very little I have known that I wanted to be an artist of some kind. Maybe a painter or a singer or a writer, something in the arts. And I have known something else. Being the daughter of a hugely talented artist, Robert, I have wanted more than anything else to be great myself.

Much as I tried, my sketches and drawings at school just didn't live up to my expectations, so I turned to composing music and words for music. I felt much more at home and a teacher at school told me that I had a real talent, but that I needed to find ways of breaking through the ordinary barriers that hold great artists back. He told me that I should read about the great artists and writers and what lay beneath the surface.

Later, when I was doing a summer arts class, the eccentric lady teacher took me aside and recommended I read two or three 'special' books which dealt with the life and power or artists. I couldn't find then anywhere. And I had almost given up hope when one day I visited a bookshop for the esoteric arts and was really happy when I saw two of the books on a dusty old shelf. In case you're wondering, they are called 'The Secret Power of the Artist' by V. Schell and 'Secret Art' by C. Buzinski. They had been written in the 1960's and both authors had devoted their lives to the search for artistic power.

So I read. They were both very poetic and dramatic and looked at the lives of many great artists and what gave them the power to paint or sing or write. Great I thought, but what about me? Then at the end of each book, as if by coincidence, was a chapter on how to acquire the power. But there was a warning. Acquiring such power was potentially dangerous and taboo.

But I read on anyway. I read those chapters maybe twenty times over. I couldn't really believe what I was reading. Perhaps I didn't want to face the truth. Could it really be so? The common factor for all those for wanted to aspire to greatness was one simple thing - semen. The life force within all men had a powerful effect on their children, but even more so, could be used like a medicine or tonic to build up the force in another person. And the closer the bloodlines, the more potent the effect. Essentially, the argument ran that if you wanted to attain to the power of a talented artist, then you needed to have sexual union with them. The biggest taboo though was that the effect was greatest and longest lasting when union occurred with a close relative.

For months I thought about how I might go about getting this power. I desperately wanted to become good at writing, I was 19 now and about to enter a critical phase in my life. I was thinking about the unthinkable every day...how did I get the semen and from whom?

The answer was staring me in the face really. I had always thought of Robert as a mentor or older friend rather than my dad. He hadn't been around very much and those times we were together, he really was the great artist in my life, not a parent.

Even before, when I was 16 and just starting to have sex, there had been a kind of funny attraction. I remember at deep rock pool down on the south coast when we had all skinny dipped and a friend of mine was admiring Robert's body as he stood on a rock. I felt jealous.

Later on we had a laugh about the way his cock hung to one side and my friend (Kate) joked about how we might tease him to get 'it' moving.

Months passed with lots and lots of uninspired song writing and prose- nothing seemed to be working for me. I re-read the books, wondering if there might be an easier way. I had a new boyfriend who was pretty creative but our sex life (good as it was) was having little effect on my creative output.

On weekend I caught a train down to Terry Falls to see some friends. Every Tuesday afternoon my Dad and his friends had a card night. He didn't play, just watched, but they were fun guys and I was always welcome. And they drank a lot of booze.

Robert had more to drink and smoke than usual, or so it seemed to me, and when we left cards around 9pm he was very incoherent. He walked the half a kilometre of so slumped on my arm, and when we got back I had to help him up to the loft bed. He seemed to pass out immediately. Our nana was fast asleep in her room.

It was then that the crazy idea came into my head. What about now? Would it be possible? I loosened his belt and fly, he never wore undies, so there in front of my eyes was his cock. He hadn't stirred all. He really was knocked out. Would it work? Could I get away with it?

So right there and then, I popped his limp dick in my mouth. I moved my head up and down slowly, gently squeezing below the head. There was no reaction. Maybe he was too drunk to get a hard on? Or too asleep.

But I kept it up. I few minutes passed when he let out a gentle moan and slurred the name of an old lover. His cock started to harden. I slid my lips up and down the shaft, occasionally licking his balls, but always keeping a firm pressure with my fingers just below the head.

I went to work on his cock again, working his shaft with my tongue and cheeks, and massaging up and down with my fingers. Robert murmured the name of his old lover again, and to my surprise shot a wad of warm cum into my mouth. I swallowed greedily, not wanting a drop of his precious juice to spill. I kept his nob in my mouth until it was soft again and all the aftercum was drunk up. Then I zipped him up and pulled a sheet over him.

I slept on a mattress downstairs, but it was unusually hot for an autumn night so I slept in my knickers. Next morning he popped down from the loft, completely unaware of the nights activities. He hadn't even remembered coming home from cards! I could see his eyes move to my pert tits, and although he had seen them often enough at the swimming hole, it was rare to see them anywhere else.

Later that day I picked up a pen and paper and jotted down the words to three new songs. I also wrote the opening to a short story. I felt full of creativity, absolutely brimming with ideas. I felt that I could do anything, so I made plans to return that day, so I could keep writing.

I had a slight delay when one of my Dads friends, a musician named Rick, turned up. I had had a fling with Rick a few years earlier and he had been on to me ever since to have a few more sessions together. He saw me off at Falls Station, but not before we had had sex in the old showground. He was a very kinky man, and insisted on cumming in my arse. I don't usually like anal but Rick had a way of getting what he wanted.

A few months later I fell into a lull, with a lot of my impulses drying up. It was really hard to put pen to paper and I was upset that the flow of words was blocked up. I went back to the books I had originally read, frustrated that my creative period seemed to have ended so quickly. Sure enough I had too easily skimmed over a paragraph, which simply said.

'For the full effect to be long lasting, it may be necessary for coitus to occur on more than one occasion.'

Perhaps oral sex was not enough.

I planned another trip to Terry Falls but had no idea whether I could pull the same trick off twice. Coming down on the Monday meant I could crash the card night on the Tuesday and I knew that if I went, then Robert would too. I lined up some strong weed for him and a cask or red.

Sure enough by 9pm, my Dad was a shambling wreck, barely able to stand. A few times on the way home he lost the plot completely and started calling me Liz, a girlfriend from two decades earlier. I didn't disabuse him to this idea as it seemed to be playing in my direction. But I was nervous nonetheless. The first time might just have been an incredible fluke.

Once inside, I began to unbutton his shirt and pull off his trousers as if I was a parent with a tired child. I wheeled him into the loo for a pee. He slumped on me as a stream shot from his dick, splashing noisily in the bowl. He crumpled to the floor so I hooked down my pants and had a pee too. Seeing it was unlikely I would be able to move him, I decided to try my luck then and there.

My dad was dozing off. I got down on my knees and started massaging his cock. It was limp and I worked my mouth up and down, swallowing the last drops of his pee. There was still no reaction – maybe he was just too far gone, so I tongue kissed him up to his nipples and back. He groaned and mumbled 'Liz', so I reversed position so that my cunt was in his face. I began working on his cock, sliding the long soft shaft to the back of my mouth and massaging his balls. It took a few minutes but finally the shaft hardened. In the dim light I could see the veins and head starting to bulge out, followed by the first taste of pre-cum.

I pulled my pussy out of his face and slid his hard-on into my cunt. I had to work it a little as I was not all that wet and his thick knob chafed some, but soon enough I was riding the shaft smoothly. He had a nice long dick and I enjoyed getting my arse up higher on each stroke, without it popping out. Soon I was pretty wet and wondering if an orgasm might be possible, which would have been a bonus. That was not to be though, as Robert came with a deep moan, filling my hole with his hot cum. I squeezed down on his balls to get the maximum load as deep as possible, then remained there for some minutes as his pecker softened. He even had half a smile on his face.

He did give me a bit of a shock though. I had dismounted and was sucking the last oozes of cum off his penis when he sat up. He was very out of it and mumbling about 'Liz'. I realised I would have to get him back in his room, so, with some difficulty, I hoisted him to his feet and we stumbled the five metres to his room, though there was no way I was climbing to his loft bed. The double mattress on the floor would have to do.

He woke again at about 3am, thirsty and needing to go to the loo. Some of the booze and dope had worn off but I kept my gear off anyhow. I was a bit excited about us both being nude. I went to get him a drink and came back with a large orange juice, spiked with a healthy double of vodka. It had occurred to me that it might be possible to get another fuck in before the night was out. Surely a double dose would keep me in creative stead for a long time to come.

He skulled the juice and I went to get a large 'pee pot" from the kitchen. I didn't fancy helping him all that way to the loo and back again. He was shaky on his feet and I felt very naughty, so I held his penis while he went. I had my fingers just below the head, so I could squeeze it gently. Then I squatted myself and pee-ed, still holding his cock. I saw that it had started to harden. Should I wait for the vodka to kick in or not?, I thought. He had hardly said a word and I doubt that he completely recognised me. It was possible that he thought I was Liz.

He lay back down on the mattress and I dimmed the light to near darkness. I began gently massaging his back. He appeared to be heading back to sleep so I spooned up behind him and started working my hands up and down his chest, then down to his cock. I began massaging and gently jerking it, caressing his balls and putting little kisses on his neck. He began moaning and his dick hardened, so I turned him on his back and started sucking again. I could see his eyes were a little open so, being even more adventurous, I swung my leg over and placed my cunt just above his lips. This time I didn't hold back, pushing his cock to the back of my throat, or alternately pulling vigorously then kissing his cock head. Finally I felt a tongue moving around my pussy and I directed some of the action by swivelling my pelvis so my clit didn't miss out. He moved his tongue in cute circles, then backwards to my arsehole, ringing it and pushing firmly into the hole. It was an exquisite feeling, but I really wanted a cock or something in my pussy. I kept up with the long oral strokes on his dick, kissing and licking his nob before plunging his whole shaft to the max.

It was just as I was thinking of mounting him when he groaned noisily and shot a load down my throat. I sat for ages with his whole prick in my mouth, letting it slowly grow soft, watching his balls look tight and beautiful beneath my chin. I hadn't come myself, but I had completed what I had set out to do. At least, for the meantime.