He Could Wait Until Later To Relieve Himself

I’d like to thank everyone who read, voted on and sent feedback about my last story, Just Friends. Unlike that one, this is a work of pure fiction. I hope it’s up to standard. All comments welcome, and please vote on it at the end.

Life had been kind to Councillor Simon Jones. He had graduated college, when not many had been able to afford to go. His degree in business gave him a brief stint as a teacher before he was offered a managers job in a local manufacturing firm. He took it, and as the business expanded, so did his wage packet. He had been head-hunted by a number of large, national chains, who had become disconcerted at the local dominance and imminent expansion of Tecton Sheet Metal Inc. But, in spite of large figures being quoted, he was never tempted to leave. His life was taking shape in this small town of his.

From an early age, he had been the sporting type, playing basketball, soccer and rugby, even earning a representative cap for the county soccer team. This led, in turn, to a very active social life. He had met Karen in college, and on graduation, they had married. At the age of twenty-two, he became a father, Karen giving birth to their only child, Fiona. At 35, he finally hung up his boots on a sporting career that always provided much entertainment, not to mention occupied a large chunk of his time. For a number of months, he found it difficult to fill the void that his sporting endeavours had left. His position in the community had not gone unnoticed, and he was approached to stand in the local elections by a number of parties, but eventually agreed to run for a conservative, right wing party. He earned enough votes, just. Scraping home on the fifth count, he took the fourth of five seats in the district. He was now highly respected, had taken his first step on the political ladder, and felt that, with hard work, party backing, and maybe a little luck, election to parliament next time around was not beyond him.

The party agreed. In a few years, his name was put forward for the general election, and opinion polls suggested that he would probably be stuck in a dog-fight with socialist and nationalist candidates for the third of three seats in the constituency. He held a slight advantage over his opponents, but it was a numbers game, delicately balanced, and a couple of votes either way could swing the result. One blunder and the whole campaign would go down the tubes.

He had been on the road for over three weeks. He got home, exhausted and fixed himself a cup of tea. Karen was at a work conference in France, and had been for a number of days. Fiona had been on the road with him, she was done with school, finally. College would be next for her, but she wanted to take a year out and travel the world, work her way across Europe, scuttle through the Middle East, India, China, Hong Kong, and Japan before touring Australia and New Zealand. She’d spend a few months then seeing the States. The great road trip from Los Angeles to New York. Then fly to Ireland, hitch-hike from the south-west to Belfast in the North, and catch a ferry back home to Scotland. That was the intention. He thought to himself “the best laid plans…” He finished his tea, and went to bed. One week till voters go to the polls, a long week it would be.

All in all, the house had been empty for about a week. This had not gone unnoticed by the local petit thieves. Crime was not really an issue in the town of Wellston. It was the kind of place that everybody knew everybody, but there was still the occasional break-in or stolen car. Most jobs were done in the big cities, Glasgow, Edinburgh, after which, these places were ideal to lie low for a while after a job. But Cllr. Jones’ place was worth the risk. He was rich, he was successful, and more importantly, right now, he was gone. Or so wee Martin McLeish thought when he scurried over the back wall at 3:47 a.m. that Tuesday morning. He was physically not that tall, 5’8”, nor was he that muscular. In fact, he was very slight. His big advantage was that his father had been a locksmith, and had taught him enough that Martin could pick just about any lock in a matter of seconds. He was also smart, and should probably have chosen a less unsociable profession. Right now, though, empty house equals big hit. He still brought his knife, not a huge thing or anything, but big enough to show that he meant business, just in case some slightly more robust thieves had taken on the job ahead of him. Guns for show, knives for a pro. Either way, he was in now, and the place seemed to be deserted. He leafed through a few magazines, strolled through the living room. “Nice TV” he thought, “pity Billy wasn’t here with the van. We could have done a proper job on the place, cleared it out.” But he would take what he could, a few antiques, the Discman lying on the table. Nothing that would slow him down in the unlikely event of a hasty get-away.

He started filling his rucksack, silver cutlery, cds, and expensive looking vases. And just for the fuck of it, the remote off the TV, he hated it when his went missing. He opened a cupboard, bingo! He had found a video camera, among other things. In to the bag it went, this could be a very profitable evening after all. In raiding the cupboard, he knocked over a picture. “Nothing major,” he thought, “there’s nobody here.”

Upstairs, Simon awoke. He thought he heard a thud, like something being knocked over. He lay still for a few minutes, straining his ears towards his bedroom door and the rooms beyond. There, footsteps! The wooden floors gave everything away. There was someone definitely downstairs. “Maybe it was just Fiona, fixing herself a drink,” he thought. “But why would she be in the living room, then? I’d best go down and make sure.” He grabbed his robe and pulled it on, cautiously making his way through the landing, and tip-toeing down the stairs. His slippers made little noise on the wooden floors on the lower floor of the house. He peered through the doorway, discovering an unfamiliar backside sticking from his drinks cabinet.

“Ahem,” Simon coughed loudly. Martin raised his head just in time to see a right fist come flying in his direction. He ducked, saving his nose from imminent redesigning, as Simon’s hand shattered the cabinet’s glass panel. He knew he was in trouble. The hand looked at least twice as big as his, and you could guarantee that its owner would not be a pygmy. Martin dived across the room, feeling his attacker leap full length and grab him by his leg. They wrestled and rolled, Simon trying to employ his rugby skills in an effort to over-power the intruder, Martin looking for anything that would give him the slightest advantage. Lampshades were knocked, vases broken and glasses smashed. They crashed into the bookcase, knocking the radio from its perch. It fell, catching Simon squarely on the small of his back. In an involuntary reaction, he released the young thief from his grasp and his hands went to his lower spine. Martin, realising his freedom, scrambled to the far side of the room and grabbed at his blade, holding it at arms length, pointing it in Simon’s direction.

“Stay back, man” he ordered, in his Scottish accent. “I don’t have a problem using it.”

“What is it you want?” Simon asked, unable to think of anything better to say. It was blatantly obvious what he wanted. Some quick cash and an easy get-away. At least the second point wasn’t on the cards now.

The noise of the fight had woken Fiona in the room above, and she had made her way down to the doorway of the living room.

“Daddy, what’s going on?”

“You, over there, next to him.” She jumped at the sound of Martin’s order. But, he had a knife, she was not about to give him reason to use it.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Simon threw in his money's worth. “We’ve seen your face; we know what you look like. I hear police sketch artists are very accurate these days. You’ll be locked up in days.” Simon didn’t believe this, but any seeds of doubt he could get in the young man’s head would be an advantage.

“Shut up, man. I can not think.” Martin knew he was in serious shit. Only last week his mate, Johnny had been sent down for a five-year stint for breaking and entering. He looked over the two in the corner. He was big, at least 6’4”, and his shoulders were wide enough to park a van on. How he’d come out of the fight alive was beyond him. Luck was all he could put it down to. She looked well. Very well, now that he inspected her closely. She was a tall girl, at 5’10” and all she wore was a long t-shirt. Her shapely legs stretched out from beneath. They went on and on, smooth as the day is long. He could see her ripe breasts heaving beneath fabric of the shirt, and her face was rounded, brown eyes, perfectly framed by shoulder length black hair. But he didn’t have time for this now; she’d be the last woman he’d see for a while if he couldn’t think of something soon. Martin reviewed his predicament. His trump card was his knife, but that would be no use to him once he left the house. He also had two witnesses, both of whom were now making mental notes of height, build and facial features. All over a backpack full of electrical equipment. That was it, the video camera! Rummaging one handed through the backpack, he found it and placed it on the table next to him.

“Okay”, he announced. “Here’s the deal. I am in need of a safety plan to ensure my freedom from prison. You are Councillor Simon Jones, a politician. You are in a very tight situation, as regards your upcoming election, am I right? I know I am. So here’s what’s going to happen. I will start this camera rolling, and will film you shagging your daughter’s brains out on the settee, over here.” Simon’s jaw dropped. “Ye will both agree, because I have a knife. When I leave, ye will not mention this to anyone. The police will not be informed, if they are, this tape will be released, and there goes your election plan. I will not release the tape while I am free. And should ye not agree, ye will both wake up dead tomorrow. Understand?”

The two figures in the corner stood silent for a minute.

“I said, DO YE UNDERSTAND?” Martin roared at them. Fiona looked first at her father, then at Martin and sheepishly nodded agreement. “Right, that’s one in. Come over here.” Fiona walked over to him, and he grabbed by her arm. In one swift movement, Martin ripped through her t-shirt with his knife, and the shreds of material fell from her body, revealing her full beauty. She was perfectly proportioned, and an incredible sight to take in. At 18, she was already every man’s dream with well toned muscles, tanned flawless skin and not a trace of pubic hair around her pussy. Her breasts were full and large, yet needed no support. Her nipples were neither too big nor too small, just perfect and seemed to be calling out to be sucked. Her body was having an obvious effect on her father, as his hard-on forced out a bulge in the fabric of his robe. How had he not noticed before that his daughter had turned into a goddess? And now, she would be his to fuck. It was so wrong, but that thought was turning him on. He shed his robe.

“Looks like you’re in too,” said Martin, “okay, two of ye, over to the couch.” Simon joined his daughter by the settee; Martin picked up the camera, and turned it on. “Alright, lets get started.” Simon leaned down tentatively and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Undress him” the order came from the far side of the room. Slowly, Fiona unbuttoned his pyjama top. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. “Kiss his chest as you go.” Martin was really getting into this direction business. She planted kisses along his chest, all the while, continuing to undress her father.

“He still looked well, for a forty year old,” she thought to herself. “So there was the odd grey chest hair, but his sporting life had kept him fit. Broad shoulders, a muscular body… Oh my god, I’m enjoying this!” the thought startled her as his top fell to the floor. She was on her knees now, face to face with the bulge in his pants. She pulled on the elastic and slipped her right hand inside, he wore no underwear. Her hand freely caressed his now throbbing member, sending shivers of pleasure racing through her father’s groin. She tugged at the pants with her left hand and she inhaled his scent as the last of his clothing hit the ground. Now she was faced with his cock, mesmerised by the size of it. It was much thicker than her ex-boyfriends; it must have been the same girth as her wrist. And it was long, very long. At least eleven inches in length. She had never heard of one bigger than nine, and even then she believed it to be an urban legend. She stroked it lovingly, realising now she would enjoy the experience, even if it had been forced on her. She glanced quickly at the intruder.

Martin hadn’t had to give an order in some time. The scene before him was becoming so erotic, perfect for its purpose-blackmail. He couldn’t but be affected by the sight he had. A beautiful young girl, kneeling naked in front of her aroused father. She looked quickly toward him, returned her attention to the tool that had given her life, and closed her lips around the head.

“Aah,” Simon let a short grunt escape his lips, as his cock head slipped by hers. In his mind, he was desperately trying to deny the feelings he was now experiencing, the pleasure he felt as his teenage daughter sucked lovingly on the tip of his prick. But his body was betraying him, he was losing his battle and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before he blew his load down his daughter’s throat. She briefly released him, kissing and licking her way down the length of his shaft. Gently she licked at his sack, savouring the musky flavour before taking one of his balls into her mouth. She sucked on it, applying pressure with her lips, before switching, and taking his right testicle in place of the left. She sucked on it one last time, as she licked and nibbled her way back up the forbidden meat, resting finally at the tip, sucking as much in to her mouth as she could. She began bobbing her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the hole at the tip as she did. Simon finally caved in. His needy hands came to the side of her head.

“Oh, god yes. Suck it down, honey, don’t stop. Suck on Daddy’s prick.” He started thrusting his pelvis forward, forcing his engorged penis into her mouth. To Martin, this was absolute gold-dust, worth more to him than any high-priced attorney could ever be. Fiona took as much of him as she could, but he was just too big. She placed a hand at the base of his cock, to stop him thrusting too far. This way, at least, she could control his pace. But he was too close now to make a difference, with one last thrust, he planted his cock at the entrance to his daughter’s throat, but didn’t let her pull back this time.

“Oh, fuck, yeah.” Jet after jet of hot cum coursed up the length of his prick and shot into his daughter’s waiting mouth. It felt so good, Karen hadn’t gone down on him in years, and had never let him blow in her mouth. There was so much, Fiona couldn’t take it all, and it leaked from her mouth down onto her D-cup breasts. Finally, he let go of her head, and she pulled back off his shrinking cock, grabbing at a shred of material that once covered her magnificent frame. Simon collapsed, satisfied, onto the couch.

“You happy now?” he questioned Martin. “You have what you want, you can leave.”

“But that wouldn’t be right now, would it, Councillor?” Martin retorted. “Do you normally take without giving in return? Your daughter here has satisfied your needs, the camera is rolling until you’ve satisfied hers.”

“You want me to go down on my own daughter?” Simon seemed reluctant, he was out of practice, Karen was not adventurous in the bedroom.

“That’s your choice, Councillor, but I’m not leaving until I have footage of you shagging her brains out. That was the deal, remember?”

“But, I’m not ready, it could be a while.” Simon gestured quickly to his deflated member.

“Well, your daughter is putting on a bit of a show; why not watch her while you… recuperate?” The two men turned their attention to Fiona. She was sitting in the armchair, eyes closed, legs spread and her right hand working frantically on her clit. She needed release; the scene earlier had turned her own so much. She loved the feel of a cock in her mouth, of cum racing through a penis and shooting from the tip. Her ex-boyfriend had called her insatiable. She had missed him since he left for a job in Wales. Her father’s was the first cock she’d tasted since, and now she needed more of it. Simon’s prick was springing back to life; he moved from the couch and bent over his daughter in the armchair.

Their tongues intertwined as they shared a deep, long, passionate kiss. His hands went to those perfect globes on her chest, caressing, playing with the buds that sat atop them. He felt her hands clasp around his rejuvenated cock, urging it closer to her dripping cunt, wishing it to part her lips and drive into her.

“Not yet, sweetheart, not yet.” He planted kisses down the line of her neck, down to her ample bust. Pausing there, he teased her nipples with his tongue and teeth. It was driving her wild.

Martin was aching to free his solid, overgrown tool from its denim prison, but to do that would be to sentence himself to jail. Instead, he remained dedicated to the camera, capturing every golden, taboo-ridden moment. He could wait until later to relieve himself.

Simon, meanwhile, continued his delicate journey down his daughter’s body. Finally leaving her breasts, he traced a line with his tongue down to her navel and on to her hairless mound. He inhaled deeply, enchanted by her scent. She was dripping wet, ready for penetration. This was turning into one hot night, something he never even considered doing. Yet, now, he was strangely thankful to this thief for his intrusion. Lowering his head, he kissed Fiona’s clit.

“Ooooooh, yes, that’s it. Right there, aaaaaagh, god.” She was in heaven. He tongued her hot snatch, feeling her writhe in pleasure under his touch. He inserted a finger, and stroked in and out slowly, concentrating on the front wall of her vagina, as he sucked on her love button. “That’s it, Dad, don’t stop,” he inserted a second, “please… don’t… stop.” Her back arched, and she uttered a low guttural moan as she came, flooding his face with her juice. Now she was ready for fucking.

He retraced his path up her flawless body, pausing once again to tongue her navel and tease her nipples. He placed his lips back on hers. She could taste her own pussy juice on him. She knew what was coming next, and she didn’t care. She needed this, the perfect end to the perfect evening. Her hands went to his granite-like cock, again teasing the foreskin back. She placed him at the entrance to her cunt, rubbing the head up and down her pussy lips. He lowered his weight, and the head parted her delicate folds, gaining entrance to the warm, slippery paradise it found beyond. Her pussy initially had trouble adjusting to the size of his penis, but Fiona didn’t care. She needed a good fucking, and her father was the man to give it to her.

Simon couldn’t believe the sensations racing through him. Her cunt was so tight on his cock; he couldn’t remember the last time Karen had felt this good. He looked down one more time, just to make sure that this youthful goddess was indeed impaled on his member. Pushing forward, he crammed more of his immense length into her. He withdrew, slowly, and rocked forward again, so gently for fear of hurting his precious baby girl. But she was no baby now. She was fucking her father and loving every minute of it. She pushed into him, trying to get more of him inside her, matching his rhythm, forcing it to a faster pace. He felt himself getting caught up in the excitement, he was matching her pace, and bettering it, and then she would do the same to him. Pushing each other closer and closer to the edge.