Im Mels Dad Ch 05 Piercing

FIVE

Piercing

"Me: What about the girl?"

I leave that message for Mrs Wilson.

You sit side saddle on my lap, lying curled up on my chest. Your hair drapes over me like a silver-gold poncho of fine silk. You sit up, turn your head from the screen, and look at me.

You smile.

That smile, on my girl... yeah, OK, sure, you're twenty-two, you're a woman, but you'll always be my little girl.

Or so I'm told.

And that feeling hasn't waned yet.

Your smile is a lift every time you let it beam out.

I love you.

And you love me.

And we both love that.

You lean in to kiss me, rubbing your cheek against mine. My hand cups the smooth curl of your butt and very lightly rubs in a small circle, but with my big hands, I cover a wide area.

My little finger traces the cleft in your cool ass while my thumb rubs along the crest of your hip and my palm covers the entire rest of your cheek. This is why I like to spank you bare-handed - we are a perfect match.

Your tongue flickers out across my lips and evades capture when I attempt a response.

I thread my fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, gripping your head and holding you in place. I flick your lips with the tip of my tongue, flick your nose, flick your eyelids.

I move in to a deep kiss and your response is enthusiastic and eager.

I'm so glad you've decided to be naked at home. We've had no visitors over this month since you took up this delightful practice.

"Dad."

"Sweet."

"When will you do it?"

I smile, "Do what?"

"My nipples. You promised."

"Nipples?"

You punch me lightly on the jaw. "You forgot. You always forget."

"Hey, wait... I don't al-... never mind. What about your nipples?"

"You promised to pierce them."

"I did?"

"Yes. Remember when you had me all tied up and trussed in our bed? That first time? With the breadboard and the brush. Remember?"

"Ahh, yes. I remember it well."

"So?"

"So?"

"So when are you going to do it?"

"You said it wasn't any big deal. That we could do it here. That I could do it."

"Yeah, Dad, you can."

"Well, get the stuff together and we'll do it."

"Now?"

"Or you can wait. You brought it up. It's up to you."

You straighten up and hurry out of the room and up the stairs, your flaxen hair, nearly sweeping the floor, sways with each step and exposes the contours of your exquisitely formed body by sweeping over them, flowing over their surface and never revealing skin. Tantalizing. Enthralling.

While you are upstairs shuffling around, water running the bathroom, sounds like you're gathering... whatever... I am trying to convince myself that you know what you're talking about.

That it is simple enough that even a lack-ken like me could do it. Acceptably.

You come back down with your mother's mirrored make-up tray with the fixin's. On the way DOWN the stairs, your hair DOES brush the steps behind you and flows back in a silver-gold train.

When you bend to set the tray on the coffee-table, your firm tits sway beneath your torso, nipples erect.

A shape and a view that delight me.

Every time.

I reach out and slap the underside of the near one, your left.

You stand and look down at me.

Smile.

Kneel between my thighs and sit on your heels. Chest out.

"First, you have to go wash your hands. Wash 'em real good, Dad."

I go in and wash good. Up to the elbows. Like a surgeon, in scrubs for the very first time.

I walk back with my hands held up to air dry.

I don't know much, but when someone says, "Before we start wash your hands real good," I take the hint.

I come back down.

You are still sitting on your heels in exactly the same position you held when I left.

It is not lost on me that, from my one mention of how much I loved to see an attractive woman naked, sitting on her heels, back straight, tits thrust forward, you have adopted this pose.

And, although I hadn't mentioned it you somehow know me well enough to add wrists touching at the base of the spine.

You are quietly humming a shapeless tune while you wait with your eyes closed.

I swing one leg over your head to sit so that my inner thighs touch your biceps.

You open your eyes to see my erect cock stabbing the air in front of your face.

You smile, lean forward for a slow lick from base to head, then sit back up straight and look into my eyes.

You gesture with your head, indicating your mother's makeup tray.

"Pour rubbing alcohol..."

I pick up the bottle and pour the alcohol over your tits, mostly on your nipples.

You break out in a crazy laugh. "Pour the alcohol on the gauze, you dope. Aaiigggjjjk" You howl of pain takes me by surprise. "Jeez, Dad, now it's in my pussy. Damn. It burns."

"Awhh, crap, sorry." I reach down to wipe it off.

As I touch you, you say, "No, that's OK, leave it. It's a 'kinda-ok' hurt."

"As you wish."

I reach past you to get the gauze, my chest rubbing against the side of your head.

You nuzzle against me as I sit back and await instruction.

"Pour rubbing alcohol on the gauze and wipe all around. Clean the whole area good. Really good."

I rip open the gauze packet, pull it out and soak the pad with alcohol.

When I touch your left nipple you flinch back.

"Whoo."

"Are you OK Sweet? Did that hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, it is just so cold."

I notice that your nipples are totally erect, more so than I've ever noticed before. I guess that's good for the piercing.

"Now, pour alcohol into that empty perfume bottle, open the needle envelope and put the needle in the alcohol."

"OK."

I do that.

I notice that the needle is a hollow syringe needle and wonder where you found one, I didn't know where one was readily available.

I thought of druggies, diabetes, doctor's offices.

As I rub the alcohol over your stiffening nipples, my cock stiffens, rising from the half-mast state it had relaxed to while I went upstairs.

Keeping your hands behind you, you arch your back thrusting your tits towards me even more.

Damn I like the way you look. So sex- no beyond sexy - you body is the manifest expression of everything your mother had that was beautiful, with a marbled in smattering of my Mom's beauty.

I've been looking at beautiful women all my life, like some people watch birds.

I've collected photos of beautiful women for four decades like some people collect wine corks. I have over seven thousand, most in folders on my computer now that I've scanned them in - saves a lot of storage space in our bedroom.

Not one surpasses how you look, kneeling before me, thrusting your tits, now gleaming with their alcohol sheen, rising and falling slowly with your controlled deep breathing.

"Take those little circle thingies and unscrew the bead."

I do.

"Drop them into the alcohol. In the perfume bottle."

I do.

"OK. Get the Volcano lighter and heat up the needle."

I pick up a boxy lighter and flick it on.

DAMN, that flame shoots out blue and is about two inches long.

Scares me.

I hold the needle by the eye and hold it in the flame, the alcohol burning off quickly.

"Get it red, Dad."

"Mel, you sure about this."

"Yeah, I've wanted to do this since I saw Jessica and Nancy do it Carole's slumber party in Junior High."

"Why didn't you say anything about it, Sweet?"

"Dunno. Now, I know you'll do anything to make me happy."

"That's always been true, Mel."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"YEEowh!" The needle has heated up enough that it burns my finger.

"Get that cork and press it on the side of my nipple."

I reach to your mother's tray, again brushing against the side of your face, this time more deliberately.

"Do you think I should get them vertically or sideways?"

"I've never thought about it, you've been thinking about it for ten years. What do you think. More importantly, what do you want?"

"Well, Jessica and Nancy did it sideways, but some of the girls in gym have theirs up and down. Both look so sexy. I don't know."

"You gotta decide."

"Yeah, ok - side to side." You look up into my eyes. "If I want vertical, you can do that for me later."

My cock ticks up another beat.

"Now, wipe the nipple you're going to pierce," you lift your left tit up to me, "with the alcohol pad again."

I do.

"Put the cork beside this nipple."

Yours is so erect, so firm that it extends almost as far as the wine cork is thick.

"Yeah, Dad, like that."

"Now." You take a deep breath and hold it.

I sit staring at your nipple, the cork pressed against the inside of it. I salivate.

"Dad. DAD." I startle and see your exasperated look. "Jeez, Dad, perv much?"

"Sorry I..."

"Yeah, I know. Do it now."

You hold your breath as I hold the needle beside the outside of your nipple.

I build up my courage to actually intentionally injure my daughter.

But, you want it and millions of women have piercings. I'm being foolish.

"Dad, do it now. On three. One. Two. ThreehoUUOow!" you exhale forcefully.

I'd pushed the hot needle through your tender nub and deep into the cork. A little earlier than you expected, I guess.

"Yah, hyaah, aaahh."

I have trouble keeping the needle and cork lined up as your tits bounce on your heaving chest. You quickly accommodate yourself to the surprise and whatever pain is involved and sit there shivering - but you never moved your hands or pulled away.

You really do want this and are prepared.

I suppose you've talked to all the girls and have an idea what to expect.

I do not.

I've seen piercing, of course.

Many over-do it - at least to my taste - with lips and eyebrows sorta stuff, but most seem comfortably erotic to me.

Now, I'm looking at my daughter's tit, cork pressed to her nipple, needle stuck through and glistening in the light.

My tongue smooths over my upper lip.

"Dad, Dad, you gotta pay attention."

"I was just... I..."

"Yeah, I get it, you're pervin' me. I like that, but you've got forever for that. Get this done."

"Gettin' kinda bossy, ain'tcha?"

"You bet. It's my tit. I'm the boss of MY tit."

"True. Now what?"

"OK, leave the needle in and do my other one."

"Sure?"

"Dad. Who knows what's going on."

"That would be you."

"Yeah, so do what you're told."

I laugh at your presumption of authority.

You realize it and laugh too - still, I do do as you insist.

I repeat the procedure with more facility, more grace, more deftness, much quicker - but with the same result.

"Now, we wait."

"Wait? How long."

"Half hour, maybe a little longer."

I look at the needles thrust through your most tender... well, one of your most tender spots, the silver needles glinting in the light.

"So, we just have to sit around and wait, now."

"Well, we have to wait to even touch my tits."

"You didn't tell me about that."

"Yeah, I didn't."

You lean forward and, your hands still at your butt, cover me with your mouth.

Your talented mouth.

I hadn't realized how on edge I was until I feel your hot wetness and your tongue snaking around me.

I shoot into your throat almost immediately.

But you keep mouthing me as I soften.

Damn, you know how to please me.

I rest my hand on your head as you delight yourself in pleasuring me.

I'm not sure if you are thinking of me, or just doing what you get off on, totally absorbed in your erotic cloud.

I roll you back, bending you over the coffee table, tits high. And knock all the stuff on the tray over, pushing it towards the far edge of the table.

I lay your back into the puddle of alcohol and lift your hips to rest on the near edge.

Your knees are bent, off the ground and pressed into the couch.

I grab each thigh just above your knees and spread you wide.

You moan, "Oh, Daddy."

"Stay like that."

"Sure." And you lift slightly, adjusting where the table edge cuts into your ass.

I trace your cunt lips with my fingers, taking your smear and spreading it over your mound and down into the crack of your ass, circling your brown ring.

You begin rotating your hips, lifting up to me.

I keep my hand moving, tracing your flesh very lightly.

You, seeking more firmness, lift.

I move higher.

You lift higher.

Eventually, you have lifted so high, your feet jammed into the floor, your entire body resting on your shoulders, your head hanging off the opposite side of the coffee table. Your hair covers the table like a fine silk cloth, shining wet where it lies in the spilled alcohol.

The silver needles piercing your nipples enhance the vision.

Delightful.

I lay two fingers along your cuntlips, my palm resting on your clit. I begin to move my fingers lightly along your slit, not neglecting to tap your asshole once in a while.

Well, OK, I tap your asshole often.

I curl my fingers into you, pressing the heel of my hand onto your uplifted puss, crushing your clit.

I grip your pubic bone like a trunk handle and start lifting and twisting and thrusting, tossing your pelvis around, determined to shake you to orgasm.

Yeah, just like that.

You scream a pent-up come, echoing into the room.

I take this opportunity to add in the other two fingers, which you don't seem to notice at first, but as begin pumping your start pumping back, curling your spine to try to gain control of your pelvis and lifting your cunt to attempt to engulf my fingers.

I could never get my fist into you - into anyone.

Whenever I'd tried, I'd been stopped, not by over-stretched soft pussy, but by bone, pelvic bone, making a ring that I could not get my hands through.

At the widest part my knuckles are about four inches wide - about the size of a Mason jar. Now, I've seen some women in pornos shove bigger stuff up, but I've never met an actual woman that open.

And, as always, pornos lie and exaggerate - that's how they make their money.

Anyway, I'm deep as I can get, four fingers and the bank of knuckles where my digits join my palms bangs at your strait door.

Admittedly, I am basically punching your cunt.

But, no, that's not accurate, I never pull out even as much as an inch.

I am much more interested in the effect I am having moving my fingers around.

I've been at it now at least fifteen minutes, maybe more.

I may not be don Juan, expert at pleasing women, but I AM attentive and perform the same way I live: If it hurts, don't do it; If it feels good, do it again.

Of course, living that way requires a lot of attention, a lot of engagement.

And the certain knowledge that some things that feel wonderful in the moment, can cause serious, even deadly consequences.

'Course the only way to learn what those dangerous delights are, you gotta jump off a lot of garage roofs to learn the connection between the joy of flying and the agony of landing.

And the supreme joy that comes with a spoonful of cheesy potato slathered in habanero sauce.

I smooth and pet around your cervix and press into the surface walls of your vagina to feel and examine the roundness of your bladder.

Sometimes fingers dance nearly independently, other times form a cohesive unit.

At the moment I'm milking your cervix with all four fingers, reaching as deep as I can, bracing the neck of your uterus on all sides, then I draw them towards your tip, sliding off the end and tapping the tiny hole.

And I press up against it.

I know there was no chance of getting in unless a baby was coming out, but I do enjoy your reaction when I do that.

Like I said, attention.

All this time my thumb is doing everything possible to your clit and the areas around it that I can reach with my thumb.

Tracing, burrowing in and folding your crura against your pubic flap.

And circling, tapping, stroking, mashing, flicking and lifting your clit.

Sometimes I pinch you, my thumb on your clit, a couple fingers press and roll in tight circles over your g-spot. Which I've always called the root of the clit until knowledgeable doctors with actual medical training decided Dr Grafenberg needed his name in the books.

In reality, that tight bundle of nerves is, in actuality, in physical and anatomical fact, the root of the clitoris.

I've had you coming now for what seems like hours, certainly more than ten minutes with the one coming now.

You are panting and I think you're trying to tell me to stop, but I can't really make any sense out of your panting, groaning, moaning babble.

I decide it is time to stop being so selfish and let you recover from such prolonged ecstasy. Again, attention.

You suddenly scream so loudly I think you are going to blow the blow the roof off and your pelvis shoots up, throwing my hand, hell, my arm, completely away from you, wrenching my shoulder.

A string of your juice flies off my fingers in a trailing arc.

You are stiff, unmoving, and arch up astonishingly, with only your shoulders touching the coffee table and your heels, which you have moved up to press against the couch.

You are frozen like that for a very long time, maybe thirty seconds.

I am totally blank as to what's going on. I've never seen anything like it.

I can't tell if you are coming like Christmas, having some serious medical problem, maybe THE RAPTURE has come and... nahww, I know you, if you were being taken up, everybody had been dead wrong about what is going on, about who are the elect.

I touch you, stroking your belly, you are arched up and it is the highest point, you do not react, you do not relax, you do not breath.

I ask if you're alright (yeah, stupid question, but honest).

I feel a hangnail and, as is my wont, I worried it a bit with my teeth before cutting through it and...

wait...

As I turn to spit the nail fragment into the can, it dawns on me.

I'd ripped the soft, engorged inside of your cunt with a hangnail.

Yeah.

And it looks like it hurts real bad.

I decide to make sure my nails are trimmed and sanded forever more, part of my regular get-read-for-sex routine.

Actually, not a part of my regular get-read-for-sex routine. That is, basically, that will be my regular get-read-for-sex routine from now on.

New Rule for Sex: Trim your damn fingernails, asshole.

I quickly return from the medicine cabinet with a soothing cream. I scoop up three fingers and push in to slather the inside of your cunt. You start humping up on my fingers - which changes the entire experience.

I allow you to pump, raising my hand slowly so that you have to lift your pelvis higher and higher off the table to keep impaling yourself on my fingers.

The cream completely fills your vagina, so slick there is no friction, only the sensation of pressure.

So I spread my fingers as wide as I can, deep as you can slurp, in to where my little finger halts all possible progress - so you keep thrusting and dropping and thrusting higher to keep me in as I raise my hand.

I twist my fingers inside you until your clit is slamming into my pinky. I curl it tightly and you punch up against it - it feels like a tiny fist hitting your bud.

I start to meet each upthrust with my thumb on your asshole. You start to wriggle your hips at the top of your stroke.

So, in accommodation, I press my thumb against your ass.

You alter your stroke - from simply lifting straight up, you begin tucking at the peak, responding to my thumb.

You take my thumb in your grip and hold tight. I bend my thumb and drive it between my fingers in your cunt - reaching to press your membrane against the root of your clit.

You stop lifting, stop thrusting, stop all movement except a very small rotation of your hips.

You would fall back to the table, but I am holding you by your pubic arch. I pump my fingers at the rate I feel your blood pumping. I feel your shiver and watch as your body sways back and forth, looking as if every muscle in your body tightens.