I am a woman from Yorkshire England and I write using British English and vernacular. Please enjoy my story for the holidays.
I had come back to stay at my parent's house over the Christmas break. I had not long split up with my boyfriend, things just were not moving forwards, and rather than be alone or with all my friends who were couples, I went to Mum and Dad's. It just seemed easier. They were glad to see me, of course, but Mum did explain that they were both busy working all over the Christmas period, so we wouldn't have a lot of time together as a family. That was fine for me, my company shutdown for the two weeks of Christmas and the New Year, all of us having to take the time as leave. It was what it was and the alternative was sitting at home on my own.
Mum was a nurse and worked at the Royal Infirmary and was often on evening or night shifts. Dad worked in an office in town, a nine to five, but he enjoyed it and had let all the other staff with families have first dibs at the holidays, so was working most days. That was fine with me, I could sit and use their Netflix sub to binge watch tv and drown my sorrows with Chardonnay.
Dad had come and picked me up from home, we had hugged, and all the usual greeting niceties and then he had bundled my bags in the car and we had set off. The roads were wet and the air outside was cold, probably only just warm enough for the rain to be wet rather than snow. He had the heater blasting in the car and the heated seats turned on, I had forgotten how much Dad loved the heat, I knew that their house would have the heating cranked up too. Skimpy clothes would be the order of the day for the next two weeks.
I was in my old bedroom, redecorated since I left and now just a generic guest room. Wardrobe, double bed, dresser, side tables and a chair. Could have easily been in a hotel room somewhere, I didn't care. Dad helped me take my bags up to my room and said he was putting the kettle on and to come down or a cuppa when I was ready.
I probably spent about fifteen minutes taking my clothes out of the suitcase and bags and folding them in drawers or hanging them up on the wardrobe. Eventually finished I took their Christmas presents down and put them under the tree and went and found Dad in the kitchen.
"Right then love," he said, "Tea?"
"Please Dad, milk no sugar."
Dad brought the kettle back to the boil and popped bags in mugs and then gave them a stir and a squeeze before depositing them on a little teabag tray by the sink. Milk from the fridge and we were done.
"Come on bab, let's sit in the lounge," he said leading the way out of the kitchen.
Dad sat on the sofa and I sat down next to him, smoothing my skirt as I sat, and I leant against Dad as I sat, a sort of non romantic embrace, Dad and daughter. Dad smelled nice, a woody spicy edge, probably still using his nineteen seventies aftershaves. Well, it was what he liked, and it suited him.
"So," Dad said, "Joe is old news then?"
Let's not beat about the bush, Dad just dives straight in.
"Yeah, it was just not really going anywhere."
"No more fireworks then?"
"Nope, in fact, to be honest, there never were any. We just fitted together as a couple, and then suddenly we didn't. No point in creating agony for anyone. He has moved on; we are just friends now. No bad feelings, it just ended."
"Shame, nice to cuddle up to someone on these cold winter days."
I synched into Dad a bit more, "I have you for the next two weeks Dad."
Dad put his hand on my leg and squeezed, I think he meant a reassuring squeeze, but he was a little high up my leg and it felt more odd than reassuring. His curled fingers were a bit too close to no man's land. There was little room on the small sofa with the two of us, no gap between us. Dad really didn't have many options of where to put his hand with me sat squeezed up to him.
I just lay and enjoyed the moment, my tea cooling by my side. I reached across and as I did so Dad's hand slipped a little higher. I sat up and adjusted myself, Dad moving his hand away as I reached across for my tea. There. Much more comfortable now. The tea was quite strong and seemed to dry the back of my throat, I almost coughed, but managed to just swallow quietly. Dad was slurping his tea.
We sat and chatted about work, was I looking to progress or move on, that sort of thing and then Dad said he was going up for a shower and then he would get a takeaway delivered for our tea. Mum would be home around ten. I took our cups into the kitchen and put them in the sink and stared for a few minutes out into their garden. Almost the only colour left was on the various acers Dad had in the borders, the grass looked lifeless and was sprinkled with a few late falling leaves. I turned and went upstairs to lay on my bed for a while.
As I passed my parent's room their door was open and in the mirror I could see Dad standing rubbing a towel through his hair, the towel hanging down and covering his face. That was all that was covered, he was stark naked, as you would expect after a shower. Perhaps he had forgotten that he had a guest and he should have shut the door. I had never seen Dad naked before and I stopped dead in my tracks. His dick was hanging down, but was quite impressive even in the soft state, bigger than Joe was. I don't have a huge amount of experience with naked men, but this was easily the largest dick I had seen.
As I looked it twitched and then started to rise. Oh, my goodness, did Dad know I was there? Lord, I hoped not. It rose and rose and then was jutting forwards, bigger than when I had first seen it in its soft state. Dad let one hand drop from the towel and grabbed his dick and started moving his hand, the skin moving and the purple-coloured end of his dick appeared, looking moist and shiny. Dad began to move his hand faster and faster and my mouth went dry and I had to suppress a gasp.
I used to watch Joe wank, it is quite a powerful thing to watch, I could never do it to Joe as well as he could himself. I used to get him started and then watch him finish, something I was unable to do, my arms always tired before the end. Standing watching Dad in his bedroom, legs apart, balls swinging as he worked his dick was a sight I never imagined I would see. It didn't feel sexual as I stood there, I wasn't sure what it felt, it was just odd. I realised my hand was up my skirt, pressing against my sex, pushing my knickers between my lips, pressing against my clit as Dad started to take big gulps of breath, the towel now forgotten still hanging from his head covering his eyes.
Dad pulled back hard and a large spurt shot from his dick onto the carpet in front of him. His knees seemed to sag and he squeezed his dick again milking more drops of his man juice. I eased away from the door and went into my room, reliving the sight I had just witnessed in my mind's eye. I didn't finish my pressings, taking my hand away from my fanny, my knickers damp but my arousal wasn't there. I felt detached from what I had witnessed, it was odd, very odd. I lay on the bed, my hands behind my head and closed my eyes and watched the scene again in my memory, this time gasping as Dad finished and spurted across the carpet. I hoped he cleaned up before Mum came home.
We had Chinese delivered. I had a Chow Mein and Dad a Cantonese style sweet and sour. We shared a special rice and the prawn crackers that were included. We sat at the kitchen table, chop sticks in hand.
