Im Mels Dad Ch 10 The Forest

TEN

'The Forest'

You sit on the coffee table, knees touching the couch. I have spread your hair behind you and as I work the ends with the brush (which is the only way to brush hair without knotting in the tangles) my cock stiffens.

It is true, I have a kink with hair.

Among my thousands of photos of beautiful women in sexy posess and entanglements, I have hundreds of photos of hair. Long hair, hanging down backs, draped over shoulders to cover breasts, hanging in simple braids, corn-rowed, separated into dreadlocks, done up in elaborate confections with flowers and pearls for weddings, ads for shampoos and conditioners.

I'm eclectic.

As I silently concentrate on my obsession, you - having been through this ritual since before you can remember - sit quietly, patiently, breathing slowly, calmly, deeply.

You know the effect this has on me and you spread your legs in anticipation.

Obviously, tending to your headful of thick, silver-gold silk takes time. It is, after all, more than five feet long. In addition, my taking excessive erotic delight in the process slows it down even more.

After a long fifteen minutes, your hands, which have been laying quietly between your legs begin working your fingers over your bare pussy mound, eventually caressingly parting your lips. Then progressively digging deeper into your dripping cunt.

You have, over more than two decades, joined me in the obsessive kinky pleasure that brushing hair brings.

After nearly half an hour, your mother's boar-bristle brush with the engraved silver back is stroking against your scalp. And your fingers playing deep within you have brought you to at least two orgasms, maybe more, and you have been sitting, trembling for quite a long time.

I walk around to stand between you and the couch and you lean forward, taking my cock into your mouth. I rest my hands on your head and allow you to take your time and your pleasure as you do what you do so well.

One hand cups my balls and gently rolls and squeezes them while your other circles my cock and alternates stroking along my length, stroking your thumb against the tube running along the underside and gripping my base with encircling fingers to squeeze and jostle me, all the while sucking, tonguing, rolling, smashing and clutching my cock engulfed in your talented mouth.

I can not hold long and shoot into you.

You gratefully swallow the fruit of your lovingly dedicated endeavor.

Your fingers return to your pussy and I return to attending to your hair. I divide your tresses into seven bundles, three along each side and one in the back. I gather the one at your left temple and divide it into five strands. Then, with speed garnered from long practice plait them into a tight flat sinnet.

I repeat this until I have seven riatas, delightfully lovely and suited to my purpose.

I push your shoulders forward and you rest your elbows on the couch. I sit on the table, clutching you between my thighs and slip my cock into the tunnel between your asscheeks and the table.

You move your hips, sliding your dripping pussy along my cock, then lift and twist and maneuver until you collect and swallow my stiffness into your cunt.

You rock onto me and, gripping me hard, pull on and off using your elbows on the couch as your fulcrum.

I slide forward, plant my feet on the floor and, gripping your hips, stand, lifting you until your weight rests totally on your elbows and forearms on the couch.

I begin to fuck you, each thrust driving you further forward until you are upside down your shoulders and back driven against the back of the couch. I am kneeling on the couch, straddling your folded torso, jamming down into you fiercely.

Each time I bottom in you, you exhale a grunting shout which sounds like 'yes' but could just be a noise driven from you by the force of my penetration.

I shoot into you which triggers another convulsive climax in you and we fall to the side, exhausted.

I pull on my canvas pants and flannel shirt.

"You bring some good hiking shoes?"

"Waffle-stompers?"

"Those'll do, get 'em on, Sweet."

You go dig through your bag and pull out your heavy boots.

I select what I'm taking with us on today's adventure.

My rope bag, of course. The pole of the mic stand because it's height adjustible, but I leave the base because it will be useless. Several vibrators. All going into my backpack. The decorative curtain rod end I picked up.

I hold it up to you. "Sweet, check this."

You, bent over tying your shoes, look up. Arching your back lifts your tits off your knees and I am pleased. Your nipples always stand out now that the gold rings do not let them collapse.

"What?"

"Look at this."

I hold up the rod end, basically a stack of slightly squashed balls. About fourteen inches long; the one at the base is about four inches wide, the next is about two and a half, then inch and a half with a small ball at the tip, about half an inch. There is a 3/4 inch dowel to attach to the curtain rod.

"Ooooh, interesting."

"That's what I thought. Catch."

I toss it in a high arc to land in your hands. You examine it closely, turning it in hands, rubbing the surface with your finger tips, fondling it.

You look up. "Cool."

I laugh. "'Cooool?' Who says that anymore?"

"You do all the time, silly."

"Oh, well, yeah, true, but I'm an old fart, you're a kid."

"Dad, you're such a 'fla-a-ake'." And that dripping, teasing tone get a guffaw out of me in response.

"You..." I nod. "OK, yeah, cool."

"Here, catch."

"No, you hold on to that for later."

"Ooooo, oh my. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Unless you've never met either of us."

You laugh.

I finish up packing my pack and open the door.

I am pleased that you did put on your heavy socks and boots and did not even make a move to put on any other clothes.

I would have told you not too.

I'm glad you're so delighted to delight me.

"Come on," cocking by head towards the door.

You were already on your feet in anticipation and cradling the rod end in both hands, covering your pussy which I usually tell you not to do but this seems so appropriate it's artistic.

Damn, girl, you are so fucking beautiful.

That thought is never out of my mind.

You brush against me as you squeeze past me. Ahhhhh, my plan is working.

And I am stiff.

I step out after you and snag the rod, "Take this," and close the door.

I take the rod back and walk into the woods.

Very quietly, "Stop." I hold my arm out.

You whisper, "What?"

I point.

In a clearing beyond a screening of blackberry briars a stag fucks a doe.

You gasp.

The buck, eight-points, looks nearly double the size of the female. His tail is the highest point and he is draped over her, nearly hiding her. No wonder they call it 'covering'.

It is a very powerful image, and we are both excited by it, but our excitement quickly pales and we continue on our way.

"Ahhh, damn, Whatthehell?!"

"What?"

I've stopped dead at the edge of 'our' clearing. I look sadly on the remains of the structure we had set up. Specifically designed and erected for our use in our erotic activities.

All that is left now are a few broken off stumps and the center pole. At least it still has the iron fittings.

"What is this?"

"'Our Gazebo'. We built it when we first came out. Now it's wrecked."

You look around, seeing the broken benches, poles and branches.

"What happened?"

"No idea."

OK. Time to change plan.

I stand by one of the legs of one of the benches (the plank seat totally gone) and motion you over. Looking down I notice one of the fastening dowels is still in place, sticking up about an inch.

"Sit."

You look down, notice the peg and sit down carefully next to it.

I squat on my heels, resting my elbows on my knees and watch you, sit quietly, sheened with sweat.

"Get yourself wet."

You set the rod end on the ground next to you, scoot forward on the log and start fingering your cunt.

The way you know I like.

And so do you.

You are soon curling over yourself, forcefully driving in three fingers and pumping slowly, your eyes fixed on mine.

I like it.

You pull out your fingers and lift them to your lips. You suck them clean one at a time, delighting in my need to kneel on one knee, unzip my canvas and pull out my stiff cock.

You smile, lay all three sucked-clean fingers on your tongue in your open mouth.

You close your lips around your digits and slowly draw them out.

And thrust them quickly back into your cunt, jacking yourself fast, your feet bouncing off the ground.

My fingers curl around my cock.

"OK. Stop." I nod toward the rod end beside you.

"Pick it up."

You do.

"Put it in."

You start to knock the dirt off.

"No. You put it on the ground, fuck yourself with it, dirt and all."

You shrug and spread your legs, displaying your shining slit to me.

I nod.

You set the small end and press it easily between your lips.

You pull and pull a few times, then press the second ball in. Your breath catches, and you resume pumping just that second ball in and out. Your lips cling to the ball and are pulled out before snapping back on its release on passing. And being pulled inside when you press it back into you.

I move to you and squat between your thighs for a close look as you continue fucking your self shallowly with the inch and a half ball.

It is coated with your juices, which are being pumped out to cover the next ball - nearly twice as big.

I look up to your face.

Your nod and jam the two and a half incher past your protesting cuntlips. You gasp - and on the exhale groan.

You lean forward in your attempt to accommodate such a large intruder.

You straighten up, look at me, smile wanly and begin to draw the rod cap out.

I watch as your lips refuse to release their prisoner, but they can only stretch so far before the escape causes them to slam back to entrap the previous escapee - smaller ball.

You force it back in and make a sound of pain, delight, determination - I can't tell, I've been focused on the show between your thighs.

I look up to your face and watch you as you reinsert, withdraw, reinsert... and I go back to watching the struggle of your cunt.

You try to push the next ball - four inches into you, but you can't. Your pussy refuses to stretch that far.

You look at me apologetically, appealing to reason.

I stand and brush the braids, now damp with the sweat of your forehead, back to get a good look at your face.

Your eyes implore me. I smile and lean down to wrap my arms around you, pulling you up to me, flattening your perfect tits against my flannel shirt. You breathe into my ear. I kiss your neck.

And slam your ass back down onto the bench leg.

You scream as four inches of solid maple enters your cunt in a single blow.

I stand back and watch as your struggle to accommodate that intruder - not only stretching your cunt lips, which clamp shut around the short dowel beneath it, but filling your vaginal chamber just behind your pelvic bone and jamming its fourteen inches against your upper walls as well.

I lick my lips as I watch you start to rotate your hips, rubbing your interior with this invader. Your surprise, outrage and sense of betrayal fades into slack-faced ecstasy.

I like watching that.

You open your eyes and look up to me, grateful with lust.

You lean forward, seating the rod end more firmly in your cunt and take my cock into your expert mouth.

I like that.

After I come, quickly and without drama, and you swallow, I go to my pack and pull out the several organizing bags, setting them on the ground.

I open the back of cuffs and gags, take out four cuffs and return to you.

I hand you two cuffs and kneel to strap one around each of your legs, just above the knee. You, cuff both your wrists.

As you should.

I take the two braids in front of your ears and thread one each through the rings on each of your knees. I thread the ones just behind your ears through the rings on your wrist cuffs.

I lift you by your shoulders and kiss you, my hands resting on your hips.

You wrap your arms around my chest and hold me tight.

Our embrace lasts forever, yet is quickly broken.

I look around, surveying the ruins of the gazebo your mother and I had erected, it is gone now, just like she is.

My plans have been destroyed by circumstance, but I reformulate after taking in the scene.

I go to the edge of the clearing and retrieve what had been a cross beam, a raw log about fifteen inches thick. I roll it to near where you are standing, twist it a bit, aligning it for the next phase of my new plan.

"Come on, step up."

You walk over and, taking my hand, step up to balance on the log, your waffle-stompers giving you quite sufficient traction.

I pull four paracord heaving balls from the pack, which are wrapped in such a way that, when tossed, unravel from the inside, trailing the line from which they are made.

I lay three on the log at your feet and reeve the protruding end of the fourth through the braid furthest from your ear on your left side.

After lacing it through about the first foot, I throw a simple seizing knot around your braid and work it tight.

I walk to the only post still standing, allowing the line to play out of the ball.

I stand at the foot of the pole, flooded insensate by memories.

Memories of the many times your mother and I were here, using our secret gazebo.

This pole was the first thing we erected.

You watch as I use the large iron rings as handholds and footholds and climb the pole to pass the nearly depleted ball through one of the rings at the top. I haul it to me until it has lifted your braid.

I pull it tight, causing you to lean toward me, stretching to accommodate the pull.

I make the line fast and descend.

I repeat the reeving and seizing on the mirror of that braid on your right and with a powerful arm, heave the ball over the branch of the tree that I have aimed the end of the log at.

I fall short the first time.

And the second.

But, on the third, the ball overtops the stout branch I was aiming at and unravels to fall to about eight feet from the ground.

I stretch up to grab it and, watching you, pull it down until you shift your feet to take in the counter-pull against the first.

I tie the end to a short, broken-off branch end.

I stand a few yards in front of you and look.

Your long braids make a shallow 'v' holding your head snug, and forcing you to lift your heels a touch off the log.

I smile. You smile. I press against you - not hugging, just pressing my chest against yours. You wrap you arms around my shoulders and kiss me, our mouths at the same height with you standing on the log.

I repeat the reeving of the lines through the braids on the center of each side of your head and thread those lines through the rings on your wrists.

I repeat this with the braids in front of your ears through those on your knees.

I take the one on your left wrist and play it out, then pass it through a ring on the pole about four feet off the ground. I pull it tight causing you to lean as far as the braid over the high tree limb will allow.

Your wrist is lifted to shoulder height, and free to move along the stretched line.

I take its right-side mate and pull it to the same tree and wrapping it around the trunk at about that same height, pull it as tight as I can, immobilizing your head and leaving your arms free to move along the lines at shoulder height.

I pull sufficient line from the remaining balls to thread through the rings of the cuffs above your knees and match the reeving and seizing in the braids hanging in front of your ears.

I toss the heaving balls, one towards the pole, the other towards the tree.

I retrieve a vibrating wriggler dildo from my bag and lay it to your mouth.

You mother found this magnificent tool. Thick vinyl skin covers a screw than turns inside it causing the skin to writhe and the screw also pumps about an inch up-and-down as it twists. I can only imagine how it feels.

You tongue it as I rotate it before you. I lift it and press it against your lips; You eagerly take it in.

I pump it a few times.

You make sure it is wet.

I move behind you and gently force this treacherous tool into your ass. You press back to welcome it.

I fuck the flexible rippled-screw in and out of your ass until I can push it fully into you, with just the control knob visible, holding your sphincter open.

The braid hanging down your back, the last braid, I dress between your legs, pulling it tight into your crotch, snugging it between your ass cheeks and your cunt lips. Thus holding both the wriggler in your ass and the pyramid of balls in your cunt. I wrap it once around your waist and pull it tight, sealing both tools in at their full depth.

I stand in front of you and fondle your tits.

You press them forward into my hands.

I lean in to kiss you, your head immobilized by your taut braids.

I step away, smile and kick the log to roll it out from under you. With your support taken away, you are hanging by the four braids I have set.

You grimace, but after a very short struggle realize that jerking your body, jerks your hair.

You relax, trusting me, and allow yourself to hang.

I take up the heaving ball threaded through your left knee-cuff and run it to one of the rings at the base of the pole; The one through your right, I lead to a smallish tree growing beside the tree you are hung from.

I stand off and look at you, so gloriously suspended by your silver-gold, never cut hair.

I can only imagine how you feel.

You seem to be excited, your spread legs, calves dangling from your knees, reveal your glistening slit.

I turn on the screwing dildo in your ass. And spin it to the highest setting.

Your eyes sparkle and your lips, tightly pressed together, curl in a tenacious smile.

You watch in eager anticipation to see my next action, confident that I will excite you.

I pick up the fly rod and take a few practice casts. I seem to have preserved my arm. The paracord attached to the tip gives a loud crack, startling me - and causing you to flinch.

I take a firm stance and flick the ten-foot rod aiming at your left tit.

I miss entirely.

I try again, hitting your left underarm. You scream.

I watch for you to calm down.

"Are you OK?"

You nod.

"Want me to continue."

You close your eyes tightly, open them and gaze into my eyes.

And quietly murmur, "Please."

I aim again and this time manage to strike the tip of your left tit with the seven exposed core strands of the unsheathed end of the paracord.

The loose strands briefly tangle with your ring and jerk your nipple.

You shudder violently and scream.

I decide to gag you and dig into my pack.

As I walk towards you, I watch your face, and your body calms down.

I decide that I enjoy your screams and toss the gag back onto my pack.

Having gotten my aim square, I hit your right nipple.

I wait for you to calm and then strike the meat on the outside of your left tit, and strike the outside of your right on the return.

I whip your tits a couple more times, then move behind you to whip the tip of the cord to kiss your ass.

You are sweating, your body stiffening and your screams changing character.

Your flinching pulls on the seven plaits supporting you by your scalp.

I know the cunt-filling wooden pyramid of balls and the wriggler in your ass are working on you without pause.

I undo the paracord and wind it back into reel.

I step to your left side and slash you with the fly-rod itself, cutting into both nipples at once.

The glistening beads hanging from the golden rings through your nipples flash in the sun.