A Taste of the Apple

Your gaze remained fixed on the droplet of precum clinging to the tip of your father's cock, its translucent sheen seeming to taunt you. Without thinking, your tongue darted out, wetting your lips as your mouth began to water in earnest. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a primal urge that seemed to bypass your revulsion and disgust. Your father's grip on your hair tightened, his fingers tangling in the strands as he leaned forward, his hot breath washing over your face.

Your hand, still grasping the shaft of his cock, seemed to move of its own accord, guiding the head towards your lips. Your tongue darted out again, involuntarily, and licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of his precum. The sensation was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. You weighed the taste in your mouth. The taste then started to burn in your brain as if it was a burst of heat. Only the revulsion and disgust of this act kept you in control, but the lust was going to win over if you let it.

Your father's breathing grew heavier, his moans growing louder. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back to see what you would do.