On My Face

Over the course of two hours, Dad hammers his cock across my tongue, and down my throat. Even still, the harsh slapping of his hips into my cheeks lasts only long enough for him to notice the increasing pinkness, before Dad's motion adjusts.

“Sorry, faggot!” Dad growls the words low, a soft, warm rumble in my ears as he asserts fuller self-control. The impact of his hips against my cheeks instantly ceases, his balls hitting my chin but his hips not impacting my cheeks in the process.

The self-control is remarkable. His thrusts don't slow, he doesn't soften the level of force. One thrust, his hips slap against my cheeks with a crack, and the next, they don't. My eyes flutter up at him, and Dad smiles at me, loving and apologetic.

I moan as his cock slides up my throat, letting the air out of my lungs, so I can inhale as soon as his meat allows. I breathe in the scent of him, the warm musky aroma flooding into my lungs. I savour the taste of his cock gliding across my tongue.

When I feel Dad start to pulse, I look up at him. He continues to hold onto my head, his grip iron-firm, fucking my mouth as hard as he likes. Finally, Dad growls with need, maintaining eye contact, “Shut your eyes, now, fag. Gonna paint you!”

I shut my eyes immediately as Dad pulls out. I can hear him stroking himself hard and fast as one hand leaves my head, moving unmistakably to his shaft. I tilt my face up to him, smiling receptively, and hold steady as the first pulse hits me.

I flinch reflexively, but I don't retreat or reposition. For around two minutes, and a dozen and a half pulses, I allow Dad's seed to soak every millimetre of my face. I wait until I am certain that he has pulsed for the last time, waiting in silence.

“Open your mouth and hold out your tongue, faggot,” Dad orders calmly, and I immediately obey. I feel him stroking his cock across my tongue, brushing every millimetre of his prick across my tongue. Finally, I feel his crown touch my tongue.

I gasp in shock as he delivers a dollop of his cream on the tip of my tongue, as the sensation registers. His release is thick, creamy, somewhere between honey and water. The flavour on my taste buds is rich and sweet, and absolutely wonderful.

“Rub it in, faggot,” Dad commands calmly, “You remember that article. It is good for your skin.” I do remember the article, in the science journal Dad subscribes to, that we both read. He reads first, I read when he's done, our shared little hobby.

I didn't know that my Dad produced milk, but I knew about phallic milk. The European Union has been funding research in recent human evolution. It's how they discovered mogrosides, prior only known to occur in monk fruit, in phallic milk.

I immediately obey his command, lifting my hands and rubbing his seed into my skin. My hands brush back and forth, my motions smooth, until my face and hands are dry, and velvet-soft. When my eyes open, his steel-hard cock stands proud.

I watch him stroke for a moment before I look up and renew eye contact. Dad smiles at me as I lean forward and start to lick his cock, again. “You're still hard, Dad. Do you need another round of service? I'd be happy to continue tending you.”

“I do,” he smiles as he answers, “Thank you for offering, slut.” He slaps his cock against one of my cheeks with a soft little crack, mischievous. I open my mouth for him, looking up, waiting for Dad to decide how he's gonna use me for round two.

Author's Note:
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