Chapter 5

Jill works in an office about fifteen minutes from home and usually arrives between 5:30 and 6:00, depending on whatever stops she needs to make. On Thursdays, she stops by the gym for a touchup with her budds.

I work from my home office, taking breaks to do home chores when my brain needs an infusion of oxygen to help deal with my sedentary work style. It is amazing how many work-related problems I have solved by stopping to mow the lawn when something has me stymied. Enlightened employers understand this concept and provide coffee breaks. Unenlightened employers consider coffee breaks an unearned worker benefit and do their best to limit or eliminate them.

Jazz gets home around 3:30, also depending on her extra-curricular activities.

On this particular day, I had stopped to take care of an especially nasty chore when my brain was hammering futilely at the door that hid the answer to a contract dispute I was engaged in. My customer wanted something I was not willing to do for the consideration he was prepared to pay. It needed to be done, but I learned long ago to never back down in circumstances of this sort. It destroyed future bases for negotiation. Weakness shown once leads to defeat experienced many times.

All of this explains why I was in the shower busily soaping things when Jazz brought Tina into the bathroom. We have this wonderful glass-walled shower enclosure, big enough for a Brownie Scout meeting, (at least that’s how I thought of it), with multiple shower heads that could be adjusted in direction and type of spray. I had also insisted on a humongous hot water tank. Who wants the water to turn cold just as you are getting to the good part of an extended aquatic foreplay session?

As an outcome of my development work with off-grid technologies, I had developed solar heating and water recycling systems for my own house that provided essentially unlimited hot water for the three of us without external consumption. This also allowed me to throw away the silly water flow restrictors and get the waterfall experience I enjoy so much at the Friedrichsbad in Baden-Baden.

Anyone who has ever stood under that torrent of deliciously sensual water from the overhead 12-inch diameter nozzle as well as the waist-level nozzle of the same size can never be satisfied with the wimpy drizzles allowed in America. Of course the next 13 steps of the Roman-Irish bath experience in Baden-Baden are worth the airfare to get there on their own, but the only thing I could recreate at my own house was the shower. Never mind the mixed nude bathing with some of the most beautiful women in the world. (Google it.)

So, here I was, daydreaming in my waterfall while dragging a soapy hand the entire length down my dangling participle and I hear a voice--a young-sounding voice. The flood of water over my head has attenuated most sounds, but somehow, “Wow! Dad! That’s awesome!”, when delivered by a youthful girl’s voice, penetrated my Nirvana.

I opened my eyes to see Jazz and another girl admiring my technique from a distance just outside my splash zone. It was way too late to pretend that I wasn’t doing what I was doing, and besides, they were in my bathroom. If Jazz didn’t want to see my humongous dick or share the experience with her friend, then she had the means to avoid it.

They weren’t avoiding anything. In fact, they seemed to be dropping to their knees in awe. As an experiment, I put my hands behind my neck and swiveled my hips, slinging foamy suds far and wide around the bathroom. Four bugged out eyeballs followed every centimeter of motion.

That part went over so well that I leaned back and grabbed a double handful of prick and began slamming my hands from my huge balls to the purple crabapple end and back. It was cute the way their eyes tracked my hands. How much more of this show could I manage before breaking my clam digger?

Jazz was the first to escape the spell. After all, this wasn’t her first rodeo with the horse cock. She stood and pulled her friend up, then pushed the girl inside the shower enclosure with me. The girl was still fully clothed, but I guess this was within whatever rules of the game that Jazz had set up.

“Get him off, Slave. Nobody wants to see that big old thing sticking up there like that. Make Daddy cum and be quick about it. If you don’t, I’ll let him ram it up your tight little ass. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” She was totally in “in charge” mode. Apparently, this slave mistress thing was working well for her.

Can’t say it wasn’t working pretty well for me. While the friend was trying to work out what to do first, Jazz moved back to a convenient ledge and pulled the crotch of her shorts to the side, to allow her to stuff a few fingers in her patented pretty little pink pussy.

“Daddy? You remember Tina, don’t you?”

You damn betcha I remembered Tina. I’m not that good with names, but I never forget a set of tits like this girl swung around. Every time Jazz brought her over, my tongue stayed hard until it thundered. I helped the poor child struggle out of the few garments she was wearing and threw them to Jazz so they could begin to dry, then bent the girl’s nude body over the hand rail and went for the gold ring.

Foreplay has its place. Slamming it home as an aperitif also has a place in my heart. If time permitted, there were a few other places I planned to slam it home if I could hang on to access rights to this delicious person.

My juices were still flinging around when I pulled the entire length out of her belly and forced her mouth open with my other hand so she would be able to sample the cum d’jour in Chez Jake. I don’t know why I got on the French kick in my thoughts about her, but something about this scene reminded me of some extremely memorable experiences in France. Maybe it had something to do with the memories of Baden-Baden I had been jacking little Jake to when I was so delightfully interrupted. Baden-Baden is right on the French border and I have a great many very wonderful memories of that entire region. It is amazing how enjoyable life can be when the driving dynamic of an area becomes sensory and sensual fulfillment and exploration. Wine, cheese and calves ankles in aspic are a good start. Nude sunbathing at every opportunity and a very open attitude toward sexuality continue the motif. Try to pick up a girl at choir practice and her answer is likely to be that she apologizes for being on the rag this week, but that her two best friends will be pleased to help me with my problem. I have to tear my mind away from these memories to concentrate on some new ones just now forming.

Jazz was still idly toying with her pussy lips and I idly wondered if she had gotten her ashes hauled when the truck went by. I had not been paying a great deal of attention to something that would have captured my complete interest under other circumstances. She looked delicious, slumped back against the wall with her long, tawny legs spread as widely as possible while she toyed.

Tina finished lapping up my excess juices and reached for a towel, to rub me down.

“Finish drying Daddy off, Tina, then bring him into the bedroom. He may want to suck on your huge teenage titties for a bit while he builds up another load. I can let you have one more. Mom told me to save some for her and Daddy is getting so old and decrepit that he may not be able to get it up for her if you use too much.”

“You’re just jealous, Mistress. You wish it was your pretty little pink pussy getting flooded when your Daddy pumped all that hot, yummy cummy stuff down my throat.”

“Silence, Slave! Just for that, you will get ten lashes.”

“Oh, please don’t mark my butt, Mistress. The marks might show when I wear my new Wild Weasel at the pool and there might be too many questions.”

“Good point, Slave. We will have to whip you directly on the cunt, to keep the marks from showing.”