With Daddy's Permission

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This will be my last Literotica story for now, and maybe for quite a while. With this piece I conclude my online book of erotic stories which I might title "Sexual Misadventures," if it were in fact a real book. Those of you who follow the website closely will have seen a lot of me lately. Well, all good things must come to an end.

The story that follows is the first story I began, and was the most difficult to envision and write. I choose to end with it as a nod to the consuming power of taboo, which equally attracts as it repels.

After all, stories speak in symbolic language. Sometimes the story may explore the symbols not only of our darkest desires, but of our darkest possible desires.

Thanks to each and every one of you readers, whether you're here for the full performance or just this one act. Your time is the most valuable thing, and it is truly humbling to know you'd give me a chance with it.

Bye now!

P.S. Sorry for no Incest in this Taboo tale. Just so you know going in...

* * *

It was something of a ritual for 40 year-old Eric, when he visited the house of his childhood friend, Charlie. He was over at the house to drink, watch TV, play cards, and be merry. But now he was masturbating on the toilet again, after having excused himself to take a shit. The first time he'd done it, five months ago, he was drunk and it was the middle of the night. Today, it was 2 pm in the afternoon, and he hadn't even had a beer yet. He was getting bolder.

Here he was, jerking it over a crumpled wad of toilet paper.

He had had other rituals in the past, like his post-work visits to the local university library. He went there to wank under the table, enjoying the sights and fantasies of girls the age he liked, 18-22, that prime ripeness. He sought the sights of the bubble butts out there, dossed up in skinny jeans or tight leggings. Yes, he was an ass man. He liked pussy the most too, so he watched that on his phone all the while monitoring the college ass as it roamed the library.

Eric had fantasized about being caught or called out and just thoroughly refusing to quit, and like a heroine emerging, one of the 22 year-old skinny brunettes, with the nice popping ass and a sense of humility, as if from a sense of duty, and with a definite sense of resolution, would strip down to her skivvies and into her bare nothings and come and with one hand, she would shield Eric from staring gaze of all the aghast onlookers, and with the other hand, she would take up the mantle of hefting his beloved shaft.

He walked around loving the damp residue soaked into his underwear that rested against the front of his tenderized cock.

He had once talked to one of the bubbly butts, along with one of her friends of a flatter, less creative ass. He had learned their names: Jessica and Willow.

When they had first approached him, he had quickly changed apps on his phone from the streaming compilation of cumshots -- dumping all over women's faces, bellies, and all the other colorful orifices of the female body -- over to his Kindle reading app where he was reading a book entitled "Skepticism." He had turned toward them, sweeping his hand deftly out of his slacks, leaving his penis throbbing and pulsing, leaving him feeling the tension of the expansion and contraction of the penis at the forefront of his mind, as he looked Jessica in the eyes and said, "You girls surpass all the knowledge in this whole facility."

He held out his hand, his wanking hand, and Jessica took it and shook it. "Thanks, I guess."

"I'm Eric."

"What do you study here, Eric?"

"Nothing, actually."

Willow, with her long sneering nose, interjected, "Well you don't need any help with that, do you, buddy? Jesse, let's go!"

"Jessica, wait!" Eric called out. "I have a quick question for you."

"I might have a quick answer."

"Who taught you to smile like that?"

She blushed.

"My Lord, you are cute!" he said.

"Creep!" Willow barked.

"I like the way you think, old man. You're dirty, like the soil. I'm also a gardener, not just an art student. Well, I gotta go," Jessica said, following her friend to another corner of the library. "Bye."

"Bye."

He snapped a picture of their booties scooting away, watched the image sit lazily there on the table while he finished the job.

Jessica had been wearing bright abstractly-patterned leggings that had drawn his attention the second they walked in, and Willow was wearing ass-tight pale denim. The picture caused a real impulse in him, from the depths of the sense of his own cock, the way he used the image to uplift Jessica's beauty at the expense of Willow, who has rejected him from her circle, whom he proceeded to degrade.

Jessica had caught him staring and had gotten curious, was willing to engage. But his words didn't come to him, probably because he was too jacked up from jacking off incompletely and wanting to get back to jacking at that. Then he had been succinctly cock-blocked.

He channeled his positive sexual vibe into his gaze at Jessica's perfectly round and bubbly butt, and he channeled his negative sexual vibe into his gaze at Willow's narrower hips and behind. They were both sexy in their own way, charged with the vibrance of youth. But into one her sent his love, and to the other his hate and disregard. Then he squirted one out, and it all ceased to matter.

Now, here he sat, in his latest ritual, for the last five months, on his childhood friend Charlie's toilet, jerking it, vertically, with two fingers on the pleasure line on the back of his circumcised tip, to keep the noise down, so that he might not be sussed out and, at worst, asked not to come back.

The first time he had whacked it in Charlie's bathroom, he had dry-wrapped his cock in toilet paper. He loved the way the friction of the sheets bristled at the sides of his erection, and the way that when it ended, the evidence disappeared into a folded and flushed promise of forgetfulness. In his mind, he had avidly repeated the thought of her name, could hear it in his mind as if he'd spoken it, and then he did mutter it aloud, heavy and breathy, when past the peak, the boner continued to shoot off into the toilet paper wrap. The toilet seat had shifted under his ass, and he readjusted it, then his legs. With the disappointment of it all being over, once again, beginning to set in, he imagined the whole six-shot load disappearing in one swallow down her throat. As dry as his dick was in its paper wrappings, he imagined it flowing in tongue and saliva.

That was a month after Elizabeth had turned eighteen.

Eric had never intended to fall for his God-daughter, the daughter of his childhood friend Charlie. Christ, he had known her since she was a baby. But Fate had it for Elizabeth to have a perfect, popping bubble butt. That was Eric's favorite thing. He noticed it about her when she turned 18, but he repressed any feeling of attraction he felt for his God-daughter. Those feelings stayed repressed for a whole month. Then, in the middle of a drunken night, he found himself masturbating on her toilet and muttering her name as he came into a TP tourniquet.

The fantasy he bore for Elizabeth, the sordid hope he kept coming back to, was the prospect of being caught watching porn in her dad's living room. Not even wanking, just streaming and viewing on his phone. As he was wont to do, while he was there. Charlie didn't have a problem with his friend's horny proclivities. He didn't seem to mind playing a game of cribbage with a guy who was at the same time watching videos of women swatting their twats on screen. He only cared that Eric put it away if they heard Elizabeth coming around.

"Watching porn is like breathing to me."

"I can tell."

"What really gets me going is the soft stuff, though. The stuff that makes you use your imagination. Bikini models, Victoria's Secret catalogues, old Maxim magazines. Hardcore porn just releases a certain nerve in me that nothing else can get to."

"I get it," Charlie said. "You use it to relax."

"Precisely."

Charlie had his own ways of consuming erotic imagery, usually watching hip hop music videos of lusty black chicks shaking big asses, while he wore his vibrating Flesh light, which he kept hidden in his closet and was able to take out for use about once a week at age 40.

Eric, on the other hand, was a dry-rubber. He was also, obviously, a chronic and obsessed masturbator. One could say he really loved it. One could even say he would be happy without ever seeing pussy action again. He really wanted that action from a girl half his age, no denying it. But questionable as his sexual expression may have been, he was nonetheless passionate and engaged when it came to pounding his own drum.

He jerked off in his car, driving across town. He jerked off in his apartment in a continual process of rest and repeat. He jerked off in public restrooms, behind closed doors or into urinals. He jerked off in parks, in wooded areas where few people explored. He jerked off at beaches, in the deep water.

His eyes were always looking for female flesh to feed his gaze upon, motive for his masturbatory impulse. He liked young, fresh, flowering womanhood. He wanted to penetrate every last one of those buds, but he knew he couldn't. Instead of settling for a plain-looking and probably overweight woman his own age, he took up being his own best lover. Besides working 40 hours per week as a forklift operator, he stood devoted to the mighty, solitary O.

But, back to his fantasy of Elizabeth, he kept coming back to it. She would sneak up and catch him watching something dirty and twisted, like a step-brother pounding the paint in his step-sister's pussy. She would see it and know in an instant what he held inside, his dark horny perversion. She would see it and recognize it, because she had it too in her own, less developed fashion.

From a young age, Elizabeth was a very solitary soul, with creative and artistic longings and a high tolerance for solitude. She was very affectionate to those within her ken, but she did not seek anything in the mob of friendship and dating. Charlie was convinced she was still a virgin, as she purported herself to be. Eric hoped with all his heart that it was true.

Virgin or no, Eric was convinced she was not 100% inexperienced in eroticism. She had sketchbooks she never shared with anyone -- Charlie had sneakingly discovered them one day while looking in her room for a missing charger cable, and he had showed Eric, wanting someone to bounce his parental concern off of -- of erotic pen-and-ink drawings, depicting images sometimes brightly ecstatic and other times deeply fetishistic.

Eric saw those drawings and came to believe that their sexualities stemmed from the same source. He fancied she was a masturbator like himself. He imagined that she was endowed with the power of mind to will herself, touchlessly and through the breath, to orgasm. He saw her as delighted in the power of her own pleasure.

She had a drawing he'd seen of a Goddess-like-Being with a wide, sumptuous vagina, in full detail at the top of the page, that pussy raining down billowing welts of sex juice onto the ground below, out of which emerged a whole field of small erect penises pointing straight up in the air. Eric, who loved lesbian squirting porn perhaps above all other categories, had been touched deeply by the drawing. He hoped in his heart that Elizabeth herself was a squirter, a voluminous squirter at that.

As he came this time, he imagined fucking Elizabeth from the missionary position, her pussy squirting all over his groin. It had been over twelve hours since he last came, so the ejaculate overshot the wad of toilet paper. His left hand which held the wad went chasing after the fleeing shot of semen, while the rest of his load emptied onto the front of the toilet seat. "Fucking mess," he said under his breath.

He zipped up his trousers then stooped forward to wipe off the clump on the tile floor, when all of a sudden the door was opened and Elizabeth herself appeared -- she never remembered to knock -- and just as soon she said "oops" and recoiled, turning away, when it registered to her that he was fully clothed and she decided she could stay, asking him out of curiosity, "What are you doing?"

"Uh..." he started, but then her eyes found the glob of spooge on the floor he was leaning towards.

"What's that?" she said. Then noticing the streaks of jizz on the toilet seat, "What's that?" And finally, to his ultimate horror, noticing the picture he had of her still open on his phone, which was sitting face-up on the floor, "What the fuck is that?!"

"It's not what it looks like."

"Sicko," she said, slapping his face. She left. He watched her ass shift back and forth as she walked away in her short shorts. When it came to Elizabeth, he could not help himself. All he wanted was more.

He closed the door back up and cleaned up his mess, not knowing what to do next or what Charlie's exact response would be. He might try to kill Eric. If he tried, he would probably succeed. Charlie was a collector of weapons, not guns or explosives, but everything else, from ninja stars to kali sticks. Plus, he was also a working man, which kept his spirit mean.

Eric stood there looking in the mirror, his face flush with recent revival, but his eyes darting nervously around. He locked eyes with himself for a moment, thinking: I already dead, aren't I?

He went back to the living room, not knowing what to expect, not expecting anything good. A dark part of him regretted not lasting longer, so that when she had walked in she would've seen it all, and he could've came looking directly into her lovely hazel eyes, or even the sensuous eye of her bellybuttonhole, which she showed off in her high-cut tank tops.

When he came into the living room, she was kneeling on the floor and leaning back into the couch, her flat belly stretching before her, a slight arch to her lower back. God did she know the subtle art of tease!

Charlie was sitting forward in his recliner, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He peeked up between his fingers at Eric, and Eric barely had the courage to look back at his friend. "I'm so sorry," Eric said.

"You shouldn't be," Charlie said, after a gravid pause. "Unless you're in on this. Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"In on her shit."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Good," Charlie said, then paused with great portent. "Elizabeth wants to sleep with you."

"She's got her own bed," Eric said, playing dumb.

"She wants to have sex with you, Eric. Can you believe that?"

"But Dad," Elizabeth interrupted, "I'm 18 and an adult, and it is my right to fuck who I want."

"I don't want to hear this from my baby girl. He is your Godfather. For God's sake, he's known you since you were a baby. How do you think he'd feel about having sex with you?"

He looked up at Eric, imploring him to talk some sense into the girl.

"Look at him. He's dying to drop a load off in me." She winked at Eric. "Aren't you?"

For Eric's part, there was nothing he wanted more.

"I dunno..." he said.

Charlie's eyes darkened another shade. "How can you not know? That's my little girl, your Goddaughter. Do you have no decency?"

"I dunno..."

"Dad, if you don't let me fuck Eric, I'm going to go find a random tweaker and jump on his dick. I'll fuck the first person I see walking down the street. I don't care."

Charlie clutched at his hair, clearly distraught.

"What do you say Daddy? He's your friend; he can't be that bad of a guy. Otherwise, I promise I will fuck the worst man I can find, and I'll probably get pregnant too."

Charlie looked up at Eric in pure misery. "Hurt her, and I kill you.".

"Thanks Daddy," Elizabeth said, bubbling up. She started toward her bedroom.

"Make sure you use protection," he called out.

Eric hung back and stood silently next to Charlie for a long moment. It took all of his courage for him to voice the words, "So I have your permission?"

"Yes," Charlie said. "Don't ever ask me again."

"Use protection!" he called out again, as the two of them ascended the stairs.

Once upstairs, Elizabeth dragged Eric by the arm over to her bed, a Queen-sized mattress for the princess of the house. The white down comforter was covered in pillows and stuffed animals, relics of her recent immaturity.

"Sit down and take it out. I want to draw your picture."

"Only if I can make a video of us fucking later."

"What makes you think I'd actually fuck you, old man?"

"Okay, you want me to stroke? I'll stroke." Eric's cock was charged, and it almost leapt out of his fly as he unzipped.

"Impressive," Elizabeth said, appraising the back-side of his 9 inches. "Now, show me what you can do with it."

He started beating it.

"We are going to try some tantric masturbation. I'll be your teacher."

"Okay." He didn't know the first thing about tantra, but he committed to following her lead.

"I want you to stroke really hard until you are on the verge of coming, then squeeze tight right below the head, take a deep breath, and hold it all in. ... It looks like you are getting close already. Here, come on this if you accidentally go too far." She handed him a teddy bear Eric himself had gifted her, many years ago now.

"Can I have some lube?" Eric said, out of character.

"Lube comes later. For now, here's my lotion. Only a drop, please."

The scent of cucumber mint would always bring him back to that moment when they had their first night together, tantrically masturbating.

He choked it rigorously toward his peak of pleasure, while she sat at her desk, legs splayed wide, watching him and drawing in her secret sketchbook. He followed her instruction, but when he squeezed the head tightly, he had already gone too far, and his load came bursting out onto the teddy bear. His shaft swelled violently with each pulse of come to come out. He felt a sense of failure, even as he was dripping and oozing pleasure. "Sorry I came."

"And you'll come again." She set down her notebook and stood up, gesticulating with her lovely little hands, as she spoke: "Tantric masturbation is not about coming or not-coming. And it's certainly not about judgment. Wipe yourself off and start again."

He looked down at his sagging member and had no desire in that moment to go on with it.

"Next, we're going to warm you back up with a little ass-play and stimulation of the perineum," Elizabeth instructed. "You're pretty cute when you come, you know that?"

That got him. The spark of sexual desire was just as quickly reignited. He wasn't ready to pump it just yet, so he followed her orders in fingering and stimulating himself in the region behind his ballsack, his perineum and anus. He fondled his nuts too. He took her guidance in stroking himself rhythmically and creatively in other, less obvious, places, like the creases behind his knees and elbows. Her hazel eyes studied him.

Elizabeth's voice was steady and hypnotic as she gave advice. She continued to draw. At one point while Eric was rubbing the side of his cock against his forearm, he noticed her push side her shorts and panties far enough to slip a bullet vibrator into her vag.

She started breathing strangely, heaving in a long and controlled manner, with equally matched pauses. She pulled back her panties farther and fiddled her pen against her clitoris. Eric definitely enjoyed watching.

Elizabeth stood up and started shaking her ass, rubbing her stomach, pinching her nipples.

She lifted her crop top over her head, revealing no bra but her bare breasts, small with tiny perking nipples. She leaned over him, her tits right in his face, and whispered in his ear, "I like that you like me."