Ila is woken up earlier than expected by her father groaning beside her. Curiosity gets the better of her though she knows exactly what he's doing - given what the previous night had been. She wants to help out, but her definition of help just ends up prolonging Idris's painful predicament...
Just a silly porn-without-plot piece I wrote up the other day after sketching Ila helping Idris out while he jerks off. ♥
This is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only.
Ila blinked awake at the low groan beside her; the sound vibrated the air next to her head. She squinted at the digital clock on her nightstand and shifted, yawning. It was only about seven in the morning, and the soft slash of dawn light hitting the far wall confirmed that; a gray glow infiltrating their otherwise dark bedroom.
They'd only just fallen asleep at four o'clock after celebrating her successfully finished freelance editing job; watching two too many movies and having two too many drinks. Idris insisted on getting her off after every goddamned...
She stretched again, and a repetitive, rhythmic motion at her back coupled with a guttural hiss stalled all current thought. Well. She thought getting back to sleep would be an option - but now she was awake; all thoughts of sleep fleeing.
Ila rolled over and nestled her head against Idris's, pressed a kiss to his rough jaw, and rubbed a palm over his flexing pec. Her eyes trailed down his nude, dark body and landed on what had been the cause of the motion and noise that woke her.
"Couldn't sleep, Idris?" She asked with another yawn, her hand trailing lower to scrape nails through the hair on his stomach. He'd kicked off the sheet at some point, though it still covered her and one of his legs, leaving her toasty warm next to him despite her nudity and the chill of November air infiltrating their bedroom.
Another, louder groan was his response at first before he slowed to a stop, his breath a pant. "Y-yes, woke up very hard. Painful."
Ila's hand trailed ever lower, and she bit her lip when her father's hips bucked up, straining for her touch as he resumed pumping himself from base to tip in his slick fist. He growled when her fingertips just brushed the thick, flushed vein that bulged at the base of his erection, partway covered by gray and black pubic hair.
Ila pressed a kiss to one of the many dozens of roses tattooed on his bicep. "Why didn't you wake me up to help you, baba?
Idris huffed, one of his thighs flexing as her fingertips brushed over the vein again. His hand twisted up and slowed, lube and precum making a rhythmic sticking sound.
"D-did not want to bother, habibti."
Ila rolled her eyes and bit down on his dark skin, tasting salt and making him hiss. "Not a bother, old man."
Her hand pressed flat on his groin, tugging the skin at the base of his dick as he stroked, her other hand tilting his head toward her, silver wedding band glinting in the soft light. "Could've been sucking you off or riding you right now, but nooo! You want to be a gentleman and jerk off without me..."
She pouted and caught his dark eyes, and Idris huffed in response, his lip curling and the lines of his muzzle darkening. Then, he snarled something incoherent as Ila propped herself up on an elbow and shimmied lower to comfortably wrap her right hand around his wet, pulsing shaft. It twitched, and he pulled his hand away to rest on his stomach so as to not compete with hers.
"Wanted to make you feel good last night instead o-of - hff - getting mys-self off." His accent was so thick at that point that Ila wasn't positive if she'd heard Arabic or English.
She stroked him a few times with a practiced gentleness; her index and middle fingers smoothed over the slippery head on either side of his captive bead Prince Albert piercing. Idris's stomach tensed, lean muscle revealed beneath wrinkled, umber skin, and Ila laughed on a breathy exhale. Her piercing clicked on her teeth as she sucked her lower lip between them, and she glanced up as his heavily lined face, in turns lax and taut at her ministrations.
"You've been going for a while without me if you're this sensitive..."
"A-as I said," he exhaled once, then moaned and gripped the sheets in a large, gnarled hand, "did not w-want to bother."
Ila rolled his foreskin, glancing between his gaunt, weathered face twisting in pleasure and her pale hand slowly sliding over his dark, flushed cock. She pressed in close to his side, tongue darting out to wet her full lower lip.
"Mmhm... That begs the question now: how do I make you come? Do I suck you off...?"
Her hand twisted a few times on the upstroke, making his leg twitch, then went lower to cup one of his heavy balls. He made a noise somewhere between a guttural expletive and a whimper, lips parting and teeth clenched.
He shook his head, which she caught out of the corner of her eye. Her lip returned between her teeth, chewed in thought.
"Do I ride your prick, let you fuck me...?"
She squeezed - gentle but firm - on the testicle in her hand, then moved to cup the other, massaging soft, sensitive skin. Idris's voice strained, his cock jumped, and viscous precum beaded and dripped off of the thick gauge piercing.
"N-not this time -"
He sucked in a breath through his teeth and wrapped a hand around himself again at the base, eager to come -
"Or do I -" Ila pushed his gnarled, bony hand away and pressed her fingers into the hard, smooth muscle beneath soft flesh, "finish how you started?"
Ila huffed a little groan of her own, kissing his chest and pumping his throbbing cock in her fist, cutting him off. Her fingers could never hope to wrap around him - and that wasn't so much that she was small, as it was that he was big. Everywhere. Stretched out to his full length as he was now, one of his feet dangled off the edge of their California king bed, the other leg bent enough to spare that foot the same fate.
Idris's fingers ran through Ila's wavy white hair before tightening into a fist close to her scalp. A moan on the edge of a shout wrenched from his throat as her thumb drew lazy circles on his glistening cockhead, slipping and slowly stroking teasing fingertips over the frenulum below. Another drop of precum beaded on the stainless steel piercing.
Ila laughed again on a breathy exhale; her lashes fluttered, and the motion of her hand stuttered at his sudden grip and tug in her mane of hair.
"C-close habibti, so f-fucking close..."
"Mhmm..." Ila seemed to not hear him, twisting her hand over the top third of his dick in a deliberate, steady rhythm that made his long toes curl and catch the black and gold sheets.
Just as Idris thought he was about to come, the pleasure and heat building to its apex low in his belly, his cock throbbing and aching - Ila let go of him and put her hand on his bare, flexed thigh. She left him a twitching, erratic, neglected mess, straining and gasping at being left on the edge of orgasm.
He rumbled low in his chest after catching his breath, combing fingers through her hair instead of grabbing at it again. She liked to do this to him fairly often - he hadn't been expecting it this morning though, not after he'd been edging himself. Then again, he hadn't really expected her to join in at all with how exhausted she was...
Idris was desperate to come, but Ila wanted her pound of flesh. Payment for him waking her up - and she wasn't about to let him off so easy in spite of him edging himself. She ran her fingers up the side of his dick in a quick caress, making him shudder.
"Tease." He hissed, the chords of his neck taut.
Ila hummed another wordless reply and trailed her fingers back to the base of him, then over the thick, jutting vein along the topside of his cock with a still-slick thumb pad.
Idris's breath hitched, his erection jumped again, and Ila's fingers massaged in slow, steady, upward strokes. Fingertips mapped the branching paths of veins thrown into stark relief in the morning light spilling through the gap in the curtains. Each touch made him groan that much louder, made his abdomen tense that much harder.
Ila watched him through lowered white lashes, sweeping just the pads of her fingers over him - if she put any more pressure or skin-to-skin contact into her petting, he'd definitely come, and that wasn't quite what she wanted from her father yet... She pulled away from his dripping prick just as she felt him tense in the tell-tale way she memorized so long ago. His hips bucked up into empty air and his head fell back; long, knobby fingers clutched his face as he shuddered, moaned, sobbed, a muttered fuck rolling from his throat.
Ila wanted to touch him again, a part of her all too eager to make him find release - but the flare of heat pooling thick and low in her belly and the growing wetness between her thighs made her want to savor this instead. Savor him, instead.
In the spirit of that, she swiped her hand along his wet cock - drawing out a low, throaty groan from deep in his chest as it pulsed against her palm - and used the gathered fluid to caress his sac again. Idris shifted on the bed and reached over to grab the small bottle of lube off the nightstand, handing it to Ila without a word. Unless his deep almost-a-purr could count as a kind of speech.
Ila squeezed a bit of the lube into her palm, adding to the tacky slick already there, and rubbed over his balls again - careful to not catch the second piercing at the base of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed deep through his nose, his lip caught between his teeth and sinewy body flexing in barely restrained pleasure. She tossed the lube onto the sheets next to him, laid her head on his stomach, watching his prick bob and twitch, heavy enough to just barely support itself in standing erect.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lip as she hefted his sac up and let it slide back down to the bed with the tug of gravity. He huffed above her, his hips rolling, and she did it again, ending with cupping and palming each of his balls. She almost wanted to use her mouth on him, but let it remain an idle fantasy that made her thighs press together, teeth clicking on her labret piercing.
His cock strained, and a slow stream of precum dripped from his flushed tip - more than at any other point before right then. She blew out a slow breath, her hand moving up to swipe her thumb through the thick fluid, grazing soft pink skin. His cock strained in her hand again, and she felt his gasp more than heard it, another drop flowing down over her thumb.
"Do you want to come that bad...?" Ila asked in a whisper. She pressed a kiss to his flexing stomach and turned back around to face him, catching his hazy expression and even hazier gaze.
Idris opened his mouth to reply, but tensed forward again with a toe-curling groan as Ila's hand swept back down and massaged each of his balls, tugging on loose, sensitive skin. That same hand then slid up along the bottom of his prick and wrapped around the thicker middle, pulling his foreskin down and taut to expose his cockhead. She did all this by muscle memory - she couldn't take her eyes off of his face even if she wanted to watch herself jerk him off. Her free hand smoothed up his torso, through the dense, wiry gray hair on his chest.
Finally, Idris huffed and tilted his head back, rolling his hips up, attempting to rut against her smaller hand without success. He strained at the barest friction, but it wasn't even close to enough, and it left him on the verge of another guttural sob. "Make me come habibti, please - I can n-not t-take any more of t-this..."
He watched her with glassy black eyes from beneath dark lashes. His upper body rolled partway onto his side and his legs tensed as Ila began to stroke him in earnest, his teeth gritting and legs shaking at recieving even a fraction of what he needed. He grabbed at her wrist to stop her then, his chest heaving with every rattled inhale through flared nostrils.
Ila glanced between her wrist in his hand and his expression, confused, lips parting to ask -
"Come - come up here, I want to kiss you my love," he rasped in Arabic.
The proverbial lightbulb went off above her head, and he watched her move through a heavy-lidded gaze. Neither of them cared as she wiped the lube and sticky precum on his chest and the sheets when she laid next to him, her face level with his. His eyes fluttered closed and he registered that her arm wrapped beneath his neck, that her hands both tangled in his long silver hair and caressed his rough jaw. That paled in comparison to her soft lips capturing his; his stuttering moan caught by her mouth, her palm caressing the pulse in his neck.
Idris's right hand finally wrapped around his aching cock again and he stroked with a quick, steady pace that brought with it ragged moans against Ila's skin. Somewhere far away, he heard his daughter mutter "breathe papa," and he drew in a proper lungful of air. The pleasure spiked along with the inhale, and his rhythm faltered.
Ila caught his full lower lip between her teeth and tugged, sucked, and let go to kiss him again and again. He pressed his free hand against the side of her head, panting in the split-second spaces between their mouths when they broke apart, his fist a steady, slick, squeeze along his prick -
Idris's hips jerked up, and a long, drawn-out moan grew into a deep, resonating shout muffled by Ila's lips, subsumed by her moan against him, his hand gripping her head and then her hair, all of him flexed tight as a bowstring. Thick ropes of cum shot onto his stomach, his head falling back from the crushing kiss and onto the black satin pillows as he relaxed and tensed again. His body wracked with shivers, mingling with deep, gasping groans as he pumped himself through the throes of a long-denied orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure he could.
Ila whined against his cheek, raking her nails over his chest and watching with a hot hunger as thick, pearly cum dripped off of his cock and the piercing jutting from his slit, flowing over his hand in the aftermath. His skin shuddered beneath her hands, and she murmured encouraging nonsense into his long mane of hair, breath hot on his skin.
His fingers stroked once or twice more as Ila shifted to pepper his face with kisses, nuzzling against his rough jaw and under his chin, disturbing his fluffy salt and pepper beard.
Idris huffed, sucked in another proper lungful of air, and pulled his hand away from his sticky, softening cock. He made a noise of disgruntled, barely concealed disgust at the globs of cooling cum coating his hand, his groin, and painted over his abdomen. Before he could ask, Ila whipped up a towel from the floor on her side of the bed, laying it over him. He turned to rasp out a thank you, but she kissed him before he could, gentle and slow while he wiped himself off.
"I um..." Ila flushed scarlet when they pulled apart - shy, as if the last half-hour hadn't taken place, "I guess we're finally awake at a decent time...?"
Idris craned his neck to glance at the clock and laughed - it was seven-thirty; definitely not the time they'd planned on waking up. He pressed his forehead to hers with a hand snared in her white hair. "We will start the day now, with a hot shower... coffee, maybe some pancakes...?"
Both of their faces split into near-identical grins as he huffed another deep, tired laugh. Ila pet a hand down his cheek, his throat, and rested her palm flat in the dead center of his chest.
"I'd like that a lot baba."
She kissed him just as they got out of bed to tackle another day in the odd, comfortable life they wove for each other. Neither of them would - could - have it any other way than this.
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