Old Photos of Dad: Part 2

You lift up the ladder brushing the dust off your clothes and take large strides into your bedroom. Closing the door behind you and tossing the envelope on the bed.

Secretly under the covers you start sifting through each photo, one after another. Looking at them for longer periods of time each cycle through. Your eyes glued to your dad’s bare chest, his cock and balls, abs, and his eyes. The flirty way he looked at the lens made you feel like he was flirting with you all those years ago.

Your heart flutters and you feel that familiar feeling between your legs, almost feel it inside you. Your breathing gets shallow, body temperature getting warmer, you didn’t even want to think it but your getting aroused, turned on by your dad.

You try to justify it. “I wasn’t conceived yet.” Or “He doesn’t know me in these photos.” And “it was well before he met mom.” No amount of pleading with yourself could change the fact those photos made your blood rush throughout your body.

You lay out your favourite pictures and slip your hand down your pants, feeling yourself up as you disrespectfully look at those photos, picturing your head resting on that chest, those hands of his grabbing your ass, and that cock of his between your thighs. You keep massaging yourself down there, your toes start to curl as you rub your feet together while you tease yourself.

Breathing faster a blush on your cheeks, eyes not leaving the pictures layer out in front of you. You lay on your side to get in closer trying to catch details through the grainy quality of the analogue photographs. Your hand pumping making a tight bump between the legs of your pants.

Your breaths turn to moans, soft and quiet, heart thumping as you get more and more aroused. Knowing you shouldn’t like this but the wrong feeling from touching yourself to pictures of your dad made it feel hotter. Your hand moves faster from underneath your pants, you want to finish you love it too much but—

“Hey sweetheart! You home?” Your dad made his presence heard at the front door. You freeze, realizing what you are doing and realizing what was laid out in front of you. You take your hand out of your pants and try to stack up the pictures in a panic.

“Yeah dad! I’m in my room!” You yell out as you stuff the envelope with what think is all the photos. Just as your bedroom door opens—

“Hey mate— everything alright?”

You stash those photos under your pillow just in time, laying there out of breath blanket over you to hide the shameful feeling of arousal. “Hey dad, yeah I’m okay, felt a little sick just laying down.”

Your dad stands at the door still muscular like he was all those years ago. “I hope you don’t get sick mate, we got our trip to the cottage this weekend.”

Oh yeah your trip down south to the lake, with just you and your dad, alone together, for the week…