Orgasm Therapy

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Ben looked down at his erection and wondered how it was possible he hadn’t buried it too, at least figuratively. He sighed and forced himself to swing his legs over the side of his bed and sit up. Since the funeral, there seemed to be…a lot more gravity. Sucking his body, mind and spirit downward.

But, this morning, not his penis. That was progress. The long red rod of tumescent flesh stood bravely, proud and defiant. Standing against the phenomenal forces of desperation that crushed down upon him. For Ben, these days, any of the D words fit: depressed, despondent, dejected, dispirited, disconsolate. Downcast. Cast down.

Suddenly, as he crossed the living room on his way to the kitchen, he stopped, or rather, his body stopped, right on THAT spot, where she and he first… In a wave of sensations so powerful it literally floored him, Ben felt, again, the silky smoothness of her skin, the soft, insistent touch of her fingers, the urgent caress of her lips, the wet, tingling probe of her tongue, and, and, and, he stopped to catch himself as his legs folded beneath him, the tender, soft, rose petals of flesh beneath that red patch of hair and the wet, warm, willing and wonderful embrace of her…

He considered masturbating, but that would just dredge the memories up further, and they were still so fresh he could feel them physically. Why torture himself?

Most excruciating of all, the pure anguish and terrible agony of it: she was his daughter.

Elle’s mother died at childbirth and Ben raised his daughter as best he could. She was a fine, lively, beautiful and intelligent child. Highly intelligent. IQ measured in the mid 150s. And sometime around her fourteenth birthday she developed into the most stunningly graceful, elegant, angelic, charming, gorgeous, spirited young woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.

She lived to be 18. And a half.

The pathology of the disorder that took her was still confusing to him and he was not an ignorant man. Since the disorder was first discovered, since they’d first learned the prognosis was a death sentence, they’d been to countless doctors and specialists and really, none of them had a clear answer.

It was the psychologist he consulted during that time, for himself, that had the best advice: help her to live a full and fulfilling life during the time she had left.

But it was the last specialist they saw who changed his life, changed his outlook on life, changed his very sense of who was Ben O’Hara. And, the man was a fucking quack.

He remembered the consultation. It was the week after she turned 18. They were desperate for some answer, for some way of treating her, some hope.

“Orgasms,” the man said, as confident and matter of fact as if he was prescribing kale smoothies. “At least once a day,” the pompous, ridiculous man in his pretentious white lab coat continued. “The body’s response to sexual release flushes toxins and pathogens from the system better than any form of medicine or any medical procedure ever could.”

“Orgasms,” Ben had repeated, incredulous, questioning not only the advice, but the doctor’s sanity – and wondering if the fat, pale lump of a man sitting opposite him whacked off daily there behind his desk. The way the man was eyeing Elle he didn’t doubt it.

She was having a hard time holding in her laughter. Finally, Ben broke out in a laugh himself, and the two of them exited the office laughing themselves to tears. Ironically, their laughter became the best thing that quack could ever have done for them.

For the rest of the day, all they had to do was look at each other, mouth an O and they’d break out in hilarious convulsions.

But the next morning, Elle sat down at breakfast and she told Ben that she wanted to try it.

“What?” Ben was taken aback.

“I want to try… ‘orgasms'” she said, stating it in that flat, clinical way the doctor had used.

It was then that Ben noticed a bit of her long rusty red hair was fluffed up in the back and he knew, somehow knew. She’d already begun the treatment.

“Well,” Ben said as he took a sip of coffee, “it can’t hurt, I guess.”

“Not a bit,” Elle quipped, with a faint smile. “But I need some…marital aids.”

And so she had retired to the computer to order a slew of sexual devices, which Ben paid for on his PayPal account. She’d insisted on showing him what she wanted and from whom. He didn’t really want to know, but politely nodded and mm hm-ed as she showed him the things she’d ordered. The fact was, he was starting to have a reaction he didn’t like.

In the aftermath of that comical consultation with the quack, his daughter, his angel, his ward and responsibility, had become overtly sexualized. What made this so very difficult for Ben was that Elle was, frankly, incredibly sexy. Her breasts were large, full, round and prominent. Her neck was long and tapered. Her lips were expressive, shapely and red. Her ass was the perfect bulbous, curved counterbalance to her breasts. Her legs were…breathtaking. She had a mane of unruly, escort ataşehir fiery red hair. She carried herself with a feminine poise and sensuous grace that lately seemed to evoke reactions in Ben that were disconcerting.

But it was her smell that threatened to wipe out any resistance, any hope of decorum he could fight to maintain. She had a natural musky perfume that turned his brain into a mush of misplaced lust and longing. He missed his wife and had done very badly for himself, sexually, in the years since she’d passed.

So, the toys arrived and Elle had opened them right there in the living room. She was home during the day because Ben had taken her out of school for various reasons. One, Elle was smarter than her teachers. Two, high school was a wasteland of useless knowledge, crushing peer pressure and a terrible frittering away of the most vibrant years of a child’s life. Three, Elle could take a few classes per week at the local junior college and actually learn far more important, compelling things about real life.

Her being home had made the two of them even closer. His work as a systems analyst gave him plenty of time at home too. Which was why she had no problem opening and showing off her new sex aids to him.

Ben had a problem, though. He couldn’t help but look at that sleek, bulbed, glass dildo, that big, mechanical looking vibrator, and the oils and creams, and wonder what they might look like at work on his angel’s perfect teen body.

That night was torturous in the extreme. His cock was at full mast no matter how he berated himself, his brain burned with images of what was happening behind her closed bedroom door. His ears strained to hear the slightest groan, moan or cry out signaling the onset of ‘sexual release.’

The irony of it all was that the next morning Elle looked like a new woman. She looked healthier, had a distinctive glow about her, was lively, relaxed and funny.

Ben couldn’t help but think that she looked fresher, more sensuous, sexier, more alive, than ever.

And so it went for the next two weeks. Ben would go to bed and fight off images and sensations of his daughter performing self administered orgasm therapy. And she would appear at breakfast with a slightly rumpled, freshly fucked look about her.

Sometime around the middle of that week she broached ‘The Subject.’ And Ben would never be the same after.

“Daddy,” she said, those green, green, Irish eyes fixed on him over her coffee, “I need to ask you something that is…sensitive, yet extremely important to me.”

“Sure, sweetheart. What is it?”

“Let me preface this by stating the reasons I am asking,” she began, her voice and demeanor seeming so much older than her eighteen years. “There’s no way I’m going to find a boy, or young man, whom I would ask to join me at this point in my life. And there’s no way I can continue to find high quality ‘sexual release’ in self sex.”

“Oh, Elle, what…I…I…” Ben interrupted, and he could feel his heart leap into his throat.

“Daddy,” she said, shaking her head sadly, her voice dropping several degrees of timbre, “You are my last hope.”

“What’s wrong with the…the…the sex aids?”

Her voice became more strident, she was pacing, “I’m tired,” she asserted, “of wimpy, whimpering little self sex orgasms. I want to experience big, powerful, mind-blowing orgasms. I mean, if orgasms are therapeutic, doesn’t it follow that a stronger, bigger one will be more…more release?”

“But honey, how can I…I mean…how do you know that what you are asking will make a bigger..?”

She took a moment to answer this one. “Knowing you’re going to die,” she said, softly, “is kind of…liberating. It means all the old societal rules and your normal everyday little inhibitions are meaningless anymore. If I want to do something, I better damn well do it now. And I better learn to listen to what my body wants, needs, while it’s still working.”


“No, listen, Dad,” she interrupted. “The biggest orgasms I have when I’m using that dildo and vibrator, the ones that blow me away, rock me, the ones that feel like my vagina is erupting cum,” she paused and looked at Ben, “are when I’m thinking about you.”

Ben gulped. “Elle,” he said, “There’s no way…I can’t…what you’re asking…”

“Is for you to have sex with me.”

She was dressed in her tight black sweater, the fuzzy one that showed off her pale complexion. She wore a pair of body hugging leopard skin tights that accentuated every subtle wicked curve of her achingly perfect legs and ass. And her face was that of an Irish angel, a haunting and heartbreaking vision of her mother. The image of his wife, naked, spread out beneath him like a sensual feast of lust and love, exploded in his brain.

“Absolutely not, young lady,” Ben stated, calling up all of his fatherly determination.

Well, that got up her Irish. Her eyes flashed and she launched into her attack.

“You think I haven’t noticed,” she spit out, “you looking at kadıköy escort bayan me? You think I haven’t thought this through?”

“Honey, I…I…” Ben stammered, “Let’s find a young man for you.”

“Who would have sex with a dying girl?”

“Oh, Elle…”

“Damn it, Daddy, you’re perfect,” she yelled at him, “You won’t take me for granted, won’t tell your friends about me, you love me, won’t put me through relationship contortions, you’ve even had a vasectomy, and we won’t even have to leave the god damn house!”

“This isn’t fair, Elle,” Ben countered, “You can’t ask me to…” He couldn’t even say it, much less do it. Have sex with his angel. But there were two things that weighed very heavily on him at that moment. No, three. First, Elle won most of these battles of the will between them. Two, she was right, god dammit, she was right. And three, he had become extremely attracted to her in that way. Even as she huffed and stormed out of the room, he found his eyes glued to the sway and rhythm of her ass in those leopard dot tights.

Elle launched an all out campaign against him over the next several days. Even as she ignored and avoided conversation with him, she wore the skimpiest, tightest, most frilly, revealing clothes she owned. The lace-hemmed tiger stripe shorts with the almost see through silk top, pale green against her vibrant red hair, made him catch his breath. At night she began to really verbalize her “sexual release,” moaning through her orgasms, that velvety sweet young voice singing out across the hall to him in his dark, too hot bedroom.

She would come down in the morning with her flame-on red hair all mussed, face flushed and then sort of lounge around in her bathrobe for awhile, showing off way too much of that alabaster white skin.

He tried to talk to her, reasonable, rational, fatherly. But she always got angry and stomped off.

One night, as she sang out at the top of her lungs, he stopped trying to resist the urge to stroke himself, and took his laptop to bed. He logged onto porn sites to find some of his own orgasm therapy, but was drawn too readily to the Redheads category. But then he discovered he didn’t need pornography.

She’d sent him a video. He found it in his email inbox. When he clicked up the short vid his screen was suddenly full of the most amazing sweet little soft pink pussy he’d ever seen. Fingers played with the lips, stroked the clit and then that glass dildo appeared and sank inside the wet folds of her vagina. He sat mesmerized by the lewd, extremely hot display of explicit teenage lust.

And he came, and came, the semen surging out of him in powerful bursts, ejaculating all the way to his chest, while his hips began humping his hand in a sort of automatic overdrive.

“Daddy?” he heard her voice at his door. “Are you alright? You’re making some funny noises.”

No doubt.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” he managed to croak. “A coughing fit.”

“Alright,” Elle sort of purred through the door, “Let me know if I can help with that…cough…if you want.”

The thought of her just outside his door was almost too much for Ben, but he fought to control the urge to throw it open and ravish her.

The next morning Elle was far more attentive, conversational, and sweet than she’d been the past few days. She even kissed his cheek, and rubbed his shoulders, and then mussed his hair playfully and announced that she was going to go upstairs for some “therapy.”

The sounds coming from her room would have raised a dead man’s cock. Ben just sat and listened. When she returned downstairs, it was as if nothing had happened, as if she’d just taken a couple of aspirins. She was wearing her bathrobe, barely.

“I’m not dead yet, Elle,” he stated.

“What?” she asked, innocent, surprised. “You’re not dead? You have some life left in you?”

“You’re strategies will not work.”

“What strategies?” she raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh, you mean the therapy sessions. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m just trying to release some of the tension that seems to have built up around here. You should think about your own well being and try it.”

“Elle,” Ben stated, “It’s not like you to be so cruel.”

“Cruel is it?” she asked, her dander getting up. “You whack yourself off while a woman you love is not thirty feet away, completely frustrated, dying and you won’t give her comfort.”

“This isn’t fair, Elle.”

“No shit.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ben said, feeling his own anger surging.

Elle stood up then and came around to his side of the table. She took his hand and made him stand up, and he stood a good foot or so taller than her. She put his hand around her back and onto the precipitous downslope of her ass.

“Just kiss me, Daddy,” she said, softly, but firmly. “Just once. One kiss.” She moved her face up to his.

Ben lowered his lips and met hers, hoping for a peck. Instead she threw her arms around his neck, pulled his face down to hers and locked her lips on his. Her escort bostancı tongue darted into his mouth and her entire body glued itself against his.

They broke apart and Ben gulped, tried to catch his breath, and tried to adjust his pants to accommodate the growing erection therein. But Elle still held him so tight his cock was right against her warm, bare stomach.

“One more,” she whispered, urgent, needy, “one more, Daddy, please.”

And they kissed, both of them clutching and squeezing and she whined as she kissed him.

“Elle,” Ben said as they parted, “We can’t do this.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she purred. But she took his hand and gently placed it onto her tit, which was heaving and the nipple was straining against his palm. She dropped her own hand to his cock and began stroking it through his pants.

“Elle,” he repeated, “Don’t honey. You’ve got to stop.” But he found he could not remove his hand from her supple and responsive young breast.

“I will, I will Daddy. Whatever you say.” She began fumbling with his trousers now and through sheer determination she managed to open them. His cock sprung free and jutted into the space between them. “I just want a little taste, that’s all.” She knelt down in front of him, the robe sliding off her shoulders, an angel in white fluffy terrycloth.

She stuck out her tongue and licked the precum from his slit. “It’s a dying woman’s request.” And with that she mouthed the head of his erection, swirling her tongue around its underside.

Ben found himself grabbing her cheeks and guiding his cock deeper into her warm, wet, willing mouth.

“Oh, honey, if you don’t…I’ll…cum.”

She pulled back and a thin line of drool connected her mouth and the end of his throbbing cock. “In my mouth, Daddy,” she said, and resumed her oral massage up and down his desperately swollen, badly neglected, pulsating phallus. She also gripped his penis at the base and slid her spit slick fingers back and forth as she rocked her head along the shaft. Her hair seemed on fire, the long messy mane of tight rusty orange curls waved and swayed in time with the motion of her mouth.

The feelings coursing through him pulled Ben in several directions. The rational part of his brain was screaming in outrage, mortified to see his erection being swallowed by his daughter’s enthusiastic young mouth. His animal side wanted to grab her ears and face fuck her until the sperm oozed out her nose. But the empathetic side of him wanted to maximize the experience for his offspring, make this, her only chance to learn fellatio, the best it could be. This side won out.

“You are a wet dream come true, Elle,” he said, soft and deep, and for some reason it came out in the old family Irish brogue, something he hadn’t spoken in years. “When I’m old and lying on my death bed the last thought I will ever have is of this moment, of you with your beautiful red lips wrapped around my cock, nursing the cum from my balls. I’m going to give you everything I’ve got inside me, baby girl. I’m going to fill you in every way I can think of with as much cum as your sweet body can hold. Here it comes, Elle. Here I cum.”

He held her head and pumped jet after jet of spunk onto his gorgeous daughter’s swirling tongue, draining his nut sack until the cum frothed out from around her lips and splotched down onto the carpet. The tremor that shook his body was so powerful he felt his knees buckle, he fell backward and slumped down against the wall.

The sight of her, that flaming red hair wild and unruly, lips coated with semen, eyes glazed with lust, her tits heaving out of her robe and her flat tummy so fucking sexy sloping down to her crotch, all sent a wave of lust through him that swept aside the guilt and horror and he pulled himself up to her face and kissed her lips, sucking her cum soaked tongue into his mouth.

“I’m going fuck you now, Elle,” he said, his voice deeper than it had been in quite a while, the brogue thickening. “Fuck your sweet sex until you are a limp rag doll soaked in my cum. Until you become desire, your brain becomes lust and your perfect body is one long incredible orgasm. Every bone in that young, troubled body will rattle loose and you will no longer be a girl. You’ll be a well fucked, fully sexed, outrageously hot young woman. Lay back and spread your legs open wide, now.”

Elle quickly pulled her arms from the robe and lay back on it. Her tits stood free, full, proud, begging to be lavished, two magnificent mounds of white, hard flesh, upright and firm, nippled with small but very rigid reddish brown buttons at the tips, making Ben’s mouth water to look at them.

She propped herself on her elbows and splayed her thighs wide, a breathtaking display of her sex in all its prime teenage glory, pure and white and virginal and beckoning to her father’s mouth.

Ben sank down with a groan and the first taste of his daughter’s teen pussy sent a tremor through him from the tip of his tongue to the tip of his cock. As he worked over the delicate, supple flesh of her major and minor labials, he reached up and gently massaged her breasts. Then he grabbed both cheeks, fat and firm, of her ass and lifted that soft pale pussy up to his mouth. He let a fingertip slip up against her anus and teased that tightness a little.

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