The back felt like my only real option, even if it turned my stomach. It’s just Dad’s ass. You’ve got no choice. I started climbing, my hands digging into the denim as I worked my way up the back of his thigh. His jeans were looser here, the fabric sagging slightly as he moved. I reached the curve of his cheek, the denim taut but climbable. My face burned with embarrassment, but I kept going, aiming for the waistband.
The belt was a hurdle, its thick leather blocking my path. I squeezed beneath it, finding a gap where the jeans pulled away from his lower back. Wriggling through, I slipped into the waistband of his underwear, the elastic snapping lightly as I entered. The air was warmer, musky, and I tried to block out the reality of where I was. I crawled downward, the fabric guiding me toward the crack. It was dark, the space tight, and I hesitated. This is so gross. But I’m here now.
I clung to the underwear, my mind racing. What can make him feel me? I could scratch here, maybe irritate the skin enough for him to notice. Or… I could go deeper, closer to the hole, where he’d definitely feel something. The idea made me gag, but it might be my best shot.
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