I decided the front was my best bet—risky, but closer to where Dad might notice me. Gripping the denim, I climbed past his knee, my tiny hands clawing at the rough fabric. The bulge area loomed ahead, a daunting hill under the jeans. My heart raced as I neared it, the zipper glinting like a metal trap. No way I’m going near that, I thought, eyeing the jagged teeth. One wrong move, and I’d be done for. Instead, I aimed higher, toward the belt.
The leather strap of his belt was thick, a ledge I could use. I hauled myself up, my arms burning, until I reached the waistband. It gapped slightly where the jeans met his shirt, just enough for me to squeeze through. I wriggled inside, sliding past the coarse edge of the denim and into the warmer, softer space beneath. The fabric of his boxers brushed against me, and I tried not to think about where I was. Focus. Just get to where he’ll feel you.
I crawled downward, navigating the curve of his pelvis. The air grew humid, and my stomach churned as I reached the dick area. It was… overwhelming, like being near something massive and alive. I froze, clinging to the boxers. What now? I couldn’t just sit here—he’d never notice. I could scratch at the skin, maybe tickle him enough to make him check. Or… I could move closer, press myself against something sensitive. But the thought made my skin crawl. Scratching seemed safer.
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