Tension.

Release.

Tension.

Release.

Except that as each pause builds upon the tension that proceeded it, they too merely contribute to the gathering pressure in his balls, his cock, his thighs.

Until at last, there is no line left to cross. He is standing directly on it. Poised right at the brink of orgasm, yet still, somehow, not coming.

That was her style with Lucus, one she had never wavered from. She'd learned to read her father, to interpret his body language, his non-verbal cues, the noises he made. She knew when he was going to come and she knew at any moment exactly how much it would take to make him spill over.

And always, she could withhold just that last tiny bit, keep him in limbo with a cock so hard it could cleave a diamond and oozing so much juice that she would feel almost that he had come in her mouth after all, so much of it did she have to lick off.

But yet, not coming. Still with the tortured balls, filled to bursting.

It was an agony for him, one that he gladly endured, but the strain was obvious from his face.

He could only remain standing for a short while. Once the session got under way seriously the only thing he could do was to lay back and let her do whatever she desired.

And to be sure, Sherry got a lot out of giving her father sex. She got sex for herself, for one thing, and that was something that she had long since learned to value greatly.

But she also got the satisfaction of knowing that she was helping a great man resume his position of greatness in the world.

About her father's past, the past she was too young to remember, she knew virtually nothing.

She knew only, at the moment anyway, that her pussy was beginning to ache badly for the feeling of that hard cock in her mouth. She wanted it to be in her pussy.

She wanted to be fucking him. Sometimes she would let him lick her cunt, leave her pussy suspended above his lips for what seemed like an eternity while his tongue and lips and teeth gladly wandered each minute part of her pink flesh.