These are the orbs that dominate my every thought and dream. The ones that make me salivate in seconds, make my face flush and my stomach twist in pure want, the ones that leave me breathless and achingly hard as I remember them even in the middle of class. My father’s testicles.
The first time I saw them was in the shower when I was little, of course. Dad wasn’t a nudist, but that didn’t mean he was ashamed of his naked body and he would let it all hang out in our showers together, sometimes even shaking his hips to make them jiggle and me giggle. Maybe that’s why I developed such an obsession with them, watching them hang big and loose in the warm steam, laughing and bonding with my Dad as I watched them bounce and heave and roll together in their ample sack.
Whatever childish interest I had in them is gone now, replaced by pure lust. Not a day went by that I didn’t think about doing some lewd act with my Father, always focused on his set of low-hangers. Hell, not even an hour could go by before my thoughts would turn to his churning balls.
I’m ashamed to admit, but I already know how they smell. I’ve stolen countless jocks from his hamper over the years, some so fresh they were still damp with his sweat. I savored each one, huffing as much scrotum-musk as I could before tenderly licking and sucking the stench right out of the jock. Many times I’d end up with hairs in my mouth and teeth. I fucking loved it. But I wanted more.
I wanted contact. I wanted to kiss them, to put my lips right up against each egg-sized testicle, kiss the top and side and bottom and all around the nut, then do the same to the other, to show my devotion to them. I want to push my nose right between them, in that small, sexy hollow guys get when their balls get loose, sniff deep and hard, get my Dad’s ballsweat up my nose so I can smell it all the time.
I wanted to lick them, memorize their taste and texture, lap at them like a little kitten then big sweeping strokes until I can’t resist anymore and pop a huge fatherly nut into my mouth to savor. I’d suck so hard and long it could come out hairless. Give both my oral attention, then shove them both in. I want to look up at my own Father while my mouth is stuffed full with his boulders, spit and sweat drooling out of my mouth as I choke myself on his spermtanks.
I want to go to bed sucking and smelling them. I want to wake up because my Father has tied up his balls and is masturbating above me, banging my face with his huge and tight nads. I want to stare at them for hours, dangling free, encased in his jock, nestled in his briefs, laying on the couch, bouncing between his thighs. I want him to rest them on the bridge of my nose and cover my eyes with them, make my whole world his testicles. God, he could even stretch them across my nose and mouth until I was on the edge of passing out. I don’t care.
I want my Dad’s balls, his nuts, gonads, testes, scrotum, tanks, family jewels, bollocks.
I fucking love my Dad’s balls.