t-elephasicworkshop

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

The hottest thing you can say to your middle aged boyfriend is that you wish he was your biological mother

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

desperate need to sit on his lap and grind up against his belly while he tries not to get hard.

[t-elephasicworkshop]

30 seconds pressed to his front with my face buried in his chest would fix me actually

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

ovulation has me feeling nuts today, i think ive cum like 3 times today which is a lot for me, and i can already tell i’m going to need to do it again ughhhh

truly amazing how a simple picture of a man’s midriff has me writhing around and having to get off twice in a row, which like never happens ..! Uggghhh need Dad.

[t-elephasicworkshop]

absolutely exhausted tonight and just wishing i had a big warm dad to lay next to and cling to while i sleep…i wish i could just lay underneath a big guy i need to just be compressed

[t-elephasicworkshop]

please please please i'll be your plaything i'll be your toy i'll be your little girl i'll be your little boy im going to go soo crazy i need to be owned!!! we can do anything you want if you promise you'll never let me go...i don't mind sitting in your lap or calling when you're drunk out of your mind

you can tell i have no self-respect, right? isn't that what you want? a poor kid you can take advantage of? i'll love you forever, promise, i'll do just as you say so long as you hold me close

[t-elephasicworkshop]

my fertility chance is listed as a 10 today, so which old man wants to come make a big mistake

[t-elephasicworkshop]

Tummy Tuesday!!!

[t-elephasicworkshop]

[t-elephasicworkshop]

Please no dick pics, please yes pictures of Dad’s soft middle in a slightly ill fitting button up shirt. Yes I will be cumming to it.

[t-elephasicworkshop]

could you maybe write something tender for this slightly gross feeling chubby daddy?

Of course…but never feel gross, I am absolutely sure I’d be bouncing on it as soon as I’d see you.

Also sorry, it’s kinda long. I got carried away.

Summary: slightly self conscious chubby Dad fucks his kid’s hand in front of a mirror. Yay!

He never minds when you slide up behind him while he’s getting ready for work, wrapping your arms around his wide frame in an innocent hug—and initially pretending not to see the displeased look on his face as he watches himself dress. You kiss gently between his shoulder blades through his shirt before moving up to his neck, rising on your tiptoes to peek up over him to look at his reflection. You smile when his hand comes up to rest over your smaller ones on his waist, but he doesn't say anything, content to let you hold him.

Always soooo hard on himself.

Dad is a big man, but soft in a way you could only describe as luxurious. His body is so warm. Your cheek stays pressed close to his shoulder and God—you can feel him breathing, feel the way he’s always moving, almost like some sort of living furnace. What was there not to like?

“You okay?”

You don’t expect an answer, but you lavish in the little hitch in his breath when your hands begin to wander. His chest expands as he inhales and then freezes in place, holding it for a moment before his shoulders rise and fall again, more slowly this time. Your palms glide down over his belly and you can feel him tighten as you continue south, waiting to see if he plans on resisting.

He doesn't.

Your fingers play at the top of his pants, the pads running over the smooth leather belt and then under the hem of his shirt, tracing the waistband of his pants. It tickles a bit, if the way he twitches is any indication, and he finally lets out a heavy sigh, a little huff running through him that you see more than hear.

The sweet sound of surrender.

Your hands move, undoing his belt and then the button on his pants, pushing down the zipper slow and deliberate.

It makes him nervous, you can feel it. He tenses, shifting slightly on his heels, but he doesn't stop you. It takes him a while to relax again, to lean into the touch when you stroke over the front of his boxers, his hips rolling involuntarily into the contact.

"Do you have a minute?" you ask meekly, kissing at his shoulder.

"For?"

His voice is strained, trying so hard to act calm, to be unaffected by what you're doing. You press closer, grinding into him as your hand dips under the fabric and finds him, already half-hard and twitching to life in your grasp.

"To help me with something."

He doesn't answer right away, but he doesn't resist when you start to pump him either. The soft, wet noises make his face flush and his eyes drop, nervously staring at himself in the mirror as you work him. Right away, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. They keep moving, hovering in the air above his thighs for a moment, and then resting on his hips, scrambling behind his back before remembering you were there and dropping down to his sides again.

It's not the first time you've done this and yet he's still so unsure. It's cute.

When he finally starts to push up into your hand, a quiet sound escaping him, you can't help but smile.

He hesitates again, his lips parting slightly as his brows knit together. The words don't come at first, but they do eventually.

"...Alright."

You pull back, your hand stilling. He sighs, letting his shoulders fall as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

"Okay, Dad— go on.”

You coo, tapping gently at his hip to encourage him to move. Your hand squeezes him, a little reward, and he groans as he finally pushes into the contact, does it again, and then once more. He starts a slow rhythm, watching intently as you smear precum lovingly down his length.

He tries to keep his eyes on the task at hand, but it's obvious that his mind is starting to wander. He can't quite look at himself, can't quite let himself enjoy this. His breathing deeper and heavier and his cheeks flushed pink, his lips parted.

“Da’, remember…eyes forward.”

He huffs and squeezes his eyes shut, a hand rising to his face, rubbing over his brow and down his cheek. You can tell how hot he feels, can see his blush darkening, creeping up to the tips of his ears.

He finally opens his eyes and his gaze flicks between the mirror and your eyes, your warm loving gaze, the way you nuzzle your cheek into his shoulder and the way you keep working him, making him twitch and buck into your palm.

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but the temptation is too much. He can't look away.

He looks at the mirror, his expression one of utter embarrassment. His lips pulled down into a tight frown, but the heat on his face is obvious. The way his eyes dart back and forth between his own face and yours, the way he can't seem to meet his own gaze.

Dad groans, a low sound in the back of his throat that turns into a frustrated huff.

"Tuckered out already?"

He shakes his head and looks down at himself, the way his cock disappears and reappears as you work his length, his hips moving of their own accord. He's leaking heavily now, your fingers coated in precum and his movements becoming increasingly erratic.

His breath catches when you run your thumb over his slit, the touch light, but enough to send a jolt through him.

"Eyes forward."

It comes out softer this time, not a command, but an encouragement.

"Da', look. Look how good you look."

His breath hitches and he moans, a strangled noise that dies in his throat. You can tell he wants to hide, wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck like he usually does and not worry about it, but that can wait.

His movements become more focused, his hips snapping forward into your hand as he watches his own expression twist. You can't help yourself, your free hand sliding under his shirt, over the soft expanse of his stomach, squeezing gently.

His body stiffens, a quiet sound of warning as his hips stutter, the movement jerky and uncoordinated.

You squeeze him again finally, a long, slow pump, and he's gone.

You milk him through it, feeling him pulse, hot and thick, across your fingers, and he's forced to watch, his eyes flicking from his own face and then back down to the mess he's making.

"Oh— oh, Da', look at you..."

His breath is coming in heavy, deep huffs. You can't see his expression clearly, but you can tell that he's embarrassed. He can't look you in the eye, but the way his lips quirk and his cheeks turn a bright pink...

It's a good thing.

Your hand keeps working him, drawing out the sensations until he's squirming and you can see him starting to go soft, his legs trembling. You let him go and pull back, giving him a bit of room as you lap at the mess on your fingers.

He watches the motion and then quickly turns away, his breath ragged.

You giggle and reach for him, wiping the rest off on his boxers before zipping and buttoning him back up. You don't bother with his belt, just petting his thigh, enough to let him know that he's all set.

"Thanks for all the help,” you hum, leaning up on your tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. “But maybe you could call off n’ help me with some other stuff too…if you don’t mind.”