The Art of Cooking

Written by Francis

                I am a sick man.  I freely admit it.  It didn't used to be this way, but once I put my foot on the slippery slope, I could find no traction.  It was inevitable, my slide down into depravity.  But honestly, wouldn't you have done the same in my place?

                It all started when my daughter Katrina turned thirteen.  Now Kat has always been a really good daughter.  She was modest, well-behaved, and polite.  The only thing that changed around the time she turned thirteen was her body.

                Kat's a pretty girl.  Not beautiful, not stunning like those lingerie models.  No, she's just pretty, and I don't think there's anything to be ashamed about there.  She's got strawberry blonde hair, and that complexion that tans so perfectly.  Her eyes are wide spaced, and brown, and she has the cutest smile.

                Up until that summer, that was the extent of my appreciation of my daughter's body.  But suddenly every day, I was confronted with the physical evidence of her approaching womanhood.  For each day, she would come downstairs (usually around eleven a.m.; she is a normal teenager, after all) clad in a swimsuit in order to go sun by the pool.  And what I had not noticed when she was bundled up in the winter became painfully obvious when she wore her bikinis.

                For Kat had grown breasts.  And these were not just ordinary breasts.  Rather, she had acquired a rack that was in perfect proportion to her still skinny body.  Kat did not have curves.  She was more or less straight up and down at this point.  But her breasts were curvy in all the right ways, and they filled out her swimsuit in ways that would have given Gandhi an erection, and made Mother Teresa wet between the legs.

                That was bad enough to deal with.  I had to look away from her when she went by me, and think about sports and the stock market when I had to talk with her just in order to prevent myself from giving away my lust with the bulge in my pants.  Even so, I couldn't stop my eyes from drifting down to her teenaged tits, and that gorgeous valley in between them.  I swear, I had the contours of my daughter's chest memorized to the smallest hair.

                But, then, on her birthday, Kat got some money from her grandparents.  And what does she go and spend it on?  Some new swimsuits, of course.  I suppose her new bust gave her the self confidence to try some more daring bikinis.  But not so confident as to try them anywhere but in our backyard.

                I work from home as a graphic designer.  I have my studio overlooking the backyard, with my desk and my computer right by the window.  Many an afternoon was spent with my eyes glued to the scene outside, instead of more productive tasks that awaited me on my desktop.

                It was one morning when my fate became sealed.  Kat had appeared in the backyard while I was working on a project.  I immediately looked out to see what she was wearing today.  The bottom of the bikini was not very revealing.  I guess that she was still unsure about her lack of hips.  It hugged her skinny butt, but covered all the skin there.  But the top was very revealing.  It consisted of two straps that went diagonally across her chest.  Each was only about an inch across, and they had to be placed precisely to cover her nipples.  The straps crossed and looped around her sides to attach in the back.  The result was to leave each tit anchored, but almost entirely uncovered.

                I think I gasped out loud.  I was amazed that she was comfortable wearing the suit.  But these were the changes she was going through at that time.

                Of course I was hard in an instant.  I knew it was wrong to ogle my daughter, but I figured what the hell.  It wasn't like I was going to do anything about it, right?  In any case, she was inviting the scrutiny, wearing suits like that.  I don't mean to say that she was asking to be fucked.  Just to be looked at.  And that's what I was doing.

                With these justifications running around my mind, I continued to watch Kat.  All of a sudden, I realized that two hours had gone by, and not a stitch of work had been done.  I shook myself, gave myself two slaps across the cheeks.  If I didn't do something about this situation, I was going to be out of work in no time at all.

                I turned away from the window, and managed ten minutes of work before my mind turned once again to the siren call of Kat's tits.  I stopped myself from looking outside again, and trudged downstairs to get some lunch.

                I was fixing myself a sandwich when the back door opened.  There was Kat, in all of her glory.  She cheerfully swept in the door and got herself a drink.

                "Hey, Dad," she chirped, coming to stand next to me.  She put an arm around my waist, and I felt one soft breast push up against my side.  I focused on my sandwich in order to stop focusing on that wonderful sensation.

                "Hey, yourself, princess."

                "Is that one of your world famous sandwiches?"

                "But of course.  Would mademoiselle care to have one herself?"

                "Great!  I'll be out back."

                She skipped out the door, and I watched those breasts bounce with each step.  And with each step my cock grew harder and harder.  I reached into my pants and adjusted myself.  And it was here that my perdition was formed.

                I held myself as Kat continued her walk to the pool.  I couldn't stop my hand from stroking my cock.  I had no control over my other hand as it unzipped my pants to give myself better access.  And there I stood, in the kitchen, jacking off to the sight of my daughter in her bikini.

                I was blind to everything else.  Each motion of her body caused her tits to sway enticingly.  And when she sat down on her lawn chair, she lay on her stomach, and reached behind her to untie the bikini top.  It fell away, and I caught a quick glimpse of one perfect cone-shaped tit, with the pretty pink nipple centered on it.

                It was enough, too much even.  I came right there and then, spurting cum onto the counter in front of me.  After several spasms, I came to myself.

                Jesus, I thought, what a mess.  I looked at the counter.  There were pools of cum everywhere.  Including two lines of semen right across the unclosed sandwich.  I looked at the sandwich.  I looked outside at Kat.  I looked back down.  I came to a decision that I can never regret, only rue.

                I cleaned up the counter, and the extraneous cum on the plate the sandwich was on.  Then I closed the sandwich and cut it in half.  I zipped myself up, and carried out the plate to my daughter.

                "Oh, thanks, Dad."  She sat up, holding the bikini in front of her.

                I sat down on the lawn chair next to hers, and watched as she took a bite.  I will admit, I was nervous.  But at the same time, some calm part of my mind watched and took note of her reactions.

                At first, her face registered surprise.  Here was a taste she had never encountered before, not exactly.  And yet, following the surprise, a thoughtful expression appeared.  She chewed slowly, and a smile crossed her lips.  She savored the flavor in her mouth, turning it over on her tongue.

                "Did you put something different in the sandwich today, Dad?"

                "Uh, I…"

                "'Cause it's really good.  I don't think I've ever tasted anything quite like it."

                She took another bite, and then a bigger one.  In her haste to eat, she let her bikini top fall.  She sat in front of me, concentrating on her lunch, while I had my first unopposed view of her naked breasts.  They were every bit as lovely as they promised to be when covered.  She quickly finished the sandwich, and then looked up at me.

                "Mmmm.  Thanks, Daddy.  That was very tasty.  Filling, too."

                I saw a little trickle of cum on her chin.  What a beautiful sight.  I reached over.

                "You've got a little sauce on your chin, honey."

                "Really?"  She scooped up the cum on one finger and sucked it off.

                But here was the best part.  Despite watching Kat eat my cum topless, I never felt one twitch from my cock.  I had found a way to be able to interact normally with my daughter, and all it required was for her to unknowingly swallow my semen.

                                               *                             *                             *                             *

                Well, as you can imagine, that sandwich was only the beginning.  It became a daily ritual for me to find some way to sneak my cum into something Kat was going to eat.  I would jack off and collect my emissions in a glass.  Then I would mix it into the mustard for a sandwich.  Or perhaps swirl it into a milk shake.

                Once I found myself with an erection in the morning because Kat had gotten up early, and I had almost bumped into her when she came out of her room.  Her hair was all mussed up, and she was wearing a very sheer nightie without anything on underneath.  The dark circles of her nipples shone through like headlights.  I even saw the thin patch of hair in the triangle of her mons.

                I knew I would be lost for the morning if I didn't jack off quickly.  So I snuck into the downstairs bathroom and brought myself off.  Carrying the glassful of cum, I hurried to the kitchen, and whipped up a batch of French toast.  The majority of the glass went into the egg batter, but I reserved some to mix in with the syrup.

                But to my surprise, the first person downstairs was my son, Ben.  Ben is fifteen years old, and is very popular with the girls at his high school.  He plays linebacker and tight end for the school, and has been named All-State for the second year running.

                "All right!  French toast!  Thanks, Dad," he said, sitting down at the breakfast table.  I was unsure what to do, but I could see no way out of this quandary.  So I served my son cum breakfast.  He dug in heartily.

                "Oh, wow, Dad.  These are the best ever.  The syrup even tastes better than usual."

                "Uh, thanks, Ben.  Guess I've been on a roll in the kitchen lately."

                "Well, I'm not complaining.  Even if you are a wuss for cooking."

                Look who's the wuss, I thought to myself.  You're the one gobbling down sperm like there's no tomorrow.

                I heard footsteps on the stairs.  I was sure this would be Kat, but instead my wife Susan walked in.  She's a business exec in the city, and she was dressed in her usual skirt suit.

                "Thanks for making breakfast, hon," she said, and helped herself to some of the French toast.  I held my breath, sure that she would be able to discern the taste of cum.  After all, she was the only one of the three who had tasted it before, to the best of my knowledge.

                But, instead she ate it right up without any hint of awareness.  In fact, she too complimented me on how well I had made it.  I was beginning to think that maybe my semen just tasted really good.  Or perhaps they could just taste the love that went into making them.

                Finally, Kat came down, and she too ate some of the French toast.  I sent my family out that morning, knowing I had provided the best source of protein I could.

                                               *                             *                             *                             *

                So, you think, that's no big deal.  Any guy would have done the same in my situation.  You know you would have.  But, unfortunately, I couldn't stop there.

                One evening I was in the process of making dinner.  Kat had been out all day, so I had had no opportunity to feed her her daily cum.  I didn't even feel like jerking off that day.  But I had come to enjoy the personal touch I had been adding to the family table, and I was loathe to stop.

                Well, it just so happened that I had a full bladder, and I was about to trot to the bathroom to relieve myself, when a thought occurred to me.  I looked at the salad.  Then I grabbed a glass and headed to the toilet.

                I held the glass in front of my flaccid dick, and waited.  In a second, I released a strong flow of urine into the glass.  I easily filled up the glass, and let the rest go into the bowl.  I held up the frothy yellow liquid and smelled it.  It was a fairly strong odor, but I was pretty sure I could disguise that.

                I returned to the kitchen with my glass of piss.  I got the Good Seasonings dressing bottle and filled it up to the "w" mark with my urine.  Then I added the wine vinegar, olive oil, spices, and English mustard.  When I shook the concoction up, it looked no different than usual dressing.  I put it in the refrigerator, and finished making the rest of the supper.

                Susan arrived home with Ben, whom she had picked up from his football summer practice. 

                "Hi, hon," she greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.  "What can I do to help?"

                "Well, you can dress the salad.  Ben!  When you're done with your shower, come set the table."

                Kat got home a few minutes before supper time, and we sat down to our repast.  It may come as a surprise to you, but my salad was the most popular item on the table.  I watched as my daughter, son, and wife chewed on the urine soaked lettuce, making lovely sounds of contentment.  I had to try it myself, and do you know, it was really pretty good.  From then on, we never had a salad without my special dressing.  It was even popular with our guests when we had dinner parties.

                                               *                             *                             *                             *

                So what, you're thinking.  You've served piss at your table.  Everybody's done that.  But I wasn't even close to being done.  I loved cooking for my family.  Who wouldn't, when you're getting compliments all the time on how good everything tastes.

                I was addicted to putting a little of myself into every meal.  But there's only so much cum and urine to go around, you know, and I found myself at a loss for where to go from there.  Until one afternoon, while Kat was outside eating potato chips with onion/cum dip, I was contemplating dinner, and I found myself having the urge to move my bowels.

                I stood still for a second, as the most wicked thought entered my head.  I couldn't believe what I was thinking of doing.  But like I said, once I got started on this path, I couldn't get off of it.  I took a bowl, lowered my trousers, and bore down.  I felt my asshole stretch as a huge shit came out, and was deposited in the bowl.  I looked down at my production, and smiled.  Plenty there for dinner.

                I put the bowl on the counter, added bread crumbs, olive oil, chopped onions, worcestorshire sauce, oregano, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper.  I reached in and mixed the whole mess together.  My hands did not come out smelling of flowers, but I had made a passable stuffing.  I got a chicken out of the fridge, and shoved the shit mixture inside of the cavity.  I tied up the bird, seasoned it, added some potatoes and carrots around the outside along with some broth, and popped the tray in the oven.

                Kat came into the kitchen as I was cleaning up.  She skipped over to me in her skimpy bikini, and stood on her tiptoes to give her old man a kiss.  Her breath smelled of cum.

                "Smells good in here, Daddy."

                I guess I should have been surprised when my shit stuffing went over as well as every other meal I had produced, but I was getting used to it by now.  I wasn't even horrified by the little streaks of shit on my daughter's lips, or when I noticed some stuck in between Susan's teeth.  Ben had seconds, and then thirds, commenting that he was sure this was good for building up muscles.

                Well, it was good for something.  I don't get erections around Kat any more.  I've pretty much cured myself of that.

                                               *                             *                             *                             *

                So, there you have it.  Maybe you too, have gone down this road the way I have.  Maybe it's not that weird.  But then again, I'm not sure I really care.  We're having company over, and I have to make the shit stew, risotto in piss broth, and broccoli with cum cream sauce.  I love my life.