The good news is, UTI soundly defeated. I no longer feel like my bladder is merely a dimensional conduit to Hell, and Hell is using it to dispose of a lot of acid. I'll spare the gory details, but it was mild.
The bad news is that I have more antibiotics left to take, and they're turning my other lower orifice into a dimensional conduit to someplace worse than Hell. I don't know where it is, but it's unpleasant. That's what happens when I seek out medical treatment: exchange. I've traded one tract for another. I wonder whether the UTI would have worked itself out naturally in less time than it'll take me to work through these stupid sick pills.
The best part of antibiotics and me is that I don't like yogurt. Sure, I like it as a condiment on Indian and Greek things among others, but plain, it's not good. And I don't mean "plain" as in "plain yogurt," but rather as in "without accompaniment." I've tried everything. Chocolate yogurt, frozen yogurt, yogurt cheese with natural culture, blah blah blah. I'm too poor to try some things, particularly because yogurt helps, but not miraculously.
So I'm suffering through the sickness, the cure, the sickness brought on by the cure, and the amelioration of the second sickness, which makes me a little sick in and of itself. I hate antibiotics.
I know, you all were just dying to hear all about my medical problems.
The good thing about this is that while sickness tends to make me less willing to go in for acrobatics and energetic sex, I'm not in a position to have to turn down anal anyway, so there's that. And since the other club is open for business, I can have good old fashioned lovin' whenever I need it (note that I didn't say "want" there because I want it more often than it can be provided). We're avoiding oral on me simply because I don't want Dad to get any bacteria he shouldn't, even if we're being clean. And I only suck his cock beforehand, if at all, for the same reasons. It's a cramp in our style, sure, but penetration and creampies are still available, and the tenderness has been really nice. I've gotten missionary every day.
Dad actually kind of woke me up with sex today. I say "kind of" because I wasn't really asleep, I was half awake. Didn't sleep well last night. But he came into my room and sat down on my bed and moved the hair out of my face and gave me a smile. He wasn't really trying to start anything at all, just saying, "Hey, hope you feel better." Then he gave me a kiss, which I returned and also stretched out my hand from under the covers and gave him a stroke.
Pretty soon he was lying next to me, and after a bit of struggle to get the sheets out of the way, he started slowly kissing and licking my breasts, while his hand stroked tenderly up and down my flanks, gently over the belly because he knows my tummy is upset. My nipples got super hard and I begged him to get something inside me, quick. I was definitely feeling the ache to be filled, which is a strange feeling because half of me wants nothing inside it, and part of me is desperate to be filled up completely. I have split tract disorder.
He eased his way around on top of me, his hips spreading my legs slightly, his cock dropping slightly to point the way. He can't lie on top of me; too much pressure, which means I miss out on some things I like about missionary, but we can kiss with our eyes. Our pupils locked as he entered me, slowly, gently, then just pressed all the way in and stayed there, let me get used to the idea. It was kind of like I was still new to this, which, needless to say, made me feel sexy as all get out. I don't know why, but I do enjoy innocence, and I get to feel like a little girl with Daddy sometimes, and I love that.
I whimpered when he pulled out, then giggled when he pressed in, and I imagine it was all he could do not to grab my hips and go to town. Instead, we moved slowly, my insides settling a little, allowing me to participate more. I know that Dad takes a bit more to get off than some guys, so if he's a bit hamstrung by the situation, I do my best to help out. I wrapped me legs around him, pulled him down to me a little, ignored the little pangs of discomfort from my stomach, tried to get into the sex. When I came, that helped a lot, kind of pushed the other sensations to the side, and I came again quite quickly after the first one.
He seemed to sense that I was up for a bit more, so he got a bit more firm, a bit more urgent, until finally it was almost like normal. We disconnected for a moment to put a pillow under me, get me up a bit higher, and then he supported himself with his arms at either side of me, and we kissed as he pressed himself back into me, again and again, until I was cumming again. The final tension of my orgasm must have been enough, because he pulled up a little, gripped my hips, and pressed fast into me two or three times, then pressed deep and filled me with cream.
He rolled off almost immediately after he stopped releasing his seed, lay back next to me, then put his arm around my shoulder and we sat there and savored the afterglow, his cock softening, covered in juice, my cunt dripping with cum. It may not be as often as I'd like, but it's too good to complain about lack of quantity. Although talking about it right now has made me really wish I were feeling better and could get fucked properly again. I'm so bad about getting myself wound up for no reason.
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