Date: Thu, 17 May 2018 19:23:30 +0000 From: Clark Wayne Subject: New Story Dad's an Hard-Ass by Clark Wayne underarmour001@hotmail.com Picture of characters at https://gayeroticthoughts.tumblr.com/image/173983428069 "Damn," I said, huffing and puffing trying to catch my breath. Bent over, my hands on my knees, staring at the floor. "Don't be such a pussy," dad scolded. "I'm not a pussy," I countered angrily. "I just need a minute to recover. Not used to doing 5-foot-high box jumps," I said sarcastically. "I'm twice your age, Butch. You can't keep up with me? You're 6-foot-3. It shouldn't be an issue. That's unacceptable and you know it," dad scolded. He threw a towel at me and as I caught it, he turned to me, his eyes were cold. "Stop bitching." His voice told me that it wasn't up for debate. But then, he doesn't intimidate me anymore. "Fuck you, old man. I can take anything you dish out and you know it." I stood upright and threw the towel to the floor. "Doesn't look like it," he replied with disgust in his tone. "What the hell are those pansy-ass coaches doing up there at school? They teaching you football or how to put on your makeup? Your stamina is for shit." Dad steps up to me. He pokes his index finger into my chest repeatedly. "You may be bigger than me Butch but that doesn't mean you're stronger than me." He lightly slaps my face condescendingly then smiles a cocky grin, puts his hands on his hips and stands with a wide stance. Challenging me. He was All-State football and wrestling when he was in high school. He played football in college and was recruited into the NFL. But after I was born he tore his knee up about three seasons in and had to quit. He was devastated. However, he vowed to stay healthy, stay in top shape and take care of himself. He wanted to be a good example for me. His little man. I worship the man. He's my hero and the greatest dad on earth. He's also an asshole but it's just his way. Like father, like son. I wanted to be him. He's been calling me Butch since I was 16. It's not my real name. I'm nineteen now and in college, I go by my real name, Max. Dad named me after Maximus from his favorite movie, Gladiator. The name is a lot to live up to but I think I've done very well. But I like it when he calls me Butch. It's our thing. I don't want to share that part of us with anyone. When I was in grade school he would allow me to watch him workout in our home gym. When I was 15, mom and dad divorced. I didn't know why until recently. He always said he would tell me when I got older. Mom is a worthless bitch so I assumed that was the reason for the split. Dad got custody of me so I lived with him 90% of the time. After the divorce, he bought a huge gym and started his own personal training business with the millions he made in endorsements from the NFL. He was training celebrities, CEO's and other pro-athletes. I got to go and hang out there, watched and learned the secrets to building a perfect athlete's body. I hung out with all the pros and I was so excited. Back then I'd developed a bad fucking attitude and I liked to throw my weight around. Still do. I started getting into fights at school. My grades sucked. I was fucking every snatch I could get my dick into. The problem was that I rarely got in trouble at home for my problems at school. In fact, Dad would encourage it so I kept doing it. In junior high he had taught me how to fight, how to defend myself. So, whenever I got sent home for fighting in high school, instead of punishing me, he would drill me on all the details; if I had executed the fighting stances correctly, how bad did I hurt the other kid and most importantly, did I win. I usually did. I'd been lifting weights with dad since I was 13. I was strong. The rare case that I didn't win, Dad would just shake his head at me and walk away. Later he would show me what he thought I did wrong and teach me to perfect my moves. He once told me I had to "butch up" or "bitch out." I chose Butch and it stuck. No one took the time to figure out why I was being such an asshole. I was acting out because of the divorce and I was having some internal issues going on inside my head. I was a fag. Here I was, the son of an ex-NFL athlete, top trainer to the stars, the envy of every guy he met, expecting me to follow in his footsteps and all I wanted to do was suck dick. I did everything I could do to convince myself and other's I wasn't gay. I fucked as many girls as I could and proceeded to BRAG about it to any guy that would listen. I constantly got into fights for no good reason. I over-achieved in sports. I worked out obsessively and got very muscular. I was doing everything I could to make Dad proud and show everyone how much of a stud I was. No one would ever think I could be a butt-fucking faggot. Little did I know that by trying to avoid accusations of being gay, I put myself into an environment that was filled with temptations every fucking day; the locker room. I never thought about how difficult it would be, hanging around all these guys who fit the mold of my perfect guy but I couldn't act on it. Guys I didn't want to find out about me but on the other hand, I lusted after. Even the god damned coach was too hot for me to take sometimes. Many times, the object of my jack-off sessions. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After some subtle flirting and some weed, I met another closet-case on the team. We fucked. Through him I met another. We fucked. Through him we met another. Soon, I had a small group of fuck-buddies. All the kind of dudes that turned my crank. Athletic, muscular, masculine, hot dudes who loved to fuck other dudes. I found out over time that I was more of a bottom than a top. All the guys assumed by my size and demeanor that I was an alpha top so I fucked the crap out of all of them. But there came a time when I decided I wanted to be on the receiving end and what the fuck, if I didn't love it. I let some dude who was a friend of my one of my fuckbuds top me. Dude was brutal. I loved it. Once the word was out, those guys couldn't get enough of my jock hole. We would slip away every chance we could, meet up and fuck all night long. During this time of playing football and fucking dudes, dad insisted he train me on the side. He got the chance to mold me into his own image. And mold me, he did. I became the best wide-receiver around which allowed me to receive a college football scholarship. He made me big, hard and cut. The envy of all the guys at school. Now, I'm bigger than he is. I'm a tall 6'3 to his 6'0 but you can tell we are father and son. Same hair, same eyes, same face and more importantly, same genetics. Broad shoulders, thick neck, small waist, ripped quads and a killer ass, high and tight and bubble. My fuckbuds love it. The bigger I got, the harder they fucked. It was a competition to see who could fuck me the hardest and roughest. I became the designated bottom. Nothing better than being tag-teamed by your buds. What sucks is that dad is still stronger and has more stamina than I do. He can still kick my ass when we workout in our home gym on my weekend visits. The dude is a fucking god and he knows it. He robs my closet and where's my clothes. He's not like any other dad out there. He looks better in my clothes than I do. And I look pretty, damn good! He also gets away with it. Even being twice my age, he pulls off a ball cap, tight t-shirt and skinny jeans better than any dad his age could. I know, it sounds like I'm crushing on my fucking dad. Yeah, so my dad has a crazy, insane body. Yeah, my dad is fucking hot as shit and yeah, he's a cocky motherfucker but look at him. He has every right to be. He's in better shape than most 20 year olds. He's a man's man. Bad ass. No crying, no sissy-bitching, no being a pussy is his moto. Just pure masculinity wrapped up in a tight, muscle-bound mountain of testosterone. If you haven't guess yet, he's an Alpha, tried and true. The most masculine guy I know. I guess that's where I get it from. He blessed me with his looks, his size and, unfortunately for some people, his temperament. I am crushing on my dad. If you knew him, you would too. I fucking hate being called a pussy. If he weren't my dad I would seriously beat his ass. "Whatever, old man." I said. I turned around, sick of arguing with the man. All my life I've strived to be like him and live up to his expectations which I have done better than any son could. He was trying to build me up by tearing me down. I'm not stupid. "Whatever? Old man?" He mimicked in a sissy voice. Ok, I can't take it anymore. Time to show him the man I've become. The kind of man that doesn't have to take shit from anyone including my dad. I stopped, turned so fast he didn't see me coming. I dived for his waist and tackled him, leveling him to the ground. He landed with a solid smack on the mat and loud grunt. "Fucker!" he yelled as he grabbed hold of my shoulders and rolled me off him. He flung himself on me and we both struggled on the floor. Our bodies gripping each other, rolling around, kicking, punching. It was a free-for-all. We continued to push and pull, throw each other around. At one point, he got me in a headlock and I couldn't breathe. He put his mouth to my ear. "You fucking stupid meathead. I was fucking all-state wrestling champion. You think you can take me, pretty boy?" His voice was fucking scary and I suddenly regretted challenging him. His forearm wrapped tighter around my neck as my muscular legs kicked and squirmed to get away. I was getting weaker, losing consciousness but then he let up. He pushed me forward and I rolled on to my side, coughing and wheezing. I looked over at him with defiance in my eyes. In that moment, I hated him. I can't win with him. I'll always be in his shadow. I'm done. I'm leaving. "I'm out, asshole!" I yelled as I stood up to leave. But he dived at my knees and knocked me to the floor again. I landed on my stomach, taken by surprise. He crawled up onto my back and once again put me in a chokehold. I could feel his stone hard body, the weight on top of me. He intertwined his legs with mine until I stopped kicking. I could feel his warm breath on my neck as his head was pressed into my neck. His warm breath in my ear. "You can't beat me. I made you," he growled into my ear. "Fuck. You," I grunted as I tried to pull his massive forearm from around my neck. "Is that all you can say, Butch? Fuck you?" "No. How about let me the fuck go. Asshole," I coughed. "I'm an asshole? That's the respect I get for raising you and molding you into the best version of yourself?" He pulled tighter. "Best. Version. Of. YOU!' I replied with a raspy stutter, struggling to get the words out. My face was beet-red, sweat dripping off my forehead onto his arm. I felt dizzy. "You bet your fucking ass. You are me 20 years ago. And I'm you 20 years from now. I groomed you and shaped you into what you are today. Show some fucking respect!" His cheek was now pressed up against mine. His rough stubble scratching my jaw. He smelled of aftershave cologne and sweat. A fucking hot combination. He continued. "This fucking beautiful body you have is because of me. I molded you in my image. Don't you understand I'm preparing you for life? Trust me, guys like us, with our looks, our bodies, we get shit handed to us. Butch, you'll go far in life. Just keep using that tight ass and the dudes will come running." I could feel him begin to move his body against mine. Rubbing, causing friction between our muscle. Then I felt his dick on my ass. He was hard and he was rubbing up and down the cleft of my ass. His breathing became deeper. His muscles tensing against my own. I couldn't help but tighten my glutes in response. He felt me tighten up. "Yeah, baby. There you are." He humped me deep. "Does Reynolds do this to you?" He asked, referring to Assistant Coach Reynolds from school. "Is this how you like it from him?" he whispered into my ear. He continued to hump my bulbous ass. His cock long and hard nestled between my fat cheeks. "Of course, I already know how you like to take him. He speaks very highly of you." He lifted his hips high and slammed down on to my ass with a grunt from me, his cock finding its rightful place once more. I was so turned on. I arched my back, bucking my ass up to meet his humping. God, his body felt so fucking amazing against mine. Coach Reynold's feels good too but dad's is better. I hated I was so turned on by this man. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me confirm what he already knows. He just likes to hear me say it, again and again. He wants to hear all the sticky details. He loves to hear me tell him how much I fucking love to be under a man, my legs up on muscular shoulders, his cock, balls deep in my football player ass. My deep voice grunting and begging to be fucked harder. I beg for his cum in my ass. Fuck him. I'm not saying a fucking word. He smiled. "That beautiful horny bastard. I'll have to give him a call and get the deets. He fucks you hard, Butch. He tells me he buries his bone in your tight ass whenever he wants. He tells me you're putting out a lot up at school. Come on, Butch. Tell me. Tell me who fucks you. Tell me how they fuck you. Tell me how you feel, what you're thinking about when a hot dude is in your butt to the root." Now he was thrusting into the cleft of my ass, the only thing between his cock and my ass was the thin spandex material of our workout tights. "Why so quiet, Butch? You this quiet when Reynolds is nutting in your ass? Huh? No, you're not. Reynolds tells me you're a screamer. He loves to fuck you hard. He's brutal, isn't he? He knows my boy can take it, can't ya? You're built to take a hard fuck. That's what I hear. Slutty." He let up slightly on his grip. I didn't move. I was too ashamed and turned on at the same time. I pushed my ass up into his thrusting cock. "Oh yeah, that's what I thought. Arch that beautiful back, Butch." He gently kisses me on the cheek. Then on the neck. He turns my head and I can see him looking at me. He pulls my head back and gives me a light peck on the lips. I felt his tongue on my ear as he gave me a single lick. "My big cum-dumpster football jock likes a real man to pound his pussy. Right, Butch? Or should I start calling you, Bitch?" Fuck. Dad's fuck talk was making me so fucking hard. My cock hurt as I humped it into the matt. He was getting me off but at the same time, pissing me off. I admit I'll take dick in my ass all day but I assure you whatever dude who is boning me knows he's boning a real man. I am a real fucking man. Not a bitch. I gather my strength and push up off the floor. He slips off my back onto his side. I turn to confront him but once again, he's too fast and I find myself on my back. He jams one knee in between my legs, straddling my quad. His arms stretch over my head, his hands are holding my hands above my head, pinning me to the floor. His face is inches from mine. "You don't think you're a bitch. Do you?" He grinned. "Good. You shouldn't think it." He licked my neck. "But you are. Aren't you?" It was a statement, not a question. His eyes like lasers into mine. "Shut the fuck up," I growl. "Yeah, you do," he taunted. He lowered himself flat down onto my chest. His head nestled in the crook of my neck. "I hate you," I hissed into his ear. "No. You don't hate me. You worship me." He starts to hump me again, this time our cocks rubbing together. He licks my neck again. "You're telling me that every time you use this ass you don't feel just a tiny bit like a bitch? Or a whore? Or a cunt?" "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" I reply defiantly. He raises his head and looks in my eyes. "Touché. But, I'm not the one giving up my butt to any hot guy that wants to load it up with babies." "No, but you have to admit, I do it well. You're the reason I do it well, aren't you? After all, you are the one who all but pimped me out to your closet-case buddies and watched from the corner while they fucked me." "Who can blame me. Who wouldn't want to fuck the ass of the wide-receiver who won the state football championship? And I did NOT pimp you out. I did you a fucking favor. You were a ball of horny energy and you weren't getting it good enough from your fuckbuddies..." "I never imagined coming out to you in high school would have been so...traumatic," I interrupted. Dad bellowed with laughter. "Traumatic?! For who? You? I never once heard you complain about taking dick from one of those guys. Those fuckers lived out their fantasies inside your ass and YOU fucking loved it! Hot, smooth, muscular jock boy begging to be bred. That ass could turn any straight guy queer. You relished the attention you got from all those guys." I smiled. I did. "You were picturing me fucking you, weren't you? I was the face of every single one of those guys. I'm right and you know it." I diverted my gaze. Now, it was clear. He knew that's exactly what I was thinking while getting load after load of muscle cum pumped up my hole. I looked back at him again. I didn't know what to say. Finally, he took the pressure off. "It's ok, Bitch. I know you did. Explains why I got so turned on watching you getting fucked. Watching my big hunk son on his back, taking cock from a married guy, giving up all your masculinity to satisfy their urges. I was so proud of you. They were dicking the hottest guy in town. The football player son of an ex-NFL player." I felt good that he said he was proud of me. I wish he would say it about my playing rather than I good I take cock. "I imagined it was me fucking you. They weren't the only ones who dream of fucking a guy like you." They were both quiet for a moment. "Funny, I didn't think you were actually going to be happy about your jock son being a homo." I laughed. "Well, it was a surprise. I have to admit." I laughed again. "You were surprised? The surprise was you telling me it was ok I was gay because you had been fucking around with my coach. You, Mr. Perfect, Mr. famous football player, tough guy, a homo. I had no fucking clue." "Good. That was my intention not to be found out. Finding fellow gay dudes on the team helped. Those private parties they would have, bringing in the hottest tail. All out orgies." "I can't imagine. I would have loved to see that. You pounding jock pussy...fuck." "Me pounding? Fuck that. In group sex, I'm a raging fucking bottom! I love to be spit-roasted and treated like a slut. Where do you think that you get it?" he laughed. "Well I guess night after night of dude on dude sex would break up a marriage. I bet mom was pissed when she left." "She didn't leave. It was mutual. She knew what I was doing. She knew that I was fucking around with some team mates when I was back in the NFL. She knew and didn't care because she was out whoring around too. She said if I supported her financially she wouldn't go to the tabloids and out me. That's a good thing too. You can't imagine how many guys throw themselves at you when you're a famous football player. I was literally getting laid every night. Straight guys were the best. They were so infatuated. Hero worship. The chance of fucking around with me was suddenly ok." "Wow! She is a bitch!" "Meh, it's ok. Everything turned out ok. I got a beautiful son who shares a lot in common with me and I get to fuck his coach," he laughed. "Are you still fucking him? Dude was hot," I laughed "Yeah I am. He's a regular. Man, he is choice!" He smiled as he reminisced. "Back to the "trauma," he said sarcastically, "as I remember it, after I told you I was fucking your coach, you begged me to hook you up with my gym buddies. And all of them were hot! Were they not?" "Yeah, they were hot," I admitted reluctantly. Come to think of it, I was real slutty once I came out to dad. Well, I didn't come out so much as he walked in on me getting railed by the one of his trainers from his gym. "If I had known you had your own group of fuckbuddies, I would have come out earlier. I wasted so much time spying on them when they were at our house then jerking off in my room. I could have been getting ganged." "Still can." He smiled and raised his eyebrow. "You forget my 17thbirthday? They did!" "Trust me, I couldn't forget something like that. Seeing my hunky boy taking all that cock like a fucking champ was one of the proudest moments of my life. I knew then you were going to do well in life." He smiled. "Speaking of that trainer you caught me with, is Travis still working for you?" I grinned. Dad laughed. "Travis, the guy who likes to fuck you in my bed? Hell, yes, he is. He's one of my best trainers. Plus, he pulls in a ton of jock tail and shares the spoils." I was starting to relax. His body was so warm and like stone. Those were good times. As I relaxed, by habit, my legs spread wide and dad moved in between them. My legs raised and I rested them on his big shoulders. His hands roamed back and forth across my quads to the back of my hamstrings. I breathed out heavily. He leaned forward causing my ass to raise higher, his cock pushing on my spandex covered hole. "Hey," he said quietly, sultry, his nose inches from mine. As if meeting me for the first time. In a way, he was. "Hey," I responded. "You still hate me?" "No." "I didn't think so."