Dads 'N' Lads

Episode IX - The Fellowship of the Ring

by Daddy.K

2014

 

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Story Code: MBb/oral/anal/incest

 

Keith Peake reenters the pool, sitting down beside Hank, who's supervising the goodies Ben and Tim brought along from a beach chair. Hank feels warm and buzzy after pouring his nutbutter into Aaron's sweet butt. Keith, sensing Hank's serenity, grins and quizzes with an eyebrow.

"Kids today," is all Hank says.

Keith understands. He glances at the pool. "Where's Landon?"

"Took Tim to the bathroom," says Hank.

"You up for some action at the Boy's Club?"

"That's what I'm here for, buddy."

"Aaron got you some juice in your balls, Tank?"

"Anyone ever tell you most of your young sons are nymphomaniacs?"

"Yeah," says Keith. "That damn Marine."

The damn Marine strides -- no, struts; he knows his good-looking -- down the side of the pool, holding Tim's little hand. The boy capers about him, gazing up at the tall man, chattering away while Landon grins and nods and affectionately strokes Tim's hair as the boy beams. There's no mistaking the massive bulge in those psychedelic trunks.

"I think we need to induct him," says Keith.

"You sure he's the right kind?" murmurs Hank. In these matters Keith tends to be more adventurous, Hank more circumspect.

"He's twenty," says Keith. "Risky ... guys tend to be stupid round that age. Shooting off their mouth. But I think he can keep his mouth shut."

"Well," says Hank, "I know the boys like him."

Keith and Hank stand and intercept Landon before he can dive into the pool.

Keith says, "I'm back. You remember what we talked about?"

Landon lays a hand on Tim's shoulder as the boy encircles the man's thigh in the exact same fashion as Jesse does. "Yeah," Landon says, palming his bulge. His cockhead isn't more than two inches from Tim's forearm.

Hank's fist clench. "Tim. Leave the man alone."

"Oh, I don't mind," Landon drawls.

Keith says, "Let's go, then."

"Tim,' says Hank.

"Yeah, Dad?" Tim swings on Landon's muscled leg as if it were a pole at his school playground.

"We're going over to the Boy's Club --"

"Can I go?" Tim cries. "PUH-leeze?"

"No. Not yet. Were' going to be gone for a couple of hours. My lifeguards got their eyes on you and I don't want to hear them tell me you and your brother have been causing shenanigans."

"Or goings-on," says Keith, warmly smiling at the ten year old.

"Got you, Dad!"

"OK, now let go of Landon."

Tim reluctantly let's go. Landon winks at him. The boy giggles.

"That's a good boy," says Hank. An image forms in his mind of Tim in his shower. And himself. And Landon. And Keith. He savors it.

The three men turn and begin heading for the parking lot.

Hank calls over his shoulder, "No drowning!"

Tim yells back, "Aw, Dad, I like drownding Ben!"

The trio exits the pool and makes their way to Oak Street. The Chatauqua County Boy's Club facility across that street consumes, like Harrison Pool, an entire city block. It is a utilitarian brick structure except over the basketball courts where a sheet metal roof arches. A plain Jane, it has been tucked discretely behind a screen of magnolias and laurel bushes.

"That it?" asks Landon, folding his arms and scrutinizing the place.

"Chatauqua County Boy's Club," says Keith, a note of pride in his voice. And a husky, darker quality, the timbre of a man who likes his pleasures. "Best thing about this county."

"Yeah," drawls Landon, "yeah, if it's got all the boys in it!"

Traffic is light on Oak though from the distance comes the throbbing cacophony of Broad Street. The men cross with nary a look. Several vans are parked in the CCBC lot, wearing the official logo, a plain thing consisting of a man with one hand resting on the shoulders of two boys set within a round seal. A Latin motto no one knows how to translate smiles benignly beneath it. Parked in the staff lot amidst other vehicle is a police cruiser, sporting the county emblem and marked "Sheriff."

Beside the entrance a large bronze plaque has been embedded in stone quarried locally. Landon choses to stop and read.

Chatauqua County Boy's Club Foundation
Judge Maxwell Q. Hoskins Facility
Dedicated 1976
Foundation Directors:
(etc.)

Landon reads down the list of names, nodding and murmuring. "Who are these guys?"

"Some are people we know," says Keith. "Some are dead."

"We're directors now," says Hank. "That's an old plaque."

Landon looks at the men. "So you guys run this place."

"There are others," says Hank.

"Who's this Judge Hoskins?"

Keith shakes his head. "That's a long story, Landon, and I'm too horny to tell it right now. Let's go."

The lobby resounds with the tumultuous song of boys at play. The two teens manning the front desk smile warmly at Hank and Keith, rising to display uniforms of snug tank tops and sweat pants. Behind the desk, between two large glass cases stuffed full of trophies, is a large oak door, sporting a bronze plaque with the CCBC logo.

"The Sheriff wants to see you, Mr. Peake," one teen calls in a high pitched voice.

"Where's he at?"

"Room thirteen."

Keith shoots a look at Hank, who nods vigorously. "Thanks."

The other teen, looking at the Marine from beneath thick eyebrows, asks, "So, Mr. Harrison. Who's the new guy?"

Hank says, "Maybe an Eagle counselor. We're evaluating him."

The teen grins to his friend as the men move towards the long corridor.

Hank murmurs to Landon, "You know what's behind that door?"

"What?"

"Paradise."

"This whole daggone place smells like paradise!"

The main hallway bisects the building. Metal stairways lead to the upper rooms. Small niches contain vending machines. The trio walks slowly. Landon's head turns this way and that. You can see into every room. Panes of glass reveal the basketball courts swarming with boys, and rooms filled with benches and barbells and grunting boys, and sparring rooms where teens in gloves and helmets and tight shorts fight and gyms where boys play dodge ball. The costume is athletic gear so lesson limbs are displayed, and heaving chests, and sweat-moist armpits, and clear faces bright with delight.

"Those guys," says Landon, lingering near one window. "The men with the badges ..."

"Counselors," says Keith. "They're the coaches. In charge. Volunteers."

"Eagle Counselors?"

Hank shakes his head. "Not these guys. Eagle a counselor ... that's a special grade."

"Huh?"

Hank clears his throat. "The Eagle counselors have a little sticker on their badges. A picture of an eagle carrying off a boy."

"Wow. You're patriots. So why're Eagle counselors special? "

"It means," says Keith quietly, "they're pedo, like us."

Landon experiences a light bulb moment.

"Boys' Club," says Keith. "All ages. Tykes. Sixth graders. Middle schoolers. High schoolers. There are no girls. No women. Their moms might drop 'em off but it just us guys inside."

"Fuck," Landon mutters. "And you guys fuck 'em all?"

"Eagle counselors and Foundation directors," mutters Hank. "And we don't fuck all the boy. We keep it quiet. There are boys who run to their mommies when a man lays the bad touch on 'em. That's something you gotta get right. It's paradise here, but you don everything you want."

They pass a workout room full of fourteen year old boys, straining with dumbbells and barbells. The windows are partly fogged but still clear enough to reveal raunchy, sweaty youth.

"Hot damn! These kids are hot!"

"Yep," says Hank, thinking of those times he's picked up Ben from the Calhoun gym and watched him in shorts and nothing else, working diligently at growing into a strong man like his father.

There's a puzzled look on Landon's face. "So ... if I'm supposed to be an Eagle counselor ... what do I do?"

"Run them round the gym. Do the coach thing. And then ... pick a boy," says Keith. "The right boy. And take him downstairs and do to him what you did to Kevin. Or Jesse."

A second light bulb dawns. "You're shittin' me?"

"Nope."

Landon shakes his head in disbelief. "Wow. I can't believe this. You're awesome, Mr. Peake. You too, Hank."

"You're great with my son Jesse," says Keith. "I like that in a man."

Hank thinks of Tim's arms looped round this stud's thigh, his young boy skin not two inches away from a cock he's seen buried up an eleven year old boy's tight ass.

"There's some rules, Landon," says Keith. "You'll learn 'em. Most important is -- keep your mouth shut. About the men you'll see downstairs. About the boys you fuck. They burn us pedos like the used to go after witches. We think you can but I mean you can't say one word about this. To anyone. You've already shown us you can do that. If you hadn't you wouldn't be here. You play this game right, Landon, and you can screw boys for the rest of your life." Keith pops Landon's shoulder. "Not just Jesse!"

"Hot damn!"

"I like you, Landon," says Keith. "Mostly because of what Jesse's told me and he's a sweet, sharp kid. I've also like what I've learned about you this weekend. You know how to treat a boy right. So. I think you'd be a great CCBC Eagle counselor."

Landon chews on this idea for a minute. A frown darkens his exultation. "But, Mr. Peake, I'm a Marine. I'm here to train. I mean, I get passes and when we're off duty I can do what I want. But I can't come here every day and work a second job." He scratches his groin. "Though that what I want to do!"

Keith nods. "It's not like we set hours, Landon. You're a volunteer. You come when you want."

Hank says, "And you can cum a lot."

Laughing, the three men stop outside Room Thirteen. Through the glass wrestling mats can be seen, unrolled and covering the floor. Two matches are in progress. The teens range in age from thirteen to sixteen and they ring the struggling boys on the mat. All wear a singlet emblazoned with the CCBC logo. There are several counselors in the room, clipboards in hand, whistles swinging from their necks.

"There's Sheriff Lord," says Hank.

"So," says Keith. "You turning us down?"

"Hell no!"

"Good. Let's go talk to the Sheriff," says Keith. "Then I'll get you set up."

Landon seizes Keith's arm. "Can I pick a boy today?" His cock throbs blatantly in his damp trunks.

Hank laughs. "Damn, Keith, this Marine's gonna fuck every kid in Chatauqua County!"

Keith smiles. "This isn't a whorehouse, Landon, but it's close. There's the right boy. There's the wrong boy. Don't forget that. You gotta figure out the difference. Look, I'll be frank. CCBC is all men and all boys, so all the righteous folk in the world are already paranoid about us, so we gotta pretend to be on our toes about us pedophiles. A smokescreen." He pats Landon's butt. "But you're horny. So you just point and I'll tell you if the kid's right or not. Later. After we get you set up."

"So who thought up?" asks Landon.

"Long story. Even longer than the one about the Judge. You want story time or boy ass?"

"Boy ass!"

"Catholic Church gave us the idea," says Hank.

"If you pick the wrong boy," warns Keith, "and he sings, we can protect you to a certain degree. But if it goes past that point ... we'll protect ourselves. Got it?"

Landon nods, chewing thoughtfully over all this.

Hank says, "Listen, Landon. This is America. The most corrupt country on the planet. No one believes that.... because we own all those agencies that rate corruption ... and we tell them how to write their reports. You want to get what you want here you gotta be a shyster. You keep up that righteous, moral front ... and no one asks question."

"Wow!" murmurs Landon.

"I'm a deacon in my church," says Hank. "I'm a good husband. I wear 'em likes a suit and tie. But when I come here I drop my clothes and I fuck boys with my big raw hot daddydock."

The trio enters the wrestling room. The air is steamy and musky. It smells like teen armpit and teen crotch. Raw testosterone. The sound of grunting fills the air as the matches continue. A few teen heads turn as they enter. Some boys exchange shy grins and whispers.

These boys are the age that really churns Hank's balls. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. It's easy to picture Ben here in a couple of years. Svelte, toned muscled body almost entirely devoid of hair ... except in the more interesting locale on their bodies. Smooth legs, smooth torsos, but strong chests and trim waists. Tufts of hair beneath their armpits, just enough to get any red-blooded pedophile slavering.

"Fuck!" mutters Landon again, moving his hand over his crotch. "I should've worn a jock!"

Hank and Keith exchange laughs. "In the back," says Keith. "Let's go."

There is no mistaking Sheriff John Lord. A khaki uniform and a holstered .45 automatic. Extra rounds glitter like nuggets of silver in his black leather belt. A brass nameplate gleams on his chest. Incongruously, right above it is a cheap plastic CCBC name tab, with a boy-toting eagle right below his name. The green and blue patches, bearing the emblem of the Chatauqua County police, provide some color.

Sheriff John Lord. Veteran of one successful Gulf War and one unsuccessful search for Nigerian yellowcake. Six foot four. Black as a pool of oil. Looking at those shoulders, Landon is certain the man has to turn sideways to pass through a door. This man could pluck a great white shark from the water, fling it to the boat's deck, and beat it to death with his nightstick. Narrow, trim waist; if Landon had ever seen the world off Tim of Finland he'd recognize the archetype.

Let's get to the matter you're wondering about. Sheriff Lord's uniform is snug. His bulge is fucking enormous, like a mountain range extending from his crotch to his knee. You know it just as well as I. Black cock is supreme.

"Mr. Peake," says Sheriff Lord, extending his huge hand. Though forbidding in appearance he wears a slight smile.

Keith takes it, shakes vigorously.

"Mr. Harrison," says Sheriff Lord. His voice booms like distant thunder. Teen heads snap around, distracted from the matches, from conversation, to see what the fuck is up.

Hank shakes his head.

To Landon Lord says and extends nothing, but the man's eyes rake the marine, evaluating and concluding.

It's the teen next to Lord that sends the blood to Hank's cock. This is the kid Keith mentioned. He knows it. He sniffs, smelling cherry, and smiles at the kid. The kid, acknowledged, beams broadly.

Lord grins and throws his arm round the teen's shoulders. "Mr. Harrison, I'd like you to meet young Bryce Ewing. CCBC's newest member. Bryce, Mr. Peake and Mr. Harrison are directors of the foundation. You mom just moved from where, Bryce?"

"El Paso," the teen drawls. Vowels slalom through a vast range of qualities. There's no mistaking that accent. "But call me Tex!"

To Hank, Tex -- Bryce Ewing -- is a fifteen year old edition of Ben. Mahogany-colored hair, straight but now disheveled and sweaty and trimmed at the bottom of his ears, displays a rebellion upward flair at the fringe. Tex is the type of teen who grins without reason, who finds the world a treasure he's eager to acquire, and he shows twin rows of bright teeth Is that a hint of peacefuzz on his upper lip? Indeed it is and Hank's heart flutters. There's something serious about him. He seems to be the kind can be very intent about his sport. It's easy to picture Tex victorious. He's got a strong body, compact, toned, well-defined.

Tex wears a CCBC wrestling singlet, snug and sleek on his body. When he raises his arms, stretching like a tomcat languid in sunlight, he exposes feathery down in his armpits. Tex's butt? Superb. The singlet, of course, hides nothing. Two rounded cheeks, sculpted, not large enough to be called a bubble butt and certainly not trim as Jesse's butt. Perfectly proportioned with respect to his shoulders. Narrow waist and flat belly. Silky down graces his forearms and the part of his calf exposed by his sock.

"So," says Hank. He can't look away from the kid. That peachfuzz. He imagines his jism plastering it to Tex's face. He has to clear his throat. He stammers a bit. "D-- do you like it here, Tex?"

Tex's eyes go wide like a boy on Christmas. "Golly, Mr. Harrison, it's great!"

"They have anything like this in El Paso?"

Keith and Lord exchange knowing looks. Landon moves, trying to catch sight of Tex's fine butt. Keith restrains him, shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

"Well, yeah, but I mean Mom can't afford a place like this!"

Sheriff Lord, his eyes returning to Hank, claps Tex gently on the butt. "Well, Tex, you're lucky. There are a lot of men in Chatauqua County who take a keen interest in young men."

"Yeah," Tex drawls, "I know I'm lucky."

Unconsciously the teen readjusts his bulge. Consciously, Lord caresses the kid's globes, patting them like a coach during a hard game, grinning at Hank. When he pulls it away he rubs one finger under his nose and licks his lips. Sweet, he mouths.

Hank swallows again. Keith leans over and whispers, "Go for it, buddy."

A whistle blows and a boom resounds through the room as the counselor declares a pin. A clipboard is consulted. "Ewing! McAllister!"

"All right!" Tex trots off.

Low whistles from all four men.

"Damn," says Landon. "Just look at that ass!"

"No shit," murmurs Lord. "No fucking shit!"

"Fucking huge bulge, too" Hank breathes.

"No shit," murmurs Keith.

To Landon, Lord says, "Guess you're in on our secret, eh?"

Landon grins. "Gonna be an Eagle counselor with you, Mr. Lord."

Lord nods. To Hank, "Tex is still cherry. Trust me. I was tempted. Oh damn I was tempted."

"Shit," Hank murmurs, watching Tex sink down into his crouch. "He's not gonna be cherry two hours from now, I tell you that."

Suddenly Hank starts. "Fuck! I'm gonna screw that kid!"

Keith and Lord laugh. Landon, however, knows exactly what Hank is talking about.

Tex is down on all fours, and the teen is glorious in his unconscious sluthood. Tex's singlet is just a bit too tight, almost as if it were purposefully made smaller than the stated size. Calhoun Middle School, oddly, has the same problem. On Tex's slimly muscled thighs the legs have ridden up. Cupping that bulging groin like a scoutmaster checking up a guy to see if they've dropped. And yes, in Tex's case, two big balls have dropped. Sure, many teens look well hung; their slim bodies tending to emphasize their sexual assets. . But Tex is clearly a big boy for a fifteen year old. His cock is angled down over his nuts. His fat crotch looms in Hank's mind like -- like -- like the bulge Ben displays when his son lounges in his briefs.

Then Tex's butt goes up. The singlet pulls into his crack. You can't see his pucker but you know right where it is and you can't think of anything else but the image of his tight ring, undoubtedly kissed with a few wisps of air, unfucked and calling for your cock.

McAllister -- curly blond hair, shorter and huskier than Tex -- wraps his arm around him. The whistle blows. Tex bucks up and hurls McAllister off him. The teens scramble to their feet, ready to grapple.

"Mine," Hank declares resolutely. No one argues. Besides, the whole room -- all of CCBC -- seethes with hot boys curious to learn about sex. The men are stallions, selecting their colts.

"Sloppy seconds," calls Landon.

Three of them laugh. Not Hank. He watches the match. More precisely, he watches what Tex's middle is doing. He studies every inch of the boy between navel and thigh.

Keith taps Landon on the shoulder. "Come with me. Let's get you set up."

Hank and Lord watch Tex battle McAllister. The teens are evenly matched, McAllister having the edge in raw strength but Tex superior in agility.

"I gotta get me some of that," murmurs Hank.

"He can be had," says Lord. "He lives some way west of town. I drove him here in my squad car. Didn't jump when I laid the ol' moves on him. Spread his legs when I put my hand on his knees. And they got even wider when the old black magic went walking." Lord imitates a spider with one hand. "Tex wants to be drilled, Tank. Man. Woman. Anything. The boy needs it."

"Family?"

"Just his mom. Ran a background check on her. Some bounced checks, one bust for pot. Nothing major. Since we don't have anything on her we've gotta be careful. But I don't think Tex'll be a singer. She's not smart. Dumb as a sack of hammers."

"You met her?"

"Oh, yeah," says Lord. "I picked Tex up one day last week. He was walking back to his trailer."

Hank grins. If CCBC was a mere 75% whorehouse, trailer parks were 100%.

"You think he looks hot now, you ought to see him in jeans and no shirt. I almost -- almost -- took him up to the field by the river."

The match continues. Bodies struggle. Teen legs part. Bulging balls displayed. Groin rubs on arched back. The teens ringing Tex and McAllister call out for their favorites. You can, if you look, see youths with the same glassy-eyed fixed stare worn by Hank and Lord.

In the end, however, the decision goes to McAllister. The curly headed blond boy throws his arms in the hair. Tex shrugs wryly, receiving warm shoulder slaps as he trudges back towards Hank and Lord. There's no hiding Tex's bulge. The teen meat has swollen while in action with McAllister.

"That dude's tough," says Tex, flipping wet bangs off his forehead.

Hank throws an arm round the boy's shoulder. "He is. I watch him wrestle a lot. He's tough. You did good, though. I thought you had him a couple of times."

"Nah. He's strong. I just kept getting away from him."

"If you need strength," says Lord, "we got weight training."

Tex scuffs his sneakers on the floor, and then looks up. "How much does all this cost."

"Not a dime," says Hank. "This is, for the boys, all free." He glances down Tex's back. His butt, viewed from above, resembles two small volleyballs side-by-side, encased in the smooth singlet. Irresistibly Tex's virgin butt draws Hank's palm lower. Only with great effort of will is the man able to keep from cupping one taut buttock. It wouldn't be a sportsman-like gesture like Lords. Hank stops at the small of the teen's back, stroking the smooth fabric. "You mind if I ask you a personal question, Tex?"

Tex shrugs. "Nah."

"You wearing a jockstrap?"

Tex looks up, puzzled. "What's that?"

"Athletic supporter?"

"You mean like a cheerleader?"

Hank stifles a laugh. "It's underwear. Keeps your junk under control."

"Oh." Tex shakes his head. "No. Just got my Hanes."

"We got a new shipment in," says Lord. "Downstairs."

"Come on," says Hank. "Let's go get you one. A young man's first jockstrap is very important."

"It's free?" asks Tex hopefully.

"Well," says Hank, stroking the teen's spine, "they'll be a slight fitting fee. Nothing we can't work out." Hank shoots a look at Sheriff Lord. "You coming with us, Sheriff?"

Lord shakes his head. "Nope. Got to find this kid ... ever heard of Devon Whitewater?"

"Yes." Good choice, Hank thinks. "He's probably playing basketball with your sons."

"I'll check it out." The whistle shrieks. "After this match."

"Come on, Tex."

The man and the teen walk through the hall towards the lobby. Tex, though not shy, is a little reticent, and Hank spends some effort putting Tex at ease. You have to put yourself on the same level as the teen. Never be above him. Works most of the time. Tex is fairly intelligent. He knows he's poor, not likely to get much richer, but hasn't surrendered his dreams. He clearly likes the CCBC but is sure there are hidden costs somewhere.

Just outside the room where the fourteen year olds work the barbells they encounter a horde of uniformed boys charging down the hall.

Tex frowns. The uniform is similar to but not the same. "Are those --?"

"CCBC Colts," says Hank quickly. "We've got a dissident thing, going on here. Counselors take 'em up into the woods. Learn how to camp and make fires and cook and live in the great our doors with men."

"Oh," says Tex. "I'd like to do that, Mr. Harrison."

"It's a lot of fun, Tex."

In the lobby Hank leads Tex behind the desk. He pulls out his keychain and is about to insert the key when one of the attendants says, "Already, unlocked, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Peake went down there with that other guy and a couple of kids."

Hank nods and pushes the door open. "Come on, Tex."

"You want us to lock it behind you?"

"No," says Hank. "Sheriff will be heading downstairs in a second. Ask him."

Beyond the oak door the atmosphere changes from utilitarian to upscale. The stairs are carpeted and lined with oaken rails. Framed photographs on the wall watch Hank and Tex descend.

"Who're those guys?" asks Tex. "They all got suits on."

"Donors, mostly," says Hank. He knows all these men. He's screwed boys alongside some -- but not all -- of them. "Foundation directors. There's me and my wife."

Tex gawks. "Your wife? She's pretty!"

"She is, Tex. She is. See that kid? That's my son Ben. He was only eight that night."

"You got kids, too?"

"Two of 'em." Hank almost adds the phrase 'hot boys,' because he's used to having freedom of speech in these subterranean precincts. But he holds back. Tex is still a virgin boy.

At the foot of the stairway they push through double doors into a wide corridor. Hank listens carefully, expecting to hear the sound of creaking beds and moaning boys. Silence, except for the distant thrum of the facilities air conditioning. Hank guesses Keith took Landon to one of the private rooms far, far in the back.

Tex stares at the double doors across the hall. Carved oak with brass trimming. They are closed and barricaded, if only symbolically, by a velvet rope. "What's in there? Is that a restaurant?"

"That's Foundation Hall," Hank says glibly. His hand slips down Tex's back and this time does not stop until satin teen buttock is in the palm of his hand. Tex doesn't jump. Stiffens a bit. Doesn't sidle away. "Not a restaurant. We hold fundraisers and other events in there. Awards, too, so when you tan McAllister's ass you'll be up on the podium in there too." Recalling the last fundraiser -- remembering clearly that sea of sweaty flesh, of slim boy legs raised in the air will hard male buttocks drove faster and faster -- Hank's cock springs into full hardness.

"Come on," says Hank, tugging Tex's butt. "Let's get you into that jockstrap."

The door opens smoothly and Hank turns on the lights. Tex peers in, frowning a bit because h expecting a dingy closet. The room Hank leads the teen into displays a green tile floor, a toilet, a sink and a mirror. A set of wooden lockers. Stainless steel gleams. The room might be a private dressing room. The most significant feature -- at least in terms of what's about to happen to Tex is the bench, which has a thick, almost mattress like cushion. And a pillow. Above the bench/bed is a soap dispenser holding a clear fluid. It is Astroglide.

"Close the door," says Hank. "Sit down." Quickly he moves to the lockers. His cock thrusts hard but Tex can't see it. He glances at the seated teen, legs swinging. His rich smell fills the little room. "A small, I'd guess," Hank murmurs.

"Hmm?"

Hank pulls a jock from a cloth bag. The jock is soft, supple, utterly devoid of that harsh factory-made quality of the jocks you buy at the cheap stores. Hank sniffs it. Fresh. A boy's crotch has never touched it. He closes the locker and sits on the bed beside Tex. Hank doesn't care what Tex thinks about his hardon now. It's time for some man-on-by action. He holds the jock up. "And here it is, Tex. Your first jockstrap."

Tex takes it, turning it this way and that. "So ... what do I do with it?"

"Stand up." Hank spreads his legs wide apart. "Stand here."

Tex stands between Hank's knees. The kid's bulge looms before Hank's face. For a second Hank enjoys it. The smell of teen ball musk fills his nostrils like the odor of fine Scotch. Tex's meat is large-- and not limp. Wrestling McAllister aroused Tex and the arousal never melted away. Clearly Tex likes the feel of muscled male flesh against his crotch.

Hank raises his eyes and discovers Tex staring down at him. Liquid brown eyes, just like Ben's. Good. The kid knows exactly what Hank's been ogling. A questioning look shimmers in Tex's eyes. Hank clears his throat. "Damn. Pretty big cock. You got a girl?"

Tex shakes his head nervously. His eyes descend to Hank's crotch, flick back up to the man's face.

"Ever fucked a girl?"

The utterance of this forbidden word makes tiny spikes to rise in Tex's singlet where his nipples lie. "Once," he croaks. He struggles. "It was a teacher at my last school."

"Did it feel good?" Hank shakes out the jockstrap, lays it out on the bed next to him.

Tex shakes his head. "No. She put this thing on my dick before she let me put it up her. It felt weird, like it was trying to squeeze my dick off. I put my dick up her anyway, 'cause she told me too, and I moved back and forth, and when she was done she told me to take my dick out and then pulled that damn thing off me."

Poor kid, Hank thinks. Forced to fuck wearing a condom at his age. What a revolting state of affairs. Tex's swollen meat beckons. Hank cups the boy's bulge, stroking the balls with his fingertips. Tex jumps a little and gasps. "Well," Hank murmurs, "one thing we're against here at CCBC is sexually frustrated boys. You got a nice cock, Tex. Bet your teacher liked it."

Tex swallows. He's tense. Sure he liked it when Sheriff Lord's fingers went roaming but, wow, a man's got hold of his junk and is playing with it, same way his teacher did. Does that mean Hank's like her? To stall for time, Tex says, "Is that the cheerleader?"

"Jockstrap." Hank picks it up. "It keeps you young studs from bulging." Gently he kneads the teen's equipment, and then stands. "OK. I'm gonna take this uniform off."

Tex glances up at the man, eyes moist and luminous beneath his bangs. He nods and bites his lip. His eyes drop. He gasps as he finally sees what's sprouted between Hank's legs.

Tex's shoulders are smooth, warm, and moist with sweat. Hank slips his fingers beneath the straps and slips them off. The singlet, tugged down reveals a smooth chest. Not even a trace of hair around his tiny, brown, erect nipples. His belly is flat as the prairie and hints at an incipient six-pack.

Hank pauses. "OK. Here we go. Let's get this off you, Tex."

The singlet falls to the kid's feet. Tex wears Hanes too large for him. Mom, Hank supposes, is trying to save a buck, buying her growing boy creamy white Hanes that are far too large to constrain his burgeoning sexuality so she won't have to buy new underwear every six month.

Hank swallows, staring at the teen's cock. Tex is fully stiff. Six inches, maybe seven. But the shaft is thick ... a battering ram, not a rapier. His teacher must've creamed herself shitless while riding that. It jumps in the loose cotton like a spastic rabbit. As Hank reaches towards the waistband a particular vigorous leap causes Tex's cockhead to emerge from its snuggly-soft burrow.

"Foreskin," Hank mutters, mouth watering.

"What?"

"That skin on the end of your cock."

"Oh."

Hank slips off Tex's Hanes. The teen's cock snaps against his belly. The pisshole peers from within its delicate wrapping. Thick pubic thatch sprouts above Tex's cock but no hint of treasure trail. His thighs remain creamy smooth, just like his proud, pulsating nuts.

Tex takes his cock, grins shyly, and pulls his foreskin back. "Can you make yours do this, Mr. Harrison?"

Smiling, Hank stands. He pulls off shirt and then, unzipping, pulls out his hardon.

"Jesus H. Chris!" Tex exclaims.

"It's big, isn't it?" Hank says. He stands tall, shoulders back, chest out, cock jutting, balls swinging -- just the way a stud man presents himself to a tender boy.

"And hard!" Tex kneels and examines Hank's cock from all sorts of angles. "You don't have that skin. That furskin."

"Foreskin." Hank shakes his head. "Nope. You're special, Tex. In this country they like the hack 'em off. If this was Africa, and you were a woman, they'd call it genital mutilation. But because this is America, and you're a boy, they call it cleanliness."

Tex doesn't get it. Nor does he really care. He stares fascinated at the man's big cock. His mouth is open and his eyes hungry.

"It's OK, Tex," Hank says thickly, "if you want to touch me. You know. Just to see what yours will be like soon."

Hesitantly Tex reaches out with his right hand. Hank moans softly as the teen's fist closes on his throbbing shaft behind his cockhead. Tex's hand moves back and forth, trying to move a foreskin long ago detached and discarded.

Tex mutters, "Mine will never get this big. Betcha my teacher would love your cock, Mr. Harrison!"

"I know she would. My wife does." Hank clears his throat. "There's ways to get your cock to grow big."

"Mom says never to take pills." Tex gives a vigorous pull on Hank's cock. He smiles as precum begins to trickle.

Hank snorts. Damn this teen's got his balls going. "Well, what I'm talking about is like medicine, but it's all natural. My uncle taught me the secret. If you want a big cock -- and trust me, Tex, women like big cocks -- you gotta take a man's semen in your body when you're a kid."

"Wh -- what do you mean?" Tex stares at Hank's ten inch boyfucker, where a fresh pearl of precum appears.

"I mean," Hank says slowly, "you let me do to you what you did to your teacher. But no condom. 'Cause my sperm's gotta get inside of you to do its work."

Tex thinks about this. He has big dreams. But dreams, he knows, need money to become real. Maybe, he thinks, if he grows a big cock like Hanks ... or maybe one bigger ... he can go around stuffing his giant meat up rich women's twats. Surely they'll pay for that! "So I take your sperm and then I get a big dick? I mean, my dick will just start growing?" He snaps his fingers. "Like that?"

"Well, not like that," says Hank. "But it starts growing real soon after you start ... taking cum into your body. There are a lot of boys who've come through CCBC that all the girls talk about because they've got huge cocks."

Tex is convinced. "OK. What do we do?"

Hank grins. "Well, we got a tradition here." Standing, he picks up the jockstrap. "A boy's first time is always done with him wearing a jockstrap." Hank lays the creamy white jockstrap on the tile floor, spreading out and arranging the straps. "OK. Put your left foot here. Now the right foot here." With Tex's limbs positioned Hank tugs the jock over the teen's body. There! From plebeian Hanes to patrician jockstrap in less than five minutes. Its size is right. The pouch swells over Tex's hardon and almost immediately a droplet of teen precum anoints the cotton.

"Sorry," says Tex sheepishly.

Hank leans in and inhales. Nice. "One rule." He pats Tex's pouch. "You never, ever, wash this jock. It soaks up your odors. It's part of you. So when you're wrestling your opponent with knows, just by smell, who is top dog." Hank sniffs. Tex is warmly sweaty. This will, in less than a week, be one musky jock.

Tex nods. "OK. Now about your sperm, Mr. Harrison. When do I get some?"

Hank grins. He also likes Tex himself. Not just because he's sexy. Because he's horny and eager yet easy-going. Hank stands. He pulls Tex to him and thrusts his cock between the fifteen year old's thighs. The teen looks up at Hank, shy and impatient "OK. Kneel down, son. I'm going to teach you how to get semen out of a man's balls."

Tex eases down. Hank's ten inch meat looms over his face. Tex sniffs. He likes the smell. Raw. Potent. Powerful. He breathes deep. Unconsciously Tex's hands sink to his groin and he massages the bulging, throbbing fabric.

"You got to put some work into this, son," says Hank. "It isn't easy getting sperm out of a man's balls. Sperm's the most precious thing a man's got, so he doesn't give it up easily." Bullshit, of course. Hank can think of two boys across the street in the pool who, if Hank simply pointed his hardon at their reverent faces, would find themselves surprised as a gallon of jism exploded on their faces But Hank remembers Uncle Zebulon feeding him this line, and it's always a good thing to get a boy wholly into pleasuring a man.

"So let's start here," says Hank. He grabs his sack, pushes his balls down, and presents them to Tex's lips. "These are my nuts. I create my sperm here. I fathered two hot sons with the sperm I made in these balls." Hank didn't mean to say 'hot;' he meant to say 'great,' but, upon reflection, what's the difference? Tex doesn't sense Hank's creepy thoughts about his kids. "You drink enough of my cum, Tex, and I guarantee you a cock at least as big as mine." He grunts. "Sometimes they get even bigger."

"What do I do?"

Hank mutters the magic words. "Lick me, son. Lick my balls."

Tex licks. Immediately he likes. Every once in a while you'll find a teens who doesn't care for the tickling of thick pubic fur on their tongues. These boys often gag and spit until the narcotic that is a man's ballsweat works its magic. Tex isn't one of these. Tex is a natural. Takes to ballsweat like his mother's milk. Each swipe of his tongue stokes the fire in his eyes and soon, without prompting, he's trying to suck one of Hank's nuts into his mouth. The teen's got ambition but lacks the capacity.

Hank shows his appreciation of the boy's efforts by caressing Tex's silky hair. He croons, "That's nice, Tex, real nice, you keep that up and you're gonna get a nice mouthful of my cum. Maybe enough to make your dick grow a whole inch!"

Tex slips a hand inside his pouch. Suddenly his eyes fix on a droplet of precum oozing down the length of Hank's cock. His focal point slowly moves upward along Hank's urethra. The giant cockhead looms far overhead. Behind that massive meat Tex sees Hank's face, leering and borderline demented. Tex doesn't know it but all Harrison wear that expression when they teach a boy to service them.

Wow, Tex thinks. This is much better than slurping on his teacher's cunt!

Hank pulls his sack away from Tex's nuzzling adoration. "Good job. You got me going, Tex. Now lick the shaft. That's right. Just like that." He shudders. The boy's tongue flutters on his meat, delicate as a butterfly. But wet, wet and sinful, and a huge gusher of precum moves down Hank's hardon like lava.

Hesitantly Tex's tongue contacts the precum. Is it piss? He's worried about that. The boy isn't yet into pissplay. He discovers precum isn't piss. In fact it is almost odorless. But there is an effect on him, one he can sense if not articulate. His dick surges and floods his pouch with precum.

"Yes ... good ... you're a good son, Tex. Lick it," croons Hank. "From my balls all the way to the tip."

As if Hank's rod were a giant shaft of ice cream Tex licks. Hank's urethra trembles and the man's hands clench and unclench as if he's ready to grab Tex by the shoulders and skullfuck the teen.

Hank's naked cockhead fascinates Tex -- so weird-looking to his eyes which have only seen his own succulently-capped dick. The precum ... no taste, no smell, but with each droplet that flows into his mouth he wants more. Drawn to the font, Tex soon sips the flow from the source.

"Good, son. Good. Now," says Hank, "now I'm going to put my cock in your mouth, son."

Without need of further instruction -- in perfect unspoken submission to the man's sexual needs -- Tex sits back. His mouth drops open and his tongue moistens his lips.

"You like this, Tex?" Hank says, watching the teen play with himself.

Tex nods eagerly.

"Here I come, son," growls Hank and ease his shaft into the virgin space.

Tex instinctively his teeth out of the way. His lips stretch around Hank's girth. The kid stares down his nose at the big meat entering him. Hank's fingers gently clasp Tex by the head, holding the boy steady, creeping forward. Tex gags when Hank's cockhead lodges below his uvula, spitting out Hank's cock. Damn right Hank wants to embed his cock to the root in Tex's throat. What boyfucker wouldn't? But he knows it would be too much and so holds back.

Wiping his lips, Tex says, "Sorry. Tickled." He dives forward onto the daddycock.

"Good boy," says Hank. He savors the hot moistness engulfing his cockhead. "Now use your tongue. Lick it. Oh yeah, Tex, right there! Keep doing it right there!"

Instinctively Tex has gone for Hank's pisshole, source of that precum that he senses is already working a transformation on his dick.

Fuck, Hank thinks. This is living. Getting blown by a fifteen year old boy. Fuck yeah! What could be better? Hank can think of two things right off the bat...

Tex works diligently, suckling on the cockhead like a teat. The motion isn't much but the enthusiasm is unmistakable.

"Here," says Hank. "Put your hands on my shaft. One there. The other there. Now jack it, son."

It doesn't take long.

Awash in thoughts of times past -- like, say, when Hank knelt before Uncle Zebulon while Aunt Patsy cooked Sunday lunch downstairs -- and of times present -- Ben peeing this morning, unaware of Hank's exposed hardon not three feet behind him -- Hank's orgasm comes with enough force to almost blow out the back of Tex's head.

"Drink it, son! Drink it!"

The teen gurgles with surprise. But he wants what is pouring into his mouth. He wants to grow into the raw power of manhood. He senses, from that first blast Hank gave him, that the true route to that power is to do as Hank says. Drunk cum. Take it into his body everywhere the man wants to put it. Not a drop escape. He gulps the copious flow eagerly, rapidly. It feels like egg white sliding down into his gullet.

"Drink Daddy's load! It'll make a man out of you, son!"

Why, Tex wonders, does Hank call himself 'daddy?' Does it mean that, maybe, if he lets the man do this over and over again, he might at last have a daddy?

Since Hank's sperm is good to the last drop Tex drinks until Han's hose runs out of gravy. The cockhead pops from Tex's mouth, glistening but free of clots of sperm. Tex's cheeks bulge while his tongue swishes round his mouth. This is good stuff!

"Open up," Hank commands. "Let me make sure you got all of it."

Tex swallows, opens wide and then sticks out his tongue. No a drop. All the sperm swims happily in his belly, infusing his young cells with the man's testosterone blessing.

Tex grips his jock. Smiling, he says, "I think I feel it growing, Mr. Harrison."

Hank shakes post-orgasmic lethargy away. "It'll take a bit, son." His cock still throbs in front of the teen's face. Yes, the edge has been taken off. But there's more to cum. "Now there's two ways for a man to get sperm into a boy."

"Well," Tex drawls, wiping his lips, "I know one. What's the other?"

"Up your butt."

Tex blinks. A picture forms in his head. Yes, it's possible. And yet -- "But wouldn't it all run out after it gets up there?"

"Sometimes it does," says Hank. "But if you're a good boy and clench your butthole real tight it won't run back out. And if you keep it up there as long as you can it'll help your cock grow faster. "

Tex grasps Hank's cock and moves it around. "So you're going to put this up my butt?"

"Yes."

"How do we do it?"

I like this kid, Hank thinks. Lord was right. "Lay on your back here." Hank pats the bench/bed. "Let your legs hang over the edge." Hank watches Tex arrange himself. Kneeling, he lifts Tex's legs. "Damn," he breathes.

Tex's pucker is small, tight, a little teen rosebud. It wears a ring of peachfuzz -- just a hint, buried deep between his buttocks. The jockstrap holds the kid's balls out of the way, letting Hank on the most precious thing there is -- a boy's virgin unfucked butthole.

Tex sighs as Hank's tongue slithers on his skin. Down there. In that place between his legs. The sensation is nasty and it makes him want to writhe and twist on the bed. Atavistic impulses, very natural to boys. Boys are instruments built to be played by men.

Tex claws at the bed suddenly. "What's that? What're you putting in me?"

Hank can't talk right now since his tongue is embedded to the root up Tex's butthole. Goddamned the teen is tight up there. Unfucked. Maybe the kid hasn't even explored himself with a finger or a vegetable. His pucker tastes of sweat, rich powerful sweat he worked up battling the hulking McAllister.

Tex blinks his eyes rapidly, toes curling, waves of delight tingling from his butthole. "Oh, golly, Mr. Harrison, that feels awesome!"

Hank pulls his face from Tex's butthole, wiping his lips. Standing he reaches for the dispenser on the wall and pours out a good handful. He anoints his cock and christens Tex's butthole with its first dose of Astroglide.

"What's that? Feels slippery."

"It'll help me get my cock up your butt? Now get back on the bed, Tex, so I can fuck you."

"Fuck me? You mean like I fucked my teacher?"

"No, I mean fuck you the way a daddy fucks his son."

Tex backs onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow, lifting his legs. Hanks moves between them.

"This might hurt," Hank says, lining up. He's pretty sure his giant will hurt Tex a lot. Precum drizzles onto the kid's hole. "Just ride it out, you know, the way you do when you pull a muscle."

The pressure of the man's cock against his butthole awakens feelings within Tex he never suspected he had. "OK."

Hank presses forward. The battle begins. Tex's hole resists.

"OK," says Hank. "Deep breath. Relax. Let Daddy in."

The battle is suddenly over. Hank's cockhead forces its way in. Tex's eyes go wide a bit, and he grunts, but doesn't complain.

"You OK?" Hank asks.

"Yeah." Tex's voice is somewhat strained. "You got a big cock, Mr. Harrison. Do your sons tell you that?"

Hank surges forward, sinking half his cock into Tex's virgin rectum. The boy shivers, pulls his legs back and spreads them.

"You like that!"

"Oh yeah," chortles Tex, grinning. "Oh yeah, I like it a lot!"

Hank stuffs his ten inch raw daddycock up Tex's virgin cunt. Not one complaint from the kid. Not a tear. The teen likes it. He was born to take daddycock.

"Now I'm gonna start moving it back and forth," Hank growls. "You just lie there, like your teacher, and let me fuck you. It won't be long, Tex, and you'll have a load up your butt. And getting loads up your butt is lots better than in your mouth. You ready, Tex?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Harrison. I can't wait!"

Hank withdraws until his cockhead causes Tex's assuring to bulge ominously from within. Then, forcefully, he shoves back inside. Tex howl, bucks, writhes, and the moment the man's nuts slap against his buttocks he fills his jockstrap pouch with its first load of cum.

"All right, kid!" says Hank, pumping away. "All right!"

Tex is tight in there, as you'd expect with a virgin. Much tighter than Aaron had been when Hank first fucked the goofy kid. Hank wonders, as he fucks the teen faster and faster, if Kevin's ass would be this tight. Or Tim's.

"What's happening?" cries Tex and he explodes again. Rivulets of semen pour out from the edge of his jock, coursing down his flanks to stain the bed.

"You're cumming, son," grunts Hank. "You're cumming from Daddy's big cock up your butt!" This is insane. This is hot. His hips go into overdrive. "Daddy's gonna fuck you good, Ben!"

Hank churns away at the gibbering teen for maybe another three minutes, tops. He likes breaking in virgins. The thrill is the perfect adrenaline rush. There's great pleasure to be had in taking a teen that's afraid of sex from his swamp of fear to the realm of heaven. But it's also sheer delight to find a young boy who takes to assfucking as if it were second nature.

"Oh, shit!" Hank bellows. "Take it! Take Daddy's load, son!"

And for the first time in his life -- definitely not the last -- Tex feels the wet heat of a man's seed in his ass. The feeling is nasty and powerful. He knows exactly how much Hank can put out and he can feel every dollop floating there in the honey depths of his rectum. He sighs, shivers, and blows his third wad in a row.

Hank kisses Tex on the lips. This shocks the teen but he recovers. When Hank's cock slips out with a wet, farting noise he giggles. "I can feel it up there." says Tex.

"Feel good?"

"Feels awesome." He palms his wet jock. "I betcha my cock grew two inches!"

"It takes a lot more cum than what I gave you to make it grow two inches. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Hank wipes out Tex's crotch and jock with a cloth but doesn't clean it. No, a teen's crotch should smell like drying cum.

"Whew," says Hank, standing and flinging the cloth onto the counter. "Good one. Now let's get dressed and get you back upstairs. You probably got at least one more match, right?"

"Yeah. And I'm gonna beat that McAllister!" He steps into the singlet and tugs it up.

Hank cups Tex's bulge. "Doesn't look as big as before."
Tex laughs. "It's still wet and sticky from my sperm."

"You sticky cock won't distract you the way it did in the last match. Unless you want to fuck McAllister's butt."

"Could I?"

"McAllister likes 'em big, Tex, so we gotta grow you an inch or two."

"All right!"

"Come on, Tex" says Hank. "Let's go."

"Thanks, Mr. Harrison!" Tex grins brightly at him.

Hank cups Tex's butt as he shuts the door. It just feels right, you know? Showing the boy, in an unobtrusive way, that the man is dominant here ... but friendly. Together they head down the hall.

"Uh," says Tex, reveling in the feeling of Hank's hand on his butt and the squishy sensation in his rectum. He thinks about that giant shaft sinking into his butthole again. And three -- better still, four -- orgasms in a row. Bam. Bam. Bam. "When do you want to put it up me again?"

Hank grins. Victory was never in doubt but still it's sweet. "CCBC closes Sundays. So. How about after school Monday? You know the pool across the street?"

Tex looks up excitedly. Pool? Hell yeah!

"Go up to the gate and ask for me. Tell the girl there your name and have her call me. I'll meet you and we'll come here and I'll fuck you."

"Promise to fuck me all day?"

Hank laughs. "Yes."

A tall figure emerges from the stairway. Sheriff Lord, his huge paws lying on the shoulder of a slim honey-skinned black-haired youth. Hank recognizes the kid. Devon Whitewater, one of the boys Keith has inducted into the CCBC. Devon wears a goofy grin and beams like the sun, clearly enjoying what the county Sheriff is whispering to him.

"Hi, Mr. Harrison!" calls Devon.

Tex shoots a look at Hank. Does this man fuck all the boys? Wow! It must be great having a huge cock. Tex resolves to get his butt stuffed daily. Sure, yeah, he'll fuck women, but only for money.

Hank grins at Hank. "A lot of kids want my big cocks."

Hank kneels and chucks Devon under his chin. "Now you take whatever the Sheriff gives you, son. All of it. Trust me, it can be scary but you'll love it in the end."

"I know, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Peake taught me that!"

The Sheriff wears a sly grin which Hank cannot help but mirror. The huge black man opens a door. Devon trots inside. The two enter and the door shuts. There is a clink as if a belt buckle falls onto tile. A pause. Then a shriek. Devon's high-pitched voice echoes down the hall. "HOLY FUCKING SHIT! That thing's bigger than Mr. Peake's!"

Tex looks over his shoulder, worried. "The kid sounds scared."

"Oh, he'll be OK."

"Is he and the Sheriff gonna do what we just did."

"I told you, Tex, there's a lot of boys round here who want big dicks. And Devon's about to have the biggest deck any of us have ever seen."

They climb upstairs.

"Now you run back to the wrestling room," says Hank. "And you whip McAllister's ass." He winks. "Hear me?"

Tex grins. "You bet, Mr. Harrison!"

The two teens at the desk exchange looks as Tex scampers down the hallway. Hank grins at them and exits, heading back to the pool and his sons.

Sometime later Hank chills by the pool. He feels great. Balls drained into Tex's virgin ass ... nirvana for any man. He watches his sons as they continue to raise hell with the Peake boys. When Landon -- he came trudging back from CCBC with a look of stunned awe on his face -- lifts up Tim a peculiar fluttering quakes Hank's guts. He recognizes the feeling. But why should he be jealous of Landon?

We Harrisons don't --

Fuck off, Zeb.

At four o'clock the afternoon attains perfection. Sunlight is pale gold, the color of a boy's flaxen locks. The air is warm, not hot, and a weak breeze blows down from the mountains. The denizens of the pools -- the studly teenagers, the shapely boys -- have burnt off their frenzied energy but not yet entered a state of cranky tiredness. Both Ben and Tim have been baked to a perfect golden-brown, like bread, and they submit to Hank's lotion-application caresses with passivity and soft grins and bad jokes.

Kicking his feet in the pool, awash in the moment, Hank at first doesn't notice his phone buzzing in his pocket.

Hic. 'Honey?" It's Elaine.

"Sweetheart!" Hank exclaims. He's been thinking about dinner. He's decided to cook. She likes pasta. The boys like mac and cheese. Hank has compromised on chicken alredo. "How's Abingdon?"

Background noise swells, blocking out the tinny sound of her voice. Laughter. Then another hic.

"Sorry, Elaine, didn't get that," says Hank.

"I said, do you mind taking care of the boys tonight?" Hic.

"Are you drink?" asks Hank, smiling.

"Close but no cigar," says Elaine. "Ah. Here's the cigar." A sip. "Well, sweetie, we had a little problem earlier." Another sip. More background noise. Elaine laughs loudly. Somewhere in the bar the joke must've reached its punch line.

"What kind of problem?" Hank prompts.

"I had a flat. Don't worry, I'm getting it fixed. Actually, two flats. Do you know that on some of those traffic islands they've got sprinklers? And no warning signs! How about that? Anyway the van's in the shop. They're pretty sure the ... the, uh ... chassis isn't bent. Do you know how expensive tires are? Well, since it won't be ready till Monday we're going to make a weekend of it here. We got a hotel room and we rented a car."

"Is the bar at the hotel?"

"Honey, if I were there I'd pour you a Scotch! So do you mind watching the boys the rest of this weekend?"

"No," Hank says. "It'll be fun." He spies Ben thrashing past, pursuing Kevin's Speedo-clad ass for purposes about which Hank can fantasize. He adjusts his cock. "So you're stuck in the hotel?"

"Yep. I mean, Bethany rented a car but hell, Hank, we're fucking --" hic "-- plastered."

"All right, Elaine," says Hank. "You deserve a break. Have fun. I got the boys."

Hank glances over at the CCBC facility. Maybe, for safety's sake, he should drain his balls before heading home. He's sure Tex has gone but hell there's got to be another kid he can bang.

Damn. Based on the line of cars parked in the street it's time for the parents to fetch their kids. Crap.

Doesn't matter. Hank's in control. He can deal with it. It won't happen. I'll just drink Scotch and watch Little League and beat off all night long.

"Ben! Tim!" he shouts.

Tim dives from Landon's shoulders and thrashes through the water. Ben, behind Kevin with his arms wrapped around the boy's waist as he whispered in his ear, looks up, startled. Clearly reluctant, he releases Kevin and swims over.

"Your Mom's going to stay in Abingdon until Monday," says Hank. "So it's a guy's weekend."

"Hooray!" Both sons shout. Ben glances over his shoulder at Kevin. "Hey, Dad! Can we have Jesse and Kevin over tomorrow?"

This seems like a good idea. Or does it? Images of naked Peake children lying on their bellies on Hank's bed bring a wan smile to his face. Picture of Ben bursting through the door to find Hank inserting his cock up Kevin's butt reverse the smile's upward trend. "We'll see."

"Landon!" hollers Tim. "I wanna play with Landon!"

Hank swallows. "We'll see. So. How about we cook out tonight? Grill some burgers?"

"Mac and cheese!" they shout.

"That too."

"Hooray!" goes the chorus. Ben leaps to a topic of immense concern for him "You're not going to put any of that garlic in 'em, are you, Dad?"

"No, just onions."

"Hooray!"

"Go play," says Hank.

About a half-hour before closing time Hank watches Keith Peake stride to the edge of the pool. It always amuses Hank to note how many women's eyes follow that man as he moves. A twelve inch cock, even if limp, is always noted, and Keith has a reputation around the county of boning young women. The best cover stories are true stories.

Like Pan summoning satyrs Keith orders his brood from the pool. Landon, Chase, and Gideon draw many eyes away from Keith. This trio is a display of young male flesh glorious in the full flower of youth. Taut, muscular bodies and bulging crotches rich with seed. All three of them are shamelessly hard and anyone who giggles is met with a leer. The Peake boys scamper to their father. Aaron passes Hank, loping like an ape, arms swinging, calling, "See ya, big man!" Jesse pays Ben a hasty farewell and rushes to Landon, throwing his arm round the Marine's thigh.

Hank watches Ben as all this transpires. His boy looks with an inscrutable expression as Kevin's slim butt hurries to his dad's side. Hank smiles, amused. Ben has no idea how much Marine sperm sloshes up Kevin's butt.

The Peake gather up their stuff and depart. Their day is over but their night is only beginning. Keith shoots Hank a thumbs up from the parking lot.

A clever man to have such command over his life. Hank knows Keith and that Marine stud are going fuck sonfuck all night long. Hank wonders what's keeping him from doing the same. Uncle Zebulon's dead hand? And if nephews were OK, why were sons taboo?

He sighs. Who knows?

He hustles Ben and Tim out of the pool and set them to gathering their junk and loading it into his truck. His lifeguards began mustering the customers from of the pool. Owen's tight young butt sorely tempts Hank -- those looks Owen tossed him over his shoulder speak eloquently of a teen's need for hot daddycock. But the day is done, tomorrow is Sunday, and Hank just wants to get home.

Hank counts the cash drawer and finds its only two dollars over. Not worth bitching about. His staff is reasonably honest.

A quick group meeting before Hank locks up. Owen looks expectantly Hank's way and is visibly disappointed when it becomes clear there's no more action to be had from the boss.

"You horny?" Hank asks.

"Hell yeah!" says Owen.

Hank plucks out his cell phone and calls Sheriff Lord. The teen's face brightens up. He's never had the Sheriff but he knows the man's reputation.

Ben and Tim wait for Hank in the cab of his truck. Tim sits in the middle and Ben leans out the passenger window. Hank, after double-checking that everything that needs to be off is off and locking up, climbs in and starts his truck. He waves at Logan as the kid barrels out of the parking lot. Must have a pussy to pump.

"Anybody sunburned?"

Chorus of: "Noooo."

"You guys have fun?"

"Yeah!" says Tim. "Dad, can we come back tomorrow?"

"The pool's closed on Sundays, boys."

"But Dad," says Tim earnestly, "you made it, you can open it any time you want!"

Hank laughs, slipping a hand over his ten year old son's smooth thigh. "Dad's got to have a day off. So what did you guys do while I was gone?"

Ben and Tim exchange looks then give their Dad the edited version. Ben doesn't mention his trips to the bathroom with Jesse and the other boys. Tim tries very hard to not talk about Landon but it's just impossible. He does manage to avoid telling his Dad how thrilling it was to feel the Marine's bulge underwater when no one -- or mostly no one -- was looking.

After pulling into their driveway. Ben and Tim scamper back and forth, unloading the truck. Hank had planned to start dinner immediately but since his sons kept dropping odds and ends behind them like crumbs he has to follow them and pick up the odd inner tube or towel.

Not done with the water, Ben and Tim set up the sprinkler in the back yard and dart in and out of its spray, hooting like deranged owls. Hank keeps an eye on them through the kitchen window as the macaroni boils and he cuts up slices of cheddar cheese. After filling a large pan with the macaroni and laying down a layer of cheese slices and dusting the concoction with crushed saltires Hank starts on the ground beef. To hell with Ben! Garlic forever! Hank limits himself to just one garlic clove this time and works it through the beef, along with chopped onions.

Hank lights the gas grill. As soon Hank calls, the boys stop their antics and race over. Each scoops out handfuls of the meat and presses their own patties. Soon the burgers sizzle on the grill. Hank assigns his son the task of cutting up tomatoes and lettuce. This proceeds slowly as many distractions are at hand. The boys are hungry but far more interested in the sprinkler. There is a skateboard that must be tested to see what happens when it gets wet. Ditto for Tim's old tricycle. To get dinner done Hank takes over and, to show his sons he's not grumpy, he takes a few leaps through the sprinkler himself. The boys cheer and tackle their father. The trio wrestles for some minutes, a laughing giggling tangle of father and sons, rising sopping wet and decorated with grass clippings.

Hank spatulas the burgers onto a plate which Tim sets on the table. Hank fetches the mac and cheese form the oven. They are sitting down when Ben suddenly cries out, "The buns!" and races into the kitchen, emerging with a bag full of them. Twilight comes on as they eat and talk and tell bad jokes. Distant lawnmowers hum, and little kids shriek, and cars cruise past.

His sons sit opposite Hank. He sees them shivering a bit but both boys refuse to put on shirts. Water beads on their golden-brown skin. Disheveled hair hands in their eyes. The boys don't care. This day has been bliss for all of them.

"You guys make any new friends?" Hank asks, taking a gulp from a long-desired beer.

"Dad!" Tim reproaches. "We already told you this!"

"Tell me again. I'm old and I forget a lot of things."

"Kevin," says Ben laconically. "He's pretty cool for a little kid."

Hank nods. "Yeah, I like him too. Any new friends, Tim?"

"Yeah! Landon! He likes playing with kids!"

A sudden chill. Why? Why these feelings of jealousy? He's not like that at all. Many times at the CCBC, after having fucked a boy Hank's passed the kid on to the next man. He's not possessive. Pleasure is meant to be shared -- and what greater pleasure is there than boys?

But jealousy is there all right. Why, when Tim says the word 'Landon' does something nag him?

It's because, some part of Hank's mind says, Tim's ass makes you hot.

"So why do you like Landon so much?" asks Hank, looking down at his plate.

"'Cause he likes to play with boys!" hollers Tim.

"I see. Well, Landon's a good guy. I think you made a good friend, Tim." Hank knows he sounds stiff when but neither boy notices.

Dinner passes slowly. Pangs of jealousy are buried under mounds of hamburger and macaroni and cheese. Hank feels warm towards his two tousle-haired sons. It's not just sexual attraction. They are good, happy kids. It's not simply that they make his cock hard. He's proud to be their Dad.

"Hey, Dad!" says Ben. Ketchup and mustard and cheddar cheese stain his face. "Can we take a bath tonight?"

"What's this? You want to take a bath?"

Tim pipes up. "Yeah, Dad! We like being clean!"

"Fine. Help me clean up."

As his sons scamper off, having helped to stock the dishwasher with dinner's remnants, Hank makes the fateful decision. It's Elaine's fault, really. As he closes the dishwasher and turns it on he happens to thinks of her carrying on in the bar. She deserves her fun; he doesn't begrudge her that. But he, too, feels he deserves a drink. He puts a couple of ice cubes in a tumbler, fills it about half-full with soda, and tops it off with Glenfiddich. He sips quietly as he rests in the recliner.

The boys are loud in the bathroom. How much racket can two boys make in the damn bathtub?

He flips on the TV. ESPN is still running the Little League championship. He grins, rises, and drains his Scotch. He refills it this time with about one third soda and two thirds Glenfiddich.

Much better.

Ben races into the bathroom clutching the tub of Vaseline in hand. "Got it!" He kicks back with his naked foot and the door slams shut.

Tim, leaning over the bathroom sink, foam dripping from his lips as he brushes his teeth, bites down on the toothbrush and shucks his trunks. His ten year old boy butt, round, draws a five-inch salute from Ben's crotch. Ben's already dropped his shorts. In his bedroom. Yes, in the Harrison house a thirteen year old boy is running around upstairs naked with a hardon.

Tim spits and rinses. "I really like that Landon," he says, voice dreamy, kneeling at the tub and rests his forearms on the rim. "I hope Dad lets him come over tomorrow." Tim spreads his legs. His hairless balls are tucked tight against his hardon. "He's got a huge cock! He let me see it! He even put my hand on it! It's twice as big as yours, Ben!" Tim pumps his butt back against a phantom Marine crotch. "I want Landon to fuck me, Ben!"

Ben, a dollop of Vaseline on his finger, eases between Tim's smooth legs. "He showed it to you? When?"

Tim turns on the faucet, adjusting hot and cold so the water will be just the way the like it. "When he took me to the bathroom. I watched him take it out when he had to pee. I couldn't look at anything else! He saw me looking ... but he wasn't mad! He asked me if I wanted to see more. Sure I did! So we went into a toilet and he pulled his swimsuit down. Wow ... he has more hair than you do, Ben. I betcha he's got more hair down there than Dad!"

Ben sticks his finger up his brother's butthole and smears the Vaseline around. The excess he wipes on his own hardon. He smirks. "Tim's in lo-ove," he sing-songs.

"Am not!" Tim giggles. "I love Dad! I just want Landon to do this to me!" He wiggles his butt.

"Betcha he won't come over," says Ben, lining up.

"He might!" Tim's indignant. He arches his back to give his brother easier access to his butthole.

"He's gonna spend the day with Jesse," says Ben. He barrels home. Hot damn! This is great! He's forgotten how many times he's had his dick up some boy's butthole today!

"Ooff!" Tim grunts. "Jesse? Why Jesse?"

"'Cause Jesse lets Landon fuck him, just like you let me fuck you." Speaking of fucking, Ben commences thrusting. The thirteen year old is horny and not too much interested in prolonging the pleasure. Sure, he busted a nut in Jesse's ass and those other boys earlier but be real. Thirteen year old boys want to be cumming every hour ... hell, every half-hour, and Ben Harrison is no exception.

"How do you know?"

"Duh! Jesse told me!" Ben pumps fast, wanting that nut.

"Do you think Landon's cock would feel better than yours? It's so big!"

"Dunno," puffs Ben. "I mean, Jesse likes it, so I guess so."

Their knees drum on the floor. Tim, new vistas of sexual exploration opening in his mind, squeals delightedly as Ben's erection thrusts inside him. Tim pictures his tiny little butthole crammed full with the Marine's shaft. Tim imagines not just that man's cock. Mr. Peake, too, must have a huge cock, and, well, there's Dad and his mysterious bulge, but Tim's sure that Dad is happy with Mom.

Bliss comes, emitting a triumphant cr. Tim coos with each squirt. He loves the nasty feeling of his brother's load up there. Both brothers writhe against each other, each thinking thoughts they wish to hold back from the other.

"Nice, Ben," says Tim, savoring the wet feeling in his backside.

Ben giggles. "I got more!" He eases his dick out. A teaspoon of sperm spills from Tim's rosy butthole onto the bath mat. "Betcha Landon can't put more cum up there than your big brother!"

Tim reaches over and shuts off the faucet. He steps into and sits down into the tub. "I wanna try."

Ben joins him. He reaches for a washcloth. Both brothers are still greasy from all the sustain lotion their Dad rubbed onto them. They don't want to sleep feeling greasy ... on the outside. "I'll ask Jesse. Maybe he can talk to Landon."

"Really! Cool!"

Being boys, after their bath and buttfuck, they slip back into their swim trunks and race downstairs. Little League plays on the television. Their Dad lays in his recliner.

"No, no, Dad," says Tim. "We're not going to watch baseball! It's BORING!"

"Why not?" Hank smiles at his son over the rim of his glass. "It's EXCITING!"

"Baseball' sucks!" Ben says definitively. "Dad, we want action!"

Hank finishes the dregs of his Scotch. "Well, you'll get action, but first you got to get out of those trunks and into your PJs."

The boys heave a sigh clatter back up the stairs, their feet resound down the hallway. Hank sets his glass down on the table. Just a few minutes more, sons. His eyes narrow as he stares at the TV screen. Yeah, he thinks as the camera zooms in on the batter, hot fucking kid. What's his name? Rodrigues? Looks to be twelve. Yeah, kid, go into that crouch. Fuck yeah it pulls that uniform tight. What an ass, boy, what an ass! Hank wishes the camera angle were lower so he could see between the Little Leager's thighs. He likes seeing a kid's nuts, from behind, between his thighs. That was why Tex got him so damn hot earlier today.

Tex. Hmm. Monday with Tex.

Ben and Tim streak in and fling themselves on the floor. For a moment Hank doesn't notice anything odd. Only when Ben whacks Tim's arm does Hank realizes that both boys are in their PJs. Even Ben. The PJs are very snug because Hank always resists Elaine's efforts to buy something more their size. Ben wears both top and bottom but the flannel is so snug he shows about three inches of naked spine above his butt, as well as the waistband of his briefs.

"Hey, guys," Hank says. "Since Mom's out tonight, why don't you be comfortable?"

Both look at their father over their shoulders, wearing a puzzled looks.

"Well, Ben, you're PJs are really just your underwear now, right? And Tim, you're a growing boy. So why don't you both just watch TV in your underwear?"

Hank's sons high-five. Both leap up. Ben rips his shirt off --

"Go change upstairs," says Hank. "Don't leave clothes all-round the house."

As once again they thunder up the stairs Hank nods to himself. Yeah. He feels good about this. He's indulging himself, sure, but he's not crossing the line. Elaine is out of the house. Don't need to be 100% faithful to the commandments of American propriety. The line can't be crossed but he can set his toe on it.

Hank eases out of his chair. He pours his glass about ten percent full of soda. He studies it for a moment. Then he quaffs the soda and refills his glass with Glenfiddich, quite neat.

Two young boys lay stretched gloriously on their bellies before the TV, heeds propped on chins, kicking their legs back and forth. Hank freezes. Damn. What a sight. Snowy white ass globes. Tim's are round. Round and succulent. Just the barest hint of balls visible between his splayed legs. Ben? Well, the thirteen year old might as well have had the words "fuck me" written in crayon between his shoulder blades. The dark furrow of his crack descended to his balls, after having originated between exposed buttocks. And, as Hank stared at his oldest son's balls, at that big mound they raise in those briefs, he realizes that Ben can cum. Must be cumming. Surreptitiously jerking off in this very house. In his bed. In the shower. Not a hair in sight on Ben's body. Smooth nut brown skin, except for the creamy white upper thighs where his trunks cover him. Pure sculpted boy, silky smooth.

Swallowing a big slug of fine Scotch Hank sinks into his recliner. "So, guys." He tells himself the tremulous quality in his voice won't be noticed. Or, if it is, they won't guess why it's there. "What you want to watch?"

In unison: "The Splosions Channel!"

He should've guessed. The Splosions Channel, Time-Warner's latest contribution to American culture, where videos of exploding things are rebroadcast from YouTube as a smarmy retard -- the host -- struggled to reads bad puns from his teleprompter. There was no end to the variety of explosions shown. Mentos bathed in Coke! Wacky hijinks with gasoline and rednecks! Zeppelins in full Kamikaze mode! Baking soda, vinegar, and drunken housewives! British battle cruisers! American space shuttles! Blasting caps and pneumatic hammers! Russian nuclear reactors! Nitroglycerin suppositories and bean burritos! Two thousand pounds of star-spangled liberty bestowed by a B-2's upon befuddled desert dwellers on continents no one could pronounce! The boys loved it.

Hank changes the channel. "Splosions it is."

Hank is happy to ignore the TV. There are boys ... better yet, sons ... to ogle.

Ben, Hank at last admits to himself, is not simply beautiful. His eldest son is fucking hot. With his legs splayed like that, his back arched like that, his butt begs for cock. By posing like that, Ben is asking, for a man to sit down beside him and stroke that sleek flesh. Why, boy? Why am I petting you? Because you're a beautiful animal and you deserve this for no other reason than you're hot. Now just let me pull down your underwear --

"Hey, Dad!" Tim yells.

"Hmm ... what?"

"Can we have some tater chips?"

"And dip!" Ben adds, grinding his crotch against the floor.

"Yeah, yeah," says Hank. "Put the chips in --"

"-- in a bowl, Dad, we know," says Tim, standing and hurtling into the kitchen.

Hank wonders how Ben's hair must smell. Did he wash it while in the tub with Tim? Couldn't have. So ... chlorine from the pool. Sweat. Hank imagines himself couching over his boy. Sniffing him. Breathing his air. Lifting his son's arms and sniffing Ben's armpit, to taste the fumes that faintly hinted at onrushing manhood's potency. Better still ... to trail his nose down Ben's spine. Yes, a very sexy thought. Clean flesh. Faint smell of soapy. And then ... to his son's butt. To stare right down at his son's sexy ass, Hank's eyes only inches away from that crispy white fabric. There, right there, two inches from Hank's lips -- the start of Ben's crevice. Yes. Hank would adjust the waistband a bit, maybe, to relieve the pressure exerted on the fabric by those pert, wonderfully dimpled globes --

"Dad! Yo, Dad! Earth to Dad! Come in, Dad!"

"Hmm. What?"

Ben, unseen, has rolled onto his side. His dick -- not hard but not limp -- runs to one side. Hank's eyes focus the bulge. His son's underwear looks dark there. Pubic hair? Must be. Ben flips back a lock of hair, exposing his armpits. He draws one foot slowly up his calf and rests it on the crook of his knee.

"You think they'd let me join the Boy's Club?"

"Well, they wouldn't say no. They don't say no to any boy. Why do you want to join?"

"I heard they got a great weight room." Ben thumps his chest. "I want to get big and strong. Like you, Dad!"

Hank nods. "OK, Ben, we'll go down Monday and get you enrolled." He blinks. He's got a hot date with Tex scheduled Monday. "I mean Tuesday."

Tim trots in and sets a bowl of potato chips between himself and his brother. He strains to open the jar of dip but no matter how much he strains and scrunches his face up can't.

"Bring it here," says Hank. He takes the jar, noticing at last that his hands are trembling... Tim's innocent eyes sparkle with delight as Hank twists the lid. Tiny dark nipples beckon like lumps of chocolate on Tim's tanned chest. It's a scrawny chest because Tim's a boy, a sexy young lad still al boy. Hank remembers Uncle Zebulon's fingers dancing on his nipples long ago, and the way he gasped and arched his back and melted into the pleasure the man brought to him.

Tim beams. "Thanks, Dad!" He takes the dip.

Recumbent on the floor, Tim's ass, rounder and clearly chubbier than his brother's, calls to Hank. His underwear reveals far less skin than does Ben's. Tim's crack is hidden and there are no slivers of butthcheek peering from the legs. Tim's body is more awkward in conformation than Ben's sleek and svelte form. Tim's joints appear too large and there's something off about the proportion of forearm to upper arm, of calf to thigh. Pure boyhood and it makes Hank's cock stiff.

"Hey, Ben<" Hank murmurs, extending his glass.

Ben rolls over, a little annoyed because he'd just been disturbed from watching a perfectly fascination splosion. He says nothing. He stands and trots over to Hank.

"Bottle's on the counter," says Hank. Ben's nipples are larger than Tim's and somehow more alluring. Ben's chest has of course begun to develop. Hank pictures his son seated on a bench, thrusting dumbbells above his head, exposing sweaty armpits.

Ben rattles the glass. "You want more ice?"

"Nope." Hanks' fingers twitch as he fights the urge to reach out and run his hands down Ben's belly towards his bulge.

"Can I have some?"

"Just a sip."

Ben lopes off to the kitchen.

For a few seconds it seems that Hank's in a different room. It's a precise copy of this room, and Tim lies on the floor in the same prone position. But significant details are changed. The TV doesn't boom with splosions, emitting rather the cheap boom-boom of porn music. And Tim's briefs are looped around his ankle, and sperm leaks from his red-raw butthole. There's a vast puddle of it between his legs. The Marine, Landon, stands above him, gazing down. Tim looks up at the big man. A grin of delight spreads across his face. The Marine kneels and, clear as day, inserts the nine inch cock that Hank watched slid up Kevin Peake's ass into Tim's cumsloppy butthole --

CRASH!

Hank stirs. Ben stares at a naked nail on the wall, holding Hank's scotch. "Oh," he says. "Here, Dad."

Hank takes the scotch.

Ben trots to the wall, bends over, which pulls his briefs low. Damn low. He stands and holds up the fallen portrait. "Uncle Zeb," he says. Ben frowns, staring at the picture. "Is that you, Dad?"

"Zeb's the old guy, son. I'm the boy next to him. I was about a year younger than you when my aunt took that picture." Hank drinks. "Put it on the table. I'll hang it up tomorrow. Damn thing always falls."

Ben settles back into position.

"Hey, Tim," Hank says.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Why don't you come sit in your Daddy's lap?"

Tim shrugs. "Sure."

At first Tim sits with his back on Hank's chest, butt straddling Hank's thigh. Hank slips one arm round his son's waist, just above the briefs, and lies with his cheek nestled in Tim's hair. During a commercial break Hank sends Ben for a refill. His free hand strokes Tim's silky thigh. The boy looks up at him with warm, bright eyes, and smiles. Hank pulls Tim into a cuddle which allows him, after Ben returns with the drink and resumes his prone position on the floor, to surreptitiously explore Tim's thighs. The ten year old sucks his thumb as his father's hand roams down there. He says nothing when he feels Hank's fingertips caressing the skin along the hem of his briefs and the only motion he makes when he feels his father's fingernails on his balls is to spread his legs.

Suddenly Hank rouses himself, not sure if he's fallen into sleep or just an alcoholic stupor. Clock on the wall says it's bedtime. Tim has rolled so he can better see the TV. Ben hasn't moved. His boys can't get enough splosions, it seems.

"Bedtime, guys," Hank says reluctantly. He'll be thinking of this scene Monday as he ploughs Tex again.

"Night, Dad!" The boys shoot to their feet and climb the stairs.

Hank listens to their feet. Both boys go to their rooms. Doors shut. Bedsprings squeak.

He's alone. A dad and his hardon, alone in the house with two sons.

Fuck the Splosions Channel! Back to ESPN. Doublefuck! No Little League championship -- perfect whack off material -- just some stupid commentary show. Who cares about that? Bring back the Little Leaguers and have them play shirtless.

Frantically -- his hard cock insists on relief now -- Hank flips through the channels. Three hundred fucking channels and no shirtless boys. Fuck America three times with feeling!

At last he remembers Disney. He lucks out. A teen sitcom. The lead is a slim blond teen, wide-eyed with trademarked Disney wholesomeness, dressed in beach gear of tank top and shorts. Hank imagines thousands of young girls watching him with sopping wet panties. Hank imagines himself walking onto the set during taping, grabbing the hot blond by the arm, flinging him on the floor, ripping those shorts off, and stuffing that tight teen hole with ten inches of perverted, dripping Harrison daddycock.

Hank's mind shifts to images of Tex. The moment when the boy's eyes caught sight of Hank's hardon. The fear, the awe, as the ten inch cock loomed ... the light on Tex's road to Damascus. . Those smooth globes. Tex's tight pucker. The pain on his face as Hank's cock entered the virgin precinct. Most piquant of all -- the instant (for it was just a minute fragment of time) when the pain of that long entry turned to pleasure, and Tex understood.

Suddenly Hank stands. His cock strains against his fly. Precum stains him. He stalks into the kitchen. He pours himself a good shot of Glenfiddich. No soda. No ice. Smoky pleasure burns in his throat. He returns to the living room, standing, swaying a bit, and sipping that fatal drink.

Elaine's not here. I am master. I can do what I want.

But should I?

Two sons, Hank. Two sons, both seething with sexual potency.

Is it right?

Ben's got balls. Remember that. Remember his briefs swelling there? Remember them bulging? Remember the dark furrow of his asscrack?

Elaine will be coming back.

Remember his briefs in the shower this morning ... remember how they'd slipped down, how you could see your son's butt?

You're a pillar of the community. If you think about it you've got a sweet life. Access to all the boyflesh you want at work and across the street.

All it takes is one peep to his wife and it all comes tumbling down.

Remember Tim and Landon in the pool? Remember Landon's hands on Tim's supple body? Landon's just like you, Hank. He just as into raw, hot, perverted boyfucking as you. There was nothing at all innocent about his touch. Another pedo caressed your boy, Hank. And your boy liked it.

What's happening on the other side of town, Hank? Happening right now?

Jesse Peake bent double, absorbing Marie cock and cooing happily. Kevin Peake, flat on his back, Keith's face dripping sweat at his labors between his son's legs. Dads and pedos and boys and sperm and lube and sex.

We Harrisons don't fuck our own sons.

Hank slams his empty glass down.

Goddammit!

This one will!

Hank shucks his shirt and flings it on his recliner. He bunches his fists and silently mimics an ape bellowing his mastery of the jungle, asserting dominance of his herd. Hank loses his shorts. He stalks once round the room - maybe to allow something out there to change his destiny.

The power, if there, choses nonintervention.

Hank's footsteps boom on the stairs.

Daddy's coming, Ben! Daddy's got something to show you, Ben!

Heart hammering he steps into the hallway. His cock lifts the fabric of his boxers like a tent pole. He clenches his fists. He stomps his way to the bathroom, alive, quivering, and shaking. He thought he'd need to open the medicine cabinet to find the object of his search. But it sits in plain sight on the toilet's closed lid. Even the top is off. The greasy surface is indented as if small fingers have been scooping and scooping and scooping.

Hank grabs the Vaseline. He's not Sherlock Homes right now.

Daddy's got something for you, Ben.

Past Tim's room. Briefly Hank listens though he does not open the door. He's sure his youngest boy is sleeping. Tim always drops off immediately. Tim is a deep sleeper.

It's just me and you, Ben. Dad and son and a tub of Vaseline.

Outside Ben's door Hank pauses. His chest feels as if an elephant stands on it and it's about to implode.

Should I?

Elaine?

Zebulon?

Should I?

Can anyone answer me?

But no one hears him except his cock which could fuck through ten inches of solid steel.

Elaine. I'm gonna to have to look you in the eye on Monday. And when they tell you what I've done and when you ask me why I did it I'm going to say, "Because I'm there Dad!"

The door to Ben's bedroom creaks softly open.

Hank stands inside the door frame. Precum drenches his boxers. He cocks his head, listening. Soft sound of easy breathing. In the moonlit room his eyes fall upon Ben. His son sleeps on his stomach, half-covered by a sheet. One leg is drawn up, the other straight. A cheek rests on one arm. Ben's lips are parted slightly.

What does that dark-haired boy dream of?

Hank takes a deep breath. Here is the last moment. Here he can still turn back. He has done nothing wrong. No one can say anything. He cannot be prosecuted.

Now at last comes the moment that will live forever in hot-blooded infamy.

Hank's fingers flex. He hooks them in his waistband. He shucks his boxers. His cock slaps his stomach far above his navel. He feels a whip-like strand of precum plaster itself to his chest.

There. He's naked in his son's room. There are no distant sirens slowly growing louder. Outside there is only the drowsy sound of rural America. All is well.

Look at me, Uncle Zebulon. Wherever you are now, look at me!

Hank' watches Ben's drowsy, lithe form. Turn and look, boy! Turn and look! See me? See me? I'm your Daddy. Over thirteen years ago I fired a load in your mother and I made you, Ben. Now I'm naked and I'm hard and I'm gonna fire a load in you!

Ben drowses on.

Hank closes the door and crosses the room. OH shit I'm doing this. Goddamn I'm finally doing this!

His nuts, swaying between his powerful thighs, feel like sacks loaded with lead pellets

Hank sets the Vaseline on Ben's nightstand. He turns. Stark naked and hard, Hank faces his sleeping son. His eyes savor the thirteen year old's body. Goddamn. Fucking hot boy.

Look at me!

The boy doesn't stir.

Gently Hank strips the sheets from Ben. Those cheeks, those sweet cheeks, are stroked by Diana's silvery light. Though boys are always beautiful it is in moments such as this they attain divinity, become altars at which a man must worship with their hairy, heaving, thrusting body.

Leaning over, Hank's cock close enough to Ben's face so that Hank feels his son's breath on it, Hank slides a hand from the nape of Ben's neck, down the boy's spine, fulfilling a dream. I can practice with Tex and Owen and the other boys, but you, ben, are the real thing. Ben's skin is smooth and Hank's cock throbs with this first, forbidden contact. He digs under his son's briefs. No subtlety at all. No savoring. This is a moment of action. His finger plunge into Ben's asscrack.

There it is. What Hank has dreamed of for years. Ben's sweet pucker. Tiny. Soft. Smooth. Hank fingers it. Warm and alive, it seems to Hank to welcome his father's perverted touch.

There's no going back now.

"What --" The voice is drowsy.

Young eyes open wide. The first thing Ben sees is a giant cock, pulsating before his face. He freezes. Is it a dream? Has Landon snuck in here? What's going on? Then Ben looks up. Eyes travel up a flat belly and over heavy pectorals and finally reach his father's face. Not, on this moonlit night, a face soft with love and concern, but a madman's face ablaze with incestuous lust.

Seconds tick past as naked father and brief-clad son stare at each other.

Nervously Ben swallows. "Dad --?"

"Shh," whispers Hank. "Be quiet." His eyes narrow. "Don't tell anyone, Ben. Anyone!" He stabs his finger inside Ben's boychute.

"Ow!" Ben jumps. "Dad! Dad! What are you doing?" The finger prying open Ben's ring isn't causing the boy any pain. It -- this whole situation -- is weird. And this moment is, even for the exuberantly sexually active Ben, outside his experience. Though he knows men are sexual beings he's never thought of his father as one.

Now that Hank's inside his son -- he's actually molesting his son -- he knows he's committed. To chicken out now would be foolish. Once you get your finger in you might as well buttfuck your son.

Hank growls these words, long lurking in his mind: "Daddy's gonna fuck you, son!"

Yeah. Wow. There, he's said it. His cock leaps.

"Ahhh ...." Ben breathes. His assring is tight. His rectum, acting on instinct, struggles to eject the invasion, but the supine boy lays there, mesmerized by the gigantic cock in his face, letting his father finger him, awakening to the ecstasy in his butthole.

"Nice," murmurs Hank. "Sweet. I knew you'd be good fuck, son." He claws Ben's briefs down so that they're looped just below his smooth and snowy buttcheeks. There they are. No longer hidden. The teasing's over. Ben's thirteen year old ass, ready to be fucked.

"Dad," Ben murmurs, "What are you doing?"

Hank climbs onto his son's bed. He straddles his kid. His cock leaks snot onto his son's asscheeks.

"Dad, I don't --"

"Shut up! This is something all daddies do to their sons! It makes their cocks grow!"

Ben looks fearfully over his shoulder at his father's engorged cock. "Dad! You're huge! Don't fuck me with that!"

"Shut up, Ben. Hand Dad that Vaseline." Hank stares down, jerking his hardon slowly, at Ben's buttocks just inches away.

"Wha --"

Hank pops a cheek. "On your nightstand, Ben. Hand Daddy that Vaseline!"

Ben stretches then passes the tub to Hank. Hank digs out a huge teardrop, his only concession to mercy. Don't want to fuck Ben dry.

"Don't do it, Dad! Don't fuck me with that cock!"

Hank smears the grease along his fat dadshaft. The remnants he jabs into Ben's virgin boyhole. The manner his kid jumps almost make his nuts explode. He works his finger deep into Ben, just the way Uncle Zebulon had done their first time. Had Uncle Zebulon stared down with the same cold expression Hank knows he currently wears? Hank can't remember anything except the pleasure of being filled by his uncle's cock.

Hank rejects the possibility of loosening Ben's boyhole with a second finger. It's very tight up there, far tighter than Tex's virgin treasure, but since Ben's been teasing him for years Hank intends to maximize his pleasure.

"Now," growls Hank, "Daddy's gonna slide home, boy!"

"Daaaaaad ...."

Hank pushes his cockhead into his kid's socket. He snaps his hips forward. The thirteen year old's pucker stretches but doesn't give way.

"Please!" Ben cries out. His beasts his pillow with his fists. "It hurts!"

"I'll please you, Ben. Daddies know how to please boys." Hank clamps a hand over Ben's mouth. He growls into his ears, "Daddy said to shut up!" He thrusts again. Hank puts forward all the strength he's been holding back. There's no gentleness for the son who's been teasing him, flirting with him, flaunting that sweet young butt. Daddy wants in, boy. Daddy wants to be in that butt you got.

Daddy gets what he wants.

The pucker gapes. Hank's shaft jerks forward. Inside. Inside a boy. Where every man needs to be.

Hank's hand muffles Ben's howling. Hank's son squirms as, for the first time in his young life; an adult cock is stuffed into his rectum.

Hank sighs contentedly as for the first time in his life he stuffs his cock into his own flesh and blood. "Oh, yeah, Ben, take your Daddy's cock. Yeah, good boy, you're nice and tight in there, the way Daddy likes it!"

Ben's fist flail as his ring absorbs Hank's cockhead.

"Yeah," Hank growls, "I know it hurts. I know I got a big cock, Ben, and I know you think you can't take it." More and more of Hank's shaft forces it way inside. "But you can, son, and you will. Every -- " he jabs an inch in " -- fucking! -- " another inch "-- goddamned --" about half of his incestuous meat is in now "-- inch!"

Ben arches up, bucking against Hank's weight, trying to throw his father off him. But it's not going to happen. The boy doesn't have a tenth of the power needed. Look at him. Look at those eyes! Pain glimmers there. Hank remembers the time he was in this same situation. Hank remembers the pain Zebulon's giant cock inflicted on his young body. He remembers the man pausing. He remembers the caresses that soothed his skin. He remembers the pain melting away.

"I'll be your Uncle Zeb," Hank says softly, reaching out and stroking the sweat on Ben's back.

Ben's body quivers with strain but it responds to Hank's touch. The fists drop to the bed and do not rise again.

"It's OK, boy. We can do this."

Ben says something against Hank's hand.

Hank answers the question he imagined Ben would ask. "It's called sex, boy. It's what Dads and sons do."

Ben's rectum continues to strain against his father's molestation until Hank's thumb begins stroking one of his nipples. Suddenly the boy stiffens as if struck by lightning and his ring relaxes. Hanks cock moves forward as if sucked in. It doesn't stop until father's nuts and son's nuts bang against each other, nestled between smooth boy thighs, and thick pubic bush blooms like smoke above the valley of Ben's asscheeks.

"That's it," croons Hank. "Good boy. You've got all of Daddy's cock, Ben. All of it, up there where it belongs!"

Having a cock stuffed up his butt is for Ben something new. His life has led him to the path of being a top. First was Jesse who, while sleeping over at the Harrison's, had asked Ben to take down his underwear. Upon seeing a decent pubic bush the insatiable Peake soon begged Ben to put his young meat up his hole. The new delights had drawn Ben on to fucking some of the other boys at school. Problem was -- the more he fucked, the more he wanted to fuck. So his eyes turned to his young brother and one evening as they played checkers Ben nailed Tim. Neither brother looked back.

Receiving his father's cock up his ass is a revelation. Yeah, it hurt, and during that long entry Ben was sure he'd split open. But now that it's lodged inside, not moving just pulsing, and his organs have readjusted themselves to accommodate his Dad's fuckstick -- something just feels right. If you look at Ben's face you'll see eyes that are narrowed to slits as if squinting into the misty, hazy depths of his future. You'll also see an expression of a boy who's just encountered the best desert he's ever had. He's not yet sure if he likes it ... but it's clear he soon will.

Hank's fucked countless boys over the years. He's enjoyed them all but of course there have always been special boys. A son was sex raised to the next level. But nothing in his life compares to the sensation of being embedded in his son. A father, balls-deep in his young male offspring. It's a deep and profound bond. There's something special feeling a son's heartbeat with your cock.

Hank eases his cock back and forth, barely moving, letting his son come to feel the joy of being fucked, before he unclamps his hand from Ben's mouth.

"You like Daddy's cock in you, Ben?" he murmurs.

You can't mistake the light in Ben's eyes. The dawn of a new era. The boy says the magic words:

"Fuck me, Dad!" Ben gasps as his dad's cock moves within him. "That's really hot!" The warm, buttery pleasure emanating from his butt surprises Ben. He's never understood till now that the cooing, grunting, appreciative murmurs he's heard from Jesse and Tim signify a pleasure that can be Ben's as well.

Hank feels his boy soften beneath him and picks up is pace. Yeah. This is awesome. This is what he was meant to do. Fuck his sons.

Ben sighs. "Yeah, Dad." He spreads his legs, offering himself to his dad's lust. Yes, Ben will grow to be a top, but now he's being taught the lesson that boys must first learn to take before they can give. To take big daddycock, to absorb enormous floods of blasting mancum, to be nourished and fertilized by the man's greater power and experience.

With each stroke Hank's heart soars higher.

"You like Daddy's cock up your butt, Ben?"

"Yeah, Dad! Do it faster!"

He kisses the back of Ben's neck as he begins to fuck his son forcefully. "Don't tell your Mom, Ben, or we'll never be able to do this again."

"Hell no, Dad!" Ben shoots a look over his shoulder to suggest his Dad's crazy for even thinking such a thing.

"You like this, Ben?" Hank looks down his son's back, watching his cock vanish and then reappear as it thrusts between those white buttocks.

"It's almost as good as fucking!" Ben relaxes, resuming the position he'd shared with Tim in front of the TV earlier tonight -- resting his chin on his hands, legs spread. "Ooh, Dad, you cock feels good up there!"

"Let Daddy take your underwear off, son!"

After Hank claws Ben's underwear off, flinging them across the room, Ben's able to spread his legs, letting his father in even deeper. Something they both want, and need. Soon Ben humps his butt back up into Hank's strokes. Dad and son are perfectly synchronized. Each motion sends illicit fire up the other's spine.

"Goddamn, Ben," Hank murmurs, "you're the hottest boy I've ever had!"

If Hank hadn't gotten off with Tex and Aaron and the others surely he would've suffered the same fate as other father during the glorious moment of first incestuous sex: premature ejaculation. As it is Hank struggles not to blow his wad, wanting more than anything to feel the slick warmness of Ben's rectum sliding on his cock for hours.

For a few minutes the bed creaks and Ben moans and Hank pants and boy butthole slurps on mancock. But it can't last long. Trust me. When a dad fucks his son it's all about ejaculating cum. Pint after pint, cup after cup, of hot steamy juice into a boy's narrow chute.

Orgasm strikes Ben first. His prostate, as always brimming to capacity and mercilessly assaulted by Hanks plunging cock, shatters into a million glowing shards, and heaving a great cry Ben stains his sheets with unmistakable evidence of pleasure he received as his dad molested him.

"Dad! Dad! I'm coming!" Ben yells as if he wants the neighborhood to hear.

Hank feels it. He felt it begin even before his son cried out. Ben's rectum constricts on his cock. No mercy for Ben as the teen cums. The huge daddycock grinds on. The boy writhes beneath Hank.

Hanks eyes flutter. They roll up. His strokes lengthen to piledrivers. Furry daddy groin smacks against smooth son butt. "Daddy's gonna cum, Ben, Daddy's gonna cum ... OH SHIT BEN DADDY'S GONNA ... FUCK, DAMN, I'm CUMMING!"

If you haven't yet fucked your own sons -- why are you waiting? -- you can't understand the cataclysmic nature of this kind of orgasm. It's utter. It's devastating. It's religious ... the joining of creator with the created. You open up your pisshole and pour your balls into your son's buts. You piss jism.

So, when it hits, there is nothing left of Hank's consciousness except the squeezing urgency to breed his kid. It lasts minutes. Father pumps cum up son's butt, bestowing upon the son the mighty power of the father.

Hank collapses onto Ben, his eyes shut, breathing hard. "Fuck!"

Father and son lay together in the bed, panting. Hank's cock is bathed by the ocean of sperm injected into Ben. Ben hears coming from within him the gurgling of a man's semen as it churns its way up his bowels. His butt feels wet and slimy and he wants nothing more than to raise it up and let his Dad climb on top of him and fill him with seed once again.

Hank rolls to one side, pulling Ben with him, his cock remaining where it belongs. He nuzzles the back of his son's head. "You like that, Ben? You like it when Daddy molested you?"

Ben giggles. He plays with his dick. Semen slimes his belly. He is one happy boy. The big cock up his butt feels natural, as if it belongs there. "I like getting molested a lot!" He scoops up some of his cum and tastes it. "Nice. Hey, Dad! Want some cream?"

Hank does and slurps it from Ben's finger. The madness has gone from Hank's eyes but his cock is stuff. Daddy's still eager to be his son's personal stud. "Squeeze your butthole, Ben."

"Like that?"

Hank laughs, delighted to feel his boy's stretched anus responding as commanded. "Like that." He thrusts just a bit. Cum leaks from the tight seal of son's anus to father's cock, staining the bed sheets.

Ben glances over his shoulder. "Ready for more, Dad?"

"Damn right, Ben. You know I've wanted to fuck you for a long, long time."

"Really, Dad? Cool!" Ben squeezes his butthole once again, sliding his boycunt up and down his Dad's shaft. "What are you waiting for, Dad? Molest me again!"

Suddenly the door opens.

Hank freezes in mid-pump. Fear stabs through him like a cold icicle. Shit. Shit. Shit. He's caught. He knows its Elaine. It has to be. He's been caught in bed with their son. He sees captions whirring past on CNN: HANK HARRISON CHURCH DEACON CAUGHT IN BED BUTTFUCKING BEN HARRISON, 13.

"Dad?" says a soft voice.

Moonlight's soft fingers caress young Tim as he stands in the doorway. He holds Mr. Ruffles, his favorite teddy bear, by the leg. His eyes are wide.

Hank stares at the ten year old. What can the boy see? Hank wants him to see everything. He lifts Ben's leg,, hoping he's exposing to Tim's warm eyes Ben's butthole, stuffed with ten inch daddycock. "Yeah, Tim?" he says in a rough voice.

Tim sees something but he's not sure if he believes what he sees. Dad and Ben look naked. His eyes go instinctively to his Dad's crotch because, like all boys, he wants to see the organ that made him. But Dad's cock is missing, somehow. He can see his Dad's balls. And he can see Ben's butt. Surely Dad's not -- well, Tim will just cut to the chase. "Dad, what are you doing to Ben?"

"Sweetheart," Hank says, "Daddy's fucking your brother."

The crude word shocks Tim a bit. "What -- what do you mean?"

Ben calls, "Dad's got his dick up my butt!"

"Cock, son," murmurs Hank softly. "Men have cocks. Boys have dicks."

"Wow!" says Tim. "You mean like Landon does to Jesse?"

Ben nods vigorously.

"Come here, Tim," croons Hank, moving very slowly in Ben's tight ass, "and I'll show you."

Tim stands at the foot of the bed, dragging Mr. Ruffles behind him.

"Look, Tim. Look at this," says Hank. He pulls out of Ben, his fat hardon emerging with a prolonged fart.

Tim's mouth drops open in shock. "Whoa, Dad! That's a big cock!" He pulls Mr. Ruffles to his chest, sure his beloved bear must be terrified by his father's gigantic fuckrod.

Hank rolls onto his knees, brazenly displaying his sperm-slick pride and joy to his youngest son.

Brazenly he displays it to his youngest son. "See my cock, Tim? See Daddy's big cock? I'm fucking your brother with it. He likes it. Don't you, Ben? Tell Tim you like it when I molest you."

Ben snickers. "It feels good, Tim!" He rolls onto hands and knees. A teardrop of cum descends from his butthole. "See? He put a lot of cum up there!"

Hank parts his knees and extends his hands to the boy, exposing his naked self. "Do you see me, Tim? You see I'm naked?"

"Yeah, Daddy, I --"

Hank seizes his cock by its base and masturbates. "See, Tim, you boys make your Daddy horny. You make me want to fuck you. You both got sexy butts and I want to put my cock in them. I put this up your brother's butt, Tim. Daddy fucked your brother, Tim. I dumped a load of jism up there, Tim. That's what's leaking out of Ben's ass right now, son. It's what I made you and your brother with. Let me tell you something, Tim. Daddy goddamned liked it!"

Ben drapes himself over his father's shoulder, smirking like a brother who knows he's got a special privilege his brother doesn't -- and beckoning to Tim.

Hank caresses Ben's thigh. "What you think, Ben? Did you like it when Daddy fucked you?"

Ben's eyes bore right into Tim's. "Well, Dad, it hurt at first --"

Hank grins savagely.

"-- but then I kind of liked it." Ben licks Hank's ear and runs one hand down his father's torso to grab the big cock. He winks at Tim.

Hank moans as his eldest son masturbates him. His eyes too bore in on Tim's, who peer at naked and incestuously happy father and brother over Mr. Ruffles' bowed head. "Show your little brother again, Ben."

Ben disengages from his father, whirling around and kneeling. Looking over his shoulder he spreads his legs displaying his greased-up pucker and another pearl of leaking dadspunk. "You want some more, Dad?" he asks, looking at Tim. Once again he winks.

"Yeah," Hank growls. "Come here, Tim!"

Tim backpedals. Not from fear. This whole situation is weird! Ben does the fucking in this house. Certainly Landon could, if he were here; even just thinking his name make's Tim's butthole go all fluttery. But Dad? That's what Mom is for? Sure, Tim's had those dreams of waking up to find his father heaving away. We all have. Still...

"It feels really good, Tim," says Ben. He spits into his palm and starts masturbating. "I know Dad's got a HUGE cock but it feels really good when he fucks you with it, Tim. Try it!"

Tim shakes his head, hugging Mr. Ruffles tightly.

Hank's had enough of this. "Who's your Daddy, Tim?" he barks.

Tim blinks. "You are."

"Damn right. Come here, boy!" Hank jabs a finger. "Right between your Daddy's knees!"

"Come on," Ben croons. "It'll be like when I fuck you, only better!"

What? What did Ben say?

Slowly Hank turns his head and fixes Ben with a fierce gaze. "You've been molesting your brother?"

"Yeah, Dad!" Ben thumps his chest. "I'm a stud!" HE cups his nuts. "I can make cum, too, Dad. Not like you but I shoot!"

As Landon had his light bulb moments, now it's Hank's turn. Those dimples in the surface of the Vaseline. The thumping from upstairs. Even that streak of grease on Ben's briefs. Furtive motions and rustling Hank's heard just before he enters a room the two occupy.

"So ..." Hank begins.

Ben finishes. "That's right! Tim's got no cherry!"

Wow. A little disappointing but all in all this is good news. Hank had been afraid that what he wanted to attempt with Tim was physically impossible. But if Ben had been there first...

"Tim," says Hank, "where did Ben last fuck you?"

Tim stares at Hank as if his father has asked the stupidest question in the world. "In my butt, Dad!"

"I know -- I mean, what room?"

"The bathroom. Ben always fucks me when we take a bath."

"Is that all? Is that the only time Ben's fucked you ... today?" As pornographic movies of two youths coupling begin rolling in Hank's mind his cock stiffens to steely hardness, reaching out towards Tim.

"Well, yeah," says Tim. "Ben was too busy at the pool --"

Ben interrupts. "Dad, I fuck Tim whenever he wants it."

"Dad," says Tim, "Ben molests me whenever HE wants it!"

Hank shoots Ben a look. "When did you start molesting Tim?"

Ben shrugs. "Same day I fucked Jesse. Right when I got home from school."

"You fucked Jesse?" Hank nods. It all makes sense. Jesse. Jesse Peake. He should have known the hot-assed blond would be involved in this. So. Those hours Ben and Jesse spent together on those sleepovers weren't innocent at all. Hank suddenly realizes something. The slight disappointment he feels at not having a second cherry to bust is misplaced. He's going to get sloppy seconds off Ben Harrison, thirteen year old stud. He nods, grinning, as his cock leaks precum.

Hank pats the bed. "Here, Tim. Let Daddy molest you. My cocks' bigger than Ben's, so it'll feel great!"

Tim's face is screwed up with puzzlement. "You promise?"

Hank smiles warmly. "Daddy promises to make your tight little butt feel really good with his big cock!"

Suddenly Ben farts. "Whoops!" He feels between his legs. "Damn, Dad, I dropped some of your cum! What'll Mom say?"

"Since you're gonna keep your mouth shut about this she'll say nothing. Come here, Tim." A second light bulb dawns, illuminating a very perverted, almost entirely forgotten recess of his mind. He grins. "Bring Mr. Ruffles."

Shyly Tim, chewing on his thumb, shuffles towards his naked sex-crazed father. Mr. Ruffles too seems fascinated by Hank's big daddycock.

Hank extends his hand. "Here. Give me Mr. Ruffles."

Tim clutches Mr. Ruffles. "Dad! Promise you won't fuck Mr. Ruffles! He's too little! He can't take your big dick!"

"I'm not going to fuck Mr. Ruffles."

Tim reluctantly presents his beloved Mr. Ruffles to his naked Dad. The stuffed bear is half Tim's height, rotund, and quite firm. Since Hank knows how much Tim loves the toy he lays the bear carefully face down across Ben's bed, patting his butt.

Hank grins. Two sons in one night. Hot damn! Wait'll I tell Keith about this night! And Sheriff Lord!

You're Daddy's little boy," murmurs Hank. "Come here and let Daddy take off your underwear."

Tim continues to chew on this thumb as Hank slips his underwear down his sleek legs. His eyes remain glued to the giant daddycock, all greasy and nasty and threatening in the dim light, as he steps out of his briefs. He smiles shyly at Ben. Then the young boy stares at his daddy's hardon.

"You like my cock, Tim? You like looking at Daddy's cock, son?"

The ten year old nods. His small cock lurches into a spike of lust as Hank strokes young Tim's skin. These strokes are not the loving caresses of a father who is proud of his son. This is the lustful pawing of a pedo Dad at last succumbing to his long-repressed desires. Tim's nipples stiffen under Hank's fingers.

"'K, boy," Hank grunts, "climb up on Mr. Ruffles. Just like you were buttfucking him!"

Tim giggles. "Mr. Ruffles likes it when we play the buttfuck game!" Tim crawls onto Ben's bed, laying his crotch on Mr. Ruffles' furry butt. He humps his beloved bear. "Look, Dad, I'm raping Mr. Ruffles!"

"Yes, boy, you are!"

Ben guffaws and says, "Hey, Tim, when you're dick's as big as mine maybe Mr. Ruffles'll feel it!"

Tim fires a look at Ben that only one insulted brother can fire at another. A wrestling match might break out.

None of that. Dad wants ass. "Settle down, guys. Daddy's gonna fuck you silly!"

Hank straddles his youngest son. Fuck! Two small moons of creamy buttocks lay exposed beneath his rampant shaft. Hank parts Tim's thighs. Tim's small nuts press against Mr. Ruffles. Tim giggles and his rink purses, disgorging a pearl of white cum, which trickles down the backside of his balls.

"Hey, stud," says Hank, grinning.

"Yeah, Dad?" says Ben.

He points at Tim's butthole. "Good job, son. High five!"

Palms slap.

"Daddy," says Tim, gently humping Mr. Ruffles, "Mr. Ruffles just told me to tell you to stick it in!"

"You tell Mr. Ruffles," says Hank, "Daddy's cock in on the way."

Ben asks, "You want the Vaseline, Dad?"

"Fuck no," says Hank. "There's enough grease here." He pushes his cockhead into Tim's socket. More semen burbles from Tim's tight ring onto his cockhead. "Goddamn, Ben, how much did you shoot?"

Ben thumps his chest. "Lots, Dad! I'm a stud!"

"Right you are, Ben. Hold still, Tim. Daddy's gonna fuck you!"

"Hang on!" Time cries. "Let me tell Mr. Ruffles!" He moves his head and whispers into the teddy bear's ear: "Now I'm gonna stick my wiener up you when Daddy fucks me. You don't cause a fuss!" He looks up at Hank. "OK. Fuck me, Daddy!"

Hank smears his greasy prick around, mixing Vaseline and Ben's jism into a foamy mess. He grabs Tim by the waist. The fifth grader feels fragile. Helpless. Power enflames Hank. "Hold still, boy!"

Hank thrusts. Tim gasps. Mr. Ruffles remains silent. Hank didn't think that Tim could absorb much of his ten inch dadshaft. Tim's a fifth grader. Immature. Small. No way he can take a cock the way Tex did. Or Jesse. Or Ben... Hank is wrong. On the initial downstroke Hank embeds about three quarters of his cock before Tim's arms and legs explode outward and the boy jerks violently.

"Dad!" Tim shrieks. "I'm full!"

Ben pats his Dad's butt. "Come on, Dad, he can't take all that! Not yet!"

"Yeah, Tim," Hank snarls, "you got as much as you can take, right boy?"

"Yes, Daddy!"

"All right, you just lie there and let your Daddy fuck you! I'm gonna fuck your brains out, son!"

Holding Tim firmly by the hips Hank begins pumping away, yanking the boy back as his giant dadcock thrusts in, pinning him to Mr. Ruffles as he withdraws. His son's chute is tight. Not just the ring but the whole chute grips Hank's cock like a hand. Sweet. Goddamn, he should've beat Ben to this!

Hank looks at his thirteen year old. "You're a sexy boy, Ben" Hank growls. "Daddy likes your butt. You cum pretty good, too, but not the way your Daddy does!"

Ben grins, masturbating furiously, watching Hank fuck Tim.

Hank brutally hammers Tim. The bed squeals almost as loud little Tim. Tim's eyes are closed, his lips parted, drool trickling down his face. A little boy lost in a delirium of pleasure. As Hank's strokes grow more powerful the bed begins jumping off the floor.

Ben scurries forward on his knees, pointing his cock into Mr. Ruffles' face. "Look, Tim! Mr. Ruffles needs to suck my cock!"

"Oof!" says Tim as Hank thrusts a bit too deep. "Mr. Ruffles doesn't suck cock, I told you! Dad! Make Ben stop raping Mr. Ruffles!"

"Tim," says Hank firmly as sweat begins to build up, "suck your brother's cock."

What a swell idea! Ben positions his cock so Tim can wrap his spit-shiny lips round it. The ten year old isn't fazed by the faint sheen of Vaseline gleaming on it. Ben's cock tastes good and sucking it preserves Mr. Ruffles' oral fastidiousness. Tim doesn't even cough on his brother's meat, taking it down to the root.

Tim's boyhole is slick and it's almost impossible to keep from slicing his ten inch daddycock too deep. The sensation is exquisite. It's like fucking butter. Tim, as he adjusts, seems to be able to take longer and longer strokes. So Hank deals them out. It only sharpens his pleasure.

Right below Hank's face Ben's cock thrusts into Tim's mouth. Ben's smooth balls are already drawn tight, pink marbles ready to shoot. An intense feeling of pride wells up within Hank. Through hard work and relentless sex Ben has become an impressive coccksman. No uncle to deflower him beside a sleepy pool of water. Hank regrets not breaking Uncle Zebulon's commandment long ago -- but not deeply. Ben has obviously not been harmed by Hank's neglect. Ben takes his brother's throat as if he owns it.

"Good work, Ben," says Hank, puffing.

Ben grins triumphantly. Strands of sweaty hair fly as his hips pump at Tim's throat.

Hank pulls Ben to him and thrusts his tongue into Ben's mouth. His boy tastes of potato chips and dip. The whole maneuver surprises Ben. Like all sensible boys of his age he's all about the genitals. Fuck kissing! Drop your pants and bend over! He's never been kissed, never been interested in being kissed. Yet when his father does it -- when Hank violates him so intimately -- Ben realizes what a fool he's been. Yeah, this is nice, kissing Dad.

Hank's finger plunges once again into Ben's assring.

"Oh, Dad!" Ben mutters into Hank's mouth. The teen shatters into orgasm. He releases two floods. The first as you'd expect drowns Tim's tonsils as the tyke coos and gulps and bucks his hips back into Hank's thrusts. The second escapes as Ben loses control of his assring and the huge lake of semen deposited in his guts cascades out in a bubbling and oozing milky goo. Coating his thighs and the back of his balls.

Ben falls back onto his bed, panting. "Sorry, Dad." He lies there, staring at the ceiling, while the bed bounces furiously.

Hank's all about his nut. "Don't worry about it, Ben. We'll change the sheets tomorrow. You like my cock, Tim?"

"I like it, Daddy!" says Tim brightly. "I like it a lot!" Tim's hips move rapidly. "Take it, Mr. Ruffles! Do you like Timmy's dick?" Mr. Ruffles remains silent, perhaps convulsed by his orgasm. Certainly the way Tim hammered him would cause any teddy bear as big a slut as Mr. Ruffles to cum. Wiping a streak of sperm from his lips, Tim looks up at his Dad. "Oh, yes, Dad. Can we do this every night?"

"I'm gonna fucking try, boy. Daddy's gonna fucking try!"

Hank goes into overdrive, fucking his son mercilessly. The strokes go too deep. Tim squeaks "Owie! Owie! Owie!" but he's not going anywhere. Hank's cock has Tim pinned there, beneath his Dad's sweaty, heaving body. Man and boy, father and son, are joined by the rigid union of cock to butt.

Tim squeals and begins pummeling Mr. Ruffles with both fists, his eyes clenched shut.

Hank grunts, thrusting rapidly, feeling Tim's rectum pulsing on his cock. He growls in Tim's ear, "Cum, boy! Cum for Daddy!"

Tim's dry orgasm explodes over him like epilepsy. The boy shrieks and babbles and humps his butt back into his Dad's strokes, demanding more, always more.

"Oh, shit, Tim!" Hank cries. "Daddy's cumming!"

And Daddy came. A ball-splitting lightning bolt strikes Hank at the base of his spine and he blasts into his son. Like a stallion breeding a mare Hank fires cup after cup of rich and gooey testosterone into his squealing, happy, orgasming fifth grade son.

"Take it, Tim!" he gasps. "Take it all! It'll make you a man!"

The incoming tide makes Tim's eyes go round and his mouth wide. Wow! Nothing Ben's ever put up his butt has ever felt like this!

"Dad," Tim gasps, "You're filling me up!"

"Take all of it! Take every goddamned drop!"

Ben fires another load, which arcs high into the air and spatters his chest like raindrops.

Then it's over. Two sons and a Dad lay naked in a bed together, sweat drying, breath slowing.

For a few moments Hank lays panting atop Tim. He's the happiest man in Ellicott Falls. He's join the Peake club. No longer a mere pedophile, he's an incestuous sonfucking dad. He wonders if he can get the CCBC Colts to create a merit badge for him.

"Daddy!" Tim hollers from beneath Hank's muscles. "Mr. Ruffles says he can't breathe!"

Hank pulls himself to his feet, his cock emerging rubbery from Ti's butthole. He glances at Ben. His son's worn out. There's plenty of jism boiling in Hank's fat balls but he's never found the prospect of screwing someone who's sleeping to be erotic.

Hank grabs Tim by the waist and hoists the boy to his chest, holding him as if he were a baby. He feels hot drops of his semen -- and Ben's -- dripping into his hand. "Come on, guys. Tonight you're sleeping in Daddy's bed!"

Tim cries out, "Mr. Ruffles! Mr. Ruffles!"

Hank passes Mr. Ruffles -- drowsy, too, after getting kidfucked -- to Tim. Yawning, Ben takes his Dad's hand. The quartet makes their way down the hall. Hank's huge cock sways in perfect sync with the two smaller boydicks. Hank drapes an arm round Ben's shoulders, guiding his sleepy son towards his Daddy's bed.

"You like it? You like what Daddy did with you guys?"

Ben brightens up as much as he can. "Oh, yeah, Dad! I didn't think you were into boys!" He cups his father's balls. "But I'm glad you are!"

"Me, too, Dad! Can we do it all day tomorrow?"

"You bet, tiger!"

Hank takes center position. Tim and Mr. Ruffles nestle in his left armpit. Ben the right. The bed smells faintly of perfume. Hank grins. He'll pound his sons all day tomorrow and by God he'll do it in the sanctified arena of the marriage bed. Just because. Yeah, he'll have to wash the sheets before Elaine gets home, but for one day the Harrison house is going to be like the Peake house. Pedo paradise. Reeking of sperm and full of naked boys from top to bottom.

"Daddy," Tim mumbles, very drowsy and on edge of erotic dreams, "will you molest us every night?"

Hank pulls his boy to him. "I will, Tim. Daddy will always molest you."

"Can Landon come over and play with us too?"

Hank kisses Tim's cheek. "You bet, sexy boy!"

Tim's only response consists of soft snores. Ben, however, seems refreshed. His hand slides down Hank's belly and finds his father's cock. The thirteen year old strokes it, seeking to bring it back to life.

"Lay on your back, Ben," Hank says. "And lift your legs." He rolls over. Hank things, Screw you, Uncle Zeb! We Harrisons do fuck our sons!

 

If you liked the story,
check out more fiction from the same author:
"The Coming of the Leather Messiah"
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