Date: Mon, 10 Sep 2007 19:57:07 +0100 From: enema champagne Subject: Dad's-Study-Incentive-3 Dad's Study Incentive ::: Part 3: Failure. ::: by SonShine ----------------------------------------- Finally toward the end of summer, as the air began to simmer in July heatwaves, the day came. I got up late and cycled in to school. The wheels trembled across the gravel carpark in the late morning sun. The results were in envelopes stacked on a table and manned by school staff, close enough to the boy's toilets for me to be reminded of Dad's sweaty pants. There was a boiling squabble of my classmates blocking the hall; students elbowing their way forward to see, screaming with happiness, slouching off in silence, gabbling and high-fiving. Three envelopes were handed over and my thumb trembled as I tore at the brown paper. Inside them, nine subjects, and my name, nine times. English Language. A*. English Literature. A*. Maths. A* French A* Physics A Chemistry A Geography A History. A A shard of glass twisted in my guts. There, next to Biology - surely not... no.... I read and re-read it. I ran my finger from the name to the grade and back again, but no amount of staring, of closing and opening my eyes, would raise that last grade up just one letter. 'Well done,' Dad's curt text read after I SMSed him the results. And that was all that was said on the matter. That evening my family took me out for a celebratory dinner, my mother clucking with excitement, aunts and uncles patting my back and buying me two desserts. Then it was the weekend, and back to summer work. But for me the summer was already over. Most of my friends were done with school forever. They congratulated me on my success (only two other students bettered my results, and everyone presumed we'd used the internet to cheat our way to the top somehow) and it was easy to shrug modestly, as it really didn't mean much. Nothing did. Food and drugs and masturbation all lost their fizz. My thoughts were always punctuated by flashes of fantasies where my hairy, thickset Dad held my face into his full crotch as he drove through the city at night, or called me into his office at work to suck his nipples while I beat off a load over his stomach. What a bitter joke I was living, every morning the same punchline. An ad for cheap flights to Thailand made up my mind: to get out of the country and disappear into the trees for a year or so, maybe come back and do A-levels or get a job. if I kept moving maybe I could outrun my disappointment. My parents expressed a lot of concerns over an early dinner one evening, made a lot of argumentative noises, but they had little to argue with after those grades. As usual, Dad and I made scarce eye contact, his being too warm and handsome to bear. Those same eyes had gazed down at me as I sucked his thumb - where did the strength come from now to disagree with him? The thorn of failure in my side also served as a spur. I ended the conversation with the news that my ticket was booked and the flight left later that week. ------ There was a knock at my door later that night. He entered without waiting for my reply and grabbed the seat under the desk, spinning it around to straddle the seat back, blocking off access to his crotch. The creases of his suit trousers radiated out down his inner thighs and his shoulder hair, exposed by the white wifebeater vest clinging to his muscular frame, caught the light as his beard had that morning two years ago. He was back from the pub, I could smell it; cigarettes, beer and those ever-sweating armpits. His was visibly damp under the arms and a spot of wetness stained the white cotton covering his chest, at the crux of the U shaped dip between the straps of the vest. 'Dont get me wrong Son,' were his first words, slow and loud, loaded with the beers he'd sank. 'You did damn well.' He sighed. 'But we had a deal.' 'I know.' My back was to him as I sorted out clothes, things for charity, things for storage, shorts and shirts for the humidity of Thailand's most obscure and distant islands; places where I could perhaps forget about what I'd come so close to achieving. 'You did the best you could and I'm proud of you, we both are.' 'Thanks.' 'Anyway, enjoy your trip.' 'It's not fair,' I snarled, to myself but it came out too loud. There was a silence, as dull and ominous and loaded as those two minutes we stood not speaking in school assembly September 11th. Dad slurred slightly as he said, 'some important things in life they can't teach you in school. Like, life's unfair.' He stood up and walked to the door. It was now or never. 'Please Dad...' I managed. 'Don't...' He turned. '...Don't make me beg.' He was still. Somewhere out in the neighbourhood, a lawnmower droned. He looked me in the eye. 'Beg for what?' 'You know what.' My voice was as quiet and sick as a lost kitten. 'Tell me.' 'Please Daddy. I've thought about nothing else every day for the last two years...' I steeled myself to phrase it. 'Let me give you a blowjob before I go.' His silence lasted forever. It stretched on as I stood, unable to blink, breathe, look away. He returned to the chair, spun it so the backrest was behind him, and spread his legs. He snapped his fingers. 'Here. Now.' I obeyed. Kneeled. 'Good lad,' He whispered evenly. We maintained eye contact as I unzipped his trousers. Out stole his smooth bulge, my old friend. I nuzzled it, determined at least to get to feel him against my face, and found a wet spot the size of a fifty pence coin where the tip of his cock had leaked a few drops of piss which I nosed at hungrily, smearing it over my face and inhaling deeply. I was hard long before the bleachy smell of his balls and the musky perfume of his foreskin reached my nose. 'You think you can handle it?' He asked, stretching his arms behind his head, wafting the hot stink of his armpits about. 'There'll be no stopping once you've started.' I nodded, my nose rubbing up and down against the smooth contours of his cock and balls. He was just in his wifebeater vest now with his flies open. 'Are you sure?' By way of answer I reached up, bolder, desperate to provide every detail of a full and worshipful service. Slipping my hands under his vest, his belly hair scrubbing my arms, I tweaked his nipples firmly, holding them tight between finger and thumb and rolling them. The effect was instantaneous. For the first time in my life, I felt Dad's cock begin to swell and grow hard against my face. With each heartbeat it swelled a little more, until it was tenting out the front of his briefs; a ridiculously fat tentpole making a new dark spot on his light coloured underpants. It was like watching a tennis ball hit a net in slow motion - the lunge forward, the fabric stretched to its limits, and a vast crowd inside me cheering, Mexican waves rippling down the nerves in my fingers, and my mouth an eager ball-boy poised to rush forward and pounce on the missed serve. There was no patience left in me after two years of teasing. I ran one palm up the length of his shaft and pulled at the waistband, guiding it over his cock, he lifted his weight off the chair and let me pull them and his trousers all the way down. And there it was. My destiny. A monumental erection, an absurdly oversized wet dream of a lazy, too-fat dick, then two cumbersome balls hanging down beneath in their loose ruddy bag, as red and salty as barbecued chicken skin. The smell hit me like bacon on a sunday morning or fresh cut grass - it was that kind of solid emotional impact, that deep response to a stimulus that I felt now - and my mouth filled with drool. I'm going to suck Daddy's dick, I realised. I whimpered, my stomach tensed rock-hard, and my balls spasmed, emptying what must have been at least a mugful of sperm into my jockeys in eight exhausting spurts. Everything went a little hyper-real and colour blurred to oily rainbows in my peripheral vision. Dad was laughing at me, white-toothed, bristly, his cock thumping against his jigging stomach. 'Good BOY!' he grinned, and tousled my hair. I managed a smile as I leaned over, my head hanging down between his knees, sweat cold on my forehead, trembling like I'd just cleared the finishing line of a marathon. Then his fingers tightened in my hair and he pulled my head back up, a mean look in his eye. Using one hand he held his prick by the base and angled it forward. It loomed over my face, curving up toward him, uniformly thick from root to tip, plump and ready, and he surprised me with a wink as with one thumb he peeled back his foreskin over a cockhead as fat and shiny as a ripe polished plum. Piss, tangy, sour and strong. I was about to lick piss off my father's cock. The boiled shrimp between my legs sprang back to full salute in my wet pants. He applied pressure to the back of my head, maintaining control as always, and guided my lips to his slick pungent cock. Finally. Now. Here. My lips met the taut skin of his cock head and I was in love, I was lost. I opened wide, measuring my speed so my lips never broke contact with the oily tight glans, and claimed him, my tongue creeping underneath to touch the salty residues stored in the folds of skin at the base of his piss-hole. ('Ohhhh.' Dad breathed, the first time I'd heard him express any pleasure.) It may as well have been a lit match to butane; a firecracker explosion of salty-sweet and ammonia detonated in my mouth and my desperate moan vibrated Dad's turgid flesh. His blowjob had begun. It pained me to clean his dick when it smelled so good - I could have savoured and sampled it all night and all the next day - but his thighs twitched as I swept the crease of skin behind the ridge of his cock head and polished the underside with firm explorative strokes of my tongue. He was a mouthful, a supremely satisfying feel of firmness and fullness. I pulled off and licked at his ball sack, sucking on each delicate ball independently, doing my best to suck one whole past the frustratingly limited aperture of my lips, nuzzling between them until his baggy skin rode up the bridge of my nose and tickled my forehead, a moment before Dad slapped it with his heavy member. The world wobbled. It was like being beaten with a salmon and my eyes winced closed as he thwapped me in the face, smack, smack, smack, clearly enjoying the display of dominance as sticky fluid spattered across my brow with each wet percussion. When the beating was done and my face felt bruised and tender he stopped, lowering his cock gently now, again with one hand, s I cracked open one eye, then my mouth, and accepted him back where he belonged with gratitude. I had assumed it would be easy to give my Daddy an expert-level blow job; that he would slide in and out of my throat to the hilt as his finger had. But this was like trying to swallow my own arm. I pushed, muscles in my neck straining taut, worked my mouth back and forth from the fat bastard purple head to just past the midpoint of his impressive length. But the sculpted, streamlined helmet of his dick butted up against my throat like a whale trying to swim through a sunken galley's porthole. No go. My gag reflex kept kicking in, making me balk, making my stomach lurch and my eyes water. Daddy watched silently as I laboured to please him, lapping up the lubrication that seeped at a regular pace from the delicate opening of his urethra. I resorted to suckling eagerly on what I could manage to fit in my mouth, particularly enjoying the connective tissue that secured his foreskin to the underside of his cock-tip, tight as a guitar string, and the two lobes of his helmet met. Wanking him off like this using my mouth, being Dad's toy - it was what I was put on earth for. Every moment of my life had been spent waiting for this moment. His body relaxed and he let himself be sucked, pants and trousers pooled around his ankles, thick cock at full mast and balls hanging heavy, one clutched in each of my hands like cobblestones at a riot. His deep sighs were medals being placed around my neck, bronze, silver, gold - but we were going for platinum. How do you measure time spent in total rapture, servicing the man who made you? Maybe it was forty, fifty times I worked my mouth back and forth, stroking those fat balls at a slow, stoned rhythm, the Daddy smell of hot crotch more intoxicating than pot smoke. This was my drug now. This was where I blew my mind; between my father's furry legs. Then the bombshell. 'Come on, you can do better than that Son,' Dad's voice came, hard with disappointment, shocking me from my ecstatic trance. My heart stopped, my mouth followed suit. 'You're only sucking half my cock. This isn't about you, this is about getting me off. You're here for me.' His face clouded over. 'I thought this would be a little better to be honest.' My cock deflated and shrank, even as a thrill went through me to hear him say those two words, 'my cock'. I was doing the best I could and it wasn't good enough. It was my first time sucking my father and I was failing. I was enjoying myself, sure, but that meant nothing while he was sat there frowning. He was about to pull up his trousers and leave. I was the wrong size for Dad. He needed someone with a bigger throat, someone with experience and oral skill, not some horny infatuated teen slobbering into Daddy's pubes and soiling himself with cum. A tear coursed down my cheek, and then the other eye was wet too, and I pleaded with him silently, begging him with my eyes to continue. If I couldn't do this, if I was useless to him, I had no reason to live. My stomach sank. His brow stayed furrowed. I knew I looked pathetic, pleading eyes streaming sorry tears and mouth impaled on Dad's meat, the walloping hefty weapon that shamed me with it's prehistoric proportions. I wanted to ask him to teach me but I didn't dare take my mouth from his penis in case it never won the chance to return. He clenched his cock a couple of times in my mouth (each pulse threatening to pop my jaw off its hinges with the sudden increase in girth, and depositing what seemed like half a teaspoon of clear fluid on my tongue) and smiled, eyes twinkling at me over the slight curve of his compressed middle-aged spread, the white of his vest tight across it, as tight as his underpants had been over that mighty bulge. 'It's OK,' he grumbled. 'It is your first time. Not many men are as big downstairs as your old Dad, either. Let me help you a little.' His brown eyes were locked on to mine. 'Would you like that?' he asked, as if my permission counted for anything. 'Do you want this lodged right in your neck?' He tapped his shaft. I nodded and attempted a 'yes' around his erection. He smiled, and in the intimate silence of the room there was no sound but the spit popping between his teeth as his lips drew back, and the rustle and creak of the seat. 'Take a deep breath and relax yourself,' he said. 'I want you to take a big snort of this, it'll help you let Daddy get in nice and deep.' How long had he been holding that tiny brown glass bottle? It was the size of a vaccine ampule, the same kind I wanked with sometimes or sniffed with friends. He slid his dick from my aching jaws, sparkling with grateful spit, pressed one of my nostrils shut with a fingertip and held me with his eyes as I took a deep breath of chemical fog. Then the bottle disappeared and Dad re-inserted himself briskly, businesslike, pulling my head down to his crotch as though baptising me. He took my hands in his and slid them under his vest, which rode up as he led my fingertips to his nipples, poking out from the wiry bush of his chest fur. Two firm buds of flesh in my hands and his thick hairy fur pressed against the entire length of my arms as they rested on his belly. My mouth full up with cock and my nostrils full of pissy, sweaty Dad aroma. Then my father did a wonderful and spectacular thing that I will always be in his debt for. He shifted his buttocks in the chair to get comfortable (causing his dick to stir in my mouth like a gearstick shifting up to 5th), leaned back a little, nestling his cock firmly in the back of my throat, and, laying both strong hands on the back of my head, began to push down. I tried to protest, to say Daddy, I can't do it, but my tongue was crushed flat to the floor of my mouth, bulging down under my chin. All that came out was 'mmm-mmm-mm...' My lips were stretched thin around his proud cock, rippling over the stiff veins that ran across its surface and fed it as, sure enough, it began to ease past the tightness of the entrance to my throat. 'That's it,' he whispered. 'That's my boy.' His deep voice soothed me. His pupils were nailing me in place again, owning me. And then the poppers hit. So many firsts, all at once. There was a rush of black thudding intoxication that blocked out the lights and cleared my mind of everything except my father's veiny, slick phallus riding home into my throat. My lips, gliding down his shaft, nestled into his pubic hair a moment behind the tip of my nose. Dad's rich private scent was cut off sharply as I took my last breath before his penetration sealed off my throat; I couldn't see or hear; all that I felt was an explosion of intense animal lust, electrifying and unimaginably dirty. The dirtiness of it knocked me sideways; the dirty words, the dirty thoughts, the unthinkable act of my father coaching me to deep-throat him, the socially unacceptable image of boy on his knees, Dad with trousers down, the inherent wrongness of his blue vein crawling over the surface of my tongue, the sleazy fact of the vest he didn't bother to remove and the setting of my bedroom in the family house. The intense lusting banged in my ears. His every muscle seemed to be creeping over me, every hair extended straight to prickle my skin. My throat dilated, welcoming Dad's forceful intrusion, and with a pop the swollen purple head of his uncut cock cleared the stubborn sphincter. He was in. My nose was bent sideways into his pubic hair, my lips not just stretched now but flattened too, my whole face mashed into his bushy unwashed crotch. Dad! I wanted to scream as the poppers wound down. You did it! You slipped me the full length! I was finally fulfilling my purpose. I'd achieved what I'd been working towards for two years now. I was accommodating the full complement of my father's salty swollen cock. My thumbs and the knuckles of each forefinger kneaded his nipples as I knew he wanted. His hands pressed down the back of my head until his biceps shook with the effort. My body was comported awkwardly, spine curved to accept Dad's hard-on to the hilt, and there was a bass drum in my temples, lungs beginning to burn. I tried first to make a cry for help but my throat and nose were plugged with steel-hard meat, so I slid my hands down Dad's hairy thighs, panicking, on the cusp of pushing against them to free myself but not prepared to until he gave permission. Black dots grew in my vision, began to blot out the unfocussed forest of pubes. Was I going to die? Like this, before I'd fully completed my purpose in life? I counted, ten, fifteen, twenty... 'OK,' Dad announced. 'You can pull off.' I pushed down on his thighs and pulled my head. I was caught on his thick cock - my throat had tightened up behind the ridge of his glans as the poppers wore off. I would have savoured the resistance as Dad's oversized prick extricated itself from me but I was about to black out entirely. Dad's big hands wrapped around my head and with a gentle tug and a slurping pop he freed me. Air heaved into me, my chest screaming and brain throbbing. His cock reared up and slapped against his exposed gut. A string of that delicious fluid connected the edge of his bellybutton to the wet tip of his organ for a moment. His smile told me everything I needed to know. Did he murmur, as his son panted and shook and propped himself up on his father's thighs, 'there's a good cocksucker', or was it a hallucination brought on by oxygen starvation? My eyes felt heavy and my body begged for a brief rest; a lie down. My gullet complained in resentful throbs, stretched and abused, the tissues caught unprepared for their true purpose. 'Get up,' Dad instructed. He pointed. 'over there. Kneel, pants down.' I kneeled where he said, clumsy as a drunk, between a bookcase and my desk, with my damp, cum-filled underpants pulled to my ankles. My cock was never going to go down; it stood so hard it felt like it might burst, splattering to pieces over the carpet. I prayed he would touch me there again. Dad stood up, his shiny genitals catching the light, and stood in front of me, his cock now less engorged; no longer standing straight up. As he stood there, watching me catch my breath, it gradually wilted, pointing to ten o'clock above my head, then 9, then 4. The he closed his eyes and seemed to be concentrating. I zeroed in on the head as his foreskin lazily rolled back over it until only the pisshole peeked through. A pearl of fuck-fluid formed on the lower lip of the slack skin. Dad opened his eyes. 'Wank for me boy,' he demanded calmly. My right hand went to my stiffness. I sensed what might be coming but by now Daddy had tugged about on my instincts so much I could no longer trust them; all I could be sure of were his commands. I began to wank, as gingerly as I could with my sensitive, overstimulated cock. It gushed out of him strong and yellow; a thick arc of piss that drenched my face and cascaded down my neck and chest. Yes! Yes! Drumming on my forehead, bouncing and splashing over my body. My right hand worked Dad's hot urine over my cock as I beat it for him. 'Open up' I heard over the splattering and dripping in my ears, and yawned my lips open as wide as I could. With stinging liquid in my eyes I couldn't watch as Dad aimed his piping hot stream of beer piss down my forehead and between my lips, but I could hear and feel the reverberating flow into my mouth; the hollow vessel of my cheeks topping up and spilling over. His stream chundered into the inch or so of liquid in my mouth, and it felt without a doubt that this must be what it felt like to be a male urinal; to catch men's thick piss, as yellow as cider and warmed in the dark depths of thousands of hairy bodies. I was Dad's toilet. 'Swallow,' Dad said. And just as he knew I would; I came again. No warning; no subtle vibrations of pleasure building to a crescendo; just a squirt of agony from somewhere behind my cock and balls; some muscle squeezing harder than it ever had before, a jerk that travelled my spine, and the feeling of total evacuation caused by my balls emptying out on the floor between Dad's feet, joining the spreading puddle of piss as I gulped down his salty gold gift. It continued all the way through my orgasm, each painful, pleasurable contraction accompanied by the rhythmic tumbling gush and splash of his piss strafing my face, chest and neck. I gagged on the acrid strength of it; Daddy must've been storing this up all night. Perhaps as he sank each pint with his friends and neighbours in the pub, he mentally totted up how much of a drenching his son would be enjoying a few hours later. My eyes leaked and my nose was filled with fluid, my system reacting to the ammoniac sting of piss - all I could do was glug down his potent urine between gasps for air as the last of my spunk shot out of me. Piss pooled in my palm as it caressed my aching testicles. It trickled into my lungs; I coughed it out, hacking and spitting. Dad's hot yellow river trailed off into uneven pulses, my cock's twitching faded and my awareness began to return. If I thought I'd felt drained and weak before when I almost passed out, suffocated by his deep penetration, I was deluded. Now I wavered on my knees, staving off inevitable collapse. Blinded by piss, nose blocked up with snot, ears roaring with my coursing blood, there was no way of knowing what was about to happen. But Dad knew. I felt Dad's hands on my head again. No, it was just one hand, I realised, and then my face was pushed into the sweaty crack of Dad's arse. He held me there, pressed me to his burning anus, the hair from his buttocks brushed up against my eyelids and his hot clammy cleft against my wet smooth face. Finally. My chance to kiss it. I'd yet to have my first kiss; so I only guessed at what I was doing. I puckered my lips, pressed them in to meet the hot ring of muscle, opened my mouth and plied my lips against his moist closed hole. Nose still blocked, I took lungfuls of air that were warmed by this secret tender valley. Dad's arsehole - how I'd wondered what I would do if I ever got close to it, after that time in the kitchen, glimpsing him on all fours in white pants tinkering with the U-bend. Out came my tongue and nudged into the dead centre of his hole. It was a new level of intimacy I never could have imagined. If someone had ever asked me how I expected Dad's arse to taste before that moment, I would have shrugged blankly. Even now it's difficult to describe as there's nothing to compare it to. My tongue was treated to a sort of astringent taste; a kind of dryness - in the same way that peppermint is a kind of hotness, but not hot, and also a coolness, but not cool, this was a dryness but not dry. Other than that, Dad's arse was salty, sweaty, tangy. Planting a hand on each buttock, I parted his cheeks with my remaining strength, lowered my head and licked him from just behind his balls to the base of his spine. And again and again. His piss dripped from my hair into his cleft and was lapped up, moans squeaking from me as my tongue was dragged out of my mouth by the friction of his damp skin, my eager panting blowing back into my face as I nuzzled Dad from behind, strokes lengthening, taking in the underside of his pendulous balls and the patch of hair I found a hand's width above the top of his arse cleft.. That, presumably, is the point where I finally did pass out. ----- Dad's balls were on my forehead. I opened my eyes and his fat limp dick filled my vision, its tip at rest just below my lower lip. He straddled my face, gently dragging that phenomenal pair of bull balls back and forth over my forehead. 'Awake?' he asked, lifting his balls back just enough to make eye contact. His vest was off, his hairy splendour fully exposed, slight gut hanging down. I croaked a yes. Before I could ask how long I was out, he was talking again. 'Good stuff,' he began. 'Son, as I said, not all the most important things in life can be taught in school. Some of them you can only learn in the real world; tough life lessons that can't be explained by a book.' He began to thicken and harden. 'You worked hard over these last two years. You raised your grades higher than anyone expected they could go. But I knew you could do it. I knew with the right motivation you'd get there - that you were capable and you could do it off your own bat. And you did. You made me proud and your achievement in those exams has been remarkable and will hold you in good stead the rest of your career.' I was still coming to, and I realised he'd laid me on my bed with my head right on the edge, almost over it. My nose burned with the stink of evaporated piss. 'Those nine letters will get you far in life, but qualifications won't get you everywhere. Tonight son, this has been your final exam. Servicing your Dad. You've earned that privilege and I've been assessing your performance.' He was fully hard again, his dick pushing against my chin as it grew, gaping my jaw wide. His balls brushed my damp eyebrows. My mouth tasted like that smell in a public urinal that no amount of mopping and bleach seems to shift. 'This is the final test, boy. You're doing well. You're talented and enthusiastic and keen to please your Daddy and that's what really counts.' Swiftly he moved away, produced the poppers again, lifted me up by my shoulders a little (a belch escaped my lips, bringing with it an aftertaste of his generous piss) held them to my nose for a deep snort and resumed his position. Although I understood what he was saying, I was too exhausted, dizzy and weak to feel the elation that this news warranted. 'Now just trust Daddy,' he growled, 'let me do the work, and you just take it like a man. Open up?' He leaned forward and spat in my mouth - ensuring I was lubricated enough to perform this final perversion - an copious gobful of clear saliva tinged with beer. I was overcome - it was the closest thing to a kiss I ever got from him. His foreskin peeled back like a smile over his slick cock head and he pressed it to my lips. I kissed it for luck and he eased it through, commencing the ceremony. The poppers flooded my brain again as Dad's thick cock slid home. Home, that's what my throat was for his hard cock. Those veins stood out on the surface and the meat of it throbbed. How I admired his ability to deafen, gag and blind me all at once - robbing me of my senses in his pursuit of sating his primal needs. His balls, lowered to my face by his flexing knees, squashed down into my eyes as again his bulbous glans slithered through my tight throat; much easier this time, still stretched from before. He was in again. My Daddy was balls-deep in my my mouth again. His thighs covered my ears and I was hostage to his fierce sexual appetite once more. He got to it, no mucking about. Dad's hips rotated, oscillated as he fucked that tight ring of muscle, pleasuring the sensitive edge of his cock head on my relaxing throat with tiny strokes, in/out/in/out/in, regularly withdrawing to allow me a quick heaved breath around his cock head. As my throat's tension slackened off his cock demanded more friction and Dad began pushing deeper, crushing my head into the mattress, and pulling right out until the purple tip was the only part of him left inside me. The angle of my head on the edge of the bed allowed him a deep straight channel to fuck. A fire crackled in my lungs with each full-length piledrive, and his body weight squashed my face into his straining groin. Thrust. And thrust. and THRUST. Odd low vowels came out of my throat and were cut short, mangled as he squelched his thick cock in and out. 'SUCK me boy!' he reminded me and I drew hard on his dick, a dribble of that syrupy fluid pooling on the surface of my tongue before his cock ploughed back across it, smearing it past the back of my throat. I stank of his piss. It sloshed in my belly as he thrust deep, his powerful legs cantilevering his weight, his joints working smoothly, angling his tool deep into my throat, his whole body a machine working to disburse that long, long, long-awaited load. Like a drawbridge rising before a tide of incoming soldiers, his heavy balls began to climb up and tighten. 'Oh fuck boy...' he gasped as his scrotum drew tight between my eyebrows, and here it was, here was my final reward. 'Oh fuck! Oh FUCK son!' His cock expanded, drove over my tongue one last time and plunged into my throat, blinding me with his hot balls and expelling one last 'FUUUUCK' His body tensed up solid, legs locked, hands gripping my thighs. There was a moment of utter stillness in which you could hear nothing but a tiny croak squeaking from Dad's larynx. Silently he withdrew his dick until just the head filled my mouth, fatter than ever, on the cusp of delivery. And then like a rifle going off in my mouth, he came. Squirting so hard it stung the roof of my mouth, sweet bucketloads pouring from his jerking veiny cannon, firing uncontrollably. 'Ah, ah, ah,' he gasped, smothering my excited gargling. He slid it back and forth through the entrance of my throat, milked himself, encouraging every squirt with a rapid stroke, using my mouth to maximise his pleasure. Five, ten, fifteen heavy spurts. When the last spurt left him, he was still. Sweat dripped off him. It ran down his balls and stung my eyes. He paused again, gripped me, made a straining sound, shrugged his cock muscles, and a final lazy tongueful of sperm slid into my throat, joining its brothers and sisters in my stomach. As he pulled his softening, pudgy dick from my lips, sucked clean and fully drained, the light began to drain from the room. I slept. Peace, like I'd never known it, like a coma. When I woke he was gone, and my room stank like the corner of a train station. I staggered into the bathroom for a glass of water to find it full of steam. In the condensation on the mirror, in three bold strokes, was a single capital letter: A ------------------------ ------------ ----- I'd like to thank the guys who enjoyed parts 1 and 2 of this story enough to write to me - your support is hugely encouraging, I can't tell you what a welcome surprise your responses have been. Those of you who haven't gone blind yet will have noticed that there's no arse play in this story. If you want a part four, better let me know. champagne.enema@gmail.com Thankyou for reading, Ss.