Date: Mon, 04 Dec 2023 01:37:49 +0000
From: yngsthrngent <yngsthrngent@proton.me>
Subject: Dirty Father and Filthy Son: Chapter 1 - Awakenings Part 2

The following story is a work of fiction. People, places, names, and
incidents are inspired by the author's imagination or used in a heavily
altered manner. Furthermore, any resemblance to people or places - alive or
dead - past or present, is purely coincidental. This story contains events
depicting graphic sexual activities involving Father and Son or boys and
adult males. If this offends you in any way, or you are under the legal age
to be viewing such content, or such material is illegal where you reside,
please leave now.

Additionally, the following story contains fetishes involving foot worship,
boot worship, odors, and soft domination shared between consenting,
same-sex (male) individuals. Finally, please consider donating to keep this
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So far, the feedback for this story has been overwhelmingly positive. For
those who have emailed me, thank you very much for your kind words. New
readers, please remember that this is my first attempt at writing erotic
fiction. Feedback is greatly welcomed. However, please keep it constructive
and generative. If this story is your cup of tea and you want to read more,
I will try my hardest to add additional chapters when time allows.

Dirty Father and Filthy Son - Chapter 1: Awakenings, part 2

Standing outside his Son's room, the Father couldn't believe what he had
just witnessed. His beautiful Son just blew a load into his missing
sock. This was too much to unpack. He soon concluded that a foot massage
from his Son, or any massage for that matter, wasn't strange. He was okay
with that. Getting the boy to help remove his coveralls wasn't odd, either.

However, he soon put two and two together. His Son's gentle, wandering, and
curious hands were the source of his raging hard-on when he woke
up. Although, all that happened up until this point seemed reasonably
innocent. Watching his Son essentially cum because of him was a different
topic altogether. Decisions had to be made on how to take this new
direction in the relationship. Hopefully, this doesn't get too out of hand.

Inside the room, the Son had just done the unimaginable. Descending from
his euphoria, the lingering scent of leather and musk enveloped him, a
fragrance that constantly stirred his passion in his Father's presence. It
was wildly enticing and masculine, radiating a heat and allure that was
undeniably intense. Yet, with the boy's craving satisfied and his erection
deflating, embarrassment, and guilt started to wash over him.

The boy rose up on wobbly legs from his bed and stood. He ensured he was
clean before he put his clothes back on, only to find that not all his load
was on his Dad's sock. He wiped the remaining pearly white liquid from
below his navel, stuck his tongue out, and licked it from his hand. Bitter,
slightly salty, and somehow sweet. Leaving him to ponder what his Dad
tasted like. Now that he was clean, he decided to go to the living room. By
now, his Dad would be preparing leftovers for dinner.

As if on cue, he was startled by Dad's substantial footsteps approaching
down the hallway, nearly reaching the door to his room.

"Hey, Tiger. Let's figure out dinner soon. I'm starving." He heard him call
as he passed his doorway.

"Sure thing. Be there in a minute." The boy responded, making his way to
the kitchen.

Attempting to appear casual, the Son proceeded down the hallway toward the
kitchen. His father consistently prioritized his time to work, and the
remaining time was devoted to raising his son. Since the boy's mom left for
greener pastures when he turned 12, he began teaching simple household
tasks, such as cooking and cleaning. The boy treasured the moments when
they teamed up in the kitchen, and the Father always ensured enough food
was prepared to last. Following his Father's retirement from the Navy, he
brought back various items from his travels. Among the things the Son
cherished most was his expertise in the local cuisines from the countries
where he spent a significant amount of time.

Upon reaching the kitchen, the boy found his Dad had already shed his work
attire for something more relaxed. The initial observation was that he was
still sporting the boxers he had on earlier. While glimpses of him in
underwear were not entirely unfamiliar, they were usually fleeting, meaning
his massive tree trunk legs were on full display. Of course, his broad,
muscular feet were bare. Completing the casual ensemble was a finely aged
white tee shirt, both garments showing signs of wear and tear, especially
the thin fabric of his shirt revealing the impressive contours of his
muscular back.

"I was thinking," the father mentioned, turning to let the refrigerator
door gently close as he cracked open a beer. "Since we are almost out of
our lasagna, let's start a pot roast. There's a chuck roast in the
fridge. I'll prepare the seasoning. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with washing
and chopping the vegetables and whether to pair the roast with rice or
mashed potatoes." After his explanation, he drank four long and slow pulls
from the can. He set it on the counter, punctuating its placement with a
sigh of contentment.

The boy barely paid attention to his father's remarks about dinner because
his focus was captivated by the thin, undersized white shirt his Dad was
wearing. The shirt revealed enticing contours, exposing the expanse of his
chest and torso and the dense, dark forest of hair covering it all. The
boy's eyes continued their exploration downward, noting the snug fit of his
Dad's threadbare boxers on his robust hips, outlining his alluring features
with an unmistakable subtley.

... Son? The father interrupted the boy's ogling with a quizzical
look. "Are you sure you are okay? You've been acting strange since I got
home."

"I'm fine, Dad. Really." The boy stammered. "What veggies do we have, the
usual?" He inquired, walking to the counter where some items were already
laid out. "I was also thinking about some rice," he added.

The father briefly gave the boy a confused grin and continued about his
plans for the pot roast. He finished emptying his beer before he
continued. "Let's see. We have celery, potatoes, baby carrots, onion..."

"I don't think there is much left to throw in," The boy added. "I'll wash
the veggies, chop them, and add them to the crockpot. Then I will cook the
rice."

"Thanks, Tiger." The father responded. He came closer, put his meaty hand
on the boy's shoulder, and squeezed a few times gently and
appreciatively. Leaving the boy to the task of washing and chopping. The
large man soon lumbered to the refrigerator to grab another "silver bullet"
and prepare the chuck roast. As father and son maneuvered in and out of
each other's way, the boy would occasionally steal glances at his father,
particularly the hefty package rolling obscenely inside the confines of his
boxers. The boy hoped his father did not notice his wandering eyes.

The father observed his son's peculiar behavior throughout the evening,
anticipating its persistence. He remained unbothered, understanding, and
empathizing with his child's challenges. At this early stage in the boy's
life, he had recently understood the concept of libido. Amid the hormonal
chaos, his actions were somewhat expected.

Despite the occasional distraction caused by his wandering eyes and
increased attention, the father found it very flattering. The moments when
he stole glances filled the man with pride and, admittedly, aroused him. He
was no stranger to other men's company, especially since he retired from
the Navy.

Being in supervisory, leadership, and instructing positions throughout his
career, he could sense when his subordinates were not fully attentive,
instead eyeing the large man with suggestive glances. Additionally,
opportunities for "action" were rare, given the demands of work and caring
for his Son. Especially considering his own substantial and hairy presence.

Before his thoughts wandered too much, the father cracked another cold one,
downed half, and began preparing the chuck roast. He had laid out butter
and some seasonings; all he needed now was a skillet. The large man
squatted on his wide feet and looked underneath the cabinets in the
cookware section for one that was the appropriate size. Amidst the
rummaging and clanging, he discovered the correct skillet. However, he
unintentionally spread his thighs out a little wider than the limits that
boxers could handle. The seam that joined the right leg to the crotch
abruptly tore, leaving a substantial hole. It was something that was felt
more than heard. He didn't think anything of it, creaked back up to stand,
and continued readying the meal.

The father selected his choice of seasonings and massaged them into the
marbled meat. Taking charge of the stove, he set a burner to medium-high
heat, patiently awaiting the skillet's optimal temperature. During the
wait, he leisurely savored sips of the refreshing beer. When the skillet
attained the perfect heat, he introduced butter, allowing it to melt and
sizzle invitingly. Carefully, he laid the seasoned meat onto the now-hot
skillet, where it sizzled and crackled upon contact, releasing an
irresistible aroma that wafted through every kitchen corner. After a few
moments, he skillfully flipped the roast, ensuring an even sear on all
sides. Once the searing was completed, he gently transferred the meat to
the nearby crockpot, conveniently next to the stove.

The father just needed to wash his hands now. The burly man peered over his
shoulder to see his boy chopping away at the vegetables near the sink. He
decided to check his progress and tease him a little. He began sauntering
toward him. Not before he grabbed another beer out of the
refrigerator. "How's it coming over there? I won't find a pinky finger once
we start eating, am I?" The father chuckled. He downed the remaining beer,
threw it in the trash, and drank at least half of the current beer as the
robust man walked toward him. The stars aligned, and now his son was
cleaning up at the sink.

The father decided to seize this opportunity. As he approached the boy, he
couldn't help but notice how well his son had begun to fill out. He was far
from skinny but not an all-state athlete either. His developing frame
reminded me of looking at a young colt or a yearling. These thoughts, mixed
with the alcohol, started making his cock come alive. On top of that, the
extra breeze from the rip in his boxers did not help matters either. Just
how big was that hole anyway?

Meanwhile, as the boy worked at the sink, chopping, peeling, and dicing
vegetables into cubes, his tasks momentarily diverted his inappropriate
thoughts. So it was a surprise when his Dad asked how everything was
going. "No, Dad. I still have all of my fingers." The boy replied. "What
about your thumbs? You know, those aren't fingers." The father bellowed out
in laughter.

The boy had just finished up when he could sense his Dad coming
closer. "Okay, okay. Both of my opposable thumbs are still attached, too."
The son chuckled back sarcastically. As his father's imposing figure
settled in behind him, the boy's attention swiftly refocused on him. Now
sandwiched between him and the sink, his father placed his beer next to the
boy and lathered his hands with soap, methodically washing
them. Unexpectedly, he gently took hold of this son's smaller hands and
cleaned them with the same meticulousness, using his larger ones, then
dried them.

His sizable hands gently settled on the boy's shoulders, offering a
comforting but all too short massage. After a brief pause, they smoothly
moved downward, crossing over his son's chest before embracing him in a
warm, encompassing bear hug. Wrapped in his firm, furry arms, he leaned
close behind his son's left ear, whispering, "Good job, Tiger." followed by
a tender kiss on his neck and cheek.

His father's presence enveloped the boy entirely. The warmth of his breath
and the tenderness of his affection flooded his young senses. Holding his
son tightly, the father bridged the delicate space between the two until
his hips gently met the curve of his son's lower back. His cheek found
solace at the nape of the boy's sensitive neck. The father softly
whispered, "I owe you for the wonderfully relaxing massage you gave me
earlier."

With each word, his father's breath sent shivers racing up the boy's arms,
causing an array of goosebumps to emerge. His son's heart quickened its
pace, and an anxious chill throughout the boy's body battled against the
closeness of his Dad, inevitably causing the boy to have an
erection. Another reason the boy was frozen in place was that he thought
that he could feel the mound of flesh between his Dad's legs slowly
enlarging.

"Don't mention it, Dad. It was nothing. You're always so busy; it's the
least I can do." The boy sheepishly replied.

"I'll figure something out, Tiger. I promise." After the father spoke, he
let his son go, squeezed the boy's shoulders lovingly one last time, and
kissed the crown of his head before returning to his side of the kitchen to
clean up. "Go on and put those vegetables in the crock pot while I warm up
the last of our lasagna." Once free, the boy absentmindedly raked the
chopped vegetables into the pot. Turning back towards the sink, he was
treated to a stunning sight. Sometime after entering the kitchen, his Dad
had ripped the crotch of his boxers. Not only were his boxers torn, but
four to five inches of thick cock could be easily seen through the opening.

Feeling embarrassed to address what the boy had seen, he quietly finished
his tasks and made an excuse to visit the restroom. Sorting through his
emotions, the boy couldn't discern if his Dad's behavior was deliberate or
if he was misinterpreting his fatherly affection as something more. What
was evident, though, was his near surrender to primal urges.

The boy had come across adult magazines and snippets of adult videos that
his friends had shared. For some reason, he focused more on men than women
when viewing these materials. He always imagined being in the position of
the women depicted in those videos or erotic scenes, often pondering what
it might feel like to be subjected to forceful and controlling treatment.

At that moment, the boy wanted nothing more than to turn around and bury
his face in his giant father's crotch and engulf his steely erection right
then and there. Seeking a moment to collect himself, the boy stepped into
the bathroom, turning on the faucet to wet a hand towel. As he wiped his
brow, cheeks, and neck, thoughts of his father's rough mustache bristles
sparked a rush of conflicting desires, overwhelming his senses once more.

Back in the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" the Father thought. "Think with your actual head, not
the one in between your legs, you dumb ass." In hindsight, if the father
had not let go of his son when he did... It took every amount of
concentration and restraint not to bend his son over the sink and..."
Taking charge of this situation was crucial, and it fell upon him to do
so. Frustration clawed at him, urging for a release.

He swiftly finished his beer that rested beside his son and disposed of the
empty can. Turning towards the refrigerator, he grabbed another beer and
consumed it quickly. He retrieved the glass cookware containing the
leftover lasagna with dinner in mind. He hurriedly removed the plastic lid
before placing it in the oven and setting the timer for a few minutes.

Realizing the need for the restroom and another need altogether, he stormed
towards his room, where the master bathroom awaited. En route, the father
paused outside Son's room, recalling the sock incident. "Did he at least
hide it?" He said to himself. This may be the answer he needed. Did he want
to keep it as a trophy, or would he eventually return it? He crept inside
the boy's room and discovered it was still on the floor in plain sight; he
picked it up, brought the garment to his nose, and inhaled.

Something about the Father's musk, combined with the smell of his Son's
seed, awoke something feral and wild inside him. "Fuuuuucccck," he said in
a low gravelly voice. His already semi-erect dick sprang further to
attention as more of the erotic aroma was inhaled. "Son...." He murmured as
he began caressing and massaging his aching dick. It did not take him long
to come to full mast and began pouring precum onto his fist and, soon, the
boys' floor.

"I need to get ahold of myself," the burly man muttered between clenched
teeth. Holding his dirty sock in hand and proud erection fully exposed, he
quickly exited his son's room and entered his own. After shutting the door,
just before he tucked the sock into his work boot beside its mate, he
paused to take one final deep breath before proceeding to the sink to wash
his face and gather his thoughts.

The gigantic man gazed expressionlessly into the mirror as water cascaded
from the faucet into the sink below. He could not recall the last time he
experienced such overwhelming arousal and longing. Even his wife failed to
elicit such feelings within him. The obstacle was apparent, but if he was
to explore and figure things out for himself, he had to let the boy decide
and take the lead. "But, why not do this with school friends?" he
pondered. The boy had a circle of friends, a sizable one at
that. Nevertheless, his son seldom initiated conversations. Perhaps he just
needed a little more confidence.

He thought about a hundred scenarios, all of which were very erotic, but
none ending with the outcome he wanted. Thinking about disappointing,
scaring, or hurting his son eased some of the blood flow to the man's
hard-on, forcing him to think more clearly. "I should let it happen
naturally and have "The Talk" with him," He said as he splashed the cool
water on his scruffy face a few times. After dampening his face, he wiped
it with a hand towel and combed his bushy mustache. As he exited the master
bathroom, and looked back at his worn work boots and then down to his
freshly ripped boxers and tucked his semi-hard cock back into the confines
of his boxers. Before he exited, he pondered if he should change
undergarments. "Whatever happens, happens," he said softly and left his
room with a little less of an erection than he had earlier.

Meanwhile, the boy remained a hot and desperate mess in the other
bathroom. He splashed his face with cool water many times; however, the
burning sensation in his face did not go away. Wrestling with mixed
emotions, his heart raced, and his head spun beyond control. Amidst worry,
fear, frustration, and arousal battling in his youthful mind, he suddenly
succumbed to dizziness. Helpless, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the
ground, unintentionally hitting his head against the doorknob in the
process.

Exiting his bedroom, the father heard a loud thud and decided to check on
his son. Approaching the door, he cautiously knocked. "Son, are you alright
in there? The lasagna is almost ready." There was no immediate response
from inside the bathroom. Concerned, the Father tried again, a bit louder
this time. "Son, is everything okay? I heard a loud noise."

Still waiting for a response. The Father's worry grew, and he tried the
doorknob, finding it unlocked. Slowly, he pushed the door open and peered
inside. "Son, are you in here?" When he entered the small room, he saw his
son lying on the cool tile, motionless. Rushing to his side, Father asked
urgently, "What happened? Are you hurt?" only to receive no reply.

The father acted quickly, elevating his son's legs onto the bathtub's edge,
and stripped off his shirt. He knelt beside his unmoving child, pressing
his cheek against the boy's lips to detect any signs of breathing, relying
not just on listening but also on feeling. With care, he gently shook the
boy's shoulders in an attempt to rouse him, noticing a bump on the side of
his head. Upon closer examination, he found no blood or indications of a
cut, a major relief. He then used his sizable hands to thoroughly examine
his son's body, searching for any additional signs of injury, when he
noticed a prominent mound in his son's shorts.