Date: Sun, 05 Oct 2003 02:48:14 +0000 From: Tony Ryan Subject: Father-Son surprise 2 This is just fiction. I am not writing about real life, and am not claiming to. I'm not making any statements about these sexual choices, other than using them as fiction. I do stress that in real life you use protection, please. Don't be a statistic. I was really overwhelmed by the feedback to the first chapter. Some of you guys had some good ideas. I know that type of response can't last, but I would love to hear more, especially of what you want to see, what type of characters, positions, situations, etc. I really need some new ideas if I want to keep the story going. Do you want the father's brother or father to be introduced? What suggestions do you have for their lives, their looks, penis sizes, etc.? -- I thought I was just in a dream world. My son was a normal, everyday teenager, more interested in getting new clothes or buying the latest rap CD than in deep-dicking his best friend. I must have hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe it was sunstroke. Sunstroke...son stroke...umm...you see how easily my mind and crotch wander. As I desperately pretended that everything was fine, I tried not to notice the way Keith looked at me, especially when he thought I wasn't paying attention. His hazel eyes were emblazened with hunger. His tongue would flick from the center of his mouth, and trace down his full, suckable lower lip. I normally wear business slacks, or khakis, and every time I would stand up from the dinner table to go to another room, I could feel his lusty stare burning into my round, firm ass. When I would return to the room he would more discreetly gawk at my ample crotch. Day after day this continued. On one of my days off I wore jeans while I was doing some cleaning in the garage. The heat was unbearable, even with a cool six-pack of Coors, so my shirt came off almost immediately. The jeans were pretty old and faded, and were practically painted onto my body. My muscled thighs and tight buttocks were pretty much on display. As I moved and rearranged I felt those eyes again. Not thinking about the consequences of what I was doing, I began to rub the chilled can across my sweaty, hairy chest, paying particular attention to my fleshy pink nipples. By the time I reached my furry, matted abs, moans had begun to reverbate from behind a tarp. I pretended I didn't hear. I couldn't admit to what I was participating in. I just went with my lust-addled instincts. I coated two fingers in the icy brew, circling them around my hardening nipples, running them down my belly, then suckling them deep in my mouth, tasting the alcohol and salt and sweat. I imagined Keith's cock in the place of my fingers, and judging by the increased slapping sounds, he was doing the same. Losing all sense, I began unsnapping my jeans, one button at a time, rolling the cold metal against my treasure trail and to the top line of my somewhat unkempt pubic patch. Before I could go any further, the wife called me upstairs. I left the light on, left Keith behind. My wife thought Keith was at Billy's house. In the midst of her cooking for supper, when she mentioned their special friendship, the old images of the two tawdry boys barebacking on my son's bed flooded my mind. Suddenly, my dick was the only concern I had. I pulled Cathy away from the stove, hiked up her skirt, tore off her panties with my teeth, and fucked her right there on the kitchen table. My wife and I hadn't had sex or anything close to sex in quite a few years, but she was groaning and spasming against my wet, smelly, muscled body and clawing her nails down my spine in no time. I didn't have the heart to tell her that every time that day that I ate out her pussy, I saw myself on my knees, cleaning out my son's tight teen ass. That every time she came as she cried out my name, I heard my son's voice saying "DADDY, dick me, FUCK ME with the dick that MADE ME!!!". That night I took a long shower, ashamed of what I had transformed my wife into, and yet, when my fingers reached to plug my curious, aching hole, I didn't stop them. I added a new finger each day I tried this, to the point where I could almost get a hand inside, where my loads were never as powerful unless I felt that hint of a fist. The time passed more and more slowly. Every second was torment and struggle. I broke down crying in my office one day and my assistant, Luis, ran into the room. He stroked my hair and whispered in my ear with that thick Cuban-American accent of his. Instead of appreciating his friendship, I found myself lost in his warm brown eyes and his cocksucker lips. I could barely mutter out a thank you before I ran into the company john, hiked down my suit pants, and blew my load all over the sink. When Keith's friends would drop in, my mind would wander. Was Jamal, the runningback for the Midland Rhinos all-star team, stopping by to say hello, or was my boy getting a sampling of dark meat? What about Timmy, the bespectacled, nerdy science tutor with the dishwater blonde hair and adorable stutter? Was Keith breaking in that geek-boy bubble butt and dripping his cum all over those thick goggles as Timmy stammered out his name? One day I came home from work early. The stereo was on again. A familiar car was in the driveway. I crept upstairs, wondering who was with my son. "OH GOD DADDY...PLOW ME, RAPE MY ASS WITH THAT HORSE COCK!!! RIGHT THERE OH OH OOOOOHHHHHH!!!!!" My son was whimpering like a dog in heat. I could see him, bobbing up and down on the thick, forest-covered waist and burly thighs of a man quite obviously his senior. When I saw that man's face, I was in for another shock. "Like that, son? Like your dad's key in your slutty boy lock? Only key that fits. Show Daddy how much you love him. I need my Father's Day gift. Gimme that load. Lemme taste you while I fuck you. C'mon, baby boy, c'mon..." It was Mr. Mathers, local store owner and head of the school board. In his 50's, a recent widower, a vet with a permanent buzz cut, a grizzly bear of a man. He was arch-conservative to the extreme. He had been talking about drumming up local support for that anti-gay marriage amendment some groups want passed. That talk had stopped lately. Seeing him jackhammer his flesh baton into my son's hole was a good explanation as to why. "Oh fuuckk...soooo big soooo good...uggghhh...show this recruit why he needs some tail whipping with his daddy's military meat..." "TAKE IT LIKE A MAN!!! LESS TALK AND MORE ASS!!!" Keith could barely mutter out a "sir, yes sir" before he started bobbing up and down violently on the hugely hung, beefy top. His face was pure rapture, as if he was in total control of the situation. Even when Weathers flipped their position over and started slamming Keith missionary style, he screamed, groaned, rasped his approval. He wanted and demanded more. His toes crept to Weathers remarkably firm, meaty cheeks, collecting in the densely haired crack. One by one, both big toes burrowed into his hole. Weathers bellowed a war cry loud enough to shake the foundations of the house, and sank his teeth into my son's neck. His whole body shook. Tremor after tremor. Orgasm after orgasm. His corded neck was boiling red, his veins prominent as he surrendered his last few drops of life-giving seed. Weathers collapsed, exhausted, his middle age finally catching up to him. I watched how well my boy handled the situation, how effortlessly he wriggled from under the taller, broader military man. "Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of here," Keith barked, turning to the window, ignoring his lover. He stared out his bedroom window while Weather cleaned himself up and dressed. The right-winger's horse meat hung to the left...there's irony for you. Before Weathers left, he, as I did, marvelled at the beauty of my boy's hairless, ripe bubble butt beaming in the golden flecks of sunlight. He nearly reached out to touch my boy, but Keith slapped his hand away. "I did NOT give you permission to touch me, old man! Here, take this and leave...NOW!" Keith tossed him an old jock strap. The size was much too big for a teenage boy. Horrified, I realized that was my jock pouch. Well-used, stretched out with my fat 8 inches. I thought it had vanished in the laundry pocket universe and never questioned otherwise. "What is this, boy?" Keith rolled his eyes, still not giving his senior direct eye contact. "It's a jock strap. Wear it. Shoot your wad into the pouch every day, and then right before you come see me next week. I want to watch you eat your own cum...Daddy." Mr. Weathers' hard, lined face melted a bit at my son's last comment. "Will do, sir." Weathers said. I half-expected him to salute. I left the two men alone and headed to my bedroom. A nap seemed like a good idea. My son had managed to turn a raging homophobe into his sex slave. It obviously wasn't anything magical...Weathers always had liked to slap the football players on the ass a bit too often. But I still couldn't figure out how this had happened. Did I even want to know why the product of my loins was leading his life this way? I began to undress. Shoes, socks, pants. I had started to unbutton my shirt when Keith came into the room. He was naked, flopping around. This was the first time I'd ever seen my son's penis flaccid, and it was quite a sight. "I guess I take after the old man," Keith smirked at me. I fumbled with my shirt buttons. What an odd comment. Keith's hands were on his hips, his svelte twinkish (I think they call them twinks...either that or ho-hos) figure on full lanky display. His thighs were spattered in light hair. He was sexy and dammit, he knew it. "How long have you been watching me fuck men, Dad?" I choked. Panic set in. This wasn't happening. No way he could have known that... Keith pushed me on the bed. Before I could react he'd pulled my boxers down. He was much faster and stronger than I'd expected. He slipped his surprisingly thick prong at the very tip of my hole. "We can't DO THIS, son! NO!!" Keith smacked my ass and reached around to fondle my growing bulge. "Then what is that thing between your legs? Admit it. Admit that you finger your pussy -- it sure is loose for a virgin -- thinking about my meat. Admit that you are a whore for your teenage son's cock. I'm not ashamed. I want this. And I know you do to, whether you want to say the words or not." I shut my eyes tight. I wasn't going to cry. He lined me up, his hands squeezing my hips, nails digging in deep. He was in me all the way within a matter of moments. The thrusts were achingly slow. He was making me milk his dick, and God help me, I did. I pushed back. I wanted him to fuck me, to make love to me. My dad dick steadily rubbed against the bedspread, a methodical stream of precum leaking as frequently as the tears lined my big blue eyes. "I-I love you son...forgive me...God forgive me..." As I shot into Keith's hand, my boy petted my hair and whispered in my ear. His lips were so soft. "I've been watching your package since before I could even shoot a load...you're what I dream of. All those men and boys, young, old, they're you, Dad. They're what I could get until I got you. I saw you watching me with Billy, then with the other men. I brought those other guys over just for you, Dad. To show you what you've been missing by not loving me. Now I have you, and we'll never be apart." He groaned as he came inside me. I knew our lives would never be the same. I knew a whole new chapter of our lives was beginning. He gently pulled out of me, smoothed my ass with the palms of his soft boy hands. At 16, he was a master of male sex, and I knew he'd want more. So did I. I pulled him into my lap. He licked away my tears, played with my furry chest. Buried his head in my chest like a pillow. "Was I your first, Dad?" He asked, all-too-innocently, batting his eyelashes at his baffled, lustswept father. "Yes, Keith. You were my first. I don't really understand all this, but could you tell me...who was yours? Billy?" Keith smirked, almost guiltily. I knew this was going to be something to dread, or remember...maybe both. "No, Dad. This is going to be a long story..." -- My e-mail is HotStoryLvr@hotmail.com