Date: Tue, 2 Jun 2020 18:51:47 +0000 (UTC) From: Danny Smith Subject: Full Service at Dad's Motel, Part 6 Full Service At Dad's Motel By Danny Smith Part 6 The days turned into weeks, summer turned into fall, then into winter. Winters aren't usually cold in south Mississippi, but they can be. There's almost never snow, but frosts are common, and so are freezes. Not many airmen are transferred into a new base in December, because the Air Force doesn't like to disrupt families around the holidays if it can be avoided. There are a few, but the few that there are can always be accommodated in regular on-base housing. As a result, I didn't have many check ins during that month. Occasionally a few of my "regulars" would come around -- guys who needed a quick blowjob, or needed to let off some steam by fucking a boy. I thought of it as doing a service; I was "adjusting their hormones," so they could be better at their jobs. The slower pace was actually fine with me. I probably needed a break from the orgiastic pace I'd set for myself. The memory of that night when Bobby Keller and I had the cum competition stayed with me and helped me jack off at night if I needed to relax. And of course the words that my friend Rasheed (that's how I thought of Col. Baker now) were etched into my brain. I took them to heart and tried to do what he had suggested. Dad had never been able to talk about Mom's family after her death, but he now opened up a little bit. And when I asked him about his own family (I hadn't known either of my grandparents) he seemed to enjoy reminiscing with me. Again, following Rasheed's advice, I tried not to be too obvious about what I was doing. I continued to date girls at school, but was more willing to talk about how the evening went, which ones I thought were prettiest and so on. Plus I told him that I had a genealogy project for social studies at school and needed his help. That was a perfect reason for us to sit down on several occasions and talk pretty deeply about what he remembered or had been told, where his ancestors came from, and so on. I did some online research and was able to build on the information that Dad had given me. When it came to family names, it turns out there were several that kept popping up. One was Charles, Dad's name. Dad's friends always called him Chuck all his life and I actually thought when I was young that was his actual name. When I showed him on the computer that he had several Smith ancestors who were all named Charles he thought it was cool. When I told him that I hoped I had a son and that, if I did, I wanted to name him Charles and call him Chuck, I wasn't prepared for his reaction. Don't think he was either. He seemed to take a minute to process what I'd said, like he hadn't heard me correctly. Then he quickly stood up and turned away from me. After a moment he turned back around; his eyes were wet with tears. He tried to speak, but the words seemed to come hard: "I never knew...I never thought...." I stood up with him and we faced each other squarely. It seemed awkward for just a second or two, but when I opened my arms slightly like I wanted to hug him, he actually broke down. He rushed toward me, embraced me in his arms, and cried openly. I did too. It was one of those special moments between two people, especially two men who happen to be father and son, when they know they love each other. When I went to bed that night I said a little prayer of thanks. I was thankful that I had made my Dad so happy, and that Rasheed had given me such good advice. Then as I lay there in bed with nothing around me but silence and darkness, I started to think about the other things Rasheed had told. I said another prayer. Some would consider it blasphemous, but this time I prayed to God that my father and I would soon have sex. And I prayed hard. Since Rasheed's advice had turned out to be so solid, I continued to follow it. As eager as I was to try and take my relationship with Dad to the next level, I played it cool, holding back, acting normal. I knew that he had to be the one to initiate...whatever was going to happen. My cool reserve was put to the test a couple of times, when Dad made a comment or two that sounded "provocative," but I continued forcing myself to hold back. It paid off. One day early in December, our part-time employee was handling the front desk. There had been a problem with the pool pump and Dad was working on it. I was in the pool area too, folding up chairs and lounges to put them away for at least a few days. We were expecting a cold snap and some bad weather so we knew no one would be using them for several days. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dad slip into the men's room. I did not give it a thought (okay maybe a twinge of a thought) but just assumed he needed to relieve himself and didn't want to go back to our quarters. But he was in there for several minutes...five...ten...fifteen. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. I walked in myself and, for some reason, did it quietly. Dad was in one of the two stalls. Was he making himself "available" to me? Thinking to myself that "this may be it," I quietly took the other stall. Dad knew full well that the stalls had a gloryhole between them. But in theory at least he didn't exactly "know" that it was me in the next stall and he didn't "know" that I knew it was him. I remembered reading in my political science class that there was a concept some politicians used called `plausible deniability.' Know I understood what that was! If either one of us got embarrassed or changed our minds, we could sort of sneak out and pretend this never happened. But it did happen. I'm a pretty experienced user of gloryholes by now and can read all the small signs. A moment after I sat down I could see that Dad was angling backward to look through the hole without being seen. I did the same and could tell he wasn't doing anything overt for the moment. I decided to break the ice and sort of show him how this game worked. I started rubbing my genitals, first in an innocent way, then a little more obviously. Finally, I risked it all and showed him my hard on. I could tell he was still watching, still trying not to be seen, so I laid it on pretty good. I started jacking it off a little, playing with my balls, and finally spitting saliva on my finger and rubbing it on the tip of my cock, until the head was wet and glistening. If there was ever a more clear sign of action I didn't know what it was. It worked! My heart started pounding as I glanced secretly through the hole and watched my Dad slowly stand up. He was standing in profile with his pants down around his ankles. There is was -- his penis was just two feet away from me. I kept repeating to myself softly, "turn toward me, turn toward me, turn toward me." And he did. It was magnificent. It was beautiful. It was incredibly sexy. Dad's flaccid penis hung down a bit more than six inches, surrounded by a thick bush of dark pubic hair. Not a gray hair in sight. His balls were loose in his sack, hanging low (although not nearly as low as Rasheed's -- those were miraculous), and covered with a few long wild-looking hairs. I continued chanting softly to myself "come closer, come closer, come closer," as if I could make him stick it through by force of will. Somehow or other it happened. He inched closer to the hole, then stopped when he was just at the entrance. It seemed as if he didn't want to break the plane of the hole. Even though I didn't want to be the aggressor here, he was clearly making himself available. All he needed was a little encouragement. I reached up and touched the incredible circumcised head. It was one of those mushroom-shaped heads that can sometimes be hard to get into your mouth, but I knew I would have no trouble. I fondled it and ran my fingers over the shaft, and eventually he went all the way and stuck it through, bracing his body flat against the partition. This was the invitation I needed. Getting down on my knees I got into the most comfortable position I could. I wanted to take as long or as short as Dad needed for this. After a couple of quick licks of his shaft, I opened wide and engulfed the entire head. He immediately started to get stiff. What a thrill! I was giving my Dad a hard on. I used my tongue like the expert cocksucker that I am, and worked my way up the shaft, letting more and more of his magnificent tool inch its way down my throat. In moments he was fully hard and the fun really began. I don't know how many times in his life Dad may have had his cock sucked, but he had never had a blowjob like this one. My entire being was focused on the task at hand -- draining his balls. I kept up a steady pace and as he got more into it, I grabbed the shaft with one hand and stroked as I continued to suck, taking the entire length into my mouth, pulling almost all the way out, then plunging it back into my waiting throat. Not surprisingly, it didn't take long. When he was getting closer his thighs actually started to shake and tremble. Like so many men before him, he held on to the top of the stall with both hands and gave himself over to the pleasure he was receiving. When he started making small whimpering noises I knew this was it. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I kept picturing myself as a sperm inside one of his testicles, surrounded by millions and millions of my fellow sperms. We started our journey up into his urethra, were joined by even more millions, traveling down his penis we finally ejaculated out of the tip. Our incredible journey ended up in my mouth. I allowed my mouth to fill with as much cum as I could handle before I started swallowing. I savored every rich nuance of Dad's jizz. Everything Rasheed had said was right, this was special: my Dad's semen was what made me. The act of creation was now going down my throat into my stomach. His DNA was my DNA. His essence was my essence, now more than ever because it was being reinforced with this load. Soon enough -- too soon really -- with his passion spent, his cock began to soften. His sperm began to settle into my stomach, soon to be digested and absorbed into my young body. I was now more of a man than I was before. Even more of my father's son than I had been just a day before. I knew instinctively that he didn't want to be caught leaving the stall, didn't want to talk about it, and didn't know what he should think. He needed time to process all that had just happened. The best way was to let him deal with it in his own way. For now, we would pretend that it didn't happen. We both had plausible deniability about what had occurred. I quickly fastened my pants, opened the door, and hurried out. I didn't even stick around the pool area because I was afraid that if our eyes met, even for a second, he might feel embarrassed or ashamed. That's the last thing I wanted. My approach was the right one. There were no uncomfortable glances, no innuendos in anything either one of us said all that day, in fact for the next three or four days. Slowly we both adjusted to the new reality. I stuck to my chores and my studies, Dad stuck to doing the books and maintaining the motel, and we both kept the conversation light and neutral. Then the storm struck. It was a bad one, not hurricane force winds, but bad nonetheless. And in December we were in the middle of a cold wave. The temperature had dipped into the high 20s when the storm hit. It arrived around 11:00 at night and howled for an hour, when the electricity went out. And the heat. There was nothing we could do but wait it out. Inside the motel the temperature was dropping fast. Even under a blanket I was shivering. I usually sleep in the nude, just like Dad does, and even though I had pajamas I foolishly didn't have them on. The apartment Dad and I shared in the motel had two connected bedrooms, one kitchenette, and one bathroom. The bathroom was just off Dad's bedroom; my bed was separate so we both used the same facility. At around midnight I had to get up to pee. When I came back out I was literally shivering. Dad was clearly awake when I said "Dad I'm freezing!" When he responded `me too' I asked "What are we going to do? Isn't there some way we can get warm?" He didn't respond for about 15 seconds. Then he held up one corner of the bed coverings and said, "Here, crawl in with me. We can keep each other warm at least." At first I was so cold I didn't even think about the sexual implications of this scene. I sincerely considered it the only way we both could warm up until the electricity came back on. But the reality was that we were both stark naked and sleeping in the same bed. We were both lying on our sides, both facing the same way, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to get as close together as we could. Dad was behind me and put his right arm over my body, pulling me close to him for warmth. This was heaven. To feel protected, warmed, and safe in your father's arms is something every son dreams about. And, of course, I dreamed about even more than that. But again I kept thinking about plausible deniability and trying to pretend that nothing was happening. What would Dad want to do? I found out after about 20 minutes. Dad was breathing steadily and appeared to be asleep. I was pretending to do the same. I kept my breathing regular and even. The shivering had died down and we both felt snug and warm. Then I felt it. His cock was touching my ass, and had been since I laid down. But now it was growing, getting hard, getting ready...for what exactly? I could only hope. I continued to pretend, but also very slightly moved my ass back and forth "unconsciously" of course. I felt him get harder. Harder. I knew what was coming and it would be the most welcome thing there could be. Eventually, there was no denying the reality: his cock was being inserted into the crack of my ass. Another inch and it would be in my ass hole. I smiled to myself, knowing that since I was such an experienced bottom, I could get fucked -- even by Dad's beauty -- without making a sound. No whining, no whimpering. Just a 16-year old boy sound asleep while his Dad fucks him. This would give Dad the option later of saying "wow, what an odd dream I had last night," or "hope my tossing around didn't keep you awake," or nothing at all. It would be his choice and I would follow his lead. It didn't seem to take long, and was as good as I could want. He ended up with only about 90% of his cock inside of me, I think because he was too shy to thrust hard and get it in all the way. If he had, the pretense that we were both asleep would be over. I was so happy feeling his manhood inside me I didn't care. There would be time for more openness later, maybe. And if not, I didn't want anything to spoil this moment. And it happened. It was more beautiful than I dreamed. His cock began to spasm and twitch, while he kept his body as still as possible, still trying not to give up the game of `let's pretend.' He shot. And shot. And shot. His seed once again was where I wanted it to be -- inside my body. I was absorbing his essence, and he was helping me to be more of a man. When he was finished he didn't move for a long time and neither did I. The lights and heat came back on around 4:00 in the morning. It woke us both up and we figured, even though it was dark out, that we needed to get up and inspect for damage. We crawled out of bed. As I was walking back to my room, I offered to make the coffee while he showered. No innuendo. No nothing. I did venture one comment: "Dad, thanks so much for keeping me warm last night. It really worked." His reply thrilled me: "Anytime, Danny, anytime." The end.