Date: Sat, 7 May 2011 16:57:57 -0700 (PDT) From: James Spaulding Subject: Getting Dad Drunk, Part 11 The following is a work of fiction - though God knows I wish it had happened. Please feel free to contact me with your comments and suggestions: fathercandy@yahoo.com As expected, the day following our "underwear party" was uneventful. Once again, Dad acted as though nothing had happened, acted as though his dick hadn't been shown to me in all it's glory, acted as if he hadn't noticed my erection and done his best to hide his. (My morning-after thoughts concluded that Dad's odd manipulations as he left my room were his attempts -- once again -- at hiding the boner that filled his boxers.) Still, I was certain something had started. Dad wanted a Father/Son outing to celebrate my 18th birthday. Whether or not he was orchestrating what I wanted him to orchestrate, our recent interludes -- following his alcohol consumption -- suggested that whatever outing he planned was going to be an outing rich with tension and titillation. A few days later -- time was ticking, my birthday was only six days away -- Dad finally broached the subject. "So, Sport. About your birthday..." I looked up from the newspaper. My eyes, I'm sure, made it very clear I was hanging on whatever words he shared. "I think we should go to a Cubs game." "OK." I am sure my disappointment was tangible. A Cubs game? That was a matter of a few hours drive. No hotel. Nothing special. "Then I was thinking we could do something crazy." "Something crazy?" "You know. See if you and I couldn't paint the town as two adults. You'd be 18 and all." "Dad, 18 isn't an adult." "Tell me you don't have a fake ID." I was silent. "I knew it. We can just hang out. Two friends. Doing Chicago." Two friends doing Chicago? What the fuck? "We'd have to drive home. What's the point?" "I've done my research, Alex. We'd stay the weekend. The Cubs play Friday. We wouldn't need to come back until Sunday. We'd have a whole weekend to do Chicago." "We'd stay in a hotel?" "Dumbass. Of course, we'd stay in a hotel." I though about Mom. "Wouldn't Mom, like, be jealous?" "Alex, she hates baseball." True. "So, you are telling me, it would be a weekend of baseball and drinking?" "Did I say drinking?" "In so many words." "OK. Baseball and drinking. We'd do Chicago." "Dad, I can't think of a better way to turn 18." "You're on, Sport." The build up to the birthday should have been uneventful. I mean. Really? Dad and I were going to "do Chicago." His words. Often repeated. What else mattered? But, before Dad and I went to Chicago, life and it's complications made mincemeat of my anticipation. Though I planned to put off any sex until Dad and I finally made our way to a hotel room in Chicago -- a little over confident? Yep! -- my sexually adventurous life became even more exciting: my sister's husband -- Steve -- and I fucked liked bunnies... Christine and Steve had been married for a few years. Before that, they had dated on and off throughout high school and college. Steve was a total jock. Football. Basketball. Soccer. Those were his sports in high school. In college, he switched to rugby. He still played rugby on weekends, and clearly loved the game. Though rugby wasn't a sport at our school, I knew enough about the game, to have a sense of what one needed to do in a scrum. "Alex, Jake is out of town this weekend and we are short a player. Any chance you'd be willing to show up on Saturday and play?" "I've never played before. Don't you think I'd just, like, get crushed and rushed to the hospital?" "Al, you are built for the game. You're fast. You're solid. Man, you got muscles." He touched my chest. He touched my shoulders. His hands lingered on my biceps. "You'd rock." "But I've never played before." "I'll give you lessons. It's not, like, rugby players are rocket scientists. We just take a ball from one end of the field to the other." Of course I said yes. I love sports. Love competition. And, Steve's teammates, most of whom were his good friends, were pretty fucking hot. (I love rugby players!) Steve's lessons were pretty fucking lacking. A few passes. A rule review. And the next thing you knew I was playing with his team, all of whom were older than me, bigger than me, and thicker than me. (Yep. I love rugby players!) Sure, a post-rugby game gang bang in the showers would be fun, but that's not what happened. Life isn't a porno... The game was over. I didn't embarrass myself. I'd had fun. I'd had a few beers. (What's a rugby game without a lot of beer?) And I found myself at Steve and Christine's house. Christine was out. Steve and I were both sweaty, dirty, and sore from an afternoon of push, pull, tug, and plunder. "I'm going to shower. You OK here by yourself?" I looked at Steve. "What the fuck do you think? I'm going to, like, get all lost and confused because my big sister is buying another maternity dress?" "You shouldn't say fuck." "You and your friends said it all afternoon." "Bad role modeling." "Well, it worked. I'm corrupted." I watched as Steve removed his shirt. Shirtless, I admired my sister's husband's chest. Damn. Who knew? Christine had married a hairy motherfucker. The dark hair that covered his chest, that covered his arms, also covered his back. When you are as thickly built as Steve -- he is a rugby player -- back hair only adds to the appeal. "What? You never seen an ape before?" I guess I was lost in admiration. Steve noticed. I mumbled. He flexed. He was over six feet. Six two? Six three? He stood before me, shirtless, and flexed his biceps. "You like?" What the fuck? "I like? " He nodded, waiting for my response. "My muscles. You like?" I was silenced by his arrogance AND his biceps. "You need another beer?" It was my turn to nod. I watched as my sister's husband got each of us a beer. As he handed mine to me, he touched my shoulder. Then my chest. "I bet you could flex just as nice as me." It was time for eye contact. Was Steve -- my sister's husband! -- saying what he was saying? My eyes never left his as I removed my shirt. I didn't flex. I didn't have time. Steve set his beer down. His hands moved to my chest. First they cupped my pecs. Then they moved to my abs. He hit them. Hard. Then his hand moved to my treasure trail -- the hairs that went from my navel to my crotch. They rested for a moment. He began to rub. He began to tweak. Our eyes remained connected. Then his head bent down, his lips met mine, and before I could say hot fuck, my sister's husband's tongue filled my mouth. Steve stopped kissing me long enough to drain his beer. He swallowed. "You hot little fuck! I've wanted to fuck your ass since the first time I met you." And with that, he forced me up the stairs to my sister's bedroom. "Take off your shorts." I obeyed, watching him as he removed his shorts, his jockstrap, revealing a cock as thick as the rest of him. His boner was oozing pre-cum. I reached to feel the slick, and then raised my covered finger to my mouth, tasting my sister's husband for the first time. "You sick fuck. You're gonna get a fuck you're never gonna forget." Where ever the hell my mild-mannered brother-in-law had gone, I didn't miss him. This hairy beast had already placed me on his bed. Lying on my back, I watched as he prepared to do what he'd wanted to do for years. He spit in his hand, his thick fingers began to massage my whole, covering them with saliva, preparing my hole for his cock. I groaned in anticipation. His fingers preparing me for the erection that stood out from a great bush of black hair. Steve's cock was at least seven inches long. The girth of his dick was most impressive. I knew his boner was gonna stretch me in ways I'd not been stretched before. I wriggled in anticipation, as Steve continued to loosen my hole and lube it with his spit. He looked at me, saw my pleasure, a smile came to his face -- almost a leer -- "You really like this, don't you?" I could only nod, as I watched the next gob of spit land on his boner. His hand moved up and down the thick shaft, spreading nature's lubricant. I scooted closer, lifting my legs, placing my sphincter as close to his cock as possible. Steve leaned in, his dick began to press into me. My hole slowly opened, its walls stretching to receive all that Steve was giving me. I moaned in pain and writhed in pleasure, as my sister's husband's erection filled me. Once he was fully inside me, so deep I could feel his pubic hair tickle my balls, Steve began to move. Pulling out. Pushing in. His thrusts gained power. The bed began to move as Steve's fucking gained momentum. I was thrust up against the backboard. No longer comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but still my body was wracked with pleasure. Deep pleasure. "Get on your knees. I want to fuck you like a doggy..." Eager to please my domineering brother-in-law, I quickly turned over. I waited for his cock to reenter me. His first thrust took my breath away. My moans were loud. His thrusts were fast. His hands gripped my waist, my body was his to use, his to fuck. Occasionally his fucking stopped, but only for as long as it took for another gob of expertly placed saliva to slicken his cock. And as he fucked me, he talked dirty. I was a pig, a whore, a cum dumpster. I was his dog, his slave, his bitch. He talked mean. He clearly enjoyed the power his cock gave him. And I was shocked at how much I enjoyed giving myself to him. I enjoyed being his bitch. And if slavery meant taking his raw, thick cock, I was happy for the chains. Occasionally his hands would leave my waist, only for him to spank my ass. He hit hard. My reaction was intense. Like the pain of his brutal fuck, the slap of his hand created sensations that were oddly and overwhelmingly beautiful. "You ready for my cum, pig? What could I say? "Fuck. Yeah." "This dick's gonna impregnate you, boy, just like it impregnated your sister." Sick. Sick and hot. So fucking hot. His thrusts grew harder, more erratic, his vocalizations more intense. "Fuuuuuccckkkk..." He pulled me close, all the way to the base of his boner, and I felt his cum fill me. Squirt after squirt. Impregnated by my brother-in-law. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out. Slapped my ass one more time -- this time a bit more affectionately. He walked away. I heard him turn on the shower. "Alex, get in here. You need to clean up." As sore as I was, I was still eager to obey. He stood outside the shower, holding the door open for me. I was still in awe of the brutal fuck he had delivered. Still in awe of his beefy build. He joined me in the shower. Reaching for the soap, his hands moved to my ass. With a gentleness that he had not displayed before, he began to clean my body. First my ass, my cum-filled hole. And then, for the first time, his hands moved to my cock. As he began to stroke my cock with his soap-slicked hand, he pulled me closer. I was covered by his muscles, blanketed by his body's hair. His mouth moved to my neck. He began to kiss me. His tongue moved to my ear. And his hand kept working on my dick. I was close. My pleasure was evident; I wriggled into him. His pleasure was also evident. He was still rock hard. He made adjustments. Placed me as I needed to by placed. And even as his right hand worked my cock, his left hand moved me into his erection. Once again his thickness stretched my hole. Once again, his thrusts came hard. His hand worked my boner, his grip tight. His tongue continued to dance in my ear. My orgasm was intense, each squirt accompanied by raging pleasure, each squirt seemingly timed to Steve's thrusts. As my orgasm ended, I awaited Steve's. Though I had not yet sucked his cock, I knew this time I wanted to taste his seed. (Cum dumpster? Yep.) I forced myself out of his grasp, only to kneel before him, my tongue out, waiting for his semen. I watched as he jacked his meat, amazed I had taken it all, amazed that I had enjoyed the battering I had received. "Fuck, Alex... take this... take this...eat it, Baby!" And I ate what I was served. His second orgasm was as impressive as his first. I savored every ounce of protein he shared, reaching for his cock, using my lips and tongue to further my brother-in-law's pleasure. "OK, Alex, OK. Haven't you had enough?" Steve laughed a little, and his voiced communicated what his words didn't. He was growing uncomfortable. He had just fucked his wife's brother -- her 17-year-old brother -- and was beginning to feel remorse. I stood before him. The water still running. I could tell he wanted to run away. I reached for his hand. Held it tight. "It's OK, Steve. Really. I liked it." He laughed a little, an uncomfortable laugh. "It's just that, like..." He struggled to find words. "It's just that rugby always gets me so horned up... Like if I don't fuck something -- and fuck it hard -- it's like I'll bust. And your sister... well, she, like ... well I'd never fuck her like that." It was my turn to laugh. "You better not..." Slowly it was beginning to dawn on Steve that what we had done was consensual. Our secret. Nothing to worry about. By the time we had dressed, finished what was left of the beer, Steve was his usual self. "So you're OK. Right? I mean, I didn't hurt you, did I?" "Steve, that was an awesome fuck. I'll be reminded of it for some time, but the memories will be welcomed." Just as I was leaving, I turned to Steve. "When's your next rugby game?" He laughed. Saw that I was serious. "Really?" "Really." "Next Saturday." As much as I wanted another post rugby match with my brother-in-law, next Saturday was my weekend with Dad. "Can't then, maybe some other time." Steve looked at me in awe, as if I was some sort of alien. "Maybe."