Date: Sat, 14 Jan 2017 08:51:15 -0500 From: Bear Pup Subject: Karl and Greg: Karl and Greg 10 Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/karl-and-greg/karl-and-greg-1) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between blood-related men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Skip food-related paragraphs with (^) at the start. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming. ***** We finished dinner and Pa headed for the living room as I cleaned up. I was a little bummed as I'd hoped for another amazing 'lesson'. As he walked out, though, he said, "Put on another rubber, sport, and join me." Jacketing up and again assuming the requisite jock+boxer combo, I carried Pa a second brown bottle of beer knowing that he'd be about ready for one. He cocked an eyebrow. "Bring one for yourself, Greg, you've earned it." ***** Karl & Greg 10: Finding Who I Am by Bear Pup M/M; Incest; father-son bonding; heavy ass-play; anal orgasm I was surprised but delighted. How, I don't know, MANLY to sit with Pa and drink beers over a baseball game. The tail end of a day game was on and I went to sit across from Pa, but he frowned and told me to come sit with him. He spread his knees, pointing with his chin at his left haunch, exactly as he had the very first night of our new relationship. I settled myself against his leg and he again manhandled me into position against the thick fur of his arm and chest with legs tucked between his crotch (on my right) and his hair-covered knee (to my left). I was back in the place I'd felt the most shame and the most joy. I was determined not to lose control again and disgrace myself tonight. Pa immediately resumed what he'd done that first night, absently twirling his fingertips around the crown of my shockingly-hard prick. Occasionally, his fingers would stroke my balls of even my taint, or penetrate the crease right inside the fabric barrier. We watched a half-inning (top of the 8th, Reds down against the Cubs 3-1; don't worry, it didn't get any better) before Pa sent me for another round of beer plus his bottle of bourbon. I was so hard that standing actually hurt a little, but was buzzed enough not to care. While the Cubs took the field and the Reds tried to get organised to bat, Pa instructed me to down two huge slugs of the beer as he did the same. We both belched hugely at the same time, almost in tune, and we both laughed, trailing off into giggles. Did I mention that I don't really drink? Oh, dear. "Here's how you make a one-fisted boilermaker, son." He grabbed my bottle and tipped the bourbon into the neck, one big slash, then let the violent foaming subside. "A normal boilermaker, well, you take a shot-glass of whisky or bourbon and drop it into a pint of beer, and drink quick to make room for the foam. With a bottle, you add a little to set off the foam, then top it off." He proceeded to do that with both of our beers. I tentatively sipped the mixture and was surprised how well the two went together. Already a bit buzzed for Beer the First, the two quick glugs followed by the fortified swallow had my motor running. My cock was hard-wired into the same part of the brain that fought off intoxication (an utterly losing battle to start with). Suddenly Pa's probing, caressing, torturing finger found my pucker. Circle, back, circle, probe. The finger suddenly jumped back. "You're wet back there! You didn't 'clean up' when you needed to piss that bad, didja?" All I could do was nod and grin stupidly. Pa stared at me. "Dear god, Greg. You are a basketful of wonders. I don't even know how... Jeez." Pa went back to the delightful torture of cock, taint and ass, varying the speed, pitch and intensity of his attentions as the baseball game waxed and waned. The top of the 9th saw the Reds just barely fail to humiliate themselves. We were both about halfway through the bottle of fortified beer when Pa grabbed mine and topped it off once again with the bourbon. I wasn't really thinking about it at that point, but that meant that I was about to drinking about six ounces of bourbon mixed into about four ounces of beer. As I mentioned, I wasn't really thinking about it because I'm not sure I could have remembered ounces, big numbers like six and four, or the concept of thinking itself. I was LIT, and about to pour alcohol on the flame. The game ended at some point. I infer this because the TV got turned off. Pa carried me effortlessly to his bed and draped me across it. I probably giggled a bit. I'd stayed hard more through Pa's ministrations than my own abilities, but I went straight from Drunksville to Lust Crossing in an instant when Pa hefted my legs up and went to town on my ass. His amazing tongue lapped and probed and twirled, hitting every nerve and inventing new ones. Even in my state, my moans could only be called delirious. I felt Pa move, one arm locking both legs against my chest and the other reaching to the bedside table. I caught sight something small and floppy. As he used his teeth and other hand to manipulate it, I realised it was a tied-off condom. It slowly dawned on my buzz-dazzled brain that it wasn't just a condom, it was the one I'd worn all day. I moaned. Just to recap, I was not drunk, per se. I wasn't a few sheets to the wind or tipsy or even 'so far gone'. I was fucking wasted at the point that, if I'd been driving, I not only couldn't pass a Breathalyzer, I couldn't figure out which end to blow into. I was so far past drunk that I couldn't see it in the rear-view mirror. I was also equally high on lust with compound interest from the fact that my Pa, the man who had haunted my dreams and ignored me for years, was pushing every button I had. I was... GONE. "There's lots of lube out there, son, but God made the best. Dogwater is slick, smooth and tastes great, too. Most guys don't make enough, even real leakers like us, to fuck an ass without ripping it up, but a rubber lets you collect it all day long." He finally got the knot worked and dipped two fingers into the heavily-distended reservoir at the tip. I watched, hypnotised, as those precum-drenched fingers made the slow-motion journey to my ass. His middle finger slowly penetrated my hole and I went wild. "YES! Oh, yes, Pa! Please! Finally!" I went on in that vein for as long as it took Pa to thoroughly lube my ass. Pa kept going back to the honeypot, occasionally stroking up my crack and often drilling deeply into my ass. I got slicker, looser and infinitely hotter with every round. "Please fuck me, Pa. Please breed my ass. Please, Pa, it's what I've dreamt of for years! Please oh please!" One finger became two. Pain? I could have been on the rack and not noticed. I did, however, feel the ridged knuckles as they popped through. When Pa was up to three fingers and reaching deeply enough that he was caressing my prostate with every thrust, he suddenly paused. I kept trying to corkscrew my ass onto his hand, but he matched every move and prevented me for getting any more stimulation. When I had finally caught my breath, Pa moved so that he was alongside the bed. I felt his stubble rasp along my cheek and I turned to try for a kiss; Pa prevented it and got his lips right to my ear. He didn't talk or even whisper. His voice came out as a low, moderated purr or growl -- deep, penetrating, hypnotic, and so fucking sexy I couldn't stand it. "You listen close now, Greg," he rumbled. I moaned. "You're gonna have to listen to me, son, and do what I say. I know you're drunk cuz I did that; it made you loose enough we could do this the first time without any pain to you. But the rest of this you have to work for." I nearly screamed in a piteous moan, "I'm ready, Pa! Fuck me, Pa! Please! I've waited sooooo long. Fuck me, Pa. Take my ass. It's loose and ready. I'll beg as much as you want, Pa, just let me feel your cock in my ass uurrggh..." The big paw that wasn't invading my ass stuck three furred fingering into my mouth to shut me up. Instinctively, I started to suckle and nurse, still grunting as I tried to beg through the finger-gag. The purr was back in my ear, shooting straight into my soul, "That's not what tonight is about, sport. Tomorrow is about getting fucked, not tonight. Tonight is about finding who you are and owning that. You love my fingers in your ass." I moaned and writhed as he started caressing my love nut again. His voice, if anything, dropped further, deep and penetrating, "For tonight, you don't have a body. You have an ass. You don't have a mouth or ears or eyes or a nose; you have an ass," The crooning, hypnotic rhythm, my own drunk-lust state and the depth of both his voice and my adoration of Pa started to work a kind of magic on me. "You don't have tits or feet; you have an ass. Feel everything with your ass. Feel each ridge of my fingers." I did. As I focused, I realised that my ass-lips could tell the difference between each knuckle as they cycled in and out. That the walls of my chute could feel the ridges, even the HAIRS on the back of each digit. "You don't have balls. You don't have a cock. You have an ass," he rumbled in that pervasive, invasive, resonant, rhythmic basso. "Every nerve is in your ass. Every sensation is in your ass. Now focus tighter. Focus on your joy button." Thinking back, I know that I was literally drooling onto the pillows as my head whipped back and forth and whorish moans modulated but never actually ceased. It was as if Pa was right; I was nothing but the amazing, soul-wrenching thrill that Pa coaxed from my butt. "Feel your prostate. Feel as I rub --" Gasp! "-- and thump --" Moan! "-- and stroke --" Whimper! "-- the centre of your universe, your ass, your button." Yes, Pa was right. I could tell the difference between the callus on one side of his middle finger from the ridge of cuticle on the other. He twitched his fore- and middle-finger, beating a staccato on my prostate and sending ripples through my entire world. He suddenly curled his ring-finger under and pressed insistently with the smooth-hard-convex nail, driving me wild. "You feel that, son? That is who you ARE. That little nub of flesh inside you is who you are meant to be. Own it. Give yourself to it," he growled, deeper and deeper, as his manipulation of my prostate built harder, faster, more demanding, then doubling again. Pa's voice moved quicker to keep pace with the assault on what used to be my love nut but had become the body my mind and soul inhabited, driven wild by his ministrations. "Feel it, son! Give in to it. Let it be your world. Let me take you places you never dreamed. Feel the beat of your heart? It beats in your button. Feel the breaths you're taking? They flow through your button! Feel the tide of your thoughts? They wash through your button!" Pa's magic had finally worked. With some sort of forceful inversion, I was no longer looking into my prostate, but out of it. Pa was not thrumming my prostate, he was stroking the whole of me, every nerve, every fibre, every synapse. Pa sensed that shift immediately. "That's it, son. Good, sport! Feel it. Live it. OWN it! And now --" his siege on my nut redoubled and I felt the walls of my resistance crumble. "--NOW CUM! Cum for me! Cum for yer *PA*!" Oddly, it wasn't the rubbing. It wasn't the pleasure. It wasn't even my desperate need for release. I simply could never have disobeyed the voice that had captivated my mind and soul whilst the body attached to it pummelled and plundered my very essence. I didn't just cum, I shattered. Infinite shards of my mind/body/soul exploded and imploded at the same time. Jism erupted as fountain that, I found out later, painted half the wall before the sixth shot finally abated enough to streak my face. By that feedback loop of orgasmic release and full acceptance of myself, in and out, forth and back, destroyed and resurrected me simultaneously. I knew, clinically, distantly, that I was wracked with sobs and cries of ecstasy. I vaguely heard my moans and shuddering gasps. None of that seemed directly connected to me, to what was happening, to what I was becoming. I was reborn. I continued to convulse and tremble as wave after wave of organism kept pulsing through me, and as a shocking amount of ejaculate pooled on my belly. I felt Pa's fingers leave me and was distantly surprised to feel not empty but fulfilled. I numbly felt my hand wiped through the quaking puddle then placed on some so simultaneously stone-hard and silky smooth, Pa's dick. I looked up and caught the lust-raged eyes that seemed to glow with an inner furnace and stroked, tightly, madly, desperately. I wanted to repay the creature who created me 18 years ago and recreated me tonight. Pa looked, frankly, demented as I redoubled my grip and motion, his mouth open, chest surging, spittle forced out with each huffing breath. I felt his thighs quiver and saw his neck-cords burst into sharp relief as his head flew back. The bellow of a rutting elk -- loud, forceful, nearly-subsonic -- exploded from his throat as he, too, erupted, hosing me with his thick, almost chunky load. The other night, Pa had towelled me off. Tonight's agenda was different. As soon as he could catch enough breath to be articulate again, his guttural growl returned, not purring but roaring. "THAT is who you are! NOW you own it!" His hands scooped the effluvium of our combined loads and fed them to me. "THIS is what you want. THIS is who and what you are," as handful after handful of filled my throat. "NOW you understand! NOW you get it!" I whimpered and mewled as I stroke to suck more and more cum from his paw on each journey from abs to lips. Pa huffed and puffed and gently, forcefully, inexorably gave me exactly what I never knew I needed most. My stomach and chest were nearly dry by the time Pa stopped squeegeeing cum from my skin and my head fell back, utterly exhausted. Pa barely did better, moulding my body across the bed so he could collapse, spent, beside me. I rolled to my side as Pa spooned behind me. It was then that I noticed my pillow was soaked with the tears and drool I'd shed over the last hour. Far from upset, I relished the cooling effect on my fevered forehead as much as I cherished the heat and bristly-caress of Pa's furred chest and legs against my backside. Pa and I took nearly identical sighs and were asleep before I could even recognise the closing of my eyes. Friday dawned still and cool, without the biting wind from the previous days. It was replaced with pearlescent fog that glowed with the impending dawn as I silenced the alarm and reluctantly pulled myself out of Pa's snuggling warmth. I crackled as I moved, the microscopic film of cum left from Pa's feeding me our combined loads had dried intact. I giggled as I thought, 'Greg, the walking Creme Brule'. ^ Pa's breakfast today was back to relatively simple. I crisped a small pile prosciutto and layered it over the halves of an English muffin. Some thin shavings of parmesan came next, followed by a sunny-side-up egg each. I tempered the ham drippings with some cream for a quick sauce and put some hashed potatoes to the side. Italian-style coffee, rich and sweet enough even for Pa's sludge-adapted palate rounded it out. ^ Whilst Pa demolished the breakfast, I attacked his lunch. I knew that icy wind and cold rain were horrible to work in, but I also knew that the creeping cold of still fog needed an antidote. I heated some of the jambalaya to a barely sub-incandescent level so with the protection of the wide, stout thermos it would still be searing hot at lunchtime. I quickly diced olives, sweet & hot peppers and chives together as a spread over toast, then layered on a wide array of slightly-spicy cured meats. More of the Italian coffee and some chips filled the lunch pail just as Pa finished. He didn't rise, though; he sat and looked at me. "How much of last night do you remember, sport?" My blissful and utterly-fulfilled smile melted through me and I responded, "Oh, yeah Pa. Yeah. All of it. You were right. That is what I am. And I own it." I made myself go a bit serious, "AND I remember you promising that I would get fucked tonight. Don't you dare back out!" Pa roared with laughter. "Don't worry, sport; you are unquestionably getting fucked tonight. Be clean when I get home, okay? And make something that can sit in the stove if we get... preoccupied." With a crooked leer, Pa tousled my hair and grabbed the lunch pail as he left. He paused at the door and turned. "And wear a rubber and take a spare with you. Halfway through the day, stud, tie it off and piss, then put on the other. Bring them both home and they better be full, boy, real full!" He smiled as he walked out. All day Friday, I was once again the star I'd been at the start of the week. I teased and edged myself gently throughout the day and was outgoing to everyone. I repairing any miffed feelings of new friends and soothing even the teachers normally immune to such things. Tennis was not such an unrivalled success. I'd waited until just before practice to swap rubbers (and, yes, that piss was truly amazing; it felt so good that I decided in future to hold it as long as possible regardless of cock-sleeves) and connived to get the new one on after I'd jocked up. My play, though, was back to 'merely good'. Frankly, I was distracted and the coaches knew it, if not why. The silky caress of the inner-ribbed condom and the knowledge that I was mere hours from losing my cherry to my personal God can do that to a person. I held my own, though, and no one noticed that I chose to head out without a shower or change (it just wasn't that uncommon amongst the team). ^ Dinner was obvious. I swung by the Italian market and proceeded to make a sausage-and-red-wine Bolognese layered with rich cheeses and herbs between sheets of fresh pasta. The lasagne was burbling away in a slow oven and I'd finished slathering a partly-sliced loaf of fresh bread with butter/garlic/herb/cheese so it could and heat and crust up whilst the casserole crisped just before serving. Since I'd gotten home, I'd done what I was not brave enough to do at school; I stroked and jacked continually, only pausing seconds before I came. I was so on edge that I had to be impossibly careful with my enema wash and rinse lest I lose it in a spectacular dual-orgasm, ass and cock erupting together. The morning rubber had a couple tablespoons of dogwater but this afternoon's, with less than half the time, was twice as full when Pa walked in. I ran out and slid the last few inches on my knees to get Pa's boots and outwear off; he just chuckled and smiled broadly. "Lunch hit the spot, kid. Exactly what I needed and everyone else wanted. I had to invent a girlfriend to make them leave off bothering me for tastes." I beamed at the praise. "And whatever is cooking smells amazing. But that's for afters. Get up to my room and be naked and on your back when I get there." I had almost made it to the doorway when Pa stopped me. "Belay that. I want you stripped and in the shower. You got the rubbers? Both of them? Good. Tie off the one you're in now and put it and the other on the bed table before you get in the shower stall, sport. Greg, this is gonna be a night you don't soon forget." I was likely on the edge of hyperventilating as I dashed out, clothes streaming off behind me. I got the two tied condoms filled with my organic lube laid out and was on my knees (guessing; I was right) in the shower when Pa finished sauntering in. He smiled and shook his head as he realised my position. "You're a fast learner, Greg, I'll give ya that!" He had taken off everything but his boxers and the underlying jock and walked up to the edge of the shower. "Get me naked." I reached forward, hands trembling slightly and his bark stopped me. "Hands behind ya, son. Teeth, tongue and chin only tonight. I smelled sausage in whatever was cooking down there. I reckon I'm going to really enjoy it. But if you want THIS sausage," he groped his thick meat, "then tonight, you gotta work for it." Quick aside. The undoubtedly-erotic idea of striping a muscular, hairy man of his undies with your mouth is a mainstay of the daddy-porn I had read, but the only thing that kept me from a scream of frustration was the fact that it was my Pa, and that Pa's thick aroma pierced my nostrils and set my balls afire. It took For. Ev. Er. to get those fucking boxers off and the jock was worse. I'd actually worked up a sweat when I finally nudged his foot aside and nuzzled the strap out of the shower area. I was just returning to my kneeling position when I felt Pa's hot, steaming piss hit between my shoulders. I did almost cum right then. "Sit up, pup. Sit up and beg." There was no doubt of the leer in that voice, and I was more than happy to play along. I decided to one-up him on this one. I rose back to my knees, making sure to roll my hair in his stream on my way up. Pa gasped. I painted my entire face with his piss and, as I got my eyes above the fountain I opened them to stare into the wide, shocked, thrilled lust-crazed glare of triumph in Pa's face. He moaned as I opened my mouth and began to drink from his release. I stuck out my tongue, brought my hands in front of me and Pa groaned deep and lustily as I tilted my head to one side and began to beg like a dog before its master. I lapped at the stream of piss - hot, thick, rich and LONG built up during a day's work. I splashed myself and romped in the flow. I drank in lungfuls of his musk as my nasal tissue swelled in a desperate attempt to expose more and more to that scent. I writhed my body in the cascade, making sure that every part of me, especially my iron-hard prick, was evenly coated. My puppy-dog eyes never left Pa's until his stream slackened and stopped. I took a risk and lunged forward, swallowing the head and the last precious drops of urine. Pa stepped back. Head cocked and with an intense expression. "Rinse off son. Then naked, on your back, on my bed." That commanded ended in a growl worthy of a Kodiak. He turned and walked out. I rinsed in near unconscious bliss, basking in the approval and the scent of Pa, my personal deity. I dried quickly but carefully then went into the bedroom. I arranged myself across it as I was pretty sure Pa would want full access to both of my holes and I was more than eager to oblige. Pa came in as I finished adjusting myself, grabbing my legs and pulling them toward my chest. He smiled. "You're gonna get fucked tonight. I promised you that and it IS going to happen. But we've got some work ahead of us before it can." Pa chuckled when he saw my entire body tremble at the thought. "We'll start with getting you ready." I watched as Pa cut a long length of ribbon and groaned slightly, knowing that he would be binding my nuts to make the night last. I gasped and threw my head back as his paw grabbed and tugged my sac, and I felt him wrap the wide ribbon round and round my scrotum. He tied it off taking a lot longer than normal and stepped aside. I hadn't really noticed the standing mirror Pa had moved in front of the closet next to the doorway, but as he stepped aside he said, "So what do you think, sport?" I gave a shuddering gasp at the sight. My legs akimbo framed my ass and I could see my hole twitching, but the star was above that between my thighs. Pa hadn't just tied the thick ribbon; he'd tied a large bow of the stiff red silk that sat below the tight sac and above my taint. You could see the thickness of my erection above that, but the crimson bow was the perfect accent between the rough-rouge of my pucker and the reddish-purple of my constrained nuts. Pa knelt and I watched in the mirror as his tongue moved toward my hole before his balding pate blocked the view. I shifted to look down my abs and achingly-hard dick to catch his eyes just as his probing tongue slipped across my anus. I was panting and shaking in excitement and need long before he started Frenching my ass, making me quiver and moan. He worked me like the expert he was, stretching whilst enticing; my writhing accompanied by a cacophony of squeaks, moans, whines, squeals and pleas for more. I was leaking copiously throughout and had a nice pool on my rippling abdominals by the time Pa pulled back with a plunger-sound. Pa moved around the bed until his massive cock was above my head. I lunged up for a lick of his balls and he laughed. "You'll me getting plenty of that in a minute, Greg me boy." I groaned as he leaned forward and putting my mouth about even with his taint which I immediately began lapping at. Pa had hooked his elbows inside my knees, spreading and stretching my legs. I felt him scooping the dogwater from my stomach and cried out in joy when his fingers, slicked with my own essence, began to twirl around my pucker. I redoubled my efforts on Pa's durf and the base of his scrotum. Pa kept stroking and spreading my ass crack, circling but never penetrating my ass. I could feel the lips pucker and try to kiss or capture the teasing fingers and tongue as he alternated between lubing and licking my sensitive ass. When I felt that he'd finished off the collected pre from my abs and was using all his fingers to tap and tease, I finally pulled off and screamed for Pa to fuck me -- finger, dick, broom handle; I didn't care as long as SOMETHING got inside me RIGHT NOW. Pa laughed. "That's what I was waitin for, sport. Your invitation." I had kept unconsciously trying to reach my own prick or Pa's wrists or even my ass to speed the process throughout and Pa said we need to address that. He pulled back really far, pulling my body up and off the bed by my legs, resting entirely on my shoulders. "Put your arms behind you, son, and grab each forearm with the other hand." It took me a minute to figure out the anatomical geometry, but I was a highly-motivated learner. Pa eased me back and I felt my arm tightly but comfortably pinned beneath my back, arching me slightly and presenting my tits even more prominently. I twisted a bit to test the idea and was surprised to realise that with Pa controlling my legs and upper body, I might as well have been handcuffed, and without the tight pull of bindings. As Pa shifted back, I groaned as the new position finally gave me access to his prick. "Keep me interested, son. And make sure to get me wet with spit and throat slime. The wetter I am, the better you'll like it later." Needless to say I went to town. I moaned as I felt him reach across and grab the first o the two rubbers. He juggled my legs a bit as he got it untied and me settled to his satisfaction. I slowly tongued and swallowed Pa right down to the balls and felt more than heard his gutteral cry of pleasure. I alternated between massaging him deep in my throat with swallows and hums, and licking just the head and foreskin as Pa got more serious with my ass. I could feel him dip into the condom to coat his forefinger before it coaxed its way inside. My squeaks and gasps and growled moans obviously charged through his prick as well, eliciting his own deep groans of appreciation. His occasional grunts of "My God, son!" and "Christ!" and "FUCK!" send shivers through me, my tongue and back into his dick, a feedback loop that was making both of us crazy. Pa worked more and more length into me, then switched to his thicker middle finger. He'd occasionally spit on my hole or his hand to reenergise the dogwater to a velvety slickness. I kept the throat-tip-throat pattern up, relishing the taste of Pa's own juices as he added a second finger, then a third. Whenever he wasn't lodged in my oesophagus, I was panting and moaning with desperate need. In retrospect, I think I heard something in the background, but a Hotblack Desiato concert complete with spaceship crashing into the sun would not have pulled me out of the orgasmic haze Pa was sending me to with prick, tongue and fingers. Pa pulled up and pulled his dick out of my gasping mouth. "You ready to lose your cherry, sport?" I was nearly, okay, completely incoherent by that point. "Yes, Pa! Oh my god YES! Please, Pa, Please fuck me. I've never wanted anything so much in my life. Fuck me, Pa! Take my cherry. Claim me, Pa! Fuck me, please, Pa, please!" What did break through was a husky voice that was certainly NOT that of pa, coming from the doorway. Pa still locked my knees behind his elbows, but I could look down my chest and past my leaking cock and throbbing nads. What I saw sent me into incandescent rage. "Well, fuck, Pa! You weren't kidding!" Karl was in the doorway, pants down and rock-hard prick jutting up past the elastic bands of his jock and boxers. I was about to get what I had always wanted, to lose my cherry to my personal God and Pa, and that fucker popped up to ruin it!