Date: Sat, 26 Nov 2016 15:09:09 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Thanksgiving Tales: Plan Of Attack

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/134091181022/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy.

*****

"Help me!" the look said, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the expression
on Jackson's face.

The poor guy was surrounded. The volume of chatter in the room had gone up
a level, what with his mother, his little sister and his girlfriend all
plotting their Black Friday strategy. The newspaper had been dissected, the
circulars distributed, various websites pulled up, lists made. They were
loving it. Jackson was not, but he was being good-humored about it at
least.

Me, I'd learned how to tune this kind of thing out years ago. This was the
price you paid for nearly a whole day of peace the day after Thanksgiving,
when they'd all pile into the car and head out for the day, for serious
shopping and lunch, then more shopping, and if you were really lucky, maybe
dinner and a movie. Well, this and the credit card bills.

The girls knew I had no plans to go out into the madness, and Jackson had
quickly agreed. I think the girls were secretly pleased, because having us
men around might make for a shorter day. We'd get bored, then tired, then
grumpy. We might look sideways at the shit they were buying, and what they
were spending on it.

Of course, me and Jackson had Black Friday plans of our own. Kind of a
tradition, if you like, the same way the girls had theirs. A special one,
him and me.

We all retired early, because the girls had a big day ahead of them, and a
day of eating turkey and visiting with family can really take it out of
you. I'm sure my daughter was up texting or Vinechatting or whatever the
hell it was 20-year-old women did now. I know I laid there beside my wife
as she fell asleep within minutes, thinking. Wondering if Jackson was awake
too, maybe making out with his girlfriend in his old queen bed, her hands
exploring the hard, muscular young contours of his soldier's body as they
kissed. Or maybe he was staring at the ceiling like I was, naked but for
the sporty little briefs he favored, thinking the same things I
was. Getting hard in his underwear, in anticipation.

I barely registered Val getting up in the predawn dark, coming up out of a
deep sleep long enough to kiss her goodbye, giving her still-fine ass a
nice squeeze for good measure. Something to send her off into the day with
a smile. The kind of thing you learn to do as a good husband. The smell of
coffee and low, female voices from downstairs before I faded out again.

I was wide awake by six, though, quietly excited. I brushed my teeth, my
cock chubbed in my boxer briefs, eager to get the morning started, then
headed down for a quick cup of coffee. Waited for the sound of water in the
pipes from Jackson's bathroom upstairs, feeling my cock lengthening
steadily as I squeezed it and sipped my coffee. Giving the kid -
correction, the young man, now, I thought with a proud paternal smile -
time to get squared away. Then I headed upstairs, tapped on his bedroom
door, and stepped in.

Damn, but my boy was fine, getting finer all the time. He'd been a cute
kid, a cuter teenager, then just a downright good-looking young man. The
Army had hardened up and grown his already-tight athlete's body, the same
way it had done for me when I was his age. He walked differently now, stood
straighter, and his squared-away haircut and confident posture made a
powerful combo with his good looks and his tight, muscular build. He looked
a lot like I did at that age, only with some of Val's good looks to sweeten
the pot.

And here he was, awake and grinning like a kid on Christmas morning,
leaning back on his pillow with his muscular arms resting easily up behind
his head, neat tufts of dark hair sticking up from his pits. The covers
were low on his waist, showing off the tight, mostly smooth swells of
muscle on his torso, and the waistband of his little black Calvins.

"Hey buddy," I said, my voice a little husky with the early hour, but
mostly with excitement.

"Hey Dad," he beamed back, just as excited as I was. The girls got excited
to have their big day together, and so did we.

"C'mon in," he said, flipping back the covers to reveal one muscular thigh,
and plenty of room in his bed for one more. With a grin, my heart beating a
little faster, I did, the proud, hard tent of my Dad cock in my underwear
leading the way.

Jackson slipped the covers over me, enveloping me in the warmth of his bed,
his scent imprinted on the sheets, as my arms slipped around his
tight-muscled young form. The two of us moved with swift, practiced ease as
our bodies meshed in the middle of the bed, lips parting to each other as
we came together. The deep, happy moan my son made as my mouth connected
with his filled me up with all kinds of feelings - pride, pleasure,
happiness, lust - and I moaned right back as his tongue slipped inside my
mouth, sweet and minty and wet, dancing languidly with my own as the sounds
of our deepening incestuous kiss began to fill the room.

Having the time to do this right, really take our time with it, was
awesome, and we took full advantage of it. Usually we'd have to be content
with sneaking a quick kiss, like yesterday afternoon, monitoring the turkey
fryer out behind the garage, out of sight of the kitchen windows, huddled
up in our jackets as I tugged my handsome son to me for a stolen, yet deep
kiss. Needing to step back from that to cool off, let our telltale hardons
subside in our jeans before we went inside. And then feeling his foot
casually brush mine, big and heavy in his tactical boot, sending a charge
all up my leg, direct to my cock. Seeing him blush a little, catching my
eye quickly but meaningfully, before looking away, tuning back into the
conversation. When the girls had first started scanning the sales papers
after lunch, we'd made some excuse to slip out into the garage, where I
pressed his fine, tight young ass up against the workbench, and found his
mouth already open and moist and ready for me to slide my tongue inside. It
was risky, and a little rushed, but that had its charms too. A danger to
it. I loved my wife, and he loved his girlfriend, but we loved each other
too, on a whole different, deeper level. Something only fathers and sons
like us can really understand. Something that makes you take chances, and
steal moments wherever and whenever you can.

Not this morning, though. This morning was all about us, no interruptions
for hours. The kind of mantime we rarely got anymore. The kind I was
worried we might never get again, every time he deployed. For now, though,
he was here with me, safe in my arms, wrapping his sexy young body around
me as we pushed our dad-son kiss even deeper, cocks throbbing for each
other inside the cotton prisons of our underwear, as my hands found the
gloriously muscled twin mounds of his ex-wrestler's ass, as his hands roved
up an down the still-powerful muscles of my back.

"Fuck yeah, Dad," he moaned as one of my hands slipped inside the back of
his briefs, squeezing the rock-hard muscle of his glute, tickled by the
light dusting of dark fur on it. He seemed a little hairier each time, had
seemed practically hairless the first time I buried my face in his ass his
junior year of high school as he moaned and bucked and urged me on.

Our tongues lashed even harder as his hand trailed down the muscles of my
chest, fingers entwining in the hair between my pecs, thick and dark and
curly. It had always fascinated him as a little boy, and I guess I should
have seen the writing on the wall then, if I'd known such a thing would
ever be possible. That we could have this, this spectacular, secret
intimacy. This incestuous sexual bond of ours. My cock seemed to swell even
more as his hand traced down through the hair on my stomach - not as flat
and defined as it used to be, but still firm and strong, and dusted with
more dark, curly hair. Making his slow way down to the waistband of my
boxer briefs, where the hair thickened up again and fanned out. Then
tracing over the fabric, along the mound of my cock, making it throb
doubletime and ooze darkly into the straining cotton as he traced its
outline, over and over again, while pour tongues danced deeper.

"Can I touch your cock, Dad?" he whispered all huskily, even though he knew
the answer, always had. But it still gave us both a rush, acknowledging
this taboo thing like that, and I smiled and nodded and kissed him some
more, before he slid his hand inside the waistband to take hold of me,
letting out a soft sound of contentment and lust as he did.

"God, you're so damn hard," he moaned.

"Hard for you, buddy. Hard for my boy," I murmured back, making him grunt
lustily and kiss me hard and wet yet again, as his hand palmed the
slickness leaking from my cock and smeared it all over the fat, throbbing
head.

"I know we've got all morning," he said a few minutes later, as I licked
and nuzzled the smooth skin of his throat, both my hands buried in the back
of his briefs, now at half-mast as I pawed and squeezed his spectacular
ass. "But... I really need you to fuck me, Dad. It's been too long."

It hadn't been that long, but I knew what he was saying - it was always too
long. I'd fucked my fair share of ass back in the service, but nothing
compared to Jackson's, and not just because he was my son. Not just because
I'd sworn all that off when I got married. He was the sole exception, but
he was one worth making, for sure.

He slipped out of his tight little briefs with liquid ease, his big, hard
young cock snapping up to slap against the flat muscles of his stomach. I
couldn't resist attacking it with a hungry growl, lapping up the length of
him like an ice cream cone, making him moan and squirm and spurt salty,
rich young pre for me to slurp up. But there'd be time for a long, slow,
worshipful sucking later, coaxing a big load out of his heavy balls as I
nestled between his muscular young thighs. My boy needed more than that
right now, and it was my job as his father to provide for his needs. I
needed to be inside of him just as badly.

Jackson flipped over onto his knees and elbows, that perfect ass spreading
and flexing, bulging beautifully up and outwards as his glutes flared and
he presented himself to me. I grabbed hold of it and squeezed, licking my
way over the cheeks, down into his trench, deep and clean but grown musky
since his shower last night. I knew he'd be clean inside for me, he always
was, but I took my sweet time getting there to find out. I lavished his
deep cleft with my tongue and lips, long, slow strokes of my tongue
painting the warm skin of his crevice with my saliva, before zeroing in on
the dark-furred tightness of his hole. All throughout, he moaned and pushed
back, even more so when my tongue targeted his pucker and set to work on
it. Soon, his cock was dripping precum down onto my stomach, as I made my
tongue into a point and inched it inside of him, into his most secret
place. Tasting the sharp, rich musk of my son like nobody else got
to. Something special just for me.

"My fuckin' god, dude," he moaned, loud and deep and manly, bucking his ass
back against my face. I growled and pushed in deep, trying to lick my way
to his prostate. I kept that up, tonguefucking him the best way I knew how,
until my cheeks and chin were slimed with my spit and rich with his
musk. and my boy was begging for me to fuck him, now.

It was so hot, watching him retrieve his lube from his bedside drawer with
practiced ease. There were times when I used to love just sitting back in
his desk chair and watching him put on a show for me, showing me how he
liked to pleasure himself. Hell, I still did, but this was the real
attraction, watching him drizzle his lube down onto the angry tower of my
cock, then lovingly slather the stuff all over it with a slow, practiced
hand, looking up at me with the occasional grin, all sexy and confident. My
son, going after what he wanted with confidence and skill, like I'd
encouraged him to do with everything. Especially this.

I took the lube from him, coating my fingers and applying them to his hole
as he looked down at me, straddling my stomach with a lusty, intent look on
his handsome young face as he bucked his hips and fucked himself on my
lube-slicked fingers, helping me get him ready for the paternal fuck he'd
been longing for ever since last time. He grinned at me, eyes fixed on
mine, as he bucked his hips and fucked himself on my fingers, then slowly
raised up and reached down around behind to take hold of the slick,
throbbing stalk of my cock.

"Here we go, big guy," he grinned, shifting his hips and pressing his hole
to the head of my cock, pulling a groan from deep in my chest as I stared
up at him, transfixed. He poked his tongue out between his lips in
concentration, adorably boyish as he squinted with concentration and
effort, and then that tight little ring gave way, smooth and slick, and the
incredible tight heat of him was flowing over my throbbing cockhead, down
the thick length of my shaft, his own pointing hard upright against the
flexing muscles of his stomach. He was incredibly fucking beautiful, and I
ran my hands up the big, hard muscles of his thighs, up over his abs and
lats and pecs, then down to his hips to help guide him down, slowly down,
his eyes fluttering a little as he filled himself with the cock that had
made him.

The sensation was as incredible as ever, and like always, it was a real
struggle to hold back, to keep myself from impaling him in one swift push -
though sometimes he needed that, and I was just as happy to fuck him hard
and quick and deep like that when he wanted it. For now, though, I let him
set the pace, squeezing his trim waist encouragingly as he surrounded me
with his internal heat. He sighed contentedly when he bottomed out on me,
chest big and puffed up with pride, before bending over slowly to meet my
lips again. I raised up to kiss him, shifting a little inside of him,
bringing another deep-chested, husky moan from him. Then slowly, we began
to fuck.

Jackson rode me confidently, skilfully, like the eager young porn stars I
sometimes watched when I had that need for him deep in my loins, late at
night in my study. They weren't as good as him, though, nowhere near it,
because they were virtual, and he was real, flesh and blood and muscles and
lips and cock, all here and all for me. And because he was my son, and that
just made it twice as deep, as intense, as satisfying to fuck him.

I let him ride me, let him set the pace awhile, to take what he needed from
my big paternal cock, adjusting to kiss from time to time, until my own
animal needs took over. I rolled him onto his back, those long athletic
thighs of his clamping round me tightly as he grabbed the big muscles of my
ass and spurred me on into him, thrusting up deep, fucking him steadily
into the mattress. Long and slow, then fast and deep, corkscrewing my hips
as he moaned my name and grabbed at my glutes, my arms, my pecs, then my
face as he pulled me back in to kiss again, hot and wet and deep.

My boy knew how to trigger me off, a combination of working his muscles
around me, inside and out, of playing with the stiff bullets of my nips,
and best of all, talking to me. Telling me what we both needed.

"Come on, Dad... fuck me. Breed your boy, big guy," he moaned, making me
moan in reply, curling up to lick my lips, lacing his fingers behind my
sweaty neck.

"Fuck your son, Dad. Fuck me with the cock you made me with. Fuck that cum
that made me into me."

That sure did the trick, the heat in his eyes and his voice, the manly
intensity of my sexy young son. My balls tightened up and then fired off,
spurting damn near a dozen thick, hot shots of my dad cum up deep inside
him, breeding him hard. My cock was dribbling out the last sporadic spurts
when his hand reached for his own bobbing, leaking, red-tipped unit,
jacking it in a fast flurry of motion as he moaned and fixed his eyes on
mine. I reached up to tweak his tits, standing out hard and proud from the
flex of his pecs as he neared the brink.

"Cum for me, son, I moaned. "Cum for Daddy."

"Aw fuck, Dad!" he wailed, and then he was spraying, jet after jet of fine,
thick young son cum, painting his heaving, sweaty abs and chest, clear up
to his throat. Outshooting me by at least a jet or two, and I couldn't have
been prouder of him for it.

I ducked my head, still embedded in him, and leaned in to lap up as much of
his salty spray as my tongue could reach, dragging my tongue up through the
sticky, sweaty sheen of his fuck-pumped muscles, all the way up his throat
to his mouth, which hung open, panting, ready to receive me. Moaning
together as I fed him his emissions, his tongue practically wrapping around
mine to clean it, then share the warm, frothy mix back and forth with me.

Jackson snuggled up to my side, using my bicep as a pillow, as we enjoyed
the afterglow together. No need to rush, or jump up and get cleaned up. We
still had hours alone together, enough time to relax, recharge, and restart
everything. It was a rare chance for us, and we enjoyed every minute of it
we could.

The girls didn't get home until the early evening, carrying bags and
wearing tired, but sated smiles. Finding me and Jackson sprawled out on the
sectional, watching the James Bond marathon with beers and turkey
sandwiches, and tired but sated smiles of our own. We'd been holding hands,
easily and warmly, right up until we heard the garage door go up. The
volume in the room went up almost immediately as the girls recounted the
day and their finds.

"Thank you!" Jackson's look said to me this time. I winked at him, grazed
his little finger with my own on the couch between us, and we both turned
our attention to the girls, doing what good men do. Already thinking ahead
to the rest of the weekend, and when we could be together next.