Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2018 11:57:45 -0500
From: a4f tales <a4ftales@gmail.com>
Subject: "12 Tales of Christmas II: Lounge Access"

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com. You can find this one, and the pic
that inspired it, here:
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com/post/164995339931/

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 2017. 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 saw him before he saw me, a clot of people in the concourse up ahead
suddenly parting to reveal him, leaning up against the wall by the elevator
to the lounge level. He looked fine as ever, neat and handsome in jeans, a
checked button-down and a Texas-appropriate jacket, studying his phone
screen with concentration. I slowed my roll a little to take in the sight
of him, the way his jeans highlighted the long muscles of his thighs, his
fine profile, the half-smile on his face as he looked at whatever was on
his phone. The beard was pretty new, close-trimmed but full, dark blond
like the thick, neatly cut hair on his head. He looked like a man now, more
than ever, and like every time I realized that, I got a kind of proud but
wistful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Davis didn't see me until I was just a few feet away from him, but when he
did, a big smile broke out on his handsome young face, and he slipped his
phone into his pocket and pushed up off the wall to close the distance and
greet me.

"Hey, big guy," he said, and damn, he sounded more like a man than ever. He
sounded a lot like me, in fact.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I said, as we gave each other a tight,
back-slapping hug. It was just a quick one, but I could still feel the
strength of him, all firm and tight under his clothes, and catch the hint
of his cologne - something light but masculine that tugged on a thread in
my brain. "Logan was a cluster, everything's on delay."

"No problem, I just got here myself. And hey, it's Christmas - what fdo you
expect?" he said with a shrug. "Besides, you're worth the wait."

I let out a chuckle at that and gave his back a brief, slow, circular rub,
feeling his muscles shift a little as he arched his back a little into
it. But we were in a crowded concourse - there was a time and a place for
everything, and this was neither.

"You smell good," I said as we separated, taking in the sight of his
handsome young features, getting that warm feeling in the pit of my stomach
that's hard to explain if you're not a father.

"Glad you like it," he grinned, white teeth framed by his new beard. "I
should hope so - it's the same stuff I got for you for Father's Day. I
liked the smell of it on you so much, I got some for myself too."

I couldn't help the warm sizzle that sent through my loins, for some reason
- my boy wearing the same cologne as me. Maybe it was remembering
everything else about Father's Day, the smell of that cologne on his
sheets... but I had to quit thinking about that, or I'd be in trouble.

"C'mon, let's head on up, get a drink and relax," I said, nodding at the
elevator up to the Flagship Lounge. I had plenty of status with the
airline, which meant I could upgrade Davis to First with me for the rest of
our journey back to Dallas, and guest him into the new lounge too.

"Hell yes," he grinned, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his
shoulder. "I've been looking forward to this."

"It's just a lounge, buddy," I chuckled as we headed to the elevator.

"Hell, for me it's an upgrade if I can get an exit-row seat," he said. "I
don't get the deluxe treatment like you do. Free meal and a drink sounds
awesome to a pleb like me. And besides, gives us a chance to hang out
together before all the madness down at Mom's, right?"

We gave each other a grin, and I realized just how much I'd been looking
forward to this myself. Not just stepping away from work and the road for a
week - time with my boy, more than anything else. Just him and me, even if
we were in the lounge. The only thing that mattered, after all.

Naturally, he gravitated towards the buffet, loading up a plate of snacks
in one hand, a cappuccino in the other, heading back to the seats we'd
found by the big windows overlooking the tarmac with a look of
concentration on his face, trying not to drop his score.

"Sorry, I was running late for the train this morning, didn't have time to
eat first," he said, a pastry already halfway to his mouth, and then
quickly devoured. I chuckled at the sight of the plate of food practically
disappearing - he wasn't a teenager anymore, but he still ate like one. I
guess when you're young and fit, you can get away with it. Me, I stuck with
coffee and some fruit, mindful as always that I wasn't a kid anymore, and
the older I got, the harder it was to stay in shape. I wasn't ever going to
have the tightness of my youth again, and once you get into your fifties,
you have to just accept that you'll always be a little soft in the
middle. But I was doing OK on that front, better than most guys my
age. Besides, if I wanted to admire the way I looked in my twenties, there
was always Davis.

And admire him I did now, sipping on my coffee and watching him inhale his
food. He'd always been a good-looking kid, but he'd grown into a handsome
man. New York and grad school had been good to him, and with his quick wit,
polite Texan manners and a solid head on his shoulders, I knew he was going
to do great at the adulthood thing. There was a kind of relief in that, the
realization that you could ease up, not worry so much about your kid's
future. My ex and I still had two more to help guide through high school
and college, but Davis was doing his part too, setting the example for his
sister and brother to follow.

Of course, I didn't have quite the same bond with them that I did with him,
and that meant I could enjoy the sight of him in a different way now. The
way his thighs, still nicely solid from years of soccer, filled his
jeans. The breadth of his shoulders. The little tuft of dark-blond hair
showing at the neck of his Oxford shirt. And the impressive way he filled
out the crotch of those jeans, too, a solid bulge of young American cock
that I'd grown very familiar with over the years. A handsome cock on a
handsome guy, sturdy, just the right length and girth, over a big pair of
blond-furred balls. The cock he'd inherited from me. Already, I could feel
mine starting to firm up in my pants, picturing him all hard and leaking,
the way I'd seen it last over Father's Day weekend in his little Brooklyn
apartment.

"They have a menu too, you know," I said, trying to divert that train of
thought before I sprung wood too obviously. "You can get a full meal, if
you want to."

"Just taking the edge off," he said with a happy grin. "Maybe later."

The way he settled back in his seat with his coffee, thighs spreading a
little wider, really showcased the fullness of his denim-clad crotch, and I
felt my cheeks get a little warm as I realized that he was growing right
before my eyes. My son, getting thicker, harder. I guess I hadn't been as
covert in my admiration of him as I thought. I almost felt a twinge of
residual guilt there for a second, but really, as many times as I'd made
that cock shoot over the years, and had him return the favor on mine, there
wasn't much to feel guilty about.

Davis smiled as he sipped on his coffee, his eyes on mine as he dropped his
other hand down to his filling crotch and gave it a slow squeeze. He ran
the palm of his hand along the fast-growing length of his cock, as it grew
inside his jeans, pushing towards his hip. Smiling at me nonchalantly the
whole time. I looked around, saw we were alone in our corner of the nearly
empty lounge, then sat back in my own chair, spread my thighs too, and let
him see the effect he was having on his old man.

"Good to see you, buddy," I said, my voice low as I watched him grin at my
growing bulge and the double entendre.

"I can tell," he said with a wink. "And as you can see, it's good to see
you too, sir."

His hand pulled the denim down tighter over his big young bulge so I could
see the fullness of it, how close to full-blown hard he was, and I let out
a soft little grunt.

"I've got something for you," he said, his voice getting low and intent,
just like mine.

"You do indeed," I grinned back, nodding at his handsome hardness, and
giving my own a squeeze.

"Not that," he chuckled. "Well... not only that. I'm really looking forward
to giving it to you, Dad."

"Likewise, son," I said, letting a little growl into my voice. "You have no
idea."

"Yeah, I think I do, Dad," he shot back. Then he let up on his bulge,
lifting his hand back up to rest on the armrest of his chair. He looked
over his shoulder at the big clock on the wall, above the board displaying
the flight departures.

"We got some time to kill," he said, draining his coffee cup. "Maybe you
can show me around this fancy-ass lounge of yours."

I felt a little twinge of disappointment at that, getting yanked away from
the start of the slow burn we'd been setting between us. Dammit, I'd been
hungry enough for him as it was - by the time we landed in Dallas, I was
going to be fucking starving for him. Little stud knew exactly what he was
doing, but then, it was a game I'd taught him, and I could at least be
proud of how well he played it.

I looked down at my crotch, at my own big dick starting to seriously show
in my khakis. No way we could just wander the lounge like this, a father
and son boned up in our pants. We were both well-hung enough that it'd be
hard to hide. Davis might dig the kinky hotness of that idea - and I wasn't
immune to its charms myself - but somehow it seemed even more inappropriate
to do it on Christmas. But then I thought about what to show him, where to
take him, and my eyes found the sign on the wall across from the entryway.

I gave him a long gaze, slowly finishing my coffee, a gaze he returned with
a confident grin as he reached back down to trace his fingers over his
impressive bulge. Felt my cock ease back a little as I willed it into
submission. Then I set my coffee cup down, picked up my jacket from the
chair next to me, and stood up, letting my son get a good long look at the
tent in my trousers. I hung my jacket over my arm and held it in front of
me, like a teenager covering one of those awkward out-of-the-blue boners,
and made my way over to the reception desk.

A few minutes later, I was back at our little corner of the lounge,
standing in front of my boy, who was giving me that charming "so what's
next?" grin of his.

"C'mon," I said. "You've got something to show me, and I've got something
to show you too. So let's go show each other, son."

Davis got a little flush in his cheeks, a certain look in his eyes at that,
a look I knew and loved well. He nodded, reached for his jacket, and stood,
letting me get an eyeful of the big tent in his jeans before he covered it
with his jacket, just like I was. Then he fell into step behind me and let
me lead the way.

For all the luxuries a good airline lounge affords, there's really none
better than a good, clean, private shower room. As much as I flew, and as
many slow connections as I'd sat through, I'd sure made use of them over
the years. I still smiled to myself at the memory of the first airside load
I'd ever shot, in a shower in one of the Cathay Pacific lounges in Hong
Kong. It had the same kind of naughty thrill to it as the first load I'd
shot in the locker room showers back in middle school, or the showers in
the gym at UT. But those naughty thrills paled in comparison to what I had
in mind now, as I led my son into the fresh new showers of the Flagship
Lounge here in JFK, and locked the door behind us.

"Hey, this is nice," Davis said as he entered the room in front of me, and
sure, I guess it was a nice space after the renovation, but it could have
been a truck stop toilet in Kinshasa, for all I cared. I had other things
on my mind.

Davis turned back to look at me, mouth open to say something else, but I
guess he saw the lusty, intent look on my face. He almost looked surprised,
but he shouldn't have been. This was mostly his doing.

"Got something to show your father, huh son?" I said in a voice a little
above a low growl, as I laid my jacket on the countertop and got up close
to him, close enough to smell the cologne he'd gotten for us both. His face
flushed a little under his close-trimmed beard again, but he swallowed and
nodded, squaring his shoulders like the man he'd proved himself to be. That
confident, sexy grin of his soon followed, as he reached down for my
waist. But before he could get there, my hands grabbed hold of his flanks,
and with a firm grasp, pushed him back towards the wall.

"You got something for your Daddy, boy?" I said, low and deep, his breath
starting to pant hot on my face as he nodded, looking every bit the excited
but uncertain teenager who'd cornered me in the garage that first time,
that long hot summer before his senior year, a kid on fire with something
deep in him but not sure how to go after it. A boy who needed a loving,
guiding hand.

I planted one hand on the cool tile wall next to his head and reached down
with the other for the bigness in his jeans, savoring his low grunt as my
palm connected with the big bulge inside them, giving it a grinding squeeze
that had him pushing his hips at me.

"I think I know what it is, son," I said with a leer, and his eyes
practically twinkled as he cocked his head and grinned at me.

"I don't think you do, Dad," he murmured back. I leaned in closer, so close
that our noses bumped, and all that separated our lips were mere microns of
air and hot breath.

"So show me, son," I growled, and he lunged at me with his mouth open as I
met him halfway.

His cock practically pulsed inside its denim prison as I palmed the
contours of it, while our tongues met, all hot, wet, thick with
coffee-tasting spit as they ground and thrust and slid together. I hadn't
been with anybody since Thanksgiving, since him, and this was probably the
part I missed the most - this kind of hot, wet, hungry, passionate kissing,
that mix of muscle, spit, flesh and pure lust that tells you you're about
to have a very damn good time indeed.

Davis had tossed his jacket on the counter next to mine, one hand gripping
the mass of my upper arm, the other the back of my neck as he threw himself
into our incestuous clinch, giving back as good as he got - even better,
maybe. Between us, I kept on rub-squeezing his thickness in his jeans,
making him grunt into my mouth and clutch at me harder.

"Fuck!" he gasped after a minute or two of that, one hand on my chest,
pushing me back from him, breaking the kiss. "'Bout made me cum in my
shorts!"

Hearing the Texas twang in his deep young voice just made me want him even
harder - I'd lost most of mine years ago, and Davis had the well-modulated
diction of a kid with a good private school education most of the time,
just a subtle drawl to it. But when he got all worked up and excited, it
came out from deep inside him, and it was clear as a bell right now. It let
me know I'd really gotten to him, really brought him to the brink.

"And?" I said, leaning in to nuzzle the side of his neck, just behind his
new beard, in that spot that made him go a little weak at the
knees. "Shower's right here, after all, son."

He reached round me, grabbed hold of my ass, and thrust his very full
crotch against mine as he nipped lightly at my earlobe.

"I want to show you what I brought you first, Dad," he growled in my
ear. "In fact, why don't you treat it like your early Christmas present."

He ran his tongue up the flange of my ear, in a way that got me all shivery
inside.

"Start by unwrapping it, big guy," he whispered, guiding my hands to the
waistband of his jeans. Then he turned his mouth loose on mine again, a
hungry, wet, smacking kiss that echoed off the tiles, lips and panting
breath and soft grunts, as I grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans and
worked my fingers between it and his flesh.

Davis' shirt came untucked with my efforts, slipping free of his jeans and
riding slowly up his stomach as we sucked face and he writhed against me. I
could feel the crisp tickle of manly fur, the heat of his flesh beneath
that, and then the elastic of his underwear, and the plush thickness of his
bush spilling over the top of it. I growled at all the sensations my tongue
and fingers were experiencing, and my boy chuckled back, right down my
throat, as he wrapped his forearms round the back of my neck and let me
play.

I was getting hungrier by the minute, beyond eager to see what it was he'd
been teasing me with, and my hunger made my fingers clumsy as I tugged at
his belt. It was hard to concentrate at the same time as our tongues did
their hungry, sloppy dance, while my cock throbbed angrily inside my own
pants.

"Just fuckin' pull `em down, Dad," Davis grunted into my mouth, wriggling
his trim hips to help me out as I took hold of the waistband of his jeans.

With a growl, I got a good solid grip on it, and yanked his jeans down. At
first, I didn't see what the big deal was. I mean, yeah, my son had a big
deal in his underwear, his cock all pushed down in front from our efforts
and gropes, and making a great big mound in the pouch of his briefs. Don't
get me wrong, I loved that, it was perfect, but it didn't quite live up to
the whole I've-got-something-to-show-you build-up. I reached out to palm
his bulge, a layer closer to the heat of his thick young flesh now, and
looked him in the eyes, seeing him with that expectant grin of his.

"What?" I said, giving him a slow squeeze stroke that made the briefs all
moist with his precum. Davis huffed out a little chuckle, gave me half an
eye-roll, and looked down at my hand groping his bulge. My eyes followed.

"You don't recognize `em?" my son said, that playful edge in his voice.

I looked him over, all handsomely hard in his briefs. They weren't his
usual style, a dusky blue pair of plain old Jockey undershorts, the kind
you get five to a pack for $10 at Marshalls. A little baggy, well-worn and
well-washed. Davis usually favored trunks or boxer briefs, or little
slimline briefs cut like Speedos, all with fancier names on the waistband
than Jockey.

"They're yours," he murmured straight into my ear, his lips and his new
beard tickling the sensitive skin of it. "Souvenired `em from your hamper
back at Thanksgiving."

I growled at that, as I instantly recognized the underwear. My
last-clean-pair old undies, something to throw on before mowing the lawn or
going to work out.

"Brought `em back with me," Davis said, guiding my hand back to the pulsing
mound of son cock inside my old briefs. "Even wore `em on the plane
back. Didn't even wash `em. Had the scent of your cock and balls all over
mine all the way back to New York, Dad, and I was hard as fuck the entire
time."

I gave him a good deep grope and grinned at him.

"Soon as I got home, I stripped down to `em, got in front of a mirror and
pretended I was you, jerking myself off in my Dad briefs, making myself cum
in your undies."

"Fuck, kid," I growled, my fingers caressing the shape of his cockhead
through the old, soft, familiar fabric, making it leak into the faded blue
cotton.

"Then I turned `em inside out and sucked my own cum out of your well-worn
shorts, Dad," he growled back at me. "Pretended I was sucking your cum out
of `em. Like I always fantasized about doing, when I was a kid. I..."

Whatever he was going to say would have to wait, because I shoved him back
against the tile wall again and fed him my tongue, licking my way
assertively inside his mouth, relishing the way he used his tongue to lick
me right back. We grunted and sucked face and rubbed on each other for a
solid few minutes, before I pulled back to catch my breath. My had never
left the thick warmth of his cockbulge the entire time.

"Cummin' in Dad's undies, huh buddy," I grunted. "Bet that wasn't the first
time, am I right, son?"

Davis was cute when he blushed, making him look all boyish beneath the
manly grooming of his dirty blond beard. Blushing, but giving me a sexy,
knowing grin too.

"No sir," he murmured. "Not the first pair of old undies you `lost'. Had
more than a few stashed away. My favorite cum rags. Even before you and me
started messin' around, Dad."

He reached up to squeeze the back of my neck, angling in for another quick,
deep, hungry kiss.

"Even after, Dad. Fucking around with ya, and shooting my cum in your
shorts too. A piece of my Dad, even when we weren't together."

He pushed his lips to my ear again, voice all deep with manly lust as he
murmured to me.

"And I love wearin' `em and seeing how much we look alike. Knowin' I'm
gonna look like you in twenty years. Knowin' I look like you did twenty
years ago, you stud."

He looked me deep in the eyes again.

"You fucking Dad stud," he growled, and we were lunging for each other's
mouths and tongues all over again.

I ran my other hand over my boy's trim stomach while we kissed, down over
his sturdy thighs, the dark-blond hair on his belly and legs and up between
his firm pecs. He really was shaping up into a fine young man, and yeah, he
was looking a hell of a lot like I did in my early twenties, when I hit
what I always thought of as my "man spurt", getting to that point where I
looked somehow more mature, more on my way to becoming the man I was
now. I'd had the privilege and pleasure to experience Davis' journey down
that path up close and personal, from a lean teenager, through his college
years when he added more muscle and hair, and now to this incredibly fine
young stud before me, all man, grown up fast, and still getting finer every
damn day. Chest fur and cologne, solid with sturdy muscle, dusted with hair
all over his handsome frame. My boy, become a man in full.

"You look like a hot young Daddy, son," I grunted when our tongues
disengaged. "Wearing your daddy briefs and your daddy fur. Like you oughta
be pushing a stroller with your son in it. Plans to make more."

Davis' eyes got all big and lusty at that, and he let out a low grunt as he
stared raptly at me, all moist-lipped and erect-nipped as I stroked my
hands up under his bunched-up shirt and felt up the fur and muscle that
defined his handsome young frame now.

"Just like you, huh Dad," he said back, voice all hoarse with lust, and I
nodded.

"Just like me, buddy," I nodded, grinning. "Just like your Dad."

His cock was thick and sticky and alive in my hand when I reached inside
his shorts - well, my shorts - to take full hold of him. A familiar feeling
by now, the heft and length of him, but just as exciting as that first time
in the garage back in the day. My boy, hard as fuck for me, hard and
leaking as his father squeezed and stroked along the length of his handsome
young dick. He sucked harder on my tongue and moaned down my throat as I
explored the length of him, the well-worn fabric of my old briefs giving me
room to work him over.

Davis grunted with lusty disappointment when I retrieved my hand, but I
just grinned and shook my head at him. I lifted my hand to my nose,
smelling his scent - and hell, he smelled different, like he always did but
somehow deeper, richer, more mature. The way I remembered the scent of my
cock changing too, around his age. Not too long before I made him, as a
matter of fact. The smell of a man.

My son watched me lick my palm, savoring the newly deeper richness of his
cock musk, his precum, all salt and funky tang, before I reached over to
the sink. They'd set out some toiletries there, some apparently fancy brand
of handwash and moisturizer. I pumped a couple of cool squirts of the
latter into my palm, then rubbed my thumb around in it to warm it up before
sliding my slicked-up palm back inside the Jockeys, taking hold of my boy's
cock with the rich lotion greasing the way.

"Fuck, Dad," he growled, reaching for my own epic bulge, but I batted his
hand away, then grabbed hold of his wrist and pinned it up against the tile
above his head. He got that flush again, that spark in the eyes as he
grinned at me, egging me on.

"Let Daddy take care of you now, kid," I said. "Let me see for myself how
you look, unloading in your Dad's undies, boy."

I swear he quivered all over at that, his mouth opening in that lusty way
he got when he really got into it, as my greased-up hand stroked his length
inside my old Jockey shorts, thumbing slickly over his precum-flowing
cocktip, adding it to the slippery sheen along the length of his cock. I
could smell the subtle scent of the moisturizer as it warmed up, wafting up
in the air between us, as we gazed at each other and I worked my son off
inside my old underpants.

Davis still had a hand free, clutching at the bulging mass of my upper arm
through my shirt as the muscles bunched and flexed, working him over. He
gasped and grunted wordlessly as he got closer and closer, gazing at me
with a mix of love and adoration and lust that had my loins sizzling, my
heart beating faster for my handsome, lusty kid. Then he leaned in and
licked at my lips, once, twice, licking away the beads of sweat starting to
appear above my clean-shaven top lip, making his tongue a little salty as I
sucked it back into my mouth all over again.

Good thing I did, because Davis could get loud when he got close, and he
was sure getting close now. I could tell by the pulse of his cock, the
tightness of his big young balls when I manuevered my hand around his shaft
so my fingers could tickle them. the tighter clutch of his fingers, digging
into the working muscles of my biceps and triceps as I stroked him
off. Most of all, I could tell by the increasing volume and pitch of his
lusty moans, swallowing them down inside my own chest as we made out hard
and wet and deep. My palm was sticky-slick with moisturizer and son pre as
I worked his shaft over with more focus. We could take our time later,
maybe at my place tonight, after we got back from his mother's. Right now,
I truly wanted to see him, feel him cum in my shorts, like he said he'd
been doing all this time. I loved that whole idea. I loved the way I kept
discovering all these hot, kinky details about my studly son. Most of all,
I loved that he wanted to share them with me, show them to me.

Eventually he disentangled his tongue from mine, his breath panting hot and
humid over my lips.

"I'm gonna cum, Dad," he grunt-whispered. "You're making me fuckin' cum!"

"Yeah, show me how you cum in your Daddy's undies, son," I grunted back,
flicking his lips with my tongue. "Show me how you cum in your Daddy
undies..."

It was a subtle shift in emphasis, a slight change in the words, but it
made the world of difference to my son, and it helped take him right over
the edge, my thumb gliding over his glans and his flared cockslit just
before it erupted. Davis whimpered like he had the first time I'd gotten
him off, a boy inside a man's body all over again, as he locked eyes with
me and unloaded in my old Jockey shorts, filling my palm with thick, hot
jets of son cum. I was glad I'd rolled my sleeves up back out in the
lounge, because I could feel his hot load squirting up the back of my
wrist, painting my skin and the insides of the old Jockeys with youthful
pumping intensity.

I let go of his wrist where I'd pinned it up against the wall behind him,
and he clutched my waist as his sweaty forehead came to rest against mine,
his breath gusting all over me as he came down from his orgasmic high. I
could feel his load flowing over the sides of my palm, back down over his
cock as I cradled it in my hand, soaking into the fabric of the underwear.

"See, you even shoot like your Daddy now, son," I murmured in his ear, and
he let out a grunt at that, his cock twitching in my palm as he clutched me
tighter.

"Fuck, Dad," he hissed, then chuckled. We met again in another kiss, slower
and lazier this time, as his breathing leveled off. The whole time, my cock
pulsed angrily inside my khakis, demanding release and relief.

I slowly extracted my hand from his undies - they were his now, no question
about it, he'd marked them up very well with his healthy, manly young
load. He'd earned to right to wear them, for sure. The fabric was soaked
through in front, a slow-spreading wet patch darkening the pouch. There was
plenty of cum still in my cupped hand, and I was bringing it up to my mouth
to lick it clean, something I know he loved to watch me do. This time,
though, he stopped my hand, holding my wrist and looking up at me as he
dipped down, tongue already stretching out to lap up his fresh-shot cum. I
grunted at the sight of him licking my palm clean, cock pulsing in my
trousers, and even deeper when he rose up to meet me, his lips glossy with
his own load as we met in a slow, seed-swapping kiss. He tasted all man
now, mineral and starchy, a lingering trace of the teenaged sweetness his
seed used to have, under the new, richer tang of his man's cum.

"So, you said you had something to show me too, Dad," he said, grinning as
he leaned back against the tiled bathroom wall with a satisfied, but
playful grin. He was a handsome wreck, all sweaty and disheveled, his short
and undershirt pushed up under his armpits, his jeans down around his
knees, half his bush showing above the waistband of the old, cum-spattered
Jockeys.

"I do, son," I grinned, reaching down with my clean hand to grope and
outline the big bulge in my trousers. "Something to give you, more to the
point."

I cocked my head in the direction of the shower stall beside us and started
to undo my belt, and Davis grinned and started to peel the rest of the way
out of his clothes.

The sight of my son on his knees, gazing worshipfully up at me beneath the
spray of the shower overhead as he swallowed me to the root, nose in the
same thick, manly dirty-blond bush he had now, throat working around the
cock that had made him, was enough to bring me over the edge with
surprising quickness. I'd missed him, and this, and it had been a few
days. But more than anything, it was the way he'd shown me the man he'd
become, the very image of me down to my classically-Dad Jockey briefs, that
made my balls churn for him. They churned and tightened and pumped the cum
along the length of my shaft, all over his caressing tongue and down his
working throat, as I did my best not to bellow out loud and alert the other
passengers out in the lounge as I fed him my Dad cumload.

Fifteen minutes later, the wrinkles steamed out of his clothes by the
shower, we were both fresh and clean and ready for the next leg of our
journey as we headed back out to the lounge. My cock had twitched at the
sight of Davis' handsome, shapely bare ass as he slid his jeans up over it,
the cum-soaked underwear still laying on the sink in front of us, and now
as I walked a couple steps behind him back to our seats, I could barely
take my eyes off the muscular shift of his glutes, all honed by the soccer
he'd played since he was a kid. I watched him dig into the front pocket of
his backpack, retrieving the Ziploc bag the TSA made us all stash our
toiletries and liquids in now. He dumped the little travel-sized containers
of toothpaste and deodorant and mouthwash out onto the seat, then grinned
over his shoulder at me as he transferred the folded-up, thoroughly soiled
briefs into the bag and zipped it back closed again.

"Haven't even taken off yet, and I already got an awesome memento," he said
as he zipped his bag closed.

"Hopefully one that you'll get some practical use out of, son," I replied
with a grin of my own.

"Count on it, Dad," he winked. "You and me both, big guy."

Even with the truly huge load I'd just fed him, I felt my cock twitch awake
with interest inside my own underwear. Davis just grinned at me, then set
his sights on the buffet again, squeezing my arm as he brushed past.

"Now that I've taken the edge off, time to get one of those meals you
mentioned," he grinned.

"We're flying in First, so you'll probably get some food in the air too," I
said.

"Man, I need to fly with you more often, Dad," he said, turning back to
look at me. "I get all kinds of fed."

"You can count on that, son," I said, a little bit of a lusty growl to my
voice, reaching down to graze my fingers over my crotch in a way that would
be totally innocuous to anyone but him. The lounge had started to pick up,
more holiday travelers like us starting to filter in, but we still had a
little bit of it all to ourselves. "Go fuel up. We've got quite a few hours
to go, and I'll make sure you get something substantial on the other end."

"I'll order you something too," he said with a grin, heading towards the
buffet. "You're gonna need your strength, big guy. Holiday travel can
really take it out of you."

"You'll find out, son," I grinned. "You'll find out."