Date: Tue, 20 Dec 2016 14:43:52 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: 12 Tales of Christmas: The Holiday After-Party

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/135456639834/

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

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*****

"Heading out, Scott?" he said as I slipped my suit jacket on.

"Yes sir, Mr McDonogh," I said. "I know my limits. Don't want to have to
ride the subway all the way uptown with all the crowds while I've got a
buzz on."

"Good plan," he chuckled, clapping my back and giving my shoulder a
squeeze, sending a nice warm tingle all through me. "I'm headed out
myself. No way I'm going to try and ride the Long Island home
tonight. Seems like half the shops in town are having their Christmas
parties today. Better to just head back to the apartment and enjoy the
peace."

"The benefits of not having roommates," I smiled, and he chuckled
knowingly.

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me, buddy," he said. "I remember those days
all too well. But you'll get to that stage where you can be in your own
space soon enough. Sooner than you might expect, I'd wager."

He gave me a wink, which sent another little thrill through me. Damn, he
was handsome. One of those men who wears their middle age well. Tall,
distinguished, his expensively cut blond hair threaded with silver that set
off his blue eyes amazingly well. Always in an impeccably cut suit that
subtly showcased his broad shoulders and powerful upper arms, from his days
rowing crew at Dartmouth. The suggestion of big, strong pecs beneath his
tailored shirts, hand-made for him in London. And even though he was in his
early fifties, still a high, tight, rounded ass that his tailors apparently
recognized for the manly work of art it still was, judging by the way they
cut his trousers to showcase it. Every time he walked by me at the office,
my eyes were drawn to the magnetic swell and shift of his glutes beneath
the fine wool of his suits.

We caught the elevator down to the lobby, talking easily about the work I
was doing, some of the big moves the firm was going to be making in the new
year, how I liked my first real big-boy job out of college. I felt pretty
good about how I handled myself in those brief few minutes, the
conversation continuing through the lobby and out into the plaza out front
of the tower. Sure, he was one of the big bosses, but he didn't try to lord
it over his subordinates like some of the others did, and I liked knowing
that we had a particular rapport with each other. Feeling like he had a
particular eye on me and my progress. It was a good feeling, knowing I was
being looked out for to a degree - not just in a career sense, but in a
manly sense too.

Definitely in a manly sense, in every way. I knew once I made it all the
way up to my place on West 86th, if my roommates weren't kicking around, I
was definitely going to smoke a joint and indulge in a nice, long, buzzed
jackoff session, imagining him. My cock was starting to tingle with
anticipation already, as I started to look towards the subway stairs.

"You up for another drink, Scott?" he said.

"Sure," I replied immediately, because who says no to the senior partner?
Besides, it wasn't even four yet, and my buzz was very low-key. One more
drink away from the watchful eyes and ears of the rest of the firm sounded
pretty good to me.

"Good man," he grinned, giving me that back-slap-shoulder-squeeze combo
that sent a rush of blood to my loins. "Come on back to the apartment and
join me, if you've got time."

"I've definitely got the time for you, sir," I smiled, and the more direct,
knowing look he gave me just intensified the thrill coursing through me.

"That's exactly what I like to hear, bud," he said, giving me another wink
as he nodded his head to one of the black cars waiting at the curb.

It took maybe five minutes for the Escalade to make it to the Cipriani, and
I guess we could have just walked it, but who doesn't want the experience
of riding on the soft leather seats of one of the executive black cars, the
handsome senior partner by your side? We didn't talk much, just enjoyed the
quiet ease of the ride. He slipped the driver a hundred-dollar bill as a
Christmas tip, and again, I knew I wanted his life. A lot of hard work,
sure, but the rewards were worth it. He was the very model of the man I
wanted to be, and to be honest, to be with.

The ride up to his floor at the Cipriani was just as quiet, but there was a
little more to that easy, masculine silence now. A kind of electricity. He
gave me a sideways look, a wink and a smile, and I felt my heart thump at
the knowing, masculine intimacy of it as I smiled back at him. I felt that
subtle electricity growing stronger with every step to his door,
intensifying as he unlocked it, then held it open for me to step past and
in.

In my neighborhood, this was a studio, though at this price range, it was
called a pied a terre, honestly not much more than a very luxe hotel room
that retailed in the upper six figures. But impeccably furnished, clean and
masculine, very much his individual space, dominated by the big king bed
that drew my eye immediately. I heard glasses clink in the little kitchen,
ice cubes hitting the crystal, the soft sound of liquor splashing into
them. And then the scent of his subtle, masculine aftershave enveloping me,
the feel of his presence as he stepped up behind my shoulder, handed me my
drink, then leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of my neck.

"Damn, that's nice," I sighed, closing my eyes as I angled my head to the
side, feeling his lips kiss the warm skin there, right at the pulse point
on my throat. "I guess I can go back to calling you `Dad' now, huh?"

He chuckled, low and deep in his throat. His hand on my waist turned me to
face him, and we clinked our glasses together.

"Just us now, son," he grinned. "Free to be you and me, like they used to
say."

I smiled as my father leaned in and pressed his warm lips to mine, my hand
sliding up to the back of his neck as my lips parted for him, accepting the
warm, whiskey-accented slip of his thick tongue, feeling the steely press
of his cock hardening against mine as his free hand found the tight curve
of my suited ass, and pulled me closer to him.

"Damn, bud, been waiting all week for this," he murmured as we broke the
kiss to sip our drinks.

"Me too, big guy," I said. "Good news is, we don't have to wait any
longer. If she's not expecting you home tonight..."

"Your stepmother doesn't much care if I stay here all weekend," he
shrugged, that horny twinkle in his eye.

"Well then, let's get the weekend started right, Dad," I said, taking
another sip of my drink and leaning up to kiss him again, sharing the
whiskey with him as he growled approvingly into my mouth and reached for my
belt.

"Damn, I love you in these," he said a few minutes later, once he'd
stripped me of my suit and tie and shirt, down to the designer trunks he'd
brought back for me from his last trip to Paris with his wife. They were
black, sheer, hugging my tight-muscled ass and making a showcase of the
hard tube of my cock, throbbing happily and urgently for him as we swapped
tongues and he felt my tight body up all over.

I moaned at his attentions, pulling his handsome head in for long, wet
kisses when he wasn't nuzzling my neck, shoulders, nips. He'd take sips of
his whiskey and shoot it into my mouth from his, follow it with his tongue,
pushing the intensity between us even higher than it already was. The
stretched pouch of my expensive underwear was already soaked through with
precum for him. All throughout, he stayed suited up, tie impeccably
knotted, and I loved the feel of fine Italian wool under my fingers as I
ran my hands over his tight, athletic frame.

But I needed him naked, too. So I pushed him back to the big leather club
chair he'd hauled out here from the house in Scarsdale when his wife
redecorated. It was his favorite chair, warm and solid, with a handsome
patina to the brown leather. It was a lot like him, and he looked perfectly
at ease as he plunked his ass down in it, grinning up at me as I lifted his
long legs and placed them on the ottoman, then began the slow, attentive
process of undressing him.

I took my time with it, because clothes like these deserved respect, and I
knew it was something he really loved, being so attentively undressed,
worshiped, respected. Probably a typical set of executive turnons, and the
thought made me smile, but I loved doing this for him too. Had since I was
a teenager, when he'd finally noticed how I hung around his bedroom door to
"talk" while he shed his suit, and invited me to come in and observe more
closely. He'd made me cum twice that evening, and then a third time later
that night in my bedroom, and I'd been returning the favor ever since.

His big dick was making a handsome tent in his suit pants as he lifted his
hips to allow me to slide them off of him. Underneath, he was wearing a
similar pair of trunks to mine, in white, that big dad dick soaking the
fabric through where his tip strained to be free. I straddled his hips and
fed him my tongue as I unbuttoned his dress shirt, sliding my hands over
the still-hard plates of muscle beneath his undershirt, then tugged that
off him too. Then I stood between his strong, spread thighs, smiling at him
as I slowly skinned the trunks he'd bought me down my own long, strong
legs, letting my cock snap free, little drops of my precum hitting my
stomach and his thigh as it snapped up, making him grunt lustily as he
slowly sipped on his drink and fondled his big fucking dad bulge.

I looked at his dress shirt, laid neatly on the bed behind me, then smiled
at him as I picked it up and slipped it on. It smelled richly of him, his
unique natural scent, pure Dad, overlaid with the complex metallic
crispness of his cologne, still warm from his body. I moaned at the touch
of the fine fabric on my naked skin, and gave myself a slow stroke, for his
benefit and mine, rubbing the sleeve of the shirt over the hair on my
chest, over my nipple, stimulating me even more.

"Fuck, son," Dad growled, the leather creaking under him as he pushed
himself up out of the chair and up close to me, his hand taking hold of the
back of my neck as he gave me another searing, whiskey-accented kiss. "You
know you're the fucking sexiest thing I've ever seen, don't you, buddy?"

"Like father, like son I guess, huh Dad?" I grinned. He chuckled, fed me
more of his skilled tongue, then pushed me back towards the bed. I landed
on the corner, spreading my athletic thighs, leaning back on my hands so my
cock stood proud, and my father could see the man he'd made. Very much
created in his own image.

He stepped forward between my spread thighs, that big bulge leading the
way. I reached out for it, caressing it, feeling the length and girth of
him, throbbing hotly inside the fine underwear. Looked up at him, leaning
in to accept a swallow of whiskey from his glass, then swallowed it and
leaned down to kiss my way along the hard throb of him. His hand tangled in
my hair, stroking the back of my head and guiding me along the length of
his big Dad cockbulge, until I had to get at the real thing.

I peeled his trunks slowly down, tucking the waistband under his big balls,
nostrils flaring at the manly scent of him, my cock twitching in response
to the stimuli. Then I took him in hand, slow-stroked him with a
worshipful, appreciative noise, before running my tongue up his full
length, looking up at him as I opened my mouth wide and slipped it over the
fat, sticky head. He moaned and cupped the back of my head again as I
tasted his rich man musk all over my tongue, lavishing the thick, leaking
head as I slowly swallowed him to the base. I'd been practicing on him for
years, taking the skills I'd learned from being with him and applying them
to friends and fuckbuds over time, but always returning here, to the
source. The cock that had made me, and made me crazy with incestuous lust
and love for him.

"God damn, son," he growled as I slicked him up with my spit, bobbing my
head up and down, reaching under it to cup and caress his big, powerful
balls, the other hand stroking the long, hard muscle of his thigh. I kept
it up, humming a little to add to the feeling for him, until I could taste
the continuous, salty-mineral flow of his precum, his big balls tightening
up more, taking him right to the brink.

"Fuck, not yet, buddy," he moaned, pulling my head firmly but gently up off
of him, bending down to kiss me hungrily, tasting his dick on my son
tongue. His tongue was thick with whiskey-flavored spit, and we shared it
sloppily, before he lowered himself to his knees and took my throbbing cock
in his hand.

His wedding ring was cool on the hot, sticky skin of my cock, the glint of
gold adding an extra thrill as he jacked my cock slowly, skilfully, looking
from it to my moaning face with a proud, horny half-grin.

"Your supervisor tells me you got a stellar review this quarter, son," he
said, and I felt myself blush and smile with pride. "Everything I hear from
your team tells me you've earned this."

He didn't need to do it, but like me, he really liked to. Still, it was a
rare and intense pleasure to watch my father lower his handsome head and
swallow my cock, his thick warm spit and tongue wrapping around it like a
blanket of intense sensation. I couldn't help but moan, watching him as he
took me to the base in one steady suck stroke, until his nose was buried in
my blond bush and his chin was grazing my balls with its silver-blond
five-o'clock shadow.

"God, you're gonna make me cum, Dad," I moaned after several slow, sloppy,
seriously intense minutes of the royal treatment. He looked up at me and
winked, doubling down with his tongue and suction, slurping up his own warm
spit from my flesh and refeeding it down the throbbing length of me. Seeing
him loosen the grip of his lips to let it flow down, before chasing it with
a sloppy, slurping noise made my balls seriously tweak, and when he reached
up with one hand to tweak my rock-hard nip, the more sensitive left one,
that was it for me.

"Awww fuck, Dad!" I moaned, my abs tightening up as I grabbed the back of
my head and unloaded down his throat. He grunted hungrily around me as he
sucked and swallowed and slurped furiously, hardly letting more than a few
stray trails of my cum escape his talented lips.

Seeing him swallow my cum, his throat working and making lewd sounds, sent
a second wave of chills through me, even more so when he ran his tongue all
over the sticky flesh of my cock, cleaning up the last traces. I was
expecting him to slide up to kiss me and share my seed. Instead, I grunted
with surprise and lust as he lifted his glass, spat a mix of my cum and his
spit into it, then lifted the glass to my lips. I drank eagerly, then
watched him do the same, draining of he rest of the liquor and cum before
he crawled up the length of me to kiss and share and exchange it all.

My hand found the club of his cock, harder and heavier than ever, sticky
with the streams of precum that had leaked from the tip of it while he
pleasured me. I gave it a slow, corkscrewing stroke, until he pulled his
tongue from my mouth and sighed with pleasure.

"You'll finish me real damn quick if you keep that up, son," he
grinned. "And I have plans for that load."

"Oh yeah, Dad?" I said with a mischievous, horny grin. He nodded, eyes
gleaming, and pushed me back flat on the bed, running one hand up and all
over my torso, inside of his shirt. The other stroked down the hardness of
my thigh, pushing first one then the other open, as I wriggled my ass and
spread myself open for him. I made to pull the shirt of, but his hand in
the center of my chest stopped me.

"Uh-uh, kid," he smiled. "Leave it on. That's what I have a dry cleaner
for."

"Damn," I growled before he slid up to meet my mouth with his, silencing me
except for the moans of pleasure we both made as he slipped the thick
paternal length of his big cock up deep inside my ass.

We rocked together like that for a good fifteen minutes, Dad's stamina
undiminished by age, matching his prowess - if anything, it was even better
than it was a decade ago, when he'd copped my young cherry and changed my
life. I'd throbbed back to a full-blown hardon myself from the intensity of
it all - the fuck, the knowledge of who we were and what we were doing, the
incredible closeness I never felt with anyone but him. Especially now. When
his arms slipped inside of his shirt, now all sweaty and rumpled and
clinging to my back and sides, and circled tight around me as he hammered
away at my depths, I found myself cumming again. Ropes of hot cum shot up
against our sweaty skin, the hard muscles and fur of his stomach, all over
the fine, sweat-soaked fabric of his dress shirt as he sucked on my tongue
and swallowed my spit eagerly. As my cum reached its peak, my body
twitching and tightening all over, he growled down my throat and thrust his
hips hard, his ex-athlete's ass turning to two hard stones under my hands
as he bred my hole good and deep.

"So do I still need to sign your bonus check, son?" he asked with a playful
grin as we nestled together in the afterglow, sticky and sweaty and
spent. For now, anyway.

"What kind of lawyer would I be if I didn't go after it all, Dad?" I said,
with a grin of my own.

"Attaboy, bud," he chuckled, pulling my face to his for a slow, deep,
tender kiss.

I was glad I kept a change of clothes at his apartment for times like this,
because we spent an amazing weekend together there, walking over to
Chinatown to eat, sharing the Sunday times in bed with coffee and pastries,
in between long and slow bouts of lovemaking, and hard, quick bursts of
pure, manly fucking. After a deep, intense Sunday afternoon session, I left
him napping in his big, fancy bed, and finally made my way back to my
little shared apartment uptown. I needed fresh clothes and a break between
the amazing intensity of the weekend, and the start of the last, short
workweek of the year.

I'd just pushed the elevator button for my floor Monday morning when I saw
him quick-stepping across the lobby, another fine handcrafted suit making
him look sharp as a knife. I felt that twinge I always got in my stomach,
down in my groin, at the sight of him.

"Morning, Scott," he said as the doors slid closed and he pushed the button
for the top floor.

"Morning, Mr McDonogh," I said with a wry smile. It was just the two of us
in here, and already I knew I was gonna have to bust a load in the restroom
before lunch.

"You didn't have to leave yesterday, you know," he said, turning to smile
at me.

"Needed fresh clothes and a shave before I came back to work, sir."

"Maybe you ought to move your clothes down to my place in the new year,
son," he said. He was looking straight ahead again, back in Boss Mode, and
I could see his smile in the reflection of the wall panels. "It's empty
most of the time, and I know on a junior associate's salary, you need to
stretch every dollar you can."

I was a little stunned, and all of a sudden very excited.

"That sounds like solid advice, sir," I said, voice trembling a little,
already thinking of how good this could be...

"Well consider it, and let me know, Scott," he said, as the doors opened
onto my office floor.

"I certainly will, Mr McDonogh, sir," I said, smiling over my shoulder at
him as he nodded at me, that secret twinkle in his eye. The doors slid
closed on his handsome face, smiling.

I didn't even drop my messenger bag at my desk. I went straight to the
restroom, locked myself into the end stall, and stroked out a quick,
intense, and very satisfying load, imagining the possibilities of the year
ahead. And then I called the nearest liquor store and put in an order for a
bottle of Dad's favorite brand of whiskey, wrapped for Christmas. It was
expensive, but it was definitely worth it, and I knew for damn sure that
we'd both get a lot of enjoyment out of it, very soon.