Date: Thu, 14 Jul 2016 10:48:27 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: The Upper Hand

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/122190392824/

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.

*****

(Author's note: this story came out of a Tumblr collaboration with my bud
Bad Dad - pagespermer.tumblr.com - and technically it's the conlcusion to a
4-part story we co-wrote, but it stands on its own too. If you'd like to
read the whole thing, head here for the links:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/122190392824/ )

The little fucker. Literally, the little fucker. Sitting there across the
table from me this morning, some little restaurant on the downtown Mall,
stretched out all at ease and comfortable, like the king of the
world. Giving me that grin. That "I fucked you last night, twice, and you
loved it, old man" look.

Sure I loved it. And it gave me a kick to see my boy look at me that way,
feeling that sense of pride in himself. A man in full now, no question
about it. The girls walking by, checking out his athletic form at the
outdoor table on this sunny Sunday morning. The way his T-shirt skims tight
against his track jock musculature. Those long, tanned, hairy legs splayed
out. But he doesn't even spare them a glance. He's focused on me, and as I
sip on my Bloody Mary, I think to myself, "Fuckin' right you are,
Kid. That's the way it should be."

The second time last night, as we rocked together in the rumpled mess of
the hotel bed sheets, was slower, sweeter, deeper. My boy showed me he knew
how to fuck like a man on the first go-round, and then showed me he knew
how to switch modes the second time. Rocked my ass real slow, deep, made
love to his old man like an accomplished pro. A champion on the track and
in bed too.

But it wasn't all him, that first time. I had to let him think he was
getting one over on me a little, that me turning my ass up for my jock
kid's big young dick was mainly his idea. Tried not to show him how hungry
I was for his tight young bod, as I licked it clean of the fucksweat we'd
worked up and smeared all between us all afternoon. Or that pool of thick,
salty college-boy cum I'd lapped up from the tight grooves of his stomach,
sucked out of the fur above his cock. Or the funky young athlete's sweat
I'd lapped out of both his pits, then fed to him in another sloppy man
kiss.

Sure, I'd played up my hesitation a little bit. Giving him that uncertain
look, as I looked at his big hard young dick, making noises like I didn't
think I could go through with it. But I could go through with it, and I
did. And it wasn't entirely an act, because the little fucker was hung -
more of my genes, I thought proudly - and it really had been a while since
my ass had been breached like that. But I played it up a little, pushing
him to really take control, to show me how much of a man he was, how deep
into this he was, how much he wanted it. Wanted me. Wanted us.

So I let him take control and show me his alpha side, and I was impressed,
and horned as fuck to watch him go to work, see that steely fucker's look
in his eyes, on his handsome face, as he plunged that big young cock up
inside his own dad for the first time. I knew I wasn't the first guy he'd
ever fucked, not the way he fucked, but I felt like I was the first guy
he'd ever fucked this well, this deeply, with this much connection and
pride and sheer unbridled power. And damn if the little stud didn't
literally fuck the cum right out of me, all over the crisp sheets of the
hotel bed. Nobody had done that for me since my buddy Ty back in college,
when me and the big lunk would head back to my dorm after practice or a
workout and thoroughly unwind each other's kinks, from the inside out.

But it was the second go-round that had me convinced what an accomplished
top my boy could be, when he wanted, when he wasn't spreading those long
hurdler's thighs open and begging me to breed his tight young ass with my
Daddy cock. Face to face with him as he slipped back up inside my
cum-slicked chute, eyes on each other, wide open as our tongues danced slow
and wet and deep, as we moaned and murmured and thrust slow and sweet
together. Flipping his ass over - because even with the full length of that
class-A young jock cock up inside me, I still outweighed and outmuscled the
kid - so I could ride him, feel his hands work the meat of my big sweating
pecs, as I showed him how a dude who really knows what he's doing can fuck
you right back. Erasing the lines between Top and Bottom, and just being
men. And so much better than that - being family. Two men, Dad and Champ,
father and son, breed-bonding the best way they know how to.

And so I rocked my hips and milked his big slimy cock with my tight ass,
flicked the stiff nubs of his tits, fed him the thickness of my tongue, and
pulled yet another searing hot load up from inside of him, and up inside of
me. He might have started out fucking me, but even with his big dick up my
ass, I was really the one fucking him. But that was cool. We'd already both
established our alpha bona fides, and we could leave all that shit behind
and just get down to the business of making some deep manly fuckin'
love. Real love. So fuckin' beautiful, too, especially after all that hard,
manly, tension-clearing sexual aggression between us the first
go-round. Making it more about family the second time, about really loving
each other. Yeah, there might have been a few tears afterwards, but what of
it? It was a powerful thing, a week of fucking and talking and lusting and
really deeply bonding with my own boy. The secrets we both shared, out in
the open between us, at last. And embraced with gusto.

So I let him have his victory now, his moment in the sun, literally and
figuratively. We've flirted with each other the whole goddamn time - real
light, because we're in public and all - but the slow drag of his hairy
knee up and down the inside of mine under the table, well, it's getting to
me. I'm boned as hell in my shorts. I know he is too, because the kid seems
to be on the rail pretty much constantly. Yeah, I remember those days
well. But soon enough, we get to a point where I'm wolfing down my eggs
Benedict and he's inhaling his big burger with massive chomping bites,
because we both know we want to go back to the hotel and give the
housekeeping staff even more of a headache and the sheets a final dousing
of sweat and spit and cum, and I'm still chewing as I signal the waitress
for the check and Brady has this cocky smirk on his face, like, "yeah,
gonna nail my Dad's ass again, fuck yeah," and I'm about to the point where
I'm agreeing with him, even if my ass is still a little tender from the
night before.

We head up the Mall to the parking deck, quickly but not too quickly, just
short of a trot, because we are both very much hot to trot here, and I'm
thinking to myself that my Starwood status ought to buy us a few more hours
before we have to check out, and then we're vaulting the steps two at a
time - well, Brady's doing it three at a time, not because he's a
long-legged athletic showoff, but because that's how he's trained, and
seeing the way his hard round ass flexes in his shorts as he does, I sure
as hell ain't complaining - all the way up to Level Five. I'm sweating a
little, but not too badly, and even as I'm wondering why I parked all the
way up here where almost nobody else has, I already know the answer to
that. I've got the key fob out already, and the Benz plips its horn and
flashes its lights as I hit the button, and already I know there's only two
other cars up here in the shady cool of the parking deck, not another soul
around.

Brady's two steps ahead of me, making for the passenger-side door, when I
close the gap, grab his hips - "What the fu-" he grunts, then grunts harder
as I push him up against the trunklid. He looks over his shoulder at me
with a mix of defiance and surprise and heat, but I don't give a fuck about
any of that, since I'm already kicking those long, strong legs of his
apart, tugging at my fly with one hand and the back of his shorts with the
other.

"Jesus, Dad, at least let me -" he starts, but I cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up, Kid," I growl, pushing him between the shoulders and
making him splay his torso out on top of the trunklid. My shorts and boxer
briefs slip down the thickness of my thighs, down to the ground, and Brady
works with me a little as he picks up on my heat, the need we both share
now, wriggling those trim hips and making that high, tight, hard-rounded
athlete's ass of his rise out of his shorts like a piece of statuary being
unveiled.

"What's that you said last night, Champ?" I grin. "If it ain't spit, it
ain't love, right Kid?"

My son just growls and makes that ass flex and dimple as he pushes it back
at me, and I lay down a thick, dripping layer of my spit on his trench,
then my cock, and I'm pushing up inside him in one deep, merciless thrust,
just like he gave me that first time last night, letting the remnants of my
cum still inside him from yesterday do the rest of the work. Shit, he's a
man now - that's what he wanted to prove to me, and did so well, last
night. He can take it. He's going to take it, no matter what.

And fuck if he doesn't just take it, moaning and writhing and dragging his
big, leaky dick across the trunk of the Benz - he's giving it back too,
showing me what he learned from me the second time I took him last night,
fucking back onto my length, fucking back to meet me, leaning up and
craning his head back to lick at my lips, grunting and panting and growling
like a hungry little jock beast. So I fuck him like the animal he is, like
the animal I am, a rutting father-son duo thrusting and clashing and
grunting and spitting and kissing hard and wet and hungry. My hands rove up
under his shirt, pushing it up under his pits to grope and stroke the
finely honed muscles of his smooth young torso, digging my fingers into the
sweat-soaked fur of his pits, feeding his own sweat to him on my thick
fingers between more hungry, sloppy power kisses. Our hips slam into each
other the whole time, and the Benz is starting to rock on its suspension a
little, and from somewhere down below, I can hear the sound of a car
entering the deck and beginning its journey up the ramps, spiraling upwards
towards us as we drive harder and deeper into each other, sweat beginning
to spatter the black paint of the trunk as the increasing pitch of the car
engine approaching us drives me harder, deeper, faster.

Me and my boy lock eyes, those deep, lusty baby blues of his just like
mine, and when I slip my hand round his hip and give his cock a quick,
spit-slicked corkscrewing stroke, his eyebrows knot and his mouth drops
into a wailing O, and suddenly my hand is full of hot, cum-pumping young
jock cock and his hole is milking me as he spurts his seed all over the
trunklid and the license plate and the bumper, and I am lost with him,
growling and grunting as I blast nearly a dozen shots of my Dad seed up
inside his welcoming, working guts. Fuck. I haven't cum this big, this
often since my own college days. This fucking kid. My fucking champion.

The approaching car apparently stops on the next level down, which is good,
because it gives us a little more time for me to wrap my arms around my
boy's sweaty, still-shuddering torso and kiss him deep and wet and long, as
my cock shivers and twitches out its last inside of him.

"Fuck, Dad... fuck," Brady pants, with a smile, resting his forehead
against mine as my cock slips from inside of him. I grin, cup his perfect
peach of an ass in my paws, and feed him my tongue a little more. And then,
because we're still playing the game, my boy and me, I take hold of his
strong young jaw and point his face to the smeared mess of his cum all over
the back of my fancy German sedan.

"You better clean that up, Kid," I say firmly. "I don't want to get dinged
for paint damage when I turn it in at the end of the lease."

Brady rolls his eyes, chuckles, and reaches out to scoop it up, but I grab
his wrist.

"Uh-uh," I say, in my deepest voice. My Sex Voice. What's going to be my
Dad Voice, from now on, because for Brady, Dad and Sex are going to mean
one and the same thing, for the rest of his young life. "Not with your
hands, Kid."

He frowns at me, then he gets it. Blushes bright red. But he's already
dropping to his knees on the grimy concrete floor of the parking deck, eyes
still on mine, then turns his head and slowly runs his tongue up the shiny
metallic black paint, licking his copious cum off the trunklid, off the
bumper, off the chrome three-pointed Mercedes-Benz star. I can't help but
growl at the sight of my big jock kid, my champion, hungrily lapping his
cum up off my luxury car. Shit. I'm already starting to bone again.

So I pull the kid up, pull his head to mine and kiss him, tasting his
cooling cum on his lips and tongue, and a little road grit too, but that's
OK - you need a little grit every now and again. Makes everything more
real, more interesting. I can feel his cock starting to thicken again too -
if it ever went down, kid's a god damn flagpole half the time - as I yank
his shorts up over that champion young ass of his, then break the kiss and
push him towards the passenger door.

"Let's get fucking going, Champ," I say, getting in and firing the car
up. "Still got a few hours until checkout time."

"Fuck yeah, Dad," Brady grins, and manages to sneak in one more hungry,
sloppy, cum-tangy kiss before I drop the gear lever into Reverse and squeal
out of there. This intense game between us is is far from over yet. And
going on our routine so far, maybe it's time for one of those slower,
sweeter, dad-son bonding fucks. Hell yeah. And we'll just have to wait and
see who gets to fuck who, this time around... I'm good either way.