Date: Fri, 26 Apr 2024 09:33:37 +0000 From: Hank Subject: A Father Redemption 2 Author Note: This is the second chapter of an incest story between a dad and his son. There will be explicit scenes of incestuous gay sex and if you feel Offended by this content, do not read. I will continue to Write as long as I receive positive feedback, and it will gradually become Dirtier, more driven and lustful, q There will be more characters coming and a thorough plot. I really appreciate comments, feedback, suggestions Write me Daddycumtales@proton.me Let me know if you like That I open a telegram channel to keep you updated on upcoming releases and my other stories and video material and photos to support the stories and divas you can leave comments and interact with me Finally, if you can, please leave a donation to Nifty to continue reading More stories --- Chapter #2: Alex's Solitude I sat at my desk in school, staring out the window as the teacher droned on about something that couldn't hold my attention. Her words were like background noise, while my mind was consumed by much darker thoughts. My classmates laughed and joked amongst themselves, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. Some of them, the cruelest ones, delighted in playing mean pranks on me or calling me names that cut like sharp blades. I shrugged, trying to ignore their venomous taunts. But it was hard. It's hard when you feel like the only different one, the only outcast in a world that seems unwilling to accept you. And as I tried to hide my pain behind a mask of indifference, my mind inevitably returned to my father. Hank. The man who should be my rock, my role model. But instead had become the very source of my torment. The truce between us was short-lived, too short. After that argument, my father reverted to his usual gruff and domineering self. There were no more moments of intimacy or understanding between us, just distance and silence. I hate him, I hate him more than I thought it possible to hate anyone. I hate his stern gaze, the way he moves with that arrogant confidence. I hate how he makes me feel small and insignificant, as if I'm never good enough for him. I think he doesn't love me, that he's never loved anyone but himself and his damned workshop. I feel like I'm a disappointment to him, like I've never been enough to meet his expectations. I'm an insecure, introverted mouse, the kind of guy who'd rather keep to himself than stand out. And I believe my father sees me as a failure, or as a reflection of his own failures. --- The school day had ended, and I lay on my bed waiting for Dad to come home from work with pizzas for dinner. I reminisced about those distant days when life still made sense, when my father wasn't just a distant, authoritarian figure, but a kind and caring man who held my hand and made me feel safe. It was after Mom left, after the illness took her away too soon. I was only nine at the time, and her death left a huge void in my heart. But my father was there for me, ready to fill that void with his love and attention. We spent a lot of time together, him and me. We went fishing at the river near our house, or played baseball in the backyard. He told me stories of when he was young, of how he met my mother and all the adventures they had together, and we slept together in his bed for company. I was happy, then. Happy to have my daddy by my side, happy to know I wasn't alone in this big, scary world. But then, one evening, I messed up. I don't exactly remember what happened, just that I got into some mischief that made my father angrier than ever before. Dad had bathed me as usual, and we had fun playing wrestling on the bed before he put on my pajamas. That night, while we were playing wrestling, Dad had pinned me down by straddling my little baby body and started tickling me and I wiggled under him. Suddenly I felt a warm, wet sensation on my belly. I looked at my belly to see what it was but my gaze fell on the huge bulge that Dad had inside his white briefs and I realized that they were exaggeratedly wet and there was such a good, masculine smell that I did not know. Father suddenly became serious and told me that from that moment on I had to sleep alone because I was growing up and had to learn to be alone at night. And from that moment, everything changed. Dad became cold and detached, as if he had locked his heart and thrown away the key. There was no longer that complicity between us, that connection that made me feel safe. Now there was only silence and indifference, a wall of ice that seemed increasingly impenetrable He never explained to me what had happened that night. And I wondered what it was that sticky, warm thing that had soaked my belly. Dad hastily said only that he had peed himself with laughter. But that smell I had smelled through his underwear had gotten into my brain and stayed there until I found out as I grew older that it was the smell of cum. Dad had cum through his underwear, on my belly? And I began to masturbate thinking back to that feeling, strange but good. I had become addicted to that smell that I had smelled only once, so I had started rummaging through the dirty laundry basket, looking for his used briefs after work, so that I could smell that enveloping scent of masculinity and virility, the smell of a daddy, one more time. I wanted so badly to win my father back, but every time I tried to get closer to him, he only seemed to pull away more, pushing me away with coldness and contempt. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of insecurities and disappointments. I only wish that he really loved me, that he would prove with actions what he says with words. But with each passing day, I realize more and more that maybe he never will. I had come to a breaking point. I had to confront my dad, to clarify our differences once and for all, because I could no longer go on like this. When Dad came home from work, he took a shower and then we sat down to dinner in front of the TV, as we did almost every night. The sound of football filled the air, but inside me there was only the heavy silence of anticipation. I was nervous, unsure how to start the conversation I should have had long ago. I was sneaking glances at my father, trying to seize an opportunity, a moment of weakness that I could use to open my heart. But time passed and all I did was procrastinate, trying to gain the courage to say what I needed to say. Then, when Father got up to go to bed, I felt a tightness in my chest. I had to do it now, I couldn't wait any longer. "Dad," I said, my voice trembling with emotion, "can we talk?" He looked at me for a moment, his eyes searching my face with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. "What do you want to talk about, Alex?" he asked, his voice neutral, emotionless. I swallowed hard, searching for the right words to say. "About us," I replied, trying not to be overwhelmed by the anxiety oppressing my chest. "About our relationship, Dad." A heavy silence enveloped us, broken only by the sound of the TV that continued to broadcast the noise of the crowd and sports commentators. "There's not much to say, Alex," Dad said after a moment's hesitation. "I am your father and you are my son. That's all." And he went up to his room. I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, a feeling of emptiness and despair enveloping and oppressing me. My father's cold and detached words kept echoing in my mind, like a hammer beating incessantly against the walls of my soul. But then, an ounce of courage pervaded me. I could no longer remain silent, I could no longer continue to suffer in silence. I had to confront my father, even if it meant jeopardizing what little remained of our relationship. So I approached the door to his room, my heart beating so fast I could hear it rumbling in my ears. I opened the door without knocking, as if I couldn't wait a second longer. Dad was lying on the bed, lit only by the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand, which cast dancing shadows on the walls. He was looking at something on his phone, immersed in his private and distant world. I took a deep breath of air and said in a trembling voice, "Dad, I need to know if you care about me." He looked up from the phone, his eyes meeting mine with an indecipherable expression. "Of course I care, Alex," he replied in a calm voice, but there was something in his voice that made me doubt the sincerity of his words. I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, looking into his eyes with determination. "Then prove it to me," I said firmly. "Show me that you really care about me, that I'm not just an obligation you have to put up with." An awkward silence spread through the room as I waited for his answer. It was as if fate itself hung in the air, waiting to see what our next move would be. The silence stretched on, tense and dense like a ribbon wrapped around us, until I found the courage to say what had been imprisoned inside me. "I miss the hugs, Dad," I admitted in a voice choked with emotion. "I miss feeling your warmth, your affection. Life out there is so horrible, with bullies who torment me and teachers who don't seem to understand me. I don't have many friends, and I would like to at least find some warmth and comfort here at home. But I just feel like a burden, a burden you have to bear. Am I so horrible as a son?" My voice cracked at the end of the sentence. I looked at my father, searching desperately for an answer in his eyes. Dad looked at me in silence, his piercing gaze scanning my soul with an intensity that made me shudder. Then, suddenly, as if he had surrendered to a force greater than himself, he let go and embraced me. It was a clumsy, awkward hug, but I felt it was a father's embrace for his son, full of all the love and tenderness that words could not express. I felt enveloped in that familiar warmth, my tears gushing freely as I clung to him, to his manly, hairy body that exuded masculinity and protection from all sides, I held him tightly hoping never to let go. At that moment I became aware that something was moving and growing under the sheet, between Dad's legs, where I had inadvertently placed my hand. I was shot through by a strange feeling of warmth that radiated from my stomach to my face, which turned red with embarrassment. My heart was beating wildly. Was daddy having an erection as he hugged me? Suddenly he released me from his grip and said, "That's enough, Alex." I begged him "no, daddy, please, just a little more. Daddy. Please," I wanted to feel one more time the sensation of his cock looking huge through the sheet and briefs he was wearing underneath. Dad did not resist. He remained sitting on the bed leaning against the backrest, his body undressed, his legs covered by the sheet while his two strong hairy, tanned arms held me tightly to his hairy chest. I had one arm wrapped behind her back, and the other around his hairy beer belly that towered proudly beneath my face. My legs stretched over his from above the sheet. Slowly I slid my hand back over his cock, which by this point had formed a tent through the fabric. And caught up in the euphoria I began rubbing my hand up and down, stroking that piece of meat that throbbed with my every movement. Before long I had grasped the shaft and was sawing off my daddy, who meanwhile kept holding me close and stroking my head thoughtfully on his chest. I could hear his breathing getting shorter and shorter and panting, until I could feel his lips graze my ear and whisper " Son... This is... This is so wrong... We..." I immediately interrupted him. "please dad...I want to do it, you deserve it...you deserve to be well..." And suddenly Dad brought his hand over mine and began to guide the movement on his cock that had become so hard it could have broken through a wall. Overwhelmed by lust and the desire to see and feel live the cock that had made me, and that I had so dreamed of and imagined during my teenage handjobs, I lowered the sheet and could admire a thick, huge bulge that filled his white underpants that had meanwhile become soaked with precum. A bush of black hair peeked out from the elastic below his belly button and from either side of his groin, and I was overwhelmed by a mixed, powerful, primal smell, a smell of man, of riding bull. I looked into Dad's eyes in reverence and respect seeking his consent. He returned the gaze and hinted that I could continue. Then I lowered my head to his pubes and stuck my nose inside his panties and drew in a deep breath that made me feel a shake all over my whole body, his cock had a throb and moving slammed into my lips wetting them with precum. I picked it up with my tongue and swallowed it. Then Dad lowered his underwear and grabbed my hand and brought it to his bull cock and then let it go and started massaging his heavy, full balls while I jerked him off by keeping my lips attached to the head of his cock, giving him little kisses with each movement and collecting with my tongue the precum that Dad was giving me like a dad feeding his little one to make him grow strong and healthy. Daddy kept emitting moans and I could feel the muscles of his body stiffen just before he began to shoot a copious and powerful load of thick, white, voluminous and nourishing cum that I greedily welcomed on my tongue inside my gaping mouth like a baby bird waiting for food from Daddy. I felt so close to my daddy, excited to have him inside me, his little boys swimming in my stomach and mouth, the cum that had made me and on which I would depend for the rest of my life. I gathered the last lump of cum from his uncut foreskin, from his 8-inch bull cock, and squeezing it tightly I said "Oh Daddy... I love you." Dad replied "I love you too, my son." (To be continued...)