Date: Sat, 28 Sep 2019 11:06:19 -0400 From: RJ Subject: Common Law - Ch. 6 Common Law by RJ This piece of fiction is about a teenager who finds himself co-parenting his son with his father. If you are offended by themes of incest and adult/youth, do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don't hesitate to email me. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. Please also consider donating to Nifty if you can: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ~ Chapter 6 ~ While I'm stepping back into my underwear and pulling the waistband up to my hips, Dad slides out of bed, still naked, the head of his now-soft cock still shining with my spit. He grabs his phone off the nightstand and unlocks it, probably checking his work email while I redress myself into warm clothes. It's the end of February winter, and being all cozied up to my father for a ten-minute, early-morning romp while Mason gets ready for school isn't enough to keep the chill away. I'm already shivering as I pull my sweatpants back on. "Aren't you cold?" I ask. "I'm good," Dad says, typing away. He's like every other adult that leaves the keyboard clicking noise on his smartphone, so that's all I hear. "I'm 'hot-blooded'," he adds with a grin, singing that snippet of chorus from Foreigner. I laugh, shaking my head. He *is* pretty damn warm, though. He's like my own portable furnace. Even if we're naked in the winter, if I'm close to him, I'm as comfortable as can be. "Well, *I'm* cold," I tell him. "As ice?" he teases. I just roll my eyes. "Please don't start doing the corny-dad thing now," I say as I pull on my shirt. He laughs, setting his phone down and then coming over to me. Once the hem of my shirt drops to my hips, he wraps his arms around my waist and then kisses me. "I have a thought." "Uh oh," I say, licking my lips slightly as I smile. Both of our lips taste of each other's cum still. "Why don't you move into my room?" Dad asks. I look up at him in surprise. "Really?" I ask. I remember him suggesting that several months ago over the phone, but it was so nonchalant that I didn't think he was serious. He nods a little. "Sure, why not?" I bite back a smile. Damn, that sounds lovely: having a room to share, a space to be ourselves, a private area to express our love how we want to. Guess that means Dad's bed would officially become *our* bed. But then I realize one glaring issue: Mason. "Mason would hate me," I mutter. The boy is still too attached -- as am I, if I'm being honest. "You could sneak in after he falls asleep," he suggests. "I guess," I say, but my tone clearly indicates that I'm unconvinced. Mason could wake up in the middle of the night and then, in turn, wake us both up -- or, I'd have to work around his sleep schedule and ensure I'm in bed before he even stirs just to avoid any potential tantrums. I think Dad understands my reservations without me having to vocalize them. "Yeah, that'd be a hassle," he says, playing with my shirt a bit. Then: "Well... we could all pile up in my room," he suggests. "It's a big bed." It's a *huge* bed. There's plenty of space to fit the three of us comfortably when we're all watching a movie in Papa's room, when there's lots of familial cuddling going on, but sleeping? I guess Mason is still pretty small, so we could make it work if we really wanted to... The thought is endearing, in a way, and I smile as I picture sleeping soundly with my two favorite boys. But part of me just wants my father to myself -- and I know convincing Mason of that fact is going to require a bit of finesse. "You sure?" I ask, wondering if he'd really want all three of us taking up his space. He shrugs. "It gets lonely in here," he says with a tiny smirk, and when he kisses me on the lips, I smile. Once I zip up the fly on Mason's corduroy pants and button them so they're secure on his hips, I pat his sides and look him up and down. "Bam," I say, smiling. "Lookin' good, cutie." He giggles slightly, giving me a turn and showing off his Mickey Mouse t-shirt that's tucked into his pants. He's wearing all his favorite articles of clothing, including socks with planets on them and his worn-out sneakers, so he's very happy. "You don't think I look silly?" he asks. I raise my eyebrows. "Why would I think that?" He shrugs. "Bobby Lane thinks I dress silly." I smile at him before fussing with his shirt. "Well, Bobby's an idiot," I murmur, and Mason giggles gratefully. Mason's outfit does clash a teensy bit, but he's still a kid, and I've always wanted him to express himself how he chooses to -- and that includes deciding how he dresses himself. "*You* like what you're wearing, right?" I ask him. Mason nods eagerly. "Then that's all that matters. Fuck Bobby." Mason giggles loudly when he hears me cuss, and I smile at him until he throws my words right back at me: "Fuck Bobby," he says in his little voice. I nearly burst out laughing before glancing towards the open door to our bedroom, wondering if Dad's near enough to hear. "Maybe don't say that," I murmur with a chuckle before tousling his hair. "Alright. You have everything?" I ask, still squatting to his level. He grabs his backpack off the bed and nods. "Yep!" "Pajamas?" "Check!" "Change of clothes for tomorrow?" "Check check!" "Toothbrush?" "Check check checky!" I chuckle softly. "What about Pandy?" "*Quadruple* check!" he says excitedly, slinging his arms though the straps of his backpack and then patting it behind him. "I'm impressed," I say with a smile. "You did everything without me reminding you a hundred times." Then, I pull out the last item from the pocket of my shorts. "Now," I say, handing him the burner phone Dad picked up the other day. "This is for you. It's only to call me or Papa, understand?" He nods, taking the flip-phone and looking at it with intrigue. "You know how to use it, right?" "Mhm," he says, smiling. We've played hundreds of games involving fake phones before. "And you remember my number, yes?" "Yeah!" he says with a nod, proudly rattling off each number with practiced memorization. Then he recites his Papa Joel's cell before looking at me with a satisfied grin. "Good boy," I say, kissing his cheek. "Keep it safe, and call me if you need anything, alright? But remember: you'll be fine." He nods a bit, biting his lip. "I know," he says softly. "It'll be fun, right?" "Yeah." He gives me a reassuring smile. "That's what I like to hear," I say, giving him a kiss on the forehead before I stand up and take his hand so we can head downstairs. This is a big deal for the three of us. It's Mason's first sleepover, and the first time he'll be out of the house overnight. It's totally new territory. I'm worried that Mason will panic last-minute and beg to be picked up, but I'm hoping and praying that his new friend Sean will be enough of a comfort for him. I'm particularly excited, for a multitude of reasons -- one of which being that this will hopefully be good for Mason. I want him to continue making friends and do things that may seem scary to him: like sleeping without a family member. Part of me feels like he'll be absolutely fine, though. He's become quite close with his new first-grader friend, a boy who moved into town just under a month ago. It's a bond that has been solidified over just a few playdates, and even though my heart warms whenever Mason calls me his best friend, it's far more exciting to see him get along so well with another kid his own age. But the best part about this sleepover is admittedly a selfish one: I get to spend a night alone with Dad, with no kid to worry about tending to or to fear catching us in the act. We have the whole house to ourselves. I've been thinking about this night all week, ever since Sean's mother called me on Monday to ask about a Friday sleepover at her house. Immediately, I leapt at the opportunity without even consulting Mason, already fantasizing about the possibilities. I thought a lot about Dad's offer to move into his bedroom, and I figured tonight could be the night to do something special, to push our relationship further into the romantic. It seems things are working in my favor, because Dad offered to bring Mason since he's grabbing a quick drink with one of his workers. It's his employee's last day on the job since the guy is moving halfway across the country, so Dad wants to wish him well over a stiff drink. It's perfect, because it gives me ample opportunity to get things ready... Mason and I head downstairs into the living room, where Dad is waiting by the door in his classic, nondescript outfit: jeans and a t-shirt. He's topped it off with one of his favorite bandanas tied around his bicep, a simple addition that makes me want to jump his bones. He smiles when he sees Mason. "You ready, tiger?" "Yeah!" he says excitedly, his smile unwavering. "Wait wait wait," I say, letting go of Mason's hand to step into the living room. "I wanna take a picture of him." "Well, make it snappy," Dad says. "I don't wanna be late." "It'll be quick," I say, briefly eyeing the living room for the camera before I find it on the mantle. I snatch the Polaroid camera off the fireplace before having little Mason stand in front of the door. "Biiig smile for me, handsome," I say as I try to perfect the shot. God, he's so cute. He holds his hands in front of his body, his toes slightly pointed inward, his smile positively radiant. He's glowing. I snap a picture, feeling that infectious smile of his hitting me hard, my cheeks almost sore as I pull the Polaroid from the camera and set it aside to develop. "Get one of me and Papa!" Mason says, grabbing my dad's hand and pulling him towards the door. "You sure you--?" Dad starts to ask, but Mason cuts him off. "Pick me up!" he demands, raising his arms. Dad gives me a look that makes me chuckle before he squats down and scoops my son into his arms, holding him up with one arm tucked under the boy's flank. "Happy?" Dad asks. "Yes," Mason says, his attention on me. I raise the camera again and focus on them, smiling to myself. "Say 'family', boys." Dad sticks to a tight-lipped smile -- that is, until Mason decides to kiss his cheek for the picture. Once his lips make contact with Dad's face, my father's teeth flash at me, a genuine, loving smile shining right at the camera. I snap the picture before the moment is lost, feeling my heart thudding with joy. "Beautiful," I murmur to myself, pulling the printed photo out. "I wanna see," Mason says, but Dad just pats his leg. "You can see when you come home tomorrow. We gotta go," he says. Mason pouts but sighs. "Alriiight," he says, keeping his arms around my dad's neck as he looks at me. "Kisses," Mason says softly. I chuckle, setting the camera down and coming over to give him a sweet kiss on the lips. "Have fun, baby," I say, smiling at him before I turn to my father. "And you?" I say, planting a slightly deeper kiss on his lips. "I'll see you later." I think Dad can sense something in the huskiness of my tone, because he grunts slightly. "That you will," he says with a grin. Before Dad can turn away, Mason makes a suggestion: "Triple kiss!" he says. I raise my eyebrows. "Triple kiss?" "Yeah!" he says, looking proud at his own inventiveness. "We all kiss at the same time." My eyes flicker towards Dad, who's just smiling slightly to himself. "Sounds like a fine idea," he says before eyeing me. There's such a tender lust in his gaze that I find myself both smiling and blushing. "Alright," I say, licking my lips. "C'mere, sweet cheeks." Mason giggles as I plant my lips on his, leaving enough room for Dad to join in. We hold the kiss for several seconds before Mason pulls back, laughing like it's the most fun he's had in years. "Thanks," he says -- which, for whatever reason, makes me burst out laughing. "You're welcome, baby," I say before stroking his hair lightly. "You have fun, you hear me? And I love you lots." "Love you too, Daddy," Mason says cheerfully, and with one more kiss on the cheek, I let him go. I spend the time I have alone doing the most I can to impress Dad. I make sure all the dishes are done, the living room is tidied and vacuumed, and the bathrooms are all spotless. I know Dad is always grateful when I keep the house clean, so I want to ensure he's at his most appreciative when he returns. Once all the rooms are spic-and-span, I start moving some of my things into Dad's room. It's mostly just winter clothing and underclothes, the latter of which particularly excites me. Putting my underwear beside his in his dresser brings a particular smile to my face. Just *seeing* our clothes together, side-by-side, makes me want to fall in love all over again. It's bittersweet to move the few belongings that I have down the hall, but I want Mason to have his own space too. I want him to be able to take advantage of the joys of privacy, especially now that he's growing more and more by the day. I want him to make something of his own bedroom without me completely influencing his path. Luckily, Mason has been showing signs of true intelligence, creativity, and passion since he was just a little toddler. What I have to do as his father is allow him to cultivate those skills, to learn own, to truly flourish -- and that starts with giving Mason a place he can call his own. After I've moved most of my clothes and my personal affects, I shower -- thoroughly. I've already decided what I want from Dad tonight: all of him. I want to go all the way. I want to make love with him, as closely we possibly can, as deeply as we can manage. Just thinking it makes my heart race, but I feel like it's time. It's been a few months since we first added physical intimacy to our relationship, and it's been a lot of kissing, and touching, and oral, and fingering since then. Never once has he brought up the idea of fucking me, for which I'm somewhat grateful, because the thought both terrifies and excites me. If he had asked earlier, I would have said yes simply because I would have wanted to do that for him. But by not putting that pressure on me, he's given me the space to decide on my own time, granted me the power of where we take things, allowed our sexual relationship to flourish slowly and organically. Now, I feel it: tonight's the night. Mason's not home, and I can quietly take him up on his offer to move into his room, allowing us to really make love for the first time in *our* space, *our* bed. I want tonight to be particularly romantic, maybe even a bit cheesy, so once I'm done showering, I get the candles set up on the rim of the bath and in Dad's bedroom. Nothing says romance like a room lit only by fire. I also bring up a bottle of wine from his stash in the basement, setting two glasses by the tub for when we want to indulge. I can't imagine he'd say no to a little alcohol -- especially when he sees I really just want to live out my corny, movie-style romance for a night. Now, I wait. I stay seated on the couch, constantly checking the time. He said he would only be gone a max two hours, and by the time I finally finish cleaning, moving, and showering, nearly two hours have gone by. I feel my heart pounding and my breathing becoming labored. There are hints of nerves, sure. Who wouldn't be nervous about taking dick for the first time? But I realize my excitement trumps any hesitation I may have about it. It's time, Mitch. You're ready. Both of you are ready. I hear Dad's car park in the driveway, and I stand up, feeling jittery, my face already flushed. I head over to the front door and wait for him, fussing with my shirt as if it matters how I look right now. The clothes will be off soon enough. Dad's keys jangle before I hear his hand at the doorknob, and I inhale as he opens the door and steps inside, pausing at the sight of me. He looks surprised before, quickly, he smiles. "Hey, daddy bear," I say, smiling back. He laughs, clearly liking the nickname. "Hey, little cub," he says, shutting the door behind him with his foot, his eyes not leaving mine. "What's up?" "Just waiting for you," I say softly, stepping forward to give him a quick kiss before I take his hand. "C'mere." I sense amusement in his voice as I pull him into the living room. "What's going on?" I ask. "Shush," I tell him, stopping him in front of the couch. I undo his bandana first, untying it from around his arm and then leaving it on the coffee table. "Mitch--" "Shush!" I insist, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He chuckles slightly but relents, lifting his arms when I start pulling his shirt up towards his head. Once I get it off, fold it, and set it on the coffee table, I start running my palms from his shoulders to his sides, feeling his hair and his muscles. Fuck, how I love this body. Then, I push on his chest and make him fall back onto the couch. He grunts when he lands, sitting up straight and observing me curiously as I drop to my knees. I rub my hands over those thighs, looking up at him as I work my hands down his jean-clad calves, right to his boots. I take one boot in my hands and start unlacing it. Dad chuckles. "Full treatment?" "The least you deserve," I say with a little smile, completely untying the boot. I remove it before taking off his sock and then moving onto the next foot. Once I've moved his footwear to the side, I work my hands back up the full length of his legs, all the way to his hips, my fingers finding his belt. Eyes on his, I undo his buckle slowly, pulling it open, undoing the button, and unzipping his fly. He lifts his ass off the couch for me when I want to take his pants off. Carefully, like they're precious, I fold his jeans and place them on top of his shirt before eyeing him, soaking in the sight of him dressed in just those grey briefs. His bulge looks full, his legs look thick, and I resist the urge to bury my face in between them. That's for later. Instead, I climb into his lap, straddling him. Just as I put my hands on his shoulders, he slides his to my hips, licking his lips before I lean down to kiss him. I keep it brief, pulling back after about ten seconds of back-and-forth kisses. "Do you wanna come upstairs with me, Daddy?" I ask. He hums deeply, looking at my lips. "Hell yes, I do," he murmurs, grinning slightly. I chuckle a bit before sliding off his lap, standing up, and taking his hand. He stands with that little smirk still on his face, giving my ass a squeeze before I swat it away with a laugh. I lead him upstairs and chuckle slightly when, after I stop at the bathroom door, he bumps into me. "Not down there," I say, assuming he thought we were going to his bedroom. "First things first." We step inside the bathroom and he pauses, eyeing the tub. "What's all this?" he asks, grinning. "Just gimme a sec," I say, letting go of his hand and kneeling by the tub and start filling it with water. I add in some bubble bath as well. "A bath?" I hear Dad ask me. "Yeah," I say, grabbing the matches. "I know you don't like them much, but... I thought it'd be nice." "Who said I don't like them?" I pause midway through lighting a candle, glancing back at him. "I thought... You never bathed with Mason or anything," I say, confused. "I try not to go there," he says, which sparks a vague sense of curiosity in me. What does that mean? "But I like a bath as much as the next guy," he adds with a smile. I smile back at him. "Well, you're in luck then," I say, returning to lighting the candles. "Hit the lights for me, will ya?" I ask Dad, and I smile when he turns the lights off and allows the candles to illuminate the bathroom. Perfect. "See you stole some of my wine," he says, eyeing the wine bottle and glasses nearby. I just chuckle. "It's a special night," I say before I set the matches aside and stand up in front of him. I look him up and down before hooking my fingers into his briefs and starting to pull them down slowly, completely exposing him. I notice that fat cock of his has got a little life in it already. "Get in." He grins at me. "You tellin' me what to do, boy?" There's a playfulness to his voice, but it's mixed in with that edge that makes me feel sexily small. "Shut up," I mutter, blushing, grabbing his arm and leading him towards the tub. He chuckles softly to himself before stepping in and lowering himself into the water, careful to avoid tipping over the candles. Once the tub and the bubbles are at a good height, I cut the water, strip down (ignoring the fact that I'm fully fucking hard), and join my father in the tub. He spreads his legs enough for me to get in between, and I position myself so that my back is against his torso. He wraps his arms around me in response, running soapy hands on my upper chest before they disappear under the water. "This is nice," he says in my ear before kissing it, one of his hand gently rubbing my stomach in circles. I smile gently. "I figured we could *really* relax tonight. Just the two of us." "Between you and me," he says, pecking my neck, "I've been looking forward to tonight all week." I laugh softly, holding onto his forearms gently. "Me too, Dad." I bite my lip a bit as we just rest in the warm water, both of us feeling exceptionally comfortable. "I do have a request, though." He laughs gently. "Yeah?" "Can you... give me a bath?" I ask, turning my face towards him. "Like you used to." He cocks an eyebrow higher than he usually does, wearing a strange expression on his face. Did I say something wrong? "Please, Daddy?" After a second, he smiles slightly, his expression softening again. "Sure, little buddy," he says, nodding. We shift so that I'm kneeling between his legs as he starts to wash me. He lathers up his hands and then starts with my neck and chest, gently working the suds into my skin. I moan softly, which just makes him chuckle while he works his palms and fingers across my sides, my arms, and my pits. When he gets to my groin, I bite my lip hard, trying my best not to make any noises -- but he makes that difficult when he's fondling me so tenderly and excessively. Soon, he turns me around so that he can start washing my back. He digs his fingers into my skin a little more, giving me a mini-massage until his hands get to my ass. As he gently pries my cheeks apart, he speaks up. "Let me ask you something." "Okay," I say, licking my lips. But he doesn't say anything as his soapy fingers reach my hole. He teases me for a few seconds, and then pushes forward. I resist a little moan when one of his fingers slip into me easily -- the whole thing. He rocks it back and forth, coaxing several long moans out of me. I feel so full when he fingers me. In and out he goes before he slowly removes his finger and then wraps an arm around me to pull me down. I lie back against him with a sigh. "Do you remember the last time we bathed together?" he finally asks. I raise my eyebrows a bit, thinking. "Not particularly," I say. "Why?" "Just curious," I hear him say quietly. I look up at him, noticing he looks strangely pensive. "You okay?" "Hm?" He just gives me a reassuring smile. "Yeah. Just... reminiscing," he says gently, running his hand down my torso and to my groin, letting his firm hand grip my cock under the water. I sigh softly, and simultaneously, a thought sparks: what's he reminiscing about? Old bath times? I asked him to bathe me like he used to, and now I wonder if that thick middle finger of his was ever involved. But before I can ask, he says "This is nice, Mitch" as he kisses my cheek, other hand wrapped securely around me. "You didn't have to do all this." "I wanted to," I say, smiling as I lift a hand to his chin, tilt his face more towards mine, and kiss his lips softly. It's not like I did that much. Sure, I cleaned the house, and got us a nice little setup. But it's just a bath with some candles and wine. Speaking of which... "Want a glass of wine?" He laughs softly before nodding. "Sure." I slide out of his arms to lean over and grab the bottle of Merlot. Thankfully I had the sense to open it previously, so it's just a matter of popping the cork off and filling two glasses with that red liquid. I hand him one glass, and then sit in his lap, facing him. He thanks me before clinking his glass against mine and then taking a sip. I watch as he licks his lip and hums at the taste, his eyes completely focused on mine. "This is pretty..." He pauses, searching for the word he wants to use. "What?" I ask. "Romantic?" he offers, grinning slightly. I smile widely. I thought he was trying to describe the wine at first, but this is better. "I thought so too." He rests the rim of his glass against his lips. "Doesn't weird you out?" "No," I say, almost too quickly. "Does it weird you out?" He just smiles softly and shakes his head before taking a sip. "But it begs the question," he says, "what are we doing?" I've asked myself that for a while now. What are we now? How do we define it? We're still our normal selves -- granted we cuddle more often, and kiss on the lips more frequently, and pleasure each other to spectacular orgasms. But this is the first time we've been intimate in a more conventionally-romantic way. We're pushing the envelope a bit more, so I understand why he'd ask that. But I've pondered this at length, and any time I ask myself that question, I always come back to the same answer: "You're my dad," I say. I can't tell by his smile if he thinks that's sweet or amusing, but either way, it's a positive response. "And you're my son," he says back, his voice deepening just enough to send a sexual response through my body. I eye him as he leans in closer and kisses me on the lips. It's nice sitting half-submerged in soapy water, kissing back and forth, sipping wine, not exchanging any words as the candlelight reflects off the tile walls. We're just enjoying each other's company, and lightly exploring each other's bodies. Once our glasses are empty, though, I set them back on the floor and then guide one of his hands under the water. I lift myself up a bit so he can reach in between my legs and touch my hole. He grins as his fingertips pet at my entrance. "You get real into my fingers, don't you, boy?" he asks, gently easing one in to the second knuckle. I grunt softly, hands on his chest. "Yeah," I moan, smiling slightly. I feel my heart racing as I realize what I'm about to say. "But I need you to get me ready." He arches an eyebrow. "Ready?" I nod. "For more." He stares at me for a moment before smirking a bit. Then, he pushes his finger in deeper, wiggling it around slowly. "You want more, huh?" I whimper slightly and nod repeatedly. "Please, Daddy." His other hand reaches up to hold the back of my head and pull me down for a deep, passionate, but quick kiss. "I'll give you anything you want, baby," he murmurs softly against my lips. "You," I say in response, breathing him in. "I want you." He smiles slightly as he finger-fucks me before we finally decide to get out, eager for "more". We rinse the soap off each other, dry off, and start heading towards his bedroom -- not before he grabs the wine bottle in one hand and the stems of both glasses in the other. Once we get to the bedroom, he sets the Merlot and glasses on his bedside table, and I light the candles I've set up. Soon, the room is aglow with that soft, sensually romantic light making shadows dance on the walls. Then, Dad ropes me into some deep, tender kisses. I laugh softly against his lips as his hand rests on the small of my back and holds me close while our lips smack against each other's repeatedly. He gives my ass a squeeze before, playfully, he moves his hand to the center of my chest and pushes me onto the bed. I fall back with a laugh, sitting back on my elbows in the center of the bed and watching as he opens the middle drawer of his nightstand to pull two things out: lube, and what looks to be a bracelet. "What's that?" I ask, shifting to my side. "A cock ring." "Really?" I raise my eyebrows. "Yup," he says, giving his semi a tug. "I use it whenever I fuck." Hearing him say that word with such intention makes my cock twitch, and I reach between my legs to stroke myself. "Huh," I say, licking my lips as he starts putting it around his shaft. I've never seen a cock ring like this one. It's leather, with silver studs throughout so that it's adjustable. "You into leather or something?" I tease. But he looks serious as he puts it on. "A little bit, yeah." I snort. "Really?" "Yeah," he says, looking at me with a small smile before focusing on his cock ring. "I've got a harness and everything." I gawp at that little fun fact of his, watching as he snaps the cock ring around his shaft and balls. Aren't leather harnesses kind of a gay kink thing? But I'm distracted by how good his manhood looks in that cock ring. It accentuates everything perfectly -- and now I want to see the full package. "Put it on," I murmur. "Huh?" he asks. "Put it on!" I say more urgently. He grins, holding his hands up. "Alright, alright, calm it down, boy," he says with a small chuckle. I watch him as he heads to his closet, rummaging around before he pulls out a leather strap, bulldog style. I bite my lip, my cock twitching. "So is leather the weird fetish that you refused to tell me about?" I ask jokingly. He laughs. "It's not a fetish," he says, turning towards me as he slips the harness on and starts to adjust the belt straps. "I just like a few things." "So, you're not gonna tie me up and whip me?" I tease. He just grins. "Only if you want me to," he says, which makes me laugh. I watch as he tightens the last strap, his upper torso perfectly framed. My eyes are so focused on his chest and shoulders that I can hardly look elsewhere for a few moments. But the full sight of him is spectacular. He looks like a kinky god, from the pierced ears to the leather garments and the smoky, alluring look in his eyes. "Fuck, you look hot," I mutter to myself, gently stroking my cock. "I want one of those." "You're a big boy now," Dad says, coming over to the bed, looking both intimidating and inviting in his leather harness and matching cock ring, kneeling on the bed in front of me. "Get your own." "I'm a *little* boy, Daddy," I say playfully, smirking. He growls slightly before getting in between my legs. "That's right, baby," he says, leaning down and kissing me deeply. I wrap my arms around him, sliding them up and down his back as we lock lips and grind against each other. I grip onto his harness and keep him close, the faint scent of leather filling my nostrils whenever I breathe in. I feel his cock grow until it's hot and pulsing against mine, weighty and present. Then, he starts moving down my body. I swallow the saliva that had accumulated in my mouth as he kisses across my chest and stomach, swiping my skin with his tongue each time. My breathing gets deeper the closer he gets to my cock, and once his fingers and tongue find my member, I moan out. It twitches, spurting out precum right against his bottom lip. "You're so sensitive," he teases before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking hard. "Jesus--" I grunt, arching my back and putting my hand on his head. I'd be tugging at his hair if he had any up top, but I make do by digging my fingertips in. He groans, taking me deeper, making my eyes roll back and my calves tense. Fuck yes, Dad. Suck my cock. I feel a firm hand reaching between my legs to fondle my balls, teasing each one before gripping the whole sack and taking me down to the fucking hilt. I cry out, choking back my moans as best as I can. But Dad just pulls off and chuckles. "You can be as loud as you want," he says, nudging his facial hair against my sensitive cock. "Just us tonight, remember?" I bite my lip but nod. "Do you want me to be loud?" "What I want," he says, kissing my balls, "is for you to not hold back tonight." Then, he scoops his hands under my legs to push them back. "Hold these," he says, and I hook my arms behind my knees so that I'm nice and exposed for him. He licks his lips as he runs his full palm and fingers across my taint and my hole, and I swear I feel my sphincter twitch. It probably does, because he grins at the sight of it before leaning down. I've learned to stop trying to brace myself for new sensations when I'm with Dad. I wasn't prepared for what I'd feel when we kissed, or when he touched me for the first time, or when he put his mouth on my cock. Rimming me is no different. Sometimes he's so soothing with his tongue, like he's giving my nerve endings a deep, sensual massage. Sometimes it's electric, pleasure shooting through me so sharply that I can't remain still. Most of the time, though, it's a mix of the two, where I'm constantly anticipating where his tongue will go, how hard it'll push in, how tenderly he'll kiss me there, how intently he'll try to devour me as if he's trying to take my cherry with his tongue... Tonight, it feels like he's making love to me with his lips and tongue. The sounds he's making on my hole sound like the wettest kisses, and he groans softly every now and again, sending shivers up my spine. Occasionally I'll feel a finger -- not pushing into me, but just petting at the tender ring before he eases his persistent, exploring tongue inside of me. I resist every fucking urge to touch my cock, because I know I'll blow my load as soon as I do. It's far too early for that. After a long, mind-numbing rimjob, he sits up on his knees between my legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he grins down at me. "You wanna do the honors, baby boy?" he asks. I look down at his cock (which is pointing right at me) and nod. I grab the lube, squirt some onto his cock, and then wrap my free hand around his shaft. Holy fuck. The cock ring, I notice, makes him feel so much bigger, thicker, veinier, more powerful. Is this thing really going to fit inside me? Jesus. Once his dick is coated in lube, he combs his fingers though my hair, gripping tightly enough to tilt my head back so he can kiss me gently. Then, he lies me back down, pushing my inner thighs apart so that he can lube up my hole. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asks me in the most tender voice imaginable just as he eases two fingers into me. But he's not referring to the fingers. He's referring to what we're about to do next. I moan softly, my eyes fluttering for a moment before I nod. "Yes." "I need you to say it, Mitchy." I swallow thickly. "I'm ready." He runs his free hand up my torso before cupping my face with it. "You trust me?" he asks. I could almost laugh. "With anything and everything," I tell him earnestly. He smiles, leaning in to kiss me again -- but he keeps his lips against mine. "You want me, baby?" he asks, his voice husky with need. "Because Daddy wants you." My skin is so hot right now. "I want you, Daddy." Somehow, his fingers get even deeper inside of me. "You want Daddy to make love to you?" "Yes," I whine, my eyes fluttering but not closing. Deeper still. "You gonna give Daddy your sweet little cherry?" "God, yes." My legs spread even wider, straining the muscles in my thighs, but I don't care. Take me, Daddy. He strokes my cheek with his thumb before looking down between my legs. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from my well-lubed, well-prepped hole and then taps my entrance with the head of his cock. I feel my heart rate pick up, pounding in my ears a bit, and I do my best to steady my breath. Don't be nervous, Mitch. Daddy's here. Daddy's gonna take care of you. "Just remember to breathe," Dad says, and then, he pushes the head forward. At first, I don't think it's so bad. But then, the further he inches forward, I *really* start to feel him, his girth stretching me beyond belief. I gasp, completely tensing, wincing. "Don't fight me, baby," he says softly, holding me in place. "Relax. Relax." I try to relax, but it's difficult fighting my instinct to clench and resist. And breathe -- I keep forgetting to breathe. I inhale sharply, my toes completely curled as my dad pushes further into me. He keeps it slow, but holy fuck, this is intense. That's the best way to describe it. It hurts, but it's not the worst thing I've ever felt -- and I know it'll get better. I have to trust that it'll get better. "Stay with me, kid," Dad says. I just listen to his voice trying to soothe me, because my eyes are shut as tightly as possible. He keeps pausing every time he pushes an inch deeper into me, and just when I think I've relaxed enough to accommodate him, the intensity flares up again. And then, he pushes in the last of his cock, pressing his balls against me. "Ah!" I whine. Fucking Christ, he's so big, so so so big. He must have grown several inches in length and diameter or something, because I never expected to feel *this* stuffed, and in such a strange location. How do people do this? How is this fucking possible? "Look at me," Dad says, but for some reason, I can't open my eyes -- not until he taps my cheek. "Hey. Look at me, Mitch." My eyes slowly open, and I look up at my dad hovering over me with a soft expression on his face. "I've got you, okay?" I nod, maintaining eye contact with him while he stays unmoving balls-deep inside of me. Breathe. That's what his eyes are telling me to do: to breathe, and to relax. I inhale deeply, and exhale slowly, and gradually, I feel the tension loosening throughout my body a bit. "You're doing so good, baby," he coos. That simple affirmation makes me calm down a bit -- but I need a little more. "Kiss me," I whisper. He doesn't hesitate to lean down and press his lips to mine. I hold onto his harness, closing my eyes as he gives me deep but tender kisses, focusing on just lips. No lewd tongue, no swapping spit. We just smooch back and forth, soft and sweet. Then, he starts moving his hips. He takes it slow and moderates his thrusts -- and fuck, do I groan. The drawback is an incredibly confusing sensation, and the pushback is intense in its own right. But the simple fact that we're doing this, that my father is finally taking my cherry, is amplifying this whole experience. Every part of my body feels five times more responsive, like my body has been reduced to nothing but sensation. All I do is feel. I feel the heat of his cock warming me from the inside, and the contrasting softness of his kisses, and the firm roughness of his hand lightly holding me. Even the body contact, subtle and unintentional, is driving me wild. Dad grunts and huffs against my lips, breaking the kiss and just breathing heavily as he speaks lowly to me. "I've wanted this for so long, baby," he murmurs. "Me-- ah! Me too, Daddy," I whine, clutching onto him tightly. "You feel fucking incredible." He almost laughs as if in disbelief, and that only turns me on more. God, I love that I'm giving him this pleasure, that I'm satisfying his needs, that I'm making him happy. Daddy's boy, to the core. In fact, I feel that part of me trying to break free again. I can physically feel myself regressing. Gone is the nineteen-year-old toned young stud. He's been replaced with the smaller, undeveloped version of me who knows nothing except for how to pine for Daddy's touch, Daddy's attention, and Daddy's smile. "I love you," I whimper, inhaling sharply when he presses his hips deep into me again. I swear his eyes almost glaze over. "Oh, baby," he says. "I love you so fucking much, you beautiful boy." He kisses me deeply in a quick burst of sensual affection. "Who's my beautiful little boy?" he asks. I feel my face getting warmer than it already is, but not out of embarrassment, I don't think. There's a glow within me that's heating up my entire body. "I am," I say. "That's right, baby," Dad says, rocking his hips in a steady motion. "Daddy's tender little boy." Then he kisses my lips, my cheek, and then my ear before whispering "Embrace it." How does he know? How can he tell how I'm feeling? Can he see the boy in me coming out to play? He's telling me to let it happen. It's like he's pushing it out of me more and more with each thrust, coaxing that boy out little by little, tempting me to regress further -- and if we continue down this road, I feel like I won't exist. But I listen to him. I embrace it. I'm sure he can see it in my eyes, or my expression, because he smiles slightly and then says "There he is" before kissing me. "My baby boy." "Daddy," I whine, my eyes fluttering closed. I only just now notice how fucking rock hard I am, so hard that it aches every time his furry core rubs into it. Despite the pain, I feel good, pleasured, complete, loved. I feel right like this. There's also a sense of relief, because *finally*, it's just me and Dad, making sweet, familial love together like we've always wanted. He keeps a steady, practiced pace, his hips sure and focused. That notion crosses my mind repeatedly: how experienced he is. How many women has he fucked in this same position? That thought alone turns me on, only adding to the studly-ness of his character. But then I take it further, wondering how often I've been on his mind while he was balls-deep in some random woman. He probably goes at it hard with those women, but he's being so gentle with me, my hard man. He's careful and doting -- and I'm soaking up all that affection, totally blissed out, sometimes smiling as I'm moaning. He's taking care of me, just like he said he would, and I'm already imagining the day I'm practiced enough to take everything he wants to give me... "You wanna cum, baby?" Dad asks. I just nod eagerly, the simple thought of him making me cum bringing me closer to orgasm. He smiles, sitting up on his knees. Steadily, he keeps rocking his hips back and forth, but he wraps his fingers around my tender cock too, squeezing it, making me moan out. "Yeah, Daddy," I whimper, my hips raising up slightly in response to his touch. He strokes me in time with his gentle thrusts, making me grab the sheets. "Wanna make big boy cums." Dad grunts, stroking me faster. "That's it, kiddo," he says. "Show Daddy what a big boy you are now." I can't take it. It's like I was edging that entire time and all I needed was Dad's grip. I cry out almost like a sob before, for a few moments, I'm so disoriented that I am nothing. Why does every orgasm I have with him feel like my most intense one yet? It's like each time we do something new, he's pushing me, pushing my body to its limits, making me cum so intensely that, during the climax, I'm actually fearful that I won't recover. When I open my eyes, a few sensations return to me: namely the thick Daddy cock inside my hole and the hot pools of cum on my stomach and chest. "Damn, kid," Dad says with a chuckle, letting go of my dick and sliding two fingers through a rope of my cum. Then, he guides it to my lips, and I lazily open up. It drips onto my tongue before he gently pushes his fingers into my mouth, having me suck softly on them. I close my eyes again, almost completely spent. I need a fucking defibrillator or something. But Dad's words will do: "Daddy's gonna breed you, baby," he says, pulling his fingers from my mouth and resting his hands on either sides of my arms. Yes. Yes yes, please. I nod, encouraging him, putting my hands on his chest, hooking my fingers into his harness. "Knock me up, Daddy," I tease, genuinely moaning when he starts moving. I feel awake again, very much alive. His cock still feels incredible inside of me, and my own dick has barely gone down. I lick my lips, staring up at him. "Put a son in me." "Fuck!" he grunts, louder than I ever expected him too. It startles me at first, but I almost grin a bit when I realize my words have completely tipped him over the edge. He thrusts in deep and clenches his eyes shut, and I gasp at the sensation of him hitting previously unexplored parts of me. I can feel it. I can feel his cock pumping its load into me, filling me up. God, what an unbelievable sensation... Dad holds himself up as he comes down from his high, panting, staring at my chest while he catches his breath. Then, his eyes meet mine, and he smiles slightly before giving me a quick kiss and then very slowly extracting himself from my body. I gasp slightly, my toes curled until the head of his cock is pushed from my hole with a lewd, wet noise. He leans back on his heels to look down and inspect me, running his thumb along the ring, studying the hole he just devirginized. "How you feelin', kiddo?" he asks me, giving my cock a brief fondle. "Sore," I say with a slight laugh. Plus, I almost feel like he's still somewhat inside me. That sensation hasn't totally left me yet. He smiles. "To be expected," he says before stripping down. He takes off his harness and his cock ring, tossing them towards the edge of the bed before crawling over to me. He moves me onto my side and positions himself behind me, cuddling me close, and I settle with a dragged-out, contended hum. "Mmm, you teddy bear," I murmur happily, stroking the arm that's around me. He chuckles in my ear. "My little cub," he says, running one paw up and down my torso slowly. "We'll just have to get some hair on you." I laugh a bit. That's always been a dream of mine: to be hairy like my dad. But something tells me he's still enjoying the smooth muscle. "One day," I say, smiling to myself. I feel good. I feel so good, so well-fucked, so incredibly sore, so deeply creamed. We did it. *I* did it. "I hope you don't want to get up any time soon," Dad murmurs, running his hand on my stomach in soothing circles. "Hell no," I say, and he chuckles softly, his hand drifting down to my leg before sliding back up. It's like he just wants to lightly touch whatever parts of me he can reach -- and I sure as hell don't mind that. "Did you notice I moved some stuff in here?" Dad pauses. "What stuff?" "Some of my stuff." "Really?" "Yeah." I gesture to the corner of the room, where I've stacked some personal belongings. Turns out I don't have that much stuff, and because we were so focused on each other when we entered his room, I'm not surprised that he didn't see anything. Most of my clothes I stuffed into his dresser anyway. "I decided to... take you up on your offer." Dad responds by pulling me more into his comforting body, kissing my shoulder. "What about Mace?" "I'm gonna talk to him tomorrow," I say, slightly dreading how he'll react. Dad just laughs. "Good luck with that," he says skeptically. "Do you want me to pick him up tomorrow?" "Could you?" I ask, stroking the back of his hand. "Still got a lot of homework to do." "So responsible," he teases, kissing the back of my head. Fuck, I love when he gets all kissy and affectionate like this. "I'll handle it." "Thanks, Dad," I say with a smile. "Mmm," he says vaguely, inhaling the scent of me. "So, this is *our* bed now, huh?" I grin. Why does that sound so... touching? "Yeah," I say softly, turning around in his arms to face him. "If you'll have me." He smirks slightly. "Oh, I'll have you, baby," he mutters lowly, and as he leans in to kiss me, I flush with pure, unadulterated joy. I'm in the zone, speed-typing my way through my psychology essay after a burst of inspiration, getting all my thoughts out at a rapid pace. I love getting this rush, because it means I've broken through that horrible essay-writing block -- and I need to ride it as long as I can. But of course, as soon as the front door swings open and he sees me, Mason squeals excitedly, dropping his backpack and running towards me. Now I'm fully distracted, because I missed my boy so much. I smile brightly, swiveling the desk chair around so he can jump into my lap. "Someone looks happy," I say with a grin as he hugs me. "I am!" he says, keeping his hands on my shoulders after he pulls back. "I missed you, Daddy." He gives me the most tender smile I've seen on him in a while. I could cry. "Missed you more, cutie," I say, kissing his cheek. "But did you have fun?" "Yeah, it was pretty fun," he says. Then he leans into me, lowering his voice. "I think Sean's mom likes Papa." I snort. "Oh yeah?" I say, glancing at Dad. He just grins and shrugs. "She called him handsome," Mason says. "Well, she's right, don't you think?" I ask, smiling. Mason nods. "*Super* handsome," he says before giggling. "Don't try 'n flirt with me, boy," Dad says cheekily before disappearing into the kitchen. I hear him set his keys down on the counter and then open the fridge. I want to hear all about Mason's sleepover, so I ask, and he goes on and on about all the things him and his friend Sean did together. He hops off my lap at one point to grab his backpack, pulling out a sketchbook. Apparently, Sean's mom bought the boys some snazzy art supplies, so we spend a little time going through some of the pictures they drew together. "I wanna put this one up in our room!" Mason says, pointing to his drawing of a panda in the middle of a field of flowers. I chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. "That's a great idea," I tell him, smiling. "But, um... now that you bring that up, I wanna talk to you about something." He turns his attention away from his picture, looking at me. "What?" I kneel down in front of him so that I'm at his level. "How do you feel," I say, putting my hands on his sides and playing with his shirt, "about having your own room?" He just looks confused. "Why?" "You're a big kid, right?" I try. "Big kids have their own rooms." "But I don't want my own room," he says. I can sense a new shift in his voice: the beginning stages of panic. "But Papa and I..." How should I explain this? "Papa and I are gonna share his room." "You don't want to sleep with me?" he asks after a moment, his eyes getting watery already. "It's not that, baby," I tell him, stroking his hair to keep him calm. "But you gotta start learn how to sleep on your own." "But I *like* sleeping with you," he says, sniffling. I sigh. "I know, kiddo. But you can do it. You're not scared, are you?" "No," he says in a small voice. "And you slept over your friend's last night, didn't you? All without me." "But that's different," he says, and I watch a few tears stream down his face. I know what he means. That's someone *else's* house. This is our house, and in our house is *our* room, where we sleep together no matter what. "Baby," I start to say, but he's on the verge of full-blown crying. If I don't act quickly, I'll have a breakdown on my hands. Now I have to bring up my pre-planned compromise. "Listen," I say, cupping his face. "What if... we all shared the big bed?" His demeanor shifts instantaneously, his eyes wide and lit up so much that I actually laugh. "Really?" "Really," I say, knowing full well that he would positively leap at the idea of the three of us sharing one bed. I hold my finger up, though. "But here's the deal, okay? And you have to honor this deal." He nods, giving me his full attention even as he wipes his tears away. "Twice a week, you have to sleep in your own room. Okay?" That little fear that passes through him is almost adorable. "Alone?" "Alone," I say, nodding. He bites his lip. "Twice?" "Just two nights a week," I tell him. "That's all. Preferably weekends, but I'm willing to negotiate." He bites on his lip again, clearly thinking hard. I feel like this is a good solution. For one, Dad and I will need our time alone, as a couple (or whatever the fuck we are). Plus, I need to start weening Mason off of joint-sleeping if I don't want him to be so dependent on someone to sleep. Two nights a week seems fair -- and of course, after a while, I'll gradually up it to three, then four, then five... Eventually, Mason half-nods. "Can I sleep in the big bed tonight?" I smile at him. "Of course you can," I say, and he gives me a smile right back. It's an excited grin. I can see he's already anticipating getting cozy with his favorite men, and I imagine he'll demand to be cuddled from both sides. I wouldn't mind. He's the prince of this happy trio, and I can think of no better way than to embrace like the small, happy family we are. - End of Chapter 6 -