Date: Sun, 24 Nov 2019 02:37:16 -0500
From: RJ <ruetheben@gmail.com>
Subject: Common Law - Ch. 8

Common Law
by RJ Meyers

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.

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~ Chapter 8 ~

There's no other way to describe it: I wake up violently, completely
disoriented until I realize Mason has thrown his body on top of mine in an
effort to rouse me from sleep. I groan, and I vaguely hear my father
laughing nearby. "What the hell?" I mumble.

"You've been out cold, kid," Dad says. That soft twinkling of a metal belt
buckle taps at my eardrums, and when I open my eyes, I first find myself
up-close-and-personal with Mason's smiling, hazel-eyed face before I turn
towards my father. He's by the dresser, getting dressed.

"Yeah, it's time to wake up, Daddy," Mason says, giggling slightly as he
sits up on my stomach with his hands on my chest, the blanket still
separating our bodies.

"You guys are jerks," I mutter, rubbing my forehead. It's no wonder I was
out cold, considering all that happened last night... It took me a while to
fall asleep with my brain buzzing and Dad still planted inside of me, but
when I finally fell into sleep, I knocked the fuck out. "Where are *you*
going?" I ask Dad, giving him a once-over.

"Papa's got work to do," he says with a little smirk, letting his belt hang
open as he grabs a shirt out of his dresser.

"Oh, great. So you're gonna leave me with this twerp?" I tease, tickling
Mason's sides over his sleep shirt. He squeals and falls forward on top of
me, but after discovering this opportunity to cuddle, he shifts around so
that his back is flush with my torso. I wrap my arms around him, holding
him to me.

"You're a twerp, Daddy," he says, tilting his head back to look up at me.

"Mhm. You're lucky you're cute," I tell him, covering his face with one of
my palms and making him giggle. "Otherwise I wouldn't tolerate you." He
just laughs before licking my hand so that I'll recoil and set his face
free.

"Be nice to your daddy, sport," Dad says to Mason, his shirt tucked
perfectly into his belted jeans, the tee stretched by his muscled
physique. Fucking sexy motherfucker -- rather, sonfucker. Ugh. I'm horny.

"I will," Mason sings, sneaking a quick kiss on my jaw and making me smile
at him.

"When are you coming back?" I ask my father.

"Probably around six, if all goes well," he says, grabbing his affects and
then patting his pockets to make sure he has everything. "I can bring
something home for dinner. Pizza?"

"Nah, I'll cook," I tell him. We have too much produce in the fridge, and I
don't want it going to waste. "Don't worry about it."

He gives me a gentle, grateful smile before saying, "Thanks, babe."

I pause, grinning. "'Babe'?"

He looks as if he's only just now realizing he said that. "Sorry," he
murmurs, and I swear he's blushing a little -- something that rarely
happens. "It slipped."

I bite my lip, trying not to smile so widely. I call Mason "baby" on the
regular, and Dad refers to me as such when he's feeling particularly sweet
or in the throes of some good sex. But "babe"? Haven't heard that one
before. "Been holding that in for a while, have ya?" I tease, even though I
feel a warmth centered in my chest.

He rolls his eyes and mutters, "Shut up," making me
chuckle. "Alright. Kisses," he says, and he kneels on the bed, leaning over
to give Mason a smooch on the lips first. Mason pauses sucking his thumb to
receive it, and then, it's my turn. Dad holds this kiss for much
longer. Humming softly, I feel my body tingling as we teeter on the edge of
making out right in front of my son. I'm fully aware that Mason's watching
up close, and in a way, that just... excites me. I wonder if Dad is feeling
something similar. Using last night as context clues, I'm thinking yes...

Our mouths separate with a gentle smack, and he runs his tongue across his
bottom lip before murmuring, "Bye, kiddo."

"Bye, Dad," I say just as softly.

However, the intimate, almost sensual air is shattered when Mason squeals
"Bye, Papa!" in an unabashedly cheery voice. It makes both of us adults
laugh, and Dad gives Mason an extra kiss on the brow just for being
adorable. Then, he's off.

Once we're alone (a.k.a., once Dad's thick, rounded, blue-jeaned ass
disappears around the corner), Mason looks up at me. "You guys kiss long,"
he comments.

"Do we?"

"Uh huh," he says. "Like in movies."

Ah, yes. Mason's seen plenty of romantic kisses on the television. I wonder
if he'll ever make the connection on his own. "Well, at least we don't suck
our thumbs," I tease, slipping a hand under his shirt to rub his warm
tummy.

"I don't suck on it anymore," he says defensively. In all fairness, he's
right. He mostly just holds his finger in his mouth, lips slightly
parted. Must be a comfort thing.

"I just don't want that pretty smile to get messed up," I remind him, and
he flashes his little teeth at me, making me laugh. "Alright, stunner. Hop
up. I'm hungry."

Mason slides off of me to allow me to slip out of bed. The thing is, I'm
still naked from last night -- and hard, either from morning wood or the
kiss Dad laid on me. Either way, I don't really notice my erection until I
pull the sheets off of me. The fabric tickles the tip of my cock as I
shift, sending light but concentrated shocks of pleasure through my
shaft. Suddenly, I'm very aware of it. But no matter. Mason has seen it
more than enough times, aroused or otherwise.

Still, he giggles when I stand up with my hard cock flopping about. "What's
so funny?" I ask him, smirking slightly and putting my hands on my hips.

"Nothin'," he says back, making himself small and clearly not trying to
laugh. I notice his eyes keep flickering back towards my cock before
finally settling there.

"Uh huh," I say, fondly shaking my head and giving him a few moments to
look (and myself to feel that perverted sense of pride) before I grab my
shirt off the floor. I put that on first and then commence my search for my
underwear underneath the blankets. They must be somewhere in here. Before I
even find them, though, I look back at Mason and see he's got his hand in
the front of his briefs. I cock my eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Getting mine stiffy, too," he says casually, and I almost laugh. There's
no embarrassment, no shyness -- just a soft, tender smile.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "And how's that comin' along?" In response, he pushes the
front of his briefs down a bit, showing me his stiff nail. At the sight of
it, I feel my own cock twitch before he giggles and quickly covers it
up. "Good, I see," I say with a smile.

He just nods, looking so accomplished that I can't help but chuckle. But
damn if it doesn't get me thinking. I know I started masturbation very
early (probably unknowingly giving my father stroke fuel), but I was never
this playful with my body. Mason's sense of shame at home is practically
nonexistent. Frankly, it's a joy to witness my son be so comfortable, but I
wonder: if I had acted like this when I was more or less his age, would I
have rendered Dad's inhibitions useless?

I just clear my throat. "Well, now that we've both got stiffies, you wanna
help me find my undies?" I ask, lifting the blanket.

"Yeah!" Mason says excitedly, quickly diving under the covers and
disappearing. I chuckle as I watch the mound constantly shift while he's on
the hunt. Then, ten seconds later, he chirps up. "Are these it?"

When Mason emerges from the covers, he's got my boxer briefs in his
clutches and a proud smile on his lips. "Yessir," I say, taking them from
him and rewarding him with a kiss before putting them on. After stuffing my
cock into my underwear, I stretch a bit and glance at my son. "Breakfast?"

We make our way into the kitchen and share a relatively quick breakfast
composed of cereal and two oranges. Granted, we spend most of the time
making funny smiles with slices of orange in our mouths, but I'm antsy to
tell him about the surprise I have in mind for him, so I encourage him to
eat up. Once finished, I have to convince him to get dressed. The idea of
putting on clothes is, at first, unappealing to him, but once I tell him we
have somewhere special to go, he smiles and heads upstairs without further
complaint.

Five minutes later, we're both dressed and in the car. He keeps asking me
to give him a hint as to where we're going, but I want to see the look on
his face when he realizes my intentions -- so I ignore his pleas for
info. Eventually he just sits quietly, a soft, curious smile on his lips as
he looks out the back window.

He does ask a surprising question, though, after a small frame of
silence. "Why do people kiss so long sometimes?"

I glance at him through my rearview mirror and notice he's peering at me
inquisitively from the backseat. "Like in those movie kisses?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says with a tiny nod. "Or like you and Papa."

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. "Well, uh... Sometimes people kiss
like that because they're in love."

Mason doesn't quite get it, though. "But you love me and you don't kiss me
like that," he says.

I smile patiently. "I do love you," I assure him, "but it's... a different
kind of love."

"Oh," he says, looking back out the window. I expect him to ask more
questions, but he leaves it at that for now.

The rest of the drive is spent in relative silence, but it's a short trip
to the local pet store. I feel myself grinning more and more broadly the
closer we get, and once I veer into the parking lot, Mason looks around
before gasping at the sign. After realizing where we are, he looks at me as
if he's daring me to say, "Just kidding!"

He's positively giddy as we head inside, hand-in-hand, and when a worker
asks if we need any assistance, Mason doesn't hesitate to ask where they
keep their turtles. While we browse, the worker does try to pawn a dog off
on us, but Mason's terrified of anything quick, loud, and furry, so that's
not going to happen. Just the turtle.

Turns out turtles are way more of a handful than I originally thought,
though. A turtle is quite an investment, especially since it requires lots
of attention and has a much longer lifespan than most pets -- but Mason is
up for the challenge. Sure, he's still young and almost expected to go back
on most promises, but I sense a passion in this kid. He's ready.

Mason's particularly fond of one of the box turtles with dark, leathery
skin and yellowish markings on its dome-shaped shell. The "home" we end up
purchasing for Mason's new friend includes potting soil for him to dig
around in and little plants for decorations as well as a sun lamp for
basking. Then, there's the food. Luckily box turtles will eat some of the
produce I have at home, but I buy some worms and snails and a few packs of
food sticks for good measure.

In the checkout, Mason's practically hopping around, totally unable to
remain still from sheer excitement -- but I get distracted by the
father/son pair in front of us. The dad is purchasing items for a puppy
while stroking his little boy's hair. The kid is most likely around Mason's
age from the looks of it, with the dad being more conventionally
age-appropriate than I am. As soon as I see the way the boy giggles in
appreciation from his father's paternal affections, my mind turns towards
the conversation I had with my dad last night. Is it a common phenomenon,
fathers harboring a secret lust for their sons? Is every other adoring
father's love for his precious boy bordering romanticism and sensuality? Is
that just one of the natural laws of fatherhood itself?

I can't help but have damning images of the pair of them rush through my
head at rapid speed before I clear my throat and will myself to focus
elsewhere. No matter how hard I try, though, the speculation lingers. What
if there are more dads like mine? What if... it runs in the family? I
glance down at my own son, who's all smiles and songs and feel some strange
grain of truth telling me, "Maybe, Mitch. Maybe."

After the (insanely expensive) trip to the pet store, we bring the
newly-christened, Mario-Brothers-inspired Bowser home and set up his pen in
Mason's room. Mason is so gentle with the turtle, meticulously setting up
his tank, fussing over details, hand-feeding his pet, and murmuring a
steady stream of compliments and sentences like, "I'm going to take care of
you forever, Bowser."

It's fucking adorable watching him cater to his new friend, and once I
ensure he has everything under control, I leave him to play -- though not
before he ropes me into a firm embrace and profusely thanks me for taking
him. I just smile and give him an extra big kiss before heading downstairs.

Now, it's Me Time -- though of course, most of my Me Time is spent cleaning
up around the house and pretending that I'm not thinking about Mason
inappropriately. I at least do the housekeeping without pants on to add a
bit of comfort to the time I spend doing dishes, vacuuming, and watering
all our new plants. Once finished, I retire to the living room couch, plop
down, and decide to read and relax. I recently picked up a new book from
the library, and though I'm only a quarter into it, I'm eager to see how it
unfolds. Plus, it's gripping enough to keep my mind occupied.

Maybe an hour or so later, I get interrupted. I hear Mason's footsteps
coming down the stairs at rapid speed, and I tilt my head back to watch him
with amusement. "Hey buddy," I say. Mason, smiling brightly, skips the last
step and then runs towards the couch, vaulting onto me. I manage to quickly
move my book before he lands on my torso, causing me to grunt. "Easy,
easy."

"Sorry, Daddy," he says, giggling as he gets cozy. "Whatcha readin'?"

"'Memoirs of a Geisha'," I tell him, holding up the cover for him to look
at.

I smile at how intrigued he looks. "What's it about?"

"It's about a young girl who's essentially forced into being a geisha," I
explain.

At the sound of a new word, his ears perk up. "Geisha?"

"Basically, she has to talk and dance and sing for men."

He furrows his brow in the cutest way. "And she doesn't like that?"

I snort. "I know. Those are all your favorite things, huh?" I tease, and he
giggles. "But it's not as fun when someone *tells* you to do it, you know?"

He shrugs. "I guess so," he says before smiling at me. "I'll dance and sing
for you *all* the time, Daddy."

I run my fingers through his hair, grinning. "Wanna gimme a show, then,
baby boy?"

With spritely energy, he pushes himself up and stands on the couch with his
feet on either side of my hips. Then, he dances his little heart out. His
move set consists of the sprinkler, the macarena, the cabbage patch, and
his own little version of the ever-classic booty shake -- all accompanied
by him singing a tune I don't recognize. It doesn't matter, though. He's
clearly having a blast, and that's what's most important.

I laugh when he tires himself out and beckon for him to return to my
body. Panting, he rests on my torso, face red. "Was that good?"

"Amazing, of course," I tell him, kissing his forehead as I rest my hands
on his back. "Best little dancer I know."

He giggles appreciatively before resting his head on my shoulder and
sighing. "Thanks, Daddy."

I slip a hand up his shirt and just stroke his back slowly, finding myself
relaxing as we sink into cuddle-mode. "How's Bowser getting settled, hm?" I
ask after a moment.

"Good!" Mason says excitedly. "He likes the rock under the light because
it's warm."

"I bet," I say, smiling as I lightly scratch his back. That always
instantly turns him to mush.

"And he likes strawberries, like me."

I chuckle. "A match made in heaven," I tease.

"I wanna learn everything he likes so he's extra happy," Mason tells me.

What'd I do to deserve such a tender-hearted boy? "You're gonna be a good
daddy," I whisper to him.

"Just like you," Mason replies in a soft voice, and suddenly, I feel a
strong surge of love for my boy. I can't resist the urge to hold him
tighter to me. In response, he buries his face into my neck, humming
softly.

For a while, we just stay silent until Mason pecks my neck with a single,
quick kiss. I grin slightly, pecking him back on the side of his head and
making him giggle and commence one of his favorite little games: kiss
tag. We trade kisses on ears, browbones, noses, chins, both eyes -- back
and forth at rapid, playful speeds before I sneak in a swift smooch on the
lips. While he laughs, his eyes scan my face for other parts of my face he
hasn't pressed his lips against yet. In the end, he decides to just kiss my
lips again.

When he kisses me, however, it lingers. It's not just him saying, "Tag,
you're it!" It's purposefully held -- and I quickly realize that he's
mimicking the way Dad and I kiss. Mason tries mashing his lips against
mine, and though part of me wants to laugh, there's a surer part of me that
is indescribably enticed. I don't stop him. I just let him explore his way
through the kiss, offering my lips as his playground.

Once he pulls back, he looks at me with a concerned expression. "Did I do
okay?" he asks, his lips flushed red.

I smile at him, feeling a little flushed myself. "Yeah, baby, you did
pretty good," I assure him, running my hand down his back. "I can give you
some pointers, though."

"Okie," he chirps, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

I swallow thickly, trying my best to ignore the swirling sensation in my
stomach -- or is it my crotch? "Follow my lead, okay?" I murmur. After he
nods in understanding, I slowly lean in and press my lips tenderly to
his. I move my larger mouth against his smaller one, guiding him through a
real kiss, his first one -- and the whole while, I'm thinking, "Holy
fuck. Mason and I are *kissing*." It's unhurried, deliberate, and
drawn-out, and I'm not sure if I should define it as incredibly sweet or
temptingly erotic. Maybe it's both.

What was Dad thinking when he kissed me for the first time? Maybe that's
the one difference: he wasn't thinking. He just let his body do the talking
and follow what it felt to be natural and right -- and if I allow myself to
do that, I can truly realize how special this feels. Yes, it's a little
taboo (which, frankly, makes this all the more thrilling), but we're in our
own home, behind closed doors, where we can be what we want to be and do
what we feel inclined too. If that includes two generations of father-son
kissing, then who am I to resist?

I push the very tip of my tongue forward and touch it lightly to his lips,
causing him to giggle before he lets me continue kissing him. God, what a
rush. How long have we been doing this? A few minutes? To an onlooker, it
probably doesn't look incredibly innocent, but it *feels* that way,
somehow. Despite the fact that I'm hard right now, it just
feels... soft. My cock isn't crying out for attention but merely being
present and enjoying the playful intimacy.

With his groin pressing mostly into my lower stomach, I can feel Mason
getting hard, too. As he stiffens, he gently starts rocking his hips,
nudging his pecker against me for added friction. A natural bodily
response, of course -- and I rest a hand on his bottom to tell him it's
okay. It's fucking thrilling, intimate, and beautiful. As I kiss my boy,
*really* start to kiss him, I feel those similar fluttery feelings I feel
with Dad. Here, they just flutter in different patterns.

It strikes me how natural this feels. Frankly, that's how it has always
felt. It's so easy being a father to Mason. Our love is full, a
relationship engrained with the intimacy of hugs and kisses and cuddles and
incidental hard-ons. I've never felt that it was "weird" to so regularly
bathe with my son, or be naked with him, or (now) kiss him on the lips. It
just feels... organic, and right, and true. It feels like family.

I pull back after a while, inhaling softly and licking his taste off my
lips. "How was that?" I decide to ask him, speaking in hushed tones.

Blushing and smiling, Mason murmurs, "Good."

I chuckle, pecking his lips once. "Good."

My son bites his lip a little before continuing to whisper. "Mine's stiff,"
he says, eyes still on mine.

I nod, giving his butt a gentle pat. "Mine is too," I whisper back.

He just smiles gently at me. "I know. I can feel it."

"Is it bothering you?" I ask.

He just shakes his head in response before picking at the collar of my
shirt. "I like it," he says, and I have to clear my throat before he
continues to comment. "I wish mine was big like yours."

I smile fondly, stroking his back gently. "It'd look a bit silly on you,
don't you think?"

He shrugs, giggling to himself. "I guess. But it'd be fun!"

Can't argue with that. "You'll catch up, don't worry," I assure him.

"But when?" he whines.

"Soon, baby." I lean in and kiss his nose, my lips seeming to be drawn to
my boy. "You grow more and more every year." God, and what a sight he'll
be.

"But not down there," he pouts.

"Sure you have, Mace," I say with a chuckle. "Maybe you just haven't
noticed."

"Nope. You're wrong," he says confidently, wiggling his hips and making me
snort.

"Daddy's always right," I say, giving his sides a little tickle, "and don't
you forget it."

When I release him from the assault of my fingers, he relaxes again, his
smile turning from amused to curious. "What about hair?" he asks, glancing
down between us. He even lifts up my shirt a bit so that he can get a peek
at the happy trail disappearing into my boxer briefs.

"What about it?"

"I want some!" he says, deciding to sit up on my thighs so that he can
playfully pluck at the hairs above my groin. He even takes a few fingers to
tug the waistband down slightly so that he can run his fingers through my
pubes.

I gulp, fully aware that I'm still rock solid -- but I in no way stop
him. "Patience, baby," I murmur.

He just sighs slightly, twirling his finger around the strands. "You're
hairier than Papa," he comments.

I chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I need a haircut."

He seems to find that comical because he lets out a particularly slobbery
laugh. Then, he says, "If you cut it *all* of, you'll be like me!"

I know his intention wasn't to make that notion stick, but it does. Even
after Mason hops off of my waist and leaves me with quite a boner to go
check on his turtle, the thought about me getting a "haircut" is still
buzzing around in my head. What if I...?

I check the time. Dad said he'd be home around six, so it'll be a little
over an hour before he's expected. Licking my lips, I push myself up off
the couch and head upstairs to the bathroom with one goal in mind: getting
my hands on Dad's manscaping kit.

It's rare that I ever use it. Once in a blue moon, maybe, I'll trim up a
bit just for kicks, but I typically keep things natural -- mostly because
I'm lazy, and partly because Dad has never once complained. It's not like
I'm a huge mess down there anyway, so I've never truly felt an urge aside
from a few instances of satisfying curiosities. But this is a much more
drastic change that I'll be doing.

The first thing I do is hedge my bush down with the scissors before I whip
out the electric trimmer to get my pubes down as low as possible. Then, out
come the razors. I've never completely shaved myself, and I guarantee that
I'll probably be itching like a motherfucker, but it'll be worth it to see
the look on Dad's face. I'm only doing it for him, after all. I'm giving
him a chance to touch me as if I were his hairless little boy again.

Once I'm completely smooth (thanks to Dad's coconut oil), I pull my boxer
briefs back up, sweep the hair off the floor, and then sneak over to
Mason's room. I find him seated right in front of his tank, talking softly
to Bowser and tracing the patterns on the turtle's shell. Ugh, what a
cutie.

"Pssst," I whisper.

Mason glances over at me in surprise before he smiles. "Hi, Daddy. Wanna
help me feed Bowser?"

"Not right now, baby. I gotta start dinner," I say before grinning. "I have
a surprise, though."

It's like a magic word for kids. They love surprises. "What?" he asks
excitedly, his eyes widening.

"C'mere," I beckon, and he doesn't hesitate to hop off of his chair and
rush over to me.

"What is it?" he asks, inspecting my hands as if I'm hiding something in
them.

"Look," I murmur, and I push the front of my boxer briefs down slightly,
only the base of my cock coming into view.

When he sees that there's no longer hair there, he gasps, looking up at me
quickly. "Did you get a haircut?"

"Sure did," I say, chuckling. "A shave, but yeah."

"Whoa," he says, reaching forward to touch the freshly-shaven skin
there. Then he giggles, jumping once. "Now we match!"

"That we do, cutie," I say, letting my underwear snap back in place. We
won't match for long. I'm sure I'll start seeing pubes tomorrow morning,
but for now, that thought is exciting. "Just thought you'd like to
know. I'm gonna head downstairs, though. Pasta sound good to you?"

"With red sauce?" he inquires.

"You know it," I say, smiling.

"I wanna help!" he says.

"Oh yeah?" I grin, reaching down to scoop him up and toss him over my
shoulder. "Good. We can cook you up tonight," I tease, patting his
butt. Mason, who's dangling down my back, squeals with giggles and pleads
for me to not eat him, but how am I supposed to resist such a tasty meal?

I carry Mason downstairs, setting him down once we enter the kitchen. I let
him handle boiling the pasta and heating up the sauce while I focus on
sautéing chopped vegetables to add to the mix. The whole while, we bump
each other with our hips, enjoying a little dance party to whatever's
playing on Mason's little radio. Such a simple way to make father-son
cooking even more fun.

When the meal is nearly complete, I hear the front door open -- and I grin
to myself as I hand Mason the wooden spoon. "Keep stirring, Master Chef," I
say, and I kiss his cheek before slipping out of the kitchen. There he is:
my stud of a father. Just as Dad's locking up, I slide into his field of
vision, and his exhausted expression quickly makes way for something
joyful. "Hey," I say.

"Hey yourself," he replies, subtly licking his bottom lip. I quickly step
into his personal space, draping my arms over his shoulders and planting a
deep "Welcome home, handsome" kiss on his lips. He sighs heavily against
me, hooking one arm around my lower back and pulling me close as he sets
his keys on the side table. He missed me. I can tell by that tender sense
of urgency behind each shift of his lips and his grip on my body -- and by
the way he so slightly grunts with disapproval when I pull my mouth
away. "Why'd you stop?" he asks in a low voice.

I just grin at him, taking his right hand and pulling it against my
groin. After I lift the hem of my shirt slightly, I guide his hand up and
then into my boxer briefs, letting him feel how smooth I am.

He looks uncharacteristically expressive in his surprise, both eyebrows
raising high. "What happened?" he asks.

"Shaved myself," I tell him before murmuring, "all over, Daddy." His eyes
seem to momentarily glaze over before he pushes his hand deeper into the
pouch, totally cupping my goods. I grunt, chuckling softly.

"All over?" he questions.

"Well, not *all* over," I correct myself. "I can't get the back without a
little help."

He visibly swallows, his Adam's apple twitching as he glances down at
me. "What's this about?"

I just shrug playfully, grabbing his free left hand. "Thought it'd be
sexy," I tell him, bringing his newly-dressed ring finger to my lips and
kissing the wedding band. Fuck, I can't wait until we get my ring resized.

He sighs heavily, gently massaging my package with his palm. "You're gonna
kill me one of these days, Mitchy," he says in a low voice, touching my
lips with the tips of his fingers.

I snort. "What does *that* mean?" I ask, but before I get an answer, Mason
calls for me from the kitchen and says he needs my help. Just as I'm about
to come to his aid, Dad takes my hand and gives me his response by making
sure I feel how hard he is behind his jeans. I give him a smirk, followed
by a look that says, "Later, stud."

Mason was getting worried because the sauce was bubbling, so I take over
for him and give him a moment to greet his Papa Joel. Dinner's practically
ready, anyway, so I suppose Dad made pretty excellent timing. Mason does,
however, steal Dad away for a few minutes to introduce him to the newest
member of the family before we all enjoy a meal together.

I do notice Dad eyeing me the whole time the three of us are eating. What's
he thinking? Is he itching to touch me again, to feel how smooth I've
become? Is he horny, but not in a way he can ignore? Is his desire
pestering him? It's somewhat fun pretending like I don't notice him staring
while he slowly chews his food, but the true excitement is anticipating the
inevitable sex tonight. Mason's sleeping in his own room, after all, so
it's just us tonight: daddy and his little boy.

I try not to think about it too much as to avoid getting too antsy between
my legs, so I mostly focus on Mason's excitement about his pet turtle that
lasts nearly the entire meal. Once we finish up eating, he runs right back
upstairs to be reunited with Bowser, and I take a moment to clear the
table, playfully avoiding eye contact with my father.

As I'm rinsing plates off in the sink, I feel Dad press up against
me. Suddenly, he has become a wall of paternal warmth, and I simultaneously
tense and melt when he holds onto my upper arms. "You mentioned you needed
help?" he murmurs in my ear.

I know exactly what he's referring to. I gulp, nodding and setting the
plate down. "Mhm."

"Daddy's help?"

Aaand, there goes my cock. How many times am I going to get hard at
rapid-speed today without getting off? "Yes please," I say.

"Hmm," he hums before kissing the back of my head. "I'll be upstairs."
Then, he lets go of my arms and walks away without another word.

I take that as not an invitation but a request to abandon the dishes and
follow him. Heart thumping excitedly in my chest, I give him a minute head
start before I make my way up the stairs and veer into the open
bathroom. When I enter, Dad's got his manscaping kit out, gripping a fresh
razor in his hand -- and for whatever reason, I get chills.

He turns towards me with his classic, resting expression, his eyes quickly
giving me a once over before he murmurs, "Drop 'em."

We're getting right down to business, I see. Swallowing the saliva that has
accumulated in my mouth, I step into the bathroom, shut the door behind me,
and drop my boxer briefs to my ankles. Unsurprisingly, life starts to flood
to my cock as I step towards him, fully aware he's soaking in the changes
I've made to my crotch.

"Bend over for me," he says in a low tone, met with another twitch of my
cock. I get into position, placing my hands on either side of the sink and
pushing my ass out slightly for him. As I turn my head, I watch Dad grab a
bottle of something and then kneel down behind me.

It's shaving cream. He applies some to his fingers before working it
between my cheeks, and I bite my lip hard as to resist groaning. Usually if
Dad was petting me like this, fingering would be the next step -- and I
find myself so quickly falling into receptive mode out of habit. But he's
just applying the cream in an even fashion, thick fingers coating anywhere
there's hair.

I only have a small amount back there, so it doesn't take much. Soon, he
tugs my hips back even further so that my cheeks naturally part, and once
he's satisfied with his application, he carefully begins shaving me. The
sensation is so strange. I know that if I were to do this myself, it
wouldn't feel sexy, but having Dad take over for me automatically makes
this erotic. It's like he's prepping me, intimately and lovingly.

"I hope you feel like you don't have to do this," Dad says after a long
stretch of silence.

"I know," I tell him. "But I wanted to. For you."

I feel him lean in and kiss the small of my back. "I love you the way you
are, you know," he says, and I smile to myself. "But I won't lie. I'm very
turned on."

I chuckle slightly, happy to have gotten the desired effect. "I figured,
after all that talk about us... and about Mason," I add in a half-whisper.

He pauses for a moment. "Did I say something wrong?" he asks.

"No, not at all," I quickly assure him. He seems relieved enough to
continue his work, and I look at myself in the mirror. Should I tell him?
After the kiss with Mason, I thought it was a no brainer, but suddenly, I'm
nervous to divulge that information -- at least out loud. "I kissed Mason
today."

I wait for a response to come, but Dad merely continues gently dragging the
razor around my hole, getting every last hair.

"Did you hear me?" I ask.

"Huh?"

"I said I kissed Mason today."

"Okay?" Dad says.

I snort. "What's that tone?"

"Nothing. I just mean, you kiss Mason every day," he clarifies. "Where's
the rest of the story?"

Clearly I didn't put enough emphasis on the right word. "No, I mean, I
*kissed* him today." Again, Dad pauses, and I can almost feel his eyes
boring holes in the back of my head. "I guess technically he kissed me
first, but..."

Slowly, Dad stands up, setting the razor down on the side of the sink and
practically pinning me against the porcelain. "He kissed you?"

I nod. "Like, a real kiss," I murmur, finding it oddly thrilling saying
this out loud. In my head, things remain safe, but who knows what they do
out in the ether. "We're rubbing off on him."

"Are we, now?" he asks, and I detect something fresh in his voice:
arousal. It's confirmed when he presses up against me and I feel his solid
bulge nudge between my freshly-shaven cheeks.

"You're hard," I whisper.

He just grunts softly. "I am," he says. "You make me feel like a fuckin'
perv, Mitchy."

"That's 'cause you are," I whisper, and he sighs heavily through his nose
right against my neck. I like having the power of knowing his weak spot --
and I know just how to probe it further. "I think you're rubbing off on me,
too," I add.

He looks up, holding my gaze through the mirror. "Yeah?"

I nod. "I felt something, Dad. When we kissed. Felt it here." I reach for
one of his hands and guide it right to my cock so he feels how hard I
am. Immediately, he squeezes it in a firm grip just as his lips press a
deep, moist kiss to my neck. I let out an involuntary moan, already sinking
into that sexual headspace -- that is, before he lets go and turns me
around to face him.

"You're not lying, are you?" he asks me, a hint of sternness in his
voice. Even that is still sexy to me.

I shake my head. "I promise."

"Because you don't have to lie just to turn me on."

"I'm not lying, Dad," I assure him.

His eyes scan my face before he murmurs, "Then say it."

I blink. "Say what?"

"Say what got you this hard." For an added bit of teasing, he drags the
tips of two fingers along the underside of my shaft, making it squirt
precum onto his hand.

I grunt. "Mason did."

"How?" he demands.

"By him kissing me."

"But it wasn't just him, was it, baby?"

I find this spotlight interrogation to be unnerving... but not necessarily
in a bad way. The light from it is beaming down on me so intensely, though,
that I'm overheating, my heart pumping blood so rapidly through my body
it's like I can feel the flow. "No," I admit.

"So tell me."

How is he keeping such a level head? I feel like I'm shaking under his gaze
and from his ministrations on my cock. "I kissed him back."

Dad hums, seeming to be getting close to hearing what he wants to hear from
me. "And that made you hard, didn't it, son? Kissing your boy got you all
stiff?"

"Yes," I whisper in a cracked voice. Am I sweating? I feel like I'm
sweating. Or melting. Either one.

"How old is he, Mitch?"

I gulp, nearly choking. "Seven."

"Seven," he whispers back, almost hissing it and shaking his head. "You got
hard kissing a seven-year-old boy, huh, baby?" Jesus Christ, Dad. My face
couldn't get any hotter right now. I'm sure I'm so red I'm practically
glowing like a hot wire -- and he sees that. "It's okay," he adds. "You can
tell me."

It takes a moment for me to push the word out of my mouth. "Yes."

"Just as hard as you are now?" he asks me, guiding my hand to my own
cock. He has me wrap my own fingers around it, and I can't help but notice
how much bigger my member feels. Apparently he noticed it too. "You feel
pretty damn hard, Mitchy."

"It feels... different," I say, grunting when I give my cock a squeeze.

Dad grins. "Oh yeah? How so?"

"Fuller, I think. Or thicker."

"Mmm. That's 'cause it's perv thick, Mitchy," Dad tells me, making my cock
twitch in my own hand. I'm probably leaking like a fucking faucet right
now. "You're my little perv, ain'tcha?"

My whole body erupts in baby chills, and I need Dad to make them
full-grown. I'm sure he can see the desire in my eyes clear as day. Can you
see it, Dad? I want you to touch me like you wish you had. I want you to
molest me to the highest degree, as if your inhibitions had disappeared all
those years ago. I want you to show me what you've always fantasized about
during those late nights after putting me to bed. I want you to make up for
lost time.

After several moments of staring into each other's eyes, Dad leans in and
only kisses my cheek. "Tell me about the kiss," he whispers to me before
slowly getting down on one knee, moving my hand off my dick, and encasing
me in his mouth.

My whole body twitches once before relaxing as Dad bobs back and forth at a
gentle pace, coating me in his saliva. It feels extra fucking good right
now, and I have to focus in order to form sentences. "We were on the couch,
cuddling. It was slow," I say, "and drawn-out. Tender and sweet
and... fucking magical."

Dad hums deeply on my cock, sending little vibrations down the shaft before
guiding me into his welcoming throat. My toes curl, attempting to clutch
onto the rug beneath my feet and one of his knees.

"I licked his lips a little bit," I admit, "and that's when I noticed
I... mmmf... that I was getting hard."

Dad gently pulls off, looking up at me as my cock stares him right in the
face. "He feel it?"

I nod. "He was right on top of it." Seeming to approve, Dad parts his lips
again and takes me down to the hilt, causing me to hold onto the back of
his head and grunt. "He was hard, too," I tell him -- and in response, Dad
groans, sliding his hands up my legs and resting on my sides. "I let him
grind against me. Encouraged it, even."

After holding deep for several seconds, Dad smoothly slides back, letting
my cock fall out of his mouth with just a string of spit connecting the
head to his bottom lip -- a string he quickly slurps up and swallows. Then,
he leans in, nuzzling his face against the smooth skin above the base of my
shaft. His hands explore a bit too, gliding across any shaven skin with his
fingertips. I just moan softly, watching, soaking in the sight, enjoying
the almost reverent way he's touching me.

Eventually, he senses me looking, and when he peers up at me with those
deeply green eyes of his, he stands and plants a short but sensual kiss on
my lips that breaks with a deliciously moist smack. "Come to bed with me,"
he murmurs.

As if he has to ask. I just nod, and he takes my hand to lead me down the
hallway to our bedroom, bottomless, my stiff cock bouncing back and forth
between my thighs. Passing Mason's room barely registers in my brain
because I'm so focused on Dad, now. Once inside, he shuts the door and
slowly removes my shirt, tossing it to the floor without a car. He seems to
see me differently, eyeing me in a curious way -- taking stock, I suppose,
or otherwise burning this smooth version of me into his memory.

"Beautiful," he whispers to himself as his eyes scan my exposed body, and I
smile slightly when he steps closer. "You want Daddy to make you feel
good?"

I nod once, twice, seven times. "Yes. Please."

He grins. "You trust me?" he asks, leaning down to press a kiss near my
left eye just as his fingers wrap around my impossibly hard cock. "You
trust me to take care of you?"

"Unconditionally," I breathe out, tugging him closer.

He rests a free hand on my hip. "As you should," he murmurs.

I turn my face up towards his even though his eyes are fixed on my
groin. "Mason trusts me like that," I tell him.

His eyes flicker up to meet mine, and he increases the firmness of his grip
on my shaft. "That he does," he says, his voice low and thick with
sensuality. He slowly licks his lips. "Thinkin' about being close with
Mason? Like we are?"

My body is torn between "This is so fucked up" and "This is so hot," but
with my insides supercharged and my big man clearly getting turned on by
the conversation, I find myself nodding like there's no other option.

"Mmm," he hums, his deep voice practically making me drool. "You know I've
always loved you, Mitchy," he whispers, nuzzling into the side of my head
as he continues to jack me off. "Loved you deep. But you turned into *such*
a little stud when you brought home that boy."

No wonder that kiss happened the way it happened. His attraction for me was
probably further instigated by my virility. I fathered a child -- a son, no
less. That's what it is to be male, isn't it?

"Made me so damn hard, baby," he continues, and I close my eyes, just
letting his words and his touches and his presence completely fill my
senses. "Every time you held him, every time you fed him, every time he
demanded a kiss from you, I got thick."

God, picturing him getting just a little too snug in his jeans watching me
raise my flesh and blood is making my cock wet -- wet enough for him to
stroke me with exceptionally fluid motions.

"Almost every night, I thought about you two while you slept together," he
says. "Wondered how deeply you'd hold him... kiss him... fuck him."

I let out a noise that I can barely discern as a moan. I don't know what it
is. I just know that my body's on fire and his fist is working on coating
my cock in my precum as it steadily drips. Who knew I was such a leaker?

"Know why I like your cock so much, stud?" he asks me.

I manage to speak, but it's breathy. "Why?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Because it made such a fucking beautiful, sexy little boy."

Dad called Mason sexy. *Sexy* -- and I'm so high right now that I nod in
agreement. I don't know what he's doing to me, but suddenly, my mind is
flooded with images. These are different from those that invaded my
consciousness at the pet store, though, when I saw that adorable father/son
pair. These are images of me and my own son, images that are deep and
tender and raunchy and beautiful, images that my own father is encouraging
me to have. This is him giving me his blessing. The family way.

"Yeah? You agree?" he asks.

"Yeah, Daddy," I whisper back, my lip quivering. "Sexy." God, it gives me
such a sick sense of pleasure calling him that -- no, *admitting* it.

"My little boy is pretty damn sexy, too," he tells me, focusing his palm on
the oversensitive head of my cock for a moment. "Daddy's big little boy."

"Me," I breathe out, clutching onto him more tightly, my back arching as I
try to work my hips into his fist in desperate fashion. "That's me."

"I know it's you, baby." How is his voice so soothing yet so electrifying?
I can barely breathe. "Goddamn, I love talkin' special with you, babe. With
my special little man." He practically moans in my ear, making my cock feel
larger than it's ever felt, so engorged and needy. "Gonna make a boylover
out of you, kid."

"Just like you," I murmur, nearly panting as he strokes me faster.

Dad grunts. "Just like me, Mitch. A true family man." His hot breath
lingers on my jaw before he looks down towards my cock, the slick noises
echoing off our bedroom walls. "You gonna cum for me, boy?"

I'm practically right on the edge already, surprisingly enough. He must
sense it. Dad's just good at reading my body. "Uh huh," I moan out, my toes
curling tightly. I wish I was lying down on the bed, because my knees feel
wobbly.

"Come on, then," he encourages, stroking me from base to tip with a smooth,
consistent motion. My eyes roll back a bit, and I hold onto his belt loops
for added support, barreling towards an orgasmic cliff.

When it finally hits, Dad's grip gets even tighter on every backstroke --
like he's truly milking me. I swear under my breath, looking down and
resting my forehead on his chest as I watch him empty my balls right into
one of his hands. With the way he's working me, the cum oozes out of the
slit all thick and creamy, pooling right into his palm. I'm barely
cognizant of the steady stream of compliments Dad's uttering because the
sweet, full-body relief of this orgasm blocks out all my other senses
momentarily. God, I needed that.

Dad squeezes out every last drop he can get before finally releasing my
member and raising his cum-filled hand up. At first, I think he's offering
it to me -- but that notion is quickly expunged once I watch him drag his
tongue into the pool of seed. My lips part in soft surprise, but I'm
absolutely transfixed watching my own father lap at my cum before he slurps
it up.

He licks his lips and hums as if tasting something delicious, and I notice
my cock hasn't gone down one bit. Fucking hot. As he cleans up his hand
with his tongue, I fall back on the bed, exhaustedly horny, the air
expelling from my lungs with such force it's as if it's trying to push out
the delirium I'm feeling. I'm buzzing from that conversation still, and how
it made me feel.

Dad chuckles briefly before joining me on the bed. He sits straight-up on
the edge of the mattress, resting a hand on my thigh and gently stroking
the skin with his thumb.

"So," he says, breaking the silence after a while.

I glance at him, gently smiling. "So...?"

"Sorry if I took it too far," he says.

For once, he looks mildly ashamed, or, at the very least, nervous. Maybe he
was just getting caught up in the moment, letting his horny stream of
consciousness flow. Maybe he feels like he pushed me into something. "Don't
be sorry," I assure him.

"I don't want you to think I'm a bad guy or anything," he tries to
clarify. "I promise I'm not."

I actually snort. Is that the impression he thinks he made on me? I shaved
all my damn body hair so that he could perv out on my body. "Dad," I say,
rolling my eyes. "Don't be stupid. I know you're not a bad guy."

"But all that--"

"Doesn't make you a bad guy." I rest my hand on top of his, giving it an
affectionate squeeze. "I mean, you're maybe a bit of a creep, but..." I
mean it as a joke, but his cheeks actually flush before he looks away -- so
now I feel bad. "I'm kidding," I tell him, quickly sitting up and
maneuvering into his lap to assuage the effect my choice of words had on
him. Automatically, his hands wrap around my waist to keep me from
slipping, and I drape my arms over his shoulders as I face him. "You're not
a creep. I didn't mean that."

"But I am, Mitch," he says, staring at my lips. "Aren't I?"

A fucking hot one, if so. "Then we're both creeps," I murmur, hating myself
for upsetting him -- if I even did, that is. He could just be a smidge
embarrassed, but even so, I don't want to cause those kinds of emotions. I
want him to feel as safe as he makes me feel. Reciprocation. "It's fine."

His eyes flicker up to mine. "You don't think it's fucked-up?"

I shrug. "Maybe a little," I say with a grin, and he actually smiles. "But
it's just you and me right now, Dad. Talking. I know you wouldn't hurt me,
or Mason."

"Never," he says firmly, holding me more tightly.

I smile. "I told you I trust you," I murmur, kissing his bottom
lip. "Plus," I add, stroking his jaw to add a little physical affection to
the mix, "what you and I have, what we've always had... It feels right,
doesn't it?"

"Sure does," he murmurs, nodding once.

"So whatever you wanna call it, it led to something pretty fucking
special." When Dad hears those words and sees the smile accompanying them,
he seems to cheer up immensely -- enough for me to continue to tease. "I
for one like that you're a fuckin' perv," I whisper.

"Don't cuss," he mumbles through a tender but appreciative smile, and I
laugh as our noses gently nudge against each other. Guess I can only swear
during sex, apparently. "I like being open with you, kiddo," he says.

I bet he feels freed, in a way. "I'll be open with you too, big guy," I
assure him.

He smiles as he slides his hands slowly up and down my backside. "In that
case, I have a question for you," he says. "I know what we were talkin'
about, that was fantasy, right?"

"Yeah," I say, wondering where he's going with this.

"But you *did* kiss Mason, yeah? And all that?"

If my body wasn't so exhausted, I'd probably be blushing again. "Yes," I
whisper.

Dad trails his finger up my side, giving me a sensual tickle. "So... what
now?"

"Now?" I ask. I hadn't really thought about what's next. "Uh..."

"Would you do something with him?" he asks me patiently.

I bite my lip. He's merely curious, I can tell. "Honest answer or sexy
answer?"

He smiles. "Honest, always," he says.

"I don't know," I tell him. "I know I felt... something, but I don't know
what'll happen." I shrug slightly as if to emphasize the fact that this is
all happening so quickly for me. I mean, I certainly wouldn't have gotten
this far without Dad, and our conversations, and the seed of perversion he
planted inside of me. It's only just starting to break through the soil. "I
mean, if something *were* to ever happen," I add, partially hesitating,
"he'd have to initiate it. You know?"

Unless I'm mistaken, Dad's smile seems proud and approving. "I know," he
says, rewarding me with a small kiss. "You're a good boy."

It's almost silly how much that little phrase makes me glow. "Learned from
the best," I tease, smiling right against his mouth. "Talking about it is
fun, though," I say in a whisper, smirking. Even though Dad did the
majority of the talking this time around, I want to get involved more. I
want to fire him the fuck up. He deserves it.

Dad grins. "It is, huh?"

I nod, working my fingers into his shoulders. "Whenever you need to... get
it out of your system, lemme know."

He chuckles softly as he rolls his eyes before giving me a fond look. "You
just wanna embarrass your old man," he sneers playfully.

I grin. "Maybe I just wanna get deep with Daddy," I whisper, and he sighs
heavily through his nose, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him. "Real
deep. As deep as you wanna go."

"Gettin' deep with my baby boy," he whispers back, just as one hand slides
down to my ass. I arch my back a little bit so that he can easily get his
fingers between my cheeks. I gulp when I feel his thick fingers exploring
the newfound smoothness behind my taint, eliciting a few moans out of me as
the tips of those digits tease my hole in soft circles. I hear him sigh as
he touches me. "Goddamn," he groans.

"What's it feel like?" I ask, biting on his earlobe.

He chuckles deeply. "Like boy," he murmurs, his voice sinking so severely
that my hole flutters.

"Daddy," I whine, my cock inflating the longer he pets at my hole.

"Yeah, babe?"

"I love you."

He breathes out heavily, pressing more insistently against my hole. "God,
I'm so in love with you, Mitchy," he says before roping me in for a deep
but softly passionate kiss. It's nothing but lips, swapping nothing but
lustful heat. My body completely opens up for him, responsive and
wanting. And then, to make matters worse, when he breaks the kiss, he asks
me a question: "You wanna fuck me?"

I blink, breaking out of my gently-sensual state to look at him in
shock. "Really?" I ask. That's something we've never even discussed
before. Frankly, it's never really struck me as an option.

"Yeah," he says, his face unchanging.

"Um..." I almost laugh, deciding to throw the question back at him. "Do you
want me to?"

He smirks a little. "Sure," he says, now pressing more firmly against my
hole and making me whimper. "I wanna see what a big stud my boy is."

Fucking Dad... Sinking my cock right into him the way he does to me...
Wasn't I *just* thinking about the power of reciprocation? A smile slowly
stretches across my face, and I gently nudge my hard-on against his stomach
and nod.

When I agree, he grins before somehow effortlessly picking me up as he
stands and then setting me down lovingly on the bed. Once I'm on my back,
he starts undressing in front of me. I reach between my legs to grab hold
of my cock as he pulls his t-shirt off with one swift motion, revealing
that beautifully furred torso of his. Then, the belt opens with a musical
twinkle that's followed by the unzipping of his fly. I get a sneak peak of
the brief-clad, precum-stained dad-bulge through the opening before he
grants me full view by pushing his jeans down and letting them drop to his
ankles.

Then, without further ado, off with the underwear. His hard cock flops free
when he peels the fabric away, bouncing about as he steps out of his
clothes. After nudging them aside with his bare foot, he stands in front of
me completely naked, allowing me to soak him in.

When he moves, I initially think he's going to climb into bed with me --
but he first goes for the night stand. In it, we keep our lube handy, but
that's not the only thing he pulls out. After tossing the bottle of KY onto
the bed, he takes out his leather cock ring, a soft smile on his lips as he
stands between my legs at the edge of the bed.

"I thought you only wear that when you fuck," I comment.

"I do," he says. "You're wearing it."

I blink. "I am?"

"You are," he says with a little grin. He beckons for me to sit up, so I
kneel on the edge of the bed with a surprised look on my face. We wait for
my cock to down a bit before he fastens the ring around the base of my
shaft, making sure it's snug without it being totally restrictive. At
first, it's a little uncomfortable, but as Dad tenderly brings me back to a
full erection, I understand why he wears it. I feel *huge*, stud-like, and
unequivocally male. I feel ready. A cock ring promises an elongated orgasm
and heightened stimulation, so I'm more than excited to experience this.

Once secured, Dad takes my chin in his hand and kisses me tongue-first,
keeping his movements slow and deliberate. I let my eyes close, my cock
giving off its own heat as he presses up against me. My hands slide down
his back and rest on his ass, giving it a light squeeze. I can't help but
smile against his lips. In just a matter of minutes, his son is about to
fuck him. Did either of us ever really expect this to happen?

Dad pulls away and then pushes me back onto the bed, grinning down at me,
lips red and wet with shared spit. As he lifts one foot onto the edge of
the bed, he reaches for the lube and pops the cap open -- and I'm quick to
stop him. "Wait!"

He pauses, looking confused. "What?"

"I wanna do it."

He smiles slightly before tossing me the bottle. "Alright, kid," he says,
climbing onto the bed, resting on his back beside me, and casually
spreading his legs ever so slightly. "Show me what you got."

I could lube him up and just get right to it... but my mouth suddenly has
other desires. I leave the bottle to the side for now as I shift onto my
stomach, placing my head between his legs. In a lot of ways, I feel right
at home here still. Situating myself between those thick thighs of his
always feels right. As he idly strokes his manhood, I lean in and press a
kiss to the tip before I start to move down, taking my time. He pauses his
stroking to let me peck each knuckle, steadily moving south and maintaining
eye contact almost the entire time. He just looks at me with a blank
expression but fiery eyes as I travel lower and lower.

I kiss across his balls, nuzzling them and giving them a quick, deep inhale
before he opens his legs a little wider for me. He even lifts one of them
up just enough for me to be able to get my tongue where it needs to be.
After licking my lips, I push my tongue forward into his heat, dipping past
his taint and gliding it right across his hole. Just as I'm eliciting a
soft moan out of him, I'm thinking, "So this is what it's like, huh?" So
strange. An asshole is not what I expected it to feel like, or taste like,
but God, I'm into it. I keep at it, lapping at his sensitive flesh and
closing my eyes when I feel him comb my hair and gently grip. I can hear
him stroking himself slow and steady, and I rim him as tenderly as he does
to me when he's in the mood to make love rather than all-out fuck. That's
the energy I want to give off, because I adore him, and lust for him, and
worship him -- and now, I get to have all of him.

I kiss and gently tongue his pucker for as long as I can tolerate the kink
in my neck before I sit up on my knees, stretch, and then grab the little
bottle of lube. I focus on him first, squirting the KY ultragel onto my
fingers and then very slowly rubbing it against his hole. We make eye
contact for a brief moment, during which he gives me a subtle nod. Green
light.

I ease my middle finger right into him, and I exhale softly. As I gently
probe, I'm surprised by how hot he feels inside. It's got my cock twitching
in anticipation of being hugged by that warmth -- a tight hug, at that.
"Have you ever done this before?" I ask.

He looks at me, hand still loosely wrapped around his member. "What, finger
myself?"

I shrug. "Not just fingers," I say.

He shakes his head when he realizes what I'm implying. "Never a real one,
no." A real one? I cock my eyebrow at him, intrigued, and he laughs. "Your
mother was a total kinkster. Kinkier than--"

"Stop," I mutter, laughing. The thought of him getting drilled by a fake
cock is pretty damn hot, but I don't want to think about my mother. This is
between me and my one and only. This is our moment. I won't have it sullied
by non-family.

"Just go easy on me," he says, watching me lube my cock up with my other
hand.

"No promises," I tease, amazed by how engorged my cock feels. It's like I'm
a new man, stepping up a rung in adulthood by preparing to do what men do
best -- and by pseudo-deflowering my pervy father. Christ. It's my first
fuck. My first fuck, and it's with my own dad. What can possibly top that?
Though I'm sure if I asked Dad that question, he'd respond with something
like, "Your first fuck with your own son."

He holds his leg back for me once I remove my finger and lets me rub my
cock against him in search for his hole. "Don't be nervous," he tells me.

"I'm not nervous," I lie. Truth is, part of me is anxious about performing.
I want to impress Dad, show him I'm as good of a lay as he is, that I've
been paying attention and taking notes. But the other part of me knows
there's no need to "perform" for him. All he wants is to share this with
me. So I breathe, relax, and push forward.

Both the tightness and the warmth are jarring, and I nearly melt from the
unexpected sensations. He's so hot inside, and the head of my cock just
wants to burrow deeper and nest. Eyes fluttering, I let out an elongated
moan as I push my hips forward and try to bury myself in him.

"Slow," my dad murmurs, and I look down at him. If he's uncomfortable, he's
not showing it. He just lies there, eyes closed, breathing like normal.
"Slower."

I resist every urge to just pound it out. I can't overdo it and risk
hurting him, even if my cock is begging me to. It's incredible. The cock
ring probably just heightens the sensations, but still, I forgot how good
fucking is -- so good that I'm the vocal one out of the two of us. Dad
barely makes a sound, and if he does, I can hardly hear him over my own
moans.

I go slow like he requested, completely hugged by tight flesh, by son
meeting father. I've only ever fucked one girl, and she never felt as good
as this. There Dad goes again, taking care of me so well that I never want
to leave. I just bite my lip, steadying my breathing pattern as I ease
deeper and deeper.

Once I have no more inches to feed him, Dad sighs and then laughs softly.
"Goddamn, boy," he growls.

"What?"

"Hardly Daddy's little boy right now."

I grin a bit, stroking his inner thighs. "I still am, on the inside," I
tell him, and he grunts as I start to pull back. Then back in. Out, in,
back and forth, steady and slow. I look down at the penetration, watching
the way his ring wraps around and holds tightly onto my cock with each
pull-back. It's a beautiful sight, watching my cock disappear, Dad's
rock-hard member right in my periphery. I almost want to take a picture --
or, better yet, a video.

"Move your hips a bit," he asks.

I blink. "Is that not what I'm doing?" I ask, chuckling.

"No, just... Adjust your-- Ah! Right fuckin' there." He lets out a deep
moan after I shift angles just slightly. I must be hitting him just right
with each stroke. Grinning, I eye the way Dad's body flexes with each
thrust, the way his core gets taut and his biceps bulge, admiring my big
man for giving it up for me. I love him so fucking much.

I fall into a steady rhythm, going for consistency rather than flavor for
both our sakes. I manage to last a decent amount of time, too, but I still
shut my eyes and curse myself out for getting close. It doesn't matter.
There's no stopping me now. I can't edge. My body has one, needy goal in
mind, and that's to fucking cum with everything it's got. As my second
orgasm builds, my thrusts get shorter and sharper, and amidst my moans,
Dad's voice emerges. "That's it, stud," he says encouragingly.

"I'm gonna cum again, Dad," I grunt. I'm not asking permission, just
stating fact.

"That's my fuckin' boy," he praises. I feel his eyes on me as my face
flushes and breathing hitches. "Cum for me, kid." Yes sir. Round two, here
we come.

It could be the cock ring, or the fact that I'm fucking Dad, or a mix of
both, but my orgasm is bone-shattering. I feel the cum rushing into my
cock, but the sensation is somehow paused, that initial electricity
stretched out over a few seconds' time. Then, when I finally do erupt, the
intensity is so sharp that I can't help but fuck my cock into him as deep
as I can get. My left leg starts twitching as the head of my manhood flares
repeatedly inside of Dad. It feels like I just keep pumping, and pumping,
and pumping but at a far slower rate than I'm used to. The low speed
stretches out the orgasm, and when I've completely emptied my balls, I
finally find myself able to breathe.

I'm almost laughing from how good that felt. With my hands on the bed and
cock still buried to the hilt in my dad's hole, I'm all smiles. "You good?"
Dad asks, chuckling.

"That was crazy," I murmur, reaching up to wipe sweat off my brow. "Crazy"
doesn't seem like the right word to describe how it felt, but it'll have to
suffice. I can barely think right now.

"That's my boy," Dad whispers, reaching over to stroke my arm. He runs his
hand down to mine before tugging on it. "C'mere, pup. Give Daddy a kiss."

I chuckle softly as I catch my breath, positively glowing. I slowly pull
out, my cock slick with lube and the tip dripping cum, before I crawl over
my dad and start resting on top of him. "Yes, Papa," I tease.

Dad growls a bit, making me laugh before our lips clash with a restrained
sort of ferocity. God, we're so into each other. There's so much power
between us, surrounding us -- power and love and security. I kiss him deep
and I kiss him hard, humming softly with him like we're in perfect,
synchronous harmony. It's the simplest way to show my appreciation for him
without using words. Sometimes we just need to let our bodies do the
talking.

Dad's hands slide up and down my backside while we kiss, but they do spend
a lot of time on my ass. He'll often cop a feel or give each cheek a gentle
stroke or squeeze before sliding back up my spine. Occasionally, a few
fingers will find themselves nestled in the valley between, but he doesn't
touch my hole. He instead reaches in between us. At first, I think he's
going for my cock again, but I quickly realize that he wants to remove the
little accessory accentuating my goods.

I reluctantly break the kiss, sitting up with his cock lodged between my
cheeks -- still nice and solid, I notice. I look down at his hands as they
unclasp the cock ring from around my shaft. "How'd you like this thing?" he
asks me.

"It was awesome," I say as he removes it, letting my cock finally breathe a
bit. Then I chuckle softly. "I came... so hard."

"Now you know why I like using it," he says, grinning up at me.

"Mhm," I hum, gently running my fingers through some of his body hair.
"Wanna use it now?" I ask innocently, wiggling my ass on his hard-on as I
lightly tug on a few strands. "Still gotta take care of you."

He drags his tongue along his bottom lip as if tasting something there.
"You offering?" he asks, one hand on a thigh and the other reaching up to
my chest to very lightly graze a nipple with his thumb.

"Wouldn't be a good son if I didn't return the favor," I say cheekily.

Dad just chuckles, eyeing my full body before he slides his hand slowly
down my torso. "Well... I gotta get all my molesting in before your hair
grows back, don't I?" he whispers.

Despite having cum twice tonight, within what feels like a blink of an eye,
I'm sporting a major hard-on yet again.

- End of Chapter 8 -