Date: Mon, 31 May 2021 14:08:03 -0500 From: David Ashley Subject: Conquering My Friends' Dads Chapter 11 Welcome back, daddy fiends! Sorry it took a minute; I began a new story, Finding My Father, which I posted last week. From now on I will likely alternate between these two stories, so next I will focus on a FMF chapter. Please check out that story, too! Regular disclaimers: This is a story of incest, featuring underage characters, and graphic sexual content. I do not endorse such acts. If you can, please donate to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/ You can email me at bupdash [at] gmail.com. My virtual tip jar is $Bupdash on cash app. Chapter 11 My list was getting complicated. Now, it was not simply "Which dads have I fucked." A second goal, subconscious at first, had now solidified in the form of a careful highlighter over several names. This new goal was "Which of these dads have I coerced into incest with their own sons." It was a goal I thought would be difficult. It was not. Dan was fucking his dad every chance they got. And, from what I could tell from the occasional comment or snapped photo, Mr. Grayson was happily living his double life: powerful lawyer by day, his own son's cum-slut by night. Andrew, of course, was fucking Mr. Cole--and vice versa. Good for them, honestly. I had taught Julian how to fuck Mr. Johnson, and turned the straight Mr. Vane into a slut for his own son Brad's cock. This brought me to Kay and Mr. Lee. I thought they would be a challenge, until I walked into Dan's room one day to see little Kay bouncing on my buddy's dick. "Oh!" Kay flushed, his ochre skin darkening. He paused, but Dan slapped him. "Don't stop," said Dan. I watched, idly, as Kay's embarrassed face gave way to ecstasy once more. He grinned shyly at me, but I pulled out my phone. Mr. Grayson and his wife were away for the weekend (I suppose he had to at least pretend to be interested in the woman) so that left the house free. "Mr. Lee? Yeah, John. Uh-huh. Yeah, actually funny story--come to Dan's." Kay stared, horrified. Dan slapped him again. Mr. Lee eventually walked in to see his son getting spitroasted by his teammates. As Kay dissolved into protests, panicking, I kissed Mr. Lee and told him to undress. The sexy, thick Jason Mamoa. The man who had woken up with my cock inside him--and begged for more. He grinned wickedly at his boy, pulling his hair back, out of his face. He soon took my place, shoving his enormous Hawaiian cock into his screaming boy's hole. "No, dad! No! No, I fucking hate you, please--" This time, Mr. Lee slapped him. He purred after that. After we had stretched poor Kay's hole to the limit, and I had unloaded into Mr. Lee's ass, I left them to cuddle. Waving goodbye to Dan, I went home and drew my highlighter through "Lee." Mr. Thompson... that was trickier. The man had hangups. He had taken to calling me Coach, often moaning "Oooh you're raping me, coach!" with his legs over his head. Frankly, the Kevin Costner-looking man was an insatiable slut, but deeply fucked up, refusing to admit how much he needed to be fucked. And it was seriously eating into my schedule. Eventually I decided to just straight up tell the twins. "Hey. I know you're pissed about me fucking your dad," I said, sidling up to them in the locker room one day. "But listen--if you want to fuck him yourselves, just tell him to call you `coach.'" Skinny little Tyler's mouth dropped open, horrified, while his brother sputtered. "What--why the hell would you think we want to--" "Maybe you don't," I shrugged. "Just saying. He's got an amazing ass, you'd love it." "Fuck you, man!" They left early that day. At the next practice, Mr. Thompson was happier than I had ever seen him, yelling and cheering proudly for his boys from the sidelines. He did not wave me to the bathroom after, but strode to his car, arms around his twins. A grin flashed my way. Good for them, too. The Dells were easy--the very day I fucked both Frank Hunter and Mr. Dell, I walked up to Melvin's room while they carried on. I could hear the father continuing to break the stepfather in the kitchen, hear Frank Hunter's desperate cries for more echo through the whole enormous house. I found Melvin's room and let myself in--still naked. The burly kid was pissed and horrified, but did not take much persuasion. He soon cleaned both of his dads' juices off my cock. Curiosity works wonders, honestly. Show a kid his dads getting fucked, and he's going to want to know the appeal. I let both of his dads find me, some twenty minutes later, buried in their kid. "You're really fucking up my family, John," said Mr. Dell, his handlebar mustache twitching as he leaned against Melvin's open door. "You can do that yourself, if you'd like," I said, pulling out. His son's hole gaped at him, a little bruised, and, well--that was that. I didn't feel bad. Frank Hunter alone would be begging for his stepson's dick (we had really destroyed his notions of topping, I doubted that donkey dick would ever fuck again) but Mr. Dell, too? Melvin was a lucky little bitch. Etter, Vreeland, and Ishida... I put them on pause. Maybe because I was worried about messing with them too much, with how close they were to my own father. Maybe I enjoyed keeping Mr. Ishida's tiny hole to myself. Turning it into a rosebud now and then while his wife and son were out. My new obsession, however, was with Mr. Meydrich. Incredible, really. The man remained such a bro. He was easy to chill out with--he took me out a couple of times, driving me around and chatting about sports, always in a cute daddy-polo that flattered his big chest. He was just as willing to discuss the most recent soccer game as he was to grin up at me from between my knees, unzipping my pants and sucking casually on my cock. One such afternoon, while relaxing at his place (his son was at work again), I found myself kissing the bald spot on his head. "You're getting good at that," I said. Big, happy eyes widened at me behind my shaft. "Yeah?" he said. "I'm trying. I like it when I can get you to buck at me, so I've been working on that." Hell, it made me chuckle. "You're such a bro. Thanks, pops." "You're welcome, son." That, I think, was where my obsession kicked in. Whenever we were alone, he called me son. I kissed the man, then his forehead, then directed him back onto my cock. "Make me cum," I said. "Make me cum, dad." Mr. Meydrich did, and soon his proud smile was leaking with my seed. He stood, wandering to the kitchen as I came down from my orgasm, and when I blinked again, at last able to focus, he handed me a beer. "Thanks," I said. I figured I should broach the topic, at least. "Hey. You ever consider doing this to Jim?" "Give him a beer?" "No," I smirked. "You know. Drink cum from his cock." Another remarkable thing about Mr. Meydrich was that questions like this did not startle him. I once asked him if I could piss on him (just curious, really) and he had considered, then frowned. "Wouldn't you rather piss inside me? You know, in my asshole? I'd think that'd feel better for you, wouldn't it?" Now he sat back in his armchair, his own beer on his knee as he frowned at the ceiling. "Hmm." He took a swig, then looked at me. "I think I would like that. Love it, really--I'm getting addicted, and you can't always be over here. And--well, he's my son. I love him. And you know, I think I'm getting better at this whole gay sex thing." "You are." "But would he want me?" Mr. Meydrich shrugged. "I think he's straight, and it's not like every kid wants to commit incest with their dad." "You'd be surprised," I said with a wink. Mr. Meydrich chuckled. "Maybe. Still--I don't think he'd be bold enough to go for it. Not every kid is like you. And--" he cut off. "What?" Now Mr. Meydrich looked sheepish. I saw him rub his crotch, and made out the tent of his little boner. He squeezed, still frowning. "I feel bad saying it," said Mr. Meydrich. "But. Well--" "You can say." He blushed. "Would he. You know. Measure up? Not--not just size, but I'm sort of--well, I've gotten used to how good you are, and--maybe I shouldn't worry about ME cumming, but you've never not gotten me off, and..." He faded off. His face was beet-red now. The man was embarrassed to admit that he actually wanted pleasure from sex. I shook my head, marvelling. Goddamn cute. "Well," I said, taking my own swig of beer, "for one thing--his size is fine. I've seen him in the locker room, he's okay." "Really?" Mr. Meydrich blinked. "He's not tiny, like me?" "Stop that. No, he's not tiny. Probably easier to take than I am, less pain. Honestly I think he'd match your hole." Mr. Meydrich nodded slowly. "Oh." "And the skill thing... hmm. I'll think about that." But as Mr. Meydrich grinned, getting up from his chair to walk over and straddle me, I considered. An idea formed. When I got home, I gave Kay a call. "I have a job for you," I said. Kay sounded busy, but hell--even getting plugged by your old man, you're going to take my call. He listened to my proposal, and soon I was receiving updates on his seduction of Jim Meydrich. Hey, if Jim was going to please his dad, he needed to learn gay sex--and I wasn't about to fuck him, ruin him into bottoming. He needed to know how to top. And Kay was the perfect, non-threatening peer for him to experiment with. I really was going soft. Of course, I kept an eye out for opportunities to add to my initial list. I still had five members of the team whose dads I had not boned, and had been working for weeks on my next target. Nalan Brody was exquisite. Seriously--I had the major hots for this guy. He was our goalie. A year older, he floated around different circles at school, but he was a lot like Dan; even back when I was scrawnier, last year, he had always been nice to me. He was a burly, enormous ginger. Easily about six feet tall, with some of the widest shoulders I've ever seen on a teenager. Seriously, his build was bigger than mine, easily--not as cut, but a tank of muscle. Red hair, only just getting that darker undercurrent of auburn, unless it was season and the sun was bleaching it all out. He even had a short, teenager-y red beard he was working on. And dear god that skin. A lot of gingers get freckly, but Nalan must have started taking care of his skin at a young age, and indeed I saw him carefully apply sunblock in the locker rooms many times (and I watched, of course, sexualizing the shine on his skin like it was a lewd display). As a result his skin was pale ivory; a bulky, muscled mass of alabaster. A white rhino, he was talented and rough and good-natured and a complete idiot. I wanted to fuck him so bad. Even better? His dad. Same ginger, ivory looks, but his dad was taller and thinner--but not skinny. He showed up to practice now and then. Nodded politely to the other dads, smiled indulgently at his son's teammates, and lit up around his boy. I think that was why Nalan was so rarely around my group, or Brad's; he was simply very close to his dad. And hell, I could understand it. Why hang around with teenage boys when you could spend time with a father that looks like an elegant, gingery Michael Fassbender? "Great job today, Nalan," I said. His big, blank eyes turned to me. We were in the locker room, and I had hung back to catch him alone; we were both naked, straight from the shower, and I turned on a full grin. This was a strategy I found useful: make a guy feel special. Look--I was the most well-liked guy on the team (or hated, if you were a "Brad" groupie, but even then the Brad groupies didn't really hate me. Brad did, but he also OWED me, so he hadn't started anything for months). I was also the most attractive--again, just trying to be honest. And even straight guys liked attention from attractive men. It was all alpha-dynamics; it was all about who was highest on the pecking order. I made myself very hard to hate, never criticized, never even needed to. Catch more flies with honey and all that--and I complimented often. And yeah, I fucked their dads--but it was to my team's benefit. It was all symbiotic. And when the cutest, toughest, most well-liked guy compliments you, alone, just so you can hear it--it works wonders. Make them feel special. Give them a taste of your good energy, your charisma, your charm. They fucking melt. Nalan smiled, lighting up. "Thanks, man. You too." He had been slowly patting himself dry from the shower, and I reached out a friendly hand to clap his shoulder. It was like a boulder. "You're such a tank," I said. "Honestly, lucky for the other team you stay in the goalposts, you'd bowl them all over." He chuckled. "You think?" His question wasn't sarcastic; Nalan's eyes were too big and innocent for that. The guy didn't have guile. "Absolutely," I said. "Dude, we're so damn lucky to have you." A blush, vivid on his pale skin. "Wow. You're really nice." "Nah," I said. Which was true--I wasn't being nice, I wanted my cock in his ass. Seriously--the guy's cheeks were huge. Enormous, heavy globes, each of them bigger than my skull. "Tank" fell short. I honestly wondered if I'd be able to get my full length in him, or if those big cheeks would act as padding, making it impossible to bottom out in him. A challenge I was dying to lose, frankly. "We don't hang out enough," I said. An offhand bait. "Yeah bro, we really should hang more," he said. I opened my towel, letting my dick swing visibly and heavily as I ran it across my back. Nalan's eyes darted to it--again, even straight guys are curious. "Hmm," I said. "You hanging with your dad today?" Every emotion hit his face so heavily. He sighed in disappointment. "No," he said. "He's busy with work. I wanted to work out with him. Anyway. Was just gonna go home, I have an algebra test to study for." "I can help," I offered. "Help you study." "Would you?" So. Fucking. Easy. That's how it started with Nalan, anyway--a few weeks ago. I didn't fuck him right away, I simply needed him in my orbit as I worked on other men, like Mr. Meydrich and Frank Hunter. A couple weeks of innocent hangouts at Nalan's place. Smiling at Mr. Brody, shaking his hand as he came home. Casual conversation with his dad, who seemed pleased that his dumb himbo son was finally making a friend. And, of course, I got a few long looks at Mr. Brody's lithe, pearl-white body now and then. He took damn good care of himself. "Do you work out, Mr. Brody?" He glanced over; he was in his kitchen, pouring coffee, while I sat at the dining table with Nalan, homework spread before us. Mr. Brody wore a beautiful, trim shirt that hugged his torso, and tailored slacks that gripped his ass. Not Nalan's size, perhaps, but every bit as shapely. "I do, a little," said Mr. Brody. As often happened when I broached this topic with a dad, I saw his eyes take in my own body and torso--I was glad I had thought to only wear a tank today; it had been arms day, and they looked great. "Nowhere near as much as you do, by the look of it," he said. "Or me," Nalan chimed in. "Dad used to train me, but not enough lately. Oh dude, we should do that together!" "Definitely," I said. I glanced back at Mr. Brody, watched the father soaking in his appreciation for his dumbass son. Sheer, sweet adoration. He was so proud of Nalan. I wondered what Mr. Brody was beefing his son up for. Was it subconscious, or had he already fantasized about fucking his own son? Was he training with him less and less to hold back? I grinned at the man, and he caught my eye. He flushed. Looks like I meant more to Nalan as a friend than I had expected. Not three weeks into my careful seduction he invited me (with a blush and a lot of dumb jock grunts and mumbling) to spend the weekend with him and his dad on the coast. "We have a place on the beach," he said. "We like to go now and then. And it's getting warmer, so we figured--you know. Drive out Friday, day at the beach Saturday, return that night?" Fucking hell, the universe really wanted me to have these mens' asses, didn't it? "That sounds awesome," I said. "Really? You don't have to go, just figured I'd ask--" I threw an arm around Nalan's big shoulders. "What time we leaving?" My dad was enthusiastic. "It's great," he said. "I like that Nalan kid, and you spend so much time with Dan you really should branch out a bit." Mom was out, so it was a quiet dinner with just the two of us. "Yeah, I suppose so," I said. Dad loosened his tie, flashing a glimpse of his chest hair behind his top button. "Wish I could go too, Mr. Brody even called to invite me along. But I got this case." "That's cool, dad," I said. Better, really. "Wish you could come though." Dad smiled at me. Under the table, I felt his hand squeeze my knee."Thanks, kiddo. Nah, I've got too much to do. Focus on having fun. A bit of a break." His hand was gone, leaving me with a tent in my jeans. I nodded, biting my inner cheek, willing my cock to go down. Dad, meanwhile, smiled blithely as he sipped a beer. I watched his Adam's apple bounce. Watched him scratch that chest hair still peeking from his shirt. Then, suddenly, he blinked. "Oh! You're gonna need some new trunks." "Oh. Well, maybe." "No, you definitely will. We haven't bought you a swimming suit since vacation last summer. You've bulked up so much since then!" His hand was back, this time giving my chest a quick pat. "Let's go tomorrow before you leave, get you a nice pair of trunks. You can model them for me." Jesus fuck I hated my old man. I went straight from school to a department store, where I fought the pressure building in my cock and wrangled it into pair after pair of trunks. All this just so I could step out of the dressing room stall and hear my dad's enthusiastic feedback. So I could hope he didn't see the bulge of my hard-on as he showered me with ego strokes. "Son, I'm so proud of the man you've become!" and "Look at how big your legs look in those!" and "I'm amazed how that hugs your waist, see?" Wishing I could pull him back into the stall with me. Wishing I could stem Dad's compliments with my cock down his throat... All this was too much. I selected a simple square-cut pair of trunks ("Perfect, I think that's the best one!") and at last Dad dropped me off at the Brodys'. I wished I had time to meet up with anyone--Mr. Meydrich would've been more than willing to relieve my pressure--or even to just jack off. I went from modeling for dad to an hour-long car ride with the Brodys. Let's just say my balls weren't even blue--they were swollen, purple grapes by now. Nalan sat in the back next to me, but he was nodding off, so I engaged Mr. Brody in conversation. "So," I said, "when did Nalan start getting into lifting? Did you show him some stuff?" Mr. Brody's eyes were covered by mirrored aviators, but he flashed a grin at the rearview mirror. I noticed his cheeks were very hollow, and he had deep, indented dimples. "I did," he said. "Around when he was fourteen." "That's about when I started," I said. "But for me a lot of that started happening on its own." I couldn't be sure, but did his eyes trail down my torso, taking in my chest and the tight shirt I wore? "For him too," said Mr. Brody. "He's a big guy." "You must be proud." Another smile. "I am. Proudest dad there is." We pulled up to the Brodys' beach house, a small but airy thing, right along the coast. It was late, long past sunset, and a quick dinner ended up meaning early bed for Nalan, who had been nodding since the drive. I lingered for a bit in the kitchen, chatting with Mr. Brody and turning on every charm I had. It was strange, though; he was a very guarded man. He may as well have worn those sunglasses still, for his crinkled, crows-feet eyes kept me at arm's length. I was desperate for a fuck. Eventually I lifted my shirt off. "What do you think?" I said. Those guarded eyes looked me over. "What about?" "You've been training your son, but I don't have Nalan's size. You think I can get there?" A closed smile. Mr. Brody scratched his short, ginger beard, still taking me in carefully. "I don't think you need to," he said, quietly. "Yeah?" I took a step closer. Maybe I was so desperate, it was throwing me off my game. Mr. Brody cleared his throat, a flash of shame in his eyes, then said, "I should go. Get some sleep. See you tomorrow." And, like that, he was off, up the stairs. I sighed, annoyed and still horny as hell. Reluctantly I made my way to Nalan's room, which was the only bedroom on the ground floor. Stepping inside I discovered Nalan's big, sleeping form, barely fitting on his little twin bed. I had set my bag on my own twin bed, directly opposite, when we first arrived. I ignored this, instead moving carefully to Nalan's side. He was shirtless, lying face down on the mattress, his big arms tucked under his pillow. His pale, ivory skin caught the moonlight from the window, which faced the beach; this resulted in a pearly glow. It was a hot night, so no blankets--just a sheet covering his lower half. And because I'm a perv, I carefully lifted this sheet to gaze at his lower half. Oh no. Nalan was not shirtless. He was nude. That enormous, perfectly round ass caught the light, shining at me from under the covers. Look: I never turn down an opportunity. It would be sloppy, forcing myself on this big guy while he was sleeping. I would do it if I had to, but Nalan could probably take me, and I didn't have the benefit of drugs on my side like I had with Mr. Lee. But I needed to get off, so leaving him alone was not an option. So I had to make him want it. Or at least make him think he wanted it. Careful not to wake him, I pulled back the sheet. I undressed, kicking off my clothes before I positioned myself at the foot of his twin bed. Then, moving quickly, I grabbed his ass, pulling his cheeks apart as I buried my tongue into his hole. Nalan was delicious. Dear, sweet god, his hole was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. He was sixteen-year-old meat, a treasure land of pearly skin, and his hole was a feast of sweat and tension and longing. I swear I almost came from flavor alone. He stirred, but it turned out Nalan was a heavy sleeper. I worked my tongue up and down his crack, feeling the occasional roughness of his ginger pubic hairs. All the while I let my hands grip as much of his cheeks as I could--fucking hell, I wanted this boy so much. I felt his hole throb against my tongue. I entered him, using my tongue to force that sphincter open. He moaned. "...nn... j... John?" I pulled away, letting my chin rub against his hole as I whispered back to him. "Nalan, you taste so good." "What... are you doing?" "I'm eating your hole, big guy." I let my hands move up, following the curve of his back. He moaned again, and I felt him lift his ass, felt him buck into me. All instinct. "I... I've never..." "I know," I said. I licked, spearing his hole again. "I can tell." "What are you going to do?" From anyone else, this question would have been leading--but not from Nalan. He genuinely had no idea. "Have you ever thought about gay sex, Nalan?" "N--no." "Well," I said, deciding to take advantage of his dumb nature, "that's what this hole is for. And that's why you work out. So you can have a big, strong body for men to fuck." "N... no, that... really?" "Oh yes. That's why you work out. Your body wants this. That's why this feels so good." I stood up, and he moaned as his hole hit the air, suddenly empty. "My body...?" "I'm going to fuck you," I said. "Sometimes there's pain. But you gotta be tough for me, big guy." He turned, his big body bouncing on the mattress. Those white pecs, too, bounced up at me. His enormous, innocent eyes met mine. "Oh. I'll--I'll try." "Lift up your legs. And don't scream." He lifted, and I spit on my cock, lining it up to his wet, pink hole. I had intended to go slow. But fuck it, I'd been craving this all day, ever since dad had insisted on watching me try on trunks, ever since he had put his eyes on me, given me the world's worst case of blue balls... I swear--I really had intended to go slow, but as the head of my cock pushed in, and Nalan's cherry sphincter sent waves of pleasure up my body--I saw white. I honestly don't remember much of the next ten minutes. I recall Nalan crying out, recall his desperate "No!" as I bottomed out--then nothing. When I came to, one hand was pressed against his skull, forcing his mouth closed, while my other hand gripped Nalan's right pec so hard it was twisted and swollen under my fingers. My hips were sore, and poor Nalan's little cherry was fully open, almost loose around my cock. I blinked down at him, and he moaned, his eyes red and shining as they met mine. Carefully I lifted my hand, letting him gasp for breath. "Oh! Oh! Oh fuck!" Nalan sputtered, spit dribbling down his cheek. Then he said, "Oh, fuck me!" My pretty little himbo friend. I leaned down to kiss him, grabbing his cock and giving it a squeeze, and his sloppy hole suddenly tightened around me. His entire body shuddered, his big legs shaking; he came, and the tightness brought me to orgasm, too. At last, filling him with an enormous load, I pulled out. I released his sore tit. "You okay?" I said. Nalan panted, still shuddering. His dick--actually a beautiful thing, uncut, white as the rest of him, with a swollen, sticky pink head now clearly visible--finished pumping out his cum. It was startlingly clear. "I'm okay," said Nalan. He carefully lowered his legs, and I saw just how much cum pooled on his toned belly. "How many loads--?" "Three," he said. "But that last one, where you kissed me, I think was best." His voice was low and confused but he grinned stupidly at me. "Thanks." I sighed, smirking back. "No problem." "Please don't," he said. "Don't do it again. Not--not tonight. I don't think I can take another." I grinned. I probably had another load in me, but I didn't want to completely ruin him. "Okay," I said. "I won't. I'll save it for your dad tomorrow." He stared at me. "Are you--you're gonna fuck my dad?" "Yep." "But--but--" "You won't stop me," I said. "But don't worry. He'll like it, like you did." His slack look of confusion was cute. I leaned back down to kiss him again. "Listen, Nalan," I said. "You love your dad, don't you?" Nalan nodded. "Do you want your daddy to fuck you?" Stumped now. "Does... does Daddy want to--?" Adorable. "I think he does. I think your daddy's a top who wants to fuck you." Honestly, it was probably why he didn't respond to me so easily; clarity came to me, in the aftermath of a deep orgasm. I suspected Mr. Brody wasn't a natural bottom. "But he's all hung up. I'll help with that." Nalan considered. Then he nodded again. "Then don't worry," I said. "Go to bed. See you tomorrow." I lay back in my own twin, feeling myself drift off. I could practically hear Nalan pondering next to me, his little himbo brain struggling to put it together. Struggling to know if what I threatened was what he wanted. Which, of course, it was. When I woke up the next morning, I heard Nalan snoring lightly beside me. For a wild moment I considered fucking him again, waking him up with my cock in his ass--truly, he was a muscle slut, and I would really enjoy playing with that more. But my sights were set on trickier prey. I pulled on my new trunks, but decided not to wear anything else. The house was empty, so I stepped out the back door. A long path extended on either side, beyond which the beach and ocean filled the view. It was late morning, but very few people were in sight. A few runners along the path, and an older couple some ways down; otherwise, I had it all to myself. Almost. I spotted Mr. Brady down the path. And what a beautiful sight. That toned, Michael Fassbender body was on full display, only running shorts and shoes covering his modesty. This man worked hard. Sleek torso, pearly white, with a small touch of red hair accenting the lines of his stomach. He glistened with sweat, and as he slowed in his approach I watched his well-defined arms catch the light. "Morning, Mr. Brady." He smiled at me, still guarded. "Morning, John. Nalan up yet?" "Not yet. I wore him out last night," I said. "Figured I'd go for a swim before breakfast. Want to join me?" "Wha--oh. Sure. Might as well, I'll need to shower after anyway." He followed me, and I sidled up beside him. I could sense confusion about my comment, but let him stew a bit. "Beautiful beach," I said. "Yeah." He smiled again. I threw down my towel, and he kicked off his shoes. "We really like getting out here. Careful, the water will be cold." I nodded. Mr. Brady strode in ahead of me, and I watched, appreciating the image he cut, and the way his shorts hugged his beautiful ass. Then I jogged after. It WAS cold--and Mr. Brady laughed at the look on my face. I splashed him in retaliation, and he splashed me; getting bolder, I ran forward, grabbing him and pulling him into the surf. Mr. Brady sputtered but still laughed, and we play-wrestled for a bit. It was that easy. Men want--crave--contact. It was an exciting taboo, and I could tell I was making Mr. Brady feel young. Childish. And he accepted the youth I gave, letting that wall fall as I wrapped my big arms around him from behind. "Haha. Fine. You win," said Mr. Brady. He panted, and I felt his back flex against my chest. "Damn, John. You're strong." I grinned into his shoulder. "Too strong? Can you break out?" He tried, wriggling a bit. "Hah. Nope. You got me." "Mmm. Good." I said. He turned to grin at me, and I seized my chance. I kissed him. He froze. I felt his heartbeat flutter, then pound, as his body stiffened. "What was that?" His voice was flat. "You like it," I said. "Don't you? You like my young body holding you like this?" His arms were pressed to his sides, but I didn't let them budge. I felt his panic. "John, stop." "No." "John, I'm serious. I'm an adult, I can't fuck around with--" "You want to, though," I said. "No I don't." "Ah." I let my thumb massage his wet chest. The water was only about waist-high. I found his nipple, giving it a strong squeeze. "Maybe not. Not with me," I said. "You'd rather it was Nalan." "Shut up." But his voice ripped with fear. Wow. Mr. Brady really had considered it. "That's why you taught him to lift, isn't it?" I said. "You want to fuck him. You want to fuck your own son." "Stop. That's not it." I kissed his neck, and felt him shudder. "Reach down," I instructed, "and pull out my cock." I adjusted my grip, and his right hand freed. Immediately he dropped it into the water--and slid it down the front of my trunks. "Oh god," said Mr. Brady. "Good. You know, your boy liked it," I said. "You--you--" "I fucked him last night. I fucked your boy. And now I'm going to fuck you." "No." "I know you probably sneak around. You probably troll grindr for young bodybuilders to bend over. You prefer to fuck, not take, don't you? But I think you'll make an exception in my case. Squeeze me." He did. "The same cock that was up your son's muscle ass last night. In your hands. I'm gonna fuck you with it." I heard him cough, heard him struggle to maintain sanity. "Please, stop--" I kissed his neck again. "I'm going to free you, Mr. Brady." "No!" He wiggled again, and this time he managed to tear away--for a second. I charged forward, tackling him to the ground. I pressed my full weight on him, for a moment submerging him underwater. He crawled away from me, gasping for air, but I gripped his hips, pulling him back. I pulled his shorts down--then off. A conundrum. We were in the water, he on all fours, me kneeling behind; and he was now naked. Only the water covered his cock. I saw him look up, watched as his eyes took in the runner some ways away and the elderly couple walking back to their house. "Please don't do this," Mr. Brady begged. "Too bad you don't call the shots," I said. Then I entered him. This was mean, I know. No lube. No saliva. And in salty ocean water. Not to mention in full view of anyone who cared to look. I was raping Mr. Brody. In public. He cried out as my cock punctured his hole. Then, slowly, he gasped. God bless the rectum. I felt mucus pour into Mr. Brody's hole, desperately providing some lubricant. It helped, and I felt my cock slide more easily. Mr. Brody gasped again. I fucked. My friend's dad arched his back, pushing onto me. Waves crashed around my hips and slapped between us. "How--" he gasped. "How--how was it?" "How was what, daddy?" I said. I gripped his ginger hair, making him arch back again. I kissed his neck. "Say it." "How was my son?!" "You want to know how your son's hole felt?" He moaned a 'yes.' Just then I looked up. What a lovely sight: Nalan stood on the path, only in trunks himself, not fifty feet away. He was staring at us. "Your boy," I said, "is a muscle slut." A moan. "He's a fucking whore." Another. "Your boy's hole was a sloppy mess by the time I finished with him." "Nooooo..." Mr. Brody tried to squirm away again; then he fucked himself back onto my cock, oblivious to his son's approach. Nalan's stupid face watched as his dad panted. I felt his white skin break into sweat. He was approaching orgasm. What a trip. I was raping a man in public. Right in front of his own son. I felt my own orgasm build. "John please stop..." gasped Mr. Brody, grinding back against me. "Please stop.." "No." "Please..." "Mr. Brody," I said, "look up." He did. Nalan was ankles deep in the water now, his face taking in the full weight of his father's rape. "Dad." Mr. Brody cried out, but I increased my pace-- "NoooooOOOO!" Mr. Brody came. While making full eye contact with his boy, he came. And I pounded, rushing to reach my own orgasm. I wanted to flood this man's intestines with my cum. I wanted him full of my seed. And as I got close, and Nalan, too, stepped closer, lowering his trunks to reveal his big boy dick-- Mr. Brody took Nalan into his mouth like an obedient child. And I reached it. I shot my load deep into his white ass. Turns out Nalan didn't need much at all. I was still inside Mr. Brody, my cock just starting to go soft, when the big guy grunted. "Dad--I'm coming!" Mr. Brody moaned as his boy's load touched his tongue. He drank eagerly, filling his second hole with underage seed. At last he gasped, pulling off, as Nalan fell to his knees. Father and son kissed. And I watched. And something struck me that I did not expect. Eventually we would go back inside. Eventually Mr. Brody and I would spend the day spitroasting his muscular boy. Eventually Nalan would eat my load out of his father's ass. He would take so much he would leak our cum down his pearly legs. Eventually Mr. Brody would drive us home, and his boy would give him road head on the way. But for now, as I knelt in the water, I watched father and son kiss. And something struck me. For a sick, angry instant, I felt lonely.