Date: Mon, 26 Apr 2021 15:31:41 -0500 From: David Ashley Subject: Conquering My Friends' Dad Chapter 7 Wow! I'm lucky to have such great readers. You horny men are a treasure, seriously. I appreciate your emails and your feedback. A couple of quick notes: YES. I am not being secret about my intention to eventually bring John and his dad together. But I want to mention that this is a bit of a slow-burn story. I promise it will happen, but not right away. I have several chapters planned before that. After all, John has a whole team's worth of daddies to fuck, first. The other thing I want to mention is that, though I love your interest, please don't send suggestions for scenarios or future chapters. I have it all planned, and would appreciate the freedom to explore my story without pressure. Thanks. The usual 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. And, if you're feeling generous, you can leave me a tip on my cash app: $Bupdash . I'm working on my Master's soon, so if you don't mind sending a few dollars of support, it would not be unappreciated. Without further ado, let's get into it! Chapter 7 "You're such a good son." The next morning I heard Mom leave the house early for work. Grumpy and annoyed that she woke me up, I groaned, stretched, and began hauling myself out of bed. My muscles ached, and the stretch felt good as my skin hit the cold air outside my duvet. Why was I so sore? Had I worked out yesterday--? Oh. Oh, yeah. Haha. It came back to me one piece at a time. Dad's work party. His boss, the chief of police, who looked like John Slattery. The way I had suffocated him with my cock. Mr. Cole. Fucked-up Mr. Cole, who could not get enough of his own son. The feeling of pushing in with Andrew's cock to split open his father's ass. And Mr. Vane. Famous television anchor and ladies' man. Going from his dick inside a teenage girl--his own son's girlfriend--to begging for my cock. The demands he gave his own son. Yeah, it had been a very busy night. No wonder I was sore. I suspected it was nothing compared to the headache Dad had right now. He had stumbled in from the car, leaning on me and then Mom, giggling all the way to their room. I thought of him now, the way he had kissed my check and held my shoulder. In spite of my groggy state and soreness I felt my cock twitch. No. He's your dad. There are lines. Aren't there? I rose. I took a moment to glance at myself in the mirror on my closet door. Yeah, I'm conceited, a bit; but recent events almost made me question what the hell I even WAS. What I was doing. How the hell had I managed to bed so many grown ass straight dads? I knew I was hot, I wasn't stupid. But was that all? So I looked. Closer this morning than I had in a while. Dark brown hair. Dark eyes and tapered chin. Decent cheekbones. 6'3"--I had measured recently--and that's not short. Plus I had more defined muscle than should be appropriate for a 15-year-old kid. Even early morning like this, before I had done anything but wake up, I could see the outline of my pecs, the gap between them over my sternum. The length of my torso and the way it tapered--I had generous shoulders, arms, and chest, but I was proud of how long and thin my waist was. The bulge of my morning wood, of course. Then some decent legs, and I twisted to see my ass pop--you can't play soccer and not have defined legs and ass. Hilarious to me. I had no interest in my own ass. Maybe to lure a guy who thinks he's a top--before I changed that, of course. But that's the thing. I looked good, sure--but I'd already fucked dudes who I knew, objectively, were just as attractive as I was. Or more so. Mr. Vane was not on television for nothing. Hell, Mr. Johnson dwarfed me in size alone. So what was the secret? Anyway, Dad was hotter. By far. I stepped back from my reflection, seeing me but no longer seeing ME as I leaned back against my bed frame. Dad was slimmer, perhaps, but only slightly, and in a way that worked. More aesthetic. A face that, to me, was the perfect mix of pretty and rugged--a young Harrison Ford could have pulled off my dad's look, perhaps, but I doubted even he would be half as beautiful as my old man. Jesus Christ. Why couldn't I stop thinking about Dad? I decided I better check on him. I didn't bother with a shirt, but I threw on some bike shorts. Anything to compress my erection. I walked down the hall, my heavy feet hitting the hardwood with low, padding thuds. I tapped his door. "Dad?" A groan answered. I opened the door, venturing in. My dick tried to twitch again. What the fuck, god? If there is a god at all, what the everloving FUCK are you pulling? I'm trying to be good here, and you're really fucking me over. My dad had his head buried in the pillow. He was sprawled over his and Mom's bed, covers pushed over a few limbs here and there but otherwise fully exposed--and buck naked. What the FUCK. Trying to get a sense of sanity, of anything, I cast my eyes around the room. Looks like he and Mom had fucked last night. Lube was set on the bedside table, and I spotted a condom wrapper on the floor. So, he had been lucky last night, too. My dick twitched in my bike shorts. I knew it would have been normal for a teenager like me to be grossed out by the idea of his parents having sex, but instead I felt a strange shock of pride. Atta boy, Dad. He stirred, and my attention shot back to his naked body. I watched as a lovely arch appeared in his back, pushing his ass skyward. Directly at my face. His pink hole seemed to wink at me between a light line of fur. "Dad?" I croaked. "Mmm." He was vacant, still waking up. I watched him yawn, watched that ass flex again, and he turned a bit to his side. I was moving before I could stop myself. Before any thoughts had properly made their way into my brain. I suddenly had my knees on the bed, was suddenly moving close to him. I could feel his heat. My cock throbbed in my shorts, and I started to push my waistband down-- I was seconds away from shoving my cock into him. Just raping the shit out of my old man. Before he could protest, before he could even wake up. And don't get me wrong: if this had been any other man passed out underneath me, I wouldn't have stopped. I wouldn't have cared if he screamed or cried or tried to fight back. It was too good, too easy. Too tempting. Too delicious. But before my cock was fully free my eyes strayed to his lined face, which shifted now toward me. The lovely smattering of gray at his temples. The crow's feet framing his eyes. This was my FATHER. My real, blood father. My dad. So, I hesitated. His eyes fluttered open--a gesture that was so cute I nearly swooned. "John," he croaked. He smiled. "Hey there, kiddo." I was harder than ever, but frozen. I should fuck him. I should fuck him, right now, get it out of my system. Do it now, before he can stop me, before he can question why I've climbed onto his bed, why I'm perched over him like this. And I could do it, too. It would be so easy. So, so simple to break this man. A chance like this may never come again. But I didn't. "Morning, Dad," I said. He shifted, his ass turning away from me--and, unbeknownst to him, narrowly avoiding my cock. Avoiding the pounding he had only been centimeters away from. He pulled the covers over his nethers and lay on his back. Groaning, he freed an and threw it around my shoulders. I let him pull me close. I let him plant a chaste, fatherly kiss on my temple. "You're such a good boy," he said. The same thing he had said last night. His voice was gravely and low. He pulled my face to rest against his chest, and I felt it reverberate deep within him. "Dad. You're still drunk." He chuckled. "A dad gotta be drunk to cuddle his son?" "Pretty much, yeah." "You're jaded. A jaded old teen." "Whatever, Dad. I'm not jaded." He chuckled, grinding a knuckle into my hair. "Then cuddle with your dad." We used to cuddle. Not when Dad was naked, of course. Not when I was bigger than him and was longing to force fuck him till he was a ruined husk on the floor. Not when I had been about to do just that. "I love you, John. I'm so proud of you." I smiled into his chest hair. "Thanks, Dad. I love you too. Did you get a promotion or something?" "Hnn?" "You're so... happy," I said. I looked up at him, hoping he was too drunk to notice the heat of my hard-on against his thigh. "Did I impress your boss?" "You did," said Dad. He grinned at the ceiling. "But no, no promotion or anything. I just. I was just watching you at the party--at both parties--and I just thought how lucky I was to have you for a son. You know I get sentimental around the holidays." "Sure." "You're a good boy, and you make me proud." "Thanks," I said. If only he knew. For once my intention to force my dick into someone hit me with guilt. My dad hummed tunelessly, content to snuggle and stare at the ceiling, while I pondered the urge to wrestle him down and fuck him silly. While I hated myself for wanting to do it so badly. Must've been all the incest last night. The Coles. Brad and Mr. Vane. That had to be it. That had to be why I was thinking about Dad like this. I had never thought about fucking him before now. Had I? Dad's hand ran down my back. His fingers felt the ridges of each muscle, then passed back up to my shoulder and down my arm. Then back again. When he reached my lower back he pulled me closer, and I felt my strained cock squish against his thigh again. "Mmm," he said. "Good boy. I love you, John." "You're such an idiot, Detective Field." "Hey. That's Dad to you," Dad said. Why did this feel like flirting? What was he doing? I wanted to pull away and look at him, but a few more moments passed, and my dad's breathing slowed. He was asleep again, and I felt his chest rise and fall. I should sneak away, I thought. Sneak away and escape. If I wasn't going to ruin my own father, what was I doing here? But I was still horny. And I didn't think straight when I was horny. So I lifted the sheet, just to get a glimpse of Dad's cock. There it was. The cock that had made me. The cock that had squirted me out into my mom. Almost as big as mine. Thinner, but longer. Immaculate and perfect-looking. I even caught a whiff of it--warm, heavy, musty and masculine. I didn't really care that much about other mens' cocks. I didn't suck them, didn't want them in me. Don't get me wrong, I didn't HATE them. I liked looking at them well enough. Liked knowing they were useless when I was fucking a man. But I didn't really care about them. But Dad's cock. I respected that thing. I let the sheet fall, and wriggled my way out of my father's arm. He kept on snoozing as I tiptoed out of the room. I needed a fuck. And since whatever morals still existing in my brain said "You can't rape your own father" I had to go for another option. A substitute. I ran through dads in my head, men whose guts I had already fucked up. But I had a sudden, better idea. Phone in hand, I scrolled through contacts. At last I found what I was looking for and tapped. "John?" "Hey, Julian," I said. I could hear the confusion in his voice. "What's up? Did--did I leave something back at the Grayson's? Shit, did we have a team thing today?" "No, nothing like that," I said. I could feel my cock throb again. "Listen, is your dad around? Put him on the phone." "Why?" "Just do it." I heard him move through his house, heard him exchange some confused words with his mother, then the deep tones of Mr. Johnson. That made my cock twitch again. At last Mr. Johnson's voice filled my ear. "John?" "Hey. I need a fuck." He spluttered. It was kind of cute. "I--look, I don't--it's not a good time," he said. I smirked. I was back in my room, tugging on a pair of jeans. "Oh?" "It's Christmas Eve," he said. "I'm about to head out to a movie with my family." "Perfect. They'll be gone. We can do your place." "John, I can't." He was whispering now. Desperate. But I sensed the reluctance, sensed the desire in his deep voice. "Look," I said, "I don't give a shit about your family. They'll have to deal. It's a shame they can't have you today, because I want to fuck your ass. But that's on you." "John, please." But I had him. "Look, can you honestly say you don't want some dick? MY dick?" I heard him move, heard a door close. He must have retreated to a separate room for privacy. "John, I do. I just can't right now." "Sucks for you, because I WANT it now." "Please, kid. Don't make me do this." "Make you?" I said. I had to laugh. "Dude, who's making you? You want this as much as I do. You want it so much you're willing to ditch your family for some boy dick. That makes you the shitty dad here. Don't go blaming me." I know. It was fucked up of me to say. To rub in. But hell, it's kind of fun to make a big man squirm. To push some of my guilt onto someone else. He continued to hesitate, so I said, "I'll choke you good." A moan. I had him. He almost whimpered. "I'll tell them I'm not feeling good." Less than twenty minutes later, I was walking boldly into Mr. Johnson's house. I was striding up his stairs, tossing my jacket aside as I opened the door to his room. Soaking in the glorious sight of this Black muscle god, buck naked and stroking his enormous dick, licking his lips as I stepped up. Standing on his bed, straddling his body. God I loved this. Fuck my dad. Who needed him? I could fuck anyone I wanted. Not an hour after he was cuddling me and calling me a good boy I was balls deep in another classmate's father, drowning out his cries as I forced my cock down his throat. Who needed Detective Jonathan Young, Sr., when you had Mr. Grayson and Mr. Cole and Mr. Vane and sweet, sweet Mr. Johnson. Sweet Mr. Johnson and his whimpering, gagging moans. And what a turn on to hear those gagging sounds. Hear them morph into pleasure. Feeling his hands on me, shaking. Feel him grip my muscular back as his "no" turned to "yes." My own dad snoozed back home while I was making a bodybuilder tear up with the force of my pounding. I imagined my dad, could feel his chest hair against my face and his arm around my shoulders as I wrapped my legs around Mr. Johnson's massive neck. As I suffocated him and fucked his throat, I imagined the sounds Detective Young would make if it were him beneath me. Mr. Johnson was close to passing out when I released my grip. He gasped for air, filling his parched lungs, and sputtered as a trail of slime led from his throat to my dick. "I'm gonna--" he gasped. He didn't need to say. His big, boa constrictor-cock spasmed. He convulsed, and an enormous wad of cum arced up. It overshot his big body and instead splattered right on my back. Dead center. The big man shuddered beneath me. I stood back, gazing down at him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. As he fell down from the height of his orgasm. "Take five, daddy," I said. "We've got two hours before your family's home. If you're going to neglect them, I'm gonna make it worth your time." At the very least, I had figured out a good coping mechanism. Every time I wanted to fuck my dad, I instead fucked a friend's dad. It wasn't a solution, but hell if it wasn't fun. And since I was a horny guy, and I wasn't too picky about who ended up on my dick--and I was very willing to use force, if necessary--I ended up fucking a lot of daddies. Sometimes I felt bad for my team. I knew they were beginning to figure it out--Andrew and Dan and Brad, at least, knew about me. But I didn't care. Mostly, I just wanted their dads. After the holidays, and we were back to regular practices for the spring season, I was both annoyed and flattered that my old man showed more interest. Too much, frankly. He was showing up to team practice, watching us scrimmage and chatting with my teammates and helping Coach with random tasks. My teammates loved it. My dad, pretty and charming as he was, made friends easily. And it seemed every one of my team wanted to impress him. "Great hustle today, Son," said Dad, clapping my back. He handed me a towel. I was sweaty and panting. And hard as hell, as I was almost every time my dad was around, these days. So I was very, very annoyed. "Thanks, pops," I said. I scanned the men nearby as I wiped my forehead. A few other dads had floated into a small circle, some chatting as they sat on the stands, some leaning on the fence. There was Mr. Grayson, blushing at me. There were a few I hadn't fucked yet--burly Mr. Meydrich, and short, goateed Mr. Etter. Mr. Lopez, who looked a bit like Pitbull. Then my eyes fell on my next target. "Hey, Mr. Thompson," I said. Mr. Thompson looked over at me. He was standing away from the other men, his elbows against the low fence. I hopped over to lean beside him. "Oh. Hey," he said. "You're Field, right? John Field?" "That's me." He nodded, accepting my handshake. Together we watched as the scrimmage finished up. I was done for the day--Coach liked to spend the last few minutes with the kids who needed more help--so I had plenty of time. I tried not to notice my dad's ass as he bent over to help hand out water. "You're the twins' dad, right?" I said. "Taylor and Tyler." "Yeah, I am," said Mr. Thompson. Taylor and Tyler were a couple of goofs who were new to the team this year. Freshmen, but talented enough. I watched them dribble, snaking their way around orange cones. "They're getting pretty good," I complimented. "They're alright," said Mr. Thompson. I cocked a grin at him--a grin he stared at. "But you, Mr. Thompson. I'm betting you were more a football guy, right, Sir?" He melted. He grinned back. "Yeah. I was." Of course, I had known this. Mr. Thompson was well-known in this town for having once been a real football stud. He had to be late fifties now--perhaps sixty--but damn, he was fine. Gray hair, a high foreline. He still had the football look, but aged. He looked a little like a faded Kevin Costner--I had seen pictures of the actor recently, and Mr. Thompson even had a similar soul patch. He turned large, interested eyes on my body. God, I love sports. It made all men at least a little gay. It was, by its very nature, homoerotic, making men think of other mens' bodies. Making them consider, measure themselves, compare. Wonder. Mr. Thompson sized me up, and I let him. I even lifted my shirt to dab at my forehead, though I did not need to, just to show him my abs. "It's a shame," grunted Mr. Thompson. He looked back at the little twins, and I knew he was comparing us. Disappointed in his own sons. "My boys are too skinny. Too scrawny for football. You look like you could've picked up the sport, though. You have a quarterback's body." I laughed. "Thank you, Sir. From you, that means a lot." I sensed it. A spark of heat, of tension emanating from the older man's face. Hunger in every line. It was only for a moment, but I could tell he was imagining, perhaps remembering something from the old days. From his years in the sweaty locker rooms, experimenting with other men. I had him. Just then, my dad interrupted. "John," he called, "heading out soon?" I bit back an annoyed retort. Why does my dad have to have such big eyes? Why did I have to picture them tearing up as he gagged on my cock? Why now, of all times? "Just a minute," I called back. "I need a leak." I touched my cock, adjusting my jockstrap to emphasize my point. I felt both Dad's and Mr. Thompson's eyes as I did--not to mention the eyes of several other men from the stands. I looked at Mr. Thompson. "Hey," I said, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." "Oh--Okay." "If you're interested," I said, "follow me. I could use a hot old jock like you for a fuck." He stared. His mouth hung open. I had spoken low enough that only he heard me--but it was bold, I knew. Risky. He practically shook as he stared at me, and I felt his eyes as I walked away. A set of outdoor bathrooms stood some distance away. The team tended to avoid it--they weren't maintained, and stunk of piss, so it was always more favorable to wait until we were back at the locker rooms. But that meant it would be perfect for me. I glanced back at Mr. Thompson before I entered. He stared after me, and I smirked. I didn't have to wait long. I barely had time to pull down my pants, leaning against the far wall, before Mr. Thompson appeared. He panted, his lined face pale as he took in my body. For his benefit, I removed my shirt, too. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he said. He had to murmur, as every sound seemed to echo in here. "You're here to suck my cock," I said. "Come here." "Kid, I don't--" "Come here." For emphasis, I wiggled my dick at him. He came. He also CAME, some minutes later, tugging at his own dick as he sucked his big lips around mine. I gripped his gray hair, forcing him down on me as he let out a delicious moan. "Stand up," I said. "I'm going to fuck your daddy ass." "Oh, god," he said. "I haven't--not since high school--" "Who with?" I didn't actually care, but I kept him whispering as he pushed his pants down. He leaned against the sinks, shaking a little in anticipation and fear. His eyes met mine in the mirror. "My coach," he admitted. "He used to fuck me. R-rape me. Every day he--" I spit on his hole. "Yeah?" "Oh god, kid, I--" "Your coach raped his star athlete," I said, standing back up. "And you liked it." "No, I--" I pushed into him. My cock vanished, shockingly easy, into his old hole, and his moan echoed around us. "You liked it," I said. He was in that delicious, I-can't-believe-John's-dick-is-inside-me state. His eyes rolled, his back arched, and he blinked at the ceiling. He shuddered. "I loved it." I fucked him. It was so fucking hot, knowing that my dad was only a couple hundred feet away. I took too long, enjoying his asshole. I sent a text to Dan, telling him to keep an eye out, while I railed into Mr. Thompson. Eventually I got a text in response. -Tyler and Taylor are looking for their dad. Then, another. -And your dad's looking anxious. "Okay, Mr. Thompson," I said. "Time to wrap this up. Ready?" "Oh, god, kid," he gasped. "Yes. Fuck me." I grabbed his hair. I pulled his old body into a tighter arch, and increased my speed. In the mirror I watched his old dick bounce, lines of cum falling from it, and I finally reached my orgasm. "Take coach's load," I said, biting his ear. He almost screamed. He didn't have the breath for it. But as I filled his guts he shuddered and panted, a squeak releasing from his lungs, touching his own chest, feeling himself. Perhaps feeling younger than he had in ages. I removed my cock from his bowels. "Take care, Mr. Thompson. I'll let you know if I need more." I did something even more fucked up. Less than a week later. I had just spent the whole day with my dad. He was commenting on how badly I needed new clothes, how fast I was growing and filling out, so he insisted on taking me shopping. I endured--several hours, no joke--as he picked out shirts and pants, holding them up against my body for size. Feeling his heat. The brushes of his hands. Look, there's only so much a guy can take. So I jumped at the opportunity when I got a text from Kay. -Want to do something? I gotta get out of the house. Keilani Lee was a cute guy. Hawaiian, with nice ochre skin, and a hot grin. My age, but he looked younger. I had wondered about fucking him since catching a few glimpses in the locker room. Immediately I sensed an opportunity to relieve some of the tension that had built up in my balls. -Sure, man. Be right over. -Great. Dad's drugged up and passed out. I'm sick of this shit. I swear my cock lifted up, sniffing the air. I had heard Kay complain about his dad, who I gathered was once a surfer and had recently taken to abusing prescriptions. Immediately I shifted plans, shooting a text to Dan. Look, I had just spent a whole day nursing blue balls with my dad. I was desperate. Several minutes later I pulled up to Kay's place. He lived in a trailer park--not a shitty one, but a modest one. He sat at his front door, looking pretty fucking sad. "Hey, buddy," I said. Poor Kay. Sweet Kay. He stood, and he hugged me. He thanked me for coming. Of course, he didn't suspect a thing. I looked over his shoulder as I hugged him, into the open door. I loved what I saw. Mr. Lee's bedroom door was open, and even from my vantage point he was fully visible, stretched out on his mattress. He only wore a pair of board shorts. What a sight. "What kinda drugs?" I asked. "It just makes him drowsy," said Kay. "He gets all angry and depressed, takes his pills, and passes out." "But he's okay?" Kay rolled his eyes. "Mentally, yeah. He just sleeps. Listen--thanks, John." Just then the crunch of gravel sounded behind me. Turning, I saw Dan pull up. "Sure," I said. "Listen, change of plans, buddy. You're gonna go with Dan. He's gonna take you out, give you a nice day away." Kay glanced at Dan, then back at me. "Why? What are you gonna do?" "I'm going to take care of your dad," I said. "Just watch him, you know. There should be someone here, just in case." "Oh." Sweet Kay. He looked so relieved. So grateful. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, you're probably right. You--you don't mind?" I winked. "Not at all." I can't say I'm proud of this. Kay left, getting into Dan's car. Offering me another grateful wave. And I went inside to fuck his dad. Look, here's the thing: Mr. Lee? Hot. So, so fucking hot. I had nursed a soft spot for a while. I mean, the man was like a thicker Jason Mamoa. I entered his musty bedroom, looked down at the big dad lying prone beneath me. He had a knot of messy black hair that obscured his face, but that back was big and well-defined. Tribal tattoos ran down his arms and the sides of his torso, and he had a big, pert butt that was practically begging to be eaten. And those legs! Thick and succulent. He was hairless and his skin had that brilliant, natural tan every Polynesian guy was blessed with. And look, I was aching for some sex. After spending all day with my dad, can you really blame me for what I did next? I removed my clothes. My dick was so hard it was painful, pointing straight forward and quivering as I climbed onto the bed. Damn, he was really passed out. He didn't move, didn't stir at all as I rolled him onto his back. He was so knocked out that I had to feel under his nose just to make sure he was breathing. I certainly didn't mind laying my face against his enormous chest to hear his heartbeat. I sucked his nipples while I did, because they, too, begged to be touched. I licked his smooth chest, picking up the taste of his lovely sweat as I followed his tattoo lines. Under his big pecs. Down the line of his stomach. Across those wings by his hips. I undid his pants eagerly. His dick, uncut and soft, flopped as I pulled his shorts over it. His ass was so chunky I almost struggled to get it free. What a great, musty smell. All the while Mr. Lee slept away beneath me. I had time. Dan said he'd do a movie, and dinner. I didn't have to rush. And that smell--that sweat--was intoxicating. I had to taste him, so I spread his legs, licking the lovely areas around his balls. Under. That space between ballsack and asshole? Mr. Lee's taint was delicious. I was about to rape a sleeping man. And oh, how I loved it. Again, I blamed Dad. I squirted lube--I had brought some--onto my fingers, then pushed them into his hole. How nice, not to have a man struggle. My fingers were nice and slick, but my hands were pretty big even at 15. And damn Mr. Lee was tight. As I inserted a few digits I watched him stir, just slightly. Perhaps his drug-induced sleep was letting my fingers invade. I wondered what forms his dreams were taking. "You're a good boy, and you make me proud." Yeah, sure. Fuck you, Dad. I entered him. Fuck, he felt good. He was so tight, but you know what's amazing? The subconscious body. I felt his asshole loosen up, accepting my girth as he slept. Even his own body knew he was a whore. Knew he needed my cock as much as I needed to get off. I watched his big pecs jiggle as I fucked into him. Still he slept. Slowly, his cock began to rise. This was a surprise. I hadn't known what to expect, having never fucked a sleeping man before. But, like I said, the body was amazing. Soon he was rock-hard as I slammed into his prostate, and all the while he just slept. I'm so fucked up. But damn, I loved this. "Look at that," I said to his sleeping form. "You like that, don't you?" He actually was stirring now. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was happening. He knew what was going on. That part of his brain fought the drugs, struggled to wake up, as I bottomed out into his ass. I felt his hole spasm around the base of my dick. His cock twitched. Yep, he liked it. His body liked it more than his mind would have been able to process. "You're dead asleep, and I'm fucking you," I told him as he stirred. "You're getting fucked by one of your son's friends. By a boy less than half your age. And you love it." His eyes struggled to open. But open they did. My thighs slapped wetly against his supple ass. I lifted his legs onto my shoulders so I could really rail into him. He was practically bent in half at this point, his cock still quivering, his muscular titties still bouncing. His eyes blinked several times, unable to see or focus. At last, as I began fully removing my cock--just to slam it back in, all the way--his eyes found my face. There it was. The gleam of clarity. He was fully awake, but drowsy, beneath me. "S--Whas--s--" "I'm fucking you, Mr. Lee," I explained. He blinked, his eyes rolling as I slammed all the way in again. His hole was so, so good. The clap of my hips against his ass filled the trailer. "Wh--why--" "Because I wanted to. Because you're a whore. And because you like it." He moaned. His cock twitched again. Then his eyes settled on me again. "J--John?" "Yes, Mr. Lee." "Y--y're fucking me--?" In answer, I shifted him onto his side. I entered again, deep, and I couldn't help sucking on one of his big nipples again. "Yes," I said. "I'm fucking you, Mr. Lee. Do you want me to stop?" He moaned again. I could see the exhaustion, the drugs willing him back into sleep. But, wildly, I wanted an answer. "Do you want me to stop?" I said again. "No," he gasped. "Do you like it?" "I--yes. Like. Like it." Of course he did. What a stud. "You like me fucking you." "I love it," he moaned. "Fuck me." I angled my cock, just to be nice. I struck his prostate. The man came, convulsing with a sudden, deep, and probing orgasm. He found his voice, yelling, as cum twitched from his cock. It sprayed his sheets, splattering out as his body shook. I continued pounding, watching his muscle titties shake and flex again. I slowed, letting him breathe. "How was that, Mr. Lee?" I said. "So good. Y're... You're fu--fucking me," he drawled. "And you're taking it so good," I said. He giggled. Almost childish. I could see why the sweet, mature Kay would be annoyed by his dad. Mr. Lee might have been in his forties, but Kay was the adult. He looked at me. "You're fucking me." "I am." "More." Who was I to deny this man? Most of that afternoon he was not conscious. When he was, he was a moaning, begging whore, pleading me for more. I fucked him many times. I didn't count, but I think I sprayed a good seven loads into this man's hole. My cute, bargain Jason Mamoa. My passed out surfer daddy. Every time I thought I was done--my legs shaking, my cock shrinking, my breath returning to normal--I looked down at my clothes. At what my dad had spent the day buying, now bundled up on the Lees' trailer floor. And every time I decided I wanted more. I could not go home with the urge to fuck my own dad. I could not bring that with me. And this was a big, vulnerable, sexy man right here. Can you blame me? Eventually I HAD to stop. It was late, and I heard Dan's car on the gravel again. I threw on my clothes at last, covering up Mr. Lee with his filthy sheets, stained with several of his loads and the remnants of mine that leaked from his hole. Kay hugged me. "God, John. Thank you so much." "No problem. Your dad was great. Very well-behaved, he slept the whole time." "You're a really good friend." I smiled at him before stepping outside. What a sweet kid. Practically glowing. Dan was standing across the path, leaning against his car. I sidled up. "Thanks, man." "How was it?" said Dan. I smiled. "Fantastic. Do you want me to take Kay somewhere? Give you a chance at him? He really liked it." Dan shook his head. "No need. I fucked Kay." This brought me up short. "You what?" Dan shrugged. "You're not the only one with game. I fucked him. Kid was bouncing on my dick for hours, man." I looked back at the Lees' house, remembering Kay's sweet glow. I had underestimated Dan. The blond, grinning jock beside me was quickly turning into--well, me. I almost felt a swell of pride, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "What a stud," I said, kissing his cheek. "Fuck off," Dan laughed. But he flushed. Even in the dark I could see his cheeks turn pink. "Nice to have a sidekick," I said. "You're such a dick," he laughed again. Then he sobered up. "You better get home. Your dad actually called me, wondering if I was with you." I sighed. "Got it." "Everything okay between you two?" I considered telling him. But, sweet as Dan was, why bother? What could he do? "It's fine," I said. "See you." And I drove home. To my own dad. And to more blue balls.