Date: Wed, 25 Nov 2009 07:37:33 +1030 From: Marcus McNally Subject: Dad Gives Me A Helping Hand 2 This story contains sexual situations between a father and his teenage son. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author. If you haven't already done so, you should probably read the first chapter before embarking on this installment. ************* The alarm clock registered 6:50 am when I woke and in my sleepy fog I tried to muster the energy to get up and get ready for work. Only moments later I realised it was Saturday morning, and I could sleep in if I wanted to. My son Matt's nurse would be arriving in 10 minutes to take care of his ablutions and meals until midday. She was an officious old broad but she's been a huge help to us both since Matt fractured his wrists and sprained his ankle after falling from his skateboard. I rolled on to my back and as my head began to clear, I lazily scratched my balls and ran my hand lightly over my morning boner, which signalled an urgent need to piss. I sat up, swung my legs off the bed and on to the floor, and headed for my en suite bathroom. It's never easy to take a leak with a hard cock, but I managed to point at the bowl and started a healthy stream, and as I did my memory kicked in and details of the previous night came flooding back. Since Matt's accident, I'd swung it so I could work from home in the afternoons, so that the nurse could leave and I'd take over feeding him and getting him to the toilet, as well as his evening sponge bath. He was initially embarrassed to have his Dad perform this task, but he clearly preferred it to being bathed by an old nurse, so it was the lesser of two indignities. For the first few nights it was something we got out of the way as quickly as possible before he turned in for the night. Right from the first sponge bath, Matt sprang a boner the moment the warm soapy cloth made contact with his junk and his embarrassment matched my own. I let him know that his physical reaction was normal, especially in a horny 17 year old, and resorted to corny jokes to lighten the mood, but I knew he wishes each time, as his cock started to swell, that the ground would open up and swallow him. But we'd reached a point where he had an erection before the sponge bath even started, and his only means of coping with his embarrassment was to keep his eyes tightly shut. It was only then that it occurred to me that his injuries prevented him from `taking care of business' and he hadn't jacked off for at least a week. For a 17-year-old youth, that would have been torture. I gave it a lot of thought and finally decided that last night I'd put my own misgivings to one side and `give him a hand'. His cock was throbbing by the time I'd rolled him on to his back and after washing his face, chest and stomach, I moved to his legs and feet, before washing his gear. When I'd finished washing him I stayed where I was beside him on his bed and, as we chatted, I took his cock in my hand and slowly started to jack him. Having never jerked anyone else's cock but my own, I could only emulate the way I masturbate; Matt's quiet moans and sighs as I slowly and steadily pumped his dick told me I was on the right track. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed and contented. It had clearly been a while for him, and before long he was raising his ass off the bed and fucking my fist and moments later, a long satisfied moan escaped from his lips as his cock erupted with a series of long and forceful jets of cum. This boy had clearly been backed up. Matt kept his eyes closed as I mopped up his mess, and as I kissed him goodnight and left his room, I knew his exertion would lead to sleep in a matter of seconds. As I hit drifted off to sleep myself, I wondered how he'd feel in the cold light of day. ******** As I flushed the toilet, I heard the back door open and Matt's nurse moving about in the kitchen, no doubt getting my son's breakfast ready. I decided to get back into bed and enjoy a weekend lie-in, although the reason was just as much to delay coming face-to-face with Matt until I had to. I closed my eyes, but my still hard cock was making it difficult for me to doze. My morning wood usually goes away after I take a leak, but today it was reminding me that on some level, my parental `duty' had crossed over to the erotic. My hand disappeared under the covers and gripped my stiff cock and it took only a few urgent strokes before I was plastering my chest and neck with a series of healthy and heavenly spurts. I grabbed some tissues, wiped up my cum, rolled on my side and let sleep engulf me. I woke and looked at the clock and was surprised it was 11.15; I'd slept for almost four hours. Knowing Matt's nurse would be leaving in 45 minutes, I jumped out of bed and shaved and showered before throwing on some jeans and a tee shirt and heading out to the kitchen. As I poured a cup of coffee, Matt's nurse came in carrying the empty plates from Matt's breakfast. She wished me a good morning and told me that Matt was still in bed and that she'd held his mobile phone for him when two of his mates had called. She let me know that both Byron and Jack would be dropping in later in the day to see Matt. "He seems very cheerful today," she said idly. "He must be happy he's going to see his friends". I agreed, and hoped his cheery mood also signalled that he was okay with what had happened the night before. Just after noon, the nurse packed up her things and told me she'd be back at 7 the next morning. I saw her out and decided I couldn't stall for any more time and it was time to face Matt. I walked upstairs, stood in the hallway for a moment and took a deep breath, and walked into my son's room. He was sitting in bed propped up on pillows, watching the sports channel with the sound down low. "Morning mate," I said as cheerfully as I could. He grinned at me and said "hey Dad" and while I searched his face for signs of masking, I found none. "The guys are coming over later to shoot the shit." "Yeah, the nurse told me, mate. You can hold off having lunch until they get here if you like, and they can eat with you. I'll just have to nick out and get some fresh rolls". As I started walking towards his door, he looked up and said "thanks Dad", before adding "for everything". Back in the hallway, I breathed a sign of relief. He didn't appear to be wallowing in regret and embarrassment. If anything, he was the most cheerful he'd been since he had his accident. Amazing what empty balls can do for a boy's frame of mind. I drove to the shops and stocked up on supplies, bearing in mind how much teenage boys can consume at any hour, any day. I got things prepared in the kitchen and then did my usual Saturday cleaning routine, vacuuming, sweeping and putting the washing machine through its paces. Early afternoon the doorbell signalled the arrival of Byron and Jack, who'd bought books, magazines and CDs for Matt. Their reluctance to let me see the covers of any of the magazines alerted me to the fact that these were probably more well-thumbed editions of `Penthouse' like those I'd found from time to time under Matt's mattress. Why teenage boys find they need to hide that stuff from their Dad's is beyond me. I told the guys I'd bring some food up for them a little later and they disappeared up the staircase to Matt's bedroom. Once the house was in order I made up some bread rolls with the usual fillings, opened a box of jam donuts and some soft drink bottles, and took them all upstairs on a tray. The boys were piled on to Matt's bed, carefully avoiding any contact with his bandages. They all eagerly accepted the food and voiced their thanks. From downstairs I could hear their noisy chatter and raucous laughter, and I was pleased that Matt had some company other than me and the old nurse, and had the chance to catch up on the world beyond his bedroom. Byron and Jack stayed until late afternoon, when they both left to catch up with their other mates and finalise their plans for the evening's activities. I felt a bit sorry for Matt; if circumstances were different, he would be joining them all. Once the boys had left, I stuck my head in his bedroom to check all was well, and Matt looked relieved to see me. "I need to pee Dad," he said, and it was obvious his need was great. "I've been holding on all afternoon". I helped him to his feet and walked him to the toilet. I stood behind him as he lowered his tracksuit pants, and when I reached around to help him I found, to my surprise, that his cock was painfully hard. But considering he wakes with a piss boner most mornings, I assumed he was accustomed to urinating in that state, so I simply held his cock and pointed it into the bowl. It took him a few seconds, but once he started his stream, it seemed to go on forever. When he'd finished, it was too difficult to shake his cock, so I simply stroked it a couple of times, and I swear I heard a quiet moan escape from his lips. I pulled his tracksuit pants up and suggested perhaps he'd like to join me downstairs to catch the evening news before dinner. I helped him down the staircase and got him settled on the couch with his legs up and noticed his dick was still tenting his trackies and that he was making no attempt to hide it. We watched the news, and then while Matt watched a repeat of `The Simpsons' I cooked up a couple of big bowls of Penne Carbonara which would be easy to spoon feed him. He was hungry enough to finish the whole bowl and was even happy for seconds. I'll never know where he fits it all. We flicked through the TV guide but there was precious little worth watching. I was reminded of the Bruce Springsteen song "57 Channels (And Nothin' On)". Matt perused the pay-per-view movie options and asked if we could watch a film called `Intimacy'. I'd never heard of it, so I read the magazine's synopsis: "Patrice Chéreau's film adaptation of the movie by Hanif Kureshi, about a man leaving his wife and two young sons after feeling physically and emotionally rejected by his wife." It wasn't the usual action or sports-themed movie that Matt generally favored but it sounded OK, so I went through the payment process and we settled in to watch. It wasn't long into the film before my jaw was dropping. There on our big screen was the noted Shakespearean actor Mark Rylance fucking the living daylights out of the lead actress Kerry Fox. And this was no simulated sex scene. There was no mistaking his hard cock was plunging into her pussy. I glanced at Matt whose eyes were glued to the screen, his track pants bulging. A while later, Rylance was lying on a bare floor while Kerry Fox sucked his not inconsiderable cock and again, this was no `fudged' sex scene, she was unmistakably sucking dick. "Shit mate," I said to my son. "This was a mainstream film?" "Yeah Dad," he said. "It's great, isn't it?" "Your track pants are certainly telling me you're enjoying it," I said, and he responded with a grin. The truth was, my own pants were straining to contain my own hard cock, as the two actors fucked and sucked their way through the remainder of the film. I was still rock hard as I stood up and reached for the remote control to turn the TV off. "Looks like you sure enjoyed it too, Dad," Matt laughed. "Mate," I said, "I've never seen anything like that in a mainstream movie. It wasn't even borderline porn, that was full-on sex". "Well we're gonna have to watch `9 Songs' then," he replied, a reference to another film I'd never heard of. "That'll spin you out". "Well we can hire that for tomorrow night if you like," I said, intrigued by the thought of a movie that might be more graphic than what we'd just seen. "But it's time to get you cleaned up and then we need to hit the sack." I helped Matt upstairs to his room and got him out of his clothes in readiness for his sponge bath, and there was no mistaking his arousal from the movie; when his track pants came down, his cock sprang up and slapped against his tummy. No embarrassment this time, just a chuckle. I went to my bathroom to grab a wash cloth and fill a plastic basin with warm soapy water, and remembering how wet I'd got the previous nights, I stripped out of my clothes and put on a dressing gown. I found Matt lying naked on his stomach when I got back to his room and after setting up the basin, I began to sponge his neck and back, then his legs and feet. Once again, he squirmed and laughed as I washed his toes. I rinsed the wash cloth and started to sponge his toned, tanned ass, and immediately he opened his legs to give me access to his crack. As I began the most intimate of washing, he lifted his ass slightly off the bed, letting his balls dangle enticingly underneath him. As I ran the cloth over his asshole and back again, I heard another soft but unmistakable moan. I expected to find his obvious arousal at being sponged by his father a little unsettling, but instead I found it incredibly erotic; we were both still charged after the sex scenes in the movie. I tried to push that thought from his mind as I rolled him on to his back. His cock was throbbing and he automatically opened his legs to let his low hanging ballbag flop on to the sheet beneath him. I rinsed the cloth again and sponged his flushed face, neck and chest, down to the start of his treasure trail, his eyes locked on mine each time I glanced at him. I rinsed the cloth again and., bypassing his rampant penis, I sponged his legs and feet from the front. Encased by the damp wash cloth, my hand ran up the inside of his thighs, stopping only when his nutsac nudged by knuckles. Each time I looked at his face, his slightly glazed eyes bore into me. I dipped the cloth in the basin of soapy water, wrung it out one last time and then looked him in the eyes. His eyebrows raised slightly, his expression a cross between hopeful anticipation and barely concealed need. And deep inside me, a newly revealed need to give my son what he so desperately wanted. The left (logical) side of my brain was screaming "wrong" at me. The right (feeling) side was more loudly screaming "right", as it pumped blood to my already pumped dick, and reminded me that many years ago, I was my son. He was telling me in the most primal way how much he needed me to help him out. "I'll be right back" I said, before walking down the corridor to my bathroom and retrieving a seldom used bottle of massage oil. As I walked back to my son's room, my mind replayed the few days I spent in Thailand on business when Matt was just a baby. My own desperate need to blow a load led me to a renowned Bangkok brothel where, for only the equivalent of a few Aussie dollars, a pretty Thai girl gave me a handjob so exquisite that I recall it every time I fuck my own fist. I dimmed the lights in the room and sat back at the side of my horny teen son's bed, his raging hard-on the centre piece in my line of vision. Locking eyes with him in the semi-darkness, I drizzled some massage oil into one hand and rubbed it into the other and, after only a momentary hesitation, my right hand grasped my son's rigid manhood and squeezed it tight. There was no sound from Matt, but his eyes rolled slightly back and his mouth parted very slightly. With a will of its own my hand started to stroke my son's cock. His head rolled back, his pelvis thrust forward and he surrendered himself to his Dad's loving hand. At the start, the room had been deathly quiet, but it wasn't long before my son's laboured breathing cut a swathe through the silence. With my free will now out the window, I raised my oiled left hand to circle the top half of Matt's cock and, recalling the Thai girl, I introduced him to the "juice squeezing" technique; one hand twisting one way, the other twisting the other, as if his cock was a piece of ripe fruit. God it was making me hard. Time stood still as I jacked my son's cock and he responded the way any teenage boy would, groaning with pleasure and writhing in overloaded sexual bliss. His desperate whimpering only spurred me on the give him an experience he would never forget. His hips lifted und down, fucking his cock into my warm oiled fist, and giving him a forward glimpse of how a wet pussy is going to feel. As his rhythmic and desperate thrusting continued, I watched as his balls drew up closer to his body, then all too soon his sweat-soaked body went rigid and, after a series of fast pants and ecstatic moans, he let out an almost disembodied groan as his cock erupted with a rapid-fire series of ejaculatory spurts, launching a series of white teenage torpedoes high into the air to land in splatters on him, the bed and me. As he came down from his orgasmic euphoria, his delighted sighs gave way to a sated grin. The room was suddenly quiet again, the smell of sweat and fresh semen hanging in the air. I gave Matt a moment to revel before picking up the wash cloth and wiping his cum from his chest, his neck and his forehead, his pillows and my own arms. I briefly flashed on the thought that he could give Peter North a run for his money (shot). Fully aware of my own intense level of excitement, I dropped Matt's semen soaked wash cloth into the basin and rinsed it. As Matt's now limp body sank into the mattress, his right hand dropped into my lap. As I packed up the wash bowl and cloth and prepared to remove them, I felt a hand slip under my dressing gown and make its way along my thigh, stopping to touch my balls briefly before wrapping itself around my pulsating cock. As my mind seemed to shut down, my cock involuntarily flexed, and for the second time tonight, time stood still ... * * * * * * Please feel free to email me your comments. marcusis32@live.com.au