Date: Fri, 5 Jun 2009 14:44:08 +0000 From: Bill Drake Subject: Horny Dad Tales 1 Horny Dad Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com) Back in the listserv days there was a great series called Horny Guy Tales. They were the inspiration for my White Collar Tales, and I thought it would be fun to have a series of father-son stories: some shorter, some more developed. A forum for the usual Drake plots and themes, and for developing ideas I don't normally do. For more of my stories check out the authors page at Nifty, or for the most recent updates check out my yahoo group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/ And send those comments and story suggestions: billdrake@hotmail.com. The usual disclaimers and warnings apply: the following is sexual explicit fiction not for underage readers or for those squeamish about man-on-man action. Horny Dad Tales #1 Halloween Costume It was actually the idea of one of my brothers. Not a real brother (I'm an only child), but one of the guys in my fraternity, Steve Larson. He and I were sitting around watching late night TV in the house's rec room, he in a flimsy pair of gym shorts, me in my boxers. We were watching David Letterman in silence and out of nowhere, in between swigs of beer, Steve blurts out, "I got it, Bill." "Got what?" I asked, myself close to polishing off the can of Miller now warm in my hand. I'd had a buzz the last couple of hours and it felt great to be hanging out with my brother and close friend, nursing the good feeling. "The Halloween party." I realized now what he was talking about. Each year, our house puts on a big costume party. Always a huge blowout that fueled stories around campus for weeks. As a sophomore, this will be my first one as a pledged member, and I wanted to come up with a good idea for a costume, only was having a hard time. "What about it, Larson? You got an idea for what I can go as this year?" "Yeah, bud. I mean, your dad's a cop right?" "Yeah..." "Well, why don't you use one of his uniforms and go as a policeman?" "Great idea, man," I replied. It was so simple, I don't know why I hadn't thought of it. This was too easy. It wouldn't be one of those cheesy rented costumes that looks fake as hell. This would be a real cop's uniform, my dad's. I pictured what I'd look like in his uniform. Then I stopped right in the middle of my thoughts. "It won't work," I said. You see, my dad's a big guy. Not fat or anything, and we're about the same height. Only my father is one walking wall of muscle. He's always made a point to lift weights and keep in shape for his job, so his frame is immense - 50 inch-plus chest, giant knots of brawn for biceps, tree trunk thighs. I'm no scrawny guy - a regular schedule of intramural athletics keeps me pretty buff - but I knew my father's clothes would droop on me. I explained the situation to Steve. "I guess that's a problem, bud.... But maybe he's kept one of his old uniforms around... If he's been on the force for a while." "He has." I replied. Dad's been a policeman since he was 18, joined the force right out of high school. Since he and Mom had me a year later, Dad's been a cop longer than I've been alive. Seeing pictures of him in his early 20s, I knew that he used to be closer to my size. I had to hand it to Steve, he sure had some good ideas. "Yeah, I'll ask him," I said absently, only to notice that Steve had gotten up and was walking toward me. He sunk down and taking both of my knees in his hands, gently spread my legs, giving him room to scoot in between. With his right hand, he pawed at my dick through the fabric of my boxers. To my surprise, I was already steel hard. "Ooh, yeah, Bill, you got a big fuckin' boner tonight. Gonna let your bro have at it?" Steve didn't wait for an answer. Maybe he already knew it. See, Steve's a cockhound. The house has a few of them in fact, not really gay guys, they still fuck women and all...I guess they're bisexual. And Steve's the most masculine guy you could imagine, a big football-playing bruiser with a military haircut, thick bullneck, bowling-ball biceps and mountainous pecs. And dark brown eyes that pierced your soul when he looked up from sucking your dick. Steve wasn't ashamed to show how much he loved to suck cock. He just fucking did it. That's why I admired him. Hell, since pledging the fraternity, I guess my own horizons have been broadened a bit. Before, I thought really, assumed, that I was 100 percent all-American heterosexual. Only a few of the brothers have taught me how incredibly hot man-to-man sex can be. Now at our parties, I have to decide whether to ball one of the sorority chicks hanging on me, or to slip into a bedroom with one of my hunky brothers. It's not an easy decision. I contemplated all this while Steve worked on my tool, coaxing my load out with his hot, supple mouth. For such a butch stud, the guy really had a soft, silky smooth mouth. I just gripped the back of his high-and-tight haircut and held on for the sweet ride. ******* My dad chuckled when I told him my halloween costume idea. "Sure, Bill, I have a couple of old uniforms lying around. Don't fit me any more, one of them should fit you. Why don't you come on by Friday before your party. I get off at 5, so any time after that." "Sure thing, dad. Thanks." "All right, son. See you Friday." I grew up in a city just shy of an hour away from the university. Fortunately, I have only one class on Friday afternoon so after it was done I got in my car and drove home. The police cruiser was pulling into the driveway just when I got there. "Great timing," Dad said as he pried his beefy body out of the car and came over to greet me with a paternal grip on the shoulder. "So, it looks like my boy wants to be a cop like his daddy after all," he joked. It was an ongoing joke between us, I think Dad had always half-wanted me to follow in his footsteps but knew that I would be better off going to college and getting a professional job. So he always teased me about being a College Boy. Never in a mean or resentful way, but you knew there was a little sadness in his joking. "Nah, Pops," I kidded. "Don't think I have what it takes to be on the force." As he fiddled with the front door and lock and as I followed his strong frame into the house, he replied over his shoulder, "My boy has what it takes all right. You can do anything you want, Bill." He was serious. It wasn't often my Dad expressed emotion, but sometimes he could say something so simple and heart-felt. We went back to his bedroom, and I plopped myself on my parents' bed while Dad removed his gun and belt, plopping them on the dresser. Untucking his shirttails, he pulled out his uniform shirt, then unbuttoned the front, revealing the massive contours of muscle that sculpted his white T-shirt beneath. My dad's a pretty hairy guy, so even through the stretched cotton of the T-shirt, you can see a dense mat of chest fur. "Let's see what I have for you," he said as he started rummaging through the closet. Finally, he pulled out a tattered, yellow box. He wiped the dust off the top. "Almost threw these out. Guess your father's a sentimental guy, huh?" he winked. Inside were three pressed and folded uniforms. Dad pulled the first one out reverentially and unfolded it onto the bed. "This was my first one... why don't you try it on, son?" I kicked off my shoes and shucked my jeans. My sweatshirt was not far behind. Dad took a seat in a chair against the wall. "You got a great body, Bill. You been working out?" Suddenly, I realized I stood before my father wearing only my socks and my boxers. Not unusual in itself, I guess, but I was aware that my father had not seen me like this as an adult, a young man, and he seemed aware that of my self-consciousness. "Go ahead, try it on." The uniform pants were a little tight, but the shirt was impossibly snug. Dad chuckled. "Now you know how scrawny your old man was at your age." As I removed the uniform, he pulled the other two out of the box. "Your chest is developed enough to wear the shirt I had in the early 90s," he spoke, as much to himself as to me, holding up a much larger shirt. "But I'll stick with these trousers," he added, matching the parts from two uniforms. He handed the vestments to me and patted his belly demonstrably. "Your much trimmer in the waist than I am, Bill. Gotta lay off those donuts," he joked. "Yeah, what is it with cops and their donuts?" I asked. I'd been around dad and his partners enough to know there was some truth in the stereotype. I slipped on the trousers. Fit like a glove. Perfectly contoured to my lacrosse-developed quads and ass. "Beats me," Dad said, running his finger beneath the waistband and judging that the fit was perfect. The shirt, if possible, fit even better. I buttoned it up as Dad smoothed out the wrinkles. Dad's hands are large, and for a forbidden moments I wondered if his sex partners enjoyed feeling those thick fingers run over their bodies. "Looks like we have a match, Bill," Dad said. "I can't give you the badge or gun, of course, but I should be able to outfit you with everything else." He went back to the closet and pulled out an extra pair of shoes. With 11 and a half feet, I'm a half-size bigger than Dad, but was able to squeeze into the shiny, polished patent black leather uniform shoes. Then came the belt, the nightstick, the officer stripes pin, even a broken walkie talkie. I was standing in front of the full-length mirror, marveling at the transformation, when Dad appeared behind me and placed his cap on my head. It was complete. "Let me look at you, son," Dad muttered, almost whispered. I'm not sure I was ready for the expression on my father's face when I turned around. Admiration, surprise, sadness, and I could swear a trace of lust. It was my transformation reflected in his eyes. "Wow, dad," I said, nearly speechless. "You like the feel, Bill? It's why I became a policeman. That feeling I get when I put on the uniform." I breathed in and was bombarded with the cedar chips and leather smell of the uniform. "You feel it, too?" "Every day. Even after all these years. I don't know what it is. Pride. Power. A bit of both." I ran my hands along the nightstick and up along my polyester-covered thigh. I wanted to touch my cock so bad. Dad noticed. "First time I put it on, I boned up too." He gave a little laugh, but the seriousness returned to his face. "Still do, sometimes." He was closer to me. I could see the weathered skin and the crow's feet, but my father was still very much a handsome man. He ran his fingers along the small of my back, sending shivers down my spine. When his hand clasped the back of my neck, that did it. I inched forward. He inched forward. Our noses touched, then our mouths. I was fucking kissing my father, right there in the master bedroom, and Dad was kissing me right back. Hungrily. With love. We made out, arms locked around each other. My heart beat a million times a minute, and I could feel his pump, too. I wanted to feel his skin. So I ran my hands underneath the shirt, along his love handles and along the small of his back. Dad moaned. I wanted more. I pulled up on this T-shirt, peeling back the white cotton. Dad didn't want to relinquish our kiss, but finally relented as I tugged his arms up with the shirt. His chest was fever hot, and I teased and caressed every inch as we resumed out deep-tongue, spit-swapping incestuous frenching. I felt those magnificent thick fingers knead my bone through the uniform crotch. Felt them fumble with the zipper and reach in and start fishing around for the front slit in my boxers. He found it, and my dick found freedom, plopping its steely length out into fresh air, then almost immediately his smooth palm. Dad began frigging me, and I held onto his body tighter. "Gotta try this, son," he finally grunted, then squatted right down and attacked my cock. Opened up and swallowed me. This sure wasn't what I'd expected to happen this afternoon. Tormented, conflicted thoughts swam in my head, but mostly I was blindsided by the incredible feeling of dad's warm, wet sucking mouth and the knowledge that my own father was blowing me. He gobbled my rigid dick with starved intensity. I responded with an intensity of my own, grabbing his closely cropped hair and riding his face, fast then slow, urgent, then teasing. Dad would spit on my cock whenever I pulled it out, and say filthy things to me, to my cock, to himself. I guess you never imagine your own father getting into sex talk, but I was learning first hand now. My old man's got a raunchy mind. I'd let him spout his fuck talk, til I couldn't take any more, then I'd plunge straight back in, relishing the litany of choked sex grunts. I'd feel that rising crest of impending orgasm, so I'd pull back out, rest my cocktip on dad's quivering lips, giving my pleasure center a rest, while Dad's words went to work on the deep recesses of my psyche. I could hear his own slapping sounds as he beat his meat. He sucked, I fucked. We edged like that for god knows how long, til I couldn't time it any more or hold back. For the fifth time, I pulled my cock back from the brink of that last fuck thrust, and rested it on his lips. The minute he said, "yeah, you like fucking your daddy's mouth," that did it. My prick shook with earthquake tremors and my pisstube undulated til a huge wad of my hot seed burst forth and sprayed Dad's face. "Oh yeah, shoot it, son," he growled and latched his mouth right on the spurting tip. He swallowed and sucked and punched the spurting head to the back of his throat to more directly inject my semen into his guts. It was a nasty sight, my dad's handsome face covered in my pearly discharge while he readily swallowed my sperming spigot. I looked down and watched, caressing his head the whole time. "Suck me, Dad," I encouraged. His body shook like a spun top, then he grunted loudly with my cock still buried in his mouth. Dad was cumming, too. When we both recovered, Dad stood up, shame faced, unsure of what to say. "Look Bill, I'm sorry." "For what, Dad?" My chest rose and fall as I tried to catch my breath. "Christ! What do you mean, "for what"?! I just fucking blew my own son." He shook his head and bit his lip anxiously. "I didn't want you to find out. Certainly not like this." I was starting to put two and two together. The bitter divorce from Mom, the fact he hadn't had a girlfriend this whole time since. I'd assumed he'd just been keeping his sex life private. He was but not for the reason I thought. "You mean..." "Yeah. It started out with a couple guys on the force. But I couldn't get enough. Went looking elsewhere. Practically everywhere. Now my own boy. Fuck!" he was nearly hyperventilating. "Man Dad..." I tried to reassure him by putting my hand on his shoulder. His skin was still burning hot. "...this is probably gonna have to sink in. But I've done it, too. I've messed around with my fraternity brothers some." That got Dad's attention. "Really?" "Yeah. And to be honest, it's not 'some' we've fooled around a lot." The look on Dad's face was priceless. I laughed. "What's funny?" "You. You're standing there. My jizz still on your face, and you're already imagining me and Craig fucking." Craig Grinson was the only one of my brothers Dad had met... he'd stayed at the house one weekend. Dad blushed. I leaned in and planted my mouth on his. "It's OK," I assured him, licking my sperm off his lips, "I'm imagining you and your police buddies." We reclined on the bed and made out some more. It wasn't long before Dad was going back to the jizzstick poking up between my legs. I reclined back, Dad's cop uniform still on. Dad deepthroated me and stripped. Revealing that hairy, muscular ass and those powerful legs. Finally, he bobbed up for air and gripped my spit-wet shaft. "Bill, forgive me for asking, but how do you feel about fucking?" I wondered if I was gonna get back for the party.