Date: Tue, 10 Jan 2017 20:18:11 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Karl and Greg: Karl and Greg 9

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/karl-and-greg/karl-and-greg-1) for warnings
and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between blood-related men. Go away if any of that is against your local
rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Skip food-related
paragraphs with (^) at the start. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at
donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

I was ready (oh, God, so very, very ready!) for his release. I was about to
receive the holiest sacrament directly from my personal god. Pa did not
disappoint. I'd barely reached his tits when the first massive shot hit my
throat. I swallowed and wallowed, each of his howl-growls signalling a new
explosion that flared the head and locked it in my mouth. The head had
flared so wide that I wasn't sure that I could have pulled off if I'd
wanted to; needless to say, the thought never crossed my mind. Pa fucked
upwards with each spasm, adding a new, massive volume of Pa's cum that I
sped on its way down my throat and straight to my belly. Each contraction
drove Pa to a new level of need/demand/ecstasy. Each was part of a circle
that intensified each round. Each left me shaken like a rat in a terrier's
jaws as he thrashed and blasted and heaved and swore. All I could do was
hang on and try to avoid letting my teeth scrape Pa's exploding sceptre. I
was in heaven.

***** Karl & Greg 9: Cocksucking & Service for Advanced Learners M/M;
Incest; massage; oral; extreme edging;

Not even a God cums forever. Pa's howls and ejaculations and growls and
fully-body spasms gradually faded and I was left with a mouthful of the
thick and still-solid prick of a totally flaccid God. I am not at all
ashamed to admit that I nursed it, suckled at the font of everything I
wanted, needed, craved. It is what brought Pa back to the present. He
reached down and yanked his prick from my tender ministration, so sensitive
that he could no longer take it.

His breathing came back to normal and his eyes locked back to mine. Even
when Pa's eyes had rolled so far up that all I could see were the lower
lids and a bit of white, I had never, not once, let my eyes rove anywhere
but his. His hand on my forehead to prevent me from reattaching to his
succulent cock, he regained control and slowed his rasping breath.

Pa sat up, pushing my head up and away, maintaining that eye-lock. No
expression showed on that ruggedly-handsome face. "Fine. End of mid-term
exam. Do you think you passed? Do you think that was good enough, sport?"

My heart, set moments ago to burst from elation, plummeted like a brick
through plate glass. I'd failed. He had cum, but just because I did and
okay job. He had orgasmed, but only because he'd gotten to the point that
he was too bored with what I was doing to care much. I knew that tears had
started and was powerless to stop them. Pa cocked his head to the right
like a scientist examining a mildly-interesting new mutation.

"You're actually convinced that you failed, aren't you? You actually think
that you fucked up?" I couldn't do anything, not even nod.

"Fuck! I have really failed as a father. You can't even accept that you
fucking nailed it! You did things to me that I never thought anyone
could. You didn't fail, you little shit, you knocked it out of that park!"

The hand that had held my face away from his junk flashed to the back of my
neck and his other appeared between my shoulder blades. Both yanked me
irresistibly up and into a soul-destroying kiss. He devoured me, and I
loved it. Soul-destroying? No, soul-CLAIMING. He was taking me, utterly and
completely, and I was giving as quickly as he could consume what I could
give.

I didn't cum that night, and didn't care. I was here to give Pa the
pleasure he deserved, the pleasure I wanted, needed, craved to give him. Pa
made out with me for about an hour as we degenerated into weaker and weaker
caresses, kisses and moans until we both fell fast asleep.

^ Tuesday dawned bright and way too fucking early, but the comfortable
rhythm of Pa's breathing made me snuggle a few precious moments after
silencing my phone's alarm. I decided that I didn't want to spend a lot of
time experimenting with breakfast this morning, so I a quick omelette
stuffed with cheeses, scallions and chopped Canadian bacon, sided with
toast and some marmalade that I'd picked up. I did a
slightly-less-offensive version of Pa's favourite sludge-like coffee and
turned to lunch.

^ A flank steak might look small, but one actually makes a ton of meal-time
food. I grabbed some naan bread I'd picked up yesterday. Using the
chimichurri sauce and some mayo, I made a quick spread brushed thickly over
the naan, then layered some super-thin-sliced churrasco steak and with
bottled roasted red pepper and crumbled queso fresco and rolled the whole
thing into something between a burrito and a wrap. In to the pail it went
with a thermos of sludge, another thermos of bottled chicken-tortilla soup
that I thought Pa might like. He rumbled into the kitchen a few minutes
later and began to attack the omelette.

^ It was a hit, but a few bites in, Pa pointed to the jar of marmalade and
grunted, "I hope you didn't spend a lotta time on that cuz it's just
nasty."

^ I laughed, "No, Pa, that came from the store and is going into the trash
as soon as you finish. I'm bound to miss occasionally." I popped another
couple of slices of toast in and had the popped and on his plate a few
bites later.

With a series of grunts and mumbles that had, for me, become praise valued
beyond pearls, Pa grabbed his lunch pail. "I want you to 'clean up'
tonight, sport. Got me?" I nodded enthusiastically as Pa headed out to his
day. I cleared and left the marmalade jar draining (the citrus jam had
never been a favourite of mine, but I could do something with the jar).

I made it to school as normal, and actually enjoyed it. More people were
noticing this new me, and I found that people had really thought my
previous reticence more snobbishness than shyness. A couple of guys from my
World History class tagged along with me to the lunch line and sat with me,
something that I couldn't recall happening before. I again nailed tennis
practice and got nods or praise from most of my teachers. To quote
David/Bud from Pleasantville, "I had a really good day."

I decided on the way home that I didn't really have much in the way of
soups for Pa's lunches. It was raining out when school ended, and a late
spring bite of cold had moved in as well. I knew that Pa would be late and
miserable. Rain slowed his days whilst also making every task just a little
bit harder, and I knew he hadn't dressed for the unseasonable cold that the
weatherman had, naturally, neglected to mention.

^ I grabbed a couple of hens from the butcher and a big ole basket of
yummies from the greengrocer. The hens were quickly simmering in two pots
before I even got undressed.

I almost forgot Pa's instruction to 'clean up'. I headed to his bathroom
and warmed up the Magic Wand. I didn't do the full ceremony with the
bathtub, but did one round of wash and two of rinse, just to be sure. The
feeling was not nearly as overpowering as when I'd been in the hands of my
Pa, but it was sensuous and erotic nonetheless. Needless to say, both my
cock and ass were dripping when I finished; I was so hard I hurt.

^ I spent the next hour prepping a bewildering variety of ingredients. A
whole lotta cookin came next, and I ended up with four, 1-quart containers
of soup cooling on the sideboard. White-wine broth with chicken, scallions
and chives; chicken with wide, tender, homemade noodles plus carrots and
celery; an Italian Soup, a strange cross between what we'd now call
minestrone and a pasta fagiole; and the oddball was a sausage jambalaya,
not for the thermos but for a new, wide-mouthed insulated bowl I'd
discovered on a dusty shelf in the butcher's shop.

^ Only one pot remained, slowly burbling and bubbling. I set a mid-hot
skillet to go with butter, salt, sage and thyme then added carrots, turnips
and parsnips [aside: Why did God take the time to make parsnips when we
already have turnips and carrots?]. After a quick browning, a slow fire let
them begin to caramelise slowly as I heard the front door open.

I rushed into the hall and fell to PA's feet, extricating him from soaked
and sodden boots, socks and finally pants. I got his upper torso stripped
and he stumbled and grumped up to the bathroom, and I heard the shower
start as I got his stuff in order. Boots got a quick rinse and went onto a
rack in the dryer.  Everything else went on hooks or into the laundry. Pa
finally stumbled back into the kitchen with brows as dark as the
storm-clouds that had pissed him off in the first place.

^ The big, burbling pot yielded a thick, rich, steaming mass of tender
dumplings studded with chicken, all in a succulent gravy that the dumplings
helped create. The timer rang and I rescued the biscuits from the oven. Add
a side dish of the now perfectly-tender root veggies and a pint of stout to
go with it, and dinner was served.

^ I could see the tension leave Pa's shoulders as the fragrant steam
enveloped him in comfort-food smells. Several deep breaths erased the
furrowed brows and the first mouthful (well, after the huffing, cursing and
swearing from flash-steaming the roof of his mouth) brought a smile. I may
be a bit of a disappointment, but I know how to feed a man and make him
love it.

^ I replenished the helpings a couple of times. By the end of the meal, I
could tell that Pa was flagging. I was a tiny bit disappointed that we
wouldn't have a lesson, but the contented grin on his face gave me warm
tingles that might be better than -- no, fuck that! -- a suitable but
temporary substitute for sex.

I had one last surprise for Pa. I knew the day had been hard, cold and
wet. A pan in the 'warm spot' in the middle of all the burners now came
into play along with mugs that sat to the side warming. A scoop of the
steaming liquid into each mug was followed by a shot, okay, a major
glug-glug-glug of Pa's bourbon. The warmly-spiced and -buttered mulling
brought the bourbon to full flourish. Pa was practically purring as I led
him into the living room, draped his shoulders and lap in a throw and began
to massage his feet.

Pa just stared at me. He'd sip the warm cocktail, smile, swallow, sigh and
then cock his head to the left or right, eyes never really leaving my
face. I worked on the knots of his arches and calves, reacting quickly with
extra intensity to each twinge or attempt to pull away from a tender
spot. He went from grunts to groans then moan as his muscles relented under
my assault.

He finally broke the silence. "You really enjoy this, don't you sport? The
service and the undressing and the cooking and the massage. It's not that
someone is making you or even asking you. It's not even about sex, is it?
You really just want to make me feel good, don't you?" There was a real
sense of puzzlement in that voice.

I didn't look away from my task, knowing that I was blushing furiously with
a mixture of embarrassment and pride, eyes fixed on a knot I'd found just
below his left knee. "I, I never knew it Pa, but I think this is what I've
always wanted. To make it easier for you. To make you, make you, maybe? uh,
Happy?" A long slurp met my words and I risked a furtive glance at Pa's
face. He was still staring at me, contemplating, thinking, considering my
response. Time passed with nothing but my rubbing and his sipping (and
occasionally my own).

He startled me a lot when his voce rumbled to life. "I coulda been giving
you, and ME, what we both wanted for way too long, son. Yes, you make me
happy. Yes, I love what you do. And yes, I love that you want this. You are
one damn fine son, Greg, and I love you a lot."

I nearly cried. I know that I'm, a pussy-wussy little sop, but it was like
I'd just had my soul validated. "Get me another of these, sport. More
bourbon, but don't skimp on whatever magic crap you stewed up on the voodoo
stove."

I was back practically before he stopped speaking and Pa continued to nurse
his drink as my hands moved north, finding intractable knots in his
Sartorius and hamstrings on both sides and his right quads. He finished his
second as I finished both my first drink and reached the tantalising top of
his legs, just then he stood up, displacing the throw and my hands. "Come
on, sport. Time for tonight's lesson."

If I'd had a tail, I'd have wagged. I shut off the TV and lights and was
practically treading on Pa's heels as he dove face first into the bed. I
muffled rumble emerged, "Get working on my back, now, son. Greg, you gotta
give me some relief. After that," even through the convers I could hear the
leer, "maybe another kind of 'relief' as well."

I attacked his lower back and ass. I spent about half an hour on the myriad
knots and strains that I found. Pa fell asleep once, I'm sure of it. Didn't
last long, though; a yelp accompanied my discovery of the next deep-muscle
injury and he bolted back to wakefulness. I smirked to myself as he
continued to moan, groan and gripe. I finally got to his shoulders. The
cold, wet and strain had turned them into a sailor's sample of knots. Pa
yelped and howled and groaned as I worked them out.

My hands were actually nearly too tired to continue when Pa gruffly barked,
"Enough foreplay, young-un! Back to lessons!" He flipped so quickly it was
like he teleported. I was now faced with his blazing eyes, full lips,
jutting nips and a hard-on that would make Priapus blush. I went for a
middle target, attacking his right nipple and he moaned. I went for the
left and he grabbed the back of my head.

"Not good enough, kid. Tonight, we start Cocksucking for Advanced
Learners. Start with my nuts until you see the precum start to leak, then
come back up to your knees and ask what to do next." I started south and he
yanked me back, "Hands grasped behind your back, sport. Nose, chin, lips,
teeth, tongue and throat are all you'll use tonight. Now get working!"

Pa's nuts are HUGE. It was no trouble to target each and give it deep,
loving attention. I sucked, pulled and stretched the skin., I tongued each
tender orb until Pa sounded pained and switched to the other. Pa's
breathing deepened and roughen. I looked up to see dogwater flowing from
Pa's faucet and knew it was time. I sat up, face covered in ball-sweat and
slobber and proud of that fact. On a lust-high, I awaited Pa's next
direction.

Pa caught his breath and said, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Get my
prick wet! No hands, mind."

Do you know how difficult it is to get a seriously hard, seriously LARGE
cock into your mouth without your hands? The fucking porn stories make it
seem like a day at the beach. Fuck that! It's insanely difficult! I nudged
and shimmied Pa's prick into position, trying to find a way to get the
rock-hard and abs-locked dick into my mouth without nicking it with my
teeth. I finally suckled the tip up from his abs and twisted my head around
before it could snap back.

Now that I had it in my lips, my tongue started to explore and clean the
foreskin-covered glans. Dogwater was not all I discovered; a slight taint
of cheese and a lot of dick-smell led to a tiny, hidden reserve of smegma
just behind the crown. I lost it. Every sense overloaded as I desperately
tongued and licked each ridge and old. Pa bucked and moaned a bit, then
settled in for a long ride.

"Enough work on the head. We're gonna work on how you treat a shaft
tonight, and a bit on how to tease a man. Pull back and lick your way down
to my balls. Treat my dick like an ice cream cone or a giant lolly; lots of
tongue back forth and around as you slowly move to my nuts. Can you do that
sport?"

I couldn't imagine a reason to waste my tongue answering so I started the
long-lick journey south. I paid special attention to each vein-ridge (there
were plenty), each small fold of skin (there weren't many; Pa was an iron
rail by that point) and each bump or imperfection in the tight-stretched
skin. I left behind a lot of saliva, and could tell my nose-breaths sent
shivers as cool air blew across recently-licked skin. Soon, all too soon, I
reach the tender edge between hip, cock and scrotum, and I took a minute to
nuzzle and lick it. The smell was literally intoxicating; my head swam as
my tongue dug deeper and deeper trying to extract every single pheromone.

"Damn, son. Good job there. I hadn't even thought to tell you that. The
fold right along the balls and dick is amazingly sensitive. Always take a
chance to scrape it with your chin, especially if you ever get to the point
of having stubble." I blushed a bit. My father was a furred monster; I only
shaved each morning out of habit as I could have gone most of a week
without anyone noticing.

"Next stage, sport. Do the same thing back up, then over and down the other
side. Occasionally use your lips to 'nip' the skin, or suck hard at one
spot, then move on. When you get to the head, don't pause, just do the same
on the other side. Back and forth."

I did this and was gratified as Pa's sighs turned gradually to moans, then
gasps and groans. I had just reach the zenith on my third round-trip when
Pa grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me off the shining glans.

"Last night, you played with my balls until right before I shot. Do you
know why that was so effective?"

I looked at him, puzzled. I'd played with his nuts cuz I knew they were a
serious g-spot for him, and cuz I wanted to milk more cum from them for the
impending explosion. "I thought it would get you hot." I muttered with a
frown.

"I did that, Greg, it really did. But it also worked the same as the ribbon
I tied round your own balls. As long as you were tugging on and trapping my
nuts, I couldn't cum no matter how bad I needed it. And trust me, I needed
it so bad that I damn near reached down and throat-fucked you. It's one of
the best ways to keep your man on edge and make it last. When you see my
nuts, any guy's nuts, pull next to the shaft, they're in firing position,
he's that close. If they're too high and tight, even toughing them will
make him shoot; so get there a little early.

"For the rest of the lesson, you can, have to, use your hands, just never
on my prick. Keep one hand on my nuts. When you feel them tighten and pull
up, you tighten your fist and pull them firmly and gently back down. When
you do that, son, let up on the dick stimulation until the nads relax, and
start again. Depending on the guy's self-control and desperation, you can
do that three, four times before it's cum-or-die. Pull that trick too long
or with the wrong guy, and you just might get raped, so be
careful. Tonight, I want you to pull me back exactly *four* times. I won't
lie, I'm gonna threaten, beg, demand and cuss at ya to let me go quicker. I
can handle it," a whispered 'I think' seemed to drop into the pregnant
pause, "so just keep with the program. Can you do that, sport?

"Also, spin yourself around. I want to eat out that hot, clean(?)" he
cocked an eyebrow and I nodded vigorously, "ass of yours while you push me
to the limits."

I smiled and turned so my knees were to either side of Pa's arms and
wrapped my fist around his nuts, gently rubbing and stroking them with my
one hand and exciting them and the taint below with the other. With that, I
dove back onto the cock. Tonight I was determined to see if I could deep
throat Pa. I'd failed at it last night, but had 24 hours to think through
the mechanics of the operation. I'd had nothing on which to practice, but I
thought I'd try a couple of tricks.

I had him deep into my mouth, right to edge of my throat. Suddenly Pa's
tongue speared my hole and I gasped and nearly came. That gasp brought Pa's
prick a bit past my gag reflex and I figured my idea would work. I pulled
off and worked my way down the shaft again, this time building up a huge
wad of saliva until I could feel the glans knocking at the door. After a
deep breath, I began to swallow the spit in my chipmunk-cheeks. With my
second swallow, I felt Pa's prick slip in with the saliva. At that moment,
Pa's nads jumped and started to tighten

The timing was perfect. I need to avoid thinking about the gagging that my
body wanted, so I focused intently on gently forcing the nuts well away
from the shaft. Since he'd only gotten a tiny fraction into my oesophagus,
I was still able to breathe through my nose. Pa, I realised, was squirming
and panting above me. Stretched as my face was, I could feel my lips
tighten in a smile. I had this.

When I felt Pa's nuts relax a bit, I took several deep, quick, full
breaths. The taste of Pa's cock over the past minute had all of the
expected result and my mouth was again flooded with saliva. I started to
swallow again, this time around Pa's impressive meat. The back-pressure
from the accumulated spit acted to my advantage, helping to both lube and
push the glans deeper. The ridge finally snapped past my glottis and Pa
yanked his tongue out of my ass and literally howled.

I had to use another nut-crunch, but failed to follow instructions. I
couldn't let up on the stimulation; to do so would be to suffocate. His
left nut nearly slipped out of my clutches, so I used both hands to kneed,
pull and stretch his nuts. Pa was, as he predicted, cussing a blue
streak. I didn't know all the words (I suspected, correctly, that some
weren't in English and some weren't in any language known to a non-orgasmic
man), but the intent was clear. If I didn't get him off RIGHT NOW, he would
rip off my head and fuck my windpipe directly. A smiled even more; even the
escape of some of my spittle was worth it.

When he finally settled down, I did back off the dick. My throat burned,
literally burned, as if I'd swallowed hot wax. It could have felt like I'd
swallowed melted nails and I would not have cared, nor changed my plan. Pa
was back to attacking my hole, bringing me to new levels of motivation. One
hand on the nuts, then other stroking Pa's taint and ass-crack, I huffed
breath after breath, hyper-oxygenating just as I'd recent seen on a Jacques
Cousteau documentary --- who knew that nerd interests would come in so
handy?

Both hands back on the scrotum of my personal deity, I went back to making
love to Pa's glans. Each bump, ridge and edge got special attention as I
got more and more saliva built up. I slowly engulfed Pa's prick and
carefully got all of him that I could into my mouth. When he was positioned
perfectly, a few more breaths were all I needed before swallowing the spit
and along with it the monster flesh-pole that had made me. This time I
didn't pause. Swallowing convulsively, I pushed down; swallow, down;
swallow, down; swallow, down. About the fifth swallow, I noticed two
things. Pa's nuts were once again knocking at the knuckles of my fist and
my nose was lodged in Pa's pubes. I could feel my neck stretched from the
cock in my throat.

I started to pull Pa's testes away from the shaft with some
determination. Pa had given up on my ass as he desperately tried and failed
to climax. He pushed me off to one side, inadvertently giving me a
more-awkward angle of attack, but one that would allow me to look up at
him. Pa's hand started knocking on the top of my head to get my
attention. I knew I had about twenty more seconds of air and let my eyes
meet his glowing orbs.

"Fuck. Fuck, Greg. You done great. You done perfect. Let go my nuts, son. I
gotta cum, Greg. I gotta, son. Two was plenty. Four was silly. Four is for
later. Tonight it's two. Just ease up on my balls, sport. Your throat ---
FUCK ME YOU LITTLE FUCKING BASTARD -- your throat! I can't take it. Let go,
son, let go! Do it NOW!"

I pulled slowly off his cock and Pa laughed with relief until he realised
I'd actually tightened my grip on my sac. "You said four, Pa. We're only
barely at three." I smiled innocently into his glowing red eyes. I saw four
things there: Lust, rage, pride and murderous-desperation. I broke eye
contact and slowly engulfed the cock that had squirted into this world 18
years earlier.

"YOU BASTARD! You fucking ungrateful... OH MY GOD! Your THROAT! Oh FUCK!"
What followed was not transcribable, but it was remarkable vivid, uniquely
colourful and quite instructive to someone not raised on a canal barge. I
got to my previous pube-deep position and went to the next idea I'd
had. The act of swallowing had several functions, something I knew from
endless biology and snake-related research (I love snakes. They eat all the
critters that I hated most and they... swallowed their prey
alive. Apparently, my nascent intellect knew I loved this long before my
forebrain had any idea). One of those was to inexorably drag the prey
deeper and deeper, using sequential or spiral constrictions to coax the
meal further into its digestive tract. Why would that NOT work for a cock?
We'd soon find out.

Swallow after swallow constricted unnamed muscles around my Pa's thick
piece of meat. Howl after cry of frustration followed each one. I kept up
as long as I could. Magically, that timed perfectly with Pa's balls' latest
attempt to escape to orgasmic freedom. I dragged them south, ignoring the
crying., pleading, threatening, begging exclamations of my desperate-to-cum
father. At the same time, I slowly expelled the slime-coated prick from my
throat and started breathing deeply again.

At this point, I discovered something completely new. Pa was no longer
threatening or even demanding. He was crying with frustration and
need. "You can't do that again, son. You can't. Greg. It's too MUCH, Greg!
Fuck, Greg. You gotta have mercy. Please, please, PLEASE let me cum. I
can't do this anymore. You're punishing me, ain't ya? That's it, this is
you getting back at me. Oh, GOD, Greg, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the
years I didn't pay attention. I'm sorry I mentored your brother first. I'm
sorry I let you get teased. I'm sorry for anything else that you think I
should be sorry for! Please, fucking PLEASE, please forgive me and stop
punishing me! Please let me CUM!"

I was rocked to the core. It never occurred to me that I was torturing
Pa. I had also temporarily forgotten the disparate treatment he meted out
to his two sons. I was always the one short-changed, always the one left to
the side lines. Pa's begging had the opposite effect that he intended. Let
him cum sooner? Not in this lifetime. He could die of the world's worst
case of blue balls for all I cared. Oh, Pa had made a serious error there.

Several deep, oxygenating breaths and I was back on Pa's slimy cock. It
took almost no effort, between my throat's stretching and my personal rage,
to get back to the point where he was lodged in my spasming and contracting
throat. Pa was incoherent by now, begging for mercy one moment, berating me
the next. He'd pound on my back or shoulders, surge up or down, neither
with any effect. I shut out the words and mashed his nuts further and
further from his shaft. His nuts contracted, as desperate as their owner to
blast his seed into whatever receptacle was handy. No! Denied! Not
happening! Deal with it, you fucking bastard.

Off for a breath and back, now knowingly torturing the most important
person in my life. Suddenly his wracking sobs and pleas for mercy got to
me. I felt guilty for putting the person who had suddenly become the centre
of my universe into the positon that he had to surrender to, plead to,
debase himself to, BEG to... insignificant me. It was wrong.

I released Pa's nuts and redoubled my efforts. Swallowing and now humming
to increase the vibration and tension, I did everything I could to excite
the stud who melted beneath me. With a cry that could have been heard in
the next state, Pa went frankly ape-shit-insane. His jism flushed straight
into my stomach, as all other boundaries had already been breached. My
throat was impaled on his ejaculating dick, the head of which had flared
enough that I could not move, retreat or even breathe. I just prayed his
orgasm would end before I suffocated. A random thought-headline flitted
across my brain, 'Tempting Teen Throttled on Progenitor's Prick."

The edges of my vision were actually reddening when Pa's dick softened the
slightest amount, just enough for me to pull back, choking, coughing and
retching. As my vision cleared from my wracking gasps, I saw that Pa was
still in aftershocks and that precious pearls of his cum were leaking,
wasted, down his shaft. I latched on and milked him, ignoring again his
pleas; this time he was begging for less stimulation not more, as I
Frenched the slit to get every last dram of ejaculate. With a final bullish
bellow, Pa wrenched me off and fell on top of me, pinning me beneath
him. Suddenly, his mouth latched onto mine and probed deep for any taste of
his own load.

We kissed for far longer than Pa's orgasm. His muscular body pressed
against me, writhing as he attempted to invade everything his tongue could
reach. Suddenly he chuckled and looked down. "Damn, son, it looks like you
enjoyed it as much as I did!"

Utterly bewildered, I looked down. My stomach and the bed were soaked with
my own cum; I had orgasmed but, wrapped up in Pa's pleasure, had never even
noticed. I looked back at Pa, eyes wide and awe-filled. "Damn, son, you are
something else!"

Pa went into the bathroom and I heard the shower start, so I stripped the
bed and remade it with more fresh sheets (note to self: get to a
Linens-n-Things quick). Just as I finished, Pa yelled for me to get in
there. Pa called me into the shower and gently, firmly washed me. I don't
think I'd ever felt so loved and so protected.

Pa murmured to me as he dried me off with a thick, plush towel. "You took
me places -- damn, son -- placed I'm not sure I even dreamed of. Your Mom
and I, we loved each other, and we got seriously ki... well, never
mind. But no one has ever been that into me, focused on well, I dunno,
focused on my pleasure. I'm right proud of who you are and who you're
becoming. Let's hit the sack, sport." Pa pulled me into the bed, cradled me
in his arms and we were both asleep in minutes.

I awoke the next morning, again luxuriating in Pa's warmth. Today, though,
I'd woken even before the alarm's shrill call. The night was cooler even
than the previous day, and Pa had snuggled closer than ever against my
back. He also was dreaming, and it was obviously a VERY happy dream. His
rock-hard morning wood was hunching into my buttock and his snore-grunted.

I held my breath. Maybe this was the chance to feel what I craved for so
long. My cock was achingly hard and dripping dogwater steadily. I reached
down and stroked myself gently, milking from root to tip to gather as much
in my hand as possible. Moving slowly and methodically, I raised my left
leg and scrunched down enough to bathe my hole in pre. I made two more
trips my personal faucet, the first going back to slick my ass and the
second to breathlessly and carefully coat Pa's monster.

I took a series of deep breaths and prepared to try for my goal. I squirmed
a bit until Pa's meat was in the trench of my ass, then used my glutes to
kiss, cajole and position Pa's slowly hunching prick. I finally got it
where I wanted it and started to bear down. Almost as if his dream was
aligning with my daydream, Pa started to tighten his abs more with each
hunch. His head was right as my hole.

Just a little pressure. Just a bit more (damn his head was BIG!). Come on,
Greg, push, dammit! I pushed back into him, timed for his next thrust and
felt his start to enter, just the crown of his glans but oh, so close! I
pushed back again on the next upswing and it was right back there, knocking
on my back door and I strained to give the invader a clear shot when Pa
coughed and woke. FUUUUUUCK! I almost cried, but froze as Pa's hunching
stopped and I could feel him pull his head back. He grunted a couple of
times, removed the covers then reached down and felt my ice-hard erection
and huffed. I was petrified (not just my rock-cock, but the rest of me as
well) as his hand reached down and caressed the head of his dick and my own
wet, slimy hole.

He brought his hand up to his nose, sniffed, and pushed my shoulder. "You
sly little fucker. I fucking TOLD you that you wasn't ready! You tried to
get me to fuck you in my sleep!" There was a mixture of awe and puzzlement
and anger in his voice. A bit of gruffness and a tinge of lust joined in,
"You fucking tried to trick me. You tried to, I dunno, reverse rape me, you
little shit."

I could not have moved if my life depended on it, and frankly I thought it
might. Not only had I gone directly against what Pa had told me, I'd been
sneaky about. Worst of all, I got sneaky and got caught. I felt Pa move
just before a SLAP exploded into the morning air and PAIN exploded through
my butt cheek. At that very fucking moment, the fucking alarm went
off. Pa's smack had propelled me forward and broken my trance and I lunged
for the hated alarm to silence it before turning to Pa.

"I'm sorry, Pa. I really am. You were just so hard and hunching me and I
was so horny and I wanted. I wanted. I know you said not yet, but PA,
PLEASE, Pa!" Pa took a swipe at my ass again but I moved in time and saw he
was smiling, actually it was more of a leer.

"It's alright, son. You shouldn'ta done it and you sure shouldn'ta got
caught and you DAMN SURE shouldn't got caught without even getting to the
getting a taste of the goal. For that, we're gonna have to have a
reckoning, but not a bad one. Let me think on it." He went into the
bathroom and I went to the one down the hall. The echoes of our streams
hitting the tank water made a surprisingly erotic music.

^ Pa didn't usually get up as early as I did, even though I was sleeping in
his bed. Today, however, he was dressed and in the kitchen well before his
breakfast or lunch-pail were ready. I kept it simple and quick. Scrambled
eggs with gouda and cream in one pan, a hash of thick-diced ham, onions and
potatoes in the other and a few slices of the Italian loaf toasted. Whilst
Pa dug into that, I assembled lunch: A mammoth salami-and-ham sandwich on
more of the Italian loaf spread with a quick olive tapenade, a thermos of
scalding-hot Italian soup and another of hot, strong coffee, plus a baggie
of crisps. Not imaginative, but warm and filling. Yesterday's rain was gone
but the cold, wet air remained. I wanted Pa well-fortified against it.

Pushing the plate away, Pa looked at me. "What you did this morning wasn't
right, son." My face fell and my lip trembled. "It wasn't mean or evil, but
it was wrong. You need something to help you remember that you did
something wrong, but I also don't want to seriously punish you. Run
upstairs to the lower drawer of the bedside table on the side where you
sleep. You'll find a few packs of rubbers in there. Bring me one from the
set that says, 'Ribbed for His Pleasure' and bring it down here."

I had no fucking clue what this was about, but I wasn't going to argue or
even hesitate. I rummaged through the drawer and found the leather-coloured
pack of condoms with a ram's head logo and 'Ribbed for a Man's
Pleasure'. Below that it read, 'Tight, long-lasting and textured on the
inside to give a MAN the most satisfaction that science can provide while
still providing a smooth, comfortable ride for his lady.' I rushed back to
Pa and handed him the foil packet. I'd actually brought two, just in case.

I hadn't dressed yet, and the mention of 'the most satisfaction that
science can provide' coupled with Pa's sexual presence was more than enough
to have me boned. Pa, bit open the wrapped and grabbed my copiously-leaking
dick.

"Rubbers work as long as you don't' break them and stay hard. You're gonna
do both today, sport." He rolled the rubber down my cock and I felt the
tight band at the very base, obviously intended to both secure the condom
and restrict blood flow to ensure a long, hard fuck.

"So, for your trick of trying to get me to fuck you when I told you no,
you're gonna wear this all day. You are gonna wear two jocks to hide it,
but you keep it on, keep it hard and Do. Not Cum.  A rub, a touch, an
adjustment, whatever it takes to stay hard, every few minutes. Get excited
and stay that way, fantasise all you want, but DO NOT cum. The rubber stays
on, hear me? If you absolutely cannot wait, you can take it off ONCE to
piss, but I'll be disappointed if you do. If that happens, squeeze it tight
at the base as you take it off, then put it back on. Not on DROP of what's
in there is to leak out, get me?" The was a note of menace in his voice and
I just nodded.

Pa tousled my hair as he grabbed his pail and walked out. "Keep it
hard. Keep it excited. Keep it ON!" and the door closed behind
him. Ooooookay. This would take some planning. If this had been a couple
weeks ago, I could have gone all day boned and few would have noticed and
none would have cared. Now, though, I had opened up to people and had a few
who even wanted to hang around me.

The unseasonable cold-snap was my salvation. In addition to the double-jock
instructions, I found a heavy pair of canvas painter-pants, not exactly the
haute couture, but well inside the A&F wheelhouse. A tee under a loose,
untucked and über-butch logger's shirt and some hiking boots completed
the ensemble. The tail of the shirt hung low enough to camouflage my spike
when walking and the canvas pants would give me room and cover when sitting
or moving about. I paled for a minute. Tennis practice. Fuck. I'd deal with
that when I had to.

The long shirttails came in extra handy as I teased myself through a long
and torturous day. Was it "punishment"? Well, not really, but the fact that
I'd fucked up was never more than one casual scratch or stroke from my
mind. My newly-minted model-student persona took a hit since teachers and
students alike noted my distraction, but a complaint about "sore thigh
muscles" bluffed me through that and gave me the foundation to get out of
practice as well.

When I asked coach to be excused that day, several teammates who had been
in classes with me chimed in with tales of my pained expressions during the
day. Coach had me watch stock video of pros doing backhand lobs (one of my
weak points) and I had to give him two pages of notes on what I was doing
wrong. This was a blessing in disguise; most tennis professionals,
especially in the mid-upper rankings that Coach used for training tapes,
were hot as fuck. Very little manual stimulation was required.

By the end of practice, however, the "no piss break" guidance was beginning
to take a serious toll. I wanted to really impress Pa. I had needed to piss
since lunch, and SERIOUSLY needed to piss since my last scheduled
period. Losing my erection was no longer even an option, much less a
problem. By the time I handed Coach my notes, my eyeballs were crossing and
probably turning yellow. My slightly-crouched gait fit perfectly with my
thigh-muscle excuse... almost too well. I had to do some fast talking to
get out without a massage session from an assistant coach who specialised
in leg strains. The idea of spending an hour with hands kneading and
rubbing just inches from my iron rail AND my desperate bladder nearly made
me puke. I escaped and headed home.

^ I knew Pa would be cold and tired, so another hot and filling meal was
called for. In a complete, zombie-like haze, I part-fried some chicken then
sautéed slivered onions in part of the fat. Some flour took a few
minutes to reach a deep-red roux; herbs, spices and pepper plus chicken
broth and milk turned that into a rich, thick gravy and the chicken went
back in to slowly braise into a fricassee. The veggie was corn cooked with
onions and peppers (a cream sauce would come at the end), and rice burbled
away on the other burner to slow-cook into a hot and hearty cold-day meal.

I don't really know how, but I knew Pa would want me 'cleaned up'. The
previously-erotic enema would be indescribable torture. I did it
anyways. The drip and gush of water (OH GOD that SOUND) intensified my need
to piss and the pressure of my over-full colon against my bursting bladder
nearly killed me. I'll admit, I didn't hold the rinse cycle very long; I
couldn't without blacking out.

When Pa arrived, I was breathing is short, desperate gasps and trying to
move as little as possible. I just stood in the kitchen, utterly unable to
sit, bracing my arms against the counter. Pa came to the door and I rushed
in and started to bend to remove his shoes and groaned.

My deep and desperate "unnnngh" got me a frown from pa as I tried
ineffectually to get to my knees. Then he laughed. He knew exactly what the
problem was. "Leave up, son." He pulled me back to a standing position,
well, crouching anyway.

Pa toe-heeled his boots off and dropped all of his damp clothing then
pulled me to the master bath. He pulled off my two shirt layers slowly,
taking great care to neatly fold and set each one aside. He dropped my
canvas pants and folded them as well. I was mewling like a stepped-upon
kitten by then. Pa then peeled down my boxers, folded them, and set the
carefully to the side. He then dropped my outer jock. When he bent in some
infernal slow-motion, stop-action torture to retrieve that as well, I could
take no more.

"FUCK, PA! I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I gotta piss, Pa, I gotta gotta gotta!
I'll never do I'll never do never anything again ever
justgetmeouttathisbeforeIDIE!!!" PA guffawed and whipped off my last
jock. He then grabbed the base of my cock and elicited a prolonged,
desperate squeal as he stripped the dogwater-filled rubber oh-so-slowly up
and away from the tip. I literally cried with relief as Pa pointed me, not
to the toilet, but to the shower wall just as I let rip with the longest,
hardest, most-intense, almost-orgasmic piss I'd ever had. I cried, and kept
mumbling thanks and reprobation at Pa as my bladder got the release it had
need for so many hours. Pa laughed so hard he was crying as well.

Pa left me still streaming piss and got undressed. I was still pissing when
he came in and said, "Sorry, sport, I need a shower." Even through my
piss-orgasm, Pa's scent hit me like a brick. The work-sweat first, then the
ball-sweat and crotch-musk followed. My stream faltered then vanished as I
got so hard that pissing was no longer possible. When he reached out to
ruff my hair, his pit's proximity to my nose and ani-MALE scent sent me
reeling. He was in the shower and lathering before I came back to my senses
and retreated to the kitchen.

^ I was assembling the plates when Pa got downstairs, beaming. Part was the
food, but I think he was pleased as well. I was nervous (duh, I'm a fucking
wuss). Pa dug in, moaned in delight and took a few more large bites of the
braised chicken the rice drenched in the thick gravy. The corn was the real
shocker though; Pa couldn't get enough of it.

^ "I'll tell ya, son, you never cease to amaze me. The food, yeah, the food
is great. But what you pulled off today was a shocker. I never, EVER meant
for you to hold it all the way til I got home, kid! I couldn't have done
it. And you cooked me dinner in that state? A-fucking-mazing, sport." Truth
be told, I was still somewhat groggy from the not-quite-sexual release of
that epic piss, but I basked in the praise nonetheless.

We finished dinner and Pa headed for the living room as I cleaned up. I was
a little bummed as I'd hoped for another amazing 'lesson'. As he walked
out, though, he said, "Put on another rubber, sport, and join me."
Jacketing up in a frenetic blur and again assuming the requisite jock+boxer
combo, I carried Pa a second brown bottle of beer knowing that he'd be
about ready for one. He cocked an eyebrow. "Bring one for yourself, Greg,
you've earned it."

<eof>

So, what's next for Pa and Greg? What about Karl? What does Greg want but
more importantly, what does Greg NEED? Is this getting boring with the
constant desperate need? Should this continue and, if it does, what should
come next?  This is YOUR story; I am only the typist. Let me know with mail
to orson.cadell@gmail.com, or just let it go so I know to focus on other
story threads. Your choice.