This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited. Personal or private copies are permitted only if they include this notice. This is a work of fiction.

This is my second story for Nifty, so I look forward to comments, feed back, fan mail and constructive criticism. If this story gets you off, tell me that. Tell me your darkest fantasies and maybe I'll work them into a story. (Don't hold back. Nothing freaks me out.)

[__________BAD DAD__________]

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Marine Dad & Jock Son

by

Bad Dad

Chapter Two

Dinner was silent, but that's mostly because we were both ravenously hungry. We wolfed down our first burgers like animals, juices running down our faces, covering our hands. The corn on the cob was eviscerated.

Dad stayed naked, which I took as a good sign. I wanted to lick the grease off his scruffed, square jaw and suck on his spit, but I knew that wasn't gonna happen. Not yet, anyway.

It was only after the first burger, and into the second, that my balls asserted themselves.  They ached and my dick throbbed, swimming in the pre-cum-soaked cloth of my underwear. I had the worst case of blue-balls in my lifetime, and it was all I could do to not double over in pain.

Between massive bites of my burger, I breathed deep, trying to control the pulsing ache, and let oxygen fight the sharp throb of my groin.

"You alright, kid?" dad asked.

"Yeah. Just so hungry."

He grinned. "I get that."

But, then he seemed to catch the unintended double entendre, and his eyes glazed a little, staring at me and through me.

He shifted. We kept eating.

"I need to slow down," he said, pushing back a little from the table.

"Me too," I said. 

We both breathed.

"'Nother beer?" he asked, pushing away from the table.

His dick was still engorged, and cock-spit hung from the head. He absently flicked his thumb over the drip, stuck it in his mouth, sucking it clean.

So fucking hot.

"Yes please," I mumbled, mouth full, chewing on the food.

The dinner had taken the edge off the buzz. I was still a little fucked up, but more centered. I did my best to ignore the fact that I'd just given dad my best blow-job ever and stay in the moment. But, it wasn't easy.

("Fuck! I just sucked off my dad!"),

He sat, passed me another beer, and we both chugged, long and hard, washing down the food. Again, he belched on cue. I held mine in, just letting him be the dude that did that. It turned me on.

"So," he asked, "You got a boyfriend?"

I didn't expect that question.

"Naw – not really. I mean, a couple of dudes I fuck around with, regularly, but nothing more."

"Fuck around, huh?"  I could tell he was still feeling it. He'd hit a lot more of the whiskey than I did, and was just this side of wasted.  "You into that, too?"

"Dad . . . "

"What? Just asking."

"I mean – I guess . . . it's just . . . "

I didn't know what to say.

 

"Look, kid, I'm trying here, okay?" He put down his beer, just a little too hard. The table shook. "If you were into pussy, that's all we'd be talking about right now. Hell – it'd be all I'd want to talk about, since I ain't getting any. I remember what it was like to be your age."

He had me. Why was I holding back? He was trying – trying to get to know me, understand what made me tick.  The fact of our recent incredible, um . . . interaction, didn't seem to shut him up. If anything, he was more open.

"Yeah," I said.  "I get into fucking."

"You top, or bottom?"

I just looked at him, incredulous.  Where the fuck did he get that?  He met my astonished gaze.

"What? I been reading.  Shit – I told you I fucked up, okay? So, I been edu-ma-cating myself."  He smiled at me, all cocky, but almost leering, too. He was drunk. "So, what is it?" he asked, winking.

I swallowed.

"Both, I guess.  I mean – I like both."

"Good – more options, seems to me."

There was silence for a while, but I knew I needed to keep this going. I wanted to keep it going. If anything, my balls demanded it.

"I mean – look – most of the guys I mess around with – I mean, that I fuck – I can tell what's going on with them. I'm, like . . . their fantasy. Their ideal. The big jock that they could never get in high school – the guy they used to jerk off to. Probably some of `em got beat up by guys that look like me – or got bullied and shit. So . . . "

How should I put this?

"So . . . when they're down on their knees and I see that in their eyes – fuck, it's hot. I like it. I like being that big stud for `em. And, when they get a hold of my cock . . .it's like I can do anything I want to them. And, I do."

I shut up for a second, letting that image sink in: Dad's big jock son, asserting himself on some hungry gay boy. His stare was vacant, glassy. I wondered if he was thinking about the Grunts who used to get on their knees for him. Or me, since I'd been on mine, less than an hour ago.

He shook himself out of it and tossed the line I was looking for.

"But?" he asked.

"But, that's about all I get. And once you go there with a dude – like that – you pretty much can't . . . you know, ask him to do the same to you. It fucks with the . . . dynamic, I guess. It's not what they want, and anyway, that's not the guy I want to do me. Like that."

I couldn't believe it, but dad was hanging on every word. He'd pulled back from the table a little, shifting forward on his chair, spreading his legs. I knew instinctively he was giving his cock more room – probably because it was getting hard, and needed space. He drank again, and I did too. I needed the beer to keep going, give me the courage to walk through the door that he'd opened.

"So, that's about all I get, which is cool, I guess . . . but, you know, the more you get one thing, the more you start thinking about the stuff you aren't getting. And, the more you aren't getting that stuff – the more you seem to want it. Crave it, kind of."

He was sitting back, now, focused only on me, my words, my story.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like the kind of guy that really flips my switch. The kind of guy that I want to do me, like I do those guys. Bigger. Stronger."

Then I looked him straight in the eye – not sure how I got the courage, but I did.

"Older," I said, putting emphasis on it, just to make my point. My cock was rock hard again.

He nodded, grunting a little – piecing it together. So, I kept looking at him and made myself as clear as possible.

"The kind of the guy that – you know – can take me down. Give me what I've been giving, but . . . harder. More intense. A guy that can teach me something."

He held my gaze.  I don't know how I held his. I do know I was blushing. I felt flushed and hot - embarrassed and unashamed at the same time. I wanted more of him. I wanted him to know that.

"You know – a guy with more age. And . . . experience."

The sexual tension was back with a vengeance. But, I figured, since I'd just sucked his cock, I might as well give him a clue about what else I wanted. No more secrets, right, Pops?

Then I looked down at my plate. I couldn't hold his piercing gaze any longer.

"I'm pretty tough, dad.  Like you taught me. So, I can take a lot. A whole lot. There's just not that many guys out there that can dish it out as well as I can take it. "

It was quiet.  I'd started sweating. My balls thrummed, my cock throbbed, spitting more juice, demanding release from my tight jeans.

"So, you liked to get fucked, huh?"

"Yes, Sir. I do. If it's the right dude. The right connection. But, I don't get that too much."

"Shame."

I ate the remains of my salad.  There was a long period of silence.  I wondered if something was gonna happen, right there.

And then something did happen - just not what I expected. Dad shifted again, pushing himself into the table, leaning forward.

"You playin' safe, kid?" It was the Drill Sargent now, not loud, but a quiet strength, demanding, up in my face.

"Yes, Sir."

"Don't lie to me, boy."

"I am, dad. And – I get tested - you know."

He looked at me, staring into my soul, checking for a lie if it was there - so much love, power and concern in that gaze.

"I mean – dad – they got this pill you can take now, anyway. It protects you. I'm on it. Like, every day. They give it away for free, at the local clinic, if you're a student."

There was a question on his face, his brow furrowed. He grabbed my chin, pulling me into his face.

"Don't fuck with me boy –"

"Dad, I'm not.  It's called Truvada – you can look it up. I'll show you, even. It's like – it protects you. They've done all the studies. I've read `em. You taught me to take care of myself, so I do. "

He kept looking.

"It's true, dad.  Serious. No lies. I know what I'm doing."

I couldn't tell what he was feeling or thinking. Eventually, he let my face go and said, "I'll have to check that out."

I reached for him, covering his hand with mine. I looked at him, open, honest – completely me.

"You gotta trust me, dad. I'm taking care of myself."

The last thing I expected was the tears to well up. Dad wasn't a crier – hardly ever saw it happen, like I said before – but there it was, second time in one night, his eyes watering, a tear falling on the table.

"I don't want ya to get hurt, boy. Or sick. It was the first thing I thought of when you told me. Freaked me out – nearly fucking killed me, thinking of you . . . that way. Probably why I was such a fucking asshole. One of the reasons, anyway."

I clutched his hand.  I could feel him try to pull away from the intimacy but I was too strong.

"Dad – everything you taught me – it's in here, in me." I let go, sticking my fist on my chest. "I take care of myself. Respect myself. Love myself. Like you taught me to do."

He quickly wiped his face.

I wanted to move beyond this, so I pushed up my arms, flexing, the biceps bulging like softballs. "Hell – look at this."

I sat there, straining my upper body and arms, flaunting my shit, sweat dripping from my pits.

His eyes raked me and I saw the hunger assert itself again, now that his fear had been allayed.

"Fuck, kid – such a stud you've become."

"Had a good role model," I replied.  "The best."

I got up from the table, clearing the plates. I figured nothing more was gonna happen, given where the conversation had gone. And, if that was the case, I needed to get up to my room, shove something in my hole, and shoot the spew out of my loaded balls.  But, I held on to a thread of hope, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to my sex life and what I wasn't getting.

Dad just sat at the table while I did the dishes.  And then I felt the gaze. He was looking at me, nursing his beer. I flexed my back, pushed my tight ass out a little – not all gay or anything - just giving what I knew was the best angle.

I stayed there, at the sink, taking my time, nice and slow, hoping that maybe he'd start seeing me the way I wanted him to see me.  

And, suddenly the air was heavy again. My hole twitched. It hardly ever did that, even though I'd read enough porn where a guy's ass seemed to have a mind of its own. Now I knew what that felt like.

I willed Pops to look at my ass. And, it worked.

"Damn, kid," he said huskily.  "Seems a fuckin' shame that ass ain't getting what it needs."

Unexpectedly I whimpered – not a fag-whimper, just a guy-groan that escaped from my throat.  I didn't intend it. It just happened.

The water ran in the empty sink. I clutched the edge of the counter. I was too far gone, sexually, to be in control of what I needed so bad. My desire took over.

"I don't give it up easily, daddy."

I can't remember the last time I used that word: Daddy. I didn't plan for it to come out. It just did. Came up with the whimper, I guess, but I couldn't stop myself now.

The water was still running. I didn't know if he could hear me or not, but I kept talking.

"The first few times – when I was younger – I did it, just to know what it felt like.  A guy in high school. Teammate. Seth. But, after that – not so much."

I heard his chair scrape. He had shifted - was watching me, I could tell. Listening.

"One guy, over a year ago, last summer, before I went to college. Met him on line. He was in from out of town. Big dude, like you. Hairy, too.  Married. It was hot, at first, but he was drunk and couldn't get it up. Pretty soon he was begging me to fuck him. He was a mess. Not the kind of man I wanted to be with. So, I split. Haven't met anyone since then – it's been longer than I can remember since I've had any . . . you know. Since I been . . . ."

For some reason, I couldn't say it: "Fucked." The word stopped – caught in my throat. All I could hear was the water pouring in the sink.

"Been waiting, daddy - for the right man . . . to do me the right way."

I'd started crying a little. Didn't even know it. But, he saw it, I think, and he pushed back from the table, so he was fully exposed to me.  That's what I sensed anyway. I couldn't look at him, knew if I did I'd drop to my knees, beg him to fuck me.

"Waiting for a certain kind of guy, huh, kid?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

 "'Bigger? Stronger . . . and, older?'"

He repeated my precise words and tone perfectly, putting back out there what he'd just heard from me.

"Yeah," I whispered, barely nodding, not sure if I could be heard over the sound of the faucet.  I couldn't turn it off. If I did, I thought the silence would be deafening.

"Hairy dudes, I suppose?"

"Yeah, dad."

"Like me."

I couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question, but if it was a question, I didn't answer it.  There were still barriers that I couldn't breach, no matter how much I wanted to. But, he didn't wait for me. He stood.

Out of the periphery I caught his massive cock, swinging out, perpendicular to his equally massive frame. The beast had awoken again. I shuddered, unable to control my physical reaction, letting him see my need.

He approached from behind. It wasn't much of a distance, but it felt like he was stalking me. I couldn't help myself. I pushed out my ass, arching my back a little.

I smelled his heat and sweat behind me, felt his heavy breath.  His cock brushed between my legs, which I opened, and he slipped between my clothed, muscled ass.

"Big dicks, too?  Isn't that what you told me, kid?  `Big cock.  Man cock?'" Again, he repeated my words back to me – the words I'd spoken to him, out on the deck.  Just like I could imitate him, he could imitate me, to a tee, and he did, when he used those words of mine.

I let myself go.  I groaned, so he could know what I wanted.

"Yeah dad. Love big cock. Like you got. Fuck, I love it, Pops."

His frame pushed up against me, as he reached around, turning off the faucet. One hand clutched my tight waist. His other arm wrapped around my neck, like he'd held me in the lake, this time more gently, but still powerful, in control. He whispered in my ear.

"When was the last time you got fucked, boy?"

"Don't know, sir," I barely squeaked.  "So long. Too long, daddy."

I felt his breath on my ear, heard the deep rumble, the core of the sound that had bellowed in the mountains just an hour ago.

His hard, scuffed face rubbed my neck. His cock – now steal-hard – pushed up between my legs, demanding.  I squeezed it, reached down with one hand, stroked the underside, cupped the tip, rubbing the slime over its head. I could feel him tremor.

"You want me to fuck you, baby boy? Take care of that ass? Make you feel good the way you just made me feel good?"

"Yes sir. Please. I want it so much sir. Always have."

"Always?"

"Long as I can remember, dad. Been fightin' it all my life, trying not to perv on you. Trying to pretend I didn't want it."

He pulled me close, shoving his cock up, clutching me with all his strength. And, I surrendered into him.

"Oh, baby boy. I never knew."

"I'm sorry, daddy." I started crying hard now, so ashamed I was of the confession, and he wrapped his free arm around me, and held me. Tight.

"Shhhhh. Shhhhhhh."

It took a while for the emotion to shake through me. I didn't know just how much I'd held in around him, until then. I know he understood the power my secret.  He seemed to welcome it. His body held firm to mine, giving me strength, offering solace to my shame. Eventually my tears subsided, and I felt his big hand, brushing my wet cheeks, stroking my head.

We stood there, feeling each other's bodies, the perfect fit, the yin and the yang. His full demanding masculinity and my eager, young, desire.  Father and son. Daddy and boy.

Then, it shifted. I felt urgency rise within him.

He pulled his dick out, and then pushed the hard blunt head into my ass, pressing against my hole, as if trying to rip through the jeans that blocked his access. I pushed back, equally insistent that he gain entry. My need was complete, now. There was no turning back. My brain was on fire and my lust was at full throttle. My shame – expunged – had unleashed the floodgates of a lifelong fantasy.

Just when I was certain he was going to rip off my pants and take me right there, I felt the slightest hesitation.

"No," I murmured, pushing back on him.

"I don't want to hurt you, kid."

"Not gonna hurt me, sir. I'm tough – like you made me. I can take it. I need it, Pops. So bad. Please."

The pleading assurance seemed enough, and he pressed back, grinding into me.

I hated the clothes between him and my opening, remembering his invitation to nudity, swearing to myself that I'd never wear clothing again if we continued our exploration of this darkest, most violative taboo. He was panting, grinding, kneading my pecs, and a deeper desire welled within me, pushing out a primal sound I'd never heard before.

Suddenly, he swung me around, shoving me out of the kitchen. "Go to my room," he ordered. It was firm, intense, a command, but weighted with his own need. "I'll shut it down."

I headed to his bedroom, trying not to look at him, but catching his huge form and urgent cock pushing up and out from his body.

I got to his room and stripped off my fucking jeans and wet drawers, my cock slapping up and hitting my abs. The lights were off. I stood there – not knowing what to do.

Do I get in the bed? That seemed too gay. Do I get on my knees? That seemed too submissive. Do I just stand there? That seemed stupid.

Then, I figured it out.  In the center of the room, in front of the full-length mirror, I stood at parade rest - but with my head down.  I didn't know how to look him in the eye, given what I'd confessed about my private desires. But, I did know how to present to him. He'd taught me how.

When I was a little kid, dad would come home from the base, late in the afternoon, or early evening.  I was always waiting for him, transfixed by the uniform, the high-and-tight cut, and the mean look he always carried as he transformed from Drill Sargent to Dad. Soon, we started playing soldier, and he taught me how to march. It was mostly silly, and I'd giggle and make fun – but underlying it there was a seriousness as Dad showed me the positions, taught me how to salute, put me through my paces. I think this was the first trigger for me, as I got a little older. I liked following orders. His orders. Soon, I was taking it seriously, and he stepped up to the plate, became more demanding, barking out commands. I responded, and it was the early cement of our relationship: my desire to please him, make him proud, follow his lead and do everything I could to be the man that he wanted me to be; and, equally, his desire to take charge, to offer a firm hand, to be there for me, and to help me become the best man I could be.

And, the uniform.

The sweat stains under the arm. The tight pants or fatigues, with the pronounced bulge and the muscle ass. The spit-shined jack-boots, gleaming in the hot sun. His perfectly pressed military shirts, marked by rank and insignia, showing his thick arms and perfect chest. How tall and big he was.

Standing there, I thought about all of this and my cock surged upward, pulsing, bouncing against my stomach. I waited, and suddenly he was in the room – stalking in like a cat, quiet, but secure. But, there was a gentleness, too. He circled his domain, lighting a few candles that played shadows against the wall.

Candles?

This was another side of him, a side I'd never seen, setting the scene, preparing an atmosphere of subtlety and safety and warmth.

I heard him pull down the sheets, and I was glad I wasn't in the bed. I stood, waiting for him, waiting for his orders. Somehow he'd closed the door during his preparations, locking us in, as if to give us privacy that we didn't really need – and to close the world out from what we were about to do.

 

Then he was in front of me – appearing mysteriously. I don't know how he moved such a big body with such grace and quiet. I could see his feet, but I didn't raise my head. I held position, letting my eyes gaze up at his cock. It had relaxed a little, but was still engorged, curving down over his heavy balls, thick, but like him, ready to spring into action. It pulsed, up and down. I was hypnotized by it.

I could feel his eyes inspecting me in the flickering light.   The swim in the lake had only shed the outer stench of the day's work, not the core muskiness and deep smell of his maleness. He was covered with a light sheen of sweat and in the closed room I could feel the pheromones pumping from his flesh.  Standing in front of him, I was enveloped by the musky, heady smell of a man – a man in heat.

I breathed in and my body shook – the scent overpowering me, intoxicating me, piercing the boozy fog and pushing me to a near delirious high. My body started to quiver uncontrollably. I thought my knees were gonna give, and then he reached out and touched my chest with his big hand.

"Relax, boy.  Breathe."

I did – the touch made my trance-state better and I pulled from his power, gaining strength and security. He lightly ran his hand over my pec, the other moving down my shoulder and arm, feeling my muscles, playing me like an instrument.

"Boy, you never looked better. I can see how hard you been working."

A noise emerged from me that I didn't recognize. It was a `yes sir', but more of an expression of deep pride that he had noticed.  He circled me, rubbing my shoulders for a while to ease my tension, then slipping down my delts and lats, and cupping my muscle-hard ass, fingers lightly running up my crevice, but not delving too deep into the place that had now become the center of my being.

He circled back, squatting down, running his hands over each thick thigh, clutching my bulging calves. I'd been working on my lower body all summer and had finally seen results – my legs and ass had exploded, pushing out muscle, increasing my speed, agility and jumps.

And, then he slowly raised back up, fingers raking my flesh. One hand clutched my ass, while the other cupped my balls, pulling on them, feeling their weight. I don't know how I stood there, my knees were shaking so bad, but this was inspection, and I wanted him to see everything, touch everything, explore the boy he'd made with his own cock and balls.

His right hand circled around the base of my hard piece, grabbing it firmly, pulling it out from my body. A low whistle escaped his lips. I could feel his eyes on it, and better, I could feel the pride swell out of him.  His voice was husky – deep.

"Damn, kid, you got a nice big cock, too."

"Yes, Sir," I croaked. "Thanks to you, Sir."

"Yeah," he growled. "Nice big cock on my boy. Cock a dad can be proud of. Thick, too."

"Not as big as yours, Sir."

"Not many are, boy. But, it's big enough – bigger than most."

"Yes, Sir, I know."

My piece was spurting pre-jizz, jerking in his big paw.

I had to say it. "Thank you for my cock, Sir."

I could feel the warm, lustful smile – the appreciation of my compliment. It was a deeply sexual, this dialogue. The tone of his voice was one I'd never heard. His pride, his appraisal of my cock, and the sexual `inspection' he was conducting. It was the most erotic moment of my life.

"You're welcome, kid. Least I could do for my only son."

I couldn't help my smile. I hope he saw it. It felt like it lit up the dark room.

He squatted down to look at it up close, inspecting it, viewing it from all sides.

"Sorry we cut you, baby boy. I didn't want to. But, ya can't argue with a pregnant female."

"Don't mind it, dad. Like it. Like that it's . . . different from yours.  Like the way it makes me feel . . . "

He stood up, holding my cock in his hand, clutching it.

He leaned into my ear. "Like the way it makes you feel . . . what, boy?"

The words poured out, some of the truth I'd believed, held in for so long.

"Different, dad.  Son-cock to your dad-cock, Sir.  Way it should be, Sir."

He growled, moving his hand up my wet piece. With his other hand he raked into my trench, pushing his fingers into my cleft, feeling my wet hole, playing with it.

I started to shake.

"Gonna cum, daddy, you keep doing that, Sir."

He grabbed my cock at the base, cutting off the flow, almost hurting me with the grip, while his middle finger invaded my ass, claiming it.

"Can't have that now, can we boy? Daddy's just getting started. Need ya wound up – need you wanting it, like you have been . . . "

He repeated my own confession back to me, his hot breath right in my ear . . .

"All your life."

He pushed his fat finger into me deeper – hard - and I groaned, sticking my ass out, leaning into his hairy chest.

"You do like this, dontcha, boy?"

In reply, I rubbed my head against his chest. I was trying not to make any moves without his permission – without a signal from him – but I couldn't help myself. I lapped my tongue out, licking his pec, then sucked in his tit, hard, gnawing.

His cock sprung up against my thigh, and he rumbled, "Fuck".

I'd hit it – something to push him farther, something he hadn't had in a long while, probably needed.

I sucked hard, grinding my ass against his hand while he probed into my guts. He grabbed my head with his other hand, pushing it into his chest. I could feel a beast within him surging, an animal straining against a steel-chain leash. I gnawed and lapped and sucked, out of my head, completely lost in a reality that I'd fantasized about so often, but had kept locked away for the last year, and longer, so ashamed I had been of my perverted desires for my own father. 

"Why your hole so wet, son? Huh?" He pulled out, then pushed two fingers in, stretching me wider.

I mumbled, unsure of the words I was trying to form. His man-stink drew me in, and I licked my way off his tit, until my nose was buried in his pit. It was like a drug:   poppers, ecstasy, peyote - an extreme aphrodisiac - his paternal musk, propelling my lust. I was outside of myself, on another plain – to a place I had dreamed of but never visited.

He lifted his arm, giving me access, and I dove in, burbling my reply. "Fag."

"Huh, boy? What you say?"

He dug deeper, invading me, learning my intimacy, exploring it.

"Fag, daddy. I'm a fag," I moaned: tears of joy, relief, shame and need pouring from my eyes.

"Uh huh. My son's a fag – gay for his big hairy daddy." I third finger entered me.

"Ohhhhhhh."

"With a daddy-hole, all wet for his dad's big cock."

"Yes, Sir," I mumbled, mouth full of his man-pit. "Wet hole for your cock, Sir."

"Touch it," he demanded and I instantly wrapped my hand around his thick pole. It was alive, so hard, hot to the touch.

His arm shifted, his hand grabbed my head, he pulled out of my hole and he pushed me to my knees.  He shoved his fingers into my mouth and I sucked them in, tasting my pure juices, massaging his cock.

"Suckin' my tit, smellin' my pits, taking my seed into your gut – "

He pulled out his fingers, and pushed my head onto his cock. I'd taken it once, now, and I was ready. But, he was, too. He knew he had access and he used it, pushing it down my throat.

"All these years, fagging on my cock, hole dripping."

I let myself gag, to slime it up.  And, he knew what I was doing.

"Yeah, boy, get it ready."

I worked it, and he stood before me, legs spread, one hand resting on his hip, the other, holding my head, guiding it. I wondered if he was about to cum again and then understood, with one nut out of his balls, he had control. He wasn't gonna cum until he was ready.

I grabbed his thighs and spread my back, arching it, pushing my ass up, lewdly inviting him to his prize. No more secrets. This is who I was, right here, and he needed to see it. I wanted him to see it.

He growled. The animal strained against the chain.  The beast was straining to be freed.

"Tight-end with a tight ass."

I splayed it out more, deep throating the monster cock, coughing spit and slime onto the shaft, lost in my need and desire.

"Jock on the outside, fag on the inside, letting me coach while you copped looks at my big meat in the locker room."

"Mmmhmmmmmmm." I pumped my head faster, nodding, confessing - crazed.

"No more secrets, kid.  I got you now, know what you want, know who you are." His voice was hoarse, husky, a tone that I'd never heard, his deepest, darkest self. His words were raunchy, catching the perfect tenor of my self-perception.  And, under it all – most erotic of all – was my father. He was doing this for me – his son. It was mind-altering and all encompassing and life-changing.

I whimpered, pushing my ass out even farther, being the boy I was born to me, gorging on his paternal prick.

He pushed one more time, deep, balls smashing against my chin, constricting my breath, the edges blurring for the third time that night.

Then, he yanked it out, scooped his arm under mine, swung the other between my legs, grabbed my ass at the taint, and picked me up. It was swift, strong, confident – he lifted my body up in the air like I was some ninety-pound twink, pulled me up with the confidence and grace of an Olympic wrestler, and then tossed me on the bed.

"Oh, Dad –"

No one – ever – had manhandled me like that. Didn't think it was possible, given my size, even though I'd dreamed of meeting the man that could do it to me.

Then he grabbed my ankles, twisted them swiftly, flipping me over on my stomach, while simultaneously spreading my legs.

The sounds I made were unintelligible, and he was grunting, a stallion in rut, a man who knew what he was doing and was confident in his skills.

He crawled his big frame on the bed, and I felt his breath on the small of my back, then lower, hot exhales on my open hole.

"You got a pretty ass, kid."

"Daddy."

It was the only word I could muster.

He paused there, while I flexed my butt, twerking it slowly – my ass had control of me, I didn't have control of it. Dad was growling, but I felt the moment of hesitation. I tried to think of what I could say to urge him on, to help him break down the barriers of orientation and taboo.

"Fuck," he said.  The voiced was suddenly distant, like the last vocal strain of social construct, calling from the edge of the deep jungle we had entered.

"Never done this before," he whispered, hoarsely.

I could feel his breathe on my cheeks, feel his eyes gazing into the pulsing center of my hole. And, I had the answer.

"Yes you have, daddy.  It's pussy," I panted. "You eat pussy – it's just pussy - jock pussy for you, Sir."

It clicked. He pushed me deeper into the jungle and dived into my butt, ramming his stubbled chin between my cheeks, while he pulled my muscled ass apart. He ate it without hesitation, burning my skin with his rough face, biting me, shoving his tongue deep.

My body shook. I was beyond control, just responsive.  Beyond sanity, just desirous. No one had ever eaten my ass like that – like it was a meal after a long starvation. I reached back and clutched his hands with my own, adding my strength to his, using our combined muscle to pull my ass open wider, give him more access, split me apart if we could, to get him deeper inside me.

Dad spit on my hole and dove back in, shoving his tongue deep. He stayed there, not breathing, gnawing, tasting my inner sanctum.

Then, he pulled back, sucking in air. I sensed he was lost in the miasma of his own lust, overwhelmed by the new experience and sensation.

"Fuck – it is pussy. So fucking good. Fucking love this."

He dove back in and I pushed into his face. I didn't know how long it would last, but I wanted it to be forever. I writhed in pleasure, pushing out my ass-lips, expanding my ring, grunting, bearing down, then snapping my hole back on his tongue. I did it again and again, pushing out, harder each time, forcing my walls open so he could get the best taste of the essence of me - his son. 

His body rumbled.  The growls came from the deep.  He'd pushed through the last barrier, let himself free in my ass. The chain snapped and the beast broke loose.

He crawled up my back, towering over me, his breath ragged, voice hoarse, making rasping animals sounds. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. There was sudden stillness, the only sounds our breath, in unison, heaving. Our heat permeated the room. I was covered in sweat, my heart was pounding, my hole twitching, out of control.

The beast loomed over his prey, taking in the moment, relishing the fear that rose from my body, and the desire to be devoured. I felt a sudden movement and his hand cracked on my ass. Somehow I knew it was coming, didn't flinch, took it, pushed back.

He struck my ass with the other hand, the slap echoing in the dark room. It was right, what he was doing. Tenderizing the meat.  The only word I had choked out: "Dad."

He slapped my ass again.

"Daddy."

Slap.

"Oh, fuck, dad."

Slap.

It wasn't pain.  It wasn't hurt. It was echoes of childhood when he took me over his knee, a crushing love combined with a sharp sting, which I took when I deserved it, and which he meted out, being the father he had to be to his periodically wayward boy.

One more. So hard. So right.

"Oh, dad. Yes, Daddy."

He placed his hand on the center of my back, pushing me into the bed. He grabbed his cock, raking its full length down my trench, until the head rested at the target. I kissed it with my wet hole, feeling the spooge seep out, sucking it in with me eager asslips.

Slowly, I reached back, grabbed both of my cheeks, hot to the touch, burning with his paw prints.  I spread for him, pushing up, giving it up – offering my soul.

"Been a while," he whispered. The beast was quiet, coiled.

He pushed in, the head spread me like no man had. There was resistance – not mine, just tight muscle, too rarely used.

"Unnnnggggghhhhhhhhhh."

My body flexed, but he held there, letting my lips open to the head, pull it in.

The edge. The cliff. The point of no return. Whatever was left of his former self, whatever was left of the father-that-would-never-do-this-to-his-son, clutched on to the last thread of reality, dangling over the abyss.

"Don't wanna hurt ya," he whispered.

Through tears, I spoke to that man, as the son-who-always-wanted-his-father-to-do-this. "Not gonna, dad. Never gonna.  Ever. Please, dad. Need it. Give it to me. Please, daddy."

That last came out with a tone I'd left behind, so many years ago. The boy over his father's knee, asking for the spanking to stop. The kid at the cash register, begging for candy.  The adolescent, wanting to toss a ball as the light faded into night. It was all of those, but spoken by a voice on the last edges of youth, pleading to finally be made a man.

The thread broke, and he fell into the abyss, his cock pushing me apart, moving into me, relentlessly, deliberately.  Each inch stretched my hole open, each inch seared itself into my memory, each inch claimed me like no one ever had, and he kept pushing, surging forward, searching for the cherry that had been hidden deep inside, waiting for him.

I don't know what happened next. The pain was overwhelming, but the pain was itself overwhelmed by need, lust, completion. I pushed back into him as he pushed down into me, driving his cock deeper and deeper, past a place that had never been explored, then onward, to a deepness that was only his.

He came to rest, balls pushed against my own.

And he held.  Arms tight. Body perfectly still. I felt the sweat drip from his face and chin, splashing on my back.  The only movement his cock, twitching, expanding, contracting, owning. Time stood still. The sensations were beyond description, but my hole danced to the rhythm of his cock, kneading it, holding it, massaging it.

"Goddamn, kid. So tight. So fucking tight."

While I said, simultaneously, "Fuck, dad. So big. So fucking big."

Another long moment, lost in time, while we waited, adjusted to each other, to our new reality, to this unique and perfect coupling.

My body spasmed as the pain rippled through me, but I let it roll out, beyond my extremities and into the night. I clamped down with my core, sucking in air, disciplining myself to be one with his cock. And, when I did that, a wave of relaxation swept over me, and I knew I was home. I was his. I was ready.

Then . . .

"You like that big dick, baby boy? You like dad's dick in you?"

"Aw, yes, Pops.  Fuck yes. I took it all, dad. Took it all for you."

There was a pause.   I felt a change.

"Naw, you didn't."

And he pushed, hard, the last inch of his cock, the part that circled under his nuts, surged into me and broke through.

I yelped, crying out, tears pouring from my eyes while a sob broke from my chest and my brain caught fire with pain.

But, he didn't pull out, or pull back. He just leaned into me, relishing his dominance. His hot breath on my neck.  Lips at my ear.

"That's my cherry, son.  Right there." His cock pulsed again, pushing into my virginity, holding firm with no give and no pulling back. "I wanted it, and I took it," he growled, unleashed.

He pushed again, completing his invasion. And again, another short stab to kill the last vestiges of my childhood.  I felt his pre-cum lube the wounded fruit, and he kept at it, short thrusts, demanding my attention, willing me to love it, over-come the pain, need him that deep inside me, to a place that no man had been, and no man would ever be. He used his cock like a weapon, but a trained one – a weapon that he'd practiced with all his life, a killing machine which demanded that the victim succumb to its deadly use.

And, I did. This is where I needed him.  This is what I had dreamed of, desired for so long, for as long as I had awareness, even when that awareness couldn't imagine the invasive coupling that we relished in that moment.

The pain burned through me, but it was dissipated to steam by an unimaginable molten core of craven cock-need. No longer sentient, just a barely conscious animal of desire, I pushed back into him as he prodded and probed into me.

I wanted more.  The hunger surged, the unrelenting desires of nearly twenty years swelled up, demanding to be sated.  I needed it to be total.  Needed to be taken by the cock that made me. Needed to be bred by the seed that had written my genetic code.

"Fuck me, dad. Fuck me." It was the most demanding I had been all night, no longer willing to gentle along, hoping to allay his fears, not step over the line, allow him to lead the dance. He'd opened me up, taken me, and now I wanted more.

"Please, fuck me, daddy. Fuck me hard."

And, he did.

He pulled out, slowly, to the edge, and drove back in.

"Fuck me."

He pistoned me again.

"Aww, yes, fuck me."

The beast growled, grabbing my hands, his huge legs pushing mine open to their limit, and he rode. The growls and grunts and words filled the room.  "Fuck." "Tight." "Take it."

And then, this throaty, growling, sated declaration.

"So fucking good - best I ever had."

And all the while, my litany: "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

My hole bloomed open, wet with sweat, ass-juice, precum and the lube I'd used earlier in the shower.

He took it, holding me down, pummeling me with his tool, slapping his bull-balls into mine until they hurt, retracting against the abuse of their larger mates, but I still wanted more.

"Harder. I can take it, dad. Please, daddy, fuck me as hard as you can."

He complied. He was only noise now. Unintelligible, animal, primal noise. The beast was snarling ripping the prey apart, unconcerned about my well being, just taking me – all of me – as I demanded.

It got bigger, stretching me more.

And I got tighter, gripping it, twitching spasmodically.

It was the unmistakable beginning of my release. I hadn't even been thinking of my cock since he'd let it go while I stood for inspection, but the sensations, the day-long work in the woods, our fight in the lake, my consumption of his seed and the achievement of this dream, created a fireball of orgasm within me. I'd never cum like this – ever. Never cum without touching myself – through only the use and abuse of my hole - but it was happening now, and it was unrelenting, extended, and overwhelming. My hole was clamping and unclamping, the pumps priming for the load that was about to rocket out of my balls. My body shook. Loud groans escaped me.

Dad still worked, lost in his own reverie of fucking, his huge cock long-dicking me.  Somewhere on the edge of my brain I realized he didn't get sex like this – sex where he could be unconcerned of his partner's needs. Or, more accurately, where his partner's need to be used completely aligned with his own need to use, to fuck, to invade, to do so with impunity and without caution or care.

But, he wasn't so lost that he missed the unmistakable gathering of my orgasmic storm.

"Jesus - you're gonna cum, aren't ya, kid? Fuck – you really are a fag, busting your nut cuz you're getting fucked in the ass."

"Sir, yes, Sir," I barked, at the Drill Sargent that was drilling me.

"Come on then, tough-boy, shoot it for me - show daddy how much you love this big cock in your ass – show me what kind of jock fag you are."

He picked up his pace, fucking me harder, if that was possible. His dick expanded again and that pushed me over the edge. I entered an indescribable space and time. My cock surged, my body twitched, and I did what he had ordered me to do.  

I came for my Marine Dad.

"Aaaarrrrrgggghhhfuuuuuccckkk - Sir, yes, Sir. Cumming Sir. Cuming for you, Dad."

Huge volumes of sperm splayed out of my cock, trapped between me and the bed.  My balls, battered by his and so full, opened the flood-gates. I shot again and again. Wave after wave after wave of uncompromising pleasure surged through me, the wet spot growing underneath, boiling hot. It went on for minutes – felt like hours – and as the fog barely dissipated, I heard myself begging, pleading to my dad.

"Give it to me, Sir.  Dump your seed in my guts. Give me the cum that made me."

The roar rumbled from his darkest depths.  The steel cock pounded me. I couldn't even feel my ass anymore.

"Breed me, Dad. Breed your fag son."

My hole was wet and squelching, sloppy sounds emanated from the pounding. The roar grew louder.

"Breed me, Daddy, breed me."

His howl pierced the night. I didn't think it was possible, but with his last thrust he went deeper. Hot seed spread into me, bathing my battered walls, flooding my decimated cherry, all the while twitching in orgasm myself, still riding the most powerful cum of my life.  His cock spewed. He pulled back and pounded my cum-hole again, as seed sprayed out of my loose lips. The sound of his voice thundered in my ears.

And still he filled me.  Never had so much seed been deposited in my hole. His swimmers invaded my body, finally finding a place to explore – finally finding their home.

"Breed me, breed me, breed me."

He'd clasped his huge hands around my tight waist, and did the job he was born to do: humping and dumping and pumping DNA.

Still unintelligible was he. Still, I repeated: "Breed me, breed me, breed me."

He was still stroking, but his weight lowered into me, his cock flexing and jumping. I was so full the cum had nowhere left to go, and I felt it glob out of my hole, soaking my balls, joining the huge pool of my own seed that had poured from my untouched cock. And still he moaned, words forming now.

"Baby boy, baby boy, baby boy. So tough. So good. So fucking good. Best . . ."

Then this raspy whisper: "Best I ever had."

His full weight rested on my body as I hummed and floated in an otherworldly place. I sucked on his cock with my hole and he purred and growled in pleasure. The beast, sated for now, allowing me to massage his weapon, caress it with my battered, soaked walls.

"Baby boy. Baby boy."

Coming back to himself, barely, he nuzzled my neck, tongue tentatively toying along my hairline. His breathing faltered – I felt consciousness slipping from him, his still hard cock pulsing inside of me.

"Make your daddy feel so good. Baby boy, baby boy – tough fucking baby boy."

And then, he met my only unmet need.  He kissed me on the ear, then beneath it, then my neck, and then, with the faint tip of his tongue, my cheek. 

A kiss I craved.  A kiss I hadn't felt in years – over a decade. A father's kiss.

As his hot breath became steady, filling my nostrils, and his cock remained hard, deep in me, I joined his breathing, falling into a loving and peaceful sleep.

The beast, fed, the prey, conquered, we spent the night in the deep, dark jungle, sated.

End of Part Two