Date: Wed, 7 Sep 2016 11:45:44 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Special Service

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one - originally a two-parter - and the pics that inspired
it, here: http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/126437785994/ and also here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/126507089858/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy.

*****

I'd never done anything like this before. Never.

Not to blow my own horn, or anything, but I'm a decent-looking guy. I stay
in shape, eat right, dress well. One of those guys who wears my age
well. And once that wedding ring came off my finger five years ago and I
was finally able to pursue my real interests, my true interests, I've never
been short of willing playmates.

Only thing was, there was still something missing. Something I'd always
wanted to try, to experience, but never quite figured out how to have. I'd
tried roleplaying it, online and in person, thanks to the apps, but having
some college-age kid I'd really only just met call me "Daddy" in bed, as
hot as the experience could be, really didn't cut the mustard, so to
speak. It felt fake, put-on, kind of empty. Dissatisfying.

I didn't just want some kid to call me "Daddy". I was looking for something
more, something deeper. An experience. A bond. Something deep, sensual,
familial... sexual. A realistic dad-son experience. I'd wanted it since I
was maybe 14 or 15 or so, and the desire just grew stronger, deeper over
the years, even as I bowed to the usual societal pressures and got married
out of college, even as I had two sons, and fell into the typical suburban
American lifestyle. Became an upstanding, successful, suburban family
man. A family man with a seething, exhilarating, secret set of desires.

Now, I never cheated. I was absolutely faithful to my wife. I satisfied my
urges with my imagination and my right hand, in secret. And even though I
had two sons of my own, big, smart, funny, good-looking boys with a natural
aptitude for sports, I was never inappropriate with them. Never stepped
over the line. Pete and Dave were the apple of my eye, my pride and joy,
and I kept them carefully walled off in my mind, from that long-held set of
fantasies of mine. Even as they hit puberty, started to get their manly
growth, voices deepening, muscles beginning to bulge, hair coming in on
their arms and powerful legs, as they became big, handsome, confident,
sexually mature young men, athletic and beautifully built, some highly
developed part of my brain kept them sacred. Apart from the deeper, dirtier
side of my mind.

Well... for the most part. Dave in particular was a seriously studly kid,
and by his senior year in high school, he was an incredibly beautiful
creature. Pete was following in his footsteps, a couple years behind. I saw
them shirtless, or in their underwear, plenty of times, and I could never
help but admire their well-muscled bodies, their handsome faces, the way
they were taking after me with their builds, their looks, their
attitudes. And yeah, maybe once or twice, when I was deep in the throes of
my secret lust, maybe their faces and bodies popped up in those imaginary
encounters playing out in the porn theater of my imagination. And maybe I
came twice as hard when that happened. But I always kicked myself
afterwards, always swore that would never happen again. And that usually
worked. For the most part. Almost always.

But I saw them into college, and then their mother and I parted ways
amicably enough, and I was free to really start exploring. Now that I was
prime Daddy age, I had high hopes for finally living out some version of my
special fantasy - hopes that went mostly unfulfilled.

And then one of my online buddies, "Bill", a guy very much like me, in his
late 40s and doing great in his career, with a wife and kids and all that
stuff, and that same deep-seated desire for an incestuous bond between
father and son, clued me into the Service. Yeah, on the face of it, an
escort service - but much more than that. High-end, expensive. A select
clientele. Invite-only. Dedicated to something very much like the boyfriend
experience, but more... family-oriented.

I couldn't believe such a thing existed. But when I thought about it, of
course it would. I also couldn't believe the base rate was $1,000 an hour,
but they did have a 100% satisfaction guarantee - though what were you
gonna do if you didn't like it, do a chargeback on your credit card and
complain your gay incest-play escort wasn't family-like enough for you?

But my buddy Bill couldn't stop raving about it. Expensive, but worth
it... even better than he imagined the real thing might be. The perfect
solution - maybe the only solution - in an imperfect world. And most of all
- it had relieved something inside of him. Scratched that deep-seated taboo
itch he had, the same one I'd been living with for thirty-plus years. Made
him happier. Lighter. He swore his latest promotion was due to the
stress-busting effects of finally getting to live out his own personal
dad-son experience with the talented young man the Service had connected
him with.

So when he sent me a private link to apply for membership, I shrugged my
shoulders and said "Fuck it." The questionnaire they sent was long, very
long, and very specific. Asking about my sexual preferences, turn-ons and
turn-offs, fantasies. My physical info, and how I pictured my ideal `son'
physically. What kind of sports my `son' would have played, experiences and
bonding moments we might have shared - a full dossier, almost. They
promised a full "son experience," and with all the background info they
gathered, it must really be something. I was wiped out by the time I
finally finished it and clicked `Submit'. Wiped out, but hard as a
rock. I'd hewed pretty closely to my own real experiences as a dad, things
I'd done with my boys, with a few other fantasy details woven into that
which I'd never experienced, but which I'd love to have had with my `son'.

Two weeks later, when I'd almost forgotten all about it, they sent me
another link. This time, it took me to a series of profiles, a selection of
guys they thought might be a good match. Good `sons'. No full face shots,
but plenty of body shots, some physical details, particular things they
were good at. I was invited to choose one, and there really was only one
choice.

All I could see of his face was a square jaw and the suggestion of a strong
profile quite a lot like mine, but his body - Jesus. Pure marble-carved
young jock perfection. Strong, square pecs, thick-muscled arms, a rippling
near eight-pack, twin perfect mounds of muscle for an ass, and long,
bulging, muscular thighs. Played football and wrestled through high school,
and then four years of club rugby in college. His photo portfolio included
a variety of pictures - dressed, undressed, coyly covering his cock,
showcasing his ass, wearing football pants, a wrestling singlet, a Speedo,
designer underwear, all showcasing his body and the suggestion of a smile,
but otherwise carefully shadowing his face. I appreciated their
discretion. I could already tell he was the right `son' for me. And as if
he wasn't perfect enough, he was packing just over seven thick, cut inches
too. "Handsome, cultured, intelligent, warm, intimate, and creative," his
profile said. "A young man with a genuine, natural interest in being close
with his Dad." My mouth practically watered. My cock throbbed excitedly in
agreement. I picked him.

Another month went by, we closed the merger deal, and I collected a very
nice bonus for all my hard work. I was thinking about a vacation, maybe
Hawaii, and then it hit me - the Service. I was scheduled to be in LA
soon. Maybe... just maybe... I checked my calendar, and fired off an e-mail
to the Service. And then waited, nervously, to see if maybe my dream would
come true.

The confirmation e-mail came back within a few hours. My chosen partner was
available. Would I like to provide a name for him to go by, to maximize the
immersiveness of the experience? Yes, I would. At the front of my mind, the
name `Brad' stood out - I know, creative - but a part of my mind, that
deep, lusty part, tugged at me. Wanted me to type in `Dave'. "Where the
fuck did that come from?" I thought to myself, frowning, as I ignored that
deeper voice, put the 30% deposit on my Black card, and clicked the Submit
button. I was so hard, I had to stroke out a load, incredibly thick and
powerful, immediately afterwards. And then, the anxious, excited wait
began.

The company put me up in a surprisingly swank hotel. Nice big room, king
bed, all the amenities, for a whole week. I used the gym relentlessly for
two solid weeks, got my hair cut, ate salads, the whole bit. I wanted this
to be good. I wanted to be attractive for this young stud - this
`son'. That was part of the experience, and maybe the part I had the most
trouble with - I wanted him to be into me, the way I was into him. I didn't
want to feel like I was being faked out, falsely flattered. I wanted it to
be as real as possible. The Service had suggested I send a few pictures of
myself, if I felt that would enhance the experience, so I got a
photographer buddy of mine I knew from the clubs to take a few shots of me
at my best - and pretty damn good ones, if I did say so myself, good enough
that I planned on using them for my profile albums on the various apps I
used. Carefully framed not to show my full face, just the body I'd worked
so hard on, still carrying my ex-jock size and bulk, with that certain
beefiness guys like me get in middle age.

Then `Brad' sent me an e-mail, introducing himself. Telling me he'd very
much enjoyed my pictures, that he was excited to see me again, and even
attaching a webcam pic of himself at his desk in a typical young man's
bedroom. Cropped off to show just his smile at the top, and that incredible
body of his, reclined in his chair. In one hand, he held his phone, with
one of the pics I'd sent him on its screen. His other hand was on the big
bulge in his designer underwear, pulling the fabric taut against his hard
young cock, showing it to me. He approved.

"See you soon, Dad," his signoff read. "I've been looking forward to this
for a long time."

That e-mail alone made me cum hard yet again.

For all my hard-charging confidence at work and life in general, I was as
nervous as a teenage virgin when Thursday evening rolled around. I paced my
swanky West Hollywood hotel room almost anxiously, eyes on the clock. And
right at 8pm, there came the knock on my door. I took a few deep breaths,
calmed myself down, tried to modulate my nerves and my natural excitement,
and opened the door with a warm smile.

"Jesus," I gasped softly. `Brad' was exactly as advertised. Tall, handsome,
a muscled young body perfectly filling out his dress-casual shirt and
designer jeans. He was beautiful. He was absolutely perfect.

He was also my actual son.

*****

"Dave?" I stuttered, watching his eyes widen in surprise, that charming
smile morphing into an O of shock. "Davey?"

"Oh!" he blurted. "Shit! Dad!"

We stared at each other for a second, and I know he was thinking a million
sudden thoughts, just like I was. Well, I guess the Service had promised me
a genuine "son experience" - just not the one they or I had expected.

It was stupid not to invite him in, of course, and when I fixed myself a
drink with a slightly shaky hand, he asked for one too, and how could I
deny him that? Another long silence as we each nervously sipped our drinks,
and then we couldn't avoid it any longer.

"Christ, son, I can't believe this. Can't believe you...'

"You can't believe it?" he shot back, but with a good-natured grin. "Of all
the people I expected to see tonight, you weren't even the last one. You
didn't even exist in the spectrum of possibility, Dad."

"Likewise, kid, likewise," I muttered, but then he smiled that smile, and I
chuckled in spite of myself, and then we were laughing, and we clinked our
glasses together and took another drink. Christ, this was weird. But it was
happening nonetheless.

"Well, you paid for two hours, Dad," he finally said, without a trace of
awkwardness. Guess he inherited my confidence too. "I'd hate to have to
explain to them why you'd want a refund..."

"Ah, the hell with it," I said. Even with the shock and inner turmoil, I
still wanted to look out for my boy. He was expecting to make some money
tonight, quite a lot of it, in fact, and I had it to spend. Could've paid
the overnight rate without feeling it much, really. Honestly, I'd kept that
possibility open. But now, well...

So I fixed us another drink, and half-nervously asked him to tell me about
it. He'd been doing it for about a year, since he'd come out here to
California for grad school. It was easy work - I kind of inwardly shuddered
at that choice of words, but at the same time, something inside my twanged
with excitement - and exceptional money, and he'd never felt exploited or
mistreated. Truth be told, he enjoyed the opportunity to really make people
happy. I'd always thought that was kind of a bullshit hooker cliché, but
apparently not. Here was my eldest son, living it. Helping men like me live
out their paternal sexual fantasies. I was a little bit horrified. A little
bit stunned. But above all that - way more than that - I was
amazed. Intrigued. And yes, hell... excited.

"I'm really good at it, Dad," he said, leaning up at the bar, watching me
fix us another drink. "I really like it. I guess... I've been kind of
preparing for this since I was 13 or so."

It took me a minute to really hear what he said. And then I stared at
him. He smiled, blushed, looked away, then met my eyes again, and nodded.

"Yeah. It's not just doing it for the clients. Playing a son to help some
guy out. It's just as much for me, too."

I gaped at him. Shit - he'd inherited that from me too? That deep, dark,
secret kind of lust? I'd never even imagined... christ, all these years
stroking my cock to the fevered dad-son fantasies rolling through my head,
and he'd been doing pretty much the same thing.

"So like I said... I'm really good at it, Dad," he said, and all of a
sudden, he was three steps closer, the gap between us closed. Taking a sip
on his drink, then setting it down on the bar. Putting his hand on the
solid plate of my pec, right over my heart, where I knew he could feel it
thudding through the dress shirt I was wearing.

"Davey, I -" I began, but he shook his head, and fixed my eyes with his.

"You found the Service for a reason, Dad," he said, quiet and low. "Because
you needed this. Thought about it for so long. Wanted it most of your
life. I know how that feels, believe me. And I know how exciting it must
have been to find a way to finally have it. And even though it didn't turn
out the way you thought it would..."

His eyes... shit, his eyes were incredible. So was his scent. His face, so
much like mine. The warmth of his big young body. The body I'd deliberately
tried not to think of in that way, mostly successfully, all these long,
frustrated years.

"You never gave me any hint of this, you never made me feel creeped out,"
he went on. "But you never knew about me, either. How I felt about
you. That I might have needed this too. And... shit... and you can still
have it, Dad. Tonight. Now."

He didn't give me time to really register what he was saying, just leaned
in and pressed his lips to mine. I didn't even think about it - I kissed
him back. Maybe because I was a little buzzed, maybe because of how I'd
expected tonight to turn out, because I was already in the zone... but
mostly, because my actual son was here, offering himself willingly, and
even if I'd never really considered this, considered him... it seemed like
he'd thought about this. About us. That he maybe wanted this even more than
I did. That my deepest, longest-held fantasy - our deepest fantasy - could
come true tonight, in the most real way possible.

I found my hand coming up to cup the base of his skull, bringing a moan
from him as I parted my lips against his and slipped my tongue inside his
mouth. My heart was racing, and my cock strained to full hardness almost
instantly, as my son kissed me back, and kissed me well. I forgot all about
the details, and just went with this. My son, me and my son, was all I
could think of. It was all I needed.

I thought I knew Dave's body pretty well, objectively - I'd seen enough of
it over the years at home, after all. But it was even better like this,
really in person, open and free for me to touch, to kiss, to taste, as he
smoothly peeled his shirt off and let me explore him. He was by far the
hottest, handsomest, best-built young man I'd ever been with, and I'd had
my fair share of experiences with hot young men, way back to when I was a
bit of a hot young man myself. He cupped the back of my head now, guiding
me down over the hard-muscled terrain of his torso, down to the fine spray
of fur on his impressive abs, squeezing encouragingly as I undid his belt
and the top button of his jeans. Then guided my head back up to meet his in
another deep, searching, staggeringly intimate wet kiss, as my hands
tremblingly opened his designer jeans, and pushed them off the shelf of his
ass and down those powerful athlete's thighs of his. And then he stood
before me, his big young cock straining hard in a pair of black Calvins,
beautiful enough to be a damn Calvin Klein model.

"This is me, Dad," he murmured against my lips, eyes deep blue and boring
into mine. "I'm here for you. Not a game, not an act, not playing
pretend. Your son, here with you, here for you. And I want to be with you,
Dad. Be dad and son, together, like we both always needed."

His lips on mine were convincing, and so were his hands squeezing the
firmness of my pecs, moving to unbutton my shirt as our tongues explored
each other. But it was his eyes that told me it was all true. This wasn't a
contractual obligation, a paid performance, roleplay - this was real. This
was us.

"Let me, now, Dad," he said huskily, opening my shirt to reveal the muscles
I'd worked so hard on beneath, overlaid with a fine coating of hair. "You
got no idea how long, how bad..."

I quieted him with another kiss, showing him I did have an idea how long,
how bad, then let him have me. He undressed me with incredible care, eyes
wide and roving over my body in a way that couldn't be faked. He really was
experiencing his fantasy. His eyes, that goofy, amazed smile I remembered
so well from his boyhood told me all I needed to know. That, and the
tentative way he unbuttoned my pants, becoming more assured as he opened
them and saw the epic bulge in my own designer underwear. That gasp, that
lusty sound couldn't be faked.

I reached behind him and cupped that incredible ass of his, felt him tense
and flex it in my hands, drawing my own lusty grunt. Kissed him again as I
felt him press into me, against me, shivering just a little.

"Daddy's here for you, little buddy," I said, the words just flowing
naturally from that secret place within me, and he shivered a little
harder, moaned hungrily, and crashed his mouth into mine again.

The bed was big, and comfortable, and ours to explore each other on, and we
did, with gusto. His body came alive under my big hands, and I felt mine
doing the same for him, as we clutched, writhed, shifted, rolled, moaned
and kissed. giving ourselves over to the simmering intensity of the taboo
connection. A nearly lifelong dream for us both. Something neither of us
ever expected to happen, outside of our fantasies. But it was happening,
very much so, and several times I had to back off from the brink, cool
down, before I shot an epic load between us. I wasn't ready for that, not
yet. Shit, we were still in our underwear.

Of course, Dave had some experience with this - he was a professional, I
suddenly reminded myself, and that gave me some complex feelings, but I
pushed them aside for now as I watched him sprawl back, thick thighs spread
invitingly, his cock seeping precum through the stretched fabric of his
Calvins, a smile that was alternately sexy and
I-can't-believe-this-is-happening on his handsome face. He let me cool down
some, and we talked, low and deep and intimate, as he let me - as I let
myself - run my hands slowly over his perfectly muscled body. Tracing up
the definition of his powerful quads, tickling up the finely furred stretch
of his inner thighs, then up to the big, solid plates of his pecs, palming
lightly over the stiff bullet-points of his nipples, following the ridges
of his finely-honed abdominals into the delta of crisp fur that fanned out
at the base of them, down into the tantalizing unknown territory inside
those designer briefs of his. He was so damn beautiful, I was almost angry
with myself for not allowing myself to fantasize about him, to touch him
before this. But the Dad in me - not the fantasy player, the real Dad in me
- knew I'd been right not to think about him like this, all those years. In
the flesh now, though, everything was different. There were no barriers
between us anymore.

His voice was deep, low, husky as his secrets flowed from him, his
memories, fantasies about me... how he still had a copy of a picture of me
in my high school football gear that he jacked off to. I chuckled, told him
he was a bullshitter just like me, but he picked up his phone, swiped
around a little, and came up with it. Me, at 18, my final game of high
school, shirtless and sweaty and grinning, my football pants clinging to my
thick young thighs. I looked pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. But I
was flattered, and excited, beyond belief that I could inspire that kind of
lust from him.

"You were one of the first people I ever pictured when I started making
cum, Dad," he murmured, eyes deep on mine as he guided my hand to the thick
throb of his big young cock, overfilling his designer briefs. "So much cum,
over the years. Picturing us. You and me. Free and open and together. Dad
and son. Lovers."

I gently squeezed the thickness of him through the cotton, feeling his big
young cock pulse, and the flow of his precum seep and spread even more
through the fabric. Palmed it the way I did my own, when I'd covertly watch
his hunky young jock buddies at play in our old backyard pool. He moaned,
eyes hot with lust, and craned his head up to kiss me again.

"I tried not to think about you," I finally said, palming his epic young
bulge all the while. "You and Petey were off-limits."

"Oh... we were?" he said, looking a little disappointed. I smiled at that.

"Well... mostly," I said, with a sly chuckle, which he joined before
pulling me down to kiss him some more.

"Not anymore though, right, Dad?" he asked, a boyish kind of hopefulness in
his voice that made my stomach tingle with warmth for him.

"No, little buddy," I smiled. "You and me... let's be what we want to be
tonight."

No more words after that - we communicated with our lips and tongues and
fingers and hands. With our bodies, intertwining, shifting, sliding,
combining in new, different ways as we eased each other out of our
underwear, and finally slipped together, fully naked and so hard, on top of
the crisp sheets.

"I love you, Dad," he said in that husky, half-breaking voice of his, and
all of a sudden, all those years of repression, of suppression, all the
thoughts and desires I'd crammed down and packed away and tried to deny
came rushing up to the surface. I wanted to cry, almost, but I kissed my
boy deeply instead.

"I love you too, Son," I whispered against his lips. "So much. Let's be
together, yeah?"

He nodded, and the mistiness in his eyes couldn't be faked, as he smiled
and gently rolled me onto my back, then began to kiss, lick and caress his
way down the firm muscles of my mature body. He looked like a kid on
Christmas morning, but he acted very much like an adult, a man who knew
what he was doing, as he took the throbbing thickness of my big dick in his
hand, staring at it reverently.

"You made me with this, Dad," he said in that husky voice, and the naked
need in his eyes - yeah, that was real, alright. I could stop questioning
it, and just go with it. Just let us be.

Dave ran his wide, wet, warm tongue up my shaft, and I shuddered at the
sensation, then felt my whole body clench up when he skilfully swallowed
the head with those sexy lips of his. And then, slowly, his big blue eyes
on mine the whole time, he took me down to the base, grunting happily as he
opened his throat with practiced ease and buried his nose in my bush.

"Oh FUCK," I half-yelled, sinking my hands into his hair, as he began to
slowly work me over, soaking me in the warmth of his spit and the slowly
working muscles of his throat, lavishing me with that talented tongue of
his. His hands slid up my body, over the clenching muscles of my stomach,
teasing the bullet-stiff points of my nips, sinking into the thickness of
my paternal fur as he took me on a rocket ride to the moon.

"Jesus christ," I thought. "My own boy, my own son... and he's so damn good
at this..."

I lost track for a little while there, just sinking back into the bed and
letting him work his magic on me, until I felt the inevitable surge of my
orgasm, churning in my balls, ready to boil its way up the shaft of my cock
and explode into his mouth. But like the pro he was, Dave slowly worked his
way back up and off me, leaving my cock wet, gleaming with his spit, as he
gently tugged on my roiling balls to slow me down.

"Dad?" he said, holding the bobbing shaft of my cock gently in one hand,
stroking up and down the thick muscle of my thigh with the other. "Will
you... fuck me, Dad?"

"Ah son," I moaned, reaching down to grab him and pull him up the length of
my body, sliding my tongue into his welcoming mouth as I clutched those
twin, perfect mounds of muscle in my hands, feeling the steely power of his
ex-athlete's glutes as he flexed them for me.

He shifted his hips up, straddling me, and let the hardness of my cock slip
up along the deep cleft of his ass, where he slowly writhed against it,
reaching behind himself to take hold of me again, rubbing the fat, spongy
head of his own father's cock against the tightness of his hole. then he
leaned up over my head, reaching for the drawer of the bedside table,
retrieving the bottle of lube I'd stashed there earlier with some rubbers,
in anticipation.

"How did you know..." I started, seeing his knowing smile as he smoothly
thumbed the cap open, poured a big pool of it into his palm, then reached
behind himself again to wrap the slickness of it around my throbbing shaft,
making me moan for him yet again.

"You always used to keep yours in the right-side drawer by your bed," he
said with a sly grin. "I used to use it to jack off with, Dad. Stroking my
hard teen dick with your lube. On your bed. Inhaling your scent from the
pillows."

I growled, and pulled him back in for another searching, hungry kiss,
feeling him touch the slicked-up head of me against his hole again. I could
feel his pulse there, I swore it.

"Before we go on, Dad," he said, looking directly into my eyes, "I want you
to know, I'm on PrEP, I got tested this week, and I never play without
precautions. Ever. But, for you... for us..."

I nodded up at him.

"The same, Son," I said, blushing a little, but we were well beyond that by
now, surely. "I'm safe. Clean. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."

"Then tonight, just for you, Dad," he smiled, pressing the head of me
against himself even more intently, letting me feel him slowly opening up
to the pressure, "I want to really feel you inside of me."

And with that, he felt me, slipping up inside him as he bore down and I
pushed my hips up and we met in the middle, both moaning low and deep. It's
hard to describe the heady, intense mix of pleasure, release, satisfaction
I felt. I could read the same mix of feelings crossing his handsome,
pleasure-filled face as he filled himself with me. With the man who made
him. As I felt the son I'd made take me into his depths completely, and
freely.

Velvet and steel. The velvety clutch of his insides, wrapping around my
hardness like a tailor-made fit. The steel of his big, bunched quads as I
clutched at them, squeezed them as he rode on my cock. Salt from the fine
dew of sweat that began to glow on his big young muscles as he pleasured
himself, pleasured me with his prowess. The kid was amazing, and I was
oddly glad I was getting him as an experienced young man, not as a nervous,
fumbling virgin. Sure, I'd fantasized about taking a son's virginity, but
in reality, I knew this was so much better. Even more powerful, joining our
skills together in one flowing, all-engulfing experience of pure sexual
pleasure. Genuine incestuous pleasure - the thing I'd been dreaming of,
fantasizing about, my entire adult life.

I'd like to say we went at it for a solid hour, but there was too much
going on here - not just the sex, but the emotion, the bond, the sheer
experience of doing this with my flesh-and-blood son. Several times, he had
to bat my hand away from his big, leaking cock, shaking his head briskly,
wanting to stave off his own orgasm until we were really ready. So as I
felt myself getting closer to the peak, I grabbed hold of his hips. He read
me intuitively - that experience of his again - and moved with me, rolling
over onto his back, letting me plunge even deeper up inside of him.

"Ohhhh Jesus Christ, Dad!" he moaned, and all I could do was moan back in
agreement at the incredible barrage of new sensation, as I wrapped my arms
around his sweaty torso and took us both on home, feeling his powerful
thighs clutch around me and spur me on.

"I love you, Dad," he moan-wailed, eyes locking onto mine.

"I love you too, Son... so much..." I panted, and then we were kissing, and
his body was tightening around me, pulsing and clenching as I felt the hot
jets of his cum begin to erupt between us. I was right behind him, howling
into his mouth, sucking on his agile tongue as I pumped shot after shot
after shot of the seed that had created him up into his depths.

I stayed inside him for several minutes as we caught our breath, sweat
slowly cooling on us as we kissed, embraced, nuzzled, continued the intense
connection. It felt important to look into his eyes, to see if there was a
flicker of doubt, remorse, self-disgust - but all I found was warmth, and
gratitude, and love. I'd never felt happier in my life.

Eventually, I softened and slipped from him, and slowly we disentangled and
fell side by side on the bed. When his hand found mine, his fingers
interlacing and squeezing with mine, I squeezed back, knowing it was all
that needed to be said. And then he pulled me up slowly and we made our way
to the shower, soaking in the warm water raining down over us as we kissed,
caressed, and slowly cleaned each other up, wordlessly.

Watching him slip into his briefs again gave me an unexpected pang in the
stomach, as he worked the little coffee machine on the bar and made himself
an espresso. All of a sudden, the wordlessness between us began to feel
like an awkward silence.

"The drive back to Glendale's a pain the ass, and I need to be on my toes
to deal with the Five," he said almost sheepishly as he looked at me over
the rim of the mug.

"You, uh... could always just... stay here tonight, if you wanted to, Son,"
I said almost nervously. "Oh... unless you have another..."

He smiled again, and stepped over to me, slipping one hand up my bare
chest, around the back of my neck, leaning in to peck my lips softly.

"No, Dad," he said. "No other engagements. It's not a high-volume
thing. That's why they pay me the big bucks."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Speaking of which," he said playfully, but carefully, "did they discuss
the overnight rate with you?"

I felt a twinge at that, but hell, if that's what it took, I could - and
would - pay it. Even just to share the bed with him, to hold him against me
while he slept - it'd be worth three times whatever they charged.

"Jesus, Dad, I'm kidding," he chuckled, rolling his eyes as he saw me reach
for my wallet. He gave me a playful push, and I landed on the bed with a
grunt, surprised at his manly strength. I guess sooner or later, every
father needs to come to grips with the fact that his son is a grown man in
his own right. Dave had certainly proved that to me tonight. But no matter
what, he'd always be my little buddy. My boy, for real. That just made
everything we'd done tonight even more powerful.

Dave climbed up on the bed after me, grinning and stunning, carefully
balancing his cup of coffee in one hand as he crawled over my prone body
and settled down comfortably beside me. His lips tasted like espresso, and
his tongue was softer, gentler as it slipped past my lips to rejoin mine.

"You know, Dad," he said with that grin of his after a few minutes, "the
Service is always looking for good quality guys to join the operation. I
know we could definitely use a damn good daddy or two."

I laughed, and he laughed with me, but the intent look he gave me told me
he wasn't really joking.

"You're not serious, are you?" I asked. He just shrugged.

"It's good money, low involvement, and a unique kind of experience," he
said. "And hell... you're damn good in bed, Dad. You'd be a big hit,
especially with the clients who've got that executive-daddy fetish going
on."

"That's a thing?" I chuckled.

"Bet your ass it is, especially up there where you are in the Bay Area," he
grinned. "All those super-loaded young tech dudes? You could pick and
choose your clients. And besides... I do kind of get a referral bonus for
new hires..."

I laughed, and took him in my arms, and he set down his half-finished
coffee and focused his attention on our kiss for several more minutes. By
the time we came up again, his cock was back to full hardness, and mine was
definitely on the road there. I reached down and gave his big bulge a
gentle, appreciative squeeze.

"Second round's on the house, Dad," he murmured huskily against my lips,
reaching behind me to squeeze the thick muscles of my ass
appreciatively. "And I don't know how you feel about this, but it's always
been a fantasy of mine to fuck you, y'know..."

"Hmmm... maybe you should be paying me for that privilege, Son," I growled
playfully. "Or at least give me some kind of discount."

"Hell, Dad, I'm just a hard-working young guy trying to pay my way through
grad school," he chuckled. "If you want to make some money, you really
should come work with me. A dad-son team? We could make some serious
bank..."

I chuckled with him, kissed him some more, and let him maneuver me onto my
front, relaxing into the sensation of his muscular weight hovering over me
as he kissed his way worshipfully down my spine, as I arched my back and
let him lustily appreciate the big, still-hard muscles of my ex-jock
ass. And as I prepared to let him show me just what a skilled, well-rounded
young professional he was, I had to admit - his offer had me thinking...

The End