Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2017 20:22:15 -0500
From: a4f tales <a4ftales@gmail.com>
Subject: "12 Tales of Christmas II: For the Man Who Has Everything"

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com. You can find this one, and the pic
that inspired it, here:
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com/post/161793668185/

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 2017. 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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*****

"Don't go spending money on me this year," he'd warned me. "I have
everything I need, and I'd rather see you put it in your IRA."

He was right - there really wasn't much I could give him, and the best I'd
been able to think of was a nice engraved tie clip and a very good bottle
of single malt. But he had a bar stocked with fine liquor, a wardrobe full
of good clothes and all the cufflinks and clips and things that went with
them, and no need for the kinds of toys and distractions that amuse a lot
of men. My father was successful, secure, very much living his best
life. He had a summer house, this duplex penthouse on the Upper West Side,
a Bentley Continental in a garage two blocks away. He really didn't want
for much of anything, and the couple small things I'd got him were really
tokens.

"But I do have something else for you," I said, trying not to let the
nerves sound in my voice. I was a big guy, big and deep-voiced, just like
him. Guys like us aren't supposed to get nervous. We're supposed to push on
out there and go after everything we want. Just like he'd done.

I stood up slowly, feeling his eyes on me, assessing me. It's kind of what
he did for a living, sizing up numbers and people and deals. I liked to
think I presented a pretty good proposition - I wasn't playing ball anymore
now that I was in grad school, but I was still big and powerful, almost the
spitting image of him back in his playing days at Harvard. I worked out
pretty religiously, just like he still did, and I'd been pretty damn
pleased when the dark-blond hair on my chest had started to come in, just
like his. I wanted to look just like him when I hit my fifties, and so far,
given how alike we were physically, things were definitely looking
positive.

"I told you not to spend any money on me, bud," he said mock-sternly from
his armchair. Damn, he looked good, even early-ish in the morning like
this. He had on a simple robe, some sweats which clung to his thick,
muscular thighs, and a pair of slippers, and he looked fine as hell. I
could see the thick curls of his chest fur in the V-neck of his robe, and
the idea that he'd rolled out of bed in his underwear, slipped on just his
sweats and his robe, and come down to exchange gifts with me sent a charge
through my core. It made me a little nervous, a little excited, and a lot
more determined.

"I didn't," I said with a little smile. "But it's something I've been
working on for you for... well, quite awhile now."

I stepped over to where he was sitting, catching sight of myself in the big
mirror over the fireplace. I'd done a quick bodyweight routine before
coming down, and my white Harvard T-shirt clung in all the right places,
just like my old dark blue team sweats did. Dad looked up at me, curious
and assessing, watching as I reached into the pocket of my sweats and
pulled out the gift tag, laying it on the coffee table. I swallowed hard,
reached for the hem of my T-shirt, and peeled it up and off. I gave Dad a
direct look, his expression unchanged as his eyes roved over my muscled
torso and up to meet mine. Then I hooked my thumbs in my sweats and tugged
them down. My cock was already thickening in my UAs as I stood up, dropping
my sweats on top of my T-shirt and picking up the gift tag.

"TO: DAD FROM: JASON" it read, and I stuck it carefully on my hip and
stepped closer to him, noting the way his knees spread a little wider for
me to step between them.

"It's something made especially for you, Dad," I said, my voice a little
husky, edgy with my barely suppressed nerves as I waited for him to
respond. I'd played this script out a thousand times in my head, but the
next part was the big unknown.

Dad was quiet, but his eyes moved over my body, my thick muscles, the hair
on my chest and stomach, the thickness of my thighs, the big bulge growing
in my UA trunks despite my nerves. I tried to keep my breathing under
control as I watched him assess his gift, my gift to him, the one I'd been
wanting to give him for years now.

Finally, Dad spoke, his expression neutral.

"Just for me, huh son?" he said. I nodded, and waited. I didn't know what
to do with my hands, so I let them hang at my sides, like the guys at the
NFL draft do while the experts analyze their frame and their form.

Dad stood slowly, and I stepped back a little to give him space. I was
maybe all of an inch shorter than him, but right now, it felt like he was
towering over me, his natural scent filling my nostrils as we stood inches
apart. I felt his fingers touch the gift tag stuck to my hip, plucking it
loose, saw his slow smile as he read it, then looked back up at me. He set
the tag down and put his hand back on my hip, where the tag had been, his
big palm warm and strong as he squeezed me lightly there.

"It's beautiful, son," he said, and I felt a huge rush of joy and relief
inside me. "Perfect, in fact."

It was almost like watching a movie, watching Dad's head incline inward
towards me, his lips parting. But it was a movie I was in, my body
responding, angling my head to meet his, my lips parting as his brushed
mine, a brief glancing graze, before returning to kiss me more fully.

I let out a little whimper into Dad's mouth as we kissed, my hand reaching
for the back of his neck, just like his reached for mine. He grunted in
reply and kissed me deeper, lips moving now, manly and hungry, and soon
enough, I tasted the flick of his tongue for the first time.

We kissed for several long minutes, grunting and murmuring between smacking
lips, tongues darting, tasting, testing, engaging. I really loved to kiss,
and I could tell Dad did too, the way his tongue engaged with mine, the way
he held my hip and the back of my neck and just possessed my mouth. I could
have done it all morning long, and I couldn't help but let out a lusty,
hungry noise when Dad's tongue finally disengaged from mine

"You know what you're offering, right?" he said, giving me a serious look.

"Yes sir," I nodded, shifting my body in his hands a little to emphasize
the point. "If you want it, it's all yours. All of me, Dad."

"All of you, huh kiddo?" he said with that little grin, his hand starting
to rub a lazy circle on the big muscle of my glute, the palm slotting into
the deep indent on the side as I flexed it for him.

"Every inch, sir," I murmured, then leaned in to kiss him, showing him how
well I could do it. How much of a man I was, like him.

"You've always been a hot kid," he growled a little bit later, my UA's
puddled on the floor with the rest of my clothes, leaning back against one
of the wingback chairs, completely naked, completely hard, as his big hands
roamed over my warm, bare flesh. He squeezed and stroked his way over my
muscles, squatting down to explore the big hard planes of my calves,
sliding his big hands up over my quads, grunting approvingly as I flexed
them up for him.

Hearing him say that, how I'd always been hot, made me nearly gasp with
lust for him. I'd thought Dad was hot ever since... well, ever. Even more
strongly once I made the connection between my young hardons and my
thoughts of him. Beyond a doubt when I started shooting loads, several a
day, almost always with images and fantasies of him filling my young head.

"Yeah, Dad?" I said all huskily now, thrilled to hear him say it.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, standing slowly up, his hands moving up my lats,
over the thick plates of my pecs, fingertips raking through the manly fur
on them, and down deep into the cleft. Following the hair line over the
thick-cut muscles of my abdomen, and sinking deep into the thick blond hair
of my bush, right above the hard, insistent throb of my cock. Seven inches,
thick, a cock I was real happy with. A cock I'd inherited from him,
something I knew for a fact, and could infer from the hard tent in his
sweats as he felt his son up.

"A hot kid, and only getting hotter over time," he went on, his hands
moving up to squeeze my hips as he leaned into feed me his tongue again,
slow and lusty. I reached up to squeeze his pecs, slipping my hands inside
his robe to feel the thick, warm flesh of him, confident I had his
permission and approval.

"Yeah, go ahead, buddy," he growled between kisses, leaning back a little
so I could undo the tie of his robe, pushing it back over his big ex-jock
shoulders, baring his big, thick, powerful torso.

"Fuck, Dad," I moaned, and couldn't stop myself from leaning in to kiss
each thick muscle of his chest, feeling the tickle of his man's fur on my
face as I worshiped at the altar of my creation.

Dad let me explore his massive torso for a few minutes, then took the back
of my neck gently, but firmly, and brought my head back up to kiss me.

"You can play later," he growled. "I'm not done playing with my present
yet."

Dad's big hands turned me around effortlessly, and I grabbed the back of
the wingback and presented myself to him. I knew I had a nice ass,
thick-cut and powerful, dusted with crisp blond hair that fanned up into a
welcome mat in the small of my back. A lot of dudes my age get weird about
their hairiness, but I was fucking stoked when it first came in, back in my
teens. It meant I was becoming a man. It meant I was becoming like him.

"Look at my big guy," Dad murmured, more to himself then anything, as those
warm, confident hands of his squeezed my shoulders, down the meat of my
bulky upper arms, back down over my lats, slipping down to squeeze and
stroke the boxy muscles of my ass.

"You look just like me at your age," Dad said. "Only bigger, maybe."

"I know, Dad," I said over my shoulder. "Just like I always wanted to
look. Just like you, sir."

That got another growl from him, and I felt the hard press of his cock
against my ass as he tugged my head around to feed my his tongue again. He
slowly hunched himself against me as we traded thick, wet tongues, and the
idea of how big and hard he was inside his sweats was slowly driving me
nuts.

"All of you, huh kiddo?" he said again, his hands working the thick flesh
of my ass, as I arched my back and presented it to him.

"Anything and everything, Dad," I moaned back. My cock was achingly hard,
leaking precum steadily now, painting a smear of it over the leather
upholstery of the armchair in front of me. "Just for you."

"Well then, let's see," he said, one arm snaking around me to pull me into
him, the other tilting my head over, exposing my neck. He clamped his lips
to the warm skin there and sucked on it, right on that spot that always
made my nerve endings sizzle. I moaned in his grasp as he marked my flesh
with his mouth.

Dad licked his tongue over the hickey he'd seared into my skin, and then he
kiss-licked his way down the muscles of my back, along the indent of my
spine, growling as he nuzzled into the warm blond fur in the small of my
back, right above the cleft of my ass, where it had sprung from. I looked
back over my shoulder at him, seeing his powerful frame crouched down,
thighs bulging hard in his sweats, the top of his expensively-cut hair,
full and blond and streaked with threads of ash, as he licked the small of
my back. Then he looked up at me, winked, took hold of my cheeks and spread
them open.

"All of you, son," he murmured, and then he licked my ass.

"Shittttt," I grunted, shivering and clutching the back of the armchair, as
Dad's thick, wet tongue laved up and down my furry cleft, up the insides of
my cheeks, slowly savoring my tail. I was clean as a whistle down there,
nothing but sweat and my own natural musk. I could tell Dad approved, the
way he growled and grunted and slobbered all over my deepest part. It was
so unlike him, this lusty, hungry, animalistic side. Well, it was so unlike
the face he presented to the rest of the world, I mean. Here, he was
showing me his true face, the man he was under the five-figure suits and
the corporate image. The man I was fast growing up to be, hungry and lusty
and ready for the rut.

The noises Dad was making with his face buried in my tail were so
lewd. Yeah, I'd heard that kind of thing before - the grunts, the slurps,
the pants, the growls - because this wasn't the first time I'd gotten my
thick musclebro ass eaten. Wasn't even the tenth time. I'd had an idea what
I wanted pretty early on - sex with men, and lots of it - and I'd fucked
around with a decent-sized list of dudes who were subbing in for my dream
man. My father. So yeah, I'd heard these noises, felt these sensations -
but everything was crazy amplified, because it was my ultimate fantasy man
making them, and giving me these intense, tingling, lusty feelings, from my
hole on upwards through my core. The noises of a hungry man devouring ass
were twice as hot, because the hungry man devouring that ass was Dad, and
that just made me burn inside for him.

"Fuckin' ass," Dad growled, giving one cheek a solid slap that made me
tingle and grunt with lust. "Fine fuckin' ass."

I'd barely ever heard Dad drop an F-bomb, and here he was, letting them
loose as he admired and chowed down on my muscled-up son tail. Somehow,
that was maybe the hottest thing of all, hearing the lusty, grunting,
cursing man that lay just below his prosperous businessman's exterior.

"You been fucked before, kiddo?" he murmured in my ear when he slid up my
back, wrapping those big arms around my naked frame, letting me feel again
the hardness hiding inside his sweatpants, the heft of his bared pecs
squeezed against my shoulder blades.

"Yes sir," I said, blushing, because that was a lot to admit to your own
father, even if he had seven solid inches of the cock he'd made you with
pressing to your ass, his spit still slick on your hole.

"Good," he said, pressing his lips to the side of my neck. "Virgins aren't
as fun as everybody seems to think. I'm a big man, and it takes a man who
knows what he's doing to enjoy it. Are you that man, son?"

I shivered at the intensity of what he was saying, the husky, lusty edge to
his voice, the feeling of him pressed all up against me. Most of all, at
the fast, fluid way this had all gone down so far.

"I am, Dad," I said. "I've been ready for you for... damn, always."

"Always, huh, buddy?" he murmured in my ear. "That's a long time to
wait. Let's do something about that, big guy."

Yeah, I'd practiced, because I knew he was big, and all those years craving
his cock had led me to try a lot of substitutes, man-made and
man-wielded. I could throw a fuck as good as any dude, but since I was a
teenager, something about sliding a thick piece inside of me like that, my
head full of Dad, made me cum like nothing else.

Still, Dad was a challenge, because for all the rubber and flesh
substitutes since I was 17, this was the real deal - thick, a little bigger
and longer than me, a big, serious cock on a big, serious man. I took it in
hand, down on my knees on the Persian rug, staring up adoringly at him,
naked but for his open robe, my hands sliding up and down the long, thick
muscles of his thighs as he cupped the back of my head, looked down into my
eyes, and gave me my first true taste of him. Something else I'd practiced,
hoping someday to achieve this goal of mine. The taste of his big piece
thick in my mouth, in my spit, as I swallowed every inch of him, down to
the root, slow and spit-heavy. Not looking to get him off - looking to get
him ready.

"Damn, you're a fine cocksucker, son," he growled, hands squeezing my head
encouragingly. "I mean that as a compliment."

I mumbled out a muffled "Thank you" that came out as "Mmmmm-mmm", cupped
his big, heavy balls, and deep-throated him, making him growl even deeper
and clutch my head tighter.

"More of that later," he said, gently but firmly pushing my head back up
off his big unit, my face flushed, eyes streaming a little with the
effort. More of that later - those words set my cock throbbing even harder,
imagining all we could do, all he wanted to do. "I think we both know what
you need, first and foremost, son."

He pulled me up by my armpits and tugged me into him, his mouth claiming
mine again, tasting himself on my tongue and in my spit as I shared them
with him, his cock rubbery and wet and throbbing hard against mine. Then he
turned me around and bent me over the coffee table, my hands clutching the
sides of it as I arched my back and presented myself to him, his big
B-school ex-jock only child making the ultimate offering to the man who had
everything else.

Dad treated me to a deep, determined tongue-fucking, licking all around the
inside of my hole, making me go up on the balls of my feet and quiver and
leak precum all over the polished wood of the coffee table beneath me.

"Spit's a fine thing, but we're gonna need more than that, kiddo," he
half-chuckled, giving my beefy glutes another playful smack that turned
into a slow rub.

"Left pocket of my sweats, Dad," I said over my shoulder, watching as he
reached into my discarded pants and found the little tube of lube I'd
hopefully stashed there.

"Damn, you really had high hopes this morning, didn't you, bud?" he said,
looking up at me with that slanted half-grin of his.

"Nearly half my life, sir," I said, and he growled at that and flipped the
cap off the tube.

Thick fingers, first one, then a second, slick and cool but warming quickly
as he rotated them up into me, his other hand rubbing the fur patch in the
small of my back, making me arch like a cat. Making me open up to him, as
he fingerfucked me slowly. By the third finger, I was leaking a Jackson
Pollock-worthy pattern of precum all over his coffee table, bucking my hips
back, groaning every time his thick, slick fingertips rubbed over my
prostate. He really knew what he was doing, and for all the status-climbing
bimbos he'd dated and fucked over the years since my mother divorced him,
my father was no stranger to mansex. My intuitions about him had been
dead-on.

Watching Dad stroke a coating of lube up and down his big piece was a hell
of a sight, and I was hot as fire inside for him and the fucking he was
about to give. Hot, but nervous too, even if I was confident about my
cock-taking abilities. But I wanted to please him, to make my gift to him
perfect in every way, so I pushed my doubts out of my mind and looked up
squarely at him over my shoulder.

"I'm yours, Dad," I said. "You can see that. So please, sir - fuck me,
Dad."

Dad nodded, that assessing, interested look in his eyes.

"Alright, son," he said, lining himself up, the feeling of his slicked,
heavy cockhead pressing to my entry sending a deep thrill of electricity
all up through my core. "Dad's gonna fuck you, my boy."

And he did. Ah man, how he did. I gritted my teeth through the initial
insertion, because as prepped as I was, he was so fucking big. But all that
prep work paid off, and this was like a million miles away from my first
time taking cock. One of my teammates back in prep school, not even as big
as Dad, and it had sucked more than it had pleasured me. But I'd gotten
better at it over the years since, and so had the guys I let fuck me. Now,
that initial wave of discomfort passed, segueing quickly into a feeling of
pressure, of fullness, and then morphing slowly again into a sensation of
heat, of something big and hard and thick and hot inside of me, and that's
what it took to confirm how right this all was. How right it felt, being
filled with the cock that had made me. Not just a man inside me - the
ultimate man.

Dad's hands were strong and firm, but sensitive too, clutching the meat of
my hips, running up my lats, as we found a rhythm together quickly once he
got settled inside my depths. So fucking full of his cock, and it felt so
damn good. Dad started to extract himself, and then slid back in, one
steady, thick plunge that had me white-knuckling the sides of the coffee
table with pleasure, groaning out a formless noise of pleasure as he sank
full-length into me, then back out, then back inside. Warming me up with
slow, deep strokes, giving me a taste of the fuck to come.

"Damn, you're so tight, son," he growled. "Big boy, tight around his
daddy."

"Fuck," I hissed at that, at the heat in his voice, the heat inside of me,
and I started to fuck myself back on him. Showing him I could take him -
that I wanted him, all of him, all the way inside of me, over and over.

Which is precisely what Dad did, our hips working together as our fuck
deepened and intensified. My cock curved up hard and wet-tipped against the
muscles of my stomach, rubbing the sweaty skin as we took turns, him
fucking himself into me, me fucking myself back on him, then meeting in the
middle.

"Fuck me, Dad," I moaned. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..."

"What you needed all along, huh big guy?" Dad growled, his hands holding my
sides tight as he pounded all seven inches up into me, hard and fast and
deep. "Dad's big boy, needing Dad's big dick..."

"All of you, Dad," I panted. "All I ever wanted, me and you..."

"You hot fucking kid," he growled, curling his arms around my big torso and
licking the sweat on the side of my neck, panting in my ear as his hips
slapped against the big muscles of my ass. "Hot dirty kid, hot for your own
father..."

"Hot for the man who made me," I gasped. "The only man who matters."

"Aw fuck," Dad grunted at that, his teeth latching onto my earlobe as I
braced myself on the tabletop on my forearms, planting myself for the hard,
intense fuckthrusts he started laying into me. "Fucking the only boy who
matters, Jesus..."

"Fuck your boy, Dad," I grunted. "Fuck that big load into me. Only thing I
ever wanted. You, your cock... your cum. Please, Dad..."

Dad's tongue was thick and wet in my ear as he nuzzled at me, one hand
reaching down my stomach, finding the hard curve of me, wet and dipping and
throbbing as he nailed me to the core.

"You gonna cum for your father, Jason?" he grunted. "You gonna show me how
much you've wanted this all your life, son?"

All I could do was moan and nod and throb in reply.

"Then cum, son," he growled into my ear, into my brain. "Cum for your Dad."

Dad always got what he wanted, and he got it in spades this time, as I
moaned and felt my muscles seize up, my cock pulsing in his big, warm,
slick fist. I fired rope after rope, heavy spurts of thick, pearly cum
jetting across the coffee table as I moaned incoherently and unloaded my
balls.

"Aw... god... damn... yeah," Dad grunted, deep in the rut haze, my insides
clutching around his big fucking dick, milking him from the inside like he
was milking my big, spurting son dick in his fist. "You want Dad's cum,
son?"

"Yeah, Dad," I moaned, sweating and shivering as the last spurts fired out
of my gaping cockslit.

"Tell me, son," he panted in my ear, ragged and on the edge, but still in
control.

"Cum in me, Dad," I moaned, loud. "Cum in your son. Cum in your boy..."

"FUCK!" he yelled, his fingertips digging into the flesh of my hip nearly
painfully, his breath ragged and hot and moist on the side of my face as he
shoved his full length home inside me, and flooded my guts with the load
I'd wanted for almost half of my life.

When Dad finally extracted himself from me, I slid down onto the table,
laying in the cooling streaks of my fresh-shot cum as I rolled onto my
back, gazing down my sweating torso to my sticky, red-tipped cock, still
rubbery-hard. I looked up at Dad, his big chest heaving, staring almost
inscrutably down at me, his big dick shiny with lube and cum. I was proud
of the man I'd grown into, all big and broad-shouldered and deep-voiced,
all in his image, but I wanted to show him how deep this ran with me. How
much I'd needed him this way.

Dad watched with that inscrutable but intense, assessing gaze of his as I
reached between my spread thighs, sprawled out before him in my own cum on
his sturdy coffee table, and fingered my puffy, cum-slick hole. I moaned at
the feeling of his cum inside me, at the fresh-fucked puffiness of my ring,
at the sudden wet warmth on my fingertips. At the sight of his thick,
potent seed on my fingers, staring at it as I brought it up close to
examine. My Dad, at last, inside of me. Both of us where we belonged. Then
I locked eyes on his and brought my fingers to my lips, and slowly savored
the salty, mineral richness of his father load.

"Shit," he grunted, watching my lewd display, his hand reaching for his
glazed, rubbery paternal cock and giving it a slow squeeze-stroke.

I looked at him squarely, man to man, and scooped up another warm wad of
him, sucking it from my fingertips. He moved with surprising quickness,
dropping to his knees beside me on the rug, curling one hand under my head
to tilt it up, and treated me to a hungry, tongue-plunging, cum-swapping
man kiss that had my toes curling. We grunted and sucked face, swapped
spit, pigged out deeply together like only two men can once you strip away
all the surface bullshit and get right down to who you really are.

For all his cool, assessing initial remove, then his lusty, assertive
fucking, Dad showed me a third side in his big steam shower afterwards,
soaping me up from head to toe, running big hands slowly, covetously over
my muscular frame, pressing lips to the side of my neck as he squeezed and
explore my body all over. When I turned around to return the favor, head
still full of awe and excitement and disbelief as I caressed his big,
powerful frame, my cock was achingly hard again. I was glad to see his back
on the rise from my attentions too.

"Was it everything you hoped it'd be, son?" he said, his voice deep and
quiet, but warm too, as I took his big piece in my soapy hand and stroked
it slowly.

"You were, Dad," I grinned at him. "Everything and more."

"More - that's an interesting word, kiddo," he grinned back, one hand
squeezing my ass, the other under my chin, tilting it up.

"A gift isn't a one-time thing, Dad," I said. "It's for you to enjoy as
much as you like, for as long as you like. It's yours. I'm yours. For
anything."

Dad's lips were soft, but insistent on mine.

"Well hell, guess I really am the man who has everything, now," he grinned
when he pulled back from the slow, soft kiss. Our cocks were hard together
between us now.

"Exactly, Dad," I smiled back, taking his hand in mine and reaching back to
shut the water off. "C'mon - let me show you."