Date: Sun, 06 Mar 2011 16:47:41 +0000 From: Michael West Subject: Wednesday with My Son All of the usual disclaimers apply to this story. This is a work of fiction, it portrays consensual sexual acts between a man and his teenage son. If this is not to your taste or illegal for you to read, please stop here. Feel free to send me an email with your comments! michaeljwest@gmx.com ========================== WEDNESDAYS WITH MY SON It's Wednesday night and I'm watching the TV with my son. To all outward appearances, I'm the very picture of calm and relaxation, just a middle-aged guy taking it easy after a hard day at the office. My tie loosened, the top button on my shirt undone. Slouching in the armchair, can of Carlsberg in one hand and remote in the other. Inside, though, I'm almost shaking with nervous anticipation. The volume on the TV is turned down low, not that I'm capable of taking in what's happening on the screen anyway. I can hear my wife bustling about upstairs, singing along to some trash on the radio. I mentally urge her to hurry up, glancing at the clock. It's still only quarter past seven. With studied casualness, I glance over at my fourteen year old son, sprawled out across the sofa. He catches me looking at him and grins back at me toothily. One hand slides below the waistband of his trackies and he grasps the bulge inside. Glancing up at the ceiling, he quickly pulls down the front of his tracksuit bottoms and nods down at his crotch, making me look at what he's wearing underneath. Oh god, a pair of my briefs. The old maroon pair I wore to work yesterday, that I'd surreptitiously left for him in his bedroom that morning, still feeling a twinge of guilt, my brain still telling me that it was wrong. The 34-inch waist y-fronts look almost comical on his skinny frame and I can see one of his hairless little balls through one of the baggy leg openings. He winked at me. I swallowed, hard. "All day?" I asked quietly, trying to make my voice sound calm, as if making an off-hand comment about the weather. "Yeah, under my boxers. Nobody in PE noticed," he replied. "Did you do what you promised?" I hesitated slightly and nodded. His grin broadened. Earlier that day, waiting for my train home, I'd gone into the station toilets and jerked off at the urinals. As per my son's very specific request, I made sure that I stuffed my cock back into my briefs just as I came, flooding the pouch with my muck. The journey home had been uncomfortable, the cum-dampened fabric felt cold and clammy around my crotch and I was paranoid that it would soak through and show up on my suit trousers. At the same time, though, the feel of my jism around my balls had left me in a state of semi-arousal all the way home and through the evening. Trying to make light conversation with my wife over dinner had been almost impossible. Suddenly the sound of the radio upstairs stops and we hear my wife's footsteps on the stairs. My son quickly pulls the front of his trackies up and rearranges himself so that his erection is less obvious. I swallow nervously again. My wife, my beautiful, sexy, loving wife, bustles into the front room. "Right boys, I'm off! Behave yourselves while I'm gone," she admonishes us with mock severity. "Adrian, I don't want you giving your father any trouble this evening. Now, have you done your homework?" "Yes mum," my son replies. "Aaaw, mum!" he protests, making a face as she plants a kiss on his forehead and tousles his hair. "Dean, don't let him stay up too late," she says to me. I nod and she proffers her cheek for a kiss. "No dear. Have fun at the book club, dear," I say, giving her a peck on the cheek. She wrinkles her nose at the feel of my moustache on her cheek. Then she tousles my hair too. "Going thin on top, darling!" she trills as she sweeps out the door. The front door closes behind her. My son looks at me. I look at him. Our eyes not leaving the other's, we wait in silence for the sound of her car leaving the driveway. The engine turns over and she pulls away. Swallowing again, I turn off the TV. My mouth is dry and I take a sip of beer. "Right..." Almost before I can get the word out of my mouth, my son is accross the room and on his knees between my legs, his face buried in my crotch, inhaling deeply. My cock begins to grow in my briefs. His face not leaving the sweaty material between my legs, he reaches up and buckles my belt. With a shaking hand, I undo the button for him and he starts to tug the zip on my fly down. "Careful Adie, these are my good work trousers," I say. He takes his face from my crotch and grins cockily up at me. "Are they? Well, we'd best get them off you then, so they don't get ruined," he says, tugging at the waistband. I lift my backside from the chair and he pulls the black slacks off me. He stands and folds them neatly, laying them over the arm of the sofa. He pauses and looks at me. "Oh, daddy," he sighs and I feel dirty inside. I remember how proud I felt when he first called me that: it had been his first word, even before "mummy". Now he only ever calls me daddy when I'm like this, legs spread and my crotch on display. Licking his lips in anticipation, he starts to undress. He throws his t-shirt over the back of the sofa and tugs his trackies down. My son stands in front of me wearing nothing but my dirty maroon y-fronts, held up only by his stiff little prick. Slowly, he turns to face away from me and pulls down the back of his- my - briefs, flashing his pale little buttocks. My semi-hard prick twitches again inside my underpants. My only son, my pride and joy, displaying himself like a slut for his daddy. I feel my mouth go dry again as my eyes roam over his skinny, hairless body. God, he's so young and beautiful. I feel old and brutish in comparison. Where he's pale and lithe, I'm swarthy and stocky. While he only has a shock of sandy blond hair on his head, I'm covered in dense, wiry black hair, thin on my scalp but thick on my chest and around my crotch. We're so dissimilar that sometimes I joke that he's not really my son at all, and that what we do isn't actually incest. Just child abuse. He sinks back to his knees in front of me and runs his hands along my thick, hairy thighs. He leans forward into my crotch. His nose burrows beneath my cotton-clad balls and I can hear him breathing deeply. With exquisite slowness, rubs his face all over the bulging pouch of my y-fronts. I run my fingers through his hair and pull his face closer into my crotch, marking him with my scent, the stink of dried jism and a whole day's crotch sweat. He moans into my balls. I feel his tongue working over the fabric of my underpants, making the white cotton damp with his spit. I can feel the warmth of his breath through the cotton as his mouth works over my balls. My prick is rock hard now, trapped in the confines of my briefs, the head leaking its precome on my left hip and making the white material almost transparent. One of my son's pale little hands comes up and squeezes my bell-end through my underpants, making me moan in turn. Still gently squeezing the tip of my cock, swirling his fingertip around the precome-soaked cotton, my son's other hand pulls the elastic of the right leg hole to one side, allowing my heavy balls to fall from their prison. His tongue is on them immediately. No gentle teasing laps with the tip here, great full-on slurps cleaning the sweat and dried jism from my hairy ball-sack. With his free hand, my son reaches up and starts rubbing my chest and stomach. I unbutton my shirt and tug my vest up, letting his soft fingers stroke the fur on my torse. My son is as fascinated by my body hair as he is by my underwear and the smell of my crotch. The room is silent, no sound save my son's tongue against my balls and my own breathing. He lifts his head and smiles at me, his face damp with sweat from my bollocks and his own saliva. "I love you, daddy," he says. I smile back and ruffle his hair. "You're a good lad, you know that," I tell him. He smiles again and turns back to my crotch. There's a brief struggle as he tries to get my prick out of the fly of my y-fronts, and I have to help him, wincing a little as he bends my shaft to get it through the hole. It would be easier just to take the damn pants off, but he prefers me wearing them. And I've never been able to deny my boy a thing. He holds my prick delicately and examines it, as if he's never seen it before. It's a ritual we go through every Wednesday evening. He traces the throbbing vein on the underside lightly with a fingertip. He tries to encircle my shaft with his thumb and forefinger and fails: there's a good inch between the tip of his thumb and his finger. My dick isn't all that long, maybe six inches, but it's thick. He slowly tugs down on my shaft, pulling my foreskin back and revealing the bulbous mushroom-shaped bell-end, slick and shiny with precome. And then back up again, making my foeskin pucker like a tiny mouth. I moan and stroke his hair again. He pinches my foreskin between finger and thumb, holding my prick out straight and leans forward, his tongue out. He slurps up and down the shaft, curling his tongue around. I grunt. Enough teasing. Sensing my impatience, my little boy takes the hint and relases my foreskin, allowing my bell-end to slowly emerge from its sheath. With one hand, I grasp my prick and start to tug on it and with the other I push my son's head back down to my balls. His tongue comes out and he starts lapping at them again in earnest as I pull on my prick. He opens his mouth as wide as he can and sucks one of my egg-size balls inside, running his tongue all around my scrotum. His mouth stops my balls from flopping around in my loose sack like they normally do, and the wet warmth makes me moan and write, hightening the pleasure from the tug on my immobilised bollocks. Suddenly he releases me and my spit-soaked bollock feels cold in the open air. He dives back down and starts licking behind my balls, into the damp, furry cleft betweeen my arsehole and my ballbag. He tugs the pouch of my y-fronts to one side and I lift my hips slightly to allow him better access. When the tip of his tongue touches my puckered arsehole I can't help myself and shout in pleasure. "Adie, Adie," I gasp, "I going to come." Immediately his mouth is on the head of my cock, his tongue teasing my piss-slit and licking around the rim of my glans. He takes the whole of my bell-end in his mouth and I have to resist the urge not to push any further forward. My prick's too thick for him to take comfortably in his mouth yet. We've tried. But the feeling of my bell-end inside his warm, wet mouth is enough. More than enough. "Oh, Adie," I moan. His lips are stretched obscenely around the head of my prick, and his eyes are on mine. He tries to smile around the mouthful of cock. "Ah, daddy's coming," I say as I feel my ballsack tighten and my orgasm build within me. Grunting like a pig, I shoot my load into my son's waiting mouth, four, five times. He gulps as quickly as he can, but some still escapes and runs down his chin. He sits back on his heels and lets my deflating prick fall from his mouth. He's still smiling. Wordlessly, I pass him my can and he takes a swig of beer. My boy likes the idea of swallowing down his father's load, but in reality can't actually stand the taste of my muck. I smile at him and wipe my jizz from his chin. "Did you come?" I ask. He shakes his head and I beckon him to stand up. His little prick is tenting out my briefs and they slip a little as I hook the crotch to one side. His dick springs out, throbbing and hard, his foreskin tightly covering his head. I bend my head and take him into my mouth, easily taking all three inches. He rests his hands on my head for support and traces the outline of my bald patch. I suck hard on his little dick and run my tongue along his length. He whimpers slightly and starts hunching his crotch into my face, bashing his hairless little marbles against my chin. He won't last long. My son's got a bit of a hair trigger. I reach up with one hand and slip my fingers into his hairless arse crack. As I gently run my fingertip around his tight hole he whimpers some more and his thrusts become more frantic. Carefully, deliberately, I slip the tip of my finger inside his arsehole. He freezes, makes a high-pitched noise and starts to unload, shooting a couple of spurts of watery spunk into my mouth. His dick gets really sensitive after he comes, so he pulls out almost as soon as he shoots his load. We smile at each other, both still damp with sweat. He climbs onto my lap for a cuddle, as if he was four, not fourteen. With my precious son in my arms, I begin to feel even more guilty than I did before. When I found him stealing my dirty underwear I should have given him a good hiding and not caved into his pleas not to tell his mother. God knows, I certainly shouldn't have started providing him with my sweat-soaked briefs myself. What kind of pervert am I? He looks up at me again and grins. "D'you think we've got time to do it again before mum gets home?"