Date: Mon, 27 Jun 2016 01:47:03 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bruno Boyd <bruno.boyd@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Brandon Needs- Part 11

Disclaimer:

The following story contains graphic, fictional descriptions of sexual acts
between adult males. If this subject matter offends you, please do not read
on.

Author's note: You may notice the structure of this story is a little
different from the others. This is the penultimate chapter in the 12-part
series.


What Brandon Needs

Part Eleven


The cell phone on the nightstand buzzed and lit up the still-dark room. An
old country music tune started softly- Mike's morning alarm. With his free
arm, the man reached over and picked up the phone.

"6:30AM", it read.

Mike's other arm was wrapped tightly around Brandon, who had readjusted
sometime in the middle of the night such that his face was mostly in his
father's armpit. The boy was laying on his stomach, one leg wrapped around
Mike's and one arm gripping the man's massive chest. This was his favorite
way to sleep.

When he slept this way – and he had most nights for the last few weeks –
Brandon found he had the best dreams, and he always woke up with the
hardest morning wood of his life. Throughout the night as he dozed, the boy
occasionally rubbed his boner against Mike's leg, and a few times he'd even
had intense wet dreams that resulted in a major soaking of his tight boy
underwear.

Mike shifted and started to sit up, waking his son and signaling that it
was time to get up.

"Up and at it, boy," he said.

The boy was coming out of a particularly vivid scenario involving Mike's
dick so – like most people waking from a fantastic dream – he sighed
in disappointment. Unlike most people waking from a fantastic dream, he
immediately realized he had the real thing in right front of him. He rested
his head on his father's chest and gently stroked Mike's hairy pec, a
futile attempt to prolong his morning bliss.

"C'mon, Brandon. Time to get moving. It's your last Monday."

Monday. The first day, and the worst day.

It hadn't always been that way, but for the last four years Brandon had
woken each Monday morning with a sharp sense of dread. It had started soon
after freshman year began, when things began to change, or perhaps in his
case when they didn't. After all, the other boys his age had begun to grow
taller, stronger, more masculine. Even though he'd certainly gone through
puberty, he was what people like to call a "late bloomer". (He'd long since
given up any ideas that he might sprout some chest hair like some of the
boys at school, not to mention like Mike. No, Brandon took after his other
side, and that was perfectly fine by him. After all, his dad seemed to like
him just the way he was.)

Throwing a boy like Brandon into a 9th-grade toxic brew of budding
testosterone and relentless posing for the opposite sex was a recipe for
disaster. He stood apart, figuratively and literally. From day one he felt
like he'd had a target on his back, and there were times he thought he
might not make it out alive.

High school: that period of time that began with so much promise, and
turned into so much misery, was coming to end this week. Graduation was
Saturday.

Mike kicked of the sheets. Brandon glanced down and noticed he wasn't the
only one feeling good this morning: Mike sported a rock-hard boner in his
white briefs, the tip poking out of the waistband. Yes, it was going to be
a good day indeed.

Before his father could get up, Brandon reached out and grabbed the man's
hard-on. Mike tried to resist: "Mmmmm Brand we gotta get a move on..."

Not willing to miss an opportunity, the boy rolled over and scooted to end
of the bed, his face hovering over his dad's crotch. "It'll only take a
minute Dad... I wanna help you with this."

In a matter of seconds Brandon had slid his dad's underwear down and off
his legs. Mike's cock was fully erect and a drop of precum glistened on the
tip. He gripped the big dick and gently sucked the head, nursing on the
clear juice. Mike moaned and rested his arms behind his head. It was this
sight - his father's biceps flexed, damp armpits exposed, and a look of
sheer of pleasure on his face - that Brandon loved most. It motivated him
to do a good job.

A stream of spit flowed down from Brandon's mouth and lubed up Mike's
cock. The boy began to stroke it slowly, watching the skin rise up and down
in his small hand. As he lowered his mouth down on it, he made sure to
breathe through his nose. Mike watched as his dick disappeared inside the
boy's lips, and as his son's nose became buried in his pubic hair, he could
feel his cockhead poking the back of Brandon's throat. The boy held this
position for almost a minute, testing his gag reflex. Finally, Mike's dick
plopped out of his mouth, and the boy gasped for air.

"Mmmmm fuck yeah that feels good, boy," Mike growled. He reached down and
gently brushed the boy's blond hair to the side. He wanted to see his son's
face. The lack of air had caused tears to form and one rolled down
Brandon's face.

"Do you like this, Daddy?"

"Fuckin' love it boy."

Brandon slid off his own boy underwear and began to really service his
dad's cock. Mike could see the boy's dick was rock hard too. Seeing how
much pleasure his son got simply from pleasing his father turned Mike on
even more.

"You were made to worship this dick, you know that?" he whispered. "This
dick that made you..."

Brandon's dick throbbed as his father spoke, his voice encouraging his
son's work. Holding on to Mike's dick firmly, he worked his tongue down the
length of the shaft and on to the man's hefty balls. He licked each one
thoroughly, and savored the rich taste that only comes from an alpha male's
sweaty nuts.

"Yeah, boy, lick those balls... You love those fuckin' balls don't you,
boy? They made you..."

Brandon grunted a yes as he took one nut in his mouth, very carefully
sucking and worshipping it.

By now, Mike had lifted up his knees so that his legs were bent, giving
Brandon easier access. Brandon licked wildly under Mike's balls where the
taste was very strong. The boy couldn't stop- he was being driven to go
further. He grabbed hold of his father's beefy legs and pushed them up, not
an easy thing to do for such a small boy. Mike held on to his legs under
his knees and pulled himself back and his ass up.

They had never done this position: Mike's big, muscled ass was now spread
wide open as his dick leaked precum across his stomach. Brandon stared at
the view in front of him. Brown hair poked out of the man's deep trench of
a crack, but in the light of the morning he could clearly see his dad's
tight, hot asshole. The smell was pure man and overpowered Brandon's
senses.

"Mmmmm... My little boy likes his dad's big man ass, huh? Yeah, you like
that big ass, boy? You like that smell don't you?"

Without wasting time, Brandon shoved his face deep in the man's ass and
began grunting as he breathed in the smell. As usual it was clean, but the
scent and taste in his father's ass drove him crazy.

Mike could feel the boy's warm tongue work its way inside his hole, and he
reached down to hold his face there.

"Lick my asshole out boy... Taste it good..."

Brandon began to take long, slow swipes all the way from Mike's hole up to
his balls, coating the entire trench with slobber. Finally, he worked his
way back up to the shaft and began to once again service his father's
dick. It wouldn't be long now, he thought.

Mike began a soft moan. "Mmmmm yes boy, that's it... Keep going, baby..."

As he reached a good rhythm, Brandon began to grind the bed, his dick
spewing precum across the sheets. He used one hand to work his dad's dick,
and his other hand squeezed his own balls to keep from cumming.

"Yeah, boy that's it... Keep worshipping that dick... Makin' your dad feel
so good..."

Slowly Mike began to buck his legs and he threw his head back hard against
the pillow. Brandon knew what was happening, so he tried to match his final
sucks to his father's rhythm.

"Ohhhh fuck yeah, gonna fuckin' cum..." Mike pushed down on Brandon's head,
holding his son's mouth all the way down on his cock. With hard thrusting
motions, Mike pumped the boy's mouth and began to empty his load.

"Fuuuuckkkk..."

Brandon could feel thick ropes of cum hitting the back of his throat as he
fed on his father's semen. Mike was gripping his hair and controlling the
boy's movements now. As the man's moans rose in intensity, Brandon's body
began to shake. The boy's dick spurted out thick globs of cum across the
sheets; it was another hands-free orgasm. Brandon's whimpers of pleasure
were stifled by the still-erupting cock in his mouth.

What seemed like several minutes passed before both orgasms had
subsided. As much as he didn't want to, Brandon let Mike's cock slip out of
his mouth, and when it did cum dribbled down the side of the boy's lips. He
was quick to wipe it with his fingers and lick it back off. Nothing would
be wasted.

While Mike lay exhausted with his eyes closed, Brandon stayed next to his
father's still- hard dick, gently stroking and admiring it. He looked up at
his dad and watched his massive chest rise and fall as his breathing
returned to normal. Very carefully, the boy crawled back up and into his
father's arm.

He looked at the man's face, handsome and chiseled with several days' worth
of stubble. He truly loved him.


A couple of hours later, Brandon stood at his locker in between classes. He
went unnoticed as scores of students buzzed around him. Suddenly, he sensed
trouble. In the corner of his eye, he could see the pack approaching: Caleb
and his clan of bullies. As Caleb made his way over, Brandon tensed and
pretended to shuffle through a book.

He was utterly unprepared for what happened next.

"Hey, Brandon... can we talk for a sec?" The tone of Caleb's voice was
noticeably different, kinder perhaps.

Brandon thought it was a trap. "What do you want?" he spat out, his
newfound confidence surprising even himself.

Caleb looked around to make sure no one was listening, and leaned in to
whisper. "Look, I just wanna say I know I've been a douche to you and acted
like an asshole. So, for what it's worth... sorry."

"Huh?" Brandon sputtered. He was puzzled. Was it a trick or was Caleb
actually apologizing to him? It wasn't like a simple sorry would erase the
pain this jerk had inflicted over the years, but he would take what he
could get.

"I'm sorry, OK. Just wanted to say it before the week's over. I was just
having fun but I know I got a little crazy sometimes and..."

Before he could finish, Caleb was interrupted by the sound of someone
else. "What the fuck are you doing here, prick?" It was Max, his voice loud
and proud as usual.

There was silence for a moment as each boy considered the awkward
situation. "No, it's OK, Max. He was just... talking."

"What does he have to talk about?" Max replied, his eyes staring down the
bully.

Caleb walked back with, his hands up in an almost defensive posture. "I
wasn't causing any trouble, honest. I'm outta here anyway." He started to
walk away, then turned back to address Brandon again. "Listen, bro. If
anybody asks, just tell them I apologized, OK?"

"What do you mean?" the boy asked incredulously.

"Just if anybody asks... you know, anybody."

As Caleb walked into the crowd and rejoined his posse, Max grabbed
Brandon's arm. "What the fuck was that about? Was he fucking serious?"

"I think so," Brandon said. "Stranger things have happened, right?"


A few miles away, Mike's pickup pulled into the driveway at home. He'd
decided to come home for lunch, a rare break in his otherwise nonstop
schedule. He grabbed a protein shake out of the fridge and thumbed through
last week's mail on the table. As he walked down the hall, he noticed the
light had been left on in Brandon's room, a habit of the boy's that drove
Mike nuts. Before he switched out the light he glanced around the room. He
suddenly realized he'd never really looked at this room and noticed all the
little things: like the stack of gum wrappers on the desk. The pile of
T-shirts on the dresser. The stuffed animal staring back at him on the
bookshelf. It was a monkey with a wide grin that Mike had given Brandon
when was a little boy. He thought about how different this room would look
in a few months when the boy had moved away to college.

The man scooped down to pick up some dirty clothes on the floor and noticed
he had picked up something else too- a plastic bag containing a couple of
items. Mike dumped the contents on the bed. It was Brandon's dildo - a
thick and surprisingly real representation of a big dick - and a small
bottle of lube. Mike held up the bottle and noticed it was half empty.

Mike sat in the chair at Brandon's little desk and considered the
situation. He didn't know why he was so surprised, given the events of the
last few months, but he was. It was like everything that had happened
between he and Brandon suddenly dawned on him. What the hell was going on?

He leaned against the desk just enough to shake it, causing Brandon's
computer to light up. Normally Brandon kept his laptop closed and
password-protected, mainly to keep it away from his father's potential
prying eyes. But for some reason the computer was now wide open and one of
Brandon's favorite celebrity websites popped up. Curiosity suddenly took
hold and Mike opened a new window. He was hardly computer-savvy, but he had
watched enough online porn over the years to know how the history tab
works.

Brandon hadn't cleared his history in some time, if ever. Mike scrolled
slowly through the list, looking at the webpages and titles. It didn't take
long to find a few that stood out.

"Bottom Like a Pro"

"A Twink's Guide to Sucking"

"XXX Superstore"

Then there were the web searches:

"how to please a man"

"how to take a big cock for the first time"

"how to suck without gagging"

And then: "dad son incest"

The words stared out at Mike, like an accusation from the screen. He rubbed
his forehead and slumped in the chair. "What the fuck have I done?" he
thought to himself. He shut Brandon's computer, put the stuff back in the
bag, and walked to his own room. He was taking the rest of the day off.


When he got home Brandon was surprised to find his dad sitting at the
kitchen table waiting for him. The boy immediately sensed something was
wrong.

"Brandon, sit down for a minute."

The boy slid into a chair across from Mike and instantly noticed the
plastic bag on the table. His eyes widened, like a deer in headlights.

"Brandon, we need to talk about a few things... I found this in your room
today."

"Why were you in my room?" Brandon asked sheepishly.

"Your room, my house," said Mike. "But we'll talk about that later. Right
now I wanna know why you have this?" He pulled out the 9-inch silicone
dildo and tossed it on the table.

Brandon was speechless and his face turned a deep red. Before he could
reply, Mike continued. "I mean, what the fuck is this? Are you practicing
for something? I know what you've been looking at on the computer, but
Jesus, Brandon!"

Tears started to well up in the boy's eyes.

"What's been going on in this house stops today. And I'm not gonna punish
you because it's my fault this has been going on. I shoulda never let it
start in the first place..."

Brandon started to cry. "Dad, it's what I wanted..."

"It doesn't matter, Brandon. You're my son, and we crossed a line. We need
to go back to the way we were before. I know what you want, but this..." he
pointed to the dildo. "This can't happen with us. It just can't."

As Brandon wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Dad, you don't
understand how much I want it..."

Mike looked at his son, helpless and weak, crying quietly at the other end
of the table. "You're right Brandon, I don't understand it. And I never
will. That's the difference between the two of us. And that's why it's
over, starting now. "

As he stood up, Mike scooped up the dildo and lube and walked to the
corner. "And when you get outta my house, you can do whatever you want. But
while you're under my roof, you're not gonna have any of this shit." He
tossed everything in the trashcan. "Are we understood?"

Brandon was too humiliated and inconsolable to speak, and he simply nodded
his head.

When he got to his room, Brandon crashed on his bed and sobbed. He wanted
to run away, to scream, to die. After a few minutes he thought of
something. He went to his dresser and opened a drawer. It was where he had
kept his father's dirty underwear, a worn-out pair of tighty whities with
holes.

It was gone.


To be continued.


Comments appreciated. Send to bruno.boyd@yahoo.com