Gay Erotic Stories

My parents divorced when I was a teenager. The parents of five children, of whom I was the youngest, they had been arguing more and more, so we knew it was only a matter of time. Luckily for my oldest sister, she had already left for college. The transition was harder for the rest of us. I didn't blame anyone in particular, and I was open to what course life would take. I loved both my parents and wanted them to be happy. But I also had a secret: I loved my Dad the most-- of anyone. As a young teenager I did not know how to put this into words, and I suspected there was something very unusual about this, admiring his strong build, his thick chest hair, his mutton chop sideburns, his five o'clock shadow at two in the afternoon. Wondering what it would be like to be in his arms, for him to hold me against that mat of chest hair, to nuzzle against his sideburns and stubble. To lay kisses on his cheek, down his neck, or anywhere else he'd like. I snuck into his closet when he was gone, and tried on his leather coats and cowboy boots, impossibly big on an undersized little fellow like me. I sniffed the collars of his shirts to inhale his scent, his natural manly musk mixed with just a touch of his cologne. Unlike my big strong Dad, I was always small, always lean, blond with clear blue eyes. I retained (and still do) a youthful appearance, resembling Dad at least in face if not in build. Even when I turned eighteen, I appeared younger, and Dad probably thought I was weak, or frail, in more need of assistance than other kids my age. I loved spending time with Dad, and for him to help me with anything I struggled with, but I would always hate for him to see me as weak.

My Father was balding on his crown with dark hair going to grey above his sideburns, with enough dark hair at the front of his head to still have bangs neatly combed across to one side. He had light blue eyes and a longish nose and was normally clean-shaven, although I had always thought he'd be even sexier with a moustache or beard. His jaw, always square in my childhood memory, was appearing more round as he began to retain some weight in his jowls. That didn't matter to me, as he was still the Dad I knew and loved, and if I closed my eyes, my memory could rejuvenate any details that changed as he aged. He was close to six feet tall, with a manly build. He had a round belly, but when seen from the back, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his belly couldn't be seen--from this angle it looked as though he didn't have a belly at all, with his classic "V" form. I found this fact to be especially sexy about him. I dated girls my own age, and didn't yet know if I was gay, bi, or just confused, but when I masturbated, I always fantasized about older men, often specifically about my Father. I rationalized this by saying to myself that I just missed spending time with him because he worked so much, which might actually have been exactly the reason, and I simply eroticized that desire for him as a teenager, but whatever the case, he was the romantic love and sexual hero of my young life. He was raised on a farm in the countryside of Iowa, and had a simple, country style about him, and he walked with the rambling gait of a country man or cowboy. He had received his MBA, so he was well-educated despite his decision to run a simple hardware store on the main street of our small Kansas town, but there was still a certain drawl in his speech as he talked. My mother was more of a city girl, which had led to the demise of their relationship. He was the kind of man who wore mahogany cowboy boots with his brown silk suit, as if daring anyone to tell him he couldn't. He often wore this combination to work, maybe with a pale blue shirt and dark brown tie or mahogany leather bolo tie. Or he often wore black cowboy boots with a shimmery iron-grey silk suit, or any cowboy boots with any suit; he owned many suits, but I don't rightly recall if he owned a single pair of dress shoes. He was a rhinestone cowboy all right, and I loved this about him. I fantasized about getting him out of his clothes, his boots, and his hat, inhaling his manly scent and laying kisses all down his sexy middle-aged Daddy body, exploring the parts I had never seen up- close. I had seen him when he was in the shower when I was a child. I had marveled at the size of his dick, at how long and thick and heavy it looked, dangling over his balls and partway down between his thighs. That image was seared into my memory and resurfaced often in masturbatory fantasies. As a child I wondered if I'd ever have such heft to my own prick, but later I thought more and more about Dad's; I wondered how it would taste, how it would grow in my mouth, which way it would point to poke me in the tonsils, and how powerfully Dad could move it in and out of my holes.

Dad had just gotten engaged to his new girlfriend, a woman ten years younger than him whom he knew from his square-dancing club, but she didn't live with him, since he worked all the time to pay the steep alimony and child support. She did, however, have certain preferences for her Cowboy fiancé, being in such a country-and-western club. She had encouraged Dad to grow a thick dark moustache (making him look more dashing, like Tom Selleck, I thought), and recently he had given in to her urging to grow out the corners to curl them with wax into little dime-sized circles each morning. They were just starting to shape up nicely. Privately I thought he looked great this way, and was indebted to her for this, if for nothing else. I didn't care much for Linda, especially being jealous of the time she got to spend with my Dad. Occasionally she would stay over on nights when I was staying with him, and although I am sure they thought they were being quiet, I lay awake listening to Dad's bed creak in a mounting rhythm as he worked up to fucking her harder and harder, and his heavy breathing as he snorted like a raging bull, and her gasping whispers of "Jack, oh Jack, my Cowboy Stud," rhythmically as he drove the air from her with his furious thrusts. In my adjacent room I jacked off in tune with Dad's thrusting, wishing I could be under him as she was, but my interaction with him was limited. I worked for him at his hardware store as my high school and college part-time job.

This story takes place my senior year in high school, not long after I turned eighteen, and my Dad was forty-nine going on fifty. One night it was just him and me closing up the store. Everything was done, and Dad was just finishing up the tallies behind the counter. The lights were out throughout the rest of the store. I was in the back room where we left our coats and personal items, and looking at his leather coat, his gloves, and his cowboy hat, I could feel my dick starting to tent out my jeans and a drop of precum forming at the end of my dick. Many times in my young life I had fantasized about these items, touching them, rubbing them, wearing them as I jerked off. As I've said, once in a great while I had stolen away to Dad's closet to try on his things, to touch his leather coats, to spit-shine his cowboy boots with my tongue, or jerk off wearing them, but such times were few and far between, and rarely did much for the ache of emptiness I felt for my Dad or a similarly studly grown Man to be on top of me and inside me. On a whim I decided to try on his brown leather bomber jacket with its ivory wooly collar, and his dark brown leather winter gloves. They were almost impossibly big on me, but I relished being in them. As an afterthought, I decided to grab the one thing that really made my Father a Dream Man--his cowboy hat. After all, I had come this far without incident, so what was one more item? I had always loved the look of the cowboy, so masculine and independent. His stiff woven tan cowboy hat, with its brown leather encircling belt with one small tan and burgundy feather stuck in it, was likewise impossibly large on me, and fell down over my eyes. I realized at once how silly I must look in my Father's things. Just then a deep, masculine voice shouted, "What do you think you're doin'? Those are my things." I caught sight of the slightly squared-off toes of two-tone brown leather cowboy boots in my diminished field of vision under the brim of Dad's hat, and I swept his hat from my head quicker than lightning. I loved him so much, I would never want to displease him or make him angry.

"I'm sorry Dad, please don't be angry," I said meekly, looking down in shame. "I guess I was just curious to see what it would be like to dress like a cowboy, like you, and to see if I'd ever be as big as you."

His countenance immediately softened, and he said, more gently, "I forget sometimes what it must be like for you . . ." He trailed off. He didn't say what he thought, that I was such a small guy, that his son hadn't grown up to be big or strong as he most likely had hoped. Maybe this was his penalty for liking and marrying such diminutive women, but he never expressed disappointment at the size of me or my brother. A tear formed at the corner of his eye as he thought about me going through life always so short and skinny. I set his hat aside and went to him and hugged him, even though I was still in his coat and gloves. He put his arms around me and hugged me back. "I love you, Son," he said.

"I love you too, Dad," I told him in return. "So much." I imagined he couldn't begin to guess how much.

He kissed me on the forehead, his moustache tickling my soft skin. I looked up at him, and was overwhelmed with what a great and kind man he was. I went to kiss him on the cheek, but short as I was, my kiss landed on his neck just below his jawline. He was stubbly, and had the beginnings of a beard, since he had not shaved since early this morning. His nearly black neck hairs poked against my lips when I went to kiss him. He smiled just a bit as he looked down at me. He went to kiss me again, and as I looked up at him longingly, his kiss, perhaps meant for my cheek, landed on my lips. It was unusual and unexpected for my Dad to kiss me on the lips, and for a moment we just stayed like that. Then almost without will or thought, my mouth opened and my tongue darted out to lick his full, manly lips and glance off the spiky, waxed hairs of his moustache. What was even more unexpected, though, was that his mouth also opened and our tongues met. For a couple seconds we remained like that, tongue pressed to wet tongue, and then his head turned and his nose glanced off of mine, as his moustache ground across the tender flesh between my mouth and nose and he pushed his tongue past mine to explore my mouth. He swiped it around the inside of my mouth and teeth, filling my mouth with the volume of his powerful tongue. I couldn't believe it--I was being French-kissed by my sexy Cowboy Father! Taking my cue from him, I pushed my tongue into his mouth and tasted him. Even at nine o'clock at night, he was still minty fresh. I had dreamt of this moment so long, I couldn't believe it was happening. I would have fainted, except that he was holding me upright. His arms around my back held me tight against him in a vice- like embrace, and his tongue in my mouth grew more insistent, as we wrestled back and forth, as we fought to explore each other's mouths completely. His head lashed side to side as he kissed me passionately. I had never French-kissed before, but I quickly got into it and mirrored my Father's moves, while my hands, still in his oversized (on me) brown leather gloves, traced the lines of his back, his shoulders, his hips. Just then, a strange pressure against my abdomen alerted me that my Dad was getting horny. I could feel his dick, nestled in his slacks, straighten out and start to grow and fill out. This was even better. This wasn't just a fluke--my Dad wanted me as much as I wanted him. I was still rock hard from before he had shown up, but he was now becoming rock hard as well. I ran my hands around his sides to the front of his belly to clasp that railroad spike lying against my belly. I finally had my hands on the object of my desire, albeit through Dad's clothes, but that broke the spell. Dad pulled back, looking at me with shame in his eyes and said, "I'm so sorry, Son, I don't know what came over me."

Still holding tight to the outline of his cock in his pants as though I could hold on to him by it and make him not back away any further, I said, "But Dad, I've always wanted this. You can't know how long I've fantasized about being this close to you. You're the object of all my fantasies--my perfect Man."

He looked shocked but pleased, and said, "Well, Son, I am far from perfect. I have at least as many flaws as anyone else."

"That is perfect to me. I look up to you, I idolize you, I love that you have your own style and way of doing things, and I dream about being with you and making love to you. Please don't pull away from me, Daddy," I begged him. I tugged experimentally at the impressively large visible cock outline in the crotch of his brown silk slacks, which I still held onto, and he came to me with such force that he nearly knocked the air out of me. He shoved his tongue back in my mouth and inhaled the breath he had knocked out of me, breathing it back into my waiting mouth. We must have not gotten oxygen for a minute or so, as we were breathing that breath of air back and forth between us.

Then quite suddenly Dad pulled his tongue from my mouth and laid a string of kisses to my right ear. I felt his tongue burrow into my ear canal and trace out the lines of rigid flesh there, and it felt so good I almost melted. I had not known the ear was an erogenous zone. I turned to do the same for him, again mirroring his moves. How better to learn the ins and outs of courtship rituals than first-hand from my old Dad? He moaned and breathed hard, and I knew that I had done well, that I was a good student. His hands came up and started unbuttoning my shirt, exposing my chest to the cool air. When that was done, I could feel Dad's rough hands running up my belly and across my chest, and then they moved to my belt. In a moment it was undone and my pants slid down to my feet. Next I felt his fingers in the waistband of my briefs. Dad turned to look me in the eyes. This was it, a turning point. In his eyes was a question: the last opportunity for me to say we had made a mistake, and that I didn't want this. After he stripped my briefs off me, there would be no going back. I smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him. I wanted this. I had wanted this for a very long time. We kissed for a while, then Dad leaned over to lay kisses down my neck and chest, lingering to lovingly caress each of my nipples with his tongue, using his teeth to nip them and flicked his tongue against them, which felt amazing, then moving further down to rub his tongue through my belly button. After that he stripped down my Jockey shorts and took my dick into his mouth at the same time. He sucked on my circumcised knob for some time, while I stood amazed at these sensations I had never before known. He bobbed and licked and sucked, making me feel like I'd never felt before. Then he moved even further down, sitting back on the heels of his cowboy boots, while he licked my ballsack and took my balls roughly into his mouth. The curls at the sides of his moustache tickled the insides of my thighs, and his facial hair roughly scraped my shaft, my sack, and my legs as he worked. I was briefly afraid of how rough this would get, but I knew Dad would never hurt me, so I relaxed into it, breathing hard and whispering to him, "Daddy, that's so good, you're doing such a good job of making your son feel amazing." He finished licking around the base of my balls and looked up to catch my eye.

"Think you can do as good a job to take care of your Old Dad?" he asked with a wink and a grin.

"Yes Sir," I said, "It would be my honor." He stood, while I got to my knees before him, right where I'd always wanted to be, still wearing his bomber coat and gloves. I knelt between Dad's feet in his size ll-1/2 cowboy boots, their toes turned outwards to allow me access to his crotch. I wanted to remember everything about this moment, and noted with a certain satisfaction that these were Dad's favorite boots, the ones he wore most often and took the most care of, never liking it if they should become scuffed. They were my favorites too, of all the ones he owned, because they were the sexiest and Dad looked the best in them. I didn't know if they were Dad's favorites for the same reason, but maybe one day soon we would compare notes. They had heels of two-inch-high mahogany wood appended to longish, angular boots of knurled deep mahogany leather overlaid with sworls of soft and supple chocolate brown leather. The shanks from calf to ankle were of this softer brown leather. I had on previous occasions licked around their edges, inhaled their mix of manly and leather scents, and worn them to masturbate in, in such rare moments when Dad was not home and not wearing them and when I had thought I was most unlikely to get caught, and on such few occasions had cum harder and longer than when wearing anything else Dad owned, so great a hold did these boots have over my teenage mind and hormones.

Pressing my nose to Dad's package, I loosened his cowboy belt, brown leather with an oval gold buckle with a longhorn steer's head engraved on it, pulling it all the way out of the loops of his silk boot-cut slacks with a sound like a whip cracking, and soon had his slacks open. There was his manly package before my eyes, his erect cock tenting out his tidy whities, looking huge this close to my face. Gingerly I pulled Dad's briefs down and came eye to eye with that monster. He had to be eight and a half inches at least! He was uncut, so Dad had far more extra flesh around the head of his cock than I did around mine. I did not at this point know about the differences between circumcised and uncircumcised cocks, but I knew his was different. Tentatively I tested its weight and bounced it up and down. It felt so heavy in my hands, in the palms of Dad's leather gloves, and when I bounced it it glanced off my nose. I stroked it in the soft leather of Dad's gloves. So big I couldn't get my hands all the way around it, I held it in both hands and started to jack it off gently, amazed at finally being here where I was meant to be. My tongue darted out to lick Dad's piss slit, and encountered foreskin at the top and bottom points of that excursion. I was curious about this extra flesh now, and with one hand I started to roll it back, to reveal a normal, albeit large, cockhead not unlike mine. I leaned forward and engulfed this in my mouth, and Dad rocked back on his cowboy booted heels with sudden pleasure. I ran my tongue all around his head, sampling it, inhaling his rich manly musk. Not so sour as a locker room, he was clearly not fresh from the shower, and the slight piss and sweat odor on his dick bespoke of a man at the end of an honest day's work. His foreskin had a strangely rubbery but warm and mysterious quality as it pressed against my lips, and I needed to explore it too. My tongue again darted out and ran along the interior of that canal, tasting the most intimate recesses of Dad's dick. There was musk there as well, but one I couldn't quite put a name to. I would just call it "Dad" for now. Reassured that there was nothing unpleasant about his foreskin, I pushed forward, taking more of him into me, slurping him down. I opened my mouth wide as I did so to take that foreskin in, past my lips and teeth. His cockhead was now situated at the back of my throat by my tonsils, and it apparently could not go further. I sucked on what I had so far, holding my jaw wide open and moving my head as I had seen Dad do for me. My hands in his gloves stroked the base of his shaft lovingly and cupped his low-hanging hairy brown ballsack.

"What would you say if I told you you could take the rest?" Dad asked me.

I pulled my head back to ask "How?" I was eager to please, but I didn't see how this was going to work, especially with him so hard.

"I think we'll have to lie down. First though, to get you out of those things." Dad removed his gloves from my hands with the pinch of a thumb and forefinger on the middle finger of each glove and an easy pull. He helped me out of his coat and then my shirt, setting them aside. He knelt to untie and pull off my black and white Converse sneakers so I could finally get my jeans and underwear off, which I stepped out of and kicked aside.

When Dad finished undressing me, I lay on the cool decking. Dad knelt above my head, and I loved this view of him. I was looking up at the bottom edge of Dad's tan suede vest, and could see up the inside of his pale blue dress shirt. Inside that was some kind of white knit undershirt (if I knew Dad it was probably a well- worn white tank top, the same as he wore to laze around the house on Sundays), and to the inside of that, the crease where the bulge of his belly met his waist, covered in black and iron-grey hair all the way down onto his powerfully long, thick, erect dick and impressively full and long ballsack. His cock was sparsely covered in that salt-and-pepper hair very nearly up to the foreskin, and the scrotum much more profusely hairy. I found this to be an extremely sexy view, and I reached up to grasp that cock at the base. "Good boy," he whispered. "Lick my balls!"

I stretched forth my neck to put my lips next to his low-hangers and experimentally licked and cajoled his egg-sized balls. He moaned to show he was enjoying this, and a shiver ran through his body. I buried my nose in his pubes and went to town. His musky scent was stronger here, sweat and musky pubes and piss, but I was relishing servicing him, so I inhaled and made it the stuff of my future fantasies. After all, what if this moment was all I would ever get with my Dad? I licked around the edges of his nutsack, sucked each of his meaty testicles into my mouth one by one, exhilarating at being this close to him, knowing that the raw material that had created me had once been housed inside them, ready to be spewed out at a moment's notice, into the woman of Dad's choice. In fact, at this very moment, there were any number of random permutations of the genetic stuff Dad had given me in either one of his testicles, either one of which was in turn in my mouth. The pattern, at least Dad's half, to make another me, could very likely be shot into my waiting mouth or ass tonight. That thought made me so hard I thought my dick might burst asunder, and I worshipped Dad that much harder. He was like a God to me, the God who had created me in his own image.

I rolled each testicle around in my mouth as Dad groaned and bucked, each of us loving every moment of this contact. I couldn't get both in my mouth at the same time as he had done for me, although I certainly tried. Dad seemed to understand. Finally, he said, "Okay boy, now to the task at hand. Open up wide." I opened my mouth as he had told me, ready for anything he wanted, and he got to his hands and knees straddling me and thrust his dick into my waiting mouth. It pushed right to my tonsils and stopped, unable to go farther once again. Dad pulled backed and pushed again, essentially fucking my mouth. "Open up, fucker!" he said forcefully. "It's just like when you swallow your food, use those muscles to open your throat to me."

I tried doing what he said, but in the meantime he continued to fuck into the back of my throat, and my gag reflex reacted powerfully. I nearly threw up in my mouth, and my chest bucked with the force of it. "Relax, boy," he said. "You can do it. You do want to do this for your Old Dad, don't you?"

More than anything, I thought. I had to do this for him. I couldn't refuse him this, if he was truly my hero and the man I worshipped. When he again backed out a couple inches, I took a deep breath and swallowed. At the end of that swallow, I held that passage open to Dad, and when he thrust forward again, he slid in. I reached up and grabbed his bare hips, pushing him further, letting him know I was ready.

Dad took his cue from me, sliding further, not backing out, and let out a long groan. "Uuuuunnnnhhhh! Fuck yes boy, that's my boy, that's a good son! Takin' care o' his Daddy! Fffuuuuuckkk!!" He slid until he was all in. When the base of his cock was at my lips and his ballsack lay across my nose, we both knew he could go no further. We were both elated and loving this. I stroked what I could with my tongue to let him know I still wished to please him. But now I encountered a new problem: I couldn't breathe! I pushed with my hands at Dad's hips as involuntary tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, and he understood at once the new issue and pulled back out. His cockhead popped into my mouth, and I drank in the air needily. Once I had taken several deep breaths, I was ready to go again, and I opened my throat to him, guiding Dad's butt cheeks down so that he once more entered my throat, where no man had ever been before him. Now he picked up speed and fucked my throat, pulling further back every third or fourth thrust, sliding in and out of this particular hole without it closing, and I got into the rhythm of breathing when Dad was pulled back into my mouth; I licked and sucked at his foreskin and ran my tongue along his piss slit as I took a deep breath, and then Dad was into the fray again. To my amazement, he grabbed my dick and started licking and sucking, and he was just as great a cocksucker as I remembered from mere minutes earlier. He licked my cock, swallowing it into his own throat, and then licked my balls and took them in his mouth as well. Unlike his son, he could get my two testicles in his mouth at once, while I could only fit one of his. How long we licked and sucked and explored like this in the 69 position I don't know--I got lost in the joys of servicing Dad this way and being serviced in return, but before long, Dad sat up. "Now for the main event!" he roared. I knew what he meant, and I shivered in anticipation of what it would be like for him to enter my ass. I stood when Dad did, rubbing my arms against the cool air of the back room.

Dad pushed me down on my hands and knees on the rubber matting facing away from him. I suppressed a shiver, as I was slightly chilled in addition to being nervous, not knowing what was coming. I looked back over my shoulder to see Dad kneeling behind me, and I suspected he was about to thrust his erect penis into my asshole. I wondered if it would hurt terribly, if he would give me any warning, and if he would at least be gentle. The phrase "Take it like a Man" came to mind, and I knew I couldn't show fear or pain to my Dad. He was always a real Man, and never showed fear. Just then I felt the strangest sensation and looked back over my shoulder once more. Dad had his face buried in my butt crack, and was licking my asshole! It felt so good, and I wondered why I had never thought of this. I was feeling his rough manly tongue licking my asscrack, and the even rougher hair of his moustache and stubble of his cheeks and chin pressing the sides of my buttcheeks open. He bathed my hole with spit, before trying to push in with his tongue. I was a virgin, and very tight, so this did not work so well, but he wet his fingers in his mouth and worked one into my hole. I had never been opened like this before, and hadn't known what to expect. It was a new sensation to feel him up to his knuckle inside me, able to rub his finger around stimulating nerve endings I had never previously known were there. I warmed up to it quickly and wanted more. Dad pulled out his finger, wet two of them in his mouth and then worked them in. I realized now how this was going to work. Ever larger items would go in until I was primed for his big ole manly dick. Then when I was loosened up and ready, he would fuck me. I found myself strangely pleased with that idea, and for now was content with what he was doing with his fingers and tongue, and the feeling of his stubbly cheeks sliding back and forth in my crack. I moaned to show how much I enjoyed this. With the next sortie I was stretched wider. I realized he was using three fingers now, and I estimated their combined girth must be similar to that of his powerful fuck-tool. So I was nearly ready. I shivered in anticipation of his cock, the cock that nineteen years earlier had shot forth the raw material that made me, sliding inside me.

Clearly it was time to get fucked--time for my Daddy to plant his seed inside his son. I craved his manhood and his sperm inside me in an instinctual and visceral way, yet I shook in anticipation of what was about to happen, of getting my cherry popped by my own Father. Dad pulled his face up, pulled on his dick a few times, and scooted closer to me. This was it. "Are you ready, boy? Ready for your Old Man to breed you?" he asked in his deep voice. I could feel his cockhead at my sphincter, just awaiting my positive response to invade my most private area. We didn't even think about using a condom even though in the store a back corner was stocked with them, and any reserve stock of condoms and lube would be here in the storeroom. After all, he was my Father. If I couldn't trust my Father, whom could I trust?

"Yes Sir!" I said with all honesty. "I've wanted this all my life!"

"As have I, boy!" He held out a hand to me. "Spit!" he shouted.

I spit into his waiting palm, after which he did as well, and then rubbed our combined spit onto his shaft, placing the head of his dick close to my sphincter once more.

Knowing Dad wanted me as I wanted him was too much. I bore down like I would if I had to go to the bathroom, and pushed at his helmet head pushing at my hole. Pain ripped through my body and I wondered for a second what I was doing, why I had subjected myself to this, but then I looked back over my shoulder at my big strong masculine Father, my Daddy now inside me as he had never been before, and I knew this was all I wanted for the rest of forever. My asshole clasped the knob of Dad's tool, and he threw his head back and whooped in triumph--his triumph over his son, who was now on his hands and knees before Dad like a bitch. That's what I had become, Dad's own personal bitch, whore, slut, pussy- boy. And I loved it, every second of it. Despite the pain, I pushed again, taking more of his throbbing rod into me. He started to breath hard, his chest heaving as I watched over my shoulder, and I knew I was bringing him pleasure once more. I pushed more, and he was in me to the root. I felt Dad's balls against the backs of my thighs and his pubes nestled in my asscrack. "Oh gawd yes," I whispered. "Feels good, Dad?" I encouraged him to tell me how it felt for him.

"Fuck yeah boy, I've never known a hole this hot and tight and eager!" came his response through his shallow breathing. He started to push back and forth in slow movements.

"Better than your fiancée?" I asked, half-teasing him.

"Now why you gotta go there?" he sounded mildly annoyed. "Yes, better than her; you're tighter and more willing than she is."

"Better than Mom?"

"Whoa, boy, some things should probably not be asked." Now he sounded really annoyed. "Fuck yeah, she was a randy little minx in the sack, way back before things went to shit, and you seem to have inherited that from her."

"Or from you," I mused.

"Or from me," he echoed. "If you love a long hot fuck session as much as your Old Man does, then we're well-matched, boy!"

We had been experimentally pushing against each other all this time, his cock exploring the nether reaches of my ass, my anus similarly getting a feel for the prodigious heft of his powerful man-tool. Now he put a rough hand to the small of my back, pushing down slightly, and began to fuck in earnest. I had only before imagined what this might be like, but now I was feeling it for real, more deeply than I had imagined it. All the pain ebbed away to be replaced by the most amazing feelings. Dad worked his way up to a powerful long stroke that took my breath away with every thrust, and when he pulled out till just the head remained in me, I missed the presence of his huge comforting cock, and couldn't wait until he reached the apex of his stroke and was again all the way in me. His right hand came around my hip to grasp my own cock and started to tug insistently. I felt like I was already at the maximum amount of sexual pleasure a boy could feel, and if I were to cum now, the universe would come crashing down around me. I was lost in a realm of pleasure never before imagined. I panted and moaned as Dad fucked harder and harder, faster and faster. All that existed was him and me, his cock in my ass, his hands on my back and my cock.

"Let's try this," Dad said quite unexpectedly. He grabbed my hips in his strong hands and pulled us both backwards, the shift in the center of gravity causing us to land roughly on the rubber matting of the floor, so that without ever losing his connection to me, he was now sitting on the floor and I was sitting on his lap facing away from him. I didn't know what to make of this for a moment, but my back was now close to his chest, and he leaned forward to lay soft kisses on my neck and back. I turned my head to seek his lips and kiss him more fully. Soon his fingertips under my ass were pushing me up, then letting me slide back down, and I realized we could continue to fuck this way. I planted my bare feet on the floor to the outsides of Dad's legs, still in his dress slacks, and helped with the pistoning motion. In no time Dad was moaning and breathing hard, showing me that he was lost in the pleasure of being in his boy. He bucked and thrust like a wild bull, but I was now also an active participant in getting fucked, and I relished riding him, stroking his dick with every in-out movement. My cooperation in the technical aspect allowed him to guide me with just one hand on my hip, the other again reaching around to stroke me, so that I might feel a measure of what he was feeling, at least cock-wise. I watched Dad's legs do a little jig as he fucked. His wooden boot heels made a clacking noise as they glanced off the bare floor with each of his thrusts inside me, and I watched, hypnotized, as that impact made his feet jog first one way, then another. Suddenly Dad stopped wanking my dick and pulled me up off his. "If I fuck you anymore that way, I'm sure to cum, and I wanna cum lookin' into your eyes, Son," he explained to my disappointed expression. "Roll over on your back, boy, and get those legs in the air!" he roared.

I moved to comply at once. I never wanted to keep Dad waiting or see him angry. Once I was on my back with my legs raised, Dad moved to squat at the entrance to my hole, and rubbing a wad of spit onto his dick, he once more shoved inside me. I gasped for a breath. In this short time, I had forgotten what it was like to take Dad's big ole prick, and was again surprised at how masterful it was. He thrust experimentally a few times, holding my legs wide to either side of his roundish belly. I marveled at being in this position with him. I could look up into his familiar, honest face and see every sensation of lust and desperation and pleasure cross his features. Dad was so handsome with his rakish salt-and- pepper sideburns, his clear sky blue eyes, his thinning hair in disarray, his somewhat new handlebar moustache, and his more-than-five-o'clock-shadow darkening his features. His forehead and temples were bright red with his exertion of fucking his son, but he did not for a second complain, and set himself to his task of giving me the fuck of my young life, the fuck I'd waited a lifetime for. Dad set my legs around his waist and bent to share a long, slow, passionate kiss with me, while his powerful fucking did not slow one whit. In fact, it sped up as his excitement grew. His silk tie was pooled on my chest, and my arms went up between Dad's rumpled dress shirt with his snug vest over it and silken suit coat, all of which he still wore, and I clung on to his shoulders, like a drowning man in a storm clinging to a life-preserver. I relished Dad's tongue in my mouth and dick in my ass, never having known I could feel such pleasure. Suddenly I knew I was coming, without even touching myself. I sucked Dad's tongue as deeply as possible into my mouth and my asshole clenched and unclenched around his manly prong in me. It was clear Dad felt me cumming, and it sent him over the edge. Content before to fuck me as long and hard as I could take it, now he responded in kind, unleashing his jism, blast after blast coating my insides literally with the stuff that I was made of, breeding his boy thoroughly. Yet he didn't stop, didn't seem to want to stop. We rocked and shook together in a nonexistent earthquake, Father and Son locked in the most intimate of embraces, each of us complete only when this close together, feeling a pleasure in that embrace neither of us had fully known before or apart, not wanting it to end. I looked down the length of Dad's manly form from the corner of my eye as we kissed, to commit this moment to memory: his brown silk sport jacket unusually humped at his upper back where my forearms were inside it, making him seem a disproportionate bodybuilder or hunchback when contrasted with the narrow dip at his waist, then the pale rounded forbidden flesh of his butt where his pants were pulled down low around his hips, and his strong manly legs in his slacks, ending with his sexy two- tone brown leathern cowboy boots which I so worshipped, now twitching erratically on the floor with the pulsing of Dad's orgasm. I watched the muscular mound of his ass rise and fall and clench and unclench as he pounded me and pounded me and pounded me on the dirty rubber mats lining the hall of the storeroom, transfixed as he milked the last of the sensation from our copulation, until he had no more to give me. I didn't ever want him to stop, but I knew it could not last forever. At last exhausted, he broke our kiss and sat back heavily, his spent cock, now only partly hard, slipping from my hole, trailing a silken strand of his cum.

"Wow!" was all I could say for a moment. "Thank you, Daddy!"

"Thank you, Son," he answered tiredly. "This has been the best gift a boy can give to his Old Dad."

"Well, I just love you so much, Dad," I said with a certain embarassment that it should need to be said, particularly after what we had just shared.

"I love you too, Son, more than you can ever know."

I sat up and took his face in my hands and kissed him deeply. I was amazed at the heat radiating from him. He had fucked the hell out of me, and while I was naked, he was still in all his clothes! He had to be burning up. He was so red in the face, he looked like he had just run a marathon, and as worry for him welled up in me, inspiration struck, and I knew this fact could help me to get him naked. "Dad, you're burning up and red in the face," I said with genuine concern. "I better help you out of those clothes so you can cool down!"

He grunted his acquiescence and sat back hard, sweat running from his brow. I wiped it away and stroked his face tenderly. I went around behind him and eased him out of his sport coat, brown silk with tan suede patches over the elbows, setting it aside carefully so that it would not become any more rumpled than it had already become during our passionate lovemaking. At some point that I did not recall, Dad had already unbuttoned his vest, tan suede in the front with a brown silk back, so I slipped that off him and set it aside as well. I came back around the front of him and loosened his dark brown tie striped diagonally with pale blue until I could slip it off over his head, noticing all too clearly the wet stains my cum had left on it. Setting that too aside, I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons of his pale blue dress shirt, going back around behind to take that off. Now from the waist up he was wearing only a white wifebeater tank top, his dark brown chest hair, turning to grey in places, poking out around the edges. How I longed to kiss and sample that! But Dad was overheated from his exertions inside me, and I had to help him cool down first. Next I went to his mahogany and brown cowboy boots, very angular in the height of the heel and sweep of the instep with slight squared- off planes at the fronts of the toes, pulling each one off in turn and setting them aside with reverence, longing to taste the soft leather against my lips and tongue and inhale the scent of my Father, left inside from his wearing them all day, which now hit my nostrils in a not-unpleasant, even exciting, way. But I assumed now that he and I were lovers, that I would get many more chances to do that than previously. I had him sit on his knees as I pulled down his dark brown silk slacks, once so neat and tidy, but now a wreck from our sex romp, and as he switched back to a sitting position I pulled them off as well, again stifling an urge to bury my face in the crotch of these slacks to inhale my Father's rich musk. Another time, I told myself. His socks came off with the pants, in the same motion. Now Dad was sitting on the floor in nothing but his tidy whities (I couldn't believe a man his age still wore tidy whitey briefs, but they were super-sexy framing his package) and wifebeater, looking better, not struggling to breathe and without any other visible sign of heat exhaustion. "How is that? Feel better, Daddy?"

"Much better, thank you Son." As I looked at him, he struck me as so handsome and sexy and inviting, I just had to crawl up to cuddle in his lap, even though intellectually I knew I ought to give him space. I nuzzled against his neck, and he turned to meet my lips with his. Soon we were making out passionately again, as though we had not just sated these urges. Feeling Dad heat up again, I grabbed the bottom of his wifebeater and pulled it up over his head, until the bulk of the fabric was situated behind his neck, the shoulder straps still in place so that it looked like he was wearing two white cotton bands where tank top shoulder straps should be. Again we were kissing each other insatiably, and I finally got to run my fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper chest hair and feel his pencil-eraser- sized nipples between my fingers. Soon I could feel him growing thick and hard and engorged against my hip, stretching the fabric of his white Hanes briefs out to untenable limits, and I knew that it was again time to see to his needs. I pulled the front of his tidy whities down to hook below his balls, to relieve the pressure building up in the none-too-sturdy white cotton briefs. I spit into my palm and rubbed it along my sore ass crack, rubbing the spit with a finger or two into my hole. Kissing my Dad, I moved to straddle him and sat down gently upon the erect spike of his phallus. He leaned back and exhaled heavily like a parched man who has just gotten a taste of the sweetest water. As for me, I was thrilled to have him inside me again so soon, and having done this once before, I already knew how this was supposed to go. I pushed up on the balls of my feet until Dad almost popped out of me, then sat down on him heavily again, working up speed and friction to fuck myself on his eager uncut cock. He was getting into it now, kissing my shoulders and chest, and taking my nipple in his mouth as I pounded myself on his lap. I fucked myself with gusto, wanting to show Dad that I could take a pounding and that I was able to take the lead and please him. Not to be cut out of the Boss position, he grasped my hips and thrust me up and down, showing me that no one knew how Dad wanted his cock ridden like Dad himself. I was only too glad to have him communicate this to me; my head lolled from side to side as I was lost in a wonderland of pleasure, moaning over and over, "Daddy . . . Daddy . . ."

"Yeah Son, I'm here, Son, this dick is all for you, Son," he answered feverishly in kind.

I knew we weren't going to last long this way, and the physical strain was building for both of us, my leg presses to land on his cock and his arm lifts to pull me up and down, so I said, "Daddy, how about you show me another position?"

"Absolutely, Son." I sat up and his cock slid out of me with an audible pop. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the counter, setting me on it next to the cash register. I was suddenly concerned that this area looked out toward the front windows. Although the lights were off and it was similarly dark on the street, I feared someone would see us. But if Daddy wasn't afraid of that, why should I be? I was his now, so I should be willing to take care of his dick anyplace and anytime he required. He was the Boss, so if he wanted to fuck me on the counter next to the cash register in full view of the world, who was I to argue? He shrugged out of his briefs and pulled his tank top the rest of the way off, so that he was now completely naked, and started to press his cock into my crack. I pushed my hole up against that pressure, and his dickhead popped in, a welcome visitor to my rectum. This counter was rather high though, and even as tall as he was, he needed to have been a couple inches taller to make this position work. He thought a second, then snapped his fingers in the air as inspiration struck. "Be right back," he said and just as suddenly was out of my sphincter and gone. I lay there, empty, awaiting his return. He came back half a minute later in his cowboy boots and hat. "How do you like your old Dad now?" he asked. When he saw that I was struck speechless with lust, he just chuckled. "It's still just me, your Dad, warts and all." He took off his cowboy hat and tossed it deprecatingly to hang on the edge of the cash register.

I hadn't seen any warts on him, and to me he was the ideal image of masculinity. I told him so, and he leaned over and kissed me intimately, meanwhile rubbing his still-erect cock into my hole. I opened my legs to him gladly, and, breaking our kiss, he took my ankles and raised them to rest on his shoulders. "Just one thing, though," I said. "I don't want you to do this without your hat on." I grabbed it from its resting place and pressed it to his hairy chest. He showed me a big cheese- eating grin and popped it back onto his head. He started to fuck me with abandon, working my ass over hard with his powerful man-dick. I moaned and squeeled as my torso slid back and forth on the well-polished counter with the strength of my Dad's thrusts inside me. He held onto my thighs and pulled me against his crotch again and again, then put one big strong hand in the middle of my chest to hold me down to accept his thrusting phallus, while using the other to raise his cowboy hat up at an odd angle and wipe his brow. Soon he was again fucking me like a beast, holding my thighs down to my sides while his cowboy hat, wet with his sweat, slid back down into its accustomed place on his brow, and his breathing grew labored, his chest heaved up and down, and suddenly he was gushing his hot cum into my waiting fuckhole. I had put off touching myself, knowing I couldn't last long, but now was the time. I grabbed my dick, and as soon as I did, I was cumming. A stream of white jizz shot up my chest and face and over my head to the counter and floor behind me. I had never shot so hard or far in my life, even when jerking off dreaming about this man! But getting seriously fucked by my Dad, in clear view of the rest of the world, had provided me just the impetus required to shoot like that. Dad continued to thrust for a minute or two, while I milked the remaining cream from my dick. Then he leaned way over again to kiss me long and slow, rubbing my cum between us into his chest and belly hair. When our kiss finally broke, I whispered, "I love you Daddy. Thank you for this."

He smiled really big at me and replied, "It was my pleasure, Son. I greatly enjoyed it and have been thinkin' about what it would be like to do this with you for a long time. Well, it was worth every minute of waitin'!"

I grinned with pleasure to hear Dad say he'd dreamt of being with me in a similar way to how I'd dreamt of him.

"I have to admit," he said confidentially, "that I heard you jerkin' off each time I had Linda over for a roll in the hay, and although we tried to be quiet, after a while I got to doin' it louder just so you could hear, and to see if you would masturbate every time. I pictured you doin' it, strokin' this hot little cock of yours, thinkin' about your Ole Man fuckin' in the next room. I tried to gauge your reactions the followin' day, to see if you were horny for Linda or me, but other than some animosity toward her, and your usual worship of your Old Dad, I couldn't get a read on why you were jackin' it, except that we were doin' it and you weren't. I secretly wanted you to be jerkin' it for me."

"I was, Daddy," I said emphatically, "every time. In fact I have every day since the first time I realized it felt good to stroke it!"

"You mean to tell me you were jackin' off for me every day since you got your first cum?" He looked dubious.

"Absolutely! In fact I even wondered if they called it 'jacking off' in honor of how sexy you are." I winked at him. "'Jack.'"

He gave me a kind of dark scowl at what he considered a lousy joke, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh and beam with pride at the same time.

"Do you think, Dad," I asked hesitantly, "that you could take me shopping for a cowboy hat and boots and belt like yours?"

He managed to look really humble and honored. "Sure, Son, if you like."

"But I think they should be in black for me. And," I hesitated again, "could you grow out your beard?"

He laughed out loud. "Would you like that, Son?"

"I think that would be incredibly sexy."

"Okay Son, I'll stop shavin'. Just for you. But you know you can't tell anyone about this. They'd never understand."

"I know Dad. This is our secret."

"And what a great secret it is!" he exclaimed. "I love you, my Son."

"As I love you, my Father," I answered his strangely formal declaration in kind. Then we were kissing again, and fucking again. Withouth ever growing soft or pulling out of me, he lifted me effortlessly to put my arms around his shoulders and carried me, with my boyish, sparsely muscled chest, barely dusted in soft blond hairs, grinding against his salt-and-pepper heavily carpeted middle-aged thick slab pecs, of mostly manly brawn covered in a layer of softer flesh, while I relished that contact as well as being impaled as I was on his rigid cock, into the back room, where he pounded me against an upright stanchion for another half- hour. We kissed intimately, even softly, as he rutted like a beast in heat inside my formerly tight, now well-used boy fuckhole, and I set my legs, knees up toward his armpits, to clasp the sides of his belly, and explored with my hands the mat of hair of his powerful shoulders and muscly V-shaped back, noting how it ran up his neck into his hairline, up under his cowboy hat. I well recalled how my mother used to beg him to shave or wax his back, saying how it made him look like an animal. Dad always answered that he was a real man, and "Real men don't go to no waxin' salons." I loved that too about him. How I loved this man! I peered at him out of the corner of my eye. So manly with his curled moustache, rubbing its wax across my upper lip, he appeared lost in this hot session, with his eyes closed. I used this opportunity to look down the length of him. His back strained and arched as his meaty hips and round ass cheeks thrust forth and back, diagonally up and down to drive his point home to me in an undeniable fashion. His powerful legs bent and straightened again and again with his efforts, making his cowboy boots, which he still wore, creak as leather creased and uncreased, and as his feet adjusted to changes in balance, boot soles skidding a centimeter one way or the other. Meanwhile as he pistoned in me like a veritable fuck machine, squishing noises emanated from my asshole, where the motion of his manly fuck-tool was forcing droplets and bubbles of his cumming from his previous exertions in me, out of me. I hated to lose any of his precious semen, so dear to me was the product of our lovemaking, and the visceral proof of this benchmark event in my life. If this was how a Father made his son a man, then boy was I glad to finally be a man! Although more than to be a man, I wanted to be a pussy-boy-cunt-slut-whore for Dad's use, whenever, wherever, and however he saw fit.

He rammed his masterful phallus in me like an enraged sex demon, like some kind of dark God of the Underworld come to life to fulfill all my darkest dreams, slamming me against the back-room post nearly hard enough to break my back, over and over, and I absently wondered if I would survive this experience. I didn't seem to care much, as long as my Dad was inside me, his tongue exploring my mouth and wrestling with my own, and his engorged man-missile drilling out my insides before again decorating my intestines with his potent sperm. There could be no question--I had learned more about sex in the last hour from my Dad than I had in my entire life previously, and I was getting to be quite a champ at taking his big prong piston without complaint. As his breathing grew rapid and shallow once more, I knew he was close. That thought, as we continued to kiss, drove me over the edge, and I was suddenly cumming into his belly and chest hair without touching myself, my jizz grinding between us as Dad writhed and fucked. I inhaled his exhaled breath as we kissed. At last he pulled his head back and a glazed look came into his eyes. He threw his head back and roared so loud I was convinced it must have been heard throughout our town and neighboring areas. His woven off-white cowboy hat tumbled off his head to the floor. There was no question this time I could feel the liquidy gush of his ejaculation, blast after blast of his creamy man-juice up my hole. He slammed me against the pole hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs, once, then twice, and I became concerned. Not knowing if I would survive a third such thrust, or if I would get air again, I prepared myself to meet my Maker. . . . Hadn't I just thought that this man was my Maker, my personal God? Maybe there was a chance to sort all that confusion out at the pearly gates. I hoped so. But Dad's third and last thrust was gentler, and I drew a much-needed breath as he slipped his head forward with tongue extended to resume our interrupted kiss, and his sweat ran from his forehead down his cheek onto mine. "Thanks, boy," he said when he at last broke that kiss. But he was finally exhausted, as I could see by the spent, weary look in his eye. "We need to go home and take a shower and get some sleep, Son," he said at last as he unwrapped my legs from around his waist and pulled me up off his softening, diminishing sex-rod and set me on my feet. "I won't be takin' you to your mother's house this late, in this condition."

I could feel his seed, the seed that created me, running down my leg, and I knew of what condition he spoke. We both smelled like sweat and cum, and plenty of each--in essence, like man-sex. Father and son man-sex. "Whatever you say, Sir," I said half-mockingly. "You're the Boss here."

Dad laughed again as he stooped to swipe his hat up off the floor and dust it off. "And don't you forget it, boy. This could certainly be a beneficial arrangement around here: my son, my employee, my sex slave . . ." he mused, half to himself, as he set the hat back on his head, before looking me over out of the corner of his eye with a wry smile tugging at his lips. He again wrapped me up in his strong arms and kissed me tenderly. "Shit, I'd better call her to tell her where you'll be before it gets any later!" He grabbed his clothes and started haphazardly shrugging into them as he moved toward the phone in the office. He slouched into the mahogany leather chair, one leg up over a chair arm. I stood close to him, kissing his neck and licking his ear as he dialed. He looked mildly annoyed, but didn't make a move to stop me. "Ellie," he said, when he got Mom on the phone, "I had some extra work for Jason tonight, and I think we're finally done, so I'll just take him to my house so I won't disturb you any further. He and I are both exhausted anyway. . . ." At this point I stooped to lick his exposed nipple and take it in my mouth, biting down just enough to elicit a mildly pained reaction from Dad. "Oh, you drove by the store earlier to see if we were still here?" He looked concerned, maybe even mortified. "Oh, okay, good night." He hung up the receiver. I was chewing on his neck, ear, and nipple the entire time as he talked to Mom, and I thought I heard his voice crack just the slightest bit. "Don't be doin' that while I talk to your mother, I nearly moaned out loud from what you were doin'!"

"Sorry Dad. If you want me to stop . . ." I teased.

"No, don't ever stop." There was that gleam in his clear blue eyes, and it looked like, despite his fatigue, Dad was getting horny again.

God, I loved this Man! "Anything you want, Jack." I had never called Dad by his first name before tonight, and I relished saying it now.

Dad arched one black eyebrow at me, seeing that I was testing him. "Jason. I'd still prefer it if you called me 'Dad.' I am still your Father."

"Maybe just every once in a while after you've finished loading me up with jizz, when we're completely alone together, I can call you 'Jack?'"

He arched his eyebrow again. "Maybe. If you're good, and you serve your Big Ole Daddy well. And you don't give me a reason to spank you." The look on his face was one of pure lust.

I had not before thought chastisement from my Father could be erotic, but now I started thinking about that in a whole new light. "Well, what if I'm bad?"

"We'll see, my boy, we will see. You ready to go? You're not even dressed." He gave me a wicked smile. "I'd hate to have to put you over my knee right here and now."

At home, in the shower, Dad washed my body and I washed his, worshipping him, again finding myself on my knees before him to service the object of my desire. I slept that night, the first of hundreds of nights, in his arms in his bed, in the bed where I was conceived by another act of his lovemaking, and in the same place where he had repeatedly fertilized my mother with me and my siblings, he now repeatedly fertilized me with enough sperm to potentially create millions of my brothers and sisters. He indefinitely postponed his wedding and grew distant with his fiancée. I was his and he was mine. When he looked in my face he saw a reflection of himself, as I did when I looked at him. With an act of lovemaking he had created himself a lover, and with another act of lovemaking years later in the back room of his workplace, he finally consummated his relationship with that lover, his devoted son.

This is a work of fiction inspired by lifelong fantasies of a real flesh-and-blood father similar to the one described here, who is my hero, and whom I love very much. Thanks for reading this. submarineboy2005@yahoo.com