You know how things repeat themselves, year after
year, and pretty soon your life is half gone and worse than that, there hasn’t
been any disruption in that life, so suddenly you find yourself in a rut and
you don’t even know it’s a rut?
Probably not. Only young guys read these things. Not dudes my age.
Maybe they do.
Whatever.
And the word “rut” doesn’t even describe it,
because everything is fine. Perfectly fine. Your marriage is stable, which
is great, given the fact that everyone of your friends seems to be slamming
straight into divorce. You’re not a drunk. Don’t do opioids. Your sex life is mundane and predictable, but
since every other dad down at the gym is complaining about not getting any, you pat yourself on the back
because at least you’re getting some.
I mean – she ain’t as pretty as she once was. But
when you look at yourself in the mirror, you can’t really complain about her.
At least you’re trying, though. Sure, the gut
won’t go away at this point – ever. But it is under control and there’s
still SOMETHING there, looking back from the mirror, if you know what I mean.
Maybe you don’t.
Your career is a success. The money thing has been
figured out. The renovation is on hold, but who cares, the house is just fine
(if a little fucking drab). You sleep well.
Actually, you sleep too much. You eat well. (Actually, you eat too much.) You
watch the same shows – but hell, it’s the Second Golden Age of Television so
that’s okay, isn’t it?
You speak to your daughter twice a week. You speak to your oldest son once a
month. And the last ounce of your energy is being poured into the youngest, so
he can get through college and get on with his own life, so you can retire and
play tennis? Golf? Whatever.
I don’t know.
And then, one day, it all changes. One day your phone
buzzes and you pick it up, and there’s the kid, legs up in the air, ass shaved,
cock hard, facial hair coming in and you’re sitting in the office at the end of
a long and challenging tax season with your cock all hard and your heart racing
and your possibilities exploding with a whole new perspective on a life that has
become far too … safe.
And then that phone rings:
“Dad – dad – I’m sorry. Don’t look at that – just
erase it – I mean delete it – It wasn’t – I mean – fuck,– I’m sorry. God I’m
lame. Just – whatever – “
“Cotter – “
“Delete it!”
“Shut up.”
“But –“
“Shut up, Cotter.”
I looked at it some more – enlarging it. Not
really thinking, but also letting my cock take the wheel, which I haven’t done
since – oh, I don’t know – since I was his age.
“Sending this to a friend, buddy,” I asked?
He seemed out of breath.
“Yeah – it’s – I mean – that’s what you do these
days – it’s … god this embarrassing.”
“Doesn’t embarrass me at all, Cot.”
“Anyway – just delete it, okay?”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Dad!“
“I mean – tell me, bud. I’m curious now.””
Look: I knew he was gay. Shit – that revelation
came when he was about twelve, but his mom and I had figured it out far
earlier. He was a bit of a stereotype at that age, so … . anyway, we had a
boy, a girl and a gay kid and felt pretty lucky to cover all the bases. Plus,
he was about as good a boy as you could ever want: conscientious, responsible,
funny.
Cute.
Little fucker was cute as hell.
And, here he was. Cute again. But with a pretty hot twist. A nasty one. It aroused the fuck out of me to see him like this.
“Look – I’m gonna hang up –“
“No you aren’t,
bud. You just sent me a picture of yourself with your ass in the air, begging
to get fucked. We’re gonna have a little talk.”
“Dad – I’ve gotta go to class.”
“Don’t lie to me, Cotter. If you’re sending this
picture you ain’t going to class. Are you about to hook up? With him?”
“Um … “
“Cotter – do you shave it?”
“DAD!”
“I mean – it’s … do the tops like that?
He barely whispered … “Oh jesus ….dad.”
“Isn’t that what you call them? Tops? Are you a bottom, son?”
“Dad –“
“Tell me.”
“Yes … yessir. I mean – mostly.”
“Huh.”
I noticed that his breathing was a little ragged.
“Did you just take this, son? Or – is it like – in
your … archive or something? Tell me the truth.”
“I – I just took it.”
“Hot.”
He said nothing.
“So – who’s the guy? What – he got the same name
as I do – that how you texted me this?”
“No – dad – he’s … I mean … he’s just this
guy.”
“What’s his name?”
“I mean – he’s … his name is –“
“You don’t know his name, do you, son?”
“Nossir.”
“So, how’d you … ?”
“Daddy. His name – I call him Daddy.”
“Oh.”
More breathing. I thought I might be hearing something more – shame – or crying maybe. Some kind of emotional … thing.
“It’s okay, Cotter. You know I love you, right?
You know I love you more than anything in the world.”
The sigh came – a deep one that seemed to center
the poor kid. “I know, dad.”
“I’m just – curious, you know? I mean – I guess
it’s not of my business but ….”
“No – I mean – I shouldn’t have – I don’t – I mean
– I don’t know how much you want to know.”
“Well – everything, now.”
“Really?”
“I mean – yeah …,” I said, hearing my own
breathing in the pause, allowing a piece of my own self to be revealed – one
that had only emerged at the sight of my vulnerable, beautiful son. “I mean –
you look good, kid,” I said, trying to frame it naturally, like a dad offering
his son encouragement, but there was a hunger that had been released that I
couldn’t hide.
“Thanks.”
“It’s hot.”
“You think so? I mean – this is weird.”
“No – I do. I mean – anyway. Daddy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“You into that, Cot?”
“Yeah.”
“Older guys?”
“Yessir.”
“My age?”
That stopped him. But it also revved him
up, too. He seemed more willing to reveal himself to me – his true self – now
that I’d seen the exterior
“Yessir,” he whispered, but there was no
uncertainty in his tone. He was telling his truth.
“I see.”
For what seemed like a long minute – or more – but
was probably only a few seconds, there was an electrified silence, cut by our
breathing, which was suddenly being drawn in unison.
“Hot,” is all I could muster. It was also the
truth.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I do. I mean – the picture is hot, kid.
Very.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah son – I mean – yeah.”
There was the sound of a nearly indistinguishable
growl – a purr? A quiet rumble. A … something. It was my boy – my son –
making a sex sound, but mostly trying not
to make it, even as it escaped his lips.
I went there.
“You still naked, Cotter,” I asked?
“Yessir.”
“Still hard?”
“Yes . . daddy.”
“I’m hard, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I growled, exhaling. Fuck the rut. I
hadn’t done anything dangerous in years. Decades. And suddenly I was all in. My
kid was vulnerable, sexy, and had a thing for older men, and even though there
wasn’t a gay bone in my body, I wanted to bone him.
It was fucking liberating.
It wasn’t at all about sexual orientation – it was about incest – I
wanted to make love to my son – show
him how much I loved him – give him love that he needed and that only I could
give. I wanted more than that, too. I wanted the passion that could only be
borne of love: The deep, unwalled passion that you unleash with the ones that
you love at the center of your being. I wanted him to see the kind of man I
could be for him – the kind of love I could make to him.
And I wanted all this unreservedly – without pause
– without doubt.
I got up from my desk and locked the door to my
office. Then I turned around, unbuckling my pants, letting them fall to the
floor. I sat back in my chair, legs spread, pulling out my cock, which was
uncommonly hard and dripping like a faucet.
I’m sure he heard some of these things. I wanted
him to hear them. I wanted him to know what I was doing.
“You still on the floor,” I asked?
“Yessir.”
“Does he – do you – you know –“
“Yeah. We do. He does. I mean,” his breath caught
– like he was too excited. “I mean – he likes me. On the floor. You know –“
“No – tell me.”
“On my knees.”
“Hot.”
“Dad – are you –“
“Shhh – yeah. I am. You know I am, son.”
“Awooooooh,” he moaned.
“Slow down, Cot. Take it easy. Stop playing with
your cock, son.”
“Yessir,” he replied.
“Breathe deep, boy.”
He did.
“I don’t want you to cum yet,” I instructed,
gravely, while also holding my own lust in check.
“Okay,” he squeaked, for the first time pulling
his voice from childhood. He was my boy again. A lightning bolt shot through my soul, hitting my balls. Images from his childhood overwhelmed me.
“Good boy,” I encouraged, barely able to contain myself, but firm. Like I’d said, so many times before: In the
batting cage, standing behind him, clutching his body to my frame – In the boat – out camping. All those encouragements. All those moments of profound intimacy, echoed today, only this time the context was deeply sensual.
And with his quiet, willing obedience, I began to
understand the control I could have over him. Control he wanted me to have. My
own cock leaped in my hand and I had to pull it away. Take my own breath.
I think he heard my own passion and it gave him
permission ….
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Cot?”
“Can I – can I see it?”
There was a silence. Although we had crossed the
line, this was the next line. A big line. And it was a bold request. One
I had to respect. So, I only hesitated long enough to demonstrate my
responsibility as his father to consider the request carefully. To be clear, I wanted him to see it. Wanted to show it to him.
“Sure, son. Seems only fair.”
“I mean – that’s what I was thinking. Yessir.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Playing with my nipples.”
“You like that?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Cotter? Sure
you want to see my cock?”
There was more breathing. Now he seemed to be
exerting self-control, attempting to clear his mind and speak as an adult to
his father – to speak clearly – to speak as a man, with his own needs and his own agency.
“Yes. I do.”
“You’ve seen it before.”
“Not like this. I want to see it, Dad. I want to
see it like it is now.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know – I want to see that.”
I took the picture. Took another, showing the
balls. Took a third to get the best angle.
“I want to see your cock, daddy,” he whispered, unashamedly.
He was all in now.
I sent the last shot – which showed a long drip of
pre, my hand wrapped around the base, the head engorged and pushing out of the
foreskin.
He gasped.
“Oh fuck – oh god –“
“Shhhhhh … “
“It’s so big – daddy.”
“Fuck,” I groaned, responding to his lust. His
hunger. His mom hadn’t expressed that kind of need in years. Hearing it again –
hearing it from him – nearly exploded my brain. My cock surged. I clutched it,
fighting back the need to shoot.
“You like it, baby?”
“Ohhfuckyesdaddy – so big. So fucking big – fuck dad.”
I could tell he was playing with his own cock
again.
“Are your legs up in the air, son? Like they
were?”
“Yesser.”
“Is that what you want, boy? This cock?”
“Oh fuck yes.”
“You want it inside you,” I whispered, hoarsly, pushing
the envelope.
“Nnnnuuhhhhhhyes, daddy. Of fuck yes – I want that
so bad.”
“You’d do that for daddy? Let him fuck you? Just
like that – on the floor?”
“Yessir – anyway you want it daddy. God – anyway
–“
His throat caught. I could tell he was getting
close. I was, too.
“You want me to cum inside you, son? Give you the
seed that I gave your mom? Fill you with the cum that made you?”
There was a low-pitched hum that quickly revved up
to a high whine. Then his phone dropped and I could hear him begin to huff,
loudly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was cumming and my
balls were boiling, and my hand gripping my wet cock, beating my meat like a
teenager.
Then I heard him gasp,
“Ohhhhdaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy … . “
And my balls blew. The first rope of cum flew into
my face, the next painted my shirt and tie. Then another painted my suit lapel. Since I was in my office, I could
only grunt, shooting cum and shoving the hand that held the phone into my mouth
to stifle a shout that wanted to signal the best orgasm of the year.
“Mmmphmmmphmmmphfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
“Oh daddy – oh GOD – SO HOT. SHOOT – FUCKING
SHOOT IT DAD.”
I don’t know how long I came. I could hear him panting on
the other end of the line, and could sense his periodic flexing and twitching.
I imagined him touching himself – me
kneeling over him, cock dripping – I could imagine my cum in his face – in his
hair – all over his smooth white skin. I could see his eyes get huge as they
watch my cock flop out its last surge of babymakers. I visualized him so clearly –
visualized us so completely – that there was no decision to be made.
I was barely able to catch my breath. But slowly,
after a time, I mustered, “Fuck, kid. Damn. Thank you.”
I heard him stop breathing – like I’d
surprised him. I could tell he was fumbling with the phone. It dropped again.
“Sorry – dropped – hang on – I mean –“
“Slow down, Cotter.”
“Sorry – I mean – my hands are all greasy.”
“I was saying thank you. That was hot.”
“I know – I – I mean – I should be thanking you.
Sir. I mean – dad.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That was so – hot – I mean . .. “
“Sir’s fine, too, though” I said, comfortably.
“Yes, sir.”
“Clean yourself up.”
“Okay – yeah. Right. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, son.”
“Yessir. Okay.”
I was using my handkerchief to wipe off my shirt
and tie. I would have to go home and change. I was a mess.
“Grease, huh?”
“Um – yeah. You know.”
“For your cock?”
“Yeah … and for my hole.”
“Nice. Of course.” It sunk in. “Hot.”
I heard him open a door and close it– like he was
going back into his room. I’d been there – could imagine it. He kept a clean
space. He was renting half of the third floor of an old Victorian, with absent
owners that spent all winter in New Mexico. I imagined him naked – in his
environment. I imainged his beauty. Then
I heard him licking his lips. It was only barely lewd – but it was clear what
he was doing.
“Do you like eating your own cum, Cotter?” I
asked, directly.
“Yes, sir. I do.” He was bolder now.
“I haven’t done that in years.”
“I like daddy cum better, though,” he said,
frankly.
It was so … honest. It was as if some final
barrier had been broken and he not only wanted to be his true self – he wanted
to share his true self, too. Wanted me to accept him precisely for who he was.
“Of course you do,” I said.
And then the uncomfortable pause came. Or, rather,
the pause that threatened to be uncomfortable, if it wasn’t addressed directly.
I had honestly moved on – I knew what was coming
next and assumed it would be sooner as opposed to later, but I was more concerned
about how to get out of my office without arousing too much suspicion. And, covering up the cum stains.
And then, of course, it came to me.
My rut.
My need.
Danger.
My cock flexed again.
“Kid – hold on for a second, ‘kay? I need to put on my pants.”
And then I heard him laugh. It was his Cotter
laugh – the slightly high-pitched, but utterly adorable joy-sound that only he
could make. Hearing that relaxed me. At
the same time I knew I had an obligation to be cautious – to be gentle. I had to think about what – precisely – I wanted out of this and what limits we
might need to put in place – for both of us.
But I figured that would come later. For now,
there was really only one thing to do.
“Okay – I’m back.”
“Hey,” he said, sounding somewhat tentative – but
also somewhat hopeful.
I went there again.
“So – Cot – I need to see you. Like – soon. If you
know what I mean.”
“I think I do.”
“You do. Don’t be doubtful. We both know what we
want. Though – I guess it may be more difficult for you to imagine that I may
want this – so, to be clear, I do.”
“Okay. Wow – “
“We’ll talk about it, okay?”
“Sure – I mean – yes. Of course. I want to talk. I
do. I mean – like I really do.”
“Good. So do I.”
“I want this, too,” he said, seriously.
“Yeah – I figured that out,” I said, smiling.
“Daddy,” was all he said. It was sweet.
Supportive.
“You have classes tomorrow?”
“Yessir – morning and early afternoon.”
“Homework this weekend?”
“I can manage it.”
“Do,” I said, “Manage it. Today. And tonight.”
“Yessir,” he said, seriously.
“I’m taking the red-eye tonight and will crash in
the city tomorrow. I can drive up late afternoon. Make reservations at the
hotel restaurant. Like – eight?”
“Sure. Got it.”
“You know which hotel, right son?”
“Yes, sir. I know. I can get the room for you, too
– if you want – I mean – I could. Make that reservation, too.”
“Get a suite.”
“I will.”
“The best one they have.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” he said, clearly thrilled. My
balls flexed again. I’d had these fantasies, of course. I mean – we weren’t
that kinky but the wife and I had our fun. She never gave up too much control,
though, and I was reveling in the possibilities that my son offered. He was
eager and … ready. Willing.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Like – what?”
“I don’t know – anything you want. Or need.”
“I need you to be ready for me,” I said, directly.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“You know what I mean, son.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Good. Then I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, either. I mean I want to see you, too.”
“Thanks for sending the pic.”
“You’re welcome – I mean – it was a mistake.”
“Was it,” I asked? There was a pause. “I’ll see
you tomorrow, Cotter. I’ll text you once I’m checked in.”
“Okay.” The amount of excitement he projected in
that single word was astonishing.
“And son?”
“Yeah, dad?”
“Wear a jacket. And a tie. It’s a nice
restaurant.”
“Yessir.”
“This is more than just a hook up for me. Treat it like
that.”
“Yes. Sir.”
“See you tomorrow.”
And then I hung up.
I would text him later with flight details,
but I needed to detach for now. I was hard again. Rock hard. I was gonna fuck
my son. Among other things. And it turned me the fuck on.
I was gonna make love to him, too. And that turned me on even more.
I sat at my desk and blasted an email to senior
staff. “Got some sort of stomach virus. Heading out and offline. Carol’s got my
schedule and client issues. Cover for me.”
I texted Carol, who was, fortunately, out to
lunch, and then headed out the back way.
My cock flopped in my boxers, born again. I was strutting. My nostrils
flared. I felt free.
And free from doubt.
/
So you think you’re having an ordinary day, and then fucking @pagespermer reappears with this. It’s been far too long, and my bro hasn’t lost a step. Unf.
Shane jokingly suggested a Friday night sleepover when we were in college. We were both quasi-local: in schools on opposite ends of the state, but pretty much only saw each other when we went home for holidays. Our mom was adamant that we at least make that much of an effort. We still talked every other day, fought every other month. Pretty close, as you might imagine two brothers just a year apart in age might be.
We’d both been hungover from Thursday night ragers, and I called to play a game of misery oneupmanship. We were both so hungover that Shane said that we should meet up and watch 90s action-comedies and drink sodas. It was bad math to drive five hours to hang out when we were getting sick roughly every half-hour, but we agreed to meet up a few Fridays later.
I offered to drive to him the first time since his car was objectively a piece of shit and I told him that I worried he would end up stranded on the highway. His reply was pretty classic Shane:
“Fuck you, kid. Betsy and me have been through some shit. She’s seen more action than you ever will, and she’d never abandon me.”
He always called me kid, though he was just a year older. I always rolled my eyes at it, but there was something comforting about it, too. I’d grown into the moniker as I’d gotten older, it was a reminder that there was someone always looking out for me.
I showed up and Shane greeted me with a cocktail at the door. I’d expected a beer, but apparently, Shane had been getting adventurous.
“See that’s the difference between us, kid. I’m a fucking gentleman; you’re a goddamn newb. Drink the fucking drink.”
“Suck my dick, James Bond,” I said.
“Whip it out. If you can find it,” Shane countered.
That instigated a bout of wrestling, which I managed to do without spilling the drink he’d handed me. After we were breathless enough to call a draw, we untangled our limbs and retired to the couch.
The drink he’d handed me was pretty strong, and we downed four or five of them between us as we watched one of the Police Academy movies. The movie ended, and Shane went to the bathroom. When he came back, his fly was down, and I could see the tell-tale white flash of the fabric beneath his shorts.
“You gotta be kidding me, bro. You aren’t still wearing tighty-whities,” I shouted.
“Fuck you! White briefs are classic. Weren’t you paying attention, asshole? I’m a fucking classy guy.”
“Classy for a ten-year-old.”
Shane looked offended or at least affected it. “Oh, you’re pushing my goddamned buttons, kids!”
Shane defiantly pushed his shorts down and stood in his full, white briefed glory.
“This is some alpha male, shit,” Shane said.
“Alfalfa male, maybe,” I said.
Shane didn’t waste another moment. He attacked. He jumped on me and started trying to pin my hands behind my head, driving me back into the couch. I tried to knee him in the balls, which only pissed him off. So we kept fighting, more fiercely. He turned the full force of his extra year of life on me, and I tried and failed, to keep up. When it was looking most dire, I reached into his white briefs and grabbed his balls. Shane froze.
“Fucker,” I said.
“Asshole,” he spat.
I squeezed, and Shane made a noise far back in his throat. “Lemme go.”
“Concede.”
“No.”
I squeezed again. His back arched like a bitch.
“Concede.”
“Fine. I concede. Let me go, kid.”
But I’d had a taste of power, and I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. Also, a funny thing had started happening: I felt my big brother’s dick starting to firm up against my hand.
“You hard up, bro? Need a quick stroke?” I joked.
This time I massaged his balls instead of squeezing them. Shane leaned back against me then and swore.
“Fucking asshole,” he said, without conviction. His dick was still firming up, which I was finding that I didn’t mind at all.
I’d fooled around with one or two guys, and though I hadn’t ever asked him, Shane was pretty metrosexual with his designer jeans, craft cocktails, and $100 skin care products. I know it’s a stereotype, but I didn’t think that the guy who came home one summer asking my parents to donate to the HRC would exactly excoriate me for making a move.
“Take your shirt off,” I said.
He made eye contact this time. It was as if he wanted to see me fully.
“Kid,” he said. It was enough to convey what he wanted to. We were at the edge of something with my hand on his dick. We could still handwave this all away. Blame the drinks. But the next step, the intentional step, was harder to downplay.
So I took my shirt off before I met his gaze.
“You gonna make me look like an asshole with my shirt off, bro? Not how I’d treat a guest,” I said.
Shane took his shirt off and leaned back against me again.
“Kiss me, kid.”
I don’t think there’s a combination of words in the English language that could have made my dick harder. I kissed my big brother, and he kissed me back while my hand explored the length of his dick in his white briefs. He squeezed my calf, and I wondered what I’d done in a past life to deserve this.
I kept jerking him off, and he kept kissing me. I ran my free hand over his neck, down onto his pecs, and over his shoulder. His body was goddamned amazing and the way he yielded to me, squirmed under my touch, got me so turned on that I had to take deep, fortifying breaths to keep myself from spunking my pants.
I think our deep connection and the overall wildness of the scene—two brothers, a year apart in age, messing around on the couch—had a similar effect on Shane because in what seemed like no time at all, he’d started breathing heavily.
“Bro…let up. I’m getting close,” he said.
Another opportunity to retreat from whatever it was that we’d started, and another opportunity that was going to ignore. I redoubled my efforts and jerked Shane harder and faster in his briefs. He broke off from our passionate kiss right at the end to look down at our work. His mouth hung open as his dick pulsed and shot a hot load of cream right into the soft cotton of his briefs.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, as the fabric went slick in my hand.
I don’t know if it was hotter watching my bro get off, or watching his body tense up with every muscle pushing hard as he pumped nearly a dozen shots of cum into his underwear.
Later, breathless, Shane looked me in the eyes, and said, “obviously we’re not telling mom.”
“Obviously,” I replied, then, “Dad?”
Shane thought about it for a minute, grinned mischievously, said, “maybe, Dad.”
It was a great pairing. Me, a fit 30 year old gay guy with a major suit fetish, just getting out a long-term relationship and in need of a good, no-strings lay. Him, a 40 year old (give or take) businessman spending a couple of nights on work in the city and staying in a Midtown hotel.
He was the one who responded to my app profile. “You’re HOT!!” he messaged me. “Never done a suit scene, but if it means I get my rocks off, then I’m game.” I guaranteed that he would, so I planned to come over to his hotel after his work dinner.
I showered, douched, the whole works when I got his text. I was at his hotel room in 25 minutes.
In person he was ever better than in those fuzzy online pictures. He showed me in, and nervously I sat on one of the double beds. I thought he was gonna sit opposite me, but he stood in front of me and grabbed his crotch. Deftly, he worked the erection poking in his suit trouser.
“I’m not in a rush, man. Why don’t we start with some head, first?” he asked, pulling down the zipper seductively.
When the Professor unlocked the secrets of the mind-body connection, I gained preternatural balance and speed. I’m able to climb walls and leap across chasms. The fact that I have to drain my balls six or so times a day is not so much a weakness per se, but it’s an inconvenience when I have to stop fighting crime to jerk one out in the alley behind the bank being robbed. Or, conversely, when I have to take off in the middle of grindr trick because my senses flag something on the police radio that’s always playing on low in the other room.
Luckily the boys at the local precinct are real familiar with my work. Nine times out of ten, when I bring in a collar for them, they’ve got some rookie lined up and ready to help me ‘blow off some stress.’ If it’s a big get, like when I caught Ray ‘The Rope’ Garcia, the police captain himself brought me into his office and pushed his snug uniform pants down those beefy thighs and exposed his tight, greased hole.
What can I say, I’m just so damned glad to be able to do my civic duty.
His jockboy body looked ridiculous spread out over the twin bed. A couple of times we almost woke him and told him to come upstairs and get into a real bed, but we figured he’d probably prefer the sleep. The night before we’d put him through his paces.
He’d been earnest, but skittish. After a few beers, he loosened up enough to start sucking some cock. As he sucked off Chandler, I ran my hands through his buzzed hair and whispered encouragement: “Such a hot little cocksucker,” “look at you with my bro’s dick in your mouth,” “your hole as wet as your mouth?”
When he started groaning responses into Chandler’s dick, we figured he was ready to take things up a notch.
He had a pert, muscular backside, and I know how much Chandler gets off on eating a sweet, hairy hole, so I let him go wild. Chandler’s eyes lit up when he pulled down jockboy’s briefs and got his tongue wagging. I’d seen him low-and-slow a dude’s ass enough times to see the signs: how the cant of jockboy’s shoulders shifted, relaxed; how jockboy started to push his ass back into Chan’s face. It didn’t take a magic eight ball to see that the pump was primed.
I took the first turn. I’m the bad cop. The big-dicked bruiser. I sat on the bed and got jockboy crouched above me. I let him set the pace, lower himself down slowly, savored the feeling of his muscle dude body opening up for me. He said online that he didn’t kiss, but once he bottomed out, with that blissed out cockhound expression, I couldn’t help but put my hand under his chin and guide him forward. He parted his lips slowly, but not reluctantly, and let me slide my tongue into his mouth. Jockboy was a good kisser and the deeper I fucked him, the better he got. Funny how that happens.
I let him control the ride until I was comfortable that he was comfortable. Then, I put my hands on his side—enjoying the feeling of his well-developed lats—and drove him down on my dick. “Time to earn your keep,” I grunted.
Jockboy realized pretty quickly that we were playing a new game. His mouth froze in an O as I pounded his slick fuckhole. I didn’t last long, but I didn’t need to: Chandler was jerking his lubed-up prick and licking his chops like a wolf in a hen house.
A few last strokes and I seeded jockboy nice and deep. Chandler peeled our still reeling bottom off of me and put him on his back, stroked his head, whispered something in his ear that elicited a tired smile. Jockboy nodded. Chandler kissed him again, smiled back. Good cop.
I’m sure after mine, it was a relief for Jockboy that Chan’s dick wasn’t quite as big or as thick. It would be enough to delude him that it was going to be an easier ride, but Chan is voracious; a veritable hurricane of fuck. It started out easy, but within the first few minutes, the tenor had already started to change. Chan’s hips pistoned hard and the sharp, wet sound of his cock slamming into Jockboy’s cum-lubed chute filled the room. The indescribably, but identifiably masculine sex smell saturated everything. Jockboy seemed to be transported: eyes closed, hand over his cock—not jerking, but just grasping as if making sure that he had not somehow been accidentally unmanned by the exceedingly rough fuck—and gasping short breaths.
Chandler fucked Jockboy until our handsome bottom made series of stuttering noises and started jacking his dick. The orgasm came on so hard and fast that it surprised us all. Jockboy came hard, launching spunk all over Chan and himself. He’d said online that he was a big shooter, but fuck. Fucking fuck.
Chan pulled out after that. He’d never been one to keep pounding a deflated bottom (where I would have kept screwing that tight hole until dawn if it meant filling him up.)
Jockboy apologized for cumming before Chandler, but Chan—always a smooth talker—just stroke that peached-fuzzed head and told him it was cool.
We all went down into the unfinished basement to clean up in the huge group shower we’d installed a few months back. Afterward, Jockboy passed the fuck out on the futon we keep down there. We let him sleep. He’d earned his rest twice over.
I didn’t mean to sell my soul, but I guess I got a pretty good deal for it. I hadn’t been using it. Not really. Maybe I was, but how would I even know if I was or not, you know?
I’m a practical guy. A nuts and bolts dude. Engineering degree and everything. So when the demon—I’m sorry, I guess they prefer Incubi, more inclusive—showed up and offered to do some witchy transformation that would make me irresistible to men in exchange for my soul, I figured I wouldn’t get a better deal for it than that. He told me that I was making a good trade, that even if I could get into the white-velvet roped club upstairs, there wasn’t much to do or see and that furthermore, selling your soul didn’t exactly mean damnation. Apparently, it was possible to experience the obliterating darkness of an atheistic null-afterlife, even if I took the deal. Non-existence didn’t seem too bad, he’d said.
So I took the deal, and for the first few days, I regretted it. I felt like nothing had changed. I’d glance at guys in the subway or on buses, but they weren’t drawn to my magnetic charm. I’d had my soul hoodwinked from me. I tried calling up the incubus on the phone number he left, but I just got his voicemail over and over again.
Eventually, he did call me back.
“You nob. The magic is in your pants. Well, more specifically, it’s in your nob, you know? They have to see your junk, bro.”
“Oh,” I said.
So I hit up the apps and posted a picture of my dick outlined against a pair of white briefs. The incubus’s magic had also given me a pretty ripped body as a bonus, so the picture looked fucking great. I added the new photo and put down my phone for a minute to grab a drink. When I came back, there were so many notifications that my phone crashed.
This story is a part of an ongoing series. Anthem plays to my kinks: adult Dad-son bonding, hairy men, group action, pit worship, piss play, flipfucking, breed sex, foreskin, the scent of a man. If those things are not your bag, now’s a good time to look elsewhere. Likewise, if you’re not 18 years old, please stop reading.
If you got off to my story, shoot me an email to tell me what turned you on: roughrawready(at)gmail(dot)com
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Previously:
Dad gazed down, his features softened with the pride of seeing his boy pull a fuck train. “If you need a break or to stop, Trey, say the word. You really game for this?”
I nodded enthusiastically, using my hairy forearm to wipe sweat from my brow. “Fuck, Dad, this is what you’ve been training my hole for!” For the life of me, I could not stop grinning. “Bring all these fuckers on, so long as my stud boyfriend is the last man to cunt me out. Let me show you what kind of man you made, Dad!“
Dad half-snarled, half-smiled as he grabbed my ankles and pulled them wide. He looked up to Tattoo Guy, who seemed eager for a prime alpha rut. "Buddy,” my father teased the hairy, slender man at my hole, “Get that bone inside my son’s sweet pussy, and THAT will be the hottest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever done!”
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It was daylight before Dad poured me into a Lyft back to our hotel room. My legs were rubbery and half-numb, my skin covered in the piss and cum of fuck-knows-how-many men. I lost track after the first dozen. Dad said he was counting the number of men at first, but his counting grew hazy when some of the guys went in for seconds on my ass.
As we dressed, Coach McCrae had stared at me in partial disbelief, his tone almost reverent. “Fuckin’ A, Aldine!” drawled my high school baseball coach, “Forty-six loads! I knew you were a fuckin’ beast, but that’s some serious black belt pussyboy shit!” McCrae cocked the brim of his ball cap up to show his face in the morning light. His nephew had shot in me a third time before he ducked out midway through the gang bang.
My hole was wrecked, to put it mildly. Stretched open and soaked with cum, I was clenching my cheeks to keep from leaking on the car seat. Dad wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder for the ride, then propped me up as he helped me through the hotel lobby into the elevator. Pushing me into our room, Dad tossed my pliant body onto our bed and began peeling off my clothes.
As demolished as my body felt, I was still wide awake. Over two dozen men had taken a shot at my open college boy cunt, many of them coming in for another round. If Coach was to be believed, I had taken forty-six wads up my ass. I could smell the stink of mostly-dried piss on my chest and in my beard. My father stood at the foot of the bed, stripping slowly as he took in my naked body.
I was laying on my back, my thick legs spread wide. My balls were sweaty and hanging low between my thighs. I ran a hand through my hair, and the reek from my own pit made my half-hard dick involuntarily pulse.
Dad shook his head slowly, whispering, “My fuckin’ boy. Just pulled a train of random fuckin’ dudes, and he’s still hungry for more!”
“Always, with my Daddy,” I replied in a dreamy voice. Watching my Dad get naked had firmed up my son cock, and I gave my dick some lazy tugs to peel back my foreskin. “With my hot fuckin’ boyfriend, I’m always down.”
Dad climbed on the hotel bed, then pushed between my thighs. “Really?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted in an unspoken question. His own Dadcock was chubbing up as he closed in on my body. He breathed in deeply near my skin, my father’s eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled.
“Don’t get me wrong, Dad, my cunt’s off limits,” I clarified as a I stroked my big son piece, “Your last fuck near-fuckin’ destroyed it. That ain’t a complaint–I fuckin’ needed it. But I’m sore down there.”
Dad dropped to his elbows between my legs, scooting in until his face was grazing my hairy balls. We both grunted at the contact, Dad from the scent and taste of his son’s junk. I was revved up already, and the electric feel of my father’s beard against my sac felt fuckin’ amazing. I reached down and ran my hand against Dad’s scalp, coaxing him for more.
I pushed my thick ball player legs wider to give my father better access. Dad snarled happily, then licked my balls with a wide, wet slurp. Nuzzling his nose and face against my low hangers, Dad’s mouth found purchase against my most vulnerable ridge. Sucking hard on my taint, my father growled hungrily.
“My fuckin’ boy,” he called as he chewed on my crotch, “Tastes so fuckin’ good, Trey.” Dad’s strong hands pushed my thighs wider and up, exposing my fucked-out son gape. For a moment, my instinct kicked in and I tried to squirm away. My hole had just taken hours of pummeling but a couple dozen men. My Dad had already emptied his balls in my cunt twice during the gang bang. As much as I wanted to always leave my hole available to the man I loved, I knew my abused hole was unable to endure another fucking.
Dad hooked his muscular arms around my legs and held fast, pulling my ass back towards his face. “Easy now, son” urged my father, his tone seductive. “Relax, kick back and let me eat that hot, hairy ass. Let Daddy taste all that seed that’s filling up my son’s perfect pussy.”
I went limp as my Dad ducked his chin down and into my trench. His beard scraped along my crack, the electricity of our connection making my hole and head buzz. My defenses quelled, I was abruptly malleable when Dad pushed my knees up to my chest. My father, my boyfriend, lapped at my bruised rim with a flat tongue. His lips wrapped along my hole and kissed my most tender part with a surprisingly delicate touch.
“Flip over, son,” commanded Dad as he rolled me onto my stomach. I shivered as my father returned his mouth to my ass, his beard melding with the fur that lined my crack. Dad’s tongue was a deft invader as it slow-screwed its way past my vulnerable ring. He groaned loudly into my cunt as he drilled into my soft, bruised folds, his hands kneading my hard ass cheeks as he feasted.
“God damn, Trey,” Dad complimented, his paternal voice quiet yet somehow filling the room. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen, fucked, tasted!” Dad slithered his tongue into me again for another round of eating my hole. Coming up again for air, my father was almost boyishly excited, exclaiming, “Fuck, baby boy, I can taste their cum in you!”
I swiveled my hips and smashed my hole back onto my father’s eager mouth. Dad wormed his agile lips against my cunt, his loud slurps filling the room. My sore ass was soothed by my boyfriend’s glorious rimjob, goosebumps rising on my thick college boy butt.
“How’s that feel, son?” Dad urged, “Daddy eatin’ the fuck seed of all those other studs out of his own boy’s stretched-out son cunt? That doin’ it for ya, Trey?”
Dad’s filthy talk made my hole clench right in front of him, and he sighed heavily before diving back it to feast. My fingers dig into the bed sheets, and I pulled my face up from being buried in a pillow to cry out, “Fuck yeah! No one does me like you, Daddy. Your mouth on my cunt is the fuckin’ best!"
As Dad drilled into to feed on my college boy gape, I felt emboldened. "Took forty-some loads up my chute, Dad. You tryin’ to get at all of them? You wanna eat the ball scum from those bulls out your own son’s well-bred pussy?”
“Fuck yeah, Trey,” my father egged on, “My slutty fuckin’ son pulled a fuckin’ train! Let all comers nut in his deep cunt! Wanna taste that seed!”
I reached back and pushed Dad’s face back into my trench. My father dutifully went back to chewing on my rim. Though we normally didn’t bring up our past exploits sexually in bed, I was made fearless by how good Dad was eating my hole.
“You like watching your own boy–” I began, grinding my gaping hole against my Dad’s lashing tongue, “–your own fuckin’ son–take all those guys on? It turn you on to watch your boyfriend take all that fuckin’ pounding? It get you off to taste all that fuckin’ breed that was shot up your slutty son’s wrecked fuckhole?”
Dad pulled off my ass to give me a long, lustful glare. “Damn, Trey,” he admitted in a hushed tone, “Your verbal game is on fire. Looks like I’ve created a monster!”
I hiked up onto my knees, spreading them wide to give my boyfriend better access to my cunt. “Fuck yeah, Dad,” I teased, “I’m a chip off the fuckin’ block! I love showin’ my Old Man how I am just fuckin’ like him!”
His eyelids fluttering, Dad slammed his eyes shut and went back to chowing down on my ass. My father was intent to lick my cunt clean when I dropped a bomb, “Which one was your favorite?” I asked tentatively, then I doubled down, “Which dude fuckin’ me most got you most hard, Dad?”
My father shot me a long, uncertain look. “Trey…”
“Which one?” I pressed, “McCrae and his huge fuckin’ Coachprick?”
“Coach’s nephew, and that fuckin’ ball bat dick? That fuckin’ boy cored me out!” I flexed my ass cheeks, then relaxed to back up onto Dad’s mouth. “The older bulls, with the silver hair and their need to prove they’re still alpha fuckers? Boys more my age, with–”
Dad interrupted in a hollow, almost guilty voice, “The black guys. The couple.” My memory shot back to the two men immediately. Both were lean with tightly-packed muscle and beautiful smiles after they blew their wads inside me. One of them bore skin the color of dark chocolate, while his older partner was several shades darker and richer. Both men were stunningly handsome and seemed to communicate with one another with a series of glances.
The darker of the two men had bred me balls deep as he kissed his boyfriend. After he came down from his breed, he flipped me onto my belly so he could hold my ass cheeks wide open for his man. His elder stud egged his boyfriend on the entire time, their own passion for watching the other get their rut was a visceral thing. The younger stud cried out how he loved his man when he hosed my gut with his wad. “Oh fuck yeah,” I encouraged, “They were fuckin’ sexy, Dad! You like those black dicks claiming your boy’s white pussy?”
“It wasn’t their cocks, Trey,” admitted my father. “I mean, yeah, I liked watchin’ them fuck you. And their dark skin against your creamy white ass was definitely fuckin’ hot to watch.” Dad got up on his knees and rolled me onto my back. He offered sheepishly, “What got me off was how they were such a couple. The way they knew how to get the other off with a glance, or a sentence. They way they kissed…Trey, hand to fuckin’ God, it was enough to bring me off,” Dad’s voice was distant, almost dreamlike. “It wasn’t that they were hot because they were black, son–they were hot because they were fuckin’ hot. Because they were clearly in love, so together, even when they were cunting out my boy’s sweet, deep hole.”
I propped myself on my elbows, looking my handsome father’s naked body up and down. His big Dadcock was skinned back, raging, and leaking a small puddle into the hotel sheets. Licking my lips, I answered what I felt was being asked. “It’s like what he have, Dad. Our bond. I don’t want any of…this, whatever it is, if I can’t have you sharing it with me. You’re the man I love.”
I could see my father’s eyes grow shimmery as he clamped them closed to fight back tears. He climbed on top of me and our tongues met. I could taste my ass and the cum Dad had coaxed from my inner folds as our mouths collided. In that moment, I swooned at the wellspring of feelings. Safe. Whole. Connected.
Dad reached between my legs and pawed along my gape with his sturdy fingers. I was about to protest when a pair of digits gingerly pushed inside my cunt. My father’s gentle work made my soft hole bloom around his invasion. “Fuuuuuuuck,” Dad moaned into our kiss before he pulled back.
My father revealed his fingers by lifting them up before me. His palm held a glob of creamy jizz and his fingers were coated in a mix of fuck slime that had been previously deposited up my chute. I was about to say something about this cum, but Dad instead slid his scum-covered hand along my crowbar-hard Dadfucker.
The seed glazing my son dick was warm and slick. My cock–a near clone of my father’s perfect shank–was made shiny and almost angry as it jutted up from my full bush. Dad stroked back my foreskin as he worked my meat and pushed me back onto the mattress.
Dad brought himself up onto his feet, squatting down so that his beefy Dadcunt hovered just above my crotch. His thick, hairy ass looked obscenely massive and strong, and in that moment all I wanted was to shove my dick balls deep into my father. “Pull your legs up some, son,” commanded Dad in a hoarse, needful voice.
When I complied, Dad fingered my ass again. His touch was impossibly soft and insistent at the same time. After a time, he coaxed another large wad of seed from inside me. Without another word, Dad smeared the slime onto the head of my dick. My father then sank his heavy ass down on my bone in an effortless push, exhaling sharply as he let gravity assist in getting my big son dick up his butch pussy.
As Dad began rocking his stud ass on my cuntsplitter, I cried out into his mouth as we made out feverishly. I began thrusting upwards, eliciting sharp winces from my handsome Dad. Soon we reached a steady rhythm.
“Fuckin’ love that hot Dadcunt,” I groaned, “Fuckin’ love the man who’s givin’ it to me!”
“I love you back, baby boy,” Dad responded, throwing his head back as he reveled in our fuck. “Usin’ all that random seed from my slutty boy’s gang bang to lube my hole! Big fuckin’ son prick buried nuts deep up his Old Man’s hairy ass! The fuckin’ best!”
I pushed on Dad’s shoulders, and he took my hint, rolling onto his back. We became untangled from cock to cunt as my father shifted and raised his meaty legs. I stood along the edge of the bed, stroking my fat Dadfucker. My free hand reached back into my ass cleft as I willed my battered hole to relax further. A slight push, and another wad of thick, pearly cream bubbled out and onto my probing fingers.
Dad caught sight of what I just did as I brought my hand up between us. “Fuuuuuck!” he congratulated, “You took a fuck ton of cum inside you, Trey!” My father’s pucker spasmed within his hairy trench, a siren’s call that tugged at my nuts. Dad provoked further, gripping his own beefy butt cheeks and pulling them apart. “What are you gonna do with that seed, baby boy?”
Nothing in the world made me feel like more of a stud than plowing my own father’s son-hungry cunt. I slathered the mixed spunk–cum that had been gang-bred into my ass just an hour before–along my achingly hard piece. Without a word, I answered my Dad, shoving home in his tight pink clench to show him exactly what I wanted.
I built up steam quickly, our bulky muscles rocking along with the rhythmic impact. Dad wasn’t the kind of bottom who needed a lot of time to acclimate. When a man as studly as my father throws up his legs and offers you his sweet Daddy hole, he was expecting an alpha-level cocksman to bang his cunt in half. I could read Dad’s face as I plowed him, his expression rapidly shifting from riding through the initial discomfort to paternal bliss.
I felt the first pangs of orgasm shudder through my nuts as Dad piped up, “What about you, Trey?” Grazing my sensitive nipples, he paused again before specifying, “Which one was your favorite? From earlier, I mean.”
It took me no time at all to answer at all. “I got off really hard when you pissed on me, Dad,” I confessed, “When I…y’know…I tasted it.” The fresh memory was enough to draw my balls right against my shaft. I could suddenly recall the distinct scent, the heat was of Dad’s piss against my skin. Several other guys that night had hosed me down, but it was the look on my father’s face as I reveled in a new, piggish level that got me.
“Oh yeah, baby boy?” Dad cupped my hairy pecs and squeezed, “You liked how Daddy marked you? You liked wearing your Old Man’s fuckin’ piss scent?”
My father’s words made my thrusts harder and more deliberate. Between strokes, I moaned, “Fuck yeah, Dad! Been wantin’ it for a while, since we did it with Theo and Jim. Fuckin’ gets me off how we mark each other, inside and out. Like I’m about to do your sweet fuckin’ stud pussy…I’m right there, Dad…”
“Go ahead, baby boy,” Dad gripped my shoulders and nodded, “Cunt out your Daddy’s muscle hole. You own that pussy, son…put your fuckin’ mark on it!”
Slamming my hips home, I let out a loud grunting cry as my opening salvo blasted straight up my father’s gut. I continued to punch fuck into Dad’s tight cunt, every push punctuated by another shot of college boy seed. Dad looked up at me with a beatific expression as he took my breed, and I could feel his muscular ass ring quiver and grip along my shaft.
I bottomed out deep in Dad, collapsing over him and meeting his lips with mine. My father wrapped his big arms around my neck, bucking his hips erratically to fuck himself as we made out. His steely Dadcock thrust along my belly as my still-hard dick grazed his inner sweet spot. Dad shouted into my mouth as he came, his hole becoming a vice as he unloaded. My father was left shivering as blasts of Daddy scum painted both our chests.
Propping myself up into a push-up, I gazed down on the man who made me with a full heart. What we shared was powerful, and part of me wanted to stretch out this moment so it would last. “That,” I started, catching my breath, “Was fuckin’ awesome! I can’t get enough of you, Dad!”
“Same here, son,” Dad replied, then offered in a softer voice, “For as long as you want it, my ass is yours for the takin’.”
I cocked my head to the side, “What’s that mean, ‘for as long as I want’? I’m never gonna want to give this up, Dad.”
“I know,” Dad said, staring off into space. “But that might change once you’re back at school. And I want you to know that it’s okay.”
We both groaned as I pulled my softening prick from my father’s ass. I fell onto the bed next to him, I dismissed, “That’s bullshit, Dad, and you ought to know that. Me goin’ back to school don’t have to change anything. I…I want what we have, Dad. And fuckin’ other dudes ain’t gonna scratch that itch. I’ll come home on weekends, and–”
“You know you ain’t gotta do that,” Dad interrupted in a solemn voice.
“You think I don’t know that? I’m my own man, I make my own decisions. You said as much,” I parried, rolling over onto my side to face Dad. “And I choose this, Dad. I need this!”
Dad sighed, and for a moment we lay there in uneasy quiet. He traced lazy patterns in the cum that had pooled in the fur between his burly pecs. “I ain’t ever gonna not want this, Trey,” began my father, “But while you’re away, I don’t want you to hold back goin’ after what you want. And if you find a spark with somebody, I want you to chase it.” I opened my mouth, ready to protest, and Dad glared me into silence. “I’ll always be here, and I’ll always want to have this bond. That’ll never go away. But I don’t want you to rule out exploring your options while you’re out there. You deserve that freedom, son.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I asked sarcastically. I ducked down and kissed along Dad’s nearest nipple, slurping up a white streak of saline jizz that nearly gleamed in the darkened hotel room. “I can guarantee I’m gonna fuck my way through damn near half the student body! I’m my father’s son, and that means I have the fuckin’ beast sex drive. And with the stress of school, I’m gonna need that release.”
“But that don’t change anything, Dad,” I pressed. “Fuck, man, I just had a train pulled on my ass, and that only made me feel closer to you! Stickin’ my cock in some pussy, or gettin’ bred by some hunky college boy, don’t change the fact that I have a fuckin’ alpha stud boyfriend back at home. That I have a Daddy that I ain’t gonna let go.”
My father was fighting back tears, and seeing that brought out the same sympathetic response in me. “Alright, Trey,” choked my father, “However you wanna play this, is how it’s gonna go. You call the shots, son. Always.” Dad wrapped an arm around me and pulled me tighter towards his chest.
I rested my cheek on the warm plane of Dad’s chest. Before I nodded off to sleep, I felt his heart beat out a powerful song that, in that moment, only I could hear.
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Coming Soon…Chapter 22: Away Team
Raunchy… sweet… raunchy… sweet… that’s the @roughrawready double.
Here’s the thing about roommates: you can tell them something 9,000 times and underline it in sharpie, but they will 100% of the time do the thing you ask them not to do. I guess I should have guessed that would be the case before I brought my work home, but I was desperate and excited and close to a breakthrough.
I’d told Andrew that my work was trying to help people with sexual dysfunction, which was what he parroted back to me as he stood in my bedroom with his hands curled into fists.
“So you drank it,” I said, blankly. Completely incredulous.
“I thought it was supposed to make me last longer in bed.”
“Andrew…” I put my hands over my face and exhaled hard. I took a beat before lowering them and continuing. “My research was helping people who have trouble achieving orgasm. It’s designed to make it EASIER. And the sample…you drank all of it? The standard dose is twelve milliliters.”
“So that’s…bad?” he asked. His fists curled tighter, and he started bouncing from foot to foot.
“Bad,” I agreed.
“So I…oh.”
And Andrew, my hot, brutally stupid roommate, jizzed his trunks while standing in front of me. He squirmed through the orgasm and huffing, and puffing tried to recover. The second orgasm caught him just as he had managed to stand up straight again. With nowhere to go in his sodden, ruined underwear, the cum poured out from his pouch onto my carpet and dribbled down between the leg holes of his trunks.
“How long does it last?” Andrew asked, panicked now.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s an experiment!”
Andrew’s eyes went wide, and he put his hand over his crotch just as another wave sent spurts of hot jizz through his fingers.
Here’s the thing about roommates: they’ll 100% of the time do the thing that you ask them not to. And sometimes, you need a research subject, especially when you’re desperate and close to a breakthrough.
Yesterday marked the end of the 48 hour sex and innuendo marathon that brought you amorous brothers, a father willing to make a special deal regarding his son, a cop who brings work home, and a researcher with very questionable methodology, among other depraved scenarios.
I hope you had at least as much fun reading as I did writing, but I’d settle for half as much fun because this was a wild ride for me and dozens of inappropriate boners in public places later, it’s over.
I’ll be back on my bullshit shortly, offering new stories and further answering the question (that no one but me asked): “Why do these guys keep jizzing in their pants?”
If you really liked the stories you’ve read, you should consider commissioning a story from me. I’m friendly, I I don’t bite, and I’m pretty serious about making solid content that gets people off. If you want to work together to make some stuff, hit me up via PM or benjibright@gmail.com. Side note: If you want amazing stories, I hear Natty Soltesz (@br0b8) is taking commissions. You should give him your money first, because he’s a goddamned living legend. But if you have extra money after that, then you should give me some money.
I’ve stashed some of Benji’s @undietales storython in the queue to keep the vibe going for the next few days. Now we gotta get him to 3k followers, so that – according to his math – he’ll turn out a 72-hour, 72-story marathon for us.
Meantime, if you’re looking for something very special and unique and are in a position to do so, I thoroughly recommend a bespoke – bestroke? – commission by the man. Support the tremendous talent out here on Tumblr!
Tales from Under the Mattress 