Writing bro @broodingmuscle and I are thrilled to share a new one-off story following up on some favorite characters from Bearding The Lion. March is in like a lion, and on St. Paddy’s Day gym owner Ken Kelly takes on all comers.
An earlier version is on Nifty, but this final Piledriver version is way better, bros.
It’s so much balls out fun, we’re sharing a special ePub version with everyone on our email list. To join in just provide your email here or message me. We’ll never sell or trade your email, but will let you know about new releases and goodies. Enjoy!
Thanks @grahamgroans for the awesome art! What a gift!
IN LIKE A LION by BoyMercuryX and BroodingMuscle
1.
Even an outsider at the Triple Hit MMA Gym like David Levy knows when something is different. The cool March air is charged, and there are more guys than usual for any given weekend day. There’s the hardcore trainers, heavy with muscle and more than a few of them with some wear and tear on their mugs, the young guys trying it out, and the tourists who are flirting with MMA because of something they saw on TV.
David feels more tolerated at the gym than accepted, but tolerated is a big step up from where he started. And even being tolerated is because of of David’s friendship with Connor Ryan, up and coming MMA prospect and the gym’s closest claim to fame. That tolerance is also due to the gym’s owner Ken Kelly, Ryan’s uncle. He’s the one who made it all happen, in a way, by allowing David in to research a story on mixed martial arts and assigning his nephew to be shadowed for the story.
Reporters are close to the most undesirable types at a place like the Triple Hit, where the guys are by nature private and feel misrepresented in the media. In addition, no one wants how they train to be part of even an innocent story. They don’t want to broadcast their techniques and risk giving some opponent an edge to use against them. That’s the first rule David learned from Ryan: Never ever give up your moves.
But today David isn’t at the Triple Hit as a reporter. He was mysteriously invited by Ryan for “something special”, but as he is from time to time, the red-haired fighter is late. David is left milling about on his own and boredom makes him curious, even distracted as he is in the humid, testosterone-rich atmosphere of the gym, with every muscled man passing him as they outdo each other with their flexes and stretches. He’s trying to not be a reporter, just one of the guys, but he can’t resist asking a few questions.
“Hey, what’s going on?” David asks Chad, one of the more approachable regulars at the gym.
“St. Patrick’s Day,” answers Chad, looking him up and down. “You did not wear any green.”
Was he just checking me out, David wonders? “Ugh, Ryan didn’t tell me anything. He said it was a surprise.” He would have at least worn a green tie if he had one, instead of his usual skinny black tie. “So is Kelly going to serve up green beer or something?”
“No,” Chad replies, shaking his head and smiling.
“REALLY?” David responds in shock. “Big old-school Irish guy like Kelly. I’d figure he’d be a hell of a partier on this day.”
“Oh, there is beer. And also he makes a big meal for anyone at the gym,” Chad explains. “But the main event is the arm wrestling.”
“Is that a thing? Arm wrestling?” David asks. “I’m not Irish.”
“Do I look Irish to you?” Chad asks, doubling down on his accent to make the point, then spreading his dark lips wide in a dazzling smile. “I think it is just his thing. Once a year, Kelly takes on all comers. When someone beats him or he is out of challengers, we get food and beer, but not before.”
“Cool,” says David, nodding. “Arm wrestling day.”
After an awkward silence David asks, “How long have you been in the US?”
“Three years,” answers Chad. “I am from Burundi.”
“In East Africa?”
“You know Burundi? No one knows where Burundi is, it is so small. When I came here I did not know anyone till this gymnasium.”
“Well,” David shrugs, “I only know one thing. There was an ’80s singer who used Burundi drums in his music. That’s all I know.”
Chad laughs, “The 1980s? I was born in 1995.”
“Oh 1990 myself,” David replies. “But old music is kind of a thing of mine.”
“Our drums are famous in Africa,” Chad says. “Who is the singer?”
“Uh, Adam Ant,” David answers, embarrassed by the name and his esoteric knowledge.
Chad quizzically pantomimes a scurrying insect with his fingers, and asks “Ant?”
David nods yes and they both laugh.
They go back to longer silences, but they’re less awkward. David knows more about Burundi than he let on, all of it terrible. He wonders what awful shit Chad has seen, and wonders if he would have had the balls to immigrate to the US alone and at such a young age as Chad.
“Where is Ryan?” Chad asks.
“He had a morning shift, but he’s supposed to be here,” David answers.
Even hearing Ryan’s name at the gym tugs at David’s balls. The fighter’s jutting jaw and curling red hair get to David like no one else. In fact the only one who comes close is Kelly, who’s really just a blond version of Ryan with an extra 20 years and about 50 more pounds of muscle.
“So what is with you two?” Chad asks in lower, more private tones.
David shrugs and says, “If you figure it out, let me know.”
When I was in college I counseled at a summer camp. The head
counselor was Paul; he’d worked at the camp for decades. He was quite a bit
older than everyone but he was absolutely gorgeous and all the girls had a
crush on him. I did too, but I tried my best not to show it. I was so dazzled
by his beauty that I didn’t notice, particularly, how he never seemed to show
interest in the girls. While extroverted, and really dedicated to his work at
the camp, he also spent a lot of time by himself.
It was the day before the end of summer. The heat was
intense. I was in my cabin, starting to pack up my stuff, when Paul came by.
“Hey Nate,” he said. “I was just heading out
for a swim. Want to join me?” This was so strange and out of character
that I think my heart immediately started to race. My immediate response was to
turn him down, but how stupid would that be?
“Sure,” I said. “Let me grab my trunks.”
“Grab a towel, too,” he said. I’d assumed we would
go to the lake, but instead Paul said he knew of a swimming hole in the woods
that would be cooler. The sun was getting lower in the sky by the time we got
to it – a deep creek surrounded by rocks. It was idyllic.
“I like to skinny dip, I hope that’s okay with
you,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, feeling my anxiety climb a notch.
He stripped down to his shorts, his gorgeous muscled body on display. Then he
shucked them off, giving me a glimpse of his firm, white butt before he dove
into the green water. I considered if I wanted to get naked myself. This was
the end of the summer, though, and if I was going to push myself into doing
something fun and exciting now was the time. So I stripped nude while Paul
watched me from the water. I dove in, and came up in front of him. He smiled at
me.
“You’ve got a beautiful body,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “You do too,” I added,
half-smiling because I figured people told him that all the time.
“Thanks,” he said. We were treading water, our
heads bobbing above the water. One moment we were smiling at each other, the
next a look came over his face and his body approached mine. He took me in his
arms. I felt his nude body press against mine underwater as he pulled me in for
a kiss. The shock of it took my breath away at first, but when I found myself
again I kissed him back – deeply. Soon our tongues were dueling and our cocks
were hard, bobbing in the water like submarines. I reached down to feel his –
it was so fat, and uncut. He felt mine at the same time. Our eyes were full of
lust as we looked at each other.
“I’ve wanted you all summer,” he said, before he
kissed me again.
Heya. So I’ve been doing custom story work with a patron/client for
the last couple months and it’s been great. I’ve written two sequels to
stories on my website as well as one original. I’ve enjoyed the work
so much that I thought it might be worth it to post a little notice seeing if anybody else would be interested. If there’s a
story of mine to which you’ve always wanted to read a sequel, or if you
have an idea for a story you’d like me to flesh out, hit me up on my contact page. My rates are reasonable.
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 this story, shoot me an email to tell me what turned you on: roughrawready(at)gmail(dot)com
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Previously:
My father wrapped his arms around my bull neck and pulled me in. I could smell Dad’s musk radiating from his sweat-damp chest and pits, his scent melding with mine as he held me close. My son dick was crowbar-hard and shoved halfway in my Dad’s cum-glazed fuckhole. Dad chuckled, then joked, “So what’s for breakfast?“
I reclaimed my position, standing up and planting my feet wide. Looking down at where cock and cunt were joined, our body hair tangled in dark, sweaty curls. I began sawing in and out of my father’s deep pussy, my college boy cuntsplitter looking massive as it opened up his tight pucker. “I ain’t done, Dad,” I grunted as I pumped my hips, intent on a second round of Daddy hole. Come hell or high water, I was gonna show my new boyfriend that kind of stud my Dad taught me to be.
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Life with Dad as my boyfriend fell into an easy pattern. Days were full of hard work on my father’s construction business. The hot summer sun and heavy lifting continued to forge our bodies into well-muscled examples of men in their prime.
Mornings were intimate. Even before the Talk–where we confessed our feelings for one another and decided to take our bond to the next level–Dad and me roused to fuckin’ amazing sex. Fucking one another as both father, son, and now boyfriends only served to elevate our connection. It wasn’t uncommon to wake with my Dad’s handsome mug planted between my cum-blasted son hole, feasting on my trench before burying his fat, uncut Dadcock deep inside me. Other times, my father would be sucking my thick shank to the root, only to then squat down and bounce his clenching stud hole on my Dadfucker. And at others, we would trade turns pounding out one another’s butch cunts in the shower.
It was not unusual to have special friends visit in the evenings. The Frenchs were regular guests. Theo and Jim would swing by, together or separately, a couple times a week. I eventually discovered my father somehow possessed a key to the handsome blonde couple’s house, and we would frequently make the drive to fool around with the sexy father amd son.
Thursday nights were for Stijn. The Dutch bull came on like a thunderstorm every week at eight sharp, stripping down as soon as he closed the door behind his broad back. The first time he came over, he shredded my clothes as he ripped them free of my body. Every time after, I would make sure to be naked save for a jock that left my greased hole accessible. Every time, Stijn threw me on the bed, spat into my furry crack, and shoved his beercan Dutch cock deep without a single word. His hips became a frenzy of masculine power as he cored out my college boy pussy. Dad watched from the other side of the room, stroking his big sonfucker lewdly as Stijn’s wrist-thick cock bored into my stretched hole. Stijn would slap my hairy ass so hard the bright red handprints would last until the next morning. As he closed in on his release, the bull stud would curse in Dutch and call me a fag as he emptied his heavy balls into my abused chute.
My father’s cock would quickly replace Stijn’s in my ass after the bald Dutch stud finished. Dad would savor the way Stijn’s seed would glaze his big sonfucking piece as he cunted me, clearly putting on a show as Stijn watched. By the time my Dad cried out and shot inside my well-fucked butt, Stijn would be rock hard and ready again to have another go. Towards the end of the session, both men would be making out and egging the other on to fuck me harder, to prove that they could both breed like bonafide Fuck Beasts. As the Dutch Daddy would near his last climax, Dad would be punching Stijn’s barrel chest and damn near barking at the stud to pound me harder. The intensity of these two alpha men using me to fuck with each other was a tangible force that made my skin shiver and my nuts throb. The electric charge was an unfathomable, almost threatening, force as they shared my cunt to complete the circuit. I would spend most of the following day bow legged, my son hole a puffy, leaking gape.
At least one day over the weekend, my father would drive us the three hours over to New Orleans. We would rent a hotel room and walk hand in hand down the historic streets, presenting ourselves as a couple far more brazenly. Dad would hold my hand proudly as we stood against the bar and watched the crowd. After a few beers and a couple hours’ worth of casual groping and innuendo, we would find ourselves making out in public. Being so open with showing off Dad as my boyfriend filled my heart and gave my son dick an extra charge as it hardened in my jeans. Dad would knead my back with his strong grip, grunting into my mouth as he slid his hands down to cup my heavy college boy ass.
While away from our lives as a father and his son, both of us were emboldened and made far more frisky. Dad let me long dick him in the center of a crowded sleazy backroom, and no less than a dozen men groaned their approval as I rode my Dad’s butch pussy towards release. As I blasted my boyfriend full of potent son wad, I lost it and bellowed ‘Dad’. A good twenty-some men cry out encouragingly at the sight of an honest-to-God son breed his Old Man.
Another time, Dad urged me to blow a quartet of sexy older men visiting from Tulsa as they circled me on a dance floor. I dropped to my knees as the men freed their sweaty Dadcocks, as my father guided each man’s cock to my hungry mouth. My stud boyfriend would whisper into each visiting man’s ear the truth of our relationship just as they were finishing down my throat. Without fail, each Daddy type would stare at us in disbelief, then with no small envy as they pulled their softening pricks from my lips.
After the last tourist erupted in my mouth, Dad hoisted me up by my armpits and pulled me close, kissing me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe. Later that night as he fucked his paternal load into me on our hotel bed, confessing that he could still taste the other Daddies’ cream when we made out. How much it turned him on that I was a slut, just like him. How much it got him off that he could be so public with how much he loved his boyfriend and son.
Dad and me rented a hotel room last Saturday. We spent the day on Bourbon Street, buzzed on hurricanes and beer, walking arm in arm, perpetually horny. Both our asses were full of boyfriend jizz from a particularly nasty flipfuck session that morning. My chest tightened every fucking time I caught my father’s eye, his rugged good looks and the bond we shared intoxicating. We both knew I had another month before I headed back to school, and so far we had danced around talking about what that might mean for the future.
As dusk slipped towards nightfall, we found ourselves chatting up a sexy college rugby player with a shock of copper hair that nearly shimmered in the low bar lights. Flirting turned into the three of us openly making out, and the bartender seemed happy enough to watch as I bent by half to take my father’s leaking fuckpipe in my mouth as Dad leaned back against the bar. Rugby Boy had dropped to his knees, deftly unfastening my jeans and peeling them down my bulky thighs to reveal my hairy ass.
The ginger guy was near my age, adventurous as he wedged his stubbled chin into my hairy trench. After quickly worming his agile tongue along my slot, Rugby Boy moaned as he began his feast. A moment later, Rugby Boy’s face was slick with his spit and my musk, looking up at Dad with a wild, hungry look. “You already fuck him, bro?” asked the young ginger man, “Am I tastin’ your cum?"
My father nodded, then grabbed the back of my head as he slowly pumped into my throat. Rugby Boy returned to devouring my jock cunt, stabbing his ravenous tongue against my pucker at an excited pace. The ginger hopped back up on his feet, smacking his hard, heavy rugby player cock against my college boy butt. My father let out a low whistle, then reached above me and pried my cheeks apart. "You wanna piece of my boyfriend, son?” invited my Dad, goading the young stud behind me. The word son felt particularly pointed when Dad said it, my hole squirming involuntarily. “Use my seed as lube? My boy’s gonna love that dick in him!”
Rugby Boy must have nodded in assent, because the next thing I felt was a massively thick, blunt head of a prick pushing along my rim. A couple quick breaths and I willed myself to relax, opening enough to permit Rugby Boy to breach my cunt. Rugby Boy’s cock had the girth of a ball bat and felt twice as hard, his shaft at least as long as my father’s cuntsplitter.
The bartender, Rugby Boy, and my Dad all said the same thing in unison–“Fuck!”–as the ginger guy sawed his enormous cock into my hole. As Rugby Boy pounded into my ass, I was choked farther down the Daddy dick in my throat. Above me, Dad had slipped his fingers under Rugby Boy’s tee shirt, savagely working his nipples as they shared me fore and aft. The bartender had stepped around his bar, his meaty fuckpiece wagging out of his fly. The older man was jerking his thick cock at full bore, and within a minute the bartender shot a quintet of heavy, thick ropes aimed on my Dad’s exposed shaft. As Rugby Guy rammed me from behind, I could taste the bartender’s spunk as it frosted my father’s shank.
“Not gonna last much longer,” warned Rugby Boy as his fuck pace picked up steadily. Then he asked, “Can I cum in your boyfriend, bro? Add my nut to yours?”
Dad eagerly agreed, “Fuck yeah, son! Get your breed. Cream my boyfriend’s pussy. Knock him up!"
Seconds later, Rugby Boy locked a death grip against my hips and slammed deep. Standing stock still, I could feel the ginger guy’s fuck meat pulse and expand. Rugby Boy’s voice seemed caught in his throats at first, but then the ginger started as he came down from blasting inside my stud hole.
"Fuckin’ hot jock taking my scum nuts deep in his tight, sweet pussy! Fuckin’ hot Daddy givin’ away his boyfriend’s perfect, hairy, fuckin’ stud cunt! You’re takin’ a week’s worth of rugby player nut up your ass, pussyboy! Puttin’ my fuckin’ baby inside your boyfriend, fucker!”
Dad pulled his cock from my mouth with a loud, sloppy slurp. His sonfucker glistened with my spit, throbbing as it arced defiantly towards the ceiling. “Spin him around,” ordered my father, “I gotta cunt my boy’s pussy. Show him who’s the real fuckin’ alpha."
Rugby Boy pulled his obscenely huge shank out unceremoniously, the abrupt vacancy making me keenly aware of my ass gape. I stood up to turn around so I could take Dad’s huge prick, but we were interrupted by a dramatic slow clap and a voice that I immediately recognized.
"Hot damn! Trey Aldine!” The man’s tone was cool as a newscaster and deep. As I spun to see the man, he teased, “I see you boys’ve met my nephew.”
The man was shorter than me by a full head. Handsome, bearded, hairy as fuck, built tougher than a hockey puck. A ridiculous, giant package throbbed along his inner thigh behind his Wranglers.
Rob McCrae. Coach.
“Fuck, Jerry,” McCrae joked with my father. A mix of warmth and feral was riveted in the man’s features. Suddenly, the familial similarity between Coach and his nephew Rugby Boy was unmistakable. “If your boy needs dicked down, I want in on a piece of that action. I got that rain check from last time I mean to cash!"
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Coming Soon…Part 20: Dancing With Dynamite!
Jesus christ… a dad-son couple, taking it public, and then a redheaded rugby player special guest star? You know, sometimes I really think my bro @roughrawready is actually the filthiest parts of my id manifested in flesh…
The men head back to Philly…. what happens at the Army-Navy game stays at the Army-Navy game!
Guys – I know I big-up this incredible story series by my bro @drakestories all the fucking time. But I seriously wouldn’t be the writer I am today, doing what I do, if it wasn’t for all the fine craft Bill’s displayed over many years and many stories setting the example. This particular chapter of “Naval Tradition” really drives that home – it’s hot, it’s textured, and it should not be missed. This is a writer in extremely fine form, continuing to set the example. Well done, bro!
Hey man, thanks! The four parts of “The Proposition” are some of my favorite things I’ve written, pornwise, and y’all out there really seemed to vibe to them too – so everyone’s a winner! Dig into the Library here for literally hundreds more stories – I’m pretty sure you’ll find more that you’ll like. And there’s plenty more still to come, too.
I’m working on one as we speak. It’s kind of a big one, and it does feature a young top, but there’ll be a more direct son-topping-father one coming along in the very near future too. Stay tuned…
Tales from Under the Mattress 