After mom died, dad almost became a shut-in. I would get weekly reports from my sister and even though she’s a bit psychotic, eventually I took them seriously. To calm her down I told her I’d be out for the holidays to check in on him – and to try to have the Family Christmas that we didn’t get a chance to have in the last few years of mom’s illness.
I got to hand it to Sis. She’s a psycho, like I said, but she’s a psycho with a big heart, and she was right about dad. He’d basically turned into a couch potato. The house smelled nasty and he barely kept it clean. He’d gotten pretty big (which didn’t bother me I mean . . you know . . woof … I’m into big hairy dudes) and he’d lost that spark in his eyes.
I’d just gotten dumped by my boyfriend (for a fucking twink – Jesus), so I had extra time on my hands. I called work and told them I needed a short family leave. My boss is a totally cool Bi Leather Dude and we’d hung out and done some freaky shit from time to time – but at core, we were bros, and he could tell I was hurtin’ a little.
“Take all the time you need, Carson. Seriously man – the product is launched. All we’re doing is tweaks. This is as good as time any. You earned it. I’ll pick up the slack.”
“Thanks bruh,” I mumbled, worried about my job nonetheless.
“Seriously man – I got this and I got your back. Take care of your old man – and yourself. But mostly your old man – I like that dude. He needs you now. Don’t worry.”
Then he hung up but texted me like every hour on the hour for two days until I told him to stop – and that I would stay for as long as I needed to stay.
Dad had come out to visit a few times when I’d just started at the company and had really made an impression. He was that kind of guy: bigger than life, smart as a whip – even though all he’d ever wanted to be was a truck driver. He and the boss had hit it off real well one night out at the bars, South of Market. I almost felt like a third wheel that night, but now I was thankful they’d made a connection.
It didn’t take long to whip the house back into shape. And, I got dad on his feet again, doing daily walks, getting him some new Carhartt shirts and Wranglers to fit his bigger frame. It helped, but I could tell that he’s was still hurtin’ like a motherfucker.
After a month I had to split. Things were better. My Sis had calmed down and my dad was thankful, at least, that I’d gotten her to back off.
“Thanks, kid,” he said, as we drove to the airport. “I mean it. Jesus your sister was beginning to drive me crazy.”
I just nodded. I was still concerned about him.
“Look – I’ll take better care of myself – promise. But this is gonna take some time.”
“Just worried about you pops. That’s all. We don’t want to lose you, too.” That last comment seemed to make an impression – he looked at me the way he does when I can tell he’s feeling the love. I couldn’t hold his gaze so I looked out the pick-up truck window, trying not to bawl.
The reports I got after I left were encouraging, but I knew he was still struggling and I didn’t know what else to do about it. It didn’t help that my personal life had fallen into the fucking tank. (A twink. The motherfucker left me for a fucking TWINK. Jesus fucking Christ.) The bossman saw it, too, and pulled me out to dinner one Friday night to have a heart to heart.
“I’m surprised you ain’t got some co-ed waiting to be tied up in the basement, bruh,” I said, trying to be funny.
“Naw. That’s tomorrow night. Tonight it’s a twink.”
“Fucking twinks,” I growled.
“Sorry – didn’t mean to push a button.”
“No worries. But damn – it’s like they’re fucking everywhere. Just hurt him for me, ‘kay?”
“Actually – that’s the plan.”
We had some beers. He probed. Then he laid it on the line.
“Dude – I’m worried about you. You need to get back in the game. I can’t have your back forever.”
“I know – I’ll step up. Promise.”
“You need to get over that asshole. He was an asshole. Everyone knew he was an asshole. I TOLD you he was an asshole.”
“I know – but damn – the dick. The dick was so fucking good.’
“It ain’t all about the dick,” he smirked. That was easy for him to say. He was hung like a horse and all top. “You gotta let it go.”
I nodded. He saw through me.
“It ain’t that, though, is it? It’s about your dad, isn’t it?”
I think I teared up when he asked that – I tried to look away.
“Talk to me, Carson – “
“I don’t know what to do. He can’t just sit there the rest of his life. Fucking small town bullshit. He hardly works. The Trucking gig sucks these days and he ain’t got the stamina anyway. I worry he’s just giving up.”
He nodded. The dinner came and we small-talked. I promised him I’d step up at work and he suggested I start heading back on weekends, but that’s a long fucking haul to Minnesota – plus it was like Depression City back there.
On the way out the door of the dive he stopped me – pulled me back – pointing to the poster up on the wall, advertising Lazy Bear Weekend.
”Dude – DUDE – you should invite him to Lazy Bear.”
“Hey sport – whyncha come join me in the pool? Awfully hot out.”
“But, dad – you said I had to do the yard work.”
“Did I? I can be such an asshole sometimes.”
“And, I still got to mow the lawn.”
“Lawns are over-rated. Haven’t we had that discussion, sport?”
Then he groped his bulge, which was getting tight in the Speedo. I couldn’t help myself. My UA’s started pushing out. They were soaked in sweat anyway, from the yard-work, and if I was honest, the reason I wasn’t wearing a jock was to give dad the best view possible.
“There ya go, sport. That’s what I like to see on my little man.”
He still called me that, even though I was nearly his size now. All worked out and pumped up like him, too. Like he’d pushed me to be. It had started in the gym, between us. Pops wasn’t shy about showing his appreciation for various muscle studs and lean, ripped athletes. From an early age, he’d point them out to me, teaching me to appreciate ‘that guy’s ab-roll’ or the ‘glutes of death on that stud’.
It seemed natural to me when he ran his hands over my thickening thighs, giving me props for my extra set of squats. It seemed natural when he’d tell me to squeeze his pecs to feel their heft – and the hard muscle-mass beneath his quarter-sized nips. And, it seemed natural that night in the locker room shower, when he reached down and wrapped his hand around my sprung-up cock. “Time to start taking care of this muscle, too, sport. It needs just as much work as the rest of ‘em. Even more, now, given your age. Here – let me show ya how.”
Yup. Dad pretty much coached me, from birth, to be a horned-up fuck-stud like him. When he’d been drinking, he’d even brag about it. “Had a dream and it came true, kid. You’re it. Made ya. From the ground up. Right from the beginning, this was the program. And, fuck – paid off big.” Usually he’d say that while I ground my face into his crotch, feeling his thick cock expand my throat. But, sometimes it would come out in whispers, as I drove into his hairy ass. “Fuck – so good. Better than I ever dreamed … ”
A couple of years ago, yeah, I had a big problem with it. Dated a couple of cheerleaders and got pretty cold on him, just to try to be my own man. That hit him hard, but he gave me space. It was too late, though. He was imprinted on me, deep. So, every chick I nailed was compared to his raunchy need and his randy, nearly constant sex drive. Every resisted kiss was frustrated by the ready access I had to his spit-soaked tongue. Every “no” was offset by the “Yeah – let’s go again, sport” that filled my memory banks.
“You had a few drinks, Dad?”
“Just a couple of beers, sport. What of it?”
“Nuthin – just asking.”
I pulled my hard just-becoming-a-man cock out, jerking it slow. His suit was off by now, and he was playing with his own, floating over to my side of the pool. One hand gripped his steely cock, while the other dipped into his trench, digging out the morning load I’d put in there a couple of hours ago.
“Fuck, sport. I think you’re ready, stud. Time for you to breed, boy. Like we talked about.”
My cock flexed in my hand.
This was another thing he’d planted in me, from an obscenely early age. “One of these days, sport – you’re gonna have your own son. Make a baby for both of us. We can train him up together, like I did you. Make a man-family. Your daddy’s gonna need some kids running around when he gets older. Your boys. Our boys.”
My legs were in a spread-stance, balls tightened up above my taint. Dad was on the edge of the pool now, legs up on the ledge and open. Fingers deep in his cum-soaked hole. Cock spewing pre as he jerked his thick dad-meat.
“Yeah, Pops? You think it’s time? Time to make me a baby? Make you a grand-dad?”
“Fuck yeah, boy. Give me a little grand-son to bounce on my knee – take to the gym.”
“Why stop at one, Daddy?” I asked, getting ready to shoot.
He leered, knowing his work with me was complete. He’d succeeded. Drawn me into his deep depravity. A chip off the old block – my father’s son.
“I placed the ad, sport. We got the first interview tonight. A college girl. Needs the money to finish her degree.”
My load shot out, raining on my perverted daddy, and his followed, drenching him with our family-sperm.
I just stood there, looking at him, chest heaving.
His eyes still leered – lust poured out of his sweaty, cum-drenched pores. My cock still flexed.
“Go again, dad?” I asked.
“Nope, sport. Back to work. I’ll join ya”
He slipped off the float and then emerged from the pool. His arms pulled me into his wet frame, rubbing the last of our thick-seed between us.
“Got to make this place look special for that young lady. And, you gotta start saving it, kid. Building up your baby-makers. You’re in breeding mode now, little man. Every shot is a potential son – we can’t waste a drop.”
And, then his tongue pushed into my drooling mouth.
We were doing this – doing what he’d talked about all of my life. Doing what I had been thinking about for years now, ever since I bounced back from my ‘straight side’ and dove into my perverse pop’s deep pool of depravity. I was gonna knock up a college chick – breed us a baby boy. Two or more if I had my way.
It was time to continue the family line. Time to make my own little men. Time to breed.
Re-run: This is a particular favorite from the sperm-bank. But, it can’t be posted without a special shout out to my bro @a4f101.
Bro is a great writer and runs a great fucking blog – but one of his unsung talents is his ability to write horned-up (and sometimes hilarious) captions.
It was such a caption that prompted this story. He wrote: “Welp, looks like dad’s been day-drinking again ….”
Those eight simple words prompted this story – then bro and I riffed on the aftermath (privately) for days – thinking about all the nasty shit father and son would get into over the years, raising the next generation of fuck-stud sons and siblings.
This story is nearly perfect as it stands – hardly had to make any changes. (Thanks, of course, to my bro and his perfect prompt.)
Enjoy.
(EDITOR’s NOTE: Monday Mail will be delayed until this evening. Deal with it.)
Hey dude, I love hearing this. Your pleasure is my pleasure! I’m really enjoying doing the stories, even more so knowing you guys out there are enjoying them too. Plenty more still to come, so keep your lube handy 😉
“Why – why do you have to wear – you know – a condom, when we do this?”
“Shhh, baby-boy – we talked about that. Got to play safe -”
“But dad – I am safe – not doing this with anyone else but you.”
The kid – my son – was on fire. Again. Like he seemed to be all the time. His voice was hoarse and raspy: filled with need.
“Baby,” I said, rubbing my cock against his small opening, “I gotta play safe – your step-mom and I – we’re trying to have kids. I gotta respect her – keep safe for her – when we do that – try to make babies.”
“But Daaaad,” he moaned, pushing on my cock, “It’s just you, sir. Only you.”
He was reaching back now, stroking me, pushing the condom up and down on my cock – feeling my thickness, rubbing it against his hole.
“Boy – son – listen -”
“Please, daddy – I want to feel it the way she does. Skin to skin. Get filled like you fill her – know what it feels like to have your cum in me, daddy. I want that so bad.” His tone was urgent – breathless. Driven.
He’d always been like this. Always. Needy kid – clutching on me from what seemed like his first day. Even my ex-wife saw it. Got jealous, I think. So, when we divorced, there was no doubt who would get custody. Then, the bad dreams in adolescence. Coming into my bed, late a night. The long stares after my showers – the unnatural obsession with me.
With my cock.
I took him to therapists – more than a few therapists – but that didn’t help. Made him more certain of his desires, if anything. Came out to me. Became more bold.
That first time …
It’s not like I got a normal cock. Even women have some trouble with it, sometimes.
It felt impossible, given his small frame, his … well, youth, I guess. Fuck, you probably think I’m a pervert or something, but you got to understand, the kid wouldn’t stop – wouldn’t take no for an answer – I tried everything before I … well, before I stopped trying and gave in.
And, when it happened – when my impossibly large cock got into his impossibly small ass – it was over for me. I knew … that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from succumbing to his hunger. His need. And, my own. It was so wrong, but he was so adult in his desires and so good at it.
And I liked it. Fuck – I loved it. Couldn’t get enough. Could hardly stop thinking of his ass, his throat, his full-on sexual obsession with me, and the slut that my cock brought out in him.
But, I’d made a pledge to myself. If we were going to do this, I was going to teach him safety, respect for himself, and his body, and his health. So always a condom, every time, including the first time.
Always.
Now even more important. With my second wife in the picture.
I wanted more kids, so bad. Was ready now, like I felt I hadn’t been when I had little Trey. Ready to be more of a father. Ready to have more kids.
I guess …
I guess if I were going therapists, like Trey, and if I were honest, like Trey always was with his therapists, it was because I wanted another son. Or, daughter. Or, both.
Because … what we were doing, my son and I, had transformed me. Turned me into something … else.
I tried not to think about it – tried not to look at that dark side of myself. But, late at night, while my wife slept, more of my seed in her, finding its way to her fertility – to the eggs that would create new life – I knew what I was doing. Wasn’t proud of it. But, couldn’t deny the power I felt, as my cock rose again, as I thought of my kid, down in the basement, hole ready and lubed, like I’d taught him. Me waiting – alive, awake, obsessed nearly – waiting for her to hit deep sleep, so I could head downstairs, into the darkness, and enter him again. No words – not like now – just slip my son onto my cock, push his face into the pillow to muffle his obscene moans, and fuck again, in a way I could never fuck my second wife – would never fuck her – but in a way that I needed to fuck. Loved to fuck. Had learned to fuck with my first and only son.
Become the man I had become – was now – and wanted to be … forever.
So, yeah, if I had a therapist, like Trey, that would be the truth he’d uncover. That I wanted more kids because … I wanted more of this. A lot more of this.
My boy clutched my cock as I held him, bent into me, sucked my tongue into his eager mouth, so I could taste the heady pre-cum that I’d deposited there, just moments ago, before slapping on the sheath and prepping him for a long, Saturday afternoon power-fuck, while my wife was away, visiting family.
In our own bed – my bed – where he belonged, if I was honest with myself.
I was crazy with lust. Had been waiting all week for this, each night, pumping sperm into my wife, focused on breeding her, making babies, all the while thinking of this morning, when she’d head off to the airport, leaving us alone, so I could fuck my son. All day. Then, all night. Then, all day on Father’s Day.
My day.
A day to experience the unique fatherhood that I’d come to love. That had – let’s be honest – consumed me.
The kid was toying with me, though, jerking his young hips away from my thick tool, playing hard to get. It could end badly for him, if he kept that up – and he knew it. Sometimes Daddy didn’t fuck around when it came to him. He’s learned that lesson, too. Invited it. Was inviting it now.
Then, he leaned into me, still squeezing my strong cock, pushing his own small, juicing piece into my chest. His hot breath hit my neck – then my ear – sending shivers through me, making my knees weak.
“I wish I could get pregnant for you, Daddy,” he purred, licking my lobe, nuzzling me. “Make the babies you want so bad. Give you another son … and another. As many as you need.”
I growled. Was getting so close – needed to be in him – needed to impale the kid on me – on it.
“Let me try, Daddy. Please – just once – try to get pregnant for you, make you a baby.”
His hand slipped off the rubber sheath.
It was over now. The thought of my thick spewing father-sperm invading my kid, trying to spawn new life, just as it had spawned his, drove me beyond rationality – beyond the last thread of responsibility that I’d clung to, the last lie I’d told myself, to justify my depravity.
I pushed into him, raw, as he sank like a slut onto my huge cock, crying out in pleasure and pain.
My cock exploded as I slammed him on the bed, pumping sperm into him, doing what he’d begged me to do for so long. And, what he begged me to do right then. To make him pregnant – to make another child to groom for my perverted needs.
“Aawwww Daddy,” he cried. “Breed me, Daddy. Make a baby in me, Dad.”
As I pumped into him, knowing I would never wear a condom again, I growled into his ear.
“No one gets in this hole, boy. No one but me, until I fucking knock you up, understood, kid?”
“Yes, Daddy. Yes, Sir – only you, Dad. Ever.”
I fucked him all day – more than I ever had – so much his hole was distended and open by late afternoon, sperm dripping out.
My sperm. That he’d wanted so badly.
Pissed me off.
So, I threw him in the car, headed over to the south side of town, walked into a sex shop and bought three different buttplugs. I fucked him in a booth there, too, ramming him now, so eager to preg him up – breed him. Then, I shoved the plug up his ass, to keep my seed inside as long as possible.
Like I would every night thereafter, down in the basement, after I’d dumped a load in my wife, and after I dumped a load in him.
I figured the kid wanted my cum so bad, he should keep it in him for long as possible. He figured that, too. He wanted it in him. Wanted to be plugged up so each thread of DNA could soak into his guts – keep looking for an egg that wasn’t there – always hoping, somehow, to subvert the laws of nature.
If I had a therapist, like my son does, I think he would ask, “Why? Why do you do this? He’s your son? Why?”
And, if I was honest, I know how I would answer.
I know exactly what I would say.
“Why not?”
Re-Run: A personal favorite. I imagine so many future outcomes – so much future depravity. But, I am content to let them lust in the fields of my imagination. You should, too.
A/N : Here are my two main characters above. Dino Hillas as the narrator, Antonio Pozo as J21DL. Enjoy !
————————————————————————
After that second time with J, I went home that night more satisfied than I’d felt in a long time. I took a quick shower, doing my best to clench my ass so as to not spill J’s precious cum. I went to bed, alone, fingering myself. My hole was still a bit sensitive, but what little fluid was left helped my fingers slide in and out easily. I couldn’t stop thinking about J’s cock inside me, pounding my ass with his own cum, and just in a short few minutes, I blew another load on my belly.
Breathing heavily, I grabbed my phone and snapped a pic that I immediately sent to J.
A/N : Here’s chapter 2, I’m so lazy editing and posting these here. There are currently 8 chapters, this story is still ongoing. Here’s Dino Hillas, whom I picture as the narrator. Enjoy !
J was sleeping soundly in my arms when I regained consciousness, breathing a sigh of relief when I opened my eyes to darkness still present in the room. The clock on the nightstand read 5:03 am, which meant I still had plenty of time to get home before my wife got off work. I disentangled myself from J as softly as I could so as to not wake him up, before I proceeded to gather my clothes. With one final glance at the gorgeous boy lying naked on the bed, I left quietly.
I felt cheerful on the way home, invigorated in a way I hadn’t been in forever. I didn’t even feel that bad about cheating. I took a long shower, humming to myself as I thought back to my encounter with J, how great it had felt. There was something about being with a man that I’d forgotten how much I loved. I got back in bed, wishing I had J in my arms again, and drifted off to sleep, part of me thinking this was one itch I needed scratched once, to get out of a bad slump. That it would never happen again.
It kind of threw me for a loop. Dad had changed – so much – since the divorce. It was like night and day.
Before the divorce, he’d been on this downward spiral – you know, drinking a little too much, not getting out of the house, pretty much down on himself and his life. It didn’t help that his relationship with mom sucked – so he was in a bad mood, all the time. They both were. It worried me – but I didn’t really know how to talk to him about it. We’d been on the rocks anyway, so communication had pretty much ceased between us. He had trouble with the whole ‘gay’ thing, on top of everything else that was going on.
I was like, “Dad – it’s 2016. Lots of my friends are gay. It’s not like I’m saying I’m never gonna get married – hell, maybe I’ll have a family one day, like you.“
That’s what I said.
What I didn’t say was what I wanted to say: ”Pops – chicks just don’t flip my switch, okay? And, anyway, it’s not like you’re kicking ass in the marriage department, dude.”
Naw – I didn’t say that. I wanted to, but he was going through a bad enough time, so there was no reason to add to that by getting all mouthy and shit. I figured he’d come around, eventually.
But, then, they split. That took its toll, too, for a while. But, pretty soon he was going back to the gym. He started dropping weight – a lot of it. (He keeps saying that he’s gonna drop more, but damn, he looks pretty good to me.) And, then he started getting out more – living life more. Living life again. The change was a little slow, but then it picked up, and pretty soon, he was back to the Pops I knew – the dude that kind of pushed all my buttons, if you know what I mean.
You do, right? You know – when you’re just hitting adolescence and starting to figure out what you want to do with your dick, and suddenly, the old man ain’t just your old man anymore, but he’s this … you know … dude. This … stud. And, you start checking him out in the showers, or at the beach, and you start seeing your dad in a whole new light.
Yeah – you know what I mean. I know you do.
Anyway, that dude was back with a vengeance – which was great. And, a couple of months ago, when one of his buddies bailed on him for a night out at the clubs, he just up and asks me what I was up to that night, and maybe we could hit the bars?
“You know – your bars, kid,” he says, and then he kind of winks at me.
So, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, the next thing I know we’re hitting the gay bars and having a night out.
Just to be clear, he freaked out a little at first – the guys were on him like white on rice. I don’t think he was prepared to be such a hot commodity – I mean, shit – look at that ass. Dad still had it, and could pack a pair of jeans better than most of my muscle buddies. But, after about the fourth guy came on to him, and after the second shot of whiskey hit the mark, dad started to groove on the fact that a lot of younger gay guys were into older guys like him – you know . . . actual daddies.
“Really,” he said, eyes twinkling as another young twink walked away, disappointed. “Gay guys are into guys like me?”
“Hell yeah, Pops,” I said, ordering another round.
“You into guys like me?” he asked, face all flushed, grinning this stupid grin.
“Hell yeah, Pops,” I said, looking him straight in the eye.
A lot happened that night. A lot. Not gonna go into it here, but let’s just say the more the guys came on to dad, and the more drinks they bought him, the more he pushed them away. Said shit like, “Nawthanks – I’m with my son here tonight. Me and him are together.”
Then he’d grab my ass, or throw his arm around me, feeling my pecs and stuff, rubbing on my neck like he was giving me a massage, but it was more than that, the way he held my neck sometimes – like he was controlling it or something. And I let him – showed him how much I liked his hands on me that way. Controlling me.
It was hot. Hot as fuck. And I just let it happen. Let Pops be Pops, if ya know what I mean.
At the end of the night I felt him all hard as he pushed up behind me, after spending too much time in the bathroom. He was pretending like he was grinding and shit to the music, but I felt his cock rubbing on me, so I rubbed right back, and then I felt his breathe on my neck.
“Where ya been, Pops,” I said, kind of gruff, but not really – playful mostly – like I missed him … which I did.
“Had to hit the head,” he said, grinding harder.
“Gone a long time,” I said, pouting, seeing if I could get a rise outta him.
“It’s a pretty crowded bathroom,” he says, but real close and sexy-like, all in my ear. “You gay guys are freaks.”
“Yeah, we are,” I says, pushing my whole body back into his, as his big muscled-up arms wrap around me, owning me.
“You a freak, kid?” he asks, not hiding his lust now.
“Yeah, I am,” I says, not hiding mine either.
One thing lead to another that night …
If you know what I mean.
And now – here we are in Key West. It seems like Dad hasn’t worn clothes all week. The guys are really drooling, too – at least the ones into Daddies. And, this morning, there he is in the ocean, throwing wood – fucking hard as a rock. And it’s not like he didn’t get any last night, ya know? Fuck, I’m still sore.
But, no matter what – no matter who approaches him – the answer is always the same:
“No thanks, stud – appreciate it. But, I’m with my boy here. Me and him – we’re together.”
Though, I did see him talking privately to that lifeguard. He gave that hot dude the same line, but about an hour later the stud came back and I saw him give Dad his phone number. He pointed to me, up on the beach, then to Dad, gave a little thumbs up. Dad just got this shit-eating grin on him and I’m thinking – I’m thinking that’s why he’s all hard right now.
Thinking that maybe – even though “me and him are together” these days, Dad’s beginning to realize … well, you know … that doesn’t mean that someone else can’t join in.
The next Story Time Classic to make its Nifty debut is a popular one. In “Best Customer”, a little bro learns the ins and outs (insert wink emoji) of his big bro’s business, and the importance of good customer service. Check it out on Nifty: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/best-customer
Tales from Under the Mattress 