spanking, humiliation, incest, gay coming of age
A young man is spanked, and it leads to a sexual awakening
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I’m pretty sure my dad is a pervert and I’m okay with that; I’m pretty sure I am too.
It all started a few months ago when I got home from school, carrying a less-than-stellar report. To be honest, to my mind, now that I was more-than old enough to drive, I was too old for reports, and I didn’t much care for what it said. Odds were high that I wouldn’t even show it to him. I didn’t know what it said, but I’d really lost interest in my studies, and constant news reports about astronomical college fees, insane house prices, and the end of democracy had given me a “What’s the fucking point?” attitude.
We sat down to dinner with my little brother, and my dad served up. His cooking was not particularly imaginative, and he didn’t go much on anything foreign except Mexican, but it was always wholesome and filling. We didn’t do grace. Anyone preaching religion in our house was likely to leave with their ears burning and their ego crushed. Dad didn’t care about offending people, and he owned his own business, so he sure didn’t give a fuck about cancel culture.
My brother tucked straight in with gusto, the second the plate containing mac and cheese hit the table in front of him, but I waited for dad to sit before picking up my knife and fork. Three guys living alone was hardly a breeding ground for table manners, but I always showed my dad that small courtesy as a sign of appreciation.
When he sat, I started eating.
“Good day at school Josh?” he asked my little brother.
Josh looked up.
“Ummm, not bad, Spanish was boring but we went swimming in phys ed with the girls. Dylan pulled Mason’s shorts down and all the girls saw his weiner. It was all shrivelled from the cold and he totally turned red!”
He laughed as he recalled the memory.
My dad grinned.
“I hope he got even with the guy who did it.”
That was such a dad thing to say. Dad was tough, physical kind of guy, and he’d never dream of letting someone disrespect him or get one over on him.
Josh answered through his chewing mouthful of food.
“Naw, Dylan’s a lot tougher than Mason. Mason just had to take it.”
“You never just have to take it son. Shit in his locker. TP his house. Kick him in the nuts, but never let anyone disrespect you like that or everyone will start doing it.”
On a superficial level, dad’s advice seemed sound, but when you considered it, it was often terrible and would escalate the situation or get you pummelled if you followed it. Me and Josh generally just nodded politely then ignored it.
“What about you Carter?” dad asked, turning to me.
“Same old same old really dad. Nothing special happened.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “I think you’ve got something for me?”
I frowned quizzically.
“Your report. I hear you guys got your reports today.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Oh yeah, that,” I said as the penny dropped, “Yeah sure. You want me to go get it for you now, it’s in my backpack?”
“Sure, why not.”
I rose from the table, went to my room, dug out the sealed envelope and returned handing it to my father. I was unconcerned by what it said. I wasn’t a troublesome student; just a disinterested one, and we were definitely not what you might describe as a particularly cerebral family. There were no long conversations about philosophy and the nature of existence in our house that was for sure!
Dad opened the envelope and scanned through the two-page itemised description of my subject performance, then the homeroom summary.
“Says here your grades are below average and falling, and you’re making no effort.”
“There doesn’t seem to be much point. I’m never going to college, so what else do I need grades for?”
“Because you might need to show your grades to someone to get a job, and this is not going to cut it.”
“You didn’t need grades,” I said.
I didn’t mean it to be sassy but in retrospect, I can see how it might have come over that way. He looked at me coldly.
“I was lucky enough to inherit some money to give me a start. Unless you know any rich relatives on death’s doorstep, I don’t think that’s an option.”
“I was hoping to assassinate you,” I offered smirking and trying to salvage the mood.
He didn’t see the funny side.
“Boy, you and I are going to be returning to this later,” he said glancing at my brother, “But I’m telling you right now, you better start getting your act together because you won’t be living here rent free if you screw up your education.”
I was surprised. He’d never expressed so much as a passing interest in my grades or education, and now all of a sudden he was acting like it was the most important thing on earth.
After dinner, Josh and me loaded the dishes into the dish washer, then dad turned to him and said,
“Josh go to your room and stay there until I call you. Me and Carter need to have a conversation.”
Josh looked from dad to me, and he sensed the trouble in the air and wisely scurried off without objection.
When he was gone, dad turned to me.
“Carter, I’m real disappointed in you. I thought you were smarter than that. Since your mother left us, people are already watching us, waiting for us to screw up, like it’s OUR fault she found another man. Last thing I need is you trashing your grades. This is the one chance you got for a free education and a good start in life, and I won’t see you fucking it up.”
“Yes sir, I mean no sir. I didn’t see it like that.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t. I’m afraid, I’m going to have to punish you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to spank you.”
“What?!” I said incredulously. “I’m not a little kid. I’m far too old for that!”
“I’LL decide when you’re too old!” my dad said aggressively.
When he was calm, he was more than willing to brook disagreement, or even a bit of respectful rebellion, but when his back was up like this, and he stood tall and his shoulders tensed, I knew it was risky to disobey him. I looked at him, suddenly nervous.
“Pull your trousers down,” he ordered, sitting on a kitchen chair.
“Trousers down NOW!”
I pushed my trousers down past the curves of my bottom. I was wearing loose, patterned briefs. Dad did the clothes shopping and he didn’t care if my underwear was fashionable.
“And those,” he said, “gesturing dismissively towards my briefs.”
I frowned, stepping away from him.
“You want me to take my pants off too?”
“That’s right. Behave like a little boy, get spanked like one.”
“No way!” I protested. “I’m not…”
I never finished the sentence. His hand whipped out fast as a striking cobra, and he hit me in my unprepared stomach with the knuckles of an open hand. It was not hard, and could have been sooo much worse, but it still shocked the wind out of me, catching me mid-sentence.
I staggered backwards three steps with a wide-eyed look on my face struggling to make a sound, and instead make a series of hiccupping noises made on the inwards breath as my diaphragm briefly spasmed.
Dad looked at me without compassion.
“Pants down, NOW.”
I couldn’t believe it, but there was no way that I was going to defy him any longer. He was a full grown, powerful, hairy man, and I felt suddenly like a helpless little boy compared to him.
I pushed my pants down, letting my cock spring free. He looked at my genitals for what seemed like too long before looking up at me with an expression I couldn’t read, and I wished with all my heart in that moment, that I hadn’t shaved them. I was so proud of how smooth I’d gotten them, even though the only people that would ever see them would be other guys in the changing rooms. It certainly wasn’t as though I was showing them to girls or even sending them dick pics. Now, with my tight balls, and my dick made stumpy by nervousness, its head drooping like a sad puppy, it felt ridiculous. Pathetic.
“Still got quite a bit of growing to do,” he said.
“Yes sir,” I said.
Statistically, I was much nearer to the end of puberty than the beginning.
“Least, I hope so,” I added.
My dad gave me a look that was half sneer, half empathy.
He reached out and gripped my left wrist, pulling me towards him, and I didn’t dare to resist. When I was close enough, he used his other arm and folded me over his knee. It was crazy-weird being in that position. His legs were apart, and my chest rested on his left thigh, while my genitals were smooshed up against his right. I turned to look at him but he pushed my head away.
“Look at the floor.”
I obeyed and he held me in position with his left arm on my back.
Then without preamble, he started to spank me with his bare hand.
He had powerful, workman’s hands, but it was clear that he had not hit me as hard as he could; not by a long shot. The first hit stung lightly, but it didn’t really hurt, and I instantly decided that if this was all I was going to get then I could easily endure it. I wouldn’t say I got cocky, but I certainly got a lot less concerned about my immediate future.
“Count ‘em off boy.”
He hit me again.
“Count ‘em. I wanna keep track.”
He hit me again.
“Th… three?” I offered.
He continued hitting me, never increasing the power, but it’s amazing how something utterly bearable; almost trivial can build up with enough repetition. I got to 12 and my ass was really starting to heat up, by 15, I was wondering how many he was going to do, and by 20 I started squirming on his knee, both from the growing pain in my ass, and the pressure on my genitals.
“Stop wriggling!” he said.
“The weight is hurting my nuts,” I told him, not wanted to admit that the spanking was also hurting.
He spanked me hard and I yelped.
“Stay STILL!” he commanded, and I did my best to obey as he continued.
“21,” I grunted, failing to include the hard hit, the pain between my legs making it harder to breathe.
He hit me again.
“22… 23… 24…”
On and on the spanks came, and despite myself, I couldn’t help but wriggle like a wilful toddler trying to escape his parent’s lap.
Eventually, we reached 30, and whilst the force of his spanks was no greater, it felt as though I had slid down a cement slide on my bare ass. I desperately wanted to reach back to see how much skin his calloused workman’s hand had abraded off.
And then he stopped. The reasoning was inexplicable to me. Was he working in binary, or some multiple of 6, or had he worn so much skin away that he thought it unwise to continue? I waited, hoping that he was not merely giving his arm a rest. Dad was not vindictive, nor did he play mind games, but then he’d never spanked me bare assed before, so I didn’t know what to think.
“Okay, we’re done. You can stand up.”
He lifted his left hand from my back allowing me to get up and I immediately straightened. He glanced at my pale, smooshed up dick as I rose. It was shrivelled as though it had been curled in sweaty underpants for too long, but the foreskin-covered tip looked moist. He looked down at his knee and my eyes followed. There was a two-inch wet patch there with a glistening centre. He reached down and touched it with his index finger, then lifted and a sticky trailer came away on the tip. He rubbed the finger against his thumb, feeling the stickiness, then he reached out and drew his fingertip over the equally sticky tip of my foreskin. I flinched away at his intimate touch, but he grabbed my penis firmly to prevent me escaping. I couldn’t believe what happened next. He pressed the index finger of his left hand against the opening at the end of my foreskin. I drew my knees together, trembling, but he ignored me and slipped his finger inside the moist tip, sliding it slowly in a full circle inside the soft skin, rubbing my glans the entire time. I felt sure my eyes were as big as ping pong balls.
“Oooh,” I winced, shocked at the sensation of his rough finger against my sensitive head.
He gave a half grin, looking up at me as I looked down at him in amazement.
He circled two more times, then pulled his finger out slowly. It slurped like my foreskin was sucking at the digit as it exited.
His finger was soaked; shiny with clear, sticky fluid.
I didn’t recognise precum – I’d never made it before, but I was ashamed that I’d leaked onto his leg. I looked at him red-faced.
I only ever called him sir when I wanted to be extra respectful.
“Hmmmm,” he growled in a deep, gravelly voice.
He stood and held his finger up to my mouth. I looked at it dumbly.
“Suck it off,” he said.
I frowned at him, and he slid it down off my upper lip, pushing my lower lip down as though I was a pouting porn actress.
“Suck it!” he said insistently, pushing the sticky finger between my full lips.
I knew better than to defy that tone of voice, so I opened my mouth slightly and he pushed it inside. I looked at it with distaste, but licked it hesitantly as though it was an unwanted lollipop.
“Suck it clean!” my dad commanded.
I started sucking, wrapping my lips around it and using my tongue, and he started pushing it slowly in and out of my mouth.
“What the fuck is he doing?!” I wondered.
Then I realised. He was finger fucking my mouth, feeding me my own juices!
I don’t know why, but my cock started to twitch upwards, bouncing as the muscles at the base intermittently contracted. I wasn’t hard, but I wasn’t completely soft anymore either. I could feel it leaping as I sucked my near-tasteless juices from my father’s finger.
He must have caught a glimpse of my dancing cock in his peripheral vision because he looked down right at it, and right on cue, as if saying “hello” my cock muscles involuntarily tensed and it twitched upwards again. Dad grinned slowly and pulled his now clean finger from my mouth.
“Guess you’re gonna be needing a shower.”
“Yes sir,” I agreed, his implication flying right over my head. “Can I go now sir?”
“Take this as a lesson Carter. I expect to see your grades rise dramatically next semester or next time I’ll use a stick.”
I rubbed my ass cheeks. To my surprise, they were not raw or bleeding, although they did sting to the touch. I gingerly pulled my briefs and then my trousers back on, then turned and headed towards the door. Just before I reached it, my father spoke up.
“And uh, Carter…”
I turned to see him smirking and raised my eyebrows in query.
“Don’t forget to wash the REST of your body too huh?”
I frowned, for a moment failing to understand the sexual innuendo. When it sank in, I blushed furiously, and turned away.
“Yes sir,” I mumbled.
I heard the sound of his laughter as I left the room.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower and stepped under the warm water. I preferred to masturbate in my bedroom; either at the computer watching porn, and sometimes I preferred the comfort of laying in my bed. But it was not uncommon for me to jack off in the shower. The feel of the water on my dick was more than enough to get me hard even if I was not thinking horny thoughts.
But on that day, I really didn’t want to feel horny. I was incredibly confused by what had happened, and it felt as though masturbating would somehow be approving of what had happened. I allowed the warm water to fall on my head and body, then I poured shampoo into my palm and raised my hands to wash my hair. Immediately, I became aware of the tinkling spray of water intermittently hitting my penis.
“So what?” I reasoned. “Just ignore it.”
But my penis was not so willing to ignore the subtle stimulation, and it quickly lifted its head and looked up to see who was teasing it.
“So what?” I reasoned again, “It’s just a boner.”
But the water acted with the expertise of a penis massager and soon my prick was so hard it ached at the base. I looked down at it, irritated by the betrayal. My balls rose up tight to the edge of the shaft, indistinguishable from the root of my dick. I pressed on the sides of my dick root to force them back into my tight sack, but the moment I moved my hand away, they moved up around my cock, travelling even higher, slipping inside my body.
I hated when they did that. It was unquestionably horny, but they also ached a bit once they were inside me.
My balls were really late to move into my nut-sack – I was seven years old before they finally settled in, and I was 14 before they got bigger and started to droop. But they had a tendency to retreat up inside my body in moments of extreme horniness or cold. I found it embarrassing, and fortunately it never happened around the guys at school, but they were firmly lodged back up there now. I knew from past experience that as long as I was this horny, they could not be made to remain in my sack.
I tried to ignore my crazy-hard boner, but it insistently demanded my attention.
“This is crazy,” I reasoned to myself, “I’ve never felt weird about wanking before. I’ll just give it a pull, but I won’t think about what just happened.”
I took my dick in my fist. The foreskin was fully retracted, but I gripped low so that the skin would slide back and forth over the head. My dick was so hard that it barely moved. I got horny all the time, but rarely this horny. I started pumping, trying to keep my mind clear of any thoughts except the feel of hand on my dick. My ridiculously, insanely hard dick.
To my surprise, the retracted foreskin was halfway down the shaft now. Usually, it tucked in behind the head, but my dick looked surprisingly pale and exposed. I was sure it looked longer and thinner too, with more of it poking out past the end of my fist.
I started pumping, using my usual technique, holding with a medium-tight grip, but there was no movement in the foreskin, so instead, my fingers slid over my sensitive, exposed helmet, sending little bolts of electric to my balls. My knees trembled inwards, shocked at how sensitive my dick now felt. After just 30 seconds, it was too much, and I had to do something I never normally did; I used lube; or at least, lube substitute. I poured shampoo onto my fist, and continued pumping. The shampoo made the sensation bearable.
I’d never really been aware of the literal sensation in my helmet before when I masturbated – it was more of a generalised sense of dick pleasure. But now, I was acutely aware of the feeling as my slippery knuckles glided and bounced past my shiny plum head. Okay, plum might be a bit of an exaggeration, cherry head. In more ways than one. Happy now? 😀
The sensation reminded me of my dad’s finger, inside my foreskin, sliding over the…
“No, stop that! You’re not supposed to be thinking about it.”
“Yeah, but why did he put his finger in my mouth afterwards? What was the point of… Stop it! Just concentrate on the wank. Think about someone from your wank bank. Amy from school.”
I thought about Amy. I fantasised her naked. But her image was quickly replaced by Kieran in the showers after soccer. His cock looked like an elephant’s trunk, ridiculously long, drooping with a foreskin like an anteater’s snout. Now THAT…
“Stop! What the fuck are you doing?! Amy, think about…”
But dad’s finger felt so good…
I struggled back and forth, pushing the memory of dad’s finger, and Kieran from my mind, trying to hold onto Amy. But I’d never seen her naked, and Kieran’s cock was a monster. Not that I even liked him. My best friend Will, had a much smaller one. He was uncut like me but the skin didn’t cover the top. It was much nicer. I wouldn’t mind seeing what it’s like when he…
“Stop! Stop! STOP! Jesus fucking Christ!”
But even as I pushed the images away, my hand never stopped moving. It was flying over my dick, pumping like I was going for gold in the Olympics. First past the post wins. Never the one to eat the soggy biscuit…
I didn’t notice that shampoo had washed away, but my helmet did. I came hard, spraying cum from my dick, and screwing up my face, gritting my teeth, my face turned skywards in ecstasy.
I kept pumping till long after I had stopped cumming, then I stood, shellshocked by the force of my orgasm. I’d never cum so hard before. Slowly I lowered my head to look at my dick. Our shower head is above the bath – yeah white trash, I know – and my jizz formed a modern art cream painting on the wall; a Rorschach of shame that betrayed how turned-on my thoughts had made me.
The top two inches of my dick were a livid red, polished just short of bruising by the friction of my frantic pounding. It would stay red for the next two days.
Seeing my uncharacteristically red dick, it made me wonder about my ass. I twisted and looked behind. My rounded cheeks were rosy, almost as bright. I rubbed the right one with my palm, and the movement felt oddly sensuous. Again, my thoughts returned to my dad. I could still taste my own tasteless juice from his finger. Even though it was almost tasteless, there was enough to notice.
I spent the next ten minutes thoroughly showering, but my dick remained brutally hard, pointing upwards in a salute to my irrepressible teen horniness.
After that day, my dad found two more excuses over the next month to spank me bare-assed. I protested on each occasion, especially as the misdemeanours meriting such a punishment seemed to be lowering in severity. The first was for coming home at 10pm on a school day without clearing it with him first. Fair enough; I guess that was a righteous bust. But the second time; the second was for not doing a good enough job mowing the front lawn. I did the job to what I thought were his usual-until-then, pretty easy-going standards, but half an hour after I’d finished, he called me in to complain that I hadn’t trimmed the edges properly. I mean, jeez, I didn’t even know the edges were something that NEEDED trimming, but nevertheless, I was called in and given the usual 32 gentle strokes. I’d learned to position myself further to the side so that I wasn’t laying on my own nuts.
Half way through, I felt his hand between my legs groping my nuts.
“What are you doing?!” I asked, alarmed.
“Just checking that everything is okay down there,” he responded, as he firmly squeezed my nuts, rolling them in my bag.
Then he continued to 32 and as usual, I left a gloopy puddle on his leg, and as usual, I was made to suck his finger clean after he’d “examined” my sticky foreskin. And after each spanking, I slunk away to the bathroom for a guilty wank.
It was weird though, that I only seemed to get in trouble now when my brother was away on sleepovers…
On the fourth occasion, something changed. I was being spanked for eating the last of the cookies. I lay across his knee as his palm lightly slapped my lacrosse-tightened buns, but as we reached 8, I felt my cock hardening against his leg. I wriggled, trying to lift it away so that he wouldn’t feel it. It sprang up against my belly, then he was pushing me back down onto his lap. I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t notice it, but I knew that he would. I mean, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t feel a five-and-a-half-inch iron bar pressing against the top of his leg. We both acted as though it wasn’t there, but he spanked me progressively harder with each strike. By the end, embarrassing tears dripped down my nose.
Then I felt a finger at my hole.
“I hope you keep this clean?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” I responded in a small voice.
He pushed his middle finger into me, and started to slowly finger-fuck my hole. I lay there, quietly; a timid animal caught in a trap. My dick couldn’t get any harder now. I lifted again from his knee.
“Now what?” he asked gruffly.
“My dick’s aching,” I explained.
This time, rather than pushing me back down, he reached between my legs and pulled my hard cock downwards, adjusting his knee inwards so that my cock did not have so far to bend when he lay me down again.
He stopped fingering my hole and stroked the back of my empty nut sack with his middle finger exploring its flatness, then he slid up to the top where my nuts were putting up a last moment of resistance, but the second his finger touched my right nut, it slid up inside my body.
“High balls,” he commented.
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Runs in the family. Mine used to do that when I was your age. I don’t think Josh’s have dropped at all yet.”
Josh was almost thirteen years old.
“Really?” I murmured.
“Nah, smaller than peas,” he confided. “But he’ll get there. All the guys in our family were late developers.”
I wish he’d mentioned that earlier in my life. I’d have grown up feeling less self-conscious.
He took his hand off my back and allowed me to rise.
I stood up, and my dick was defiant, pointing at him like an accusation.
He looked at the residual tears down the edge of my nose.
“You okay?” he asked, unexpectedly gentle in his tone.
I sniffled and nodded, trying to show some composure.
“Come here,” he said, and drew me to him in a hug.
He cupped my bottom cheeks in his hands, rubbing them gently, as he pulled me close. My boner pressed against his groin, but I turned my head to the side. I felt infantilised, but also strangely comforted. Then I felt movement against my dick – he was getting a boner of his own. It grew slowly, but insistently, rising within his pants until it rested diagonally across my own. But it wasn’t like mine – it was enormous, thick and long, almost as hard as my own. But it was just so big and manly. I’d never considered the nature of his boner, but this baby’s arm pressing against me seemed to match his alpha personality. It wasn’t a dick that knocked on the door then slipped inside barely noticed as mine did; it was a battering ram that smashed its way into any place it chose to enter. I could even feel the huge, powerful helmet.
I said nothing at first and we stood, boner to boner as he rubbed my bottom. Eventually, I whispered the obvious.
“You’ve got a hard on.”
“Same reason as you I guess.”
His response lacked clarity but I was apprehensive about asking more.
“Do you want to see it?” he asked.
I frowned. I DID want to see it; I don’t know why. Curiosity? Something deeper? But what would that mean… He was so macho. Would I disappoint him? Was it a test? But he had a boner as well.
I nodded timidly, and he grinned, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down a little, taking his boxers with them. As he did so, “the beast” sprang free, lifting its skin-covered head like the Loch Ness monster rising from the lake. My eyes widened. It was even more impressive in the flesh. I was no judge of length, but it was enormous. He reached into the bottom of his boxers and dragged out a fat pair of pendulous nuts. The skin was as wrinkled as rhino skin.
“Holy shit,” I murmured.
Instinctively, I reached out to touch it, then pulled hesitantly back as I realised what I was about to do.
“You can touch it if you like,” he said.
With his permission now given, I stretched out my finger tips and ran them along its length, then I wrapped a fist around it.
“Comparing?” he asked somehow understanding what was in my mind.
“I can’t even get my hand around it.”
“Yeah, I really won the lottery. It’s too big for most women though.”
“Will… will mine get that big?”
He gave me a friendly smile.
“Nah, sorry son. You’re pretty close to full grown. What you got now is pretty much what you’re keeping. I think one of your great, great, GREAT grandma’s must have fucked a horse, and it skipped everyone but me.”
“Seriously?” I asked lost in reverie, and momentarily not thinking.
Dad punched me on the shoulder hard enough to make me take a sudden step back. My own dick was still rigid.
“Nah, course not Carter, jeez! I just got lucky is all. A bit too lucky. Not many women will take it on.”
I moved back to him, gripping it a second time, and moving my fist towards the base. His dick head was covered by a thick rubbery foreskin. It pulled back stickily to show the head.
“Why’s it so sticky?”
“Precum, like on your dick.”
“Guess it’s your body’s natural lube. Makes it easier to fuck. Your balls makes it when you’re real horny,” he said, with an understanding of biology that was as bad as his advice about dealing with bullies.
He reached out with an index finger and caught the dangling string of precum from my dick.
“Just like you are now.”
I looked at his dick head, it was soaking and leaking from the end.
“And you,” I pointed out.
He ran his fingertip over the two bumps in my abdomen that showed where my nuts had retreated to, then he pressed down on them from above, guiding them back to my sack.
“They’ll stay there eventually. When they get bigger.”
“You said I was almost full grown.”
“True enough. It’s called retractile testicles. Means your stomach muscles are too strong. I bet they do that when you’re cold too?”
He looked at my nuts, in my round sack then removed his fingers. My nuts immediately slid back up inside. Dad grinned and moved close until our dicks were touching, then he reached down and took them both in his fist.
“Mine looks pathetic next to yours.”
“But look how hard it is,” he said in consolation.
My dick was barely half the length and thickness of his, and I felt like a kid again, although this was something he never did when I was a preteen.
He started to pump slowly. Clear, bubbling goo slopped from his dick onto mine, coating his fist and my pole. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was depraved, standing there with my dick pressed up against my dad’s, letting him slowly, jack us both off, yet it was undeniably erotic. He cupped my bottom with his other hand.
“Dad, is this perverted?” I asked.
His finger slipped into my asshole and I lifted onto my tip toes with a gasp.
“Who decides what’s okay and what’s perverted? Your mother was the most straightlaced, boring woman I ever knew, and she ran out on us to ride the cock of a fucking dance coach. One thing I’ve learned Carter, is you gotta let go. Perverted is in the eye of the beholder. Now, I’m through doing what other people think is right. I’m living for me. And you boys.”
I was shocked by his speech. I would never have expected my dad to be such an anarchist. I was seeing him in a new light.
“Are you ready to have some fun?” he asked.
“Ummm, okay,” I said hesitantly.
He pumped harder and I squirmed, instantly on the edge. His dick felt so big compared to mine. For some reason, I found his virility a massive turn on, like he was sharing it with me as he jacked us off.
His finger poked in and out of my hole, adding to the excitement of his hand. And then I was cumming, adding my cream to his slop in his fist. This time it was thick and white, and though it didn’t squirt very high, there was a lot of it.
As he felt me start, he looked down, pumping as fast as he could, watching as I gave up my jizz, and it ran down the back of his knuckles. My balls were so high now, I thought they were trying to reach my belly button.
When I stopped cumming, dad continued pumping for a good twenty seconds to ensure that my orgasm was satisfying.
“Sorry,“ I said.
“For not telling you I was about to cum.”
He grinned at me.
“That’s okay Carter, we ain’t makin’ a porno!”
I smirked at his comment.
“Now turn around and lean over the table,” he continued.
“You’re not going to fuck me are you?!” I asked, alarmed.
“Course not son. I don’t wanna rip you a new asshole.”
I looked at his monster cock. I winced at the thought of that thing tearing its way into me, but he’d said he wouldn’t, so I turned.
“Lean over the table,” he repeated, and I hesitantly obeyed.
I felt him smearing our shared juices between my legs and on my asshole.
“You said you weren’t going to fuck me!”
“And I’m not.”
He pushed my head to the table then lay across my back. I felt his cleaver between my legs. For a moment he touched the enormous head to my hole and I felt a surge of panic, but then it slipped past and he was humping my butt cheeks. The head was enormous – it felt like a, well, I hate be repetitive, but like a giant plum, or a chicken egg. It was slimy with precum.
He lay on me, pinning me to the table with his weight, while he pumped his lower body. I didn’t understand why he was pushing my head against the table. Was he ashamed for me to see, or was trying to say that I didn’t deserve to? My head was turned to the side, but I looked down and I could see his hips rippling back and forth, like a Latin dancer. I couldn’t see my own dick but I could feel that it was still wickedly hard.
Dad grunted as he ground against me. I felt like a female horse, helplessly being mounted by a stallion. I imagined how his big balls must look, swinging there between our legs. I could feel them swinging against the base of my cock, slapping my empty sack with each thrust.
Then I felt my dad’s hand on my straining boner, and he was pumping it in time with his pelvic thrusting. I wasn’t in the habit of cumming twice in a single session, but I was horny at the touch of his hand, eager to throw my load again. I couldn’t help myself, I breathily pleaded with him.
“Faster, dad, faster!”
He misunderstood and start sliding his cock faster.
“Your hand dad, faster!” I said in frustration.
He took the cue, and started pounding my cock in his fist, moving his hand many times faster than his pelvis. He was gripping like he wanted to squeeze the life out of it, and I imagined how it was when he jacked off. Probably had to take a firm grip with that much meat. Or maybe mine seemed small to him so he was afraid of not gripping hard enough.
Without meaning to, I started to grind my own hips up and down at the same pace as his, but in the opposite direction to give him more friction and resistance. I suddenly became aware of what I was doing, and stopped, disgusted at myself for acting like a faggot.
“Don’t stop!” dad snarled, his voice raspy with lust, so I started moving against him again.
His hand was flying between my legs and I started to grunt, my own tone nowhere near as manly as his, and I was cumming again, my jizz flying under the table, my body squirming in forced ecstasy. He kept pumping my cock until I fell still and silent, and then for a while longer.
His own thrusting became more aggressive, then he moved away and back in, placing the head of his dick against my hole.
“No dad!” I protested, struggling, but he pressed the side of my head against the table like he was trying to push me through it.
Meanwhile, he reduced the size of his thrusting to a series of staccato pushes. He was not trying to get inside me, just to open me up. And now I felt his hot cum on my hole. My sphincter was spread and it flowed into me, filling me like a biological enema. I couldn’t fight back or resist, so he continued until he was drained, then he slumped over me drained.
We were both sweaty and exhausted. His hairy-chested, wet torso pressed against my back, pinning me to the table, like dough beneath a roller. I could feel the heat of his jizz inside me, and the huge head of his cock against my hole, acting as a stopper, keeping it from leaking out.
He lay breathing heavily for at least a minute.
“Daaad?” I enquired timidly.
He raised himself to his forearms taking some of his weight off me.
“I’ll say this Carter, you’re a good fuck kid.”
He mussed my wet, sweaty hair with his right hand in a rare gesture of affection.
I felt like I had done something really good. Fucked up, but good. I’d made my dad happy.
He slowly pushed himself back up to standing and I did likewise. I could feel a river of cum dribbling down the inside of my leg and I looked down at it.
He gave me a lopsided grin.
“A hell of a good fuck.”
“You must have squirted your nuts dry!” I said.
He nodded underneath the table. I looked and there was a huge puddle stretching three feet.
“You didn’t do so bad yourself kid. Especially for a second time round.”
I grinned sheepishly, then turned back to him. He was soft now, but the head was still exposed and purple, and his nuts hung heavily below. I reached out and cupped them, squeezing them and rolling gently in my hand with innocent curiosity.
“Quite a set, huh kid?” dad said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I felt so close to him. I hugged him, and this time he hugged me back with true warmth.
“Your dick is like a goddamned flagpole still!” he said, amusement in his voice.
“Guess I must still be horny.”
“Let’s see what I can do about that,” he said, dropping to his knees…
My dad continues to find excuses to spank me on a weekly basis at the very least, but now I don’t view his actions with dismay, but as a transparent excuse for us to play together. Earlier today, I squeezed the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. I can’t wait for him to find out!