The sizzling sounds and smoky scent of bacon filled the kitchen as I leaned over the stove to flip over golden brown pancakes.
"Mmm, something smells good," Derek, my husband of 10 years, said as he wrapped his arms around my waist and planted a light kiss on my neck.
"Just wanted the boy to have one last nice breakfast before he's subjected to dining hall crap for the next nine months," I replied.
"Speaking of Patrick, shouldn't he be up by now?"
I blushed slightly as realization dawned in his grey eyes.
"You kept him up late again, didn't you."
"More like I kept him up late," Patrick said with a laugh as bounded into the kitchen and snatched a piece of bacon from the paper towel lined platter. "You know I needed one last taste of daddy's dick before I leave."
Derek gave a knowing laugh and gathered together a makeshift breakfast sandwich of bacon, eggs and two pancakes. "Wish I could see you off, but duty calls! Good luck, Patrick."
With a scoop of his satchel over his scrub-clad shoulder, my husband tousled the boy's dark hair and sped out the door.
As I plated eggs, bacon and pancakes I took in the sight of this young man I'd come to think of as "my" boy. His dark hair and thick brows sat above his expressive brown eyes and a smirk of satisfaction played over his thick lips. He was gorgeous - tall and thick, shoulders stretching the blue button-down shirt I'd gotten him for his trek to university.
The steam from the fresh pancakes rose in front of him as he said "thanks, daddy" with a wink.
Fuck, I was gonna miss this.
"You're welcome, boy."
His eyes widened slightly as he knew what was coming. I knew calling him boy would get him hard and even though I knew I couldn't get off again after the marathon fuck we'd had the night before, he was young and came at the drop of a hat.
"Better eat your breakfast, it not really the most important meal of the day but I'd hate to waste all that bacon."
"But daddy..."
"No buts, well... except your fine ass."
With a wink, I ducked under the kitchen table. I was awfully big to do it, but I wanted to give my boy one more thrill.
"Eat your pancakes," I commanded as I unzipped his jeans.
"D-daddy..."
I inhaled the faint hint of cum and musk from the night before even his shower hadn't washed away.
His cock was so thick, a thatch of dark hair at the base that continued down his meaty thighs.
Admiring it for a moment, I cupped his balls and slid the his hard tool into my mouth and enjoyed the delicate flavor of his precum.
I felt the table shift as he gripped the sides of the tabletop. I bobbed up and down, flooded with the memories of the first time I'd gotten the pleasure of tasting him.
Like most great sex in our modern world, it started with an online message. I couldn't believe this sexy 18-year-old was messaging me. I was almost old enough to be his father. After a full day of hot and heavy sexting Patrick finally got up the nerve to ask me to meet at a secluded picnic table in the middle of nowhere.
The ground was wet and the air was humid but the heat between us was more palpable than any weather phenomenon. In a frenzy, he ripped off his own shirt to reveal his soft, hairy belly and chest. I was mesmerized and immediately began to suckle at the small pink nipples. His hand groped at my own body, grabbing at my rapidly hardening erection.
He pulled off my shirt and nuzzled his handsome face against my own hairy chest. I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a warm hug before dropping to my knees.
I pulled his half erect cock free from its fortress of buttons and fabric, gripping my prize until it reached full hardness.
"Suck it, daddy. Please"
Mmm, yes boy.
I snapped out of my memories, realizing my boy was echoing the moment he first called me daddy. His cock pressed against the back of my throat as I slurped it. My nose buried in his pubes as I took the full length, his girth stretching my lips. Inside my mouth, my tongue lapped against his warm hardness. Tentatively I flicked a finger against his taint before pressing into the crack.
"Fuck, daddy," he gasped.
With a pop, I pulled my mouth from his girthy cock.
"Eat your breakfast, boy."
The linoleum under my knees was slick with sweat as I continued to use my hands and mouth to tease Patrick to the moment we both craved. With a grunt he poured his sticky load onto my waiting tongue and I swallowed his boy cream for what I feared would be the last time.
Melancholy thoughts assailed me as I crawled out from under the table and washed away the salty flavor with some OJ.
I knew he wasn't "my" boy - he was his own person. Free to fly away, free to make his own decisions, free to have sex with anyone who would have him - or abstain.
Which was why it was so delicious the nights he pulled me from my bed or joined my husband and I in ours. The mornings spent spooning and then forking, the afternoons when I would catch him smoking pot and he'd just laugh and tell me to punish him. Because he wanted to, wasn't obligated or forced. Because he enjoyed daddy as much as daddy enjoyed him.
That first night, when he called me "daddy" causing my heart and my cock to simultaneously swell to full erection, we'd just fooled around like I'd done with guys many times before.
But something was different. We kept talking, mostly about sex but also about life, anxiety and ABBA songs. It didn't take long for me to become protective, angry when his classmates teased him and concerned with his getting enough sleep and finishing his homework.