Wildfire

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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All characters are 18+

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Life was better in the summer. My body felt and moved differently. The air and sun pressed firmly on my shoulders, relaxing me, where winter had me hunching over, finding my own body warmth.

And summer meant worrying about absolutely nothing. This meant I could run and workout as much as I wanted, I could write as much as I wanted, fuck as much as I wanted; who I wanted, when I wanted.

Summers were mine.

When I wasn't with my friends fucking around naked by the river or eating three-story diner burgers, I was with my dad, helping him with projects and renovations and activities. I was his best friend, and he was mine, and nothing made me happier than to spend a summer with him alone.

This was the trip of a lifetime. Starting in Ohio, we made a straight, near one-hundred-and-eighty-degree line across the continental U.S. Meaning, we passed through every state including and between Ohio and California, driving in the RV and camping out in tents for the entire month. I had never spent so much time with my dad in my whole life.

And my life flipped upside-down that summer. My stomach still does somersaults when I think about it today, and I have to stop myself or I get brain-fog and my palms get sweaty and I lose all inhibition.

But let me start with the big picture.

My dad and I decided to embark on this trip the summer of my birthday which, in my case that year, happened on the very same day as my prom. We would leave the following week and come back exactly a month later, back and forth, stopping at national parks and campgrounds and other sightseeing destinations. We had always both behaved like monkeys in nature, exciting our primal instincts at any chance we would get.

Now, I have to be clear, this trip started as a very wholesome idea, and my dad didn't have any hidden motives for me or anything. What taboo events that transpired were mutually consensual acts that bloomed from an entirely natural expression of desire. It was something I had wanted to happen for a very long time, for whatever biological reason I could come up with, and I was lucky enough to have it happen.

This particular chapter will cover the first incident, which occurred on the first leg of our trip in Iowa.

It was almost midnight when we arrived at the campsite, and we had just driven three hours from Indiana. We had planned to camp out on some grounds near Effigy Mounds National Monument. The check-in clerk gave us the number of our lot and wished us a good evening, and I got our stuff ready to pitch the tent. It wouldn't take long if I set out everything in the back of the RV before arriving.

We would be here for 3 nights, and I wanted everything to go smoothly. I was already beginning to learn from the mistakes I made at the beginning of the trip, my dad watching me struggle through it all. He had given me full reigns to administrate and oversee the trip, and stressed that he wouldn't be helping me when it came to the logistical stuff.

For instance, I was usually the one driving. I was the one who had planned each and every stop. I was the one who conjured the budget, and the length of the trip. This trip was as much a project as it was a vacation. And we both wanted this. My dad had had a tough year with two of his friends dying and I couldn't imagine him carrying the burden of this trip.

Besides, I had more energy, and I really wanted to treat him.

We arrived at the lot and I set up the tent while he rested his head on the driver's seat window in the parked RV. He could have easily just slept on the bed in the RV that night, but I guess he still wanted the camping experience. Inflating the mattress was the longest part, as it was thick and almost impossibly massive. But it would be worth it as it was also incredibly comfortable.

When that was done I took out the sheets and blankets from the bag and set up the bed nicely. Then I asked my dad if he wanted to go to sleep as it was all ready and he nodded. It didn't take long before he stripped down to his underwear and got under the sheets.

I prepared the food for tomorrow and followed suit. He was already snoring by the time I got comfortable, and for this I couldn't sleep.

Now, knowing myself and my body, there was only two things that would help me fall asleep, music or masturbation. And since I didn't want to wake my dad up with music my only option was quiet sexual gratification.

I haven't been exactly clear about something though. Every time I'm around my father I get extremely horny. I had a terrible time, for a long time, coming to terms with the fact that Dad aroused me.

It started when I accidentally touched a cum stain on his underwear while doing the laundry one afternoon. He had clearly just jerked off into it earlier that morning, and the fresh cum rubbed in to my fingers accidentally. I wasn't even sure what it was at first, so I took my hand to my nose and smelled it.

It smelled exactly like my own.

It was then that I realized I hadn't cum that morning, and that I was touching my father's cum instead. I was almost disgusted with myself when I realized my cock was suffocating in my pants, throbbing red and beginning to slicken. I got a wicked hard-on at the thought of Dad's semen on my body, and I needed immediate release.

Luckily my dad was asleep upstairs, so I snuck into the bathroom still covered in cum, and yanked down my pants. I used his man juice to lube my pulsing cock and within seconds I shot a five loads into his briefs. I finished my short session rubbing my cock into the dick flap where I found the cum. It's not like he would find it, anyways.

There and then I had sparked a fire I would never be able to extinguish.

So being in the tent in bed beside my nearly-naked father, alone on this trip, it was only natural that I use this time to shoot a load into my PJs, as I had been doing almost every night of this trip. My heart raced at the thrill of it all and I lost my self control. Maybe there was a cunning part of me deep down that hoped I would be seen, or caught, or better: accompanied.

Before I could get any progress made on my stroking my dad halted a snore, woke up not noticing me, and left the tent to take a piss. I could hear his him rip a thick stream and it only drove me wilder. My heart beat like a drum in my chest, every echo rattling my limbs. I started to stroke faster hoping to let it spit as soon as he walked into the tent.

And just as I was about to blow he slid back in, shaking himself off and pulling his dick back into his briefs, seeing it for only a split second. I turned to my side, in his direction, pretending to adjust my sleeping position when, really, I turned to bust my nut into the fitted sheet. My hand finished thrusting when I felt a profound sexual pressure from deep inside me escape through the tip of of my dick, puddling up beside my thigh.

I kind of fucked up. My heart still raced miles a minute, as it was entirely possible my dad would adjust his own position and dip himself into my cum puddle by accident. While this idea also terrified me, I felt another thick cum puddle brewing inside me, hoping that this would actually happen. I wanted him to touch it, roll in it, play with it. I wanted him to use it for his own personal pleasure as I once did his.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of french toast escaping from the RV. Surprising, given we had agreed to cook and eat like real campers for the next four days. I left the tent to pee and then visited my dad in the RV.

"Morning."

"Morning, handsome," he said, and before I could accost him for making a too-glamorous breakfast he went on. "I know, I know, I promised-we promised. But we had five slices of bread left and only, like, two inches of syrup left in the bottle."

"It's fine," I laughed. "At least you're making it."

I had set out all the ingredients to fry a camper's breakfast the night before, with bacon and eggs and potatoes, but this morning was the first time I didn't have to cook on this trip so I didn't complain.

"Sleep well?" He asked me.

"Yeah," I lied. "I did, actually."

"Really? You look more tired than me," he giggled.

Was he fucking with me?

"Well," I admitted. "I slept well for, three hours?"

He laughed again. "You can nap some more today. I think we'll take it easy."

Oh thank god, I thought.

We ate our breakfast relatively quietly. I told him all the things we would find nearby, like mountains and rivers and hiking paths. He confessed he wanted to go swimming and I told him there was a perfect, secret place to do that. As I had been here once before with friends on a similar, much smaller trip last year, I knew my way around the area. I think this idea relaxed him.

But this stressed me out, and I think he noticed because he quickly massaged my shoulders after breakfast and told me he would clean up. And this did nothing to temper my erotic sensibilities. The second he touched me I sprung an erection and I couldn't stand up for a few minutes.

What he said next had even made everything worse,

"I'm going to wash in the river," he said. "You want to show me where it is?"

So I picked at the last bits of my food while I struggled for flaccidness, and then I got up to show him. My dad went to get his towel and flip-flops, and I figured I would do the same. It was about a seven-minute walk from the lot so I wasn't going to walk back to shower. So we left.

The morning sun illuminated the river mist. As soon as my dad saw the shoreline between the bushes that hid the spot, he took off his flip flops and shorts, hanging them on a nearby branch and made for the water. I watched his incredibly firm ass cheeks wiggle underneath his briefs, which he kept on as he sunk in.

He was in my secret place, now.

I couldn't believe what I was looking at. The water was likely freezing at this hour, and Dad simply strolled into the river without much of a thought. I watched him twist and turn, his muscles rippling beneath his wet skin.

Dad was in phenomenally good shape for a man his age. While he was only 48, his lean physique screamed decades younger. I had always been attracted to men older than me, and my father, curse my existence, could not have been any more my type.

I imagined jumping naked into the water with him, wrestling with him, letting the water bring us closer together. I dreamed of having his thick cock pressed up against me, sliding between my ass cheeks.

"So are you coming in?" He shouted. I snapped out of my daydream and made my way to the water. As soon I reached the shore Dad left the water, his briefs dripping. Through them, I saw the outline of his flaccid manhood

"Don't do what I did," he said, taking off his briefs. His cock hung a good several inches, even when cold. A dark but well-trimmed bush nicely covered the base of his thick shaft. My father went full-frontal without shame.

My very own most enthralling sexual fantasy manifested right before me.

I had only seen his cock a few times before, once being last night when he shoved it back into his briefs after pissing. Though neither time did as much justice as right now.

"Fuck it," I thought. "Fuck it, I don't care." I didn't care that I was in the midst of springing a massive hard-on, I wanted to be naked with my father. I didn't care that anyone might see us because there was nothing wrong with simple skinny dipping. And plus, nobody knew us here. There was no reason for shame. So I removed my shorts and briefs as I watched him return to the water, my cock escaped and slapped up against my belly button.

I guess my dad heard it because he turned around, looked at me and giggled. I was embarrassed but the only way to stop my embarrassment was to enter the water with him. His lips twitched as if to make a comment but I guess he held back.

So we swam. Naked. And in silence. The water was freezing but it only took moments for my body to adjust to it before I was gliding comfortably around. I was in heaven.

I was in heaven, bathing in sunlight and river water for about a minute before my dad slung a handful of mud from the river bed in my face. It didn't take long before we were in a full on war, our bodies partially exposed as we ran to the shore, away from each other's attacks and back in the water. Our cocks dangled between our thighs with every aggressive movement and, to my surprise, my dad kept looking down there.

Then we were both doing the same thing. Slinging mud to distract ourselves from the glimpses we were taking at each other's cocks. Then we started to get closer. Trying to get in as much mud as we could into the other person's skin, until we were only inches away, rubbing the dark paste directly on ourselves.

And we were both rock hard, ass-above-water. It was then, in the heat of the moment, that we kissed each other. His lips were wet and plump, and fit nicely between mine, moving up and down in attempt to control my own lip movements. Then he approached, his hard, wet cock pressing up against my own, and grabbed my hip. If he hadn't done that I might have lost my balance altogether.

We were covered in mud but it didn't matter. He took his left-hand palm, which was the least covered with mud, and begun to stroke my manhood, leaning in even closer to kiss my neck all the while. So I took the opportunity and started to stroke him with my right hand, grabbing, squeezing firmly his right ass-cheek with my left hand. The head of his cock was shiny and purple, and throbbed between my wet fingers. All I wanted in the world right then and there was to have him nut in my hand and on my stomach. I flexed my asshole at the thought of this, at the thought of my father's semen on my body coating me with love.

We both kept at it for a few minutes. Soon, we were slobbering over each other like we had waited years for this to happen. It was possibly the most excruciatingly pleasurable edging session I had ever had. Every time the pressure from inside me wanted to escape, he would stop stroking me and resume to kissing and rubbing me lightly, as if he knew my body and my cock and everything that would drive me fucking insane.

And then he stopped. We both stopped. Without cumming. He looked me down and up and down again, probably thinking, reconsidering what he was doing. I wanted to yell. He wouldn't stop like that, would he? Leaving me on the brink of climax in the cold water?

But he did. Not without kissing my neck first, though. He pressed up against me one last time, his chest hair tickling my nipples, and then descending into the water to shed off all the mud I had flung at him. He came up clean, and quiet, glistening in the sun.

I watched him walk to the shore naked, putting on his shorts without his briefs and drying himself off with the towel he had hung on the branch. I watched him tease me as I cleaned myself, and it was only when he was far away beyond the rocks and bushes that I heard him call,

"Are you coming?"

And so I followed.