Father Doesn't Now

(Direct continuation of Ch. 01, so beware the disclaimer that this is gay father/son action. Enjoy!)

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After you've been fucked by your own father, and I mean that quite literally, it's hard to think about anything else.

I still had a week of school left, although it was just typical senior year stuff. All of our finals and projects were over, so we hung out and played games for the last few classes, laughing at our younger friends scrambling to cram for finals.

My mind was occupied the entire week. No one noticed that I walked a little weird on Monday, but I was definitely feeling it. Dad had torn me a new one down there, my poor pucker aching every time I stretched. Dad questioned why I was using so much ibuprofen, and I didn't have much of a reason other than 'a headache.' The response of 'your gigantic cock is the reason' probably would have made more sense.

"What are you doing when you graduate, Bran?" One of my friends asked, pulling me out of a daze. Thank God he did; I was having more of those disturbing father/son thoughts.

"I don't know, man... I didn't get accepted to any school I applied to. Maybe I'll be a beach bum."

I laughed it off, but my buddy looked concerned. "Man, don't joke about that. I'm worried for you. I'd hate to watch you rot away at home."

"That's all that's in the cards for now." I sighed. "I'll just pick up a side-job. Earn some cash so I can eventually move out on my own. My dreams right now are to survive."

"You don't have any dreams beyond that?"

I felt like there was an answer to that question, but I couldn't figure out what it was. It was there, and I understood it, but I didn't recognize the form it took. What a confused mess I was the past few days. Incest, one out of ten, not recommended.

"Not really." I mumbled. "Anyways, I need to get home."

Nights at home were getting awkward. Oddly enough, it might have been less awkward had Dad known what transpired a few days ago. At least then he could be more sensitive to my mood. As it was, the man was his usual carefree self, jolly and outgoing as ever. Unaware he was balls deep in his own son days before.

"Got your cap and gown ready? Make sure they're ironed out the night before." Dad took a big scoop of mac and cheese and shoved it into his mouth. His specialty was the store-bought kind, and it was usually a guarantee to have mac and cheese as a meal at least twice a week. I really wish he'd let me cook; heck, I would enjoy cooking for him.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, slightly angled to give us a good view of the TV. We sat side by side and, as you're going to suspect, he was just wearing boxers. He was adamant about this 'free' lifestyle, and none of my complaints were getting his pants back on.

"Yeah, I know. It's all ready. No need to worry." I muttered in typical teenage fashion.

Thankfully, he was focued on the TV right now. Sitting a few feet away but side-by-side, I was able to steal some glances down at the intruder that stole my anal virginity a few nights before.

THAT thing was inside me? It looked huge even as we sat here with nothing to stimulate him. I read up about huge cocks, how some 'showed' instead of 'growed'. Dad was definitely had a cock that didn't need to grow. It seemed to be at a full length at all times, bulging against boxers that were probably too small to contain it, the print of cock evident in the striped pattern.

"You know how proud of you I am, right?"

Oh shit, conversation. My eyes darted back up, but he was still staring at the TV, talking out of the side of his mouth. "Oh, uh. Yeah. Of course."

"I mean it." Now he turned his gaze to me. "Kids don't always handle what your mom and I went through very well, but you turned out alright. Solid grades, no tantrums, ace soccer player... I don't know how I created such a great kid, to be honest."

We both had a laugh at that. "I'll agree with you there. That's a mystery."

He smiled. "I know you don't have a plan for the future, but you can figure that out on the way. No need to rush it like other kids, going to college just to get a degree for the sake of having one. Take your time. You have a big future ahead of you."

This was sincerity on a level I'd never heard before. I was wondering why he never railed on me like Mom did when it came to this stuff, and hearing him put it into words had such a calming effect. Because I WAS stressed. And I WAS worried.

But having a caring father could alleviate that in a way I had yet to understand.

"Thanks." I smiled back. "One step at a time, I suppose. Thought I might go out and apply to some jobs tomorrow. Get the ol' resume rolling."

He chuckled. "I don't even need to coach you. That's what I'm talking about. The spirit to thrive is already in you."

Well, SOMETHING was in me recently, but- Jesus Christ, I need to stop thinking about that.

---

Graduation day came and the ceremony was short. Thank goodness. I didn't go to a big school, but I heard those ceremonies could go on for hours. I just wanted to get out of there; high school has a lot of people that you're ready to part ways with in a jiffy.

My buddies and I were going for a camping trip to celebrate, but were leaving the day after. We found a better deal on a camp ground then and wanted to wait to have the perfect trip. Maybe get some ladies to go with us, but that was in the air at the moment.

So that night was another casual one with father. We kicked back on the couch and watched some TV, having some more banter about what we were watching and just life in general. Pals again, friends till the end, we were closer than ever.

I started counting the beers and saw number six go by. Was I ready for another seven? Going to have to say no.

"Hey man, probably should finish the next one when you're ready to go to bed." I mentioned with a punch on the shoulder. "You're going to wake up on the couch again otherwise."

"Ah!" He laughed and turned a slight shade of red beneath the dark scruffle of his unshaven face."You know about the mystery of beer seven, then? Fuck, that's embarrassing."

I hadn't intended to do that, thought we were having a fun time. "Sorry man, I was just joking. I don't do too well after seven beers either. I can't blame you."

He smirked. "At the age of eighteen?"

Busted. Oh well. I knew dads cared a lot less about that than moms. "Did I say beers? I meant cokes."

"Is doing coke better?"

More laughter. The good times were still rolling. Thank God.

The clock struck midnight and we ran out of shows to hold our interest. Dad just finished up beer seven and claimed he was heading upstairs to avoid me having to drag him up there. Good call. I was pretty strong from working out for the soccer team, but I couldn't lift someone that size.

I got ready for bed and heard the sound of a large body collapsing onto a mattress. Did he just pass out on the way there? He was too funny.

But as I lay there and tried my best to get some shut eye, my mind kept coming back to it; that eleven-inch destroyer of anal virginities.

How did he even manage to hide it most days? I didn't notice any shape when he wore normal pants. Was there a strategy bigger guys used for this? You'd have to strap something like that down with duct tape.

At least it would explain why I rarely saw him in a swimsuit. Speedos would definitely be out of the question for this guy, unless people were accepting of the top of his manhood poking out like a flag.

Fuck, it was happening again. The vision of Dad in a speedo made me think more about his cock, it's length, it's girth. I really only had one good view of it so far, given my, erm, "sexual experience" with it was all behind my back. Or in my back. However you want to phrase that.

I needed another view. Just to understand it, you know? Nothing gay, just research. Of course.

Realizing Dad was dead to the world and that this might be a perfect opportunity, I walked down the hallway towards the master bedroom. I didn't have much as far as pajamas go, just wearing my short boxers and walking barefoot on the carpet.

Slowly opening the door, I shed some light into the room.

There was the great bear himself, lying on his back and snoring louder than any stereo in the house could play music. Seriously, I would worry a goddamn lion is roaming about if I didn't know it was him.

He was just wearing his boxers, of course. His arms and legs sprawled out, probably thrown there by the impact of his free fall into the cushion. I assumed there wasn't any attempt at trimming up his body hair, since the thick forest on his chest was still as present as ever.

He rocked the 'dad bod' pretty well, I'll have to admit. Nothing about him was fat, but he was average as you could get in terms of weight, a small gut below his chest. His skin was a light tan from those trips to warmer cities down south, conveniently on beaches. And I noticed his arms were actually a little toned. Hitting the gym lately?

But my focus was on the tent in his boxers. I crept to the side of the bed, having an easy time getting into position on my knees and being in arms length of my prize.

The best way to do this was probably to reach into the boxer slit and draw out the beast. My fingers were nimble as they worked (thanks for the training, video games!), and I was able to find the warm shaft and direct him out of the confinements in front.

A few snores that ended short had me worried he was going to drift back to the land of consciousness, but he continued his slumber. There wasn't any way to excuse myself out of this one if I was caught.

And then it was out. My God, was it just bigger from this angle, or had it grown? It was definitely all eleven inches I remembered, the rigid shaft hot as I held it at the base, the throbbing purple head flaring out in a way that gave a lovely mushroom shape to the tip.

It started to stiffen. Was it because I was still holding onto it at the base? Regardless, it was soon standing up on it's own, having a slight curve to its shape that directed towards his face.

Oh fuck, I was hard too. I felt my bulge press against the side of the bed, aching to get out. Good work, Brandon. It was no longer a suspicion; you enjoyed your dad's cock.

Might as well explore a bit more. My hand gripped the base tight and started to rub the shaft up and down. This thing was so thick that my fingers struggled to reach all the way around, coming apart towards the bottom as I began to pump gently. Not too fast now. Don't want to ruin a good thing.

I heard a few groans between the snores. "Mmmm... good girl, Linda..." I could really do without that. Mistaking me for mother was just adding another layer of awkward that I didn't want to deal with right now.

Whatever. This thing was THROBBING in my grip, still pumping at the base a little quicker now.

The fruits of my labor were forming at the slit on top; precum began to drip slowly down the shaft, some of it colliding with my hand. It was weird to feel someone else's precum for the first time, understanding that it was similar to my own. Warm, thinner than regular cum, and probably salty to the taste.

Did I want to try tasting it? I would lick my own precum on occasion. Nothing weird about it, in my opinion. It was mostly tasteless and had a unique texture. Let's see if Dad's was similar.

I leaned onto the bed as much as I dared, bending over it now with my elbows on the comforter, ass propped up in the air. I was still pumping the base slowly now as I leaned over and found my lips level with the throbbing head.

And I dipped down into my first blowjob. That's what this was, I suppose. It was weird to be on the other side of this for the first time, tasting the sexual lubricant on my tongue as the head slid inside my wet lips with ease.

I wasn't prepared for the girth, I'll admit. While putting the head inside was easy, every inch after that gagged me right away. My mouth strained to stretch around it as I got as much in as I could (at least three inches... that's good for a first time, right?) and I found my tongue lapping at the slit to gather the precum that dripped out. It was addicting to swallow.

"Ung... good Linda... drink from the water fountain..." Ok, Dad's sexy talk might be one of the reasons Mom left. This game was poor.

One hand pumped the base a bit harder, and now I added my other hand to the middle of the shaft. I had plenty of room for them, that's for sure. Both hands pumped in unison, fingers gripping around the soft foreskin, thankful for the precum dripping down since it allowed for a more lubricated experience Dad would appreciate in the morning.

The precum flowed, and unintentionally, so did my drool. Maybe it was just an instinct when sucking cock. My lips left his manhood drenched each time they slid up, letting that warm treat from my mouth slide down each ridge of the goliath.

I couldn't help but moan a little into his cock. As much as I was afraid to admit it in a conscious sense, deep down I was so happy to do this. It was a rush of a whole new kind of energy, the release of a sexuality I had never bothered exploring before. But I can't imagine most boys found out about it via their fathers.

My own erection pressed into the comforter, my hips humping lightly to rub it back and forth against my boxer fabric. I was soaking the undergarments, but I clearly didn't care at the moment. If it was possible to cum like this with little stimulation, I would have to imagine I'm close.

"In comes... the downpour..."

Oh shit. He was going to cum again. I hadn't prepared for this one; if I remove my lips, he'll cum all over himself. And if I didn't clean up every drop perfectly, wouldn't he be a little suspicious at how he managed to do that?

I couldn't risk it. I kept my mouth on his cock (or at least what I could manage to fit), and continued to pump that shaft back and forth. Squeezing and rubbing, my tongue still flickering at the slit. Go ahead and give it to me, daddy. I'm ready.

Fuck. Did I just think of him as 'daddy'? I was losing it.

"Wooo..." he mumbled like a drunk boy on a rollercoaster.

There was so much that sprang forward. It was like turning on a water fountain where the pressure was configured incorrectly and set to full blast. The first huge spurt hit the back of my throat, nearly making me gag at first. Then another spurt, then a continuous stream of it poured in, gushing in as the dam broke loose.

I wasn't used to the taste of this in comparison to precum. When jacking off on my own, my horny romps usually end right after I cross that finish line.

So it was new to me, to say the least. How gooey it was, the texture, the salty foretaste, and the strange tangy aftertaste. It all filled my maw quickly, my cheeks bulging as his cock continued to pump me full.

I had to swallow, less I start leaking some out. Gulp, gulp, I sucked down wave after wave, nearly gagging and bringing it back up at first. There was a lot, ok? I got into a rhythm of swallowing and gulping each load that filled in.

"Good girl..." His hand moved like it was going to pat me on the head, but luckily he missed and patted the comforter instead.

After what must have been a few minutes of swallowing my father's hot seed, I finally eased up and popped my lips off his cock, a thin strand of saliva connecting my mouth to the tip. I gasped for air and couldn't help the smirk that spread across my face; I actually enjoyed that. Aside from the 'almost barfing up cum' part.

A few more bits! I leaned down and licked them up, Dad's cock already starting to deflate and return to his stomach as it laid down. I was quick to tuck it back into his boxers and eased off the bed. The continuous snoring the whole time didn't waver, and once more he was unaware of the sexual romp he had just had with his own son.

God, I felt fucked up. These emotions weren't easy to control. But I was so hard and had to finish. My boxers came off and I stood there, jacking off to the sight of Dad slumbering and the very recent memory of what was in my mouth.

It was strange how my view of him changed so drastically in the past few days. Maybe it's because he hadn't been around much before now and it felt like we were bonding for the first time. There wasn't a previous relationship to ruin.

The way his chest rose up and down, his legs curled up beneath him, and his arms spread out lazily was all just too cute. If I was a more daring person, I would have loved to curl up next to him and run my fingers through that chest hair, to see what it felt like, to watch his expression. But I had to play it safe.

Fuck! It was so easy to cum in instances of heightened sexual tension like this. I quickly put my boxers at the head of my erection to not cause a mess, jetting a powerful load into the already messy fabric. My cock throbbed in pure ecstasy and I had to give another small moan in satisfaction.

But the 'post masturbation' guilt swept in, and I snuck out of there. I closed the door without any notice of Dad recognizing and crept back to my room. Collapsing on my bed, I proceeded to have the best sleep since the last time we fucked.

When I woke the next day, my plan was in place. I needed to work Dad into my favor and get us fucking together, consensually. There wasn't a lot of moral ground for continuing to do things like this, the innocent man unaware of what I was doing to him.

Father didn't know how hot I had it for him. It was time to use that fire to heat things up.