Abandon all preconceived notions about narrative and storytelling. Abandon any idea of plot. Embrace the smell of semen. Welcome... to Smutville.
Oh, and if you don't like affectionate homophobic slurs, turn your set off now.
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Grunting, I pumped my third load of the morning into the toilet bowl, my fist squeezing tight at my fat cock to milk the last droplets out. There are disadvantages no one tells you to being a real stud, and one of them is the near constant need to fucking
cum
. For normal guys it's bad enough, but for me? It's overpowering. The urge hits and I
gotta.
Doesn't matter where, doesn't matter when, I get hard, it ain't going away on its own. And it's hard to miss. People tend to notice when you pop wood if you're packing a foot-long slab of fist-thick fuckmeat and balls the size of oranges. I'd thought it'd ease off when I quit adolescence, but here I am in my mid-twenties and still getting hard at the thought of a light breeze.
I didn't bother flushing the toilet as I stuffed my cock back into my threadbare, stretched out jock and sauntered back out of the jizz-reeking bathroom into the hallway, leaving the door open behind me. The news drifted out of my little sister's room as she did her hair for the day, and the smell of breakfast was filling the house from the kitchen, courtesy of my faggot daddy. What? He is. I love him anyway. I love my faggot sissy daddy. Who wouldn't? He's cute. He's skinny, he's femme, he's funny, he's swishy, and he loves to suck cock. What more could a stud want in his old man?
Given the choice of french toast and a blowjob, or a lie in, I settled on french toast and strutted into the open plan kitchen. It was pretty nice, all things considered - you know, the usual upper middle class dream. Sub-Zero fridge, 6-burner gas stove, an arsenal of La Creuset pans and Wusthof cutlery. Amazing what people will buy for you online if you've got a dick that doesn't quit, a great ass, and the kind of arrogant stare that makes paypigs swoon.
Daddy was there, manning the stove in his powder-blue silk kimono. I greeted him like usual, with a good firm smack to his ass and a kiss on the cheek before taking my place at the head of the table, naked except for my jock. There was already coffee waiting for me, and I sipped away while I worked out my schedule for the day. I had class - anthropology, actually, not sports medicine, why did you think that? And yeah, I'm still an undergrad at 25, but you know what, you don't get a lot of time to study when you're fucking all day instead of reading textbooks - at mid-day for an hour or two, then the usual gym sesh, and then tonight was all blocked out for family time, like every thursday night.
Tonight, though, was going to be special: my little bro was coming back from his gap year in Africa, and bringing his Ghanaian wife with him. Well, technically, they got back yesterday, but jet lag is brutal so we figured they should sleep it off in a hotel room and then come round for family night. Just easier than trying to get through all the hugging and kissing and groping and fucking with a hangover, you know?
You don't?
What do you mean, none of this makes any sense?
Don't ask me to explain myself, I don't know why any of this is happening. What do you think I am, the author? I'm just a puppet of some deranged sex maniac, probably a goddamn amphetamine junkie, with a head full of porn and Tom of Finland drawings! He's probably writing this on the wall with his own filth in a padded ward somewhere as part of some ill-conceived court-mandated art-therapy program for the sexually monstrous, for christ's sake! Okay. Are you done pretending to be looking for serious literature? Ready to suspend that disbelief and get back to reading one handed?
Good.
It's real awkward being pointedly reminded you don't exist by the readers. Hurts a guy's feelings.
Our brief interruption over, I returned to my phone and tapped out a quick reply to one of my girlfriends - not tonight, busy. Then Daddy served up the french toast and went to round up the rest of the tribe. I served myself, digging right in - no sense letting it go cold.
The first to appear was my little sister, Natalie, the cutest little serial cocksucker in the tri-county area, already with a name for herself as a serious slut at the tender age of nineteen. She'd come out swinging in the last year and a half, really going for it - I guess she and I are two peas in a pod that way. Her fuzzy pink sweater hid a great pair of tits, but the real standout feature on her was - no, not her ass, asshole, her eyes! Big, wide almond eyes, so dark they were almost black, they'd suck you right in and drown you. Oh, sure, she was a cocky little minx, but those eyes? Soulful is an overwrought term, but overwrought or not... Soulful is the right word for them. (What? I can be sensitive.)
"G'mornin', sissy." I said, grinning at her with a mouthful of french toast and laying a slice out on a plate for her.
"Hey." She smiled back, and when she met my gaze, I nearly melted. Well, not melted, exactly. I nearly popped a fresh one then and there. I definitely twitched down there in my jock, my fat fucker jumping like it was after the gold. I was saved only by the arrival of my mother, who bent down to kiss my head from behind and pulled my gaze away.
