Wednesday, June 29, 2022

What Dads Are For

You are exceptionally handsome, Sir.

My attention perks up at the message. Whose ego wouldn’t respond to such outlandish flattery? The adverb alone makes my dick swell, where it lurks within my terrycloth shorts.

I’m visiting my dad in Virginia for the week. Today I’ve been with him since the early morning; he had one of his semi-annual checkups with his oncologist at nine, and then a blood draw for a subsequent, different specialist, tomorrow. We’ve stopped at the pharmacy, where I’ve plumbed the mysteries of my dad’s several prescriptions. I’ve clipped his cats’ claws. I’ve navigated the complications of ordering a deli sandwich for his lunch, which involves reading each of the dozens of ingredients from the deli’s app, then listening to him expel air through his lips and ruminate before he approves or vetoes each one. I’ve bought and replaced a toilet seat for him. And it’s not even yet two o’clock.

Now I’m sitting in his living room, Grindr open on my phone, as he putters around his kitchen and listens to MSNBC at top volume. Thank you, I text back to the boy who’s caught my attention. But look who’s talking.

He’s got several pics visible in his profile. A selfie in his car, square-jawed, wearing a baseball cap, his cool blue eyes staring into his camera lens. Another in red flannel, equally serious, revealing straw-colored hair, cut with military severity. A third of his torso, emblazoned with a massive dragon tattoo across his left pectoral. He’s all of twenty-three, this young dreamboat, and he’s going out of his way to flatter me.

I feel unworthy.

You wouldn’t happen to be looking this afternoon, would you, Sir?

It just so happens that I might be. When I’m visiting my hometown, it’s usually my custom to take a break mid-afternoon to head back to my hotel to relax and decompress before meeting my dad once more for dinner. I definitely could be.

Would you like to trade some pics, Sir?

His insistent use of the capital-S Sir gives me wood. So do the more explicit photos with which he follows up. Two are of his cock, taken in a way that shows off the furry blond hair on his legs; the remainder are of his backside. My heart rate soars at the sight of his impossibly narrow waist. He’s chosen jockstraps in differing colors to accentuate the round globes of his ass. You are beautiful, son, I tell him.

What are you into, dad?

Eating and breeding hole, making out, oral, and open to much more. You?

Bottom here. Into kissing, oral, poppers, bondage, choking, kissing, kink, role play, voyeurism, exhibitionism, video taping, bb.

It’s quite a list. From the kitchen, my dad asks for the third time if I want either some of the cookies he’s baked, or a slice of cake. I yell no, and reply to the kid with a couple of explicit photos of myself: one in which my cock is impaling and stretching out a hole, and another in which it’s greased up and shiny as I stroke it for the camera.

I need that. Will you please breed me, Sir? Where are you staying?

I should go for this kid, right? I really want to. I give the boy my details and my phone number. I’ll be in my hotel room after three, I tell him.

I can’t wait, Sir. It’s been over a week since I took cum.

Although my father’s eyesight is bad enough that I could be outright tenting and he wouldn’t see, I adjust my shorts, make my promises to be back by dinner, and head to my car.



Back in my hotel room and after my shower, I lie on the mattress while a stream of air conditioning blows over my half-naked body. Now, my uncertainty rises. I’ve barely tiptoed back into having sex after a two-year hiatus. I’m older. My body has changed during the pandemic: my waistline’s a little more snug, my back feels creakier. I feel I’ve lost flexibility. In the half-darkness, as I review the shots the boy has sent, I’m assailed with doubts. Why in the world would a kid of this caliber want me? He looks as if he should be collabing with porn stars for his OnlyFans, or curating shirtless photos for his influencer account, not resorting to hitting up some near-geriatric for anonymous fucking in a sleazy hotel room.

Already I’m anticipating an expression of disappointment on his face, the moment I open that door and he sees the gray in my beard and realizes I’m over twice his age. What’s he going to do, I berate myself, when he shows up and sees what a fat fuck I’ve become? Two years have given me more of a belly. It’s made me slower. Perhaps it’s erased any skills I once might have boasted. Maybe I’m not the top I once was. Maybe this entire encounter will be nothing but disappointment for us both. Whatever I used to have—whatever might have made me stand out a little among the competition—I’ve probably lost.

Although the kid has already texted me to say he’s out of the shower and on his way, there’s still time to abort this doomed tryst. I could send a stupid excuse and opt out of meeting—I should opt out, in fact. How could I have been so stupid, to subject this boy to my gross corpulence? To him, I’ll probably look like some demon, straight out of the hellscapes of Hieronymus Bosch.

Then my reason takes over, as I look at his photos on my phone and play with myself. Come on, I chide. The young man had contacted me, after seeing one of my selfies on Grindr. I’d sent him more. He knows what I look like. He knows how tall I am, how much I weigh. I don’t lie about my age, so he’s aware of that, too. He’s smart enough to make his own hookup choices. If he wants to get naked with me, why deny him the opportunity? I’m reasonably sure I haven’t forgotten how to fuck. My tongue is as glib as ever. No matter what happens, I still have the skill set to give this boy a good time. I’ll focus on that, and let the cards fall where they may.

I hear a knock at the door.



He’s standing in front of me, now, kicking off a pair of flip-flops as he looks me over. “Wow, dad.” He looks me in the eyes. “You’re even more handsome than your photos.”

“Thank you, son.” I couldn’t be more sincere in my gratitude. His hungry eyes still bore into my own as he drops his basketball shorts to reveal the bulging gray jock beneath. He’s taller than I thought, nearly my own height—maybe six foot two. As lean as his photos. Beautiful. If I’d seen him on the street, I would’ve turned my head with a silent prayer he might meet my stare with his own. Yet here he is before me, telling me how attractive I am.

He’s about to take off his tank top with the same speed when I hold up a palm to arrest him. I sit on the bed’s edge. “Slowly.” I lean back.

“Yes, Sir.” The boy understands. He pulls himself to his full height. Runs the fingers of both hands through his short, blond hair, so that I get a glimpse of the corn silk decorating his pits. His eyes lock on mine as he crosses his wrists at the waist and, in one smooth, practiced move, slowly lifts his tank up and over his head. Once balled up in a hand, he uses it to mop moisture from his face. Then it joins his shorts on the floor.

There’s a half-smile on my face as I drink in the sight of him—that lean waist, the worked-out chest with its coiled Chinese dragon, the muscular thighs that shift his weight from side to side. I point an index finger to the ceiling and give it a twirl. Again, he knows exactly what to do. Looking at me over his shoulder, he turns. I draw in a sharp hiss of air at the sight of his ass. In the photos, it had been perfect. My impression is only improved, in person. Twin globes, pert, framed perfectly by the gray elastic. He watches as I lean forward with my elbows on my knees, appreciating the view. “Am I okay, dad?”

I chuckle. “Okay?” He’s not asking out of cockiness, nor from vanity, I can tell. There’s a genuine tinge of anxiety behind the question. I sit up and look him directly in the eyes. “No, son. You’re not okay. You are fuckin’ beautiful.” He opens his mouth to thank me, but I’ve hooked my pinkie and index finger in the elastic bands separating buttock from thigh. When I tug him toward me, he stumbles backward with surprise. I press the heel of a hand on the small of his back, and he bends.

“Oh!” is all he says when my mouth meets his pucker. He smells of soap. Though his legs are covered in blond fur, the pelt ceases where the jock begins. My hands run over the smooth skin of his back and chest and ass; his hole is completely hairless. The boy tastes so good. This isn’t going to be some lick ’n’ stick. I need to spend some time on this hole.

“Come here,” I order, as hastily I plump two of the pillows in the bed’s center. His hips grind into them as he flops in a diagonal across the mattress. Once he’s settled, I dive back in.

“Your beard…fuck,” he whispers. He’s grinding his hole back onto my face, mashing it hard as he can, trying to abrade my facial hair against the tender flesh. “May I do poppers, dad? Please?” I grunt to let him know I approve. I hear, rather than see, his lungs expand to accommodate the vapors from within the little brown bottle. Beneath my tongue, though, his ass blossoms.

For long minutes I apply heat and pressure to his pink hole, working in moisture, opening it wider. His hips rise and fall in tidal rhythm. His groans subside to whimpers, then rise in volume to become noisy pleas once more. My own cock lies, thick and hard, at an angle beneath my thigh as I grind it against the bedsprings. It can’t go unsatisfied for long. At last, I seize the boy’s ankles and pull them apart. Between his legs I slither up, until my dick juts against that wet crack. “Dad needs to be inside you, son,” I whisper in his ear. “You understand, right?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replies. His eyes are wet with adoration as he looks over his shoulder at me. “Anything you need.”

“Give me those poppers.” I hold out my hand as he scrabbles to find where they’ve rolled. Once mine, I unscrew the little cap and curl a thumb halfway over the aperture. “Head back now. Breathe.” He takes a tentative sniff as I force the bottle beneath his nose. “Breathe deep, son.” This time he obeys, huffing deep. “Other side. Sniff deep, son. It’ll get you ready for dad’s big dick.”

“Is dad going to bareback me?” He knows the answer, but as he takes another lungful of poppers, it’s clear he needs to hear the answer aloud.

“Dad is going to slide his raw dick up inside your tight little hole,” I promise, “and fuck his beautiful boy. Then he’s going to fill his son full of seed. How’s that sound, sport? Think you can handle a real man’s dick?”

He’s eager now, turned on by the scenario. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy,” I tell him.

I haven’t forgotten how to turn a bottom on. Not in the least. This perfect specimen of youth is arching his back. His neck is craning upward, his lips begging to be covered with my own. When our mouths meet, he exhales, the scent from the bottle still in his lungs. We kiss deeply. His eyes close.

“You can do this,” I encourage him. “Show dad what a good boy you are.”

“Yes sir.”

When my knob begins to probe at him, he whimpers a little. I need no more than a little more spit to slick him up. He opens for me while I slide deep, inch by inch. “You’ve got it,” I whisper, as it hits home. “You’re doing it, son. You feel so…damned…good.”

“Oh god.” His head hangs now. The pillows hold his hips at a perfect angle for me. I draw his legs together and surround them with my own, as I drive in. My hands wrap around his neck, applying a gentle pressure. He responds with gratitude, shoving backward onto my cock. “Yes, sir. Thank you, dad.”

“Good boy,” I whisper again. As I fuck, deeper and faster, I keep up a stream of filth in his ear. “That is one sweet ass, kid. Made to be fucked. Dad’s going to fill up that boyhole with seed, just because you show it off so well, son. It’s not right to tease your dad like that.” I lose track of my words, even as they continue. The sensations feel too good. The velvet of his clutch grips and milks my shaft; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Tell dad you love his big cock.”

“I love it,” he gasps, his voice box vibrating between my palms.

“Say it.”

“I love dad’s big cock in my little boyhole,” he trumpets. “I love my dad fucking me. I love my handsome dad’s enormous—oh, Christ.”

Hearing the words force me to stab harder. At home, late nights after I’ve turned out the lights, raccoons fuck in the trees outside my bedroom windows, screeching like they’re being murdered. Those are the sounds we’re making, now—deeper, but just as loud and unbridled. This is no longer lovemaking. What we’re doing is mattress-bouncing, barnyard fucking, no less frantic and feral than animals in the moonlight. “Good boy,” I growl once more as I pound into him. My arm is now wrapped around his neck; his chin rests in the crook. “Take it. Take it. Take your dad’s cum.”

When I release into him, he’s ready for it. His hole opens wide to receive my gift; simultaneously he turns on his side and takes me with him, as I continue to convulse, so he can release his swollen cock from its elastic confines. Still shooting, I reach around to feel it, feverish and slick in my grasp. “May I cum, Sir?” he begs.

“That depends on if you want more loads from dad,” I warn.

Immediately he releases his cock. I, too, take my hand away, in case he’s too close. “I do,” he admits. “I do want more loads. I can wait. Can you cum again?”

“I can.” I grind my cock into his prostate, feeling the button press back against the head.

The sensation makes him close his eyes. “Oh shit,” he says. The words are urgent. “I’m shooting. Sorry, dad. I’m shooting!”

I’m lying both beneath and beside him, with enough clearance to peer at his midsection. He’s not touching himself, but his his erection pulsates and shudders. One jerk toward the ceiling. Two. Then, hands-free, as his hole contracts around my only slightly softened dick, semen shoots from the tip. The thick fluid arcs through the air and lands on his abdomen. Another jet flies onto the blanket, a third onto his forearm. The remainder oozes from the tip in a slow and inexorable gush.

“Sorry,” he pants, genuinely mournful. “I wanted to hold out. But you just made my ass feel so fucking amazing.”

“That’s what dads are for,” I say, as I enfold the boy in my arms and hold him close.

Maybe I haven’t lost my touch, after all.

11 comments:

  1. So fucking beautiful. You haven't lost your touch when it comes to either breeding or writing, my friend. May you keep doing both, and often.

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  2. "When my knob begins to probe at him,...."

    I almost lost it just reading that part. :-)

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  3. Tennessee Williams couldn't have written it better. Thanks for sharing. Sigh. Lovely adventure.

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  4. Great to have a story from you to read again. Hearing you gave the boy what he wanted was hot.

    Being a couple years older since the covid made us stay home for a while has certainly made me wonder if anybody would want me and could I give them what they are looking for. It was good to know someone besides me have had similar questions.

    Go have some more fun.

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  5. You give me hope for getting through my fifties

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  6. Thank you for making my mind race and my cock hard. Your adventures and ability to express them have been pure dirty joy. Thanks sexy man

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  7. It sounds in no way have you lost your touch. You gave young man what he needed and then some. I love the fact that you didn't let any insecurities stop you from going through with your meeting. That in itself is DADDY as fuck.

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  8. Hot story Daddy :)

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  9. As always, you make us bottoms envy the boys that get to be fucked by you. Very hot!

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  10. Wow…. Love your writing.

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