r/GayIncestFantasies

After starting a family at 18, I was a pretty young single dad to have an 18 year old son. Ethan was the joy of my life. He and I were closer than he was with his mom, but they still had a good relationship. Janice and I divorced when Ethan was only 12. At first he was very upset but after he realized that we would still spend a lot of time together, he was ok. In fact, I spent more time with him because it was always one-on-one and I wanted to use all of my spare time with him. He loved camping and fishing so we went on a lot of camping trips. He developed a real talent for baseball and that gave us another thing to share. I took him to Cubs games frequently when he was growing up.

He was flying high in his senior year and even though baseball season was months away he was training hard. I had set up a pretty nice home gym for him when he first started lifting as he started playing baseball in his early teens. He used it a lot but did most of his workouts at school or we'd go to the really nice gym nearby. His car was out of commission with some major problems and his uncle was probably going to have to rebuild the engine or replace it. So, I was his occasional taxi when he was short on cash for an Uber.

When I pulled up to the high school, he was already waiting for me out front. It really struck me how much he'd grown up just over the last year. He'd just completed his upper body workout and was really pumped up. His chest, shoulders, arms, and lats were bulging. He didn't ignore his legs so those thighs and calves were looking amazing. And he was damned cute. He still had his boyish face but now with a killer grown-up jaw line and full scruff. I was so proud of him. I found myself getting a little aroused and it really freaked me out that I was feeling attracted to my son. I mean, yeah, I knew he was hot. But I was always impressed with his work toward fitness, and his dedication to his workouts. I figured out I was bi soon after my divorce and quickly determined that even though I was attracted to women, I was primarily interested in men. So of course I might feel something if my mind drifted and I was looking at my son's body in a semi-detached way, right? At least that was my explanation to myself about it.

Hey Dad, thanks for picking me up. Someday Uncle Matt will get my wheels rolling again. I just wish I had time to work on it with him.

I don't mind at all, son. You'll be heading off to school next year and I am enjoying every minute I get to spend with you before you go.

Oh Dad, you know I'm going to come home every other weekend to dump my laundry on you and get some decent food!

That's fine but you can wash your own smelly jockstraps!

You've smelled my jockstraps? Hahahha.

Yeah, I can smell them from 10 feet away.

Well, can you smell mine NOW? Get closer and get a big whiff! Haha.

I don't know what came over me, but I leaned over and took a big whiff only inches away from his rather large package. I could tell he'd taken his cup off even though he hadn't showered and changed yet. I knew he was big like me, and I could make out just how big with my close-up view.

Yep, I can certainly smell it. Whew! You'd better strip down and get that thing in the washer as soon as we get home. You'd better get into the shower fast too. You're a little ripe!

Oh Dad, I smell good! It's fresh sweat, not old dirty stinky sweat. I smell like a man!

Yes, you do.

While my head was down near his crotch I noticed he didn't react and actually spread his legs and pushed his package into my face. I looked up at him and he had a devilish smirk on his face. I thought I was just imagining it but I questioned if he was flirting with his dad! Turns out, he was.

I caught myself gawking at his round, beefy bubble-butt as he got out of the truck. Damn, wtf is wrong with me? He turned back at me and busted me staring and I got that smirk again.

He usually heads straight up to his room, jumps in the shower, and changes before I see him before dinner. Today he started stripping down before I even shut the kitchen door. He kept looking back at me and smiling as if to make sure I was watching him. Shoes, socks, shirt...pants. He was clearly at half mast and his jockstrap was leaving nothing to the imagination. Like me, he was hanging to the left and the combination of his large dick and his big balls made for quite a bulge. I couldn't look away. I caught myself and looked up. He was staring back at me and held my gaze while he dropped his jockstrap to the floor.

Uh, I thought the guys didn't wear those anymore.

Not really, but after you mentioned it I thought I'd try one out again. I was hard all through practice! I'm nearly hard now. I guess you noticed that.

Yeah, I haven't seen you in a jockstrap since you were starting out and they made you wear them. It's not like you boys even needed them back then. Haha.

Well Dad, as you can see I can more than fill one out now. I'm big like you.

And then a big smile.

You wanna compare? I might be bigger than my daddy. You never know. Genes are unpredictable.

I don't think we need to do that. It's not a competition. You've got a great dick. I'm happy for you and your horse cock. Hahahaha.

Come on Dad. I've seen your dick a few times but I've never seen it hard. I've always wondered how we compare. I'm serious. Whip it out.

By then he was fully hard. Rock hard. I was too and I think he noticed.

Against my better judgement, I got caught up in the moment and my lustful feelings and decided it wasn't a big deal. We've been naked in front of each other before. But not while we were hard...

He walked over to me and unbuttoned my pants and slowly pulled my zipper down but not before pressing his hand against my cock.

Wow Dad. You are rock hard too. I don't know, I think we're almost the same size.

At that moment he smashed our cocks together and tried to determine who had the biggest meat. They looked a lot alike but he was actually about 1/2" longer. But I was a bit thicker. He wasn't letting go. We looked into each other's eyes and started laughing.

Dad, this feels really good. I thought it might be weird but it really isn't. I don't think I've ever felt this excited or been this hard. And it looks like you are having the same reaction.

You know, I don't feel weird either. It somehow feels both comfortable and really exciting. Like we shouldn't be doing this but it doesn't feel wrong.

Should I let go?

No. Ummm... You can jack us together if you want. Is that too far?

He didn't even answer, he just started stroking us together. I couldn't believe this was happening and I was struggling with my brain telling me to STOP THIS RIGHT NOW. All I could do is stare into his eyes. While he was taking care of our dicks, I put my hands on his face and slowly glided down his body taking time to fully fell the contours of his shoulders, chest, and those fucking abs. I told him he'd better stop for a minute or I was going to paint him. I continued touching him dragging my hands around to his ass and up his back. I know it's crazy that I was so attracted to my son and was enjoying his body so much, but that's what I was feeling. And he was feeling it too.

After he let go of our cocks, he started exploring my body as well. At 36, I was still in pretty good shape and went to the gym regularly. He moved his head down to lick one of my nipples and my dick throbbed. He laughed.

I guess you like that. Haha. Dad, I want to suck it. I have been thinking about it for a long time.

Ethan, Really? Are you sure? I don't want to mess up our relationship. So far I think we're both comfortable with touching each other's bodies but sucking my cock -- that's a line we can't uncross.

Dad, I want it. I want it bad. I've been fantasizing about it since the first time I touched it. Remember that?!

Yes, you were just being curious. That wasn't sexual.

No it wasn't. But I remembered it and later on thought about it a lot.

Son, I can't lie to you. I've been thinking about it and wanting to feel your mouth a lot lately. It's really caused me a lot of anxiety and I've been afraid to tell my therapist about it.

After that admission, he slowly let his hands drift down to my hips and knelt in front of me. He seemed mesmerized by it and held it in one hand, feeling the weight of it and how he could just barely get his had around it.

Dad, it's so thick. Your cock is beautiful. I've never seen a better cock. And I watch a lot of porn!

And then he licked me from my balls to my tip. He didn't seem to have an aversion to my pre-cum and licked it all up. He looked up at me and I was in heaven. He took the head into his mouth and moaned a little. My beautiful son. It's fucked up but watching my cock slide in and out of his mouth was like nothing I'd ever imagined. He worked his way down my shaft, a little further with each downward slide. He choked a little but wow, he was very good. My thick 8 inches were not easy to fit in your mouth.

Is this your first time!? You've done this before, haven't you?

Yeah. Duh. You caught me and Jacob that time. We practiced on each other a fair amount.

Oh yeah. I forgot about that. I remember thinking, like father, like son. Lol.

Yeah Dad, we both have big dicks and we both like sucking them. At least, I hope you do.

With a big smile, he looked up at me hopefully.

As a matter of fact son, I love sucking dick. And I too have been thinking about yours way too much lately.

With that, I lifted him up by his arms and kissed him. He hungrily kissed me back and squeezed my ass. I quickly dropped to my knees and started admiring my son's big dick. Bigger than mine! We didn't measure but I think it must be 8 1/2 - 9". And I'm not exaggerating.

I felt silly but I couldn't resist rubbing it all over my face and smacking myself with it. He laughed and took ahold of himself and did the slapping for me.

You're a big cock slut Dad!

Yes I am. Lucky for you! Is it ok if I swallow your load? I want it so bad. So bad.

Are you kidding Dad? I have been fantasizing about feeding you my load every day. But you have to let me have yours next. Then I want the next one inside me. Will you breed me Dad? Please.

I went to work. I needed to make my son cum. And I needed to taste it. And swallow it. Right or wrong. My God I loved his cock. First I licked off the pre-cum that had just dribbled out. Then I worked my way down his shaft, swallowing his 9" bit by bit. I think this is probably one of the biggest dicks I've swallowed. He was gently holding my head and running this fingers through my hair. He gradually firmed his grip and started pushing himself down my throat and I took it like a pro. I love having a cock in my throat but having my beautiful son's 9-incher was amazing. I've never experienced anything that blissful.

I could tell Ethan wasn't going to last long. He was leaking profusely and tasted so good.

I'm gonna cum Dad. I'm gonna cum! Ohhhh...uhhhh...I'm cumming!!! Oh Dad. Show me my cum on your tongue. It's all over your face Dad. OMG let me lick it off.

I swallowed most of his load but purposely pulled off of him to get a squirt or two on my face. I was in heaven. So I'm a freak, oh well. I know Ethan was also getting something he'd been wanting for a long time. He licked his cum off my face and kissed me deeply. His cum tasted wonderful but the taste of him in his mouth was incredible. We had a long kiss and then held each other for several minutes. I suggested we head to the large shower in the master bath and rinse off. Honestly, I hadn't had enough of his body yet and wanted to wash every inch of him.

I know this is going to go further...

My uncle and I haven’t ever been particularly close but growing up he lived about an hour away so I’d see him several times a year. I’ve had a crush on him forever, he’s very fit and handsome and I’d see him a lot shirtless at a family lake house. Nowadays I’ll see him at holidays and we’ll talk on the phone on my birthday. Last time we’d talked was on my birthday a few months ago.

He called me out of the blue the other day, I wasn’t available at the time so he left a message and said he’d like to catch up and ask me about my recent move and starting a new job out of college. I called him back yesterday and during that he made some comments about wanting to come visit me and that I should call him if I ever needed anything and it just gave me a certain feeling that he might be attracted to me, but I also feel like that might just be me hoping that he is and manufacturing it. He’s told me before that he’d like to have me come stay with him too.

As far as I know, he doesn’t know I’m gay. I’ve never told him, it’s possible that my dad has, or that he’s guessed it. And as far as I know, he’s straight, he was married to a woman for around 30 years and has a girlfriend now.

I’m just not really sure how to approach this to let him know that I’m into him if he’s interested but also not make things weird if I’m misreading the situation .

After so many years of not seeing my dad, we were finally about to be reunited.

It was a hot day and the sun bore down on me, causing my shirt to cling to my back like Velcro as I took my final steps to the bar.

The place was a dive. Dingy and almost invisible if not for the swarm of drunken barflies huddled outside.

Meeting here was dad's idea. Meeting at all was dad's idea, relayed via a text out of the blue. Seeing this place, I knew he had to have reached out while under the spell of drunken sorrow.

I could've gone the rest of my life happy having never seen him again, but the news that he had fallen on hard times right when I had was too tempting to resist.

I was hoping that by seeing him at his worst, I might be rewarded with an ego boost. Plus, he said drinks were on him and I could really use a drink.

Twenty minutes passed as I waited outside, repeatedly telling the same man I didn't have a lighter before dad showed up. I barely looked up from my phone as he quickly muttered a faint apology.

"It's fine." I retorted, placidly yet firmly.

He nodded and gestured to the door.

"Shall we?"

Without a word, I got up from the bench and turned to head inside.

The stench of ale-soaked carpet assaulted my nose immediately. I could feel dad's smirk as he took a long, deep breath before chuckling at my twisted grimace.

"What are you having?" He asked, suddenly.

"Cider, thanks."

"Go find us somewhere to sit. I'll get a round in."

I scanned the room, fighting the urge to roll my eyes as they glimpsed middle-aged harlots and alcoholics galore, all transfixed on their various 'hilarious' nothings.

Off in the distance was the one table nobody had either crowded or taken every chair from. The surface was littered with hours-old glasses and cigarette packets, but beggars can't be choosers.

It would have to do.

I took the seat facing the bar, finally getting a good look at my father for the first time since my childhood.

His hair was short and wavy. Messy, but not unkempt. It was a deep brown with silver dancing throughout.

He wore a thick beard, which punctuated his strong cheekbones and framed his near perfect teeth as it almost completely enveloped his upper lip.

His eyes were draped in a calm sadness through a lens of striking steel blue.

Noticing how handsome he was was frustrating and made ever more annoying as he approached.

Like mine, his shirt clung to his skin as though it were glued. Through patches of sweat, I could make out a body I could only dream of.

Bulky and furry.

His arms were tree trunks with thick fur as bark, ending in large hands with thick fingers, both gripping a glass tightly.

I had come to feel better about myself, and yet here was a man who looked like me, if I were my own type.

I had never felt so self conscious.

"Here we go," he said, placing two glasses on the table, "two ales."

I stared at him blankly.

"You asked for cider," he groaned.

"I asked for cider."

"I'll take it back."

"Don't worry about it. It's already here."

Dad sat down slowly. Glancing around the room, embarrassed to have let me down twice in five minutes in our first meeting in over a decade.

I could feel that he was expecting comfort. I left him flustered.

Maybe I could still get that ego boost after all.

We sat in silence for a while, though silence is hardly the word when you're surrounded by cackling drunkards.

The ale tasted like piss, but I kept sipping. Slowly slurping as to push dad to break the silence. Hiding my smirk all the while.

"Finished with these, love?" Called a voice from behind me. I turned to see a barmaid gesturing to the mess our table came with.

"Oh, yeah... thank you."

She collected each glass and discarded piece of trash slowly, tossing them into the bucket under her arm.

"You're very quiet today, Jim," she said, nudging my dad in the arm.

"Long day, Mary," he said, not looking up.

"Who's your friend?"

Dad paused for a second, looking up at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"This is my son, John."

Mary put her hand on my dad's shoulder and gave me a smile. She finished clearing the table and left without another word.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"I don't have a lot of people to talk to," Dad paused for a moment and cleared his throat before continuing. "Mary is the one who convinced me to reach out to you."

"Oh."

"She's helped me see how much I..." Dad looked directly into my eyes, "How much I let you down. I'm sorry."

I looked at him for a moment. He had let me down. A lot. But in his eyes, I could see how much he wanted to change. How hurt he was to know how much he hurt me.

I definitely wasn't going to get that ego boost.

"Water under the bridge," I said, clinking his glass with mine before downing the rest of my drink. "If you get me a cider this time."

Dad laughed, obviously relieved. His shoulders relaxed for the first time and he leaned back in his chair. A button on his shirt came loose and one side fell, revealing a patch of thick chest hair.

I couldn't help but stare as he quickly finished his beer.

"Message received," he chuckled. There was a lingering pause before he looked down to see what had caught my attention. "Sorry! This old thing loves to pop open from time to time." He laughed again before getting up and fixing his shirt. I smiled sheepishly. "Cider?"

"Cider. Thank you."

Dad offered a half-hearted finger gun as he stumbled away. Clearly he was a bit of a lightweight. Though I can't exactly throw stones after my wandering eye took a vested interest in my own father's chest. But fuck me, it was a nice chest. What I wouldn't give for a man with a chest like that. I could spend hours nestled in all that fur between two perfectly rounded pecs. Shelves of hairy bulk. The kind of chest no pillow company could ever compete with.

I fought to regain my composure. At the end of the day, the owner of that gorgeous chest was of course my father. Forbidden fruit, as it were. If only I could stop thinking about it.

Dad was on his way back, this time with a tray. He held it above his head with one hand as though he were a butler, flexing his arm and puckering his lips as he strutted back to the table. This really didn't help to calm my mind after the whole chest situation. Now I just had more ammunition.

Arriving at the table, he carefully placed the drinks on the table. First a beer, then another. He paused for a moment and pantomimed knocking on his head sarcastically. He laughed as I rolled my eyes then produced two ciders, placing them in front of me and holding the tray over his chest. Out of sight, out of mind. I could finally breathe again.

"I thought I'd buy you two to make up for the mistake earlier," he mumbled with obvious shame, as he hugged the tray awkwardly, still standing over the table. His arms were beckoning me as they tensed against the damp plastic circle. Fucking hell.

"It's fine, really. Thank you," I sputtered, trying to hide the lump in my throat, but failing spectacularly.

Dad slid one of the ciders closer to me.

"You should lubricate a little," he said with a chuckle. "That's a hell of a frog in your throat."

Did he have to say 'lubricate'?

Dad quickly returned the tray to the bar and hurried back to the table. His shirt was damp where the tray had been, causing his chest to peek through the fabric almost completely. I did my best not to stare, but dad noticed almost immediately.

"Holy shit," he laughed, gesturing to his chest. "We haven't seen each other in a long time and now here I am giving you an eyeful!"

I laughed, hard at first, but quickly petering out into an awkward chuckle as I realised how little I minded seeing so much of him. I took a long sip of my drink.

"I don't mind," I said, trying not to sound too eager. "It's not exactly the first time I've seen a man's chest."

Dad guffawed, holding my arm. His hand was warm as it gripped my bicep softly, almost covering it completely.

With his other arm, he took a long sip from his second beer before looking down at the table. "Yeah, it wouldn't be for me either."

His fingers tapped my arm lightly. We locked eyes for a second and gave each other a knowing smile.

That's when he realised he was holding my arm and slowly pulled it back. "Sorry, I'm not used to drinking so quickly. I tend to nurse a pint all night."

"You don't have to apologise so much," I said, touching his arm. It was huge. Firm. "Try to relax a little."

"You're right." Dad leaned back again, leaving his arm on the table. My hand still holding it loosely. His shirt button popped open again and I pulled my arm back as if he could feel my heart beating faster.

We sat in silence as he reclined in his chair, keeping his arms on the table when he wasn't sipping on his beer.

I was leaning against the table, trying not to be obvious as I looked him up and down. He might have been a terrible father to me, but he was an absolute vision. He was the hottest man I'd ever seen. If I hadn't known he was my father and we bumped into each other in a club, I would've spent the whole night trying to sleep with him. What is wrong with me?

Dad looked at me through squinted eyes with a cheesy smile. I looked back at him. puzzled.

"What?" I grinned.

"You're really handsome," he said before leaning forwards, "I know I'm supposed to say that because I'm... whatever, but I mean it."

I was stunned. All the thoughts that had flooded my head all night came rushing back all at once as I stammered and let out an awkward laugh.

"Thank you," I said finally. "Coming from you that means a lot."

"Coming from me?"

Shit.

"Y-yeah."

Dad stifled a cocky grin as he finished what was left of his last drink.

Dad pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocked and shook it lightly, raising his eyebrow at me.

"Sure," I said, reaching out my hand. He passed a cigarette to me and placed another behind his ear. He stood up slowly, fighting gravity as he did so. I started to stand, but realised that the front of my shorts was unusually tight. My dick was hard as a rock. Why was he so hot?!

"Coming?" Dad asked, standing over me.

"Yeah, just a sec," I begged, hoping he'd take a head start, but he just stood there, watching me.

I stood up slowly, turning away from him as I stumbled behind the chair. Using the backrest as cover, I turned to face him. Dad snickered before leading me out the back door.

It was dark now and there was a chill in the air as rain began to fall.

"That's the problem with the weather in this country," dad said, lighting his cigarette, "Never know if it's coming or going."

I shivered slightly, still covering my boner with my arm as dad handed me his lighter.

I looked down, seeing that my crotch was thankfully covered by the darkness, so if I had to be the weirdo who got hard from looking at his own father, at least it wasn't visible. I quickly lit my cigarette and handed the lighter back to dad.

"You cold?" He asked.

"A little," I said, rubbing my arm. "I wasn't really expecting rain."

Dad gripped my arms and rubbed them up and down for a minute. Still holding them he asked "Better>" I nodded, not wanting to call too much attention to myself as my dick twitched aggressively.

"Do you want to go somewhere with a bit more light? I can barely see you."

"No!" I snapped back. I pulled out my phone and held the screen near my face.

"Okay, weirdo," He responded with a laugh. Dad took a long drag of his cigarette before turning back to me. In the phonelight I could see his chest again and my dick throbbed harder. I looked up to his eyes quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed. "I'm having a really good time with you tonight. Thank you for meeting me."

"Me too."

"Can I...?" Dad opened his arms slowly, offering a hug. I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn't have a reason to say no, so I accepted.

Dad came in close, wrapping his huge arms around me. His chest pressed against my cheek. My dick throbbed so hard I thought it might tear a hole in my shorts. Dad was mumbling apologies in his drunken stupor as he pulled me even closer. I could feel my face getting redder as my dick pressed against him. I would have pulled away, but it felt so good.

I didn't know what my dick was rubbing against, but I didn't care as long as he was drunk enough not to notice. As he pulled away, I instinctively covered my dick with my hands again.

"I think your phone was digging into me for a while there," dad said with a laugh. Shit.

I looked down, realising that I was so preoccupied with covering myself that I forgot I had my phone in my hand. It was now shining a light directly onto my bulge. I also realised that dad's hands were still holding my waist. My erection was going nowhere.

My arms were trapped in place. I fought to turn off the light without calling too much attention to my dick or making him let go, but I was too late. Dad looked down and let out a "Woah".

"I'm so sorry," I said quickly.

"It's alright, it happens to the best of us," dad said leaning in and whispering, "Especially after a few drinks."

Somehow the relief of tension allowed my dick to relax. Now we were only at a semi, rather than burning at attention. I could work with that. We finished our cigarettes and dad led me back inside.

"You want to come back to my place? I can give you a spare jacket and some jeans," Dad asked as we made it back to our table.

"Sure, I'd like that. Thanks."

[Let me know if you'd like a part 2. I'm really enjoying writing this down. It reminds me a lot of my true experiences.]

Cahpter 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/GayIncestFantasies/s/YlZOCu81yD

The heat wave arrived without warning, pushing temperatures into the high nineties and turning the old house into a convection oven. Elena declared the kitchen off-limits after noon and retreated to her study with a portable fan. Sophie vanished entirely, spending her days at friends' houses, anywhere with air conditioning and people her own age.

Which left Ethan alone with his father in the sweltering quiet.

Ethan had taken to working in the basement, sorting through old boxes of college notes and childhood memorabilia, seeking refuge in the relative coolness of the concrete walls. He didn't expect company. In all his years growing up, his father had rarely ventured downstairs during the day, too busy with work, with obligations, with the life he'd built outside these walls.

But on the third day of the heat, Marcus appeared at the bottom of the stairs, carrying two beers, wearing nothing but gym shorts and the sheen of sweat that made his silvered chest hair curl against his skin.

"Your mother says I'm not allowed to work," Marcus said, descending the stairs with deliberate steps, his eyes fixed on his son. "Says I need to 'relax.' Thought I'd see what you're up to."

Ethan looked up from the box of textbooks he was sorting, surprised. "Just organizing. Nothing interesting."

"Let me see." Marcus settled onto the floor beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough that Ethan could smell him—sweat and soap and something musky and masculine that made something twist in Ethan's stomach. He handed Ethan a beer. "What'd you find?"

"Old papers. Some photos from freshman year." Ethan shifted, trying to create space between them, but Marcus didn't move. If anything, he leaned closer, peering into the box, his bare arm pressing against Ethan's bare arm.

"You were so young," Marcus observed, pulling out a photograph of Ethan at eighteen, grinning with his dorm roommates. His thumb brushed over the image, then his hand settled on Ethan's knee, heavy and warm. "Seems like yesterday I dropped you off. Remember? You wouldn't let me help you carry your bags. Too proud."

"I remember." Ethan's voice came out rough. His father's hand was still on his knee, thumb tracing small patterns through the thin fabric of his shorts. "Dad—"

"You've grown so much since then." Marcus's hand slid higher, just an inch, just enough to make Ethan's breath catch. "I look at you now and I see a man. Not a boy. A man."

The basement was dim, lit only by a single bulb and the narrow windows near the ceiling. Shadows pooled in the corners. Ethan felt trapped by the heat, by the darkness, by the weight of his father's hand moving slowly, deliberately higher up his thigh.

"I should—" Ethan started to stand, but Marcus's other hand came up, catching his wrist, gentle but firm.

"Stay," Marcus said softly. "Talk to me. We never talk anymore, Ethan. Not really."

Ethan settled back down, his heart hammering. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You." Marcus didn't release his wrist. His thumb found the pulse point, pressing just enough that Ethan could feel his own heartbeat against his father's skin. "How you are. What you want. What you're feeling."

"I'm fine. I'm just figuring things out, like you said."

"Are you?" Marcus's hand on his thigh had reached the hem of his shorts, fingers resting there, burning against Ethan's skin. "Because you seem restless. Unsettled. Like something's keeping you awake at night."

Ethan swallowed hard. He should move away. He should stand up, go upstairs, escape the intensity of his father's gaze, the strange tension that had been building for days. But his body wouldn't obey him. His legs felt heavy, rooted to the concrete floor.

"I'm just hot," he managed. "It's the heat."

"The heat," Marcus repeated, and his voice had dropped to something low and intimate. "Yes. It makes you want things you shouldn't want. Makes the boundaries blur."

"Dad, I don't—" Ethan didn't know what he was trying to say. Deny? Confirm? His father's hand was sliding higher, fingers curling beneath the hem of his shorts, touching bare skin, and Ethan felt paralyzed, caught between confusion and something else, something he didn't want to name.

"Shh," Marcus murmured, his other hand finally releasing Ethan's wrist to cup his jaw, turning his face until they were looking directly at each other. "It's okay to be confused. It's okay not to know what you want. Let me show you."

"Show me what?"

But Marcus didn't answer with words. He leaned in, close enough that Ethan could feel his breath against his lips, could smell the beer on his tongue, could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. He stopped just short of kissing him, hovering there, making Ethan feel the space between them like a physical force.

"Tell me to stop," Marcus whispered, his hand still beneath Ethan's shorts, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. "Tell me to stop, and I will. I'll never mention it again. We'll go back to being father and son, and you'll never wonder what might have been."

Ethan's mouth was dry. His heart was racing so fast he felt dizzy. This was wrong—he knew it was wrong, knew it in his bones, in the part of his mind that was screaming at him to pull away, to run upstairs, to pretend this wasn't happening.

But his body had other ideas. His body was leaning into his father's touch, his breath coming short, his skin alive everywhere Marcus touched him.

"I can't," Ethan breathed. "I can't tell you to stop."

Marcus smiled then—slow, predatory, victorious. He closed the distance between them, not kissing Ethan's lips but his jaw, his throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the pulse hammering in his neck, his hand finally, finally moving higher, cupping Ethan through his shorts, making him gasp.

"That's my boy," Marcus murmured against his skin. "Let go. Let me take care of you."

From upstairs, they heard the front door open—Sophie's voice calling out, Elena's response—and Marcus withdrew slowly, deliberately, his hand sliding out from beneath Ethan's shorts, his lips leaving Ethan's throat. He sat back, composed, as if nothing had happened, though his eyes were dark with hunger.

"Your sister's home," he said, his voice steady, giving nothing away. "We should go up."

Ethan sat frozen, his body throbbing, his mind reeling. He felt marked, claimed, like his father had left invisible brands on his skin that everyone would see.

"Dad," he whispered, and the word sounded different now, weighted with something new.

Marcus stood, offering his hand to help Ethan up. When Ethan took it, Marcus pulled him close, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead that lasted just a fraction too long to be fatherly.

"Think about what you want," Marcus said softly. "I'll be waiting."

He climbed the stairs and was gone, leaving Ethan alone in the dim basement, trembling, confused, and aching with a need he didn't understand.

---

The Fourth of July party was Elena's annual tradition, resurrected now that the family was "whole again." Ethan found himself avoiding his father, staying close to his mother, helping her with decorations, anything to avoid being alone with the man who had touched him in the basement darkness.

But Marcus found him anyway.

"You've got sunscreen on your back," Marcus observed, appearing beside Ethan by the grill. "Missed a spot. Let me get it."

Before Ethan could protest, his father's hands were on him, rubbing sunscreen into his shoulders, his lower back, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his swim trunks to get the skin there, too. It was a public gesture, something any father might do for a son, but Ethan felt the intimacy in every touch, remembered those same hands moving higher in the basement, and felt himself responding despite his confusion.

"Dad, I can do it," Ethan said, stepping away, his face burning.

"Nonsense." Marcus caught his wrist, pulling him back, his grip firm, his voice pitched low for only Ethan to hear. "You keep running from me, Ethan. Why is that?"

"I'm not running."

"Aren't you?" Marcus's thumb traced circles on Ethan's wrist, the same pattern he'd used in the basement, and Ethan felt his knees weaken. "You've been avoiding me for two days. Ever since..."

"Ever since you touched me," Ethan whispered, not looking at him. "That shouldn't have happened."

"But it did." Marcus stepped closer, crowding Ethan against the grill, his body heat overwhelming in the summer sun. "And you wanted it to. Don't lie to me, Ethan. Don't lie to yourself."

Ethan finally looked up, meeting his father's eyes. "I don't know what I want. I don't understand what's happening."

"Then let me help you understand." Marcus's free hand came up, settling on Ethan's hip, possessive and deliberate. "I'm attracted to you. I have been for longer than I want to admit. And I think—you're attracted to me, too. Even if you're afraid of it."

"You're my father," Ethan said, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

"And you're a grown man. Twenty-two years old. Old enough to know your own mind." Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing Ethan's ear, his whisper hot and intimate. "Old enough to choose. I'm not forcing anything, Ethan. I'm just offering. I'm here, if you want me."

He stepped back, releasing Ethan, and the sudden absence of his touch felt like a physical loss. Marcus picked up the tongs, turning to the burgers as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just upended Ethan's entire understanding of himself.

"Think about it," Marcus said casually, for anyone to hear. "Let me know when you decide."

Ethan stood frozen by the grill, his heart hammering, his body betraying him with every breath. Around them, the party continued—his mother laughing with neighbors, his sister dancing with her friends, the normal world spinning on while Ethan stood on the precipice of something he couldn't name.

That night, after the fireworks, after the guests went home, Ethan found himself unable to sleep. He paced his room, replaying his father's words, his touch, the look in his eyes that promised things Ethan had never imagined.

A soft knock at his door made him freeze.

"Ethan?" His father's voice, low and intimate. "Can I come in?"

Ethan should say no. He knew he should say no. But his feet carried him to the door, his hand turned the knob, and there was Marcus in the hallway darkness, wearing pajama pants and nothing else, his chest bare, his eyes dark with intent.

"I wanted to check on you," Marcus said softly, stepping into the room without waiting for invitation, closing the door behind him. "You seemed troubled today."

"I'm fine," Ethan lied, backing up until his legs hit the bed.

"Are you?" Marcus followed him, step by step, until they were standing close, too close, the space between them charged with electricity. "Have you thought about what I said? About what you want?"

"I want—" Ethan stopped, unable to finish, because he didn't know what he wanted, only that his father's presence made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

"Let me help you," Marcus murmured, and then his hands were on Ethan's face, tilting his chin up, and he was kissing him—really kissing him, his mouth hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against Ethan's, and Ethan melted into it despite himself, despite every voice screaming that this was wrong.

Marcus broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Ethan's, breathing hard. "Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don't—if you want this—let me show you how good it can be."

Ethan stood there, trembling, his father's hands still cradling his face. He thought of his mother sleeping down the hall. He thought of the life he'd planned, the future he'd imagined. He thought of every reason this was a mistake.

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was: "Don't stop."

Marcus smiled—slow, triumphant, hungry. He pushed Ethan back onto the bed, following him down, his weight settling over him, his mouth finding Ethan's again, and Ethan surrendered to it, to the heat and the wrongness and the terrifying, overwhelming rightness of his father's body against his own.

"Good boy," Marcus murmured against his lips. "My good boy."

And Ethan, lost and found in equal measure, stopped thinking and let himself feel.

​

The old house smelled exactly the same—that was the first thing that struck Ethan when he stepped through the front door. Cedar and wood polish and the faint, lingering scent of his father's pipe tobacco that had permeated the walls over decades. Twenty-two years old, degree in hand, and somehow stepping across that threshold made him feel seventeen again, awkward and oversized in his own skin.

"Ethan!" His mother Elena appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her dark hair streaked with silver pulled back in a practical bun. At fifty, she carried herself with the same efficient energy Ethan remembered from childhood—always moving, always organizing, always *doing*. "Let me look at you. You've lost weight."

"College dining halls, Mom," he said, accepting her embrace, her familiar perfume—lavender and something citrus—filling his nose. "Where's Dad?"

"Helping Sophie move her things to the guest house. She decided she wants the apartment above the garage for her last year of high school. Something about needing independence." Elena rolled her eyes, but there was affection in it. "Go say hello. He'll want to see you."

---

Ethan found his father in the driveway, wrestling a mattress up the narrow stairs that led to the converted garage apartment. Marcus Hale was fifty-four, broad-shouldered and starting to silver at the temples, his reading glasses perpetually perched on his head like a decorative accessory. His forearms strained against the sleeves of his faded polo shirt as he maneuvered the bulky furniture.

"Need help?" Ethan called up.

Marcus turned, and his face transformed—breaking into a grin that made the new lines around his eyes crinkle. "Ethan! You're early. Here, grab the other end."

They wrestled the mattress together, father and son, Marcus calling out instructions as they navigated the tight turn at the top of the stairs. Ethan's eighteen-year-old sister Sophie stood in the doorway of the small apartment, arms crossed, watching with an expression of tolerant amusement.

"Welcome home, college boy," she said as they finally dropped the mattress onto the waiting frame. She'd grown in the four years he'd been away—taller, her face thinner and more angular, the last traces of childhood softness gone. But her eyes were the same sharp hazel they'd always been, missing nothing. "Mom's been cooking for three days. You're expected to eat everything."

"Wouldn't dream of disappointing her," Ethan said.

Sophie looked between him and their father, something unreadable passing behind her eyes. "I'm going to grab more boxes. You two can handle the dresser, right?"

When she was gone, the small apartment felt suddenly intimate. Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, smiling at his son with an expression that made something flutter in Ethan's chest.

"She's excited you're back," Marcus said. "We all are."

"You look tired, Dad."

"Just getting old." Marcus clapped a hand on Ethan's shoulder, heavy and warm. "Come on. Let's get the rest of this moved, then we can catch up properly. I want to hear everything about your last semester."

---

That first week, the house adjusted to accommodate Ethan's return. Four people created different rhythms than three—more dishes in the sink, more competition for the bathroom in the mornings, more voices overlapping at dinner.

Elena filled the silences with updates: Sophie's college applications, the new book club she'd joined, the neighbor's divorce that had scandalized the cul-de-sac. She moved through the house like a benevolent storm, organizing and feeding and managing, always touching—adjusting Ethan's collar, patting Marcus's cheek as she passed, ruffling Sophie's hair even as her daughter ducked away with a groan.

Sophie orbited at the edges, caught between childhood and departure. She spent hours in her new apartment, emerging only for meals or to raid the refrigerator, her phone perpetually in hand, her conversation brief and wry. But Ethan caught her watching him sometimes, studying him as if he were a puzzle she couldn't quite solve.

"You're different," she said on Thursday evening, finding him alone on the back deck. She'd brought him a beer, which she wasn't technically allowed to drink herself, and settled into the chair beside him with the ease of someone who'd spent eighteen years claiming space beside him.

"Different how?"

"Older. Quieter." Sophie pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. "You look at Dad differently."

Ethan's heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Like you're noticing things." She shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "College change you?"

"Four years changes everyone."

Sophie nodded, accepting this, and they sat in comfortable silence watching the fireflies emerge from the darkening tree line. Inside, they could hear their parents moving through the kitchen—Elena's voice raised in some story, Marcus's lower responses, the clatter of dishes being washed.

"He's been different too," Sophie said quietly. "Since I started high school, maybe. More... I don't know. Present? He used to just work all the time, but now he's around more. Asking questions. Wanting to do things together." She glanced at Ethan. "I think he missed you. Having a kid who actually wanted to spend time with him."

Ethan felt a strange ache in his chest. "I missed him too."

"Good." Sophie stood, stretching. "Then maybe you can take him off my hands sometimes. He's always trying to do father-daughter bonding activities. It's exhausting." But she was smiling as she said it, and she squeezed Ethan's shoulder before going back inside. "Welcome home, Ethan. Really."

---

The moments accumulated like sediment.

Marcus teaching Ethan how to properly season the cast iron skillet he'd ruined in college, standing close behind him at the stove while Elena was at her book club and Sophie holed up in her apartment. His father's hand guiding Ethan's wrist with gentle pressure, his chest nearly touching Ethan's back, his breath warm against Ethan's ear. *Like this. See?*

The two of them rebuilding the back fence on Saturday while Elena took Sophie shopping for prom dresses. Shirts discarded in the July heat, Marcus's hand on Ethan's back to steady him as he stretched to reach the top rail. The casual intimacy of it, the way his father's palm felt searing and necessary through the thin cotton of Ethan's undershirt.

Evening conversations on the porch swing after dinner, when Elena retreated to her study to answer emails and Sophie disappeared with her headphones. Marcus's knee occasionally bumping Ethan's as they talked about nothing—baseball, the neighbor's new dog, whether the tomatoes would ripen before the first frost. Each touch accidental and electric, neither of them acknowledging it, neither of them moving away.

Ethan found himself watching his father. Noticing things he hadn't allowed himself to notice before, or perhaps hadn't been ready to see.

The way Marcus's forearms looked when he rolled up his sleeves, working in the garden—strong and corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair gone silver in places. The low, rich sound of his laugh when Ethan made a joke at dinner, the way Elena's eyes would flick between them, something thoughtful in her expression. The careful attention Marcus paid to Ethan's words, leaning in when Ethan spoke about his thesis, his professors, his uncertainty about graduate school or job applications or what shape his life should take.

"You've become a thoughtful young man," Marcus said one night, after the women had gone to bed and Ethan had stayed up to keep his father company. They were on the porch again, fireflies dancing, cicadas singing their summer song. Marcus's voice was pitched low, intimate in the darkness. "I don't know if I ever told you how proud I am. Not just of your degree. Of who you've become."

Ethan's throat felt tight. "Dad—"

"I mean it." Marcus turned to face him fully, and in the dim light from the kitchen window, his eyes were dark and serious. "I know I wasn't always... present. When you were younger. I threw myself into work. I thought providing was the same as parenting." He paused, glancing toward the house where his wife slept. "I know better now."

"You were a good father," Ethan said, and meant it.

"I tried." Marcus reached out, his thumb brushing Ethan's cheekbone—just a gesture, just paternal, except Ethan felt his breath catch, felt his skin warm where his father touched him. "I want to be better now. While I have the chance. While you're here."

They sat in silence after that, shoulders nearly touching, watching the night deepen. Ethan was acutely aware of his father's breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint smell of his cologne—something woody and clean, the same scent Ethan remembered from childhood, from being lifted into strong arms, from feeling safe.

He wanted to lean in. The realization struck him like a physical blow, sudden and undeniable. He wanted to close the distance between them, wanted to feel his father's arms around him not as a son but as... something else. Something he couldn't yet name.

*Not yet*, he told himself. *Not yet, but soon.*

"Bedtime," Marcus said finally, his voice slightly rough. He stood, offering his hand to help Ethan up.

Ethan took it. Held it a moment too long. Looked up at his father and saw something flicker in those dark eyes—recognition, maybe. Or hope.

"Goodnight, Dad," he said.

"Goodnight, Ethan." Marcus squeezed his hand before releasing it. "Sleep well."

Ethan climbed the stairs to his childhood room, passing his mother's closed study door, his sister's empty bedroom, until he reached his own narrow bed with its familiar creaking springs. He lay awake for hours listening to the house settle around him—his father's footsteps in the hall below, the floorboards creaking on the third step, the silence as Marcus settled into the master bedroom at the end of the hall, where Elena waited.

*Soon*, Ethan thought again, and the word felt like a promise, like a door opening, like the beginning of something he didn't yet understand but desperately wanted to explore.

---

In the morning, Ethan came downstairs to find his father alone in the kitchen, making pancakes, humming something tuneless and happy, wearing nothing but pajama pants and a smile. The morning sun caught the silver in his hair, the definition of his shoulders, the easy grace of his movements.

"Morning," Marcus said, looking up. His gaze lingered on Ethan's sleep-rumpled hair, his bare chest, his boxer shorts. "Your mother's at her yoga class. Sophie's still asleep. It's just us."

"Starving," Ethan said, and sat at the kitchen island, watching his father cook, feeling the space between them charged with potential, with possibility, with the weight of everything they hadn't yet said.

The first chapter was just beginning.

Everyone is 18+ and Consenting Adults, Fiction.

It made sense for me to move in with my dad after I graduated college. He had a house all to himself and I needed a place to live. I was basically going to be a paid intern at my new job. My dad was going to let me live with him for free as long as I helped around the house. I mostly lived with my mother growing up and I wasn’t sure what it would be like living with my dad.

We got into a routine pretty quickly. My dad worked on the yard and I cleaned inside. We cleaned our own bathrooms and did our own laundry. I enjoyed cooking and got home about an hour before he did so I started making dinner for the both of us. Things just flowed between us.

I started spending more weekends with my dad than with my friends. We would go on hikes, check out the latest movie, or just stay in watching sports on the TV. I liked going to farmers markets and my dad started tagging along. We would plan our week’s dinners as we walked the stalls.

Things changed when I was set up on a date by a coworker. I told my dad about the date and I saw his mood completely change. The date was Friday night and all Saturday I felt like my dad was ignoring me. I asked him if he wanted to see a movie. It’s been hot and it would be nice to get out of the house.

“Wouldn’t you rather go to the movies with your new date?” He said, with his back towards me. I was taken aback by his tone. He has always been a lighthearted guy.

“No, I don’t think it’s going to work out.” I told him and I saw him stop what he was doing in the kitchen. “I rather go to the movies with you.” He turned around and smiled.

“I guess we could go to the movies tomorrow.”

“Cool.” I said, back to him and went to do my laundry.

We got home late from the movie but not so late that it was time for bed. We sat on the couch watching random stuff on the TV. I didn’t even notice my dad had fallen asleep until his head fell on my shoulder. He looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake him. I found myself staring at him. He was quite attractive with his strong cheekbones and 5 o’clock shadow. He had his hands down his pants like I do subconsciously all the time. His pants were stretched out just enough that I could see some of his dark, curly pubes.

I planned on jacking off before bed and for some reason looking at my dad’s crotch I started getting hard. Before my cock was fully erect, I shook my dad. “I’m going to bed.” I told him and he opened his eyes and looked dreamy. 

“Your shoulder’s comfortable.” He said. I laughed and got up and headed to my room.

As I stroked my cock I tried to think about my date but my mind kept going back to my dad. I wanted to see the cock that hanged below his bushy pubes. I also wanted to see him hard. I have only ever caught fleeting glimpses of my dad’s flaccid dick. I think we were spending too much time together. The memory of his shampoo scented hair and his dark fluffy pubes send me over and I squirted hot jizz all over my belly. I fell asleep soon after.

The next day on my way home from work Dad called to tell me he was picking up dinner for us so I didn’t have to cook. At dinner Dad told me to take his car to work since it was time for my oil change and he was going to get it done on his lunch break.

“Oh, dad you don’t have to do that. I was planning on getting it done this weekend.”

“It’s fine. There is a sandwich shop I like across the street. It’s no big deal, babe.” He smiled and looked back down at his plate.

I found it funny my dad called me babe. He has never called me that before. I kind of liked it. After last night I have been having strange and new feelings about him. Sitting next to Dad on the couch I had a strong desire to sit closer to him, be next to him. I waited to see if he would slip his hands into his pants. As the night went on I decided to lean into him. It was like the other night. This time I put my head on his shoulder, it felt nice. I wasn’t sleeping but I was comfortable.

I felt movement and opened my eyes. My dad’s hands were back in his pants fondling his unseen balls. Again, I couldn’t see anything but his big, bushy pubes spilling out of his waistband. I felt my dick growing and I slowly reached for my waistband. If I was careful could I stroke my dick next to my dad without him noticing?

Suddenly, he moved. He looked at me as I opened my eyes. “Joey.” He whispered. His hand was still in his pants. His eyes slowly moving down to my hard crotch.

“Dad?”

“Oh, Joey.” He leaned in close enough to kiss. I felt his warm breath on my lips.

I moved and our lips touched. Nothing happened at first and then I felt a soft peck on my lips. I leaned into the kiss and the passion between us increased. We started making out and I was in heaven. His lips were so full and his skills incredible. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting him closer. I moaned as his tongue entered my mouth. My hot desires intensified.

He pulled away and I chased his lips. “Do you wanna take this to the bedroom?” He asked with yearning in his voice and all I could do was nod, staring at his wet, puffy lips. “You sure?”

“Yes, dad. Please.” I sighed.

“Fuuuck…I want you.” He moaned. My hands reached for his dick. I felt his hardness, stiff like steel.

“I wanna see your hard cock.” The words just spilled out. He stood up and without a second thought stripped in front of me. His cock was just as long and thick as I hoped. “Oh, god.” I whispered.

“You want it?” He asked, grabbing his mushroomed girth.

“So bad.” I moaned as I got up. I wanted to be naked too. Naked and hard with my dad.

“Bedroom?”

“Yes!” I said and took his hand and led him to his room. My desires and horniness were so strong, nothing was going to stop me. I was going to get my dad’s dick. I was going to feel every inch of my father’s loving, sexy body. And I could tell he wanted it just as bad as I did. His cock was actually jumping with anticipation.  

I got to my dad’s bed and turned around to face him. He pushed me on the bed and climbed on top of me. He ran his face across my body, inhaling my scent. I could hear him mumbling “mine” as his nose grazed over my slim body. My dad sounded possessive and I loved it. He was definitely jealous of my past date.

“Yours, Dad.” I told him. “All yours.” I said, thrusting my cock into the air.

He looked up at me with hunger and ownership in his eyes. “All mine” He smirked. He forcefully flipped me over and lifted my ass. His face dove right into my asshole without hesitation. I felt his strong, powerful tongue probe my hole and moisten my opening with his desire.

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah.” I moaned into his bed, shaking from his tongue touching my most sensitive area. He ate me out like a man starving. I melted into his touch and craved more.

“More. Dad, I need more.” I cried out.

“You want me to fuck you? Breed you? Mark you as mine?” He asked, pulling from my ass cheeks.

More than anything. “Yes, dad!” I begged. I was so fucking horny for him. I needed him so bad.

“Let me get my lube.” He said, standing up. I flipped on my back and watched my naked father run to his bathroom. I collected a wad of my spit and brought it to my hole. My ass was wet and my ass lips were puffy from my dad’s excellent work. I worked two fingers inside me as I waited for my dad’s impressive cock.

His hard cock aimed right at me as he walked back into the room, “Fuck, you are beautiful.” He said and I raised my legs to show him ‘his’ hole. “Mine.” He said, eyeing my wet entrance. Every time he said “mine”, my heart skipped a beat and my cock pumped out more precum.

“Yours dad.” I said spreading my ass cheeks and holding my ass up. His cock was hard and slick with lube. His cock pulsated all because of me and I loved it.

He wasted no time as he ran his fat cockhead along my crack and pushed into my raw opening. His cock slid in, stretching me out. My dad took what was his and I needed what he had to give.

“Give it to me you fucking stud!” I grunted as his entire cock filled my fuck tunnel.

“Fuck Joey!” My dad panted as he pushed his long meat into me.

“Yeah Dad fuck my hole.” I begged, needing him to claim me.

“Take it son, take my dick, your little hole loves it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes Dad fuck me, destroy me!”

“I’m gonna cum so deep inside you!”

“Fuck yeah! I want it!”

“You want your daddy to mark you as his, don’t you?” 

“Yes, dad. I’m yours, only yours!” I cried out and I meant it. I loved him so much. He was my everything. His. “I love you. You are mine too!” I was so close.

“You are my baby! My love, fuck! Your ass is mine and my cock is yours!”

“I love your cock. You are so big and feel so good!” I felt my nuts tighten up.

“Your ass was made for my cock!” He grunted as he hammered his powerful cock into my asshole. Each thrust sent a shock wave through my body. I grabbed my dripping erection. “You gonna cum with me, babe?”

“Yes, Daddy. Make me cum. Make your boy cum!” I shouted.

“Cum with me love, cum with me!” He kept saying as his fat cock rubbed against my insides over and over again, scratching my needy itches.

“Yes!” I screamed.

“Yes!” My dad roared.

My orgasm rushed through my body. My cock pumped out thick ropes of cum. My load covered my chest as hot, powerful blasts filled my insides. My dad’s cock worked me over as we drained our nuts. His cum warmed me and I felt a small orgasm ripple through me as my dad’s sperm coated my stretched fuck walls.

“Oh wow.” I moaned, not sure if my body still worked.

My dad didn’t pull out, not yet. He leaned down and stuck his tongue down my throat. My legs and arms wrapped around my dad, bringing him closer. We made out as I ran my hands across his strong back. “We need to get you cleaned up.” He said pulling back a bit, looking into my eyes.

“Not yet.” I whispered. I was worried if he pulled away he would start having second thoughts.

“Ok.” He said kissing my neck. He sucked on my collarbone. “Mine” he said maybe to himself but that was what I needed to hear from him. He had marked me and I was his and he was mine.

I slept in his bed that night with him holding me close. He was possessive even in his sleep. I always thought the first time I slept in someone else’s bed that I would be in a relationship with them. I looked at my gorgeous father sleeping peacefully. I think this is what it’s like being a couple. “It is, my love.” My dad said into my ear. I didn’t realize I said that part out loud. “You’re mine.”

“And you are mine too.” I said, quietly. He kissed my neck, snuggled into me and fell back to sleep with me in his arms.

So i found him on a dating site while looking for a threesome. He sent me some pics and i immediately recognized his furniture, body and everything. None of us showed faces. It’s just so fucking unreal to me lol

Fiction - everyone in this story are consenting adults

My older brother and I were always very open about our bodies with each other since we shared a room. My brother was always quite bigger than me, taller and more muscular, and I was the shorter, skinnier one. I was even more feminine, since I liked to crossdress, and my brother would always compliment how I looked, which made me wonder if he felt more about me than just brotherly affection.

Finally, one day, we were in our room, and he pulled out a roll of measuring tape. He got my attention and said,

"Hey. Wanna make a bet?"

"Sure... what's the bet?"

"We measure our cocks... and whoever has the smaller cock... has to suck the bigger one."

I was surprised he'd came up with a bet like that, since for me it seemed out of the blue. He'd never suggested anything like that before, but honestly, I wasn't against it.

"Okay... let's do it".

We measured my cock first. It wasn't really super big or small. About 5.5 inches. Basically average. As soon as he pulled his cock out, I knew it. His cock sprang out of his pants, and that thing was huge. 8 inches.

I sighed and got on my knees, ready to suck him. But he stopped me. "No, no... dress up first."

I stood up, feeling a bit turned on. He wanted me to be his little femboy brother and suck his cock. Sounds good to me.

I got all dressed up for him, and I looked so cute. I got on my knees and took the tip of his cock in my mouth to start. I moved my head slowly on it before taking the entire head in. His cock was so long and thick, and I knew I'd have a sore jaw after. But I didn't care.

He moaned softly and held the back of my head as I sucked. I was surprised at how well I was taking him. I thought my gag reflex would get in the way, but it really didn't.

Finally, he pushed my head down and I was deepthroating him. Took his cock all the way to the base. My nose was buried in his pubes as he pushed my head and moved his hips. He moaned louder and more urgently, and I knew he was close. I gently rolled his balls in my hand, and finally, he came.

He shot a big, hot load down my throat, and I swallowed it all, which made me gag a little because there was so much. He made me keep my mouth on his cock until he was completely spent. Finally, he took his cock out of my mouth, and i immediately missed it. He stood there, panting, until he finally said:

"Let's do this again sometime."

This is an abbreviated story because I just want to get it off my chest without spending too much time on it. I may add to this in comments, though.

My dad and me have never had a good relationship. We always had a terrible relationship to be honest.
The last time we saw each other, I was about ten.
I've always had fantasies about him. Regardless of how I feel about him as a person, I'm really drawn to the idea of sucking my dad's dick, or at least seeing him naked, but I never thought for even a second that anything like that could even be possible.

That is until one day when I opened Grindr and saw my dad's face.
My first reaction was shock. Then I realized that I was hard staring at his picture. At reading his profile. Turns out he's very submissive, which doesn't normally turn me on, but it sure did when I thought about commanding my dad.
I didn't think it would go anywhere, but before I could stop myself, I sent him a message.
He responded. We chatted for a while.

It was all small talk until I couldn't hold it back anymore. To this day, nothing gets me more horny than thinking about him. It's full body pleasure just to think about.
My dick was begging for attention. And not just mine.
I snapped a photo and toyed with the idea of sending it.
I really wasn't actually planning on sending it. But then I did.

My heart was racing. I couldn't decide if I was more nervous or more horny. But then came the fastest response yet.

"Oh, I like him."

I took charge immediately, demanding photos and videos. He eagerly obliged.
For weeks, we messaged back and forth, always sexual. Neither of us wanted to be the one to push things into the physical, but we both wanted it hard.

I had to move 50 miles soon after. I have spent every day since regretting not sucking his cock.