A Father's Pride and Joy: January 2011

You can find more great stories like this one along with the real-life excepts from Dorian Smith's sexually active lifestyle in London. He's got a great personal blog, and it's complete with accounts of encounters with men in the underground of London, and also relates how his sexual relationship with his own father affected him.

Read more at: http://doriansmith5.blogspot.com/

The Fishing Trip is a story by R. Keith Peck

"Son," he says, "son."

I spread my legs, arch my back, pushing my ass up at his hands. I'm looking up at him with naked hunger in my eyes. Daddy grins. With glacial slowness, he starts to slide one hand down my back. It creeps softly over my skin. Knob by knob it traces the course of my spine, going lower and lower, towards a part of me that needs to be filled. I shiver. I plea with Daddy in my head. His grin widens. By drinking his semen I've obviated the need for language. Daddy and I are free of names or words. We can, like animal males, live by instinct and lust, free of the insanity of civilization. One finger goes down my buttcrack, probing the sweaty valley. The anticipation ... how I've longed for this.

My father lustily caresses my ass. I'm wet back there, with sweat, wet like a pussy, so his progress is smooth as he moves downwards and deeper with agonizingly slow motions. Daddy's teasing me, like he did when I was a boy, but in a different fashion. Lower and lower, deeper and deeper. I have my father's fingers between my asscheeks. I'm encompassing them, and there's a rightness to this. Humans proscribe incest because they fear its power. My Dad's finger is almost there, almost to that spot, that place that now is more important to me than even my own cock. Clenched tight, it's the sealed portcullis into a castle of unearthly delights. I know he's wondering at the hairlessness there, the slick smoothness that he's caressing. In time, in time, I think. I'm not yet a real man. He touches my pucker. I arch my back, looking up at him, feeling Daddy's finger just about to touch my butthole, feeling his cock throb against my belly. The only guy who I'll let fuck me has to have a dick my size -- or bigger. I don't want this ... I need this.

I pull out of his embrace. Water boils up around my feet as I race to the shore, next to the packs and bags we've dropped. I laugh, watching Daddy grin at me, then turn around and present my ass to him, bending over to spread my cheeks. The breeze cools the semen coating my belly, crotch, balls. I bend almost double, long hair falling into the lake. Looking back between my thighs I see his grin, his erection, his burning eyes. His hands are on his hips, and ropes of jism sway from his cock. I'm downwind of him, and I trip on his smell, the sex we're having, the love we're making.

"You're hot, son," Daddy says. And he starts walking forward.

I've fantasized about a certain position, and I want Daddy to take me while I'm crouched in it. So like a quarterback I plant my right hand on the ground, squat down, rest my left forearm on my knee, and stare straight ahead. I don't know (or care) if I can stand the pounding Daddy will give out while I'm bent like this, but it satisfies the major requirement of this moment: Daddy can access my butthole. He comes up behind me, kicks a backpack aside. I purse my butthole at him. Daddy blocks the air that's been the only thing cooling the fire in my crack. I whimper. I know what's to come. There's no anticipation left, just the eternal moments that will pass until me and Daddy are one again. Daddy touches my crack. I shudder and moan. The anticipation stretches, and I breath the hot air in. The shimmering sun, the molten lake, the pines like whispering guardians -- days like today are axes upon which galaxies revolve. Daddy's finger plays with my hole -- moves slow over the corrugated surface, as if he's marveling at the tightness and heat of it. There's no hymen to break here; what'll be shattered is the stuff of needs, desires, poetry, far less substantial than anything physical but part of the basic urges that surge in living creatures.

My world shrinks down to the need I feel between my legs, the very male demands lurking inside my asshole, the perverse desires that burn within a loving son's breast. Daddy's dick presses urgently between my cheeks. He wants this badly. This is the main course; our other orgasms were just appetizers, this is the prime evil that Daddy and I do. I close my eyes -- don't need sight anymore, just my butthole. Daddy's hands go to my hips. He's mounted me. I can feel his strength as he holds me. I'm a colt to his stallion. My dick slaps against my belly, pumping fluid. We moan, entranced and ensnared.

Daddy's slick cockhead slides over my pucker, then it steadies, centered and aimed. His fingers dig into my flesh; biceps tense. Daddy's cockhead punctures me. Does it hurt? Does it matter? This is my father who's fucking me, and we're completing an act ordained since his sperm rewrote the code in my mother's egg. It's been our fate to rejoin -- and I'm no longer a sperm that could swim back up his urethra to live happily ever after in his testicles. I can only open myself to my Daddy, and let him fill me. And fill me Daddy majestically does. One smooth stroke and he's in. As easy as two spaceships docking.

My colon bloats around his fat instrument. The fires burning in my ass are stoked by that huge cock. I can count Daddy's heartbeats with my rectum. We're moaning, ecstatically joined, father to son, rigid rod up clenching butt, coupled. I feel his pubic hairs deep between my cheeks, pressing against my flesh, while his cock yearns inward. He's had these hairs longer than I've been alive. I can't stand it. Helplessly I squirm, skewered on his cock. My balls churn, I moan like a ghost howling in an empty house, and long jets of my love explode out of my penis. My butthole clenches on that cock, my prostate throbs against that log of gristle and flesh, and I shoot all over the lakeshore, and I fuck myself blind on Daddy's rod.

He holds his cock still until my sperming stops, till I'm squatting there, head raised, panting, eyes closed, shuddering and twitching in the afterglow. His hand, gripped to my hip and pulling my butt into his crotch, opens suddenly, and he pats me lovingly.

"Good one, son," Daddy says hoarsely. The hand closes, fingers dig into the flesh. Then he starts to fuck me.

Daddy's fat penis slips down my rectum, the glowing cockhead retreating towards my clenching sphincter. I'm so hypersensitive to him that I can feel the swollen walls of my rectum closing up as his slides out. Then it reverses direction and crashes in, charging forward like an army attacking a fort, and again I'm suddenly full of my father. Air gushes out of me. Daddy's cock rams against my gut, and my knees almost turn to jelly. His balls swing between our legs; sweat sprays. I watch the droplets fly as Daddy's cock slides out of me and continues that primitive rhythm that drives men's lives. His fingers dig into my flesh, I hear him moan, and the pace of the fuck picks up. The sound of wet flesh smacking together obscures the lapping of the waves, the sigh of the pines. I roll my hips around his thrusts, enjoying this like a mare being serviced. There ought to be pain, I guess; burning or something, while my Daddy's hot cock churns in my guts, but there isn't. The pleasure I feel is what Mom feels when Daddy fucks her.

My prostate is swollen as big as an orange, and I can feel Daddy's cock powering alongside it, loving it, warming it. There's immense power in Daddy's strokes, but somehow I'm keeping this ungainly position, squatted down like a tight end, while Daddy takes his pleasure in my rectum. Then his fingers jab into me, down through my tensed muscles until I feel them on my pelvis. His cock rams faster and faster. I can feel air bubbles now, between the tight tube of my ass and his huge cock. He's fucking wet farts out of me. He's moaning, panting, a strange sound, something like a demon in the throws of pleasure. He yanks out till I feel his corona holding my sphincter open. Eternity passes. Inwards it suddenly thrusts. It stops. And Daddy cries out.

His arms jam me hard between his muscled, hairy thighs. I feel tense muscles on my buttcheeks, swollen testicles throbbing against mine. And I close my eyes, knowing what's about to happen. Somewhere in my dank guts Daddy's pisshole gapes. Blood pulses in his member. The thick gravy gushes up his urethra, shoots out laser-like into me. Into me. The Father fertilizes the Son with his potent seed. It pumps and pumps, coating the hot tissues, relieving a pressure Daddy and I have felt since my birth. His balls are tight against mine, and I feel them contract and writhe against my flesh as they frantically fill my colon with his love. I feel the waves as sperm moves up his cock and into my ass. My Daddy is coming in my butt. I shudder, moan helplessly like I heard Mom do when she had this penis, and I explode. When we're done he bends down and kisses me deeply. His hands caress my flanks, stroke me, soothe me. His long member is still in my ass, and it is not soft.

"I love you, son."

"I love you, Daddy."

He begins to move in me again, and I moan again, and we remain one through the long session, the longest continual multi-orgasmic fuck in the history of the human race.

After our third orgasm, I heard a guffaw, and I bent down to look back between my legs, under my cock and Daddy's pounding, dripping balls. The bass boat had drifted round the point, and it had three rednecks in it. One sits in the bow chair, one in the well in the middle, one by the big outboard. Young, not too much older than me, built, blond, tanned. Sweaty beer cans in their hands. They laugh, point, cheer this big burly stud who is fucking this slim, hairless, long-haired blond. Daddy doesn't miss a stroke. He keeps churning in my ass, puffing like a locomotive, pumping those sperm-rich farts out of my guts with his big hard log. He doesn't seem to know that three guys are watching him screw his son, but I know that he didn't care.

The whistles and catcalls don't die out. They get louder. I stare back between my legs, watching the boat drift between my jism- and sweat-streaked thighs. The good ol' boys raise their beer cans high, whooping and hollering like Indians in an old John Wayne movie. They're shirtless and wear tight faded jeans. Sweat runs down their flanks from their armpits. The guy in the middle, sitting beside the Styrofoam cooler, has big nipples, almost like Daddy's. In the midst of my passionate fuck with Daddy, I feel lust for him like a stroke of lightning. Daddy's cock, sawing at my breech, is enough to keep me faithful. For me, just Daddy.

The boat keeps drifting. Daddy keeps fucking. I keep moaning. The cheering and guffaws stop. I knew this would happen. They've drifted far enough to one side to realize that Daddy's not screwing some woman. They see my big prong now, jutting out from between my thighs, foreskin retracted, precum dripping. They can see my straining muscles -- hard, male muscles -- as I hold this position, letting this big man plow me. They see my thick pubic bush, my balls drawn up tight, perfect images of those of the man who fucks me.

"Shit! Fucking faggot bastards!" It's the big guy in the middle, the one with the tits. His snarl is filled with the hate of a cornered animal. I can't stand the level of pleasure that Daddy's fucked into me, so I start to jet spurts of jism.

"That fucking shithead likes it!"

Daddy's hips still move. He's pubic hair still scours my butt. But I feel him bend over me, feel his chest hair brush against my back. His iron grip on my hips relaxes. While the rednecks cuss and scream, Daddy's tongue snakes into my ear, driving me to new heights of pleasure. I feel his panting breath while I squirm in my orgasm.

"Get down on your knees, son," Daddy says.

I hear wet plops in the lake. The rednecks have thrown their beer cans, but they're too drunk to aim accurately. They're chanting "Fucking faggots!" like a mantra. The guy with the hot tits is scrambling to get the cooler top off to get more ammunition. Me and Daddy kneel together, slowly.

My cock is still spitting jism whenever Daddy's cock barrels deep into my asshole. His rhythm never breaks. Daddy is the consummate stud. He reaches into the backpack beside us, and I laugh, toss my hair, and grind my hips into his fucking strength.

"Fucking faggots!" The guy with the tits stands high in the bass boat, a can of cold Bud in his clenched fist. His voice drips with fury, contempt, hate. Daddy pulls the .357 revolver out of the backpack. Shiny and black, it glistens in the sun like a shard of obsidian. Daddy rotates the cylinder three notches. I know how the gun is loaded: three rounds of snake shot, the rest flatnose bullets to deal with humans.

"Fag-"

Daddy straightens up, still fucking me, pace unbroken. I love that man. He turns, aims squeezes off three shots. Two spouts of water erupt by the side of the fiberglass hull, one by the guy in the bow and one beside the guy at the engine. One spout appears on the far side of the boat, and the guy with the tits drops the dripping Bud. The slug has passed between his thighs, two inches from his balls. His mouth is open in a silent scream, eyes wide in unbelieving shock. A wet stain spreads from his crotch as he pisses his pants.

I moan, watching him piss, and explode in another orgasm, my ears ringing with the force of the gunshots. The good ol' boys rev up the engine, spin the boat on a dime, flee. Daddy has his orgasm in my butt. He shudders, spits, curses, and floods me with another thick load. The thick gruel runs swiftly down my rectum, out my sphincter, down my legs. He puts the gun down, picks me up by my hips so that we resume our previous position, and we resume fucking.

Our last orgasm is simultaneous, and father's and son's souls communed in that eternal moment. You don't need to know about that. It's private.

The sun's changed position in the sky. It's lower, but it's rays are still fiendishly hot. I'm wet as a jock's headband. It feels like a different world. Me and Daddy have journeyed into a different place. Daddy's hot semen -- a hundred million unborn brothers -- pours out of my asshole in a brownish-tinged gray tide. We're exhausted. It's only the reason we've stopped. Our legs vibrate with the effort of keeping us standing. Daddy says, through great gasps for air, "Son, I've got to lay down." So we drag ourselves over to that boulder where Daddy so sexily lounged a millennia ago, our legs screaming, dicks slowly drooping into that sexy male post-orgasmic slightly- swollen state.

We fall onto it together, side by side, but I do my best to twist to one side so I can face my father, and look into his eyes, and hold him. We embrace, and I feel something I've longed for ... my Daddy's sweaty, thick mat of body hair pressed against my naked body, from my own chest, down to my wet crotch. One of his powerful thighs holds mine apart. His arms encircle me, and I lean my cheek on his forearm, only inches from his armpit and that wonderful smell. We lay entwined, chests heaving, staring into each other's eyes until love prompts us to exchanged tongues in a kiss. Our sweat pools beneath us. Daddy's hands caress me, running over the knotted muscles in my back, massaging me like I had done for him those long years ago when he came in tired and exhausted after jumps from a C-130.

I dig my fingers into his thighs -- they're hard as steel, and they vibrate like a tensed spring.

"Son," Daddy says through opened, dry lips, "son, I've wanted that for so long ... "

I hug him and hold back tears.

"Daddy."

" ... never done anything with a guy, and never had anything like that with a woman ... " his voice trails off.

"Daddy," I say between heaving breaths, "Daddy."

Daddy's lips turn up into an exhausted grin, and he kisses me, which is pretty much how this moment will play out.

"Son, I think I got hard, holding you on the day you were born."

I laugh, flop down onto his hard biceps. I watch rivulets of sweat pour out of his armpit.

"Love you so much, Daddy." He laughs too.

"You're like me, son. You love things with all your heart and mind, but most especially with your dick." I grin.

"Yeah, I guess." And I reach a free hand over, slip it between our sweaty bodies, and hold my father's cock in my hand. It's big and rubbery and feels like a policeman's truncheon.

"You're the sexiest man I've ever known, Daddy. Jesus!" He laughs.

"Yeah, Jesus, boy. You're the best."

"You never been turned on by a guy before?" I ask. Nosy, and stupid, but I want to know. It's easy to ask a parent about his sex life, after you're done fucking him.

"I've seen some guys I've got the hots for. Back in the barracks, when I was a DI, seeing guys around in the buff. Big muscles, lots of hot sweat, hot butts, big dongs. There was a big blond guy named Jones, had an ass as hot as yours." He laughs, looks down at me, laughs, seeing the look on my face.

"He was a runner, would jog fifty miles a day. Long thighs, big calves. He was a dope fiend. I caught him at it, told him I'd turn him into the MP's and the JAG, unless ... "

"Unless? Did you fuck him?" Daddy laughed.

"You're a horny one, son. Do you think I fuck everyone?"

"I think you ought to," I said.

"Well, son, I didn't. Got him a different way. I had him running a hundred miles a day. Keep his ass moving. Put him in some sweatshorts and jog him up and down the streets at Bragg, out into the drop zones, back, then out again. He always started sweating in the crack of his ass, but pretty soon it'd all be wet and clinging to it." Daddy laughed.

"I used to run along with him for a while. Then I'd run his ass back to the jeep, and I'd get in and follow him around."

Daddy grinned down at me. "And I'd jack off in my fatigues, watching that hot ass in those shorts."

While Daddy tells me the story, I feel the blood fill his cock, and I know how powerfully he felt that lust.

"You didn't try anything, Daddy?"

"No," Daddy says. "Loved your Mother to much."

He slips a hand over to me, takes my cock in his hand, holds it. He slips a finger under my foreskin.

"Besides, my first man is you."

He strokes at my cockhead, and I shiver.

"And you're the sexiest man I've ever known."

Daddy's finger is digging out some of the drying sperm from under my skin.

"Why'd you let me keep my 'skin, Daddy?"

He's got me rolling around, squirming in his arms, while he plays with my dick. Daddy pauses.

"I heard that guys with foreskin got more sensation out of screwin'. And I knew you'd want that. 'Cause I knew you'd be like me -- horny all the time, wanting to get it on with someone, anyone. And I wanted you to get out of it stuff I couldn't." He stops. "Also, the first time I held you, just after you were born, you were naked. And I looked down, and you had this big dong, even at that age, and it was hard and looked so hot with that skin. So I told your Mom it wouldn't get cut off. And it wasn't."

"I'm glad you didn't." I can feel my cock getting hard, and I want my Daddy again, but there's deep rooted exhaustion in my muscles, and I know I can't muster up the strength to fuck just yet.

"Yeah, me too," he says. He closes his hand around my prick, jacks it. Father masturbates son. My eyes close.

I get shaken awake a little bit later. My Father's prong is pressed into my side. His lips are glued to mine. I feel his beard. I slip a hand through the hairs on his chest until I feel nipple, and I pinch it. His groan wells into my throat. He pulls away.

"I've never been fucked." Which is as clear a statement of desire as we need. So I laid down on the rock, that big boulder that Daddy had picked as his lounge chair when we got to this spot, the old fishing hole. Daddy, looking down at me, grins. He throws a leg over me, straddles me and the boulder. He bends down and kisses me, and we share the light as we do so. Then he squats down. As Daddy's puckered butthole rests on my fat shaft, gathering its energies for its virgin penetration, I scheme how I'm going to replace Mom in Daddy's bed.

The End

Johnny Carlisle finds himself pinned to the wall of the warehouse; dressed and scared with no idea what is about to happen to him. In walks Sebastian, who has already fallen in love with this shy, nervous looking teen. An untouched virgin, Johnny is overwhelmed with sexual emotion and falls quickly under Sebastian's powerful charm. Desperate for naked contact, Johnny seems pleased to be stripped, kissed and jerked-off - all of which Sebastian is only too pleased to deliver. A powerful hour of passion results in Seb and Johnny climaxing together.

Boynapped: Johnny Carlisle

Bondage, Edging

A Father's Pride and Joy

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