What a humiliating defeat for Daddy! Here’s his account.
Scott Reilly lives right across the street from us, and I arrive at his door angry. Yes, my boys—Jeff and John, 20 and 19 respectively—should be able to take care of themselves, but they keep coming home in awful shape. When I pressed them on what was happening, they told me Scott was bullying them, though they refused to give me any details.
Well, Scott’s a big boy, Jeff’s age, but I can take care of him, I’m sure. If it comes down to a physical confrontation, so be it. He’s asking for whatever’s coming to him.
Scott answers the door in jeans, shirtless. While I expect him to be rude, that couldn’t be further from the case. He calls me Mr. Jackson, invites me in, offers me a seat on the sofa.
I lay out my grievance, and he listens politely. Then, he says, “I don’t think Jeff and John have given you an accurate account, Mr. J. I’m not bullying them. Everything that’s happened has been their choice.”
That stops me in my tracks. “That can’t be true. They have bruises sometimes, and they always come home looking miserable.”
Scott pulls out his phone. “I understand how you might not believe me. But I have proof.” He scrolls through the phone. “So, do you want to see them begging me to gutpunch them? Do you want to see them challenging me to wrestling matches that they’re sure to lose? Do you want to see them … Oh, here’s one that will be convincing.” He pulls up a video, hands the phone to me.
At first, I’m so disoriented, I don’t know what I’m seeing. Then, I realize it’s Jeff and John, naked, kneeling on a shower floor. They’re both hard. I’ve never seen them like that, and I register that Jeff’s dick looks just like mine—short and stubby—while John’s is as different as can be, long, snaky, launched into the air like a cobra.
But they’re both kneeling and then I hear a voice, and the camera moves to his face. It’s Scott. Someone else must be there filming this.
“So, what do you want, boys?”
Jeff answers, “We want you to piss on us, Scott, please.”
Scott walks closer to them, standing over them. He’s dressed like he is now, in the living room, jeans and shirtless. He unzips, pulls out a soft cock that’s somewhere between John’s and Jeff’s in size, pulls back the foreskin, shifts his legs so they're wider apart. And then he pisses. On Jeff’s chest, which is just starting to sprout hair. On John’s smooth belly. Into Jeff’s open mouth, then John’s.
“Look at you,” Scott says. “What a joke the two of you are.”
As he speaks, Jeff grabs his cock, gives it a couple of jerks, and shoots all over the shower floor. John’s cock is bobbing up and down. Scott says, “You’re both pisspigs aren’t you?” That’s enough to make John shoot too.
The video ends. “Do you want to see more, Mr. Jackson?”
I’m stunned by what I’ve seen. “No … um … I guess I need to have a talk with the boys.”
Scott smiles, “Sure, but I think we haven’t addressed the real question yet.” I must look puzzled. He continues, “What made both your sons such perverts, Mike?” That’s the first time he’s used my first name, and I notice. “Is it something in the home environment?”
“We’re … we’re just a normal family.”
He points to the phone, “Normal? Well, maybe it’s just genetic.”
Scott shifts gears: “So, Mike, are you hard right now?”
“What … no … no fucking way.”
“Why lie about something that can be so easily proven? Stand up, Mike.”
I’m shaken by everything that’s happened, not really in control of myself, and I stand. “Unzip your pants.” It feels as though I have no choice. I unzip.
I’m wearing boxers, and the head of my stubby cock pokes out the front and through the zipper of my pants. It’s hard and there’s a drop of pre on the slit.
“Did watching me piss on your grown-ass sons excite you, Mike? Did it make your little dicklet all hard and we?”
“N-n-n …” I feel my cock spasm. “I … I guess so.”
“Pervert! Get naked, Mikey!”
I pull off my shirt, kick off my shoes, pull down my pants and underwear, then my socks, and I stand naked and hard in front of him. “You have an impressive body, Mike, much hotter than your sons. But such a small cock: Jeff seems to have inherited that, but not John. You think your wife had an affair?”
I’m feeling dizzy, none of this really making sense. And then Scott calls out, “Hey, Dad, come in here, I need you.”
Mr. Reilly comes in, glances at me, smiles. “Fuck, Scott, what are you up to?” Scott hands him the phone. “I need you to be my cameraman again.”
Then he addresses me, “Get into the bathroom, Mike. Kneel where your boys were.”
I walk past the two of them, cock bobbing up and down, find the bathroom and the shower, and kneel.
Mike follows me in and his Dad has the phone ready to shoot. “Tell me what you want, Mikey.”
“Piss on me, please, Scott, just like you pissed on my sons.” He steps forward, unzips, hauls out his cock, uncovers the head, and he starts pissing.
It’s hot on my chest, running down my chest hair, then he directs it at my face. I open my mouth, and Mr. Reilly laughs, “He’s hungry, son!”
And then the piss falls directly onto my cock. I feel it hot and wet and strong, and I look down at myself. I’m shooting, hands free. “He’s even more of a pisspig than John and Jeff!”
When his stream is done, Mike takes a step closer, cleans the tip of his cock on my thinning hair. Then, he and his dad are gone.
I rinse myself in the shower, then walk back to where my clothes are. My cock is hard again, and I pass Scott and Mr. Reilly enjoying beers on the sofa. They laugh.
When I’m dressed, Scott follows me to the front door, opens it for me. “So, Mr. Jackson, if you need to talk to me about bullying again, you know where to find me.”
I walk back to my house. No one else is home. I go to the bedroom, pull open my pants, my cock still hard. I pull my phone from my pocket, pull up Scott’s contact info. I text him:
“Scott, my wife is gone next weekend. It’ll just be John and Jeff and me at home. Why don’t you and your Dad come over for dinner?”
I get a text back immediately, a line of laughing emojis. I grab my cock and give it a stroke. I shoot again.
