Occasional Porn. Men's porn. Because I'm an occasional pornographer (prone to long absences - deal with it). And, because behind every shot, there's a story. Mostly just words, cuz it's words that flip my switch. If you're only looking for photos and gifs, there's enough good content on here, so keep clicking and have fun. But, if you like hot stories - short, long, serialized, blazing hot, pounding, thrusting, deep-dicking dives into what men do and why - then, take a look. Cuz, that's what I'm doing here: just shooting out Werd-Sperm, seeing what drips on the page. Families Friends Fuck-buddies …..doin' what men do. Also . . . SF Bay Area. And, [email protected]. Private pictures encouraged, particularly of cum shot while reading my werds. (Fine Print: No fucking minors. 18 years old and over ONLY. Please, reblog my stuff as much as you want! Share frequently - like you do with your cum, I hope. But, if you start selling my words for money, I'm gonna sue your ass and I'm gonna win, cuz the copyright is mine, fuckers. Also, if one of these pictures is owned by you, and you don't want it posted here, tell me, and I'll take it down. Now . . . start jerking.)
I knew what I was doing. Yeah. I knew. I didn’t give a fuck though. The kid was in college now. He was an adult. He could make up his own mind. He could be his own man. My question was this: Would he be man enough to be his own man?
I’d known for years. At first I thought it was just curiosity. You know - natural. I remember when I first got my juice - my brain and body went crazy. I wanted to learn all about girls and guys and pussies and cocks. But, once I had 'the talk’ with him, I figured he’d be more focused on chicks than dicks.
But, he wasn’t. He still lurked around my bathroom. Still gave me the side-eye down at the Y, after our pick-up games.
Even his coaches made comments, without coming right out and fronting it.
“Oh - he’s a good kid. A great kid. Super obedient - you know . . . almost like he likes being told what to do.” I would just look at them, nodding, waiting to see if they had the balls to say what I’d known for years.
But, they never did.
The wrestling coach came the closest to telling me the truth about my son. He said, “Ya know - once he gets some pussy, he’ll probably be fine. He’ll snap right out of it. That’s what happens to most guys, anyway.”
I just smiled, giving him a knowing nod. “Yeah - we’ll see.”
But, he didn’t get any pussy in high school - and he didn’t try - as far as I could tell. Oh, he went to prom with his ‘girlfriend’ but they’d been best-bitches for years - and, I mean that in a nice way. They were friends, nothing more - giggle partners, who liked to shop and share secrets. She was homely and he was the shy, wanna-be jock that spent a little too much time in art class, painting the sets for the annual musicals.
And, all along, he would horn-dog on me. It got a little bold in his senior year, what with the free-balling down at the Y, and his own attempts at strutting-nudity in the hallway, on his side of the house. But, I didn’t take the bait. Wouldn’t. Not with the wife hitting her prime and our marriage going just fine. Not with my daughters coming up next - naw, way too fucking much to lose. I was getting lots of pussy from the old lady, and even though I’d done some dudes back in the day, it wasn’t my primary perv.
But he was in college now. It was parent’s weekend. My wife stayed with the girls, because they had a dance on Saturday and soccer on Sunday - so I was on my own . . . and I had a plan.
I’d held off in his Freshman year, just to make sure he got his feet on the ground and, hopefully, got his lips around some cock. Got his cherry popped, Got some certainty about who he was and what he wanted, without any interference from me. Although I couldn’t be sure he’d lost his virginity, I was pretty certain that was the case. When he came home for the summer he was more sure of himself - more comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t lie to us about girlfriends or pretend to be straight. When his mom asked about dating he was evasive, but he didn’t bullshit us, either.
“I’m seeing some people,” he said, explicitly avoiding gender. I just flashed a huge grin at him. His mom went farther.
“Well you know, honey - we just want you to be happy. That’s all your dad and I have ever wanted - we’d love to meet whoever you are dating.”
I threw my arm around her, pulling her close to my tight body. It was an overtly loving and mildly sexual gesture.
“Yeah, kid - we know how it is. Hell, your mom and I met in college. We got pregnant with you our sophomore year. That may not be a problem for you, of course -”
“Jay!” she exclaimed, prodding me.
“We just want you to have fun, son, and be careful,” I said squeezing his mom’s ass, and showing a little hard, thinking of our uninhibited college sexual adventures.
“Honey!”
But, it was on. I was gonna get back up in there. She’d been on fire lately. It turns out that what they say about women in their sexual prime is correct - and I’d been having the time of my life. I wasn’t gonna let this opportunity pass - or any opportunity, given how horny she’d become over the last few years.
She escaped my grip, heading out of the kitchen and up to our bedroom, but casting a glance back that even the kid caught. I groped myself, whispering to him, ”Looks like your old man is gonna get lucky.”
His eyes were wide as saucers, focused on my now prominent bulge. There was no pretending in him now - he was all eyes on my crotch. I paused to see if he would look away, but he didn’t - wouldn’t. I gave my meat one last squeeze, accentuating the package, then winked at him as his eyes flashed up, looking into mine.
That afternoon, while I laid it to his mom, I decided it was time to give the kid his dream.
After Freshman year we allowed him to move off campus with a roommate, who, in my mind, was obviously gay. I mean - they weren’t lovers. I figured that out when we helped move them out of the dorm. He was just another ‘good girlfriend’ but this one, finally, was an actual peer . . . by which I mean he was an actual queer. His name was Jason or Raven or Melvin or something - I couldn’t remember. All I knew is that he was away on some kind of obligation, which I don’t think was a coincidence, since I’d arranged my visit over a month in advance. It meant that I could stay in the apartment with my son - which I think my son wanted just as much as I did.
We’d had a good afternoon down at the new campus gym - a really incredible facility, but the locker rooms were still under construction, so we headed back to his place for our shower. The boys had done well with the pad on a budget. It wasn’t outrageously queer, but it was obviously gay - in that, ‘oh yeah, these guys are definitely gay’ kind of aesthetic.
I showered first, intentionally not getting dressed. There were some events scheduled for the evening, but I had other plans - I’d even spent most of the prior week just eating pussy, so I could build a nice load. I figured it was the least I could do, given how much he wanted what I had to give, and how long he had wanted it.
(And, it worked wonders with the wife. “Oh honey . . . you’re such a generous lover. Are you sure you don’t need to . . . you know . . . ” “Naw, I’m fine hon - I get off on getting you off. Let’s cuddle.” That shit works like a charm - it's like banking pussy-points, and I was absolutely gonna cash in for future rewards.)
He stumbled out of the shower, not expecting to see me sitting there. He immediately covered his slim hips with the towel, surprised by my presence.
“Oh, hey dad,” he choked out, stopping in his tracks.
“Ryan,” I said, nodding, but using my Dad Voice.
“What’s up?” he asked, worried now.
“We need to talk,” I said.
He was uncomfortable.
“Um - let me get dressed -”
“Naw - not necessary. We need to talk now.”
That absolutely stopped him. I could see panic in his eyes. And, I knew what it was about. It was about popping wood - about being laid bare in front of me.
“Son,” I said, standing, flipping the damp towel over my shoulder, revealing myself completely. “Why haven’t you come out of the closet to me and your mom? We know, Ry. Why won’t you tell us?”
He just stood there, turning red.
The answer was plain to me - I wanted to help him, but more than that, I wanted him to admit what he wanted. It was his eyes that told his truth - his eyes that raked my tight, hairy frame, my slowly thickening cock, my meaty, heavy balls.
“Um - I . . . “ he said, barely a whisper.
I stepped closer, blocking any exit, letting the edge of my heat invade his space. He was tenting under the towel now - beginning to - and losing his chance to impress his father with his brave truth.
“It’s okay, Ry,” I said. “Just talk to me. I’m your dad. I love you.”
“You,” he said, more quickly than even I expected. But, I guess he was ready in his own way, too - waiting for his own moment, a moment with an open door - which I had just provided.
“It’s you, dad,” he said, honestly, looking up for the first time, straight into my eyes. “It’s because of you.”
He pulled away his towel then, unashamed, and his younger cock sprang up and bounced off his tight abs - perfectly formed, nicely trimmed, tight balls clutching above his cleft for dear life, full of vitality, ready to show his daddy what they could do.
He was rigid and flexing, standing proud - no longer sheepish in his desires. My cock followed suit, just a little slower. I had him in size and girth, but he was nothing to sneeze at. I also had that extra heft - that fleshy heavy quality you get when you work your muscle for years and years, drilling ass and pussy, making babies, giving life. It was Dad Cock vs. son cock - and it was very, very hot.
“I’m so into you, dad,” he said, openly, almost wantonly. “It’s like - if I ever told the truth, I would have to tell the whole truth - so I thought I better just keep quiet.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, smiling at him, loving him so much in that moment.
“Well, the truth is out now, isn’t it?” I asked.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“A long time.”
“But - why . . . I mean . . . “
“I wouldn’t have - ever. Not while you were younger. I needed you to grow up, kid. Come on - that shit that you’ve been running in your head - that shit only happens in porn stories.”
“But -”
“And, I’m your dad, Ryan. It’s my call, son. It’s not your call. And that really is all there is to say about it, okay?”
He wanted to be angry - wanted to be hurt or frustrated - but I still had authority and carried it well. He’d always responded to it - had always been such a perfect kid - had always done what he was told and what I was telling him now is that I waited for the right moment, because it was the right thing to do. Eventually, his body relaxed. This wasn’t about challenging me. This was about acceptance.
“Okay,” he said, quietly, eventually smiling his still outrageously cute smile.
“Besides, we’re here now,” I said, looking down, and he followed my gaze. I was fully erect and dripping - ready for the moment I’d been thinking about for years - since he was a very young boy, looking at me with very young eyes, nurturing his very young obsession. He gasped audibly, and his own cock flexed.
I slowly applied pressure to his shoulder and surprisingly he resisted, being more of a man than I expected in this moment, given how obviously excited he was to finally get what he had wanted his entire life.
“Dad - “ he started - “shouldn’t we -”
I was way ahead of him.
“We’ll talk later. Now’s not the time to talk, son,” I said, pushing him down harder, knowing I would overcome his resistance, and proving myself right as he lowered gracefully to his knees. He reached up and grabbed my father-cock, the cock that had made him.
“Yeah, Ryan - just like that,” I whispered, as he lowered his mouth onto my glans.
The other benefit of waiting, I had calculated, is that it would give him time to build his skills. This assumption proved remarkably accurate. After wetting me nicely, he slowly descended to the base, with virtually no effort.
“Fuck, son,” I groaned, grabbing his head, firmly.
It was obvious he was as prepared for this as I was - he sucked my cock with an intensity that I had never experienced - neither out of control nor tentative. It was a focused, relentless, unforgiving dick-attack, intent on proving his worth to my shaft, signaling his willingness to take my seed.
His mother was a great lay - enthusiastic and freaky - but she didn’t suck cock like this. And anyway, with two additional and eager holes, she didn’t need to suck cock like this. For a brief instant I wondered if I had wasted time, given up too many years of this incredible sensation by waiting as long as I did.
My son’s groaning moan seemed to prove that point, but I gotta say - despite the immediate incredible sensation, most of the pleasure I experienced was about the culmination of our coupling . . . not the coupling itself. Isn’t there a line from some play about that? Maybe I heard it during one of those incredibly boring high school productions. “We’ve had this date from the beginning . . . “ or something . I remember because it hit me then and it flashed through my mind now, as my cock drove deeper in my son’s throat than I thought was biologically possible.
The kid - by now - was nearly going wild, even as he retained his astonishing focus. It was (and probably will be) the best blow job I ever got. He clutched my heavy balls just right, willingly played my cleft with his wet fingers, slobbered on my rod, covering it with gleaming slick mucous and my own spew. He deep-throated me with ease, breathing in perfect precision, begging for my cum with his every action. Looking down at him - at his focus, at his lust, at his love - I was overwhelmed with erotic passion. I began to drive into him, and he welcomed it, arching his back in deference to my strength, pushing his ass up in the air, grabbing my thighs with this worked-out, muscled arms.
“Awww Ry,” I groaned, feeling the build. “Fuck this is good, son,” I said, and he just nodded, unable to voice his matching pleasure, but showing me his ecstasy with every fiber of his being.
“Gonna cum, Ryan,” I growled, warning him, but not needing to - learning in that moment that I would never need to - ever. He just nodded urgently, clearly welcoming this moment we had both imagined.
“Then I’m gonna fuck you, baby - like you been dreaming of all these years. Gonna get this load out of the way,” I said, now sawing into this throat with abandon. “And then I’m gonna make love to your ass all night long, son.”
His moan was a sound that I’d never heard - it had a depth that vibrated the floor, but was mixed with a high-pitched whine that seemed to threaten the windows - they actually rattled. The kid was so eager and so ready - no matter my earlier trepidation, I understood in that instant that I had waited for precisely the right time. He was a man now - he knew what he wanted - and he was giving it to me, with depth and adulthood and abandon, and just a hint of the depravity that ran through me and his mom.
I erupted in his throat, lunging into him in a way I had never been able to do during a blow job, loving very single moment of the sensation, but loving mostly his pure joy at being able to provide me this astonishing release. The kid was either a whore or a pro - or perhaps his desire for me triggered a wanton ability that I’d never encountered in my life.
I pumped his guts full of my boys and he took them all, swallowing and wallowing in his lust. His frame had popped with a sheen of sweat, and as I looked down at him, taking what I had to give and willing me to give more, I realized I could have my way with him in a way I couldn’t with his mother. He was tough kid. He was a stud. And every signal he was giving me - his still youthful, still horny, still vital father - screamed fuck me, breed me, use me.
Enjoy me
It wasn’t disgusting or needy, like some of the dudes I did in college - dudes that would degrade themselves for a snort of your sweaty crotch, which, admittedly, had it’s own attraction. It was all man, all need, all lust - and it was driving me wild, both with paternal pride and paternal passion. It was indescribable to watch my own progeny express himself in this blatant, unforgiving and overwhelming way.
My cock stayed rigid after it had released its first messengers, and while Ryan slowed, he didn’t retreat from his goal of providing maximal pleasure. I was so proud of him - so full of love. I had expected tears from him in this moment, or sometime during the night - but I didn’t anticipate my own.
I reached down, grabbing his sinewy, muscled arms, and dragged him up, looking at his red, wet, face - lips puffed, eyes glazed, mind clear. He flicked his tongue at my tears, intaking vital breath, and I kissed him, passionately, with the full force of my fatherhood. He crawled up my slightly larger body, wrapping his firm legs around my hips, allowing my wet sluicing cock to ride his dark valley, and I carried him to his bed, kissing him like I suppose I had always wanted to - from the moment I realized his pure passion for me, his dad.
No words were spoken as I entered him deliberately, but with careful, forceful intention. He clawed at my back, kissed my wet checks with his exploring lips, pushed into my hips with eager intensity. I found my stride immediately, as if we had been doing this for years - knowing that we would be doing this for years to come.
“I love you, Ryan,” I moaned, releasing my second load into him seamlessly, pouring him full of my ardor and my DNA. “I love you so much, son,” I repeated, opening him up, maintaining my pace, signaling to him that our love-making was just getting started. The wetness that I’d released eased my entry, and his pouting opening blossomed with his exertions. He pushed out, giving me full and complete access to his center. It was tight - so incredibly tight - but available, too, like his mother.
“I love you too, Daddy,” he whispered, using the honorific that had slipped away when his attraction to me had become overwhelming. “I love you so much.”
((()))
We’ve never stopped making love, even if our coupling is made difficult with distance and family. He has a husband now, but his husband knows and joins me when I visit, exploring my open son with our eager, older cocks. They have hired a surrogate, and that youth will carry our family name. They even asked for my sperm to seed the young college girl and I happily donated.
You’re not supposed to mix sperm when you do that, but we all agreed to break the rules. Each of us has donated a full supply. We figure - let the best man win, right?
I think my wife knows about me and Ryan. We’ve skirted around the issue - discussed Ryan’s obvious attraction to older men - the striking resemblance between his husband and me - his inadvertent slips, during the holidays, when he calls one, or both of us, ‘daddy’. But, if she’s bothered, she doesn’t let on. She’s even spoken lewdly of our son’s fetish for older men during our love-making, implying a knowledge of our coupling that I find overwhelmingly erotic.
This morning, after our lovemaking, as she pushed her ass back onto my semi-hard, cock, she said, “Honey - have you noticed how Sarah looks at you these days?”
Sarah is our youngest daughter.
“It reminds me of Ryan, they way he used to look at you.”
My cock immediately hardened.
“Have you,” she groaned, responding to my response. “Have you noticed?”
“Yes,” I said simply, hardening completely - letting her know that my hardening was connected to the question.
“Do you think that’s okay?” she asked, pushing back.
“I do - I think it’s natural,” I said, entering her ass, pushing deep.
“Ohhhhhh,” my wife sighed, letting her passion mix with unmistakable anguish. “Ohhhhhhh.”
As I pumped my now vital staff into her, preparing to release a second load, I crossed the line.
“Maybe we should talk to her about it,” I whispered to my wife.
“Ohhhhh,” she moaned. “Maybe . . . . , maybeeee we should . . . “
END
Author's Note: This popped up in my feed - had forgotten it. But is one of my favorites. I love the picture, too. Cocky fucker ... the story wrote itself when I saw that dad sitting there, waiting for his son to come out of the shower and into his own....
“There you are,” Todd said as he ambled up onto the terrace, Bud in hand, smile on his face.
Fuck. It wasn’t like I was hiding, exactly, but I wasn’t really looking to be found, either. So far, I’d managed to fly under the radar tonight, circling the edge of the big cookout at the beach house, slipping in to grab food or drinks from time to time, ducking conversations with my family and their friends. It was a lot of people, and I wasn’t especially in the mood to be social - I wasn’t trying to be some little teenage bitch, I was a college student now, but I had some shit I was dealing with. Ginning myself up to have a big conversation with my parents. Finally ready to come out, after agonizing all freshman year how I should do it, if I should do it, when I should do it. I’d thought this would be the right time. And then, they threw a big party. Fuck.
And here came the worst of it - my big brother, Todd. Literally my big brother, because while I was fit, with a good build, decent-looking, Todd looked like an off-duty superhero. Like he’d just stripped out of his costume, slipped into some shorts, grabbed a cold beer and was ready to kick back all weekend long. Superbro. Big-muscled, with the commanding physical presence of a pro football player - great big pecs sprayed with dark fur, an actual eight-pack, thick thighs, a high, rounded, deeply-dimpled pair of muscles for an ass… and of course, his arms. Long, coiled with muscles like pythons under his tan skin, descending from broad shoulders that bulged with muscle too. He looked like the Hulk’s stunt double. Last year, he actually went as the Hulk for Halloween, and the pic of him posted on Facebook got 150 likes, and some seriously thirsty comments.
Todd had always been big, always been handsome, always been a good dude in spite of all that, and even though there were several years and two sisters between us, he’d always been good to me. I’d grown up in his huge teenage shadow, kind of awestruck by my star football-player big brother, and by the time he went off to college, I was nursing a serious crush on him. One that never really went away, as I got older, hit puberty, and he kept getting bigger and better-looking, even more of a complete physical specimen. I’d shot so much cum thinking of him since I’d first discovered how, looking at his pictures, imagining all kinds of shit that drove me wild with lust and with guilt. One time, when he came home his senior year, I found a pair of his compression shorts in the laundry, and stole them, huffed them, rubbed them over my cock, and used them as part of my elaborate jerkoff fantasies for the better part of a year, before I finally got so freaked out and guilty about it, I’d stuffed them in the bottom of the trash can. And I still thought about those goddamn shorts all the time. Now, he’d found me, right when I least wanted to be found. And least of all by him.
“So what’s goin’ on, Blakey?” he said in that deep, sexy rumble of a voice he had. Perfectly matched to his amazing body. “Sorry… Blake,” he continued, raising his hands defensively, but grinning too. Damn him.
“Ah, not much, dude,” I said, looking around awkwardly, at the tile on the patio, at the party down on the lawn, up at the sky, anywhere but that big, sexy pile of muscles that mere mortals would call “a body.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, settling his big ass down into the chair across from me, and I cringed inside. Usually I was a confident, friendly, outgoing dude, and I didn’t recognize myself right now. Didn’t like this guy I was being. Didn’t like how I was feeling. And Todd seemed like he could read all that, fixing me with an assessing, but still friendly look, like he was peering deep down into me. Like it was his particular superhero superpower.
“Spill it, dude,” he finally said, as our eyes met, and I kind of clenched up inside… and then it all came rushing out. I kind of stepped back from myself there for a minute, listening with amazement as it all just flowed from me, this stream of words and torment and confusion and apprehension. My fears about telling our parents, my friends, that I would be shunned, made to feel like a disappointment, a source of shame, alienated and left alone.
“Well hell, little brother,” Todd said, sitting back in his chair with a slightly amazed look, draining his beer and crushing the can reflexively, which made his big biceps and forearms bulge even more, and that was like another little knife to the guts. “Come with me, bud.”
I followed him, down off the terrace, winding around the edges of the party, walking in his wake, trying not to fixate on the rippling muscle beneath those big wide shoulders, the way his back tapered in that perfect V-shape, the little fan of dark curls in the small of his back, the way his nylon shorts clung to the hard mounds of his big, muscular ass. Trying, and failing.
Todd snagged the remainder of a six-pack from the big metal washtub full of ice and drinks, four cans hanging from his thick fingers by the plastic ring, as he looked over his shoulder at me, smiled, and nodded his head towards the beach. And I followed him onwards again. Out to the quiet, the sounds of the party receding behind us, replaced with the quiet, persistent roar of the ocean, the salty breath of the sea breeze, the warm sand beneath our bare feet. And then it was just us, me and my idol of a big brother, walking and talking and drinking beers together, and fuck but it felt so good. Even with my inner torment about this big, sexy behemoth of a brother of mine, he made me feel good. Talking to me, reassuring me, letting me know everything would be OK, and he’d have my back, no matter what. So Todd wound up being the first person I came out to, and if I could get over my fears about doing that, with him, then I could face anyone. Could finally be myself. And I don’t have to tell you how good that feels.
But still… I had those feelings about him. Feeling him near me, the way the moonlight made shadows of his big muscles on his skin, the subtle scent of his sweat, his natural Todd smell, just the sheer physicality, burned on my brain. I wanted to grab hold of him, feel those enormous arms around me, suck on his big nips, squeeze his ass, feel the hugeness of his cock against my body as our tongues entwined. Shit. I was definitely going to have to find a quiet place to jack off tonight.
“I can tell there’s more you got on your mind, bud,” he said with a smile on his voice. Fuck. Big, hot, smart, funny and perceptive. I was quiet, not knowing what to say, because how could I tell him how I thought about him, without him pounding me into the sand?
“You want to talk about the shorts, little bro?” he said, and I almost grunted with shame and surprise. How the hell…
“It’s OK, you know,” he went on. “I kind of understand. And I’m not mad. I mean… those were good shorts. I liked them. Wore them a lot. Took me months to realize what must have happened to them. And by then, it was kind of funny.”
“Ah Jesus,” I muttered, cheeks burning. I wanted to run into the sea and swim far away. Keep going until I reached foreign soil, somewhere nobody knew me and what a fucking perv I was, and start my life over as a whole new person. Then I felt Todd’s big, meaty hand fall on my shoulder, and gently squeeze. I shivered a little.
“Tell you the truth, kid,” he said, squeezing again, his voice low, confidential, “once I got to thinking about it… it was kind of hot.”
“You w-what?” I stammered. He just nodded, continued.
“Yeah.. to have somebody that into me, like that. To do something so… I don’t want to say desperate, but you know… worshipful, maybe? Yeah - worshiping me. And then I got to thinking about what you were probably doing with my old workout undies, bro, and honestly… it was kinda hot.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” I half-gasped. I could see his white teeth gleaming a little in a smile.
“Hell, one time, I nearly mailed you home my jock, little bro,” he half-growled, and I shivered again. Felt my cock turn into steel inside my shorts. “Figured you’d love that. But I didn’t want to freak you out. Because I didn’t know for sure. But now, bro… I do know. For sure.”
He stopped us in place, turned me to look at him. We were all alone. If he was going to beat my ass into a pulp, this would be the place. Instead, he took hold of my shoulders, fixed me with an intent gaze.
“I know for sure now, and little bro…” he said in that low, sexy voice of his, “I’m still OK with it. Still think it’s hot. Do you still think I’m hot, like that, bro?”
I was totally under big Todd’s spell at this point. Entranced by my big brother. I slowly nodded.
“Well, I don’t want to blow your mind or anything, Blakey,” he went on. “But I think you’re not so bad yourself.”
And then I kind of went out of my body a little bit again, because Todd leaned in and kissed me. Slowly, softly at first, but definitely intimately. Big, strong lips against mine, the tang of Budweiser on his breath, the gentle flick of his moist tongue on my lips, and then my lips were parting, and he was inside my mouth, and I was slipping inside his, and then he was pulling me in tight, and fuck, if I died right now…
But I didn’t die. Not even when I felt the growing swell of his huge cock inside his shorts, pressing up against my own raging little bro hardon, and his hands were stroking my bare arms, and my hands were squeezing the coiled power of his, and then he cupped the tightness of my ass in his big palms, and grunted appreciatively into my mouth, and I nearly creamed my shorts right then and there. But I didn’t do that either, not even when he reached down to palm my bulge, and chuckled into my mouth, as if he’d known this all along, and was delighted by it.
“How many times did you come in those shorts of mine, little brother?” he asked in that low, almost hypnotic voice of his, lips buzzing mine.
“So many times,” I murmured. “Lost count.”
“And what did you think about me… about us.. when you did, Blakey?”
A thousand dirty images, memories almost, flooded into my brain.
“I - I don’t know if I should tell you, bro,” I almost whimpered.
He guided my hand down, down to the pulsing, hard heat of his bulge, the big mound in his shorts and the steely hard cock underneath it. I felt it pulse in my hand as I palmed it reflexively. So fucking big. Big as I’d imagined. And hard. For me. For this. Fuck.
“Then maybe you should show me, little bro,” he murmured, and kissed me again.
Todd wasn’t wearing anything under his shorts, and he was so big, so beautiful, so naked, so hard for me, as I kneeled before him in the warm sound, ears full of the roar of the ocean and the rush of my blood, as I took his epic big brother cock in hand, and then slowly, tentatively, then hungrily swallowed him in my mouth. I wasn’t great at this yet, but he made me want to be great, and his hands in my sweaty hair, his twitching muscles, his deep voice whispering all lusty and soothing and encouraging, made me do even better. I stroked his powerhouse thighs, his huge tight balls, the inches of thick cockshaft I couldn’t swallow - not yet, anyway - and sucked and lapped and moaned and hummed and swallowed the salty, mineral flow of precum from it, from him, until his moans became an unbroken tide of sound filling my ears, vibrating down his shaft and into my mouth, filling my head, and he was shooting, thick and hard and salty, filling my head and my mouth and my stomach and my mind. Filling me up with himself. with his bigness, with his cum, with his brotherly love. With his power.
Todd pulled me up effortlessly, wrapped those epic arms round my sweating, shivering body, and plunged his tongue deep into my mouth again. It danced with mine, scooped up his seed, spread it over my tongue and swallowed as it merged with our spit in one warm, salty flow.
“Mmmm,” he rumbled, grinning, lips shiny and sticky as we separated. “Damn, I taste good.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and he laughed with me, then ruffled my hair and kissed me some more. It was all like a dream. I never wanted to wake up.
“Let’s see how you taste now, kid,” he grinned, and my amazement got even deeper as he sank to his knees, tugged my shorts down, and returned the favor. He was damn good at it too, better than me, and I had questions about that, but those would have to wait, because in what felt like no time at all, I was dumping the contents of my balls down his pulsing, swallowing, talented throat.
“There, he said, palming the excess off his sexy lips as he stood, then licking that from his hand, making me moan again as I watched him. “That’ll take the edge off… for now, kid. And later on, once that damn party winds down…”
Later on, the house asleep behind us, the ocean continuing its restless surge below, big Todd and I came naked together, on a big towel under the stars, and the big, sexy lunk rocked my fucking world. Blew my mind. Saved me. Just like a superhero should do, even without - especially without - the costume.
More stories like this at http://a4f101.tumblr.com/tagged/story-time
(For all other parts to this story, scroll down to prior post.)
So there I am, on the new deck, pretending that I'm not a little cum-high, wiping my spermy hand on my ass, trying to block the view of Axel, who is behind me, cursing and stumbling into his own shorts, when the UPS truck slides and skids to a halt and I'm thinking that's probably not how you should drive those big-ass trucks, but then I see why, cuz out jumps this thick, bearded, muscular, hairy dude wearing those brown shorts that are both completely dorky and totally hot - at the same time - and he's got this snarl on his face that could be a smile cuz it may have occurred to him that he's caught us in the act, but he could also be at the end of his shift and wondering what the fuck these two nearly naked dudes needed to order from UPS that took him fifteen miles off of his route.
"Morning," I say, stupidly, and he replies -
"Afternoon," correcting me - pointedly - cuz it's nearly five and like I said, I'm still cum-high.
So I blush red, cuz that's my thing, and the driver smirks, suddenly enjoying whatever it is he's stumbled onto, and then I see his fucking legs, which are thick as tree-trunks and one's got this whole tattoo wrapping up from his ankle to his thigh, disappearing into those dorky-but-hot trunks and suddenly I want to see where the tattoo goes.
Then I turn to look at Axel, hoping he'll help me out, but fuck if he ain't blushing, too, which is hard to do when you're brown as him.
And speaking of brown, Driver says, "Which one of you is Axel?"
And I'm still looking at my bro, who's blushing, as I said, which means he's turned this amazing maroon color that I can't keep my eyes off of, and also the driver's tat, which is hot as fuck, and before either me or Axel can say anything, because Axel is realizing he's got his shorts on backward, which is funny as fuck to me, but obviously not to Axel, driver goes: "Hang on - don't tell me - let me guess."
Then he cracks us a smile like he's on our side - and maybe more than that - and he crosses his arm (more tats) and puffs out his chest a bit and gives us each a once over.
Then, quick as a whip, he tosses the small box he got in his hand, and says, "Think fast, Axel."
And damn if my bro hasn't recovered by now and snatches that shit right out of the air.
Quick as hell and one-handed.
And I say, "Good guess."
And he says, "I'm good at names."
And Ax - who, as I said, is rarely pissed off, shows just a bit of tension as he says, 'My man - what if this was fragile?"
And driver, not skipping a beat, looks at him and says, "It's weed, bro. It's been stankin' up my truck all afternoon. If I was ballsy - which I am - I'd ask you to roll one for me, but you might be some kind of UPS Police and I need the paycheck."
Axel just stands there with his mouth open and his shorts on backward, still with a bit of 'goon-aura' around him, all of which is funny as fuck to me, so I start giggling that kind of giggle where you can't stop yourself, even though you try, and Driver says:
"Plus, I grow my own, so I got plenty, thanks."
He smirks, laughing a bit as he turns heel, giving us a view of an impressive, thick, v-shaped back, more of that damn tat and an ass that looks like it's gonna international-arrest those dorky shorts, cuz covering that up is a crime against humanity.
Even Axel is impressed - I can tell, though I'm still trying not to laugh ... unsuccessfully.
"Have a good day, fellas," Driver says, grabbing the side mirror and swinging up into the cab.
Then he winks at us from behind the glass and guns the engine, but by now Ax has recovered himself and shouts out, "Hey - dude - bro!"
And then he strides off the deck, approaching the truck, and Driver sticks his head out the side door.
"'Sup?"
"Sorry, dude," Ax says. "Didn't mean to be an asshole - you just surprised us is all."
"Oh - I know," Driver says, eyes sparkling a bit. "Cuz you got your shorts on backwards, bro."
At which point I laugh out loud, and UPS dude smirks, part smile, part threat, all bearded, so I ain't sure what side he's on, except the tat and the muscles probably give it away, and the fact he's playing a pretty sexy 'fuck-with-you' game that's got my balls roiling and Axel on his heels, which hardly ever happens - ever.
"So - that it then?" Driver asks, leaving the door open just a crack, but mostly implying that he wants to get off his shift and on with his life, even though the tone implies he may be open to a little more than that, but Ax has other ideas, cuz he's always been the ideas-man.
"Uhhh .... yeah - I mean - if you need to get back on your route, that's cool, but what I was gonna ask, uh, sir," Axel says, throwing in his Polite Southern Shit that he does so well -
"Call me Henry - "
"Aiight, Henry," Ax says, but it's not convincing, and I don't blame him cuz Dude the Driver doesn't strike me as a Henry.
"You see, this here is his place," he says, pointing at me. "And he don't know anyone out here, and I'm just helping out for a few days cuz I'm his best friend, and since I got here I been thinking my buddy needs to stop being such a cheap sonofabitch and get his ass some professional help, so I was wondering - do you know any good carpenters or contractors around here?"
And then Driver looks at Ax - and then at me - and he smiles a big smile, for real, and shuts off the engine, hops out of the truck and strides up to Axel.
"Yeah - I know someone. Me."
And then he sticks out his hand and Axel takes it, and they have a grip-fest, which neither of 'em win, but Axel is having more trouble than he lets on, cuz even though he's got Driver in height, by a fair amount, he ain't got him in muscle, and suddenly I'm looking at two studs going one-on-one and I'm gettin all the wrong ideas.
"I'm Henry."
"You told me that," Axel says finally getting some of his 'smart-ass' back, and Henry replies:
"Yeah - but everyone calls me Hank."
"I'm Axel," Ax says, and Henry says, also smart-assedly, "Uhh yeah - I know -"
"But everyone calls me Ax."
And there's this pause as the two wonder about how much more they're gonna fuck with each other, and then Henry, AKA Hank, busts out a huge loud laugh, and here comes Axel's smile, and the next thing I know Hank's coming up to me, shaking my hand, giving me his card, which reads, I kid you fucking not: Henry David Thoreau, Contractor/Carpenter.
I raise my eyebrows and he catches my vibe: "Don't ask. Mom's was a Major in American Literature. What's your name, son?" he asks, like he's my daddy or something, but then I see the couple of strands of gray in his chest-hair and a few more in his beard and suddenly that don't seem like a bad thing, and then Axel says, "Caden - dude - " and I realize I been staring, and here comes the blush back, hard, and I say, "Caden. My name is Caden Carter -"
"CC for short," Hank says, grabbing my hand, hard, shaking it.
"Naw - not really," I respond, trying to be assertive and Hank says, "Yeah, really. CC. For short. It fits you."
"Sure does, CC," says Axel, like an asshole, and they just laugh at that while I blush and then Hank steps up on the deck and looks around and says, "Why the fuck you need me? You boys doing fine here - this is good work."
"Yeah - well -" says Axel, about to point inside when Hank stops, looking down, and sees our sperm.
"Hang on - " he says, and I mutter under my breath and Axel turns away, half mortified and half hillar-ified, and Hank turns to both of us and says, "But damn, boys - never heard of that before: using cum as a deck sealant."
I just look down, shaking my head, blushing even harder than I have been, which is pretty fucking hard - I must be red as a goddamn tomato - and Axel is trying to stop himself from laughing, while also puffing himself up in case he has to beat some ass, which both of us probably think is doubtful, but ya never know these days. Ya never know.
Meanwhile, Henry David Thoreau with his muscles and his body hair and his tat is having the time of his life up on the stage - by which I mean, the new deck - extolling the virtues of cum as a sealant.
"I mean - that's a lot of loads, to cover a space like this - but you got a good start at least."
Then he walks over to both pools of spew, looking down at each.
"A damn good start," he grumbles, giving a distinct whistle that shows obvious respect.
He looks up at us and says, "Who's is whose?"
And I am seriously about to answer that jack-assed question but Henry David Thoreau ain't having none of that - cuz he barks out, just like he did before, "Hang on - don't tell me - let me guess."
By now Axel is laughing, and I'm just a bucket of blushing white-boy, trying to recover some sense of control, even as Thoreau squats down and puts his fingers in Axel's pud-puddle and mutters, "Damn. Thick."
He pulls up a sluggy string and sniffs it - then tastes it for fuck's sake and says, "Intense. Almost harsh, but in a good way - this here is some baby-making sperm -" and he looks at Axel, then down to my spew-pool, and says, "But this fucking load - Jesus Christ one of you is a shooter- "
"Oh my God," I whisper, not believing I've gotten myself into this scenario and then he reaches down for mine, which is thinner, and closer to dried up by now, but not quite, and he drags a few fingers through, sniffs some more, licks it off the tips and gives a huge smile.
"Aw yeah - that's almost sweet - fuck that's a load worth licking - and whoever it is - you sure as fuck can spray..."
Then his eyes fall on me, and he says, "Can't you, CC?"
At which point Axel laughs louder than I ever heard him, and I shrink even farther into my bright-red blushing skin, and Henry David Thoreau throws back his head and gives a gut-laugh that echoes among the trees.
After about a minute - which seemed like ten - Henry David Thoreau the UPS Driver, Contractor and Carpenter, jumps off the deck, reaches into his back pocket, and hands us each another card.
"This is my personal contact information," he says. "I'd love to help you dudes out - I can come out on Friday after shift, if you'll still be here - you can walk me through the rest of the place and we can ... "
And then he reaches down and adjusts himself and for the first time I see he's packing heat - real heat - and it looks like he ain't wearing anything under those dorky shorts, which can't be part of the uniform code, but up here, in the mountains, Brown probably doesn't give a fuck.
Then I look at the card and it says, "Hank the Crank" with just a cell phone and Twitter handle, and suddenly I piece it all together and damn if I'm not looking square at his crotch which is getting bigger by the second.
"Eyes up, Caden," Hank says, and Axel just laughs again, then there's handshakes all around. "Gotta go finish my route - you boys have fun - get that deck sealed - unless you got other ideas for all that cum, CC."
I keep blushing.
Axel keeps laughing.
"Hell - you can save some for me," he said, jumping in the truck, gunning it and heading out.
Then Axel tossed the box of weed to me as he headed into the house, grabbing his phone along the way.
"Roll us a joint," he called back at me.
"That's your job," I replied.
"You owe me, CC," he called out.
"And I thought you said it was gummies."
"Fucking sister," is all he said, as I followed him into the house ripping open the small box, overcome by the verdant smell of fresh grass.
"Who you texting," I asked Axel, sounding like a jealous lover and hating myself for it -
"Fuck off," he said, not relinquishing his smile. "Checking for dinner joints. Bologna sandwiches don't cut it - I'm hungry as fuck and some bitch I know owes me."
"Bitch better put out," I mumbled, trying to recover myself.
"Oh it's good pussy," he said, winking at me.
"Better be," I replied, pulling out the stash and beginning to cut it.
"It's fucking perfect," he said, putting down the phone, then approaching me.
"Let's get high, baby," he growled, grabbing me by the waist and puling me into his sphere. Then he kissed me - the fucker shocked the hell out of me and kissed me - hard at first, then softer, then long and deep, and I melted into his worked out, still sweaty, frame.
Cuz my brother had always been this handsome, this electric, this charismatic .... this sexy.
Look at those eyes.
The hair.
The nose.
The chin.
Fuck.
Damn.
And now - here I was. Back behind the barn - away from the road. He beckoned me, shirtless, to this 'storm cellar' but I saw the faint light of candles within ... down the rough stairs to what look like a lair.
Down to the basement of his desires - and his secrets.
"Not scared," I said, gulping.
"Then, come on," he gestured with a flick of his hand and a trailing shift of his eyes.
Still, I stood stock ... still. My breathing had halted. But my blood pounded, pumping into my brain and my vein.
"Jesse," I whispered, uncertain.
"Come on -" he whispered back, a soft tone of love in his voice, undergirded by desire. And then I saw him down there - saw his pulsing hardness beneath the flimsy work shorts, barely held aloft by his auburn fur.
He watched me watch his private parts, shifted his hips, pushed down the empty belt loops, and let the shorts fall, releasing his member, which danced and drooled in the quiet morning light.
"God," I said, invoking a higher power -
"Come on, bro - it's time. We've waited long enough - you know we have."
And he was right.
We had stopped the furtive rubbing, the quiet kisses, the too-soon ejaculations when he elevated to high school, and I stayed in middle school - officially too young when he was officially too old. It was his decision and it crushed me, but he held strong. Even started dating. Young ladies- not young men like me - and now, after last night's long walk in the fields followed by the longer talk at the table, I understood why: how his heart ached even as he plowed the path for me, modeling heterosexuality so that I would make my own choice - not be driven to dark desires in an overwhelming adolescence - a youth where mom worked two jobs and dad disappeared when we were too young to remember his name.
I had hated him for it.
Not dad, Jesse.
For a long, long while I had hated him for it.
Because I knew who I was and I knew who I wanted.
But he had held firm and when he drove off to college I wept, worried and wondering that I would never feel him that way again.
Left alone with a mom who couldn't even confirm that we shared the same father, my pain festered into rage and when it was time for Jesse to come back to the farm, giving me a shot at my own education, I split before he arrived, heading west to seek more than just a diploma.
But mom's penny-pinched inheritance and my matriculation to maturity had brought us back to this place - where he farmed the land, alone, waiting, it turns out, for me.
"Come on, Billy - please," he whispered, a plea of need. "I've been waiting so long ...."
"So have I," I said, finding my voice - my center - my strength -
"Then ....?"
"This is forever, Jesse," I said, standing up to him now, pulling off my shirt -
Then placing my hand on his supple pec, covering his beating heart.
"You can't leave me again - ever. I can't ... "
"Brother -"
"I can't feel that pain again. I won't. It will kill me."
He blinked.
His eyes teared.
His throat tightened.
He looked down at my hand, then place his own over it. His grip was strong, the callouses rough, the fingers big - bigger than mine - everything about him seemed bigger than mine.
Even his love, it turned out.
Or so he said last night.
But here, in the light of day, on the precipice of our desires?
"Forever, Bill," he said, leaning in, scorching my lips with his own, grasping my body with his strong arm, driving his steel-hardness into my stomach.
We kissed, deeply. Passionately.
And then I followed, down into his darkness.
And since then, there has only been light in our lives, and love in our hearts.
END
[Author's Note: The pictures haunt me - will continue to. I have, in the back of my imagination, toyed with the idea of fantasy, in the "genre" sense of the word, but I have never really figured out a way to make it both realistic and lust-infused. These two, though, who look like they could be Satyrs or Centaurs - or one of each - these two bring me to the edge of the Fantasy Minefield and beckon me to follow. But ... I won't. Not now. Not ever, probably, because it might be too epic and too ... real. Instead, just this, a simple love story, cuz I'm a hopeless - if utterly depraved - romantic. Enjoy, fuckers.]
[Int. Bedroom. Morning. Close On a male couple, staring dreamily at each other. Then, pause, and mutual consternation.]
HER ONE: "Honey, I need more - more than ninety-dollar hair product, weekly beard appointments, periodically discreet (and expensive) tattoos and Egyptian-Cotton High-Thread-Count sheets.
I need a man, not a faggot."
HER TWO: "Oh thank God, me too! I am so over you!"
HER ONE: "Gurrrllll ... so it's not just me?
HER TWO: "No! I am bored."
HER ONE: "Okay - pinky-swear: who have you been doing on the side?"
HER TWO: "Oh honey - the building superintendent - "
HER ONE: "The German with the hair, the gut and the fat ass?"
HER TWO: "Every morning."
HER ONE: "Bitch!"
[Pause]
"Hung?"
HER TWO: "Huge!"
[Pause]
HER ONE: "I knew it."
HER TWO: "You knew he was fucking me?"
HER ONE: "No! I knew he was hung. I didn't think you were that much of a skag."
HER TWO: "You have no idea - what about you? Who's your side-piece"
HER ONE: "Joaquin. He's an Uber Driver. Eleven inches and eleven kids - his wife cut him off so he fucks me like a bitch."
HER TWO: "Is that why you're always late coming home from work?"
HER ONE: "Yes. He insists on fucking me in a new alley every night. We're running out of alleys!"
[Long pause. They sigh, staring at the ceiling.]
HER TWO: "So - which one do we call first?"
HER ONE: "Yours, I think - he lives in the basement, right?"
HER TWO: "And then yours tonight?"
HER ONE: "Hell yes."
[Her Two reaches for his phone, texting rapidly. Then, a pause.]
HER TWO: "So - after tonight, do we get a divorce?"
HER ONE: "Not sure - let's play it by ear. I like the apartment."
HER TWO: "So do I!"
HER ONE: "And as long as I don't have to fuck you -"
HER TWO: "And I don't have to fuck you - "
HER ONE: "I'm good."
HER TWO: "Me, too."
HER ONE: "Oh God - I DO love you."
HER TWO: "I love you, too."
[There is a SOUND of a doorbell. Her Two sends a text, which we see on the screen: "Use your Master Key. I have a surprise for you in the bedroom."]
"Hands and knees honey - bussy in the air. He's been asking about your cunt for weeks. You better get some lube, too."
HER ONE: "I've got two Joaquin loads in me - I'll be fine."
[They position themselves on the bed, asses up, as the door opens and a huge bear of a man enters. There is a pause and a low whistle, then lights fade as Her One squeals in pleasurable pain.]
HER TWO: (Whispering.) Fuck her - fuck her hungry ass, Jurgen - fuck her then fuck me -fuck us like you fuck your wife."
Naked man aloft,
Flying with the clouds, and dog,
Pounding rocks to dust.
My first haiku on the blog.
At that time I tilted it Haiku Tuesday. The porn angle came later … there is nothing at all ‘porny’ about this photo.
The photo credit is Ezra Caldwell, now deceased. Still an astonishing picture. My words barely do it credit … but they try.
And special thanks to Anonymous, who opened the door to the past and allowed me to mine my earlier work. I owe you, boy/stud/Man. I came across an incredible photo of an incredible erect cock - if I could post it for you, I would
don't ask me why, but i went digging on the wayback machine and found that your blog got captured towards the end of 2016 with the photo inspiration for the triptych series you were talking about in your last ask: https://web[.]archive[.]org/web/20161212152546/http://pagespermer[.]tumblr[.]com/
Damn, I love my readers.
I just wish I could make this fucking link work ... or the WayBackMachine. But glad it exists in real time somewhere.
I'm reviewing the old story. It needs adjustments and now I think I know what I didn't repost it: I may use it as a first publishing effort. We will see.
Thanks, Anon!
Hey, did you write a triptych series with different stories all based on the same pic? Were those posts caught in the Tumblr purge? Am I misremembering?
Indeed, I did.
And no, you are not misremembering....
The picture was of a younger man (legal, but pushing the envelope on that, visually), in a bathroom. He was sitting on a large, black dildo that was suctioned to the floor. Meanwhile he was also sucking a large black dildo, suctioned to the shower-stall door. So, basically the visual was a young, horny kid impaling himself on two big rubber cocks. It was an intense and triggering visual image - and when I saw it, that's what happened: I got triggered, but in a good way.
I imagined a father stumbling upon his kid in that pose. I saw the whole story right then.
Then something happened that I never experienced before: I saw ANOTHER father and ANOTHER kid - same set up (stumbling dad interrupts his horny son), but a DIFFERENT story.
And then it happened again - all in that arresting erotic instant - same set up (father discovers his horny son impaled on dildos), but a new father and a new son and a new story.
So, yes, I called it Triptych.
Story one was a straight dad with menopausal wife and moody daughter, just trying to get some quiet time (and a wank), but he finds his kid, instead, and one things leads to another.
Story two, my favorite, was a grieving widowed dad discovering his son, practicing, so that he can fulfill his mother's dying wish, to 'take care of' his father - the dad is overwhelmed, but he also turns out to be a kinky dude, and they mate ... then extend their mating to extend to others who share the same, incestuous desires.
Story three was a more typical lurid, Nifty-esque story about a deviant dad who is training his son to serve cock. In this spin, the kid is practicing, 'like daddy taught me to' and from there, it devolves into the kid helping the dad seduce the baseball coach. (Side note: this is, in part, because dad is frustrated that the kid has a gag reflex and learns that the gag reflex disappears when the kid is getting fucked in the ass. Obviously solution? Enlist the coach to spit-roast the kid.)
As you can see - it's one of my favorites, and yes, it was depth-charged because the photo is just so damn lurid.
Sadly, I can't seem to find the pic. But I do have the stories.
Titles as follows:
Triptych, First: What the Daddy Saw
Triptych, Second: Mommy Told Me To
Triptych, Third: Practice Makes Perfect
Guess it's time to resurrect, huh?
We'll see.
But thanks for remembering .... maybe I'll give them a read this weekend and see what happens.
Mom defends emotional hug with son after football game (nypost.com)
And they tell me I write fiction.
Ha!
Check out her instagram.....
This boy will forever and always have my entire heart. Gina captured the end of this moment, and I’m SO grateful. When I walked up to hug… | Instagram
Hey I was wondering if you were the one that wrote a story on here I think I know the title (win/win) where the older brother is on house arrest and the younger brother convinces the older brother to get a bj and fuck him.
FOLLOW UP to my ORIGINAL POST, which remains, below.
A loyal reader found the story and of course it's by the great BoyMercury, who, sadly, has retreated from his prior online magnificence. Cuz...that boy (mercury) could write.
It was - and is - the kind of writing I aspire to: full of style and substance, character and charisma. Seriously, I could do ten pages on that stylish motherfucker - who wrote with a craft that few possess. (And he had personal style, too, if my memory of his epic blog is correct.)
Anyway, here's the link. And...BoyMercury, wherever you are, come back to the fray. Our cocks need your stimulation.
nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/win-win
And shout-out to @extremelycray for answering this reader's question, and giving my balls a boost.
Hey Anon:
Two things on this.
First, it ain't my story. I would remember that set up and so I know I didn't sperm out something like that.
Second, I DO recall reading exactly that story - maybe on Tumblr, maybe on Nifty.
Tell you what - if one of my readers remembers this story and finds the link, I will post it cuz...fuck yeah that's a hot set up.
Finally, side note: I'm on vacation fuckers! So things have been a little slow around here but good news is ... I'm horny as fuck so hoping that will help me sperm out some new werds soon.
Editor's Note: A reader (@bitchystarfishgoatee believe it or not) asked me about one of my older stories. He wrote:
"One of your hottest story is the one involving a mother and her two sons but I can't seem to find it now."
So, I got to work, resurrecting and rewriting this gem, one of my favorites. It was ONLY this morning that I realized he may be talking about ANOTHER story of mine: about a Top Son who dominates his younger brother and then takes control of his mother, too, exerting his power over the entire family.
Which - to be clear - was hot as fuck.
So ... sorry, @bitchystarfishgoatee, if this is the wrong "mother and two sons" story. I can't believe I've got more than one - but then, I can't believe I love writing 'straight' porn.
One more important point: this story was prompted by a headless photo of a young man with just a spectacular cock. It hung down, straight and semi-hard, with a huge vein and an impressive set of balls. I immediately wondered, what if a mother saw that picture of her son's cock? And so, these werds were spermed.
I don't have that picture any more. And Tumblr won't allow that kind of cock shot - so use your imagination ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy the twisted shit that springs from my balls.
My Son’s Cock
or
Happy Mother’s Day
I knew I shouldn’t do it. They tell you not to. At least, not at this age. I mean, he’s an adult now, so it’s his business, not mine.
Though I have trouble seeing him that way. I mean I did have trouble seeing him that way until I saw the picture. On his phone.
That’s what I shouldn’t have done. I shouldn’t have been snooping on his phone. But, I’m a mother. Sometimes mothers can’t help themselves. I don’t know what I was looking for. I mean … maybe I do. But, impulse is impulse. He left it there when he went to the bathroom and the next thing I knew it was in my hand and I was swiping through his photos.
And there it was.
His cock.
You imagine things like that – their cocks. I know I’m not supposed to say that. I know other mothers wouldn’t admit it. But you do. How couldn’t you? They come from you. They’re your flesh and blood. And when they grow up – become . . . men . . . or something close to it . . . you imagine what they must be like under all those clothes. Especially the handsome ones, like my son.
Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s who he is that made me wonder what was going on down there. Maybe it’s his magnetism. So much like his father in that way, except kinder – not a total jerk like his dad. All of the good stuff and none of the bad.
But I digress.
Thinking about it, I never once thought about his younger brother that way. Little Kyle – who takes after me so much. Probably because he’s gay?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that as Ryan grew up, and became . . . him . . . it was increasingly difficult not to wonder …
And he never seemed to have a relationship. Never seemed to have any girls – or boys – hanging around. I was concerned when he and Kyle moved in together after college but they just said, “It makes sense, Mom – we save money this way. We like rooming together. Why wouldn’t we do that?”
Maybe it was because they were always – both – so private about their personal lives. It drove me crazy. Who doesn’t want to know what’s going on with their sons? But … that’s no excuse, I know. Really, it’s none of my business. What EITHER of them do with their . . . you know.
Their . . .
Cocks.
And there it was. Just rigid. On his phone. So . . . big.
He was clutching it, proudly – displaying it.
It was thicker than I imagined. Far thicker.
And yes, I’d imagined it. I said that already. Don’t look at me that way. I’m telling you a mother does that . . . I’m sure she does – I’m sure other mothers do. It’s normal.
Isn’t it?
But good God – it startled me. Electrified me. And that . . . vein . . . running down the length of it.
Instantaneously I was overwhelmed by images of his heart pumping blood into that . .. that vein he had, enlarging it. Growing it. Making it stiff and urgent and male. My crotch twitched like it hadn’t in years, and I was damp – almost embarrassingly wet sitting at their kitchen table, staring at my son’s cock.
On his phone.
That I shouldn’t have been looking at.
When I heard the toilet flush I panicked, dropping the phone on the table, pressing multiple buttons on the damn thing to hide my invasion of his privacy. I went to the kitchen, pretending to clean, but it was already spotless. (Little Kyle was an excellent housekeeper. He said he enjoyed keeping house for them and only wished he was around more often to do so – but his job as a flight attendant took him away so often.)
“You okay, Mom,” Ryan asked, adjusting his pants. I wouldn’t have noticed that, normally, because of course he was adjusting it his pants - he’d just gone to the bathroom. But the gesture struck me as lewd. I was shaken already and there he was, standing there, rearranging himself.
“I’m fine honey – fine.”
“You sure? You seem . . . flushed or something?”
“Oh Ry – it’s that damn Mexican place you always take me to. You know how I react to spicy food.”
“No – I don’t,” he said, seeming to challenge me.
I had to get out of there.
“Anyway – time for me to go. Busy day. Sorry I missed Kyle.”
“He got called to crew on short notice. They pay him time and a half when they put him on off-schedule, so he took it.”
“When will I see you both again?”
“Not sure – he’s in Europe all next week. But you and I are doing dinner for Mother’s Day, remember?”
“Oh – that’s so sweet – where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere. Kyle’s been teaching me how to cook. I’m gonna make you a special dinner. Right here.”
He gestured to the table where the phone blinked, and then went into sleep mode. I could swear he caught it, looking at me, then the phone, then me again. It was time for my exit.
“Well honey – just tell me when you want me here,” I said, approaching him, giving my normal hug. But I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t in control of myself. I grabbed one of his arms, clutching the hard muscle, feeling it, and then pressed into him. It was his scent that electrified me – I wasn’t expecting it – a day’s worth of son-funk that perfectly embodied his maleness. I pushed up against him, brushing his cheek with my lips, and tried not to press too hard – tried not to feel his manhood beneath his loose board-shorts. Tried not to imagine what I already knew: that he loathed underwear and that it was swinging, willfully, between his hairy legs, ready to be unleashed on . . . who.
Me?
I felt it against my thigh for just a moment and then pushed away.
He looked at me with slightly questioning eyes.
“So – next Sunday then,” I asked, flipping back my hair and grabbing my purse. I had to leave. I was honestly about to orgasm and felt unable to hide that from him.
“No mommy,” he said, so cutely – the way he does to me – pretending to be the little boy he no longer is. “Saturday night. Kyle has the menu all planned. He wants me to do Saturday dinner and Sunday Brunch. You’re staying the night because he’s in Amsterdam. You can sleep in his room. It’ll be fun.”
I just nodded. Suddenly the thought of being in such close proximity felt dangerous and . . . enticing. It felt wrong and right at the same time.
“Okay then – just text me the details,” I said, heading out the door.
Like I said – I had to get out of there.
Look – I’m not going to draw this out much more. But I feel the need to justify myself – my actions.
The divorce took me by surprise. It hurt. In retrospect it was the right thing. He never treated me that well. But it killed my self-esteem and, given my responsibility to the boys, it put me into a kind of extended sexual hibernation. The alimony and child support was enough for us, but I simply had to keep my career in order to keep my sanity, and the combination of single-motherhood (he had visitation rights, but we all knew he abandoned us the day he filed the papers) and the job pretty much put my sex life on hold.
Sure – I got lots of offers. A ton. And at some level I know I’m hot. And I worked extra hard on my body once that asshole dumped us, if only to convince myself of my self-worth. But no man was going to break through my pain and no man was going to get my trust again – not until my sons were up and out on their own.
I should have seen it coming, what happened next. I should have understood the force of my abstinence in the face of the one man that I knew I could trust and that I knew held my heart in his hands. I should have understood that his manhood would overpower my need.
The only thing I hated about the situation was how much he reminded me of his father. And I hated that because – say what you will about that man and our relationship – we got the sex right. My mistake was thinking our astonishing and acrobatic sex life would be enough for my husband. It honestly was enough for me. But you know men. Especially the charismatic and handsome ones.
I was blinded – in part by lust in those early days – and then, of course, by his breeding. Being bred isn’t something women talk much about, either. But it’s …. Primal.
Essential.
The man that breeds you is . . . well, the man that breeds you. Feeling him force his way into you, pumping his seed, knowing that they are swimming for your womb . . . knowing that with each thrust he’s fertilizing you, seeding you, impregnating you . . . it does something to you. To your relationship with him.
At least it did something to me. I came under his spell, I think. Honestly, there were times that I was in bed with him that I imagined us living in another time and place: him, my King, and me his bride, my sole purpose to give him children and to populate our family. I fantasized about eight, ten, fifteen children, constantly ovulating, constantly giving birth, constantly pushing myself up to him, the day after presenting him a son, asking him to seed me again.
And all those times he fucked me when I was pregnant – it felt so wrong and so right at the same time, his penis rubbing up against his gestating progeny. It was one of the few times he was completely gentle with me in bed – but even so, there was an urgency to his orgasms as he plastered my distended womb with sperm that I will frankly never forget.
Of course it all broke down when I learned about the affairs. The multiple affairs. And his other children.
Anyway ……
Where was I?
My son’s cock.
Through the week I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wondering about it, couldn’t stop myself from wanting it. It was so much bigger than his father’s. How did that happen?
Maybe all those pregnancy fucks? Maybe a nascent competitive spirit, born in the womb, the son already trying to best his father?
And his father’s wasn’t small, by any means. His father used it so well. Would he inherit his father’s . . . abilities, along with his charisma and sensuality?
And anyway, what was going on with my sons? Why were there never any girlfriends? I mean – I understood with Kyle. He was gay. But Ryan? My little man . . . no, no longer little . . . in any sense of the imagination. What was his sexual orientation? How were his needs being met?
Worse, years of self-imposed abstinence ill-prepared me for the desires that welled up in my pre-middle-aged body. They say woman my age are in their prime and I never believed it, until I saw my son’s cock on his phone and my entire sexual-being kicked into a breeding mode the likes of which I had never imagined. I was . . . ready. The need was profound. Nightly, for the week, I writhed in bed, achieving orgasm without touching myself, unable to think of anything but Ryan and his cock and his perfect body and his perfect body hair and his confident strut.
In the rare times when I did feel sexually needy prior to that fateful moment with his phone, I had periodically turned to gay porn. It felt safer and more taboo at the same time, and now I ravenously devoured it, at home and at work, unable to stop touching myself – imagining him, imagining them (could that be what was going on between them?) and imagining . . . us.
I know it sounds lame but I took my own pictures without even thinking about a plan, even though the plan fell into place the minute I saw the pictures I had taken. I had to get help from our IT dude at the office to get the right filter and equipment. He smirked at me when I lied about the uses of my camera attachment, but I was his boss. He could imagine all he wanted.
The last two days of the week were a blur, Kyle sending me flowers, and regrets that he wouldn’t be there to celebrate ‘your special day’ and Ryan texting me details.
I will say this: My son wasn’t ready for how I looked when I showed up at his apartment. But, it was a special night – a night planned for me – so why not? I’d spent the day at the spa – and I’d been shaving all week to make myself ready. That, in itself, was a trigger: a constant reminder of the new center of my consciousness.
Ryan actually gasped when he saw me. The dress had been purchased for the occasion, one half size too small, perfectly snugging my curvy form. My hair glowed with just the hint of new color. My breasts – always just this size of large – were strapped in by the new laced undergarments I’d picked up at the local lingerie store.
But I think it was the stockings and heels that got him. I had vacillated, worried that the fishnets would overplay my hand – be too much, paired with the high heels. But, without them I felt too much of his mother and not enough of what I wanted to become: the object of his desire. So I put them on, and put on the heels, snapping on the garters. And, at the last minute I decided against the panties, dropping them in my clutch, in case I changed my mind. It only seemed fair to me. I knew he wouldn’t be wearing underwear. Why should I?
In the cab over my legs shook and my hairless groin purred. It was wrong, what I was thinking, and to counter that violation of societal norms, I insisted that I wouldn’t go through with it – that I was just playing – that this was just a game and not only would I not cross the line . . . I wouldn’t even approach it.
And then, there I was, standing in his hallway. He wasn’t under-dressed – but he wasn’t nearly as dressed as I was. Still, his eyes became unmistakably glassy for more than just an instant as he took in my outfit. In the evening light that streamed in from the outside, I saw his loose khakis fill out with unmistakable girth. I could see it. I could see it move and I watched it move. And, I could see him see me see it. He saw me looking at his cock and I let him see me, then advanced, exuding confidence I didn’t feel.
“Honey – it’s so good to see you,” I said, approaching him as if I was on a date. My arms wrapped around him lovingly, holding him close, like a woman does, and he flinched a little, but not much. He was – immediately – vexed. I could tell. One part of him wanting to pull me into his larger, muscular frame - the other part of him willing himself to stop: to be my son and nothing more.
“I’m so sorry Kyle can’t be with us tonight, but he’s told me all about the menu. I know he’s here in spirit.”
I kissed him on the cheek after I said that, close to his lips, feeling his hot breathe exhaling from his flaring nostrils.
“I hope you don’t mind – I thought I would dress for the occasion.”
And then I walked by him, entering their large living room, letting the fading sun catch my too-short skirt, knowing that his eyes were burning on my legs and ass.
“Mom – yeah – wow – you look . . . great.”
“Thank you, honey. So do you.”
“I feel under-dressed.”
I turned.
“Ryan,” I said, staring at him, holding the center of the space. “You are a very handsome young man. Your style suits you. It accentuates your strengths. Never forget that.”
We stood, staring at each other. I could tell he was conscious of his cock. I could tell that he was fighting to keep it under control. And I could tell – in that moment – that every lie I had told myself about this evening was simply that: a lie.
I had crossed the line without even knowing it. My entire body hummed with desire. His eyes fed that desire. I could have had him right there – but instead, I chose to dance with him. The longer I took to get what I wanted – what I needed so badly – the better it would be for both of us.
“Are you going to offer me a drink, honey?” I asked, pouting for effect.
“Um – sorry – I just – you just – Kyle said – sure. I have wine. Kyle said that white would – “
“Oh no, dear. Kyle’s not here. It’s just you and me. I want a martini. Vodka. Dry. And … dirty.”
Again he stood stock-still as the last word hung between us.
“You know how to do that, right – make it dirty?” I asked. It was shameless, but my smile hid the deviousness of my desires.
And with that, he joined in, perhaps sensing our dance, but if not, at least, playing along.
“The lady wants a dirty martini – the lady gets a dirty martini,” he said, walking past me, brushing up against me, smiling that smile I saw in his photo gallery, and gently squeezing my waist, just a little lower than a son should. It sent a shockwave directly to my cunt.
The evening moved forward. We talked about his job and my job and Kyle’s job. We talked about the weather and politics and sports. A second martini surprised him, but I didn’t care. I needed the liquor. It was the salve to my conscience. I was neither lewd nor forward, neither prim nor uptight. In the candlelight I caught his gaze into the cleft of my breasts and let him gaze, leaning into the table even more, showing him my tits – allowing him to admire my cleavage. I saw his periodic discomfort. I even saw the wet spot that appeared in his khakis that even he noticed and tried to cover with his napkin.
The dinner was lovely; surprisingly light and quite simple. Kyle had taught his brother well, making sure that the ingredients were not too complex and that the preparation was not too overwhelming. I complimented him constantly, switching to wine at the table, encouraging him to drink along with me, which he tried, unsuccessfully, to resist.
“So . . . what’s for dessert,” I asked, smiling at him.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I love surprises,” I whispered.
There was a pause.
“And tomorrow – what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Well – I have to get up early. Brunch is more … complex. After that . . . I don’t know. It’s up to you. Maybe I could take you shopping. Or a movie? Kyle insisted we leave it open for you to decide. And – we’re gonna Facetime him after brunch.”
“It sounds lovely,” I said, honestly, and suddenly so filled with love.
He smiled back at me. It was pure. I could feel the force of his emotions through the haze of alcohol and what I believed to be our shared desires.
“Ryan,” I said, sipping my wine. “I have a confession to make.”
And yes, it was just like that. Having crossed the line earlier, I no longer felt doubt. I simply moved to what I needed and what I needed was him. I knew that there were risks. I knew, also, that I couldn’t avoid those risks. I had to embrace them.
His eyes got larger.
“Um – okay – I mean –“
“I snooped on you, honey. I’m sorry that I did. I shouldn’t have. But, I did. I guess . . . I think it’s a mother’s prerogative. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, but I know it’s wrong.”
He was still. I couldn’t read him.
He just looked at me, eyes suddenly steely, but still tinged with the warmth that we were sharing.
“It was your phone. Last weekend. I picked it up. I saw . . . a picture.”
He sat back, tense.
“Which picture?” he asked, tersely.
“Of you. Just of you. Of you and your . . . . it was just you.”
He visibly relaxed – a little.
“You shouldn’t do that, mom,” he said, admonishing me. There was pique in it. He was annoyed, but not entirely. It was almost as if his annoyance was a put on – as if he was pretending to be offended, because he wasn’t . . . quite . . . offended.
“I know. I . . . like I said, I couldn’t help myself.”
We sat there. The quiet was deafening. I could see him wondering what more to say and since I couldn’t imagine what I would say if I were him, I filled the void.
“Honey,” I said, “I’m sorry. I truly am. I shouldn’t have.”
“Did you see any other . . . pictures?”
“No – just that one,” I said, suddenly curious, but I filed it away. This was not about other pictures. This was about …. that picture. This was about something else.
“You shouldn’t do that.”
“I know. Like I said, I’m sorry.”
More silence, but I filled it again.
“Ryan – you’ve become such a handsome man. It was . . . I was . . . it was amazing to see you like that. You truly are so h – well . . . you are very.”
I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs. I was uncomfortable now, but that’s only because I was unfulfilled.
He was blushing. He also shifted in his seat, and now, no longer defensive, he seemed questioning. But he welcomed my praise. It seemed to fill him with himself – with confidence – with pride. I could imagine his cock engorging, too, matching my words with the image he knew I held in my brain.
“Thank you,” he whispered, nearly choking on his words. I poured him some more wine and he drank it. And then he did gain confidence, sitting up, looking at me directly with those beautiful eyes. Perhaps he’d caught wind of my scent, so to speak – had become aware of my attention.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, pouring more wine for myself, and finishing off the bottle. “What I did was wrong. It seems only fair that I compensate in some way. You aren’t a boy anymore and you don’t deserve to be treated like one.”
He was listening to every word, trying to figure out where this was going, but there was an inherent eagerness to his stance – almost animal. A herd leader waiting for the call of his herd.
I opened my clutch and pulled out my phone.
“So here – you can go through my phone. It’s unlocked. You can do to me what I did to you. Like I said: fair is fair.”
I placed the phone next to his glass of wine. He didn’t move.
“Mom – no – that’s not necessary.”
“No honey. I want this. I want you to do this. I won’t feel right until you do. I won’t feel . . . comfortable.”
“Mom – “
“Please, honey,” I whispered, leaning over the table, covering his thick hand with mine. “Please. Do this for me.”
He seemed to understand now. Seemed to cross the line with me. Or join me on the other side of the line I had already crossed.
“Mom –“ he said, but I just nodded, and pushed the phone under his paw.
He picked it up, never taking his eyes off of me.
“Did you read my texts?” he asked, looking at me, phone in hand.
“No.”
“You just looked at my photo gallery?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to look at yours, is that what you’re saying.”
Words escaped me. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, couldn’t wait for his response, couldn’t begin to understand how turned on I was – my pussy was thoroughly wet now, my legs trembled, my heart beat and I could barely breathe. All I could think about was him – his reaction – his cock – his heart - his manhood –
I nodded.
His eyes burned into me. He could see my breathing. He knew, I think, but maybe wouldn’t allow himself to know fully. But he must have sensed my arousal. It was overwhelming me – the pheromones were pouring out of my body. I could smell my own desire as it wafted gently in the still air of the apartment.
Surely he picked up on some of that.
And then he swiped.
It wasn’t the first picture. It wasn’t the second or third. I can’t remember which picture it was . . . maybe I placed it where I did as a last resort: an attempt to halt my progression to transgression. But if that’s why I did it, it was a lame defense against impending incest. At some fundamental level he was on to me – he’d captured my need and was playing along. I could see the change in him, sitting there in front of me: from polite son to full-fledged man; from honoring offspring to pack-leader, needing to breed. The transformation was subtle but distinct in the soft light. And all along his eyes barely left my own, glancing periodically to see the extraneous photos of my colleagues at work, a Pad Thai Lunch Plate that I’d posted to Facebook, a sunset on my evening jog, my next door neighbor’s dog. And then, inexorably – ineffably – my pussy, shaved, pushed up, presented for him: what I needed him to see, because I needed his cock there. Had needed his cock there since I saw it on his phone.
The photo was uncompromising. An invitation. Like a primitive ape, I had digitally presented my ass and my vulva to him, perfectly showing him what could be his, if he desired it.
He stopped, eyes lasered on the black and white image that I had carefully shot only for his consumption – only to spur his appetite – only to turn him from my perfect boy into my perfect man.
He stopped, looking at it – arrested by it. His own breathing quickened, but was heavier than mine, more masculine, more full of need. His was more young. Vital.
Some word came out of his lips that was unintelligible. It was hoarse. It was more of a sound. I’ll never know what he said but I didn’t need to know. Time stood still. His eyes devoured me on the small, hand-held device.
I expected him to look at me, but he didn’t. Instead he stayed focused on the phone, taking it in. Memorizing it. Taking in the entire image. Copying it to his lizard brain.
Then, without moving his eyes he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his own phone. He swiped and fiddled, expertly manipulating the device with his left hand, as young people do these days, never once – not once – taking his eyes off the photo of my need – my shame – my desire.
My ass.
My cunt.
I felt suspended in time – I didn’t know what he was doing, but clearly the ball was in his court and this was his play, so I waited for the return of serve.
His phone lit up and stopped and he turned it to me, showing me the photo that I had already seen, but letting me take it in, again, this time privately, intimately, together.
“Is this the picture you saw, Mommy,” he asked, pushing it forward, still not looking at me, but presenting the device over my plate.
“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to form a word, desperately wanting to push my hands between my legs and pleasure myself, not wanting to hide my overwhelming desire any longer.
“You liked that, mommy?” he asked, not expecting an answer I think, but coming into his own.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I couldn’t admit that to him.
He was my son!
He placed both phones on the table, side by side, their nakedness a lewd intervention upon the otherwise romantic and, up until this point, quite sweet meal. Then he rose with intention, the wet spot grossly obvious now, and the pants barely able to contain his massive member.
He stood letting me see him – watching me watch his crotch – I couldn’t take my eyes off it and I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. Then, he confidently unbuckled his belt and unzipped his zipper.
This was not – in any way – how I thought things would play out. God knows, in retrospect, I can’t believe I had imagined some gauzy romantic interlude, perhaps a cuddle on the couch, a fumbling exploration, a whispered approach to incestuous ecstasy. But I forgot that there were two actors in this drama, not one, and how he played his part was up to him. And him – my son – my man - was more than I expected, more than I imagined and more than I bargained for.
Still . . . he was my boy…
The pants dropped, but clumsily, catching, as they did, on his size and significant girth. It was almost a burden what he had between his legs. No wonder he loathed underwear. What underwear could contain it? Why would you want to contain it?
Then, he pushed his pants down and they dropped to the floor, the belt clinking on the stone tile – the fabric freeing his essence.
I had assumed – had fantasized – that perhaps he was a shower, not a grower: that what I had seen in the picture was, in the end, the extent of his member. But that vein – that huge vein pumping blood to his vitality – should have provided some clue to the contrary. Because what I saw in the photo was truly only the beginning of his manhood –
It was awe-inspiring. The head glistened, drooling a thick string onto his plate. The uncut-foreskin was pulled back, not by his hands, but by the length and power of his nearly erect penis. His cock hung heavy, curving slightly downward, still growing in the candlelight, but so large that gravity pulled against its equal need to stand tall for the woman that had helped create it.
It was . . . magnificent.
I began to shiver – to tremble at its size and power. I felt so close to orgasm that I couldn’t hide it, whimpering as it waved, slowly, back and forth, pulsing at the rate of my son’s quickening heart.
But what was more overwhelming – more than my need, my surprise, my desire – was my pride. To see him as he was, as a man – as a full man – to see him standing there, wielding such a large cock and to see him doing it so confidently, was something I will never forget. Our connection, created just twenty-five years ago, when he opened me like no other man had, before or after, was so pure and so primal that I couldn’t help but see his cock as my own: the fruits of my loins, my gift to women (and men?) everywhere.
It’s indescribable what came over me witnessing his immensity.
And, he didn’t disappoint in relation to it’s astonishing presence. He became the man at the end of his giant phallus, taking charge of our destiny and our evening.
“Is this what you want, Momma?” he asked, confidently displaying himself, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t move. I feared that if I did move, I would cum, and my shout would break the mood.
“It is, isn’t it? You want this, don’t you mommy?” He said, grabbing it perfectly. Not gripping it, as he did in the picture on his phone, but displaying it, as if it were a piece of art.
His shirt fell, showing his perfect chest, a slight sheen of sweat displaying under his neck. He gripped the chair-back as he pushed off his shoes, expertly stepping out of them and suddenly I saw a man who had done this before: many times before. A man who had dropped his pants nonchalantly, stepped out of his shoes, stepped out of his clothes, and given his gift to someone in need.
He slowly swung around the table, coming up next to me. One hand was placed gently on my neck, then on my shoulders, caressing my hair.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he said, whispering, complimenting, encouraging. The words eased my shame – excused my desire. “Did you dress up for me? For this?”
I looked up, eyes misty, so lost. I felt awful for wanting him this way but could only admit it, as a tear dropped on my cheek.
I nodded.
The slightest push of his hand brought my focus back to his cock, which was now so close. The heat of it was overwhelming. Up close it frightened me. The veins seemed huge. It pulsed alive – like an animal, on the hunt.
“It’s okay, mommy. You can have it. You gave it to me. You can have it now if you want it.”
I began to shake. I couldn’t control myself any longer, beginning to heave with emotion and fright and transgression. It was so close. Still, I felt I should stop. Imagined that we could go back. Lie about our new reality. And then he said:
“Just touch it mom. Please. I need you to – you know I do. You did this to me. You know you did. So, please. Touch it.”
His hand moved down my back, finding my zipper, confidently releasing it. I felt like this was the Rubicon and I shouldn’t get in the boat, but I allowed him to undo me willingly. The action was smooth and quick, and he pushed the dress down over my slim shoulders, unleashing my confined bosoms, letting their heft sway in the air. He gasped, seeing the perfectly adult bra that barely hid my nipples.
“Beautiful. Oh, momma . . . “ he sighed, encouraging me, petting me, and seeming to control my hand as I reached up and lightly caressed his penis. My touch made it kick up, like a spooked stallion, and rather than be frightened by it, I sought to tame it, clutching the girth mid-shaft, my hand unable to reach around his circumference. His body shook and trembled and he pushed forward, his first direct assertion of his authority over me.
“Yes – oh God yes, Mom,” he groaned.
The asseertion was not aggressive, though – it was just his need. And now, with him standing before me, clothed only in socks, me clutching his cock, my breasts swaying, and our hearts racing, we consummated our incest and did so willingly.
The drool from his cock couldn’t be ignored any longer. This was my dessert and I fed on it, at first tentatively. My lips kissed the tip of his cock and it jerked again, spasming. He pushed into my mouth, but I knew he would. His need was as great as mine and even though it had been years – more than a decade, I believe – since I had taken a penis in my mouth, I ravenously sucked him in. our mutual groans were loud and urgent. He grabbed one of my breasts, hard, and I welcomed his manhandling, pushing away from the table and spreading my legs, exhibiting my vulvic exuberance as I tried to master his monster. His other hand kept me on his cock, firmly but with the gentility that only a son could muster. The taste was overwhelming. I began to heave in orgasm and desire right then, overcome by passion unlike any I had ever felt. I reached up and clawed at his testicles, which also shocked in their size. They were tight and round and full, and I could tell that my son was a babymaker, full of sperm, ready to unleash it in me.
“OH, GOD,” he cried as I shook in orgasm, moaning, showing him that I was cumming by filling my mouth with him. I looked up and he was staring down at me, defiantly, eager to put his whole cock down my throat, but unwilling to violate his own mother. Seeing that need I pushed forward, trying to take him all in but it was impossible. His girth scraped on my teeth and I didn’t want to hurt him, no matter how much I wanted all of him inside of me. I desperately sought help from him, trying to show how much I wanted to fulfill, how little I wanted to disappoint, and to his credit he pulled out, allowing me to breathe, to slow down, even as another wave of ecstasy coursed through my now dripping cunt.
“Oh, baby – oh Ryan,” I said, diving back on him, using both hands on his astonishing cock. “Oh honey – “
He pushed back in, harder now, more intent. Our eyes were glazed with lust and we locked that glazed gaze, sharing our mutual need.
I got stuck again, this time with the head of his cock lodged in my throat. I willed myself not to gag, but I couldn’t do it. I was out of practice and he was just so damn big.
He pulled out again, this time all the way, his cock jumping and flexing and covered with my drool and his seamen. I could see him holding back – see him trying to be the good son – see him unwilling to violate me but wanting to. Then he surprised me, pushing his thick fingers in my mouth, rubbing my lips with his thumb, exploring my cavity like a son never should, pushing deep into – and beyond – my larynx.
My crotch rumbled again as I moaned, thinking about the picture I presented.
Then he spoke, quietly – a soft, if stern whisper.
“Don’t worry, Mommy,” he whispered. “Kylie couldn’t take it either. But now he can. He takes it every day. He’ll teach you how.”
And then, as my eyes widened in shock, he pushed back into my mouth, expanding my cheeks with his drooling cock.
Instantaneously words and images cascaded through my brain: Of course Kyle. Of course Ryan. Of course Kyle and Ryan. Of course they were fucking – of course they were – and of course that photo was for my younger son, a promise of a gift upon his return from another long flight.
It all made sense.
“I wonder,” he whispered, as I drooled around his member in my state of shock. “If you will love it as much as he does?
And then my shock was exploded by abject lust. No matter how appalled I was to learn that my youngest son had been fellating my oldest son, on a daily basis, for possibly years, I was not going to let Kyle’s youthful cock-hunger compete with my inner cougar. Images of my oldest son defiling my youngest son’s innocence rumbled through my consciousness, unleashing years of pent up sluttishness upon my handsome, hung, virile progeny. If Kyle was feasting on this monster cock, then I could, too, and I could do so with abandon.
And so I did, bobbing up and down, pushing my limits, letting my oldest boy use my mouth as a cunt. I gripped his balls and could feel them roiling. He grunted like a quiet beast.
“Kyle makes me hold off on cumming while he travels, because he can’t get enough of my cum. He loves it so much. I haven’t shot in a week. But I’m gonna shoot for you, Mommy – I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” he mewled, almost apologetic, almost lewd.
I orgasmed again, writhing, wishing I was naked, wanting everything that Kyle had ever taken from my oldest son and his astonishing virility.
“I cum a lot, Mommy –“ he grunted.
I moaned, nodding my thanks for his warning.
“I want you to be ready for it - I want you to take it all. I want you to have all my cum, Mom. Please ...”
It was a plea – a son’s plea, not a lover’s desire – and I responded as any mother would, moaning my assent, gurgling my ‘YES’, my entire body showing my willing desire to consume my son’s sperm as he held back on the edge of his explosion.
I felt him release. At first I was disappointed: it was just a small discharge, almost like an eye-drop, triggered by the slightest twitch of his balls. But he felt my disappointment and warned, loudly: “Get ready, mommy – here it cums.”
And then I felt it unleash. It frightened me the next spray was so intense. It was like a hose – cum flooded my mouth and down my throat and it was only thanks to his warning that I was able to gulp and ready myself for more. I positioned myself to take it, knees spread, dropping to the floor, back arched, face front, both hands clutching on his masterpiece as he flooded me, his own mother, nearly perfectly replicating how his father used to use me, filling my eager gullet. My orgasms were constant now and I showed him my desires, moaning and flinching, pushing my ass up, showing him what must come next, what I needed next. It was lewd and full and complete and I was proud. Proud of my desire and the emotions behind it.
And then I dove – dove down on it – not caring about a gag reflex, not caring if I could take it or not – I needed it, that was all that mattered, and just like that he was pumping into my guts as my nose ground into his musky pubis.
“OH FUCK YES,” he cried, pumping out more seed as his guttural barks filled the space, words escaping his dripping lips, naughty things that a boy should never say to his mother, but that he showered upon me.
“Oh fuck – of fuck Mommy - just like Kyle – so slutty – mom-slut. Oh Mommmmmmmmmmmm,” he groaned, continuing to fire in my throat and mouth.
Eventually I couldn’t take it any more and I pulled off of him, jerking his cock with both hands, letting the last blasts catch in my hair and paint my breasts. He was lost in his own lust.
“So good – so good – wanted this so bad - for so long – “
And when I heard that I rose, urgently, unsteady, nearly falling, and he grabbed me up, cock sliming over my new dress, and we clutched at each other, kissing like lovers, tasting his seed on my lips, me relishing his male spittle, his mouth sucking at my own like he used to suck at my nipples. We were ravenous and I was unleashed, now that I knew he’d desired me for so long. How long, I wondered? Since adolescence? His desire must be gargantuan. I was ready to match it with my own.
He pulled down my dress and it caught on my hips. He ripped at it then, tore it off, hands reaching into my cleft and ass, exploring our new maternal relationship.
“Oh, fuck, baby – you shaved if for your boy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Ryan – oh yes – of course I did,” I said, now that everything was obvious.
“You like my cock, mommy?” He growled in my ear, fingers pushing into my cunt. “Do you?”
“So much baby. It’s so big. I need it so bad. Needed it the minute I saw that picture.”
“Kyle can’t get enough either,” he said, pushing me away and turning me around. “Let’s see how you do, Mommy.”
“Oh God,” I cried, still not fully able to comprehend their relationship, but so devastatingly turned on by it that I had to consummate our passion then and there. With one final rip he destroyed my dress and then he stopped, looking at my ass.
“Fuck mom – you wore that for me?”
The stockings were held up by garters. There were no panties, as I said. It felt naughty going commando like him – but now I was proud to be ready for him.
I just pushed back, in answer to his question, giving him the in-person view of my ass and my slit that I’d already let him see on my phone.
What he did next surprised me, but it shouldn’t have been. I had already seen the depth of his manhood – the surprising control of his role as our family cocksman. It was a practiced move, violent, but because of my maternity, the violence was tempered by his love.
He grabbed my hair, pulling me back, and when I stood up, he flipped up the table, quickly, giving it a hard push, and the entire dinner service catapulted across the kitchen. For a moment I worried about fire but the wine doused the candles. The sound of breaking glass was dangerously exciting. And then his force of will behind me displayed his intentions. He pushed up against me, breathing heavy. His cock was still wet with his own cum and surprisingly hard. In the new darkness he speared my ass and I flinched, frightened that he might try to fuck me back there. He laughed, almost cruelly, but really, in retrospect, he was just telling the truth.
“No Momma – not yet. I’ll get in there later. I’m gonna fuck your pussy now.”
And then he pushed me over the table. It was forceful. But it needn’t have been. I was ready. I had been ready. It seemed like I’d been ready all my life.
I felt his cock rub up against my still quivering clit and cunt. Our combined wetness lubed his entry as his head peaked into my body. I moaned, loudly, urgently.
“Just like Kyle,” he whispered again, pushing in a bit farther. “He even wears stockings for me, like you did tonight.” His hands explored my back, grabbed my ass, took control of my willing form. I was lost in lust – listening, moaning, being my son’s willing partner in taboo.
“Kyle’s my slut. Kyle’s likes to be my bitch. Do you want to be my bitch, too?”
Kaleidoscopic images of his father overwhelmed me – but so did my lust. Why? Because – as I said before, his father had one thing going for him and that was that he was a masterful fuck. And here, again, I experienced the chip off the old block, pushing the envelope, exploding norms, flaunting taboo, and bringing me along for the ride.
I couldn’t believe what was coming out of him. In another day and in another moment I would have slapped him – been offended by him – taken him over my knee. But right now, he had revealed my core. I did – I did want to be his bitch - my son’s slut. I wanted to be my son’s partner in deviance and destiny. Good God – in that moment I wanted his child in me – to be bred by my own offspring. I wanted everything he could give me and more. I wanted no limits. I wanted him to treat me like a lover and a whore – like a mother and a wife – like a surrogate for our next generation and a slave to his desires.
“Yes – oh yes, Ryan. Fuck me, honey. Fuck your Mommy. It’s been so long. It’s been so so long. I need it soooooooo bad, baby. Make me your slut, baby. Make me your bitch, honey. Make me your wife - get back inside me like you used to be.”
And then I felt him grab my ass – felt him widen his stance – felt him prepare for his entry.
“Open up, Mom,” he growled and I did, giving him as much access as I could. “This is probably gonna hurt. But the best thing to do is to get it over with. That’s what I found out with Kyle.”
I was twerking on him, now, lost in deviance. I needed it so bad. He was prodding me, with about one quarter of his length – pushing in and out, rapidly, giving me a taste of what was to come. He was teasing me.
I heard the words coming out of my mouth before I knew I was saying them.
“Fuck me, honey. Fuck your mother’s pussy. Please – please – please fuck me, Ryan. I need it so bad. Fuck me. Fuck your mother you motherfucker.”
“You asked for it, babe,” he growled, all man now, and not my son. “Just remember: I hurt more coming out than I will going in.”
And then he thrust into me. It was surprising. Somehow, in my imagination, there was more gentility but I don’t know how that could have occurred given our desire and our deviance. And now, writing about it, I realize it was perfect: he took ownership of his mother with his massive cock, and he did so decisively. There would be time for gentility later. Now it was time to break barriers, destroy norms, embrace taboo.
Now was time for my son to fuck his mother and he did – he fucked me.
The penetrating heat was shocking. I cried out, nearly screaming in pain, and to his credit, he didn’t hold back.
“Come on, baby. You need it. Take it, mom.”
He thrust into me and for a moment I panicked, but then he reached around and grabbed my breasts, gripping them, massaging them, painfully squeezing them and pinching on my nipples - hard. It worked – I opened like magic to his ministrations and I heard him whisper to me, as he hit bottom.
“Kyle like’s his titties played with, too.”
I groaned, feeling him fill me. I was long gone now. It was unlike any sex I’d ever had. It was, by far, the biggest cock I had ever taken and I couldn’t get enough, no matter how much pain coursed through me, as he plunged deeper than any man had ever gone – multiple inches beyond his father’s large prick.
“Oh god – oh god – oh god Ryan,” I groaned, and he pulled out, then pushed back in, his balls slapping against my clit, his body rubbing against mine, his spit dripping in my ear.
“Oh Mom – oh fuck Mommy,” he groaned, beginning to fuck me now, standing straight, releasing my tits, grabbing my hips.
“Oh god – oh god Ryan. You’re so big. Such a big man.”
“Take it baby,” he said, speaking like he was in a bad porn movie, but making the words sound natural, and urgent, nonetheless. “Take it like your baby-boy takes it.”
And then I lost it, thrusting back, wanting, if I am truthful, to be better than Kyle - to be more compliant – to be more of a slut than my youngest son. Wanting my oldest son to want me more –
He felt it and took advantage of it, thrusting very deep, causing me to cry out in pain but encouraging him even more. For the first time I worried about birth control, but that worry only triggered more arousal as he bumped up against my womb and as my eggs felt his invasion and opened to him.
I growled, nearly unintelligible, “Knock me up, Honey. Knock up your Mother.”
And, that did it. He lost control. It wouldn’t happen much in our future, but it did that night. By triggering his breeding instinct I gave him the one thing that Kyle never could: the promise of progeny. Of offspring. Of the lascivious fruit of our family loins.
The boy nailed me, moving the table across the floor and crashing it into the wall. He pounded me, wrecking my cunt, opening it up, making it his own. But never the selfish lover, as his cock widened and I understood that I would soon be flooded by family fertility, he reached around with one hand and clawed at my clit, pawing it roughly, but bringing me along with him in his lustful ride. Our shared explosion reverberated in the apartment, him shouting and fucking and plundering my pussy, pawing my clit, and filling me with what I knew was even MORE seed than he’d just deposited in my throat. Meanwhile orgasm after orgasm quaked through my body, my body writhing and humping into his, my breasts crushed against the hard table, my mind exploding in passion and my throat urging him to “Breed me, breed me, breed me – make me pregnant, Ryan – knock your mother up.”
It was – far and away – the best sex I had ever experienced. In my life. We thrust at each other for what seemed like an hour, him slowing, eventually, but then long-cocking me like a pro, opening and closing my cunt for his pleasure as his seed and my juices poured out, making a large puddle on the kitchen floor. I took it all, showing him my pleasure and my truest self, wiling him to be my new love partner in a way that no woman ever could or ever would.
Eventually, as he softened (barely) he pulled out, but then dove into my pussy, eating and lapping and sucking. No man had ever fed at me down there – not like that. His father had always been a perfunctory pussy-licker, but Ryan worshipped at the alter of my womanhood, simultaneously owning his mother’s cunt, and caressing and caring for it, to atone for the sins of his brutal fuck.
I came again and again, playing with my breasts, pushing his head into my crotch, allowing him to suck out the vital seed that I wanted inside of me – wanted to impregnate me.
In the end, our aftermath was long and languorous. He eventually flipped me over on the table and entered me again, this time making love to me – if you can do that on a dining room table – eyes locked, slowly entering me and fucking me for another hour as we kissed and whispered our shared desires. I know it was an hour, because I had seen the time on my cell phone after it had crashed to the floor. Then, still not finished he carried me to bed, impaled on his spear, but this time I pushed back – took control of my son in the way that only a woman could, and rode his huge cock until the dawn broke, giving myself orgasm after orgasm, putting on a show, allowing him to suckle on my tits like he’d done as a baby – consummating our love in an urgently, suckling on the teats that nurtured him then and completed him now.
We never got to dessert. But what we did get was far better – far sweeter, far more savory.
When he finally came again it was like a tsunami, welling up from his deepest depths, spraying my raw vaginal walls with his flood of urgent son-sperm. And when he was done, sweaty, shaking, convulsing, I held him like a mother does, cooing at him, letting his pleasure run it’s violent, primal course.
We slept in so long that we missed Kyle’s phone call. He seemed worried, but he would have to wait. We slept clutching each other, never letting go, him sometimes entering me, then softening as we fell back to sleep.
When I finally woke, I was shocked at how hard he was in the morning. It felt like rock – like steel. I grabbed it to experience it and when I did, he woke.
“It’s so . . . is it always like this in the morning?” I asked.
He just nodded.
“Always. But Kyle takes care of it.”
“I’m happy someone does,” I said, kissing him. That kiss turned sensual.
“Thank you for last night,” he said, tongue dancing on my lips.
“You’re welcome, honey. Thank you.”
We joined again, this time more completely.
I reached down and grabbed his urgency.
“Can I take care of it for you, honey? Like Kyle does?”
“Yes Momma,” he whispered, finally letting the little boy out, which devastated my heart, and enflamed my vagina.
“Mommy’s here, honey. Mommy is going to take care of this for you.”
Then I took it in my mouth.
In the morning, after so much sex and so many orgasms, and so much rest, I was more relaxed – more able to take his size. I squatted on his face and let him taste the sperm dripping from my labia, and then pushed down on his cock, taking him all - all the way – down into my throat – my nose nestling on his large sack – which held our family’s treasured DNA.
“Yes Mommy – oh god yes – just like Kyle.”
And, minutes later, as he poured another beautiful load into my stomach, and his tongue lapped at my clit, pushing me over the edge yet again, I heard him say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Baby. Happy Mother’s Day.”
Editor’s ADDITIONAL Note (from the original):
The longer I write porn, the more I realize it’s about the story, not the sex - it’s about the kink - the transgression - the taboo. So, sorry to all my exclusively gay followers. But Mother’s Day got to me, in the most twisted and perverted way. And . . . I’ve been playing with Bi themes for months now, in my private writing . . so, I went there.
Cuz my brother had always been this handsome, this electric, this charismatic .... this sexy.
Look at those eyes.
The hair.
The nose.
The chin.
Damn.
And now - here I was. Back behind his barn - away from the road. He beckoned me, shirtless, to this 'storm cellar' but I saw the faint light of candles below ... down the rough stairs to what look like a lair.
Down to the basement of his desires -
"Not scared," I said, gulping.
"Then, come on," he gestured with a flick of his hand and a shift of his eyes.
Still, I stood stock still. My breathing had halted. But my blood pounded, pulsing into my head and my heart and my hardness.
"Jesse," I whispered, uncertain.
"Come on -" he whispered back, a soft tone of love in his voice, undergirded by desire. And then I glanced 'down there' - saw his hardness beneath the flimsy work shorts, barely held aloft by his happy trail.
He watched me watch his private parts, shifted his hips, pushed down the empty belt loops, and let the shorts fall, releasing his member, which drooled and danced in the quiet late afternoon.
"God," I said, invoking a higher power -
"Come on, bro - it's time. We've waited long enough - you know we have."
And he was right.
We had stopped the furtive rubbing, the quiet kisses, the too-soon ejaculations before he elevated to high school and I stayed in middle school - officially too young the moment he became officially too old. It was his decision and it crushed me, but he held strong. Even started dating. Young ladies- not young men like me - and now, after last night's long walk in the fields followed by the longer talk at the table, I understood why: how his heart ached even as he plowed the path for me, modeling heterosexuality so that I would make my own choice - not be driven to dark desires in overwhelming adolescence - a youth where mom worked two jobs and dad drove off when we were too young to remember his name.
I had hated him for it.
For a long, long while I had only rage for him -
Because I knew who I was and I knew who I wanted.
But he had held firm and when he drove off to college I wept, worried and wondering that I would never feel him that way again.
But mom's long-suffering illness, her penny-pinched inheritance, and my graduation had brought us back to this place - where he farmed the land, alone, waiting, it turns out, for me.
"Come on, Billy - please," he whispered, a plea of need. "I've been waiting so long ...."
"So have I," I said, finding my voice - my center - my strength -
"Then ....?"
"This is forever, Jesse," I said, standing up to him now, pulling off my shirt, then placing my hand on his supple pec, covering his beating heart. "You can't leave me again - ever. I can't ... "
"Brother -"
"I can't feel that pain again. I won't. It will kill me."
He blinked.
His eyes teared.
His throat tightened.
He looked down at my hand, then place his own over it. His grip was strong, the callouses rough, the fingers big - bigger than mine - everything about him was bigger than mine.
Even his love, it turned out.
Or so he said last night.
But here, in the fading light of day, on the precipice of our desires?
"Forever, Bill," he said, placing his hand on my own chest - on my own beating heart - leaning in, scorching my lips with his own, grasping my body with his strong arm, driving his steel-hardness into my stomach.
We kissed. Passionately.
And then I followed, down into his darkness.
And since then, there has only been light in our lives, and love in our hearts.
