It was a pretty regular Autumn day. There was a heatwave, so I decided to wear shorts and a short-sleeved, plaid shirt. My underwear stuck to me in this heat; a kind of moist, clammy feeling around my balls and butt, which ashamedly turned me on.

My boss decided too close-up early because she had some big weekend trip planned with her girlfriend. I liked my boss. She was the only person that I was out to...besides a guy a jacked-off in middle school. I think she had a soft-spot for me because she came from the same sort of family I did. An overbearing, deeply-religious mother who had more anti-gay ideology than the Old Testament, and a dim-witted father who just agreed and enforced. Once she told her parents she was a lesbian they kicked her out on the streets. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and £100 she stole from her mother’s purse. While I had nothing but respect for her, I wanted to be more practical about it. I had been saving and scrimping since I was fourteen. I don't really think I had any intention of coming out but I certainly wanted to get out of there. I was unhappy. I was a shy and reserved idiot who would refuse to make eye-contact and always took the long way home to avoid my over-friendly neighbour. I wasn't in a good place.

My parents were quite odd. They still thought I was about twelve. I wasn't allowed my own key and I had a strictly enforced bed time, even on weekends. Although I had a nice short workday, it meant I'd be waiting for Mum to return home for at least an hour. I sat on the front step and caressed the erect violet plumes of lavender that stood either side of our door, in deep terracotta pots, biting my knuckles and twiddling my thumbs.

Just as I was about to take my mobile phone out of my bag to inform Mum that I was home early, I realised that Dad's work-van was pulled up on the curb. Dad wasn't often home early, if he had an early day he’d almost always go straight to The Shed which was a seedy little pub in the middle of the city. I went with him once...a bunch of weathered swinger-couples, 80's Karaoke and hourly bar-fights. I couldn't have left sooner.

So I let myself in and for whatever reason I didn't call out as I opened the door to notify Dad I was home. Something didn't feel quite right. For some silly and paranoid reason I had a feeling Dad came home early to fuck some grotesque bar-woman – and who could blame him if he did? I didn't. Mum was a crone. She made us do most of the house-work while she went out to play bingo with the girls from church. Anyway, that didn't stop me from tiptoeing through the hall.

I heard a creak coming from the upstairs floorboards. It was coming from my room. What the fuck was he doing in my room!? I had to investigate. I continued to tiptoe up the stairs, avoiding the especially-creaky third step on my way and made it to my door. I observed through the large crack. I was kind of confused at first as to what my dad was doing in my room with his trousers and briefs round his ankles. Where was this bar-woman? My whole body went cold with adrenalin.

In one hand he was clutching a pair of my worn boxers and in the other he was gently pumping his cock. I couldn't really take it all in. Was I really seeing this? I had to be dreaming. There had to be a better explanation for what was happening. This was my dad. My father. The man who had raised me.

He turned slightly and I got a much better view of his dick. It was so thick and wet. Watching him work his cock in his stained white vest was the most intense thing I've ever witnessed. I had never really realised how thick and hairy his thighs were. His black, wiry pubic hair was as full as his facial hair. Listening to his moans and grunts of great pleasure as he inhaled from my dirty underwear was too much for me to handle. My cock had never been harder. Every pulse made me ache. I was trembling. My heart was in my mouth. I was so scared. I had never been more turned-on.

Suddenly a jolt of adrenalin rushed through my body and I burst through the door like a thing possessed. My dad let out an almost girlish whimper and tried to cover his shame before I pounced on him like a lion. He fell back into my bed and I landed on-top of him. His lip quivered. He remained rock hard. I could feel his wet cock pulsing against my hairless stomach. At first I think he thought I was attacking him and he didn't reciprocate. He looked so startled and lost but after a few seconds his mind caught-up and he realised what was happening. He then started to ease a bit.

I kissed his big mannish lips and put my arms around him. He put one hand on the back of my head, and one on my back. I remember the feeling of warmth, he was so warm and protective. I felt so secure. My protector. I just wanted to nuzzle myself into his hairy and musky armpits, his chunky fur-covered chest, cradled like a man-child in his large apeish arms. I wanted to feel his weight press against me. He was so much bigger than I was. I felt completely out of control and it drove me insane.

My first proper kiss. It was so animalistic and intense. I could taste him. He tasted like a musky coffee. When we gasped for air, the warm feelings, tingles and smells drove me insane. We stopped for few seconds, locked in eye-contact. We didn't say anything. We just stared. I was lost in his big, deep-hazel eyes. I've never seen my dad smile like that...a cheeky, rambunctuous, playful smile. I've never smiled like that. My smile felt like it was somehow attached to my chest, sending little sparks of warm energy through my body, tingling my nerves and giving me lightheadedness.

He took off his slightly-damp vest which clung to his body like wet paper and didn't want to let go. His body was so hairy and warm. He awkwardly tried to kick off his trousers and underwear and we laughed when he couldn't quite manage it. I lowered myself, kissing every inch of his body on my way, and pulled his large foot through the unforgiving leg hole.

The view from down there was mesmerising. His cock looked even bigger and the smell of his musty feet drove me into submission. I had never really understood foot fetishism until that moment. I was transfixed. I just wanted to please him. I loved every inch of his body and my butt-hole would pucker every time he made a grunt, moan or caressed my ribs.

This was it. I was going to suck my dad's cock. My father. Was this so wrong? It didn't feel wrong. I had it in my hand for a while, as I familiarised myself with its girth and slowly jerked it. Precum highlighted his veiny shaft and dribbled down my thumb. I lapped it up like nectar. The deep musky and sweet smells...I'm surprised I could contain myself. My cock ached and pulsed, my nipples tingled. I couldn't help but moan. Sometimes a little too loud. An embarrassing porny moan. The sort of unconvincingly annoying moan you'd roll your eyes at. I couldn't help myself.

I finally had it in my mouth. I had Dad's cock in my mouth and it felt great. My jaw was aching so bad but I was determined to fit it all in. My jaw joints burned as his cock hit the back of my throat. I couldn't quite get it all in. Tears streamed down my face and I felt my gag reflex starting to go. I started jerking it with both hands and fitting as much of it as I could in my mouth in slow, rhythmic motions. He moaned and grunted and put his warm, heavy hands on the back of my head.

Then, the worst thing happened. The sound of gravel popping against rubber. Mum's car had pulled into the drive. She was home early. I've never seen Dad so startled. He rushed up so fast I'm surprised he didn't take my throat with him. I clung to his thigh in desperation begging for more. I didn't care if Mum caught us. I wanted his cum. 

"Please, Dad. PLEASE!", I cried.
"I'll pick you up from work tomorrow."
I grinned and thought to myself, “I don't think I'll be moving out any time soon.”

 

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