While visiting my sister and her husband, Bill, in the upper part of New York State, I met many of my brother-in-law's family. The men up there are outwardly conservative; Marlboro smoking, beer drinking and macho. I had no idea what I was in for when Bill's son-in-law, John, invited me to go Skidoo-ing (snowmobile riding) with him the next day on Saturday morning. I told him I'd never driven one and was plenty nervous.

Sure enough, bright and early, he and his wife, Carol, (Bill's daughter from a previous marriage) showed up. John is about 6', 3", thin, but, like many wiry, country boys, deceptively strong. He wears his hair in a military crew and sports a thick drooping mustache. His eyes are pale blue and the whites are slightly red, evidently from a late night of partying. His breath and bearing say the party began again early this morning if, indeed, it stopped at all last night.

Starting out on our little venture, I was to sit up front and he would sit in back and instruct as we went along. We would take a quick trip to his and his wife's house about a half a mile away. Carol would stay at my sister's with everyone else, waiting for us to return.

After a few jarring stops and starts, we were heading smoothly over the fields. I felt pretty confident once I got the hang of it. I guess he relaxed some as well, for his gloved hands left griping the rear seat and found their way around my waist, settling warmly in my groin. Shocked at first, I then assumed that through the heavy canvas gloves he wore, he couldn't tell where his hands actually lay and how much pressure he was placing there. I felt embarrassingly guilty, but thrilled too, thinking about how this straight guy was fondling my crotch without knowing he was giving me one hell of a hard-on.

We arrived at his house in no time at all and I regretted the fact that now I would not have the pleasure of his innocent groping. We got off the Skidoo and walked toward the house to stretch and, I assumed, he needed a piss break.

I'm going to try and give some account of how the conversation went once we got inside.

John: So, how long you gonna be up here for, Mick?

Me: I'm going back Sunday.

John: Sunday? Hell, that's tomorrow. That doesn't leave a lot of time.

Me: I'm sorry. I don't understand, John. A lot of time for what?

John: Well, you know it's no secret with us that you're gay. Your sister told most of us and said you didn't care who knew it. Well, if you promise not to repeat what I say, I wanted to talk to you about that.

Me: (I was getting just a bit edgy as to where this conversation was going.) What do you mean? Anything in particular?

John: Yeah. About sucking cock. (He said it with such casualty, I didn't take him seriously and thought this was some kind of baiting, and done in poor taste. I immediately took the offense. I hate it when straight men think every gay guy wants nothing more than to suck their cocks.)

Me: Sorry, John, I can't help you there. I'm not going to suck your cock. (I started for the door.)

John: No, don't get me wrong. That's not what I meant. Now, would you be mad or upset with me, if I was to ask you if I could try that on you?

Me: On me? (I stopped walking) You want to suck my cock? Are you serious? (I could tell by his expression he was very serious. So I changed tactics and took the offensive edge off my voice.) Why would I be mad?

John: Well, you know. I really am straight. And, me being married to your brother-in-law's daughter. I just don't want nothing getting back to anybody.

Me: Oh, well, hell. Don't worry about it. I'm very good at keeping secrets. I promise, I won't say anything.

John: Okay. Just be sure, now! (His courage bolstered, I could tell he was feeling pretty good on whatever he'd previously been drinking. Beer or otherwise.)

Me: So, now what?

John: Well, hell's bells, I don't know. It ain't like I do this all the time, you know. You want a beer?

Me: Sure. ( I took off my gloves, hat and coat, tossed them on a chair, sat on the couch and started removing my boots.)

John: Hold on, let me do that!

Handing me a beer, he pushed my hands away. He made a whole production out of it by pretending they were really hard to remove, though in actuality they could easily slip off. Instead, he turned around and straddled my leg and told me to push against his ass with my one foot as he pulled the boot off the other. Once removed, I repeated the action on the other foot. He seemed to prolong a sense of unsteadiness and a need to hold on to my gray, wool, socked feet, in order to balance himself.

Instead of straightening back up, he turned and went to his knees, faced me, and hoisted my socked feet to his chest. Massaging my feet, one in each hand, he quietly stared down at my crotch and said nothing at all; as though he were trying to come to some decision. Slightly inebriated, his head bobbed as though catching himself from nodding off. He pressed my socked feet to his face, caressing his cheeks with their warmth and kissed the soles of each one. I was utterly amazed, impressed, and turned on at the same time.

John held my right foot in one hand and removed the sock, repeating the process with my left foot. He laid my socks across my stomach and just above the button to my jeans.

He raised my legs and edged himself to the couch. My legs slid across his shoulders to rest, bent-kneed, over them and across his back. He just stared at my crotch again and twice burped silently.)

John: So, why don't you take it out?

Me: My cock? (I said, just to give him a hard time.)

John: Well, yeah, of course, your cock. Wh'dja think I meant? (Instead, of waiting for me to do as he asked, he boldly reached for my zipper, pulled it down, undid my belt and unbuttoned the top. The socks on my stomach slid down to the fly of my off-white...)

John: Oh, fuck! You got long johns on!

Me: Hell yeah, John, it's winter and it's twelve degrees outside. We were just on a snowmobile. What the fuck did you think I'd be wearing under my jeans?

He grinned with that kind of drunken pleased-with-himself grin, and started laughing. He laughed his way down to my crotch as though by accident, so that his forehead lay right against my stomach and his nose and lips against my sweaty, gray socks now lying atop of the bulging growth of my cock. The pressure made my cock stir to ever-greater thickness.

John: Whoa, what's this? (He asked, having felt the movement. He shook his face and pressed his nose harder against my socks, sniffing in deeply.

He took his hands and reached under the socks, maneuvering his fingers into the fly and the confines within my thermo-wear long johns. His fingers clumsily freed my cock from its confines with some difficulty, which only served to get my cock all the stiffer. He paused and only looked it over for a moment. With his fingers, he moved it this way and that to check out every angle, like a kid with a new toy he'd never seen before. I wasn't circumcised until I was 19, and only had it done partially so the foreskin would stretch over my huge head, which outgrew the opening. He seemed to be awed by the fact I was cut but not cut. He pulled and stretched the skin this way and that and even gave it a ginger lick. He swabbed the pre-cum emerging from my cock and smeared it around and around the head.

John: You got a fucking big cock, you know? Do you think I can suck it?

Me: Only one way to find out! Now, I was so hot for this 'straight' guy to work on my dick, I was trying to make as little conversation as possible. I just wanted his lips on my cock and have him actually suck it. Wow, was I ready for that!

With no further hesitation, he merely sighed and drunkenly accepting his fate, as though he had no choice, he opened his thick, moustache-framed lips, and dove down. I mean dove, as in "dive bomb" dove! Zoom, bam, on target! All the way down to the crotch hairs!

In one fell swoop, he engulfed my entire cock! No easy task! His lips smashed against my pubes and his nose pressed against the warmth of my socks still resting there. And, staying down there, his lips and tongue formed an immensely tight vacuum as he pumped slightly up and down three or four times. I was so excited by his fantastic sucking, I thought I would cum right then and there. However, he suddenly backed off and started coughing. His choke reflex kicked in. He looked at me, blinking teary-eyed and slightly red of face.

John: Damn! You trying to kill me?

Me: Fuck no, John! That was great! (I told him, honestly) Take it easy, though, go slow. A little at a time.

John: Fuck it! He said, and ignored me totally.

Again, he dove down, only this time, he immediately sucked all the way back up to the top, only to slide his lips down to the base of my cock again. I could feel him breathe in every time he'd rise up to the top of my cock, keeping the huge head in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around, then he'd hold his breath and dive down again and again. He quickened his pace, not once covering less than my entire eight inches. If he hadn't done this before, he was a natural. He stopped only once to ask me if I was ready to shoot. I told him 'not yet, but that I would give him warning so he could get away if he wanted to. He pulled his mouth off my cock again.

John: Shit no. I want to taste it! What the fuck do you think I'm doin' this for?

He didn't wait for an answer. He continued sucking and sucking.

He took one of my socks and wrapped it around the base of my cock, putting both in his fist. He then continued to pump my cock into his sucking lips. The other sock had disappeared below my sight line.

I felt that wonderfully unique pressure that tells you you're close to cumming. I put my hands on his crew-cut dome and began to push him down hard into my crotch as I felt the first blast of cum rise up to the surface. My sock-wrapped cock and I fucked his hand and his face until he had to let go to make room for my invading cock down his throat. Even though his lips were pushed against my pubes. He maintained that fantastic, vacuum suction as before. I kept pumping my cream down his throat, shoving his nose against my sweat sock still lying there against my pubic hairs!

He rose upwards quickly, not to breathe but to catch what cum was still spurting so he could taste it. He kept sucking at the head of my cock; drawing out every last thick wad of cum he could siphon to the top.

He then grabbed my sock and held it against his nose as he licked and lapped at my cock like a puppy at a milk dish. When he'd licked off all there was, he held my shrinking dick in his hand and looked me in the eye. He set my sock back on my stomach and fondled my balls. His mustache glistened with spit and sweat and with a 'cat-who-killed-the-canary' grin, he asked me if I could cum again. His left arm was now pumping madly at his now exposed cock below. It was wrapped in my other sock that had earlier disappeared.

I guess you could say, he found his calling, and I managed to accommodate him once more. He was too busy working on my cock and whacking his own to notice I'd taken my other sock from my crotch and I'd been doing my own sock sniffing. I'd shot my cum thinking about another time when I'd be the one sniffing his socks!

He creamed heavily into his pumping fist and onto my sock that he jacked off with just as I dosed his throat with yet another, thick helping of cum.

It took more time than we had planned to be away from the family waiting for us to get back from snowmobiling. However, it turned out, no one noticed how long we were gone.

I have no idea how he'll get to satisfy his urges while I'm not around. There is literally no one up there that I know of who will understand his needs and not screw up his marriage and family life. I can only hope he can make excuses to get away and visit me down here. I left the invitation. There are a lot of other things I'd like to teach him and I'd like to give his socks a try too!

The End

 

Daddy

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