My son, My trade

My Son, My Trade 7

The following is a work of erotic fiction depicting graphic sexual scenes and is meant to be enjoyed by a mature audience.

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On a warm, pleasant July afternoon young Marc Hauser strolled the sidewalk dribbling his trusty basketball against the cracked cement.  He had just spent midday on the court in the local park with his good buddies.  It was only a few blocks from home so he had hoofed it.  Little sense in taking his bike or borrowing his father's Ranger for such a short trip.  It was now late in the day and Buck, his dad, would more than likely be home after working the day shift at the bar.  The thought provided the slightly downhearted teen with some hope.  It had been two day since he'd last gotten fucked, something of a record, and Marc's swampy asshole was twitching.

He had been hoping for some action after the friendly little neighborhood game.  At least one of his good buddies had to be up for a fuck.  They were all horny teens desperate for something besides their own fist to relieve their overloaded balls.  And Marc offered the solution.  He'd been fucked by Bryan, Jason, Joey, Ricky and black Darnell (his father would have a fit if he knew about that one) numerous times, neither of them aware of his dalliances with the others.  The cement building off in a corner of the park housing the small rest rooms would have provided a convenient location.  Over the years Marc had spent a good deal of time there near dusk of the day, waiting patiently for a park perv to provide him with what he desired most.  They were easy to spot, those ones who came by themselves to sit on a bench and watch young guys shoot baskets, casually groping themselves when they thought you weren't looking.

But today Marc's best friend, Billy Warren, had stuck around to the bitter end, dispelling any chance Marc had of hooking up with one of the others.  Although he and Billy, friends since childhood, had done some mutual jerking off the later was not yet privy to the other's activities.  Even Marc wasn't quite certain why as yet he hadn't included Billy.  Out of all the others one would think Billy would be his number one.  Jeez, he'd even gotten himself fucked by the boy's father, Frank, in the bed of his Silverado down by the marshes one twilight.  Mr. Warren was howling at the moon by the time he shot his load off inside Marc's juicy pussy.

Marc was a boy who liked girls but craved sex with men.  He simply loved cock.  Whether down his throat or up his ass didn't matter.  The cock could be fat or skinny, long or short, cut or uncut, clean or unclean, hairy or smooth, young or old, white, black, yellow or green.  Marc didn't discriminate.  Buck often commented, usually with his daddy dick plunging into his asshole, that Marc was a whore just like his mother.  While Marc knew little about the cheating, elusive Greta he was glad to know he'd obtained at least this one positive attribute from the gene pool.

The honking of a horn made Marc expectantly look back over his bare shoulder at the oncoming vehicle.  All he wore was loose-fitting basketball shorts.  The tank top he'd donned earlier in the day was tucked like a tail in the seat, purposely pulling the shorts down to expose just the top mounds of his ass and a peek of the crack.  His strapping, athletic seventeen-year-old body glistened with its sheen of summer sweat and Marc knew he looked every bit the teen fuck dream.  After striking out with the others he had hopes of a passer-by taking the bait.  The local street was little traveled.  But it only took one to fulfill his lustful desires. 

Marc instantly recognized the banged up red Daytona as the sad vehicle of ne'er-do-well Rick Bramble.  But the catcalls coming from the passing vehicle were those of Rick's son Gage and his skinny sidekick Jay Kovacs.  Marc good-naturedly flashed his middle finger at the departing jalopy, disappointed that the boys hadn't pulled over and offered him a ride.  Gage might be a low life teen but he had a cock on him like a grown man. 

Kicking a pebble as he meandered Marc considered his misfortune.  Just two nights ago in the basement of Ralph's Bar where he "worked" he played host to two independent truck drivers from down South.  The long-bearded folksy "good ol boys" took him from both ends, dishing up long fat inches of Southern hospitality the likes of which Marc had rarely experienced before.  They pounded him with a fury while verbally abusing him, slapping his face with big, ham-like paws and repeatedly spitting on him.  They treated him like he was nothing more than a random piece of meat.  Marc thoroughly enjoyed every moment of their manhandling.  He was glad Buck, monitoring his activities through a spy cam, hadn't broken things up.  Later, at home, Buck fucked him like never before, re-enacting some of the things those yokels had done.

Earlier that same day he'd been served a double dish of Polish Kielbasa from Joe Stankowitz and his brutish mechanic, Bogdan, in the old timer's garage.  Whereas he might be pushing seventy Joe fucked, well almost, like a man in his prime and had been doing Marc for some time.  Bogdan, on the other hand, was a new treat for the horny teen.  He fucked with a fury and left Marc fully satiated.  Only two days, and nights, ago he had the best of dick.  And now, zip.

Down the street a bit Ralph's Bar came into view.  Marc was certain he could get laid if he walked in there right now.  Many were the times he'd sucked off multi-tattooed bartender Axel from behind the bar while he served customers.  At this hour there would most likely be a few factory workers fresh off their shift downing a few beers before heading home to the wife.  All he had to do was step inside the doorway dressed as he was and there'd be more than a few hopeful nods in the direction of the bathroom.  But his "arrangement" with his father forbade it.  Marc was only permitted to work Ralph's when Buck was present, collecting cash for his son's in-demand attributes.  Still, what Buck didn't know....

Fighting the urge Marc turned off onto Arthur Ave., the side street where the Hauser homestead, such as it was, stood.  Mounting the crumbling stairs to the front porch Marc once again thought that Buck really needed to do some upgrades to the place.  He could certainly afford it with all the money Marc was bringing in.  Marc wasn’t exactly certain of the amount.  He was the talent; Buck, the financier.  Buck handed him a small allowance from the taking, claiming that he was saving it up for Marc's continued education.  Marc wasn't really sure what that was, since they had never discussed college.  Historically, most high school graduates in this town didn't venture far from home.

Marc entered the gloomy hallway and quickly heard music and voices coming from the next room.  Buck was playing those old '70s records again.  He claimed that was when music was good and had no tolerance for the sounds of today.  He had stacks of old '45s from the era, as well as his own father's collection from the '60s, and often times played them while relaxing back and drinking his Scotch.  While Marc enjoyed a few of the tunes he really didn't understand his father's interest.  Buck wasn't even alive when these songs were popular.

"He-he-he!"  The gruff chuckle accompanied by a loud, deep speaking voice intrigued Marc enough to step through the threshold into the room.  Once upon a time it had served as both living and dining area.  The portion fronting the street had been where the family dined.  For years now, with just the two of them, it went unused and was nothing more than a storage area.  The table where a young Buck had once sat sharing dinner with his father, mother and brother was covered with a barrage of clutter.  Boxes containing the elder Hauser’s unwanted belongings as well as, later, Greta's were stacked against the walls along with random pieces of discarded furniture.  The old china cabinet was covered with years of dust, unopened in all this time.  The bank of windows in front was blocked by yellowed, torn pull-down shades with a minimum of late afternoon light filtering through.  Cobwebs dominated the corners. 

The back of the room, deeper in the bowels of the house, was sectioned off from the other by a sofa placed lengthwise.  The sofa had seen better days.  An afghan did little to cover its fraying material.  Perpendicular to it, against the inner wall, was a love seat.  A long, nicked coffee table stood in front of the sofa, its surface cluttered with random items.  The television was placed cater-cornered in the area so as to be easily viewed from both seats.  Along the outer wall was a battered cabinet upon which the old school stereo/cassette deck/radio sat next to Buck's stacked recordings.  The walls of the room were all deep mahogany paneling, giving the place a dark, moody atmosphere. 

Buck occupied the sofa.  Another man was slouched comfortably in the love seat.  Marc only had a side view of him, but there was something vaguely familiar about this man.  On the table in front of Buck was an open bottle of Scotch.  Both men had tumblers in their hands.  It appeared this was not their first belt at cocktail hour. From his vantage point Buck saw him first. His eyes went up and down Marc's nearly naked body and momentarily flared with interest.

"Get in here, son," he ordered.  "Got someone I want you to meet.  This here is Stosh.  He's with the road crew in town."

Stosh thrust out his hand.  Marc tucked the basketball under his one arm and reached out the other to shake.  Stosh's hand was big, calloused and moist.  They remained connected for perhaps a moment too long.

"You must be de one who play de basketball," he said in a booming, but good natured and heavily accented voice.

They're not the only kind of balls I like to play with, Marc amusedly thought.  Interestedly he sat back on the arm rest of the sofa near his father and took stock of this man.  Buck's introduction had jarred his memory.  He'd seen the guy shooting darts at Ralph's and working roadside as he passed by on his bike or with Buck's wheels.  Hadn't paid that much attention.  It was just a passing glance.  He mostly remembered because the man appeared to be quite tall, well over six feet.  Now, taking appraisal from up close, Marc was further intrigued.

Stosh was definitely a big one with a long, manly body hidden until those standard issue faded brown work coveralls.  The way he sat, in a lazy manner with long legs spread so as not to crush his ball bag and his worn, dirty work boots planted on the floor, the pant legs rode up revealing once-white socks falling around his ankles and a bit of hairy leg.  Marc noted that one of his boot laces had come undone and momentarily considered dropping down between the inviting spread of this man's legs and tying it for him as he gazed up into his bunched, non-descript crotch.  The coveralls were unfastened midway down the front, revealing pec cleavage, its fur dampened dark by afternoon sweat.  The road worker's name was stitched over the left breast pocket of the uniform.

Marc figured him to be about Buck's age, possibly a year or two older.  His face was square jawed with creases across his high forehead, deep smile lines running down along the sides of his mouth and jolly crinkles at the corner of his heavy-lidded, smoky brown eyes.  His lips were moist from the liquor he consumed, the lower one thicker than the upper.  His hair was light brown, fine and thinning, parted low on one side and combed over his scalp.  He wasn't a handsome man, rather ordinary in fact, but he was all-man.

Buck poured and Stosh drank.  The more he consumed the louder and more jovial he became.  Buck knew from his many long nighters at the bar Stosh could handle his liquor.  He wasn't one of those nasty, argumentative drunks.  Stosh was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.

"So where de pussy (pronounced "poo-sie")?" he suddenly asked with a big grin on his face.  "You tell me you got good pussy (poos-ie) here.  Maybe you son, he like to get some, too."

Buck gave him a direct stare.  "My son, he is the pussy."

Stosh looked confused for a moment.  Neither was sure whether he was stunned or just the stereotypical dumb Polack.  "What you mean, you son de pussy (poos-ie)?  He a boy."

"And the best piece of ass you'll ever have," Buck boasted.  "Just ask any of the guys over at the bar."

"Dey fuck ("fook") you boy?" Stosh asked, dumbfounded. 

"Can't wait to get at him.  Once you've had it you'll understand why."

"I'm  no queer!" Stosh declared proudly.

"Neither are they," Buck assured him.  "Neither is Marc.  He's just like any other teenager.  Goes to school, plays sports, dates girls.  He just happens to like cock.  And he's very good at it."

Stosh threw back his drink and drained the glass.  He was feeling good, but this had thrown him for a loop.  When Buck took him aside at the bar earlier and told him of the whore he had stashed away over at his place Stosh was just horny enough to take him up on it.  Back in the homeland he had regularly been fucking his cousin.  Planned to bring her over to the States, marry her and get her citizenship.  But Emilia had become smitten with a local during his absence and married.  Dejected, Stosh pleasured himself with Scotch and any barfly willing to fuck.  When Buck made the offer he had quickly peeled a fifty from his billfold and eagerly followed him to his house where he enjoyed Buck's Scotch while awaiting the arrival of the whore.  None were Emilia, but they helped him forget her for a little while. 

Before Stosh could utter another slurred word Marc left his perch, squatted between the man's legs and took hold of his crotch.  Stosh stiffened and pressed back against the seat while the boy groped him.  Curious about what he felt there, Marc grasped both sides of the coveralls and pulled them apart.  The snaps unfastened all the way up the garment, revealing a nicely hairy torso and a manly body, the belly showing a slight and sexy outward curve probably, Marc assumed, from his alcohol indulgence.  Marc had taken him for a boxer type of guy and Stosh didn't disappoint.  Reaching inside the fly he enthusiastically fished out the cock and its accompanying set of balls. 

Big Stosh didn't disappoint.  The man had a chunky hunk of meat, perhaps five inches in its flaccid state with a nice 'shroom shaped head.  Marc couldn't wait to see it in fully glory.  No danglers they, his nuts were heavy, swollen and hairy.  Marc went straight for them.  His licker swept up and down the seam separating the twin orbs, hairs from those balls tickling his pert nose.  He inhaled deeply of the musky manly aroma of Stosh's equipment, contained all day while he worked in the heat.  Licking all over the ball sac he plastered fur against the crinkly skin, making it appear a darker shade than it was.  He eagerly sucked one nut into his mouth, then the other, heating them up for the main event.  His exploratory tongue ventured even further, dipping below those now-aching balls to explore the workman's funky t'aint. 

Looking up Marc was pleased to see that big things were happening.  Stosh's prick was reacting, almost in spite of its master's reluctance.  Slowly it was filling out with life-sustaining blood, thickening and lengthening before his wondrous eyes.  His tongue fluttered more diligently through the man's secret place as he watched the main member rise majestically to its full glory.  A good seven to eight inches of plump Polish sausage pulsed heavily against Stosh's furry midsection.  With his hands on the stud's strong, uniform clad thighs Marc lunged forward and swiped his tongue slowly and seductively up the thick cord on the underside of the heated cock.  At the crest he enveloped the head with his mouth and proceeded to give a raunchy spit shine to the knob.  His tongue curled around the fat crown, poked into the piss slit and worked the sensitive bundle of bunched nerves underneath.  Having abandoned his earlier protests the Polish hunk responded with rumbling groans, his watery eyes focused on the ceiling and thinking of the absent, but never forgotten, Emilia.

Marc's fist glided up and down the engorged shaft as he suckled the tasty mushroom.  He sighed excitedly when pre-cum seeped from the meatus and coated his tongue.  It was rich and gamey, just the way he preferred it.  Encouraged, he swallowed nearly half of the stem into his wet, warm mouth and sucked with youthful enthusiasm.  This really got Stosh's attention.  Glancing down to the young athlete bobbing up and down on his cock, then looking over to Buck with a dopey drunken smile on his face he said, "You boy, he suckin' my dick ("deek").  He-he-he."

Just wait, Buck thought.  Just you wait.  Nestled comfortably on the sofa he threw one arm across the back and groped his crotch while he watched his whore son work his latest conquest. A few weeks ago he'd never have dreamed he'd be a key player in the sex trade, let alone selling his own son for profit.  Upon discovering his seemingly wholesome kid was the town cocksucker another father might have kicked the snot out of him.  Instead, Buck used it to his advantage.  What the hell, times were hard.  His bogus work-related injury settlement had been reduced and he was working part-time for tips at the bar.  After sampling the lad's wares he knew just how good he was.  No sense in the local yokels tapping him for free.  If Marc was going to fuck, he might as well earn a few bills for it.  It's not as if he was doing anything else constructive this summer.

Buck realized he had come to take perverse pleasure in watching the good-looking teen slut getting worked over by these men, most of whom he'd known from childhood.  There's was a small town, everybody knew everybody.  Mostly all of them had come up together.  How the hell he remained in the dark while his former school mates were fucking his boy was beyond comprehension.  Most of them were married with kids Marc's age.  All blue-collar, working class dogs.  Never in his wildest would he think a one of them would go for boy cunt.  But then again, it was something he, himself, had never once considered.  Now he was plowing the kid whenever the need struck him.  Especially after a session like a few nights ago when those two hillbilly truckers really worked the kid over.  That was one wild scene.  He nearly popped a nut in his jeans behind the bar monitoring it from his cell phone.  He supposed, like a good father, he should have intervened.  But, hell, Marc was a slut, just like his mother.  Might as well be treated like one.  And it surely didn't look like he was in any real distress.

Buck sat there, fondling the hard piece of beef begging for release from his jeans, waiting for it.  He knew it was coming.  And when it did, both he and Stosh were instantly at attention.  Unlocking the not-so-secret door at the back of his already stuffed cavity Marc lunged and took the succulent man meat down his throat.  It was an effortless move for the boy.  Long ago he had mastered the art.  It was as if his trachea conformed to the size of any man's cock.  Quite possibly he could swallow a horse---if he was ever so inclined. 

Stosh went rigid.  His heels dug into the floor and his hips reflexively thrust upward.  "AWWWW FAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKKKK!" he shouted hoarsely.   It looked to Buck like the man was preparing to be ejected from the love seat.  His eyes were wide as saucers, his mouth was gaping and his tit meat had popped out from their surrounding areola.  Marc's lips were nibbling on the thick, hairy base while his throat did all sorts of wicked things to the buried shaft.  With his nose crushed in Stosh's hairy groin he inhaled deeply, savoring the man stink of combined sweat and piss.  His teen cock had popped free from one leg of his shorts and he knew, without checking, that he was leaking heavily on the floor.

Regaining a bit of control Stosh lifted his head and looked through inebriated eyes upon the action taking place at his crotch.  Sure enough, Buck's kid had swallowed him whole.  Nobody, not even little Emilia, had ever done that before.  Glancing at Buck with astonishment he managed, "You boy, he ate de whole fawkin' thing!"  By now Buck had released his member, spat into the palm of his hand and was casually stroking his daddy meat as he watched his boy turn the man.  He wasn't quite sure how the kid did it, but both his throat and asshole were bottomless pits.  Much experience, he supposed.  The slut had confessed his first time was with the old man who lived in what the kids called the "haunted" house while on his paper route.  But Marc hadn't delivered papers in a few years.  Thusly, exactly when he first tasted cock wasn't clear.  Some things, Buck decided, were better left unknown.

After an impossible length of time Marc began to come up off the straining cock.  Slowly, inch by inch, the dick came out of his warm, hugging throat.  Big Stosh practically whimpered at the excruciating pleasure.  His ass lifted from the seat, following Marc's ascent.  Reaching the peak Marc swirled his tongue around the swollen, leaking head a few times and, without taking a breath, shoved it straight down his throat again.  Stosh's bleary eyes were wide as saucers and a short shout came from between his gaping, drooling lips.  The teen boy's face was buried in the split of his boxers as his throat did all sorts of wickedly delightful things to the astonished stud's manhood.  His lips were clamped tightly around the base and chewing while he diligently milked the entire shaft. 

With his tongue pressed against the bulging underside of the hot prick Marc began the upward journey once again.  Stosh squirmed and made a long, deep and indescribable sound of contentment.  The teen's tongue whipped around and over the bulbous head while he applied some serious suction.  He moaned appreciatively as the flavorsome dick rewarded him with more juicy pre-cum.  Jerking the wet shaft in a vice-like grip he squeezed even more lush nectar from the yawning slit before swallowing the pulsing boner once again.  This time he didn't tarry. He swallowed the big thing in one gulp, slammed his face into the man's hairy pelvis and immediately came back up, only to quickly drop back down.  Tears drained from the corners of his emerald greens, snot dripped from his widely flared nostrils and saliva seeped from his working mouth as he savagely fucked his gullet with the throbbing cock. 

Stosh was in pig heaven.  His arms were stretched across the top of the seat and his head was rolling to and fro between them.  His eyes were heavy and looking upward, goggling around in blissful circles.  Rivulets of sweat ran from his temples and down the sides of his face.  His mouth was agape and he was panting heavily.  With all the whores he'd picked up at bars, at least those he could remember, he had never felt anything like this.  This boy, son of Buck, was giving him the best head of his fawking life!

Buck was more aggressively stroking his fat nine incher now.  The network of heavy veins was throbbing against his working palm.  His boy truly was a fucking cock slut.  Of that there was no doubt.  A real whore, just like his cheating ex.  He should have manned up and laid down the law to that one.  Truth was, he knew what she was long before he put the ring on it.  He thought marriage, then pregnancy would calm her ass down.  It didn't.  She was fucking the neighborhood even with the bun in her oven.  Even up to the last minute.  Her water broke while Tommy Hadley and his brother Lucas were banging her, one in the cunt and the other up her asshole.  It was little wonder Marc had a fascination for cock.  He'd been introduced to it long before he came into the world. 

Buck gave himself a full-length cock massage while intently observing the activity only a couple of arm's lengths away.  His attention was focused on Stosh and his reaction to Marc's manipulations.  It was a turn-on to see the big lug so aroused by his kid.  A few Scotches and Buck knew the road worker would be easy prey.  Stosh was an easy going, good time guy who worked hard and drank even harder.  Many were the times he staggered off with some floozy who happened to be at Ralph's, which was commonly known as a man's bar.  Any broad coming there was looking to get fucked.  And a juiced up Stosh would fuck anything.  Daddy of the Year Buck wanted to witness him fucking Marc.

When a dollop of pre-cum bubbled out of his piss slit Buck rubbed it with his fat thumb and curiously observed the thin string attaching cock to finger when he moved it away.  On impulse he brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked on it, tasting his own jizz.  It was kind of gamey, probably the way a man should taste.  So this is what Marc cooed over when he was sucking dick.  From the looks of him Stosh was probably delivering the boy a continuous stream right now.  Once again Buck wondered at the many others his son had taste-tested, probably the same ones who had fucked his tramp wife, the kid's mother, years ago.  Had he done Tommy, Lucas or both, those same ones who'd been nudging him with their cocks just before he was born?

All at once an obviously sexed-up Marc rose from his squat, stripped off his shorts and climbed on the love seat above Stosh's manly frame.  While straddling the man's groin he hunkered down and brought his teen ass to the man's awaiting cock.  Amazingly, he didn't even need to line things up.  Stosh's cock sniffed out pussy and went for it.  Marc perched his ass on the thick, offered head which effortlessly popped through his ass ring and sank into his steamy hole. Stosh sighed huskily as a tight, wet warmth enveloped him.  With his hands splayed across Stosh's hairy pecs for support, his thumbs tweaking the stud's protruding buds, Marc rocked his hips back and forth and side to side, working the big dick up inside him.  When the plump head broke through his inner sphincter his entire body shivered and he threw back his head with a satisfied exhale.  At the same time Stosh pushed his hips up to meet him and slammed the remainder of his cock into the tight slickness of Marc's hole.

"Ahhhh, yeah!" Marc gushed.

"FAWK YEAH!" Stosh bellowed.

Marc ground his ass around on Stosh's groin, stirring the horny dick so that it touched every pleasure spot within him.  Stosh looked like a man in the wake of a revelation which, indeed, he was.  He'd had a lot of pussy in his day but there was nothing to compare with this.  The boy's ass was so fucking tight yet it fit him like a slick love glove.  Strong inner contractions pumping his buried meat had the big man writhing and twitching in lustful ecstasy.  And when Marc began to move he knew he wanted to possess this boy forever.  Marc slid up and down the dick, slowly and sensuously at first but before long was savagely slamming his ass down on it. The boy's healthy-sized cock bobbed up and down before Stosh, slapping him between his hairy pecs and leaving a trail of joy juice.  No dick had ever come that close to big, pussy loving Stosh before but at the moment he didn't give a fawk ("fuck").  He was feeling so good he could lift his head and kiss it.  (Maybe that was because of all the Scotch.) 

From his vantage point Buck had a bird's eye view of the man's hairy shaft being repeatedly swallowed by Marc's bouncing ass.  His boy sure had a nice back view: smooth-skinned with a long, lithe body, lightly toned muscles, tight waist, nice indent down his spine leading to the crest of his lushly curved, dimpled ass cheeks and hairless legs whose hamstrings and quads told of his athleticism.  It seemed deliciously obscene to see such boyish perfection playing host to a big man's dick.  That heavy cord running up the underside of Stosh's cock was gliding easily in and out of that beautiful butt and pulling Marc's ass flesh with it.  Stosh's large rough hands gripped Marc under his bouncing glutes.  The contrast between Marc's smooth, flawless flesh and the road worker's calloused paws with their dirt encrusted nails aroused Buck even more.

Wanting to see his son's face as he rode the Polish stallion and get a closer look at the man's cock as it was ridden in and out of the boy's hole Buck got out of his seat.  With hard cock leading the way, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles, he shuffled over to the love seat and threw himself down next to Stosh.  Shoulder to shoulder with the other man he couldn't prevent the sharp intake of breath when he saw the glazed look of euphoria on Marc's face.  The lad's eyes were glassy with lust.  His pretty lips were parted and panting.  A sheen of sweat glistened on his good looking features and all over his trim, athletic body.  His stiff boy cock, a tribute to the Hauser name, was bouncing wildly and slapping against Stosh's hairy chest. 

Stosh rolled his head to look at Buck.  He had that some goofy, drunken look on his grinning face.  "You boy, he got de best pussy ("poosy")."

"Told ya," Buck snarled.  "Worth every fuckin' penny, right?"

"You ain't shittin ("sheet-in").  He-he-he!"

Marc frantically posted on the big cock, savoring every thick inch of it.  He slid all of it into his hungry cunt while using his inner muscles to milk it as best he could.  Wriggling his butt as he rode made it slide against his ass walls from varying angles.  He could feel every bloated vein and that extra-thick cord that made his toes curl.  Each time the flared head fucked through his inner sphincter his own boy cock stiffened and leaked more cream.  He was trying hard not to cum, at least not yet, but it wasn't easy going.  This hairy bodied, sweat-smelling blue-collar immigrant was right up his personal alley, a real stud served up for him by his own father.

Stosh was breathing harder and harder and they all knew he was close to blowing.  Marc could have ridden that cock for the next hour, maybe more.  But he also wanted the experience of Stosh getting off, breeding him with his Polish babies.   He was close, so fucking close now.  Those muscles in his arms and chest were knotted tight and his big body was undulating under Marc.  His sweaty head was thrown back against the seat, his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he was worrying his bottom lip.  With a guttural shout he ground his cock up into Marc far as it could possibly reach and exploded.  Gobs of cum rose up from his steamy nuts and pounded Marc's insides.  He writhed and bucked so frantically that Buck thought he would surely toss the boy.  His soiled fingers were digging into Marc's ass flesh as he continued to seed him. 

Marc moved quickly when he felt the last surge.  Not that he was anxious to extricate himself from the stud, but a boy had to do what a boy had to do.  Rising up off Stosh he skittered over hairy thighs to straddle Buck's hips, reached behind to spread his cakes and squatted.  Staring up into his pig son's face Buck took himself by the cock root and held it steady for the boy.  Marc sat down and took the cock into his cum-drenched snatch.  All nine fat daddy inches filled his still-hungry pussy.  He ground on it with his ass, feeling the large head deep in his guts.   Stosh's piece had been honorable but Buck had a good one to two inches more meat which packed the space Stosh could never hope to penetrate.  Marc sighed blissfully with his head tossed back and began lifting himself, then quickly shoving his ass down to the hairy base.  Buck took him by the hips, his eyes alternately on his son's lascivious features and the juncture of their fuck lust.

"HOLY SHEET!" Stosh exclaimed, wide eyed and apparently revived.  "DE FODDER IS FAWKIN' DE SON!"

Other way around, you dumb Polock, Buck thought.  But he didn't respond.  Marc was becoming more vigorous, slamming himself up and down on his father's cock.  He was like a boy gone wild, gnashing his even white teeth and grunting bestially.  Rising up, pushing back down until the fat head punched him deep and ramming his ass against Buck's groin.  His smooth cunt glided over the full length of the big daddy cock so fast it was practically a blur. Buck was squirming in the cushions as his son bounced on his cock.  Edging himself throughout the adolescent's joy ride with Stosh he was already near to cumming.  He would liked to have prolonged the pleasure, picked up Marc, tossed him across the coffee table and shown Stosh how he really fucked his boy, but that would have to wait for another time.  His balls were boiling over.

There was no stopping it.  His beefy body was rocking, his dick was throbbing and control was out of hand.  With what sounded like one long guttural shout his cock blasted off in his son's snatch.  At exactly the same second, as if synchronized, Marc's teen dick erupted.  The strong teen surge shot out of his boy cock, into Buck's gaping mouth and slapped against his uvula.  The following waves hit him square on his end-of-day face stubble and painted a pattern across his hairy pecs.  Buck smacked his lips, savoring the curious flavor of a boy's cum, and gulped it down.

"YOU EAT YOU BOY'S CUM?!"  Stosh was incredulous.

"First time," Buck told him, clearing his throat.  "Tastes pretty fuckin' good."

After all three had caught their breath Marc reluctantly extricated himself from his father's lap, poured both men another helping of Scotch and scampered off to his room where he plugged his leaking asshole and fell off to sleep, exhausted.  Some time during the night he rose to take a leak and release the loads from his pussy.  On his way back down the hallway he was diverted by the dim light coming from the front room and the sound of snoring.  Curiously stepping in he observed big Stosh sprawled across the sofa in nothing more than his boxers, sawing wood and sporting a piss hard-on.  Wisely, Buck had insisted the inebriated man sleep over.  Never one to pass up a hard cock Marc took it in his mouth and was soon rewarded with both a heavy stream of piss and another load of cum.  Still in sleep Stosh moaned and smiled contentedly.

Not a week later Stosh was at the Hauser's door, offering Buck two hundred and fifty dollars for a sleepover with Marc at his place.  Of course, Buck took the money.  And Marc gave Stosh an evening he would not soon forget.