A Father-In-Law

A Son-In-Law

Continued from the story, A Father-In-Law 

He thinks I did not notice certain things. But I did. I do. I always notice what I want to notice. I noticed Ryan the day he walked into my life.

The moment he walked through my front door, and into my home, “Hello, Mr. Porter, my name is Ryan Locke. I am Eve’s boyfriend,” and shook hands in such an exaggerated manner. I knew he was trying too hard to get on my good side.

Did I say hard? Yes, I did. Well. He was. Yes, he was.

His package arrived before the rest of him, even got through the door. It was quite a display; he made that day. When we met. I stifled my tongue and did not want to make a scene. It would have been pointless to have done so. I gasped. My wife even noticed the young man’s massive bulge as she brought a hand to her face, sighed, so woefully. She seemed to have been overtaken by the vapors. But it was astonishment. She would mention it once we were alone.

He was wearing a pair of tight (almost form-fitting) khaki shorts and an evergreen-colored pullover Polo shirt. He looked like a preppy from some high-priced Northern prep school; he was not someone I ever expected my daughter bring home to meet my wife and me. In high school, she dated the guy’s who were ‘passionately’ (and appropriately) called rednecks and country boys, by those of us live here. He was neither of them. How he wormed his way into my daughter’s life, I did not know but then I looked down at his impressive crotch and I knew why? He was packing quite a piece in those khaki shorts. I admit I looked. My eyes could not (would not) be diverted.

I will say he reminded me, of myself, at that same age. Except I was married and had two kids. Strong. An overly confident and had that obvious swagger that left nothing to the imagination. Much like the man, standing before me, my daughter had brought home to meet us.

He was quite the talker, too. He was overly energetic and laid on the shit quite easily, but I was not so sure ‘bout him but I kept the comments to myself and let him drawl on. Surely, Eve, my daughter, would see through this preppy Casanova’s bullshit and move on to a better, more appropriate Southern guy. A man more suitable to my taste. To my liking. I expected a man more like myself, whom she had been raised around. Knew. But he was not that ‘boy.’

Boy, I was wrong.

Oh-Boy! Was I wrong.

I happened to see what he was packing in those pants, one day, as he was pulling away from the urinal, at church, one brisk Sunday morning. When he zipped up. I saw what I saw. I felt my eyes bug-out, but I drew back as I unzipped my pants, yanked out my cock and pissed. I nodded. Arrogantly. And went about the much-needed business at hand.

The kid nodded too. Smiled like a man possessed. Washed his hands, and then went back into the church and sat beside my daughter. His right arm placed behind her, as if she were some prize. Eve is a prize, even if she is my daughter, and not some trophy to be passed around from man to man, until she picks the man she wants to be with.

He was quite the spectacle. Cocky. Arrogant, but not in a good way, well, that is not true. How is being cocky, bad? It ain’t. It ain’t.

A confident man is always something to be admired.

When Eve told us, she was pregnant. I got angry, at first, but I eased off, me getting the ‘little shit’ was not going to change the ‘fact’ that my daughter was pregnant. I had to accept it. And did.

I finally saw it all of him that day in the Sunday school classroom. Just him and me. All naked and in his glory, his splendor. I could see why he acts in the way that he does, the kid’s cock is perfect and to top it off. He wears no underwear. The kid has balls, figuratively and literally. They hang like two fleshy pendulums between those two muscular legs.

When he sat down, I expected him to cover himself, but he didn’t. He did not hide either. In fact, he showed more. Proud. Unashamed.

He was a man. Maybe. He was the one that should marry my daughter.

Remember I said he has balls. His body was shaved and only had a slight cluster of curly fur just above the ridge of his pubic bone, whilst I, on the other hand, am quite the untamed beast around my cock and all over my body. On her wedding day.

Once they were married, he changed, not for the worse, mind you, but for the better. He adapted. Gone were the bright colors and pastels and the starched, ironed ‘preppy’ clothes. He now wears boots, jeans and even stopped shaving his chest, and other unseen parts, I hope. As when I saw him nude that day in the Sunday school classroom. There was no sign of hair, anywhere, on his smooth muscular chest or elsewhere that day. There was barely any hair on the young man’s body except the small hairy nest above his most impressive cock. I still hope he freeballs, which makes him more desirable.

After nearly four years of marriage, I decided to mention to him, we should go on a fishing trip to the Gulf. But I had no intention of going to the Gulf, my goal was for a chance to land the fabled ‘Big One.’ I wanted the ‘other’ Big One. I had seen that day, back in the Sunday school classroom. I had been tempted by the likes of his Big Snake, now I want to be lured by this wily serpent in the dark regions of my posterior.

I jacked in front of him in my truck. I could barely contain myself and I did not but that was not all the surprises I had in mind for Ryan. I had deceived Ryan as to how he perceived me and what the actuality was.

I now squat, now, between his legs, devouring that fleshy monster that has been on my mind for nearly five years. Since that day he walked into my house a year before he married my only daughter, Eve. I am fondling and yanking his balls, coaxing all his spunk from the waving pendulums between his muscled legs. I want all he has stored in those jewels inside of me.

We are at the Paradise Palms Resort. A no-clothes gay resort. We are given our room. After Ryan is now registered and added to the roll of this exclusive resort. The clerk winked at him. Smiled. Acting as if he knew him.

It is when we are spotted. Inside the room. We keep the door open. As many like to watch what happens in the rooms. Doors are seldom closed. The scent of long languished rendezvous lingers heavy in all the many occupied rooms. As I am sure, it can be said, about this room. A former 3-Star chain now open for the sole clientele that inhabit it now.

“Swallow that hot man’s cock, Deak?” a familiar voice I have heard many times reverberates through my ears. Behind me. Out of the corner of my eye. I see a little barely visible red birthmark on Ryan. It is tucked in the corner of his right leg, on the underside, near his loose hanging balls. And what hair is there. Seem to cover it, as if they are like a pair of dangling furry dice over a rearview mirror. I did not notice it that day in the Sunday School classroom. The day he married my dear sweet Eve.

Here, at ‘the Resort’ I am known as Deak, as in deacon, ‘the deacon,’ you know, the one involved in the church, a pastor’s right-hand man. One of the select, chosen by the church body to serve the congregation, here at ‘the Resort,’ I take that same approach and fulfill my duties to fullest extent of that meaning, too.

“He’s a hot specimen. A hot piece, Deak, where’d you get him? “The man asks, “Where’d you find him? Do you have another?””

The man in the doorway is my age, in his forties, muscled, and roughly resembles me, although he shaves his head. (We both know a fine piece of man, when we see it.)

“I am his son-in-law?” Ryan speaks as I continue to slurp on his inflated cock.

“Hmmm,” the man says, “So you are him? The ‘him?’”

Ryan taste wonderful. A mixture of honey and bitter. Perfect for him. Washes down my gullet with each impalement by my mouth.

“I guess I am,” Ryan says, “…but who are you?”

“We are some of the Deak Disciples,” the man says, “or…the Pecker Posse…or whatever you want to name us. We come, when there is cock and ass. And we see both here.”

“We most certainly do.” Another man pipes in.

“Deak’s Disciples?” Ryan says.

“We are some of the most devoted followers…or, you could say, the Hairy Harem.”

“Oh!” Ryan says. “Really?”

I can hear the reluctance of acceptance in my son-in-law’s tone. But all that my friends are saying. Is the truth.

I reach and grasp a hold of Ryan’s dangling low hangers, squeezing them in my agile fingers. And see the berry or cherry-shaped birthmark, the more Ryan gets sexually heated. It seems to glow as he gets further excited.

“Take it easy, Paul,” Ryan says, when I get a little rough, “those are some very valuable jewels.”

“The man is touchy, touchy,” the leaning man on the doorframe says, “he should be, those hairy jewels are loaded. Full. DAMN!”

“Hey, man,” Ryan, says, to the man he does not know, “my cock and balls are essential to my being.”

“Hey, Bud, “the man says, “They are essential to every man’s being.”

The man, and the few standing with him, crowd the open door. Whooping, and hollering, at his suggestion and comment.

I stand and greet those who are watching my playful performance. Disappointment envelopes their faces as I stand before the Pecker Posse. I do not want to share Ryan before I have had a go at him. (Or vice-versa.) I have not tasted enough of my sons-in-law cream before anyone else. I want more.

“This is him; this is ‘the’ him. This is MY son-in-law,” I say, excited-like, “Didn’t I say he was magnificent?”

Ryan stands in his full masculine nakedness before the group of men, and I, his father-in-law, ogle him. We all ogle him. He does not seem to mind. He seems unfazed by the attention, appearing to revel in it. Like it is something he has done before.

“You gonna get naked, Paul?” Ryan says as he gives his thick cock; a long and steady stroke.

“Yeah, I am.”

I drop my jeans and underwear and step out of them and stand among the cluster of already naked men in the crowded room. Where all the men. And are as hard as Ryan and I are in our shared nakedness.

All I can do is marvel at my son-in-law. Where I am blonde, he is a dark-skinned Adonis. Exotic. Brought down from the mythic Mt. Olympus like a fabled god. There is something that lures you to him. An alluring. No wonder my daughter is so enamored by him. His cock alone is worth marrying for.

I notice one of my friends is staring at Ryan, more intensely, than other are of MY son-in-law in the group.

“Get your eyes off’m, Mack. He’s mine. First. Mine,” I say to one of the members of the Hairy Harem like a schoolyard kid fighting over a playground toy.

Mack brings his fingers to his face. Reminiscent of the fabled Thinker.

“I know who you are!” Mack says, unexpectantly. “I know who you are!”

Mack excitement percolates. And burst.

Ryan’s face gets red. And he is glowing like the setting sun before it darts below the evening horizon. An all I can do is watch as it unfolds.

“You are ‘the’ Cherry-Boy!” Mack says, as he begins bouncing around, his cock flopping and floundering about between his legs as he laughs and giggles like he is opening his favorite gift on Christmas morning. “You are the fucking Cherry-Boy!”

Mack is overly joyful. Gleeful. Almost mad in his exhortations before us.

“Cherry-Boy! Cherry-Boy! Cherry-Boy!”

As he talks the others in the group seem to realize it too.

“Who the fuck is Cherry-Boy?” I ask. Not understanding. But wanting too.

Ryan turns to me. His cock aiming out of his midsection like a piercing dagger through the air. Pearl-droplets of cum leaking from the tool like a faucet in need of a washer to repair it.

“Me.” Ryan explains, “I am ‘the’ Cherry-Boy. It comes from the birthmark on my leg and my stage name when I was a stripper.”

“Cherry-Boy? Stripper? Really?” I say. “Really?”

“Yep!” Ryan exclaims. “It’s true. Paul. All of it. It is how I met Eve.”

“Cause the cherries pop and the cum explodes when you see his cock.” Mack interjects. Still excited at the celebrity standing before us.

Ryan looks at me. And says. “Paul. I didn’t concoct that. The guy over the group, I was in, did. He said it was because I looked like the innocent virgin…”

“Twink! Twink!” Mack once again butts in. “Twink.”

“Ummm, …virgin, so he built my character on that, but my cock was, well, is all man.” Ryan says.

“It is all man.” I add. “It most definitely is.”

“Here. Here. Here. Here.” Comes the chorus of the men around the room in unison.

I walk to Ryan and pull him close. Our cock duel between our legs like two swordsmen engaged in a fight for their lives as I reach in, to kiss him. Face-against-face.

“I don’t kiss.” Ryan says. As he motions my face away from his. “My lips are not part of the deal.”

I back up from him. And nod. In agreement. I am fine with that. I am.

I let my ten fingers roam across his chest. Although he is almost smooth. Naturally smooth. I follow the mountainous musculature that is there. Around his erect nips, there is a ring of fur. And in the center. A few hairs sit like an island between the taunt muscles of his chest. But that is all. But I do kiss these muscles. And he does not stop me. The more I kiss. I am jabbed ever harder with the steely sword of his cock. His knob is so enflamed I am afraid it will split open because of the swelling.

He turns me. His arms on my shoulders. In a silent. Commanding motion. Not rushed. But gently.

And drops to his knees. I can feel his warm tongue snake, ever deeper, into my hole. Darting amongst the ring of fur that fills the burrow there. But he goes in again. And again. Each dive makes me sigh as I await the next whisk of his powerful tongue. It is both soft and firm, like other parts of his anatomy.

I look back when he abruptly stops.

He pokes his finger in his mouth and lathers it with spittle. When he pulls it out. Out of his mouth. The excess spit streams down his arm. Like a busted dam.

“Are you ready?” Ryan whispers in my left ear as he has resumed his former stance at my head. Ever so softly. Intoxicating.

“Yes.” The word is as soft as the escaped whisper from my lips.

I feel his finger worm its way deep into me. I buck against the agile single digit. But he does not stop. Nor do I resist.

“You like that?” he asks. “Do you like it?”

I nod.

“Good.” He continues to coo in my ear. “Forget about them. It is just you and me. No one else.” His words soothe me. Catching me up in his magnificence.

The others seem to evaporate. To disappear. He pulls his finger from me.

I gasp at its freedom.

“Ready?”

I am. He has readied me. As best he can. I want him.

My body says ‘yes’ without saying a word. My cock throbs and all the blood that is in me seems to coalesce in my erect cock. My tool pulses. I feel light-headed. Faint.

I can feel the crown of his cock as he teases to the crack of my ass. My own cock grows even harder. With his touch. This is what I have been wanting since I first saw him in the Sunday School classroom on my daughter’s wedding day.

I feel a soft kiss on my neck as he breaks through the tight clutch of my ass. But he does not stop. He goes on. And on. And on. Like a battery charged rabbit. Plunging deeper.

I hear my sighs.

I can feel the soft carpet of the hairs that covers and encircles his cock. They are thick. Dense. Like all men should be. As they brisk tenderly across my backside. They tickle me. They relax me. As he sinks deeper, and the soft brush of his manly pelt electrifies me, for what I know is mounting. Escalating.

“Uhhhhhh! Uhhhhhhhhhh!” My moans fill the room as I gasp.

Behind me. They stand. Watching. As he goes deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Every hard inch of him glides further into my dark recess. I welcome it. Want it.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

He called me a ‘monster’ when he saw my cock but his mighty beast plows eagerly into my backside. I want to call him ‘the Beast.’ Because he is. He is.

A FUCKING manly out-of-control FUCKING beast.

I can feel the helmet of his cock as it, slides, without obstruction, into the inner parts of me. With each inch I sigh louder as he plunges. I open my ass and take it. Him. All of him. Into me.

Time seems to slow down. But the speed of which he fucks me, has not. It accelerates. The deafening speed of his masculine-intensity is unfettered. Rabid. Almost. Until.

“Paul. Come. Come. Follow me back. To the bed.” Ryan says to me. His words catch me by surprise as he halts with his ramming. As he guides me with a hand on my shoulder.

“What? What?” I answer him.

“Follow my lead. Do what I tell ya.” Ryan says to me. I feel him sliding out of me as he starts to recline. On his back. Onto the bed.

“What are you a-doin’? Don’t pull out.” I tell him.

“C’mon.” Ryan says as his cock almost seems to exit from my lubed and filled ass.

Ryan goes back on the bed. Ever so slowly. Patiently. I do not let him escape from the deep folds of my ass. As he moves. I follow. Like I am on a fleshy leash. He is now on his back and am hovering, like a hummingbird, over his towering cock as the engorged helmet lingers ever so close to exiting from my expanded hole. But he never fully disengages from me. I will not let that happen. Never.

I feel both of his strong arms on my shoulders. He is applying pressure as I sink, ever lower, onto him. Again.

“Uhhhhh!” I sigh. “Uhhhhhhhhhh…”

“Relax. Paul. Relax.” He attempts to soothe me. While his cock is once devouring my ass.

I do. And I let gravity take over. Doing all the work for me. Each inch once again disappears. Into me.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. (I am not sure.)

He is deeper than he was, when he was doggy-fucking me. I am not sure how he measures. But I am full. From the whole of me. He is as thick as he is long. I have never felt so full.

“Ahhhhh! Ahhhh!” The moans escape from my lips.

Those gathered around let out a loud roar. Whooping and hollering. But I do not hear them. I am only centered on the cock that has disappeared up into my ass. While the man attached to it.

MY son-in-law. Ryan.

Controls me.

“Fuck that ass! Fuck that ass!” One of the four naked men stroking their cocks, yell out.

“Get’m hell, Cherry-Boy.” Another yells. “Get’m hell.”

The other two are too caught up in their furious machinations on their steel-like poles. Caught up in the spectacle we are giving them.

I feel his cock hit the roof of my ass. And wonderous shivers shoot through me. Electric bolts of intense pleasure hit all my nerves. Like a million knives piercing my skin.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I scream out when flesh-to-flesh contact is made inside the crevasse of my ass.

I jump on him. My cock bounces, like a spring, flinging my leaking pre-man-seed across my chest and on the other furred parts of my sweat-reeking body. And all over the room and on the audience.

“Slow down. Slow down.” Ryan says. “Take it easy. Enjoy the ride. I am. I want to feel all of you. I want to be as one.”

I do. I go a few more times before Ryan stops me.

“Pivot.” Ryan says. “Pivot on my cock. Pivot.”

He says calmly. But I do not know how he maintains such control.

“What?”

“Turn on my cock. And face me.” Ryan orders. Demands. “Do it! Do it!”

“I can’t do that.” I lament. “I can’t.”

“Yes. You can.” He woos. “Yes. You can.”

He guides me. And I begin to turn. Ever so gently. His cock rakes the soft tissue of my expanded ass. I sigh. My moans fill the room. I am on fire. I have never felt anything like this before. The engorged helmet opens me wider in the gentle spin we are doing. I moan in indecipherable pleasure. As I helicopter on his Eiffel-like cock.

I am now. Face-to-face with Ryan. My cock juts out from my dense pubes, puddling cum finds its way into Ryan’s bellybutton. And finds a home. He smiles at me, the more I dispel from my throbbing cock.

“I knew you could do it.” He coos. “I knew you could.”

He smiles at me. His white teeth catch me in their brilliance.

“I have never done that before.” I tell him. (And our captive audience. Which are more excitable than they were when they caught me feasting on Ryan’s cock.)

Are enraptured.

“It’s good to try new things.” Ryan says before he resumes plowing me. The soft music. The wet sounds from my ass compete with the noise from the four men gathered, watching us. Blanketing the room. But I do not hear them as I am concentrated on the eyes of my son-in-law, Ryan Locke. And the cock that has overwhelmed my ass.

“You ass feels so good, father-in-law.” He says. “It feels so damn good.”

I can feel him getting harder. And harder. His face reddens. But he does not stop. He pounds my ass harsher as my cock flops across his chest. Coating him in my juices.

“Give it to me! Give it me!” I yell. He is about to erupt. I can feel it.

“FUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!” Ryan screams as he bucks on the bed like a man riding a bull. (But I am ‘the’ man on a bull. A raging bull.)

His cum soaks my nether regions. I can feel his juice hit the roof of my hole. I am flooded. As he gushes inside of me. More and more. The sounds of his wonderful fluids leak from ass as he continues with his thrusts. I give no warning as my hose let loose its own bounty and sprays Ryan down with seed. I do not yell. Nor do I scream. I just unload. The most I have ever done.

Ryan catches drops of me in his mouth. He laps it up like a tabby cat would milk. But he is bathed in my creamy-white spunk.

The room has grown quiet.

“DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! FUCK! FUCK!” someone says. Says all the men gathered about. But I do not know who. I am in another world.

***

“Dad! Dad! Snap out of it. Are you going to walk me down the aisle? The music has started. C’mon, Dad.”

“Sure thing, my dear sweet Eve.” I say to the blushing bride as I emerge from my stupor. “Sure thing.”

My daughter Eve tugs, with all her strength, on my arm; as we stand in the back of the church. He. My future son-in-law stands in front of the church, next to his three groomsmen. He is an imposing figure in his tux. And his cock covered in the black fabric. I can feel my pants tighten as she continues to tug on my arm. And as the wedding march beckons, telling us it is time to walk down the center of the packed pews on her special day.

“C’mon Dad. Let’s get me married.” I smile at my beautiful daughter after her words.

I was lost in a fantasy. Much like Bobby Ewing (Patrick Duffy), had been, back in the bygone days of the (now defunct) Dallas TV show with the infamous shower scene when all was thought to be real; But it all had been a dream.

Just like that of MY son-in-law. And the dangling meat between his legs. My mouth waters. Salivating.

A man can dream. Lament. And wish. And I am at the well throwing in all the coin I can to make it happen.

Does he have a cherry-shaped birthmark on the inside of his right leg? I will have to find out. In my dreams, he does. Because in a few minutes.

After the “I do.” By the pair.

He will be a son-in-law to me. And I will only be a father-in-law to him.