I got a call from Mike, an old army buddy of mine, saying he needed to talk. He said it was important. I told him to swing by, and I’d have the whiskey ready.
We go back decades. Back when we were nothing but meathead soldiers — young, hard, and full of fire. We trained hard, partied harder, and now and then, when the booze kicked in and the barracks were quiet, we’d take the edge off each other’s urges—never complicated. Just two men blowing off steam. Mike eventually settled down with a gorgeous wife and had himself a picture-perfect family. I stayed the course — single, carved from routine, and carved out of muscle. And we kept in touch. Whenever life got too tight around his neck, Mike’d show up, take off the suburban mask, and drink, smoke, and sometimes get his mouth back on my cock like it was twenty years ago.
That evening I was already on the porch when his minivan pulled in. He stepped out in a golf polo and worn-out jeans — looked every bit the suburban dad. It was a shame, really. He used to be a beast — tight fade, thick chest, abs like armour. He was still handsome in that weathered way, but the years and the kids had softened him. Me? I stayed lean, hard, and unapologetically myself. Leather, cigars, weights, and loud engines were my religion.
He walked up, and I handed him a glass. We sat, drank, and slipped back into old rhythm. It didn’t take long before he brought up his oldest, Carl. He was concerned. The boy was 19 and flailing. First year of college and already fucking it up. He was distant and had so many attitude problems. No direction. I gave a grunt. Typical. Mike was worried — he said had no structure, no discipline.
“Sound familiar?”, I grunted.
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess, just like us back in the day. Before the army slapped us straight.”
We poured another round, lit a couple of cigars, and let the smoke take us back. We talked about how the army whipped us into men. And how Carl needed something like that — a hard reset. That’s when Mike came up with an idea, maybe: I’d take him on a camping trip. Get him out of the suburbs, strip him down, push him. Not just physically, but mentally. Give him a little of what we got in basic.
“You think he’ll go for it?” I asked.
Mike just laughed. “He’s obsessed with you. Always asking about your bikes, your Chevy, your arms. Thinks you’re some kind of god.”
That got a smirk out of me. I took a long drag from the cigar, let the smoke hang on my tongue as I thought back. Carl used to be this lanky, shaggy-haired young man—ballcap always low, sleeves too big, always trailing his old man. One of those clean-cut, high school jocks they’d slap on an Abercrombie bag back in the day. I’d never really looked at him twice. Just another polite, all-American teen. But Mike was right—something had shifted. He wasn’t just a youth anymore. He was filling out. Mike was right, a man was starting to show through the youth.
Mike must’ve seen the shift in my eyes.
“I trust you with him,” he said.
I agreed to organize something. He was good friend and I owed it to him..
Then, like muscle memory, he set his glass down, got on his knees in front of me, and worked open my jeans. “Like old times,” he muttered.
Cigar clenched between my teeth, I leaned back and let him show just how much he trusted me.
But somewhere between the heat of his mouth and the talk of his son, something shifted in me. Originally, this trip was about shaking him up, giving him a little discipline. But now, as Mike’s head bobbed on my cock, eyes shut in submission, I pictured Carl watching me, following me, craving some kind of male compass — something darker started to stir.
I looked down at Mike. “How close,” I said slowly, “do you want me to get with your boy?”
He paused, mouth glistening, then looked up.
“As close as men need to get,” he said. “Truth is… I think he likes you a little too much. He’s like me that way..”
I didn’t say anything. Just smiled, puffed the cigar, and came hard down his throat.
***************************
We pitched the idea to Carl a few days later, and he jumped at the idea. As Mike predicted, he was maybe a little too eager to spend a week alone with the man he idolised? Hell, he practically begged for it.
We planned for October — crisp air, quiet woods, no distractions. Just me, the trees, and him.
I pulled into Mike’s driveway that morning, the ’67 Impala rumbling low, slow, and loud. I wore my white tee tight, my old jeans fitted, boots scuffed just right. My biker jacket clung to my chest, broken in like a second skin. One arm rested out the window, cigar lit, smoke curling up and around me as the sun caught the chrome.
Carl was already out front, backpack slung over one shoulder, that beat-up ballcap pulled low. He stood still, eyes locked on me. I felt the heat of his stare before he even moved.
“You all good?” I called, not moving from behind the wheel.
He nodded, a little too quickly. His eyes bounced between my face, my chest, the cigar, the car — all of it. Quiet. Wide-eyed. Watching.
“Throw your stuff in. We’ve got a lot of road ahead of us,” I said, cigar between my teeth, voice calm and slow.
He moved without a word, quiet as ever. When he opened the back door to toss in his pack, he spotted my black Colt resting on the seat and froze. That hesitation—brief, but there. I clocked it. “It’s good to have out here,” I said, voice even. “Figure you’re a man now. Time you learned how to handle one.” His nerves flickered, then shifted—curiosity pushing past the fear. I saw the spark in his eyes. That old-boy eagerness surfacing fast.
After loading his gear into the back. Then slid into the passenger seat, the leather groaning under him. The smell hit him — cigar smoke, aftershave, engine grease, old leather and something darker.
I started the engine. Let it growl.
Carl smiled — couldn’t help it. That grin he used to have, still not fully gone.
“You like it?” I asked, glancing at him.
“Fuckin’ right.”
That grin hit low in my gut. I looked toward Mike, gave him a nod. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Mike just smirked, the kind of look that said he knew exactly what kind of care I meant.
We rolled out, the old beast of a car humming along the backroads. Silence filled the first few miles — just the rumble of the Impala and the sound of wind through cracked windows. He kept stealing glances at my arms on the wheel, the way my shirt hugged my chest, the tattoos inked along my forearm, the cigar between my lips.
He leaned back, legs spread, trying to match my posture. Trying to be cool. He wanted to impress me — it was written all over the way he sat, the way he fidgeted when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“You still work out?” I asked, casually.
“Yeah… I mean, I try to.”
I snorted. “You used to be a scrawny little shit.”
I let a beat pass. Then reached over and patted his thigh — not soft, not aggressive. Just enough. My hand lingered a second longer than it needed to.
“You’ve filled out.”
He shifted in his seat, adjusted himself. Tried to be subtle about it.
This did not go unnoticed. I realized that maybe Mike was right, this boy might want it more than we could have known.
“Thanks,” he muttered, a little quieter now.
“You ready for a real man’s weekend?” I asked, cigar smoke curling between us.
He nodded.
“You’re gonna work hard. We hike. We carry heavy weights. We shoot, fish, live it rough. And to do it right, you’ll have to follow my lead. You good with that?”
He nodded again, slower this time.
“I need to hear it.” I let the words settle before I went on. “Out here, you trust me. You do what I say, when I say it—no questions, no backtalk. I don’t tolerate whining, and I sure as hell don’t tolerate attitude. I’m your lifeline out here. You show respect, or you learn fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
I smiled. Let that hang in the air. The words tasted right coming from his mouth. Like he already knew what role he was to play out here.
With that out of the way, I passed him the cigar — wet from my lips. He blinked, surprised, but took it. Brought it to his mouth and drew in slow. His lips touched where mine had just been. He seemed a natural smoking that gay.
“You look like you have smoked these before,” I said.
“I’ve been sneakin’ a few of Dad’s,” he admitted, holding the smoke in his lungs. “Dunno why, but… they make me feel good. Powerful. Horny, even.”
I chuckled, low and warm. “You’re not alone.”
“I brought extras for the trip,” I added. “Beers too. Gotta balance the hard work with some proper wind-down.”
We kept driving. Sharing the gar. He kept watching me shift gears. Every time my hand moved to the stick, his eyes tracked. Too long. Too obvious.
I openly adjusted myself, casual, slow. Caught him still staring.
“Fancy taking the wheel?” I asked.
His eyes lit up. “Seriously?”
I nodded. Pulled into a lay-by and parked. We swapped seats.
“Have you ever driven stick?”
“A couple times.”
He settled behind the wheel, hands a little shaky as he reached for the gearstick. I leaned in close, placed my hand over his. Felt the jolt run through him. That electric hum of contact.
“Clutch in,” I said, voice low, deep.
He got the engine purring quick, and we were back on the freeway. He had a lead foot—liked the feel of power under him. I watched him settle in, the way his hands gripped the wheel, cigar tucked between his lips, body easing into the rhythm of the drive. The Impala fit him. Like he was slipping into something that had always been his. For the first time, I didn’t just see the boy. I saw the man
I leaned back, placed a hand on his shoulder. Heavy. Grounding.
“Looking good there boy, like a real man”
His cheeks reddened, embarrassed. He stared forward, trying to hide the flush on his face. I could see him breathing faster.
I watched him at the wheel, maybe a little too long. Something clicked then. The way he moved, the way he looked to me for every cue — he was a man now, sure, but the boy was still in there. Especially around me. That nervous edge, that silence—it wasn’t just about respect. It was submission, even if he didn’t know the word for it yet. I’d known him for years, but now the power shift was real—and it was mine. I could feel it. He wanted to impress me, wanted to be seen as worthy, but I could tell... he’d give up more than just pride to get there. That thought alone made my cock stir. This trip was going to be more than discipline. I was going to enjoy breaking him in.
I plucked the cigar from his fingers and slid it between my lips, letting the taste of him linger with the smoke.
“You’re gettin’ a little too comfortable with these, boy.”
As I said it, my hand moved — slow and deliberate — from his shoulder up to the back of his neck. What looked like a casual, steadying grip carried more weight than that. I wanted him to feel it. The strength. The control. The quiet promise behind it. His body went tight, breath hitched, as my cold rings brushed the nape of his neck and threaded into the shaggy hair beneath his cap. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, letting me hold him. And that said more than any answer could.
Then — like he needed a break from the tension — he pulled into another lay-by. He cut the engine and stepped out of the car, like he needed the cool air to steady himself.
I stayed where I was. Watching him. Watching him pace the gravel with those nerves coiled tight beneath the surface. The way he paced, fists stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, jaw tight. Like he didn’t know what the hell had just happened in there — only that it stirred something up.
I stepped out too, slow, calm, cigar still burning between my fingers.
“You’re alright,” I said, walking around the hood. I took one long drag of the cigar and exhaled, letting the smoke roll between us as I got closer — standing in front of him now, boots firm on the gravel.
“You signed up for this weekend to learn something, didn’t you?”
He nodded again, more sure of himself this time.
“Then let me teach you. Don’t try to impress me — just listen. Follow. Trust me to lead.”
His eyes met mine — hesitant, but there was something hungry behind them now. That raw want. To be shaped. Broken in. Owned. I flicked the cigar and stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder again. Firm. Weighted. Claiming space.
“By the end of this trip,” I said, voice low, “you’re gonna learn a hell of a lot about yourself. But rule number one?”
He looked up at me, breathing a little faster now.
“You trust me. You do what I say. No questions. No hesitation.”
I let the words settle before going on. “This week’s about turning you into a man. That means knowing who you are, what you want—and having the balls to face it head-on. I’m gonna push you. Rattle you. You’ll hit the edge, maybe cross it. But that’s how you learn.”
I leaned in just enough for him to feel the weight behind the words.
“And if you want to come out the other side, you don’t flinch. You don’t fold. You look it in the eye—and you don’t act like a pussy little cunt.”
“…Yeah.”
“You call me ‘sir’ this weekend. Understand?”
“…Yes, sir.”
He said it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it — but fuck, it hit like thunder.
I smiled.
“Good,” I said, stepping back and opening the driver’s side door again. “Now get your pussy back in the car. Time to get to camp.”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there, looking like a deer in headlights. I stepped over to him.
“You alright?”
That’s when he did it. Just lunged. Kissed me. Mouth hot, breath desperate, hands clawing at my neck and stubble like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
I didn’t kiss him back. I thought this might be in the cards but didn't realize how much this little cunt wanted this.
“Fuck,” I said, pulling away.
“Sorry—fuck— You told me to get what I wanted. But that was too far. I shouldn’t have. Shit! I am sorry—just take me home.”
I stared at him. He looked wrecked.
I didn’t speak. Just let the silence grow heavy.
“That’s not how this works. You make mistakes, you own them. You learn from them. And you accept the consequences. You can’t grab a man like me without permission. You think I let any horny little cunt have a piece of me”
“No sir, it was silly of me to think you'd want a fucked up pussy like me”
“You're just a lazy, lost puppy, with few prospects. Your cute smile and nice arse isn't enough for me. What makes you think you are ready to be with a man like me?”
His face flushed. I saw it—the shift in his posture. That flicker of guilt sparked something else. Shame twisted into hunger.
I let him sit in that.
Then I stepped closer, close enough for him to feel my body heat. Close enough to make him flinch without even touching him.
“I thought I might be able to break you before the week ended. Did not think we’d be here on day one. You want me to teach you how this goes?” I asked, my voice like gravel dragged across whiskey.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
Another nod.
I didn’t move. Just looked at him. Let him feel the weight of it.
He looked at me—eyes wide, lips wet. I knew that look. Half-scared, half-starved.
I grabbed the top of his jeans and pulled him up on the car’s hood.
He landed, legs apart, putting his hands behind him to stabilise himself. Leaving himself open. Exposed.
I stepped between his thighs, placed a hand on his chest. Felt his heart racing through the cotton.
“Still with me?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Say it proper.”
“Yes, sir.”
That made me smile. Just a twitch of it. Enough.
“Didn’t peg you for the submissive type.”
“I can learn to be. Sir.”
“Damn right you can.”
I leaned in — just enough for him to smell the leather, the smoke, the aftershave on my throat. Just let my breath warm his neck, his ear.
“You think you’re ready for this?” I whispered. “For a man to take you the way you want to be taken?, treat you like the pathetic slut you are?”
His fingers dug into the edge of the hood.
“I want to learn.”
I ran one knuckle along his jaw. Slowly. Just enough to make him close his eyes and lean into it.
“You don’t learn this with words,” I said. “You learn it by giving up control. By trusting me to show you where you belong.”
He shivered.
“Where do you think that is, hm?” I murmured. “Tell me.”
“…Under you.”
I smirked. “That’s a start.”
I took a slow step back, letting the air cool between us. Watched his lips twitch in frustration, wanting more.
“I am not sure you’re ready yet,” I said.
His eyes snapped open. “What? please sir… I need it”
I lit another cigar, flicked the flame from my Zippo like I was ending the moment on my terms. I took a long, slow drag, blowing smoke between us.
“You think this is a quick easy thing?” I asked, voice low, steady. “One kiss and I toss you in the back seat?”
I leaned in closer, let the silence press heavy between us.
“This ain’t about seduction. It’s about control. This week—you’re mine. Mine to shape. Mine to command. You won’t just want me... you’ll become part of me. My shadow.”
I let my hand slide to the back of his neck again, holding him still.
“I’ll beat the boy out of you and build something stronger. You’ll carry yourself like a man—cocky, sure, confident. But don’t forget who made you. You’ll always belong to me.”
My thumb pressed against his throat.
“When I want you, how I want you—you don’t hesitate. You understand me?”
“Yes sir, I just…”
I stepped close again. Leaned down. Pressed my lips to his ear and whispered:
“Because you are Mike's son, and I've known you for a long time, I'll give you what you want this time. But it's on my terms. Not yours.”
I pulled away and looked him over, letting my gaze rest where it made him squirm.
He was still sitting there on the hood, legs spread, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile — but all he’d done was look at me. That’s all it took. That’s how hungry he was.
I took one more step between his legs. My hand came down slow on his thigh, heavy, firm. I watched his breath hitch as my fingers tightened, felt the way his muscle flexed beneath my grip.
“You’re hard already, aren’t you?” I murmured.
He didn’t answer.
I squeezed.
“Answer me, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” he breathed. “I can’t help it.”
I moved my hand up, past the thick curve of his thigh to the bulge in his jeans. My palm pressed against it — not gentle, not cruel. Just claiming. Owning.
“Fuck…” he whimpered, grinding into my hand like he needed it to stay alive.
“Look at you,” I growled, voice thick with smoke and want. “Already desperate. You want to come just from being touched.”
He nodded, panting now.
I leaned in close, lips ghosting over his. “You’re not allowed to come yet. Not until I say.”
He whimpered, eyes fluttering shut.
I rubbed him through the denim, slow and steady, letting the friction drive him insane. His hips bucked, just a little — just enough.. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yank his head back.
“What did I just say?” I snapped.
“Not until you say,” he gasped.
“Good boy.”
I held his hair tight, exposing that clean-cut throat of his, and ran my tongue up the side of it. Just once. Slow. Deliberate. He shivered like he’d been hit by a jolt of current.
I brought my other hand to his waistband and popped the button on his jeans.
He sucked in a breath.
“You want my hand around your cock?” I asked.
“Yes—God, yes—sir.”
“Then beg for it, like the little horny cunt you are”
He blinked, flushed with embarrassment, but his cock twitched beneath the fabric.
“Please…” he said. “Please touch me. I need it.”
“Need what?” I asked, brushing my fingers just under the waistband, teasing his skin.
“Need your hand on my cock. Please, sir.”
I grinned.
“Good. You’re learning.”
I reached in and pulled him out — thick, hard, leaking already. He hissed through his teeth at the feel of the cool night air on his bare skin.
The boy was more like his father than maybe he realised, he had a nice thick cock, easy 8 inches long.
I spit into my hand, slow and crude, then wrapped it around him.
He moaned like a prayer.
“Quiet,” I said, stroking him slow. “We’re still in public. Can’t have anyone hearing what a needy little slut you are.”
His head dropped back, jaw clenched, trying to obey. Every muscle in his body was straining not to thrust.
I pumped him slowly, watching his cock throb in my grip, watching his face twist with pleasure and frustration.
“Look at you,” I murmured. “So fucking desperate. But you’re gonna hold it, aren’t you? You’re gonna be my good boy.”
He nodded, jaw trembling.
“Say it.”
“I’m your good boy,” he whispered.
I leaned in, lips grazing his ear again. “Damn right you are.”
I stepped in close, put a heavy palm on his shoulder, and leaned in — the leather of my jacket creaking as I moved, the gold on my fingers cold against his neck.
“Don’t worry, lad,” I muttered, voice low and rough, brushing my lips against his ear. “You’ve gone and done it now.”
I yanked him forward by the waistband of his jeans, slamming him up against the hood of my car. He let out a gasp — half fear, half lust — and arched into me as I pressed my body against his. My cock, hard and straining against my jeans, mashed into the swell of his ass. I ground into him slow, deliberate.
“You’re leaking already,” I growled, pressing my mouth to his neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “You want this. You’re fucking begging for it.”
I reached down and popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow. He whimpered, and I shoved them down around his thighs, baring that tight ass. My hand came down hard across it — once, twice — just enough to make him grunt.
“Keep your hands on the hood,” I ordered, gripping his hips. “Don’t fucking move.”
I dropped to my knees behind him, the leather of my jacket brushing his bare skin. I grabbed his cheeks, spreading him open, and stared at the tight hole twitching for me. I leaned in and dragged my tongue across it — slow, then deep — and he gasped, body jerking forward.
“Tastes like need,” I muttered, pressing my stubbled face in hard, eating him out like I owned him. “You’re gonna remember this every time you sit down.”
He moaned, leaking onto the hood of the car, his body trembling under my grip. I stood up, undid my belt, and freed my cock — thick, veined, pierced, already wet with precum. I didn’t even bother with the condom. Not now.
“You want to get fucked, get fucked proper.”
I spat into my hand, slicked myself, and lined up. The head of my cock kissed his hole, and I leaned down over his back, breath hot against his neck.
“This is how a man fucks, boy.”
I thrust forward hard — he cried out, fingers scrabbling against the hood. I held him down, pressed into him inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt.
“You take every inch, you worthless cunt” I growled into his ear, “or you get nothing.”
I set a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into him, my hands gripping his waist so tight I’d leave bruises. He was panting, gasping, swearing — and I didn’t let up. My cock split him open, thick and pulsing, the metal of my Prince Albert dragging against his insides.
I reached around, wrapped a hand around his leaking cock, jerking him in time with my thrusts.
“You’re mine now,” I muttered, voice a snarl. “Say it.”
He moaned, tried to speak — I slammed in deeper.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Fuck—uncle, I’m yours!”
“Damn right.”
I grabbed the back of his neck, yanked him up against my chest. My leather jacket rubbed raw against his bare back, and my other hand never stopped working his cock. His whole body was trembling, every nerve lit up. I licked his ear, bit the lobe.
“I’m gonna fill you, boy. You gonna take my fuckin’ load like a man?”
“Yes,” he whimpered. “Please—fill me.”
“Dirty fuckin’ cunt,” I spat, and with a deep groan, I slammed in one last time and spilled inside him — thick, hot, bare. His ass clenched around me as he came hard, cum splashing across the hood.
We stayed there, breathing heavy, bodies slick with sweat and spunk. I pulled out slowly, watching it drip down his thighs, then grabbed him by the hair, kissed him hard — tongue deep, claiming — and whispered:
“That was your first lesson. Next time, we do it my way.” We've a week ahead of us. I'm going to break you boy and then rebuild you as the man you need to be. You hear me boy.
Without hesitation he replied “Yes sir”.
