1.
Most of Trevor’s friends had scattered after graduation. He was stuck at Mark’s, killing time in the quiet house, in the weird in-between time, the summer before college.
It was Mark’s custodial weekend, a routine since the divorce. Weekends, certain weeks—like now, when Trevor’s mom was away on vacation with her new husband. Trevor was eighteen, technically an adult, but still caught between two homes.
Mark wasn’t a bad dad, exactly, but there was never much to do here. His attention was usually elsewhere—on his dates, his women—girls, really. He was in his mid-forties but still looked like he worked out hard. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, and athletic shorts that clung tight over powerful thighs. He moved like a college athlete who’d settled into a man’s confidence.
Trevor saw it all—the strength, the ease. Mark was everything he wanted to be: strong, sure, desirable.
Trevor was a high school athlete, like his dad. Years wrestling, lacrosse, any sport he could squeeze in. At eighteen his body was lean and tight under tanned skin, but there was a fire inside him no girl seemed to match—a restless energy that needed more.
Saturday night dragged. Mark was out on another date, and Trevor found himself rifling through his dad’s dresser. Mostly boredom, maybe a little curiosity. Beneath some socks, he found a small box of condoms—thin, sheer, lubed, high-end. Mark didn’t fuck around with fucking around.
His fingers trembled as he pulled one out, the wrapper crackling cold and slick between his hands. He tore it open and without thinking, jerked down his shorts and rolled the condom onto his suddenly hard cock slowly, the rubber cool against his skin, tight and slick.
He knew condoms usually dulled the feeling, but this one—meant for Mark’s cock—was different. The lube, the fit. Knowing where it was meant to end up. Every nerve lit up, his cock hypersensitive.
Images flooded his mind—his cock, Mark’s cock, wrapped in that tight sheath. Mark’s hips thrusting, taking control. The thought slammed his pulse into overdrive.
He didn’t stroke. He just held still, hips shifting just enough to build tension without moving. In the snug, slick fit, even the slightest motion was overwhelming..
Without warning, his body seized. A hot rush rolled through him, his pecs trembled as he came, hips jerking, filling the condom in a series of thick surges. The condom stretched warm and tight, heightening every sensation. He couldn’t touch it without trembling.
He twisted the condom off, tying a knot at the end, impulsively. Wrapped in toilet paper, he pushed it into the bottom of the trash. The rest of the box went back where he found it. It was just a moment, unplanned. A secret no one would know.
Later, lying in bed, his muscles still humming, the house was quiet except for the distant sound of the house settling. Then he heard the door open softly. Mark, coming home, his distinctive footsteps nearing, then fading away.
Trevor closed his eyes. The weight of what had happened was like a warm blanket, and sleep came easy.
2.
The next morning, Trevor was half-heartedly making toast when Mark walked in, already in his gym wear and holding a cup of coffee. He looked like he’d just stepped off a fitness magazine cover, but today something was different—his easy posture was taut, his eyes avoiding Trevor’s.
“Morning,” Mark said, voice calm but with a slight edge. He leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. “I was thinking—you never really knew my old man, your granddad.”
Trevor grunted, keeping his back turned, buttering toast, trying to decode the strange weight in Mark’s tone and the odd subject.
“When I was your age,” Mark said, voice drifting, “eighteen, nineteen… about to head off to college. Reckless, thought I knew everything.” He paused, then locked eyes with Trevor, even though Trevor faced away. “My dad caught me with something of his. Something I’d swiped from his drawer.”
Trevor froze, knife suspended mid-air.
“It was cigarettes,” Mark said dryly. “He didn’t yell. Didn’t ground me. Just looked at me calm. Then he grabbed the pack—full except the one I took—and laid it on the table.”
Trevor slowly turned. Mark stood straight, eyes sharp, holding a small, familiar box.
“He said, ‘You want to steal smokes? Fine. Smoke them all. Today. Where I can see.’ And I did. Smoked every single one while he watched.” Mark’s stare pierced Trevor. “Made me sick. Threw up more times than I can count. One tough bastard, my old man. But I never touched one again. Or stole anything else.”
The kitchen thickened with silence. Trevor’s mouth went dry.
Mark set the box on the granite counter and pulled out the six remaining condoms, slapping them down one by one. The soft plastic crinkled loud in the quiet.
His eyes, cold and unflinching, met Trevor’s. “Today. Where I can see.”
Trevor’s throat tightened. “All six?”
Mark’s eyes flicked over the packets, then back, something unreadable flickering. “You’re young and… fit. Shouldn’t be too much.”
The challenge hung between them — no praise, no condemnation. Just fact.
“Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here. All day.”
Trevor didn’t back down. Defiance tangled with humiliation. He grabbed the nearest packet and tore it open. Mark barely moved but crossed his thick forearms, eyes daring.
Trevor looked Mark dead in the eyes. With a bold, almost performative gesture, he pushed down the waistband of his athletic shorts. His cock, thick and already hard from terror and illicit thrill, sprang free. Without hesitation, he rolled the slick sheath onto his shaft, the rubber whispering as it unrolled.
He didn’t look away as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate. His young, athletic body, lean and honed from years on the field, moved with an almost arrogant rhythm. He turned his hand to move over the firm head of his penis, quickly ushering in his climax.
When the rush hit, his hips jerked, a sharp groan breaking the silence. He came hard, a hot, urgent load slamming into the condom’s tip, filling the reservoir with a thick burst.
Still breathing hard, Trevor lifted the used condom, its tip bulging with fresh cum. He tied a tight knot at the tip and held it out like an offering. Mark took it, fingers brushing Trevor’s.
“Hmm. Good start,” Mark said, studying the swaying condom, full of Trevor’s release.
He stood and tossed the condom into the kitchen wastebasket. “One down,” he said, glancing at the counter where five packets remained. “Just five more.”
Trevor stared at the packets. Five more. His cock was still slick, but the high had faded. This was going to be a long day.
3.
Trevor tried to distract himself, pacing and staring out at the thick summer heat. Mark sat silent in the living room, a steady presence and constant reminder of the task ahead. His eyes barely lifted from the book, but Trevor felt the weight of his watchful gaze.
When Mark finally cleared his throat, low and steady, Trevor’s stomach clenched. “Ready for number two?”
Trevor nodded, grabbing the next condom. He stayed close, just a few feet from Mark. This time felt different—the rush was gone, replaced by a dull ache of dread and pressure.
He pressed the condom onto his semi-hard cock and started stroking. He squeezed his eyes shut, searching for any spark. Nothing. Then he opened them and caught sight of Mark sitting back, the fabric of his shorts stretched tight over the bulge in his crotch. Fuck.
He worked slow, his body protesting, but his eyes stayed locked on Mark—the bulge, the relentless gaze of those blue eyes pushing him forward. The fapping sound filled the room. Finally, he looked deeper into Mark’s eyes, searching for any sign of returned desire—and suddenly, with a grunt, the second load spurted out. Smaller, less urgent, but enough.
He peeled off the condom, leaving his cock wet and spent. He tied off the end and stood, handing it over. Mark took it, turning it over, eyes assessing. “Getting thinner,” he said, voice even but with a faint curl at the corner of his lips. He tossed it in the trash. “Four more.”
Trevor’s stomach rumbled—a stark reminder hours had passed since breakfast.
“Let’s grab some lunch,” Mark said, pulling out sandwich fixings and protein shakes, setting them on the counter among the remaining condoms—a weighty reminder of what was to come.
Trevor picked at his sandwich, acutely aware of Mark across from him, eating with his usual robust appetite. When they finished, Mark’s voice cut through the quiet again.
“Number three.”
The next load was even harder to summon. After number two, the defiance that bolstered Trevor faded, and his young body, usually quick to respond, was slowing fast.
Working his spent dick, Trevor clenched his eyes shut, trying every fantasy, every image from school or online. Nothing worked.
With imagination failing, he cupped his own pec, feeling the muscle tense, his thumb brushing the soft nipple, sending sparks through his body.
Finally, his free hand moved down, the other pumping slow and deliberate in his fist. His fingers pressed lightly against his rear entry, feeling it clench in response. His legs spread, cock hardening, and just beyond, he could see Mark watching.
He slid the condom on, the skin beneath feeling a little raw. His hand pushed against his hole. That pressure, and Mark seeing him like this—naked in a way no one had ever seen before—were the only things getting him off.
Mark’s voice, low and rough, broke the silence. “This is harder for me than you.”
Trevor’s eyes glanced down at the bulge in Mark’s gym shorts, and he swore he saw it rise. Oh fuck. Dad.
With a grunt, his abs clenched tight, Trevor forced out a thin, milky third load, just filling the reservoir.
He twisted the condom off, tying a knot at the loose end. He curled his fist around it and threw it straight across the room to Mark, who caught it mid-air, still hot.
His father unfurled it, pressing the liquid down to the head with thumb and forefinger. He held it up to the light, assessing. “That it?” he asked, almost sighing, then met Trevor’s eyes. “Three down. Three to go.”
He stood and dropped the condom in the trash.
Trevor sank back. Three more felt like a tall order.
4.
The minutes and hours dragged on, the breaks since the last load longer, but Trevor felt nothing building. Maybe if he watched some porn—though honestly, by then the idea made him more queasy than turned on.
Mark moved around the living room, pretending to do chores but always within Trevor’s sight. He stretched, muscles tight and defined in his back and shoulders. He knelt to adjust something near the TV, his shorts pulling tight over powerful thighs and ass.
“Alright,” Mark said, glancing at his watch, then facing Trevor. “Number four.”
Trevor’s chest tightened. “Dad... this is crazy,” his voice shaking.
Mark didn’t blink. “Number four,” he repeated.
Trevor sat in the armchair, shorts down, flaccid cock in hand. Mark watched from across the room, arms folded, a blue vein standing out on one forearm. His legs spread, strong thighs and calves on display. He took pride in his body.
“You’re running on fumes,” Mark said, a victorious gleam in his eye.
Trevor swallowed hard and found some last spark of defiance. “Give me your shorts.” Not a question.
Mark smirked, slow and amused. “You sure?”
Trevor nodded, stroking his stirring cock.
Without breaking eye contact, Mark peeled off his shorts, revealing a packed white jockstrap. The bulge pressed heavy in the pouch, the dark, furry cleft of ass between the leg straps resting bare on the chair. Trevor’s upper lip twitched.
Mark threw the shorts hard. Trevor caught them midair like the athletes they were. Pressed to his face, the scent hit—Mark’s musk. Trevor’s cock welled in his pumping hand.
“Atta boy,” Mark said low. Pride or mockery, Trevor wasn’t sure. Didn’t care. He was ready.
He tore open the fourth condom, fumbling but eager. He rolled it on, the slick, snug fit making his skin hypersensitive. Every stroke was slow, deliberate, his body fighting, pushed on by Mark’s shorts’ scent, the sight of his powerful legs, the white pouch shifting, and the dark mystery between his furry ass cheeks.
Sweat slicked Trevor’s brow, darkened his tee’s pits. His abs clenched tight. He held the shorts to his face, inhaling deep, pulling in whatever trace of Mark’s body he could, like a drug. Then Mark’s hand grazed the swollen pouch of his jockstrap—not digging in, just acknowledging it, the flesh rumbling beneath.
The dam broke. Trevor’s hips jerked, abs clenched tight, and with a ragged groan, his release spilled into the condom—a watery white just filling the tip.
“Fuck,” he muttered, body sore from the effort. He twisted off the condom, tied a knot, and stood, walking with a wrestler’s swagger to hand it over.
Mark took it, glanced, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
“We should eat some dinner,” Mark said, eyeing the condom tip. “Your loads are getting weak.”
He tossed it in the trash. “Just two more.”
5.
Trevor stared at the two condoms left on the counter, then at his dad, who seemed to be waiting for him to move. His body screamed for a break. The thought of forcing another orgasm felt daunting, almost impossible.
He grabbed the fifth condom, hands trembling, trying to build another erection, but his cock was done—retired for the day, at least. “Can I finish tomorrow?”
“Today,” Mark said, jaw set, forearms folded. At least his look and authority gave Trevor a faint charge.
Trevor’s gaze flicked to Mark’s exposed legs, still bare below the shorts he’d put back on, the bulge straining against the briefs undeniable.
“Dad,” Trevor rasped, voice raw, “the jock.” He let his hand drop, a silent ask, watching Mark’s face for a reaction.
Maybe it was how exposed he’d been all day, or the desperation of the situation, but Trevor had just admitted more to himself—and to Mark—about his desires than he ever thought he would, much less to his own father.
Mark didn’t speak. But a corner of his mouth twitched—maybe a ghost of a smile.
Then, slow and deliberate, Mark pulled his athletic shorts all the way off, tossing them carelessly on the floor. Then the jockstrap, rolling the waistband down, lifting the pouch over the intimidating weight in it, and pushing it down his thighs, off his feet.
He stood there, shirt and socks on, cock exposed. Thick and hard, ridged with angry veins, impossibly large, perfectly sculpted—a true stud’s cock. His thick, muscular legs planted solidly, his demeano… cocky as ever.
Trevor swallowed hard, breath catching, a dizzying rush of heat overwhelming him. He’d never seen his father like this. Never imagined… actually, had imagined. A raw, almost painful desire surged through him, making his own cock throb in response.
Eyes locked, Mark raised the worn jockstrap with one foot. He took it in his hand and tossed it to Trevor. The fabric was still warm in Trevor’s catch, still carrying Mark’s musky scent. “Now,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down Trevor’s spine. “Number five.”
A fresh, agonizing heat surged through Trevor. He pulled down his own shorts, exposing his rising cock—full enough despite the ache and sensitivity. His eyes glued to Mark’s impressive hard-on, he applied the condom.
He lifted the jockstrap, pressing it to his face, inhaling the deep, primal scent of his father, letting it saturate him, spurring his spent dick back to life. His abs clenched tight, muscles straining. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran, getting caught in his thick lashes. He could feel the damp heat in his pits.
But fuck, even hard again, Trevor couldn’t feel another load. Not so soon. As he faltered, his gaze drifted to the sixth condom packet sitting on the counter. The weight of the impossible task pressed down on him. He involuntarily groaned.
“Dad... I...” His voice was barely a whisper, an imploring plea tangled with exhaustion and frustration. The jockstrap was a strange comfort in his trembling hand. “I can’t.”
Mark’s eyes darkened, clearly seeing Trevor’s struggle. Seeing his son on the brink, straining so hard, a flicker of something crossed his face. Maybe pity. Maybe victory. Maybe the simple desire to finish the ordeal.
He reached for the last condom packet and tore it open with a sharp rip. He expertly peeled the slick latex down his own thick, hard shaft, the rubber gleaming over his erection. His cock seemed impossibly large, perfectly sculpted—a true stud’s cock. Trevor’s breath caught.
“Let’s do this, son,” Mark rasped, voice raw.
Mark began to stroke himself, slowly at first, his large hand wrapping fully around his erection, his thumb pressing against the underside. Trevor found his own hand rising, almost involuntarily, mirroring his father’s rhythm, every stroke a silent echo.
The sight of his dad, so potent, so openly engaged in the same taboo act, was the catalyst he needed. Even aching and hypersensitive to touch, his cock stiffened with a final surge, trying to match Mark’s power.
Mark’s breathing grew rougher, hairline dampening with sweat. “Haven’t gotten off since last night,” he chuckled, eyes locking with Trevor’s. “And you’re turning into a regular nut machine, aren’t you?”
His powerful strokes quickened. “Yeah, a fucking nut machine,” he gasped, groaning deep in his chest. “Hnnnnh.” His eyes shifted from Trevor’s to his own cock, shoulders tightening as his load burst into the condom—massive, sudden, stretching the latex to a stiff, overfilled nub, hard with surging contents. He pumped a few more times, cock trembling in his fist.
Trevor stared, jaw open, hands frozen on his own hard-on, as Mark’s breathing slowed. Carefully, he peeled the condom off, load sloshing inside, and tied the loose end in a tight knot.
He rose on thick, muscled legs, took a deep breath, and walked toward Trevor, slick wet cock barely softened, swinging with each step. Hanging from his hand, the condom, bulb heavy, swaying.
Trevor’s eyes locked on it, hypnotized by the sight of Mark’s thick, full load captured so near. He licked his lips, gulped, breath catching. His body, almost painfully, reacted. His cock gave a final, painful hardening, and with a pitiful gasp, a ragged spasm ran through him.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, the sound torn from him like the dry heaving orgasm barely marking the condom tip—a pathetic contrast to the massive gush Mark had just unleashed.
“That’s it, boy,” Mark said low and knowing, resting a hand on Trevor’s shoulder, glancing down at Trevor’s rapidly deflating cock. “That was number five.”
Trevor, still trembling, peeled the flimsy condom off his sore cock and held it up, eyes on Mark’s semi, close enough to touch.
Mark examined it. “Won’t need to tie this one off,” he murmured. Without another word, he took Trevor’s condom and his, and dropped them both into the wastebasket. The soft thud echoed in the quiet room.
Mark turned, shoulders shifting powerfully, his semi hanging. Trevor rose to his feet, body beaten and mind reeling.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Mark said casually. “But if not—” He opened a drawer, lifted something out, and slapped a fresh box of condoms on the counter.
Trevor cringed at the sight, dread washing over him.
“There’s more where those came from.” He chuckled, and Trevor couldn’t tell if Mark meant it as a threat, an invitation or a joke. Maybe all of the above.
Mark stepped away, stretched, adjusting his balls. “You want a snack? I’m always hungry after a good nut.”
“Sure,” Trevor answered. “Whatever you want, Dad.”
He couldn’t help his eyes as they turned to the wastebasket, where Mark’s full condom lay.
END
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