Author's Note: Hey Readers, thanks for coming along for the ride! Enjoy this latest chapter. It may be what you’ve been waiting for! It’s been a lot of fun writing and reading your comments.
The following chapter is planned to be the last. So, this is your last chance to email or comment any feedback, predictions, or wishes before the grand finale at [email protected]. And follow the official Twitter/X at @mharding1985 for the accompanying illustrations.
Firelight
MATT
-- Day 3, evening --
1. Spotted
Dad and I didn’t say much on the walk back from the waterfall. The cascades' roar faded behind us, leaving only the dry hush of leaves beneath our steps.
Neither of us brought up what we saw. But I knew we were both thinking it.
Someone had been there below us -- in the trees with a navy hoodie -- spying on us, watching us do unspeakable things.
Dad walked ahead of me along the narrow trail. I watched how his shoulders stayed squared -- solid and tense. His fingers flexed nervously by his sides like he needed something to do with them.
I replayed the scene in my head, trying to slow it down in my mind: Dad and me naked, halfway up a waterfall. My father reclined beneath me on a smooth rocky ledge, splattered with both of our cumshots. My fingers slick from fingering my saliva up his chute. My throat a little battered from downing his thick, eight-inch, uncut cock.
Then further below by the riverbank, there had been a movement of shadows. The branches had shifted just enough to catch the light. And then, a flash of navy among the greenery, rushing past.
“Could’ve been nothing,” Dad said suddenly without turning around, breaking me from my flashback. "Just a shadow." His voice was even, too casual and wholly unconvincing.
The trail widened as we passed some empty campsites -- the same ones I'd noticed on the way out. That fleeting idea that I had earlier -- the one I’d tucked away without fully forming -- came back into focus.
A few minutes later, our campsite came into view through the trees, brightly lit by the midday sun.
Up at the picnic table, Uncle Patrick sat alone in his navy hoodie.
He hunched over his phone, thumbs moving with practiced rhythm. He looked up at us briefly as we approached, then back down again without a word.
“Gonna lie down for a bit,” Dad muttered, avoiding Uncle Patrick and already veering toward his tent. "Headache..."
“Sure,” I said.
The flap of Dad's tent rustled closed behind him a second later. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in.
Then I walked over to Uncle Patrick.
“Where’s Lucas?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Uncle Patrick didn’t look up right away.
“River,” he said. “With Justin.”
"Ah."
I glanced down the incline toward the riverbank. So, my brother Justin had already returned from helping our stepdad Enrique leave early after his injury.
Justin stood by the river with Lucas, both of them half-turned toward each other, their voices low enough that I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Lucas’s head tilted slightly as his father spoke, his hands buried in the pocket of his own navy hoodie.
Turning back to Uncle Patrick, I leaned a hip against the table.
“So...” I said, keeping my voice low.
I let a beat pass. Uncle Patrick raised his eyebrows at me quizzically.
“Did you happen to… see us earlier?” I asked.
Uncle Patrick's expression didn’t change.
“See you?”
“Yeah. Uh... me and Dad.” I hoped the implication landed.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Uncle Patrick’s mouth curved into a wicked smile.
“Ohh yeah,” he said, relishing the moment. He shifted to look at me straight-on. "Yes I did."
My stomach dropped.
“Yeah?” I repeated.
“Mhm.” He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, I saw it all.”
For a second, I didn’t know what to do.
“Well,” I said, exhaling through my nose. “Shit.”
Uncle Patrick’s smile deepened.
"You know, you were always a lil goody two-shoes," he teased. "I didn't think you'd grow to be such a depraved manslut."
"Hey, watch it!" I seethed. "It's not all me. Dad's been stroking it with Justin too," I blurted, remembering Dad's confession from this morning.
This time, a look of mild shock flickered across Uncle Patrick's typically cheerful face.
"He... has...?" Uncle Patrick said slowly, almost reflective. "Unbelievable…I-- Well... Justin did tell me he was feeling depressed about Vanessa lately... Feelin' lonely... Needing company..."
"Really?" I asked more softly, now feeling sorry for my older brother.
"Yeah, he was asking for advice... since Christa and I split up..." Uncle Patrick turned to look in Justin's direction by the riverbank.
The silence grew between us.
"But you, Matty..." Uncle Patrick said, turning back to me, his devious sneer returning to his lips.
"What?"
"Even if that's true about your dad and Justin... A blowjob with your dad is a big step up from just stroking it with your buds."
I began to protest again.
“Relax,” Uncle Patrick cut in, almost lazily but conclusive. “To each his own. Just know that you guys weren’t exactly hiding.”
He went back to his phone like that settled it. Like that was all there was to say.
Still, something felt off. I stood there a moment longer, watching him.
Then I nodded to myself and turned away, figuring that nonchalant Uncle Patrick being the spy was better than the alternative.
* * * * *
I joined Dad inside his tent to give him the update.
The air inside held a toasty, enclosed heat. He was lying on his back, one muscular arm draped over his eyes, the other resting across his chest. He had removed his glasses.
His shirt -- one of those old muscle tees he’d probably had for years -- clung slightly to his torso, darkened in places where sweat hadn’t fully dried.
He didn’t move when I entered.
“Hey,” I said.
A beat.
Then his arm shifted, just enough for him to look at me.
“Hey.”
I crouched near the entrance, letting my eyes adjust. Closer inside, the air carried the faint scent of Dad's exposed bushy armpit.
“So,” I said. “I talked to Uncle Patrick.”
That got his attention. His arm dropped fully now, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows.
“Yeah?”
“He said it was him.”
A pause.
“What?”
“He saw us,” I clarified.
Dad stared at me. Then, slowly: “...Patrick?”
“Yeah.”
Another beat. He looked down and furrowed his brow. I could see it happening -- the recalibration. The tension in his jaw easing, not disappearing but shifting.
“Okay,” he said.
He sat up fully now, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Okay,” he repeated, quieter.
“Better him than--” I started.
“Yeah,” he cut in. “It is.”
We both knew who I meant.
He exhaled, long and controlled. “Still,” he added after a moment. “Not ideal.”
“No,” I said. “Not ideal.”
The fabric of the tent rustled faintly in the breeze outside. We could hear Justin and Lucas returning back to camp.
“Did Patrick say anything else?” Dad muttered, scratching his salt-and-pepper hair.
“No,” I lied. “Just... that he saw us.”
Dad nodded.
“You okay?” I asked.
He let out a small huff of air.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine... Just need a minute. To think.”
“Of course,” I said. I reached my hand out and massaged his shoulder and neck tenderly.
Then I stood and stepped out into the light, hearing Dad exhale a deep, tense breath behind me.
2. Opening Up
The afternoon passed in pieces.
After a quick lunch with the whole crew, we ended up throwing around a kickball near the edge of the clearing. It was something improvised and meaningless -- half-lacrosse, half-football -- but still charged with tension.
Uncle Patrick and I were shirtless on one end, Justin and Lucas were clothed on the other. Dad just sat by the sidelines watching from a folding chair, still lost in thought and avoiding eye contact with most of us.
Halfway in, Uncle Patrick and I coordinated a play and charged toward Justin's goal. Patrick attempted a line drive. His arms were powerful, but Justin swatted the ball back, his daddy bulge unmistakably swinging as he turned.
Lucas missed an easy catch. Like me, he was never really the athletic type, but even so, he was off his game. Slower reactions. Shrugging it off.
“You good?” I asked at one point, tossing the ball over him.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just tired.”
Uncle Patrick, meanwhile, was in full form -- loud, animated, playing everything up a notch. At one point, Justin tackled him outright, sending both of them crashing into the mud in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“Geez, you’re getting old, Pat,” Justin said, hauling himself off of Uncle Patrick's beefy body and rubbing dirt off his knees.
“Screw you, JJ. I let you win,” Uncle Patrick shot back, grinning. He slapped Justin's ass hard, and Justin's perky glutes bounced in his six-inch shorts.
All in, Uncle Patrick and I won 5–1.
After the game, things split again. The sun had now descended below the tree line, and the campsite was suffused in a soft, blue glow.
Uncle Patrick and Justin peeled off toward the showers -- something about rinsing off before dinner. As Justin departed with a change of clothes in hand, I wondered if he still had to borrow fresh undies from his son.
Dad's eyes began looking around nervously. Was it guilt? He shifted awkwardly as if he didn't want to be stuck with Lucas.
With a jerk of the head, Dad set off in the other direction. "Just for a walk," he said, his voice stilted.
That left two of us.
Lucas lingered near the picnic table, poking at the remains of lunch. He sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring down at his phone. I grabbed a bottle of water and took the seat across from him.
“Big week for you,” I said.
He glanced up.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“How’s eighteen treating you so far?”
He shrugged. “Feels the same.”
“Usually does.”
A small smile. We sat there for a moment. Close up, I noticed that, after a few days camping, Lucas had sparse light-blond whiskers coming in.
"That part-time job going OK too?" I asked.
"It's all right..." Lucas said, noncommittal again, averting his eyes.
“Your dad mentioned someone special named Caleb,” I floated, keeping it casual.
Lucas stilled. Just slightly. Then he leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
“’Course he did.”
I smiled. “He’s trying.”
“I know.” Lucas ran a hand through his blond curls. “He’s just... not subtle.”
“No,” I said. “He’s not.”
A beat.
“So,” I added. “Caleb?”
He studied me for another second. Then nodded and looked back down at his hands.
“He’s... yeah,” Lucas said. “We've been friends forever. And we’re... I don’t know. It’s not like--” He stopped himself, then laughed softly. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I know..." he murmured. "But yeah, it’s... something. I think?"
"Been a long time?"
"Since last spring, sorta."
Another pause.
"Have you guys... done anything?" I asked, genuinely curious and concerned for him.
Lucas just blushed, and I clocked it.
“I mean, for what it’s worth,” I said hurriedly, “If I've learned anything myself, you don’t need to have it all figured out yet.”
Lucas huffed a quiet laugh, thankful for a way out of the question. "That’s a relief..." And we sat in that for a moment, easy and unforced.
Then he drummed his foot against the leg of the table impulsively.
“Uncle Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you ever... like, know about yourself before you really knew?”
I smiled faintly.
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
Lucas nodded, like that was enough. And maybe it was.
* * * * *
The last night's dinner was a simple affair: rotisserie chicken and potato salad straight from the cooler.
We were an odd number. Enrique's absence somehow made things feel unbalanced -- precarious and askew.
I passed a platter of chicken to Lucas on my right.
"More chicken, Grandpa?" Lucas asked, passing it along.
"Mm?" Dad said softly, distracted and looking down at the table. "Oh, uh, no thanks, sport..."
"Sucks that Enrique couldn't stick around one last night," Justin said with a hiccup, setting down his empty beer bottle. His mouth was pulled to the side in a frown.
"Yeah -- but more booze for us," Uncle Patrick joked, handing Justin a third bottle.
"I'm just glad we could all come together this year," Dad said pensively.
"Hear, hear," Uncle Patrick boomed.
After the meal, the light began fading fast, and the air shifted again.
Once everyone was busy with cleanup, the coast was clear and I slipped away to set my plan in motion.
“Bathroom,” I called out as an alibi to no one in particular, grabbing a backpack and a flashlight. No one questioned it. Justin and Patrick were too busy raucously joking with each other.
The path curved away from camp, familiar now. I moved quickly at first, then slowed once I reached the stretch of empty campsites we’d passed earlier.
I got to work...
By the time I returned to camp, the sun had set, and the guys were mostly lights-out.
I snuck into the tent that I shared with Uncle Patrick, and I waited for the hush to settle. My sports watch glowed pale-green as the minutes ticked by.
Then just before midnight, I stood up, as cautious as a mouse, careful not to stir Uncle Patrick. I heard snoring from Justin and Lucas’s tent.
I tiptoed to Dad's tent, crouched near the entrance, and unzipped it slowly. He was all alone, since Enrique bailed out early.
“Dad?” I whispered. There was a shift inside. “You awake?”
“Yeah," he said. "Couldn't sleep."
I leaned in slightly.
“I wanna show you something,” I said.
He pushed himself up, silhouette barely visible in the dark.
“What? Is everything OK?” He couldn't escape that fatherly instinct.
I smiled, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Just a little surprise,” I said softly. “In return for that sunrise moment today.”
A long pause. Too long.
Then: "...Okay..."
He reached for his shoes and exited the tent reluctantly.
“C’mon,” I squeezed his shoulder and guided him along. “Let’s go.”
3. One Last Time
Deep in the darkness, our flashlight beams swept over the ground, reflecting on wet patches of moss.
Then, through the trees -- faint at first, almost easy to miss -- came a flicker of warm orange, cutting through the inky black forest.
Dad stopped short.
“No, someone’s there,” he whispered harshly, low and certain, angling his flashlight toward the glow.
I smirked a little and kept walking, raising a hand. “Shush.”
A few more steps, and I reached forward, brushing a low-hanging branch aside. A small clearing opened up all at once, like a secret kept just out of sight.
A small iron firepit sat at its center with a couple of wooden benches around it. Except for that steady, protected fire, the clearing was deserted.
The flames had already settled into a steady crackle, licking around stacked logs that glowed deep red at their cores. The light spilled outward in soft pulses. Everything was painted in shifting amber and onyx.
The air smelled thick and alive -- damp moss, crushed leaves, and that unmistakable curl of woodsmoke threading through it all. Every now and then, the fire snapped, a sharp pop sending a brief spray of sparks upward before they vanished into the dark canopy.
A large, plaid, flannel blanket had been spread on the uneven ground. The trees pressed in close around the clearing, but here, in this pocket of light, it felt insulated and cozy. Safe.
I stepped into the glow, turning back just enough to catch Dad's expression.
“I set this up right after dinner,” I said, a little quieter now. “Just for us.”
I saw the confusion on his orange-lit face, so I explained.
"When we walked around today, I saw no one else camping in this whole area. All weekend. Did you notice?"
"It has felt quiet," he said slowly, joining me in the clearing. "It's off-season."
"Yeah. No one around for miles. So, I thought we could ditch the guys and have another... bonding moment," I said, looking down at the dirt, scratching it with my toe. "Just us... Before we split up tomorrow."
"Bond how?" His eyes narrowed.
"Just the way we've figured we can -- you know -- help each other."
I looked up at the icy gray eyes, crinkled behind his glasses. I wanted there to be no ambiguity.
"Matt..."
"Remember how you loved finger-fucking me yesterday...?"
"I--"
"Don't deny it," I cooed. "I heard you. I heard say you're an ass man."
"I-- I-- I guess it's true," he stammered. "I do love a tight ass."
I took a step closer to him.
"And I'm still thinking about how your tight little asshole felt around my fingers, Dad... So, you know how good it feels."
The air between us crackled with tension.
"So, I want to give you something," I continued.
His eyes widened with anxiety, scared to speak.
"I… want you to fuck me," I said.
The world froze.
"Matthew..." he whispered indignantly, then scoffed in disbelief. "Matthew Jacob Harding..." He spoke soft and low, shaking his head, as if he caught me sneaking out late at night and didn't want to risk anyone overhearing.
"Richard..." I responded mockingly. "Richard Franklin Harding."
He stared at me silently, his gaze harsh and incredulous.
“No.”
"I want... you... to take my ass," I said. "I want to give that to you." I declared it with finality, mustering all the self-assurance I could, while my heart beat wildly.
"Matt, this is crazy. I was thinking after the waterfall that-- that we can't keep doing this, we can't keep risking this. I mean I-- Maybe I got carried away because I was... following my dick, I guess. But you know we can't. Patrick saw us, and I -- fuck -- I can't even think about that--"
"--It'll be the last time," I said desperately, cutting him off. "I'm flying back home tomorrow, and when am I going to see you? Once every year or two?"
"Is that all?" He looked disappointed.
"Probably. And look, we'll keep our secrets safe -- at least those we have left. What happened in Rome: Dad, that's our story to keep. All to ourselves...”
“Mm.”
“So before I go, let me help you make another."
I took another step forward.
"This can never happen again," he said.
That was progress.
"I know."
I pushed Dad, slowly, backward against a tree.
"I mean it, Matty."
"I know you do. And I know you're right," I muttered, my hands tracing the curves of his pecs, flicking his nipples and feeling the texture of his chest hair underneath. "So, we'd better make it count."
I let my hands glide down the sides of his waist, feeling how his torso tapered from his broad chest to his impressively tight obliques.
My fingers hooked into the waistband of his Jockey briefs. Coming down to my knees, I slid Dad's underwear and sweatpants down in one go.
My father's full natural bush stood out in the glow. The musk that emanated smacked me in the face -- earthy, raw, and altogether intoxicating.
The sweet smell of the river water from this morning was replaced by a day's gentle sweat.
Dad's uncut hog was already three-quarters erect and swung like a pendulum. Plumped up and radiating with heat, Dad's penis trembled in front of his low-hanging balls, drinking up the fresh night air.
I leaned forward, the soft earth beneath me cushioning my knees, and I took in the deepest breath with my nose buried in Dad's coarse hairs. My lungs filled to the brim with his special scent. It was like an old friend.
Nudging his growing cock with my nose, I began licking his scrotum, balancing his massive balls in my hand, pulling them gently. His nutsack felt a bit tacky with sweat.
Dad exhaled loudly and plopped his head back against the tree.
"Last time..." he repeated softly, murmuring to the sky above.
His flared, glossy pink cockhead was straining to escape his foreskin. So, with one smooth stroke, I gave it relief and retracted Dad's hood fully behind his glans.
The head was throbbing at this point, fully inflated, and entirely the size of a golf ball. His cockhead looked slick with pre-lube.
"We gotta get you nice and hard first," I said right to his penis before taking the first couple inches into my gaping mouth.
"Fuck!" Dad exclaimed under his breath. His legs began trembling, and I grabbed his steely, square-shaped ass from behind for stability.
I pleasured the tip of his cock with gentle, dedicated sucks, letting my full, wet lips glide smoothly over his silky skin.
Soon, I tasted a salty-sweet nectar.
Fuck yeah.
Smiling giddily, I stuck the tip of my tongue into Dad's leaking piss-slit and drank up his precum. All the while, I brushed my fingers gently over the fuzzy cleft between his sizable asscheeks.
After a bit more milking, Dad put his hand gently under my chin and whispered: "Get up."
I stood up, disappointed, thinking the moment was over.
Then he grabbed my bulge, straining to escape my nylon pants, and traced its outline with his cupped hand.
"Oof," he said softly with admiration. "Drop it."
I followed suit, pulling open my waistband and letting gravity take over. The fabric pooled around my ankles, while I stood still, looking right into Dad's cool gray eyes.
The tips of Dad's fingers brushed the length of my erect penis. He pulled on it gently, looking down admiringly.
"It really is the same size," he whispered.
"Yeah," I laughed breathily, my hands now in the grooves between Dad's delts and biceps.
Dad gave my dick a firm squeeze, while his hand barely wrapped around my shaft.
Then he placed his cock next to mine with his foreskin retracted. Taking in a deep breath, he frotted our twin eight-inch fuckpieces together.
"Just like your daddy," he said, his other hand on my waist.
"Oh fuck, Dad. I know."
"How long have you known?"
"Since the first time I saw your cock get hard -- sliding out of Sofia's pussy in Rome...
Dad's fingers clenched my waist tighter, reflexively.
“That was like a dream,” he said. “Just insane.”
"I can't believe a one-night-stand with her brother led to that. With you," I said, shaking my head. "Dad, can you believe we shared the same pussy?"
"Wild."
We began thrusting involuntarily at the memory, and each of our cockheads smashed against the other's bush.
Furry as ever, Dad's coarse pubes scratched against my sensitive cockhead.
Silky strands of my precum draped over his bush like garlands of clear syrup.
The thrusting made Dad’s hood slide on and off his glans, which looked even bigger than minutes ago. Dad's own precum began frothing bubbles around his foreskin.
With his other hand, Dad began polishing my knob too.
"F-f-fuck!" I cried out, the suddenness making my eyes roll back.
In a delirium, I snatched the hem of Dad's T-shirt and peeled it over his hairy torso. Even with his shirt still caught around his neck, I slammed my face into his furry chest.
I motorboated his pecs, kissed his large pink nipples, licked his armpits. I took in as much as I could, while his T-shirt still shrouded his head.
But very soon, his shirt was on the floor, and my father stood there bare-chested like a Greek god.
The uneven, flickering light cut deep shadows in his toned physique, from his furry pectoral muscles shaped like boulders to the deep furrow down his abdomen to the faint V-line that led to his full thatch of hair.
I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out a small, glass cylinder, nearly full of clear, viscous liquid.
"Lube?" Dad asked. "Did you plan this all along?"
"Not this time," I said without thinking, but then I caught myself. "I bring it on trips, so I can jerk off nice and smooth -- though there hasn't been a lot of solo jerking this time," I added with a smirk.
"You're so crazy, you know that?" Dad said breathlessly. "You're fucked."
Then Dad returned the favor: Violently, he ripped open the snaps of my flannel shirt, the sound ricocheting around, and stripped it off me in one go. He yanked my hair to the side, kissing the side of my neck, his days-old stubble scratching my cheek.
He gripped our cocks like a vise, his heat scorching, while we stood there fully nude in the firelight.
"Oh fuck--"
"--Fuck yeah."
I looked over my shoulder and nodded silently at the plaid blanket that I'd laid on the ground earlier, a bit closer to the fire pit.
Walking backward, I slipped out of my shoes and pulled Dad by the hands with me, leaving the delicate bottle of lube in his palm.
* * * * *
Once I reached the blanket, I knelt down and pulled Dad to his knees as well. His heavy nutsack swung generously as he descended.
It was toasty closer to the fire, and more beads of sweat collected across Dad's brow.
I placed Dad's hands on my shoulders. Then I slowly rotated, turning my back to him.
His cock brushed against one of my asscheeks. I leaned forward onto my hands, arching my back like the biggest slut my father would ever have.
"Holy sh--" Dad's voice caught in his throat. His hands swept down my smooth, toned back and landed on my waist.
I shimmied my hips slowly until I positioned his fat wiener atop the trench of my ass, its weight solid and heavy like a battering ram.
"How's that for an ass man?" I called back, my heart now pounding in my ears.
"Geez, Matt. What the fuck."
"Just fucking go for it."
I flexed my butt just enough so that his cockhead got massaged between my glutes, slick with his dripping cockjuice.
"Oh god, that feels incre-- Fuck!"
"Pump out the lube. Get it ready for me," I growled at the ground.
Dad's massive hands pawed at my ass, kneading the flesh hard
"Yeah? Don't we -- um -- need a condom?" Dad asked sheepishly.
I looked up and smirked into the darkness. "Nope. Welcome to the joys of gay sex."
"I dunno, Matt," he wavered.
But his cock certainly seemed to know already. The jolts of desire now coursing through him were unmistakable.
Dad's penis twitched wildly. It bounced on top of my cheeks, drumming my ass at the beat of his heart.
"Fuck, I want it, Dad."
"I-- I-- Fuck," he stammered. "I fuckin' want it too."
He lifted his girthy dadcock with his hand and smacked it onto my ass -- once, twice, three times -- and the sharp clap of flesh against flesh echoed into the night.
Then I felt a cool slickness pouring into my crack, over my twitching hole, down my taint and over my balls.
"Fuck, that's a lot of lube," I laughed, slightly taken aback.
"Just don't want it to hurt," Dad muttered. "I heard it can really hurt."
His concern for me was sweet. Man, I felt taken care of.
Dad positioned the throbbing tip of his cock against my waiting hole.
My left hand was on my ass to spread open my cheeks.
"You sure about this?" he said.
"Yeah," I breathed out, then slowly rotated my hand behind me, so my palm was outstretched to him.
Dad took the hint and grabbed my hand tight and rough, while his other hand guided his mancock further against my hole.
I coached Dad through it.
"Yeah, just the head first, nice and slow--"
The pressure came on quick as his flesh met my flesh.
Just as he stretched past my first ring, I squealed. An involuntary yelp, as I gripped his hand tight to brace myself. Dad caressed my hand with his thumb.
I started panting: "Then you gotta -- gah -- then you wait until he's relaxed before you--"
Another breath.
"OK -- now, yeah, slide it in... Yeah, it's fine, slide it-- oh! Oh shit!"
I gasped, desperate and high-pitched.
Dad paused.
"Sometimes the chicks take a while to get used to it too..." he muttered matter-of-factly. "Ohhh man, that's some ass."
Then I broke.
Smooth like butter, once Dad breached my sphincter, I felt inch after inch of his raw daddycock fill my guts.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck yes.
It was like a five-alarm fire blazed inside me.
This was Dad's fat, hung, throbbing, wet, uncut daddydick impaling my ass. My Dad. Exploring my core.
Bliss and terror spread inside me like a warm balm down to my fingertips and toes.
Remember this moment.
I shivered involuntarily, and the whole universe seemed to distill into that one, singular, consummate moment.
Dadcock.
Dad collapsed onto my back, wrapping his arms underneath my armpits and holding me tight. His beard scratched my cheek, and the hair on his belly blanketed my ass. I tilted my head and could feel Dad's steamy breath across my ear.
"Fuck, that is tight." Dad said. His thrusts now began -- gentle and shallow.
My father fucked me doggy style, nice and slow.
“That’s it, there we go,” I said reassuringly.
Fuck, it's bigger than any dick I've taken in a while, I thought, my memory wandering. Probably since that hung stud in Prague that Steven and I shared years ago.
His cockhead was positioned just against my prostate, that I felt him slowly juicing the precum out of me.
My semi-hard dick jostled below me with the steady rhythm of Dad's thrusts. That cool, sticky, unending strand of my precum dotted and painted my thighs.
"Yeah, just -- just like that, Dad."
"You like that, Matty?"
"Yeah, fuck, I do."
"You feel like a big man now?"
Dad's voice dripped in my ear with lust. Even after all we had done, I'd never heard him like this.
"Yeah-- Yeah, Dad. You made me a big man. You're -- gah -- teaching me how to take it."
"I always knew I'd love a good, sweet ass. And you're the one to give it to me, huh?"
"Yeah -- just, just take it, Dad -- fuck!"
I lowered my chest to the ground, the flannel blanket chafing my skin. I felt my ass exposed like never before -- jutting straight up and getting rammed by my dad's fuckstick.
"Oh yeah. You take it good, champ."
Suddenly, Dad lifted himself off my back and, kneeling straight up, he continued thrusting into me, now rabidly.
"AH FUCK!" I shrieked, as the angle made his cock ram straight into my prostate. He pulled my ass onto him with abandon.
"That's it," he said. "You can scream, you little bitch. No one's here."
My eyes widened and I was speechless, as I was showered with the filthiest words I had ever heard my father say.
With his hands on either side of me, he squeezed my asscheeks firmly together.
"Get that pussy nice and tight," he said. "I've seen how you can take cock, boy."
"I-- I-- Yes, fuck, I do," I whimpered, my voice helplessly rising in pitch.
"You like cock?" he jeered.
"I love cock," I moaned.
"Well this is a real man's cock," he jeered. "You remember that next time."
"Yes -- yes, Dad."
He slammed his hips into mine with one solid thrust.
"Fuck, who knew..." he groaned. "All this time--"
"--all this time, I could've been a hole to be used!"
Dad pulled at the hair on my crown, forcing my back to bend to its limit.
"Yeah, I've seen how you fuck that husband of yours. Why don't you show me what you're made of?"
"Oh yeah, I'll teach you."
I slammed my ass onto Dad's crotch, feeling stuffed up to my throat, while Dad's heavy nutsack slammed into mine.
At the end of a thrust, I pleaded under my breath, gasping: "Stop, stop. Stay right there... I want to feel you deep..."
Dad's cock filled into my chute with barely any room to spare. He pulsated inside me.
I reached my hand between my legs, beneath my dick. Grabbing Dad's nutsack and mine together, I massaged our balls against each other.
Daddy and son ballsacks. I fondled the hairs on both our scrotums, trying hard to fit all those testicles in one palm.
"You got nice big balls too, sport," Dad said approvingly, feeling my size against his. “Almost like Justin.”
Dad reached over and hooked his fingers into the side of my mouth from behind, holding my mouth gaped open as he began thrusting again.
"Bet you like being a big boy," Dad said.
He placed his other hand on my face and, now with both his hands in my useless mouth, widened it open like a stretch gag.
All I could do was grunt desperately, my tongue nearly hanging out and gagging on air.
I figured I looked like one of those gooners I'd seen online. Fully and totally resigned.
Gooning. I leaned into it. I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue further out ever so slightly. Drool poured out of my mouth onto the grass.
My mindless stare focused on the shifting firelight against the trees as pain turned into pleasure -- a kaleidoscope of light and sensation.
"That's my boy, that's my boy," Dad growled behind me. "Gimme that cunt, son."
The next sounds I emitted were unrecognizable -- groans and yelps that came from deep within.
“Agh agh--!”
“Ah Ah Ah!” Dad repeated mockingly. “Yeah, I know you like that, son.”
“Argh!”
After a minute, Dad's hands let go of my mouth and ran down my neck and shoulders. Now I could breathe better, and I swallowed.
Dad’s hands hooked into my armpits from behind, his fingers pressing into the side of my pecs.
"Damn," Dad said. "Looks like you got my dick all creamy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he said contemplatively. "The lube's all frothy-white and lathered up."
I giggled at the image, pressing my hips back again.
"Fuck yeah. Churn me up with that nut butter," I joked. Dad laughed in response.
Something felt so wholesome and free and comfortable about how Dad and I could joke like that now.
He increased the pressure on my ass, causing me to fart out some wet sounds of extra lube with the next few thrusts.
"Sorry..." I said.
"It's OK, it's fine."
He pulled out slowly, leaving me hollow, and then reinserted himself into my loosened hole in one easy stroke.
"Matt, turn over..." Dad said. "I want to look at you..."
Dad uncoupled from my ass with the sound of a slurpy pop.
I flipped quickly onto my back and looked up at my father. Richard Harding. The man I just gave my ass to.
It was the same face I've known forever, but there was a wildfire behind his spectacles. He looked determined, in control -- as if he'd at last made a decision and now it was his duty to see it through.
Sweat had gathered along his hairline, near his silvered sideburns. His hairy chest heaved with every deep breath.
Catching my gaze, Dad gave the slightest half-smile and patted my hip reassuringly.
He crawled over me like a panther, his heavy-hanging, dripping cock tracing a line on my leg.
His weight pressed onto the backs of my legs, as I wrapped them around his torso.
Just for a moment, his thick, slick cock laid gently on my own penis, raw and wild.
He opened his mouth to speak.
We were so caught up in each other's gaze.
We didn't hear the whispers approaching.
Barely enough time to conceal ourselves.
It was inevitable.
Unescapable.
Then suddenly, from the darkness amid the trees...
Two voices made our veins run cold:
"I fucking knew it--"
"--What. the. FUCK."
Uncle Patrick and Justin stumbled into the clearing.
-- To be continued --
Email: [email protected]
Twitter/X: @mharding1985
Also by the author:
"Dad's Helping Hand"
© 2025 Matt Harding
PART I:
Chapter 1: What Happens In Rome...
Chapter 2: ... Cums Back Home
Chapter 3: The Videotape
Chapter 4: Steam
Chapter 5: Glory Days
Chapter 6: As We Used To Be
Dad's Helping Hand: The Christmas Special
PART II: CAMP HARDING
Chapter 7: Coming Clean
Chapter 8: His Special Touch
Chapter 9: Just Like Me
Chapter 10: Splash
Chapter 11: Firelight
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
