From The Dais

The committee had asked that I sit on the dais with my Dad for the meal and the ceremony at which he would receive an award. It was deserved, He'd worked hard not just to raise monies but in following the project to the point where, after several years, it was self sustaining and he felt he could step back, let others take over. He had every reason to be proud, I was proud of him, as he accepted the medal, hung around his neck on a ribbon of red, white and blue, cameras took pictures, television captured the moment followed by the "few words" one always says. 

My father is a brilliant man, very urbane, very cultured so the speech he made was both a tribute to those who had helped him, amusing as he'd found an anecdote that emphasized the problems, and, to my surprize, me, his son. He asked me to stand, said I'd given up having a Dad at moments when he had to be elsewhere and he wanted me to publicly know it. Hugged me, shook my hand, finished his speech, dinner was served where after there was a very pleasant reception followed by our gracefully exiting thanking everyone for all that they'd done. End of ceremony. 

In the elevator he reiterated what having me here on this evening meant to him, he knew I'd had to skip some things in my office, fly in and that meant a lot to him. He was my Dad? What else would I do? I was no kid, I was 33, he was 54 so the concept of a father and son playing catch in the back yard was far behind us. I'd done well at university, lettered in Lacrosse which pleased him, graduated in the top three percent, was immediately offered a good position with a banner of possibilities; He encouraged me to accept and so I did. It meant a move of some distance and, candidly, I'd lived at home through all of school and now...solo. He rented a truck, made the two day drive, following me in my car, got me moved in, looked about, started out to return the truck then head for the airport but stopped, took me in his arm, hugged and kissed me, told me if I ever needed him...then he was gone.

He knew what I couldn't have known that moving away from everything that supported me would be, and was, difficult. He had the presence to only keep in limited contact, did listen to my problems but only occasionally offered suggestions, never solutions, only suggestions. Best thing he could have done. I did, as he knew I would. settle in, find the interest in my work I'd always had and make my own way which, oddly, was back to him but in a way that hadn't existed; No longer father and son, we were now men, very close friends, not brothers, a pit we escaped, but close. Being asked to be on the dais with him was an honor to me given by him that others could not have understood; To them it was a father who wants his son to be proud of him, to have him with him at this triumph. Perhaps that, but only in the minds of others. 

Back in our room we relaxed, dropped the personae of politeness to others, said a few unkind things about some of the men, got a beer from the mini-fridge as we removed our clothes. Tanks and boxers, so many nights spent just like that. Comfortable, easy with each other....Dad asked me to come to him, which of course I did, spun me around, cuffed my wrists, a ball gag in my mouth, pushed onto the bed, my boxers pulled off, a spreader bar placed between my ankles and Dad on his knees at my crotch. 

"Brad, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, there just wasn't any other way. See...I fell in love with you and, finally, well, I have to have you sexually....I'm going to do that now. Just, please, don't fight me, every guy likes a blow job and that's where this starts."

His hands took my cock and my balls, the first time he'd ever touched me in any way but the ordinary way men touch men. Holding onto my stalk, he leaned in, kissed it, licked it, took the head in his mouth....but it stayed limp. He stood, got a plastic bottle of something, poured some over his hand, thought about it, stopped, got up, took his tie and blindfolded me. 

Back on his knees I felt a finger find my tail, find the hole in the tail move in, find the walnut shaped organ that is the seat of the feelings a man has when he's aroused, needs nothing else, just the stimulation of that organ which is what he was doing. I could not resist it for long. Bound, gagged and blind, I could not help the beginnings of my abdomen spasms, my cock sprung up, hard, my nuts, if they hadn't been held hostage from their destination in his hand, trying to retreat. He had me. 

Gently his mouth slid over my shaft, tongue washing it, turning it, forcing it to grow more so that when his closed his lips around my cock, I had no resistance, whoever had told him or taught him about the prostate did it wonderfully. My cock was in a cave of warmth and moist feelings, a hand was squeezing my meaty nuts, forcing the cum up then eventually out. One finger up my ass was now two. I was flopping like a cat playing with a dying mouse, sweat was pouring from me as he finally applied that last action, the levering of my long, expanding pole.....it was all it took. The first shot must have passed his throat headed for his lungs; There after, it was a hard flowing river only eventually becoming a stream and finally, puddles. My groaning did not stop.

He pulled back, leaving his fingers in my ass. "That was a good first shot, son, proud of you. Now lets see what you can do for the second time." Saying that, he increased the pressure in my ass and gave my balls a hard squeeze. Using his teeth, he stroked the length of my heavily veined organ, seeming to admire the blue lines that now showed through. 

"Thank you, son, this means a lot to me, hope you'll enjoy it...there is one other..." But he stopped, returned to edging me as I flopped about.

"Wish I could tie you down, they say the resistance to pleasure just adds....we'll try that the next time....I built something for us back home...."

If I hadn't been so hot and horny, I would have run cold at what he said. Home. Built...this wasn't going to end tonight, here, on the bed, he wasn't finished with me and fuck, I was getting into it...Oh, Jesus, suck me daddy, suck your son. 

No one how has not been edged can understand the conflicting feelings of agony and desire. He had been right to gag me, I wouldn't have screamed but the noise I would have made...few hotel rooms are sound proofed to the extent they would need to have been. With his finger massaging my prostate and his slow, steady sucking as well as occasionally stopping to jack me with his hand, I could not stand the time it was taking, writhing on the bed, unable to see what he might do, only the tactile feelings running through me and motherfucker he knew just what to do. 

Time lost it, however long he took, I don't know, the salt from the sweat on my brow had sealed shut my eyes, I wondered if I'd broken teeth on whatever held the ball in my mouth but most of all.....I wondered how delicious it would feel, what a moment of male climax when I hit that second time. I wanted him to pull, back, to have his face covered with my sperm, I wanted to spit it like a fire thrower, I wanted to come until my body turned to male fluid, till I died as all of me went down my cock....I wanted my father to have me wholly. 

It was better than I could have imagined. The release, the flexing of my abdomen, I could nearly feel my spine as I gasped out trying to push even harder, making it continue....I could hear him slurping me, eating me, sucking to get more...

But suddenly, while there was still drool of white pooling somewhere, he flipped me, face down, pulled out his finger then leaned on my back, his face at my ear...

"I know you're a virgin and I'm sorry for what I'm going to do....I know I should slowly enter you, apologizing for the pain but son...I'm a man in heat and you're a virgin, you're going to give me your man hymen and I'm going to make you bleed...Someday, you'll want this, maybe just like I'm going to take you now but today,....

He crammed his cock down my ass so hard and so deep I gagged on my screams. Jesus motherfucking Christ...yeah I sure wasn't a virgin, took me right on to whore then as he levered his hot cock in my ass he told me how he loved me, what he would be to me, how after this night....well, I'd see what he would mean to me.,. be to me....

I could feel the warm blood pump out and down my hips, the pain was agonizing, he was at my prostate and this time, even loving it with his cock head, I got no desire from it, only fear for what might be next, what could be next. I feared something I did not even understand, Maybe he came in me, no way to know, I was screaming, crying, tears shot from my eyes....I could not even speak to beg him to stop, to remember I was his son, he was hurting me badly.

And then it was over. 

He covered my body with his, whispered in gasps his sorrow, his need to do what he'd done, his love, twisted now, I would see, I would see.....

I could feel him clean my ass, gently go in and rub...something that did make some of the  pain go away. Gently he positioned me on the bed, face up, still gagged, still  blind folded, still with the bar between my ankles. The drying sweat left a coat of salt...he took wet towels and wiped me, dried me, left me on the bed....I guess I slept...in dreams I fucked him, did to him what he'd done to me but...I was enjoying it. Each time I fell into him, each time I tore at his cock with my teeth, each time I drank his milk...I wanted more, he wanted to give me more...even in my sleep I hardened and shot again....did he know? did he lick me clean...?

In the morning the only thing left were the hand cuffs. I was naked, under the covers while he sat on the bed next to me, somber faced, but...no sense of apology as if he'd done acts that were necessary for us to go on, to continue to be father and son but now tied by an intimacy that could not be taken back. 

"We're going home today, I brought the company plane and Sammy has been told you were taken very ill during the night, he expects you to be hysterical, he expects me to have to secure you, gag you again. Son, you'll see, this is for you, not about me. I had to take the one thing a man can take only once because I know what lies ahead for us....it had to be taken, you never would have given it to me. "

I lay there, almost mute for I could not think of what to say. To ask him why was pointless, clearly he had a reason horrible as it may be, he told me I would no and understand. For all that had been done, and I chastise myself for even thinking this, he was my father, somewhere in me was obedience, it had always been there, it's there in every son or should be. 

My virginity, until last night, it wasn't something I'd even considered, there was no possibility a man would ever fuck me and so...I would stay a virgin, at least to men but now...what is the other side of being a virgin? Just saying or knowing you've been fucked by a man, given or he took, something that in men does not physically exist....but was I violated or simply gave to my father what might have been his right to take? Was this an act of incest? 

He moved about the room, doing things to make me comfortable, putting some prescription cream in my ass, said it was topical anesthetic, a doctor gave it to him. It did help. He gently checked my cock, my balls....as every guy knows....a blow job does feel good, I'd been edged before, it felt, Jesus, terrific. As he did it to me he wasn't my father he was  a whore or some person who wanted to give me this excessive pleasure...and had. The prostate massage...well, I'd done that to myself but this was a lot better...I guess when it's done to you, since your only concentrating on the feeling, not giving yourself the feeling, it always feels better. 

"Son, is there anything I can do for you? We'll be leaving soon."

"Blow me again, be the businessman under the table in your grey suit, suck me, Dad, I think we'd both like that."

Home had changed. I now had the master bedroom while he slept in a room, maybe 9 by 10 adjacent to the master. There was a whip by my bed which I was expected to use on him. What he wanted was his son as his master, he wasn't to be a slave but rather the submissive. As he explained, he'd held the whip hand for so many years in business, in his private life that when my mother died....he realized he wanted a man, not just some man, his son, his son who would run him, use him for his pleasure, do with him whatever amused me. 

The basement was no longer a man cave but a modified dungeon where we could spend quality father/son time-I could put him on a crucifix that, over several hours would lower him onto an impalement, he could be beaten and, of course, I could ask for, no point in demanding, any sexual acts I wanted. Degrading? It did not exist for us. To make his point clear, the second night we were at home and 'relaxing' in the cave-seemed a better word than dungeon-he had a brazier lit. I was handed several symbols, he would attach them to steel poles, they'd be headed and he would kneel while I branded him. Didn't matter where but, he almost wept, please, please see to it that my mark was on him. I selected one that pleased him, the Physics symbol for "eternity". But...where to put it? 

I surprised him in that since we were two I wanted the same as he had, what we had entered into was for eternity and it seemed appropriate that, although mine would be larger, we should both have it. Again, he almost wept at the thought. As there was no larger, I'd have it made, that night I waited until it glowed, shaved a place by his nipple and struck it on him, holding it until the smell of flesh was in both our noses. 

Now that he was officially marked, it was appropriate for him to lose his virginity, naturally I wanted it and would have it. As opposed to my almost rape, I had him orally get me up and hard then lower himself onto my up thrust cock sliding down until my pubic hair was inside his crack. I could hear him groan-wasn't he lucky to have a son with an outsize cock?-then stay there until he was told to begin to rise and fall, jacking me off all the way to a good explosion....cum dripped down to the planked floor where he licked it up. 

Days he dressed and went to his office but now with his new partner, his son. Of course I knew the men and while surprized at this sudden introduction, no one was dismayed, most said they felt he needed someone around, heheheh, "to keep him in hand". I smiled and said that Dads and their sons were a natural to live together, we could do a lot for each other...and would. The transition was smooth, I took over certain parts for which I was well qualified, my name went on the mast head...the day time was normal. 

That normalcy was what made home so much better in that the contrast was there. I hired a cleaning service as well as a catering service which took care of domesticity and for both ot us, a trainer, in particular I wanted to be in shape to manipulate him physically. We flew to San Francisco to take an extensive course in Japanese sexual rope binding-we were photographed, elegantly, bound and seeming to suffer. They'd not had a father and son who had our desires and tastes-they were told very directly that we had a full panoply of sexual activities and we felt this could only enhance it. Once they were convinced, we were taught an advanced sexual class that included the tight, almost castrating, binding of the balls, how to make a suspension using on the cock but hung in the air. 

Our sex life was excellent. I saw why, on that first night, he'd used me as he had, it mentally freed me to have no qualms as to how I used him and I did use him. Tied over a sex table, I enjoyed fucking him on and off through the evening, We weren't really into severe bondage but putting him in a leather sleep case, with only cock and balls exposed, was diverting, especially when the hardened cock was electrified and left that way, with varying pulses all night.

Certainly part of what he did for me was to keep me sexually satisfied. I liked the way he blew me and, remembering that first time, getting blown and having a prostate massage simultaneously felt,...great. Also, being bound and forced to come at least twice, sometimes more then fucked....beat the hell out of television. 

The day that the large brand arrived I could sense his reluctance. The symbol was hot, the place on my breast was shaved and prepared, he knew his responsibility but...he hesitated forcing me to seize the pole above his hand and shove the glowing sign of forever onto my flesh. He was in tears but his weakness strengthened my dominance over him. I learned to despise weakness, some of the men were fired for vacillating in making a decision, even one of his oldest friend. Privately I gave Dad an  option: I would hire him back if he'd come to me, humiliate and degrade himself in ways I would chose. 

He returned to his previous position carrying the deep striped of a bull whip across his back from one shoulder to his ass. I'd made Dad hold him while this penance was paid. I also added him to our dungeon, he was given to Dad for his amusement. As there was no explanation for the scars on his back, his wife left him probably wisely. I had a meeting with her in which I was the soul of consolation, understood but tried to make her understand that, apparently, this desire for pain had always been there. As you can do, I put into her mind the suggestion that she look back, find other incidents where pain and her ex husband....and of course she could. 

I moved him into my home, branded him, and, as I said, gave him to Dad. He became our chauffeur, gardener, handyman plus, of course, his continuing work at the office. As I knew would happen, he found life controlled far easier. Summoned to me to do whatever, I could see him enjoy his lowered status, made fucking him so much more a pleasure as he wanted it hard, to remind him of his weakness. I was pleased to cooperate.

Some thing I enjoyed was a hard double fuck....it took some time but I was able to teach them how to do it. Using the rope bondage, I'd have myself splayed and hung in a reverse spread eagle then lower onto their cocks while one of them reached over to jack me off while the other tortured my nuts....

However this may sound, my father and I never stopped loving each other, just the way in which it was demonstrated changed. Internally, we were as soft and caring as we'd been thirty years ago. 

Two years in to our program, I moved him back into my bed. Or, I allowed him to sleep with me if he paid some small sexual favor, something as simple as jacking me off or giving me a quick blow job. But in the morning, if you saw us, you saw two men who were in love, happy with one another even if you did not see the back story, the elements that kept the relationship what it was. 

Our physical use of one another said I trust you, you may do anything and I will accept it. How many fathers and sons can say and live that? Few I think.

From the dais again, another deserved award. Complimentary speeches, toasts, and, of course, my beautifully spoken father accepted. He acknowledged those who'd helped him but took a special moment to ask that the assembled notice his son for, as he'd found, it takes a son to make a father.....Something you don't find until you grow up and grow older. For every father who had a son, he said, he hoped they could find the path to each other that kept them strong all through their lives. Applause, I was clapped on the back, dinner, reception, back to our room where I removed his toothed chastity cage. I could only think that what he said, was true it does take a son to make a father or, as in our case, it takes a son to make a father into what he should have been all along,.