Info sheet
Papa — 68
Me (Parker) — 19½
I’d been staring at my Papa’s bulge for weeks.
Every night he’d come home, change into those thin gray sweatpants, and the heavy outline of his cock would shift and sway when he walked. At sixty-eight his body was still thick and solid, the kind of older-man weight that made the fabric stretch tight across his crotch. Sometimes it would thicken just from the friction, pressing long and heavy against his thigh. I’d watch from the hallway, mouth watering, hand already down my own pants. I told myself I was just curious. That was a lie. I wanted it. I wanted to taste it, stretch around it, feel that older cock wreck me.
That night he passed out on the living-room couch after a long day. One arm flung over his eyes, legs sprawled open, the soft fabric of his shorts tented and then settling as he sank deeper into sleep. The head of his cock had started to peek out the leg hole, dark and thick, already half-hard from whatever he was dreaming.
I stood over him for a long time, just breathing.
Then I got on my knees between his legs.
I peeled the waistband down slowly, careful not to wake him. Papa’s cock sprang free—thick, heavy, veiny, the head already shiny with a bead of precum. The smell of him hit me hard: musk and skin and pure older-man scent. I wrapped both hands around it. It was so fucking thick my fingers barely met. I stroked him once, slow, from base to tip, and watched another fat drop of precum well up and roll down the shaft.
I leaned in and licked it off.
Then I opened my mouth wide and took the head past my lips.
God, the weight of it on my tongue. I sucked gently at first, just nursing the tip, tasting more of that salty-sweet precum. Then I pushed deeper, letting the thick shaft stretch my lips, feeling it drag over my tongue as I sank down. I kept going until the head nudged the back of my throat. My eyes watered. I held there, throat fluttering around him, then pulled back with a wet gasp and did it again—deeper this time, until my nose was pressed into the dark hair at his base and my throat was stuffed full of my sixty-eight-year-old Papa’s cock.
He groaned in his sleep. His hips twitched, pushing another inch into my throat.
I stayed there, choking quietly on it, drooling down his balls, until my lungs burned. Then I pulled off with a thick string of spit still connecting my lips to his cock. I licked down the shaft, sucked one heavy ball into my mouth, then the other, rolling them on my tongue while I stroked him. He was fully hard now—long, thick, the head swollen and dark, veins standing out.
I needed it inside me.
I stood, stripped completely naked, and climbed onto the couch, straddling his hips. I reached back, grabbed that fat cock, and rubbed the slick head up and down my hole. I was already leaking, hole twitching. I pressed it against myself and started to sink down.
The stretch was brutal. The thick head forced me open, burning and perfect. I bit my lip hard and kept going, taking more and more of him until I was sitting fully on his cock, stuffed so deep I could feel it in my guts. I stayed still for a second, just feeling how completely my Papa filled me, then started to move—slow rolls of my hips at first, then longer strokes, rising up until just the head was inside me and slamming back down.
I rode him like that for a while, bouncing on my Papa’s cock while he slept, the wet slap of my nineteen-year-old ass against his older hips the only sound in the room. Every time I dropped down it punched a soft grunt out of him. His cock twitched and leaked inside me.
Then his eyes snapped open.
“Parker—what the fuck?!”
His hands shot to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, but he didn’t push me off. His cock throbbed violently inside me.
“Stop—this is—fuck—this is inappropriate—” The words came out broken, half-growled.
I didn’t stop. I kept riding him, taking him deep, staring down at his face while his thick older cock stretched me open.
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. The protest died. His grip tightened until his fingers dug into my flesh, and then he thrust up hard, burying every thick inch inside me in one brutal stroke.
He flipped us without pulling out, shoving me down onto the couch on my back and pinning my wrists above my head with one big hand. The other shoved my thighs wide open. He looked down at where his cock was buried in me, then back up at my face.
“You started this, you little slut,” he growled, voice low and rough. “You wanted Papa’s cock so fucking bad you took it while I was asleep.”
Then he started fucking me.
Hard.
Deep, heavy strokes that made the couch creak. Every thrust drove the air out of my lungs. His balls slapped against my ass. The wet, filthy sound of his sixty-eight-year-old cock pounding into my hole filled the room. He leaned down, still holding my wrists, and spat in my mouth. I swallowed it. He did it again, then shoved his tongue in after it, kissing me filthy and deep while he fucked me harder.
“Look at you,” he muttered against my lips. “Nineteen and taking your own Papa’s cock like a whore. Hole’s gripping me so tight. You been wanting this, haven’t you? Been staring at my bulge, getting hard thinking about me stretching you open.”
I could only moan and nod, legs locked around his waist, trying to take him even deeper.
He pulled out suddenly, flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, and slammed back in from behind. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks. He fucked me like that—raw, deep, relentless—using me. Every thrust punched wet sounds out of me. Drool ran from the corner of my mouth onto the couch cushion.
“Gonna fill this hole,” he growled, voice cracking. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel it dripping out of you for days.”
He reached under me and wrapped his big hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. I came hard, clenching down around him, shooting all over his fingers and the couch. The way my hole fluttered and squeezed pulled him over the edge. He buried himself to the root with a broken groan and unloaded—thick, hot pulses of cum flooding deep inside me, over and over, until I could feel it leaking out around his cock with every small twitch of his hips.
He stayed buried in me for a long time after, breathing hard against the back of my neck, cock still twitching and leaking the last of his load into me.
Finally he pulled out slowly. I felt the thick rush of his cum spill out of my stretched hole and run down my balls. He watched it happen, then pushed two fingers into me, scooping some of his own cum out and shoving it back in.
“Keep it in,” he said, voice still rough. “That’s mine now.”
He turned me over, looked down at me—flushed, wrecked, hole leaking his cum—and wiped a smear of it across my lower lip with his thumb.
“Open.”
I opened my mouth. He pushed the thumb in and I sucked it clean.
Papa stared at me for a long moment, still half-hard, chest rising and falling hard.
No more words.
Just the heavy, filthy silence of what we’d done—and the knowledge that this wasn’t going to be the last time.
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