Hi, I’m Duke Knight. I just turned twenty-one on July 24, so that makes me a Leo. I’m a sophomore at Harvard University on a football scholarship. I play for the Harvard Crimson team, a rookie quarter back. I get my share of shit from the upper classmen, but I can take it, in fact, I fucking like it. You know, all that hypermale crap going down in the locker room reminds of my high school. Back there I was King, here I’m nobody. Hell, I’d have to climb several rungs up the ladder to be no body. But, I don’t care. I’m part of something bigger than myself. Not like back in high school, where I was big man on campus.
I was the star quarterback on the Oak Park-River Forest Huskies football team. I’m not bad to look at, kind of look like a younger version of my dad Paul. He’s an Army Paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne Division, a Sergeant. We’re both tall, coming in at 6’2”. He’s a firm muscular 195 lbs. to my 165 lbs. Being a quarterback I don’t need the same kind of bulk a defensive linebacker needs to hold the line. I have to be nimble and fast on my feet to get off a good long throw down field. But I keep fit, going to the gym to work out and I lift five days a week. My biceps stand full and chiseled, pecs two hard slabs of beef, lats hard and wide like eagle wings and delts round firm and stand tall on top of my bulked-up shoulders. Forget a six pack, I got a hard eight pack, no fooling.
I keep my brown hair a little long, just enough to brush behind my ears. I wear a head band when I work out to keep it and sweat out of my eyes. I have a square chin with a dimple in the center, hard jawline that stands out when I grit my teeth, usually when I’m lifting a heavy barbell and what they call a Roman nose, bright green eyes that turn a misty kind of yellow/green in certain light. I have a narrow waist, a big uncut Polish dick, a nine incher, big heavy hairy nuts, and size eleven feet. Whew! That was a mouthful. Sorry.
I was an only child growing up in Oak Park, Illinois. My dad’s family second generation Polish immigrants. They made it good in the real estate development business in Chicago during an economy just beginning to show its muscle. Hard working folks. They saved enough money to buy a three-story apartment building. Lived in the basement unit, rented the top floors. Over time were able pay off the mortgage. Then were able to purchase a second building, etc. Family grew prosperous enough to move to this western suburb, twenty miles or so outside of the city.
The name Knight comes from the Polish name Rycerz, which is derived from the German Ritter meaning rider. They changed the name shortly after landing in the United States to make it sound more American.
When I was six my parents divorced. My dad joined the Army and became a paratrooper. I have vivid memories of him coming home on Christmas leave wearing his starched khaki dress uniform bloused into the tops of his tall spit shinned Cochran jump boots. He looked like a military God to my young eyes. I remember having nighttime fantasies about him but of course had no idea of the meaning of my fascination at that time. Only later did I understand.
I live with my grandparents in their big two-story house sitting in the middle of a triple lot in the village. A fantastic looking wooden shingled turn of the century pile with balconies on the second floor and a wraparound front porch, swings and fern baskets hanging everywhere.
The house has five bedrooms and six and a half baths. A tall mysterious attic with large gable windows on two ends. It is filled with wooden trunks, unused out of date furniture, tall floor lamps, table lamps, old console radio and record player, my old toys including my rocking horse, toy chest, old suits and out of style dresses hung randomly here and there.
My best boyhood pal Ken and I used to spend a lot of time in this attic pretending to be this or that cowboy hero. He used to let me tie him up like I was the Indian warrior and he was the defenseless Army scout. I think that was the beginning of my bondage fetish which persist today, but kept under lock and key.
Dad’s back home for a visit before I go back to Harvard at the end of summer break. He brought along an Army paratrooper buddy, Sergeant Troy Phillips. What a handsome fucker he is. About my dad’s height and weight, but a blonde Swede looking soldier, a contrast to my dad’s darker looks. He has light blue eyes and a crew cut. The largest hands and feet I can ever remember seeing on another dude. Those jump boots of his look like they must weigh a fucking ton. I can’t keep my eyes off of them or his crotch. And as a matter of fact, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off of my dad’s bulging crotch.
We are sitting in the front living room on two overstuffed sofas facing each other, and between a large wooden coffee table with a dark marble top. Dad is seated opposite, and Troy next to me. Dad has his big boots crossed at the ankle on top of the coffee table, something he would never do if his mom and dad were at home. Never.
It is still warm weather being early fall. I can feel Troy’s body heat and smell the perspiration scent coming from his pits and smell the leather and boot polish of his and my dad’s jump boots. The enclosed humid room smells of Old Spice aftershave. The room vibrates with super masculine dynamism.
I have to put one sneakered foot up on a knee to hide the swelling cock inside of my Levi’s. They don’t seem to notice. How could they. From my vantage point it looks like my Dad has his eyes locked on Troy’s.
The wheels are starting to turn inside of my mixed-up mind. Those are the same kind of eye targeting looks I give a chick when I’m seriously considering getting under her skirt. I must be misreading it. He’s not bi or gay. Hell no, he’s straight. I might be considering trying the other side of the fence, but him? Nope, not my paratrooper father, uh-uh!
“So, Duke” Troy says, reaching over to take hold of the sneaker resting on my knee to give it a tight squeeze: “A good looking kid like you must be getting your share of tail, huh?”
Well fuck, that came out of the blue. We were talking about the new Thunderbird Ford just released and he just segued to pussy. Damn, that was smooth. “I try to get my share, but competition is stiff, ha-ha.” “You know what they say about getting stiff Duke – find somewhere to put it, ha-ha, right Paul? Troy throws over to my dad, who is smiling from ear to ear:
“Oh, I think my boy gets his share of the happy valley, takes after his old man I’m thinking.”
“Yeah Paul, you are a dog when it comes to keeping your wick wet!” Troy laughs out laud, throwing back his head, grabbing his crotch.
“Is it getting a little hot in here?” dad says, He stands up to stretch, I can see his dick traveling down inside of his trouser leg. He turns away from me and adjust his Army trouser snake. Then looks back around firing warning daggers into his pal’s eyes.
Troy proposes: “How about the three of us hit a bar. We need to give Duke a going away party, don’t he leave for college on Monday?”
“Yeah men, I know this town, let’s head over to the Connie’s Last Stand in Forrest Park, just the dive bar we need for a proper going away party, nice and dark in all the right corners.” We all get up and head out the front door to his Ford F-150 which stands waiting at the curb. Big fucking black monster. They are in uniform. I’m in levi’s, white Nike TN’s, no show black socks, and black crew neck t-shirt.
We pile in the cab, me in the middle, there is a little space between the three of us but not that much. Troy’s leg is pressed against mine. I’m thinking to myself that he’s this close by design, but that’s ok by me. His hard thigh muscle feels good against mine. Our knees are almost welded together. Dad reaches over to my left leg landing his hand on my knee cap, cutting his eyes over to catch mine staring down at his hand on my knee.
He gives my knee a good solid shake and squeeze, then moves his hand back to the steering wheel, eyes front. I can see his lips curl slightly in a secretive smile, tongue, darting out to moisten his lips. He adjusts his ass in the seat enough to turn slightly toward me.
“What time on Monday do you leave for college son?”
“I fly out for Boston at 1:30 pm, so I have to arrive at the airport by 11:30, noon at the latest.”
“We’ll drive you to the airport then, no worries. We’ll get you there on time.”
“Thanks. I was wondering how I was going to get to O’Hare.”
“You know son, your grandparents are going to be away the whole weekend. That’ll give the three of us some bonding time. I want you to get to know Troy, he’s one of the good guys.” I train my eyes over to Troy. I see a knowing grin on his face. This might turn out to be an interesting weekend after all.
It takes only about twenty minutes or so to arrive at Connie’s Last Stand, and since its early, the Friday night regulars are yet to arrive. Dad leads the way with me close behind and Troy bringing up the rear.
The interior is dimly lit and coming in from the bright sunshine, it looks like a dungeon. It’s illuminated by warehouse shades hanging over a weathered bar top. An assortment of beer signs, some lighted, are hanging on the dark wood paneling.
Across the room is a four-person tattered and patched yellow banquette. The spot we decide offers the most privacy. We go over and slide in, me in the middle. Two pool tables screen us from the rest of the place. The pool cue rack is on a nearby wall. The joint is almost empty, just a few old drunks sitting on high stools around the bar. Country music plays in the background.
It only takes a couple of minutes for Connie to come over to take our orders. “Good afternoon gentlemen and thanks for your service. I need to see the kid’s ID.” She says smiling down to me. “No problem” I reply. Take my ID out and hand it to her. “Good enough.” she says. “What can I get for you gents?” “A pitcher of whatever you have on tap and three shots of whisky.” Dad replies. “You got it, be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She laughs and walks away.
I have never felt so grownup sitting in a bar between two soldiers. One my dad and the other, his Army buddy. They have me sandwiched between them, there’s a little room, but not a hell of a lot. She returns with a tray containing a pitcher of beer, Harp pint glasses and the three shots. “You gents want to run a tab?” she asks. “Sure thing.” Troy answers looking to my dad, who nods.
Troy pours the first pints of beer, sliding the glasses to us, then pushes the whisky shots over. We pick up the shots and clink them together, down them with one gulp. “HELL YEAH! That’s what I’m talking about” dad says, clearing his throat “Whew, I needed that!”
I’m not used to strong drink and it burns my throat going down causing me to reach for my beer and down almost half.
“Whoa pardner, the night’s young.” Dad says, his hand on my thigh and keeps it there. Troy is finishing his brew and reaches for the pitcher, fills our glasses and puts down the nearly empty pitcher. Low and behold Connie magically appears with more beer and three more shots of whiskey.
She’s nodding and gives us an all-knowing grin. I guess she’s seen it all before in her time. When you are in her shoes, chances are you’ve seen almost every possible scenario play out in front of you. So, two soldiers and a young civilian is not going to phase you.
We continue to work on the beer, and decide not to call for more shots. I’m feeling pretty darn good wedged between two hot daddies, and one actually is my father. Makes me feel important and sorted.
Dad eyeballing us says, “Why don’t we finish up the beer and head on home, we have a well-stocked liquor cabinet and my folks left me the key, plus a fridge full of beer.”
We quickly finish and he pays our tab. Troy and I slide out of the banquette and I feel his hand on my crotch, probably thought he was pushing off from the plastic seat we’ve all been stuck to. I didn’t dwell on it, but it did feel good.
On the drive home, both dad and Troy are holding onto my thighs. They are looking ahead, not paying much attention to me. We’re all feeling stoned. These men are handling it a lot better than I am. I could see walking to the truck that they were more sober than me. We finally arrive home and park the truck this time next to the front porch under the carport.
“Come on Duke, we’re home son.” He says helping me slide across the truck seat on the driver’s side. I have an arm draped over his shoulder and one of his arms is around my waist, to help me climb the stairs to the side porch. We head into the living room and resume the same seating positions we had before we left for the bar.
I’m feeling woozy. I lay back and rest my head on back of the sofa. Troy does the same landing next to me, his big hands over his crotch, turns his head and stares straight into my eyes. There is a strange kind of traction pulling me into his baby blues, capturing my gaze and holds it for a few seconds. Then he suddenly launches himself, landing on top of me, his knees on each side of my hips and starts playfully tickling my pits causing me to raise my knees toward my chest in a defensive move, flaying arms attempting to keep his big hands away from my pits.
Dad springs up from his seat and dashes around the coffee table. The next thing I know he is unlacing my sneaker, pulls them off and drops them on top of the coffee table, yanks my socks off and throws them next to my sneakers. I’m convulsing with uncontrollable laughter as he straddles both of my legs, his back to me and draws my feet tight under his crotch, trapping them there and begins to runs his fingertips up and down the soles of both feet.
I can feel dad’s heavy nut sack through his uniform trousers on top of my feet as he holds them in a tight grip while he tortures the soles with his finger nails, scratching up and down. I feel his hard dick trapped in his crotch. I feel the large head through his khaki trousers as I jerk and try to break free.
“Dad! Troy! Let me go, PLEASE! I can’t take any more, PLEASE STOP!” Roaring euphorically.
I see them exchange a knowing glance as dad drops my feet and Troy settles back on his haunches. They are both looking lustfully at me, dad picks up one of my Nike’s and tosses it to Troy. I watch Troy fit it over his face and hold it there, dad does the same with the other one.
I’m speechless trying to regain my breath, watching these two totally masculine soldiers sniffing inside of my sneakers. They’re fairly new, so I know they don’t smell bad, probably still warm inside, just some of my clean foot sweat remains, most of it absorbed in my socks.
I’m lying there spread out on the sofa with both heels of my feet on top of the table. Dad and Troy drop my sneakers and come around and kneel. They take my feet and hold the soles up to their faces -- lick, and swab between all of my toes, taking one at time into their mouths, all the while looking up at me as they suck.
The sensation is completely out of this world. My paratrooper dad and his Army buddy are worshiping my feet, sniffing and licking. My cock is rock hard and my foreskin has retracted. Precum is flowing into the mesh of my yellow jockstrap. I can feel its warmth seep out and run down the inside of my thigh.
Troy speaks first: “Paul, you called this one right, he does taste like his old man.” He responds “I told you he would, just wait till we get to the more interesting parts.”
“Not sure I can wait Paul, do you want him first, or do you want me to break him for you?”
“Thanks anyway stud, but he’s my son and I’ve dreamed about this since he hit puberty. Now my boy is a college student and I know by the way he’s been checking out my crotch, that he wants this as much as I do. Like father, like son. I want a night alone with him before I share. Then we can enjoy him together tomorrow.”
I’m still lying on the sofa, bare feet on the coffee table and my dad and his buddy are talking about me in the third person, like I was a piece of meat they were haggling over. And here I sit, drunk on my ass, but here I sit. And by the way, getting hot between my legs watching and listening to these two uniformed mountains chatting away, about me.
Dad and Troy still have my bare feet in their warm hands, massaging, working their fingers between my toes, holding on to my feet while they talk away about me. Occasionally looking up with that ‘Cat ate the Canary Look.’
Dad puts my foot gently down on the coffee table, comes around to me, takes my other foot from Troy’s hand, placing it on the table next to my other one. He’s looking deeply into my eyes, his eyes squinting in a sexy way, smiling eyes, as they say.
He reaches up and unbuckles my brown leather belt, opens the top button of my Levi’s button fly jeans, then slowly pops the rest of the buttons down to the bottom exposing the brown curly pubes escaping through the opening of my white boxer.
My nine-inch thick and veined uncut cock is lying there nestled in my crotch, straightening out slowly. My foreskin retracting showing off the swollen helmet head and piss slit opening oozing up gobs of clear precum.
Dad fishes out my swelling meat. His big hand encircling the firm shaft causing the accumulated precum on the head to run down onto his knuckles. He raises his wet knuckles to his mouth and sucks my warm juice from his hand.
I’m glued to the sofa watching my dad handle my thick, veined cock, and the way he’s enjoying what he doing is sending me over the moon. I have never felt this way before. Not even when I was fucking a hot chick in her pussy or ass did I have this feeling of completeness. It feels natural, destined to happen. I watch intently as he points my hard piece, aiming the head toward Troy, inviting him to have a taste.
“Come here buddy, I’m going to give you the first taste.” He says to Troy.
Troy kneels next to dad and takes my hard cock from dad’s hand. My view is of the top of his blond crew cut head. Though I can’t see his mouth take in my bloated dick head, I can feel the intense heat of the interior, feel his lips lock around its head and play with the opening piss slit.
“Oh! FUCKING SHIT I’m gonna piss.” Both of my hands lock around Troy’s head, holding on tight. The enormous volume of beer I consumed at Connie’s Last Stand is about to erupt like “Old Faithful” and geyser warm beer piss down Troy’s throat.
He’s shaking his head in consent, trying to look up at me which is hard to do with my nine-inch Polish dick down his throat. And brother, here It comes. My abdominals relax and my bladder begins to release its treasure. Not just a dribble or a drop at a time, but the Jonestown flood of 1889. I’m filling him up and not that slowly. I feel his throat tightening, then loosing up, swallowing my warm piss as fast as he can. Dad is holding a bandana under Troy’s chin to prevent the overflow hitting the carpet.
I finally finish up pissing and look down at Troy, who is still holding my cock head between his lips.
“Damn DUDE, I’m so fucking sorry about that man!” I say.
Troy takes his mouth off of my dick looking up at me with a Cheshire cat smile:
“That’s the best recycled Budweiser I’ve ever tasted kid. I bet you could give one hell of a golden shower with this fire hose of yours, and don’t we have a fridge full of beer?”
Dad is laughing and slapping Troy on his back, pulls him in for a sloppy wet kiss tasting my piss and Troy’s saliva.
He releases Troy, puts his large hands behind my head and pulls me forward to meet his mouth. I can taste not only my dad’s spit, but Troy’s too and my own piss. I could get used to this real fast.
Dad releases me, stands up unbuttoning his uniform trousers. He’s tightening his jump boots on either side of my hips and pulls out his own nine-inch Polish sausage. “Get ready for it, like father, like son.”
“Come on son. I know you’ve been thinking about this for a long time, just take your time and enjoy your dad’s cock, the one that made you. My nuts are full for you son and I want to feed you the first chapter of a story I’m gonna tell you this weekend.”
“Yes, Sir dad, I’m hungry!”
Dad eases in his big cockhead past my wet lips, slips the length all the way to the back of my throat past my gag reflex and holds it there. I’m holding onto the back of his jump boots to pull him in even closer. I’m struggling to breathe through my nose all the while smelling the muskiness of is hairy ball sack resting on my chin and the polish on his boots. He pulls back slowly leaving the head resting on my bottom lip, teasing me with the swollen head. He is holding my face with his calloused hands.
“I love you son. I’ve had waking day dreams thinking about how it would feel to be this close to you. How you would smell after a workout, or football practiced, what your crotch would smell and taste like, your crack, your feet, your pits.”
I take my mouth off of his dick. “Dad, when I see you in your paratrooper uniform and these incredible jump boots, I want to get the rope I have hidden in the back of my closet and hogtie you. Prevent you from ever leaving me behind. It’s not enough to look at the snapshots you send me and jerk off. It’s not like now. Real and present. Dad, I love you so much, you have no idea how much.”
He’s holding his heavy piece of meat in his hands and smearing the head over my lips and cheeks leaving trails of his voluminous precum in its wake.
“Work on dad’s dick son, suck out what I have in my nuts waiting for you. Go ahead and show this soldier how you can eat your dad’s thick cum, the cum that made you!”
He’s slowly pumping his hips, pushing all the way into my mouth, then out so that the head is caught between my lips, then goes back in. My mouth is making loud slurping sounds. I wet the tip of my index finger with the spit overflowing from my mouth and tickle his smooth sphincter, bring it back to my mouth to catch more of the overflowing spit on my finger tip and go back and insert it into his tight hole. Pushing all the way up inside him. Find his button and rub and poke it causing a loud growl. Tightening his guard gate around my finger and begins to shoot hot cum into my mouth. “Sweet Jesus, OH FUCK, OH FUCK. AHHHH!”
He unloads a thick mouthful of soldier jizz and I gulp it down as fast as he shoots it. I wait for the next volley to swallow and when he continues to fire -- I swallow. When he stops, I kiss the head and suck it back in to get any stragglers, hold it in my mouth and feel it slowly deflate and ease it out.
“Son, you can do anything you want to do to me this weekend, I’ll be your prisoner. You can even rope up Troy, if that fires up your engine. Hell, you already know we both love piss and anything else you want to give us!”
Troy is watching silently then speaks: “Oh hell yeah young stud, rope me up and do anything you want to me. I’ll be your prisoner, hell yeah, me and Paul tied side by side, captured by enemy forces -- FUCK YEAH!”
Good thing about military men: they are used to taking orders and carrying through, so I know this weekend is going to get damn HOT. Hell, they started it!
The End
