The boat was smaller than I thought.
Dad had borrowed it from a guy at the hardware store — an old aluminum fishing boat with a quiet outboard motor and two wooden benches. The three of us pushed off from the dock just after sunrise. The lake was still and dark, mist hanging low over the water. Mom had stayed behind at the house, saying she wanted to sleep in.
Peter sat at the back near the motor, already shirtless even though the morning air still had a chill. Dad sat in the middle with the tackle box open on his lap, carefully tying a lure. I sat at the front, trying to look anywhere except at either of them.
Peter started almost immediately.
“You’re quiet this morning, Dad,” he said, voice loud enough to carry across the water. “Still thinking about last night in the woods?”
Dad’s hands didn’t stop moving. He didn’t look up.
“Peter,” he said evenly. “Not now.”
Peter laughed. “What? We’re all alone out here. No Mom. No neighbors. Just us boys.”
He stretched his arms over his head, making the muscles in his chest and stomach flex.
“Besides, I think JJ likes it when we talk about his skills. Don’t you, little brother?”
I kept my eyes on the water. My ears felt hot.
Dad still didn’t answer. He finished tying the lure, stood up carefully, and cast his line out into the deeper water. The soft whir of the reel was the only sound for a while.
Peter didn’t let it stay quiet for long.
He moved to the middle bench, closer to Dad, and started talking again — low enough that it felt private, but loud enough that every word was clear.
“You should’ve stayed longer the other night,” he said. “You only got to watch. You didn’t even get to feel how good his mouth is when he’s really into it.”
Dad’s shoulders tightened, but he kept his eyes on the water.
“Peter. Enough.”
“I’m just saying.” Peter leaned back on his hands, completely relaxed. “You came pretty hard watching us. I heard it. JJ heard it too. Didn’t you, JJ?”
I swallowed. “Stop.”
Peter grinned. “See? He’s shy. Always has been. But he stops being shy the second he’s got a cock in his mouth.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Dad reeled his line in slowly, checked the lure, and cast again. His face was unreadable behind the mustache, but a muscle in his jaw kept flexing.
Peter waited a few more minutes, letting the discomfort build. Then he stood up, stretched, and deliberately adjusted himself in his shorts so the thick outline of his cock was obvious.
“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he said casually. “Been hard since we got on the boat.”
Dad finally looked at him. His voice was low and tight.
“Sit down and fish, Peter.”
Peter ignored him. He looked straight at me instead.
“Come here, JJ.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“You heard me. Come here.”
I glanced at Dad. He was staring out at the water again, back rigid, saying nothing.
Peter’s voice dropped into that tone he used when he expected to be obeyed.
“I said come here. On your knees. In front of Dad.”
My face burned. I stayed frozen for a few seconds, hoping Dad would say something — anything — to stop it. He didn’t. He just kept looking out at the lake, jaw clenched, the fishing rod forgotten in his hands.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t make me say it again.”
I moved.
The boat rocked slightly as I crawled between the benches and stopped in front of Peter. He was already pushing his shorts down far enough to free his cock. It was fully hard, the same thick, veiny, left-curving dick I had taken two times before. He wrapped a fist around it and gave it a slow stroke while looking past me at our father.
“Watch closely, Dad,” he said. “This is how a real man uses a mouth.”
He grabbed the back of my head and guided me forward.
I opened my mouth and took him in.
Peter groaned loud enough for it to carry across the water.
“Fuck… yeah. Just like that.”
He didn’t start slow. He pushed deeper right away, filling my throat, one hand locked in my hair. The wet sound of him fucking my mouth filled the quiet morning. I gagged around him. Spit ran down my chin and dripped onto the bottom of the boat.
Peter kept talking the whole time, voice rough and deliberately loud.
“You feel that, Dad? How deep he takes it? He didn’t even hesitate. Your youngest son is a natural little cocksucker.”
I could feel Dad’s eyes on us. I didn’t dare look. I just kept my hands on Peter’s thick thighs and took what he gave me. Peter thrust harder, using my throat with short, deep strokes, making sure every wet, choking sound was impossible to ignore.
“He’s better at this than any girl I’ve been with,” Peter continued. “And he’s had practice. Haven’t you, JJ? Tell Dad how many times you’ve had his cock in your mouth already.”
I couldn’t answer. Peter was too deep.
He laughed and pulled me all the way down, holding me there with my nose pressed against his skin.
“That’s okay. He already knows you’re the slut that sucked him at the rest stop gloryhole.”
My eyes were watering. Spit poured down Peter’s shaft and over his balls. The boat rocked gently with every thrust. Somewhere behind me I heard the soft sound of a fishing rod being set down carefully against the side of the boat.
Peter’s breathing got heavier.
“You just gonna watch, Dad?” he asked, voice strained now. “Or you gonna take your cock out and stroke it like you did in the woods?”
Silence.
Peter fucked my face harder, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the still air.
“Look at him take it. Look at your son choke on my dick. You came so fucking hard watching this the other night. Don’t act like you don’t want to see it again.”
I felt the exact moment Peter got close — the way his cock swelled even thicker against my tongue, the way his hand tightened almost painfully in my hair. He shoved himself as deep as he could and held me there.
“Swallow it,” he ordered. “Every drop. Let Dad see.”
He came with a deep, guttural groan, flooding my throat with thick pulses. I swallowed around him, eyes closed, the taste of him heavy and familiar. He kept me locked in place until he was finished, then finally let go.
I pulled off, gasping, chin wet, throat slime everywhere. Peter wiped it off with his thumb and pushed it into my mouth without a word.
Only then did I risk a glance toward the middle of the boat.
Dad was still sitting there, completely silent. His face was flushed. His hands were clenched into fists on his thighs. The front of his jeans was unmistakably hard, the thick outline of his cock pressed against the fabric. He hadn’t taken it out. He hadn’t said a single word. He had just watched the entire time.
Peter looked at him and smiled, slow and mean.
“That’s what I thought.”
He pulled his shorts back up, ruffled my hair roughly, and moved back to the rear of the boat like nothing had happened.
“We should try the other side of the lake,” he said casually. “Fish aren’t biting here, only my little brother’s mouth.”
Dad still didn’t speak.
He just picked up his fishing rod again with rigid movements, stared out at the water, and pretended the last ten minutes hadn’t happened.
I stayed on my knees on the rocky boat a few seconds longer, the taste of my brother still in my mouth, the weight of my father’s silent stare burning into the back of my neck, before I finally crawled back to the front of the boat.
The rest of the morning passed in near silence.
But the damage was already done.
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