Thursday Night – Father and Son
The drive home was dead silent.
Ethan sat in the passenger seat of his dad’s truck, staring out the window. In the back seat, his uncle Carl was equally quiet. Richard gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white. The cab still smelled faintly of sweat, cum, and sex from the long day at Jack’s house. No one said a word about it.
They pulled into the driveway of Richard’s modest two-story house just after 6 PM. The three of them walked inside like robots, kicking off their boots in the mudroom, filling the air with the musky stink of foot-sweat.
“Pizza tonight?” Richard asked gruffly, voice strained.
“Yeah. Sounds good,” Carl muttered.
Ethan just nodded, avoiding eye contact with both of them.
Dinner was painfully normal. They ate pepperoni pizza at the kitchen table, talking about sports, the weather, and how the deck was coming along. Every sentence felt forced. Ethan’s ass still ached. He could feel dried cum in his crack every time he shifted in his chair. His dad kept glancing at him, then quickly looking away. Carl had a strange, knowing smirk he kept trying to hide.
After dinner they settled in the living room to watch a baseball game. The tension was suffocating. Ethan sat on the recliner, his dad on the couch, Carl sprawled in the other chair. No one mentioned Jack. No one mentioned what they had done to him---or what Ethan had done right alongside him.
Around 10:30 PM, Richard stood up. “I’m heading to bed. Long day tomorrow.”
“Night,” Ethan mumbled.
“Night,” Carl echoed.
The house grew quiet.
Ethan lay in his old bedroom, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. His body was sore, his mind racing. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his dad’s cock sliding into Jack’s mouth… and remembered how it felt and tasted in his own.
Around 2:17 AM, Ethan heard the soft creak of his bedroom door opening.
He sat up slightly. His dad stood in the doorway in just a pair of gray boxer briefs, silhouetted by the hallway light. Richard’s broad, hairy chest rose and fell heavily. He didn’t speak at first. He just stared at his son.
“Dad…?” Ethan whispered, voice shaky.
Richard stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “You?”
Ethan shook his head. The air felt electric.
They stared at each other for a long, heavy moment.
“I saw how you looked at him,” Richard finally said, voice low. “At Jack. Today.”
Ethan’s face burned. “Dad, I—”
“And I saw how he looked at you.” Richard took another step closer. “You liked it.”
Ethan’s cock twitched traitorously under the sheets. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Richard sat on the edge of the bed. His hand rested on Ethan’s thigh. “Nothing’s wrong with you, son.”
The touch was electric. Ethan’s breath hitched.
What happened next was inevitable.
Richard leaned in and kissed his son---slow, hesitant at first, then deep and hungry. Ethan moaned into his father’s mouth, years of buried shame and lust exploding between them. They kissed like starving men, hands roaming over each other’s bodies.
Clothes came off fast. Richard pulled Ethan’s boxers down, revealing his hard cock. He stroked it reverently, then took his own son into his mouth, sucking him with surprising skill. Ethan gasped, fingers tangling in his dad’s hair.
“Fuck… Dad…”
Richard came up for air, eyes dark with lust. “Been wanting this for a long time.”
He flipped Ethan onto his stomach, spread his cheeks, and buried his face in his son’s still-sore, cum-leaking hole. Ethan moaned loudly into the pillow as his father ate him out, tasting the remnants of the other men.
Then Richard mounted him.
He pushed his thick, bare cock into his own son’s ass and started fucking him with long, powerful strokes. The bed creaked rhythmically as father and son fucked desperately, whispering filthy things to each other.
“You took so many loads today,” Richard growled. “My dirty boy…”
They went at it for hours---switching positions, sucking each other, kissing, grinding. Richard came deep inside Ethan twice. Ethan came on his father’s chest once, then again while riding him.
Around 5:30 AM, the bedroom door opened again.
Carl stood there in shock, eyes wide as he watched his brother balls-deep in his nephew.
“What the actual fuck…?” Carl whispered, horrified.
Richard didn’t stop thrusting. “Close the door, Carl.”
Carl hesitated, face burning with shame and sudden arousal. His cock hardened visibly in his boxers as he watched his brother fuck his own son.
“Jesus Christ…” he breathed, but he stepped inside and closed the door.
Carl joined them.
By morning the three of them were a tangled, sweaty mess on Ethan’s bed. Carl fucked his nephew while Richard fed his cock into Ethan’s mouth. They rotated constantly---father and son, brothers, all three together. Cum was pumped into mouths and asses. They kissed sloppily, tasting each other’s loads. The room reeked of incestuous sex.
At 7:15 AM they finally collapsed, exhausted.
Richard looked at the clock and groaned. “We have to be at the site in forty-five minutes.”
The three of them showered quickly together, dressed, and drove to Jack’s house in heavy silence once again.
Ethan sat in the back seat, sore, leaking, and dazed.
His dad glanced at him in the rearview mirror, a dark, satisfied look in his eyes.
None of them said a word the entire drive. But they all knew tonight would be the same.
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End of Chapter 7
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