I held Kylie's hand as we strolled through the bustling flea market, the sun warming our backs. She was in her element, eyes lighting up at every quirky vintage find. 'Look at this lamp, Tyler! It'd be perfect for my room,' she said, squeezing my fingers excitedly. I smiled, loving how her passion for thrifting made her glow. We browsed stalls piled high with old treasures—faded posters, chipped teacups, dusty books.
After an hour, Kylie had a small haul: a brass candleholder and some colorful enamel pins. At the checkout, the grizzled vendor behind the stall grinned. 'For you two lovebirds, a little gift,' he said, handing over a medieval-style statuette. It was about six inches tall, carved from dark stone, depicting a muscular warrior gripping a sword, his loincloth barely concealing a bulging crotch. Kylie and I exchanged surprised glances.
'Oh, that's sweet! But Tyler, you should keep it,' Kylie said, wrinkling her nose. 'It's not really my vibe.' I was thrilled—medieval fantasy was my jam. 'Thanks, babe. It'll look badass on my dresser.' We left hand in hand, the statuette tucked safely in my bag.
——
Our day turned even sweeter. We wandered into the nearby park, picnicking on the grass under shady oaks. Kylie leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. 'You're the best boyfriend,' she murmured, kissing my cheek. I pulled her closer, my hand sliding to her waist, fingers tracing the curve of her hip through her sundress.
From there, we hit a cozy café. Over lattes and pastries, I teased her gently. 'You know, if you keep finding all these treasures, our place is gonna look like a museum.' She laughed, swatting my arm. 'Our place? Dreaming big already?' I grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss, my thumb brushing her lower lip. Back on the street, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, hands firmly on her hips, pulling her ass against my crotch as we walked. She giggled, grinding back playfully. 'Behave, Tyler, or I'll drag you into an alley.' God, I loved her fire.
I dropped her off at home with a deep, lingering kiss—tongues dancing, my hands squeezing her ass. 'Text me later, sexy.' She winked and disappeared inside.
——
At my place, Mom and Dad were in the living room watching TV. 'Hey, kiddo, good day?' Dad asked. 'Yeah, thrifting with Kylie. Scored this,' I said, showing off the statuette before heading upstairs. I cleared a spot on my dresser, right by the lamp where I'd see it first thing. It stared back at me, that warrior's fierce eyes and prominent bulge oddly mesmerizing.
I changed into shorts and a tee, then bolted out to meet the guys for football in the park. Jake, Mike, and Ryan were already there, shirts off, laughing and shoving. 'Tyler, you late ass!' Jake yelled, tossing me the ball. We played hard—tackles, sweat-slick bodies colliding, grunts echoing. Mike's muscular frame slammed into mine during a play, his chest pressing against my back for a split second. I shook it off, scoring the winning goal. High-fives all around, bro hugs that lingered a beat too long in the post-game exhaustion.
I got home late, showered off the sweat—my cock half-hard from the adrenaline—and crashed into bed. Before flicking off the light, my eyes locked on the statuette. Its stone dick seemed to throb in the dim glow. Weird. I killed the light and drifted off.
——
The dream hit like a fever. I was in the dimly lit locker room after practice, steam from the showers hanging thick in the air. My buddies—Jake, Mike, Ryan—were there, towels slung low on their hips, sweat-glistened torsos ripped from years of sports. Lockers slammed, laughter bounced off the tiles.
'Yo, truth or dare?' Jake said suddenly, smirking as he dropped his towel. His thick cock swung free, half-erect, veins pulsing. My heart pounded. What the fuck?
I blinked, but it felt real. 'Uh, sure,' I muttered, my voice hoarse. Mike stripped next, his heavy balls dangling as he stroked himself lazily. 'Dare, Tyler. Suck Ryan's dick.' Ryan grinned, already hard, his eight-inch shaft curving up, pre-cum beading at the tip.
Confusion swirled in my gut, but my cock betrayed me, tenting my shorts. 'Fine,' I said, dropping to my knees. Ryan stepped forward, gripping my hair. 'Open up, bro.' His cockhead pushed past my lips, salty and hot. I sucked, tongue swirling around the ridge, bobbing as he thrust deeper. Gags escaped me, but I craved more—hollowing my cheeks, slurping loudly.
Jake laughed. 'My turn to dare you, Tyler. Bend over.' I pulled off Ryan's dick with a pop, strings of spit connecting us, and bent over the bench. Jake spat on his fingers, rubbing my asshole. 'Relax, man.' He shoved two in, scissoring, making me moan around Ryan's cock as I sucked him again.
Mike joined, feeding me his fat dick alongside Ryan's. I stretched my jaw, alternating licks—sucking one, jerking the other, their balls slapping my chin. 'Fuck, Tyler's a natural cocksucker,' Mike groaned.
Jake yanked his fingers out and rammed his cock into my ass. Pain flared into pleasure as he pounded, hips slapping my cheeks. 'Take it, slut.' I bucked back, ass clenching around him, while deepthroating Ryan. Cum erupted—Ryan first, flooding my throat, hot spurts I swallowed greedily. Mike followed, painting my face with thick ropes.
Jake pulled out, flipped me, and plunged back in missionary-style, our eyes locked. 'You're ours now.' He fucked harder, my cock spurting untouched between us. His load filled me, leaking down my crack as the others cheered.
We kept going—gangbang style. Ryan fucked my mouth while Mike railed my ass, then switched. Jake made me ride him reverse cowgirl, bouncing on his dick while sucking the others. Cum dripped everywhere—on my chest, in my hair, pooling in my guts. Their grunts, my moans, wet slaps filled the room.
'Dare you to beg for our loads,' Ryan said. 'Please, guys, cum in me, on me—fuck me like your bitch!' I pleaded, shocking myself.
——
I jolted awake, sheets tangled, my cock throbbing with the hardest erection I'd ever had—rock-hard, pre-cum soaking my boxers. Heart racing, I stared at the ceiling, the dream replaying in vivid detail: their cocks in my mouth, ass stretched wide, cum everywhere.
What the fuck? I'd never thought of guys that way. Kylie was my everything—soft curves, wet pussy gripping me during sex. But Jake's thick shaft, Mike's balls on my chin, Ryan's load down my throat... my dick twitched at the memory. I grabbed it, stroking furiously, confused arousal building. No, this couldn't be me. Was it the statuette? Or had it always been there, buried?
I came hard, spurting across my abs, moaning their names accidentally. Shame hit like a truck. I was straight, right? But the confusion lingered, hot and insistent, as I glanced at the statuette glowing faintly in the morning light.
——
I went to class that morning still rattled from the dream. My cock had been hard all through breakfast—I'd had to adjust my jeans twice while my mom rambled about the neighbor's cat. I nodded along, barely hearing her, my mind replaying Ryan's dick sliding down my throat, Jake's balls slapping my ass.
At university, I slouched into my seat in History 101, notebook open, pen ready. But my eyes wouldn't stay on the professor. They drifted to Chad, two rows ahead—broad shoulders straining his polo shirt, a dusting of dark hair on his forearms as he wrote. I'd never noticed how muscular his neck was, how his jeans hugged his thick thighs. My cock stirred.
What the fuck? I forced my gaze back to the board, but it kept slipping. At the desk next to me, Kevin stretched, his shirt riding up, revealing a stripe of toned abs. I imagined licking a line down from his navel, biting the waistband of his boxers. My mouth went dry.
By the end of the lecture, I'd mentally fucked three of my classmates. I rushed out, my dick painfully hard in my jeans, and ducked into the bathroom. I locked a stall, unzipped, and started jerking, trying to picture Kylie's tits, her wet pussy. But instead, Chad's cock—rudely imagined—filled my mind, then Kevin's ass as he bent over a desk. I came violently, shooting into a wad of toilet paper, panting.
I'm going insane.
---
Back home that evening, I sat at the dinner table across from Mom and Dad. Pasta and meatballs. I picked at my food, sneaking glances at my dad. He was fifty-two, graying at the temples, but still built—broad chest, thick arms from years of construction work. His polo shirt hugged his shoulders, the buttons straining slightly over his stomach. I'd never looked at him this way before. Tonight, I couldn't stop.
"It was a good day at work, huh?" Mom asked.
"Yeah, fine," Dad grunted, shoving a meatball into his mouth. A smear of sauce clung to his lower lip. My eyes dropped to his lap, the bulge of his jeans. My mouth went dry.
Stop it. He's your father.
But my cock hardened under the table, pressing against my zipper. I shifted, trying to hide it. "I'm done. Gonna brush my teeth," I muttered, fleeing.
The bathroom was steamy. I stepped in, reached for my toothbrush, and froze. The shower was a glass enclosure—see-through. And Dad was in there, back to me, water cascading down his spine. Soap suds ran over his muscular shoulders, down the cleft of his ass. I stood paralyzed, unable to look away.
He turned to grab the shampoo, and my breath caught. His cock—semi-hard, thick, uncut—swung between his heavy thighs. Pubic hair dark and wet. Balls hanging low and full. Water sluiced over his shaft, and I watched, mesmerized, as he lathered soap over his chest, his stomach, then—I stared openly—he soaped his balls, cupping them, stroking his dick absently.
A tiny moan escaped my lips. I clamped my hand over my mouth, heart hammering. He didn't hear. He rinsed, turned off the water, and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Our eyes met through the glass. He smiled. "What's up, kiddo? Need the bathroom?"
"Yeah," I croaked. "Just brushing."
I squeezed past him into my room, shut the door, and fell onto my bed, cock straining so hard it ached. I yanked my jeans down, spit into my palm, and fisted myself, eyes squeezed shut, picturing Dad's soap-slicked body, his semi-hard dick, imagining it growing erect, imagining myself on my knees, mouth open, taking it.
"Dad," I whimpered, stroking faster. "Fuck, Dad..." I came in thick ropes, splashing across my stomach, the shame and arousal mixing into a dizzying cocktail.
What have I become?
---
The following days blurred into a haze of forbidden hunger. At breakfast, I watched Dad spoon cereal into his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. I imagined him bending me over the table. At school, I couldn't concentrate in class—my gaze tracked male professors: Professor Lang's silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses, his bony fingers gripping the chalkboard. I imagined him ordering me to my knees, his cock stretching my throat.
My friends—Jake, Mike, Ryan—I now saw differently. When Jake slapped my back after football practice, I felt his palm on my skin and wanted more. When Mike stripped off his sweaty shirt, I ogled his pecs, his nipples, the trail of hair disappearing into his shorts. My cock twitched constantly, a dull ache that never fully subsided.
Kylie called. I let it go to voicemail. Texted: Sorry, babe, super busy with exams. A lie. I didn't want her soft curves or wet pussy anymore. I wanted rough hands, deep voices, the smell of male sweat. I wanted cock.
One afternoon, home alone, I crept into my parents' laundry room. The hamper overflowed with dirty clothes. I dug through it, heart racing, until my fingers closed around a pair of Dad's boxers. Stained, worn, smelling of him—musky, salty, masculine. I pressed them to my nose, inhaling deep, my cock jerking. I took them to my room, locked the door, and jerked off into the fabric, rubbing the crotch against my shaft, imagining his dick, his ass, his mouth. I came hard, my semen soaking the cotton. Then I carefully folded them and placed them back in the hamper.
I did it again the next day. And the next. Soon, I had a hidden stash of his underwear in my drawer, each pair used and stored like a secret treasure.
---
One night, lying in bed, the statuette caught the moonlight on my dresser. Its stone eyes seemed to glint. I stared at it, the warrior's prominent bulge casting a long shadow.
This thing... it started all this. The dream. The desires.
I reached out and touched it. The stone was warm, almost alive. I pulled my hand back, a shiver running through me. Was it a curse? A gift? I didn't know. But something had awakened in me, something primal and consuming.
I needed more. I needed to touch, to taste, to be filled. And the men around me—friends, father, teachers—they were all potential prey.
——
I pulled into the driveway at eleven, still smelling of Kylie’s cheap lavender perfume. She'd tried everything—nuzzling my neck, straddling my lap in her tiny shorts, whispering "I miss you, Ty, I need you inside me." I'd made excuses: tired, headache, exam tomorrow. Her face crumpled. I felt like shit, but my cock hadn't even stirred. Not for her soft tits. Not for her eager mouth.
I just wanted to go home.
The house was dark except for a lamp in the living room. Mom's car was gone—book club, probably. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed a glass of water, and started up the stairs. That's when I heard it.
A low groan. Muffled.
I froze. It came from my bedroom.
My heart pounded. Someone's in my room. I crept up the remaining steps, my footsteps silent. The door was cracked an inch, warm light spilling out. I leaned in, my breath held.
And I saw my father.
He was on my bed, naked, lying on his back with his legs spread wide. My bed. The sheets I'd slept in last night. And between his thighs, glistening with lube, was an enormous double-ended dildo—pink, veined, at least twelve inches long. He had one end buried deep in his ass, his hips rocking slowly as he pushed it in deeper. His cock was rock hard, full, curved against his stomach, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
But what truly made my blood run cold was where he was looking.
Directly at the statuette on my dresser.
The medieval warrior. Its carved stone eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. My dad was staring at it as he fucked himself, his mouth open, his breathing ragged. He muttered something—a curse? A prayer?—and then he moaned again, louder, as the dildo slid deeper.
I stood there, motionless, my mouth dry. I should have left. I should have backed away, pretended I saw nothing, and fled to the bathroom. But my feet wouldn't move. And my cock—I felt it stir in my jeans, thicken, press against the zipper.
I was hard. Watching my father fuck himself with a giant dildo made me hard.
Shame and arousal fought in my gut, but arousal won. I slipped into the shadow of the hallway, pressing my back against the wall, peeking through the crack. My hand dropped to my crotch. I cupped my bulge through my jeans, squeezed, felt the heat. I needed to touch myself. I unzipped, pulled my cock out, and started stroking slowly, biting my lip to stay quiet.
Dad rocked his hips, the dildo plunging in and out of his ass with wet, slick sounds. He let out a long, shuddering groan, his balls tightening. "Fuck... yes..." he breathed, and I saw his eyes lock onto the statuette again, as if it were commanding him.
I was jacking off openly now, my hand moving faster, my own pre-cum slicking my shaft. I imagined that dildo was me—my cock buried in Dad's ass, my hands gripping his thighs, my mouth on his.
Then I heard his voice, low and hoarse: "I know you're there, Tyler."
I froze. My hand stopped mid-stroke.
"Come in." His voice was steady, almost gentle. "I saw you in the reflection."
My heart hammered. Every instinct screamed to run. But my legs carried me forward, pushing the door open. I stood there in the doorway, cock still out, jeans half-undone, my face burning.
Dad didn't move. He lay there, the dildo protruding from his ass, his own cock still hard, his eyes dark with lust. He looked at me—really looked—and his lips curved into a slow, hungry smile.
"Don't be shy, baby." He patted the bed beside him. "Come here."
Baby. He called me baby. My knees went weak.
I toed off my shoes. My fingers fumbled with my belt, my jeans, my shirt. I stripped naked, my cock jutting out, fully erect, glistening. Dad's gaze dropped to it, and he let out a soft, approving hum.
"Look at you," he murmured. "You're beautiful, son. So fucking beautiful."
I crawled onto the bed, my skin tingling. The statuette seemed to pulse, a warmth radiating from it. I didn't care anymore. All I wanted was him.
We knelt facing each other, our bodies inches apart. I could smell his sweat, his cologne, the sweet scent of lube. He reached out and cupped my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
"I don't know what's come over me," he said, his voice thick. "But I've been dreaming about you. About this. I can't stop thinking about your mouth, your body... I need you, Ty. I need my son."
I whimpered, leaning into his touch. "Me too, Dad. I've been jerking off to your dirty underwear. I watch you in the shower. I can't help it—I want you so bad it hurts."
A groan rumbled in his chest. "Then don't hold back."
We crashed together.
His mouth met mine—hot, urgent, desperate. His tongue slid between my lips and I moaned into him, tasting coffee and mint and something darker, saltier. His beard scratched my chin, his hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. We kissed like starving men, our tongues wrestling, our breath mingling. I'd never kissed a man before, never felt stubble against my cheeks, never tasted the raw musk of another male. It was intoxicating. I was drowning in him.
He broke the kiss to whisper against my lips, "I've never wanted anything as much as I want you right now. My own son. My beautiful boy."
"Dad..." I gasped, my hands roaming his back, his shoulders, the firm planes of his chest. "I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me."
"Not yet, baby." He pulled back, his eyes gleaming. "First, we share this."
He reached down and lifted the double dildo. Both ends glistened with lube—one end slick with his own ass, the other still clean. He offered it to me, a question in his eyes.
"Have you ever taken anything in your ass?"
I shook my head, swallowing. "No. Never."
"Then I'll be gentle." He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Lie on your side, facing me. We'll do it together."
I lay down, my heart racing. Dad spooned me, both of us on our sides, our cocks brushing. He positioned the dildo between us, its clean end pressed against my hole.
"Relax, baby. Just breathe."
I felt the tip nudge against me, cool and slick. I tensed, a wave of fear rising. But then Dad's hand stroked my hip, his lips brushed my shoulder, and he whispered, "I've got you. I'll make you feel so good."
I exhaled, forcing my muscles to loosen. The tip pushed in—just an inch—and I gasped. The sensation was strange: full, invasive, a pressure that built. Dad didn't push further. He waited, his hand rubbing my belly.
"More," I breathed.
He pushed deeper. The dildo slid into me, inch by inch, stretching my hole, filling me. I whimpered, my cock twitching against my stomach. It hurt—a deep, burning stretch—but mixed with the pain was a jolt of pleasure that made my toes curl.
"Good boy," Dad murmured. "You're taking it so well."
When half the shaft was inside me, he pressed the other end into his own ass. Now we were connected—the same thick rod buried in both our holes. He shifted closer, and the dildo moved inside me, sending a jolt through my prostate.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Fuck yes."
He began to rock his hips. Slow at first—a gentle push and pull that made the dildo slide in and out of both of us. I felt every inch: the ridges, the veins, the way it stretched my rim. And I felt him—his movements, his rhythm, his heat. Our bodies were linked by this thick silicone cock, thrusting into us both.
"Dad... oh god, Dad..." I moaned, my hands gripping his arm.
"Call me Daddy," he growled, his thrusts getting faster. "I want to hear you say it."
"Daddy... fuck me, Daddy... please..."
He drove the dildo deep, his hips slapping against mine. The bed creaked. Our balls swung. Our cocks rubbed against the sheets, leaking pre-cum. The room filled with the wet, obscene sound of two men fucking each other with the same toy.
"I love your tight ass, baby," he panted. "So hot. So fucking tight around my cock."
"It's your cock," I gasped. "It's yours, Daddy. All yours."
He kissed my neck, biting, sucking, marking me. His hand found my cock and started stroking in time with the thrusts. I was losing my mind—being fucked by my own father, my own father jerking me off, both of us connected by a shared dildo.
"I'm gonna cum," I sobbed. "Daddy, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet." He slowed, easing the dildo to a halt. I whimpered at the loss, but then he rolled me onto my back and straddled my chest, his cock inches from my face.
"Suck me, baby. I want to feel your mouth while we keep fucking."
He pulled the dildo out of my ass—a wet, dragging sensation that made me moan—and then repositioned it. Now he was on top, one end inside him, the other pressing against my hole again. He lowered himself, guiding the tip back into me, and I cried out as it filled me once more.
"Now open up," he ordered, and I obeyed.
My lips parted, and he fed his cock into my mouth. The taste of him—salt and skin, his unique musk—exploded on my tongue. I moaned around him, sucking, licking the underside of his shaft. He began to fuck my ass with the dildo while I sucked his cock, a perfect rhythm.
"Oh fuck, Ty—your mouth—so good—" He threw his head back, his hips pumping. I gagged, but I didn't care. I wanted to choke on him. I wanted him to use me.
He came first. A roar tore from his throat, and hot cum shot down my throat, thick and bitter. I swallowed greedily, sucking him dry, milking every drop. The taste of my father's seed flooded me, and my own orgasm hit like a freight train. I screamed around his cock, my body convulsing, cum spurting across my stomach and chest.
We collapsed together, still connected, still breathing hard. He pulled out of my mouth but left the dildo inside me, nestled deep. He kissed me again, slow and tender, tasting himself on my lips.
"We can't go back," he whispered, stroking my hair. "I don't want to go back."
"Neither do I," I said, my voice hoarse. "This is better than anything I've ever felt. Better than any woman."
He smiled, a hungry, possessive gleam in his eye. "Then we keep this secret, baby. Just you and me. No one else can know."
"And Mom?"
"She doesn't need to." He cupped my face. "This is ours. Our thing. Our taboo. And I'm going to make you cum like this every night, Tyler. Every single night."
I pulled him into another kiss, my body still humming, my ass still full of the dildo. The statuette on the dresser seemed to glow, its stone eyes watching, approving.
I was my father's now. And I couldn't wait for tomorrow nights to come.
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