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Subject: Private Audience Here’s a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr/storytime. You can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here: http://a4f101.tumblr/post/131219850673/ You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty – look for ‘a4f101’ in the Prolific Authors listing. This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I own it and all legal rights to it. If you’re under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, please come back when you’re of legal age. Nifty is an incredible free service that depends on your donations to survive. It changed my life, and maybe it’s changed yours too. Please help them to keep providing this awesome resource for all of fty/donate.html I love hearing from you guys. hoo. Enjoy. ***** There was an art to it, a certain progression that we had to go through. Gchat would go ‘bing’ an hour or so after lunch – “Drinks after work?” – and I’d smile and reach under my desk to massage the thick tube of my cock, feeling it grow in my suit pants. Then a little after six, his handsome head would pop around my office door, an expectant smile on his face as he watched me collect my jacket and keys. A round, maybe two at one of the FiDi bars, talking shop, and then we’d hop the train over to Brooklyn. First order of business, once we got in the door, was another round of drinks while he hung up his suit jacket. I`d loosen my tie, maybe spark a joint if I was feeling it, and then he’d relax on the couch while I got settled in the big, comfy leather armchair across from it. Inevitably, the conversation would die down, and he’d start to get that furtive look in his eye. Blushing, which was weirdly cute on the big, handsome fucker. He was 54, in terrific shape, all barrel-chested, trim-waisted, with the high, tight ass he’d had as a star QB at Penn. Still a full head of short, dark hair, thoroughly silvered at the temples and in the heavy five-o’clock shadow that had always seemed to set in not long after lunchtime. And that furtive blush, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so unlike the hard-charging exec who commanded an army of business-bro acolytes that hung on his every word. But here, in my apartment, he hung on my word, and my word alone. “Are you hard yet?” I’d ask. He’d reach down to his full crotch, stroke the fine wool of his suit pants, and smile bashfully. “Show me,” I’d say, quiet but subtly commanding. It was a tone of voice I’d perfected over the years we’d been doing this, and it never failed to bring a little shiver out of him. That, and compliance. He’d slowly undo his belt and pants, and reveal the big bulge of his underwear, starting to strain at the fabric as it jutted up through his open fly. Starting to throb, and thicken, as he hung on my words. “Touch yourself,” I’d say simply, and hit the joint or sip on my drink, feeling my own cock throbbing into life. Usually I’d be at least half-hard most of the day after his initial Gchat, letting him see the sizable mound in my crotch from time to time, a subtle reminder of where we’d be heading. Now, here, alone in my apartment, the door locked and the blinds closed, I’d let him see more of it. Spread my muscled thighs and briefly caress myself, highlight the growing bigness of my younger man’s bulge. He’d grunt and swallow, and reach down to stroke himself, squeezing and pulling, teasing his big mature cock into a full-blown hardon inside his silk boxers. Getting that look on his face, that slow hunger mixed with eagerness. “Get undressed,” I’d say when I was ready. Invariably, he’d let out a little moan, continuing to tease his big bulge as he unknotted his tie and set it down beside him, then slowly unbuttoned his shirt, laying it over the back of the couch, his bright white undershirt showing off that pelt of thick, silvery-dark hair on his deep chest, the bigness of his shoulders, the solid muscles of his upper arms. Then he’d lift his big ass up and slide his pants down his long, hairy thighs, revealing those classic silk boxers he loved to wear, crammed full of thick, straining cock. At every step, before removing each garment, even his socks, he’d look to me hungrily, for permission, waiting for my slow nod. I’d slowly sip on my drink, or smoke my joint, and watch. Nothing more. “Get naked,” I’d say, watching him skin his shorts down, and there he’d be, big and handsome and powerful, his hard cock towering up, already beginning to leak. That complex mix of shame, lust and hope, of need in his eyes. “Go ahead and stroke that cock, big guy,” I’d say quietly, and with another little moan, he’d set to work. Nice and slow, because he knew gaziantep travesti I liked him to take his time with it, really work on that nut that had building inside him since the last time we’d done this. Not the nut he shot into his wife, or stroked out into the john – the deeper nut. The one reserved for me, for this, for us. The one he enjoyed the best. There’s something about watching your own Dad get himself off for you. Yeah, of course, there’s the stimulation, the hotness of watching a big, handsome, built man lustily pleasure himself just for you. But more than that, there’s the power of being not just an observer, but a director. Telling your own father where, and when, and how he can pleasure himself. This all started when I was still in high school. Like every teenager, I loved jacking off, alone or with friends. To me, there was nothing better than heading home after lacrosse practice with a good bud, stripping down to our sweaty underwear, and beating off. I was pretty sure the ladies weren’t for me, and those buddyjacking sessions pretty much confirmed that. Especially when my best bud Max had moaned mid-session one day, fixed me with a weird, intent look, and suddenly laid a big, wet kiss on me. That led to more kissing, which led to stroking each other, which led to some good deep frotting, and finally to me on my bed, muscled thighs spread, while my best bud sucked on my cock with a mix of inexperience and eagerness. And just as I was about to nut down his throat, I looked up and saw my bedroom door cracked open, somebody standing just outside it, their arm moving – my father. Getting off, watching me get off. I looked through the crack of the door as I started to moan and unload, seeing his eye widen as he saw me seeing him, and then I came harder than I ever had up to that point in my young life. I let that sit on my mind for a few days, turning it over inside my head. It was hot being watched, and my Dad was a hot ex-jock DILF, and I’d been having ideas about him for awhile. But I was kind of pissed, too. Pissed, and turned on. I finally confronted Dad when we were alone in the house, and much to my surprise, the big, confident, hard-charging stud was utterly terrified. Scared that I knew his secret, scared to be outed as a pervert, scared of the power I now had over him. “I’ll buy you a car, anything, Jamie,” he practically begged. “Just please, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell anyone. Please. I’ll do whatever it takes.” “I want an Xterra,” I said. “Black. The supercharged model. You can make it my graduation present, whatever.” “OK, fine,” he said, looking scared still, but relieved, like he was seeing a way out of this. Typical finance dude – figured he could buy his way out of anything. “And,” I said, almost relishing the nervous look on his face, “I want to see you jack off. Return the favor, sort of.” “Jamie, what, you can’t be serious -” he started. “I’m dead serious, Dad,” I said, leaning forward on his desk to emphasize it. “You got to see me blow my load – and I’m betting that wasn’t the first time you spied on me, right?” His blush, the way he looked down at the floor, told me everything I needed to know. My dick got hard in my shorts. And so Dad wound up jacking off for me, stroking an enormous load out of his big dick, all up in the dark fur of his stomach, while his teenage son watched. And found out that he liked it. A lot. We’d do it at least once a week, usually while Mom and the other kids were at the mall or whatever. Almost daily, the summer before I left for college. Every break after that. And when I came back to New York, got a job on the Street – first at a competing firm, and then with his shop – it became almost routine, like our racquetball sessions, or Sunday dinner out in the `burbs with him and Mom and my brother and sister. He’d give me that look, needy and hungry, and I’d nod, and sure as night follows day, soon enough Dad would be buck-ass naked, stroking another epic load out of that big ex-jock cock of his while I directed him. And if he was good, he got one of mine in return. Tonight, he was being good, and I was feeling it. I didn’t always shoot for him, but it seemed like more and more lately, as the years passed and this hot, kinky secret of ours continued to live on, that I’d wind up giving him my load. On his big, silvery-haired pecs. Sometimes directly onto the sticky, swollen mass of his cock. Sometimes down his hungry, sucking throat. Turns out my Dad was a five-star cocksucker, and somehow that was maybe the biggest turnon of all, this wealthy, successful suburban finance man being a total pig gaziantep masaj salonları for his son’s hot young cum. Tonight, he was on fire. It had been a stressful week for everybody, from the trading floors right on up to the corner suites, and everybody had that look in their eyes, even the women. A certain wild-eyed, pent-up energy. My buds were probably out plowing four-hundred-an-hour hookers, doing blow and drinking expensive scotch, possibly all at once. But me and Dad, we were holed up in my Brooklyn condo, him stroking the fat, sticky-slick cock he’d made me with nearly thirty years ago, staring hungrily at me as I stood up, drink in hand, and began to undress. I loved the way Dad’s eyes crawled all over my body. I put a lot of work into it, was much bigger, more powerful, better developed than that lean, lithe 16-year-old he’d loved to spy on when I beat off back in the day. I knew he liked it, and despite the definite shift in the power dynamic between us, that pleased me. I enjoyed being a turnon for him, a lust object, and it made it easier for me to continue lusting after him, getting even sexier as he aged and thickened. I was down to my boxer briefs when I stepped up to him, planted one foot on the couch beside him, and stroked my own raging bulge as I sipped my drink. “Smell me, Dad,” I murmured. “Get your face in there and take a deep whiff of your firstborn’s cock.” Dad obliged with a hungry moan, leaning in and pressing his handsome face to the thick swell of my cockbulge. I slid my fingers into the hair on the back of his head, loving his grateful whimper as I pushed his face deeper, throbbing my piece against his lips as they searched along it, so eager to get past the barrier of fabric and at my pulsing flesh. “Fuck yeah, big guy,” I growled. “You want to suck it?” “Yessss,” he hissed hungrily, and I felt that thrill go through me, that surge of power and lust. “Then take your son’s cock out, Dad,” I murmured. He eagerly complied, skilled fingers tugging my shirts down my hips, letting my big piece swing out, hard and wet-tipped. He beheld it with a hungry kind of awe, nostrils flaring as he inhaled my all-day manscent. Then, looking up at me with almost worshipful eyes, he bent it down, licked his lips, and slowly sucked me to the root. “Fuck yesssss,” I moaned, sinking my fingers back into his expensively-cut hair, guiding his head up and down as he started to bob on my cock. Not that he needed guidance, he was masterful at this, but it was part of the dance. Just like when I’d pull his head back until just my tip was in his mouth, his tongue swirling at it, suckling the precum from my slit, as I pursed my lips and let a wad of my spit hit my shaft, running slowly down into my bush. Then I’d release his head, and he’d chase it hungrily, aiming to collect my spit before it hit my trimmed bush. “Touch me if you want to, Dad,” I said, because I knew he wanted to, and I wanted him to. Wanted to feel his big, ex-ballplayer hands explore the thick power of my thighs, my ass, my abs and pecs, reaching right up to squeeze and explore the flex of my biceps as I showed them off to him. It was such a fucking rush, all of it, the kind of thing I just couldn’t get from some hungry cocksucker on Craigslist. I’d tried. And much as I loved to bring some hot dude home from the bars and plow my load into him as we fed each other our spit, even that didn’t compare to this. Because this was my Dad, and as fucked-up as it was, I loved him, and had lusted after his big, sexy ass for longer than anyone else in the whole world. And tonight, every night we got together like this, he was mine, and mine alone. Tonight, I was particularly feeling that intensity, like a shark smelling blood in the water. I knew he was too. The whole god damn firm was. When we closed this deal next week, it was going to be insane. Like bonus season all over again. But I had a deal I wanted to close tonight, as I guided Dad’s head back down my spitshined cock, up and down, fucking his hungry, slurping mouth as he fisted himself beneath me. And so, reluctantly, I pulled his handsome head up and off, as he moaned with disappointed hunger at me. “My bedroom, now,” I growled. And then I took the last sip of my drink, swirled it around my mouth, leaned in, and fed it to him. He moaned even deeper, his tongue lapping at mine, and I let our deep, incestuous kiss play out for a few minutes, before pulling back. “Go, Dad,” I said, nodding in the direction of my bedroom. “Now.” He scrambled up off the couch, his ass muscular, hairy, magnificent even in his fifth decade. gaziantep escort bayan Aged like the fine bourbon I picked up off the bar and brought into the bedroom. He stood obediently beside my king-size bed, awaiting direction, and when I stepped into him, ran my hand up his fine flank and pulled his head in to feed him my tongue, he didn’t resist at all. I could feel him melt a little, surrendering control to his son completely, and it was easy for me to move him up onto the bed. “I’m going to fuck you, Dad,” I said simply, sliding my bedside drawer open and retrieving my lube. He looked like he wanted to say something, to beg off, but I knew I wanted to fuck him. Deep down, we both knew he wanted me to fuck him. His eyes were a little scared, but they were hungry, too, as he watched the gleaming length of my lubed-up cock bob in the air, as I squeezed out another glob of the stuff onto my fingers and applied them to his hole. “I’m going to fuck you, Dad,” I said again, as I corkscrewed my slick finger inside him, feeling his hole stretch and open, yielding to my relentless probing. “Not tonight. But soon. I think it’s time we took this to the next level, don’t you?” “Oh Christ,” he moaned, jacking feverishly on his big, leaking dick as I continued to work his tight, hairy hole. “All this week, I’m going to work late on the Kobayashi deal, and I’m going to help you bring it home. And then I’m going to fuck you, Dad.” “Ah son,” he moaned, not quite helplessly, but lustily too. “That’s right, Dad,” I murmured, pulling his thighs open more as I probed up deeper inside of him. I grazed my fingers over the pulsing nut inside of him, making his cock belch precum as his eyes rolled halfway back in his head. I knew he wasn’t cherry, I knew his whole sexual history. It was a genuine ball-churner hearing the nasty things he moaned out, on the few occasions when I wrapped myself around his back and stroked his big cock off while I made him spill his secrets. It was a wonder I hadn’t fucked him yet. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve wanted me to fuck you since I was 15, Dad,” I said, low and deep, locking eyes with him. “Oh fuck, Jamie,” he moaned. “That’s right, Dad,” I grinned wolfishly, probing his prostate, stroking it more intently now, my eyes never leaving his the whole time. “Picking up your boy after practice in your big, shiny SUV,” I growled, fingerfucking him steady and deep. “Wishing you could pull over, put the seats down, and get his big, teen jock cock up inside of you. I bet that’s what you thought every time, huh Dad?” Dad moaned, almost a whimper, and nodded nearly imperceptibly. Or maybe that was just him urging me on as he stretched around me. “Bet that’s why you never missed practice, if you could. Because you always hoped… dreamed… you’d get those big hands up inside my gear, didn’t you, Dad… get me naked… and get my big young dick inside of you…” “Oh SHIT!!!” Dad hollered suddenly, and I felt him contracting around me as his muscles bulged, his mouth dropped open, his eyes hazing over, as his cum began to rain over the hairy swells of his powerful torso. “Yeah, I’m gonna show you how it would’ve been, Dad,” I grunted, picking up my pace as I stroked my own cock for him. Hot from the intense realization of just how deeply perved out we both were, how much we had in common, how even more intensely hot the dance was going to be between us from now on. “Yeah, breed me, son,” he growled. “Knock your Dad up, buddy. Show me how much of a fuckin’ man you are…” “God… damn… right, Dad,” I growled through gritted teeth, and as we locked eyes again, I doubletimed my big wet dick, feeling my ass clench deep, his big hands squeezing my bulging pecs as my balls tightened, my whole cock throbbed, and then I was coming on him, showering my hot load all over him, my cum melting into his, mixing into puddles and ropes all over his brawny, hairy torso. “Christ on a bike,” Dad muttered, as I flopped down on the sheets next to him, my cock slapping wetly against my stomach. We both began to chuckle. Then he reached down to the pools of our seed on him, his fingers thick with my cum when he brought them up. He stared at them for a long moment, hen grunted hungrily and started to suck them clean. When he grinned at me, rolled over onto his side, and pulled my head in to kiss him, I didn’t resist. Gave up just a little bit of that control. “I better see you really sweating that Kobayashi deal, son,” he grinned when we finally pulled apart. “I’m expecting quite the bonus if I pull it off, Dad,” I said, reaching behind him to squeeze the big, sweaty muscle of his ass. “So am I, buddy, so am I,” he chuckled, taking hold of my hand and pulling it deeper into the sweaty, fur-lined depth of his trench. And even though it wasn’t usually part of the dance, when he leaned in to kiss me again, I let him, and then I joined him. For the first time ever in our long, sordid history, I considered having Dad spend the night with me.

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