Date: Wed, 24 Nov 1999 14:54:55 GMT
From: Mat
Subject: A Father's Gift - Part 2 - M/T Incest

A Father's Gift

By Mat

Dedicated to: Alan W who inspired it.

Thanks to ASSGM and Nifty for giving guys like me a
lifeline.

Legal bit
     I don't give a darn who reads this I just hope that
you enjoy it. Everyone can get anything they want
anywhere on the Net, so I won't pretend that this message
makes any difference. Anyway, if we have to start
restricting what people are allowed to read and think,
the world will become a much poorer place.

     Feel free to distribute this story anywhere and in
any form you like with the following exceptions:

     You may not include this story on any web site that
has a commercial age validation system or subscription
charge: ie, Adultcheck, pornopass or any similar scheme.

     You may not charge for this story, except for
any media used to distribute it. You may not commercially
reprint this story in book or short story form.



A Father's Gift -- Part 2

	The next morning at breakfast, you don't say anything to your son.
You meet in the kitchen and he smiles at you uncertainly, afraid that last
night was a mistake you now regret. You smile back; a warm reassuring
smile. Neither of you says a word. You move into the dining room and sit
down to eat and he hovers near you. You give his pajama-clad heinie a
friendly pat. He looks down at you, appraising your gesture just for a
moment, and then the sun comes out and he gives you a wide, sweet smile of
relief and love. He leans over and kisses you lightly on the cheek,
lingering just a moment longer than he would normally. He's always been an
affectionate boy. He's not effeminate but he'd never be so bothered about
looking cool that he'd deny his Dad a goodbye kiss as he left for school.
Fortunately, because he's so boisterous nobody thinks to tease him about
it.

He's never kissed anyone in the heat of passion apart from your shower kiss
last night, but his lips are wet and soft on your unshaven face. You are
overwhelmed by his innocence and his love. You turn to him and return his
kiss, breaking the traditional morning ritual. Normally, he is the kisser
and you are the kissee, but today you can't resist a kiss of your own. You
grab him before he can move away and you lightly pull his head back down to
your level, then you give him a kiss on the forehead. You kiss him hard,
your heart swelling with love for him. Your wife looks through the serving
hatch from the kitchen and sees the kiss. She smiles to herself. How lucky
she is to have such a beautiful son and such a loving, perfect husband.

When you release him, your son looks down at you and blinks with surprise.
He understands the passion, but it never occurs to him that he's the reason.
He looks at you aglow. His simple, innocent kiss has filled you with so much
joy that you want to whoop and shout like a game show winner. Neither of you
says anything, but he sits and you have breakfast together. You have to feed
him because both of his arms are in casts.



You visit your wife's parents every weekend. It's another of your family
rituals. Sometimes you stay for a few hours, sometimes you stay the whole
weekend. Because Zack's arms are in plaster, everything is more complicated;
eating, peeing, even simply sitting comfortably in the car for the two-hour
journey. You agree that you and he won't go along this weekend. Right now
your father-in-law has the flu so your wife will stay for a long weekend to
help her Mom out. She goes and although you love her, you're glad to see her
leave. It gives you some quality time with your boy.

On Saturday evening you watch TV with Zack. You sit at the end of the couch
and he lies against you. Many simple pleasures like computer games, are
denied to him because of his broken arms, but he doesn't complain. He's not
that sort of kid. But you sometimes sense his restlessness and frustration.
Your wife phones at about 10pm just to say goodnight. While you're on the
phone, Zack disappears into his room. He returns just in time to bid his mom
goodnight, then you do likewise and hang up. He's holding his pajamas. He
wouldn't normally get ready for bed this early on a weekend, but sometimes
he likes to watch TV in his jim-jams. It's cosier, and on the weekends he
occasionally falls asleep in front of the box, so it makes it easier for you
to put him to bed if he's already in his `jamas.

With his broken arms, it's much harder for him to dress and undress himself.
He can just about do it, but he has a tendency to lose his balance and fall
over when changes his bottoms. Pretty early on, you all realised that if he
was to avoid re-breaking his arms, it would be easier if you simply did the
job for him. He moves into the centre of the room and stands in front of the
TV. The main lights are off, but there's a warm glow cast by wall lights
reflecting off the corn yellow painted walls.

You remove his sweatshirt and he lifts his arms for you to take off his
T-shirt. You pull it up and can't resist giving his sides a little tickle.
It's childish and you haven't done it to him for a few years, but the sight
of that exposed flesh is just too tempting. Even as you do it, you hope that
he won't think you foolish. He squirms and dances back from you letting out
a delightful bubbling chuckle. He might be 14, but in your mind, you hear
him as he was when he was 6 years old. You grab the T-shirt and pull him
back to you. His head is out of the hole and he looks at you with laughter
in his eyes and stands a little hunched up, ready in case you tickle him
again. You don't. You simply pull his arms from the sleeves and push him
firmly towards the couch with a loving grin.

He falls back onto the couch and raises a foot.

"Kiss my foot slave," he commands imperiously, eyes sparkling.

"Kiss my butt knave," you respond, and he giggles at your lame joke.

He has so many boyish habits: the way he still chuckles and giggles; the way
he's still ticklish; the way he still wears his emotions on his sleeve,
making it so easy for people to see how he feels and making him so
vulnerable. Right now he's delighted by your light-hearted banter. His
wiggles his foot at you. You remove his sneaker, then his sock. You sniff
his sock theatrically.

"Pwoar," you groan disdainfully.

He cackles at you, drops the foot and lifts the other one sticking right in
your face. You repeat the action and the comment. These little lame jokes
are part of the cement that bonds your relationship.

He stands up and moves close. You unbutton his jeans and pull them down. As
you do so, the front of his white underpants comes down just a little. Just
enough for you to catch a glimpse of his tiny patch of short black pubes.
Your heart beats a little faster and a little thrill zaps through you. He
steps out of the jeans puddled on the floor. You kneel down and pick them
up, tossing onto the arm of the couch. Then you reach up and grasp his
underpants. Because he's so sporty, he naturally opts for underpants instead
of boxers. He tried boxers a few times, just to conform, but they made him
feel exposed, especially when he was wearing shorts. Once he was out playing
soccer and he sat cross-legged on the grass on the edge of the pitch during
half-time chatting to a mixed bunch of friends. One of the girls pointed at
his groin laughing. When he checked, he realised that his genitals were
clearly visible to anyone who looked up the leg of his boxers. He could have
died! That was the last time he wore boxer shorts.

He's never slept in his underwear either. Your wife read somewhere that the
constriction could make a man or boy infertile, so she always made him
remove them at night.

As his underpants slide down his thighs, you get a good look at his
genitals, which are at eye level. You dress him and undress him every night,
usually in his room away from your wife's eyes. It's been a couple of days
since the shower incident, but for some reason, you find him exceptionally
beautiful tonight. Maybe it's the golden light reflecting off his fair skin,
or maybe it's because you're feeling horny. Or maybe it's the way that the
warmth of the room has made his small balls relax to their fullest extent.
His flaccid little cock bounces as it gets free of his underwear, then his
pulse makes it twitch just a tiny bit, in time with the rhythm of his heart.
You're tempted to give it a little kiss, but instead you opt for a jibe,

"What have you been doing? The poor little thing looks worn out. Look how
tiny it is!"

You look up to his face as you reach for his pajama bottoms. He knows it's a
game. That you use these little jokes to assert your seniority over him in a
gentle way, but nevertheless he blushes. He always does. That's why you keep
making the jokes. In all honesty, he is small for his age. Some of his
buddies are three or even four inches long soft, but he has no more than two
inches at the best of times, and right now you're looking at perhaps one and
a half inches of pale, dormant flesh. If he were not so positive of your
love for him, your little comments might be hurtful, but he intuits another
meaning and the insult is quickly forgotten. He steps into his pajamas and
you pull them up for him, sliding the elasticated waistband past his hips
reluctantly.

	He tells you that he's going to take an early night, so you both go into
the bathroom and you brush his teeth for him. Then he bids you goodnight,
you exchange cheek kisses and he disappears into his room. You return to the
TV disappointed. There's no reason to assume that anything was going to
happen tonight, but you thought that you sensed a little bit of a charge in
the air, as if something might happen. Then you remember his soft prick.
Maybe you were just imagining it. Perhaps you were projecting your desires
onto him. Still, you're determined not to lead him somewhere he doesn't want
to go. You don't want to screw him up. He's far too precious for that. If
needs be, you'll leave the shower incident as a one-off, heat-of-the-moment
thing, never to be repeated. But that doesn't mean you can't wish... You sigh,
feeling suddenly lonely, and you sink into the softness of the couch and
settle down to watch TV.

	After fifteen minutes you get the urge to go to the bathroom. You relieve
yourself and as you leave the bathroom you notice light coming from Zack's
room through the door which is open just an inch. Perhaps he might like a
chat before he goes to sleep. Without the thinking, you push his door and it
opens soundlessly. The sight that greets your eyes is more exciting than you
would have dared hope.

	Zack is on his bed on his hands and knees. He's positioned two pillows one
on top of the other and he's kneeling astride them slowly humping them. You
watch entranced, slowly moving closer without even realising you're moving.
One of his right-angle plaster-cast arms is underneath him holding the
pillows in place; stopping them from sliding upwards as he grinds against
them. His other is above his head resting on the bed where the pillows
should be, supporting his weight. His pajama bottoms are down and hanging
from one leg, as if he was so keen to get started that he couldn't even take
the extra half second to kick his bottoms right off. No wonder you sensed a
charge in the air -- the lad was just dying to get into his room to start
doing the mattress mambo!

	You continue to watch, now consciously controlling your breathing so as not
to give your presence away. Normally, you'd respect your son's privacy, but
this is just too unexpected, and too hot to walk away from. You watch as his
hips grind away at the pillows. He has the cutest action. It starts in the
small of his back, then he rocks forwards and clenching his butt-cheeks, he
pulls his hips upwards whilst thrusting deeply and pushing the pillows
downwards with his arm at the same time. It's a surprisingly sophisticated
action that appears designed to provide maximum friction against his cock by
generating the longest, most powerful possible forward thrust. It's an
athletic technique that only a lithe young body such as Zack's could
maintain for long.

	You can't see his prick because it's sandwiched between the two pillows,
but you can see his balls as he pumps in and out. They dangle and bounce in
their soft, delicate scrotum on each back-stroke, before he plunges forwards
and they pat lightly against the lower pillow, sac wrinkling as he reaches
the limit of each thrust. They're still so small and delicate. It's amazing
to think that he even has a sex drive with such tiny orbs, let alone one so
obviously lusty.

	You look to his face. He's resting with his cheek against the mattress. His
eyes are shut tightly and he starts to make that quiet groaning sound you
love so well. You know he's getting very excited. His tempo has increased
and you know he won't be long.

You say, "Is this a private game or can anyone play?"

	He couldn't move any faster if his ass was on fire! His eyes fly open, he
pulls the pillows to him and he rolls to face the voice. In the throes of
passion, his mind has not had time to put a face to the voice, he just knows
that there's someone else in the room. He looks guilty and momentarily
stunned, like a rabbit caught in a truck's headlights. Although he's
instinctively pulled the pillows to his chest, his young balls are still
dangling out, exposed. His oversight is strangely stimulating but you regret
your intrusion. The poor kid could get a complex about something like this.
In that instant, you resolve to put a lock on his door so that he can always
feel secure in future. You quickly try to reassure him.

"Oh I'm sorry son. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that you were
having so much fun, I was feeling left out."

He eyes you over, his heart still beating fast. He looks doe-eyed and
scared. You feel terrible and give him an awkward grin. Seeing your
discomfiture, his lovely nature takes over and HE actually starts to feel
sorry for YOU. He's lying on his back clutching the pillows to his groin and
staring at you with his big, liquid blue eyes. He slowly opens up and moves
the pillows away to reveal himself. His legs are wide open and he looks
inviting, but the shock has completely killed his erection. Although he's
shrivelled, his foreskin is still peeled back, which you find adorable. The
head of his penis is still purple, and you can see a big wet patch on both
pillows where they were resting against him. You can see a longer wet streak
that clearly reveals the path of his earlier humping. Because he's on his
back, his pecker is flopped back onto his stomach. The back of his helmet
where it joins to the shaft of his dick looks complicated, with wrinkles of
white skin there. You can see the paler skin of his raised seam as it makes
its irregular way down his prick, across his scrotum, dividing it in two,
and along his perineum. His balls hang in their gossamer-skinned scrotum.
You reach forwards and use your index finger to trace the path of his seam
from origin to end. He wriggles a little.

	You stand back and say, "Please, don't let me interrupt you. I saw your
light on and came in to see if you were all right. You looked so adorable, I
just couldn't take my eyes off you."  He looks at the obvious lump at the
front of your pants and gives a wry, knowing grin. You look down at
yourself. His limp penis twitches a few times then with a few powerful
surges of blood, it re-inflates. You didn't know that it was possible to get
a full erection so quickly. You're proud of your son's raw lust. His penis
points at his face as he continues to stare at the outline of your penis.
Slowly he sits up, then carefully repositions the pillows on the bed. He
straddles them and tentatively starts to hump again.

He's clearly self-conscious at the thought of putting on a sex show for you,
but he desperately wants to please you to show you how much he cares. He
wants to satisfy your every desire. As a teenager, there's so little that he
can give you, so he's determined to do the best he can when the rare
opportunity arises. Whether it's a hand-made card on your birthday, or
breakfast in bed on Father's day, or a mown lawn or polished car once in a
while just for the sake of it, Zack always pulls out all the stops to show
how much he cares. Now he's demonstrating his love by humping pillows for
you.

You've already seen this show. You're interested in a bit of audience
participation. You move close and gently pull the pillows back through his
legs, dragging them against the length of his slender dick. Then you throw
them on the floor. He waits to see what you will do, and his buttocks
clench, reluctant to let him stop humping. You put a hand on his back and
start to stroke him with long sweeping movements as if he was a thoroughbred
horse, enjoying the silky smooth warmth of his skin. With your other hand,
you reach between his legs from behind. He's still on his knees so you have
free access. You cup his small, soft balls. You heft them in your hand to
feel their weight. There's not much to them. You lightly bounce them in your
hand and despite their lightness, there's something satisfying about the way
they tap against your hand each time they land.

You release his balls and start to rub the skin of his fine, hairless
scrotum between your fingertips. The surface of his scrote is a little bit
rubbery, enabling you to get traction, but its inside surfaces slide easily
over each other like a piece of silky cloth.

He subconsciously lifts his raised ass and opens his legs wider to give you
easier access. You reach deeper between his legs and take his prick in your
hand. His balls rest in your palm and his cock lies lengthways, like a sixth
finger. It's only a little thicker than your fingers too. You find it
incredible that a boy with such a powerful libido can have such a slender
penis. It dispels any myths about a relationship between penis size and
virility. He's beyond caring about size jokes now. You allow his penis to
rest on your middle finger, and you move the two fingers either side up the
edge of it. Then you slowly drag your hand backwards towards his ass,
fingers pressing firmly, pulling his already unfurled foreskin back to its
furthest extent. His penis is absolutely straight, and hard as iron, but as
you pull harder on his skin, the end bends downwards just a little.

His breathing has already become very noticeably faster, and his hips have
started a circular grinding motion as he attempts to increase the friction
of your hand against his genitals. You press your palm upwards against his
balls. His scrotum has tightened, pulling his kidney bean-sized balls up
towards his body. You feel his testicles slip and slide as you start to rub
your hand in a circular motion against his plump little ballbag.

You stop stroking his back with your other hand. Instead you reach beneath
him from the side and extend your index finger towards the head of his hard
penis. It's slick with pre-cum and you use the liquid as lube. You move your
fingertip across the surface of his purple helmet, making little circles.
The experience is so intense that he keeps twitching his legs together and
clenching his buttocks as the sensitive nerve endings in his penis are
stimulated and little shocks explode deep inside him. Although you're
stimulating his cock, the sensations feel as if they're coming from
somewhere between his balls and his perineum.

You remember from last time how sensitive his frenulum is, so you reach
beneath his penis and start rubbing your finger firmly up and down the tiny
wrinkled piece of skin. The response is immediate. He gasps and tenses his
body, thrusting his chest out and arching his back just the tiniest bit. He
starts grunting as if he's straining to lift a heavy weight. You look at his
face and his eyes are screwed tightly shut. His mouth is in a grimace, lips
peeled back, teeth showing and his head is thrown back. You realise what's
happening and look down just in time to see a splash of white goo landing on
the white sheets between his elbows, which he's using to prop himself up.
You're a little disappointed that he's cum so quickly, yet his lack of
control is just one more endearing quality of his youth.

Another gob of cum joins the first, and then another lands on the sheet a
little nearer to the foot of the bed. Three, four, five more short jets of
boy cum join the first three on the mattress, each a little further down the
bed than the one before, as your boy starts to tremble with ecstasy. His
thighs are fluttering in and out and you're working on his balls for all
you're worth.

Finally it ends. He takes a long, deep quivering breath, then exhales a long
satisfied moan of completion and satisfaction. You look at the bed-sheet.
He's sprayed seminal fluid everywhere. How can such small balls hold so much
juice? The milky pearl-drops are fast soaking into the sheet, reminding you
how watery and immature his sperm is. You smile at the thought. Zack is
still so fresh but he's also sooo very horny!

His body starts to relax. You're still cupping his fat little pouch and
stroking his rod-like prick. You feel his body weight against your palm as
he starts to sag. You're virtually supporting him by the balls. You lower
your hand and he collapses gently to the mattress, utterly spent. His legs
straighten and he lies belly-down on the long wet patch he's just created.
You find that very erotic.

"How was that son?" you ask.

He turns his head, opens his heavy-lidded eyes and sleepily slurs, "The
best! Thanks Dad." He shows you a languid, loving smile. Then his eyes
flutter shut and he immediately drifts into sleep, more completely drained
than he's ever been before.

You roll him onto his back. His cock is completely flaccid again and the
skin has slid forward to cover its tip, but there are still a few dewdrops
of cum on the end. You hold his soft, warm little member and lick the
droplets off as though you were licking a lollipop. His mouth is agape but
he doesn't stir. You can't resist it. You suck his white softness into your
mouth with a fllup. You weren't able to experience it soft before. It's
wonderful. So cute and vulnerable. It represents everything boyish and
innocent about him. You roll it around inside your mouth, pressing it
against the roof of your mouth. You open just a little further and take his
balls in as well. They feel bigger in your mouth than in your hands, but
they're still small and quite a few degrees cooler than his prick. You feel
a sense of power with his balls at your disposal. You suck hard and his
penis slowly inflates again. You release him and move your head so that you
can see if he's enjoying the experience. He's still asleep. You play with
him for a while longer. There's something deliciously illicit about giving
your son a boner even in his sleep. As if he's a puppet for your amusement.
Just a little fuck-toy that gets hard whenever you press the right button.

Your own penis has been straining for attention for a while now and you have
to get closer to your boy. You remove your clothes and lie on the bed beside
him. You roll him towards you so that he's lying on his side. You wrap your
arms around him. You lift him so that you can slide a leg under his hip,
then you wrap both legs around him, pulling his groin close to yours. You
snuggle up close, and lie dick to dick with the sleeping boy, occasionally
thrusting with your groin in order to generate some friction.

You can't help but go further. You roll him onto his back and straddle him.
Your balls are resting on his small bag. Your dick is pressed against his
unconscious erection. You start to hump him slowly. You both get harder. You
look into his sleeping face. He's so tranquil, so angelic. His short dark
hair is a little wild and he's sweating in his sleep. You lean forwards and
kiss the damp freckles across the bridge of his nose. His breathing is slow
and deep. His breath smells warm and wholesome. Like milk or yeast. You
thrust against him time and again, stroking his face and his smooth chest
and kissing him anywhere that your lips can reach.

You've lusted after this beautiful body for so long and now it's yours. Your
balls are almost buzzing with unspent energy. You feel wetness between you.
No, not already! It's too soon. You curse your raging hormones! You look
down and see that it's not you, but Zack who has ejaculated. Twice in ten
minutes! The cum is even more watery than before. It's squirted as far as
his belly button. Some of it is trapped there in a cloudy pool. The rest
immediately trickles back down his belly into the very short black pubes
he's only just grown. There's not that much liquid and you see it spreading
against the skin that's visible under his spiky pubes. It'll dry and turn
sticky there.

Seeing your son cum pushes you over the edge and you climax too. You're so
excited that your first jet hits him on the throat. Your mature juices are
thick, gel-like, with an uneven, almost lumpy texture. Your cum rests on his
skin for a while, unmoving, but the heat his body acts as a catalyst, and
the viscous seminal fluid breaks down and runs down the sides of his neck
and chest, leaving wet trails behind. Before the liquid can fall from his
body to the mattress, you catch it with your fingertips, and smear it over
him. You don't know why you do it, but it's a primal instinct. Like scent
marking your property, or a hunter smearing his face with the blood of his
first kill. Your sperm will dry on his body, and he'll never know it's
there. He'll innocently wear your juices until his next shower.

You clamber off, and cover him with a quilt. Then you dress, kiss his
forehead tenderly and leave his bedroom. Tomorrow, he'll be none the wiser
about the gift he gave you tonight...