Date: Fri, 20 Jul 2007 03:39:03 -0400
From: Nifty Cub <niftycub@gmail.com>
Subject: DAD ON THE CAN: PART 5

Note: This story contains adult content. If this offends you, do not read it.


DAD ON THE CAN: PART 5

Things at work were slow, even with half the office on summer
vacation. I checked in with folks and left a couple hours early. That
tub of Vaseline was still on the brain and I wanted to check dad's
room before he got home.

When I walked in the door, I was surprised to hear the TV going and
dad talking on the phone. The place smelled like roasting meat and
body odor, a weird mix, but a home kind of smell. The place was extra
hot from cooking in the kitchen, but not as stifling as the elevator
and hallway. Dad poked his head around the corner and waved. He
cradled the phone on his shoulder and ducked back into the kitchen.

I dropped my work shoes with a thud to the floor. Next came the
trousers and shirt. I stripped down to our apartment uniform, which
for me and dad was usually just boxers. My work clothes were soaked. I
leaned over the couch to drop them in a pile and caught a glimpse of
the plastic bag of my stash sticking out behind the back of the couch.
This time I was pretty sure something was up, because I stuffed that
bag way back last time I looked at my titty mags.

Dad came out with a can of beer in each hand. I cracked it open and
felt a jolt to my heart as the icy brew raced down my esophagus. I was
a sweaty mess. Dad's chest and shoulder hair were plastered to his
skin in dark rings and the body odor was strong with him closer.

"What's up dad, did you just get home?"

"Nah, had the day off today. The site called this morning and a
transformer downtown blew. Power should be back tomorrow."

I slugged down the can of beer between pulling socks off and chatting
dad up. Dad followed my first sock with his eyes as I threw it on the
pile next to the couch. When I added the second sock to the pile, I
shoved the end of the plastic bag behind the couch with a sharp rustle
and turned back to gauge his reaction.

"I made some chili, want some?" he said.

"Chili?  Yeah, sounds great."

Forget the bag. I am always hungry after work. Big time. Dad's a great
cook, and I am a good eater, so I guess it works out well for both of
us. Dad has always seemed pretty pleased at what a good eater I am,
especially since I moved in, which is kind of a point of pride for me.
He told me to help myself, and excused himself to the bathroom.

When the bathroom door clicked, I moved like a panther to his bedroom.
I just needed to take a quick scout of the room. I roved around; no
sign of the tub. Everything looked the same it did this morning, only
it smelled really strongly of scrotum. I was about to leave but paused
to check out if my stroke this morning had left any stains. The wood
floor was spotted with white circles, but I could see light shining
off some clear streaks that definitely weren't dry. I looked closer
and also found some dark, wet lines on the wall too. How new were
these? I touched them and they were room temperature, but as I rubbed
the slick stuff between my fingers I felt a flush of embarrassment as
my dick started to rise in my boxers.

I got out of there real fast and scooped a big bowl of chili for
myself. It was good. During dinner I talked to dad about what he had
done all day, which was not much, though he did clean up the mess from
our haircuts. We kept breaking off conversation to watch the game on
TV wrap itself up. Dad was kicked back on his recliner chair with one
hand behind his head and the other absently scratching his balls. I
was fully sated on chili and pretty punchy from the beers. I staggered
up to take a piss, and as I walked past dad, I touched my cold can of
beer to one of his nipples. He yowled and took a lunge for me.

I chuckled while my piss filled up the bowl. When I flushed dad pushed
past me and said, 'my turn.' I washed my hands and got a glimpse of
his package poised above the bowl, waistband of boxers slung
underneath his sack. Damn. We never talked about it, but I always knew
dad and I were pretty well hung. This guy he had me beat, though, and
at my age I probably wasn't gonna grow any more. Monster dick. I kind
of understood where the expression 'hung like a horse' came from.

I looked back into the bathroom once on my way out. The image of dad's
hairy back, buzzed head, and shaking arm were on my brain as I pulled
out the hideaway and shut out the lights.

I woke up a couple hours later with a piss hard. The beers had gone
down deceptively easy in that kind of heat, and lunging up off the
couch, I had to admit I was a little drunk. Standing above the toilet,
I could still almost feel the way dad slid beside me to take his piss
earlier. I smiled dreamily remembering him yelp. My dick was plumping
up while I finished emptying myself. I noticed dad's cigarettes on the
counter, and without a second thought I pulled one out and held it
unlit in my lips while I tried to quietly open the window above the
sink. It was basically like trying to unwrap a piece of candy slowly.
The squeal from the window echoed off the tile. I lit up and sat down
on the toilet, flicking ash into the sink.

I don't know if it's because of the beers, or the confusion about my
bag behind the couch, or the smell in that bathroom, but while I
smoked on the couch my cock kept rising. The head poked out the fly of
my boxers. Holding the cigarette between my lips, I shucked them off.
I sat back down on the toilet and gave my dick a couple tugs. Felt
good. I spit in my palm and started in on a wank. I had never smoked
and stroked before. It was pretty fucking hot to hang there on the
toilet with my legs spread and going at it like that.

All of a sudden, the door crunched open. There was dad, butt naked. He
squinted from the bright light and looked down at me on the toilet. A
shit-eating grin spread across his jowels.

"'Atta boy. Goddamn. I was just coming in here for the same thing."

I don't know if he meant for a smoke or.... My hand froze on my dick,
but it jumped in my paw when I got a whiff of the smell he brought
into the bathroom with him. He was a bear standing over me, fur
sprouting out in whorls from his feet to his shoulders. I could almost
still hear the last few wet strokes on my cock still echoing off the
tile.

Dad quickly reached for the smokes and lit up, leaning against the
door behind him. His face disappeared behind a big cloud of smoke and
I gave my dick one more wet-slapping stroke. He let another few puffs
and I did the same. I saw his dick start to rise quickly.

I was eye-level with his furry thighs. My eyes roved down to the gnarl
of muscles around dad's kneecaps and down to his thick calves. Even
his toes had tufts of fur on them. My gaze moved on to my feet and up
my spread thighs to my belly and cock.

I blushed when I heard the dry thwacking of dad beating off. I blew
out a puff of smoke and watched his arm and pec muscle working. His
thick, square wrist had a grip on his cock. The cigarette dangled from
his lips while his head looked down at what he was beating off. The
door creaked as he leaned back against it heavier and shifted his feet
farther apart. I couldn't take my eyes off the heavy balls swinging
back and forth between his furry thigh crease. Back and forth, strong,
steady rhythm. The head of his dick poked through his circled fingers
over and over again.

My cigarette was done and I lifted up on the seat enough to throw the
butt behind me in the water. My jacking arm kept going and the free
hand roved from my balls to my belly and chest, and ended up nestling
in the armpit of my jacking arm. I could keep my blunt fingertips in
the pit and just reach the nip with my thumb. My dick jerked in
response and a bubble of precum flowed out. I must have moaned because
dad looked up. He wasn't smiling. The only way to read the expression
on his face was crazy horny. We didn't quite make eye contact, but he
was hungrily roving over the muscles in my shoulder and arm as I beat
off. And that made even more blood force its way into my temples and
my hardon. I felt something inside me start fluttering and popping. We
beat off hard, checking each other out.

Dad was stroking with gusto. The rhythm from his big arm was sending
tufts of air to me like shockwaves from a subwoofer. His dry thwacks
turned into juicy, liquid strokes as precum coated the skin sliding
over his cockhead. The door creaked again as he spread his legs
farther and took to it with abandon. Just like I had heard the night
before when dad thought I was sleeping, his rhythm got strong and
insistent, and grunts came out of his mouth every off-stroke. I
realized my grunts had started going back and forth with his. The last
shred of inhibition fell away and I went at it full hog.

I writhed on the toilet seat, ankles flexed, mouth agape, hips
curling. I was not yet ready to cum, but I felt the point of no return
explode in my groin and shoot throughout my body. Even the hand
trapped in my pit started wriggling in pit hair. Dad, too, was
grinding on the heels of his feet and making noises like something big
was about to strike. He and I and locked gazes for a second and he
stammered, 'oh fuck.' I glanced down to my sloppy cock to watch it
shoot, but before I could count one-one-thousand I felt two jolts of
piping hot jizz splash my goatee and then my sternum. They weren't
from my cock.

Dad bellowed out and fell forward against the counter. He unleashed a
torrent of cum and coated my chest. I flinched, unprepared, as a good
nine shots pummeled my pecs. It was like getting slammed with a
pressure bottle of hot oil. My shoulders and neck got splattered with
flecks, but my chest was a furry surface of piping hot ooze. My neck
flew back and I yelled out to the ceiling. My first cumshot flew
straight up and arched in the air just in between my face and dad's. I
looked at him and watched my shots slam against his leg. Dad grunted
out approval and hunched forward as a shot slammed my chest in
response. I lunged to my feet. We grunted and moaned out a prolonged
orgasm, milking out our last shots on each other's feet, cum oozing
between our curling toes.

We stood there locked shoulder to shoulder, sweating and heaving. My
vision came back from dark as waves of intense satisfaction coursed
through me. Dad twitched and his sweaty shoulder hair tickled my ear.
I grunted out one last shot I didn't think I had in me, and it landed
on dad's pubes and wrist. He groaned.

Our heads and shoulders squirmed up at the same time. We looked each
other in the face, flushed and sweaty. I don't know who took the cue
from whose eyes, but suddenly we both started laughing. It was an
unstoppable, deep belly laugh. It shook the walls and brought waves of
euphoria and relief right up to the top of our heads. Dad smacked one
paw on the top of my buzzed head and smeared his jerking hand on my
shoulder, cum and all. I reached around his back and shoulder and
heard our hearts racing. My laughs shook him and vice versa. We were
smelly, sweaty, and covered in cum.

Dad broke the embrace, reached for a cigarette, and looked me right in
the eyes with a huge grin.

"Fuck. Smoke, son?"

"Hell yeah!"