Date: Sat, 26 Feb 2000 13:18:46 GMT
From: Philip Burbidge <philip255@hotmail.com>
Subject: The English Boy 1  -  Incest  (Father/son) 'In the Beginning,,,'

This story comes with all the usual warnings.  It is the first in a
sequence of stories about a teenage boy and his sexual relationship with
his father, which subsequently, includes other male members of the family.
It is an adult's fantasy of being an adolescent again and looking back to a
mythical past where he finds emotional and sexual satisfaction in the arms
and loins of his daddy - and most of his male relatives!  Future chapters
explore these intra-family relationships and experiences with other
families.  They graphically portray sexual activity between family members
over three generations which are pure invention - though grounded in
personal experience and wishful thinking!  If this is not to your taste, is
illegal where you live, or you are yourself under age, do not read further.

Comments and suggestions are welcome and will be replied to (flames ignored
unless they really make me horny!).  So if you have similar tastes or just
got off on this story let me know at: philip255@hotmail.com


THE ENGLISH BOY 	Chapter 1

In the Beginning ...

I had never been particularly close to my father.  He was always away on
business - the Middle East, South East Asia, the States - building up his
computer business.  He was what my mother's parents called a 'man's man'.
At their most generous they would say he was a 'rough diamond'.  His direct
no- nonsense style sometimes offended them, and with his aggressive good
looks, they treated him with kid gloves.  He was certainly not the type of
man they had in mind for their refined and sophisticated daughter.  My
parents had met when they were only eighteen and her parents thought she
would tire of him and find someone more 'suitable'.  Well, she did, but not
until after they had married and I was born.  He was the bit of rough that
stayed around.  For as long as I could remember, they had gone their
separate ways, but stayed together for my sake and because it suited their
careers and lifestyles.  It was an amicable arrangement of which my
grandparents strongly disapproved.

I took after my mother in looks and build, her slight and slim form, smooth
skin and blond hair, but with my father's open face, blue eyes and darker
colouring.  Eventually, I would probably be a couple of inches shorter than
his 5'10", and not as broad and brawny.  But at just turned thirteen I was
still six inches shorter than him, and, unlike him at my age, I was nowhere
near ready to start shaving.  He always sported a seven o'clock shadow, and
had to shave twice a day if he had an evening appointment.  The colour of
his dark blond hair and beard, tinged with red, matched the ample curly
chest hair that began below his throat and covered his broad stomach,
getting progressively darker as it travelled down to my dreams.  His
piercing sapphire eyes shone out disconcertingly from a round, pugnacious
face.  He radiated a raw 'in-your-face' sexuality, attracting some but
repelling those with more refined tastes.  His direct and often coarse
manner divided the world into two distinct groups: those who took to him
and those who considered him an uncouth boor.  It was one of his little
pleasures in life to shock the latter, using inappropriate language at
social functions to rile my grandparents and their 'arty farty' friends.

With my parents often away on business, my grandparents took over my social
education and tried to brush out any of my father's characteristics they
detected in me.  Consequently, I was rather shy of him and not comfortable
in his company.  He ignored me as a baby and infant but developed a
cheerful disdain for me as I grew older, suspecting (rightly) that my
grandparents were trying to make me into an ally against him.  But as
puberty dawned, and I was able to hold more adult conversations, he took
more notice of me, and at least tried to do 'fatherly' things with me when
he wasn't too busy.  Occasionally we would go walking or to the coast for
the day when he would try to talk to me.  It brought us into more physical
contact as he helped me over fences and up steep slopes.  He took to
ruffling my hair and picking me up when an opportunity arose which I
secretly enjoyed but which also embarrassed me.  Generally, I became more
conscious of him of a man, especially after a period of absence.

On one rare occasion he came to a parents' evening at school, mooching
around behind my mother looking mildly uncomfortable.  The following day, a
couple of my (girl) friends said, "Your dad's a bit of a hunk, isn't he?"

I was baffled and didn't know how to react.  But when I saw dad that
evening shuffling through some papers on the sofa, I took a good look at
him.  He had come straight from the office and had taken off his jacket
before settling down to work.  But his tie was pulled down and the top
button of his shirt open allowing a few strand of chest hair to spill out,
giving him a rakish look.  The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up revealing
strong forearms covered with golden brown hair.  As he got up to retrieve
his mobile phone from the coffee table, I detected a definite bulge in his
suit trousers, loose though they were.  Throughout this furtive examination
my cock remained resolutely hard, hidden under a magazine, as I pretended
to watch the television.  He returned to the sofa and caught me eyeing him.

"What are you looking at?" he said in his usual gruff manner.  "Nothing", I
replied, blushing to the roots of my hair.  A few minutes later, I made an
excuse and disappeared upstairs for a quiet wank in my bedroom.

I had been wanking for several months, but hadn't thought a great deal
about it.  When I stayed at my grandparent's house, I used to find myself
looking at the men in gran's catalogue.  Men in their underwear made my
little cock stiff, and I would examine the guys modelling jeans and
workmen's clothes minutely for a hint of a bulge in their crotches.  There
were a couple of teachers at school who I found myself thinking about and
getting hard.  Their faces and bodies popped into my head when I was
masturbating, especially the biology teacher whose shirt buttons had a
habit of coming undone, revealing tantalising glimpses of a hairy chest and
stomach whenever he reached up to write on the board.  Alas, his trousers
were too loose to indicate any idea of what lay between his strong thighs.
I had also taken to watching cowboy films and ogling the rough handsome men
in their tight jeans and chaps.  But why did I need to wank over
'Marlborough Man' when there was a handsome hunk living in the same house!

My bedroom was the converted loft at the top of the house, a big room with
sloping eaves and sky-light windows.  The floor was polished pine with rugs
each side of my double bed.  At one end was the new heating boiler that had
recently been put in when the whole central heating system was replaced.  I
discovered when I moved into the loft conversion, that one of the pine
floorboards that had been taken up to fit the pipes for the plumbing had
not been nailed down.  As it was under the rug in reach of the bed it was
never noticed, but it made a convenient hiding place for my scrap book.  A
couple of months earlier, shortly after I'd started wanking, I began
collecting pictures of men I fancied: black sprinters in their tight lycra
strip showing off their cocks and bollocks, some film stars (Rock Hudson,
Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson etc) and the odd picture of a naked man from art
and history books.  Then I started a sort of sex diary where I wrote down
when I'd had a wank, and who I'd thought of while I was doing it:
sportsmen, actors, school teachers, and the security guard at a department
store I always got the horn for.

After that parent's evening, my wanking reveries revolved around my dad.
So I confided to my diary how I wanted to see his cock, and feel his balls,
and run my hands across his hairy chest. I found a picture of him in his
tight old jeans with the broken zip, mending the garage roof.  He was
stretching up and you could clearly see his bollocks hanging down each side
of his crotch.  I stuck it in my book with a big arrow pointing to his
crotch saying in a balloon, "My daddy's cock and big spunk-filled balls".
The next two pages were stuck together, and on the following page it said,
"The previous two pages are stuck together with my spunk which I wanked off
while thinking about my dad and his big meaty dick".

On the facing page I drew a cartoon of my dad with an enormous erection
sticking out of his trousers.  It was about 3 feet long in comparison to
his body.  I had no idea what I would do with such a prick but I knew my
dad had to have a big one.  So almost every day I added to my scrap book:
'saw the outline of dad's cock in his trousers today; had a wank on it',
and 'caught dad coming out of the bathroom this morning; beautiful hairy
body and bulge in towel between legs.  What a fucking hunk!! Want to get my
hands on his dick'.

Then I'd write a fantasy about playing with his cock when he fell asleep on
the sofa in front of the fire. Sometimes I mentioned other people like my
good-looking biology teacher, how I'd got a glimpse of his cock in his
trousers, or my games master's bulge in his shorts.  There was also a local
policeman and the vicar...  I was beginning to get a hard on looking at
anything in trousers!.  I hung around the two men who converted the loft,
admiring their strong hairy arms, and stealing glances at what treasures
lay between their legs.  Only my diary knew how much I wanted a man; how
much I wanted my dad!

So I lay on my bed and wanked my little prick to relieve the tension but
couldn't get my dad out of my mind.  In fact, the thought of him excited me
so much I could have reached a climax much sooner than I usually did.  But
I held back letting my imagination drift over his face, his hairy chest,
and that tantalising bulge between his legs.

"Yes, the girls are right, he is a hunk.  I'll never be as butch as him," I
thought, "This is really pervy!"  I lashed my prick up to a frothy climax
and relieved my aching little nuts, shooting my load up on to my chest.
Then I cleaned up and went down for supper.  As I approached the kitchen
door, I heard my mother say, "What on earth is that boy doing? He spends
more and more time on his own in his bedroom these days!"  "He's probably
having a wank," my father replied.  "Do you have to be so coarse," snapped
my mother.  It stopped me in my tracks.  I had heard my father say "wank"
and he was dead right.  Feeling my face turn a deep crimson, I walked
around the garden for a couple of minutes to cool down.

Over the next few days, I became more and more conscious of my father as a
sex object.  Watching him from under my eyelids, I recorded the shape of
his mouth, the pattern of hair on his arms, and sought for any tell-tale
signs of movement in his trousers.  It was a moment of triumphant joy when
he stretched up to change a light bulb in the kitchen and I saw irrefutable
evidence of a cock and balls hanging down the right hand side.  An instant
erection was followed by a deep blush, as my father caught me staring at
his crotch and raised his eyebrows.  I fled upstairs, got out my
diary-scrapbook, wrote and wanked in it, my father's crotch ever in my
mind's eye.  He passed me as I emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later,
and with a knowing wink, said, "Had a nice time?"  Needless to say, I
blushed again and scampered off to my room.

The following week my mother had to go to Rome from Monday to Friday.
Unusually, my father was at home all week so I wasn't farmed out to my
grandparents.  On the Monday evening I got home from school as usual and
found my dad in my bedroom with the floorboards up.  I suddenly panicked.
What if he finds my diary!  But he was several feet away fixing a leak in a
joint that connected the boiler with another pipe.  Had he taken up the
floorboard under which lay my darkest secrets, tucked round the pipe?  He
looked up and noticed my agitation.  "Okay?" he said, "This sprang a leak
and started coming through the ceiling.  Thought I'd better fix it.  I've
about finished now."  "Yea, fine," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant,
my eyes glued to the floor.

I desperately wanted to check that my book was still there, but couldn't
without attracting his attention.  He slipped the last floorboard back in
place.  "Better leave these loose in case I need to look at this joint
again," he said.  There was something in his voice that made me suspicious;
as if he knew something.  But perhaps I was imagining it.  Then as he moved
the rug back into place, and turned to go down stairs, he said, "Oh, by the
way, I found this under the floorboards.  I suspect it belongs to you", and
he produced my diary from behind his back.  I wanted the ground to open up
and swallow me.  I felt my cheeks burning and didn't know whether to flee
or stay, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot.  " Oh no, oh shit, oh, em
.." I babbled.  Seeing my total consternation, he gave me another of his
looks and said, "I think we need to have a little talk, don't you?  Down
stairs!"

The few short seconds it took to walk down two flights of stairs to the
living room, seemed an eternity.  I blindly followed him not able to think
of a single thing to say, and torturing myself with all the filthy and
perverted things I'd written that involved him.  He sat down on the sofa
and bade me sit next to him.  What would he say?

"Well," he began, "You are a dirty minded little bugger and no mistake.  I
didn't know what such words meant at your age!"  "Oh, dad, I'm sorry ...",
I began to whine.  "Hey, steady," he said reassuringly, "I'm not going to
read you the riot act or throw you out.  But we've got to talk this
through.  Now, I take it that you meant everything you wrote, and that
every man in the town and on the television seems to give you a hard on?"

I stared miserably at the floor and nodded, not daring to look him in the
face.  "And all those disgusting things you wrote about me, how you lust
after your own father, take every opportunity to see me naked, and play
with yourself fantasising about me - is that all true?"  This was much.  I
was almost in tears, and my head fell forward.  What if he tells mum?
They'll have me taken away and put in to care or a hospital for perverts!

"You know what they call that, don't you, eh?" he asked rhetorically.
"Incest!  It's called incest!"  The word cut and thrilled me to the quick.
I cringed inside.  "Not just that," he continued, "It's queer incest!
Father-son incest!"

Each repetition of the forbidden word was like a knife in my stomach.  But
I couldn't deny it.  As I started to sob he put his strong arms round me
and drew me to him.  My head settled on his shoulder.  "I can't say I'm not
shocked by the stuff you wrote but we can't pretend it isn't real.  Lifting
my head back, he said, Do you really want sex with your daddy that badly?"

I couldn't meet his stare, dropped my eyes and nodded.  "Look into my eyes
and tell me.  Go on", he added insistently.  "Tell me how much you want sex
with me."  "I ... I know I shouldn't, not like that, but I do.  I can't
help it!  I can't think of anything else but your c.." I whimpered, but
couldn't bring myself to say the word, and I burst into tears.  He gathered
me up in his strong arms and held me very tight.  "My cock! It's your
daddy's cock you want, isn't it?  I'm going to have to do something about
you, before you go looking for it somewhere else.  Your stories were so
fucking horny, you'll be walking the streets looking for cock if we don't
sort it out now!" he said the last bit laughing.  I snuggled down into his
chest, and he stroked my head.

"We can work this out between us if this is what you really want?" he said
seriously, and I didn't really believe what I was hearing.  He must mean
something else.  Then he lifted my face up to his pressed his lips against
mine and kissed me.  I think that was the most wonderful moment of my life,
and I responded instantly and passionately.

"Yes, that is what you want, isn't it, little one?  Well, better that your
daddy looks after you and teaches you than any stranger who might hurt
you."  He said the last sentence as if to himself rather than to me.  Then
he kissed me again; this time with real passion.  I was snogging my dad,
and the brush of his stubble on my soft cheeks was the most erotic thing I
had ever felt up to that point.  I moaned with pleasure.

"Right. Are you prepared to trust your daddy and do as he tells you?"  I
nodded meekly.  "Good. I want you to go upstairs, take a shower, and report
back here in your dressing gown in ten minutes, okay!"  It was an order not
a question.  I opened my mouth to ask why but it was quashed with a look
that said, "No questions, now.  Just do as you're told".  I trotted
upstairs, trembling with bewilderment and anticipation.  What did he mean?
What's going to happen?  My mind was crowded with questions that I daren't
dwell on.

When I returned, he took me by the hand and guided me back on to the sofa
next to him. Pressing his lips against mine, I felt his left hand slide
around my shoulders and his fingers run through my hair.  His right hand,
meanwhile, was placed on my right knee, it travelled slowly up my leg under
my dressing gown and came to rest at the top of my thigh.  An involuntary
sighed escaped my lips.  "Don't worry, I won't hurt you", he added gently
in an unfamiliar tone of voice.  "What happens between us is our secret.
No-one else need ever know".  I didn't need to be told this!

His hand moved slowly on to my raging little cock. First he wrapped his
strong hand around it and squeezed gently.  I moaned with pleasure.  Then
he let his fingers trace the urethra down to my tight, smooth, hairless
little nuts, caressing them on the way.  He continued to the seam between
my balls and my arsehole, his forefinger gently stroking me back and forth.
I squirmed in his arms, my face turning towards his.  As it did so, he held
my head firmly by the hair and I risked glancing at his face.  His eyes
were blazing, I still couldn't meet his stare.  I sought to drop my head
but his lips gently drifted across mine, then back again.  The musky smell
of his breath and rough graze of his beard excited me beyond endurance,
heightened by the slow working of my cock between his two fingers and
thumb.

"Oh, yes, little boy, you want your daddy, don't you.  I've seen you
staring at my crotch, and looking at those black sprinters on the tv with
their bollocks thrashing backwards and forwards.  That really gets your
juices flowing.  Doesn't it, eh?  Then you disappear upstairs for a wank."

He growled this in a voice heavy with lust and anticipation.  He placed his
mouth firmly on mine and pressed his face into mine.  One again, I moaned
and writhed.  He was doing and saying all the things that I had dreamt of
in my masturbatory daydreams.

He released me and told me to stand up in front of him.  Using both hands,
he pushed the dressing down over my shoulders; it fell to the floor.  I
stood nervously naked in front of my father, as he feasted his eyes on my
young flesh; flesh of his flesh.

"Ooh, you're just to pretty for your own good", he said more to himself
than to me.  He ran his hands all over my body; they came to rest on my
cock and balls which he gently massaged.  Easing my legs apart, he explored
the route to my arsehole and gently fingered it.  Breathing heavily, he
stood up and turned me round.  He thrust his hand between my legs and
groped my testicles from behind.  Then he placed both hands on my arse
cheeks.  "Bend over," he ordered.  I complied.  "Spread your cheeks".  I
obeyed.  I felt something thick, warm and sticky caress my arse and nudge
my hole. He rubbed it up and down, pressing it into the crack.  "Not yet,
no, not yet, but soon," he whispered to himself.  He turned me round, sat
me down on his lap, and worked my cock until it produced some clear sticky
pre-cum.  He growled again, "Little boy's love juice".  I was fascinated
but slightly repelled by this, but so aroused I felt I was going to burst.

He snapped out of his reverie.  "Now its your turn", he said firmly, pushed
me off his knee and stood up.  Placing me in his seat he stood in front of
me, the bulge in his trousers clearly visible and only inches from my face.
"Are you ready for this", he said smiling, "This is what you want, isn't
it," he said offering me a handful of his crotch.  "This is what you've
been waiting for, dreaming of, and wanking over.  Your daddy's cock!  Well,
this is your dream come true.  Feel my crotch."

I hesitated, so he took my hand and place it on his hidden prick, pressing
it hard.  I could feel the solid rod flex as I touched it.  "Open my zip,"
he ordered.  Trembling with nervous anticipation, I tentatively pulled down
the zip over his rampant cock and waited for my next order.  "Good boy,
obedient too.  Now undo my trousers slowly, and pull them down".  I could
tell he was acting out a fantasy that he had probably wanked off to many
times.  His trousers fell to the floor without my help, exposing a pair of
boxer shorts with a tent pole in them.  Meanwhile he had removed his tie
and unbuttoned his shirt all the way to the top of his trousers, exposing
his broad hairy chest and furry stomach.  His manly chest led down to beefy
stomach, carrying just a pound or two more than it should.

"Pull my pants down and get daddy's cock out".  He relished the word
'cock', his voice thick with lust.  I swallowed and nervously placed my
fingers in the waistband on each side and gently tugged.  As I slid them
down over the bulge I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me.  A
massive thick rod of arrogant man-cock sprang out only inches from my face
nearly hitting me on the nose.  He laughed triumphantly and looked down to
see his pretty little naked son transfixed by his father's manhood.  He
wanted us both to remember this moment forever, and we would!  He knew his
was the first hard cock his boy had ever seen, and he was the first man to
strip, fondle and seduce his young son.  And, in time, he would be the man
to take his son's virginity in every way, and train him to gratify his
father's perverted lust.  He revelled in his depravity knowing the boy was
a nervous but willing disciple .  "This is what you want, isn't it?" he
said, offering me his cock.  "That's what you call a man's cock.  Ever seen
one of these before?" he said brandishing his cock proudly, knowing I
hadn't.  I was speechless and just nodded my head.  I was mesmerised by it.
Yes, this was what I had dreamt and wanked about.  My daddy' cock!  A long
thick column of flesh rose out of a bush of brown-gold hair, surmounted by
a bright arrogant, red knob oozing sticky precum.  Like him, his cock had
an aggressive quality.  This was definitely a fucker's cock!  Between his
legs swung a pair of heavy, hairy balls. (I was to measure his cock later,
as all sons like to do.  It was just under 8", but thick, too thick for a
young boy's hand to encircle.  "Good," he said.  I could have stayed like
that forever, gazing up at my father's magnificent manhood. Time stood
still as I marvelled at it; wonder mingled with fear and a tinge of
revulsion as the clear fluid gathered in glass-like beads on the mighty
mushroom head.

Placing a firm hand on my head, he pulled me towards him, and taking his
dick in his left hand, he stroked both my cheeks with it, anointing them
with his love juice, and leaving a gossamer trail across my face.  I
smelled his musky masculinity as he raised his cock from one cheek to the
other.  He pressed my face into his groin and sighed.  Then, lifting me up
by the shoulders he kissed me firmly on the mouth, his tongue forcing its
way into my mouth.  My tongue sought to defend its territory and I found
myself snogging my dad again, sending erotic shock waves through my whole
body.

Replacing me on the sofa he held my head firmly with his right hand and
taking his cock in his left, placed it against my mouth.  I glanced up and
saw this magnificent man towering above me, the muscular, furry torso
leading to a bullish, handsome head, the face contorted with desire.  His
ice-blue eyes bore into me and his twisted lips spoke of a battle to keep
self-control.  I was quivering with fear.  The powerful emotions unleashed
within him scared and excited me.  I knew I was totally in his power and he
could make me do anything he wanted to satisfy himself; I was powerless. I
sensed he was just a hair's breadth away from simply taking me by force;
the notion of raping his young, barely adolescent son both appalled and
excited him.  Should he throw me to my knees, bend me over the sofa, spread
my arse and ram his cock up me and in a few moments of depraved ecstasy,
fuck me full of his daddy-spunk, making me his for ever?  He sighed and
closed his eyes.  He just managed to resist the temptation.  No, let's take
it easy.  Why spoil years of pleasure with one ill-chosen cock- led
decision?

The moment passed.  Gently but resolutely he fed his pulsating prick into
my reluctant mouth.  Resistance was futile.  "There's a good boy, suck
daddy's cock.  It won't hurt you.  That's it.  Keep your teeth out of the
way.  Swirl your tongue round a bit.  Oh Yes, that's it.  Daddy's little
cock sucking son.  You're a natural!  A natural little cock-slave.  Eat
daddy's cock".  As he said this, he became more and more excited.  He moved
his big sticky rod in and out of my mouth.  I gasped and spluttered, as the
mighty organs pushing my cheeks apart and thrust its way down my throat.  A
trail of precum crossed my tongue.  I found the taste neither pleasant nor
unpleasant.  I didn't really have time to think about it as his prick
assaulted my tonsils.  His cock filled my mouth and forced it far wider
than it was ever expected to open except at the dentists!  Sometimes he
almost withdrew it and told me to lick the end or slide my tongue down the
piss-slit or rub it against the sensitive seam that ran from the slit down
the front.  Then he would slam it to the back of my throat and make me gag.
He operated me like a glove puppet to pleasure himself.  At last he pulled
it out to give me a breather, wiping his cockhead around my face and
slapping it against my cheeks.  Then pushing it firmly back down my throat,
he clamped his hands either side of my head, and began to fuck my face.  He
quickened his thrusts and his bollocks slapped against my chin.  As the
pace mounted, I sensed that he was going to cum, and instinctively tried to
pull back.  The idea of his spunk in my mouth disgusted me.  But he was not
going to allow that.  I was scared of what was going to happen, but he
demanded complete compliance.  Pumping backwards and forwards, I felt his
cock expand, his balls tighten and waves of thick, creamy daddy-spunk rise
up through his prick and gush into my mouth.  He grunted and groaned like a
wounded animal.  He pulled his cockhead out and I felt spurts of spunk
splash against the roof of my mouth before he rammed his prick to the back
of my throat.  He twisted my head from side to side with his powerful hands
in time with his orgasm.  The sperm poured out, its salty creamy taste
hardly registering with me.  I snorted and spluttered and tried to pull
away.  But he was adamant, I was going to swallow his cum whether I wanted
to or not.  When his orgasm had subsided, one hand remained firmly clamped
on the back of my head.  With the crooked forefinger of his other hand he
gently stroked my throat several times from the chin downwards to the
Adam's apple.  It made me involuntarily swallow the reservoir of spunk that
had accumulated in my mouth, and I took his sperm into myself.

"There's a clever boy.  You've swallowed your daddy's spunk; the spunk that
made you".  He lifted me up and kissed me passionately on the lips, tasting
his spunk in his young son's mouth.  He ground his mouth, his chest and
groin into my young body, crushing the breath out of me.

"Now it's your turn", he said.  He sat down on the carpet and leant his
back up against the sofa.  He told me to sit between his legs.  Cradling me
between his legs, he wrapped his a strong left arm around my waist and then
began masturbating me vigorously with his right hand.  As he worked me up,
he whispered obscenities aggressively in my ear.  "Think of that big
throbbing cock you've just sucked off; that big load of your daddy's spunk
you've just swallowed.  Incest spunk!  Can you still taste it?  Does it
taste good, your daddy's spunk?  There's plenty more for a good little son.
Now make your own fucking dick spunk.  Come on, son, cum for daddy, let
daddy wank the cum out of you; shoot your fucking load; cum for daddy".  It
was that last phrase that clinched it.  Cum for daddy I did, shooting my
spunk high into the air and on to my chest with a great yell.  "Well done,
good boy! he said laughing. "That's not bad for a young'un".

He scooped up some of my spunk on his finger and fed it to me.  I wasn't
sure about this but he made me take my medicine saying our sperm had to mix
together inside me for me to be truly daddy's little boy. I sucked on his
fingers like a suckling piglet.  I was exhausted, emotionally, physically
and sexually.  He had just acted out one of his (and my) most perverted and
cherished fantasies - but it was far from being his only one!

"Are you okay?  Did you enjoy your first taste of daddy-cock, incest
spunk?"  he asked "Oh yes, daddy, but hold me, please", I whimpered as I
buried myself in his arms.  He enveloped me in a vice-like grip and ran his
fingers through my hair, gently rocking backwards and forwards.  I melted
into his virile body, revelling in his rough, hairy, brawny masculinity.
After an age, he released his grip and kissed me on the lips, "Okay?"  I
just smiled and looked deep into his eyes.  For the first time I was able
to hold his stare.  "You've learnt your first and most important lesson
today. Your daddy's going to teach you a whole lot more.  But don't worry,
he'll look after you as well, as long as you do as your told and follow his
instructions.  Now lets eat. And by the way, you're sleeping with me
tonight!"


To be continued ...

Obscene comments, ideas, and suggestions welcome at: philip255@hotmail.com