Date: Mon, 5 Sep 2016 06:28:41 +0000
From: Tiao Wu <hjk7359@hotmail.com>
Subject: Here Cums the Neighborhood: Part 3

This writing contains sexually explicit material, unsuited for readers
under the age of 18. If you are underage, live in an area that disallows
the reading of this type of material, or are offended by homosexual
content, please do not read further.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, settings, and ideas
featured in this series are based on fantasy. Any character that resembles
someone in your reality is purely coincedental.

If you enjoy these stories, please donate to Nifty so that we can continue
reading.

Feel free to email hjk7359@hotmail.com to give feedback or constructive
criticism. Please enjoy.

***************************************************************************

Chapter 3 - A Father's Work

The walk home from the Farmer's Yard was one of the longest of my life.

Seeping through the barbed wire fence like mercury, I ensured that I would
have no scratches on me by the time I get home. I was already ready for
trouble when I got back, especially if my dad saw me like this. I slid down
the concrete ditch with slow ease. I wasn't in a hurry, still out of breath
from sprinting away from the farmer's house.

What an experience that was, I thought. I down looked at my navel, at the
dried...stuff. Was that cum, too? I think that's right. My dried cum. It
felt so good to think of it like that. It looked like glaciers frozen in
the sand. Like some surrealist painting, perfectly imprinting the lines and
branching baths, that were typically microscopic to the human eye. Touching
it felt papery, and I found that I could peel it like a second skin. Like I
was molting. I was fascinated. I was hooked.

Cumming though. That was the best. That must be what people try to do all
the time! I thought. I .l0oioisaw my dad doing it. I wondered if
Mr. Grisham, or if Paul had done it. I wondered if my mother could do
it. Probably not, I thought, since she doesn't have a cock.

Cock. That was another word the farmer said. I felt like I was reviewing
for a spelling test, and all these new words I'd learned I was mastering
and wanting to do my best to use them and think of them the right way. It
seemed like people only used that word when you were talking about it in a
rough way, or a sexual way. Penis was more like the scientific textbook
verson.

My head felt like a beehive, thoughts swarming, restless, agitated. I
wanted to know more and feel more. I wondered if the farmer had realized
what he'd done to me. Sending my body into such state of pleasure. Not even
looking at me as I ran away. I knew that he said he didn't want me back
over there, but I couldn't help want to climb back over the fence and get
in trouble once more.

I went over to a small pool of water that collected at the end of my ditch.

I knew that it wasn't a clear reflection of myself, but what I saw in the
water caught me by surprise. I looked for what I thought for the first
time, tough; strong. Wet dirt spackled my arms, legs, and chest like a
charcoal painting. My typically feathery hair was damp, and matted to my
forehead and sides of my neck. My muscles looked tighter than ever, and I
looked, dare I say, taller. It was probably an illusion from the water, but
staring at it gave me this sense of power that I'd never felt before.

I'd heard about how everyone changes at my age. Was my time happening now?

I'd only lived in this neighborhood for a day, and already I felt like I
was becoming a different person.


After a steady walk home, I quietly pushed the door open, hoping not to
alert my dad. It still felt strange walking among this house, not totally
feeling like it was mine yet. I could hear my dad moving things in the
kitchen, the faucet was running, pots and pans clamoring.

I moved silently past the opening to the kitchen. Dad turned around to find
me.

"'Ey!" he barked, making me jump. He turned off the faucet, set the dishes
in his hand down. "Damn, boy! What happened t'you?" He set his hands on my
shoulders, wiping off dirt from my collar bone, smearing his right thumb
along my nipple, his left hand running through my damp hair. I could feel
my cock getting hard again. I took a deep breath.

"I was exploring outside. That's all." Technically this was true. I'd never
lie to my dad. Never. He taught me that you don't lie to people you love,
so I always made sure to tell him the truth. My mother never asked me about
anything that she knew she wouldn't hear the truth about. She always sent
my dad after me instead. It's not that I didn't love her. I guess I just
didn't feel as close. I have to love her though, I guess. She's my
mother. Dad stood in the kitchen, faucet still running, looking hard into
my eyes, looking me up and down. First at my dirt-caked legs, the sweat
collected at my navel and chest, the translucent splotches of cum drying on
my stomach.

"You look like shit," he remarked. I laughed at this.

"I know," I said.

"Just 'cuz you got shit all over you. You don't look like shit all the
time," he said smirking, stepping closer to me. I could feel his warmth
radiating against my own skin. I could feel my stomach tightening up. He
put a hand on my navel, examining the residue left there. His finger
scraped against my dry cum. I flinched, tickled, letting out a huff of
laughter.

"Go take a shower," he said, with a voice of tree bark, "Get cleaned up. We
got work to do." I nodded my head trying not to seem too delirious, and
turned away from him. He swatted me lightly on the ass as I walked away.

"AHH!" I screamed. My ass was sore and sensitive from the farmer earlier.

"Dang, Seb," he said, a little concerned. "I hardly got ya. Gettin' soft on
me?" If only he knew. I was definitely not getting soft.

"Nah, Dad," I said "I'm never going soft!" He laughed at this.

I stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and started getting
undressed. Shoes and socks came off first. A lot of dirt came out of my
shoes. I knew I'd be cleaning that up for sure. I dropped my shorts to my
feet. My cock was somewhat hard still. I twisted my hips to see my ass in
the mirror. What I saw made my jaw drop.

Deep red and purple handprints. I delicately touched them, wincing
slightly. It looked a lot worse than I remember it feeling. Sure, it
hurt. But as the farmer kept going, and something about it started feeling
good. A pain mixed with pleasure. I remember feeling something similar when
I would have sore muscles from swimming practice, squeezing and pressing on
them on purpose, flinching at first from how much it would hurt, but then
feeling a rush after ward.

But here, I felt marked. Branded.

Stepping into the shower, the dirt, sweat, cum, all washed from me like a
sheet being pulled away from my body. Warm, with steam rising from my
skin. I turned to face away from the water. What felt at first like
thousands of needles piercing my ass, became a sweet sting of relief. I
exhaled slowly, rubbing my body with soap, scrubbing under my arms where
only a little hair was starting to show, down my chest, around my navel,
and around my stiffening cock.

I gulped, as I felt the smoothness of my hand wrapping around it, like
satin. Horny, is what the farmer called it. This feeling I must be
having. This desire to cum.

I figured that this must be what my dad felt and what the farmer felt when
I was watching. They must have been really horny.

I heard the farmer's voice pounding through my ears like gunshots: "You
wanted to watch me jacking off my huge cock, boy?"

Jacking off. That must have been what both my dad and the farmer were
doing. Water continued to rush along my spine, running between my ass,
swirling around my legs. I turned back toward the water, and let the soap
pull away from me and slip down the drain, my hard cock glistening in the
water. I pulled on my balls a little bit; I rolled my eyes a little bit,
gasping. I tepidly wrapped my small hand around my cock. I could feel my
pulse through it. My heart was beating quickly, apparently.

I wasn't sure what to do next, so I thought of my dad and the farmer, what
they looked like. I squeezed tight and moved my hand up and down. It was
interesting. I definitely felt something, in the pit of my stomach. I
figured I was squeezing too hard. I backed up a certain way let the water
rain upon my cock, as I loosened my grip, moving my hand up and down.

"Oh-h-h," a moan escaped my mouth. I stopped for a moment to get my
bearings. I backed into the corner of the shower, water still flushing
around my waist, and continued moving my hand up and down. "Oh god," I
whispered. I could feel my balls getting tight, along with my stomach. My
breath was starting to quicken, my chest heaving up and down. I left more
of the effort to my wrist, and let my fingers follow. I squeezed my eyes
shut, I could feel the cum inside me starting to brew and boil. My jaw
dropped, my breath quickened, and suddenly, images flashed into my
brain. My dad, robe splayed open, him standing inches away from me touching
my stomach, his ass, the farmer, nipple, beaded with sweat, his hand
connecting with my ass, my cock, and his cock only inches from my face.

"Unnnnngh," I moaned. Suddenly my whole arm was in motion, as if I couldn't
even control it, my hips thrusting, my ass squeezing together, my other
hand reached for my balls, and soon it was too much.

My knees started shaking, my feet thumping against the slippery tub.

"Hummmmph aaaagh!" I was cumming. I was making myself cum! I looked down at
my cock, and from the slit shot a single rope of clear liquid against my
stomach. "Aghhhhhhh!" I grunted. I was in a different place. It was like I
was straddling the farmer's arm, or that sensation I felt when I had the
dream about my dad. This time, however, the intensity of the sensation was
much greater.

I figured it out!

Breathing heavily, I fell to my knees, the water spraying along my back. I
watched the cum that I just made slide from my body, from my cock, dripping
beneath my thighs, and swirl down the drain. This was jacking off? I
already wanted to do it again, but looking at my cock, it seemed like it
needed a break.

KNOCK KNOCK

I snapped my head toward the door.

"Seb, you alrght in there?" I heard my dad's muffled voice. My cock started
getting hard again already. Just when I thought it needed a break, it was
ready for more.

"Yeah," I panted slightly, "I'm good." I turned off the shower.

"Well, hurry up in there, we got work to do."

"Okay, Dad!" I called out. I tried standing up, but my knees were still a
little wobbly. Once I got my bearings I shook my legs a bit, as though I
were warming up for a race. I got out, dried off, and walked out, the towel
around my waist, firm cock pressed up against my navel, and headed to my
room.

I took some deep breaths, and tried to focus, knowing my dad was waiting
for me. I grabbed some shorts and an old wifebeater; work clothes. I walked
out to my dad who was wearing something similar. Hole-y jeans, and a
wifebeater. I knew he was clothed, but I still couldn't help but instantly
imagine him naked. It's like my brain was on a skipping record, constantly
bring my focus back to my dad, without any clothes on.

"Ready to work, son?"

"Yeah, Dad." We had a ton of boxes to unpack, and furniture to arrange.

"I think if we buckle down and focus, we can get a lot of this done today."

"I think so, too."

Every box was in its correct place, all we had to do was store things where
they were supposed to go. When my dad and I work together, we can
accomplish anything. Moving around the house we were like professional
movers, like birds hopping from branch to branch, like ants, tunneling our
way through the earth.

"Hey, Dad, where's this thing of batteries go?" I'd yell from a far away
room.

"Top left drawer in the kitchen!" he'd yell. And this is how we functioned,
calling out to each other, working non-stop for about four hours.

We met each other, panting in the dining room at around one o'
clock. Looking around, this house was really starting to take on a life of
its own. We set up our own version of decor and where our art work went,
how the furniture would be set up, pleased with it, even though we were
sure that my mother was going to have us change it all.

"Let's take a breather," dad said, flopping down on the couch. I followed
suit sitting at the opposite end. Dad covered his eyes with his sweating
forearm, breathing deeply as if he'd just gone on a run. I leaned back
against the couch out of breath, too.

"Whadda we got left, Dad?" I asked.

"Just some stuff for the garage, but I'll show you how that works in a
little bit." I nodded my head, rolling my fingers through my sweat-soaked
hair.

"Phew," my dad let out a long exhale, and then swung his leg on the couch
so that his boot was sitting on my thigh. I stared down at it, following
his leg, his thick thighs, the constant bulge in his jeans, up his damp
wifebeater, to his face.

"I got a wicked charlie-horse in my foot, son," he grunted. "Can you try
rubbin' it out for me?"

"S-sure, Dad." I was thrilled that he wanted me to help! I used both hands,
trying to yank off his boot. It took a lot of strength but it finally
popped off. Hot air, and the distinct smell of my dad came pouring out. I
tossed the boot to the floor. "Where does it hurt?"

"Right on the sole there," he muttered.

I placed my hands on his feet, in disbelief I was getting to touch him like
this. I made sure to keep his foot distant from my cock, since it was
definitely pressing up against my tight shorts. I dug my thumb into the
bottom of his foot, and made small circles, like how my swim coaches would
on my legs to warm them up. I heard my dad wince in pain, so I eased up.

"No, no. It feels good." It feels good, he said. I was making my dad feel
good. My cock was getting even harder. I let my hands take over a bit more,
working each of his toes, as well as the bridge and heel of his foot.

"Mmmmmm," he let out a deep moan.

"Am I doing okay?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah, boy, don't stop." His words were like candy to my ears. I pressed my
fingers more fervently into his feet, while letting my other hand, snake up
his pant leg, to rub his calf.

"Mmmmm, yeah." He didn't protest. I adjusted my seat on the couch, pulled
his foot closer to my lap, to where his heel was resting right on my
erection. I made sure to keep doing what I was doing so he wouldn't notice.

"Hmmmm, yer gonna put me to sleep, boy." I stared at my father's face, eyes
still covered by his arm, his chest rising and falling. He started rocking
his foot, rubbing it against my cock.

I knew he was doing it by accident, and I didn't want to say anything. My
dad was touching me. He was pressing his foot against my stiff penis. I
couldn't believe it. He'd rotate his ankle within my hands, and pivot
around my swollen head. I was doing my best not to bust right then and
there, but I could feel like I was getting close to cumming in my pants.

"Alright," he said, inhaling deeply shaking his head as if to wake up from
a trance. "Back to work. Fallin' asleep, here." I snapped out of the spell
I was in, too. Disappointed and frustrated. I could have held his foot in
my hands all day and night. His leg swung off of my lap and hit the
floor. "Much better," he said, tousling my hair. I shifted uncomfortably,
trying to adjust my throbbing cock.

"Let's work on the garage, then we can have dinner," he said as he walked
away, shaking his leg a little bit. A rorshach test of sweat draped along
the back of his wifebeater, which made my stomach twinge, feeling
eager. Standing up, I adjusted my cock so that it was tucked up against my
stomach and waistband, and my shirt was covering up any signs that I was
hard. As we entered the garage, the smells of different woods, laquer,
paint, hit me like a wet pillow. It wasn't overpowering, but it was
familiar. For a moment, I felt like we were home. The garage was set up
just like his old workshop. In fact, if my dad told me to get a specific
yellow Phillips-head screwdriver, I could probably retrieve it with
ease. Looking around, it looked like there was no work to be done in
here. Everything was unpacked and in it's correct place. I looked
around. No boxes. Nothing to put away. Dad had taken care of all of it
already.

"What do we need to do in here, Dad?" I asked.

"We need to talk." He walked over to a table that he'd been working on for
about a month, brushing dust that had settled. I felt nervous, and
sick. Did he know I snuck out this morning? Did he know that I've been
having all these weird feelings? "How are you feeling, son?"

"I'm fine." I said, trying to sound indifferent.

"Y'don't seem fine. Are you nervous about the move?" I stayed quiet. He
grabbed a sanding rag, and tossed it toward my hands. I caught it, and
fiddled with it. "You can talk to me, Sebastian." His voice was deep and
felt warm in my chest.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I promise." I went over to the table and started sanding
the top, following the orbital patterns I could see my dad had already
made. The sound of the rag scraping against the wood reverberated against
the garage walls. I remember being seven, and him showing me how to
properly work with sanding, since it was a pretty simple task. Hard to mess
up. He slowly paced around the table, until he was standing behind me. I
just kept sanding.

"You know," his voice gave me chills. "Watching you work on that table." He
laughed softly to himself. "You've really grown up." Hearing him say that
made me feel funny inside.

"Thanks, Dad."

"I bet you've been noticin', all sorts of changes happening to you." I
stopped sanding the table. I was changing. Hearing him say that he knew
what I was going through. Did he know exactly what was going on? "I bet,"
he continued, stepping closer to me, "that you've had a lot on your mind."
I swallowed, continued sanding. "That you haven't been able to focus." He
watched me work over my shoulder. "Is that right, son?" I felt tears
starting to form in my eyes. I scowled through them. I nodded my head
slightly. My sanding became erratic. No longer following the correct
gradients that my dad had planned. I felt his warm, heavy hand on my
shoulder, and another hand on my own.

My dad guided my hand, his arm mirroring my own. His neck and chin perched
on my shoulder. His body, damp, radiating the musk that I'd grown addicted
to, pressed against my back. I felt as though I was no longer controlling
myself, but under a spell, or connected by strings, and under the power of
my dad's control. The rag moved hypnotically across the table, leaving
behind golden dust. Dad exhaled deeply, causing the dust to float away,
leaving behind the beautiful pattern we'd created together. I was frozen. I
knew I should try moving away, but as long as my dad held me against this
table, I knew I couldn't resist.

"When I was your age," he said, nonchalantly, lifting his head away from my
ear, "I lost my virginity. You know what that means, right?" I shook my
head, no, even though I did know what it meant, still staring at the
pattern on the table. "It means I had sex for the first time." I nodded. My
dad brushed his hands together removing any sawdust that stuck to his
hands. "She was my best friend's older sister. I was over at his house for
a swim, and she called me in to ask if I could reach something at the top
shelf in her closet. I was alone in her room, and before we knew it, we
were doin' it on her bed." My elbows started to shake.

"The reason I'm telling you this, Seb," his hand pulled my arm, turning me
around to face him, "is that I was scared, confused, and nervous the entire
time. I didn't have anyone to talk to about sex when I was younger. My own
dad was gone, and I could never talk to my mom. Everything I learned I had
to figure out, by myself. No one to help me." His eyes scanned me up and
down, baring into me. "I promised myself, that I ever had a son," his hand
raked through the back of my hair, "I would never deprive him of that."

I had so many things that I wanted to know. Why was I suddenly cripped by
my own cock? Why was my dad giving me all of these feelings? Would they
ever go away? What am I supposed to do. It was overwhelming, and all I
could do was stop sanding, and gulp down tears.

I fell into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, my head just beneath
his full chest. I didn't know what else to do. I'd been so confused. It
seemed like my dad was offering to teach me about all that I'd been feeling
lately. After a few seconds, he rested his arms around me in return. I
never wanted him to let go, but I could feel myself hardening inside my
pants once again. I loosened my grip, trying to pull away, but his grip
only tightened. I turned my head, and his bicep rested beneath my nose, the
smell of his body making my legs weak. One of my dad's hands made its way
up and down my back, relaxing me, yet making me harder. The hand dropped to
my butt, pushing against it, pressing my hard cock against the inside of
his leg. I don't know how, but I felt my dad smile. He slowly pulled away,
keeping his hands on my elbows, looking into my eyes. What was happening?
We've never embraced like this before, not for this long.

"Here," he said, squatting slightly, and grabbing hold of the backs of my
thighs, lifting me off the floor and setting me on top of the table. My
legs dangled from the edge, my knees reaching each side of my dad's
hips. Dad stepped between my legs, so that he was standing face to face
with me. Starting from my calves my dad's hands started to work my legs. My
jaw grew slack, and eyes rested. Why? Why was he doing this to me? I winced
as his hands pressed and squeezed my legs, thighs, making his way to my
waist. My cock was like an arm pounding against the front of my shorts,
desperate to be free. Looking down, I could see that I'd created a
noticable tent in my shorts. I was horrified. My dad could plainly see that
I was hard. Hard for him. My toes curled. I couldn't look at him.

'Hmm," he uttered softly. He brought his hand over to the apex of the tent
in my shorts. Right as his hand grazed my erection, I gasped. The amount of
force I could feel in the growing tightness of my shorts was starting to
become unbearable. "It hurts doesn't it?" I looked at him with a furrowed
brow. He waited for an answer, pressed his hand against my cock again. I
breathed in a sharp hiss of air.

"Y-yeah," I finally said. Dad brought his hand off my leg, and started to
unzip my pants. My breathing started to get more shallow. He peeled the
layer of my shorts open, my cock still trapped within my tight
briefs. "Dad?" I asked, choked by my own nervousness. "What are you doing?"
Dad pulled the waistband to my briefs. My cock sprung into the fresh air,
able to breathe. I sighed in relief.

"Trying to help, son." My cock twitched and throbbed, so lively, in fact, I
could hardly believe it was a part of me. My dad reached beneath my cock
and fished out my balls, flopping them over the waistland. "You're
definitely growing," he said smirking, staring at my cock. I gave a small
smirk as well, still mortified that Dad was seeing me this way. My cock
glistened with sweat in the golden light of the garage. Even with just the
slight whisper of air from my dad's breathing, it was sensitive and felt
almost fragile. I still wasn't sure what he was going to do. Spank me, like
the farmer? I still wasn't sure if I was in trouble or not. Suddenly, he
took his calloused hand, and wrapped it around my cock.

"A-a-aah" I shuddered, certain I was going to cum right in my dad's hand in
that second. "D-dad," I pleaded. It was almost like being tickled as a
child, where it didn't hurt, but I couldn't control how I was feeling,
which, even still, felt strange to me. He started to move his hand up and
down my cock, slowly. "I-I..." I whispered.

"This is called masturbating," my dad said, almost blankly. "Or jacking
off. There's lots of names for it actually, which you'll learn on your own,
but jacking off," he gave my cock a squeeze, "is what most people call it,
I think." He pulled my cock toward him and let it go, flinging it against
my stomach. With each different way he touched me, I gasped, and shook. "Is
it okay if I jack you off, son?" I couldn't believe he was asking me
this. I wanted to shout "Yes!" bursting with unbridled excitement.

"Y-yeah, Dad. It's okay." He stood closer to me, fingers wrapping and
dancing over my cock. I spread my legs a little wider, encouraging my cock
to reach further out toward my dad's grasp.

"Do you like it," my dad asked, his voice low, "when I jack you off?" He
spit into his hand, and then slid his now warm lubricated hand around my
cock once more. I felt my eyebrows furrowing, myself falling backwards.

"Y-y-yes, D-dad." I leaned back, my cock harder than it had ever been.

"Yes, what, son?" the slick sounds of his spit mingling with my skin,
flecking like gold throughout the garage.

"Hmph, hah, ungh. I-I..." I could feel my breath and heartrate start to
quicken.

"What, son? 'Yes,' what?" his hands moved quicker. He leaned over and
leaked spit from his onto my cock, letting his hand mix it in with the
rest. He was pushing me over the edge.

"D-aaad...I'm gonna..." I looked at him, down at my cock, my balls climbing
toward each side. I must have looked horrified, in ecstacy, reborn all at
once.

"Tell me," he said, inches from my face.

"I'm..." his hand picked up the pace slightly.

"Tell me, boy."

"I'm gonna cum, Dad! I'M GON--" I whipped one of my arms from my behind my
back, and placed it around his neck. Warm cum started to shoot from my
cock, in small leaking spurts at first but then two full, clear ropes
sprang onto my Dad's wifebeater. My breathing was full, like after a race,
my legs were shaking, ankles cuffed by my shorts and underwear, my dad
standing inches from me, my arm around his neck, his forehead against
mine. Sweat glowed on my skin, and beaded on my face, dripping down my
chest. My dad's hand tightly milked my cock after my orgasm, squeezing the
last drops of cum which only sent me into another fit of pleasure. I stared
at him through a haze, and saw him lick his fingers of my cum, as though it
were barbeque sauce, enjoying each drop. He dipped his ring finger into the
cum on my stomach.

"Open your mouth," he instructed. I had only tasted my own cum once and it
wasn't much. This looked like a much bigger helping than last time. I
lowered my jaw, tongue somewhat visible. He placed his finger all the way
in my mouth, and I licked the cum off, my tongue running across his wedding
ring. He kept his eyes on me the whole time. He removed the finger, clean,
and shiny from my spit. The cum tasted strange, but enticing. Mainly salty,
with some sourness. I scooped my hand onto my stomach again, picked up the
rest of the cum and brought it toward my mouth. My dad grabbed my wrist,
the cum sliding down my index and middle fingers. I looked at him,
frightened. He pulled my wrist toward his mouth, wrapping his lips around
my cum soaked fingers. I gasped, letting out a low moan, as his tongue
scoured every inch for more cum. Not once did his eyes leave mine. When he
was finished swallowing my cum, he pulled my fingers from his mouth,
letting my fingers touch his bottom lip.

I must have looked dumbstruck. This is what dads do with their sons? Was
this normal? If it's not, I must be the luckiest kid in the world. For how
good it all felt, and to have my dad be so driven, it...I just wanted to do
it again. Already. My cock was still stiff, and my dad cleaning my hand,
enjoying my cum, wasn't making it any softer.

"How many times has it been today?" he asked, smacking his lips a little
bit. I was confused at first, but then realized he meant, "How many times
had I cum today?" I had to think. The first time was in my sleep, the
second at the farmer's yard, the third in the shower...

"Four," I said, somewhat sheepish.

"Ha, that's my boy," he said, unbuckling his jeans. "Well, it's only been
once for me, so..." he nonchalantly let his pants fall to the floor, and
slid off his briefs. I couldn't believe what I saw before me. Dad's cock,
fully erect, a bead of cum at the head, balls like lemons, dangling with a
net of skin holding them up. He scooted up next to me, with his hand around
his cock. Our thighs, sticky from the heat of the garage, touched and stuck
to each other. All I could stare at was my dad's enormous cock in his
hands. Up close I could see wide veins that wrapped around it's surface. A
mane of hair grew at the base of the shaft, and climbed up his stomach,
disappearing behind the sweaty wifebeater, which was only getting more
dirty.

I looked down at my own cock and saw that it was just as hard as before, a
little sore, but I already felt like I needed to cum again. My dad spit
into his hands and started gripping and jacking off his own cock. Breath
seeped out his nose as he slowly squeezed and pulled on his cock. I only
watched him, his cock, in marvel at not just it's size, but it's thickness
up close, easily as wide as my wrist. I watched as he used the skin around
his penis to pull on, almost like it was a thin sleeve. I looked up at his
face, and saw how I was watching him. His eyes a little more vacant than I
was used to, his mouth lowered, panting softly in rhythm with his hand
moving up and down. I lowered my gaze to his chest and saw how his pecs
bobbed up and down as he moved his arm. I gulped. I was horny. Even more so
than the last time I came.

Without even looking or realizing it, my hand was back on my cock. I tried
squeezing my cock like my dad was doing, seeing how much skin I had a
available to jack off with. It was working.

"Ahhh," I moaned. My eyes rolled back into my head, my legs stiffened
outward, my shorts and underwear dangling from my toes at this
point. Lowering my legs, they fell to the floor. It was just me and dad,
sitting with sweaty wifebeaters on this homemade table. Jacking off. I
thought about spitting into my hands like Dad was doing, but my cock and
hands were so slick from sweat already that I didn't think I needed
to. Plus I didn't want to seem like too much of a copycat.

"How.." Dad whispered..."--how are you feeling, son?"

"I-I...I feel..." Dad reached over to the hand I was using to jack off, and
replaced it with his own. "Ahh! I feel!" I cried, whimpering. "I feel
great, Dad." Dad continued to jack me and himself off at the same time,
smiling, focusing his eyes on my face, and my cock. I glanced over, and saw
his biceps. Both bobbing and pounding as he took care of us. I didn't think
it was fair that he was having to do the extra work, so, with a trembling
hand, I reached over to my Dad's glistening cock, and placed my fingers
around it. My dad's hand moved out of the way. My motions were awkward, but
I was trying my best. After about ten seconds of this my dad took his hand
and wrapped it around my own, like the way he taught me how to sand wood
properly. He squeezed my hand around his cock to his liking, and showed me
how to jack him off. Shiny fluid trickled from his cock, and I thought that
meant he was coming.

"It's pre-cum," he said, breathing slow, "It means it feels really good." I
felt encouraged. He picked up the pace on my hand jacking him off, while
still jacking me off. I noticed that, even though his hand felt really
good, I wasn't as quick to coming as I was before. Maybe it was because I
had cum only minutes before, and I needed to recharge. Maybe it was because
I was so focused on making my dad feel good, too. I wasn't thinking of
myself.

Once we had a good rhythm, my dad let go of my hand and let me try it by
myself. I focused hard on what I was doing, noticing the clear fluid still
seeping from the slit.

"Ohh, son," he breathed into my ear, he picked up the pace on my cock. He
used his free hand to take the bottom of his wifebeater, and flung it over
his head, so that it rested on the back of his neck. His totally naked
torso, heaved and twitched as he jacked me off, his body hair sprayed with
sweat from the hot garage. I checked his face, his brows were furrowed,
almost weary looking, his mouth a small "o". He nodded, indicating, I
assumed that I was doing it right. Before we knew it, we were jacking each
other off in perfect rhythm and pace. I felt my balls tightening up against
my cock once more. My breath starting to get shallow, I felt my toes start
to curl, my stomach starting to tighten. My dad's knuckles white as he
grasped my cock even tighter. A lump formed in my throat and my vision
started to get blurry.

"D-d-dahh?" I check his face once more. I wanted to cum, but I felt like I
couldn't do so until my dad was ready. He was in control, still. My
shoulder was on fire from working my dad's thick cock. The shiny fluid had
coated my fingers, making his cock even more slippery. "Daah? Dad? Dad?" I
kept asking knowing I was going to cum any second, my vocabulary
regressing.

"Make me..." my dad grunted, "make me cum, Sebastian!"

"Ahhhnnghh, AHH, DAHHHHH!" I squealed.

"FFFFFFFFF!" my dad sprayed me with spit from his lips. "FUCK! FUCK!"

"ANNNNGHHHHH!" cum flung and flew from my cock, and I felt a warm juice
covering the hand I was using on my dad as well. My dad's cries echoed in
the garage, and when I looked over during my own intense pleasure, I saw
gob after gob of cum coating my dad's torso, his chest, his neck, one even
landed on his nose! Our hands kept pumping each other's cocks not wanting
to stop until we knew we were finished. I started convulsing on the table,
my lower back, my legs, my arm, but I wouldn't let go of my dad's cock, not
until I knew he was done. My dad, seriously out of breath, jumped from the
table, and wrapped his arms around me. My hand pawed at his cock, as though
I subconsciously was trying to continue. My body shook as he held me, my
lungs hypervenolating.

"Shhh, shhh," my dad coaxed into my ear. "It's okay." I remember him doing
the same thing when I was shaking from a cold lake swim. I could hear that
same voice. I finally regained, control, breathing in my father's scent, a
panacea for all bad-feelings it seemed. We were both wet, from sweat,
mainly, and from...

"C-c...cum?" I moaned, almost unintellibly, like a zombie. My dad backed
up, a little surprised, and looked down at his body. He was covered in cum,
a glazed donut, and all of a sudden I was starving. Pangs of hunger stung
my stomach. I reached out to him, hand trembling, wiping a good section of
his stomach, and brought it to my face. I was flashing back to when I was
three and I climbed the pantry looking for maple syrup, and when my mom
found me, she saw I was covered in it, and lapping it up from my hand. My
stomach growled.

I took one taste, licking my thumb. It was better than anything I'd ever
tasted before in my life. A mixture of sweet and salty. My eyes widened at
the new flavor. I glanced at my dad who just stood in front of me, a smirk
hiding in his facial hair. I quickly started sucking each finger, licking
the palm of my hand, each taste better than the last! It was just so good,
I wanted more. I looked over and saw my dad absent-mindedly reaching for a
towel.

"NO!" I yelled, my dad jumped. "I mean," I stood up from the table, my cock
still bobbing with each step, cum leaking from the head. "I'll do it." My
dad put the towel down, and approached me, cock swinging from side to
side. I started with his cock, wrapping my hand to wipe it of anything
leftover. With my other hand I smeared it across his stomach again. With
each motion of my hand on my dad, the other hand stuffed itself into my
mouth. My tongue slobbered over my fingers, my stomach filling up with my
dad's delicious cum, similar to the way a bear might gorge itself on
treesap. As I looked at my dad's body, I noticed that I was just smearing
the cum across his skin, and into his hair, which gave me the idea, to just
use my mouth directly to clean him up. I ran my tongue across my dad's
stomach and waist, swallowing whatever salty fluid made it's way beyond my
lips, as though my dad was a giant cum-flavored popsicle. I lapped up the
gobs tangled in my dad's chest hair, my eyes rolled to the back of my head,
my cock was hardening once more. A small wad of cum hung suspended on his
nipple, so like a fish grabbing bait, I wrapped my mouth around it, sucking
the sweet nectar, and feeling it slide down my throat.

"Mmmm, damn son," my dad growled. I breathed quickly, scanning with my
tongue if there was anymore, all I could taste was my dad's salty
skin. "You sure like the taste of your dad's cum, don't ya, boy?" I stepped
away, looking into his eyes.

"Uh-huh." I smacked my lips, running my tongue over the roof of my mouth,
to get any other last little tastes. "How does it taste so good?" I asked,
amazed. Dad ran his finger across the much smaller load that I produced,
dangled it over his mouth, and let it drop onto his tongue, like a kid
playing with his food.

"I don't know," he said smacking his tongue, gulping, "but yours is good,
too, son." I smiled, excited. He likes how I taste too! My dad took a look
around, and exhaled a deep breath. Our clothes strewn about, and on the
table, a stain of sweat had spread across the top where we were
sitting. "Let's get out of this garage," he said. "I didn't realize how hot
in here it was."

"Okay," I replied, and followed him inside, watching his ass tighten from
side to side as he walked. The A/C hit us pretty hard. It felt like I'd
been swimming on a windy day, and the air is chilling me to the bone. I
shivered slightly.

"Hey, how about we hit the showers, and then I'll make dinner." Dinner
sounded great. The cum in my stomach was good sustenance, but I knew I'd
need more than just that.

"Sounds, good, Dad." I turned to walk toward my bathroom, my erect cock
still bouncing.

"Hey," my dad called after me. I turned to face him, his cock stiffening
once more, pure bronze from sweat. He licked his lips, and rubbed the sweat
from his brow. "Let's save water, Seb," he said motioning his head toward
his room, "No reason to both be using the showers at the same time."

I swallowed, barely choking out the word "Okay," and followed him to his
bathroom. When I entered the bathroom door, my dad yanked off the
wifebeater he was wearing, a sweatrag at this point, and twisted the
faucet. I removed my wifebeater as well. My dad stepped into the shower,
and let the warm water run down his body, rubbing his face. Water rolled
off his chest, down his stomach, spigotting from his hard cock. It all
seemed to natural to him. As if it wasn't a big deal.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing and experiencing. Another chance to be
naked with Dad. I smiled and stepped forward into the shower with my
father. He turned to face away from the shower, washing his back, rubbing
his eyes, his heavy cock drooped. Mine, stiff, and at full attention was
rising. Water beat against us, steam rose around us, and our cocks,
glistening, touched against each other, crossing like two swords, stalwart,
steadfast, unbreakable.

*******************************************************

Chapter 4 to follow.

Please email hjk7359@hotmail.com for feedback or constructive criticism.

Thank you for reading.