Date: Fri, 5 Jun 2009 14:44:08 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: Horny Dad Tales 1

Horny Dad Tales
Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)


Back in the listserv days there was a great series called Horny Guy
Tales. They were the inspiration for my White Collar Tales, and I thought
it would be fun to have a series of father-son stories: some shorter, some
more developed. A forum for the usual Drake plots and themes, and for
developing ideas I don't normally do. For more of my stories check out the
authors page at Nifty, or for the most recent updates check out my yahoo
group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/

And send those comments and story suggestions: billdrake@hotmail.com.

The usual disclaimers and warnings apply: the following is sexual explicit
fiction not for underage readers or for those squeamish about man-on-man
action.



Horny Dad Tales #1 Halloween Costume


It was actually the idea of one of my brothers. Not a real brother (I'm an
only child), but one of the guys in my fraternity, Steve Larson. He and I
were sitting around watching late night TV in the house's rec room, he in a
flimsy pair of gym shorts, me in my boxers. We were watching David
Letterman in silence and out of nowhere, in between swigs of beer, Steve
blurts out, "I got it, Bill."

"Got what?" I asked, myself close to polishing off the can of Miller now
warm in my hand. I'd had a buzz the last couple of hours and it felt great
to be hanging out with my brother and close friend, nursing the good
feeling.

"The Halloween party." I realized now what he was talking about. Each year,
our house puts on a big costume party. Always a huge blowout that fueled
stories around campus for weeks. As a sophomore, this will be my first one
as a pledged member, and I wanted to come up with a good idea for a
costume, only was having a hard time.

"What about it, Larson? You got an idea for what I can go as this year?"

"Yeah, bud. I mean, your dad's a cop right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, why don't you use one of his uniforms and go as a policeman?"

"Great idea, man," I replied. It was so simple, I don't know why I hadn't
thought of it. This was too easy. It wouldn't be one of those cheesy rented
costumes that looks fake as hell. This would be a real cop's uniform, my
dad's. I pictured what I'd look like in his uniform. Then I stopped right
in the middle of my thoughts.

"It won't work," I said. You see, my dad's a big guy. Not fat or anything,
and we're about the same height. Only my father is one walking wall of
muscle. He's always made a point to lift weights and keep in shape for his
job, so his frame is immense - 50 inch-plus chest, giant knots of brawn for
biceps, tree trunk thighs. I'm no scrawny guy - a regular schedule of
intramural athletics keeps me pretty buff - but I knew my father's clothes
would droop on me. I explained the situation to Steve.

"I guess that's a problem, bud.... But maybe he's kept one of his old
uniforms around... If he's been on the force for a while."

"He has." I replied. Dad's been a policeman since he was 18, joined the
force right out of high school. Since he and Mom had me a year later, Dad's
been a cop longer than I've been alive. Seeing pictures of him in his early
20s, I knew that he used to be closer to my size. I had to hand it to
Steve, he sure had some good ideas.

"Yeah, I'll ask him," I said absently, only to notice that Steve had gotten
up and was walking toward me. He sunk down and taking both of my knees in
his hands, gently spread my legs, giving him room to scoot in between. With
his right hand, he pawed at my dick through the fabric of my boxers. To my
surprise, I was already steel hard.

"Ooh, yeah, Bill, you got a big fuckin' boner tonight. Gonna let your bro
have at it?" Steve didn't wait for an answer. Maybe he already knew
it. See, Steve's a cockhound. The house has a few of them in fact, not
really gay guys, they still fuck women and all...I guess they're
bisexual. And Steve's the most masculine guy you could imagine, a big
football-playing bruiser with a military haircut, thick bullneck,
bowling-ball biceps and mountainous pecs. And dark brown eyes that pierced
your soul when he looked up from sucking your dick.

Steve wasn't ashamed to show how much he loved to suck cock. He just
fucking did it. That's why I admired him. Hell, since pledging the
fraternity, I guess my own horizons have been broadened a bit. Before, I
thought really, assumed, that I was 100 percent all-American
heterosexual. Only a few of the brothers have taught me how incredibly hot
man-to-man sex can be. Now at our parties, I have to decide whether to ball
one of the sorority chicks hanging on me, or to slip into a bedroom with
one of my hunky brothers. It's not an easy decision.

I contemplated all this while Steve worked on my tool, coaxing my load out
with his hot, supple mouth. For such a butch stud, the guy really had a
soft, silky smooth mouth. I just gripped the back of his high-and-tight
haircut and held on for the sweet ride.


*******

My dad chuckled when I told him my halloween costume idea. "Sure, Bill, I
have a couple of old uniforms lying around. Don't fit me any more, one of
them should fit you. Why don't you come on by Friday before your party. I
get off at 5, so any time after that."

"Sure thing, dad. Thanks."

"All right, son. See you Friday."

I grew up in a city just shy of an hour away from the
university. Fortunately, I have only one class on Friday afternoon so after
it was done I got in my car and drove home.

The police cruiser was pulling into the driveway just when I got
there. "Great timing," Dad said as he pried his beefy body out of the car
and came over to greet me with a paternal grip on the shoulder. "So, it
looks like my boy wants to be a cop like his daddy after all," he joked.

It was an ongoing joke between us, I think Dad had always half-wanted me to
follow in his footsteps but knew that I would be better off going to
college and getting a professional job. So he always teased me about being
a College Boy. Never in a mean or resentful way, but you knew there was a
little sadness in his joking.

"Nah, Pops," I kidded. "Don't think I have what it takes to be on the
force."

As he fiddled with the front door and lock and as I followed his strong
frame into the house, he replied over his shoulder, "My boy has what it
takes all right. You can do anything you want, Bill." He was serious. It
wasn't often my Dad expressed emotion, but sometimes he could say something
so simple and heart-felt.

We went back to his bedroom, and I plopped myself on my parents' bed while
Dad removed his gun and belt, plopping them on the dresser. Untucking his
shirttails, he pulled out his uniform shirt, then unbuttoned the front,
revealing the massive contours of muscle that sculpted his white T-shirt
beneath. My dad's a pretty hairy guy, so even through the stretched cotton
of the T-shirt, you can see a dense mat of chest fur.

"Let's see what I have for you," he said as he started rummaging through
the closet. Finally, he pulled out a tattered, yellow box. He wiped the
dust off the top. "Almost threw these out. Guess your father's a
sentimental guy, huh?" he winked.

Inside were three pressed and folded uniforms. Dad pulled the first one out
reverentially and unfolded it onto the bed. "This was my first one... why
don't you try it on, son?"

I kicked off my shoes and shucked my jeans. My sweatshirt was not far
behind.

Dad took a seat in a chair against the wall. "You got a great body,
Bill. You been working out?"

Suddenly, I realized I stood before my father wearing only my socks and my
boxers. Not unusual in itself, I guess, but I was aware that my father had
not seen me like this as an adult, a young man, and he seemed aware that of
my self-consciousness.

"Go ahead, try it on."

The uniform pants were a little tight, but the shirt was impossibly snug.

Dad chuckled. "Now you know how scrawny your old man was at your age." As I
removed the uniform, he pulled the other two out of the box. "Your chest is
developed enough to wear the shirt I had in the early 90s," he spoke, as
much to himself as to me, holding up a much larger shirt. "But I'll stick
with these trousers," he added, matching the parts from two uniforms. He
handed the vestments to me and patted his belly demonstrably. "Your much
trimmer in the waist than I am, Bill. Gotta lay off those donuts," he
joked.

"Yeah, what is it with cops and their donuts?" I asked. I'd been around dad
and his partners enough to know there was some truth in the stereotype. I
slipped on the trousers. Fit like a glove. Perfectly contoured to my
lacrosse-developed quads and ass.

"Beats me," Dad said, running his finger beneath the waistband and judging
that the fit was perfect.

The shirt, if possible, fit even better. I buttoned it up as Dad smoothed
out the wrinkles. Dad's hands are large, and for a forbidden moments I
wondered if his sex partners enjoyed feeling those thick fingers run over
their bodies.

"Looks like we have a match, Bill," Dad said. "I can't give you the badge
or gun, of course, but I should be able to outfit you with everything
else." He went back to the closet and pulled out an extra pair of
shoes. With 11 and a half feet, I'm a half-size bigger than Dad, but was
able to squeeze into the shiny, polished patent black leather uniform
shoes. Then came the belt, the nightstick, the officer stripes pin, even a
broken walkie talkie. I was standing in front of the full-length mirror,
marveling at the transformation, when Dad appeared behind me and placed his
cap on my head. It was complete.

"Let me look at you, son," Dad muttered, almost whispered.

I'm not sure I was ready for the expression on my father's face when I
turned around. Admiration, surprise, sadness, and I could swear a trace of
lust. It was my transformation reflected in his eyes. "Wow, dad," I said,
nearly speechless.

"You like the feel, Bill? It's why I became a policeman. That feeling I get
when I put on the uniform."

I breathed in and was bombarded with the cedar chips and leather smell of
the uniform. "You feel it, too?"

"Every day. Even after all these years. I don't know what it
is. Pride. Power. A bit of both."

I ran my hands along the nightstick and up along my polyester-covered
thigh. I wanted to touch my cock so bad.

Dad noticed. "First time I put it on, I boned up too." He gave a little
laugh, but the seriousness returned to his face. "Still do, sometimes." He
was closer to me. I could see the weathered skin and the crow's feet, but
my father was still very much a handsome man.

He ran his fingers along the small of my back, sending shivers down my
spine. When his hand clasped the back of my neck, that did it. I inched
forward. He inched forward. Our noses touched, then our mouths. I was
fucking kissing my father, right there in the master bedroom, and Dad was
kissing me right back. Hungrily. With love.

We made out, arms locked around each other. My heart beat a million times a
minute, and I could feel his pump, too. I wanted to feel his skin. So I ran
my hands underneath the shirt, along his love handles and along the small
of his back. Dad moaned. I wanted more. I pulled up on this T-shirt,
peeling back the white cotton. Dad didn't want to relinquish our kiss, but
finally relented as I tugged his arms up with the shirt. His chest was
fever hot, and I teased and caressed every inch as we resumed out
deep-tongue, spit-swapping incestuous frenching.

I felt those magnificent thick fingers knead my bone through the uniform
crotch. Felt them fumble with the zipper and reach in and start fishing
around for the front slit in my boxers. He found it, and my dick found
freedom, plopping its steely length out into fresh air, then almost
immediately his smooth palm. Dad began frigging me, and I held onto his
body tighter.

"Gotta try this, son," he finally grunted, then squatted right down and
attacked my cock. Opened up and swallowed me. This sure wasn't what I'd
expected to happen this afternoon. Tormented, conflicted thoughts swam in
my head, but mostly I was blindsided by the incredible feeling of dad's
warm, wet sucking mouth and the knowledge that my own father was blowing
me.

He gobbled my rigid dick with starved intensity. I responded with an
intensity of my own, grabbing his closely cropped hair and riding his face,
fast then slow, urgent, then teasing. Dad would spit on my cock whenever I
pulled it out, and say filthy things to me, to my cock, to himself. I guess
you never imagine your own father getting into sex talk, but I was learning
first hand now. My old man's got a raunchy mind.

I'd let him spout his fuck talk, til I couldn't take any more, then I'd
plunge straight back in, relishing the litany of choked sex grunts. I'd
feel that rising crest of impending orgasm, so I'd pull back out, rest my
cocktip on dad's quivering lips, giving my pleasure center a rest, while
Dad's words went to work on the deep recesses of my psyche. I could hear
his own slapping sounds as he beat his meat.

He sucked, I fucked. We edged like that for god knows how long, til I
couldn't time it any more or hold back. For the fifth time, I pulled my
cock back from the brink of that last fuck thrust, and rested it on his
lips. The minute he said, "yeah, you like fucking your daddy's mouth," that
did it. My prick shook with earthquake tremors and my pisstube undulated
til a huge wad of my hot seed burst forth and sprayed Dad's face.

"Oh yeah, shoot it, son," he growled and latched his mouth right on the
spurting tip. He swallowed and sucked and punched the spurting head to the
back of his throat to more directly inject my semen into his guts. It was a
nasty sight, my dad's handsome face covered in my pearly discharge while he
readily swallowed my sperming spigot. I looked down and watched, caressing
his head the whole time.

"Suck me, Dad," I encouraged. His body shook like a spun top, then he
grunted loudly with my cock still buried in his mouth. Dad was cumming,
too.

When we both recovered, Dad stood up, shame faced, unsure of what to
say. "Look Bill, I'm sorry."

"For what, Dad?" My chest rose and fall as I tried to catch my breath.

"Christ! What do you mean, "for what"?! I just fucking blew my own son." He
shook his head and bit his lip anxiously. "I didn't want you to find
out. Certainly not like this."

I was starting to put two and two together. The bitter divorce from Mom,
the fact he hadn't had a girlfriend this whole time since. I'd assumed he'd
just been keeping his sex life private. He was but not for the reason I
thought. "You mean..."

"Yeah. It started out with a couple guys on the force. But I couldn't get
enough. Went looking elsewhere. Practically everywhere. Now my own boy.
Fuck!" he was nearly hyperventilating.

"Man Dad..." I tried to reassure him by putting my hand on his
shoulder. His skin was still burning hot. "...this is probably gonna have
to sink in. But I've done it, too. I've messed around with my fraternity
brothers some."

That got Dad's attention. "Really?"

"Yeah. And to be honest, it's not 'some' we've fooled around a lot." The
look on Dad's face was priceless. I laughed.

"What's funny?"

"You. You're standing there. My jizz still on your face, and you're already
imagining me and Craig fucking." Craig Grinson was the only one of my
brothers Dad had met... he'd stayed at the house one weekend.

Dad blushed. I leaned in and planted my mouth on his. "It's OK," I assured
him, licking my sperm off his lips, "I'm imagining you and your police
buddies."

We reclined on the bed and made out some more. It wasn't long before Dad
was going back to the jizzstick poking up between my legs. I reclined back,
Dad's cop uniform still on. Dad deepthroated me and stripped. Revealing
that hairy, muscular ass and those powerful legs. Finally, he bobbed up for
air and gripped my spit-wet shaft.

"Bill, forgive me for asking, but how do you feel about fucking?"

I wondered if I was gonna get back for the party.