Date: Fri, 7 Aug 2009 11:34:42 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: Horny Dad Tales #6

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

The usual disclaimers apply: for adult readers only. Contains graphic
depictions of sexual activity between men, some of whom are related.


This series is not one story but a collection of tales involving, you got
it, horny dads. Back in the listserv days there was a great series called
Horny Guy Tails. 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 Bill Drake plots and
themes, and for developing ideas I don't normally do.

The series has gotten a lot of great feedback, so thanks to those readers
out there who've taken a moment to write. Send those comments and story
suggestions along: billdrake@hotmail.com.

For more of my stories, check out the Authors page at Nifty, or join my
Yahoo group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/



Horny Dad Tales # 6 Shoeshine

Officer Jim Mitchell put down his nightstick and hung up his cap. He placed
his service pistol in the gun locker and locked it. As he unhitched his
belt a notch he felt the tension in his torso ease a little. It had been a
long day.

"What's the score?" he yelled down the hall. The sound of the television
was turned up and he knew his son Jeff was already watching the game. The
boy had turned into a more obsessive Cubs fan than he was even.

"1-4, Cubs behind."

"It's early still," Jim replied, more to himself than to his son, who
probably couldn't hear his father as he walked down the hall to the
kitchen. He opened the fridge. He patted the slightly expanding girth
beneath the waist of his uniform. "Should probably lay off this stuff," he
mused as he grabbed an ice-cold brew. He paused, then grabbed two.

Jeff Mitchell was lying on the couch like he'd just woken up from a nap,
barefoot and blond hair tousled, dressed in a thin cotton Cubs T-shirt and
a pair of old sweatpants. "Hey dad," he greeted, barely looking up from the
television.

"Your mother home yet?"

"Nah. She called about thirty minutes ago. She's gotta work late tonight."

"Here, then." Jeff handed his boy one of the beers.

That perked his son right up. His father didn't let him drink very
often. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're 18, I think you can learn to handle the stuff. Just don't
tell your mom."

"I won't." Jeff took the can from his father's hand. "Thanks, Dad."

Jim plopped down in his well-worn recliner. He didn't lay back in it. He'd
been putting in too much overtime lately, and worried it wouldn't take much
to put him to sleep. He gulped half his beer in two, maybe three swallows,
before setting the can down on his powerful thigh, leaving a ring of
condensation on the dark-blue polyester.

"Rough day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Another gulp. Officer Mitchell never went into
the specifics of his life on the beat, but it was nice to have an
understanding family to come home to. It was more than some of his fellow
cops had.

His son sipped from his beer, clearly delighting in the experience. "Need
me to fetch you another one?"

Jim upturned the can for another sip, then shook the remnants in the
bottom. Almost empty. "That would be great, son. The first one goes down
too easy."

He paced the second one better this time, making it last through two and a
half innings. "How was your day, son?" He asked at the bottom of the
5th. "Thought you had practice today."

Jeff was the shining star of the school golf team. He shook his
head. "Tuesday's our day off. Got home early."

"Done your homework?"

"No." Jeff looked up in a grin. He knew his lack of ambition in the
classroom was a sore spot with his father, but knew his father could
complain only so much. Jeff Mitchell took after his father, and both men
knew it.

"One of these days I'm gonna lecture you and you're gonna listen."

"Cmon, dad. The game's a close one. And mom's working late."

"All right, Jeff." He sighed, knowing that he might be a gruff, no-nonsense
cop on the beat, but at home, he was the lenient one with his only son. His
wife was the one who laid down the law with Jeff. "How bout this: you get
me another beer, and you can have another for yourself."

Jeff smiled, his pearly whites making his father's guilt melt. "Deal."

Father and son were in the middle of their beers, watching the seventh
inning, when Jeff spoke up.

"Hey Dad, would you like a massage? Like last time?"

Jim nearly spit out his beer. His heart stopped a second then beat double
time. He looked over at his boy, his athletic, trim body lying supine on
the couch. Jeff's eyes were staring at him intently, a question in them.
"I told you I'd never ask you again to do that."

Jeff swallowed nervously and bit his lip, working up his courage. "You're
not asking me, Dad. I'm offering."

"Man," he sighed, exhaling the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Mom's working late. When's the next time it's just gonna be us?"

"I should be saying no." Jim took another drink. He wished he had a
straight whiskey just about now.

"But you're not."

"Like I said, son, I'm not gonna ask you for it."

Jeff nodded in understanding and scrambled off the couch. Only four feet
separated it from the recliner. Jim closed his eyes and groaned as he felt
his son's strong hands on his thighs. Massaging the muscle, easing out the
tension. The anticipation and sensation made the man's cock go erect in his
uniform pants.

"Damn, Dad. You're tense."

Jim opened his eyes and was greeted with the vision of his
eighteen-year-old son kneeling between his spread legs.

"Recline back," Jeff ordered.

Jim leaned back, feeling his tired feet leave the floor and his weight
settle back. Jeff looked up. Smile beaming on his face. Right before the
boy bent down and started to lick. Big wide swipes of the tongue across the
black patent leather.

"Oh son!"

Jim was always proud in his appearance and in his career. The uniform
always pressed, the shoes always shined. Jeff could taste the remnants of
polish on the waxy leather surface, but it didn't deter him. If Jim didn't
know better, he swore it turned his boy on.

"Lick 'em, Jeff. Yeah, the other one now. Shine those shoes for daddy."

Jeff pulled his handsome young face back and stared at his father's uniform
shoe. He spit on it, then went back to circling the surface with his
tongue.

"Christ, if your mother saw us..."

Jeff pulled back, rubbing the soles of his father's shoes with his
fingers. "You got big feet Dad."

"12 and a halfs."

"Damn."

"Like em?"

Already fingers were teasing open the knot in the laces. It was Jim's turn
to curse.

"There. Let me take 'em off."

"Those hands feel good, Jeff."

"Yeah?" He slipped of the right shoe and started rubbing the sole of his
father's large foot, paying especially attention to the ball of the foot.

"You don't even know."

Jeff then turned his attention to the left foot. This time he slipped the
sock off, too, allowing his fingers to make contact with the bare foot
flesh.

"Oh!" Jim leaned back and felt waves of pleasure crash through his
body. Hungrily, he reached down and started unbuckling.

"Yeah, Dad. Take it out. Take out your cock while I worship your feet."
Then, in a moment that was electric for both men, he lifted his father's
leg up til the bare foot was in front of him. Sticking his tongue out he
leaned forward. And licked.

"Shit!" Jim cried out. Erect father dick now in hand. "Lick me, Jeff"

Up and down the sole of his father's foot, Jeff's tongue traced a route
back and forth, experiencing the change in surface from soft arch to
slightly calloused heel, then up the wrinkled flesh of the side. He circled
the block several time before his fingers pressed on his father's toes and
curled them toward his receptive mouth. He sucked three of them right in.

"Jesus H. Christ!"

"Mom doesn't do this for you, does she?"

"You know damn well she doesn't. Eat your daddy's foot, son."

"Mmmph"

"Ah yeah. I missed this. You got your dad so hot, Jeff. Here, do the other
one."

Jeff didn't bother to remove the sock this time. Jim felt his boy's spittle
soak through the sheer black wool. Then the boy started sucking. Like he
was sucking a cock.

"Arrgh!" the cop cried, and suddenly sperm was jetting out of his hard
prick, spraying him, his boy, and the recliner in a spray of white, hot
liquid shrapnel.

Jeff watched in amazement as his cop father shot his load like some out of
control teenager. His father's foot still in his mouth, he reached down
into his sweats and gripped his own raging boner. A couple of tugs and his
own seed spilled out, into his hand and dribbling down his thighs.

He pulled back, catching his breath while he watched his father come down
from an intense orgasm. The man still seemed out of it.

"You OK, dad?" he finally asked.

Jim reached down and patted his son's head, stroked his handsome face. "You
bet, son. I think we both earned another beer. Whaddya think?"

Jeff smiled, soaking in his father's love and approval. "Sure, dad."