Date: Thu, 4 Aug 2016 11:13:25 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Old School

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr.com/storytime. You
can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/122953860945/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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I love hearing from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. Enjoy.

*****

Somehow I'd missed his e-mail when he'd sent it this evening - it came
during a late strategy meeting that went long, and after that I was too
damn eager to get home and see him to remember to check it. And now here it
was, on the screen of my phone, charmingly old-tech in execution, but still
hot as fuck. Him naked, in my bedroom, showing off his sexy, hairy
thickness as he snapped himself with his old digital camera.

"Why don't you get a smartphone?" I asked.

"Don't need one," he shrugged. "Don't work that great over there, and what
am I gonna do, check out Afghan Tinder?"

"Oh, so you're cruising Tinder too, huh?" I asked, being playful but also
getting a little gut-flip of jealousy. "And if you've never owned a
smartphone, how come you know about that anyway?"

He just rolled his eyes.

"I'm old-school, not stupid, kid," he grunted. "I pay attention. Just `cos
you got the college education and whatever, don't make you the fount of all
fuckin' knowledge."

He could be like that, being all big and tough and quiet and kind of a
shitkicker, which all went with his gruff, intimidating image. Tall,
thick-built, hairy, bearded. He looked every inch the private security
contractor he was, and every inch the Marine he'd been before that, and
every inch the football star he'd been before that. Looked like he might be
dumb as a box of hammers, drive a lifted brodozer pickup, post stupid
right-wing memes on Facebook. And then he'd wrap a surprisingly agile piece
of vocab up in a bunch of cuss words and make you scratch your head and
rethink everything you knew about him.

Well, not me. I knew him real well, and my insides pounded with love and
lust for him. Yeah, I'd turned out different from him, with my education
and my white-collar job and my neat apartment and my little German car. But
the contrast worked. We fit. And we fit especially well together naked, had
since I was 15, learning how to be with a dude by sucking on his honking
great big Marine cock. Learning it all from him over one intense summer,
grunting and sweating and kissing and spit-swallowing and blasting load
after load of my formerly-virgin cum all over the big, thickly-haired
bulges of his muscles, as he creamed me repeatedly inside and out with his
thicker, richer, stronger loads.

"I'm just saying, if you had a smartphone, or any kind of phone with a
camera in it, you wouldn't have to go to all the trouble of taking all
these naked selfies with your old digital camera, hooking it up to your
computer, e-mailing it to me..."

He gave me an amused grin.

"Well, maybe I like going to all that trouble, kid. Putting in the
effort. Taking my time. Thinking about the kind of pic I'm gonna
take. Making sure it's the right one. And knowing that whatever it is,
however I do it, your fuckin' cock's gonna be boned and wet inside those
fancy little designer undies you like so much."

I chuckled, reached over to the big mound in his sweats, the huge mound,
really, and groped that cock of his. No matter what kind of pic he took, it
was always the focus. A big fuckin' cock on a big fuckin' dude. And he had
me dead to rights - there was a weird kind of old-school charm to it, and
hell, his pics always had me ready to roll.

"Yeah, I know what my boy likes," he rumbled in that low, sexy, deep,
commanding voice of his, leaning in to nuzzle my ear as my hand continued
to work on his enormous cockbulge. "Know how to get my boy going. Get him
all wet and hard, thinking about what he's gonna do with me when he gets
home. What I'm gonna do to him."

"Fuck, Dad," I moaned, craning my head up to meet him in a searing, sloppy,
tongue-twisting kiss as I felt his big proud cock throb fully erect. The
effect of the bulge on his sweats would almost be comical if I wasn't so
fucking lust-hungry for it, and for him.

"Yeah, that's my boy," he murmured, lips moving on mine. "Know what my
kinky little perv kid loves. What he craves. A good hot Daddy
session. Gettin' bred and fed by your own Dad. Makin' it with your old
man. Ain't that right, big guy?"

I just moaned, giving his big bulge a solid squeeze, staring at it, at the
thick hair on his muscled lower stomach where his comfy old T-shirt had
ridden up. His big, strong hand gripped the back of my neck and forced my
head up to look into his big, deep, commanding eyes.

"Use your words, son," he growled, in that husky rumble of a voice, rich
and dripping with power and testosterone. "Say it, boy."

"Yes, Daddy," I moaned, forgetting all about the fact that I was a big,
strong, fit guy who could take care of himself. A grown-up. Not now, not
with him. With him, I was always his boy. "Wanna fucking breed-bond with my
Dad. My big Daddy. Big son-fucking stud. Deep incest-fucking man."

"Yeah, go on, kid," he said, grinning, eyes fiery with lusty heat.

I stood up from the couch, showed him the epic bone in my mesh workout
shorts, palming and squeezing and fondling it for him, showing him the
pervy, hungry lust I'd been feeling for him since I was a little kid, in
awe of his big shadow. A lust that deepened, got richer and more complex
over time, until it was all I could think about, busting creamy young teen
loads over my stomach multiple times a day, on fire with that potent mix of
lust and love and shame and self-loathing. And then everything changed, and
it was just him and me, and he showed me that all that stuff I'd been
dreaming of, making myself crazy over, I wasn't alone in it. He knew about
it even better than I did. And sure, yeah, it was pervy and wrong and
taboo, but he showed me how that's just what made it better, deeper,
truer. Right. Ours. Shared. Showed me I wasn't alone, and that just made me
fall even harder for him.

The first time I'd grunted out the words "Ah, Daddy" with tears of joy and
lust in my eyes as he nailed the full length of that long, thick tube of
cock up my ass, he growled and roared and tensed up all over, and bred
me. His eyes on fire with the truth of it, the rightness of who we were
together. The raw power of our natures, sparking fire between us. Flames
fanned over the decade-plus since that defining moment in my teenage bed,
fueled by all the time we'd spent apart since, me at college and him in the
Corps, and then overseas again with Triple Spear at four times the
salary. When he was home, he was with me. This was our home. We were
together. And when we were apart, when he'd send me those convoluted
old-school selfies with that battle-scarred old Olympus of his, we were
still together, even as I pounded my own fat ex-jock cock up tight dude
asses, fed them my cum and my spit and my cock, thinking of him all the
while. Imagining him watching me, giving me that paternal
encouragement. Imagining that deep, low, private rumble of his voice in my
ear, telling me what a good fucking boy I was, how proud I was making
Daddy, how I was gonna be a big stud like my Daddy some day.

I told him all that, and he'd heard it all before, but I knew how much he
loved hearing how wanton and lusty and on fire I got, thinking of him and
us and our taboo-embracing bond. How much I loved, craved being his
boy. His son. I told him again, stripping out of my clothes, my body hard
from working out for him, six days a week of cardio and lifting to build
myself up for the raw power of his animalistic, paternalistic fucking. Big
young pecs, strong abs, naturally smooth to his native hairiness. Showing
him the big bulge in my little briefs, seven thick inches of son cock,
stretching the fabric in front like the twin, powerful mounds of my
ex-wrestler ass did in back. Tensing up my legs, thick-muscled like his,
dusted with traces of the same dark brown fur that enriched his body all
over. Running my lusty monologue for him, eyes locked on his, connecting on
that deep level as I got myself naked and climbed up into his
lap. Shivering at the feel of his big, rough hands cupping, squeezing,
stroking the muscles of my ass and thighs. Feeling the hard, throbbing mass
of his cock, tenting his sweats as it nuzzled into its home between my
cheeks. Rocking back and forth on it as I regressed to that horny,
confused, needful 15-year-old kid again, the way I'd been when he'd come to
me, come for me, and come inside me.

I pushed his shirt up under his armpits, then hooked the neck of it up
behind his head, and set to work kissing and licking and savoring his
unique man musk. He was clean, freshly showered, but that forest of rich
brown fur held his secret scent for me always, and I breathed it in deep as
my lips and tongue explored the powerful solidity of his thick muscles, his
big dark nips, the ridges of his abdomen. Slipping down out of his lap to
tug at his sweats, revealing even more fur, dense and dark and fragrant,
and then that mighty cock of his. No underwear. He never wore it, at
home. Constricted his big piece, already thick and powerful at rest, even
more so at full mast, like it was now. Thick, powerful, long, and wet for
me. Showing his boy how much he wanted me.

"Fuck yeah, Dad," I moaned, looking up at him as I slow-fisted it, licking
my lips. "You gonna breed your son with this big cock, Daddy?"

"Ah baby boy," he moan-growled, rubbing his hand through my close-cropped
hair, that rugged, bearded face melting into a lusty, loving smile. "Gonna
breed my own boy. Breed the boy I made, with the cock I made him with."

I whimpered at that, forgot all about everything else, that fact that I was
strictly a top with my playmates, the fact of my manhood, and surrendered
to him, sucking the head of his salty, musky cock into my mouth and
beginning the slow work of taking him down. Almost all the way. I'd had a
decade of practice, and I was getting closer all the time. His rich, deep
moans filled my chest with pride, and my mouth with even more spit.

"Come on up here, baby boy," he moaned after a time, hands slipping into my
armpits and tugging me effortlessly back up into his lap for a slow, wet
kiss, another dance of tongues, those big, capable hands of his working my
ass over the whole time. "Want to be with you now, kid. Little
brother. Son."

"Ah bro," I moaned, feeling that prick of grateful tears in my eyes. "Ah
Dad."

Yeah. He was both. We were born as brothers, but he'd always felt like a
Dad to me, even more so when our parents died when I was 15 and he was
22. Left big shoes to fill, a role and a space for my big brother to occupy
naturally. And so, he was just Dad to me now, and I was his son, and
nothing in the world was ever gonna change that. Especially not now that we
were really together like we were. Family, in our own special, taboo
way. This had gotten us through all that hard shit, the grief and loss and
tragedy, and it had made us something more.

I cupped his ruggedly handsome face, that buzzcut head of his in my hands,
and let him read the gratitude in my eyes. Brothers, dad and son, lovers,
didn't matter - we were here. We had each other. And so I lifted up on my
knees, reached behind me to line that epic brother-father cock of his up
with the tightness of my hole, already lube-slicked in preparation for this
moment... and I showed him how much he meant to me. As a brother, as a
lover, as a man - but especially as my Dad. And I let him show me, with the
slow, powerful thrust of that big cock, how much our bond meant to him too.

We rocked on the couch, working together, the flex and thrust of our
muscles, tongues, cocks in that deep, lusty rhythm. Eyes locked, when they
weren't fluttering closed with ecstasy. Fingers curling into fur. Hands
clutching, spreading cheeks. Tongues dancing thick and wet and deep.

"Always gonna be your son, Dad," I moaned as I felt myself climbing towards
explosion, scaling the length of his epic cock to the peak, my body on
fire.

"And I'm always gonna be your Dad, baby boy," my brother panted back, that
big hand locking behind my neck as our eyes connected.

He smiled and nodded, giving me the permission I needed, and the first
spurts of my cum hit the furry, muscular terrain of his stomach as I moaned
his true name, moaning out "Daddyyyyy" as I fired off. He thrust up hard in
me, muscles flexing hard as he reached that peak right behind me, a hand on
my neck and a hand on my ass, and growled out his true name for me too.
Growled, and shot, and stared deep into my eyes, and made his baby brother
his boy all over again. Just the way it was meant to be, for the both of
us.