Date: Wed, 9 Nov 2016 13:44:41 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Private Audience

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/131219850673/

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.

*****

There was an art to it, a certain progression that we had to go
through. Gchat would go 'bing' an hour or so after lunch - "Drinks after
work?" - and I'd smile and reach under my desk to massage the thick tube of
my cock, feeling it grow in my suit pants. Then a little after six, his
handsome head would pop around my office door, an expectant smile on his
face as he watched me collect my jacket and keys. A round, maybe two at one
of the FiDi bars, talking shop, and then we'd hop the train over to
Brooklyn.

First order of business, once we got in the door, was another round of
drinks while he hung up his suit jacket. I`d loosen my tie, maybe spark a
joint if I was feeling it, and then he'd relax on the couch while I got
settled in the big, comfy leather armchair across from it. Inevitably, the
conversation would die down, and he'd start to get that furtive look in his
eye. Blushing, which was weirdly cute on the big, handsome fucker. He was
54, in terrific shape, all barrel-chested, trim-waisted, with the high,
tight ass he'd had as a star QB at Penn. Still a full head of short, dark
hair, thoroughly silvered at the temples and in the heavy five-o'clock
shadow that had always seemed to set in not long after lunchtime. And that
furtive blush, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so unlike
the hard-charging exec who commanded an army of business-bro acolytes that
hung on his every word.

But here, in my apartment, he hung on my word, and my word alone.

"Are you hard yet?" I'd ask. He'd reach down to his full crotch, stroke the
fine wool of his suit pants, and smile bashfully.

"Show me," I'd say, quiet but subtly commanding. It was a tone of voice I'd
perfected over the years we'd been doing this, and it never failed to bring
a little shiver out of him. That, and compliance.

He'd slowly undo his belt and pants, and reveal the big bulge of his
underwear, starting to strain at the fabric as it jutted up through his
open fly. Starting to throb, and thicken, as he hung on my words.

"Touch yourself," I'd say simply, and hit the joint or sip on my drink,
feeling my own cock throbbing into life. Usually I'd be at least half-hard
most of the day after his initial Gchat, letting him see the sizable mound
in my crotch from time to time, a subtle reminder of where we'd be
heading. Now, here, alone in my apartment, the door locked and the blinds
closed, I'd let him see more of it. Spread my muscled thighs and briefly
caress myself, highlight the growing bigness of my younger man's bulge.

He'd grunt and swallow, and reach down to stroke himself, squeezing and
pulling, teasing his big mature cock into a full-blown hardon inside his
silk boxers. Getting that look on his face, that slow hunger mixed with
eagerness.

"Get undressed," I'd say when I was ready.

Invariably, he'd let out a little moan, continuing to tease his big bulge
as he unknotted his tie and set it down beside him, then slowly unbuttoned
his shirt, laying it over the back of the couch, his bright white
undershirt showing off that pelt of thick, silvery-dark hair on his deep
chest, the bigness of his shoulders, the solid muscles of his upper
arms. Then he'd lift his big ass up and slide his pants down his long,
hairy thighs, revealing those classic silk boxers he loved to wear, crammed
full of thick, straining cock. At every step, before removing each garment,
even his socks, he'd look to me hungrily, for permission, waiting for my
slow nod.

I'd slowly sip on my drink, or smoke my joint, and watch. Nothing more.

"Get naked," I'd say, watching him skin his shorts down, and there he'd be,
big and handsome and powerful, his hard cock towering up, already beginning
to leak. That complex mix of shame, lust and hope, of need in his eyes.

"Go ahead and stroke that cock, big guy," I'd say quietly, and with another
little moan, he'd set to work. Nice and slow, because he knew I liked him
to take his time with it, really work on that nut that had building inside
him since the last time we'd done this. Not the nut he shot into his wife,
or stroked out into the john - the deeper nut. The one reserved for me, for
this, for us. The one he enjoyed the best.

There's something about watching your own Dad get himself off for
you. Yeah, of course, there's the stimulation, the hotness of watching a
big, handsome, built man lustily pleasure himself just for you. But more
than that, there's the power of being not just an observer, but a
director. Telling your own father where, and when, and how he can pleasure
himself.

This all started when I was still in high school. Like every teenager, I
loved jacking off, alone or with friends. To me, there was nothing better
than heading home after lacrosse practice with a good bud, stripping down
to our sweaty underwear, and beating off. I was pretty sure the ladies
weren't for me, and those buddyjacking sessions pretty much confirmed
that. Especially when my best bud Max had moaned mid-session one day, fixed
me with a weird, intent look, and suddenly laid a big, wet kiss on me. That
led to more kissing, which led to stroking each other, which led to some
good deep frotting, and finally to me on my bed, muscled thighs spread,
while my best bud sucked on my cock with a mix of inexperience and
eagerness. And just as I was about to nut down his throat, I looked up and
saw my bedroom door cracked open, somebody standing just outside it, their
arm moving - my father. Getting off, watching me get off. I looked through
the crack of the door as I started to moan and unload, seeing his eye widen
as he saw me seeing him, and then I came harder than I ever had up to that
point in my young life.

I let that sit on my mind for a few days, turning it over inside my
head. It was hot being watched, and my Dad was a hot ex-jock DILF, and I'd
been having ideas about him for awhile. But I was kind of pissed,
too. Pissed, and turned on. I finally confronted Dad when we were alone in
the house, and much to my surprise, the big, confident, hard-charging stud
was utterly terrified. Scared that I knew his secret, scared to be outed as
a pervert, scared of the power I now had over him.

"I'll buy you a car, anything, Jamie," he practically begged. "Just please,
for Christ's sake, don't tell anyone. Please. I'll do whatever it takes."

"I want an Xterra," I said. "Black. The supercharged model. You can make it
my graduation present, whatever."

"OK, fine," he said, looking scared still, but relieved, like he was seeing
a way out of this. Typical finance dude - figured he could buy his way out
of anything.

"And," I said, almost relishing the nervous look on his face, "I want to
see you jack off. Return the favor, sort of."

"Jamie, what, you can't be serious -" he started.

"I'm dead serious, Dad," I said, leaning forward on his desk to emphasize
it. "You got to see me blow my load - and I'm betting that wasn't the first
time you spied on me, right?"

His blush, the way he looked down at the floor, told me everything I needed
to know. My dick got hard in my shorts.

And so Dad wound up jacking off for me, stroking an enormous load out of
his big dick, all up in the dark fur of his stomach, while his teenage son
watched. And found out that he liked it. A lot. We'd do it at least once a
week, usually while Mom and the other kids were at the mall or
whatever. Almost daily, the summer before I left for college. Every break
after that. And when I came back to New York, got a job on the Street -
first at a competing firm, and then with his shop - it became almost
routine, like our racquetball sessions, or Sunday dinner out in the `burbs
with him and Mom and my brother and sister. He'd give me that look, needy
and hungry, and I'd nod, and sure as night follows day, soon enough Dad
would be buck-ass naked, stroking another epic load out of that big ex-jock
cock of his while I directed him. And if he was good, he got one of mine in
return.

Tonight, he was being good, and I was feeling it. I didn't always shoot for
him, but it seemed like more and more lately, as the years passed and this
hot, kinky secret of ours continued to live on, that I'd wind up giving him
my load. On his big, silvery-haired pecs. Sometimes directly onto the
sticky, swollen mass of his cock. Sometimes down his hungry, sucking
throat. Turns out my Dad was a five-star cocksucker, and somehow that was
maybe the biggest turnon of all, this wealthy, successful suburban finance
man being a total pig for his son's hot young cum.

Tonight, he was on fire. It had been a stressful week for everybody, from
the trading floors right on up to the corner suites, and everybody had that
look in their eyes, even the women. A certain wild-eyed, pent-up energy. My
buds were probably out plowing four-hundred-an-hour hookers, doing blow and
drinking expensive scotch, possibly all at once. But me and Dad, we were
holed up in my Brooklyn condo, him stroking the fat, sticky-slick cock he'd
made me with nearly thirty years ago, staring hungrily at me as I stood up,
drink in hand, and began to undress.

I loved the way Dad's eyes crawled all over my body. I put a lot of work
into it, was much bigger, more powerful, better developed than that lean,
lithe 16-year-old he'd loved to spy on when I beat off back in the day. I
knew he liked it, and despite the definite shift in the power dynamic
between us, that pleased me. I enjoyed being a turnon for him, a lust
object, and it made it easier for me to continue lusting after him, getting
even sexier as he aged and thickened.

I was down to my boxer briefs when I stepped up to him, planted one foot on
the couch beside him, and stroked my own raging bulge as I sipped my drink.

"Smell me, Dad," I murmured. "Get your face in there and take a deep whiff
of your firstborn's cock."

Dad obliged with a hungry moan, leaning in and pressing his handsome face
to the thick swell of my cockbulge. I slid my fingers into the hair on the
back of his head, loving his grateful whimper as I pushed his face deeper,
throbbing my piece against his lips as they searched along it, so eager to
get past the barrier of fabric and at my pulsing flesh.

"Fuck yeah, big guy," I growled. "You want to suck it?"

"Yessss," he hissed hungrily, and I felt that thrill go through me, that
surge of power and lust.

"Then take your son's cock out, Dad," I murmured.

He eagerly complied, skilled fingers tugging my shirts down my hips,
letting my big piece swing out, hard and wet-tipped. He beheld it with a
hungry kind of awe, nostrils flaring as he inhaled my all-day
manscent. Then, looking up at me with almost worshipful eyes, he bent it
down, licked his lips, and slowly sucked me to the root.

"Fuck yesssss," I moaned, sinking my fingers back into his expensively-cut
hair, guiding his head up and down as he started to bob on my cock. Not
that he needed guidance, he was masterful at this, but it was part of the
dance. Just like when I'd pull his head back until just my tip was in his
mouth, his tongue swirling at it, suckling the precum from my slit, as I
pursed my lips and let a wad of my spit hit my shaft, running slowly down
into my bush. Then I'd release his head, and he'd chase it hungrily, aiming
to collect my spit before it hit my trimmed bush.

"Touch me if you want to, Dad," I said, because I knew he wanted to, and I
wanted him to. Wanted to feel his big, ex-ballplayer hands explore the
thick power of my thighs, my ass, my abs and pecs, reaching right up to
squeeze and explore the flex of my biceps as I showed them off to him.

It was such a fucking rush, all of it, the kind of thing I just couldn't
get from some hungry cocksucker on Craigslist. I'd tried. And much as I
loved to bring some hot dude home from the bars and plow my load into him
as we fed each other our spit, even that didn't compare to this. Because
this was my Dad, and as fucked-up as it was, I loved him, and had lusted
after his big, sexy ass for longer than anyone else in the whole world. And
tonight, every night we got together like this, he was mine, and mine
alone.

Tonight, I was particularly feeling that intensity, like a shark smelling
blood in the water. I knew he was too. The whole god damn firm was. When we
closed this deal next week, it was going to be insane. Like bonus season
all over again. But I had a deal I wanted to close tonight, as I guided
Dad's head back down my spitshined cock, up and down, fucking his hungry,
slurping mouth as he fisted himself beneath me. And so, reluctantly, I
pulled his handsome head up and off, as he moaned with disappointed hunger
at me.

"My bedroom, now," I growled. And then I took the last sip of my drink,
swirled it around my mouth, leaned in, and fed it to him. He moaned even
deeper, his tongue lapping at mine, and I let our deep, incestuous kiss
play out for a few minutes, before pulling back.

"Go, Dad," I said, nodding in the direction of my bedroom. "Now."

He scrambled up off the couch, his ass muscular, hairy, magnificent even in
his fifth decade. Aged like the fine bourbon I picked up off the bar and
brought into the bedroom.

He stood obediently beside my king-size bed, awaiting direction, and when I
stepped into him, ran my hand up his fine flank and pulled his head in to
feed him my tongue, he didn't resist at all. I could feel him melt a
little, surrendering control to his son completely, and it was easy for me
to move him up onto the bed.

"I'm going to fuck you, Dad," I said simply, sliding my bedside drawer open
and retrieving my lube. He looked like he wanted to say something, to beg
off, but I knew I wanted to fuck him. Deep down, we both knew he wanted me
to fuck him. His eyes were a little scared, but they were hungry, too, as
he watched the gleaming length of my lubed-up cock bob in the air, as I
squeezed out another glob of the stuff onto my fingers and applied them to
his hole.

"I'm going to fuck you, Dad," I said again, as I corkscrewed my slick
finger inside him, feeling his hole stretch and open, yielding to my
relentless probing. "Not tonight. But soon. I think it's time we took this
to the next level, don't you?"

"Oh Christ," he moaned, jacking feverishly on his big, leaking dick as I
continued to work his tight, hairy hole.

"All this week, I'm going to work late on the Kobayashi deal, and I'm going
to help you bring it home. And then I'm going to fuck you, Dad."

"Ah son," he moaned, not quite helplessly, but lustily too.

"That's right, Dad," I murmured, pulling his thighs open more as I probed
up deeper inside of him. I grazed my fingers over the pulsing nut inside of
him, making his cock belch precum as his eyes rolled halfway back in his
head. I knew he wasn't cherry, I knew his whole sexual history. It was a
genuine ball-churner hearing the nasty things he moaned out, on the few
occasions when I wrapped myself around his back and stroked his big cock
off while I made him spill his secrets. It was a wonder I hadn't fucked him
yet.

"I'm going to fuck you like you've wanted me to fuck you since I was 15,
Dad," I said, low and deep, locking eyes with him.

"Oh fuck, Jamie," he moaned.

"That's right, Dad," I grinned wolfishly, probing his prostate, stroking it
more intently now, my eyes never leaving his the whole time.

"Picking up your boy after practice in your big, shiny SUV," I growled,
fingerfucking him steady and deep. "Wishing you could pull over, put the
seats down, and get his big, teen jock cock up inside of you. I bet that's
what you thought every time, huh Dad?"

Dad moaned, almost a whimper, and nodded nearly imperceptibly. Or maybe
that was just him urging me on as he stretched around me.

"Bet that's why you never missed practice, if you could. Because you always
hoped... dreamed... you'd get those big hands up inside my gear, didn't
you, Dad... get me naked... and get my big young dick inside of you..."

"Oh SHIT!!!"

Dad hollered suddenly, and I felt him contracting around me as his muscles
bulged, his mouth dropped open, his eyes hazing over, as his cum began to
rain over the hairy swells of his powerful torso.

"Yeah, I'm gonna show you how it would've been, Dad," I grunted, picking up
my pace as I stroked my own cock for him. Hot from the intense realization
of just how deeply perved out we both were, how much we had in common, how
even more intensely hot the dance was going to be between us from now on.

"Yeah, breed me, son," he growled. "Knock your Dad up, buddy. Show me how
much of a fuckin' man you are..."

"God... damn... right, Dad," I growled through gritted teeth, and as we
locked eyes again, I doubletimed my big wet dick, feeling my ass clench
deep, his big hands squeezing my bulging pecs as my balls tightened, my
whole cock throbbed, and then I was coming on him, showering my hot load
all over him, my cum melting into his, mixing into puddles and ropes all
over his brawny, hairy torso.

"Christ on a bike," Dad muttered, as I flopped down on the sheets next to
him, my cock slapping wetly against my stomach. We both began to
chuckle. Then he reached down to the pools of our seed on him, his fingers
thick with my cum when he brought them up. He stared at them for a long
moment, hen grunted hungrily and started to suck them clean.

When he grinned at me, rolled over onto his side, and pulled my head in to
kiss him, I didn't resist. Gave up just a little bit of that control.

"I better see you really sweating that Kobayashi deal, son," he grinned
when we finally pulled apart.

"I'm expecting quite the bonus if I pull it off, Dad," I said, reaching
behind him to squeeze the big, sweaty muscle of his ass.

"So am I, buddy, so am I," he chuckled, taking hold of my hand and pulling
it deeper into the sweaty, fur-lined depth of his trench. And even though
it wasn't usually part of the dance, when he leaned in to kiss me again, I
let him, and then I joined him.

For the first time ever in our long, sordid history, I considered having
Dad spend the night with me.