Date: Thu, 24 Nov 2016 23:53:28 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Thanksgiving Tales: 1AM Feeding

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/134028242813/

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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*****

The whole house was still and quiet. I'd fed the twins their bottles,
lulling them slowly back to sleep in Gramps' old rocking chair, watching
their sleeping faces with a kind of quiet awe.

"I made these," I'd thought to myself, feeling that powerful upwelling
inside of me as I gazed down at my boys. Amazing. Me and Miranda hadn't
necessarily planned to have kids so quickly, and so young, much less two of
them, but here we were, a family all of a sudden. It was exciting and scary
all at once. Deep. Made me feel, finally, like I was a man, once and for
all.

I set them back in the travel crib by the bed, my wife sleeping like the
dead, but I didn't feel like joining her just yet. Had a lot on my mind,
this first Thanksgiving as a family, under the roof where I'd mostly grown
up. Thinking about change, and growth, and fatherhood. Thinking about the
turkey in the fridge, too, if I was being honest. We'd eaten well this
afternoon, snacked on some leftovers in the evening, but now I was hungry
again. So I moved quietly into the kitchen to make myself a snack.

My mouth was full of turkey when Dad came in, padding in real quietly like
I'd done, and when he saw me there, pulling strips of meat off the carcass
on the counter beside me, he just chuckled.

"You too, huh?" he grinned, coming over to join me. He was in boxer shorts
like me. I was generally a naked sleeper, and I knew he was too, but damn
if he didn't actually look better in a pair of shorts. Still in great
shape, just with a little softness to the belly in middle age that I
guessed I'd have too. I was built just like him, took after him in a lot of
ways, and I'll be honest, if I looked as good as he did pushing 50, I'd be
a happy man.

"Was giving the boys their bottle, and I figured I'd get a late-night
feeding in myself," I said, licking the spicy grease off my fingers. "This
is a damn fine turkey, Dad. You've done it again. You're gonna have to
teach me the secret."

"All those years watching me, and you haven't learned it by now, kid?" he
said, eyebrow arched, giving me a wink. "It's in the brining, that's the
key."

I watched him suck the grease off his fingers too, just like I did, and out
of nowhere, felt my cock twitch in my loose boxers. Shit, I thought to
myself, with a wry half-grin. Old magic's still there...

We stood there, companionably quiet as we picked at the bird, not needing
to say anything to each other. Just enjoying each other's company. We'd
always had a bond, especially once I'd grown up, gotten older, come into my
own more as a man in my own right. The bond deepening between us, in a lot
of ways. A lot of good times. A lot of learning from him, with him, in all
kinds of ways. Just thinking about that, my cock continued on its slow,
steady upright course, and when Dad's eyes cut down at the steadily
shifting mound in my boxers and shot me that grin of his - the same grin I
had - I knew he was enjoying reminiscing a little too.

"You got a little of the seasoning there, buddy," he said quietly, reaching
over to flick at a crumb on the corner of my lip, then popping the finger
into his mouth. At that, my cock pulsed a little harder, especially when he
tipped me another wink as he sucked his fingertip clean.

"Now, the real secret's in your mother's pie," he said. "Maybe Miranda can
coax it out of her, but whatever it is, I've never had another like it."

There really was nothing like Mom's pumpkin pie. It was sitting right there
on the fridge shelf, and a little piece of that would be perfect right
now. So I pulled it out, sliced off a little sliver of it, and popped a
bite in my mouth, letting out a happy noise. Rich, creamy, spicy, sweet -
perfect.

"Am I right, or am I right?" Dad said with a grin, watching me enjoy.

I nodded, then after a few seconds, ran my finger through the filling and
offered it to him. Waiting to see if he'd take the bait. He gave me a long,
smiling look, then leaned in, lips parting, and sucked the mound of pie
filling off my fingertip. Taking his time with it, even lightly taking hold
of my wrist with his hand, as his tongue lashed round the tip of my finger,
cleaning it off thoroughly. Sucking on it a little. Something I remembered
him doing very well over the years, on other late, quiet nights
together. Days, too. All kinds of occasions, since I was 16 or 17. Not for
quite awhile now, though. Damn, I'd missed that.

He stepped back, smacking his lips a little, that smile of his deepening,
and yeah, the old vibe was definitely there, present and correct between
us.

"That good, Dad?" I said, quiet, a little huskiness to my voice.

"The best, son," he replied, with a slow nod.

We looked at each other for another long moment, and then he stepped in
closer. Reached down and gently, but decisively laid his hand over the hard
jut of my cock in my boxers. Gave it that familiar, careful, loving squeeze
he always had. I had a nice cock, a cock just like his, long and pleasantly
thick, a shade under seven inches. Even cut nearly identically to his. It
thrilled to his familiar, long-missed touch. Miranda and I had an excellent
sex life - not so much since the twins were born, but that was natural. I
loved to pleasure her, make her cum, then slowly fuck my own load into her
tight, welcoming wetness. But me and Dad, shit, the electricity between us
was on a whole different level. A different energy. Deeper. Satisfied us
both, in ways nobody else could.

I let Dad slowly rub my superhard cock, making my boxers all moist in
front, reaching over to run my hand up and down his other arm, over the
strong, corded muscles of it as it propped on the countertop while his
other worked on me. We smiled at each other, and like on some silent
signal, both leaned in to kiss, slow and soft, our lips smacking quietly in
the dark kitchen. He'd taught me how to do this properly, and I'd been a
damn good student. Even though it had been maybe a year since we'd last
tangled like this, it felt like we'd never paused. Felt right. Felt
natural.

His tongue tasted like turkey seasoning and pumpkin and cinnamon, and as
the kiss quietly deepened, I reached around him, grabbed his still high,
tight and hard ass, and pulled him into me. His identical cockbulge slid up
against mine, making us both quietly grunt into each other's mouths. We
thrust slowly, quietly together as we made out, eventually coming up for
air with big smiles.

"My boy," he said quietly, almost wistfully. "A man, now. A dad in your own
right. Hell of a thing."

"Guess I am," I nodded. "A man like you. A dad like you, I hope. The best."

He ducked his head, smiling, never good with compliments, but I could tell
he was pleased. Leaned up and pressed his lips to mine.

"Gonna make a hell of a dad, son. Hell, you already are. Enjoy it. It's an
amazing thing. Even when you were being a pain in my ass, I still loved
every minute of it. Still do."

It was a capital-M Moment, real powerful, both of us smiling and wistful,
maybe a little moist-eyed. Masculine, and intimate too. The best kind of
bond between a father and son. The kind we'd enjoyed for many years
now. Maybe one day, me and my boys would be similar. We'd see. For now,
this moment, me and my Dad, was perfect.

Dad's hand moved back between us, found the fly of my shorts, and slipped
inside. I let out a soft moan as he found my cock and slipped round it in
that familiar, but thrilling way. Slid up and down as he watched me with a
smile.

"Reckon I could use a little feeding myself, buddy," he said, low and
husky.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "You up for that? Another late-night feed, son?"

"Like I fed my boys, huh Dad?"

"But better, son. Like a Dad does."

Fuck, talk about a Moment. This was intense, what was building up between
us. Even more than usual. I nodded, and watched Dad sink to his knees, onto
the soft mat on the floor, shifting his eyes down from mine, down the hair
on my trim torso, to the jutting shape of my cock in my shorts. Leaning in
to kiss the thicker trail of fur on my stomach - getting a little softer
there myself, with my routines all shot to hell with two newborns at home,
but manageable still - and working his way lower, into the denser growth of
it on my lower abdomen. His hands came up, hooked the waistband of my
boxers, and he growled low in his throat as they fell to my feet and my
cock sprang free, the head shiny with precum already. A leaker, just like
him.

I let out my own low growl as Dad took my cock in his fist, his breath hot
all along the length of it, then slowly lapped at the tip, scooping up my
bubbling pre. Sank my fingers into his full, thick, silvery-streaked hair
as he engulfed my cock with his mouth, lips and tongue working the head,
and then slowly, steadily swallowed me down. Like we'd never stopped
this. Like a year of life hadn't gotten in the way of our special
bond. Like the first time he sucked me, when I was a horny, lanky teenager,
burning up with the same needs and drives he'd recognized in himself at the
same age.

"Fuck yessss, Dad," I murmured quietly as his sloppy, wet sucking sounds
echoed softly upwards. His hands explored the hard, defined muscles of my
thighs, up to the deep dimples of my ass, flexing and tightening as I
started to slowly fuck his willing, experienced mouth.

He grunted almost happily as my hands took hold of the sides of his
handsome head and my hips took over. We fell into the old, familiar rhythm,
working together as I fucked the length of my younger cock into his mouth,
as he sucked and slurped and swallowed and Worked his throat slowly
open. Fuck... literally nobody had ever been able to deep-throat me like
Dad could, and when he wriggled his head and buried his nose in my bush,
the muscles of his throat squeezing along the length of my cock in a loving
embrace, the bristly hairs of his goatee tickling my balls, I forgot all
about being a young married father, with a job and responsibilities. I let
myself fall back into the old fantasy, imagining me and Dad doing this the
rest of our lives. Father and son, sucking and fucking and kissing and
bonding, deep, like men. Together. Made for this, and each other.

The thing was, it felt different now, even more powerful. Not just because
of the year since we'd last done any of this, but because I was a dad now
too. I wondered, when he was my age, feeding me in the tiny hours of the
night, holding me in his arms, if he'd ever imagined us doing this. I
wondered if he felt the intense, masculine power of his fatherhood, the
first time I got down on my knees and suckled the cock he'd created me
with. I felt more than a little of that now, my fatherhood and my manhood
twinned and feeding off each other, strengthening each other as my cock
throbbed and my balls roiled, as my cum built up inside of my fertile young
father's balls.

"Big, fertile young Daddy cock for you, Dad," I murmured straight out of my
subconscious, surprising myself. He grunted and looked up at me, eyes shiny
and alive, and sucked harder.

"Cock I made my sons with, Dad," I went on, voice all deep and husky,
sounding more and more like him. Talking dirty, like he'd naturally started
doing once we'd fooled around a few times, once we knew the sexual bond we
had was A Thing between us. Like he'd taught me how to do, expressing my
deepest, lustiest, manliest thoughts and desires, coaxing them out of me
like his mouth and ass coaxed the young cum out of my cock.

"Feeding you like a Daddy should, Dad," I half-moaned, and he moaned back,
low and deep and long, buzzing all through the hard, throbbing, tingling
tube of my cock and deep into my churning nuts.

"Made two boys already with this cock... with this cum, Dad," I
grunted. "Gonna make more, maybe. Fucking potent, fertile, son-making
dadcum."

He moaned again, hungry, eyes locked on mine as I stared lustily, lovingly,
hungrily down at him.

"Gonna give you my cum, Dad," I panted. "Thick, son-making dadcum. Straight
from my dad balls. You like that, Dad? Young Daddy cum for you. For my
boy. For my boys..."

That did me in, that and the doubletime Dad did on me, his eyes streaming
with the effort, his goatee wet with overflowing spit as he devoured my
throbbing cock and the hungry, horny, taboo stream of fucktalk from my
mouth. I felt my muscles flex and tighten all over, going up on the balls
of my feet, my head dropping back, mouth hanging open in a soundless
yell. I'd learned how to be quiet when I came, from all those furtive,
late-night visits he'd paid to my teenage bedroom. I could be a moaner, a
shouter too. But I knew when, and how, to cum near-silently, and I did it
now, my cock firing off, shot after shot of pent-up cum down Dad's hungry,
suckling throat. It had been days since Miranda and I had had any time to
play, and Dad was reaping the benefits of my backed-up young dad balls,
bigtime.

I watched Dad back up off my cock a little, letting the head spurt the last
few shots across his tongue as it caressed the underside. He nursed on it
as the last of my load dribbled out, knowing from plenty of experience just
when to back off, when I got too sensitive. He grinned as he leaned back,
letting my big, spent dick hang free, handsome as hell. I reached down for
him, pulling him up to me, his lips already parting to meet mine as I
slipped him my tongue, searching for the remnants of my load, all mixed up
in his spit. The ultimate leftovers, I guess, and just as delicious as
everything else, as we grunted and swapped them back and forth, just like
we'd always loved to do.

"Fucking sweet," he murmured, as we grinned at each other. "Jesus christ,
kid. That was intense. Being a dad agrees with you, big guy."

"I guess it does," I chuckled, a little amazed myself at how my
subconscious had just taken over and poured all that taboo nasty talk
out. But I liked it. It was interesting. I wanted to see what else it could
spurt out of my mouth. And what Dad would say in return.

I reached down for the epic tent in Dad's boxers, slipping my hand into his
fly to feel him, feel the cock he'd made me with, his big daddy cock and
the heavy balls suspended below it. He kissed me again, lazily swapping
tongues with me as I teased his sonmaking length, then took hold of my
wrist after a couple of minutes and gently, but firmly extracted my hand.

"Not tonight, son," he said, reluctant but firm. "The girls are hitting the
sales in the morning. We'll feed the twins, put them down... and then we'll
feed each other. Take our time with it. Just like we used to."

Mom had always assumed we didn't like going shopping on Black Friday
because we were men. Sort of, I guess... but more because it gave us the
chance to take our time together, really put the screws to each other, so
to speak. Long and slow and deep and verbal. Father and son. Only now, we
were father and father too.

"Give you your first taste of fucking as a daddy, bud," he grinned. I
growled at the very idea and kissed him, deep and quick and hard. "Show you
what it's like to fuck your boy... Dad."

My cock tingled all along its length, down into my balls, into my gut. Holy
shit. I'd never even thought about that. Fucking Dad... and switching the
roles up. Hearing him call me `Dad', for the first time... fuck. If I
thought about that too much more, I'd be hard all over again, in seconds.
Dad saw my cock bob, already starting to grow again, and chuckled. Gave me
a wink that told me he knew exactly how I was feeling. Of course he did -
we were a lot alike. And even more now, now that we were both dads.

Fuck yeah. I was definitely feeling like a man now, once and for all. Even
better than that - feeling like a Dad.