Date: Wed, 11 Jan 2017 02:57:51 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: Year-End Bonus

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/136211079069/

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 scents filled my nose as soon as I stepped in the door to the little
shop. Duelling notes of rich, deep, aromatic tobacco, a smell that implied
well-broken-in leather armchairs, aged bourbon, masculine cologne. A smell
that reminded me of my father's study, growing up. I felt my cock tingle
inside my underwear, and smiled to myself.

The proprietor nodded approvingly as he brought the box from the store's
humidor and placed it almost reverently on the counter.

"Well, it's too late for Christmas, so this must be for you," he said.

"Not quite," I chuckled, pulling my Amex from my wallet. "It's sort of a
celebratory gift."

I looked at the price, and stifled the internal flinch. It had been a very
good year, and my year-end bonus had been sized accordingly. I could more
than afford this. My colleagues were blowing bigger sums on ski vacations,
new luxury car leases, jewelry for their long-suffering wives, or their
long-suffering mistresses. For strippers and hookers all over town, this
was truly the most wonderful time of the year.

Sure, this was an extravagance too. But I knew I was in line for a
promotion in the new year, and anyway, as expensive as this handsome box of
hand-rolled Nicaraguans was, it was still less than the heftily marked-up
mid-grade bottles of Champagne some of the office bros were buying
multiples of right about now. Splashing around their year-end bonus money
to attract expensive pussy that they'd have to pay even more for.

"A discerning one," the proprietor nodded with an approving smile. "The
recipient's a lucky man."

"We both are," I smiled again, already feeling the swell of my cock in my
trousers.

By the time I stepped into his elevator fifteen minutes later, the solid
wooden box tucked under my arm, tie reknotted, a twist of anticipation in
my stomach, I was full-blown hard.

"1964 Aniversarios... very nice," he said, opening the box with a smile,
leaning in to inhale the scent. "You really shouldn't have, you know."

"They're not just for you," I said, presenting the silver engraved cigar
cutter to him almost ceremonially, the way I'd always done. "They're for
us, to share."

"Always, buddy," he smiled, the Padron thick and dark and held between
thumb and forefinger as he leaned in, cupping the back of his other hand
behind my neck, and pressed his smiling lips to mine. Soft, full, warm,
parting slowly with mine to permit the slow flick of his tongue, meeting
mine with a muffled grunt from us both.

The click of the cigar lighter. The hiss of flame. The puff of rich smoke
as he drew, getting the tip glowing, puffing around either side of it, eyes
crinkling deeply as he smiled around the tip, watching my eyes drift
half-closed, my nostrils flaring to inhale the richness of it. His hand
reaching down to caress the already thick bulge in my trousers, rubbing the
heel of his hand slowly up and down, making me throb as I stared at him
with lusty eyes.

He passed the cigar under my nose, giving the pulsing bulge of my cock a
gentle squeeze as he watched me. Then tilted my chin up with his fingers,
looking deep into his eyes, blue like mine, as he grazed those lips against
mine and exhaled a stream of smoke into my waiting mouth.

"We have a lot to celebrate, son," he said, his voice deep and rich and
rolling over me in a warm, fragrant flow, a stew of complex emotions
boiling up inside of me. Lust. Pride. Respect. Tradition. And above and
beyond all of that, love.

"We do, Dad," I replied, my voice husky, because this was not just about a
great year for me, and the big promotion coming my way. We both looked over
to the top of the bar. The box of Aniversarios resting atop a thick sheaf
of papers. His divorce documents, freshly signed.

The snip of the cigar cutter, the click of the lighter again as I ran my
fingers over the type on the document, reading the words that granted my
father's freedom. Freedom to be with me, now. Unencumbered. As much as we
wanted to. His hand came to rest on the back of my neck, squeezing in that
special way he'd always had, that sends a sizzle of electricity down my
spine and into my loins. Letting me read his freedom. Then pressing the
spit-moistened tip of his cigar to my lips, my eyes going to his as I
parted them to accept his gift. Both aware of the subtext, the obvious
visual of the son accepting the six-plus-inch cylinder in such a way. But
then, really, at its base, that's what a cigar is all about, no? He
smiled. Lifted his own, fresh-lit Aniversario to his lips, and puffed
contentedly, savoring it. Savoring the moment with me.

I reached over with my cigar-bearing hand and stroked it over his own big
bulge in his immaculately pressed trousers, feeling the fine Italian wool
mounded over the thickness beneath. Bigger than the cigar, for
sure. Thicker. Warmer. Alive.

"So, this is mine now, yes?" I smiled up at him, slowly caressing the big
bulge, feeling it throb inside his pants.

"It always was, son... you just don't have to share it anymore," he grinned
back, rubbing the back of my neck, watching me lift my cigar to my lips,
and inhale, timing his own inhale with mine. Both of us leaning in to
exhale into each other's mouths at the same time, chasing the rich,
fragrant smoke clouds with our tongues, into a hungry, deep, sloppy
kiss. The way he'd taught me how to kiss as a youth, sitting naked but for
my open school uniform shirt on the edge of his desk. Athletic thighs
spread as he sat in his desk chair between them, one hand holding a Padron,
the other stroking up and down the solid muscles of my quads and inner
thighs. Then pulling my head in to kiss, to taste the rich smoke on his
lips and tongue.

Already, I could smell the cigars perfuming our clothes, as we unknotted
each other's ties between deep kisses, then slowly unbuttoned shirts. His
clothes were more classically cut than mine, tailored for him in Hong Kong,
a fresh batch brought back with him every year from his bank's big
conference there. Mine weren't as expensive - still quality, of course,
because he'd raised me to believe in that - and cut a little more modern,
closer to my big young form, thickened from rugby at Harvard. I know he
liked the way my trousers flattered my thick thighs and the high, tight
bubble of my ass, because he couldn't keep his hands off of them as he
undressed me, between draws on his cigar.

I was eager to help him undress too, of course, because I favored him
physically, with my big shoulders and deep chest and long, strong legs. He
worked out three times a week still, and in his mid-fifties now, he could
pass for a man ten years younger, easily. My hand pushed up beneath his
undershirt as he held his cigar to my lips and I drew, eyes moving from the
solid plates of his pecs, dusted with thick, silver-streaked blond hair, to
meet his. Exhaled the smoke into his mouth as he unbuckled my belt and
pushed my pants down my thick thighs, then tugged on my undershirt,
exposing my solidly muscled form, grunting with pleasure as he stroked his
cigar-holding hand over it, the big muscle of my ass cupped in the other.

"So fucking handsome, son," he growled, making me moan and throb inside my
designer underwear. Ones he'd picked out for me at Bergdorf's, standing
hip-to-hip with me as he picked up the box and showed it to me, telling me
in a low, secret voice how he wanted to see me hard in them, just for
him. Making me hard right there in the store, and thankful for the overcoat
folded over my arm to cover my bulge.

"Because you made me, Dad," I growled back, and we kissed hungrily again. I
took his cigar-holding hand, looked in his eyes, and lashed my tongue over
the tip of it, then pressed it up to his mouth, grunting at the sight of
his tongue slipping out to taste my spit and add his. Then puffing deeply
on it as he slid his hand over the strained bulge of my trunks and palmed
my bulge slow and firm.

His silk boxer shorts were already stained with precum as I kneeled before
him, and when I pried the fly apart with my fingers and blew a drift of
smoke inside, all over his cock and balls, he growled lustily and pulled
the back of my head in, watching closely as another spurt of pre soaked
through the silk. My tongue touched it, then savored it, lapping slowly
over the tip of his cock through the precum-soaked silk, tasting cigar and
man and just Dad. I made quick work of the button on the fly, then reached
in and tugged the handsome length of him free.

"You made me with this, Dad," I said reverently, looking up at him. "Made
me with it, so I could have it."

"I did, son," he said, low and deep, and fuck he looked the picture of
refined masculinity, big athletic form towering over me with a fine smoke
in his hand. "Even as I shot the load that created you, I was hoping it
would be a boy. A son. A man, one day. You, son. So we could be together,
like this."

Jesus, he knew how to get to me, and I showed him by opening wide to inhale
his cock, slurping my way down to the root, into the richness of his bush,
the thick, pulsing flesh of him filling my throat with practiced ease.

His precum was a continual flow over my tongue, adding to the rich stew of
flavors and scents filling my mouth and nose, when he gently pulled my head
back and off of him, tugging me up to kiss and share the tastes. We
exchanged cigars, and then tongues again, as he laced his long, strong
fingers into mine and led me to his bedroom.

We made quick work of each other's underwear, and I thrilled to the way he
lifted mine to his nose and inhaled deeply, a lusty rumble deep in his
chest as his eyes stared into mine. Then he leaned down to kiss me, his
cock pulsing hard against the thick muscle of my thigh, as my hand stroked
over the bulging muscles of his upper arm, his shoulder, to the back of his
head, fingers tangling into his expensive haircut as we went deep and wet
with our kiss, flowing his spit and tongue deep into my mouth. I swallowed
his saliva down, and searched with my tongue for more, loving how he
obliged and encouraged me.

Cigars like these were too good to waste, though, so we dialed things back
a notch, stretching out alongside each other to smoke and kiss. Talking, a
little, but not really needing to. Just luxuriating in the total freedom we
had together. I was done with work until the new year, and so was he. He
didn't have to be anywhere else - this was his home now, this tidy Tribeca
two-bedroom. The Greenwich house had gone to her in the settlement, and
that was great, because it meant I never had to trek all the way out there
again to endure another stilted dinner, waiting to go back to his study
with him for an after-dinner cognac and cigar, and his long, thick cock
sliding up my tail on the sofa by the fireplace there...

I felt the spit-moist tip of his cigar drag over my skin as he nuzzled the
side of my neck, tracing circles with it around my stiff nips, scenting me
up even more as he trailed it down through the fur between my pecs, down
the slid muscles of my stomach, into the blond thickness of my bush. I
moaned and slid my hand down that arm, feeling the big muscles bunch
slowly, down to his hand, my fingers grazing over the platinum band he
still wore on his ring finger. Lingering there for a moment, the cool metal
contrasting with the warmth of his skin, pulling back only when he grazed
the tip of his cigar up the throbbing, precum-sticky length of my
erection. He chuckled deep in his chest at my moan as he drew it up to the
underside of my cockhead, dragging it through the slick streams of my
precum as he flicked the edge of my ear with his tongue, then lifted the
tip of the cigar to my lips. I tasted myself, my essence on it, eyes on his
as I puffed, then exhaled into his waiting mouth, before it closed over
mine.

"Daddy's boy," he murmured against my lips, dragging the tip of his Padron
over the sensitive spot high on my inner thigh, up near the fork of my
crotch, feeling me shiver a little in his embrace. My thighs spread wider
automatically, and then I felt the blunt firmness of the Aniversario,
dragging in circles though the blond fur on my taint, circling slow and
steady, down to the hot clutch of muscle that led the way inside of me. I
stared lustily up at him as he circled my most intimate space with it, the
tip firm and moist and insistent, pressing to me, making me twitch.

"Always, Daddy," I moaned throatily, then grunted as he pressed and slipped
the tip of the cigar just inside of me. Rotated it slowly there, inching
just a little more in. So fucking nasty and perverted, and it had been
tripping my balls since the first time he'd ever done it, on the deck of
the beach house out on Montauk, the summer after my senior year. Fucked me
with a Robusto out there, opening me up for the realness of his big
paternal cock as he puffed away on the cigar he'd penetrated me with,
tasting me all over it as he shot an epic load up inside of my writhing,
sweating young body.

So fucking dirty. God damn, I loved him. He'd made me in his own image,
every damn bit of me, inside and out. Made me his, from the very
beginning. And now, after all those years, all the lust and heat and
tension and exploration, opening up my body and my mind, he was mine. Like
I'd always been his.

He pulled me up on top of him, and we kissed and smoked, fed each other
flows of spit, thrust and ground and whispered, stared, touched, exchanged,
connected. And as we smoked our cigars steadily down to stubs, I reached
back and took hold of the thickness of him, hot and fleshy and streaming
precum in my slow-stroking hand. Spread my thick glutes wide, lining the
hot steel of him up to my smoky, ready hole. Then bore down, loving the
deep rumble in his chest as he let out his pent-up breath, eyes locked on
mine as he gripped the bulky muscles of my upper arms and exhaled his smoke
into my waiting mouth. I sank down the length of him slowly as I leaned in
to feed him my tongue and all the spit that had accumulated in my mouth,
and he fed hungrily on me as he pushed his paternal cock up deep into my
insides.

The stubs of our cigars smoldered in the ashtray by the bed as he rolled me
over onto my back, thrusting up deeper into me, taking control of my body
and our mating, eyes fiery but loving at the same time as he plunged deeper
into me, filling me with the cock he'd created me with, making me whole
again. I'd been fucked before, plenty of times, sure. But this wasn't being
fucked - this was being made his, and it felt like he was doing it once and
for all. The slow, deep expertise of his fucking, his cock, the look on his
face, the way he fed me his thumb, then his tongue, the hot press of his
body all fragrant with his cologne and the scent of the Aniversarios, god
but it was all so much to take.

And then he sank the full length of his cock into me, and stopped. I stared
up at him, mouth agape, silently begging to keep going, just a little more,
to fuck me over the line, to fuck this epic load out of me and all over
us. But he just grinned. Lifted his left hand from where it had pressed
deep into the mattress beside me.

"You know the problem with recently divorced men, son?" he said with a
playful grin.

"No, what?" I half-gasped, confused and so fucking ready to explode.

"They tend to jump into something new again too quickly," he said. "Before
they've had time to get over it. Before they're ready."

He leaned back on his heels, his cock slipping a couple of inches back out
of me, and I let out a little whimper of need that made him chuckle.

"But I'm not jumping into anything new, am I son?" he grinned, fiddling
with his left hand, and oh fuck, as lust-hazed as I was, I knew, even
before he reached for my hand.

"And I'm very ready. Always have been. For the right thing. Are you, son?"

I stared at him, and at the touch of his ring to the tip of my bare ring
finger, still warm from his skin, my cock twitched over my stomach. He
smiled.

"Are you Daddy's boy, son?" he said, voice deep and rich and vibrating
through me, his eyes locked on mine, intent. Knowing. Understanding.

"Always, sir," I said, strong and clear. "For life."

"And I'm your man, son," he said. "For life."

He slid the ring down my finger, pushing the full length of his cock back
inside of me at the same time, and I came. Oh, I fucking came. Harder than
I think I'd ever cum before. Even when he took my cherry. Even the first
time we messed around. Even the first time I stroked my aching young cock
to its first wet orgasm, my fevered young mind full of images of him.

I came, and when he whispered "I love you, son" against my mouth with his
smoke-scented lips, he fed his fat, wet tongue into my eager mouth, and
thrust his own load up deep inside of me.

"This calls for Champagne, I think," he said with a grin a little later,
heading naked out to the kitchen. I stared hungrily at the firm, muscular
swell of his ass as he walked, then looked down at my hand. His ring on
it. Wrapped it around the sticky, rubbery length of my cock. Felt the
tingle surge all the way down the length of it, into my guts.

He came back with a bottle of Krug, a couple of flutes, and another
Aniversario. Just the one, this time. One to share. Already I was looking
forward to the taste of it, and the Krug, and him, all of him. I could feel
my cock filling back up again, and he chuckled at the sight of its slow,
contented rise as he slid his arm around me and handed me a glass.

"To us, son," he said, clinking his Champagne flute to mine. "To the end of
a great year, and the beginning of an even better one. Together."

"Ah Dad," was all I could say feeling suddenly overwhelmed by it all. My
mouth found his, and we kissed, warm and deep. A slow exchange of tongues,
the taste of Krug and one another.

"A little early to celebrate the new year yet, though," I chuckled when we
parted.

"No - we're going to be doing that in Cuba, buddy," he said. "There's a
little place near Varadero that rolls some of the finest cigars you'll ever
smoke. A hotel overlooking the ocean. My year-end bonus gift, for you,
son. For us."

"You mean, like a..."

"Yes, son," he grinned, folding his big arm round my back and pulling me in
close. "A honeymoon. If you want it to be."

"You have no idea, Dad," I said, wrapping my hand around his cock and my
tongue around his as I fell on him.