Date: Fri, 14 Sep 2012 03:52:22 +0100
From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Spike's Piercing Parlour, Part Two:  Dad's Pierced Tits

      SPIKE'S PIERCING PARLOUR: PART TWO - DAD'S PIERCED TITS

      THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF INCEST BETWEEN A FATHER AND HIS 18 YR
OLD SON, WATERSPORTS AND DOMINATION.  THESE CHARACTERS EXIST IN AN AIDS
FREE, CONSEQUENCE FREE, FANTASY PARALLEL UNIVERSE AND ARE NOT TO BE
EMULATED.

      PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS AND KEEP THIS INCREDIBLE
RESOURCE GOING.


      Spike locked the door to the street and turned round the `closed'
sign.  They wouldn't be disturbed now.  Then he led the Larsens through a
beaded curtain and back into the work room.

      Young Clay nodded approvingly as he looked around, trying to make out
like this wasn't his first time in a tattoo parlour, covering his nerves.

      Oh, if he only knew what he and his dad had planned for him!

      `What's thru there?' Clay indicated the heavier fabric curtain at the
back of the room that led down to the sex dungeons.

      `Oh trust me, you ain't ready fuh that yet, kid,' Spike growled by
way of reply.  If the young jock noticed the smirk that passed between the
tattooist and his dad, he failed to understand it.

      Spike turned to Thor.  `How those piercings workin' out fuh ya?' he
asked, `Take ya shirt off, why doncha, let me check their progress.'

      Thor gave a shrug – as if they hadn't rehearsed this – and drew
up his tight black Tee, lifting it back over his head, and hooked it behind
his neck.  With the Tee tight across his shoulders and leather jeans at his
waist, Thor's hard, furry torso was framed better than any painting. Those
massive slabs of chest muscle were high and firm as his ass, each ending in
a pointy nipple the size of a quarter.  The nips were plump, sporting hefty
looking silver rings.  With his handsome head held high, Thor thrust out
his chest and dominated the room.

      `Fuuuck,' Spike gasped as he reached out to fondle Thor's tits,
`Lookin' good, my man...'

      Clay barely registered the nipple play, so taken was he by the sight
of his father.  He couldn't help but go back to that day in the bathroom,
when Dad had pissed in the sink in front of him, quite casually - and Clay
had cum his load all over himself and the toilet...




      ... As soon as he realised he had just cum, Clay walked in a trance
to the empty basin his father had just pissed in.  A single crinkly blond
pube rested on the ledge.  He studied it, slack-jawed, still able to smell
the rankness of his father's urine.

      Then he took his own junk in hand, placed it over the ledge of the
basin and rested there a moment.  He felt a warm, residual wetness from his
father's gush bathe his balls.

      His slackening tubesteak looked back at him, covered in globs of cum.

      Numbly Clay put the plug back in.

      Then he let go and filled the shallow basin with his own, sweeter
smelling flood of piss.  He had really needed to go.  In no time his dick
and balls were soaking in a bath of hot, steaming urine.  He closed his
eyes and savoured the feeling...

      And wished it was his dad's piss he bathed in, not his own...

      Clay's eyes snapped open.  He fled from the bathroom, horrified at
what he had just being thinking.

      He hid back in his room for the next two hours, terrified of meeting
his father, convinced he would know what was in his mind just by looking at
him.

      It wasn't until he heard Dad go out that he realised, in his panic,
he had left a toilet covered in his own jism and a basin full of piss!

      In fresh panic now he raced back into the bathroom.  He groaned in
dismay to see that the toilet had been cleaned up and the basin emptied.

      Shit, Dad had seen everything!

      Then he looked a little closer at the john.  There were still traces
of his spunk on the cold ceramic, but in long streaks - as if something had
swiped up the globs hurriedly - mixed in with little bubbles of... saliva?

      And a couple of Dad's blond hairs were stuck to the rim as well.
They were straight, not crinkly like pube hairs..

      Moustache hairs...

      The empty basin still stank of piss... and a couple more moustache
hairs lay beached in the bowl...

      What did it all mean?  The whole thing was like an algebra problem
that Clay just couldn't figure...




      But from that morning his father's image went with him everywhere.
At home he could barely take his eyes off his father now, especially his
rock hard ass.

      The incident of the piss and cum was never mentioned by Dad.  Perhaps
he thought he himself had done it, absentmindedly, and had only been
cleaning up after himself.

      However, Dad started to leave the door wide open now every time he
went in there to use the john.  Clay would happen by on the flimsiest
excuse to catch sight of Dad pissing.  He didn't know why he did it.  He
knew only that it was a compulsion as strong as tobacco.

      Outside the house his sexual urges went into overdrive and in no time
he was keeping every cheerleader on the squad happy, and even one or two of
the prettier moms as well.  But as he drove his long dick up into them, it
was his father's ass he now saw in his mind's eye, pressed up against his
dripping cockhead as it had been in the john that day.  He would fuck those
girls into a frenzied oblivion and they would cum, screaming with him as he
climaxed.

      And then came the Friday when Dad arrived home from work with a brand
new set of nipple rings.  He didn't say a word said about it, until Clay
saw the piercings with his own eyes after Dad stepped out of the shower.

      He was mesmerized.  `Gee, Dad, doesn't that hurt?'

      His father chuckled.  `Sure, Son.... but in a goood way...'

      And he gave him a slow, sly smile...

      There was no way he could know Clay was hard under his baggy skater
pants, that was just ridiculous.

      Every time Clay looked at the sore, angry-looking piercings, he
winced.  But he was fascinated also.

      That Friday night Dad didn't go to poker.  Instead he stayed home
with his boy, watching TV.  Clay was glad to have his company, but he was
flustered to have Dad sitting around bare-chested all evening.  He tried
not to stare – Dad must have been getting suspicious this evening
because he appeared to be keeping a close watch on him out the corner of
his eye.

      It wasn't helping that Dad had brought in a bowl of ice from the
kitchen and would pick up a cube every now and again to smear over his
nipples for pain relief - nor that he would thrust out his chest each time
he did so and groan... kinda whorishly - nor that, by the end of the
evening, his abs were streaked with water and his nipples were dripping...

      Eventually, sitting over the other side of the room, Clay couldn't
help fondling his own nipples curiously.  It was kinda nice... he gave an
experimental tweak,,,

      At that moment Dad jerked in his chair and gave a low grunt.

      Clay frowned.  `You okay, Dad?'

      `Yeah,' his father gasped unsteadily, `Sure.  Just a charley horse,
is all.  Gotta head off to bed.'

      Clay was bemused by his abrupt departure.  But when he went round
switching off the TV and lights, he thought he detected the whiff of a
freshly spent load over where his dad had been sitting.




      Dad's piercings must have had a psychological affect on Clay as, over
the next couple of weeks, his own nipples had begun to get kinda hot and
itchy.  He would go crazy if he was somewhere he couldn't scratch at them.

      Scratching led to squeezing them.

      Squeezing felt goood...

      So squeezing led to playing...

      In the past, the older women Clay sometimes fucked had offered to
play with his nips for him, assuring him it would feel good, but he'd
declined.  Now he wished he'd listened to them.  He totally began to get it
now.

      Nipples were just awesome.

      But he musta gone too far, because now his nipples were starting to
get red raw and angry looking.  Clay began to panic.

      As a final resort he went to Dad.

      `Well you better let me take a look atcha, buddy...' his dad said, as
they stood facing each other.

      Reluctantly Clay lifted his T-shirt off over his watermelon
shoulders.  `Ok, Dad, but be gen...'

      The second Clay's beefy pecs were exposed, Dad grabbed at the
inflamed nubs roughly and pinched down, squeezing them like they were two
rubber grapes on a jello.

      Clay gasped in shock, too winded to cry out.  His knees buckled and
he writhed in delicious agony as Dad kept him upright... merely by the
pincer-like hold he had on his son's nipples.

      `Hmmm... they seem okay to me, Son,' Dad announced, jiggling his tits
around some, apparently oblivious to the effect he was having on his boy.
He really dug his nails in now as he yanked Clay closer for a long
drawn-out... in-depth... examination.

      `Oooooh...' Clay whimpered helplessly, his head thrown back, as his
father worked his tits in wider and wider circles, `Oooooh... Oooooh....'

      Dad sniffed at a nipple and even flicked out his tonguetip across it
with little wet, fluttery motions.

      Clay was about to come in his pants.

      And then, just as suddenly, Dad released him.

      `Yup, I think I see your problem.  You got some Ben-Gay mixed in with
your laundry somehow.  Musta bin after practice.'  He shook his head at his
white-faced, gasping son.  `You gotta watch that kinda thing, Son...'

      Clay staggered, caught his breath and turned to leave before Dad
could see the hot, throbbing boner in his pants.

      `Son?'

      Clay only did a half-turn back.

      `Yeah, Dad?'

      `You didn't thank me.'

      A look passed between them.

      `For checking out your tits.'

      Tits... oh jeeezus... he called them tits.

      Precum soaked Clay's underwear.

      `Thank you Daddy...  For checking out my tits.'

      Another, longer look.

      'YEAH I did,' crowed Dad with a smug nod.

      And that was that.


      After Clay had left later, to go out on a date, his father went into
Clay's room and picked up any dirty underwear the boy had left lying around
on the floor.  He inhaled deeply from them, licking at any traces he found
there, before jerking off into them and filling the cotton fabric with his
own seed.

      Then he placed them in a bag – a young jock's dirty briefs spiced
with his father's load would fetch a good price online – and hid them
away in his room for now.  Next he took a garbage sack and threw in any
clean underwear remaining in Clay's drawers.  It was a pity in a way, he
would miss sniffing his son's soiled underwear.  But the boy was never
gonna start going commando voluntarily, so what was a father to do but take
matters into his own hands?

      In any case, he'd left Clay a couple of the older, skankier jocks.

      Almost as an afterthought, Thor Larsen went to the back of one of his
own drawers where he'd been hiding something else.  He threw in, on top of
the underwear, the tube of Ben-Gay he'd been using to dose his son's tits
every night when he was asleep.  He tied up the sack and took it down to
the dumpster in the alleyway.

      When he returned to the apartment he picked up the phone and dialled
Spike's number.  His buddy picked up the phone at the other end and Thor
kept it simple.

      `End of the week...  He's ready...'




      Clay sat now in the big red barber's chair at the centre of Spike's
work studio, trying it for size.  His father sat over in one corner,
leafing through a book of tattoo designs.  He had left the black Tee
stretched taut across his shoulders, his ringed nipples still proudly on
display.

      Spike handed Clay a similar catalog and sat in the small swivel stool
beside him.  `So, pretty cool dad, huh?  Lettin' ya get a tattoo?'

      Clay was more relaxed now and he nodded.  `Sure – in fact, getting
a tattoo was kinda his idea,' he confessed.

      Yeah, Spike sniggered in his head, I'll just bet it was.

      Out loud he asked, `So where wuz ya thinkin'?'

      Clay had considered this.  `Upper arm, maybe.  My dad was talking
about me maybe getting a Celtic band?'

      `Hmmm.  Lotta ink first time out.  Let's take a look.  Shirt off,
kid.'

      `Really?  Oh, okay.'

      Like shooting fish in a fuckin' barrel.  In moments Clay was sitting
bare-chested in the chair.  Thor looked over with interest and got hard
watching Spike fondle and squeeze his son's bulging biceps, triceps and
even his meaty traps, all on the pretext of checking out the area he was to
work on.  Clay was hairy like his dad, his muscles a fraction less bulky,
but the definition of his hot young body was incredible.

      Thor looked forward to running his wet dickhead back and forth over
the hard ridges of his son's furry six-pack later...

      `Nice,' breathed Spike as he felt up Clay's arms, `Nice, nice guns,
kid.'

       Clay's face started to cloud with suspicion, so Spike quickly
switched the topic. `You got some angry-lookin' nips there, son.'

      It worked like a charm.  Clay immediately colored at the reference to
his sore nipples and sputtered something about a mix-up with laundry.

      By now his dad had wandered over to stand at Spike's shoulder.

      It was time.

      Spike nodded to a point just beyond Clay's field of vision.  `Oh,
jus' reach behind the chair an' hand me that other booklet, wouldja kid?'

      Clay stretched his right hand back as instructed, for a book that
wasn't there, and in a flash his father was there slipping something cold
over his wrist.

      Click.

      Before the boy could react, Spike grabbed the other arm and thrust it
back to Thor.

      Click.

      Clay tried to pull his arms back only to discover that his father had
handcuffed his wrists together behind the backrest.  `Wha...?' he began to
shout, before Spike slipped a ball gag into his mouth and secured it at the
back.

      Clay could only utter muffled protests.  In mute fury he lashed out
with his legs...

      Which was just what they had been waiting for.  Clay lifted his ass
off the seat in his struggle to escape. The bagginess of those ugly
skaterboy pants now came in kinda handy for the two men.  Spike and Thor
pulled and the pants slipped off easily, over his rump, down his strong
legs and off over his Nikes.

      They left Clay his footwear and white sport socks, but otherwise,
because all of Clay's underwear had mysteriously got lost in the laundry
over the last few days, he was now writhing bareass naked in the chair.

      Clay howled in anger, thrashing, his ankles caught in their strong
hands.  Spike pressed a button and a broad pair of doctor's stirrups glided
smoothly out from the seat of the chair - this old barbershop model had
been given a few upgrades.

      Using thick webbing, they lashed Clay's legs to the stirrups. Spike
fastened a strong webbing band across his stomach, holding his mid-section
in place and it was done.

       They had him now.

      `Smoothly done, Thor, ol buddy,' Spike nodded in approval... and
looked the shocked son in the eye when he added, `... just like we planned
it...'

      Clay's eyes flashed from one man to the other as realisation finally
dawned. He could only sit there, red-faced, eyes angry, with just the right
amount of fear in them to make it hot.

      He was stark naked in all his muscle bound glory, set-up by his own
dad... trapped in the chair he had handcuffed him to...


	END OF PART TWO