My summer vacation from university was almost over and since the moving day incident nothing at all had happened between Edward and me. But the memory was vivid. I remembered being on my knees before him, looking up into his eyes and he said, "I have so much more to teach you," with his big, softening cock resting against my lips and the salt of his cum on the back of my throat.
It was a crisp, late November evening in Eastern Canada and we had just driven for an hour through back roads to our remote hunting site. My father-in-law, Edward, parked the truck in a tightly overgrown drive way of sorts, under cover of some trees. The rest of the way to the little cabin had to be by foot, and not just because the driveway was impassible, but because, "Deer don't like the smell of a warm, old pickup," at least that's what Edward would say. Ed was short and stocky and "rough and tough" - a label he'd give himself with a twinkle in his eye.