Loading...On the morning of my 30th birthday, I ran through the hospital doors to the desk, found out Dad’s room number, and rushed to him. He was sitting up in the bed, not looking too much the worse for wear, actually.
I peppered him with worried questions, but he tut-tutted the whole thing. “Just bad stomach. Something I ate.”
But after a few minutes, the doctor beckoned me into the hallway. “He’s right; it was not a heart attack, not yet. But he’s 60, and your father is wound too tight, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.” I took a deep breath. “He frets about things. Always has. I don’t know what I–”
–The doctor raised his hand. “This won’t be his last trip to the hospital in an ambulance. He is heading toward a heart attack.”
That was a punch in the gut. Dad? Strong, healthy Dad?
The doctor managed a feeble smile. “He’s a ball of stress–like those little rubber bands wrapped around a golf ball. He won’t crack mentally, but his body is going to give out, specifically his heart.”
“What can we do?”
He stepped a little closer, and nudged me. “You know what he needs? He needs to get laid.”
I blinked. This from a physician?
“He needs a girlfriend.” He patted me on the shoulder. “See what you can do about getting him out socially.” With that, he and his clipboard disappeared around the corner.
I called Gary on the pay phone in the lobby then sat on a bench to wait. Hell, what a start to my birthday, the special one, my “generation birthday”–I had reached Dad’s age when I was born: 30 years old.
Twenty minutes later, Gary’s car skidded to a halt in the hospital parking lot, and I got out.
Old joke. Gary and I are identical twins, alike down to the shape of our foreskins. I met him at the hospital door; we shook hands and hugged. “How is he?”
As we walked to Dad’s room, I told Gary all I knew, saving the best for last. “Doctor Cassidy wants us to get him laid.”
“Laid? You mean really laid? Our own father?”
“Hey, the doctor says it could unwind him, get rid of the stress.”
“Paulie, you know how much stress it is to get some babe to fuck you? Hell, that’s why I got married!”
We sat with Dad until after visiting hours, then walked out to our cars. “Gary, what are we going to do about Dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. About getting him laid.”
Gary sighed. We never talked about how much Dad needed to get a life, and he never complained, but it was the 800-pound gorilla in the room: Dad was the poster child for Unlucky in Love.
–(O)–
Once upon a time Dad was the 800-pound gorilla in the bedroom. Our mother had been the one love of his life, and she called him Animal.
Gary and I learned about the birds and the bees from what we heard through the bedroom wall. Every night and sometimes in the mornings we heard her moaning happily. Sometimes we could even pick out her words: “Look at this, I’ll have that running down my legs for hours” or “I’ll taste this in my mouth all day tomorrow.” We heard Dad as grunts and growls.
In the mornings, Mom floated around the kitchen almost purring. After particularly loud nights–the tapping of the bedpost against the wall and guttural, frenzied shrieks that hardly sounded like Mom–she usually made breakfasts of ornately prepared huevos rancheros. “For my animal with the big huevos,” she would murmur to him. Dad ran a plumbing business and every morning went off to work with a smile.
Mom was great. She had class. Dad always drank his beer from the bottle. Mom never did. She always poured it into a glass.
One afternoon when we were about 12, we asked Mom for a drink of her beer. “We can drink beer, Mom. We’re old enough! We’re practically teenagers.”
“Ah, but even teenagers can’t drink beer. Not legally.”
But she smiled. “You are my big guys, though.” She went to the cupboard, took out two chocolate-chip cookies, and dipped them in her glass. “There you go.”
Gary and I ran outside and sat under the elm tree to eat them. “Yeah, I love the taste of beer.”
“Me, too.”
“I’m feeling a little drunk.”
“Me, too.”
“I’m drunker. She held mine in longer.”
“She did not! She dipped them both in at the same time.”
“Yeah, well, mine went in deeper–that’s where all the alcohol is, at the bottom.”
To this day, I can’t eat a chocolate-chip cookie without thinking of Mom. She sure knew how to make a guy feel like a million bucks.
Those were the good years. Life was great.
Her death of cancer tore a hole in all of us. I never felt so alone.
–(O)–
A few years later, Dad forced himself to move on–for Gary and me. He remarried, but Ernestine or Earwax, or whatever her name was, taught us the real meaning of “Wicked Stepmother.” She was a witch with a capital B.
We always wondered what Dad saw in her. She was spindly where Mom was curvaceous. She was uptight where Mom was easy-going. She had a mean temper where Mom never said a harsh word in her life.
We decided he married Esther or Espionage, or whatever her name was, because trying to raise us, run the house, and run his business drove him crazy. He worked from early in the morning to late at night, always running, running. So when Ecaterina or Eczema, or whatever her name was, moved in and took over the place like the Russian Army, it was a load off Dad’s shoulders.
In those days when Gary and I bedded down after cussing at and erasing through pages of high school English homework, what we heard through the wall was nothing like what we remembered. “Damn, did you finish already? I didn’t make it! Again! But I guess it’s all you can do with that little thing.”
Gary and I looked at each other. Little thing? Our father, Animal, had a little thing? We remembered Dad as very well hung.
We had to see what she was talking about, but that was not so easy. We hadn’t seen Dad’s cock since Mom died.
With Mom, dress standards at home were a little loose. Dad often walked around naked after his shower, getting coffee, pinching Mom, etc. until he finally pulled on his overalls for the day. And we knew Mom was naked under that bathrobe in case Dad got frisky. They often retired to their bedroom for an “a short nap.” At 8:00 in the morning.
We saw Dad’s cock a lot in those days. Big. Damned big. Like a python or a big, wrinkly anaconda. Pictures in the encyclopedia of naked New Guinea tribesmen–with cocks halfway to their knees.
But things weren’t so loose when Eugenia or Euthanasia, or whatever her name was, moved in. If ever she saw Gary or me in our underwear, she shrieked that “running around nekkid” was right down there with murder and spitting in church. Dad never came out of the bathroom without at least a towel around his waist–usually another one over his head.
After we heard the “little thing” crack, we set out to see if the fat brown snake we remembered still coiled up inside his pants. We laid careful plans like we were going to rob Fort Knox.
The one place to find Dad without clothes was the shower, but that was like Fort Knox. Eustace or Eunuch, or whatever her name was, had a heavy lock installed in the bathroom door so nobody could ever accidentally go barging in.
We wrote up schedules, drew maps of the house, carefully observed people’s movements, and searched for hiding places. Our key surveillance weapon was a motion-sensor camera we borrowed from a friend into nature photography.
Small, easy to hide in the weeds–or in the wrapper from a bar of soap–the camera would get us some good shots when we set it on the shelf at the far end of the shower.
The next morning, Dad went in as usual to wash up, and as soon as he came out with the towel around his waist, Gary and I casually walked in to retrieve the camera. We scurried back to our room like rats and stuck the memory stick in the computer.
“Damn, there it is!” Dad’s cock. Good stuff, sorta. Soft and retracted, it somehow didn’t seem as big as we remembered it. But it was certainly not a “little thing.”
Gary looked the screen. “She’s full of shit. Dad’s cock isn’t little. It’s handsome!”
“Handsome? He has a handsome cock?”
“Okay, smart-ass, how would you describe it?
He was right. Dad’s cock was handsome.
Maybe Edwina or Edema, or whatever her name was, had a cunt that didn’t fit. Our mother sure seemed to like it.
We graduated from high school but still lived at home while we went to the JC. As years went by, the nighttime sounds in Dad’s bedroom grew more and more bitter, and in the last years before the woman was killed by a drunk driver (proving that God does indeed answer prayers), we never heard any sounds of sex at all from their bedroom, just arguments and humiliating insults to Dad’s masculinity.
Poor Dad. We didn’t learn till years later, though, just how viciously she had hurt him.
When our mother was alive, the horny atmosphere at home led Gary and me to all sorts of experiments. To cut a long story short, after we discovered jacking off, mutual masturbation and blowjobs weren’t far behind.
We discovered pussy, though, just like everybody else, and while there’s nothing like the smell of perfume, a pair of luscious tits, and the thrilling experience of bringing her to a state of wet willingness, what we could do for each other relieved a lot of each other’s stress when dates wouldn’t put out.
Gary and I finally graduated from college, and he went into construction. I worked in Dad’s plumbing business. After a while, Gary got married. I stayed a bachelor. I didn’t need a wife–I had Gary’s.
When Gary got serious with Cassandra, he told me he confessed to her that he swung both ways. I was surprised (but pleased) that she was okay with it–she was into multiple partners, too.
In fact, I got her a couple of times before their marriage simply by “standing in” for my twin brother. “Oh, Gary,” she groaned, “I said I didn’t like it that rough, but–oh, God–you did it anyway, and–oh, God, harder, harder!–now I love it!”
She learned Gary had a twin brother the night she took on two men at once, one in her cunt and the other up her ass. Her orgasm went over the top when, looking back and forth, she saw they were both her husband!
We never got tired of that old “who is who” stuff.
One day on the phone, I hinted to Gary that maybe Cassandra might be good for Dad.
“Hmm. I doubt she’d go for it. You know what he’s like. Lost all his confidence.”
It was true. We hadn’t seen the Animal in years. Effie or Effluvium, or whatever her name was, insulted and humiliated Dad for so long that the poor guy decided sex was more pain than it was worth. We tried to set him up with women (and finding horny old women wasn’t easy), but he never took it past dinner and a movie.
One night Gary took Cassandra out to a nice restaurant–where I “happened” to show up. With both of us smiling, dressed up, shaved, and wearing cologne, Cassandra smelled a rat. “What’s with you two? Are we going to have another tag-team match in our bedroom tonight?”
We explained Dad’s problem, our solution, her part in it, then held our breaths.
She said she’d heard of creeps before, but we took the prize! “You want me to fuck your own father! What kind of jerks are you, anyway?”
Damn.
Cassandra stormed out of the trattoria, and Gary looked at me. “I told you she wouldn’t go for it.”
“There’s one other way.” I spoke into my gin and tonic. Couldn’t look him in the eyes.
He grabbed my arm. “What? God, surely you don’t mean–”
–(O)–
Back in our high school days, Gary and I discovered fucking the night before our Senior prom. At 18, both of us figured ourselves as proud, macho Tops, of course, so when we reached the point that one of us had to bend over, it came down to a coin-toss. I lost. Gary was the first to get a cherry–mine.
As I bent over the back of the couch, I swore to myself that I would get even. The night would not be over until I fucked him back.
When he pushed it into my back-door, it hurt like hell. My asshole was on fire. “Hey, stop! It hurts!”
All my lust disappeared, but Gary’s hadn’t–his hard cock slid in further, and again I writhed. “Jesus God, stop! Oh, god, oh, god!” It hurt too much to move, much less fight him–and he wouldn’t quit, anyway. I could only grit my teeth.
When his cockhairs finally ground against me, I knew what it was to be stabbed with a cactus. I could hardly breathe. My eyes clenched shut, I heard Gary panting behind me and felt the heat of his body. He lay against me for a long time.
I’ve always wondered why, once he was in, he took such a breather, but during that pause, I got used to his cock in my ass, and somehow the pain lessened. When he started the fucking, he was excited and vicious, and the pain came back. But not quite as sharp; I could stand it.
He slid in and out, and gradually the pain faded away. I figured I must have built up calluses inside my ass because it no longer hurt. In fact, it felt good! Better and better, actually, to the point that Gary’s cock felt like a big stick of butter! Slick, smooth, and a real turn-on!
My horniness and my hardon came back, and to cut a long story short, by the time Gary’s load of jism dribbled out of my ass, I had gone through a major attitude shift. Fucking–getting fucked–was wonderful! An orgasm that started in my asshole and spread out to my cock was 20 times more powerful than from just my dick.
Hell, as far as I was concerned, Gary could be the Top for as long as he wanted!
Didn’t work out that way, of course. He started wondering why I was such a happy puppy after one of our sex sessions, and soon he wanted to know what he was missing.
I did him differently, though. I learned from my own first trip how to take a man through his first fuck, and I took Gary’s cherry very slowly and carefully.
That night I made sure I was lubed so totally that if I stumbled and fell, I would slide all the way to the kitchen. I spent hours pushing in only millimeters at a time, resting to let his ass-ring adjust to me, moving slowly and smoothly.
Gary’s first fuck was a painless, careful, loving trip, and when I cranked up the tempo, hitting his prostate with every lunge, Gary’s orgasm hit him so hard, he shuddered and trembled under me like I plugged him into a wall socket.
Later, lying beside me, running his fingers through the cum drooling from his asshole, he sighed, “Wouldn’t have believed it. My asshole is like a cock turned inside-out! I actually cummed from being fucked!”
Our coin-tosses from then on were to find who got to be the Bottom.
–(O)–
“No! We can’t fuck Dad!”
I refilled his Scotch and took a drink from my gin and tonic. “Look, it’s as simple as this: if Dad needs to get laid, and we can’t get a pussy for him”–I took a deep breath–“We have to teach him to get off with men.”
I looked Gary in the eyes. “You know a horny man is always easy to find.”
Gary sat quietly for a long time. Finally, “You know, it could even be us.” We clinked our glasses and made plans.
–(O)–
The plan this time was that Gary and I would go over to Dad’s house to replace the shingles on the summer porch. Gary would fix one or two shingles, and I would meander downstairs and set about mixing drinks–“Here you go, Dad, an Old-Fashioned just like you like ’em,” “Here, let me refill that,” “Hey, let me get you another one,” etc.
Once Dad was drunk, Gary would come down from the roof, the two of us would strip, and we would give him all the seduction techniques we could think of. That’s where it got a little vague.
We were the blond-haired, blue-eyed lover boys who played on both sides of the fence, and all our lives horny guys came on to us–so exactly how to go about fishing for a guy was unfamiliar territory. We thought of excuses to get Dad naked, too–“We got a new pair of swimming trunks for you Dad! Let’s try them on!”–but we couldn’t think much past that. We just hoped Dad’s testosterone would kick in somehow.
The day of the big caper, Gary and I went commando–if anything developed, we wanted to be quick and on the ready. “Will he know we’ve got nothing on under these coveralls?”
“What difference will it make? He doesn’t wear underwear all the time, either.”
“Yeah, but I’m nervous.”
“Me, too.”
Dad opened the door and smiled, “Thanks for coming over, boys.” Then he looked beyond us.
Gary and I looked back to follow his glance then stared open-mouthed. Cassandra came sashaying up the walk behind us, wearing a long black vinyl raincoat and flip-flops.
She stepped by us, accidentally brushing against Dad, and flounced on into the house. Gary and I looked at each other. What the fuck?
Cassandra walked all the way through the house and out the back to the lawn. We three followed like sheep. Outside, she dropped the raincoat onto the grass, revealing herself in a string bikini not much more than three postage stamps with nylon leader, and she lay back on the deck lounger.
“I want to get a suntan while Gary works,” she purred in a voice like Marilyn Monroe.
Hoo-boy, Cassandra was a piece of work. No straight lines on her. Curves upon curves. Bulges and hollows enough to make a man want to get down and gnaw on something.
She was too much. Her tits had the bikini straps tight as banjo strings, and her ass reminded me of a cello. When Gary and I finally moved off to work our plan, I had a little trouble walking, and I saw Gary with a bulge he could drive nails with. Dad was hard to read–didn’t look too affected.
When Dad and I were back in the house, and I had two or three Old-Fashioneds into him, I got an idea. “Here, Dad, why don’t you take this glass of ice water out to Cassandra?”
He walked out to her, a little tipsy. “Like a cool drink?”
As she reached up, her top “accidentally” came loose and fell down, and those luscious tits bobbed out into the fresh air. Dad looked. Stared, actually.
But then he turned away. Damn! When I saw that, I wished (again) that the late Eglantine or Egregious, or whatever her name was, would burn even hotter in hell. I went outside and called Gary down from the roof. “Dad’s lit. We might as well get started. I sure as hell hope this works!”
We went back into the house to strip down, and Cassandra came into the bedroom while we were at it. Gary smiled. “Hey, baby, I thought you weren’t coming!”
She looked from one to the other of us–naked, nobody could tell which of us was who. We were identical even to the patterns of body hair. “I just changed my mind,” she said. “I knew you two were going to get into something kinky. I just wanted to get my share.”
Cassandra took off the few tiny threads that qualified her as “dressed,” and stark naked, the three of us went looking for Dad. He was in his bedroom, sitting on the bed, head bowed, sipping sadly at his drink.
He looked up at us. “Hey, what are you doing?? You’re naked!!”
Gary and I looked at each other. What in hell could we do that would be seductive? We knew. We had to rape him.
Without a word, we grabbed both Dad’s arms and pushed him back onto the bed. He fought us, of course. “What in hell are you doing?”
I went first. I grabbed his head, brought my face down to his, and kissed him! He gasped and spluttered, but I pushed my tongue into his open mouth, which really gave him a shock.
With my lips over his and my tongue in his mouth, it occurred to me he might bite my tongue off, but I took the chance–I knew no matter how pissed off he was, Dad wouldn’t injure me.
Dad struggled and made a gargling sound, but the kiss held, and I felt his tongue. Not exactly dueling with mine, rather trying to get away, but it was active in there.
But it wasn’t working. Dad was in a rage.
Desperate, I had to get to him. I plunged my tongue against his and pulled his head to the side for deeper access. I raped his mouth, fucking it with my tongue, forcing him, bullying him, seizing his lower lip and sucking on it.
Gary and I held him tight, but Dad, forced to kiss his own son, struggled and fought on, and I grew sadder. Gary and I could never go at it like this without getting horny sooner or later, but this was developing into the worst family argument in history. Dad would disown us.
But at the moment I was about to give up and beg him to forgive us, something changed. I could feel it. Dad still fought me, but his rapid breathing, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and his lips pressed firmly against mine finally moved him. I saw his aging eyes flicker a little–old urges were reviving.
Then Dad jerked, and with a shocked intake of breath, he sucked my tongue down his throat!
While Gary and I held him and I pursued the kiss, Cassandra had been busy. She had unbuckled Dad’s belt, pulled down his pants, and her lascivious mouth was sucking his cock.
Gradually Dad’s struggles grew weaker. His attention was elsewhere: Cassandra had brought his cock to life. Dad’s tongue finally stabbed into my mouth, sword-fighting with mine! He was kissing me back.
Then it did get hot. Our mouths wallowed together, I held his face in both my hands, and his reached down to my crotch to grab my cock, stroking it furiously.
Cassandra was a pro at blowjobs (as Dad was learning), so good that he writhed and arched in such a frenzy, I broke off the kiss. Dad was controlled from the waist down by Cassandra and from the waist up by Gary, so I crawled up to straddle his chest.
The years of repression were cracking away from him, and lust was taking over. As I pushed my cock toward his mouth, something snapped in him–I could almost hear it–and like a dog chasing a car, he snarled and lunged toward me, parting his lips and chugging my throbbing cock down his throat.
Dad gagged, a virgin at sucking men, but the forceful courtship went on. I kept at him, ignoring his choking grunts, forcing him to accept all of my cruise-meat.
I looked back. Cassandra was busy giving Dad a deep-throat lesson. She sucked and stroked him even faster, making Dad a firefighter at one end and the burning house at the other.
Gradually I began to lose it. Everything turned a dull reddish-yellow, and my root, sunk deep in Dad’s throat, bloomed like a gorgeous, fiery, intoxicating orchid!
I couldn’t think straight, almost passed out from the throbbing pleasure. My balls churned, and the giant flower between my legs shot great white clouds down Dad’s throat.
Dad no longer struggled, he just gulped. Gary released his shoulders and moved down with his wife at Dad’s crotch. My orgasm over, I rolled off Dad to watch Gary.
With one hand Gary reached between Dad’s legs, wriggled a finger between his ass-cheeks, sliding that eager digit into Dad’s asshole. It worked. Our father bucked like an ecstatic devotee in a revival tent, which frightened Cassandra, and she backed off.
Gary took over, sucking Dad’s wild, throbbing cock, and whew, what a sight. That was no “little thing.” Dad’s lurching hips fucked Gary’s face so hard, flecks of spit and foam spurted from the sides of my brother’s mouth. I knew he would have a sore throat that night.
The face-fuck went on until with a final grunt, Dad blasted Gary with the family brand of sore-throat cream, a huge load of the stuff Gary and I were made of. I watched in awe. Gary gobbled and gulped for dear life. White trickles slithered down his chin and neck.
Damn. Dad must have been saving that for years! I couldn’t believe it. Dad lay on his back, pumping his hips, and Gary knelt there gulping for minutes! I’d never seen anybody cum so long, so hard. Our aged father had balls like two hurricanes in a leather sack.
When he finally backed off, Gary looked like a woman just told she was going to have a baby. Shock and awe.
Dad lay back on the bed, enjoying his climax, wallowing in his first afterglow in years, but Gary and I weren’t finished. We made use of the pause to get ourselves hard again, then before he could resist, I rolled Dad over onto his belly and dropped onto him.
When he looked back, in his eyes I saw something I’d never seen before: fear. He knew what I had in mind.
He tried to stop me, but this was the Grand Finale, the mother of all fucks. I had a tidal wave of lust and adrenalin behind me and put every muscle into the struggle to mount him. I spread is legs, pulled his buttocks apart, and my father’s hot ass was open and ready. “No, oh, Jesus, no, Paul!”
I would take no prisoners. I had a goddamned treetrunk between my legs, never so turned on in my whole life, drooling precum in a long, endless string.
Breathless, dizzy, I put my cockhead against his clenching asshole–“No, Paul, don’t!”–and I pushed. “Ah! No, no stop it! Stop!!”
I pushed harder. “No! No! No! Noooo–ahhh!!” My cockhead, slicked down by Dad’s own spit (and thick layers of Vaseline applied by the industrious Cassandra) popped inside Dad’s sphincter.
I was in! I got his cherry!
I looked down, dizzy with lust. What a sight! My big cockshaft sliding slowly into my father’s ass. God, what a triumph!
The pain had to be intense, a stretch he never experienced before, so I fought to keep my self-control. I had to ease the pain as best I could. If this turned out to be nothing but agony for Dad, he wouldn’t make the turn–and he would hate us.
I stopped the entry and let him stretch out over me, his ass tunnel slowly conforming to its new duties. I didn’t have the whole night, though, like I had when I showed Gary what his asshole was for.
Dad’s long groan of pain faded, and he turned his face into the pillow. I seized the moment to yank his hips up, pulling him up onto his knees.
I looked underneath. His cock was soft again. Bad sign.
I reached down, grasped it, and started stroking. Success! His cock started to fill, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get a couple of clenches of his ass-ring around my cock. Dad’s voice was hoarse: “Oh, God, oh, Jesus, why are you doing this to me?”
He wasn’t struggling. He had given up. He rested his head on his hands, looking to the right. On his knees, the steeper angle of his ass gave me easier access, and I shoved in a few more inches. He stiffened at first, but then his breathing slowed, and he almost seemed to relax.
My own “big thing” finally sank in to the hilt–my pubic hair ground into his butt. I lowered myself onto his back, nibbled at his shoulder, and murmured, “This is as bad as it gets. It’ll never hurt this much again.”
“Again, my ass! When I get up from here, I’m going to throw you two bastards out of the house!”
Oh, shit. What we were doing could destroy the family. I bit my lip. I had to make it work!
Dad winced from time to time as his ass-tendons pulled open, but I held still, sparing him any further irritation. Gradually, gradually, gradually I felt his body relax below me. His eyes were clenched shut, but his breathing slowed.
I decided to chance it. Still jacking Dad’s newly hard cock, I slowly began to pull out. Slowly, gently, my slimy cock traveled back through his asshole, stimulating the hot, oversensitive sphincter–and it worked! What I prayed for happened: Dad sucked in a long, deep breath, and he opened his eyes. He let out the breath in a deep moan. “Oh my God!”
With great relief, I looked over at Gary. We knew. Our father was learning from his kids.
When my cockhead on its way out bumped up against his tight sphincter, I started the in-stroke again, this time even more greased with his gut-juices, this time sliding in without the stretch, penetrating him till my balls pressed against his sweating ass-cheeks.
Out, then in again. Out and in again. Out and in again. Out and in again. Out, in, out, in, out, in–“Agh! God,” Dad gasped and raised himself up onto his hands. He rolled his head back and arched his back. “Jeeee-sus!”
When Dad’s fists clawed into the sheets, tearing up shreds of cotton, I let the games begin. With every stroke, I fed him every inch of the big cock that he bequeathed me, driving into his guts, rearranging him inside, fucking the living hell out of him.
But grunting and yelling along with me, a growl with every thrust, Dad paced me with his hips–and fucked the living hell right back!
My God, he was hot! His tight ass was like a vise, and his frenzied back-strokes had me so nuts, my vision tunneled down to just the view of his broad, heaving back. I bit my lip. trying to slow myself. I was speeding to the point of no return; I would cum before he did–and wouldn’t be able to finish him.
But I won, so to speak. At the peak of our fuck-rage, my hips slamming into him like the piston of a racing freight train, Dad let out a hoarse yell, and without touching himself (the sign of a good fuck), his red, throbbing cock shot out a long streak of jism marking the blanket like a freeway.
And that got me. Watching my father cum–and knowing I had done it to him–made the circle complete. In spurts so strong I could feel the muscles clenching in my guts, I shot the heaviest ejaculation of my life.
Never. Never had I cummed so hard. Everything went red. I don’t even know if I was conscious. I floated in a crimson blur, my heart pounding in my ears, burning in ecstasy. The jism that started my life had passed through a generation to return to the body where it began.
Dad and I floated into a fuzzy, wonderful pleasure, total contentment. I relaxed onto his back, and he slumped out flat on the bed, two fucked-out fuck-buddies, my cock still in his ass.
When I came to, I didn’t want the feeling to end.
“Well,” croaked Dad in a low voice, “it looks like you got me. God, boy, you’re really good.”
I nuzzled into his neck, and he turned his head, beckoning me closer with his finger. When I brought my face down to his, he kissed me and whispered, “You really gave me a pounding.”
“Want to do it again?”
Then he said it, the words some men get to say and some never learn they could say: “Never thought I could do that. Never dreamed I could get off on being fucked. God, it’s amazing. Cock and asshole combined can burn your brains out.”
I nuzzled and nibbled at his shoulder. “Hope it didn’t hurt too bad.”
Dad reached to the nightstand beside the bed, picked up the Old-Fashioned I had made him, and took a big swig. “Naw. It was worth it.”
He held up the glass. I took it and downed a good slug, too.
Dad chuckled. “Want to do it again?”
“Yeah. Hell, yeah.”
Dad looked back at me. “But this time I want to be on top.”
I rolled onto my back, rolling him over with me, my cock still in his ass. Dad struggled. “Hold on, Paul, let me get up.”
But before I could help him get off me, Gary stood at the foot of the bed, smiling down at us, breathing hard, sweating, flexing his big biceps, his cock like the Statue of Liberty.
I looked into his eyes. “God, you can’t be serious.”
He grinned like a shark, and I felt Dad stiffen up as Gary climbed onto the bed, stroking his hard dick up and down. He lifted Dad’s legs.
“Hey, wait a minute, what the hell?–”
Gary raised Dad’s ankles up and hooked them on his shoulders, then forced the head of his drooling cock against Dad’s asshole, spreading it yet again, jamming it in over mine.
Dad grunted. “No! No, this ain’t–Yipe!” Gary’s cock popped past the tight spot of Dad’s rectum. Both his sons were fucking him.
Dad gasped and panted, back in pain again, but Gary laughed. “We’re twins, you know. Gotta take us as a package.”
“Ungh, God, and what a package you got!”
I murmured in his ear. “Dad? Hurt too much? Want us to stop?”
“Naw! All right, you little shits, let’s see what you can do!”
With that, both of us started stroking–in and out as one man, as one huge cock. I wished I could have seen what Dad’s asshole looked like, taking both his sons at once. He seemed to like it, writhing back and forth, lunging back at us, grunting and panting. “Fucking bastards,” he grunted, “you’ve ruined me for anything but a baseball bat!” But he held onto Gary’s sweating body, gripping his ribs.
To be honest, that fuck was not quite as easy–Gary and I had to keep the same rhythm, but it was pleasant torture: trapped in a great fucking partnership, moving slowly toward the sunrise of an orgasm, one that promised to be a real ball-buster.
Feeling my body cranking up for the orgasm, I panted in Dad’s ear: “How you like this, Dad?”
“Only–only way to fly!” Panting so hard he could hardly talk.
As the passion grew, a dull warmth in my balls spread out, taking over my body. The ship was pulling in to the dock.
I lost the ability to think straight until out of control, I rammed my cock up Dad’s ass. Out of sync with Gary’s lunges, fighting for survival, I sank my teeth into Dad’s shoulder, my cock sputtering the family seed up his ass again. Gary, too, went over the falls and I felt a bath of more hot sperm swirling around my cock.
And Dad? He dug his fingers into Gary’s ribs, and again without touching himself, he climaxed all over Gary’s belly. Dribbles of hot sperm fell back onto his own body, running over his sides, tickling as they splattered down over me.
We lay there in the afterglow for a long time, moving only with short, teasing lunges, floating in the glorious ecstasy men can share. When we finally separated, a sticky, dripping trio of completely fucked-out men, we lay together in the bed for a while, enjoying the last minutes of our new sport.
Dad rolled over and kissed me. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“We had to let you know, Dad. We couldn’t go on seeing you living like this. Miserable. No sex. No pleasure.”
He kissed me again. “Taught an old dog new tricks, huh?” He tweaked my cock, and I jumped. “You two going to be around when I get horny?”
Gary nuzzled Dad’s ear. “Not just us. You know there are plenty of men out there who would love to get together with you. There’s a whole fetish thing of young guys who like older men.”
Dad rolled onto his back and spread his arms. Gary and I crawled into his embrace and leaned our heads against his shoulder. He hugged us both. “This has to be the motherfucking weirdest day of my life. Never thought you could open my back door!”
Cassandra crawled quietly onto the bed and grabbed Dad’s cock. While we watched, she jacked it back into the big, hard banana, and when she got him good and stiff, she straddled Dad and maneuvered that big curve into her wet snatch.
She lowered herself, skewering herself on him, and growled the sounds Gary and I heard through the wall so many years ago. And Dad started the grunting.
After a few of her lunges, Dad rolled over, pushing me away and throwing Cassandra onto her back. With a lion’s roar, Dad seized her ankles and spread her legs, jamming his cock into her again.
What happened then was something Gary and I would never forget. Our father fucked Gary’s wife so hungrily, so savagely, we saw Cassandra go through what had to be a dozen orgasms from his sheer, ferocious lust. He drove her to climax by the fiery sexual power radiating from him–we saw her go into a climax when Dad did nothing but hold that big cock still and stare down at her. Our father was like the heat from the sun. The Lord and Master of Fucking.
He finally came in her with another mega-blast, so much sperm that long spurts of it shot back out her pussy, around his cock–he had filled her up! He drove her into a final, nuclear orgasm that made her faint.
Dad withdrew and stood up from his conquest, his face glowing with triumph.
We knew we had just witnessed The Return of the Animal. Gary and I shook hands.