Id been back home for two weeks when it finally happened. Dad and I had always been close, but something had shifted after Mom left. The house felt smaller, the silences heavier. I was twenty-three, built from summers working construction with him, and he was forty-eight, still solid, still the man who could make my stomach twist with a single look.
That night the power went out during a storm. We sat in the living room with one flashlight between us, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. Dad was in nothing but old gray sweatpants, chest bare, the hair there damp from the heat. I was in boxers and a tank top, legs stretched out on the couch.
You keep staring, he said, voice low and rough.
I didnt deny it. Cant help it.
He took another pull from the bottle, then set it down. Youre not a kid anymore.
No, I said. Im not.
He stood, the flashlight beam catching the outline of his cock pressing against the thin cotton. He didnt try to hide it. Instead he stepped closer until he was right in front of me, the heavy bulge inches from my face.
Been thinking about this too long, he muttered. You want it, you take it. Right now.
My hands shook as I hooked my fingers in the waistband and dragged the sweatpants down. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, already half-hard. I wrapped my fingers around the base and licked the head, tasting salt and skin. Dads hand landed on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding.
Thats it, he growled. Suck your fathers cock like youve been wanting to.
I opened wide and took him in, tongue flat against the underside, lips stretching around the girth. He thickened fast, filling my mouth until I had to breathe through my nose. Spit ran down my chin. He started rocking his hips, fucking my throat in slow, deliberate strokes.
Deeper, he ordered. Show me how much you can take.
I gagged but didnt pull back. He groaned, the sound raw and filthy in the dark room. When he pulled out, strings of spit connected my lips to his cock.
On the floor, he said. Hands and knees.
I dropped down, ass up, boxers shoved down to my thighs. Dad knelt behind me, spit-slick fingers pushing between my cheeks. He rubbed over my hole, then pressed one thick finger inside. I pushed back against it, moaning.
Fuck, youre tight, he said. Been saving this for me?
Only for you, I answered, voice shaking.
He added a second finger, scissoring me open, then spit directly onto my hole and worked it in. When he pulled his fingers out I felt empty, desperate. Then the blunt head of his cock pressed against me.
Tell me you want it, he demanded.
I want my fathers cock inside me, I said, loud and clear. Fuck me, Dad. Breed me.
He pushed in with one steady thrust, stretching me wide. The burn was sharp and perfect. He didnt give me time to adjust; he started fucking me hard, hips slapping against my ass, one hand gripping my shoulder, the other reaching under to jerk my leaking cock.
Take it, he grunted with every thrust. Take every inch like a good boy.
The flashlight had rolled away, leaving us in near darkness, the only sounds our breathing and the wet slap of skin. He pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and shoved back in, folding me nearly in half. His eyes locked on mine as he pounded deeper.
Gonna fill you up, he warned. Gonna pump my load right into my sons ass.
Do it, I begged. Come inside me.
His rhythm broke. He slammed in to the hilt and stayed there, cock pulsing as he unloaded deep. The heat of it pushed me over; I came untouched, ropes striping my stomach while he kept grinding through his orgasm.
When he finally pulled out, cum leaked from my hole. He scooped some up with two fingers and pushed it back in, then brought the fingers to my mouth. I sucked them clean, tasting both of us.
We stayed on the floor until the lights flickered back on. Dad looked down at me, sweat-slick and wrecked, and smiled slow.
Next time, he said, I want to hear you beg louder.
I already knew there would be a next time. And the time after that.
