Calming My Restless Son
I walked in the front door of my house to a cacophany that had, unfortunately, become far too common. My son Duncan was hammering on an upside down pot from the kitchen. Not a tune by any means, just “bang-bang-bang-bang-bang” in an endless monotony of noise. I didn’t ask why Duncan was making that much noise, he was at the age where noise is fun for a kid just by being noise. My only question was, where was Dolores?
Dolores was my wife and supposed to be the stay-at-home mother who kept Duncan busy and happy and quiet when Daddy comes home. Okay, I wasn’t a Neanderthal husband, I didn’t mind stepping in and doing my part at home when it was called for. But this noise should have been squelched in the time between my pulling into the garage and the time I got into the living room where he sat in the middle of the room wielding the wooden spoon on the pot.
“Hey, hey, Killer!” I called to my son over the noise and he heard me, jumped up and ran to me.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” he cried out as I scooped him up in a huge bear hug. My boy is going to be quite a man one day, he was showing every sign of becoming the identical copy of his father, a big, strong, powerful man with muscles that sprouted at the very sight of work (I take no credit for this, some of us are just muscle men and it comes easy to us, my work for the county kept me in fighting trim). Duncan would be by my side one day, maybe, a chip off the old block.
“Where’s your Mommy?” I asked him.
“Sleeping.” he told me.
“Sleeping? With you banging away?” I asked.
Duncan just sort of shrugged, giggled.
“You know you should be quiet when Mommy takes a nap.” I chided my son gently. “Banging away on a pot makes it awful hard to sleep.”
“Mommy’s always sleeping!” he protested. For a child, an hour or so is “always.” But if he said always, she’d been in there long enough for her to be done napping.
So I put down my son, who resumed his pot-banging, and sought out my wife.
Dolores yelped, “Close the door!” when I came in and she had pillows over her ears. “I’m trying to sleep!”
“Having a bad day with Duncan?” I asked her.
“Every day with Duncan is a bad day!” she said emphatically. “That boy knows nothing but how to make noise, noise, noise, all day long!”
“I know, he’s at that age.”
“He’s been at that age for eight months now!” She moaned. “I’m slowly going mad, I tell you!”
“Calm down, babe.” I told her. “Stay in bed, I’ll see if I can keep the boy quiet for the next hour for you, take that nap and let me worry about Duncan.”
“I’ll do that.” she said in lieu of “thank you,” but I understood and let her be. It’s hell raising a child, and my own experiences with Duncan evenings and weekends told me that it was a non-ending nightmare. I could “take a bullet” for her long enough to sleep some.
I went out to try to find something quiet for Duncan to do. Ah, a book! I’d read him a story and talk to him, he ought to enjoy that.
With a copy of “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish” in hand, I returned to the living room and the banging pot.
“Hey, Killer!” I told him, and Duncan looked up. “How about I read you a story?”
“Story, yay, story!” he agreed. I put him in my lap and opened the book, hoping for a period where he listened in rapt silence.
I tried, but Duncan kept up a constant yammer of words, questions and comments about fish and colors and everything else, and he squirmed about in my lap all the time he did it. I was having to actively hold him with one arm while the other held the book in my hand.
I put down the book and began to try to put him back into sitting-for-reading again. My hand went to his crotch at one point and I felt the little wiener inside.
As I touched it, he stopped in mid-word and mid-movement, became completely still. Then he giggled.
“You like that, do you?”
Duncan was silent, looking at me with small, serious eyes. Waiting to see what I’d do next.
Hell, it’d keep him quiet, which the book wasn’t.
“How do you like this?” I asked him, and I began to rub at his crotch. His little willie was stiff as mine would be (if bigger), and I made sure my palm worked Duncan’s dickie.
Duncan made a sound and it was a soft one. He moaned.
“Yeah, my baby likes it when Daddy rubs his wienie, doesn’t he?” I asked him.
“Yeah, Daddy!” Duncan agreed. “Good!” He moved to kiss me and I gave him a big, long wet one instead of the quick peck he was expecting. He was surprised when I didn’t release his mouth quickly, but he was quick to join in and when I stuck my tongue in his mouth and tickled him with my tonguetip, he giggled and put his own tongue into my mouth. I sucked on it and when I extruded my tongue into his mouth, he sucked on mine blissfully in his turn.
I kept rubbing, his shorts were loose on him and I don’t think there was underwear underneath, Dolores tended to do that when he soiled his underwear and she had to clean him off, she’d take him to the bathroom, wash his rump, dump the dirty underwear, crap and all, into the washer and close the lid, and pull his shorts back up. Duncan was about 80% toilet-trained, not a bad score for a three-year-old. So I could do anything I wanted to that little piddle of his and the cloth only made the feeling softer and warmer to my son.
I gave his basket the scrubbing you’d give a stubborn stain on your favorite pants. Duncan was moaning and the only squirming he did was the little movements you make when your passion is driving you wild.
“Oh, Daddy, oh, oh, oh, oh!” he grunted as he shuddered, and soon subsided, panting. His eyes were wide and his mouth open and he looked at me like he was seeing a stranger.
I grinned at my boy. “Did my boy like that?”
“Oh, that was good, Daddy!” Duncan’s vocabulary was limited but his enthusiasm was clear.
“Good boys get Daddy to play with them.” I told him. “Did you like the way I played with you?”
“Yes, Daddy!” he yelped.
I put a finger over his lips. “Mommy’s sleeping now. You have to be quiet the entire next hour, if you do, then I’ll do it with you again when we put you in the bed.”
“Do it now!” he countered.
“I can’t just now.” I told him.
“Why not?”
“Because your wiener’s going to be sore for a little while.”
“Nu-uh!”
“Uh-huh!”
“Nu-uh!”
“Uh-huh!”
“Nu-uh!”
“Uh...” I stopped, this was going nowhere. “I’ll show you.” I put my hand on his crotch again and rubbed and he winced, pulled away. “You see?”
He acquiesced, but then looked at me a new way. “Can yours do that?”
“Huh?”
“Can your wienie do like mine?”
“Yes, it can.” I agreed.
“I wanna do it!” he declared.
“You want to do what?”
“I want to do yours!”
“You want to rub my wiener?” I asked him.
“Uh-huh!”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Okay, go ahead.” I told him.
He got off my lap and I spread my legs for him and he tried. But I was wearing some blue jeans that didn’t let him do much besides create a friction on his hand, I didn’t feel much of anything, a little pressure but no more.
Duncan noticed. “You don’t like it?” he asked me.
“It’s not working for me.” I said. “Tell you what, let me do this.” I stood and pulled down my pants. Now he only had to work my cock through my briefs, and he set out to do it with a will.
“Ahhh, damn, Son, that feels damned good!” I told my boy as he worried my basket. We kissed as he kept up the action on my crotch, and we played a game of swap-spit, me loading my tongue with saliva and pushing it into his mouth, him swallowing then doing the same to me.
He kept the general fondling of my cock and balls until I stiffened up, then he grabbed my prick through the cotton briefs (which were a bit threadbare and loose) and began to jerk my cock. I lifted my head up like a cat being scratched under the chin and moaned as my little boy, my toddler monster that was indefatigable at whatever he was doing, used that endless energy to pump my pud! “Ohhh, oh, God, yeah, pump my pud, baby, pump my pud!” The cotton of my briefs made it even more enjoyable, not less!
“Come on, Daddy, do it! Do what I did!” Duncan urged me.
“Keep it up like that and I will. O-o-o-o-o-oh, G-o-o-o-o-o-d!” I crooned. “I’m coming, Baby, coming, ah-hah-hah-ah, AH, AH, AH, AH-HUHHHH-UHHHHHHH!”
I creamed, my cock spurting jizz right through the briefs, and Duncan “oohed” as my white sprays penetrated the briefs and made a small fountain on my cockhead.
I finished and lay back, gasping for breath, and Duncan held my spent cock in the clutch of his hands, my wet briefs soaking his little palm, and he said, “Daddy? What was that white stuff?”
“It’s...” I hesitated. He was way too young to understand most of what I could answer to that question. “It’s what Daddies squirt from their dick when their sweet young sons jerk them really good.” I said.
“Oh!” That was was enough for Duncan. “Is it pee?”
“No, no, it’s not pee or poo.” I said. “It’s different from either of those. Some people like the way it tastes.”
Duncan looked at the puddle of spunk at the tip of my cock inside the briefs, a blob about the size of a peanut. “Okay.” he said and leaned down. His young mouth enclosed my cockhead and I moaned again, damned, that felt good!
Duncan, meanwhile, had suctioned up the man-goo and he licked his lips. “It’s salty. But I like it!” He went back down and sucked more from the cotton of my wet briefs.
His soft lips awakened my cock all over again. I’d been shortchanged on sex ever since he’d been born, I could have masturbated and occasionally did, but a man with a wife, when he jerks it, feels pretty pathetic. I mean, you’ve tied the knot and made the commitment and are spending your money like crazy and you can’t even get laid out of it? But Dolores had been so tired so much lately, she crashed when she got into bed, and that was happening more and more lately. So I kept putting off releasing the load in my nuts and now that it had an outlet, it was more than ready for “let’s have another one, just like the other one!” to quote the cheerleader’s refrain when lining up after a successful touchdown.
I moaned and pushed my son’s head back from my crotch, and my hands pushed my briefs down and freed my manhood from its clutches. “There you go, baby, lick it for Daddy.” I groaned. “Lick it good and I’ll give you a lot more of that for you to suck up.”
Duncan reached his face for it and he took my glans into his mouth and I moaned, “O-o-o-o-oh, yeah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Treat Daddy’s dick like a lollipop, just lick it and suck it and get all the good flavor out of it. Lick and suck, baby, lick and suck!”
Duncan took my advice to heart, he worked my prick like the best and brightest shaft of hard candy he’d ever gotten his lips around. I moaned as he licked my shaft up and down like an ice cream cone, he sucked the head and tasted the hearty bursts of precome I juiced out for him and made happy grunting sounds every time I created a new globe of clear fluid for him to slurp up, and he even went down and sucked my sweaty, hairy balls like a pair of jawbreakers.
“Okay, baby, okay!” I panted. “Now, Daddy needs to teach you something new. You know how you pumped your hand up and down on me with the briefs? I need you to do the same thing with your lips and tongue, okay? Keep the teeth away and use lots of spit and just bob up and down on Daddy’s love-monster, and if you do that a while, Daddy will give you a nice load of warm Daddy cream to drink. Would you like that?”
“Mm-hmm.” Duncan said as his lips were wrapped around one side of my shaft at the time. He slid those lips up my prick and over the glans and then he sank down onto my cock.
“All right, Son, hold it like that and move your head up and down.” I panted. “Daddy is hot and ready to shoot already, Son, you can do it for me, come on, baby, suck it for Daddy!”
Duncan’s little head bobbed up and down on my cock with a will. I worried he’d become bored doing it, but my groans and moans were all the incentive he needed, he kept working my prong until I again climbed the heights of my ecstasy and was ready to shoot once again.
“Okay, Baby.” I gasped. “Daddy’s going to shoot again, so be ready this time, okay? Catch it all and drink it up, it’s good for you, lots of protein and vitamins.” I got that much out before my brain shifted into orgasm gear. “Coming now, Son, coming, kuh-uh-uh-hah-AHHH-GAHH-UHHHH, GUH-UHHHHH!”
I don’t know how much I shot, but my son was an able soul to drink it out as fast as I shot it, he was sucking and gulping and I felt his tongue twiddling the underside of my glans and in my mid-orgasm, I felt a burst of need to give my son what he was giving me and I slid around to lie down on the couch and my hands coaxed him up onto the couch beside me and as my own orgasm released me, and he was sucking on my flaccid flap of what used to be my cock, I was fishing into his shorts and pulling them down and found that tiny twiddler and sucked it into my own mouth.
Duncan kept on sucking on my cock, even though it was soft and useless now, enjoying the flavor of it, I guess, and I slurped on his piddler, and soon my son was again moaning in his own renewed glory of delight. I felt the small pud jerk as if it was squirting and I kept my tongue busy lapping at his balls as he climaxed in his dry boyhood style.
“Oh, oh, Daddy!” Duncan breathed. “That was good.”
“It was more than good, Son.” I assured him. “It was fucking awesome!”
“Fucking awesome.” Duncan chuckled. “That’s funny, Daddy.”
“It means it’s really, really, really, really good.” I explained. “Really, really.”
Duncan giggled. “It was, really, really, really.”
“Yeah.” I agreed.
Duncan yawned and I raised up and got him in my arms, cuddled him like he was still a baby. He looked at me with sleepy eyes, smiled, and closed them, and was asleep in a moment. I slipped into his room, laid him in his bed, and closed the door. My wife was still asleep and I spent the time getting a start on supper. Dolores had mentioned that morning she planned to make the pork chops and I started them cooking.
Dolores came out and saw me working and said, “Where’s Duncan?”
“Taking a nap.” I explained.
“He hasn’t napped in the afternoon in months!” she exclaimed. “How did you do it? I didn’t hear a thing after he stopped banging the pots.”
I smiled. “I have my ways.”
She smiled, too. “I think you were just lucky. Let’s see how you do this weekend, I plan to sleep in as much as I can and let you deal with Duncan, okay?”
“Fine with me.” I explained. “You need your rest, dear.”
She took over dinner and I settled into watch TV. Duncan came down rubbing his eyes when the meal was ready and said, “Hello, Mommy.”
“Hello, dear.” she said. “Did you have a nice time with Daddy today?”
“It was fucking awesome.” Duncan declared.
She looked at me, I was abashed. “My fault, I taught him that phrase.”
“Just say ‘awesome’ from now on, okay, Son?” Dolores told Duncan. “The other word is nasty.”
“Is just ‘awesome’ enough?” Duncan asked me.
“It’s plenty.” I agreed.
“Okay.” Duncan said amiably. He played, but quietly, the rest of the evening before we put him to bed. Dolores wanted to have sex, but I was the one too tired to put out that night!
The next day was Friday and I worked as usual, and got home the same time as usual. When I did, Dolores met me at the door with a suitcase, she was spending the weekend at her sister’s, and I was to take care of Duncan all alone by myself. I didn’t blame my wife, her sister Margo had taken their mother’s death some two months ago hard and they spent a lot of time on the telephone.
I kissed her goodbye and turned over the car keys to her without a qualm and watched her drive away. Duncan was napping on the couch and I looked at him wearing only the shorts and shirt he always wore and I carefully stripped myself naked without making a sound. Then I reached out and gently tugged Duncan’s shorts off of him. He let me get this done without a sound and the shirt, too, but he had on a pair of Spiderman briefs that, when I tugged at them, awakened him. He sat up and watched his naked Daddy pull the last of his clothing off his body. He giggled as he was turned as naked as I was. “Good morning, Daddy!” he said to me.
“Good afternoon.” I corrected him. “Mommy’s gone to visit Aunt Marlene. Just you and me here the next two days. Are you okay with that?”
His answer was to reach up and grasp my (hard) cock. “Yes, Daddy.”
I reached down and lifted him up and he wrapped his arms around my chest and his legs around my hips. I caught his buttocks in my hands and lowered his body until he had his boyish balls and cock resting against my own. “It’s good to see you, Son.” I told him as we kissed.
“I love you, Daddy.” Duncan said when I released his mouth. He leaned back down and this time we didn’t stop our kiss. Our mouths wrapped around each other, sealing our faces together by our warm lips, our tongues reaching to encoil and savor each other’s texture and moisture. He didn’t let go and neither did I, and our saliva was lapped up by each other’s tongues probing and lapping at the insides of each other’s mouths.
Staggering, I maneuvered my beloved bundle of man-hungry boy over to the ottoman, and I sat down on it, this let Duncan put his own feet out to hang over the edges and my arms held our upper bodies together and erect, and my hands on my boy’s buttocks moved his young prick and tasty little balls over my own hairy, furry, sweaty cock and scrotum. It was warm and soft and the little hard dick poked at my shaft and caught the cockskin and pushed it up over my own glans. His testicles imbedded themselves in the hollow between my own balls and when I slid him down, they dug themselves down into the damp, furry interior of the concavity, pushing my own nuts out to the edges. Upwards, his glans caught my shaft’s skin even deeper down and that sent even more pleasure into my brain as his tiny dong roiled the skin over my glans.
I groaned as my son’s prick and balls pleasured my own package, I’d intended this as a sort of prelude to moving into a sixty-nine position, but this was just too good all by itself. I bounced my son faster, and his young legs perched on the edges of the ottoman behind me and he bounced himself faster than I could move him. I just held my son in place as he scrubbed my shaft and ballsac with his own young male organs. His soft, hairless chest rubbed my bigger, hairier one, feeling like a thousand spiders were hosting a dance festival on my body, as his small, eager body rippled against my own in sexual glory.
Duncan moaned in joy as his little-boy climax struck him, but he didn’t stop moving. My own orgasm was growing and my moans and his blew our cheeks out as our nostrils desperately pulled in air so we could groan! My breaths were moving my son’s lungs, he was breathing from my mouth’s air and when I’d inhale, I’d pull the air back into my own. Only our nostrils replenished the air we were getting as our joys blended.
Duncan jerked and was hit with a second and powerful climax, he didn’t just moan, he jerked and thrashed in my arms and I realized his body had just learned how to give him a man’s orgasm, the one that takes over your senses and body and throws it about like a rag doll. Knowing this, knowing my body had given this to my son, my own brain shifted me into high gear and I climaxed myself, hot jets of my jizz spraying my son and my own abdomens with my hot spooge, and I tried to break my mouth free, I needed air, air, but my son held on with a ferocity I’d never felt from him before, and I had to settle for what I could breathe from my nostrils, and from his. The oxygen-deprivation intensified my climax, it was like I was dying, like the drone of a honey bee dies in mating, or the male black widow spider dies as his mate decapitates him as he mates with her, I was giving my life to attain this ejaculation of my essential fluids, and my body claimed the highest price for this in pleasure in return, it gave its all to the expression of my seed, and when my brain released me from orgasmic bliss, and I slumped, Duncan, also relieved of his delight, sagged as well, and our lips, which had been mashed together through all this so hard that they had dried out and stuck to each other as if we were tearing apart a seam on a package, a bundled set, my son and me, and our sweat dripped on each other and smeared over each other as our hands and arms moved around each other in loving caresses as we ended our loving with a hundred small quick kisses of lips against lips, loving, loving kisses.
“So, Son.” I said as I finally let our bodies part enough to become two people in an embrace rather than a single interwoven bundle of male lust. “What would you like to do next?”
“I’m hungry, Daddy.” Duncan said. “Mommy didn’t make lunch for me.”
“She didn’t?” I frowned. “You didn’t eat anything since breakfast?”
“I had a cookie.” Duncan said. “Mommy was crying and packing.”
“I see.” I said, frowning. “Well, she’s been tired. Let’s go make you a sandwich and then we’ll see about giving you a nice, big supper.” I would have to have a long talk with Dolores when she came back on Monday. Being tired or depressed was one thing, if it affected how she cared for Duncan, we would have to do something about it.
I used a piece of my bologna and the bread I used for my lunch sandwiches to fix Duncan his snack, then used my own kitchen skills to prepare him a decent meal. I’m no supercook, but I’m far from helpless in the kitchen, and the dinner I fed my son was everything he would need to stoke his young, insatiable burners. Duncan devoured the food like a young beast and I was glad when he finally slowed down and left the last of his mashed potatoes on his plate. “Are you full now?” I asked him.
“Uh-huh.” Duncan agreed.
“Well, you go watch some TV while Daddy does the dishes.” I’m a bit of a neatness nut when I lived alone, and those instincts were kicking in. If you’ll wash the dishes as you mess them up, you never have a mess after and you always have the dishes you need when you need them. And it only takes a few minutes if you’re only dealing with the mess of one meal.
So I was back in the living room in less than five minutes, and I arrived to see my son had taken the leftover mashed potatoes in there and was attempting to feed them to the cartoon dog on the television screen. “Eat ‘em, Clifford!” he told the large red mutt of the cartoon show. “Eat it all up!” The last line was one Dolores was always telling Duncan when she put food in front of him.
“Duncan, stop that!” I told him quickly.
He looked around, completely innocent-looking. “I’m feeding Clifford!” he declared.
“I can see that. But Clifford isn’t eating it, so you need to cut it out. Leave the bowl for him and he can eat it later.” I bent over and scooped up the mashed potatoes, they were instant and I mixed them heavier than the recipe calls for, it made solid pieces I could pick up with my bare fingers and put into the bowl.
I figured, filled with food, Duncan would be sleepy as I was after the rather heavy meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and bread (like I said, I wasn’t a supercook), and would watch TV quietly. But his toys held a greater sway over his affections, and his idea of playing was to hold one in his hand and bang it loudly upon another one. As he did, he added all the sound effects at high volume. Yeesh, I could see what Dolores had been putting up with! If he did this at every opportunity, it would be like living in a machine factory. As he played, he upset the mashed potatoes bowl; he and I had eaten less than half of it and I had planned to put it into the refrigerator (I liked mashed-potato sandwiches) for use in my own lunch or a snack. Before I noticed he’d done this, he had stepped in and tracked it over about a five foot radius from the TV set. Duncan had at this point run with a toy (which he was “flying”) into the hallway. I heard the bathroom door close and didn’t think about it, I was busy cleaning mashed potatoes out of the carpet. Most of it would pick up but every squashed piece left a sort of oval shaped imprint on the carpet. I had the vacuum cleaner out and was running it when I heard a small but unmistakable noise. The toilet flushing. A bit later, it flushed again, and then again.
Boys will get fascinated by the water running out, I knew, and didn’t panic, but when I finished with the vacuum and put it away, he was still flushing. I went to check on things. A pool of water was lazily reaching its way out from under the bathroom door. I tried the door and it was locked.
I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but I spent the next two hours fixing the toilet and fishing out the toy he’d been flying in there (thank God it stuck in the trap instead of getting into the plumbing beyond it), then I came out to the living room to find it had been royally messed up by Duncan’s playing. By this time, it was after eight o’clock at night.
In the middle of it was Duncan, again sleeping, like an innocent lamb, on the floor.
I sighed and gave up, scooped up my son and ferried him into his bedroom. I picked up the mess in the living room and wiped up the worst spills, the rest would take a professional steam cleaner to get out. Dolores kept saying we needed to buy one instead of renting one, and I argued the price, but I saw her point clearly, now.
I was worn out by the end of it all and I went into my bedroom, stripped to the buff and crawled in. Only Friday night and Duncan already had me wishing Dolores was back! Yeesh!
I slept for a long time, I know but it was still dark outside when I felt my bed moving and a warm body climbing up on and over mine. Naked as I was, and small and snuggly!
“Good morning, Daddy.” Duncan said as he reached the top of my chest and looked me in the eyes, I could just see him in the pale, dusky glow of the outside lights not at all close to my bedroom window. Maybe a bit of dawn in that light, but not much.
“Morning?” I looked over at the clock on the side table. “Five thirty? God damn it, Killer!”
Duncan kissed me and I gave up, kissed him back. He’s an affectionate child when he isn’t destroying the house! His tongue was as delicious as ever, there is a taste of a child’s tongue that an adult’s doesn’t have, it’s sweeter and younger and more vital than the adult’s, and I loved the taste of my son’s tongue. I could suck his saliva and drink it and have that be the only thing I ever drank, it was so marvelously new and clean and satisfying.
Duncan lifted away from my face and giggled, and shifted around on the bed until I was looking at his perky pair of buttocks with his legs sprawled apart to straddle my chest about a foot away from my face. This put his own face down at my cock (which had sprung to attention as soon as it realized that my son’s face was approaching it with intent to suck on it) and he opened his mouth and sank down over my prick. His eagerness was more than enough to offset his naivete, and he was pumping up and down with verve and energy. I moaned and saw, in the rising light of the dawn and sunrise, the little pink eye of his anus laughing at me and I reached my head up and poked that eye with my tonguetip.
Duncan grunted in surprise, then moaned himself when I began to lick the succulent little sphincter, I mean that it was sucking at my tongue, trying to draw it inside. I tendered my tonguetip to that suction and it slid inside my son’s butt nearly a half inch from that alone. I flicked my tonguetip back and forth and my son grunted and moaned. With his ass slicked up, I wet my forefinger and probed at the tucker, the first joint went in with no problem before the intestinal walls blocked it. I gently moved my finger around and stretched the bowels, and slowly the second joint joined the first, and there it was, the small nodes of the prostate which I flicked and tickled while my son groaned.
In all this time, my son had been laving my prong with his mouth, and delights had been racing through my own brain, and his groans filed themselves in my mind in the gaps left before the scoreboard would light up, “Orgasm!” and my own groans added to my son’s.
“I’m going to shoot, Son!” I warned him. “Here it comes! AH-HOOOHHH! AHHHHH!”
I squirted my love-juice and, again, my son drank it all greedily as quick as I spurted it into him. My own finger suddenly slipped in all the way to the base, and I writhed it up and down like a snakes as I slid it in and out a suddenly compliant and willing asshole, and my son moaned, shivered, and shook as his little cock jerked back and forth on my chest, tickling my hairs with its motions.
“Oh, Daddy!” he grunted. “You made my bum feel good!”
“Yeah, I can’t wait until you’re old enough for me to stuff my cock into it.” I told him. “One of these days, Son, I’m going to lay you on the bed and stick my dick into you and pump you full, over and over again.”
“Mmm!” Duncan liked that idea. “Will I have to be grown up, Daddy?”
“Not entirely, but mostly, yes.” I said. “Big enough to take this big hog of mine.”
“Are you big enough, Daddy?” Duncan asked.
“To take a big hog like mine?” I said, “I guess so, but I wouldn’t want to.”
“Would you take mine, Daddy?”
“Yours?” I was astonished. His little dinky, it was small as my little finger. “Well....” I know Dolores had, back when she hadn’t been too tired to play in bed, stuck her little finger into my butt as we were having sex, it had always been a way to trigger my climax when she was ready for it, I’d sort of missed that when she’d stopped doing it. “It’s been a while, but I guess I could handle it.”
I looked at my son. “Are you thinking of fucking your Daddy?”
“Yeah!” Duncan giggled. “Can I, Daddy?”
I ruffled his tousle of head hair. “You can if you can manage it, Son.” I didn’t think it would work, his little piddler in my hairy ass. I had some small buttocks, but they weren’t that small!
Damned if the little guy wanted to try it out. Hell, I was already awake, so I said, “Sure, Son, let’s give it a try, but then you have to let your Daddy sleep in a bit more, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.” he readily agreed and we got busy. I caught his sweet little prick in my mouth and the little scamp licked at my ballsac, tickling the sensitive skin beneath the testicles where the skin, long-neglected, screams in glory at finally getting noticed and adored. His tongue flicking over the “seam” between my nuts was wonderful and my ass twitched and begged for the attention.
“Ooh, God, Son, my ass, baby, lick my ass, get it all sticky wet and ready for your dick.” I groaned. “Come on, baby, lick it for Daddy, lick it like candy!”
Duncan snickered at that but he dug in and my dimpled flesh screeched in joy.
“Ohhhh, oh, Baby, yes, lick it for me, lick it for Daddy!” I groaned.
“Lick me, too, Daddy.” Duncan reminded me.
“Oh, oh, yes, sorry.” I resumed slurping on his mini-wiener as he pleasured me so much I nearly creamed all over his neck. My glans was sticking itself to his lower jaw with precome as my son manipulated my ass-sphincter with verve and enthusiasm, probing into my greasy hair-lined depths.
I lubed his little dick up with my saliva until it was a gray-coated greasy mess, then I got onto my hands and knees and curled up into an almost fetal position, extending my buttocks to my son the best I could. “Okay, Son, now I’m all slicked up and so are you, so stick it into me.”
He fumbled it a good bit but after a while, he managed to point the glans at my anus. “All right, Son, that’s got it in the right place, can you stick it inside me?”
He jabbed me with his prick and the little wiener popped inside of me. Just like Dolores’ little finger had. Duncan grunted and began to pump his hips back and forth, fucking Daddy’s ass like a little trouper.
It was the damnedest feeling. I had a hard little shaft playing with my sphincter and digging into my butt maybe two inches, but that feeling was really intense. The nerves in your butt are quite talented and neglected, I tell you, having that little dong in my ass felt damned good!
“Ahhhh, yeahhhh, Son, that’s good, come on, fuck your Daddy’s butt!” I told him. “Give your old Daddy a good, hard butt-fuck. Come on, Son, harder, ram me harder and faster! Really give me hell, boy!”
“Oh, oh, Daddy!” Duncan took my urgings to heart, my little soldier was hammering my butt, and I lifted my head up and crooned my pleasure as he humped my ass!
It went on a while, and I was surprised after a time to find my body reawakening to an orgasm. Damn, I was going to come just from having my ass fucked by a two-inch dick? I was a Grade A boy-slut, all right! Well, I had a boy to give his old man what he needed now, didn’t I?
I groaned and squirted a load into the bedsheets while Duncan butt-fucked me and my son heard me and felt my anus clenching on his prick while I ejaculated, and he fucked me even faster and shuddered in his own orgasmic joy.
“Oh, oh, oh, Daddy!” Duncan laid his upper body over mine when he was done and panted. “That was fucking awesome!”
“It fucking was!” I agreed. “The fucking awesomest!”
“Yeah!” Duncan giggled.
“Now get out of here and let your Daddy sleep. I’ll make breakfast in another hour or so, okay?”
“Okay!” Duncan got out of bed and snatched up an article of clothing. It wasn’t his, that little rascal had grabbed my briefs and was pulling them on. Only by tugging them up to where the leg-holes were chock-a-block against the junction of his legs and lower body-trunk was he able to keep them up. The elastic waistband hung loosely around his waist, sagging on one side.
“You got my shorts on.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, now I’m Daddy, I’m Daddy!” Duncan moved around in what may have been intended as me when I just woke up and wandered into the kitchen for a drink of ice water or something, he lumbered about with an ape-like look on his face, saying “Uhhhh! Uhhhh! Uhhhh!” Okay, I don’t wake up so smoothly some morning and am known to moan about the unfairness of the early hours. His imitation hit too close to home for comfort, I was just glad I was his only audience member.
“All right, all right, you’re me, as long as you let me sleep in a while longer, alright?” I shooed him out with one hand waving in the air his direction.
“Okay!” Duncan scampered out, the elastic waistband slipping down to expose one pert buttock, I grinned at that, laid back and fell quickly into a deeper sleep than I intended, another three hours. I should have realized it when I awakened and found out how long it was, that there would be consequences.
Duncan had tried to make his own breakfast. Most cabinet doors were open, food and utensils and plates were everywhere, and he appeared to have found the box of cereal by opening and dumping out every box in the pantry until he found the right one.
I sighed and cleaned up and fixed myself a bowl of the same cereal to eat while I sought out Duncan. He was in the living room watching television. “Hey, Killer!” I said as I sat down on the couch. I wasn’t going to make a thing about the kitchen mess, given I’d told him to let him sleep, leaving him to his own devices for his breakfast. I hadn’t planned to do more than lie there a few minutes, but still... Anyhow, I just sat on the couch and looked at the screen.
Duncan remained rapt with the TV show, it was his favorite show, but when it went off, he turned into an instant dynamo. I was lifting the bowl of milk up to my lips after finishing the cereal, to drink the left-over milk, when he clambered onto my lap. I jerked, spilled some of the cereal-sugar-sweetened milk onto my chest hairs, caught it and gulped down the rest hastily. “Hey there, Killer.” I said again.
“Good morning, Daddy.” Duncan said as he and I kissed, he felt the sticky milk on my chest and looked down, and said, “You got milk on you, Daddy!”
“I know, Son.” I said. “I’ll clean it off. Unless you want to.” I suggested.
Duncan giggled and lapped at my chest, while I fumbled his man-briefs off and then worried at my own while trying not to dislodge him. Successful, I pulled our cocks together as Duncan finished washing my chest with his tongue.
“Are you going to rub us again, Daddy?” Duncan asked as I brought the two glans together as if they were kissing with the lips of their urethra.
“Sort of, Son. You’ll see. Hold yours up to mine like this for me, okay?”
“Okay.” Duncan gripped his dick and held it up to mine, letting the cockheads kiss while I stretched my foreskin up and around. I pushed it over the two glans and Duncan release his finger-hold as I slid the tip of the foreskin down around the base of his shaft. “Oooh!” he said as he felt his dick enveloped in warmth.
“That’s got it.” I told him. “Now I can do this.” I began to work my prick, careful to keep the foreskin from pulling loose from its grip on Duncan’s littler glans.
“Ooh, oh, Daddy!” Duncan’s hands gripped both my shoulders as I held his ass-cheeks in one hand while my other pummeled both our cocks at the same time. “Ohhh, that feels good, Daddy!”
“It sure does, Killer!” I groaned. I’d had hours to recover, my cock was primed and ready! “How about I fill your dick with my spooge for you, Baby!” My urethra was pushed up against his still, I could feel their lips interlocked, my offer was a very likely event if we were still together when I ejaculated.
“Okay, Daddy!” Duncan panted. His sweet face peered up into mine in loving trust and I smiled.
“I love you so much, Son.” I told him.
“I love you more, Daddy!” Duncan replied.
“I love you a whole, whole lot!”
“I love you a gazillion times more!”
I gave up, laughed. “You do, Son, indeed you do!”
He reached his lips for mine and I kissed him, our lips wrapping around and over each other, our mouths moaning into each other, Duncan’s tongue sliding in to lap up my mouth’s saliva, and I worked up some spit and proferred a glob of it to him and he sucked it off, lifted off of my mouth long enough to smile happily, then came back to kiss me again.
My hand was pumping like mad on our pricks, I could feel his small glans and shaft inside my foreskin, the feel of his flesh was enough to stimulate the inner flesh of my foreskin and awaken its passion, my own glans’ flare was being stroked by the lower portion of the foreskin as well, it was doing double-duty, providing its warm caress to both my dick and my son’s, and both of us were moaning into each other’s mouths as our pleasure built up within us.
Duncan moaned louder, his young small body shivered and shuddered, his cock twitched and pulsed and I knew my son was clasped tight with orgasm and I felt his entire body quiver as he was wracked with the ecstatic sensations. He clung to me like I was the life raft in the storm of his climax and his eyes shone as they looked up into mine.
My own cock heated up as I looked into those eyes and I groaned myself, my son’s mouth tried to form a smile while remained locked in my own lips, and he gripped me tighter as I groaned and spurted my hot load into the tiny interior of the foreskin, filling it like a balloon that covered both our glans and indeed did squirt some into his little urethra, and Duncan moaned a little himself at the glory of being seeded with his father’s jism, and as my orgasm ceased and my prick began a limp balloon of its former self, my foreskin slid out of my grip and I felt the hot seed pour out over both my son’s entire cock-and-balls and down into the hairy brush of my own testicles. “Uhhh, uhhh, uhhhh!” I groaned as my lips were freed by my son, who slid off my lap and settled himself between my outsplayed legs to lap at the bounty of man-juice lying in my pubic bush.
The telephone rang and I managed to reach it. “Hello?” I asked. “Margo? Yes, Dolores left for your house yesterday, around four-thirty. She’s not there? No, I haven’t heard from her, has she called you? Yes, she has her phone with her.”
Dolores hadn’t reached her sister’s house. Her whereabouts were unknown. I used my cell phone app to locate her (I’d questioned the need for this monthly fee, now I was finally using it!), and gave the location to her sister along with the information on our car, and she called her local police as the phone showed she was in her sister’s town and they were nice enough to go and investigate at once. Dolores had checked into a motel room on the outskirts of town.
Dolores had had a breakdown and spent four months in a mental institution, checking herself in at her sister’s behest after being rescued from the motel room bed where she’d been weeping uncontrollably when found. I took time off from work and stayed home with Duncan while living on our thankfully-full (due to the recent inheritance from Dolores’ mother’s estate) savings account. A lot of intensive full-time parenting with an active three-year-old, but the time and our lovemaking had this much effect.
Duncan was settling down. When he got full of energy, he’d seek me out and we’d make love three, four, five times a day. Afterwards, he would resume his normal child’s play or be willing to go to the park or playground, but his play had become sensible and confined to his toys, with little collateral damage to other property, much to my relief.
Dolores returned to us at the end of that four months to a new child. She’s happy now, and Duncan is an angelic little boy. The reason for that is, as soon as I get home, I go to his room with him and we get busy. I share his bed most nights, too.
Dolores has to sleep alone now, but she doesn’t mind. She gets plenty of rest these days!