Beer for Daddy


The bar was dimly lit, wooden tables and chairs of the S-shaped metal rods with the seat and back of cheap plastic. Along the bar were a row of stools, but my eyes, of course, were on the occupants at the tables.

There! A man, neither too young nor too old, well on the better side of forty years old at a guess. Sitting alone at his table next to one wall, his arms were bare, and the bicep bore a large heart pierced by a sword. His hand was curled about a mug of beer which he had raised to his lips.

As he drank, I slid into the chair next to him and sidled up close. He lowered his mug and saw me out of the corner of his eye. He needed a shave, bad, a heavy stubble reached down from his sideburns to over his lips and covering his chin. His eyes were kindly but suspicious more than surprised.

“What the hell are you doing here, kid?” he asked me.

“I’m here with my daddy.” I said, pointing to the man at the bar engaged in conversation with the bartender. “He’s wanting a beer, but he doesn’t have enough money for one, I think.”

The man considered this, decided, “Tough.”

“Yeah.” I said. “My daddy likes beer, likes it better than most anything. Every time we go out, we come to a place like this.”

“You’re too young to be in a bar.” the man pointed out. Not like he was going to tell on me, just letting me know. “Way too young. How old are you, anyway, kid?”

“I’m only nine! That’s why I slipped back here.” I giggled. “You won’t tell on me, will you?” I looked up at him like he was my hero, most guys like him can’t resist that.

A pause. “I guess not.” he said.

“Thanks.” I said, sidling in closer to him and putting an arm around his back. “I’m glad I’m sitting with you.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable.” the man said. “I’m not here for a lot longer.”

“You’ll stay a little while...won’t you?” I asked him. And as I said those last two words, I put my other hand on his leg, my fingers reaching down onto his inner thigh.

He gave out a short, sharp hiss as I made contact.

“I like sitting with you.” I said. “You’re nice. You don’t mind if I do this, do you?” I asked as I stroked my hand up and down his inner leg, and then I slid up to the joint between. As I expected, a bulge was waiting there for me, a nice, big, fat, hard bulge.

“Shit, kid!” the man grunted. “Does your daddy know you do this to men in the bars he takes you to?”

“My daddy doesn’t care about anything I do as long as he gets his beer.” I said.

And my daddy came over and took a chair at our table, sitting on the opposite side of both of us. “There you are, Son.” he said.

“Yeah, Daddy, this is my new friend.” I said.

“I’m Richard.” my Daddy said. “You’ve met my son Ritchie.”

“I’m Phil.” my new friend said.

I reached with both my hands down and began to work Phil’s pants open. They were button-fly jeans, I knew how to work those things loose as easily as any zipper. I had them mostly open before my Dad delivered his next line.

“Well, Ritchie, we’d better go.” My dad said, and then let out a heart-felt sigh. “I don’t have enough money for a beer in this place. We’ll have to keep looking.”

My hand snaked into Phil’s pants and onto his briefs’ top and that was all it took to galvanize Phil into action.

“It’s okay, Richard.” Phil said, and he called out. “Charley! Bring a pitcher over here for me and my friend, will you?”

“All right!” my dad said.

“I’d better hide.” I said, and I darted under the table.

Don’t think for one moment I stopped working on Phil’s pants. In fact, I could have stayed in the chair easy enough, partially hidden by Phil’s huge body. But under the table, I could get my hands to work opening up those jeans. Phil groaned as I got his belt undone, and when my hands reached for his waistband and undid the top button, he lifted his hips slightly to let me sidle those jeans down enough to get his briefs out into the open. I didn’t strip Phil of his pants, just got enough room to reach into those briefs and tug that huge organ inside out of the fly.

“Mmmm!” I said softly so only Phil could hear me. “This is a nice, big one.”

“I sure do appreciate you buying us the pitcher.” my dad slavered overhead. “Nothing cuts the dust of the hot summer day than a nice, cold beer or two.”

“Here it is.” Phil said. “Pour yourself a tall one on me. Uhhhh!” That last was because I had just stuffed the head of that thick prong into my mouth. The slit at the top promptly oozed a heavy ball of clear precome that I touched my tongue to and then ran my tongue-tip over the head of his glans. Licking it all off. Phil was growling like a giant cat purring with vast pleasure. My daddy, deep in his beer, didn’t notice thing. I think he was already on his second glass.

Phil wasn’t drinking. He was slouched back in his chair. He had his mug in his hand, but he wasn’t drinking it, it was more like camouflage. The image of a man relaxing with a cold beer. And underneath the table, I was busily stuffing his cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

When I got it in nice and deep, Phil’s free hand came down and claimed my head. He wasn’t rough about it, just guided me as I began to bob slowly back and forth.

I used my own hands to stroke his thighs, even through the jeans, they felt strong and the muscles rippled happily as I ran my fingers over them.

“Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man.” Phil muttered as I nursed him on and on. His cock was so hot, so strong, so wild, even, that I knew it was going to blow and blow hard any moment now.

“Uh, we’re out of beer.” my dad said in surprise. “Thanks for the suds, man. Now where did my boy get off to? We need to go.”

“No! Oh! Don’t!” Phil said quickly. “Have another. Charley, another pitcher over here!”

“This is just so generous of you.” My dad babbled. “I thought I was going to have to get one beer, or even half of one. Instead, man, this is such good beer they have in here!”

“Yeah, it is good!” Phil groaned. “So damned good!” I don’t think he was talking about the beer, his cock was getting really hot, and harder, too.

I got my hand under his balls and I began to tickle them. That did it, he grunted down to me in a last bit of desperate control. “God, God! I’m going do it. Kid, I’m going to shoot!” he hissed down at me. Daddy was busily talking to the bartender handing over the fresh pitcher. Wanting him to fetch over a bowl of beer nuts to go with it.

Phil heaved a breath, his whole body shivered. “Can I shoot in your mouth, kid? Or you want to let go first?”

“Muh-uh!” I mumbled my negative over his cock. And I held on tight and I sucked on him faster than ever.

Phil was trying so hard to be silent, trying and failing badly. He was awash in heavy grunts and sobs, and then he vented a long, silenced, moaning sound, mmmmm-hhhhhh-gggghh! And he was blowing his wad, just as hard as I figured he would.

God, I love the taste of a man’s comeshot fresh and hot off his dong. I hated it when they’d yank away, fearful of squirting a kid’s mouth full of hot jizz. When it was what I’d been working for all along.

Phil didn’t yank away, he had asked and I had answered, he gave out that groan and then he shuddered, slumped and his cock washed my tonsils in hot creamy spunk, I swallowed hard, and more flooded in to take its place.

Mmmmh, God, I love hot man-come! I closed my eyes and sucked on Phil’s jisming joystick blissfully, and didn’t a single hot drop of his sperm-load get away from me.

Phil was gasping hard afterwards, and I poked my head up and looked at him, grinning broadly, and he grinned back at me, the helpless grin of a man all washed out limp by his ejaculation.

Illustration of Beer for Daddy


I looked to see another man watching us with awe, and I realized that, from where this guy was sitting, he’d had a pretty good view of everything going on. He saw me watching, his eyes guided my own down to his crotch, where his hand was on it and he gave it a squeeze, outlining a fat salami in there. I grinned wider at that.

My dad, meanwhile, had emptied that second pitcher. I slipped back up into my seat.

“Hey, there you are, son!” Dad said. “Couldn’t find you for a moment. Where were you?”

“Hiding out.” I said.

Phil just chuckled.

“Well, I guess we’d better go.” my dad stood up. He stuck out a hand and Phil took it, Phil still dazed by the experience of course.

I took the opportunity to dart over to the next guy. He had a table next to a wall of booth-type chairs, and I could sit right up next to him.

“Hi!” I said to him.

“Hi, kid.” the man said. “I saw you over there. You’re a pretty friendly fellow, aren’t you?”

“I hope so.” I said. “Can I sit here with you?”

“Sure thing, kid.”

“Oops, here comes Dad.” I said as my hand slid onto my new friend’s crotch.

“Come on, Son, we’d better go.” My dad said.

“But Dad, my new friend was about to buy you another beer!” I said quickly, my hand squeezing his man-bulb to emphasize my point.

“You were?” My dad’s eyes lit up.

“Sure, man, sit down.” he gestured to the seat across from him.

My fingers unzipped my friend’s fly as my dad settled in. “I like this place, Daddy.” I said. “Everyone here is so friendly.”

“They sure are, Son.” my dad agreed. And as he turned to watch for his beer to arrive, I slipped back under the table again. I liked it when my friends bought beer for my daddy!

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