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"Honey, I'm hoooome!" I call out, shutting the door behind me. It's been a long day; work has been busier than usual, and since practically 11am I've been waiting to come home for some rest, relaxation, and stress relief.
"In here" a high voice replies. I smile to myself as I take off my shoes. I know what to expect, but damn if it never gets old.
There's no smell of delicious home-cooking wafting through the air. Nah, I'll order take-out in about an hour...maybe two, I think, loosening my tie and thinking about the day I've had. I have a lot of stress to relieve.
As I make my way down the dim hall, there's a crystal tumbler sitting on a sidetable. Two fingers of whisky, a smooth ten-year old Macallan, waiting for me to enjoy. The ice has melted a little, I'm later than I usually am.
"Fuck" I say loudly, "I am so ready for this".
There's a giggle from the living room. I can see shadows and light the from the fireplace dancing on the walls of the room behind the door, which lay invitingly ajar.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. Not fucking bad, I think. I don't often wear a suit to work - usually I'm more business casual, but I had meetings with regional bosses today - so I feel over-dressed walking around our house, but also kind of turned on with my own sexiness. I'm around 6'2, dark eyes, dark hair, stubble, a small tuft of chest hair sticking out of the top of my now loose shirt. Classic Italian American look. For my mid 40s, I still get quite a bit of attention, even from my younger colleagues, both women and men.
Of course, I don't need to worry about getting my needs met, but you know that, right?
I softly pad over to the living room doorway, and silently open it a bit more, my breath hitching as I drink in the sight.
Carey - the new woman who's started in the admin office - can't be more than 22, and even I have to admit she is gorgeous. A petite figure, a firm Pilates ass, a blond, teethy face. She flirts with me too, lightly at first but now with all the subtlety of a battering ram, small little glances evolving into pats on the arm, and just yesterday a oh-so-casual, throwaway remark about how I must be hitting the gym really hard, because my arms look so big.
When it comes to fucking, I like petite, of course I do, but what I consider petite is probably different than most people's standards. Carey's size 4, adult body is of no interest to me.
In front of the fireplace, posed on the fluffy rug, is my pride and joy, my beautiful son Dylan.
"Well well well...how was school kiddo?"
"Hi daddy" he says, not moving. His face is turned from me but I can tell he's smiling. "It was so boring Daddy, I couldn't wait to come home. I've been checking my watch since like 11am."
"Aw, that's a shame, baby. Daddy's had a hard day too." I slightly emphasise hard, and like him I can't stop the smile reaching my voice. "But I'm glad we got you into St. Paul's though, it has lots of benefits".
He giggles, knowing exactly what I'm talking about.
One major benefit I'm enjoying right now is the St. Paul's uniform. Like all kids in his Catholic elementary school, Dylan is wearing a crisp, white short-sleeve shirt, with a blue and white striped tie. The pant he's wearing are light grey, a stiff pleat down each leg.
Okay, maybe wearing isn't the right term.
Dylan is on all fours in front of the fireplace, in our agreed pose. He's kneeling He has his shirt and tie on, but the bottom buttons are open and he's pulled his shirt up to expose his white, smooth back. The pants are on, yes, but they're pushed down below his bent knees. His socks, probably only a little bit funky from his day, are white and long, and his little feet face me as he waits expectantly.
I walk slowly over to him. What about his underwear, I hear you ask. Hmmm, we had discussed this this morning. I know some of you would love some nice cartoony briefs, maybe with...oh I don't know... Spongebob on them? Maybe slightly too small for him, to show off all the nice curves and bulges? I get it. In fact, that's probably what he'll wear on Monday to school, presuming he can walk properly. But no, today, because it's Friday, because he likes the freedom, and because his daddy is a fucking perv, today Dylan's being sporty, and wearing his new jockstrap. White, of course, and getting whiter by the day. Another benefit of St Paul's is their dedication to sports. Immediately, I had signed up Dylan for baseball and swimming. He (and I) have no interest in the sports, but it means we get to regularly go to the department store and pick out some speedos and jockstraps for him, and both of us get to attend the swimmeets, where dozens of preppy, toned boys walk around in next to nothing, and the baseball games, where I can ogle the little bubble butts in their uniforms as they pitch the ball, bend over, run to catch it. Dylan of course, gets all that plus the lockerrooms, the lucky little fucker.
But anyway, now I have my very own private bubblebutt to admire, the white straps of his jockstrap (a year or two too small for him, of course) splayed around the milky white globes of his ass. With the only light coming from the fire, it's too shadowy to make out what lays between these ass cheeks, but I know exactly what's waiting for me. On his hands and knees, his back arched expertly, Dylan looks like a pornstar at the beginning of a video. Which, in a way, he is. I spot the phone propped up on the sidetable beside the couch, ready to record everything for jerking off to in future. I smile, I've trained him well.
"Mmmm, baby, you're spoiling Daddy tonight". I walk over to his head.
"You deserve it, Daddy." His beautiful face looks up at me, glowing in the fire light. A halo of blond hair on top, perfect smooth skin, a little snub nose and big, almost too big, pink lips smiling at me. He is the perfect schoolboy, the posterchild for private school education, the light of my life, the fire of my loins. My son, my lover, my angel...
"...my cumdump". I say, draining the last of my whisky and placing it on the mantel with a sharp thud.
His smile widens, and I put my thumb in his mouth, feeling those dick-sucking lips clamp around it, his small, expert tongue exploring it. I reach out and start the phone recording.
"You're just doing this for Daddy, I suppose" I say wryly, starting to undo my belt with my other hand.
"Yesh" he says, around my thumb. I don't take it out, in fact I stretch it further into his mouth, almost to the back of his throat. I'm hinting to him what kind of night it's going to be, what kind of night he is going to be having.
"I suppose you'll get nothing out of this then..." I say, pulling the belt out of the trouser loops, and holding it slightly menacingly, like a ringmaster with a whip.
"Nnuh-uh" he says, still working my thumb. As a reward, I take it out and replace with my index and middle fingers. He latches on again automatically, as I swear his spit over his cheek with my wet thumb.
I let out a sigh, as if disappointed, unbuttoning my pants as I do so. "You're such a fucking slut, Dylan".
"Mm-hmm" he says, focused on my fingers, almost deepthroating them.
My pants fall to the ground beside him and I step out of them. At his insistence, I've replace all my comfortable boxers with Calvin Klein briefs. They're tighter than I'd like but I have to admit make my ass look great. Even when at rest, they make my package look amazing, but now...my cock, confined inside them is stretching them obscenely. I gaze down at it, then at Dylan just beyond it, gazing up at it and me as he fellates my fingers.
"Tell me what you are, Dylan"
"I'm yours, Daddy" he says, slurping up the spit escaping his mouth and falling on my fingers.
"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows, not moving.
"I'm yours. I'm your cumdump. I'm your boyslut."
"Good. And what you want?"
He doesn't move from his position, he knows better.
"I want you, Daddy, I want your cock" he gazes up at it hungrily. "I want it inside me. I want your mouth, I want your ass."
"My ass?"
"Yes daddy, I want to suck your cock and lick those big balls and lick your ass".
He liked doing that, then. Fuck. I had introduced him to rimming last week...well, I'd introduced him to rimming me last week, but I couldn't tell if he'd liked it.
He goes on without prompting "I want to feel your ass get tighter around my finger when you cum in my mouth, Daddy. I want to make you feel good forever".
I can't keep up the foreplay, the roleplay, whatever this is. My cock is urgently throbbing inside my briefs and I shuck out of them quickly, the smell of precum hitting me as I pick them up. Dylan gasps slightly at my suddenness, and, inspired, I bunch up the CKs and force them into his mouth.
"That's enough, slut. Time for you to do what you were born to do". It's a standard thing to say in dirty talk, I get that, but in this case, it's true.
Like a dog at a show, he hasn't moved his position at all yet, and I get behind him. His ass - fuck, his ass - is waiting for me, and closer up I can see how his pearlescent cheeks encase the most perfect little boypussy I've ever seen. A small pink hole, hairless of course, innocently waiting to be attacked. Even with the amount of loads he's had up there, the vigourous, hard fucks it's endured, all the tongueing, fingering and fucking over the last three years, it's still tight as a vice. It fights my swollen cockhead, resisting its advances without the usual preparation I give it. I don't fucking care. Impatiently, I put my head down and spit roughly at it, Dylan flinching slightly at the feeling.
"P-eas- Daddh" he says around my sweaty precum-soaked briefs. "n need eh"
"Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore." I'm only half play-acting now, I can feel the day's stress and horniness building up in me, my eyes darkening and my pulse quickening. My cockhead slips across his boycunt as I smear my whisky-flavored spit around it, the only prep I'm willing to give him right now. He might be sore afterwards, I think, but who the fuck cares? I'll kiss it better.
My patience snaps, and grabbing his slim hips I THRUST forward, my angry cockhead breaching that delicate little hole and the rest of my thick Daddy cock following.
"NNNNGHHHH" he says, or tries to say. He's used to my cock, of course he is, but I'm not going slow today, not for my first fuck of the night, anyway.
"Ssssh" I say, softly but firmly. I've gotten in halfway with that first thrust. "Daddy has more cock for you". Did I mention that I have an eight inch cock?
He's slightly shifted his back, maybe with the pain, so I place my hand - obscenely large in comparison - on the small of his back and push him back down into his cumdump position. As well as going to St Paul's, he's had some home-schooling with his dad. He obliges, and I steadily add more of myself into him, inch by inch until his smooth little bubblebutt is pushing against my pubes.
"There we go, slut. This is what you wanted, right?"
He's silent for a second, probably trying to get used to his ass full of Daddy. Then "Mmmhmm", a slightly elongated assent; I know the pain is fading and he's feeling his Daddy's cock pushing that special button that makes good boys become whores.
"Now, I know you probably want me to be nice and romantic and treat you special, right? That's why you lit a nice fire and got me whisky, right?"
I see the back of his head nod silently.
"I thought so. See, we can cuddle after, but right now Daddy needs a cumdump, so I'm not going to go easy on you."
He nods again. With my cock still inside him up to the hilt, I lean towards the back of his head, my lips at his ear as if I'm about to whisper sweet nothings.
"Dylan... that wasn't a question"
His head turns sharply as he tries to look at me, but I grab it and force it into the rug. My engorged cock comes out of his hole almost fully with a slick, wet sound, before I slam it back into him.
"FUCK, YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING WHORE" I shout. His boycunt is exquisite, as usual, clamping onto my cock, fighting me but ultimately taking me. My long, hairy balls slap against his tight little sac and his smooth thighs, and I'm grunting, gasping with how good his little cunt feels, so I can't make out what the muffled noises he's making into the rug mean
He takes two more thrusts before his knees collapse - from pain, pleasure, or both, I don't know and really don't fucking care - and he's on the ground fully. I follow him, or he takes my cock with him, and now I'm slamming into him on the rug, his own hard little cocklet mashed against it. My arms - fuck they do look big right now - are glistening with sweat, my manly hands at the back of his head and on his shoulder, pushing him down, and my hips take on an unstoppable, animalistic rhythm. Fucking the little slut always feels amazing, but there's an undeniable additional rush that comes when I have him like this. He loves my cock, loves my body, loves his adult lover, but my cock gets even harder when I use him the same way I'd use a fleshlight, strip him of all his clothes and all his agency, and -essentially - rape him.
What would it be like to have another boy like this, one who didn't like me or my body? One who didn't like any man, for that matter? A little hetero slut...imagine how tight that boypussy would be, how hard it would fight being split open by an eight inch cock.
Dylan's squeals have gotten more high-pitched now; dimly, in the recesses of my mind, a tiny little alarm starts to ring. Not loud enough though. At this point I've got a fistful of his hair and I'm still holding his head down. His ass, which was slightly raising up to meet my cock - what a fucking cockhungry slut I've raised - is now prone on the floor, just taking the pounding I'm giving it. My hormones surge in my head - I've completely dominated his little cunt, I fucking own him. He needed reminding of his place. I feel the familiar tingling in my balls.
"Here's your reward, you fucking cumdump" I snarl into his ear, and he doesn't respond, just flinches slightly at the wet tongue that starts probing his ear and neck.
"Say you want it!"
"I want it!" - a tiny, fearful, voice.
"Want what?" Jesus, I'm going to flood the little fuck's ass.
"I want your cum, Daddy! Give me your load!" he wails.
I have to cum. It's not just his boycunt, now taking all of my girthy eight inches easily, like a fucking pornstar; it's how scared he is of me, at times like this, when the horny, pedo beast inside me takes control of me, of him. There's a darkness round the edges of my eyes, like a vignette photo, and some sort of distance between me and his vanilla scented hair and his milky smooth skin, like I'm watching from inside my head. I'm floating on a delicious river of testosterone, endorphins, whisky, horniness, perviness, utter fucking bliss. With each hard slap into my son, I can feel myself tip over the edge.
"Oh fuck! Ohfuuuuck" I'm semicoherent, animalistic snarls spitting out at the back of his blond head. I knew it would be a lot of cum, but it's one of those rare times where I can feel my cock pulse out each load. "Youfuckingsluttt". I collapse onto his back while I'm still breeding him, still filling up my little cumslut. No doubt about it, his tiny little boycunt is full to the brim with his dad's loads, and he'll still feel where I've battered it for days to come.
The bliss in my head lingers, as if I'm high and drunk and cumming still. I don't know if he came - I don't bother to ask. I grab his head, not as roughly but still firmly, and tilt his face to me. I'm still inside him, my cock still almost fully hard. His eyes, wide and frightened are glittering in the firelight, his face red and sweaty from the heat and being smushed into the rug, streaks of tears stain his cheeks.
"Now, Dylan" I say softly, "you know you shouldn't be such a fucking tease to Daddy. Look what happens, buddy."
He stares back, silent.
"You're going to be sore for a few days, baby, especially when I'm fucking you again later." His eyes widen more. "You know Daddy has a weak spot for school uniforms".
He swallows loudly. "I'm sorry, Daddy".
I turn him over. His cocklet is red and soft, but starts to get a little harder when I flick it with my finger.
"Did you cum, Dylan?"
He clears his throat softly. "Yes, Daddy".
"Wow, you really are a slut, Dylan".
"Yes, Daddy."
"I probably shouldn't do this, but you didn't scream like last time, so I guess you should get a reward".
His face perks up, interested. His cocklet is now at full mast, the horny fucker.
I push him firmly out of the way and lay my head on the rug.
"Come here" I command.
He knows what to do. He shuffles around - his legs shaking slightly, I notice, as he lifts one over my face, so he's straddling my head and neck. His usually beautiful, tight, pink boypussy looks wrecked, the lips puffy and swollen, his hole gaped and starting to leak. I present him with my index and middle finger and he obediently starts to slobber on them, instinctively deepthroating them.
"Fucking slut." I chuckle, and push the fingers inside his hole, not gently. He lets out a little yelp, but I've already pulled them out. They're soaked with his spit and my cum.
"Come here" I say again, and with my other hand pull his ass towards my face more. He moans slightly as my tongue first enters him.
Fuck, more bliss. I can taste my son's ass and my own massive load mingling together on my tongue. His hole is almost laughably easy to tongue-fuck, not all tight and virginal like when he comes home from school. With my spit-and-cum-coated fingers I find his little cocklet, and as he rides his Daddy's face I start jerking him off.
When he cums, I can feel it only in the way his body tenses, and in his short, almost silent gasps. His destroyed boycunt tightens and pulses round my tongue, a quick little rhythm that squeezes more of my semen out of him. He doesn't shoot any of his own cum, not yet, and I can't decide if I'll enjoy tasting his sweet pubescent loads more than I enjoy his dry orgasms and all their fucked-up, pervy associations. Maybe I'll mourn his boyhood, but having a hormonal teenage boy around to fuck, and be fucked by...damn.
I slurp at his hole one last time, getting a good mouthful, and then lift him off me, deposit him on the rug, and entwine myself with him in one quick move.
He already has those cocksucker lips wide open, like a good little boy, and I spit at him, deliberately getting as much on his face as in his mouth. I watch him taste himself and his father's semen, and swallow slowly, savouring it. Suddenly I remember the phone, and reach out for it. Dylan's wet, sticky face fills up the frame. With my wet fingers I shepherd cum away from his cheeks and eyes and into his slutty mouth.
"There you go, baby, all yours".
He looks up, right at the camera. "Thank you daddy".
----------
Later, we're laying on the couch in pyjamas, watching a movie. We have different tastes, obviously, but Tom Holland is a rare common interest of ours, and despite my Olympic-level fuck earlier, my cock is hardening slightly as we watch Spiderman's hot little ass strut through New York City. Dylan's eyes are glued to the movie - and Spiderman - too, and I wonder idly what it would be like fucking both of them at the same time, our bodies writhing together on the rug...Dylan's mouth stretched across two coc-
"Daddy?". Dylan is looking up at me, his head on my lap. He's probably felt my cock, I think.
"Yes slu-son?"
"I made a friend at school".
"...Oh really?" My eyes are tempted back to Tom, now only in a pair of grey boxers. I have no idea what the plot of this film is, but fuck I could breed that little twi-
"Yeah, his name is Jack".
"That's wonderful, sweetheart". I pat his chest idly.
"Look, here's a picture of him". He holds his phone up, and I tear my eyes away, reluctantly, from Spidertwink.
FUCK.
It's a photo from their last swim meet. I'd been too busy at work to go, so I'd missed seeing Dylan and a bunch of wet boys in speedos - a point of frustration I'd taken out on Dylan's hole that evening.
Dylan is grinning angelically in the photo, the picture-perfect preppy boy I'd raised, in a pair of light blue speedos. His arm is around another boy, Jack I presume, and what Tom Holland has started, Jack finishes. My cock swells under Dylan's head as I take in Jack, also in a pair of slutty, revealing briefs, which bulge promisingly. He's darker than Dylan, part Italian or Latino, maybe, with a mop of dark hair cut stylishly. He's taller too, by about half a head, with a broader and more muscular body. He has a tight little four-pack and slightly defined pecs - as much as they can be defined at that age. He looks like a kid's swimwear model.
"Jesus." I half moan.
Dylan giggles. "I thought you'd like him".
"He's so fucking hot, baby. Have you seen his cock?"
"No, he covers himself with a towel when he changes. I hate when they do that".
I nod. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There's a teenager at my gym who never shows off for me." I zoom in on Jack's speedos. "He looks like he could be big though, for his age".
"I knowww". Dylan's voice sounds hungry. "Daddy, I want him so bad."
"Fuck, now so do I, baby. Feel how hard he's made me". I grind my cock into the back of his head.
"Well...remember when you told me about what you did to Uncle Conor?"
My breath hitches in my throat. As a horny teenager, I had gotten drunk with my straight friend Conor. Or rather, I'd gotten slightly drunk, but I'd spiked Conor's beer with vodka. A newbie to drinking, he'd never questioned the taste, and proceeded to get blackout drunk off four cans. I still had the photos of him passed out, naked, in every position my mouth on his cock (semi hard depsite being unconcious), my hand clumsily speading his hot ass cheeks and showing off his slightly hairy, straight, hole, which I'd eaten ravenously afterwards. I'd tried to fuck him, but he was too tight and I had no lube, and my teenage hormones made me spill my load over his hole and cheeks. I'd licked it off him, made out with him a bit, and dressed him. Conor woke up the next day with a hell of a hangover, ruefully chuckling about his first proper night of drinking. He'd met Dylan a few times, his bluff, kind, easygoing nature - "hey there champ!" - like catnip to my little slut, and so after the last visit, I'd shown Dylan what Conor looked like with Daddy's cock in his mouth.
"What... what about it, baby?"
"Well. Jack likes girls. He told me he thinks Sammy Westbook's sister is hot. She's not, she just got boobies before everyone else." He added hotly.
"Okay...?"
"Daddy. I want him. And I know you want him." Look at him. I hadn't stopped looking. Despite his age, Jack had a sexy, sneering look that said he could dick me down. I'd kill to dominate the boy. "So why dont we have him?" Dylan added.
"But, baby, how can we-"
"Zzzquil, Daddy. We put him to sleep and then... we share him"
Fuck, my little son talking about dateraping his friend was not helping my erection go down.
"Son, we can't, I mean, where even-"
He grinned up at me, his hand reaching up and around the back of his head to grab my cock tightly through my pyjamas.
"I actually made friends with him months ago, Daddy. I've invited him for a sleepover. He'll be here tomorrow night".
End of Part 1.