Daddy's Little Boy -- Chapter 4

When we got there he took one look at the bed and haughtily instructed me to change the sheets. "I'm use to being well treated, you know. Only the best." There was a twinkle in his eye that mitigated the tone of his voice.

Complying with his wishes, which made sense after that load I had dumped the first time, I got the sheets replaced. The pile of things needing laundry in the back of the closet was growing. Finished I salaamed, offering him the bed. He looked at me and shook his head.

"Know what I really want, dad?"

"Whatever. If I've got it, it's yours, pretty boy."

"I want to curl up with your naked flesh on the couch and watch some TV, eat some popcorn, snuggle and drive you fucking insane with desire. Care to join me?"

So, with a bag of corn heating in the microwave, we settled in on the couch as he flipped through the channels. He settled on 'Miami Vice' just as the corn started rat-a-tat-tating. I got it in a big bowl and returned, to find him stretched out, one leg cocked up on the back of the couch.

"Wouldn't you just love to boff Don Johnson," he asked, rubbing his hand on his cock and humping at the TV screen.

I put the popcorn on the floor where he could drop his hand in, sat beside it and lay my head on the available and inviting thigh he had provided. Stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth he reached out, playfully running his salty fingers through my damp hair. During commercials he'd poke those digits at my mouth, letting me lick off the oil and salt, pulling his hand back and inspecting it with a critical hum bubbling in his throat.

I was torn between watching the hot bodies on the TV or that hot little dandy dancing between Chris' legs, so near and so dear. He kept me checking it by frequent shifts, reaching down to give it a pat or a quick tug. It stayed semi-hard, throbbing with his pulse, jiggling when he laughed, teasing me. He knew what he was doing, knew I wouldn't be able to resist. My hand crept in, cradling his balls, stroking them. I reached up and touched that shaft the was now arcing toward his belly button. It jumped and quivered and grew. His hips shifted, shoving forward.

"I give. I give. You fucking tease." I turned my head full into him, grasp that cock and shoved it in my mouth. He shifted forward even more, spread his legs even wider and rested a hand in my hair.

I heard him say softly, "Too bad you're missing a good show, dad." Then he chuckled -- quiet laughed rumbling in his throat.

With a quick nip on his glans, making him jump, I broke his faked concentration on that damn TV show.

He tapped me on top of my head. "Naughty, naughty." Still he pumped his hips and forced another three inches of his meat between my lips. "Just do me, daddy. You know you love it."

"So do you, pretty boy," I grunted, my mouth full, and opened wider, swallowing him. I rose up and pushed until my lips were pressed hard into those thick brown curls.

"Yes! Oh, fuck! Yes!" His pelvis ground hard on my face.

With that I commenced bobbing and slurping with a wild fury, eating him whole. I was running my lips tightly along the full length of that hot column of flesh, sucking and pulling on his plump dick head. Looking up across that trembling tummy I saw he was no longer watching the TV but intently staring at where I was busy engaged with entertaining him. His mouth hung open, eyes like saucers.

"Wow! OH, SHIT! Dad, you are a fucking marvel" He was groaning and shouting at me louder and louder as his stiff dick rubbed through my mouth and deep into my throat. His legs were already tensing. His breath was inhaled in gasps between his vocal outbursts.

Within seconds his words became just one low continuous moaning 'oh-h-h-h-h-h, ah-h-h-h-h' that climbed through two octaves as his body began to buck and thrash. "I'm . . . gon'a . . . cum," he screeched as it gushed.

It was an overload. Like the times before had just been priming the pump. This time he contracted over and over and over. Each time I felt the warmth flushing into my throat. Again and again it pulsed out, each time more running back as I fought to swallow. It filled my mouth. I couldn't keep it all in, hard as I sucked. no matter how quickly as I swallowed. It still kept coming, filling me, running out between my lips, dribbling down my chin.

He was humping, still blood full. Riding on a cushion of cum his cock was thrusting, slopping in and out. He'd shifted and was sitting on the edge of the couch. Holding tight to my head he continued shoving and twisting his hips, groaning. "There's more . . . more . . . I'm dying . . . gon'a cum . . . and cum . . . and cum. OH, FUCK!"

I hugged his waist, pulling us tight as that last tremor sent one more stream gushing into my throat. Now he was spent. There was no more, just contractions, orgasmic agony clamping tight on his body. He slumped, moaning. I gently laid him back on the couch. His moaning was a quaking, half under his breath. His body jerked in random spasms of post climactic fever. I got towels and spread them, soaking up and wiping off what I could.

Leaning over, lightly brushing his lips with mine I heard him, "Why don't you love me, daddy? . . . love me . . . love me, please, daddy." It was a ghost sound, floating out, not wanting to be heard, not acknowledged, never spoken. As I finished cleaning up, he said distinctly, "Don't leave me, old man. I'm cold. I'm all alone."

He was looking at me, his arms reaching out, his eyes misty, a pathetic and sad little boy. I went to him, hugging him against me, telling him he wasn't alone, he could stay -- as long as he wanted.

"Take me to bed. Just love me. Keep me warm." It was a whisper in my ear.

I picked him up. With his arms around my neck I carried him into the bedroom and laid him down. Pulling a sheet over us I snuggled in, holding him, stroking him, crooning. He shivered, stretched, nestled his head into my shoulder.

"Thanks. Thanks for everything."

I watched the locks of brown ripple under by breath, felt his warmth surrounding me, clinging. Gradually his breathing became steady, deep. He slept. Maybe an hour later I drifted off.

When I awoke he was gone.

I hadn't expected him to stay. I hadn't really believed he had been there. Nothing was gone, nothing disturbed. But he had been there. There was a pile of dirty linen in the closet, damp towels on the rug and couch and three French fries lying abandoned on the dining room table.

It had been real, if only for a night. I smiled, remembering. I hope I helped.