Gay Erotic Stories

Things have been pretty quiet round our house since my Dad, Simon Horniman, discovered he liked being balled by his business partner, Alex. Not that my Father has found a conscience, or anything. More like he and Alex suddenly remembered that I was in the house, too, and that they had better make themselves a bit more circumspect if there was any hope that I wouldn’t discover my Dad’s new found predilection for having a mammoth cock jammed up his ass.

Some hope. I’d already beaten my dick raw watching them go to it in Dad’s bedroom. It took me quite a while – and a bit of scrubbing – to get the cum stains off the back of Dad’s dressing room door, where I’d been crouching, perving on them through the keyhole.

When they’d finished buggering each other in their first, furious encounter, I had carefully crawled back up the hallway from Dad’s dressing room, out through my own bedroom window, onto the roof of our veranda and down to ground level. When these two guys finally reappeared downstairs – both looking a bit flushed and guilty, if you ask me – I was innocently sitting at the kitchen table, reading a Superman comic book. I thought it was appropriate.

“Oh, hi Dad,” says I. “I didn’t hear you come in. Hi Alex.”

“Hello son,” says Dad.

“Yeah . . . hello Michael,” says Alex. “What are you reading?”

“Superman,” I tell him. Then – inspiration. “Its all about Superman discovers he’s had this secret compulsion all his life to, er . . . ah, to do something really, really evil. Its something he’s terrified that people are going to find out about, you know?”

Alex was almost going purple, not knowing whether to laugh or cry or what. Dad, however, was cool as a cucumber.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, and turned round, walking out of the kitchen into the living room. He and Alex stayed in there for quite a while, having a long, meaningful conversation in very low voices. I can guarantee they weren’t talking about kitchen installations.

From that day, Dad started spending a lot more time away from home. I assumed he was at Alex’ house, but I never asked. Sometimes, you can get just a bit too clever for your own good.

It went on for about four weeks and, to tell the truth, I was getting a bit upset about being left alone so much. I figured the only thing to do was to talk to Dad about how I felt.

When he got home about 11 o’clock one night I was waiting for him.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Dad?” I asked.

“Sure son – if it can’t wait for the morning.”

“I’d rather talk now, if that’s okay.”

“Fine,” says Dad. “What’s the problem?”

“Dad, I’m getting really lonely since you started going out a lot,” I said quietly. Dad looked quite surprised, I think. It clearly hadn’t occurred to him that I’d miss him while he was out being fucked stupid by his new boyfriend. “I know its none of my business and I know it’s really good for you to find new interests since Mom died, but I can’t help it – I really feel lonely without you being here so much.”

“Mikey?” queries Dad. “I didn’t realise you liked being round me so much.”

“I didn’t know either, Dad,” I said. “Not until you weren’t here to be round any more.”

“Ah, you poor kid,” Dad says to me and come across to put his arms round my shoulders. “You should have said.”

“Well, I’m saying now,” I replied. “Dad, I don’t expect you to hang round the house like a hermit, but I wondered if, maybe, we couldn’t spend just a little more time together. Play some ball or go to the movies or you help me with homework. Something.”

“Well, that’s just what we’re going to do. From now on I’m going to make sure there’s a least two or three nights a week – and at least one day every weekend – when we can be together and do stuff. Would that make you happy?”

“You bet it would, Dad,” I tell him. And Dad does something he’s never done since I started growing up. He plants a big wet kiss on my forehead. I just about passed out.

“Well, that’s fixed, then,” says Dad. “We can start tomorrow. I’ll be home at seven and we can go out and catch a movie, if you like.”

I had other ideas.

“How about,” I say, “how about we start tonight instead?”

My Father’s eyes were wide. He didn’t seem to understand what I’d just said to him.

“Tonight?” he said thickly. “What on earth can we do at this hour of the night?”

“Oh, I don’t mean we need to do anything, Dad,” says I. “I just thought, maybe, we could stay together tonight, so we can be close to each other, sort of thing. You could come into my bed or I could come into your bed and we could, like, talk a bit. And just be a bit close to each other like when I was a really little kid. Is that OK?”

Dad not only looked confused, he also looked a bit dubious.

“I dunno, Mikey,” says Dad. “It sounds a bit funny two guys sleeping in the same bed, doesn’t it?”

“Does it Dad?” I ask, trying to look all innocent. Dad looks at me for a minute.

“No, of course it doesn’t,” says my Father finally – and with some exasperation. “Jesus wept, you are my son, for God’s sake. Come on tiger, let’s get some shut-eye.”

And with a hand on my shoulder, Dad propels me up the stairs to his bedroom – the same bedroom where I’d watched his ass being ploughed, long and deep, by his business partner, just four weeks ago.

As soon as we get through the door, something dawns on Dad. Pajamas--more specifically, his lack of them. Dad hasn’t worm pajamas since he was first married and it is clear this suddenly has become a problem for him.

“Look . . . Mikey . . . the thing is I don’t happen to have any jimjams at the moment,” he explains – and I think how cute it is that my Father still uses the same name for pajamas that he used when I was a little kid. Tonight is probably the first time he has been obliged to refer to them at all since that time.

“You go get yours from your room and I’ll just . . . I’ll just sleep in my jocks,” he says.

“Hey Dad, we can both sleep in our jocks – no big deal,” I tell him. He’s cool with that; he clearly sees no problem about having a near-naked young man in his bed.

“Okay, let’s hit the sack,” says Dad and with a few deft movements, he whips off his shirt, pulls off his socks, drops his pants and leaps into bed with the panache of a mountain goat.

I notice he’s wearing another pair of those low-slung, hip-hugging Y-fronts – the same as he was wearing when Alex led him into bed for their session of furrow-ploughing, sperm-harvesting and other agricultural pleasures. I’m in no such rush. As soon as my Father is in bed, lying on his back with his arms folded behind his head and his full attention on me, I start slowly pulling off my T-shirt and then slide my jeans down to the ankles. I step out of them and am just about to follow habit and drop my little white briefs too when I remember our deal is to sleep in our jocks. So I just stroll round -- to what used to be Mom’s side of the bed – and hop in. Boy it feels good in there.

“Okay Mikey, what do you want us to talk about?” asks Dad.

“Oh, anything,” I say.

Dad turns on his side and looks at me.

“You wanna talk or not, son?” he asks. “I guess I’m more tired that I thought, Dad,” I tell him. “Maybe we can just sleep a bit, eh?”

“Okay with me,” my Father says, and reaches out to turn off the bedside lamp on his side.

Suddenly it’s all dark and still. I can smell my Father’s manly scent next to me in the bed and it is all I can do to just lie still on my side. The urge is almost irresistible to reach out and grab him; his arms, his chest, his face, his legs. His cock.

I can’t get the images of him and Alex out of my head: Dad sucking Alex’ enormous throbbing prick down his throat, Alex licking the spunk off Dad’s face and chest and spitting it back into his mouth; both of them slurping greedily on each other’s asses. In about 10 seconds flat my own cock has engorged and is painfully straining against the fabric of my underpants. I am getting so work up I can’t think of anything besides the fact I want to hold my Father’s penis in my hands. I want to suck it. I want it up my ass. I want my Dad to root the shit out me.

But I think to myself: “You gotta cool it, man. Get rid of the hardon before your Dad sees it – or worse, feels it. Don’t spoil everything before you even get started.”

Dad seems blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside my head. He’s been lying on his back until now and he slowly begins to turn away from me – then stops and slowly turns back so that’s facing in my direction. There’s maybe 10 or 12 inches separating us in the bed. Then Dad speaks to me, really softly:

“Mikey . . . Son . . . are you okay?”

I open my eyes and look straight across to him, finding myself staring straight into his blue-green eyes.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. It’s just . . . I thought if we slept in the same bed I wouldn’t feel so lonely. But the funny thing is, I do. I still feel lonely.”

“Come here my little boy,” says Dad in this soft, deep, warm voice. And he reaches out and slips one arm under my neck and rests the other arm lightly on my waist. He gently wriggles forward so that our bodies must be about one hair’s-breadth from each other.

“You don’t ever have to be lonely while I’m here. You’re my boy and I love you. I’ll always love you, Mikey, even when you’re a middle-aged business tycoon and I’m some clapped-out old fart living in a nursing home. Remember that, son.”

“I . . . I will, Sir,” I stammer.

“Okay. Now give your old Dad a kiss and let’s go to sleep,” my Father whispers.

I move my face forward just a fraction and get ready to receive a little peck on my forehead, just like before. But it doesn’t happen.

Instead, my Father’s lips suddenly are pressing against mine. They are full and soft and moistly hot and they send an electric charge through me that is like being struck by lightening. And I soon figure that something very similar has happened to Dad, too.

His lips pull away quickly and he makes a really sharp intake of breath. He waits a minute and, when he sees that I haven’t moved or pulled away, he moves tenuously forward again, pouts his lips and plants a little kiss on the end of my nose. Again he pulls back and waits – but I make no reaction. So he moves in again and this time plants two little, light kisses on my closed eyelids.

This time I do move – forward. I wriggle just a fraction towards him so he knows I like what he’s doing to me. I open my eyes and see him looking at me in absolute wonder. My Father opens his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. I put my lips firmly onto his and hold them there until I begin to feel what I’d been hoping for: the tip of my Father’s tongue pokes really gently between my lips. Its more of an inquiry that a bold statement – and I immediately part my lips and welcome him in.

No more butterfly kisses now. In moments our mouths are clamped together as tight as two cicadas rooting and our tongues are thrusting and poking into every crevice in each other’s mouth. My Father’s mouth tastes faintly of beer and salt – a little sweet and a little sour – and it is so good I want to climb right inside him and wallow in his smell and his taste. But suddenly he pulls away, gasping for air.

“God almighty, Mikey, what the fuck are we doing?” he demands. “You can’t suck your Daddy’s face like that, boy! And I can’t suck my own son’s face, either. What the hell are we doing?”

“Whatever it is, Dad, I want to keep doing it,” I blurt out. “I wanna be part of you like I was when you created me out of your spunk.”

There. I’d said it. There was no going back now – and I knew what I was doing was dangerous. Just because my Dad had discovered he liked being rogered up his date by another grown man didn’t mean he would accept being aroused by his own child in his own bed.

“No,” said Dad. “No.” He waited a few moments and then, again, said: “No.”

“Why not?” I demanded. “Why can’t we just make each other happy? Tell me why not!”

“Because its not allowed,” my Father shouted. “It’s against the law and its against God and its against everything I’ve ever learned was right.”

It was like he had hit me right in the face with his fist. My mouth was hanging open and there were tears welling in my eyes. So I just stuck my hand over my mouth, turned round and sat upright, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“But its alright to let some other man push his diddler up your crack,” I mumble under my breathe as I go to stand up. Dad grabs me from behind and yanks me back into bed, my legs flailing in the air and my head banging heavily against his chest.

“What did you say?” he demanded. “What are you talking about?”

I rolled over and faced him.

“I’m talking about you and Alex, Dad. I saw you so let’s not pretend about that, okay? I’ve been wanting all my life to be really loved by you and I thought that . . . well . . . now that you’d discovered there are other ways of loving . . .”

“The fuck with other ways of anything, boy,” he yelled. “Are you telling me you spied on me here when I was . . . when I was . . . when something happened here?”

In spite of all the fury and the drama going on, it struck me that my Father’s response was so unbelievably Victorian that I almost burst out laughing.

“Dad”, I said, “That was no ‘something’ that happened here four weeks ago. I saw it. And, yes, I spied on you. And I’m really glad I did because it made me think you might really be able to love me like I wanted you too. But I must have been dreaming – or having a nightmare, or something.”

My Father was aghast. His eyes were almost literally blazing and his face was burning red with big veins sticking out at his temples. I thought he was about to have a stroke. But as quickly as he’d reddened, he calmed down, slumped back on his pillows and just looked at me. I didn’t know whether to look at the floor or the ceiling – so I just looked back at him.

“You are one real treat of a boy, aren’t you,” he asked – rhetorically. “Now, let’s see if I’ve got this right. You spy on your Dad while he’s discovering there’s more to physical pleasure that bouncing round in the missionary position – and you take that to mean that I’m ready to start buggering my own son. Is that about right?”

“Whatever,” I reply.

“Come again, Michael?” he says, really coldly. “Was that ‘whatever’ you said?”

“Yes Dad. I said ‘whatever’. It doesn’t matter now, does it?” It was my turn to ask rhetorical questions. Dad sat there in silence, deep in thought.

“Yes, I think it does matter,” he said at last. “It matters that we were both here in this bed, gently poised on the edge of maybe discovering something really beautiful between us – and I turn on you like some fucking fanatic. My own boy. My own, beautiful boy.”

Now, you’ll have to forgive me if, at this stage, I am getting more bewildered than ever. What had brought on this latest twist in a truly terrible debate?

“The thing is, Mikey, that I suppose you were trying to be honest with me – and I was not being honest with you. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry I spoiled your fantasy – I’m sorry I spoiled this night. And I’m sorry I spoiled our relationship. See, I’ve just remembered that it was me who started kissing you – not the other way round. And, if the real truth is to be known, it has been me – yeah, me – all these years and years who’s been fantasizing about getting into your pants, long before you could ever have started thinking about me in the same way . . . well, a similar way, anyway.”

Bloody hell, I was absolutely stunned by what my Father was saying. I couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words. Was he saying he had been lusting after me . . . lusting after my ass . . . all the time I had been lusting after his cock. And neither of us suspected a thing?

“Dad . . . Father . . . Daddy,” I stuttered. “Can I get back into bed please?”

“With me? he asks.

“Of course with you,” I say. “Who else would I want to sleep with when I’ve got the biggest, best, and ballsiest Dad in the world to love me and make me happy.”

Dad looked into my eyes and smiled the warmest, softest smile I had ever seen. He patted the bed beside him.

“Get that sweet little ass of yours into this bed this instant,” he said. And I did.

“What we’re not going to need in this Father-and-Son bed are these goddamn underpants,” he said, reaching down and pulling them off and tossing them into a corner. I start reaching for mine but Dad stops me.

“Allow me,” he says with a smile.

“With pleasure,” I reply.

“No, with my pleasure,” says my Father and proceeds to strip my briefs off, hurling them across the room to join his own. “Oh my God, will you take a look at the cock on my son.”

I stretch out so that my full eight inches of erect penis thrusts out of the bush of blond curls and arches back towards my navel. Without another word, Dad pounces on it and slurps it right down his throat, his head bobbing wildly as he makes lots of warm little animal pleasure noises.

I just can’t tell you how remarkable I felt at that moment. It was everything I had ever dreamed about, and more. Whatever else Alex had taught my Father; he’d certainly shown him how to deliver a AAA Grade suck. I had never been circumcised so my Father was able to chew on my foreskin then slide it back with his lips and devour the length of my hot, red tool. In due course, my Father switches from working on my cock and starts chewing on my balls – then gently lifts my legs back against my body and licks, sucks and probes my asshole with his tongue.

I think to myself: Two can play at that game. When he pauses for breath, I switch round and thrust my head right into his crotch, catching a deep, intoxicating breath of rich, male odours from his crack and wrapping my saliva-filled mouth right around his brown, richly veined cock. I figure his prick has probably been darkened by years of regular friction – and it is now wet and oozing pre-cum from the slit at the tip of his glans.

“Oh Mikey, that is so goddamn good,” Dad moans as I try to replicate the level of service he’s already provided for my grateful penis. “Keep suckin’ it little boy, rip it into you, little son.”

I take time out to point out that I’m no longer a “little boy” – but Dad isn’t interested. He jams my mouth back onto his ugly big schlong and I diligently beaver away at getting the jizz moving from his balls into the head of his cock.

Things are getting up a full head of steam when the bloody front door bell rings.

“What the fucking hell is that,” demands Dad. “Let’s leave it go.”

“Might be important Dad. I’ll go if you like.”

“No, I’ll take care of the bastard,” he says, thrusting himself out of bed and into a pair of shorts, which were lying over the back of a chair. He stomps down the stairs and I hear the door open. The voices are faint, but discernible.

“Oh”, says Dad’s far-way voice. “Hi Alex.”

“Its not possible”, I groan to myself. This can’t be happening. There is more mumbling downstairs and I am just about to get out of bed when I hear footfalls on the stairs. Two sets of feet. “This isn’t happening to me,” I think, desperately willing Alex to lose his footing and fall downstairs. But, of course, he doesn’t and both Dad and Alex appear in the doorway, grinning like Cheshire cats.

“Mikey,” says Dad, “Alex has come over with a birthday present for you.”

“Huh?” I say, “Dad, it isn’t my birthday.”

“Alex seems to believe you’ll think all your birthdays have come at once when he shows you the package he’s brought over. Its for both of us, anyway.”

And, without a word, Alex unzips his fly and pulls out that monster cock of his, pointing it in my direction and giving it a few lefty tugs to get it right up into battle position.

“Happy birthday, Mike,” he grins.

“Hmmm,” I am thinking to myself, “maybe ten solid inches of Alex’ roger could add a little interest to our party. Why not?”

“Hi Alex,” I say, “that’s a really nice looking package you’re pointing at me. Wanna bring it a bit closer for me to have a good look?”

“You bet, Mike,” says Alex, “though I have to tell you that it is primarily designed for your Father. But since they reckon that its ‘like Father, like Son’, I’m hoping you might get a buzz out of it too.”

“Could be,” says I, taking a firm hold of Alex’ mighty tool at the same time my Father is kneeling down beside me so he can get a good look at that colossal donger as well.

“Since we seem to have a plentiful supply of cock in this bed,” says Dad, “maybe we can organise something so that all of us get to enjoy it at the same time.”

“Cool,” says Alex. “How about a ‘sandwich’?”

“Great,” says Dad. “Mikey?”

“Super cool,” says I, “as long as I get to put my cock in my Father’s asshole.”

Dad and Alex give a whoop of happy surprise when they hear this and Dad leans forward to kiss me sweetly and tell me he’d be in seventh heaven if he could feel his son’s beautiful cock sliding into his guts.

“And what do I do, guys?” asks Alex. “Hold the coats?”

“No,” I say, “you hold your horses until I’m firmly planted up my Dad’s ass and then you can fuck me all you like. So, this time round, I get to be the meat in the sandwich.”

Alex let’s out another whoop, making him sound like a cowboy or something, but asks me: “You sure you can take this amount of meat up you twat, Mikey?”

“We won’t know until me try, will we?” I say to him, before turning to my Father. “Dad, I wanted you to be the first to fuck me, but I guess it is OK if you don’t mind Alex getting there first.”

“Well, I kinda do mind, Mikey,” says Dad, “but if it means I get to be fucked by my own son in our very own first sex session, than I can wear that.”

So Dad lies on his back across the bed and I lift his legs over my shoulders, just like I saw Alex do to him. I see a pot of KY on the bedside table but decide our first fuck needs to be as intimate and personal as we can make it, so I just spit on my hand, rub the saliva on my cock and edge it slowly into Dad’s silky, pink anus.

In just a couple of thrusts, I’m deep inside my Dad, ramming my prick into his bowels while my balls are swinging wildly against his buns and my pubes rub up against the skin of his ass-crack.

Dad is looking deep into my eyes, with love flying out of them into my soul. I bend forward and kiss my Father deeply on the lips, my tongue searching inside his mouth and rubbing deliciously against his tongue.

Right at this moment, while I’m almost dizzy with desire and love, Alex presents his KY-slathered dick at my asshole, nudging it gently into place and pressing slowly forward to complete the entry. The funny thing is, I don’t feel a thing until Alex’ mighty schlong is buried up to the hilt in my butt-hole. The excitement must have relaxed every muscle round my shitter so that Alex’ monster was welcomed inside without a murmur.

So, we’ve got Alex repeating his fuck-fest on the anus of his new boy-friend’s son, me with my cock planted deep inside my own father’s crapper and my Dad with his cock so engorged with blood that it looks about to burst. It isn’t too long before I’m shouting: “Oh god, Daddy, I’m gonna cum soon, I’m gonna cum” and Alex joins in with: “Oh no, oh no, oh holy Jesus I’m gonna explode!”

We’re racing towards climax and I can see that my Daddy’s donger urgently needs some loving relief too. So I almost bend myself double and bury my head down in his crotch, sucking his cock deep into my throat just in time to catch a stream of sweet, salty cum that comes churning out his balls while I’m planting a gallon of boiling spunk into his guts. At that very moment, Alex lets out with a great yelp and I feel his filthy big prick bulge out even thicker, stretching my asshole to bursting point and pumping ropes of pearly juice up my date.

It is enough to send us all the heaven and back – but it is just the beginning. Just the beginning of a journey that will take us all into a level of ecstasy that none of us has known before.