Professor Yang's story - part 1

Father, do you think that there is the possibility of luck or fate involved, or is it always divine intervention?

I tripped over Professor Yang one afternoon at the vegetable market. Not 'I met', not 'I saw', no, I tripped over Professor Yang at the vegetable market.

I was trying to get my vegetables - the usual story of the maximum amount of food value for the minimum of money. It was a weekly struggle. I had part-time work, and I wasn't broke, but I was after the best bargain I could get. So was the rest of the multi-ethnic crowd. Indian grandmothers in saris jostled with Greek grandfathers in leather jackets, Japanese students waited politely for British matrons to complain about the weather, and little black kids played with Chinese kids amongst the bok choi and oranges. The crowds and the noise was overwhelming. I stumbled over Professor Yang, and fell, catching my head against a plastic fruit bin.

I don't think I was knocked out but I was seeing stars and blood was pouring out of the gash on my forehead. A kindly gentleman helped me up and sat me down on a bench. He looked at the wound and gave me a crisp white handkerchief to staunch the blood. He rounded up my escaped vegetables, and helped restore my dignity.

I didn't know he was a professor then, and actually, he wasn't. He had been a professor, back in China, but he'd had to give that up before he escaped the Revolution. Here, a stranger in a strange land, he'd become someone else. At least in public. Here he pretended to be a slightly stooped, slightly shuffling, old man who wore the colours of old moths and dead roses.

He said his home was nearby, and I accepted his offer of somewhere to clean up. He lived in a little apartment on the top floor of a decrepit building. By the time we got up to the eighth floor my view of the world was spinning again. Yang opened the louvred doors out on to the tiny balcony and made me some tea. It tasted disgusting, but gradually my headache vanished and I began to feel lighter.

We talked for hours like old friends about art and politics and food and writing. Movies - Yang loved movies. Yang had been a professor of literature back home, but his academic documents vanished while escaping from the Revolution, and so finding work in his field was too hard. Besides, as he said, "Fool bureaucrats everywhere. Even the Revolution couldn't kill the real rats."

Like so many migrants he'd earned a living working in restaurants during the day. He also tended bar at nights, and did some tutoring in between - teaching Chinese to business executives and people in the diplomatic set. He had retired as a result of some careful investments built from money scrimped and saved, and he also acted as the building manager which kept his rent down. He was able to spend his frugal days playing the erhu, and writing and translating poetry, which he published in little soft covered books, and sold through academic and special interest bookshops. I had a picture of his books on the shelf between the crystals and the cds of rainforest birds.

He was delighted to find I was a creative writing student, and he asked if he could read some of my work. I was embarrassed. I felt I couldn't write anything worth a damn, and I felt stupid. Even saying writer's block sounded like pretentious bullshit. I was on the point of giving it all away and looking for a job selling white paint in some building supplies superstore.

"Sure, Professor Yang, I can bring some for you."

I was lying. I wasn't about to have my pathetic efforts critiqued by some guru.

"Call me Yang, please, my professorial days are so long ago, I wonder who you talking about. Here, have this tea, it's different. Sweeter. Special camellia leaves picked by revolutionary virgins who have never been fucked." He laughed with a mischievous, flirty wriggle.

I sipped the tea. "Yes, much nicer than the tea from the revolutionary virgins who have been fucked."

Yang played LP records on an elderly stereo system. He had a particular liking for cello music, and I wondered where he walked in his mind when he got lost in the Bach concertos.

He invited me to stay for a meal. I was quick to accept - I liked him a lot, and I felt certain his cooking would be better than mine. He stir fried pork and noodles, and the bok choi from my shopping. We drank beer with the meal and he got a little drunk, a little bit giggly, a little bit louder. After eating I helped him with the dishes. He stepped up on a little stool to put some plates away, and missed his footing coming back down. He stumbled and bumped against me. I caught him, stood him upright, and patted him back into shape. He stared at me for a moment, and, for some reason, I hugged him. He hesitated and then hugged me too.

"I'm sorry," he said. He looked upset.

"It's ok, it's ok."

"Too much beer, I'm a drunk old man."

He fussed over changing a record. Elgar.

I reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Really, it's ok."

He shrugged me away as though I'd burned him, and then turned, with misty eyes.

"No, it's not ok. It's not your fault, do nothing wrong. Nothing! Nothing!"

He slumped into a chair and held his face in his hands. I felt awkward - unwittingly I'd strayed across some personal boundary. I turned off the harsh kitchen fluorescent light and stepped back in the living room. The concerto finished and the player arm returned. The turntable slowed and stopped. Silence filled the room. I closed the doors to the balcony, leaving the city lights to the fog. A few tentative rain drops burst on the iron roof, loud against the city buzz.

Yang sighed and stood up. He pulled out a bottle of cognac and placed a couple of glasses on the table. He held up the bottle and waggled it. I nodded. Yang poured two glasses and handed one to me.

He put on a disk of haunting erhu music and, in the dimmed light, he told me his story. As a young academic in the early 60s he'd fallen in love with a student, a boy whose gift for music was second to none. They became lovers - an act dangerous enough before the Revolution, it became suicidal by the mid 60s, a time when even sex between married couples was seen as a bourgeois pastime, and, at times, even limited to 30 minute conjugal visits. Yang laughed when he told of some of the reckless adventures they had hiding from prying eyes, making mad love where they could. For a few moments they lived, they loved, they danced, and they cried. So much pain, and so much struggle. It was hard but it was so beautiful. He wept freely when he told how the boy, his lover, his soul mate, was ripped away from him - not for their forbidden love - but for his talent - someone in the cadre was threatened, words were whispered, he was criticised as being counter-revolutionary, and he was taken away to a countryside labour camp.

Just a boy, barely 18. Like a dragon fly, lives for only one day.

Lost.

Yang blinked and, shaking, took a gulp of his cognac. It burned him and he choked a little.

"When you caught me, touched my shoulder, is how Ming touched me. I felt him in you. The memory, feeling ... same." He looked down, and a single tear spilled down his cheek, shining in the dim light.

My chair creaked when I got up, and I knelt beside Yang and hugged him. He turned his head into me, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed silently. I stroked his back, soothing him and his broken heart.

"I'm sorry, foolish old man."

"Shhh, come on."

I stood and lifted him to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"Come on. You know," I whispered.

He looked down and nodded. I gently pushed him. He took a faltering step, and I gently walked him, arm around his shoulders, dancing into the bedroom. The light from the living room was just a faint glow, but it was enough for me to see the outline of the bed. I sat Yang on the bed like a child, and I kissed him on the forehead. I slowly stroked my hands across his shoulders, and chest, and I undid the top button of his shirt. He breathed out. The shirt gaped open a little. My fingertips gently brushed his soft skin.

As I started to undo the second button he suddenly grabbed my wrists to stop me.

I hesitated, and then, feeling his grip slowly thaw, I carried on.

I fondled him, nuzzling him, calmly stripping him of every garment. I pulled the covers back, and eased him into bed.

Overhead, the rain was falling steadily on the roof. I shivered. I knew he was watching me in the darkness, waiting for me to lie next to him. He held back from me, shyly, until I took his hand and placed it on my cock. He caressed me, stroking me, worshipping the lines of my body.

I felt his beautiful smooth body, his cock hardening, his measured breathing.

He coughed a little, then spoke softly to me, first in Chinese, then in English...

简单地说， 我想你了。 带我 从后面 在没有受到挑衅的情况下。 带我 任何方式 你华丽的心灵 可以编造。 逼我 如果情绪 因此罢工。 或者引诱我 如果它适合你 更好的。 我想 感到惊讶。 我想 要参加。 我想你 因此，克服 有激情 它规定 你的行动。 我想你 要我。 如何更简单 这可能吗？

Put simply, I want you. Take me From behind Without provocation. Take me Any way Your gorgeous mind Can concoct. Force me If the mood So strikes. Or lure me If it suits you Better. I want To be surprised. I want To be entered. I want you So overcome With passion That it dictates Your action. I want you To want me. How much simpler Could it be? --

I kissed him and pulled him tightly to me, here, now, our naked bodies and the rain on the roof.

curation: http://mydaddyold.tumblr.com

poem: 'Libidacoria: In a Plain Brown Wrapper'  
by Kristie LeVangie ISBN-13: 978-0595486168

The Father-in-Law's story - part 1

It started on a hot Sunday afternoon, Father, when I went over to see my father-in-law. My mother-in-law and my wife had gone off to church. The old boy and I share a certain lack of piety.

My wife had begged me to go and see the old coot. He gets grumpy and lately things had been tense in their house which means things get tense in our house. My wife asked me to talk to him - try to sort him out. He wasn't expecting me, and he sometimes has a nap, so rather than disturb him I let myself in quietly. The atmosphere in the house was filled with the smells of cooked food - I could smell the heaviness of cabbage, potatoes, and casserole.

My father-in-law had just turned 82 and he doesn't hear very well. I thought he was snoring when I walked in, but he wasn't asleep on the sofa. He was panting as he was giving his cock an old school workout. I guess he figured while the mother-in-law was away he might as well take care of business. Probably precious little sex happening in that house otherwise.

I pulled out my phone and shot a video of him playing with his co - from pre-cum to him edging through to the moment when he shot his load up on to his belly. Still plenty of life in the old dog. My cock hardened up just watching him.

A few seconds after he splattered himself with cum, he turned around, and jumped with fright when he saw me standing there.

"Shit boy, don't you knock when you come in?"

He flushed. Angry, embarrassed.

"I didn't want to disturb you, and well... " I glanced at my phone.

"Hell, you didn't take photos of me did you?"

"No."

"Thank goodness for that."

"Why's that?"

"I don't want Shirl to know I still have a wank from time to time. She thinks it's disgusting. But sometimes ... you know."

"So, you don't want me to tell Shirl? Don't you think she'll be interested in the family photos?"

"You said you didn't take any photos, you bastard!"

"I didn't. See?" I ran the video for him. "Video. Grandpa-porn."

"Give me that camera!"

He made a start to grab it. I pushed him back on the sofa.

"Too late, I've already emailed copies out." I grinned at him.

He looked stunned and slumped back. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, mouth open, mute. Finally, "What do you want? Are you going to tell Shirl? Publish it on the web thing? It's not funny, you shit, it's a mean thing to do to an old man."

My cock was straining against my pants.

"Tell you what, give me a blow job and your secret's safe with me." I unpacked my cock and stepped closer to him. "Don't play the 'old man' card with me, you know the drill. Give me a blow job right here, right now, or the whole world - and Shirl - will know how you spend your Sundays."

He leaned forwards and stared at my cock. I noticed his cock was slowly re-awakening too.

"Come on," I said, "they'll be home soon. No, don't close your eyes. Open your mouth and get to work!"

He made a great effort. I guess he'd had a few and maybe even given a few blow jobs in his time. I was hot for him, and with him obeying my every command, I was ready to cum at any moment. His reluctance made it even better. I couldn't hold back any more - I cupped my hand around his neck and fired my load into his mouth. Just as well I held on to him, I nearly lost my balance. I pulled his face into my groin. It would've smelled pretty pungent there - I'd been working in the yard all morning and I hadn't showered.

I dropped to my knees and pulled his stretchy old-man pants down, freeing up his cock. He relaxed and let me get on with it. Maybe he thought the sooner this is over the better - all the fight seemed to have gone out of him. His cock was tender and I licked it like a lollipop. He moaned a little as I worked my tongue over his cock head and into his piss slit. I rolled his balls around, pinching and tugging to make him squirm. 

He stroked my head while I worked on his cock. After some time he said softly, "It's ok son, I can't fire again, thanks anyway, that was real nice."

"Thank you too. Right, the girls will be here soon, so let me clean you up." I wiped him clean with a tissue. "Listen to me, I don't want you playing with yourself again, do you understand me, no more manhandling yourself?"

He looked down, flushed red.

"I'll come over next Sunday, and you can give me another blow job, and we'll see where we go to from there."

He looked like he was going to argue. I waggled the phone at him, and he gave in.

"Ok," he said. "Just one more, and then that's it. I don't care if you show Shirl, she knows I have a wank from time to time, so you're not going to get far."

I grinned.

I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd videoed the blow job he gave me as well.

>>> The Father-in-Law's story - part 2 >>>

 

curation: http://bestgrandpas.tumblr.com/

The Father-in-Law's story - part 2

Father, forgive me, do you think it was sinful to take advantage of my father-in-law like that? Granted, he didn't seem to have too many strong objections, and by the end seemed to enjoy the warm contact with another person; however I did examine the nature of my  relationship with my father-in-law.

He'd always been pleasant enough towards me, in a cantankerous kind of way. I was always going to be the son-in-law - never really good enough for his darling daughter. He was a tough man, and could be quite nasty towards his wife. We were often running over to the house with peace offerings.

When I dropped in some groceries on Thursday night after work he was positively charming. He bustled around, patted my shoulder, and brushed up against me. Not once, a couple of times. Something had changed in his life. 

When Sunday rolled around I took my time getting over to their house. The father-in-law was most delighted to see me, and so was his cock. He wore his usual sweat pants with elastic and drawstrings, and the stretch fabric was being well tested.

I pulled out my phone and fired off a couple of shots just to tease him. 

"Hey, I said no more damn photos!" He was angry.

I knew it was time to take control. "Shut up bitch, and get in the bedroom!" I waved my phone menacingly. He hesitated, and then slumped off to his bedroom. They slept alone now. Her room flowery and cutesy, his room more spartan. 

His demeanour pissed me off, so, as we entered the bedroom I slapped his retreating arse hard. He spun around, needled. Before he could say anything, I hissed, "Listen up, you old cunt, I've had enough of your bad attitude. I've come over today to have some fun with you, and that's what we're going to do. Got it?"

He looked startled, about to complain.

I grabbed him by his old tee-shirt, pulled him up close, and looked him in the eye. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Say it like you mean it!"

He snapped to attention. "Yes, SIR!"

That military training, buried for so many years, surfaced. I dug my hand into his pants and pulled out his cock and balls, making sure the waistband was well under his balls. The old tee-shirt tore off him easily and I tossed the shreds on to the floor in front of him. The tough love was paying off. His cock - last week, soft pink; today was hard and shiny.

He'd begun to shake a little from the exertion of standing at attention. A single droplet of pre-cum had appeared. I scooped it up with a fingertip and popped it in his mouth. Not a sign of resistance. 

"That's better," I growled. "Now, let me remind you how you got us here."

He watched the video of last week's masturbation while I caressed his cock. He didn't flinch, but his face flushed. He sighed and slumped a little when the video ended.

"That's right, I caught you. And what happened after that?"

Silence.

The clock tick grew louder.

He mumbled, "I gave you a blow job."

"What was that?!" I slapped his arse smartly.

He straightened up with a snap. "I gave you a blow job, SIR!"

"Let me remind you."

I ran the blow job video. He looked stunned and hurt, but he said nothing. 

"You thought you might be able to explain the playing with yourself video away, didn't you."

He nodded, downcast.

"You know there's no way you can talk your way out of this one."

He blushed, and shook his head, reluctantly.

I slapped his hard cock with a quick upwards strike. He yelped and staggered a little.

"What's more, you don't even want to, do you?"

"No SIR!"

"That's right. Your hard cock shows you like this kind of treatment. Your hard cock tells me you crave this kind of treatment. It doesn't matter what you think, your hard cock wants me to abuse you. Now get over by the mirror so I can get my souvenirs for the day. And smile. No-one wants to see a grumpy old cunt."

 

 He wriggled and posed, and I got dozens of great shots.

I grabbed his pants and dragged him to the bed. 

"Now listen to me. Here's how it goes down. In this bedroom you will do what I say, when I say it. You will call me 'Sir'. I will take video and photos of you as and when I see fit, and I will do what I like with them. You will not resist my commands. So long as you continue to obey my commands you can expect to have sex, every week, in any way I see fit. If I get so much a whiff of any shit from you, the photos will go out, and your world will change. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, SIR!"

I slapped his face and took photos of his reddened cheeks up close. He whimpered a bit, and his eyes welled up.

"Shut up bitch! Now, on your back, on the bed!"

I stripped off my clothes and bounced on to the bed between his legs. I peeled his pants off down to his ankles. I tipped his legs back and slipped the scrunched up pants behind my neck, his ankles by my cheeks.

"Show me your arse hole!"

He grimaced, reached down, and parted his butt cheeks. I pressed my cock up against the rosebud of his virgin arse. I thrust against it experimentally, teasing, testing. I wasn't going to fuck him today, but I wanted him to know it was on the agenda. I knew he wouldn't love this idea. I wiped my cock head on his arse hole. He shut his eyes and groaned at the touch. A bead of pre-cum seeped from his cock. No matter what he thought, his body was here and it was showing its appreciation. I took some photos to enjoy later, making sure I got shots of his face in case I needed some guilt reinforcement. I didn't think it was likely, but better to be safe.

Enough of this, I slipped through his legs, and straddled him, inching my way up his body. The tickle of his chest hair felt great on my ball sack. My cock was looming in his face when he opened his eyes. I got some great photos, and then I leaned over against him. I hadn't put soap near my groin for a week, even after the gym, so he was more than able to smell the beast in me. He opened his mouth expectantly, and I lay my cock on his lips. I let him breathe in the odors and flavors. I really expected him to object to the shit flavors from his arse hole, but he didn't. He licked me over my cock head and down the shaft. I loved the feeling of domination over his will, I loved the soft rasping of his devotion on my cock.

I held back as long as I could, and when I came I filled his mouth with my cum. He gracefully wrapped his lips around my cock and sucked me dry. I was so swept up in the moment I neglected to get photos.

I rolled off him, puffing. "When it comes to cock sucking you've got the gift."

"Thank you, Sir."

"How many cocks have you sucked before today?"

"None, Sir."

I looked him square in the eyes. His eyes flickered. I slapped his face suddenly.

I whispered, "How many cocks have you sucked before today?"

He blushed furiously. "None, Sir. But..."

"Yes?"

I was right in his face.

"But I've thought about it. I've always wanted to try it. To - to see if I could bring a man to climax."

I stared at him long and hard. He couldn't look at me. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Wait here."

I went in to my mother-in-law's bedroom and took a couple of good squirts of her hand-cream. It was cold. I wrapped my fingers around the old boy's cock and gave a gentle stroke or two to spread the cream. He sighed and relaxed as I went to work. Any time I felt his cock pulse like he was about to cum I'd squeeze it tight between fingers and thumb at the base and wait until he backed off a little. I managed to hold him back for long time. I even thought about just stopping so he didn't cum. In the end I wanted to get some more photos, and with a few more strokes his cock overflowed.

"Goddam, that was amazing."

"Yes," I said, "I got some great shots, thank you." I leaned over and kissed him. To my surprise he kissed me back, all bristles and scratchy.

"Hurry up and clean up, your wife will be home soon."

He lingered a few moments.

"Do you want me to come back next week?"

"Yes SIR!"

"I've brought some gifts for you."

He looked up - intrigued. "What are they?"

"Some new pyjamas, and a shaver."

He looked at them. The 'pyjamas' were a pair of my boxers. I'd worn them almost non-stop for a couple of weeks. They were gamey.

"I don't think they'll..."

"Bring them here bitch, I'll put them on you myself."

He stepped over and I slapped his face twice again. "Do not make me remind you again. One whiff of shit, the photos go live. Now give me the pyjamas and shut up!"

I took the underwear from the clip lock bag, and placed them on his head. The stained crotch was positioned on his nose. "I want you to sleep with this over your face. During the day put them back in the bag to preserve the fragrance. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"The shaver is to shave your balls. If I arrive next week and your are not completely clean I will be going home immediately. Do you understand me?

"Yes, Sir!"

"Then get going. Also, try to be nicer to your wife this week. Or next weekend you're on your own, pulling your pudding all by yourself."

"Yes SIR!"

During the week my wife got a call, and her mother was surprised and delighted. Apparently my father-in-law had bought her some jewellery and even helped with the dishes.

"I don't know what's come over your father, it's like he's in love again."

<<< The Father-in-Law's story - part 1 <<< || >>> The Father-in-Law's story - part 3 >>>

curation: http://oldsexx.tumblr.com/

 

The Father-in-Law's story - part 3

Father, I know it's probably a sin to dominate another person the way that I had begun to do with my father-in-law, but the truth of it is everyone in his immediate circle began to enjoy the changes. In the old days they probably would cut his balls off or put a wire ring through his nose...

There were no victims here, Father. My mother-in-law was happier because he was treating her better, and that he'd finally realised that her going to church was a good thing. My wife was happier because she wasn't acting as the go-between for her fighting parents. I was happier because finally I had the old boy's attention, and as weird as fucking your father-in-law might seem, it wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon. And, as for him, well, he lapped it up. He had some purpose and direction in life, he was getting some exercise and getting the blood moving again, and you can't beat the feeling you get when you body floods with hormones after sex.

When I took the groceries in on Thursday night the place was going off. They were playing the old songs, there was a half a bottle of wine on the table, quite a transformation. "Good to see you kids playing nicely together."

The old boy saw me off to the car. "I've done it", he chortled. 

"Done what?"

"Shaved my balls," he said, "smooth as a baby's bum."

"And the pyjamas?"

"Every night, just as you ordered."

"Good boy." I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Come over early," he said, "they've got a potluck at the church on Sunday, so we'll have more time."

I was beginning to think I'd created a monster. He gently put his hand on my shoulder. "Please?"

I had created a monster.

"Really? You've really shaved your balls?"

"Yes," he boasted, "I'm the bald eagle."

"Winston Churchill asleep, more like."

He looked stunned for a moment and then burst into laughter. I drove off.   

We did go over earlier to help load the food in the car for the potluck. I was methodical with the loading. I did not want them coming back in ten minutes because they forgot the chicken pot pie or the banana muffins or the key lime pie.

The father-in-law was fidgety - he wanted them gone. He helped carry out the loads and got sweaty with the effort. I saw him scratch his balls when he thought no-one was watching. I smirked to myself - he's either got a cash crop of crabs or he really had shaved fresh this morning.

We waved them off and walked slowly inside. He was a bit coy and showed me one of his new rose blossoms. Once we entered the house he was all twitchy and excited.

I decided to tease him and reached for the remote control. "Wanna watch the game?"

"What?"

"Just fucking with you, bitch, get your pants off and get in the bedroom. Now!"

"Yes Sir!"

I collected some clothes pegs from the laundry and a bottle of bourbon from the liquor cabinet. 

"How can I do you today, bitch?"

"Any way you wish, Sir." 

He looked a bit worried.  

"Damn straight! Spread your legs. I want good shots of your cock and your shaved balls, and we need shots of your happy arse-hole. Spread 'em!"

He flushed, shamed, but compliant.

The view was gratifying. Making the old man squirm with shame felt great. His cock was hard - it seemed the more I confronted him, the more I humiliated him, the more he enjoyed it.

"My gallery of old man meat gets better every weekend. I might need to diversify my collection soon."

"What do you mean?"

I shot him a glance, and flicked on the video camera.

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"I am thinking it would be nice to share you with someone else. Maybe one of your old friends, maybe a new friend... "

The old boy fell back on the pillows. "Oh, Christ..."

I dived between his legs and launched an attack on his cock. He stretched up to meet me, and I had fun teasing and tagging, tonguing his cock from tip to toe. He shut his eyes to enjoy the ride. I let him get really relaxed and comfortable and then I attached a clothes peg to his ball sack.

He shouted in protest, and tried to swat it away

I laughed at his discomfort, slapped his cock a few times, and attached a couple more pegs. "Smile for the camera. Now keep still or I'll pull these off, slowly." I pulled down on one of the pegs gradually stretching his balls, letting him feel the pain grow. His cock grew harder and harder. Whenever I think a cock has grown as far as can it can always grow a little more. He whimpered when I twisted the pegs back and forth.

"Shut up, bitch or I'll clip on ten more."

"No, please Sir."

"I won't warn you again. Shut up!"

I added four more pegs around his cock shaft. The old boy writhed and thrust his cock, but said nothing. I rubbed his perineum firmly to stimulate his prostate, and tweaked the pegs.

"Wait here. Stay hard, but do not touch your cock or you will be sorry."

"Yes, Sir"

I went to the freezer and filled a bowl with ice.

I tiptoed back to the bedroom - the old boy was manfully resisting touching his aching cock, but he couldn't keep still.

I plucked an ice cube and stroked it over his lips and then over his nipples.

"You've done well, my lad, I have a treat for you."

I stroked the ice cube over his cock and balls. He panted and moaned. I licked his cock head and then stroked it with the ice. I warmed it with my mouth, while rubbing the ice over his prostate area. His wriggling helped keep the pegs alive. More ice, followed by blowing warm air on his cock. His pre-cum was seeping, and from the throbbing of his cock I knew he wasn't far off cumming.

I opened the bourbon and dropped a couple of ice cubes in my mouth. I rolled them over his cock head letting the thawed ice water run out of my mouth and down. I grouped my hand around his balls and gently squeezed. I felt the unmistakable first spasm. I spat out the ice, filled my mouth with bourbon and wrapped my mouth over his cock head.

He bucked and bellowed like a bull as the alcohol burnt into his sensitised skin. He poured his cum into my mouth. I freed the pegs on his cock and pushed him deeper into the burn. He fought and struggled, wanting to tear himself away, yet desperate for the release.

He sunk back into the pillows as the orgasm faded. I took another swig of bourbon, swilled it around in my mouth, and fed it out of my mouth to the old man.

I unclipped the pegs off his balls, enjoying him wince as the blood returned. His cock was just a shadow of its former glory.

I let him recover a little. I took another swig of bourbon, swilled it, and fed it to him again. He was lying there, with the sleep of satisfaction creeping in like a great tide.

I let him have a gentle snore or two before I clipped a clothes peg on each nipple. He was instantly awake."Here, bitch, don't you dare go to sleep on me! We're just getting started."

I searched his face for resistance, but apart from a hint of a shadow he was up for the game. I decided to test him a little, and stopped the video. The old boy was kind of interested to see how he showed up. He'd lost the hostility and it'd all become slightly normal. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad. A quick test would sort that issue out.

"Come with me."

He obediently followed me into the bathroom.

"Get in the tub, on your knees."

He cringed a little, trying to get comfortable with his knees against the hard tub.

"Open."

I pushed my hard cock into his obliging mouth, and started the video. The old boy looked down, ashamed.

"Look up at me."

He did so, with a look of devotion I was truly surprised to see. I caressed his face and stroked his neck. I relaxed and allowed myself to slowly piss into his mouth. He choked and spat me out.

"Shit! What are you...?"

"NO! Open!" I made to replace my cock in his mouth.

"No, please Sir, no."

I slapped him hard on the face. He straightened up, steadying himself on the edge of the tub. I stood with my cock millimetres from his lips.

"Open!"

He sniffled and looked down, and half-heartedly opened his mouth. It was enough. I shoved my cock into his mouth, silently daring him to close his teeth against me.

I paused. "You will keep my cock in your mouth until I remove it. You will swallow my piss. And you will be grateful. Do you understand me?"

His eyes welled up and I could tell he was fighting off choking. He nodded.

"Look at me. Do you understand me?"

He nodded with greater energy.

I started to piss again. I didn't want to choke him, or give him any excuse not to swallow all that I had. Stop-go-stop-go - I was bursting to piss freely, but in the end I was drained. My cock had softened up, but it wouldn't take long to come back. I turned on the hand shower, warmed up the water, and rinsed the old boy off. I made sure to spray the water over his arse and cock repeatedly. He looked good wet.

I turned the water off and replaced the shower head.

I waited.

Silence.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you sir."

I ignored him.

<<< The Father-in-Law's story - part 2 <<< || >>> The Father-in-Law's story - part 4 >>>

 

curation: http://bestgrandpas.tumblr.com/

The Father-in-Law's story - part 4

Father, I know I went too far, but I couldn't stop. That's not true, of course I could've stopped. I didn't want to. I felt like I owned him, and he knew it, and he wanted it. We were both willing actors in roles of our own creation. I felt bad because I felt we'd crossed some sort of line. I felt glad because I felt we'd crossed some sort of line. That's the trouble, Father, when it feels good, it feels good, and a hard cock has no conscience...

I helped the old boy out of the bath. He grunted with the strain. Kneeling on a hard surface is tough at the best of times. 

I gave him a reassuring cuddle and a kiss on the cheek. He kissed me back, on the lips, hesitated awkwardly, and then hugged me for a long time. I could feel him breathing and shaking a little.

"Ok?"

"Yes, sir, yes I am."  

"Then you know where to go."

He tottered off, dripping wet, his compliance complete. I stayed behind and made sure the bathroom was just the way we found it. I didn't want the mother-in-law asking questions. When I entered the bedroom a few minutes later I was surprised to find him face down on the bed, his legs spread wide.

I gave his arse a playful slap and asked, "What's this all about then?"

He pulled his head off the pillow. "I thought it's what you wanted."

I hesitated.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"What am I waiting for? Really? Is that really the question? Here's the question - do you want me to fuck your virgin arse dry?" Without waiting for an answer I shoved my index finger up his arse as far as I could. The old man bellowed into the pillow.

"I'll take that for a 'No, thank you sir'. I will allow you this one time to say 'no' to me, and I might still fuck you, if you ask nicely. Now go get something to lubricate your old arse hole. Hurry up!"

I set up my phone to video the session, and in a moment the father-in-law was back with a bottle of olive oil. "Extra virgin, sir." He presented the bottle as if he were a wine waiter. 

I opened his wardrobe and shuffled around. I could feel his outrage at this latest indignity. I was happy to find there were still some sacred spaces left to plunder. I found a couple of belts. I looped one through its buckle, slipped it over his head, and pulled it up like it was a collar and leash. He stood with his head bowed, his face red.

"You know what to do."

He quavered with indecision, his hands shaking. He suddenly made the decision, and handed me the free end of the belt with both hands, and got down on his hands and knees, head bowed. 

"Very good, puppy. I'm going to take you for a little walk around the house. I want to see how much more training I need to put you through. If you fail me I will have no other option than to punish you. If you make me proud I will reward you. Do you understand me?"

I tugged the leash and he snapped out of his dream.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, walkies!" I strode off. He crawled along trying to keep up. I stopped, and he stopped along side me. I walked and he tried to keep up. We walked into every room, and back to the bedroom. 

"Not bad, puppy, but not good either. You did not heel to my left side, you did not sit when I stopped. You did not make me proud. This only leaves me one option, puppy, and that is?"

He whispered, "I must be punished, sir."

"Indeed. Back up to end of the bed. Put your nose on the floor."

I pulled laces from his shoes. I tied them together and tied and wrapped the laces around his balls. I tied the other end off to the bed leg. I led him away so his balls were stretched out behind him. 

"When was the last time you felt the kiss of leather on your arse?"

He hesitated, letting the words sink in. 

"Well?"

"When I was ten, sir."

"I can't hear you!"

"When I was ten, sir!"

"Why were you strapped then, puppy? Come along, confession is good for the soul."

"Mother caught me playing with myself. Sir."

"I see. Years later, nothing has changed. You're still playing with yourself and it gets you into trouble. I think you like it. In fact ..." I reached under and felt his hardened cock. "In fact you still like it today. Very well, how many cuts of the strap did your mother give you?"

"She gave me six cuts, sir."

"Was that all?"

He hung his head, his ears showing the bright pink of his shame. "No sir. She made me wear her underwear while she beat me."

"How many cuts should I give you puppy?" 

"Six, sir."

"Hah! But you haven't learned since you were ten. I think ten lashes will be more acceptable. You will count them, and be grateful for each one. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir!"

Not a hint of hesitation. 

I picked out my stinky socks out of my pants, rolled them up, and put them in his mouth. He squirmed at the musky salty flavours. I put my underwear over his face, and watched him sniff it in. My musk, my shit, my cum, my sweat. The flavour of men. I picked up the belt, folded it over, and landed the first lash on his bare buttocks. He lurched, tugging his tethered balls, and screamed his pain into the socks. 

I lashed again, and again. When I reached six, I felt sorry for him, and reminded him that he needed to count and be grateful. I lashed the leather across his arse and he managed a muffled "Seven. Thank you, sir."

I drizzled some oil down his butt crack and plunged my fingers in and out of his arse hole. He moaned and tried to move on to my fingers. I snapped the leash and pulled him tight on his balls.

"Unfortunately, puppy, I have completely lost count. You started on seven, but you need to count from the start. I'll be kind and start to strap you from the beginning." 

I caressed his arse hole, teasing and tempting. I stroked his hard cock head. As he relaxed I landed a lash across his arse. 

"One, thank you sir...  urgh - two, thank you sir... " His voice was muffled by the socks.

When we finally got to ten he was panting as though he'd run a marathon.

He had pulled the knots so tight I had to cut the laces.

"Get on the bed."

I examined the strap marks - hot pink and tender to the touch. I got some vinegar and ice from the kitchen. I patted the vinegar into his butt cheeks to help ease the bruising, and stroked ice to help numb the pain. Enough tenderness. I splashed oil down into the valley of his arse, and smoothed it over his arse hole. He pushed his hole out towards my touch, and barely concealed a moan of pain. I teased his hole with my fingers and he raised his arse up towards probing tips.

I lay on the bed beside him. He turned to me. I saw his eyes were red and watery. We just lay there, looking at each other in the eyes. I think we saw, deeply saw, the truth in each other, for the first time ever. 

He blinked, holding his eyes shut for a moment longer. "Thank you, sir." He breathed out with a sigh. "Wonderful. That was the best blow job I've ever had. She - your mother-in-law - couldn't stand the thought of having my cock in her mouth. Or anywhere else. When menopause came along she just shut up shop; not that the shop was ever really open. No wonder you caught me playing with myself - I've had to do it for myself, by myself,, for years."

He looked reflective and then he reached out and gently stroked my face, over my lips, around my jaw.

He choked back a snort, cleared his throat, and then words flooded out of him. "You know, I've had more sex in the last few of weeks than in all my years. I've been alone almost all of my life. Even with a wife and kids I've been alone.

I don't know what you want out of this. I don't really care. I'm just glad that you came along and - well - here you are. My son-in-law. The son I never had. And we're doing things together that's just crazy. And that's fine with me. I never thought I'd ever say this to another person, let alone a man, let alone my daughter's husband; but, do you want to? Because if you do, I'd really like to. I've waited a lifetime. I want to know what it feels like. I - I can't imagine being happy with any one else."

He snuffled a little, and coughed.

"Did that come out right? Did you mean to say that?"

He was silent for a moment - perhaps surprised by what he'd said. 

"Yes," he said. There was a long pensive moment. "Yes. I don't know where this is coming from, but I think I'm falling in love with you. It's crazy, I know. Stupid. We can't do this. I want you - I want you to..."

He swallowed and whispered, "I want you to fuck me."
     
He suddenly blushed and looked away.
 
I rolled over against him, ran my finger tips down his back. He shivered, and squirmed closer.

I got up and straddled his thighs. The skin in his oiled arse valley was sooth and silky. My cock slid up and down his crack effortlessly. He followed my movements. I could feel his excitement growing. As I pressed my cock against his hole I felt him take a breath and hold it. I eased in a little. I stroked his back, and as he breathed out slowly I pushed into his arse hole. The old boy groaned and I was finally embedded in his tight arse. I reached under his arms, grasped his wrists, and pulled them under his chest. I began to thrust deep into his arse. 

The warm feeling of his vulnerable body against my skin was sublime. I leaned forward and kissed his neck. He arched his back and moaned. He was sweating and panting and it felt as though my cock was plunging ever deeper into him. I tried to hold back as long as I could but with one last huge wave of sensation I collapsed along his back and emptied my cum deep into the old man.

I clung to him as shudder after shudder of orgasm passed through me. His calmed down. I kissed his neck and back, and rolled off, still panting. He rested for a minute before getting off the bed. I heard water run in the bathroom, and he returned with a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water. He wiped my face, arms, and body, and then proceeded to gently clean up my cock and balls. When he was done with me he did the same for himself, including rinsing off his arse.

He passed me my phone. "Do you think we got some good shots?"

"I expect so. You know I'm not going to use or show this to anyone don't you?"

"I trust you."

"Are you happy, old man?" 

He sighed and just smiled at me.

"Quick then, I have space for just one last photo before the girls get home."

<<< The Father-in-Law's story - part 3 <<< || >>> The Father-in-Law's story - part 5 >>>

 

curation:http://bestgrandpas.tumblr.com/