The Outsider

[Author: HR]  

The Outsider

“Queer!” 

The words seemed to come from God as they echoed from above. I glanced up at the tall grain elevator knowing the source of the name calling immediately. The source was the top of the grain elevator, but I didn’t know who. It could be my next door neighbor as he managed the grain elevator, or the young guy that cut my grass, he worked in the grain elevator, or someone that I had never seen that had heard the rumors that I was gay.

“I’m going on seventy and I don’t need this crap,” I said to myself as I climbed into my old tan colored Oldsmobile. Like me, the car was beyond its prime and need to be retired. “I guess I should sell the bookstore and head to Fort Lauderdale. There I’ll just be one queer among many, although I’ll be the only one talking out loud to himself.” I chuckled at calling myself queer to keep from crying.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. My white hair was thinning to the point that if I didn’t comb it over from the side I would be totally bald on the top of my head. My jowls were sagging with age and the fine age lines had long since turned to deep wrinkles on my round face. Yet my smile was still fresh and my green eyes still sparkled in spite of my advancing years.

Sometimes I found myself wondering why I had bothered coming back to my hometown of Roelyn, Iowa; to live in the house where I was born and raised beside the towering grain elevator only ten miles from Fort Dodge, Iowa. Why I had struggled for fifteen years to develop the best bookstore in Iowa, in a town too small to support it. “Guess I was, and still am, a dreamer,” I mumbled to myself as I turned onto the paved county road leading to Fort Dodge like a straight dark line pained down the middle of an endless green corn field.

I tried not to think of Rich. But I couldn’t keep thoughts of him for surfacing. Killed by a senseless motor cycle accident eight months ago at the age of thirty-six. I sighed. I never knew just how much I loved that uneducated farm boy from Alabama until he was ripped from my life. Heck, now I realized he was my life. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. I knew he slept around behind my back, but with such a wide age difference, I just let it go knowing that he loved me.

A tear rolled down my right cheek as I remembered just how often he would tell me that he loved me and how I had never once in our fifteen years together had ever told him that I loved him. But how could I do that? How could I tell another man that I loved him when I didn’t consider myself gay, a fag, a queer?! Well, it took his death for me to realize that I was very much all of those things. And also to realize just how much of an outsider I was in the very town where I was born.

As I drove across the Des Moines River into Fort Dodge, I suddenly realized that I no longer looked forward to going to work at the bookstore. The sight of the orange and green store front on at 710 Central Avenue with the sign “Wigdahl Bookfinders” hanging proudly over the door no longer filled me with pride. Yes, I had built the store into the best private bookstore in Iowa, but lost my soul in the process. I had spent so much time bringing my dream to reality that I had neglected the very person that had made it possible. His humor, endless energy and love had allowed me to concentrate on building up the bookstore. Now, I realized as I turned into the alley beside the bookstore and stopped in front of the garage door, that none of it mattered without Rich.

I was just closing the door of the garage when someone called out. 

“Sorry to hear about Rich.”

I paused and glanced into the alley. There stood a man even older than me. I knew him and had since I was a child growing up in Roelyn. His name was Sven and, like me, he was of Norwegian decent. He came in the bookstore to chat with me once a month or so. I always though he was handsome. Unlike me he wasn’t overweight. He was slim and muscular for his advanced age and had the most beautiful blue eyes that I had ever seen.

“Yes, it’s been difficult running the bookstore without him,” I said, “How are things with you, Sven?”

“Oh, lonely as usual. You know living by yourself isn’t any fun especially when you get older,” Sven said.

“I’m beginning to realize that more and more with each passing day,” I answered.

“Yes, but at least you had some good years with Rich,” Sven said.

I stiffened as I quickly understood what he was hinting at.

“And I’ve never had anybody.”

I didn’t know what to say. Here an acquaintance that I had know since my childhood was subtly telling me that he knew that I was gay.

Sven cleared his throat. “Frank, I always admired you, even when we were kids.” He spoke quickly, as though afraid the words wouldn’t come out. “I . . . mean. I really liked you.”

“Why thanks, Sven,” I found myself saying. “And I’ve always liked you too.”

“Really?!” The old man’s blue eye lit up in sudden excitement. “Would you come over to my place tonight?” 

“Well, Sven, I don’t close the bookstore until 10:00 tonight,” I answered. I found myself wishing that I could just walk over and hug the old man. I thought we both need a hug.

“That’s all right. I could fix you a snack and maybe we could have a glass of wine together.”

“Yes, that would be nice, very nice,” I said, smiling and nodding my head. “You still live on your parent’s farm between here and Roelyn?” I asked.

“Yes, still there.”

“Well, it’s right on my way home. How about 10:30 tonight as it takes me a while to do the book work.”

“Sure thing!” Sven spoke up excitedly, “That would be great, Frank. See you then.” He hurried away as though he was fearful that I might suddenly change my mind.

All through the day my thoughts were on Sven. I felt flashes of guilt that I was thinking of another man with Rich less than a year gone from my life. But I couldn’t help myself. My short thick dick even got rock hard several times as I stood behind the cash register between customers, thinking about the old blue-eyed Norwegian. I even found myself wondering if he had a dick as big as Rich’s had been.

Later, when I drove up to the old farm house where Sven lived, I was so excited that my hands were trembling. I parked my car. I knocked on the door and waited anxiously, getting a sudden hard on just standing there.

“Great! Thanks for coming by,” Sven said as he opened the door.

I couldn’t answer. He was completely naked! My eyes zeroed in on his crotch as though they had a will of their own. My green eyes widened at the sight of his monster pecker hanging limp between his hairy legs like a huge Polish sausage. The darn thing looked too big to reach around and the foreskin cover head of his enormous dick reached impossibly close to his knees. I couldn’t do any thing but stare down at the old blue-eyed Norwegian’s crotch.

“Sorry, I thought you knew that I’m a nudist,” Sven said, but didn’t try to hide his nakedness from me as he stepped aside. “Come on in, Frank.”

Somehow I managed to get my suddenly weak legs to respond and walked past him and into the living room. “Nothing wrong with being naked in your own home,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I sleep naked. Guess it not much different,” I added, lamely.

“Oh, I just can’t stand clothes. I get naked ever chance I get. I even do my plowing naked. Love sitting atop that big tractor completely naked. Hell, it gets me so turned on, I sometime jack off right then and there, especially if some of my neighbors stop by to chat while I’m out on the tractor. They know I work naked but they still flag me down sometimes to chat. Just last week old man Oliver, of all people, stopped me as I was turning around at the end of the corn row where my property meets his. And damn if that church-going old Lutheran didn’t pull out his pecker right in front of me and start pissing as we were chatting. And I just reached down between my legs and pulled up my old white snake and jacked off in front of him. And damn if he didn’t just keep chatting with me like nothing was going on until I shot off,” Sven said. He reached down and pulled his long enormous pecker up in a demonstration.

I took a deep breath as excitement flashed through me like an electric shock. I suddenly felt like I didn’t really know the old man standing beside me - although I had known him since we were kids. Never once when he was visiting me in the bookstore had he ever hinted of being an exhibitionist or even gay.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off?” He stared at me and raised an eyebrow. 

When I just stood there looking dumb-fuddled, he added, “You know, like you take off your shoes when you enter a Japanese house. Here you take off your clothes.”

“Yeah . . . I understand,” I said, but still hesitated.

“Come on, Frank. Don’t be shy with me. I’ve been wanting to see you naked ever since you came back to Iowa.”

I found myself blushing. I had never done something so exotic before. I was embarrassed, both from my overweight body and my undersized dick. But the eager look on the old Norwegian’s face gave me courage. “Well, if you want to see an overweight, small dick, old man naked, then here goes,” I finally said. I took my suit coat off and then undid my tie.

Sven moved over to the sofa and took a seat as he watched me undress. And as he looked on he started masturbating openly in front of me. I couldn’t believe that he was doing that, but I was so excited that it overrode my shyness. When I pulled down my jockey shorts, my short thick dick sprung up so hard that it caused my big watery balls to bounce up and down.

“You’re beautiful,” Sven said as he stroked his long thick dick. “And look at your huge balls.”

“And you are totally blind?” I felt a warm sensation flow through my body at his praise. “I’m overweight and my dick looks like a ten-year-old boy’s dick beside yours.”

Then suddenly the old Norwegian was down on his knees in front of me jacking his enormous pecker hard and fast as he looked up at me. “You are beautiful!” He said and then he closed his mouth around my dick.

“Oh me!” I cried out as the old man’s warm wet tongue began to massage my short fat dick as he held my entire dick in his mouth. “That feels wonderful!” My knees suddenly grew so weak that I feared that I was going to fall. They did bend slightly as the old man tongued the tip of my circumcised peter.

“I’ve got to fuck you!” The old Norwegian said, suddenly pulling his mouth away from my dick. “Turn around!” His orders, his loud, manly voice ... I found myself compelled to obey. “Now bend that moon white ass over.”

Even though I felt humiliated at showing my asshole to the old man, I couldn’t stop myself from doing as he ordered. I bent over exposing my asshole to him. And suddenly felt his wonderful warm wet tongue flicking against my asshole. I moaned. Although Rich had fucked me many, many times, he had never rimmed my ass. GOD! It felt wonderful. The old man didn’t stop with just licking my asshole, suddenly I felt his snakelike tongue wiggling its way inside my asshole.

The sudden rush of pleasure caused by the old man’s tongue as it entered me almost made me faint. Suddenly I was hunching his tongue involuntarily. And in response the old man just drove his snaking tongue even deeper inside my asshole. Then he started turning and twisting it. I almost lost my mind.

I was so hot that when he told me to get down on my all fours, I did so immediately. It only dawned on me what he was going to do when suddenly I felt the head of his huge pecker pressing against my saliva dripping asshole. He entered me. I cried out. The pain was unbearable. I tried to pull my chubby ass away from him, but the old man held me in place as thought I was no more than a child. He speared me with his enormous long fat dick. I felt like a pig having a stake driven up his asshole.

The pain of something so enormous entering me caused me to teeter on the brink of fainting. Inch after fat inch of dick was forced inside of me until I was totally filled up with the old man’s huge dick. But then as he slowly pulled it out of until only the enormous head of his dick was left inside me, the pain turned to pleasure. Even when he plunged his long fat dick deep into me, I felt more pleasure than pain.

Then Sven was fucking me so hard and fast that I could hardly breathe. I collapsed on the floor. The old Norwegian fell on top of me driving his huge pecker ever further inside of me. He fucked me and fucked me again until I lost all track of time. I was almost senseless when he finally pulled his huge dick out of me and rolled me over. He shot off on my face. It should have felt disgusting. It didn’t. I suddenly found myself enjoying the gushing of his thick white sperm onto my face.

I reached down to masturbate, but the old man brushed my hand from my dick as he slipped down between my legs and once again took my short fat dick into his mouth. He had me so hot that I immediately shot off in Sven’s mouth. He swallowed my load and then used his tongue and mouth to suck out the last few drops.

“That was wonderful,” Sven told me as he set on the floor beside me. “Sex with you was better than I have ever visualized it would be over all these years.”

“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling my usual shy demeanor returning. “I could use a towel to clean up my face.

“Leave it. You look great with my load of cum running down your face. Please leave the cum on,” the old man pleaded.

“Sure,” I said, shocked at myself.

“I want to sit across the table from you and watch you eating with my load of cum dripping from your queer face.”

For the first time in my life I suddenly didn’t resent being called a queer.

“Yes, I am a queer,” I mumbled, “And I’ll always be one.”

No Name Fish Camp

[Author: HR]

No Name Fish Camp

When my wife of fifty years died, I moved from Atlanta to a little no-name fish camp near the Everglades. I had grown up in the panhandle of Florida and when I was a kid had dreamed of living in the great swamp. So at seventy I suddenly saw the end of my life approaching and decided to bring that childhood dream to life.

The little fisherman’s shack I moved into sat at the very edge of the blackish water of the swamp, among several other dilapidated shacks surrounding a public boat ramp. The shack didn’t look like much, but it suited me just fine. And I fell into the routine of wandering off into the swamp during the morning, fishing and reading in the afternoons. 

But life wasn’t perfect. The longer I lived in the fish camp, the hornier I got. I started jacking off every night, but that seemed only to get me more horny. I started walking around the shack naked and playing with my big pecker like some pervert.

I was buck-naked when Billy knocked on the door. He was a little guy in his late seventies that lived back near the dirt road that lead to the fish camp. I had seen him in his flat bottom boat with its tiny Johnson motor, fishing the brackish water near the edge of the swamp several times. Had even waved at him.

I opened the door just wide enough to peek out, not wanting him to see that I was naked, and, with a roaring hard on. 

“Hello,” the little old man said. 

When I had seen him fishing he had always worn a hat. Today he was bare headed and for the first time I got a glimpse of his head of pure white thinning hair.

“Hello,” I responded, not knowing what else to say.

“Sorry to bother you but I hear you have a cell phone. My truck broke down and I need to get it towed to Jack’s Station. I don’t have a phone.” 

As he spoke he looked me directly in the eyes. And I found myself admiring his soft green eyes.

“Yeah, sure, you can use my phone... ah... I’m naked but... Hell... come on in,” I finally said. “I was changing when you knocked.” 

The little old man walked inside as I opened the door wider. He glanced down at my hard old pecker and smiled. 

“Looks like you were doing something besides changing clothes.” 

My face must have turned red because he added, “Don’t be embarrassed. I jack off too. Heck, what else is there to do out here in the middle of the swamp?” He stared at my massive pecker. “Damn, I wish I had one as big as yours. And damn, for someone your age, you can really get a hard on.”

I glanced down at my big pecker and found it jumping up and down it was so rock hard. “Sorry. Damn it. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I seem to be getting hornier everyday.” I confessed as I suddenly found myself enjoying the little old man staring at my pecker. I knew that I should rush into the bedroom and get my clothes but I didn’t. I just stood there in front of the old man, naked.

“You married?” Billy finally asked.

“Widower.” I answered.

“Still, I bet she used to love getting fucked by something that big. Hell, she wouldn’t have felt my little dick it’s so small,” the little old man said. “Damn, I would give my right arm for a dick half that big.”

“I bet yours isn’t so small,” I said, loving the attention he was giving my pecker.

“Hell, I’ll show you how small it is.” 

The old man unzipped his overalls and reached inside. His hand retrieved the smallest dick I had ever seen. It wasn’t any more than an inch long and no thicker than my thumb. “You ever seen such a skimpy dick in your life?” he asked, as he pulled back his foreskin revealing a tiny pink cock head. “Shit, my little old dick looks like a boy’s pee pee compared to yours.”

The sight of the little old man’s tiny dick excited me. Damn, it made me feel so masculine to have such a monster dick compared to his. I found myself stepping forward and holding my big pecker beside his tiny dick.

“Damn, look at the different in size!” I called out excitedly. “Does it get much bigger when you have a hard on?” I asked.

“Hell, I can’t remember the last time it was hard. But heck no. It doesn’t grow much,” the old man answered.

“Get it hard and let me see it?” As I spoke I couldn’t help but grab my own pecker and start pumping my foreskin back and forth over the massive head of my dick.

“Will not be any use. I tried to get it hard last night. Heck, I spend an hour working on the poor little thing but it didn’t get any bigger or harder than it is now,” the little old man confessed.

I don’t know what made me do it. Guess it was because I was so horny. But suddenly, I found myself reaching out and grabbing the little old man’s dick. I felt a flash of pleasure as my hand closed around his tiny boy dick.

“Oh... that feels good,” the old man called out. “My late wife used to suck it. That always made it hard,” he suddenly told me.

I looked him directly in the eyes and said, “I ain’t no queer.”

“No...no... I didn’t mean you were. Just that was the only way she could get it hard enough for me to fuck her,” the little old man said hurriedly.

“Yeah?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Fuck, I want to see it hard,” I said in an angry voice. And then I surprised myself by dropping to my knees in front of the little old man. He moaned as I took his tiny dick in my mouth. 

I don’t know what I expected. I guess I had half expected his little dick to taste like piss, but it didn’t. The taste was nice. And in spite of myself I found I enjoyed sucking on his tiny dick. It was like sucking on a woman’s nipple, only much better. And as I really started to work on his little dick, it did swell up slightly and stiffen until it was rock hard. But it didn’t even double in size.

“Gee, you are better than my wife was,” the little old man cried out. “But, hell, let me take of clothes off,” he added, pulling his little dick out of my mouth.

I stood there eager to continue sucking his little dick as I watched him undress. With his clothes off, the little man looked his age. His body was sagging in every place possible and, unlike me, he was as completely hairless as a newborn baby. But one thing that didn’t sag was his ass. The cheeks of his ass were like little ripe melons. And I swear that for the first time in my life I suddenly found myself thinking about fucking another man. I even reached out and touch the cheeks out his ass before I could stop myself.

“Yeah, I still got a nice ass,” he said, smiling. “My wife used to fuck me with a big dildo, I’m ashamed to say,” the old man confessed as I continued to run my hand over his baby smooth old ass.

Suddenly I wanted to fuck the old man. The thought shocked me. “Do you still use the dildo?” I asked as I moved behind the frail old man.

“Yes,” he confessed, in a suddenly almost breathless voice as the tip of my big pecker touched the crack of his ass.

I didn’t ask permission. I just spit on my hand and rubbed the spit on the head of my pecker. Then I grabbed the old man around the waist and started pushing my pecker against the bud of his asshole. I expected him to cry out or protest. Instead he pushed his butt against me causing the big head of my old pecker to pry open his asshole.

The old man grunted as my old dick head entered him. I have fucked pussy for most of my seventy years, but the little old man’s asshole was better than any pussy I had ever dipped my dick into. Inside his asshole was hotter than any pussy and just as wet. And damn, if my old dick didn’t go into him easier than into a woman’s pussy.

Then next thing I knew my dick was buried up to my pubic hairs in his old asshole and I was pressed against his smooth hairless back. I just reached around and gabbed his little pecker and started jacking it as I began to fuck him.

The image of us two old farts tied up like two old hound dogs flashed through my mind. And damn if it didn’t excite me ever more. Heck, I started kissing the back of the old man's neck as I fucked him while jacking him off.

I don’t know how long I fucked him. Time lost all meaning. I was in heaven. His little pecker got rock hard as I pumped my big dick into his ass. Then he shot a stream of cum half way across the living room of the shack and he just kept cumming.

Seeing the floor covered with his sperm caused my own old dick to explode. I pumped his old ass so full of my man juice that when I pulled my dick out of his ass, cum started dripping from his asshole.

Suddenly we were both standing there, shocked at what we had done, and neither knowing what to say. Finally I said, “I’ll get my cell phone for you.” And hurried to the bedroom where I kept it. When I returned to the living room the little old man was still naked and cum was running down the back of his leg. 

“Here,” I said, handing him the phone, “I’ll clean up the floor while you are making your call.”

I surprised myself by not dressing as I got some paper towels from the kitchen. Then as I cleaned up the cum from the floor and watched him out of the corner of my eye making the telephone call, my old pecker got hard again. The sight of his cum leaking asshole reminded me how much I used to love to eat my wife’s pussy after fucking her. Suddenly I wanted to do the same thing to the old men.

As I cleaned a spot of cum off the floor near his feet, I looked up and found myself staring at his cum dripping asshole. That did it. Even as he talked to some guy named Jack, I grabbed his slim hips and held him, and I pressed my face against the crack of his ass cheeks.

Suddenly tasting my own cum, I went wild. I stuck my tongue inside his gaping open asshole and started rimming him. His voice became shrill as he ended his conversation with the station owner. Then he bent over so that I could reach my tongue even deeper inside him. This I did and we both moaned as I rimmed him deeper than I had ever rimmed a pussy.

I grabbed my big dick and started jacking myself and he did the same to his little pecker. When he started hunching my face with his old asshole I knew he was getting ready to shoot off again. And sure enough he did. And damn if he didn’t squirt a load half way across the room again. Of course, the sight of his cum gushing out of his little pecker sent mine squirting also.

That day was the starting of a long and beautiful relationship that is still going on well between Billy and me. We don’t live together but we might as well. Either he spends the night over at my place or I at his. And we always go fishing together now.

And I can’t even start to tell you of all the great sex we have ... every night.

 

curation: inchhighclub.tumblr.com

Edward's story: never coming home

I never knew my real parents, Father. Never knew what happened to them. Sure, while I was a kid I wanted them to come and get me from the various foster homes, but I never knew them so they could've been any two people who wanted me and they would've been Mom and Dad.

I went through a phase in my teens when I pretended they were killed like in the Batman story. That wasn't true. Or it might've been, but I don't know. 

As an angry young man, my Mom transformed into a doe eyed country girl/slut/whore/catholic girl who slept with a hayseed/sailor/soldier/traveling salesman/john and ... one moment of passion, one fuck, one hole in the rubber and nine months later ... that wasn't true either. Maybe it was. I just don't know. Well, the nine months part is.

I spent my youth in and out of foster homes, ward of the state, prisoner at large, a lost boy in the swirl of humanity. World War II had given way to the Korean War and that was giving way to the Cold War and that was superseded by the Vietnam War and war and war and war.

Somewhere along the line I met up with another boy - Tyrell. He was a fat kid with a gentle disposition and a story that matched mine. We were alone together, and that little that we had in common made us family. We became brothers; closer than brothers who're only together because of some lucky guy managing to fuck the same lucky woman twice. I'm sorry Father, I shouldn't use that kind of language...

Yeah, I'm still angry I guess.

Tyrell and I were in the same foster home. Sometimes, in Winter, we even slept in the same bed. We didn't get up to anything, it was just freezing and we were lonely.

"C'mon, Eddie," he'd whisper; and I'd sigh like I was annoyed, but I wasn't and he'd climb into bed with me. We'd shiver together, not daring to touch each other because our hands were so cold. But we would and we'd hug each other desperately trying to snuff out the cold in the warmth of each other.

I got work in a 24-hour diner washing dishes. I learned to cook there too. Tyrell got a job as a cabinet maker's apprentice. We moved out of the foster home and we got a tiny apartment. Again we shared a bed because there wasn't room for two. He was gone for work early. I'd work late into the jaundice colored light, watching people with no-one in their eyes come in and order coffee and eggs or a burger. They'd be drunk, and they'd be lonely. More than once I had offers from women to come home with them. Sometimes I'd have offers from men too. I don't know why, the offers from women were always frightening. The offers from men seemed safe and warm.

I never accepted any offers.

I remember one old man. He was drunk, and it was late. Outside, rain was blurring the glow of the neon on the glass. I was alone at the counter, one of the girls was out the back just finishing up cleaning for her shift.

"That's a nice white uniform, son. Very clean. Fresh. "

I looked at him, raised my eyebrows.

"More coffee?"

"Nope, you got any scotch, cleanandfresh?"

He ran the words together like it was my name.

"No, Sir, we don't serve hard liquor."

"I bet you got something hard in that white uniform of yours. Something to go hard lick there..."

He looked lewdly at me.

"You know what I mean don't you son, you're a Nancy boy. I know you're a Nancy boy. Do you want to suck me Nancy boy?"

There was no-one around and I was frightened. I didn't show it though. I thumped the counter top and he jumped. I reached over and grabbed him by his tie and pulled him up close. I could smell the bottle on his breath. His blue eyes bulged with surprise. I wanted to hit him, slam my fist into his wrinkled old face. I stared him in the eyes and saw my own reflection in them. I made to punch him and he blinked and cowered back

I relaxed my grip on him.

"Go home, old man. Just go home."

He leaned forward and spat in my face.

"Nancy boy!"

I pushed him away, and he fell off the stool, landing heavily on the floor, taking his coffee cup down with him.

"Get out! Get out or I'm calling the cops!"

I wiped his insult off my face as he climbed to his feet. He flicked me a $10. That was a lot of money back in those days, even with a broken coffee cup.

He turned at the door, his face suddenly remorseful, perhaps as if to apologize. I could see that the fall, the coffee, and the alcohol had conspired together to leave a guilty dark patch on his groin.

"Don't piss yourself in the rain, you old bastard."

He looked down, stricken, and slammed out into the rain.

In the crackling, neon buzz silence, I found myself wishing that he hadn't gone.

I got home, and let myself in by the light from the street. Tyrell was snoring. I climbed into the shower and washed the scum, smoke, and shame off me. I thought about the old man and wondered how it'd feel if he had licked me, and whether I'd be able to lick him, and what he'd taste like and I jerked off to an unsatisfying orgasm. I waited in the shower until I pissed as well - I wanted every rancid memory of the old man out of my body. I curled up next to Tyrell and listened to him snore through the rain-filled darkness.

When I woke Tyrell had gone to work. Nothing unusual there, except he'd written a note on an envelope he'd left on the little dining table. Sorry - it'll work out was all it said. Tyrell had also received the same kind of envelope and before we knew what we we doing we were both on our way to Vietnam. My cooking skills found me cooking for Uncle Sam, and Tyrell saw more action than he knew what to do with. We were stationed on different corners of the country and apart from letters we rarely were in contact with each other. The war was a fucking mess. Lyndon Johnson was intent on bombing the Cong back to the dark ages, they were taking very effective guerrilla action, chaos, the whole fucking place was a mess.

Me? I loved the place. Hated the war, loved the place. Hot and steamy, fresh and alive. It was so alive. All colors and smells and noise and fear and laughter. After the boring food in the diner and foster homes, the food was eye-opening. I'd take leave to Saigon (I went to Bangkok once) and ignore the bars and strippers and go find the most crazy good food I could find. I made friends amongst the locals - even went to their homes sometimes - and learned to cook using the exotic ingredients. I mixed it up with army chow and it was good, really good. I developed a reputation and soon I found myself cooking for officers, and soon bigger and bigger brass. It didn't seem right, the grunts were kids like me, fighting in some god-forsaken corner of the world, on shitty food, and the brass were - as ever - as far from the front as they could manage. I worked hard and long hours; and then I'd get high on the adrenalin and exhaustion, and I couldn't sleep so I'd cook up some barbecue, viet-cajun I'd call it. Homesick boys would be all around when the word spread. We'd eat and drink and laugh together, but each of us was holding a kernel of sadness hidden. I'd lost touch with Tyrell, but I never forgot him.

When Nixon took over the war was as good as over too. Sure it took a few years, but the Vietnamese had bought a chateau outside Paris, and they were bedded in for the long haul. Us? We rented rooms in a hotel, thinking it'd be negotiated in a few days. It was all over. I found myself back home stateside, working as a second chef in a snooty restaurant. It was good to be hidden away from most of society. It was a whole new country. People had cheered when we left home and now they hated us. Shit - we didn't ask to go, we were drafted.

In all this time I never touched another body, neither female nor male. It just didn't seem right. Oh, I jerked off all the time, but I just didn't want to be with anyone. I was the lone wolf I guess. Some people are made for others, some - like me - are destined to be alone.

I locked down on that idea. I was a man alone. And then I got older and I figured it wasn't going to happen - I was too old for the young ones and well, it all just got ugly. In the day I had a head full of fears and at night I had dreams full of - well, you know...

After a couple of years I got a letter - bolt out of the blue - from Tyrell. He'd somehow managed to track me from an article in a trade journal, maybe something by American Culinary Federation. I called him. We talked for hours, crying, laughing, and the years slipped away. We were brothers again. I wondered if he had someone special in his life, and he said no, not right now. He was seeing a therapist regularly now - trying to forget the war was his big priority. He'd found work up near Portland, Oregon and life seemed mostly good.

The years went by. We never found the time or money to see each other face-to-face, but, strange as it might seem, we became closer than ever. We wrote and called often. In the very early 1990s we managed to hook into USENET and email through some old army buddies. We'd grown old - brothers together but apart. We'd had our daily trials - weak bosses, useless management, minor car accidents, jobs coming and going - just the usual sand in the gears of a life. I felt complete when I talked to Tyrell. I loved getting his email, and I knew that was true for him too.

Just after Christmas one year my boss came to me and told me I needed to take some leave. I hadn't really taken any for a long time, and accounting was getting jumpy. Mostly I didn't feel the need for vacations, so I had no plans. Talking to Tyrell about it and he got excited and wanted to see me. A week later I was fighting my way through TSA and getting on a plane. I hadn't flown for years and years. I'd forgotten about the rush.

Tyrell met me at the airport. We just hugged each other and he cried. I did too, I guess.

When we were driving home I could still feel where Tyrell had held me. It felt good, like some kind of invisible touch. I could feel the exact places, the pressure of his arms, his smell. I wanted him to hold me again. I just wanted to hold him. I realized for the first time what had always been true. I was in love with him. The simplicity of it landed like a slap on my face. I don't know why I hadn't accepted it before. I didn't know what to make of it all, and I got all quiet.

I'm too old for this kind of - what am I talking about? 

My head was in overdrive.  

We unloaded my small bag in the guest room, and then Tyrell gave me the guided tour. His house was small, and beautiful. It was this washed out blue color like faded demin. His skilled handwork showed from the front gate through the wildflower garden, the house he'd renovated, and beyond into the backyard. He popped open a beer and passed it to me. We clinked bottles in a silent toast.

"I-I hope you don't mind, I've got barbecue and salad planned for dinner. I thought we could catch up and maybe go out for a meal tomorrow night."

Tyrell sounded awkward and I hated myself for making him feel uncomfortable.

"No," I said, trying to sound brighter, more engaged. "That sounds great. I eat out every meal - it seems - I eat from the restaurant kitchen - so, really, a home cooked meal sounds great." God, I thought, I sound like a complete dork.

Tyrell just grinned back.

It's going to be ok. We both want this to work out. We spent the afternoon just sitting around, talking, playing songs from back then, sipping beers, finding ourselves and rebuilding the stories of our lives. Some moments we were young again, bright and the world spread before us again. Others we were back to being old men - tired, sad, alone.

Tyrell cooked a fine steak. We ate and talked and laughed. It felt like a dream - I watched us through a haze of the years, two men living in the moment, and all time faded away. In my head it was like watching a movie and we were just actors in our own stories. I wanted this dream to last forever.

It wasn't that late when the travel and the alcohol took hold of me. Tyrell took me to the guest room, fluffing the pillow and making sure I was set for the night. I thanked him and we hugged good night. I cleaned my teeth, peeled off my clothes, and got into bed.

"Are you all ok?" Tyrell called from outside the door.

"Sure," I said, "Come in."

He stepped in wearing a white t-shirt and boxers, and sat down.

"Sorry, forgot to mention - don't worry if you hear me shuffling around in the night. I don't always sleep too good ... you know ... thinking. I get up, make a drink, try to get the sleep fairy to come back."

He sounded slightly worried.

"Sure," I said, "Me too, sometimes. I'll be ok. Hey, thank you for everything. Your home is amazing, dinner was great, just thank you, for everything."

"I-I've missed you, I'm really glad you're here. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for inviting me."

He smiled, got up with a grunt, and was gone.

Alone in the darkness I thought about the day, and all of the lonely years. I thought about Tyrell and I found myself thinking about the bulge in his crotch. I sighed and sniffed in the night air. I could smell vague fragrances of him and, unbidden, my cock began to harden.

I imagined Tyrell's soft flesh, firm yet yielding, making love with my cock as though making love with him, caressing my body feeling his. I could feel pre-cum seeping out of my cock and I wanted him desperately.

I relaxed and must've dropped off to sleep almost instantly. I woke with a start, my hands still on my now disinterested cock. The bedside clock glared 2:15. I wondered for a moment where I was, and was just easing back to sleep when I heard another noise. Tyrell must be up and making a drink.

I heard him walk past. I felt thirsty myself, so I got up and padded to the door. It opened silently and I could see into the kitchen.

Sure enough, there was Tyrell. Naked. I stifled a giggle. How juvenile, I thought to myself. Well, why not, it's his house. And he's not used to having nosy house guests.

The eco-lights were still warming up, fogging the kitchen with tired colors and jagged shadows. I watched him, fascinated. I don't know why, it's not as though I haven't seen tea being made before. My eyes stroked across the curves of his body. I could feel the softness without touching him, and my finger tips tingled. I wanted to speak to him, but I was afraid. I wanted... I wanted him.

 

I pulled back into my room and closed the door until there was just a narrow gap to peer through. I was captivated by him. I wanted to touch him, stroke my fingers along the muscles and lines of his body. I wanted to tease his nipples, hug him, feel him, kiss him, fuck him, love him. Love him.

Tyrell turned with his cup of tea and turned out the light.

I heard him walk past, puffing slightly as he went.

He was near the end of the hallway when I whispered, "C'mon, Eddie."

I didn't think he would've heard me, but he did. He stopped. In the shadows I saw him tilt his head to one side, listening. The blood pounded in my ears. In the waiting silence my breathing sounded like a roar.

Tyrell turned and walked back towards me.

"Are you ok?" he whispered.

"Yes." I said, "You want to share your tea? I can't sleep either."

"Sure, of course."

He sounded happy. I got back into the bed, and he sat on the edge. We sipped the tea.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

"It's ok, it's all good. I think I was awake anyway."

I reached out and touched his shoulder. I felt him lean a little into my touch.

"When we were kids you used to say "C'mon, Eddie" when you wanted to get into my bed because you were cold."

Tyrell laughed.

"Yes, that's right. Did I hear you whisper to me as I walked past?"

"Yes."

"I'd get in now with you but I don't wear pajamas these days ... so, er... "

He nodded down to his cock. 

"That's ok," I said, "Me neither. C'mon, just for old time's sake."

I lifted the corner of the covers, and nodded.

"C'mon."

He sighed, and put the tea mug down on the bedside table. Under the blankets he touched me on the arm, tracing his fingers down and then dovetailed our fingers together. He squeezed my hand tight and hugged me. We were like two little lost boys again, and the memories and the loneliness all came flooding back for me and I was sobbing in his arms.

Tyrell held me tight and kissed me. I held on to him tightly while I struggled to get my emotions under control.

"I'm sorry," I blubbed, "I've been so alone for so long. Meeting up with you has been the best thing ever."

He shushed me, and kissed me, stroking his warm hands over my back. I pushed up to him and he felt my erection.

"Good," he said as he began to tenderly caress my cock.

I gasped a little at his touch. He hesitated until I thrust towards him, encouraging, silently pleading for more. Tyrell didn't miss a moment, stroking me gently. I explored his body - finally my fingertips could drink in his silky skin.

"I think you want a little more than this, " he said, pulling the covers away.

I followed him to the edge of the bed where we kissed before he turned me on my knees and applied his lips to my ass. Kissing and licking, the sensation was electrifying. The muscles on my thighs were shaking and his every touch made my cock throb and pulse.

He began lovingly licking my ass and when he worked my cock I was left moaning with pleasure. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't. I began to cum harder than ever before.

Tyrell held me while I throbbed and thrust into his touches until my balls were drained. It was as though a lifetime of pent up energy had poured though me and I was spent. I rolled over, puffing and panting.

"I'll get a towel. Man, you still don't do things by halves." He laughed.

I lurched up off the bed and followed him.

"C'mon," I whispered.

He turned. His cock was hard, waiting.

"No," he said, suddenly sounding shy. He turned away, his back to me, shoulders hunched, protective. "I wanted you to feel - I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me - I wanted to give you - after all these years ..."

He lapsed into silence. I could hear his ragged breathing.

I hugged him, my hands hard over his chest. I dug my chin into his shoulders, and held him, heaving with breath. I felt him calm a little at my touch. I kissed his shoulders and neck.

"C'mon," I whispered again. "Please... let me... please?"

He choked a little, and slowly turned towards me. I bent over him and took his cock in my mouth. His cock was salty, sweaty. I don't think I've felt something as smooth and soothing in my mouth. I stroked my tongue over his cock and I felt him stiffen up, twitching, gently thrusting into my mouth.

I laved his cock and fondled his balls, and I knew he was about to cum when he put his hand on my shoulders for support. I just wanted to take all his cum. The years, the lost years. I wanted them back somehow, I wanted to be with him and to have him in my arms forever. I was lost in the moment when Tyrell suddenly growled from deep in his body and began to pump cum into my mouth. I licked him madly, trying to draw out his pleasure forever.

We fell back into bed, and slept the sleep of angels.

In the morning we had changed. We were no longer childhood friends, brothers; we had become lovers.

"I don't know how to go back to my old job any more," I said.

"Did you think I'd even let you go now that I've finally got you back?"

I looked outside. The sun seemed brighter, and all the fears had just melted away.

---

 
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The Father-in-Law's story - part 7

I'm sorry, Father. Part of me wishes I didn't have this thing for my Father-in-law, but I do. It gives me pleasure to give him some pain and some pleasure too - there's not that much joy in his life I guess, and at the heart of this, I love him, and he knows it...

I rang the old boy between meetings in the morning. What is it about Mondays? Everyone wants to get going with the week, and their idea of getting action is to have inaction with a meeting.

"Very good morning my friend, how are you feeling today?"

"Just fine, thank you. And you?"

His belligerent phone answer turned immediately into warm honey tones. It's not that he's really that grumpy, but it's become some sort of habit. At least he'd lost that approach when dealing with me, and his long suffering wife and daughter. I knew they were looking forward to having a girls weekend.

"Terrific. I'm looking forward to the weekend, are you?"

"Yes, I am."

He sounded genuinely excited, and I was happy to hear it.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favour. I've got back-to-back meetings today and I can't get out, I was wondering if you could do a little shopping for me..."

"Sure," he said, "Happy to help. What do you need?"

"You're sure it's not inconvenient?"

"No," he said, "I've got to go out to get some groceries anyway, so what can I get for you?"

So warm and accommodating. The man's like a loveable teddy bear.

"Well, I want you to go to the supermarket, pick yourself out a nice pair of pantyhose, and, when you come home, I want to see photos of you wearing them."

There was absolute silence from the other end of the phone.

"Do you understand? When you get home, strip off your undies, put the pantyhose on. And leave them on. Do not take them off until I tell you."

"Oh Christ," he said, "No. No way. This is crazy. You are fucking mad! I'm not doing it."

"Listen to me, you old shit," I hissed into the phone, "You will. You will because you know I will share the photos and video of you without giving it a second thought."

I swear I could hear his angry pulse throbbing.

"But you know the real reason why you will? Because right now your cock is getting hard at the thought of having the pantyhose on. Isn't it?"

I could hear him breathing. There was a little whimpering sound.

"Isn't it?"

Finally, feebly, "Yes, Sir."

"I'm sick of you wasting my time with these ridiculous delaying bullshit tactics. Get off your fat arse, get down to the mall. Buy some pantyhose. Go to the restroom and put them on. I don't care what you do with your tighty-whities, wear 'em on your head for all I care; but the only thing you're wearing as underwear for the next few days is pantyhose. If I don't get photos from you in the next hour you won't be able to sit down once all weekend. Get going, right now!"

I closed the phone with a snap before he could reply. I knew he'd be turned on by the idea even though part of him was frightened. I imagined him driving down the mall with his cock dribbling all the way. He'd stop in the car, and have a sneaky few strokes while he rearranged his cock. Too bad I wasn't there, I could remember how he smelled, what his cock tasted like. I was desperate to go and jerk off, but I wanted to wait for my pictures. Live and direct to my phone.

The next 30 minutes went past with agonizing slowness. My cock was demanding release, and I was squirming with the pent-up arousal. 45 minutes. Come on old man, where's my sweetness? 55 minutes...

And then my phone buzzed. I jumped, startled.

There he was, his cock lovingly encased, straining against the tension of the relentless black nylon. Dear God, it doesn't get better than this. Saves you. One strap with my leather belt per minute late. You don't know how close you came.

Me: Yu look proud

Pa-in-Law: Yep hardon feel gud

Me: No playin!
Me: Dont take em off til I tell yu

Pa-in-Law: Hardon hurting me

Me: No playin!

Pa-in-Law: How am I supoosed to hav shower?

Me: Is yr ass dirty?
Me: ?
Me: ??

Pa-in-Law: No

Me: Yu can wash throu yr pantys
Me: Don't take em off no playin or yu have leather belt on yr ass not nylon
Me: Understand?
Me: ?
Me: ??

Pa-in-Law: Yes

Me: ?

Pa-in-Law: Sir. Yes Sir

Me: Thats better. Go home make lunch for yr wife. I'll check in tonite

Pa-in-Law: Yes Sir hav a gd day

I closed my phone with a satisfied click. My cock was dribbling with joy. I know my mother-in-law will be delirious with joy if her grumpy old man makes her food. Hell, he could serve her a crust of bread and she'd be happy.

The thought of how the old boy serves me was too much, I needed some relief. I got up to go for the washroom when a client called me. I sat there talking to my client, feeling my cock go limp.

An hour later, and the mood had passed. I began thinking about whether Scotty was still up for the weekend. I sent him a text.

Me: Yu hot for the weekend?

Scotty: YESSIR!

Me: Prove it

Scotty: Just thinking bout yu. Giv me a minut.

Me: Sure yu were. Prove it

My phone buzzed, and there it was.

Me: Proof enough. Check yr email, sending instructions

I emailed the same instructions I'd give the old boy, without the time demands. We're just getting started and I didn't want to rush him.

I'd no sooner got the email sorted when my phone rang. It was the old boy.

"Yes?"

"Please Sir, I have to take a piss."

"A very pleasant afternoon, thank you, and you?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, good afternoon."

"Yes, now what did you want?"

"Please Sir, I need to take a piss."

I could hear the edginess in his voice. He needed to, no doubt in my mind.

"And what are you prepared to offer for this privilege?"

Silence. I heard him breath in and out heavily, the breath of acceptance.

"Whatever you desire."

"How full are you exactly?"

"Please Sir, I haven't had a piss for two, nearly three hours. I'm desperate. Please?"

"I should think that would make for a good long piss, don't you?"

"Yes Sir."

I heard his voice break a little.

"Are you holding on to your cock like a little boy who needs to pee?"

"Yes Sir, yes I am, please, I need to pee!"

"Is your cock hard?"

"Yes Sir, yes."

"I see, so, despite my strict instructions, a few minutes later you are playing with yourself - again."

Silence.

"Well?"

Reluctantly, "Yes Sir."

"Very well then. A good belting is in order. I think over this weekend where it will be witnessed. This evening I will enjoy the feeling of your soft lips and warm tongue on my cock."

A brief silence, followed by a genuinely grateful sounding, "Thank you Sir."

"You may roll the top down enough for you to piss. Your balls must stay inside. You may go."

"Thank you Sir."

I found myself rolling my fingertips back and forth, feeling the pads and the soft flesh. I imagined it was his tender nipples and I squeezed my fingertips tighter and tighter, rolling the flesh harder...

That evening I called over to their house. The mother-in-law was gushing about how the old boy had rummaged up lunch, and she'd really liked it even though she'd had to clean up after him.

"So, a really good lunch then? Marks out of ten?"

"Eight. Eight out of ten."

"Well, maybe he'll do better tomorrow. Is he out in the workshop?"

I found the old boy pottering around in his workshop. He smiled when he saw me. I strode up to him, undid his belt, and dropped his jeans without so much as a hello. He staggered backwards a little, and then stepped forward. I stroked his cock through the sheer mesh. He was semi hard to start with, and it only took a few strokes before his cock was raring to go. I looked up and he smiled shyly.

"So, how do it feel to be dressed like a woman?"

He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't help himself.

"It feels - feels - amazing. Every time I bend over or move or cross my legs - anything - my cock goes crazy. No wonder women wear these things."

I laughed at him. And he laughed too.

He looked up at me. I nodded.

"Get to work, bitch!"

<<< The Father-in-Law's story - part 6 <<< ||

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The Father-in-Law's story - part 6

Father, I guess people - you - are judging me harshly about this. I don't have any excuses - we're actually not harming anyone else. If this is a sin, well, I guess it's a sin. Somehow it just doesn't seem like the kind of sin that is destroying our food, our lives, our environment for our children and grandchildren to come...

I didn't send the photos of Scotty off to my Father-in-Law, I thought I'd like to see his response in person.

The following Sunday I allowed him to begin sucking me off after I'd given his arse a thorough warming with my bare hand. The sight of his ridiculous fat arse, upturned, squirming, blushing from creamy white to rosy red with each slap of my hand really got my juices flowing. His too. I tied his balls and cock so the tender skin was tightly stretched and then over my knees for a nice leisurely spanking. Every slap, every twitch, tortured the old boy's crank, pinching and twisting the skin agonizingly.

He grunted and groaned, but he realized the most comfortable thing to do was nothing. Lie still and take it. Despite the pain, despite the galling humiliation, his pre-cum just leaked out his cock, unabated.

"You said you wouldn't spank me if I didn't play with my cock, and I haven't!"

I liked the way his eyes brimmed with tears. The way he knelt before me. The way I didn't have to ask him, he just did it.

I presented him with my cock. He wrapped his lips around it without further comment, shut his eyes, and got on with the very manly act of giving me his full attention. He was good. I don't know where he learned it from, but I guess a man should have some inkling about what a man likes. Feeling his tongue worshipping my cock was blissful and I could've stayed there with it.

I leaned forward and grabbed his tits and pinched them good and hard. The old boy's eyes popped open, startled.

"I - I'm sorry, Sir," he blustered, "Did I do something wrong?"

He looked frightened.

I hesitated. I pressed my foot, sock still on, down on his cock, and jiggled his trussed up balls. I pinched his tits again, twisting them until he gasped with pain.

I leaned over by his ear and whispered, "Get on the bed, and spread 'em. I've got a special little treat for you."

I let him decide how he was going to be taken. No-one can say I'm a control freak. When I fuck my father-in-law he decides whether he's on his back, over an edge, belly down, or, today's option, on his knees with his nose in the pillows, legs wide apart.

Perfect.

He reached around and pulled his cheeks apart, displaying the sensitive, dark rosebud of his arse hole. I couldn't resist lightly stroking and teasing the tender skin, lifting the musky waft from his most intimate self. I pulled off one of my socks, rolled it up to the sweaty toe, and then unrolled it over his bound cock and balls. He couldn't see me smile at his discomfort, and he bore the brunt of humiliation in silence. He looked great wearing his cotton/wool blend coloured condom.

"Don't move!"

I could see the tension in his muscles as he strained to hold his cheeks apart. I used the other sock to slowly wipe vaseline on his arse. Vaseline. How old school is that? I was thorough, applying three coats of the grease. Teasing his arse was just fun, especially as his arms had begun to shake from the strain.

"You're moving! I told you not to!"

He sunk his head down, knowing that I'd punish him for this transgression. 

"Lift your head, open your mouth!"

I rolled up the vaseline coated sock, fresh and fragrant from his arse, and shoved it into his mouth. He grunted, and he screwed up his face, but he accepted it willingly. I pushed my finger into my arse and rubbed it along his top lip, and repeated, making sure his nostrils were anointed with my ripeness. He sniffed, and sniffed again. He was so easy to please, it made pleasing him a pleasure.

"You know I will have to punish you for your disobedience, don't you?"

He nodded, his regret and fear was plain to see.

I got off the bed, grabbed a couple of his neck ties, pulled his hands off his arse, and tied them together. He groaned, fearful.

"Do you think I might have to give you a taste of the leather again?"

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I pulled the belt out of my pants, and shook it at him.

"Is that what you want?"

He shook his head.

I draped the cold, heavy belt delicately over his back, and smoothed it over his cringing, naked ass. I let it tickle in his hairs in his arse cleft.

I got close to his ear, and whispered, "I don't think I'm going to strap you today. I have a special little treat for you. If you are good, that is. Are you going to be a good boy today?"

He nodded, and I saw him spread his legs even further apart. He'll do anything to avoid a thrashing.

I can't say that I blame him.

I also noticed that he was squeezing his butt cheeks, flexing, dry thrusting his cock against the cords and the wrap of the sock.  My father-in-law was turned on in spite of it all. I found him so desirable like this, trussed up and hotted up; a happy combination of fear and lust.

Fuckable.

I stroked my hand around his throat, and felt him swallow. He felt vulnerable, exposed, his fine-grained skin between my fingers. I held him, feeling his pulse, his breaths, him swallowing. It was like holding a dog for deportment judging. He sensed it too, and he adjusted his stance - straightened his back, spread his legs, ready for showing off I thought. I rewarded him by slipping a finger into his arse hole, and then a second; slowly drawing them out and relentlessly plunging back in. He swallowed and snuffled with pleasure into the pillows.

"You like this, don't you boy?"

He murmured in agreement.

"Good boy," I said, patting his thinning hair. I wondered how his doctor had responded. He was certainly happy for my fingers to be working his hole over, caressing his prostate, pleasure on pleasure. His arse hole was gripping my fingers as he approached ever nearer to his orgasm.

"Do you want your little treat today?"

He murmured agreement and nodded.

"Close your eyes, it's surprise."

I pushed my fingers harder into his arse to pull his attention back. I found my phone, and dug out a photo of Scotty.

I put the phone close so he would have a perfect view, and then with another finger thrust, invited him to look. His eyes opened, and then widened. I kept working his arse over and over, a nice steady rhythm. He looked puzzled. I pulled my fingers out, slapped his arse hard, and shoved them back in, working to the rhythm.

"Pay attention!"

He groaned, but straightened up. I continued to work my fingers in and out of his arse hole.

"This is a photo of our new friend. Yes, I took the photo. No. He's not from around here, but he wants to play with us. I thought maybe we could take a weekend and go visit him."

My father-in-law couldn't take his eyes off Scotty's photo. I knew his mind would be working overtime. I wanted to hear what he had to say, so I pulled the sock out of his mouth. He spat out some lint.

"You are kidding, right? You didn't take that photo, you didn't. Did you?"

I was about to pull my fingers out and slap him hard when he remembered.

"Did you, Sir?"

"I did. I showed him your striptease last week while I was away and he wants to meet you."

"Oh no, please, Sir, no. No. Please, Sir..."

"If you feel strongly about it..."

"I do. Please Sir, no. I, I ..."

He lapsed into silence, waiting, knowing.

I started to softly stroke his cock in time with finger-fucking his arse. He squirmed with arousal.

I started quietly so he could just hear me over his panting breaths. "You've said no to me three times. How should I respond to this disobedience?"

His body stiffened. Silence apart from the sticky sounds of his body being worked on and his breathing.

"Hmmm?"

"Please, Sir, please strap me as you wish, do what you want, but please don't involve someone else. Please."

"Is that your best offer?"

His cock was hard, the sock binding was damp with his sweat and pre-cum. His arse was tightening around my fingers, he was going to cum very soon.

"I don't know what else to say, Sir."

"Well, see, now here's the thing. I see you haven't stopped looking at this cock since I showed you. There's no point in looking away now. Your cock is about to burst, and I can feel that you want me in you more than anything else you've wanted this week. You do want me to fuck you? Correct?"

"Yes Sir, yes I do. Very much."

After such a gracious invitation what else could I do?

I knelt and teased his arse hole with my cock head. The old boy moaned and tried to push back against me, wanting to feel my cock impale him. I reached out and held his soft hands, and he gripped mine hard. I knew he loved me more than he dared speak. Tying his hands was really just a token, something for show. In reality we would no sooner harm each other than fly to the moon. I gently slid my cock into his welcoming warmth and I heard him sigh with satisfaction.

I took a deep breath and began to slowly, indulgently thrust into him. He moaned with each slow thrust, holding fiercely on to my hands. It felt like riding a stallion. I controlled the movements, I controlled his body and I controlled his will. Fucking my father-in-law was a thorough pleasure like no other pleasure I could imagine. I slowed down my thrusts to prolong my pleasure, smiling at his protests, as he begged for me to bring him to orgasm.

"Please," he pleaded, "Please."

I tried to control myself but I couldn't hold back, and I pulled his hands towards me as though they were reins and began to slam into him. I felt him stiffen and then the unmistakeable writhe as he began to cum, and I couldn't take it any more. My cock throbbed and, with a growl from somewhere deep inside me, I pumped a load of my creamy sperm into his sweaty body.

I waited until I'd drained my balls and then I pushed him aside, and we both flopped on the bed.

"You better untie me soon so I can get us cleaned up. They'll be home soon."

Ever practical, the old man.

"So, next Friday, we're flying up for a weekend to look at the hot rods."

He looked at me and laughed.

"You've got to be kidding."

I laughed too.

"No, there's a convention, exhibition, open day, display, festival, rally - call it what you will - of hot rods, custom cars, and I thought you'd enjoy the break away. Nice meals, some beers, and time to play."

I gave his arse a friendly slap. He jumped at the sting, but grinned back.

"And this guy ... that you downloaded off the internet?" He nodded towards my phone.

"Yeah, Scotty. He's bought the tickets for us, and we're staying with him. Like I said, he's looking forward to meeting you."

<<< The Father-in-Law's story - part 5 <<< || >>> The Father-in-Law's story - part 7 >>>

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