Saying that my son Asher and I have developed an unorthodox relationship would be a massive understatement. Ever since we began to explore a sexual relationship, the line between it and my fatherly duties and responsibilities had become murky, particularly as my carnal desire for the boy became stronger and stronger. That’s not to say that both of those sides can’t coexist within me. But one certainly would hope that as a father, my paternal instincts would overpower my lust.
One night, I realized it was well past Asher’s curfew. I sat alone in the dark, semi-frustrated, yet also appreciating the solitude. I couldn’t help but fantasize about giving him a stern talking to that seamlessly led into laying him over my lap and spanking his bare ass. I wanted to let my fingers “accidentally” slide in between his legs and linger longer than they should. I went back and forth in my head with this. Do I put on my “dad pants” and give him an actual lecture? No spanking? Would he or would he not be turned on by it? How would I even discipline him if he enjoyed the discipline?
I don’t know how long I had been sitting there, but suddenly I heard the door open. As the lights flicked on, Asher came in. He was surprised to see me up, and naturally asked what I was doing sitting there in the dark like a weirdo. I was being weird, wasn’t I? Weirder even, the very second we made eye contact, I became completely disarmed.
Instead of a stern talking to, I instead started rambling about being worried about “other men” and what they would do with him. Which was mostly a lie, mostly. I am, in fact, worried about bad men coming in contact with my FTM son, but I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about other men having their way with him for me to see.
Worse though, I think Asher knew he wasn’t ever really going to get into trouble not abiding by house rules. All he had to do was say “I love you, Dad” as he came in for an embrace, and any memory of punishing him vanished. His touch led into a kiss which sent my head spinning. Before I knew it, my pants had been unbuttoned and unzipped and I completely melted as I watched my cockhead pop into my boy’s mouth and rest on his tongue.
He looked up at me as his head bobbed up and down. He let his tongue slide the length of my shaft, knowing I was completely at his mercy. He let me help him get undressed and I had him get on all-fours on the leather ottoman. The spanking fantasy rushed back into my head. But instead of turning those perky cheeks red with my big hands, I dove in face first to taste him. Every time I plunged into him it felt like the first time, yet always as forbidden and flavorful as the last. I let my big middle finger dip into his warm, wet hole as I let my tongue glide up and down his slit.
It wasn’t long before I had him stand up against the railing of our stairs and I slid right up into him from behind. He was so warm, so inviting. He craned his head back as he cooed and moaned as I began to pump in and out of him, letting me kiss him as I did. Whether it was this position, or him riding me, or missionary—my personal favorite—my son looked sexy in all of them. If there’s anything I could guarantee at this juncture in our relationship, it’s that he’d always be ready to help me milk a load out of my cock with very little work. I shot all over his belly, realizing that it was I, perhaps, that needed to be punished. I was going to have to work at regaining my role as a serious parental figure… one that wasn’t absolutely spellbound by my boy’s bonus hole.
