I came home from college that summer horny as hell and tired of jerking off alone in my dorm. Dad had the house to himself after the divorce. He was fifty, still built like a truck driver, thick arms, graying chest hair, and a no-bullshit attitude. I was twenty-five, same height, same jawline. People always said we looked like twins separated by time.
The first night I was back, we drank whiskey on the back porch. Dad sat in his usual chair, legs spread, shorts riding up. I kept glancing at the heavy bulge between his thighs. He caught me looking.
"You checking out my cock, boy?" he asked, voice low and rough.
I didn't look away. "Yeah. Been thinking about it."
He stood, walked over, and grabbed my chin. "Then get on your knees and stop thinking."
I dropped right there on the wooden deck. His shorts hit the ground and his thick cock swung free, half-hard, veined, the head already slick. I opened my mouth and took him in. He tasted like salt and skin and the whiskey we'd been drinking. Dad groaned and pushed deeper until my nose pressed into his pubes.
"Fuck, that's it," he growled. "Suck your old man's dick like you mean it."
I worked him hard, tongue flat, throat relaxing as he started fucking my face. Spit ran down my chin. He held my head with both hands and used my mouth until his cock was rock hard and dripping. Then he pulled out, hauled me up, and shoved me against the porch railing.
"Strip," he ordered.
I kicked off my clothes. He spun me around, kicked my legs apart, and spit on his fingers. Two thick digits pushed into my hole without warning. I grunted but pushed back, wanting more. He finger-fucked me rough and fast until I was loose and begging.
"Please, Dad. Fuck me."
He lined up and drove in with one long thrust. The stretch burned, then turned into pure heat. His cock felt huge inside me, stretching my ass wide. He gripped my hips and started pounding, balls slapping against me with every stroke.
"Take it," he snarled. "Take Daddy's cock. Been wanting this tight hole for years."
I braced on the railing and pushed back to meet every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the night air. He reached around and grabbed my cock, stroking it in time with his fucking. Pre-cum leaked steadily from my tip.
He pulled out, spun me again, and lifted me onto the railing. My legs wrapped around his waist as he shoved back inside. This angle hit deeper. I clawed at his shoulders while he hammered into me, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine.
"Look at me while I breed you," he said.
I locked eyes with him. His face was flushed, eyes dark with lust. He fucked me harder, faster, until his rhythm broke and he buried himself to the root. Hot pulses flooded my guts as he came, growling my name. The feeling pushed me over. I shot between us, ropes of cum splattering his stomach and mine.
We stayed locked together, breathing hard. His cock softened inside me but he didn't pull out right away. When he finally did, cum leaked down my thighs.
"Inside," he said. "Shower. Then round two on the bed."
I followed him, legs shaky, already hard again at the thought of more. That night turned into the whole summer. Every day we found new ways to fuck: me riding him on the couch, him bending me over the kitchen table, slow morning blowjobs in his bed, rough quickies in the garage. He taught me how to take his cock deep, how to beg for his load, how to swallow every drop.
By the end of August I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted my father’s cock more than anything else. And he wanted to give it to me whenever he felt like it. No more pretending. Just raw, filthy need between us.
The last night before I went back to school, he fucked me slow and deep in his bed, whispering how my ass belonged to him now. I came with his name on my lips and his cum still leaking out of me hours later. We both knew this was only the beginning.
