UNCLE, GRUNGE & LOVE: Chapter Thirteen
The next morning - Sunday morning - I woke up being mauled by my Uncle. I was locked in a headlock with one muscled arm. His body ground against my side, cock spearing my thigh. His other hand was feeling up and down my torso, grabbing it, clutching the muscles, finally descending to my cock and balls. His tongue had invaded my mouth. This was a hard kiss - a man's kiss - he was on me like a mantis, taking his morning feed.
I lunged up into him, no longer willing to prolong our passion. His harsh beard - you could no longer call it scruff, because it had begun to grow like a beard - raped my face and cheeks, as his nostrils snorted desire.
"Fuck, I love this," he growled, harshly, biting down on my pec, hurting me, making me cry out. Then his hand was on my balls, pulling them away from my body. "Fuck these are full," he said, pushing himself down my body, scratching my smooth abs with his chin. Then he paused. I could tell he was taking in the musk of my crotch - the fetid sweat of a night's sleep and a week's worth of fuck and funk and work. I felt his body rumble in desire.
"Fuck," he said. It was a whisper.
"Thought we were waiting 'till Sunday, Dad," I said. My voice was hoarse with morning crud.
"It is Sunday."
I felt his breathe on my crotch - felt his hands open my legs to give him access. Felt his nose brush my sack. Felt his chin push up the length of my rigid cock.
"Never sucked a dick before," he said. There was no shame or resistance in the statement - just a declaration of fact.
"Just us guys," I said, waiting for what came next. Would he or wouldn't he? I don't think I cared - either way was fine with me. Whatever HE wanted was what I wanted.
"It's really pretty, son," he said, moving slowly toward our deviance. "Makes your father proud -"
"Not as big as yours, Dad," I squeaked, trembling now.
"Not many are, son," he said, and then he grasped the base like a man grasps his own cock and took me in his mouth. The feeling was electric and I cried out in excitement. He sucked down on me, hard, lathing my cock with his tongue - his mouth was hot and wet, full of saliva, as if he'd been salivating for this moment. Then his entire body shook and I heard a growling groan come from his depths .....
"Mmmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
I bucked up, trying NOT to throat him, but I couldn't stop his own desire and he pushed down, trying to do to me what I had learned to do to him - but with no experience, biology took over. I felt a grunk of resistance come up, and drool spat all over my cock as his head came off my cock in a choking belch. His hand jerked up and down on my rod which was soaking now, slick with his pre-puke, as he gasped for air.
"FUCK," he growled, working my cock. Then he leaned over me. Snot was dripping from the tip of his nose - his mouth was wet - his eyes were glazed. He kept gripping my cock and I was trembling, trying not to cum. He sensed that, released me, then shoved his hands on either side of my head, spitting on my mouth as he devoured my lips. We ground together, his cock searching for its home between my eager ass cheeks, but holding back, too.
He pulled up - pulled away from the kiss. His eyes were fiery - full of desire and realization.
"Stewart," he said, gasping as more droop dripped from his lips and I eagerly - wantonly - pushed my tongue out to taste it and consume it. "I fucking love this. I love sex with dudes. You can do anything - fucking ANYTHING - there's no limits."
I just nodded, breathing hard. I didn't know if this was a conversation or confessional, but I opted for the latter, allowing the convert to confess his desires to the priest who had travelled this road before - rejoiced in it.
"I can fuck you anytime I want," he said.
"Yes Sir," I replied.
"I can fuck you hard - I can hurt you." With that he lifted up his arm and brought one hand down, hard, on my pec. There has a harsh slap. It hurt. I fucking loved it. He pawed at me, hurting me more. I bucked in acceptance.
"I can love you, too," he said, keeping his hand on my chest, but dipping down with his athletic back, pushing his lips against mine, nipping me with a softness that was startling. He had moves - so many fucking moves - and now he had a playing field upon which to exert his power and passion, and he was digging it - jiving it.
Somehow the fire died down - there was more in his eyes and more in his head.
"With chicks I always held back - always. I don't have to hold back with you - "
"Please don't."
"Ever?"
"Never - you never have to hold back, Dad," I said, pawing at him now, grabbing his thick arms, gripping one pec with my own strong hand, squeezing it, giving him some of his own medicine. It only made him growl - a feral noise that was more animal than human.
"I fucking love this so much, son," he said. "Don't think I'm ever going back - Jesus I'm a fucking fag."
He just laid that out in the space between us and I let it sit there. I tried not to move - tried not to react - tried to let him come to his own realization of his own self. My hands held his muscles. Our breathing coordinated.
Finally, I said: "You're a God, Jayson. You can be anything you want to be - do anything you want to do."
Again, he shuddered. The stillness was electric - erotic - and his muscles tightened, holding his frame like a long plank in a harsh gym class. Sweat was showing now - on both of us. Our combined smell created a mist of musk that cocooned us.
Slowly he reached down between my legs, pushing one finger in my hole. I was sweaty down there, but not lubed. Still, I could not - did not want to - resist his entry. He pushed, deep, then stopped.
"You're full," he said.
"Yes Sir," I whispered back.
He nodded. Then he said, "Later."
He moved down my torso, taking in the words we had shared between us - about identity and worship and raunch - and then his breath was on my cock again. It was still wet - and it dripped copious precum while his finger probed for my prostate, finding it through my grunge.
"I want your load. I want to taste your sperm, son. I need that protein in me."
"Yes, Dad," was all I said, understanding him better than he understood himself, perhaps.
"Need to feel you in me - your strength -"
"Yes, Sir," I said. "I know - it will ... change you, Daddy."
"I know."
And then he dove down on my cock, a deliberate and not particularly practiced move, but he'd had enough blow jobs - mostly bad, recently, all good - to know what worked and what did not - what felt good and what didn't.
He sucked the upper part of my shaft while jerking the lower part. And in just a few moments he was at it, like a pro, urging me to complete him. His entire body - his entire athletic frame - moved to the task, one finger finding my button inside, massaging it with my own, dirty lube, the other hand jerking up and down, mouth open, lips clutching, doing everything in his power to give to me what I had been giving to him for weeks now.
"Fuck," I cried. "Dad! DAD!" I jerked. It was coming now - I couldn't stop it - didn't want to. My cries only focused him more. Low, spluttering moans came out of him, muffled words of encouragement like I'd heard in the gym - then he pulled off.
"Come on, son - make me proud," he gasped. "Show me what you got." He was jerking me now, jerking like he jerked his own crank. I clenched up and his finger inside me felt the nodule harden like a rock - ready to blast and breed. "FUCK YEAH!" he growled.
"Feed me, kid," he said, words I never expected to hear from him, but they triggered me, and I blasted off into the stratosphere while my cock missiled out an explosion of pent up cum that would have made me choke -
But he did not.
Just as I came he dove on my cock, engulfing it entirely in his mouth. When I blew his entire frame shook with his own fulfilled desires as his mouth filled with my thick, young seed and he tasted man for the first time. He swallowed the first mouth-filling load with a sound I will never forget and cannot write here - it was a glugging, inhaling, intoxicating, sound of animal hunger and devourment and it was followed by him grabbing my balls with his free hand and ramming my cock down his throat so his nose slammed into my hairy, pubic base. The gag reflex had been destroyed by my sperm - I had impregnated him: creating the cockhound that had been hidden in the deep shadows of his desires. I thrust and thrust and he swallowed and swallowed, gulping my goo with greed as his nose snorted the shoddy scent of my crotch. In the end, I even grabbed his head and fucked his face, unaware that I was topping him while on my back, even though, no matter what he did, I always felt safely ensconced on the bottom rung - where I belonged.
"GODDDAAMMMMNNNNN," I cried, louder than I ever had - it shook the room and I'm sure the neighbors heard our rut. I kept shooting, firing a week's worth of cum out of my balls so that the backup reserves could prepare for our planned debauchery later in the day, and he just growled and groaned and sweated and sucked, consuming my protein, taking it into his body, joining our DNA - DNA which we already shared by blood - and becoming the man he was meant to be.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK," I groaned, violently, hips thrusting, but finally, finally letting him loose so he could pull up, and roar a sound that rivaled my own.
Now the neighbors were surely awake, and more than few were clutching their crotches, wondering how to get an invitation to our second-floor-fuck-fest.
Choking tears streamed his face - a drool of my crystal-white spooge dripped out of his lips. He blinked, swaying, then yanked his finger out of my hole, pulling it up - showing it to me...showing me my dirty shame. He licked it clean, giving an even deeper growl and goddamn it - goddamned if he didn't pull it out and then beat his chest with his fists, like a conquering primate. It was then that I saw his massive cock, threatening me in the morning light, glistening with pre-cum and vibrating with intention.
"Fuck," he growled, heart pounding, sweat pouring off his body, aura shimmering with a newly clear definition of a man who loved men - fucked men - consumed men - played on a field where men his equal played.
The newest draft-pick to the team.
He was ours.
He was mine.
"Son," he said, eyes finally clearing as full morning filled the room.
"Dad," I said, still barely able to catch my breath - still wracked with one of the more intense orgasms of my life. More sperm drooled out of my cock - a constant faucet of fertilization.
"Let's get dirty."
Then he leaned down, licked up the spewl on my stomach, and pushed himself out of bed, heading out the door of the bedroom, grumbling like a beast that needed to feed.
I pulled myself up, pushed my legs into my now filthy jumpsuit, and stumbled after him. He stood in the center of his new domain, a triumph of maleness. I lowered myself, opening my mouth, and then without looking at me, his rigid cock sprayed harsh morning piss into my throat. I wrapped my lips around his hose, swallowing, clutching his thighs, as he patted my head like a pet.
The day was young.
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