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Honestly, I barely knew what day it was. The first time we fucked, Dad said he’d start pounding me every day. He wasn’t kidding. Most days we did it twice. Sometimes three times. Once or twice it was four. I heard your libido dies down as you get older, but with Dad that couldn’t have been more wrong. In his own words, he was hornier than he’d ever been.

I’d stopped trying to make plans for the day, because inevitably dad would derail them by coming up behind me, grabbing my butt, nipping my neck and pulling down my briefs while I’d hurry to shut any open curtains. Every morning he’d be on me: sometime’s he’d wait for me to get out the shower then drag me to his room and fuck me on the bed he had conceived me in.

He’d take me with my head down, moaning into his pillow, and my ass raised. He’d tell me he was so glad he’d had a son, called me his home-grown cocksleeve while his belly mounted my back and his balls slapped against my rear over and over. I’d get up dizzy and fuzzy headed, feeling ecstatic and achy with his cum dribbling down my leg.

Other times one of us would be up and about before the other, so he’d get at me when I was making breakfast or lounging in the living room in my underwear. Dad said he didn’t want to see me around the house clothed in anything more than my briefs, and I had stuck to it, knowing sooner or later he’d have me out of them anyway. He’d constantly be complimenting my appearance, calling me a fuckable hot twink of a son, and when inevitably his words would have me riled up and tenting, he’d touch my bulge and tease me until I couldn’t take it any more and then I’d beg him to rail me all over again.

Which, of course, he would. A decisive grin would come across his face as he’d either lift me, naked onto his lap, and rut me cowgirl style, or he’d lower me to my knees and ram his fat, leaky cock into my muzzle, facefucking me while demanding I swallow the next batch of my would-be siblings. Often, afterwards, he’d make out with me, taste the trace of his load on my tongue and tell me that I was way better than mom at oral.

Walking around in my briefs all day was one thing, but what I hadn’t expected was for Dad to start doing the same. By the third day, neither of us were ever dressed in more than our underwear when home. Whenever Dad would get back from work, the first thing he’d do is strip down to his boxers. That, or if he’d come home pent up, he’d instead strip all the way and call for me. He’d take me standing up, bareback against the wall as I’d bark and moan and leak all over the flooring until Dad was done and my butt was sore.

He’d only knot me about half the time we fucked, often having things he’d want to do right after, but I always wanted it. When he did knot me, the stretching of my hole always sent me wild, but being tied to him for some time afterwards was always my favourite part. After a while he felt like a natural fit inside me, and not having him stick around after sex would leave me a whiny mess, which he seemed to find quite amusing. He’d say: it’s okay, pup, daddy will be back inside you soon. And he would, and all would feel right with the world.

But, regardless of all that, having him walking around in his briefs all the time was a challenge of its own. Apart from being frequently mesmerized by the prodigious outline of his package, that wasn’t the only eye candy on offer as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t get enough of his big belly hanging a little over his waistline and his fuzzy dad-chest with those perky moobs. Something about dad-bods sent me wild, and having not just a dad-bod, but my Dad’s bod to ogle every day made it hard to contain my excitement. To put it plainly: he wasn’t the only one initiating sex.

Sometimes I’d go up to him and get my paws all over his thighs and belly, squeezing him and kissing him wherever I could until he’d form a huge tent of his own and I’d give him puppy-dog eyes until he’d pull down his boxers. At that point I’d be making out with his sheath and dick until either he put his paw on the back of my head and thrust hard into my muzzle until he came, or he’d be fluffed up enough to drag me off of his rod, flip me over and fuck my butt full of pups.

My ass was aching almost all of the time from so much use, but I loved it, and whenever it made it awkward for me to sit I’d just think of all the times Dad had fucked me and be thankful instead of annoyed. I loved him more than ever and I let him know all the time. He’d tell me the same and we’d end up making out for minutes at a time.

At nights, almost every night, he’d either invite me to his bedroom or follow me into mine without needing to ask. On one of our beds or the other he’d poke his dick between my cheeks as we’d lay together, him as the big spoon, discussing our days. Occasionally he’d fall asleep, worn out by then. But usually that would only happen after the innocent-seeming rutting had developed into a full barking and howling buttfuck. He’d drift off, knot deep inside of me, and I’d be too excited to sleep. I’d jerk off, squeezing my tailhole around him and rocking backwards against my resting Dad until I’d splatter my surroundings in cum and fall asleep in the mess.

The place must have reeked of our scents, of our pre and our cum. We did clean, often, but with us being at it like rabbits here, there and everywhere, there probably weren’t too many surfaces in the house that hadn’t had a coating of one or both of our sexual fluids. To me, though, it smelled like home. The scent of Dad was unbeatable.

All in all, life was a never-ending haze of euphoria for me then. I was, quite literally, living my dreams. But, as much as I tried to ignore it, as much as I didn’t want to think about it, I knew things were inevitably going to change. And soon.

My big sister was coming back from out of town next week, and not too long after that I’d be back to college for my fourth and final year. The thought of being away from Dad, or being unable to make love to him at home left me both empty and afraid. I was lucky as hell to have ever had the chance to live like this, even for just a little while, but now that my dreams were realized, I didn’t want them to ever end. I couldn’t let them end. I wouldn’t. Just… this probably wasn’t going to be easy.