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Foundations, Chapter 11

By Kenneth Beltan

Blake, Quentin, and Nieve are all copyrighted and are owned by Nievelion. I have had permission to use them for this story. All other characters are mine.

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11

Quentin was in very good spirits on his walk to church, enjoying the crispness in both the feeling and smell of the air, the sharp twinkle of the stars above, and the lights decorating so many homes. Even the church was similarly adorned on the outside, from a large wreath on the grand wooden doors in front to the lights in the belfry high above. There were not many people inside the sanctuary just yet, so Quentin made his way unnoticed to the choir loft where the organ also was located and very likely its organist. Sure enough, he found Charles getting in some last minute practice without any stops pulled, leaving the sanctuary in complete, meditative silence. He wondered if that was why Charles often liked to practice that way instead of with a full sound. The red fox quickly noticed Quentin's presence and quietly slid off the bench to come over and embrace his friend, a warm smile on his bearded muzzle. He gave the tiger a passionate kiss, though there was no mistletoe near them. "Hello, Quentin. Merry Christmas," the fox rumbled as his held Quentin close, his big paws slowly rubbing up and down his massive body. Leaning in for a lick and another kiss, Quentin kept his nose touched to his friend's. "Merry Christmas, Charles. How are you?" He could plainly see the fox looked rather exhausted. "Like you can't see for yourself?" Charles quipped back, grinning sardonically. "My friend, I have been all over town doing one gig after another. I've made a good bit of cash, and it'll buy me a sweet vacation in February. Most of them have been pretty fun, too, if you want to know the truth, but the silence of the place is a nice change of pace." "Poor thing." Quentin gave Charles' ear an affectionate rub. "I'm glad you enjoyed them, though. You know, I was just wondering why you like to practice without any stops pulled. Do you just like the silence to clear your head, or do you get tired of hearing it?" The fox chuckled, his paws wondering down to his friend's rump for a grope. "Yeah, it can be nice to just enjoy the silence. This is New York after all, so you don't always get a lot of silence. I know the instrument, so I don't necessarily need to hear it to know what it sounds like. Sometimes I just have one or two stops engaged on maybe a string or something else that's soft. I've always liked thinking while playing. It's always been a form of meditation for me, I guess. It's gotten me through some hard times." Charles looked a little distant for a moment, thinking back on such times, several of which Quentin knew about. "Where do you plan to holiday?" Quentin asked, gently nudging his friend to more positive thoughts. He enhanced his efforts by pushing his front pointedly into Charles', his cock nestling alongside the fox's own thickness. "Someplace warm and sunny, of course. My poor fur needs some solar enhancement for its color," the fox complained, looking forlorn at his paw. Quentin could hardly detect any dullness of color in the fox, but it was an unspoken rule to never directly contradict the proclamations of reduced perfection in fur color. One could only do it through properly worded praise. "Your fur is always lovely in winter, but you are such a lovely man. Perhaps a nice, long oiling of your fur would be fruitful." Charles kissed his friend again to show he approved of Quentin's diplomacy. "That sounds quite nice. It certainly could not hurt," he conceded as he reached down and gripped the tiger's cock through his trousers. "Maybe some additional protein and vitamin D would also help." "Just what I was thinking." Quentin pulled the fox even more firmly against his body. They were both quite erect now, and they were slowly grinding against each other. He gently nibbled the fox's ear as he ground harder. "How would you like to spend the night with me tonight?" Charles' eyes widened. "What about Blake?" "We recently had a little talk, in which he told me that he has become aware of what you and I get up to, and that he does not object." Quentin grinned at Charles' surprised expression. "He says that he understands that I am a man who has needs and that I need not go sneaking around," Quentin explained, kissing Charles once more, his tongue probing deeply into that uncommonly boxy vulpine muzzle. After sharing a long, deep kiss, the fox simply wallowed in their mutual embrace, his eyes closed in pleasure. "That's certainly considerate of him. Well, if he does not mind, then I don't." He sighed, stopped his groping, and just let his forehead rest on Quentin's chest sadly. "However, I think I should decline this time." He look Quentin in the eyes, obviously very disappointed to have given the response that he did. "If I come with you, we'll be up rutting too late into the night. I can tell you are exceedingly horny right now, and frankly, so am I. I was thinking of asking you to swing by my place for a bit tonight even, but by God, though, I badly need sleep even more. I have two services to play here tomorrow in a matter of hours." "You sure, Charles? It would be so nice to have someone in my bed on this cold night." Quentin was slowly sliding his paws down inside Charles' trousers to grip his rump. "Please, don't tempt me, my friend. Just not this time," he gently pled, going against every fiber of his being that just wanted to pounce the tiger then and there in the choir loft. Quentin smiled sweetly and gave an equally sweet kiss to Charles. "All right, my friend. I understand and am not cross. How would you like to join us for Christmas, though? We're having some friends over for the day, as well as for Boxing Day. You're welcome then if you can make it." Charles allowed himself to break at that. "Yes, I'll definitely come over for that. Mind you, I have to spend the day with my own family first, but I shall spend the evening with you. In fact, I will even spend the night. Maybe both. You can count on it." Winking, he kissed Quentin once more and very reluctantly pulled away. They chatted for a while longer as their penises slowly deflated before Quentin left the fox to get properly prepared and made his way downstairs. The service was lovely as always, intimate, and he had the honor of doing the main reading tonight, the Annunciation and the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. He was everyone's favorite reader, and the congregation always listened extra carefully when he read. When the service finally concluded, and everyone filed out quickly, Quentin only stayed a while to help close the church, exchange a few words with other congregants, and steal another kiss and grope with Charles before walking back home. He was quite happy that there would be more company for Christmas this year -- and as always, so was his partially-inflated manhood. Blake was waiting for him outside their home, all bundled up and ready to walk around. They exchanged a warm embrace, nuzzling each other lovingly, their tails lashing excitedly. "Merry Christmas, Dad!" "Merry Christmas, Blake, my son." The older Amur gave his son's face a few affectionate strokes, his fondness for the boy ever present on his face. "Charles will be coming on Christmas evening as well." "Cool. The more, the merrier, right?" the teenager said neutrally. Quentin smiled, even though he knew perfectly well the additional guest was not likely to increase the interests of things much for him. He appreciated his diplomacy all the same. "That's right, my son. You'll appreciate that more as you get older." "Didn't you imply that you were bringing him home tonight?" Blake asked with a grin. "He was very sorely tempted, but he also had bags under his eyes from all the extra work he has been doing," Blake's father explained. "He turned me down because he thought we would not get much sleep." His muzzle widened into a toothy, slightly salacious grin. He was sure it must have sent some blood south to his son's genitals -- it certainly had to his, especially when combined with thoughts of Blake hard. "Well, shall we?" For over an hour, they wandered around their neighborhood and the Promenade, simply enjoying the lights everywhere and the relative peace of the city. For New York, it was quiet, but there was always the din of traffic, especially in Manhattan, coming over the East River. Clouds were quickly thickening overhead, and with all the snow on the ground, there was an orange glow to everything. The crunch under their boots had a muted quality, and their breaths rose in great clouds from their noses. The wee hours of Christmas morning always had a quiet peace about it, something that one could almost fall into, no matter how cold it was outside. One never quite wanted it to go away, but time and fatigue always took over, bringing an end to the spell, and then one would wake up the next morning, Christmas morning. Christmas morning was always too fresh, too new. Father and son both would have agreed that the gentle, pregnant anticipation of Christmas Eve was truly the most magical of times, and that it always ended too soon. It was almost three in the morning when they finally made their way back to their flat. The heavy gear and clothing soon came off, leaving them once more delightfully bared to the warm fire that Blake rekindled while his father made them some hot cider. The young Amur was already sitting on his makeshift pallet in front of the fire when Quentin came in bearing two steaming mugs and a warm smile. "This will warm you up, son, and help you to sleep more soundly," he said in a soft but still rumbling tone. "Thank you," Blake answered back in an uncommonly quiet voice as he took the mug his father handed him and sniffed the brew. He let out a satisfied moan. "Just what I needed." He took a small sip and enjoyed once more the feeling of being warmed from the inside as well as the tart and sweet flavor. Quentin sat down right next to his son, his tail curling around Blake's, and nuzzled him before turning to his own cider and taking a drink. "You're welcome, son. Say, how would you like to open one of your presents? I'd like to see you open one at least before everyone comes around." "Sure, Dad. I'd like that, but only if you open one of mine to you." He nuzzled his father back, purring softly. "It's a deal, Blake." Quentin put a strong arm around his son and held him close. They each retrieved a gift from under the tree and exchanged them. Quentin's gift to Blake was the first novel in the Sister Fidelma mysteries by Peter Tremayne. He explained the setting of the stories, and he was pleased that Blake seemed interested. Blake always had a particular soft spot for female detectives, and though Blake had never told anyone, he had often imagined his mother as the detective. The young Amur's gift to his father was the the boxset of Upstairs, Downstairs on DVD that had only been released that month for the first time. It was a series he knew his father adored, and so he had blown a good chunk of his savings to get it for him. The utterly surprised and delighted expression of his father's muzzle made Blake's heart warm. He soon found himself in his father's tight embrace, rocking him gently where they sat. Blake felt so cozy like this, naked but surrounded by his father's warmth, his body, and his always soothing musk that still spoke of home to his very core and always would. He also liked how very dim the room was with only the fire and the lights of the decorations bringing any real illumination. There was no music, no television, no noisy distractions of any kind. He could imagine that only they were in the world, far away from work and school, from the rancor of the holidays in the city, the tragic ruins of Lower Manhattan and the unsettling implications for the future of the world they held, and even from the recent fears and uncertainties arising from their mutual desire for each other. It felt good to be at peace, to feel so calm and happy. Neither of them wanted it to end, but the growing ache in their backs from such an awkward position eventually forced them apart. They could still sit beside each other, their tails entwined, and drink their cider. Blake kept the mug under his nose even when he was not drinking. Not only did it help to partially obscure the scent of his father that threatened to get him all hard again, but the smell of the fermented apples, honey and spices was very pleasant as well. It also felt good in his nose in the dry air that came with winter. Each sip warmed him up and delighted his senses. He even detected some wine mixed in, which gave the cider a pleasant undertone of dark fruits that also added a slight bitterness, complemented in turn by the sweetness of the honey and apples. It was a heady blend, both in terms of flavors and alcoholic potency. Like his father, he savored it slowly so that everything would last just that much longer. He leaned gently against Quentin, wishing that they could just curl up together and sleep that way. It seemed like such a wonderful idea, and they would be together in the most intimate way possible. For once, Blake did not feel disinclined towards such intimacy, and by letting go of his usual stoical predisposition and its accompanying prejudice against sentimentality, he unexpectedly achieved a real inner peace that he had not felt for years. Quentin, meanwhile, contemplated their fire, more like a hearth in reality. With the exception of the short time he, Jennifer and Blake had lived in Alphabet City on New York's Lower East Side after migrating from England, the Parrish household had always been lucky enough to find a fireplace in their home, the best having been in New Orleans and now here in Brooklyn. They had always gravitated towards it for reading, playing, discussions, celebrations, as well as for tears, shouts, punishments, grieving, and everything else in between. A fire may not have been the center of a family, but for this family it had certainly acquired that association long ago. Quentin meditated particularly on how it always brought loved ones together in physical proximity. For him, it underlined how important that could be to any kind of relationship, something which letters, telephone calls or any other form of communication technology could not contrive. It also singled out the importance of a homestead. Quentin did not believe that he could ever truly leave this home, and he fully intended to stay as long as possible and die here in his own bed. Maybe he could even acquire the property so that he could leave it to his son and his loved ones. He tried not to think about the day his son would move out. These evenings together would become only an occasional experience, and he could not help wondering if he himself would be alone forever. Surely Blake would eventually find a man for himself, so would it not be sensible if Quentin did the same as well? As attached as he still was to Jennifer and always would be, he was starting to feel the longing again for companionship. He sometimes imagined whether he and Charles should try it out. They enjoyed being friends and had always maintained that they felt as if it should remain so, yet Quentin had not yet met anyone else he thought could hold a candle to Charles -- not that he had looked very hard. He did not like the idea of introducing someone new just yet as Blake was on the cusp on manhood. No matter how comfortable he said that he was with his father pursuing other men for sex or even something more, Quentin knew that a step-father figure would likely test Blake's comfort and tolerance. No, Quentin thought, it would be best to wait until Blake was grown up and on his own. Besides, he wanted to focus his attention on the young Amur fully. He had a feeling that he would need to in the coming years. Besides, Blake had, in a sense, two additional fathers that he had very much accepted over the years in Nieve and Edward. That was plenty. He suddenly felt Blake's head lean onto his shoulder. Quentin looked down and beheld his son leaning against him, his eyes closed peacefully, and could feel as much as hear the young tiger purring blissfully. It made Quentin smile as he bent his neck lower to kiss Blake between his ears and nuzzle his head. It was such a slight gesture, but it reminded the patriarch that the tender, sweet person that he had known Blake to be in his younger years was still there, if often buried under layers of macho posturing. As long as it could still come out of hiding, Quentin hoped that Blake would be able to maintain that. He reminded himself that it was most vital to simply give his own love freely and abundantly without any conditions or reservation. One did not barter affection, one created it and maintained it. However much Blake might have felt it necessary to eschew gentleness and open displays of emotion (other than anger or swaggering confidence), Quentin told himself that this was all transitory. Blake was still growing up and would continue to change and evolve, perhaps even strikingly, well into his twenties. Eighteen was hardly the end of personal growth. Eventually, Blake would mellow as he got older and likely adopt a more nuanced view of things. Even if the young tiger did ultimately turn out to be a gruff, taciturn and largely unsentimental man, Quentin would still be happy if his son could at least let down his proverbial hair in private and be able to forge close friendships and bonds. Above all, he wanted Blake to be happy and enjoy the great gift that Life truly was. Gently and unselfconsciously, Quentin laid a warm paw on Blake's thigh. It had been meant as a paternal gesture of affection, and he was sure Blake probably knew that. Nevertheless, Blake felt a tingle run through his body that immediately began to send blood surging southward. The adolescent tiger mentally tried to slow things, but it was only seconds before the first twitches of his shaft were visible. Quentin had a perfect view of his son's lap and the enormous endowment that rested weightily there. The shaft was curled around on itself where Blake's large feet prevented it laying out flat. Slowly, he watched as the shaft began to thicken and swell, accompanied by that familiar, youthful musk that Quentin had since gotten to know rather well. He continued his slow, gentle rubbing of Blake's thigh, though his paw never moved up or down. As the moments passed, it occurred to them both that if Blake's manhood filled up sufficiently, it would be forced to uncoil and find its way over the top of the tiger's feet; and because it was curled against his right thigh, it was likely to plop on top of Quentin's massive paw. Blake closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing steady even as he felt the urge to start panting. His father's paw felt so good, and it was so close to his cock. His previous peace and serenity was now gone by what had almost certainly been an innocent gesture, and he was now debating fiercely in his head whether or not to just let himself grow and hit his father's paw with his dick. It was turning him on quickly, and he knew his musk was growing just as fast as his sex. He then felt a rumble that was soon followed by sound, and he realized that his father was purring deeply. It was that rough, lusty rumbling again. He took a deep but quiet breath of his father's scent, experiencing his own signature combination, enhanced by the Somalian frankincense in his fur. It was an aphrodisiac musk coming up from Quentin's larger sex which was also filling up fast and was unencumbered by his out-splayed legs. He could not believe how strong his father smelled, even being so close to him, and his smell was only intensifying. What had started as a low rumble was eventually a full erotic one, and Quentin was simply letting himself get good and worked up, knowing full well how irresistible he was to Blake. He reveled in that irresistibility and the boost it gave to his ego; he reveled in how much it made his son want to spend time with him; and he reveled in how proud and impressed his son clearly was with his father's physique in spite of his otherwise very collegiate exterior. His grip on Blake's leg had firmed up, and he was now slowly and subtly moving down towards Blake's member. It was much thicker now, and the shaft really wanted to straighten. It would not be long. Quite pleased with the progress of events, the older tiger casually lifted his drink. "Drink your cider, son, while it's still warm," Quentin said softly but in a voice that Blake would learn was husky because of being drenched in rut. It also caused a great twitch in the young Amur's cock that nearly dislodged it from its restrictions. Blake reacted without thinking, lifting his mug and taking a larger drink than he meant to. He was surprised how well the cider seemed to blend with everything else. He wished they had a scented candle with the smell of mulled cider and wine so that the whole room contained both it and the scent of their rut equally. He happened to look over, overcome with curiosity, and his eyes widened as he saw just how hard his father was. The huge, fat cock that stuck out from that great pelvis was actually rising inch by inch in front of his eyes, and it was still thickening and lengthening! His father was doing nothing to hide it or stop it, and when he looked up into the older tiger's face, he was greeted by that playful, confident grin that bespoke of how much his father enjoyed his own body and the effect it was having on his son. He watched as Quentin gave him and his sex an approving look, winked, and then brought his mug up to drink once more as he patted Blake's thigh. "Cheers," Quentin said low and gravely as he took a manly drink of the hot cider. Blake's body shuddered as he took in a sharp inhalation of air, and his cock finally broke free and thrust itself right under his father's paw where it had raised up to make another pat. There was only a split second of anticipation before that heavy paw, strong, work-worn and callused from years of writing, doing maintenance on their home and lifting weights, landed on top of the eager, young cock and just laid there. No movement or tenseness came from Quentin, but Blake was as taut as a guitar string. He could literally feel the adrenaline and dopamine rushing through him, just waiting to see what happened next. He was not sure what he had been expecting when the moment finally happened, but he had expected something much more explosive. Instead, the anticipation was only far more acute, and the longer his father just sat there nonchalantly with his paw resting on the adolescent's cock, the more Blake felt like he was going to blow on the inside. Quentin, by virtue of age and experience, was able to keep his cool as he touched his son's most private part. In fact, the longer he acted as though it did not matter, the easier it was. He had only really needed to exercise restraint on sudden reactions for a few seconds before his confidence took over. It was very clear Blake wanted this badly, and while he did nothing but occasionally take another sip of his cider, it just got Blake all the more worked up. The older tiger himself was already fully erect and hard as could be, and it felt good just to sit where they were like that, so surprisingly natural and relaxing. He wished Blake could relax...eventually. He chuckled in his lusty way and finally gave the shaft under his paw a good squeeze. His son actually let out a whine of sexual frustration that time, and his cock spurted pre over his leg. Putting down his cider, Quentin finally looked down pointedly into his son's lap so he could better see what he was doing. He gave the teenager's shaft a few strokes up and down, realizing that it was now at full mast. "Very nice, my son. You're quite gifted. You're going to do the Parrish family line very proud indeed," he rumbled as he squeezed his son's cock once more. Blake opened his eyes, and they were begging for more. He did not feel capable of speech, and he could not fathom how his father could be so cool when he was obviously just as aroused as his son. He then spied his father's enormous sex, now displayed in all its glory. He wanted a better look, and he wanted to taste it. All he could do was make strange noises of desire as his brain was overloaded with sexual stimuli. Quentin chuckled again. "All right, son, just take it easy. I know you've wanted to see me for a long time, and I'll be honest, I've wanted to see you and get my paws on you. I just want to make sure you feel the same way. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I'll still love you and care about you regardless." It was something that had to be said, and it was a perfectly honest statement. They both knew that at this point, it was just a formality. Blake nodded for a while before he found enough ability to say, "Yes. Yes. Yes." Now Quentin laughed, his toothy grin all mirth and delight. "Well, then, why don't you put your drink down so you don't spill and let me have a look at you? As your father, I think it's my duty to see how well you are developing." He was amazed how quickly he was falling into the Daddy role, and he was loving every second of it. Blake frantically looked for a table. He got up quickly, his paw trembling, and quickly brought the mug to his mouth to just swallow the whole thing in case he spilled and spoiled the mood by necessitating a quick cleaning of their rug. The strength of the brew hit him for a second, as he had taken the second half down in just a single gulp. He set the empty mug down and came to stand right in front of his father, his cock bobbing heavy and needy. Smiling, the older tiger just nodded as he reached out and took hold of the bobbing, musky member. "Why don't you kneel down, son? I'll be able to see you better that way." His voice was more husky than ever but only just concealing how very eager he really was. When Blake had knelt in front of him, Quentin licked his chops as he pulled his son closer so that their sexes finally touched. He put his paws on Blake's chest, feeling over it as he leaned in to nuzzle the young man. He breathed in his son's scent and moaned softly. "You smell wonderful, son, and your chest fills out more all the time." He then felt over Blake's broad shoulders and down along his strong arms. "I see you've been doing the exercises I recommended for big shoulders. Very good." His paws continued deliberately down to Blake's hips and thighs, just skirting around his groin. He watched as the young tiger leaked copious amounts of pre that just ran down over the hot, stretched skin of his glorious manhood and onto his father's. Quentin noticed that Blake still had not dared to touch him yet. Whether it was out of continued hesitation or pure distraction, Quentin was not sure, but he figured that it was time to fix that and give the poor kid some guidance. Quentin leaned in once more, but this time he pressed his lips firmly but gently to Blake's, kissing him with such loving passion and desire that it seemed to finally melt Blake's paralysis. Slowly, the young tiger's paws came to rest on the sides of his father's torso and slowly made their way to feel over the hard pectorals. He was amazed at the heat coming off of his father which penetrated through his paw pads almost instantly. He felt his father's tongue on his lips and instinctively opened his mouth to let it in. He was moaning and shaking as they kissed. Blake was still taken aback by his father's insistence. He felt afraid and excited, and he just wanted his father to hold him close and lead him, trusting his father implicitly. He had no doubt that the older tiger would guide him surely. Quentin felt his son relaxing, surrendering himself into his father's confidence and experience. The older Amur was struck by how much it made him feel like a parent suddenly, bringing a moment of total clarity at what they, father and son, were doing. Yet Blake was as eager a participant as could be, having been the one who really started all this in the first place. He calmed himself before he could panic but slowly ended the kiss. He gave Blake a lick on the nose. "You all right, lad?" he asked gently, as much for himself as his son. "I'm kind of scared, nervous," Blake answered back with very unusual candor. With great, easy strength, Quentin slipped his paws under Blake's rump, lifted the young tiger into his lap, and held him tightly, their fronts pressed together, surrounding their cocks with fur. "I'm here, son. I'll be gentle. Just trust me. You know I'll never hurt you." "I know." Blake hugged his father back tightly even as he ground himself against him. For a while, they just embraced. Quentin gently stroked his son's back and nuzzled his head. He wanted to be sure his son felt as much at ease as possible and to give him plenty of time to think about what they were about to do in case he had any doubts. The teenager's persistent grinding, however, told Quentin that Blake was as sure as could be. Even through all the excitement, Quentin felt most acutely a gratitude that Blake trusted him so implicitly and completely, and it gave him a peace of mind that nothing else could. Slowly, Blake found himself being laid onto his back so that his father was eventually looking down on him, straddling his hips so their cocks stayed firmly pressed together. His father had both his paws encircling them, growling softly as he slowly stroked them. The older Amur looked different from this angle, Blake noticed. Maybe it was the effect of the fire directly illuminating his chest and leaving everything else behind in immediate, deep shadow, but it made his Quentin's upper body look much more powerful. He felt awed at the width of the man's shoulders and his bulky, powerful arms that came down to his substantial paws that so deftly handled their most vulnerable parts. His father still had a slight V-shape but not like what he had when he was younger. Quentin's figure was becoming boxier and heftier. His musk was also much more potent than his son's, and it was proving more intoxicating than the cider had been for the young tiger. More than ever before, Blake appreciated that his father was most definitely a man among men. There was much to emulate, to match...even surpass. Quentin licked his chops again, feeling that he had waited quite long enough. "I"m going to take a taste of you, son," he stated simply. He backed up a bit, bent over, and suddenly inhaled Blake's entire member into his mouth, eliciting a surprised moan from his son. He closed his eyes and moaned with him as he finally tasted his progeny. Blake reminded Quentin of his own taste, but there was something altogether spicier in it and even his pre. Slowly, he moved his tongue over the steely, hot cock, taking in each ridge and savoring the nuances of each flavor. The more he tasted, the more he had an appetite for hot chiles. He pulled up off the shaft and looked it over closely, admiring its proportions and shape. Grinning, he growled with delight and began to masturbate Blake, gradually speeding up. "Come on, son, I want to taste you as you shoot off." Blake could still not explain it, but every time his father talked like that, gave him commands, it drove him wild. It was going to be an easy desire to fulfill, though, as he had been feeling half-ready to shoot for...well, it had been a long time since he had truly felt satisfied of late. As much as he wanted to watch, all Blake could do was screw his eyes shut and occasionally bang his fists on the rug beneath him as his father jacked him off so perfectly. Strained whines and moans escaped him frequently now as he felt his balls tightening and his load getting ready to go, having been delayed and teased so much lately. He was even bucking into his father's paws, trying to make it happen faster. His father continued to urge him on in that ruggedly masculine voice. "Yes, that's it, just let it go, boy! Just fuckin' shoot. Make your Daddy proud!" Quentin said loudly as if it were all some wonderful sport. Pre was now actually shooting out, getting on them and helping to increase the presence of Blake's scent in the room amongst his father's. He jerked faster now, and soon his son was crying out raggedly and growling as his balls tensed against his scrotum, the muscles contracting and sending the payload up through Blake's cock. Quentin ducked his maw back down just in time to catch the first volley. He growled around hot flesh as his mouth was filled, his tongue now being doubly treated to the taste of Blake's skin and essence while flooding his nose with rut. He swallowed several times before Blake finally petered out and then simply held the shaft in his mouth until some of the sensitivity had gone away. He cleaned it thoroughly before letting it slip out of his maw. "By Jove, Blake, you are becoming a man! Hell, you're more of a man now than many twice your age. I'm so fucking proud of you, I can't stand it!" Quentin was now quite overtaken with rut, and he was speaking honestly through his growls as he looked his son over possessively. "I have wanted to suck your cock since I saw you jacking off against your closet wall." "I wish you had joined me," Blake gasped, his voice having finally returned to him. He regarded his father with a mixture of surprise and post-ejaculatory gauziness. "Well, next time, I will. Count on it," he promised, his paws giving his son's hips a firm squeeze. He then stood up, towering over the young Amur, his cock just as hard and productive as ever. Grinning, his expression more like a street tough than the professor Blake normally saw, Quentin spoke again. "Now, I think it's time you had a go, eh? I know how much you've wanted this." He took hold of his enormous sex and gave it a waggle, sending quite a bit of pre splashing onto Blake's fur. "Let's take it to the bedroom, though. I don't want to spoil the rug." Quentin suddenly bent down, picked up his son and slung him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As he turned, he spied his drink. He picked up the mug, downed what remained, and then set it back down. "Ah, that was good," he said as he smacked Blake's ass and padded quickly to the young tiger's bedroom, which was the closest to them. He dropped Blake unceremoniously onto the bed, having by now picked up how being a bit rough turned on his son and more than happy to oblige. "Now, Daddy's been waiting quite a while until it all felt right, so he's pretty loaded." He cupped his own balls and hefted them a couple of times in his paw which was almost overflowing with them. "Go on. Don't be afraid, son. You'll love 'em." He motioned Blake forward with his fingers as he stood by the bed, dripping pre onto the quilt. Blake's own cock had lost not even a bit of his stiffness, nor had its pressure been reduced. He was leaking continuously now, and he felt light-headed from everything. Nevertheless, as he stared at the huge penis his father had, he felt hungry as hell for it. He wanted to finally grasp it, examine it up close, taste it, and see it go off without underwear in the way. He also wanted to compare his own flavor to his dad's. He scrambled over, not bothering to make a moment of it, and just reached out to finally claim the prize that he had dreamed about for years now. He gradually came to sit on the edge of the bed, but those movements were so far in the background of his consciousness that he barely noticed. His father was truly gargantuan in size, even for a man of over six and a half feet tall. The shaft was quite long, and its girth was more than a little intimidating. Blake's own paw only just managed to go around it. It was actually hot to the touch, not merely warm, and it was black and shiny like obsidian. Slowly, he felt all over it and was soon weighing Quentin's testicles in his paws. They were also hot, the fur amazingly fine and soft, and Blake swore they must have weighed almost a pound each while being the size of small oranges. There was so much tackle that Blake suddenly wondered if his father had ever scared off any prospective lovers. Slowly, Blake stuck his nose into the thickest part of the fur around the base of the shaft, where the pelvis and leg joined, and inhaled as deeply as he could. He cried out loudly as the intensity of his father's rut came over him. He was overpowering, reeking of excitement and masculinity. Blake was pretty sure he could have a no-paws orgasm by simply smelling his father long enough. He stuck his tongue out and just began lapping away at the balls in all the places the musk would be strongest and most concentrated. He worked eagerly with his tongue as his paws moved back on their own to begin jacking off his own needy cock. He could not resist as he worked himself over while tasting and smelling his father. He could not believe how much time he was taking to merely explore his father's body, but each part was so amazing that he had to just discover every nook and cranny. His paws were a blur on his member. Suddenly, he was bucking again as he shot hard, most of his load splattering his father's ass, perineum, legs and balls. Simultaneously, Blake's face was being smeared by his father's pre that was getting thicker and more copious than ever. When Blake finished shooting, he finally took his face out of his father's groin and just rested it on the man's flat, muscled belly, panting for air, that fiery hot cock now firm against his jaw. "I felt that all right," Quentin said jovially, scratching his son behind his ear affectionately. "No wonder you stole a pair of my underwear." Blake suddenly looked up, surprised, as his father started laughing merrily again. "Yes, my boy, I noticed. I had fun imagining what you might be doing with it. I think I might like to see you wearing a pair of underwear I've spent the whole day in and jack off in it. Would you like that?" Blake's moan said he would. As his mouth was open, he felt his lips on one side of his mouth gently opening over part of his father's shaft. He brought up a paw, took hold of his dad's member, and finally took the head into his own mouth. He found himself whining again in delight as his tongue finally got a direct sample. It was the most exciting moment of his life, he thought. He was finally sucking on his father's cock, and suck he most certainly did! He just moved his mouth all around, making sure his tongue did not miss a single spot, working his paws up and down it as he bobbed his head, going deeper each time. With each dip, he grunted before coming back up. If there was such a thing as desperate enjoyment, Blake currently embodied it as he worked his father so eagerly and with such disarray of technique and style as he raced to simply try out all the angles he had ever dreamed of doing. He wanted more of his father's musk, his pre, his shaft, his heat, his growls and encouragements, and he wanted to experience the man cum like a geyser. His father's firm grip on the back of his head subtly got him into a better rhythm, and Blake timed himself to meet his father's insistent thrusts. He was once again jacking himself off with one paw as well while his father growled and swore and showered him with praise. Slowly, his father's voice was raising in volume. Blake worked even harder, ignoring the ache in his jaw at being stretched so wide for trying to accommodate so much penis. He needed only bear it a bit longer before his father actually roared and began flooding his mouth with incredible speed. Blake wanted to hold it all in his mouth before swallowing, but he quickly found himself inundated, forcing him to swallow hard to make room. To his shock, the same thing happened again and again and again. He began to wonder when it would stop, and after swallowing six mouthfuls, the flow gradually ceased. His father's roars softened, his grip loosened, and finally he stopped pumping. Blake slowly licked every last bit of semen from his father's sex as he had his ears stroked gently and lovingly. "Mmm, good boy," Quentin rumbled and bent down for another kiss, his strong paw once more gripping Blake's head. "Get on the bed, son. Just lay on it like normal. Come on, there's a good lad." Blake eagerly complied with his father's requests, wondering what was coming next. Quentin, gently stroking himself and enjoying his own massiveness, climbed over Blake, straddling his legs and grinding his cock against Blake's for a while, still rumbling on about how much he enjoyed his son's attractive, strong body. He then sat up and started beating off eagerly while still grinding their balls together. "Come on, son. Why don't you join your ol' man for a good old fashioned wank? I want to watch you do it." Blake kept one paw cupping his father's balls while the other worked himself good. He panted and grunted from his exertions and from his excitement as he watched his father enjoy himself. He had many times fantasized about Quentin just jacking off on him like this, all the while making a huge mess and relishing every moment of it. As his father stroked, he was shooting pre still that was painting Blake's impressive frame. The young tiger wondered just how productive his father could be. Before his father could demonstrate, though, Blake felt himself arriving at climax again, having already started on himself again while he was sucking his father off. He had to force his eyes to remain open so that he could watch his father through it all. "Yes, yes! Just let it go, Blake! Shoot!" Quentin encouraged as he reverted completely to the working class accent of his youth while his son writhed under him, pushing out shot after shot. Quentin kept himself near the edge, waiting for his son to finish. "That's my boy. Now watch me, Blake, and be careful, as I forgot to give you safety goggles." He sped up on himself, finally pushing himself past the point of no return. His free paw suddenly shot out to brace him against the wall, and he began growling in fits as his balls unloaded and drenched Blake's entire upper body, his pillow, the headboard, and even the wall. Quentin just held his cock out, letting it go off everywhere and making as big a mess as he could, occasionally cursing when a particularly hard shot came out. It was easy work since he was so productive and fertile, and he enjoyed his own pleasure as much as he enjoyed seeing his son's reaction to it all. Towards the end, he began directing his shots right at his son's face. Blake was forced to shut his eyes to keep his father's cum out. He did open his mouth, though, and drank down everything that came in. He reveled in the physicality of his father's release, feeling his powerful, heavy body tensing and bucking over him, the balls heaving in his paws, and the gloriously feral sounds of rut that came out of that normally prim, proper mouth. He loved those sounds, and they somehow seemed even more appealing because they were dragged out of such a refined, controlled man that was so unassuming (his height and bulk notwithstanding). Maybe it was a gay male take on the reserved librarian who was, on the inside, a sex god. He could not help but then wonder about Professor Urquhart, and the thought of being between him and his father only added to his arousal which was surely being fueled by the older Amur. Quentin sat panting, even as a deep rumble was beginning to resound within out of sheer pleasure. He casually wiped his cum-drenched paw on a part of Blake's leg that was still relatively clean. Even this nonchalantly casual gesture turned Blake on. He liked his Dad acting this way. "Fuckin' 'ell," Quentin drawled in more of a growl than actual speech. He grinned down at Blake. "God damn, that was good. I think ya like bein' my cum rag, don't ya? Ya like bein' covered in your daddy's cum, son, and ya like feelin' my body shakin' as I go off on ya. Don't ya, lad?" He laid himself down on Blake, his perfect fur now getting all soiled in their combined productions, and he kissed the teenager tiger rough and long. He very quickly felt Blake's legs and arms lock around him, pulling him closer until Quentin was letting his entire weight press his son into the mattress. It was clear Blake loved everything about his father's body, and it made Quentin feel surprisingly good about himself. He gently nuzzled Blake and met his gaze again. "You doin' all right, son?" he asked. His voice was still ragged like gravel but more tender now. "Oh, Dad, I couldn't be better if I were a god! I...I didn't know you had this in you?" he marveled, running his paws over his father's enormous back and shoulders. "You're almost like another man, and I love it! There's way more to you than I ever thought." Quentin was smiling with all his teeth showing and his chest puffing out proudly, which only caused Blake to be pushed further into the bed. "Glad ya like it. I want you to be proud of me." "I always have been, Dad." He kissed Quentin passionately, tightening his full-body embrace around his father. After another long kiss, he finally ventured to ask a question that had been on his mind. "Dad?" "Yeah, son?" "Can we try...anal?" Quentin grinned and chuckled. "Well, perhaps. I don't think I should try to get myself inside of you just yet," he answered as he sat up and hefted his sex to make the point. "I'm far too big for a novice, even someone as bodily large as you. I'd tear ya apart, son. But..." He looked over his shoulder to see Blake's stiffness standing up between his own rump cheeks. "Oh, yes, I think that could work." He got off Blake, rolled onto his back, and looked expectantly at his son. When Blake just stared for a while, Quentin bared another toothy grin. "Well, you gonna fuck me, boy, or do I have to fuck myself on your cock? You're never gonna learn to fuck like a man if ya don't try it!" A great blast of pre suddenly erupted from Blake's cock at those words, and Quentin laughed heartily. "Excellent! That'll make good lubrication, that will," he said with rambunctious gusto. "Come on now. I'm waitin' for ya, boy!" Eagerly, but with uncertainty, Blake got up and positioned himself between his father's thighs, his paws reaching out as if under their own volition to toy with Quentin's cock and balls. He was focused particularly on the hole just beneath it all. "Come on, Blake," his father said more softly and with gentle encouragment. "Just line yourself up and push in slowly." Blake took hold of himself, walked forward a bit further on his knees, and began to push against his father's puckered hole, wondering just how he was going to get himself in that small thing. Quentin kept himself easy and relaxed as he patiently waited, continuing to offer gentle encouragement. "That's right, son. Just keep pushing. It'll go in, don't worry. Harder, harder, that's right. Keep going... Oooo... Yes, keep going, don't stop. I'm all right. By Jove, you are wonderfully big! I hope you keep getting bigger."? Blake watched in astonishment and not a little disbelief as he applied much pressure and then suddenly began to go past his father's ring and actually sink into his rump. Inch by inch, he watching himself disappear into incredibly soft warmth. It still seemed so unbelievable that he was about to fuck for real for the first time in his life -- and with his father of all people! He pushed slowly, worried about going too far or hurting Quentin, but as he finally sank all the way in until his balls met his father's larger ones, all he sensed was enjoyment. Even Quentin's face showed only pleasure. His father was the bottom, yet to Blake it still felt very much like Quentin was still dominant. It defied explanation. How could someone be so much a man that they could still be dominant while being on bottom? "How do ya like that, son?" Quentin asked, his paws resting comfortably on Blake's thighs, gently petting them. "It's amazing. I just wanna...wanna..." "Fuck," Quentin answered for him and gave the young Amur's cock a clench. "Then go ahead, son. Fuck me good an' hard! Just go wild. I can take it." Still unsure of himself but hornier than ever, Blake just gave in and began to bang, harder and harder, until his father was grunting and crying out with his knocks. The bed was rocking with their exertions, and Quentin was gripping the slats in the headboard powerfully to steady his body and brace it against his son's thrusts. Blake was surprised at how good it felt, how easy it seemed to get so much pleasure out of it. With each thrust, he could feel himself coming closer, and since his father had said many times to just let go, Blake did exactly that, not caring how fast he was getting off. As he edged closer to climax, he made a point to watch. Even if he could not watch his cum spray out, he felt compelled to watch his shaft as he was shooting. His whines and growls were soon notching up in pitch as he hit yet another climax. His paws gripped his father's hips tightly as he began unloading as hard as ever, and he could see his entire groin straining forward as he ejaculated. "Yes, yes!! That's it, boy, let 'er rip!" Quentin roared as he started beating off as well, both his paws running eagerly up and down his huge, black cock. On and on Blake fucked, working himself to climax several times and watching his father delight in blowing off just as carelessly as he had before, drenching them both in powerful sprays of tiger cum. The room reeked of their rutting, and the fallout had covered their bodies, Blake's quilt, the headboard, wall, even the bedside tables and bits of the floor. Quentin was laying in a shallow but gathering pool of cum (mostly his). The clean up effort was going to be extensive. The young Amur loved simply being able to let everything out, to howl, growl, whine, and simply drop every inhibition. It was incredibly liberating, and his father seemed to take just as much delight in it as Blake did. Quentin marveled at his son's eagerness and felt a pang of jealousy, as he had been much more controlled when he had first had sex. It was not until he had finally bedded a man after Jennifer's death that he had ever got anyone close to him in size. In fact, it had been Nieve that had been Quentin's first man, and it had been more than enough to convince Quentin that, as much as he could appreciate the female sex erotically, he was meant for men. The sheer power and glory of everything male seemed to have almost pushed Quentin's bisexuality into extinction in favor of men. Moreover, while he and Jennifer could go pretty hard at it as she was a ferocious lover, Quentin had never entirely let himself go. He was simply too big and too powerful, and even she had seemed to realize there might have been a limit. It was not until Nieve that Quentin had truly allowed himself to surrender completely and be as feral as he could be. It made him feel glad that he could be that kind of outlet for Blake. First times often were awkward affairs, but sometimes they were phenomenal. Quentin wanted very much to make his son's first time phenomenal, and it looked like he was being successful. Both cats' minds were a bit hazy after so many orgasms, and everything had stopped at some indeterminate time. They simply found themselves panting on the bed and resting, drenched in and stinking of sex. Blake's head laid on his father's chest while Quentin slowly stroked him, rumbling deeply inside. Blake had never felt so completely satisfied sexually in his short life. Even masturbating had been more fun with his father. He wondered how he could ever go back to just amusing himself. As for Quentin, he was happy to finally have all the tension out, his fears allayed, and above all, to have a new, wonderful bond with his son. One thing was for sure, and that was that they had incredible sexual chemistry together. He very much looked forward to future trysts. He wondered if he should tell Nieve about what had happened. He realized that he would certainly have to tell Blake about his discussion with the lion, as Nieve was bound to be able to figure out things had been a success when he visited them tomorrow. The lack of tension between father and son -- or at least tension that could be cut with a cold butter knife -- would give as much away. That lion always seemed to be able to figure out those kinds of things. Quentin looked over at the digital clock on the bedside and squinted to read the numbers, having taken off his glasses some time ago. They were sitting next to the clock, and they both had splatters of cum on then. "Blast it," he grumbled without having meant to make a pun. "Blake, my son, could you read the clock for me?" he asked. "Sure, Dad." He turned his head to read the numbers. "Holy cow, it's three-thirty in the morning!" "Oh, my. Well, I guess that means I'm not going to church in the morning," Quentin said, not feeling too sorry. "Really?" Blake looked surprised. The father tiger hugged his son close and nuzzled him. "No, I want to be able to sleep in with you...if you'd like to snuggle up with me in my bed." Blake purred back happily. "Of course, I would, Dad. Besides, my bed's kind of in ruins at the moment."? Quentin nodded, a very satisfied smile on his handsome muzzle. "Indeed. I can teach you later how to rut more carefully so as not to make such a big mess. Later, of course." His own nature was gently reasserting itself, even as his voice remain low and husky from all the rutting and roaring. "We should shower. I'm sorry your fur got all messed up, Dad. It looked beautiful." Quentin raised his nose proudly. "Thank you, my son." They wiped themselves as best they could with the soiled quilt, transferred all of the bed linens to the washing machine, and quickly made their way to the bathroom together for a thorough but efficient shower. Apart from one last masturbatory session, they had managed to refrain from further sexual conduct. Though they were both tired and quite satisfied, the appetite was never completely gone. Quentin was lucky that he had been able to allow the oil to stay on his fur long enough for it to have been absorbed and so did not require a reapplication. He did enjoy oiling Blake's as his son had helped him out before Midnight Mass. Combined with the sex and the drinks from earlier, the quiet, gentle ministrations in front of the glowing embers of the fire in their living room worked together to make Blake very drowsy. Quentin groomed in silence as they really did not need to say anything. While they had been cleaning up, Quentin had confessed more of his thoughts as well as his conversation with Nieve. Blake had been amazed but did not seem, to Quentin's eyes at least, all that surprised. He had also given his consent to let the lion know, trusting him just as implicitly as Quentin did. That obviously extended to his husband Edward. Quentin believed that trust genuine, but he also suspected that Blake also wanted to explore the possibility of getting into a foursome. He had requested, however, that Charles be kept ignorant of it all, and Quentin was inclined to agree. It had been risky enough to admit it to Nieve, and neither of them wanted the information to spread wider than that. It was a dangerous secret, and one they were not likely to ever share with anyone else for the rest of their lives -- and with good reason. It was enough for them, however, and even though Quentin would have enjoyed an orgy of five, he would have to simply settle for a foursome without his son. He grinned as he thought about the lion and two huge foxes, all naked and eager to rut. If he ever married again, he would have to find a husband comfortable with the idea of an open marriage and incest. Quentin knew that he was not meant for monogamy anymore. When Blake's fur was finally oiled and the bed linens in the dryer, father and son gratefully retired to bed. The only times that Blake and Quentin normally slept together in recent years had been when they visited family in England or went on trips and shared a bed to save money. Now there was a new intimacy and fearlessness about being tactile. Blake found himself wrapped up warmly in his father's body, and he gratefully laid his head on the tiger's thick carpet of chest fur that was warm and comfortingly musky. He nuzzled it gently and purred loudly, feeling happy, loved, warm and so very sleepy. In the dark room, he was vaguely aware of the covers falling over them and his father's tongue lapping at his ears. In no time at all, they were asleep. It was the most comfortable sleep Blake could ever remember, and it was complete and peaceful. He felt closer to his father than he had in a long time, and it was a closeness with new and wonderful depths, especially the tender intimacy that they had both thought was forever gone when Blake became a teenager. Now it did not have to be so, and they could express their love physically in whatever way seemed right at the time. If they could not connect on an intellectual level, then why not on a physical and emotional one? It was a new possibility they were both grateful for, and it was one they hoped would last them a lifetime.