My Dad's Asshole (3)
Yet another beautiful lazy Thursday night. I've not even remotely started to get tired of them. This time it's classic James Bond on the tube, one of those marathon showings. I don't even pick up the remote to skip through the commercials, cuz I wanna make it last.
I feel so on top of the world that I don't even grab a beer, even though it'd be easy to stare down Dad's disapproving look when I reach for one, as I've done several times the past few weeks. I just get a glass of orange juice for myself before plopping down on the couch and telling him to get naked except for his underwear. He looks pissed but I flop my own brushy black tail encouragingly a few times.
Once he's in his usual position, for the first few minutes I just knead at his big butt cheeks through his boxers, savoring the tantalizing view and the knowledge that his bare ass and anus are just right under there waiting to be revealed to me. He already sighs and shifts and wiggles and grunts, "Just get on with it, goddamnit."
I smile hugely. He wouldn't be saying that if he knew about the surprise I have for him in my pants. "Well for you, that'd actually mean 'off with it', so..." I give his ass a pat and reach for my glass of juice, downing half of it in a big refreshing gulp.
His tail switches with agitation, which makes the back of his underwear ruffle SO sexily, and he has no idea. "Get me fucking naked if you're gonna. At least be a man about THAT."
"Just watch the movie, Asshole." I think it's funny to nickname him that and remind him what he's here for. And I spend another five or ten minutes just rubbing his ass and thighs over his shorts, occasionally slipping my hand partway up the leg of them.
I personally think it's impeccable timing on my part that I finally reach far enough up his boxers to push my fingers against his asshole right when this particular Bond Girl is introduced. Not one of my favorites, to be honest, I always kinda had a weird kink for the clearly lesbian chick in Goldfinger, but it does the trick and I smirk. Maybe this'll give good ol' Dad's boner some weirdly traumatic associations for future Bond marathons.
Sure enough, pretty soon I feel a stiff tube pressing perpendicularly against my right thigh. I guess for a gentleman of my dad's generation, a Bond Girl is always a boner-starter. I "idly" bounce my right leg a little bit and rub and bother at his nice hot anus some more.
By the time I finish my glass of juice though, my mouth is thirsty for something else. I work Dad's underwear down along his beefy but soft thighs, watching his butt clench like it's his last stand of dignity, hiding his asshole from me for a few more seconds of his own accord. I think it's awfully cute.
Down his legs the fabric continues, and I'm careful to hold it by the sides so I don't accidentally touch his genitals. Not that I think they're gross or gay or anything, I just like him to know that's not what I'm after. I press the soft cloth to my nose, making sure to get the seat of it right up in there. God, it smells just like a dad should. How does any good son manage without this kind of relationship with his pop? At that moment of eyes-closed bliss, even my own dick throbs, though it's safely threaded down the leg of my loose cargo shorts so my old man will have no idea.
For a few moments, I have the crumpled fabric still in my hand, and I rub it up and down his thigh a few times. He tenses and snorts. I can tell I'm pissing him off with all this teasing. Which is of course exactly what I wanted, but there's a point where even I just wanna get to the main event. So I hunch over and lift him up simultaneously, watching the position-shift spread his ass involuntarily. Almost wistfully, I cozy my snout right in there and kiss that pulsing black pucker of flesh that I love so much. It tastes unwashed as usual, and awesomely manly. It's a good aftertaste with the orange juice, gotta admit. This is one of those times I start to think that the essence of a man's masculinity is concentrated in his asshole, rather than his balls or dick, as most seem to assume. I sure feel like I've captured my dad's flag, so to speak, as I claim his deliciously salty anus with my mouth. I start slurping and sucking on it, feeling its warmth on my lips and mapping the folds of it with my tongue.
I can feel his butthole kinda pushing out against my mouth, and it's with almost a weird sort of instinct that I push back with my lips and blow a wet raspberry on his anus. I hardly even realize I've done it when I burst out laughing. Only my strongly menacing arm around Dad's thigh keeps him in place over me as he hisses and jerks away in embarrassment. "Fucking stop that! Jesus!!!"
Once I finally calm down, I pull him back to me and do it a few more times. I can already tell this is gonna be a new favorite hobby of mine. Blowing a fake fart right on his asshole is, to me at least, a funny little reminder of exactly where I am. He hasn't yet had the audacity or the accident to let a real one rip on my yet, but I know my days are probably numbered on that. And I feel a ripple of whatever passes for shame with me when I realize that that kind of excites me.
I shrug the filthy thought off and press my lips back to his asshole. If I stopped and analyzed EVERY strangely gross thought I ever had, I'd have been headed to a shrink long before I made it to high school.
Eventually I lay Dad down on his front and my fingers take over. His asshole is just as snug as ever, the outside ring sucking on my fingers beautifully. A thumb rubbing his taint and my other hand massaging a cheek never go awry either. I watch the back of his testicles as they jiggle and shift when he tries in vain to get comfortable.
I've been rubbing two fingers over his prostate for about half an hour when his legs tense in a way that suggests he's trying to get up. I'm not having that, obviously, and I pull my fingers from his ass to press that arm down on his back.
"Lemme up, I gotta piss."
I push harder, wrapping my other arm around his thigh and keeping him immobilized. He's still got some weight on me, but he's been at a desk job for twenty years and I've been in football for four. I'm second-string even as a senior, but still.
"CODY, let me up, I've been holding it the whole damn movie."
"Nope. Shoulda gone before," I tell him. Far as I'm concerned, this is payback for those family road trips where it was "go now or forever hold your pee."
He keeps on struggling. With the arm around his thigh, I reach around and under him and grab his swinging penis. It's half-stiff and feels warm and throbby. I believe what he says about having to piss. I let go of his cock and deliver a firm slap to his nuts with my fingers.
He yelps and his tail bristles. The second swat makes him actually BARK. The third one is back to a yap and a whimper. Already his balls have pulled up hard, cowering in their wrinkly sack next to his taint. His whole body's quivering, no doubt in part from fatigue of the awkward strain of his struggling. There's a moment of silence, which I break.
"Stay."
He trembles over me for a few seconds, tries to roll over and make another break for it, and I press down on his lower back brutally. One more thwap to his puppymakers, the scrotum now as shriveled as stiff as wood, and he collapses in my lap again, breathing so hard he's almost moaning with the effort of it.
Now that I have the luxury of a second to reach away, I relieve the pressure on his leg for just long enough to grab my empty glass. Then I push that hand right under him and firmly hold his thigh in place against me. A little bit of fiddling around between his legs and I have his now-flaccid penis flopped into the rim of the glass.
"Go if you have to. Don't overflow it."
Two of my fingers slip right back up his shitter, my thumbpad rubbing at his taint and occasionally tapping at his taut coinpurse of a scrotum.
I could wait all night; the movie is at the really good part now and there's an even better one on next. But poor dad doesn't have "all the time in the world", and with a gurgling throaty huff, he starts to let loose. A pleasant hissing sound rings out from the glass as his piss jets down into it, and his asshole constricts around my fingers, his buns bunching up too. I wiggle my digits as much as I could, thinking excitedly _fuck, I'm fingering the piss out of him. _
I hear the rush of liquid start to steady out and realize the glass is getting heavy in my hand. I cut him off by waggling my fingers side to side in his sloppy asshole. "Get any on the carpet and YOU'RE sponging it up." He just moans and lifts up a bit. It's fascinating to feel and see firsthand which bunches of muscles clench when he pees, and which ones engage when he's trying to stop. Instead of just playing him like an instrument, now I feel like the conductor of a symphony, my hand keeping me in tune with and in control of a wondrously complex web of parts.
With only a couple inches left to go in the top of the glass, he manages to squeeze off the stream. Good thing too, because in his flaccid state, any more and he'd be dangling into his own piss.
I'm sure a drop or two still lingered on his tip and dropped to the carpet below us as I carefully lifted the filled glass around his side and up to my lips, but as every man knows, that can never be helped. Errant drops of pee have surely been a fact of penis-having life since time unspeakable.
Well I hadn't even planned on DRINKING it, even when I'd put his dick in the glass, but now it seems like a foregone conclusion. I don't even think about it, I just take a sip. It's warm, salty, and mildly yellow. Reminds me oddly of the cheap light beer I steal from Dad himself. There's truth to those "piss water" jokes after all, I guess. I take a real drink this time, rolling it around in my mouth with my tongue before swallowing the strangely pleasant stuff and breathing through my nose to take in the after-fumes. "Not bad," I muse aloud.
Dad moans; it almost sounds like a sob with that hitch in it when I start working my fingers in his bare vulnerable butt again. He's exhausted now, and his hole doesn't even resist. It's warm, soft, and pliable, his cheeks just lying open and lax and rippling with each push or shake I give him. Just perfect for my surprise.
I polish off the glass of dad's fresh piss before it gets cold. Somehow I already know that would dull the charm and the taste of it. I look forward to gathering more of it soon, since I know he has at least a little left in the tank. But setting the empty glass aside leaves my left hand free to sneak into my shorts pocket.
I'm nice enough to give it a quick wetting with my tongue first, before grabbing it with my right hand and lodging it up against my dad's now-empty butthole. He's breathing hard and almost gasping, and I bet if I reached under him again I'd find him erect.
"What the...hhhhh...hell are you d.... doin to me now, boy..."
The smooth, slightly ridged rubber handle of Dad's trusty socket wrench slips easily up his loose, accepting anus. "Screwing you." Not as good as the line would have been with one of his screwdrivers, but all of them had plastic handles and I don't wanna make the guy BLEED, for christ's sake.
He shakily pushes himself up and half-twists to look behind him. I slip the wrench out of him and cheerfully hold it up to show him.
His chest collapses back onto the ottoman. "This is bullshit and you know it Cody," he huffs sullenly. "I'll get you for all this someday. You've overplayed your hand."
"Love to see you try, old man. And watch what you say about my hand, you might get the whole thing shoved up your ass."
He snarls and glares back at me hatefully. "You've blackmailed your own father, and you haven't left my asshole alone for a single day since. I can barely fucking take a shit anymore because you're always messing around in me and playing with my most private things. You're a fucker, and you're gonna get what's coming to you, boy."
I snort, grin, and shake my head. He's blowing smoke out his ass, there's no way he's got a thing on me. He's sullen and indignant the whole rest of the night. Plot away, daddy-o. Your ass is mine, and it's gonna stay that way. You just try and get yourself out of this.
I enjoy the rest of the movie and the satisfaction of slipping that handle in and out of Dad's puffy, throbbing, worried asshole.