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Well, fuck. There's few things as awkward as walking in on your friend's dad jacking off. It's a bit more awkward when you are 16, high out of your mind, and on your way to get something to drink so you can remedy some wicked cotton mouth. The smell of male muskiness hits me first, and I look up from carefully navigating my way down the stairs to see that he's sitting in the armchair, flashing with the room around him in the bright cast of ever changing color from the TV. He's wearing an unzipped striped hoodie over his work shirt, and his khaki pants are pushed down around his thighs as he fondles and manipulates his cock, which he's pulled out of the front of his boxers. I only have this moment of awareness as I'm stepping off the bottom step and am now standing roughly four feet away from him, and it's too late to retreat. At the sound of my claws clicking on the tile landing he turns his head to me and squints, probably blinded by the TV that's flashing vibrantly in his glasses. He stares, likely unsure who's caught him before recognition dawns on his face and his mouth opens awkwardly.

Honestly, I'm a bit relieved when he grins sheepishly rather than yelling. His fingertips move up and down slowly a few more times as he glances from me, to the TV behind me, to the remote on the table 3 feet in front of him, and back to me. I look over my shoulder and to my immense surprise, there's some good old-fashioned hardcore gay porn playing on his monolithic LED TV. At the moment every pixel is busy displaying stunningly captured debauchery. In my stoned haze I'm a bit dazzled by my first look at any kind of porn in 1080p, and I spend a bit more time than I should examining the almost three dimensional looking semen spraying through the air and coating beautifully detailed fur before turning back to see that Mr. Dubray cock is still out and in his hand, though he isn't stroking it anymore. I can't see his eyes behind the glare in his glasses, but his mouth is pursed and his ears are cupped forwards. A slight heaviness in the front of my boxers tells me that it's probably showing I'm getting stiff from all of this, and I realize how terribly awkward it must be for him, to have a his son's friend silently just eyeing his dick and the porn he's watching. I decide to say something, and manage to croak out "It's fine." as I pass him and enter the kitchen, wrenching the fridge open and snatching the first drink I see. He looks quizzically over his shoulder back at me for a few seconds, and then turns back to face the screen and resumes stroking, his ears pinned back in some expression that may be confusion, embarrassment, or concentration.

The hiss-snap of the can opening is jarring in the nearly silent kitchen as I turn around and lean against the counter, gulping the cool ginger ale quietly as I watch some Doberman hungrily force an unfathomably long cock down his throat. I look down at my bare chest to notice that it's heaving a bit, and beyond that I can't see my feet past the tent that's straining in the light fabric of my boxers. Years of internet exposure has desensitized me to all of this, and really after watching both gay and straight porn online and with friends, there's nothing that feels innately bad about this scene besides my own uncontrollable and embarrassing erection. Unfortunately with the way my friend's home is designed, there really isn't really a place I can lean and not watch Mr. Dubray whacking it, and I'm not really ready to walk back past him with my underwear jutting out and showing a lewd stain in the front. I also know from a rather embarrassing experience at home that I'm now 'mature' enough that if I tuck it up without a shirt on it'll just jut out of the top, leaking pre down the front. I know there's no way in Hell Richie isn't going to see the fat stain in the front of my boxers or smell the amount of hornball coming off of me. I choose a place against the counter where I can only see the motion of his arm and the occasional flash of the tip of his penis as he seemingly expertly handles his equipment and I growl down at my own situation. At the side of the chair I spot a nearly empty bottle of tequila and it dawns on me that the 37 year old Aussie Shepherd might have honestly thought I'd left or forgotten I was even here. I lean over a little more, and sure enough his dick is looking a lot shinier, with the occasional gush of pre flowing out over the top of his fingers as he switches from teasing manipulation to determined stroking. Over the nearly silent porn, his breath rises in huffs and deep throated growls as he bites his lip and mutters the occasional 'fuck yeah' and 'take it' as he spreads the slick fluid over his shaft and laps it from his fingertips. At this point I can't tell if it is due to being high, but the smell of his dad has even pervaded the kitchen, nipping at my senses and teasing at my groin.

Unfortunately all of this isn't making the situation in my nether regions any better, and a tender squeeze to the shaft sends me a shuddering impulse to just say 'Fuck it' and whip it out. I bite my lip and decide to instead wait for Mr. Dubray to finish up whatever he's doing, before retreating to a bathroom. Another glance around him confirms that he's switched tactics yet again, panting raggedly and squeezing his knot with one hand as he strokes with his thumb and forefinger up and down his shaft. Another throb sends a stream of prejizz leaking out of the front of my now very damp underwear as my own dick aches as a constant reminder of my teenage virility, pressuring me to give in and take care of the need that's pulsing endlessly as it strains against my too-tight underwear. A sudden sharp yip brings me out of my whimpering reverie as the elder Australian Shepherd grips his cock in one paw and shields his face with the other as salvo after salvo of gushing cum flies up, visible over his shoulder as it arcs, suspends, and rains down on his head, muzzle, arm and chest. His breaths become long and ragged as his stroking slows and stops, and his tongue pokes out of the side of his muzzle to swipe at the strands of cum it can reach.

I'm shaking in amazement and arousal as he gets up, stretches and cracks his back, before turning around to see me standing stock still with a stain now reaching from the tip of my straining dick down to where the pre has began to run down my inner thigh. That sheepish grin returns, splashed across his glazed face he drunkenly hobbles past me, giving me a full view of his dripping cock and coated front as he awkwardly holds his pants up with one paw. He grabs a rag and leans against the counter, carefully wiping his dick and pubes in plain view as cum runs down from his face onto his neck and shirt. He smiles at me again, the harsh odor of tequila rivaling the now blinding musk pouring off of him and flooding the kitchen as he looks me up and down, with a bit more time spent on my lower half than my upper half.

"You can go take care of that if you want. I won't tell if you don't." The words are coy, and the look in his eyes is playful, not perverted. He awkwardly gestures out to the armchair and still-playing pornography with one dripping paw, before drunkenly stooping to collect all of the spunk he's dripped between the chair and the sink. I consider this, looking both up the stairs and down at his dad, who's now drunkenly cleaning cum out of the grout and I decide to go for broke. I step over his outstretched arm and walk stiffly to the chair, noting with both arousal and distaste that it had been on the receiving end of some friendly fire. The pearlescent beads coat the leather arms of the chair and flash in the light from the screen and I opt instead to kneel on the floor and lean back against the arm, with my legs together. After struggling with the front a bit to get my knot out of my boxers, I awkwardly look over my shoulder and push my underwear down around my knees and take my dripping dick into my palm.

In my haze I nearly forget he is in the same room as I chuff and pant, my fingertips only able to slide tenderly across my taut skin and engorged knot without threatening to send me over the edge. A shifting weight on the floorboards behind me tells me his dad had has come close, and I can't help but shudder at his nearness when his bare legs step into my line of sight and he sits in the chair right next to me and starts wiping down the leather arms down. A few moments later, he's still there and quick look up confirms my suspicion; he raises an eyebrow at me as he leans over the arm of his chair. In his paw he's swishing the remainder of the bottle of tequila in a glass, which he offers down to me. At this point, with a somewhat attractive older male showing interest in me and some immensely hot porn on screen and given that I'd been pent up for nearly an hour at this point, I took the glass and gulped. With my muzzle tilted up the hot liquid splashed into my mouth and poured down my throat and threatened to gag me. My paw squeezed my cock a bit too tight as I worked my throat, draining the half glass of liquor in a few gulps. I pass it up to him, and he looks impressed as the first level of drunkenness hit me. I belch slightly and return to stroking and glancing back and forth from Mr. Dubray to the double penetration on screen on back. I can't tell which is hotter, what's on the TV or the intent way Richie's dad is watching my paw fly up and down my shaft.

Having had nothing but the odd few beers Richie occasionally nabbed from his father, nothing could have prepared me for the next wave that hit me. I'd heard of being crossfaded, but nothing is like the sensations of shuddering euphoria that roll up my body and down my folded legs from the tip of my dick. My eyes are drawn to the screen as one paw fiercely teases my shaft and the other rolls my balls. I feel like an automation, run by a compulsive need for sexual release as I eagerly drive myself towards climax. I can hear myself moaning quietly and squeaking as I lavishly grind my tail back against the chair and down on my heels, feeling electricity arc as my foot digs into the tender spot beneath my balls. At this, my eyes screw up and my mouth opens in what would have been a howl had Mr. Dubray not reached down and wrapped his paw around my muzzle and shut it for me. What erupts instead is a high, persistent whine as my hips spasm and my cock throbs in my paws, and I literally hump my fingertips as the entire night's tensions pours out onto my stomach and paws, with a strand or two landing on my chin and the fingers encircling it. Above my head, I hear the speaker sound from a cell phone camera and a blush burns fierce in my cheeks as I bite my lip and shudder helplessly. The paw releases my jaw and the camera clicks again when it is out of frame, and I look up as apprehensions swells in my chest.

After licking his fingers clean, Mr. Dubray looks down likely sees the confused look in my face - he smiles and winks to assure me. "Relax," he rumbles in a kinder tone that's somewhat more sober-sounding than before, "Like I said, I won't tell if you won't."