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Foundations, Chapter 8

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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8

Blake had a job of getting himself clean after his second unexpected orgasm, having to use the kitchen sink and a rag to get himself clean while his father luxuriated in a hot bath. He certainly enjoyed having them, even if they were beyond his control -- but damned if the possibility of getting caught could not elicit some regret in the end! He hated feeling that way, as he did not think his feeling for his father were so wrong. What was most frustrating was that he kept chickening out in the end. The closest he had come so far to any real sexual contact with his father had all been accidents, strange twists of fate. Getting caught was certainly possible and innocuous enough. Tending to his father as he did in the bathroom with full boner in his underwear, a boner his father was perfectly aware of and seemed to show no discomfort in seeing, was something else all together. Hell, he had let Blake see him more than a little erect in the tub and even mentioned it in passing, like it should have been no more unusual than the sight of his penis flaccid. He had clearly underestimated the man his father could be. He was so impressive and irresistible, so why on earth did the man chose to act the way he normally did made no fucking sense at all. What did any of that matter, though, when Blake desperately wanted to experience it again? His body physically ached for his father; his scent was still in his nose, and his words, delivered in that captivatingly English working class tone, were still ringing in the young Amur's ears. Blake's cock had hardly flagged at all in the last half hour. He was prepared this time, however, with a towel over his torso and a washcloth ready to receive another round of seed he was pretty sure would be forthcoming. He had been stroking himself as he thought of it all but not letting himself cum in case he was needed again. He did not want to loose control in front of his father for some reason. Maybe it was because it was the last step, and as long as they flirted at the edge of the borderline they could still claim to not have actually crossed it. Of course, simply bumping up against it was enough to make most people disgusted with them. The authorities would lock his father in jail and separate Blake from him and send him back to England to live with his grandparents in Salisbury. No one was going to find out, though. Nobody. This was his and Quentin's private business, and Blake had no intention of being separated from his dad over some silly prejudice that made no sense. He could not think long about such unlikely events anyway, as tonight's events had been especially shocking. Their meal had been delicious, and Blake had even enjoyed their conversation. He missed having them with his father. They did not talk as they used to, and he knew that it was his fault ultimately. It was a failing he usually kept buried, instead preferring to tell himself that his father was just uncommonly boring -- a man so boring he was rather well-compensated for prattling on to students that he claimed enjoyed his lectures. If he knew that his father was an arrogant boaster, then he could have told himself it was all exaggeration. He knew full well that his father was not that sort of man, however, and the few times he had met his father at work, he had listened as Quentin's students poured out of the classroom, talking about the lesson animatedly while many others remained within to engage their professor further. It made Blake proud deep inside, but it was a pride he did not seem to know how to express anymore. Simultaneously, he was developing a new pride in his father that was quite different in nature, one that he felt he could truly appreciate. Unfortunately, it was a pride that he knew he was not supposed to feel, express or even think about. He did think about it nevertheless, and he had most certainly expressed it. His father knew about it, but he was holding back. Was it because he would ultimately refuse to go along with Blake's desires? Was it because he was uncertain himself about the whole thing (and who could be certain about this kind of thing, after all)? Was he hoping Blake would make the a definitive move? Of course, if he wanted Blake to make an unmistakable pass, what more did Blake need to do that he had not done already? For the millionth time, the young tiger thought that he should just waltz up to his father, grab his cock and say, "Let's fuck, Dad. I want you." Who the hell could do that to their father, though? It was madness, and it was driving Blake mad, too. He growled in irritation as he punched the bed on either side of him where he lay. Why could he not express any complex emotions to his father or any of his deeper feelings as he used to? He then had the sobering thought that if his father had been a lot more like his own father, Blake might not even have come out at all let alone dared to make any passes. That gave him pause, and he uneasily had to admit that he was probably overly harsh in his assessment of his father and that perhaps, because he was a thinking man, he understood a lot of things very deeply. It was by virtue of those qualities that Quentin was such an open, tolerant man. Of course, Blake was open and tolerant, was he not? He was gay and perfectly comfortable with it. He respected women and people different from himself, too. No one saw him sticking a bespectacled face into thick books all the time and talking about things no one understood or cared about. Inside, his tartly honest and ever clear-sighted side was disagreeing. Are you fucking kidding, Blake? When you're not jacking off, all you do is read! You're no different than either of your folks that way. You also judge people pretty harshly, and you know it. You don't like a lot of people because they aren't like you. And if you're such a proud, unashamed faggot, then why do you pretend not to be at school, huh? Those pansies and old queens in Greenwich Village have more balls than you've shown. Even your father is more open than you are. You know you'll never be half the man he is until you wise up a little, son. Quit being such a little bitch! His sharp teeth bared, he shook his head between his paws to make it stop. He hated that limpid and direct ability to read people when it turned on himself, and keeping it quiet was sometimes hard to do. What it told him was not something he wanted to contemplate. He instead forced it down and tried to think of his father, focusing on the incredible wet dream he had witnessed. Blake had poured them fresh drinks in the kitchen. While he was doing it, he started imaging that he was holding onto his dad's dick instead of a glass tumbler. It made him hard, and he was enjoying it. He rubbed himself between his legs and soon pulled his underwear out from his manhood, letting the lot fall out from his left leg opening. He cupped his balls with one paw and stroked himself with the other, looking down proudly at himself. He never tired of just looking at what he had. He could play with it all day -- and indeed, on the occasion that his father had to go out of town for a day to attend a conference, a lecture or some other academic thing and left Blake at home alone, he did play with himself the whole time. He liked to be in his father's bedroom, and he especially liked to jack off next to the bed with his nose buried in the sheets that carried his father's scent. He always used one of his dad's condoms to catch his payloads, often using the same one several times over until it hung, bulging with his cum. Blake shook his head and put his cock back, trying to get a grip. He had drinks to get back, and his father would wonder what was taking him so long. He could entertain these fantasies in bed tonight. He took some time, even splashing a bit of cold water on the back of his neck to cool him off until he was decent enough (only a third hard, as usual) to return to their sitting room. He found his father had drifted off, his head resting against one of the sides of the high-back chair. He quietly set down the drinks and looked into his father's lap to gaze again at his bulge. Quentin had sat with his lounging trousers bunched up, and his genitals were making a lovely mound. Blake licked his chops before getting an idea. Silently, he padded out of the room and down the hall to his father's bedroom. He went straight to the clothes hamper, looking for today's underwear. It would be especially fresh and full of his scent, and sure enough he found it fast. His eyes widened when he found them quite damp with pre. Blake put his nose close to the garment and breathed in heavily. "Oooo, shit," he moaned to himself as a shudder traveled down his whole frame. He was rapidly approaching full hardness again and feeling adventurous. After smelling his father's briefs for a while, took walked back to the sitting room with them to see if the man was still asleep. Sure enough, he found him slumbering even deeper than before. It was not uncommon for his father to fall asleep in his chair. He could spend the whole night there if Blake let him, but fortunately his son rarely did unless he thought it was best to simply let him sleep. He worked very hard and did not always allow himself enough time to rest. Blake padded around the chair in which his father slept and stopped suddenly. From the center of his dad's lap, an enormous tent was twitching and leaking pre. He had to be fully erect this time, having some wonderful erotic dream. The tent was so massive that Blake could hardly believe it, and mushroom head was clearly outlined in the wet material. Blake startled slightly when he heard Quentin moan softly. The dream appeared to be getting better. Soon his father was grinning the way Blake liked to do, and his rumbles were becoming more lusty by the second. Blake had since extracted his cock and balls from the leg opening again and was stroking it eagerly. He delighted in standing there before his own dad, his cock sticking proudly from between his legs, pretending like he was entertaining the older tiger. He wanted to shoot all over him, covering that still amazing chest in hot tiger cum. He wanted to show his father how he had grown, how manly he really was, show off the potency with which he had been blessed. He wondered if his father was dreaming about that as the pre started spurting up through his loungewear. He watched as Quentin then began to buck slightly in his chair, his paws gripping the ends of the armrests tightly. His rumbles were turning to growls, and his face was contorting in the efforts to reach orgasm. Blake took one last sniff of his dad's underwear and realized there was more than enough of the man's musk in the room and that it was fresher, so Blake put it over his own cock and masturbated harder. He wanted to cum before his father. Maybe that would put his father over the edge. If he were to wake up at a moment's notice, though, Blake would be caught. The fear and the desire to be seen fought inside of him and fueled his own lusts. It was a chance that he had to take. Maybe, just maybe, if his father woke up, he would just grin and tell Blake to finish himself off so that he could see just how much his boy had grown up. Biting his lip to keep quiet, Blake made every effort he could not to cry out as he started firing off into his father's underwear, his hips bucking sharply as his balls unloaded. For a few moments, Blake's orgasm made his musk strong enough to overpower his father's. As his balls continued to pour out their bounty, Blake watched as his father suddenly started roaring and spraying violently through his own clothes in the most incredible orgasm the young Amur had ever beheld. Though he was only there for seconds, he felt as though he were watching for minutes as one volley followed another, soaking his father's lounging trousers with cum and staining the chair, and his chest. He quickly gathered his wits, though, and started waddling out of the room while he continued to fire away. He knew that he had to hide before his father actually awoke to his own release. He got partway down the hall and just had to stop and keep rubbing more cum out until he began to subside enough to move again. He also noticed that he was about to start making a mess on the floor and bolted into his room just as his father was waking up midway through his own climax. Blake panted on his bed, the fresh memory having helped him reach yet another blissful orgasm. Images of his father looking so feral and fierce continued to play in his mind's eye. It had been a marvelous thing to witness, and Blake more than ever wanted to be a part of it. He had to be a part of it! He wanted to feel his father's body against his own, their cocks surging against each others' chest as they soaked each other down. If only he could get the nerve... Maybe his father would, especially after what happened not long ago in the bathroom. Blake had to encourage it, too. He reasoned that he had to continue walking around with little or nothing on and start to give his father more appreciative looks. The young Amur looked down at his efforts and started to clean himself up a bit and was soon depositing the towels in his hamper on top of the completely soaked briefs that belonged to his father. A part of him wished now that he had not cum in them, as he could have held onto them longer and had his father's scent for future sessions of self-pleasure. Grinning, he reminded himself that if managed to seduce his father, such sneaking about would be unnecessary. All he would have to do his stick his nose in his father's groin or simply ask for his underwear. He laughed softly to himself, very much looking forward to a bright and horny future. The sound of the tub draining suddenly came to his ears, telling him that his father was finished with his bath. When the tub had drained, the sound of rinsing would commence, and then his father would towel dry before retiring to his bedroom to groom himself and dry properly. Or me might even do that in front of the fire this evening. That would certainly be a cozy idea and not unlike either of them. Blake needed a shower himself, and if he was quick, he could enjoy sitting with his father naked in front of the fire. Maybe it would lead finally to some mutual fun. He padded boldly out of his room and to the bathroom. His father was just lifting the sprayer to start his rinse when Blake came in. "Hey, Dad, mind if I shower now? Maybe we could dry off together in front of the fire." Half erect, he stood with a one fist on a hip. Quentin gave a slight smile at his son's renewed attempts of seduction. Quentin was flaccid for the moment and was not going to try and stop it getting erect. He felt pretty satiated at the moment, but if he wanted, he could certainly change gears in a hurry. "Certainly, Blakeson. Grooming by the fire sounds like a marvelous idea. While you're showering, I'll put the food away as well." Blake liked the response but was disappointed when his father turned his attention to rinsing himself as if nothing big had happened. Blake was meanwhile approaching a full erection. Sighing softly, resigned to his father being more feline than usual, Blake went to take his shower. He made it quick, towel dried, and padded eagerly back to the sitting room. The room had been cleaned up, and cedar and pine logs had been put on the fire. Blake was fairly sure some scent neutralizer had been used to reduce the potency of his father's musk in the room, but he could still smell it easily enough. He wondered if this was another bit of flirting. His father was sitting on a towel, quietly grooming his fur, his fat cock hanging over the edge of his chair. His tankard was freshly filled, and there was a smaller goblet on Blake's side. "I thought you might like some cider as well, son," Quentin said, serendipitously tuning into Blake's thoughts. "Be warned, however, it's warm. Drink slowly." If Blake did not know any better, he would have said his father was using alcohol to lower their inhibitions, but his father had been serving him alcohol under supervision for several years now, having come from a country were such a thing was commonplace. His father would never act so base and corrupt as to liquor up his own son. Blake was surprised he would even have such thoughts about his father. It was clearly the fault of a rotten society that could not conceive of such close bonds between father and son being anything other than abusive. He felt a surge of loyalty to his father and a greater incentive to be braver about his own sexuality. He wanted to be the living proof that a gay father could raise a son of quality. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it," Blake finally said as he padded over to his seat and sat down. He picked up his smaller goblet, noticing how much larger his father's was and suddenly making several parallel comparisons that made him grin and blush as he took a slow drink, savoring the wonderful brew with its rich and tangy flavor, sweetened with honey and lightly spiced. He felt it warm his insides immediately when he swallowed it down. It was a very pleasant sensation, and he knew that he would sleep well tonight after drinking this. Warm hard cider always made him comfortably sleepy for some reason. For the next fifteen minutes, the two largely did their grooming in silence, simply enjoying each others' company. It was a feast for both of their eyes, yet the calm peace of it helped to keep them from getting much aroused. It was a warm congeniality, and they felt more like father and son now that they were not being bothered by barely controlled sexual attraction. It occurred to them both that simply giving in and regularly satiating themselves and each other would have the same effect that masturbation often had in keeping the mind from being overly preoccupied with sex, thus easily freeing up mental and physical resources. It would be a practical solution to what was becoming a problem, and it was a solution that appealed to them both very much. By now, they were both clearly aware of each others' desires, so it was now only a question of who was going to cross the line first. For now, though, they were happy to forget about it and just be together here and now. "Would you like some dessert, son?" Quentin asked softly, his voice still low and burly. He was giving his son a secretive smile, and the tip of his tail was raised and slowly undulating back and forth behind him. "We still have some of that Boston cream pie that I made the other day." The word "cream" was enough to suddenly send a bit of blood flowing again to Blake's penis. "Sure," he said, his voice sounding weak and strained. His eyes widened for a moment before he cleared his throat and answered again in his normal voice, trying not to blush or flatten his ears. "Yes, please. I'd like that." His father grinned wider and let out a friendly but very paternal chuckle. He stood up, his heavy sex swinging enticingly, and walked over to his son. He gave his boy's head a loving couple of pats and a scratch behind one of his ears. "I'll be right back, son. Sit tight." Blake gazed at his father's glorious, clean body that was glowing from behind from the firelight, and his voice caught for a moment before he could speak. He could not believe just how handsome his father was. He wanted to just reach out and embrace him. "Sure, Dad," was all that he could manage. Still smiling, Quentin ambled gracefully out of the room to get them their treats. Meanwhile, Blake looked down and saw that he was hardening up again. In fact, he reckoned that he must have been almost half hard when his father was looking down at him. The young tiger sight and shrugged, sitting back heavily in his chair. He let his cheeks inflate with air and then let it out, his lips making a flapping noise as he did. He gazed into the fire, basking in it warmth, as his paw idly reached down to stroke himself. He permitted himself only a few reps before releasing his tigerhood and reaching for his cider. He took a larger sip this time, letting it warm his insides further. As he set the goblet back down, a soft purr sounded from deep within him as he closed his eyes and relaxed. He wondered if he should just fall asleep in his chair tonight. Quentin came back so quietly that his son did not hear him. He stood gazing lovingly at Blake as he relaxed in his chair, his own fur glowing in the fire. It was an adorable sight, and for a moment, Quentin felt like a young father again. Blake had always liked sleeping by the fire even as a tiny kitten, especially when his father curled up with him. Now he was almost all grown up. He was still adorable, but he was also handsome and attractive. Quentin would like for them to share a bed someday, able to freely mix their lust and love for each other into a warm, comfortable package, then fall asleep together. It was as tender as it was erotic, and Quentin liked the idea of it. After all, if his friend Nieve could have such a loving, lasting relationship with his own son and still preserve the very essence of a father-son bond, why could Quentin and Blake not have something similar? Blake eventually smelled his father's scent and opened his eyes to look over at his progenitor, standing there with a look that was at once very familiar in a fatherly way but also had something more to it, something hopeful but also bespeaking of the desire he was sure he father felt. "What is it, Dad?" the young tiger asked softly. "I'm just marveling at how you've grown, son," Quentin answered honestly, "and hoping we can still get closer. I'm very proud of you." Blake felt touched, having not expected quite that. "Thanks. I hope we can get closer, too. I think we've been doing that, right?" He grinned. The older Amur grinned back and nodded slowly. "Indeed, yes. I suppose we have. Here." He handed Blake a plate with a large serving of the Boston cream pie. "Bon appétite." "Thank you." Quentin sat down alongside his son and began to eat. They settled once more into their cozy silence, eating and drinking as the fire slowly burned down. They frequently gazed at each other, sometimes with warm affection and other times taking in appreciatively each others' bodies. Neither of them plumped much at any point, but neither of them had any complaints. The world was warm, flavorful, and only filled with the sound of a crackling fire and gentle purring. Blake soon began to nod off, struggling to stay awake. After a few minutes, Quentin finished his tankard of cider and stood up. He doused the fire and then went to wake up his son, nudging his shoulder gently. "Come on, Blake. Time for bed." The young Amur slowly opened his eyes and nodded. He lazily got up and soon found himself in is father's warm embrace. He gratefully melted into it, his father's body warm and comforting as it always had been. He also noticed that their groins were pressed together, yet he was so tired and warm, in the one spot that he had always been able to take refuge from the world, that he almost did not care. He had his Papa who loved him and would protect him always. Quentin started licking his ears slowly, and for once, Blake did not protest, simply wanting to be loved and soothed. He eventually found himself being led to his bed where his father helped him in and pulled the covers over his body. "Good night, my son. Sleep well. I love you very much, and I always, always will." "Love you, too..." Blake immediately fell asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. Quentin gazed for a long while at his son, gently petting his head before finally turning out the lights and retiring to his own bed. He had not felt so happy in a long time. Life seemed to be fitting itself into place for a change, and he felt much better about his and Blake's prospect for a renewed closeness. As he lay in bed in the dark room, his thoughts remained on his son, imagining all sort of possibilities for their future, erotic and otherwise, allowing himself to believe they could recapture what they once shared. It filled his dreams even after he fell asleep, and it helped him to achieve the best sleep he had had in many years.