Female Ejaculation

Subject: Horny Dad Tales 6 Horny Dad Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail) The usual disclaimers apply: for adult readers only. Contains graphic depictions of sexual activity between men, some of whom are related. This series is not one story but a collection of tales involving, you got it, horny dads. Back in the listserv days there was a great series called Horny Guy Tails. They were the inspiration for my White Collar Tales, and I thought it would be fun to have a series of father-son stories: some shorter, some more developed. A forum for the usual Bill Drake plots and themes, and for developing ideas I don’t normally do. The series has gotten a lot of great feedback, so thanks to those readers out there who’ve taken a moment to write. Send those comments and story suggestions along: billdrake@hotmail. For more of my stories, check out the Authors page at Nifty, or join my Yahoo group: hoo/group/drakestories/ Horny Dad Tales 6 Shoeshine Officer Jim Mitchell put down his nightstick and hung up his cap. He placed his service pistol in the gun locker and locked it. As he unhitched his belt a notch he felt the tension in his torso ease a little. It had been a long day. “What’s the score?” he yelled down the hall. The sound of the television was turned up and he knew his son Jeff was already watching the game. The boy had turned into a more obsessive Cubs fan than he was even. “1-4, Cubs behind.” “It’s early still,” Jim replied, more to himself than to his son, who probably couldn’t hear his father as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. He opened the fridge. He patted the slightly expanding girth beneath the waist of his uniform. “Should probably lay off this stuff,” he mused as he grabbed an ice-cold brew. He paused, then grabbed two. Jeff Mitchell was lying on the couch like he’d just woken up from a nap, barefoot and blond hair tousled, dressed in a thin cotton Cubs T-shirt and a pair of old sweatpants. “Hey dad,” he greeted, barely looking up from the television. “Your mother home yet?” “Nah. She called about thirty minutes ago. She’s gotta work late tonight.” “Here, then.” Jeff handed his boy one of the beers. That perked his son right up. His father didn’t let him drink very often. “Yeah?” “Yeah. istanbul travesti You’re 18, I think you can learn to handle the stuff. Just don’t tell your mom.” “I won’t.” Jeff took the can from his father’s hand. “Thanks, Dad.” Jim plopped down in his well-worn recliner. He didn’t lay back in it. He’d been putting in too much overtime lately, and worried it wouldn’t take much to put him to sleep. He gulped half his beer in two, maybe three swallows, before setting the can down on his powerful thigh, leaving a ring of condensation on the dark-blue polyester. “Rough day?” “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Another gulp. Officer Mitchell never went into the specifics of his life on the beat, but it was nice to have an understanding family to come home to. It was more than some of his fellow cops had. His son sipped from his beer, clearly delighting in the experience. “Need me to fetch you another one?” Jim upturned the can for another sip, then shook the remnants in the bottom. Almost empty. “That would be great, son. The first one goes down too easy.” He paced the second one better this time, making it last through two and a half innings. “How was your day, son?” He asked at the bottom of the 5th. “Thought you had practice today.” Jeff was the shining star of the school golf team. He shook his head. “Tuesday’s our day off. Got home early.” “Done your homework?” “No.” Jeff looked up in a grin. He knew his lack of ambition in the classroom was a sore spot with his father, but knew his father could complain only so much. Jeff Mitchell took after his father, and both men knew it. “One of these days I’m gonna lecture you and you’re gonna listen.” “Cmon, dad. The game’s a close one. And mom’s working late.” “All right, Jeff.” He sighed, knowing that he might be a gruff, no-nonsense cop on the beat, but at home, he was the lenient one with his only son. His wife was the one who laid down the law with Jeff. “How bout this: you get me another beer, and you can have another for yourself.” Jeff smiled, his pearly whites making his father’s guilt melt. “Deal.” Father and son were in the middle of their beers, watching the seventh inning, when Jeff spoke up. “Hey Dad, would you like a massage? Like last kadıköy travesti time?” Jim nearly spit out his beer. His heart stopped a second then beat double time. He looked over at his boy, his athletic, trim body lying supine on the couch. Jeff’s eyes were staring at him intently, a question in them. “I told you I’d never ask you again to do that.” Jeff swallowed nervously and bit his lip, working up his courage. “You’re not asking me, Dad. I’m offering.” “Man,” he sighed, exhaling the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Mom’s working late. When’s the next time it’s just gonna be us?” “I should be saying no.” Jim took another drink. He wished he had a straight whiskey just about now. “But you’re not.” “Like I said, son, I’m not gonna ask you for it.” Jeff nodded in understanding and scrambled off the couch. Only four feet separated it from the recliner. Jim closed his eyes and groaned as he felt his son’s strong hands on his thighs. Massaging the muscle, easing out the tension. The anticipation and sensation made the man’s cock go erect in his uniform pants. “Damn, Dad. You’re tense.” Jim opened his eyes and was greeted with the vision of his eighteen-year-old son kneeling between his spread legs. “Recline back,” Jeff ordered. Jim leaned back, feeling his tired feet leave the floor and his weight settle back. Jeff looked up. Smile beaming on his face. Right before the boy bent down and started to lick. Big wide swipes of the tongue across the black patent leather. “Oh son!” Jim was always proud in his appearance and in his career. The uniform always pressed, the shoes always shined. Jeff could taste the remnants of polish on the waxy leather surface, but it didn’t deter him. If Jim didn’t know better, he swore it turned his boy on. “Lick ’em, Jeff. Yeah, the other one now. Shine those shoes for daddy.” Jeff pulled his handsome young face back and stared at his father’s uniform shoe. He spit on it, then went back to circling the surface with his tongue. “Christ, if your mother saw us…” Jeff pulled back, rubbing the soles of his father’s shoes with his fingers. “You got big feet Dad.” “12 and a halfs.” “Damn.” “Like em?” Already fingers were teasing open the knot in the laces. bakırköy travesti It was Jim’s turn to curse. “There. Let me take ’em off.” “Those hands feel good, Jeff.” “Yeah?” He slipped of the right shoe and started rubbing the sole of his father’s large foot, paying especially attention to the ball of the foot. “You don’t even know.” Jeff then turned his attention to the left foot. This time he slipped the sock off, too, allowing his fingers to make contact with the bare foot flesh. “Oh!” Jim leaned back and felt waves of pleasure crash through his body. Hungrily, he reached down and started unbuckling. “Yeah, Dad. Take it out. Take out your cock while I worship your feet.” Then, in a moment that was electric for both men, he lifted his father’s leg up til the bare foot was in front of him. Sticking his tongue out he leaned forward. And licked. “Shit!” Jim cried out. Erect father dick now in hand. “Lick me, Jeff” Up and down the sole of his father’s foot, Jeff’s tongue traced a route back and forth, experiencing the change in surface from soft arch to slightly calloused heel, then up the wrinkled flesh of the side. He circled the block several time before his fingers pressed on his father’s toes and curled them toward his receptive mouth. He sucked three of them right in. “Jesus H. Christ!” “Mom doesn’t do this for you, does she?” “You know damn well she doesn’t. Eat your daddy’s foot, son.” “Mmmph” “Ah yeah. I missed this. You got your dad so hot, Jeff. Here, do the other one.” Jeff didn’t bother to remove the sock this time. Jim felt his boy’s spittle soak through the sheer black wool. Then the boy started sucking. Like he was sucking a cock. “Arrgh!” the cop cried, and suddenly sperm was jetting out of his hard prick, spraying him, his boy, and the recliner in a spray of white, hot liquid shrapnel. Jeff watched in amazement as his cop father shot his load like some out of control teenager. His father’s foot still in his mouth, he reached down into his sweats and gripped his own raging boner. A couple of tugs and his own seed spilled out, into his hand and dribbling down his thighs. He pulled back, catching his breath while he watched his father come down from an intense orgasm. The man still seemed out of it. “You OK, dad?” he finally asked. Jim reached down and patted his son’s head, stroked his handsome face. “You bet, son. I think we both earned another beer. Whaddya think?” Jeff smiled, soaking in his father’s love and approval. “Sure, dad.”

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