Like Father Like Son Ch. 02

I pulled back and said to Jake with a smile: "This is an especially nice bum for rimming. It needs to be savoured with the whole of your tongue, not just flicked at with its tip."

He smiled and nodded. "Come on, then. Show me how it's done."

I moved back in for a deeper taste and reapplied my mouth to Marcus' magnificent cheeks. This time, he bent forwards slightly to give me better access, no doubt delighting in the playful competition Jake and I were enjoying and eager to see which of us, out of the father and his son, could pleasure him more effectively.

I pushed my tongue more fully into him, impressed by how stretched and splayed his hole was from accommodating my son's erection, and feeling him shudder slightly at how sensitive his inflamed anus was from the rough and ready fucking he'd received. I worked my tongue around his ring, gently soothing it with its caresses and my warm saliva, and Marcus gasped with excitement at how tender and sensual it felt.

"Oh, that's really nice, Mr Furlong," he called down to me before correcting himself, again, to plain Rob.

I eased my tongue more fully into his arsehole, relishing the stronger tastes inside it which were a magnitude more powerful than those around his anus. This was rimming at its most delectable: almost electrifying in the intensity of its tastes and deeply satisfying in the effects my tongue was having on its squirming recipient.

I licked deeply into this young man's bowels, feeling my cock straining painfully at the sheer force of the arousal I was experiencing, with the downy hairs of his arse-crack tickling my nose and chin as my face pressed so firm against the splayed valley between his buttocks.

"I can see what you mean about your dad's tongue reaching up to my liver," Marcus laughed down to my son.

"Yeah, he's like the rim king," Jake laughed back. "He's even better than Nathan."

I kept working my tongue back and forth out of Marcus' arse, wondering who this Nathan guy was. It might be nice for Jake to invite him to stay over some time so we could exchange tips and ideas about our shared hobby. If he was anything like as easy on the eye as Marcus, he would prove a very welcome guest in the house.

As my mouth continued to pleasure Marcus in ways that my son had achieved on the organ around the front, his body suddenly started shuddering slightly and I realised that Jake had resumed giving his friend a blow-job.

The two of us worked together for a few minutes -- Jake out front and me taking up the rear -- as Marcus thrust his hips back and forth, eager to work with the two mouths that were so intimately attending to him. I rolled my tongue into a tube and gently fucked him with it as he bucked his backside against my mouth, aware that this might be the only chance I would get to work myself in and out of his arse; at least while Jake was in the room.

"Oh, God, this is so nice, you guys!" he called down to us.

I hoped Jake was feeling as thrilled as I was to be servicing this charming young man; the two of us working together as father and son to pleasure his cock and his rear at the same time.

I pulled off him and called up to him, "Are you getting near, Marcus?"

As if it was part of a universal language among post-pubescent males, I knew he would interpret my question as referring to the immanence of his climax. No matter where men come from or what age they happen to be, they always recognise a question about how close they are to releasing their semen.

"Not too far off, Mr Furlong."

I felt irritated by his reluctance to drop the formal use of my name, but instead of correcting him, I started wanking my own painful erection as I crouched behind him. With my mouth clamped to such a delightful behind, I knew my release would quickly follow.

Before returning to rim him again, I glanced around his right hip at Jake. His blow-job had become far more assertive in its style: his mouth was being thrust up and down his friend's organ quite roughly with his expression almost hostile and verging on a snarl.

I wondered if this was how liked to use his mouth on himself when he knew his climax was nearing: forceful and insistent; stubbornly masturbatory.

Imagine him giving such an uncompromising blow-job to me!

Oh God, what was I thinking?! This was my son!

Then, to my surprise, Jake pulled away from sucking Marcus' highly appreciative erection and hurried over to grab the tube of lube which was on his bedside table. He squirted a gob of it onto his middle finger and applied it perfunctorily to his backside, and then, throwing us both a small smirk, turned around with his back to us and bent forwards to splay open his hairy arse crack. His large, puckered anus was clearly visible, extruding from the dark forest between his cheeks, looking as used and swollen as mine often does after an especially heavy session with other men. His large, hairy knackers hung down between his legs, pulling his scrotum downwards with their full, heavy load.

He turned to grin at me, clenching his well-worn ring a couple of times to show me his dexterity, and said, "Nice, huh?"

"Very nice," I agreed, surprised by how stretched and dilated his entrance was.

I assumed Marcus must have enjoyed his own turn on Jake before I'd started watching the favour being returned. Otherwise, perhaps in the restaurant, when they'd both headed off to use the bathroom grinning and giggling, they'd had a quick moment of togetherness in the quiet of the cubicle.

As I was about to make a quip about this making an ideal angle for a selfie, Jake surprised me by reversing his backside onto Marcus' erection with a couple of backward strides. The cock glided home, as it had presumably done many times in the past, and the two of them shuddered in involuntary gratification as their bodies became joined once again.

And then, in an action I'd never seen performed before, Jake started thrusting his hips rapidly backwards and forwards, wanking his friend's shaft with the tightened ring of his arsehole. He turned to me with a triumphant leer and, seeing my surprise at witnessing such a novel variant of anal penetration, cackled and called out, "Watch and learn, dad! Watch and learn!"

He put his hands on his knees and jerked his bum back and forth to rapidly masturbate the foreskin of Marcus' cock.

"Jesus Christ!" I was thinking. Where the hell had he learned such an innovative technique?

Marcus called out in pleasure and, grabbing Jake by the waist, worked his crotch rapidly against him, matching my son's frantic rhythm.

Although he was a guy who obviously enjoyed being fucked, he was perfectly happy to adopt the corresponding role.

I liked the fact that such a polite and articulate youth -- the very ideal of a good and proper young husband -- had such well-concealed depths to what one might imagine to be a rather boring sexuality. I sat back as I watched him, marvelling at the sight of his smooth, muscular body and his mop of fair hair, grabbing my son's hips as he so enthusiastically fucked him up the arse.

He turned and looked down at me, and flashed me that lovely, sweet smile of his.

Then he asked, with a delightful courtesy that I wished would rub off onto my son, "Would you mind putting your tongue up my bum again, Mr Furlong?"

I laughed and agreed whole-heartedly that I would like nothing more.

I plunged my face back in between his round, flexing buttocks, aware that if he wasn't able to call me Rob after making such a request, it was likely that he never would. I took up my own pounding rhythm on my desperate cock, wanking myself between Marcus' shins as I inhaled the delicious scent he'd no doubt left on the back of many a pair of discarded underpants.

As soon as my tongue lapped into his most sensitive spot, his sphincter started clamping tightly shut around it and I knew his balls were discharging their collected loads into my son.

His backside started munching at my tongue like we were enjoying a most intimate kiss together as its owner gasped and panted and shot squirt after squirt of his hot, white semen into the bowels of his friend.

Whether it was fucking Jake that had brought him to his orgasm, or the sensation of having my tongue inside his bum again, I don't know: I'd like to think, though, that I played some significant part in it.

When his climax had subsided, I pulled away from him, masturbating myself as I still squatted behind him.

Jake pulled away from him too, his arse releasing one of its less rambunctious farts as he did so, and he breathlessly announced, "Right, now let's have my turn, mate."

He moved around to where I was crouching, his cock twitching upwards as it demanded release, and curtly told me, "Get out of the way, dad."

In his impatience I was nudged backwards, and I fell back against his bedroom wall, still mechanically wanking my shaft up and down as I watched my son claim his final prize.

He pushed himself into Marcus' slick entrance with a single impetuous thrust, muttering that he wouldn't take long as Marcus bent over to receive him. It seemed this was an established arrangement between the two of them: whoever climaxed first would allow his rear to be used to bring his companion to an equivalent state.

"You got it nice and wet dad," Jake told me, as he stood upright, roughly buggering his friend in front of me for the second time this evening.

"I'm so pleased," I managed to say, as I sat right behind him watching him indulge himself, his thrusting bum just inches from my bemused face.

His rhythm quickly increased to a frantic hammering action, his balls whacking against his friend's thighs and his hips making loud slapping sounds against his buttocks.

He kept turning to look back at me, wanking myself off so quickly as I sat where I'd fallen behind him, smiling down at me as he butt-fucked Marcus' bent-over body.

He kept pulling Marcus back with him and even muttered, at one point, "Move back a bit, mate!" all the time moving in towards to where I was as if intentionally trying to push his pummelling backside closer my face.

It was nice bum, I had to admit, and I liked the way the hair of his crack was splayed outwards and sticking to his buttocks from the lube he'd applied to himself. I reminded myself, though, that was my son's arse in front of me and, however attractive it looked, the words I'd said to Bradley came back to me: I'd had to wipe this bum when Jake had been a baby.

Jake, however, didn't seem to share my misgivings.

He kept working his body backwards towards me, fucking his friend faster and faster, until his heaving backside was right in front of my face. I could smell the odour from it as it flexed and thrust, driving his hips back and forth against Marcus' muscular cheeks, and I have to admit the smell was very intriguing: undeniably attractive in spite of who was producing it.

Jake turned to me again and, seeing his flexing backside so close to my face, called out, "Go on, dad -- do it!"

I stared at him and he grinned at me, egging me on to do the unthinkable: "Have a lick of my arse! Right in my crack!"

I looked back at his bum, his buttocks a rhythm of muscular movement, finding myself inexplicably tempted by what I knew was lurking between them.

The smell was quite fascinating: much harsher and more pungent than what Marcus had to offer and strangely reminiscent of my own anal whiff when I pull off an especially well-worn pair of underpants. I sniffed at it with mounting interest: at once appalled by the knowledge of whom this brash, musky smell belonged to but at the same time indisputably aroused by the sheer, unparalleled naughtiness of having such an out-of-bounds hole so close to my face.

This was my son's bare arse and he was asking me to lick it!

I looked back up at him, my hand now a blur up and down my cock, and he grinned at me more broadly.

"Go on, dad -- shove your face in! Rim my nice, juicy arsehole!"

I think Marcus might have said something to stop us -- something to remind Jake that this was his dad he was talking to -- but I was too overcome with excitement to take it in.

Perhaps mercifully, Jake and I started climaxing together -- him with his cock spurting deeply up into his friend's innards and me spraying my load all over the back of his legs as he loomed over me with his odorous, hairy crack right there in front of me.

I couldn't believe I was having an orgasm -- and an extremely copious one at that -- with my son's relentlessly heaving buttocks brushing against my face. My nose was poised on the brink of his freshly-fucked arse crack: another step backwards and my mouth would have been pressing between his thrusting cheeks.

I pulled away from him as my cock was still squirting, trying to catch what I could of my profuse outpouring with my other hand. Not that it really mattered, the mess Jake's bedroom floor was in.

I stood up, watching my son doubled up over Marcus' bent back, still driving the remnants of his seed upwards into his friend's body. Jake held onto him tightly as the spasms of his orgasm subsided, the two of them staring vacantly forwards as they had no doubt many times in the past.

After he'd finished, they stood up and disentangled themselves, Jake pulling his softening organ out of Marcus' bum with a quiet, sloppy fart.

Marcus felt it necessary to immediately apologise: "I'm sorry about that, Mr Furlong."

"For farting?" I laughed. "All things considered, that was very restrained."

He smiled and, as tissues were being passed around, Jake joined in with the apologies.

"I'm really sorry, dad," he said. "I shouldn't have said that stuff. I don't know where it came from."

I smiled to hide the discomfort I was feeling as I wiped the goo from my chest and pubic bush. Jesus, I really should have trimmed myself down there.

"Forget it, Jake," I said, like all this was perfectly normal. "We all say stuff like that when we're getting carried away. It doesn't mean either of us would have acted on it. Not in a million years."

Was that really true? I, for one, had been tantalisingly close to reaching forwards and licking my son's bum; Jake, in all probability, had been similarly close to making that extra step backwards and pushing his hairy arse-crack onto my nose and mouth.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said, smiling at me in spite the fact we were both naked and his cock was still angled half-upwards, looking as large as ever in spite of its softening state. "I suppose you might say it was just the spunk talking!"

"Of course it was," I laughed, but I knew it wasn't true. The spunk could say what it liked: I knew for a fact that, given just an extra couple of seconds, my son and I would now be having a far more embarrassing conversation.

We cleaned ourselves up -- for Jake and Marcus that proved to be a rather more involved affair -- and agreed that, from first thing the next day, we wouldn't discuss what we'd done any further. That's not to say we were denying that there might be a repeat -- we were just keen that whatever sex we enjoyed wouldn't impinge on the more 'conventional' activities we did at other times.

Before I went back to bed and while Marcus was carrying out his ablutions in the bathroom, Jake caught me outside my bedroom door and apologised again.

"There's really no need, Jake," I assured him. "We just got carried away. No harm was done."

"You won't, like, dwell on it and build it up into more than it was?" he asked.

"Of course not," I laughed. "I've said a few inappropriate things in the heat of the moment. Such things are best forgotten."

"Okay," he smiled. "Thanks."

As I turned to go to bed he had one last thing to say.

"In future, though, when you've got mates over to stay with you and I'm left in my room feeling like a spare prick..."

I smiled and nodded. "Of course you can come in."

"Really?" he grinned. Clearly he'd expected more resistance from me. "That's brilliant!"

"Just... er... be more careful what you say when you're getting a bit hot and bothered..."

He laughed. "'Course I will!"

"And, one more thing," I added. "Not when I'm with Guy."

"Why?"

I could tell from his disappointed expression that Guy's evenings at our house were probably near the top of his list of couplings he'd like to join in with.

"Guy's... er... special," was all I could manage by way of explanation.

"Okay," Jake said with a disappointed shrug. "Not when you're with Guy."

And with that I went to bed, wondering why it was so important for me to keep Guy to myself while, after what had just happened with Marcus, all of the rest of my occasional visitors would be fair game for Jake to join in with.

What was it about Guy that made him "special", I wondered.

What was it that kept making me feel so weird when I thought about the two of us?

Without being able to adequately formulate an answer to the question, I went back to bed; leaving my door slightly ajar, just like Jake's.