Mr. Jones, the Neighbor Ch. 06

"Damn," I said softly. Mr. Jones tousled my hair.

"See, boy? You could never use a cunt like this. You're just a beta bitch."

I just stared. He pulled my hair gently, forcing my face upward to look at him.

"Say it," he growled.

"I'm just a beta bitch." My cock stirred as I said it. What was happening to me?

"Say it again, and I want you to mean it."

"I'm just a beta bitch, sir!"

"You were made to follow orders and serve, weren't you, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll be my bitch, won't you?"

I barely even had to think about it before I answered, "of course, sir."

"You'll do what I say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good faggot. Now watch me use your dad like you never could."

He picked up his pace; Dad started making ecstatic grunts. Mr. Jones grabbed his hair and pulled him up so that he was almost kneeling while getting cored out.

"You hear that, faggot? Your boy is going to serve me too."

"Y-yes, sir," Dad gasped. Again, his voice was difficult to read--anguish? Lust? Shame?

"Everything that you own is mine, bitch. Even your son."

"Yes, sir." Resignation. Acceptance. Definitely some lust in there, too. No wonder I was struggling to read Dad right now--he was feeling everything at once. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hold him, or hit him, or fuck him. Mr. Jones' voice snapped my attention back to him.

"Get underneath us, boy. I want to make sure you see every angle of my cock using your old man."

It took a second to get situated, but I ended up lying underneath Dad with my face just below his hole in a kind of modified 69 position. I was painfully aware that my semi-erect dick was in Dad's face, but I knew that there was no chance that he was going to do anything about it. Faggots didn't serve betas without their Doms' approval. And I was right--I could feel his panting breath near it, but Dad didn't touch my penis. I felt small again.

Mr. Jones resumed fucking Dad, his cock driving in and out of that hungry pussy. The thong's front pouch strained from Dad's chastity cage over my chin. A dark spot of precum was oozing through the fabric, and I opened my mouth instinctively. As I waited for it to drip down, I realized in disgust and arousal that little flecks were hitting my face--bits of cum from that previous load being fucked out of Dad's hole. I considered moving from my position, but Mr. Jones had ordered me to watch closely, and he had certainly not given me permission to move. They were--God, they were warm and wet. I felt like a cum rag after being told that I wasn't good enough to top Dad myself. I just laid there with my mouth open, being splattered by Mr. Jones' cum, waiting for him to breed Dad again. At least I would save the carpet from stains. Silver lining.

When Dad's precum touched my tongue, I felt a shiver run through my entire body. We had never done this--I had never even touched his precum, I'd mostly just ignored it. To consume it, my father's precum, felt filthy and degrading and kinky. It didn't help that it tasted great, either. It made the entire experience--the disgusting, nasty experience--so much hotter.

My face felt covered in secondhand cum when Mr. Jones' strokes started to speed up. Dad's cunt was so wet by this point that the sloppy THWAP-THWAP-THWAP noises were deafening.

"Fuck, faggot--" Mr. Jones' voice was uneven, overwhelmed. "Fuck boy, your pussy feels so good around my cock."

"Yes, sir," Dad whined back. "Please, sir, fuck my pussy, give me your load, please, I need it--please breed me deep, use me--"

What happened next was almost slow motion. Mr. Jones plunged his cock deep into his guts as hard as he could, shoved it so deep inside Dad that he surely felt it all the way in his second hole, a force of penetration that seemed to reverberate all through his body--Dad tensed, his abs clenched, his legs trembling. His cage swelled and suddenly the dark precum spot started to grow. He was cumming, cumming in his just from being fucked, and filling his thong with his jizz. I was hypnotized, entranced with the miraculous simultaneous orgasm that they were having, both of them totally lost in pleasure. I watched the dark spot in Dad's thong, wondering, debating, not sure--was I going to--would I really--

Mr. Jones was fucking slow, deep strokes into Dad's hole as he rode out his orgasm. Dad just kept cumming more and more. The fabric was not going to be able to--

And there it was. A small white drop appeared at the front of the thong. Dad's load was soaking through it. It was going to drip down onto me; I already had Mr. Jones' load all over my face. So what if more cum joined it? But then--no. I wasn't going to open my mouth. This wasn't like the precum. I didn't need--

Need what? To taste my dad's cum? This wasn't just ordinary cum, this was locked cum. A faggasm from Mr. Jones' cock using him. I remembered what Mr. Jones said, all those days ago, about sharing his load... that time when I had my tongue firmly planted in Dad's hole. He made it sound like cum was a commodity. Why should a single drop be wasted?

The white drop was coming off the fabric. I had to make the call. Should Dad's load go on my face, or into my mouth?

The last thought I had, as I watched it fall toward me, was that Mr. Jones would want it in my mouth.

I opened up and accepted Dad's load.

The taste drove me wild. I couldn't believe it--any of it. It was salty and alkaline and it tasted like pure, uncontained sexuality that had been desperately pent up for days on end. The thing is, Dad's load wasn't all coming out at once, either--most of it was still soaking into the thong. Straining into one thin stream of cum. I held my mouth open and the steady tendril lazily descended to my tongue, wagging slightly while Mr. Jones finished up his thrusts. I watched it and lapped up the results greedily.

Neither of them even knew I had chosen to do this--for all they knew, I had just gotten a facial. I wondered, in a dimly optimistic moment, whether they would be proud of me.

Mr. Jones pulled out of Dad's hole. A little dribble of cum landed on my forehead; I quickly slid a finger across it and ate it. Mr. Jones wagged his spent cock approvingly.

"Good boy. You're a fast learner. The second load of the day is always the best."

"I can see why you say that, sir."

He looked pleased. He slid his shirt off, took his pants off. Threw them both onto the couch, then sat next to them with his hands behind his head. All naked glory. Dad sat back onto his heels, turned to look at Mr. Jones. I got the distinct impression he was waiting for more orders.

"These clothes will need to be washed. They've got airplane and cum on them."

"Yes, sir," Dad answered automatically.

"You were a good boy for Max while I was gone, so I'll let you decide whether you want to clean me up or if you want him to."

"Sir, I'd like to clean you up please, sir."

"All right, get at it."

In a flash Dad was sucking Mr. Jones' dick, licking his balls, seeking out every odd drop of cum or sweat or spit. Mr. Jones thickened a bit, but did not grow erect again. I just sat there, watching absently. The taste of Dad's cum lingered on my tongue. I wanted to gag. Or to cum. Maybe both.

After a few minutes of cleaning, Mr. Jones dismissed Dad to take care of the clothes and finish with lunch.

Then Dad was gone, and it was just the two of us.

"Let's go upstairs," he said, carefully watching my face.

"Upstairs?"

"To shower."

"Oh. Okay. Sir."

He hopped up, spent cock bouncing. He led the way, both of us naked. His ass was approximately at my eye level on the stairs, and I have to admit my eyes were glued to those cheeks. Hairy, round, flexing as he took each step. I had to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing those handfuls of muscle. I would have to ask if I could worship his ass one of these days. I bet he would like it.

We stepped through the master bedroom into the master bathroom. Mr. Jones turned the shower on. He felt the water, shook his head to say that it wasn't warm enough yet. He was taller than me; standing this close together, he seemed to loom. I could just barely smell an aura of sweat that had built up on him from fucking Dad. I looked up at his face.

I almost laughed; for the first time, he looked... sort of awkward. Like he wasn't sure what to say, exactly. I wondered if his post-nut clarity was getting the best of him. His eyes drifted uncomfortably between the water, the floor, my face. It was almost... sweet. Bashful. Like he had mountains that he wanted to say to me, but couldn't find the place to start.

I stepped forward, closing the gap between us. I reached a hand around and took one of his ass cheeks in my palm. God, it was just a firm and sexy as I had imagined. I rested the other hand on his chest, touched my face to it. The smell of him was driving me wild. I never imagined a man's smell could make me feel like this. I took a deep breath, inhaling him.

I felt a tension in his chest release as he breathed, too. The steam was starting to fill the room--the shower was hot enough. He stepped in first, and I followed.

"I hope you... are you okay?" he asked. His voice was uneven.

"Yeah," I replied. "Honestly, I had a good time. In spite of..." I gestured vaguely. It was the truth--I enjoyed watching Mr. Jones fuck Dad. I even, somehow, enjoyed them humiliating me. It was different from anything I'd ever experienced. Not all in a good way, but not all bad, either. Something... in between, riding the sharp edge between hurt and arousal.

He gave a roguish smile. "Good. I'm sure we can arrange for you to have some more of..." he mirrored my gesture. "...if you want."

"I... I do." I smiled back at him. "Sir."

He stepped closer to me, hot water cascading over both of our bodies.

"Did you mean what you said when you said you'd be my bitch?" he asked.

"Yes," I said softly.

"You want to be my faggot and follow my orders like your daddy? Did you mean it when you said that?"

"Yes, sir. I... want it. I can't explain why. You just... I think it has something to do with my being in charge of Dad while you were gone. I got a taste of it, I got to pretend to be the big man, like you said. But I felt like I was sort of... doing my best. I guess it just didn't come naturally to me. I was in my head a lot. But with you..."

"Obeying feels like the most natural thing in the world."

I nodded. "Will you train me, sir?"

He took me in his arms. Big, wet, warm arms. He held me tight.

"I'd be happy to, boy."