Taken by My Boy Ch. 02

Since the day of the rape in my own house, outraged and bum-fucked by a trio of bitter students, my world had turned upside-down. My whole mind-set. Everything I knew about fucking and love. All I knew about anything had changed.

Even worse, even more titanic, I made the world's worst mistake--while gang-raped, I thought I recognized my own son Aaron, a college sophomore, as one of the masked bastards, and I waited for revenge when he came home later without the mask.

But emotional earthquakes are tough when a man's as old as I am. The night of the rape, the ground cracked open under me on the subject of sex. I had to admit it--the shame, humiliation, and outrage were nothing compared to the overwhelming physical ecstasy (once I got past the pain). Left me dazed and amazed. And jacking off every time I thought about it. Couldn't deny it: I liked being fucked, the silky, almost insufferable friction of hot, sweaty cock-skin passing through my asshole.

In fact, when Aaron came home, and I got him horny, I changed my mind from angry revenge with my cock up his ass to getting him to fuck me. And he did it again, fucked me into purring rapture.

Then I discovered he was not one of the thugs; he was innocent! A tidal wave of guilt swept over me. Oh. My. God. What have I done?? I thought about killing myself.

But miracle of miracles, it ended up as the happiest accident in my life. Turned out Aaron had always been hot for me! I wouldn't have believed it, but he said for years he had been peeking at me through secret holes he drilled in the walls--in the bedroom to watch me fuck his mother, jacking off while he watched me through a hole in the bathroom wall.

From the moment my son's cock spread open my love-hole, the world rolled over, never to roll back. For one thing, Aaron and I became "an item." In a small wooden greenhouse at the back of my property where Aaron kept his exotic plants, we also shared another "hobby"--emptying his young balls into me in the hot steamy atmosphere and the aroma of orchids and camellias. Listening to each other breathing hard. Feeling the slick, sweat-wet skin of each other's back.

Never would've thought it--unimaginable--my son's cock up my ass was the greatest physical pleasure I knew. Being fucked was even hotter than fucking! Aaron's cock in my ass turned me on more than sticking my cock in his mother. Happily married for 22 years, I suddenly switched sides and for two years had been a cock-hungry cum-slut for my son. But as the months went by, the guilt came back.

No longer worried that I had raped my own son (rather delighted that he wanted to plow me as much as I wanted to be his bitch), I still realized that fucking his father was stunting his growth. Every time I bent over as my son's bitch, I held back his progress.

Aaron was a great student, soon to graduate, soon moving out, starting a career, beginning his adult life. I wasn't worried about his career prospects. Aaron was a golden boy, but as far as his full, masculine development was concerned, I had to help him fall in love. With someone else.

Hell, I was an old man about to retire. Aaron had his whole life ahead of him. He shouldn't settle on me as his lover. He needed someone his own age.

Okay, I needed Aaron, too. Loved to turn my body over to him, but as the head coach at Obaledi University, everything for me was perfect. Career-wise, I'd reached my plateau. Sex-wise, I always knew I had a sort of "free ticket"--I had my pick of horny college men. I could troll the locker rooms for young studs itching to fuck the coach on the wet, gray shower room floor--whether for revenge (like the rapists), to get a better grade, or simply to score a fuck on a man in authority.

I hadn't done that yet--Aaron kept me satisfied--but I knew I had an ace in the hole (for a cock in my hole).

Aaron, on the other hand, hadn't lived long enough to have paid such dues. He would have to win his soul-mate with just the force of his personality--and that big cock of his.

Two years ago I expected to see him settle down and get married--maybe to that Emily, the one he still dated (and bought rubbers for). But since the night of the gang-rape, I also figured a nice, healthy young man was an equal possibility.

One way or another, though, I had to wean Aaron away from me--maybe keep me as a special-occasion fuck. Something to dip his wick into on birthdays and special holidays.

One day I happened to be in the locker room checking out the damage on a locker some idiot student had tried to break into. Who knew what he was after, but he used a crowbar on the latch, ruining it. Anyway, while I was there, trying to bend the green door back into shape, the campus Army ROTC cadets finished their Physical Training activities out on the football field and came running in to shower and get back in uniform. I glanced over at them. Nice stuff. My appreciation of the male body had really picked up in the past couple of years. Got the point I could tell how far past puberty a guy was by the smell of his sweat. Or his jock. I'd picked a few out of the basket for some horny sniffs. Loved that rough, moist feel, like a waffle soaked in mayonnaise.

Damn! My eyes popped open. Lt. Prentino, the Regular Army staff assistant. I gulped. He was really something. Trying to act normal, from the corner of my eye I watched him strip. He pulled up that black ARMY T-shirt and yanked it over his head. I sucked in my breath (quietly).

Shoulders like an ox pulling a plow. Chest like a squared-off piece of furniture. Damn, he had muscles!

He shucked down his black shorts.

Jockstrap. Did the Army still pass those out? They did in my day. Damn, it looked good. Yellow and faded. Maybe stained. Tight elastic waistband and a nylon-mesh bulge so big it looked like a pistol holster. Damn, this boy is hung!

Prentino sat down, unlaced his sneakers, pulled them off, stood up, and slid down the jock.

Yeah! The stretchy mesh moved down, revealing a healthy bush of kinky black hair then a big cock, a real stunner. I gaped. And I could smell it from where I stood.

He had a hardon. Never saw anything like it--like the mushroom-cloud of an atomic bomb. Or an upside-down plunger. Cockhead something like twice as wide as the shaft! Incredible!

I stood frozen, fighting the urge to gasp. Even had a bubble of precum oozing out of his piss-slit. Most masculine thing I ever saw. Cockhead like a flying saucer. Unbelievable.

He chuckled. "Oops. Must be a little horny."

I looked up, into his eyes staring back at me. Busted. At first speechless, I forced myself to recover. With a chuckle, I snorted, "Hot date last night?"

I turned back to the broken locker as if too busy to notice. The metal of the door wasn't as hard as my cock.

Wow, what a man! Damned handsome. Taller than Aaron, not only did he have a good body, with his black hair and blue eyes he was a young George Clooney. Back in my office, I rubbed my hands with glee like the evil, cackling old man in the cartoons. I've found the man for my Aaron! Couldn't get his crotch smell out of my mind.

I looked him up in the college records. 2nd Lieutenant Anthony "Tony" Prentino joined the Army out of high school, one tour in Iraq, heroic action, won him assignment to Officer Candidate School, now an officer assigned to the ROTC at Obaledi.

Brave young man. Determined.

And one year older than Aaron. Perfect!

I made up some bullshit "University Program to Liaison with ROTC Military Physical Training" and invited Lt. Prentino over to the house for "an informal discussion of university/military possibilities. Please come over for dinner."

Prentino accepted the invitation, but he came over to my office to accept in person. He sat in one of the brown leather office chairs all these old colleges seemed to have. "I'd be happy to work with the university." I liked his voice. Deep. Masculine. And he sank into the soft leather cushion deep enough that I could look straight down into his crotch.

I pulled open the squeaky drawer in my oak desk and pulled out the bottle of Jim Beam rye (my favorite). "Care for a drink?"

He looked uncertain, then, "Yeah, why the hell not?"

I poured us a couple of shots, and we talked. Rather than go back to sit behind my desk again, I leaned back against it. I refilled our glasses as we talked and tried to steer the conversation around to sex, which wasn't too hard, really, not for two men. I tiptoed around the subject of man-sex. "I see a lot of homosexuality around here," I said casually. "Lot of it goes on in the locker room."

Prentino was lit. "I love older guys." His voice was soft. Husky. He looked up at me. "You make me hot. So hot!"

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. "Lieutenant?"

He gritted his teeth. "God, look at that thing. I can see it bulging out your pants."

What? I looked down. Damn! The conversation had given me a hardon. The tables were turned. He was staring into my crotch!

"I can't stand it anymore!" With that he rose from his chair, dropped to his knees, and grabbed my cock through my pants! Before I could gather my wits, he had my fly open--

--"Lieutenant, you're--you're excited." Stupid thing to say! "Have--have you met my son?" More stupidity! "He's--your age!"

At that moment, Prentino's mouth closed over my cock, and I lost my concentration. Hot mouth. Made me close my eyes, drop my hands to his head, rub through his black hair tenderly. God, he was good, his tongue scraped under my cockhead, teasing that sensitive spot, rasping over it like gentle, demonic sandpaper. "Wait--wait, I want my son--"

But I didn't have a chance. He sucked onto me again, baking my suddenly full-on hardon in his mouth, boiling my cock in his spit. His young-man's energy fused into me through my cock, and in a catapult to an orgasm so fast I felt vesicles and tendons stretching and snapping in my balls, I stiffened into a petrified statue trembling in mindless ecstasy. The sounds of our panting and grunts echoed from the cracked plaster walls.

He moaned as I passed the electricity back to him in violent gobs of sperm clogging his mouth and throat. When I had finished, he fell back onto his butt on the cracked linoleum, and the smell of our sweat and the sent of sex filled the room with a heady, intoxicating perfume, elevating my afterglow into a near-psychedelic experience.

I staggered over to the side of the room and fell back on the couch, unable to think clearly. I muttered, "My son is your--"

But Prentino was on me, cupping my balls, squeezing them gently. "I love older men. Let's have some fun" and with that I felt his finger wriggle into the crack of my ass--to find my Magic Button.

"No! Wait! You have to meet--"

--But once the finger pushed inside me, I was a goner. His other hand pulled down my pants and underwear, and--"Oh, yeahhhhh!" I lay back, spread my legs for him, and "AGGH!" That gigantic cockhead spread my asshole apart wider than a manhole-cover. God, what a gut-wrenching pain! A motherfucking thrill--if I could only get past the pain.

Like delirious, with a fever, I looked up at him as he lunged against me. The pain was intense, but the sweating, macho, commanding presence of the man pushed me past the agony. I nearly passed out in a dizzying combination of pain and rapture. My own cock let loose with flying globs of sperm, white vehicles of my pleasured surrender, splattering us both from the chest down. He got me! The goddamned bastard got me!

He did, indeed. A spreading warmth deep in my guts let me know he'd bred me. Anointed me. Chosen me as his receptacle. I felt wonderful. Jiggly, drunken good! I wanted to lie in his arms for hours, enjoying our afterglow.

But he got up, wiped himself off on my pants, and hissed, "See you tonight, Coach!" He smiled. "Oh, and call me Tony." And he was gone. Only the haunting smell of his crotch remained.

Shit. I wanted some more lovin'. Then it hit me: Damn, damn, double-damn, triple-damn, HELL! He was supposed to be for my goddamned son!

I didn't smoke, but right then I wished I did. Anything to un-knot my nerves. I did pour myself another stiff drink of rye.

My damned asshole had just betrayed me. What in hell am I going to do now?? I got up, pulled up my pants, and walked out into the locker room. Get some fresh air. Try to think. Get control of myself. Tonight's going to be a fucking mine-field!

Later that afternoon, when I met Aaron in our usual "father & son gardening" get-together in the greenhouse, I hadn't even closed the moldy door before he started pulling off his clothes. I leaned back against one of the benches. "Pretty hot are you, Aaron? Hey, have you looked at that ROTC officer, that Lieutenant Prentino? Hot stuff. I watched him take a shower. Nice body."

But Aaron kept stripping down, derailing my concentration. Damn, I loved his body. Couldn't think straight when he stripped. The sound of the rough cloth slithering down over his body was the Overture to an Orgasm. "He's--really hot," I gasped. "You--you'd like him--He's--good." The naked Aaron groped my crotch, unbuckling my belt.

"He's hot, man," I panted, "your age--AH!! Aaron stroked my throbbing hardon through my pants, and I was seeing red. In desperation I stood up, but Aaron yanked down my pants and moved behind me. When that big cock of his nudged at my ass-crack, I gave up. "Yeah! Do it, Aaron! Split me open! Knock me up!!"

Still a little sore from Prentino's ream-out, nonetheless I got the soul-satisfying jolt of my son's lunge, spreading my asshole, and I surrendered myself to him. I loved the sound of his panting breath and the squishing noise of his greased-up cock showing me who's boss.

Oh, Aaron, you need a man your age. Couldn't bring myself to say the words, though, and that was as far as I could think--my young quarterback had control of my body, running the game for me. My ass thrilled with his cock up inside.

Aaron always pleased. As he pushed it in, my rectum loved the pain like the hot spice of salsa on a taco. God, I loved it. Aaron made me feel like a rabbit trembling before a mighty lion. I loved his big cock. Almost as big as Prentino's, actually, just without the titanic cockhead. God, I was proud of him. I spread my legs even wider. Anything to get him in deeper.

But that was it: full in, to the hilt, his hips mashed against mine, his red pubic hair grinding against my balls, I had to admit it--Prentino had ruined me. Aaron's cock rammed full-length up my ass hadn't reached the places the lieutenant had. "Ah, God, Aaron, fuck me deep! Do it! Rip out my guts!" Hope nobody's in the yard to hear this.

Aaron liked me to talk dirty to him and he knew I liked it rough. Knew I was his cum-slut. He slammed against me so hard he pushed me over the potting bench, bending me over, humping me like a stallion covering a mare. My eyes clenched shut in the ecstasy of surrendering to my son--but he wasn't in as deep as Prentino.

After a few minutes of frantic lunges, slushy, greasy-sounding exercise, he rolled me over, laid me back on the gritty bench, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, and remounted. Yeah! He made me a jolting, jiggling mass of horny man-flesh. I loved to be his cum-bucket! Even if--I hated to think it--I'd had bigger.

When he finally got his gun and lubricated my guts again--the typical quart of jizz I'd have to shit out later--I jacked myself to spurt out a one-gun salute in four or five white arcs six or eight inches in the air, my version of fireworks to celebrate his conquest.

When Aaron pulled out and dropped exhausted onto a moss-covered chair, almost collapsing it, I was too fucked out to say anything more about Lieutenant Prentino. Maybe I'd get a chance to prime him a little more before the guy came for dinner later that night. We sat for several minutes just enjoying the aroma of the roses.

-==(^)==-

When Prentino showed up, exactly on time, I made introductions all around, and the evening began with cocktails. The wicked old man in me cackled again--Hee-hee! Now for the love potions! "Have you ever tasted absinthe, Lieutenant Prentino?"

"No. I've heard of it, though. And call me Tony."

Damn, he was hot. Filled out that tan summer uniform like it was about a half-size too small. Nice bulges. Everywhere. Perfect for Aaron. He had my seal of approval. "Tony, this stuff was popular among avant-garde society in Paris in the early 1900s. Oscar Wilde and Toulouse-Latrec were supposed to be addicted to it."

I left out the part about how the wormwood botanical in it was faintly poisonous and reputed to cause mild hallucinations. Neither did I mention that it's 138 proof. The hallucinations probably came from the 70% alcohol.

I filled his glass with the green stuff. "The decadent realm of the Green Fairy," they called it in at the turn of the century. I gave Aaron some, too, then we clinked glasses. Nothing like greasing the wheels.

As I turned away to get something else, I noticed Tony and Aaron looking at each other in friendly conversation. The evil old man's plans were working! Hee-hee-hee!

But nothing, as they say, is perfect. As we sat down to dinner of Cajun Oyster Pie (fiery spiced with oysters partly raw) and hard-boiled eggs with caviar and almonds (all foods to supercharge the libido), we were interrupted by Steinbel, the 18-year-old nerd who wheedled a gymnasium towel-man job out of me at the beginning of the semester.

The pimply little jerk couldn't make a decision by himself and had come all the way over to my house to ask me if I wanted him to open a new package of towels for the next school day or use up the rest of the towels with the old Obaledi logo. "Yeah, go ahead and open a new package! See you tomorrow!"

But my wife chimed in. "Have you had dinner yet, Harold?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, sit down. We've got plenty."

Curses! Foiled again!

What an asshole. Harold Steinbel was a skinny, whining little jerk. He weighed about 95 pounds and was about five feet tall. Tousled, mousy-brown hair. Freckles. Big glasses. A poster boy for Country-hick Nerds. The little loser begged me for the towel job so he could watch the naked jocks in the showers. I hired him--I mean, what the hell, who am I to point fingers--but he sure was an irritating little shrimp.

But--nyah-hah-haaaa--the wicked old man had an ee-vill plan. I had Madge, my wife, put the salsa in a gravy boat rather than a bowl or leave it in the bottle, and I had Lt. Prentino and Aaron seated next to each other. Close together.

When the meal was nearly over, I had plans for the big white porcelain gravy boat. It was a very special one I bought on vacation in Italy. The handle was in the shape of a naked Neptune, and the bowl was entwined teams of naked mermen pulling Neptune through the water. Madge thought it was art. I got it because the men's cocks were carefully sculpted.

No man with the slightest interest in his neighbor's penis could look at that gravy boat without a twinge between his legs.

Of course, once it was passed early in the meal to the damned little weasel Steinbel, he kept it at his plate, staring at it while he shoveled the food into his mouth.

As we finished our meal, I reached over to Steinbel's place at the table and picked up the naked-male gravy boat. I made my voice sound cheery: "Here, let me pour you some more of this delicious sauce--Oops!"

With a stumble I thought should get me an Academy Award, I clumsily (but quickly and carefully) emptied the salsa over both Prentino and Aaron, ruining the soldier's uniform and Aaron's clothes. "Oh, damn! Oh, hell, I'm so sorry! Caught my foot on the table leg! Oh, damn, your uniform is ruined, Tony!" I dabbed at it feebly.