Me and My Dad (Gay, Incest, True Story)
I'm certain that my dad started it. We were painting three houses that our landlord was paying us to paint for him. Three months rent and a thousand bucks. Not a bad deal for poor people living a little more than a vagabond lifestyle. I was eighteen years old. My dad was forty-eight years old. When we took a lunch break, my father decided to "wrestle with me." He pinned me down and thrust his crotch into my bubble butt.
I was just under six feet tall, was very thin at 125 pounds as I ran a lot. I had curly auburn hair and nearly tan colored eyes. My dad was about 5'8" and weighed about 140 pounds. He had dark walnut colored hair, but hazel eyes. His age showed a bit, but respectfully.
I laughed an uncomfortable laugh when my dad humped on my bubble butt, and he got off. It was, for him, an am-I-crazy moment?
Although I laughed, it wasn't like I didn't like the feeling of my dad's cock pressed against my sensitive crack, jeans on and all. Instead, it was more like I liked it, and felt truly uncomfortable about liking that feeling. Not because it would've been a new revelation to me that I liked a crotch pressed between my ass cheeks. I had recently lost my anal virginity to a big-cocked, suave older man named Lloyd, but not in a suave place, the back seat of his car instead. I knew by then that I was gay, but getting turned on by your dad's cock -- that, I thought, was appalling.
After a hard day's work of manually scraping the old and peeling coat of paint off the aging victorian styled two story home, now spliced into two separate apartments, while on the long ride back home, I couldn't get my mind off my dad's crotch being ground into my butt crack. I looked at my dad, and paid close attention to his finer features, the distinguished lines in his face, that on most men would just look like wrinkles, his still youthful looking, but stern lips, his mild streaks of gray that spread from his sideburns and then slowly and handsomely faded into walnut, and his hazel eyes.
I realized then that he was sexy. And I wanted him. I began to feel a bit saddened though. Maybe, I was crazy. Maybe his crotch grinding was really an accident of some sort. My heart raced. I had to do something. My plan was simple, I'd do what I had feared for most of my life: I would tell my dad that I was gay. He would have three options: accept me for being gay, kick me out of his home, or accept me for being gay and plant his huge cock between my ass cheeks again, but this time, with no layer of clothes to ban his cock from my hole, where I hoped it would go.
He acted shocked. Now I know better (what man couldn't tell that I was a fag?). He then told me the words I wanted to hear all my life, "son, I love you no matter what, I don't care that you are gay."
But that was it. He made no further sexual innuendo towards me. He did encourage me to come out to my mother. And I did and she accepted me. Coming out to my parents made me feel liberated.
But still, there was the issue of my father's cock. I wanted it.
Luckily for me, I would get it. My mother worked the late shift at a diner, and my father got drunk. I was laying in my bed about to go to sleep, when I heard my father moaning. He seemed to be in pain. I knew what it was. He had gotten too drunk and needed someone to help him. So, I got out of bed to wait on my father.
I saw him laying on the sofa, apparently in agony. I came over and rubbed his shoulder and asked if there was anything I could do for him. "Just anything, Bobby, anything."
So, I got a wash cloth and dampened it, and washed my father's face down. I then rolled his body over and began to massage it for him. My father was a drunk and I had done this sort of thing for him before. But it never seemed sexual to me until then.
"Wait, Bobby," my father muttered to me.
I got up to see what he wanted. He rolled over and grabbed my arm.
"Could you help me with something else?"
My dick began to grow, as I began to hope that I knew what he meant.
He pulled me down by my arm, until I was on my knees next to him while he laid on the sofa.
"Rub my legs now," he muttered.
"Yes," I thought, "now we were getting somewhere." But I did not show my glee on my face. I just did as I was told, I rubbed my fathers legs, pretty far from his crotch to begin with.
"Higher Bobby," he told me, and I knew he wanted me to rub closer to his crotch, but I intentionally didn't get as close as I knew he wanted. He told me again to rub higher up his legs, and I got even closer to his crotch. And again he told me to go higher, and I knew now it was my chance. I "accidentally" grazed his crotch. He made no sound, but a pleasant look came over his face. I "accidentally" grazed his crotch again. He grabbed my wrist and pressed my hand down.
"That's good girl," he said.
And there was that pissy assed fag side of me that came out.
"But dad, I'm not a girl---I'm gay"
He slapped me across my face.
"I don't have a queer son. I don't raise queer boys. You want to tell everyone you are queer, fine by me. But you are grabbing a man's cock. My sons don't grab men's cock. But my dirty little daughter does grab a man's cock. Now be a good girl and do as daddy says! Now you want daddy's cock, my little Bobby Jo?"
I hung my head in shame. I was just called a girl and a bad one at that. But I really did want my daddy's cock, so I nodded in the affirmative.
"Then you can pretend like a boy in front of anyone, but from now on, you are my daughter Bobby Jo, and you and daddy will do all the naughty things you want."
"Yes, sir," I said humbly with my head hung.
"Now pull daddy's cock out of his underwear," daddy told me.
I was stunned by the sight of it. It was huge. A good nine inches. Uncut with a large purple mushroom head. My tongue wagged from its mouth.
"Good girl. My naughty daughter looks like she wants daddy's cock. You want Daddy's cock, Bobby Jo?"
Oh, I wanted it so bad, but I just nodded.
"I can't hear you Bobby Jo," my dad said.
"Y-yes sir, Daddy."
"Yes, sir, Daddy -- what?"
"Yes, sir, Daddy, your naughty daughter wants your big cock," I responded.
"When my daughter speaks to me about her naughty desires she will speak like the girl she is. So, try it again,"
I wanted his cock so badly, that even though I always swore to myself that I would never act like a femme boy, I succumbed to his demand, afraid that I wouldn't get his cock if I didn't do as told. So, in the most feminine voice I could muster, I pleaded.
"Please, Daddy, let your naughty daughter have your cock!.
"Go ahead you little slut!"
I was so ashamed at my behavior, so ashamed that I was now being called a slut. But the way I degraded myself up to now to get my dad's cock, I could not deny his stinging words: I was a slut.
I lowered my pouty lips to his cock head, and licked out my tongue. I knew what to do. I licked all around his big mushroom head. Then I glided my tongue down the shaft of his huge cock until my tongue met his balls. I licked and sucked his balls while he moaned "that's a good girl," and "yes, yes, Bobby Jo," and so on. Then after about two or three minutes of licking and sucking his balls, and catching his pre-cum in my auburn curly hair, I slowly licked back up the shaft of his cock, until my tongue met his mushroom head again. And up and down and swirl around went my tongue.
But my father proved he wasn't always disciplined. He hurried me on, "now take daddy's cock in your mouth you little slut." I did. And I began to suck a little in my mouth at a time, when I felt my father's hands grab the hair on the sides of my head and rush my head down the shaft of his cock. I gagged a bit, but took it anyway. He finally let me up and let me suck at my own pace. More heated moans flowed from his mouth and whispered from his lips. When my father was about to cum, he pushed down on the back of my head and thrust his hips, fucking his cock in but not quite out of my mouth. And then, at last, what I was waiting for: the sour taste of my father's cock.
After I swallowed all of his cum. He told me to go masturbate in the bathroom to get off. He didn't want to see that his new daughter had a dick. But before then, he kissed me in the mouth. That's when I noticed something strange. It was all a rouse. My father had never been drinking to begin with.