“Relax and take it, slut,”

Dad instructs, as his cock slides down across my lips, “You can suck, but now let's see if you can handle receiving a cock. There's also the vagus nerve in your throat, which I want to test.” I moan soft on his cock, as he pushes it into my mouth.

As he does, Dad slides his fingers into my hair, pulling firmly. I relax my muscles and let him control me, drawing me off my chair. He allows gravity to pull me down onto my knees, altering the angle of his cock on my tongue, and in my throat.

I moan on him, but Dad only drives himself in to the hilt, then draws back. His eyes focus down on me, but not only on my face. I realise he's looking at my cock, as well, flicking his attention between that and my eyes, tracking bodily responses.

I can feel myself becoming aroused, as Dad's cock slides down my throat at different angles. He smirks, a new expression of smug satisfaction, as he returns his attention to my face. Dad looks into my eyes, shifting his position more assertively.

I moan, as he steps on my hardened rod with his work shoe, crushing my cock against my bedroom's hardwood flooring. My eyes flutter, and Dad smiles down at me with satisfaction as he fucks my mouth, his pace, for now, still slow, smooth.

“You're aroused at having me dominate you, aren't you, slut?” Dad asks, grinding his foot against my cock, soliciting me to whine on his cock, vibrating him differently than my moan, as he drives in. “You like having a cock in your throat, too.”

I know the difference between a statement and a question, and that last bit was a declaration. Dad's tone of voice brooks no argument, no denial, no protest. It is, from his mouth, as absolute a fact as the chemical composition of freshwater.

Dad increases his pace, forcing my body to sway, as he continues to stand over me. One foot on my cock, he crushes me underfoot, not enough to be harmful. He pushes down just enough that it fucking hurts, and I like it, staining my cheeks.

Soon, his foot moves off of me, repositioning to have his feet outside my knees. His hands on my head as he accelerates, Dad establishes a hard, face-pounding pace. I maintain eye contact, staring up submissively as his balls slap into my chin.

“Yea. Clearly you were always meant for this, faggot!” Dad growls the words low, the sound soft and warm, full of pride, rather than the malice some utter with certain words. His hips snap forward, but not enough to slap against my cheeks.

A man of science and control, Dad fucks my mouth with ruthless force, incredible pace, and high stamina. My eyes don't water, though, and I don't choke on him. I kneel silently, taking it as my Dad uses me as a vessel to receive his thick milk.

I can only hope he means to pump it into my mouth again, but I can't be sure. His milk is wonderful, though, and I will be thankful to receive it, no matter where. Given the taste and the nutrients, I'll never complain about Dad giving me milk.

Author's Note:
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