“Worship me, fag.”

The easiest order Dad could offer me. I lick from his hilt to his crown, looking up at him, my eyes fluttering a little bit, as he looks down at me. He relaxes, one hand on the armrest, the other moving to the top of my head, fingers curling slowly.

“You look good on your knees at my feet,” Dad tells me, as I kiss my way down the length of his cock, worshipping his rod. I moan gently in answer for him, flexing my tongue wide as I stroke up the underside of Dad's incredible, massive phallus.

“You look good, and feel good, worshipping my cock,” Dad smiles at me with satisfaction and approval. I never expected Dad to be smiling proudly, approvingly, as I kneel before him and worshipping his cock, but it's where he commanded me.

“Do you want me to talk, Dad?” I ask, as I flex my tongue again, sensing that he likes feeling as much of my tongue as I can offer, as I lick up one side. He continues to maintain eye contact, as he considers my question, musing on my place as a fag.

“Yes,” Dad decides authoritatively, “You are a faggot. You are also my son, and I love you. I am quite proud of you, faggot.” My cheeks warm as I kiss my way down Dad's massive shaft. I let myself quietly experience the sensation of servicing him.

“You taste nice, feel nice, under my tongue,” I tell him, “the scent of you is nice in my lungs.” Dad's fingers curl casually in my hair, then relax, stretching until they splay over the back of my head. He holds me firm so his cock remains in my face.

“That is because you are a faggot, son,” Dad says calmly, watching me worshipfully draw my tongue up the side of his hard shaft, then kiss my way back down once more. I lick lovingly up his underside, as wide as I can, all the way to Dad's crown.

“Now, no more words. You have a job to do, and you know what it is,” Dad tells me. I nod silently, before moaning softly as I press as much of my tongue as I can against him. He smiles down at me, breathing deeply in pleasure at vibration I offer.

“Let your instinct guide you,” Dad tells me, “You are going nowhere until I am ready to let you.” I moan softly in response. His hand on the back of my head, forcing me to keep his cock in my face, not letting me suck, but ensuring I can't back off.

He has commanded I worship, and so I kiss my way down his length once more. My eyes focus on Dad's, watching me with contentment as my mouth delivers a trail of kisses all the way to his hilt. I turn my head, flexing my tongue against a side.

I draw back up again, working my way up to the crown and rolling the tip of my tongue around the underside. I grind it in, against his sensitive frenulum, knowing where and how to pleasure a cock. Instinct, I guess, but he bites his lip, and sighs.

I can tell he won't be fast to cum. He is resisting me, letting me have time to enjoy my duties, allowing me to experience in full his flavour and scent. My eyes drop to his cock, larger than mine, even though I'm not poorly-endowed in any context.

“That's it, faggot,” Dad sighs softly as I worship him, and I look up to see him rest his head against the back of the loveseat. His eyes close, and he simply holds my head in place to serve him. I won't let him down, and I worship his meat, dutifully.

Author's Note:
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