Balls Deep

For two hours, there is no other sound in the house save Dad's rhythmic breath above me, my moan on his cock, and the soft, slick sound of my mouth on it. His fingers slide through my hair, caressing my scalp, as I obediently work on his rod.

The soft, murmured praise of his voice never ends. He tells me how proud of me he is, taking his entire length down to his hilt, how this is what I deserve, where I am meant to be. I moan, soft and sweet, each time my mouth slides up his length.

I keep my eyes on his, tracking my own efforts, how effective my performance is. Each time my mouth reaches his base, I swallow, stroking a large portion of his cock with the muscles in my throat, before letting the air drift out from my lungs.

As my lips slide up, I soften the embrace of my mouth on him, until I grind the tip of my tongue against the sensitive strip of his frenulum. I roll my tongue around his crown, before breathing in as I slide my mouth back down to his hilt, again.

At the first pulse of his cock in my mouth, the warning Dad is nearing his first release, I blink up at him, questioning. Dad smiles, but he doesn't shove. He just smiles at me, reassuring and calm, and tells me what to do. “All the way down, slut.”

The order issued, my lips slide down the entire length of Dad's thick cock. I breathe in as I descend, breathing in the scent of his musk, filling my lungs with it. When my lips reach the hilt, Dad does not apply pressure, he just issues a command.

“Keep your mouth exactly there. Hold your breath, faggot,” Dad orders. I don't moan, as it would cost me air, but I do as I am told. My mouth stilled on his length, pulsing in my mouth and throat, I suck silently on the section still on my tongue.

Dad lets out a long, low sigh of satisfaction before the first pulse of his seed pumps into my throat. His fingers curl against my scalp, stroking and massaging my skin through the thick mass of my hair. “Fuck, yes ... that's it, faggot. Take all of it.”

He doesn't hold me down, because he knows he does not need to. I suck, hard, swallowing around his rod and grinding my tongue against the underside. His thickness almost totally suppresses my tongue, but I can at least flex the muscle for him.

For more than a dozen pulses over the course of around two minutes, I hold my breath. I swallow around Dad's phallic rod as he pumps his milk into my lower throat, keeping my eyes focused on the base in front of me, and Dad's washboard abs.

I've always been in excellent shape, but Dad is a man of incredible fitness for a fellow in his latter forties. The epitome of a man in every manner for his age group, my lips lock tight around the hilt of a cock so thick it stretches my lips fully taut.

“There's a good faggot, swallow all of it,” Dad says in a low, heavy moan, “Good slut, drink your milk like a good whore.” My cheeks warm, but I do as he commands. I close my eyes and let myself savour the moment, drinking from his phallus.

When the pulsing abates, I slide my mouth up slow, withdrawing from his meat. Fingers in my hair continue their caress, massaging the skin through the thick mass of my hair. I lift until I can breathe, until his cock slips from my mouth, totally.

“So proud of you, faggot,” Dad says, and I smile, licking his cock as programmed, showing how much I appreciate him, for calling me that, and he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I need another round, slut, but I will let you catch your breath.”

Author's Note:
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