“Good, faggot, now, suck,”

Dad commands, as I kneel before him, looking up at him in brainwashed submission, “All the way down, faggot, don't stop until your lips reach the base.” I lean forward, opening my mouth and wrapping my lips around Dad's crown, obediently.

Breathing in his warm, aromatic musk, I slide my mouth down onto his cock. Dad's extraordinary girth stretches my lips taut, my attention focused entirely on his cock. “Eyes on mine, faggot. I want you to make eye contact as you suck on it.”

My eyes snap up immediately, riveted instantly to Dad's beautiful, dark brown eyes. He smiles at me, watching as my lips slide down to his hilt, angling my body and thus his cock so that I can maintain eye contact even as my throat stretches.

“Good fag,” Dad says, his tone warm and full of love, even as he calls me a fag. I can't smile around his cock, but I wish so ardently that I could, because I absolutely would. As my lips reach his hilt, I swallow instinctively around Dad's thickness.

“Fuck, yes, faggot, just like that,” Dad coos the words, breathless and serene, “Good slut. Moan each time you bring your mouth back up. Let your lungs empty so you can breathe me in, again, as you go down. You can do this, you little faggot.”

Dad's words are a benediction in my ears, the confident reassurance of a man I've never doubted. He has always been the embodiment of masculinity and trustworthiness, to me. I moan soft and low, offering vibrations to his cock, as I slide up.

His massive cock is so thick it suppresses my tongue, so utterly all I can do is flex it against his underside as I slide my lips along him. He rests a palm on my head, his eyes focused on mine as he watches his cock vanish into my mouth, each dive.

I moan loud, as loud as I can, as my stretched lips caress his shaft on the way up. I tilt my head at his crown, sliding a little caress of my cheeks against it. “Swallow on your way down, once my cock passes into your throat, faggot. Good little slut.”

His praise reassures and motivates me, as it always has. It makes me feel more enthusiastic, as I slide my mouth back down onto his cock. He's so thick I don't really need to tighten my mouth on him, I just have to avoid scraping my teeth on him.

“You're doing such a good job, faggot,” Dad moans the words lovingly, his hand on my head, fingers stroking through my hair affectionately. He rubs his thumb tenderly on one temple, his touch a firm and comforting massage against my skin.

“You like this, don't you, you slut?” he asks, and I moan in affirmation, my heart fluttering as I take Dad's cock to the hilt. My throat flexes around him, as I swallow, stroking almost his entire cock with the contraction. He groans loud in answer.

“Fuck, yes!” Dad growls low with arousal and satisfaction, beaming a wide smile down at me, the same smile he offered me whenever I aced a time trial for the swim team. His pride has always been so easy to recognise, heartwarming and naked.

I never expected to make Dad proud with my mouth around his cock, but seeing him looking at me like that makes me feel that much more determined. I bob my head slow, lifting one hand to motion toward myself, then gesture my hand faster.

“No, whore,” Dad murmurs softly, reassuringly, “You don't need to move any faster. Keep it slow like you're doing for me right now. You're a good faggot. I promise.” Dad's vow has always been his bond. He's never said anything he didn't mean.

I moan happily on him, as my mouth slides up his cock, then back down, once more. He's always made me feel good about myself, and even in this situation, I feel content. Above me, Dad sighs, sliding his palm down my scalp, to cup my cheek.

“Such a sweet little faggot,” Dad's words are warmth and adoration in my ears, a tender and bass-y rumble, “Nice and slow on my cock, slut. There's a good bitch.” My heart flutters, as my lips slide to his hilt, slowing myself down even more on it.

I've always considered myself fortunate to have a Dad that loves me and has absolute faith in me. Moaning gently on him, my eyes focused on his, his pride shines like sunlight from his expression. “You're doing such a good job, sweet little fag.”

I wonder, as my lips slide to his hilt, refreshing my air as I descend, if Dad treats all boys like me, like this. I can tell that I am by no means the first boy to be on my knees for him. I hope he's treated every other boy as well as he is treating me.

I resolved to ask, later, at some point, but, for now, I maintain the needed focus. My lips stretched taut to the point of an iota of pain, I moan as my mouth slides up his cock. Dad's thumb caresses my cheekbone, while his palm cradles my face.

His touch is love and tenderness, drowning mild pain in delicate sensuality. Dad's warm, aromatic musk floods my lungs, so rich and thick it drowns out all other scents. Unlike some people, I've always possessed a fairly strong sense of smell.

Dad's stamina is impressive, a demonstration of his experience as I bob my head, as slow as I can. He answers my efforts with a low, almost continuous bass-line purr. I can feel the rumble in my chest, even as I moan lovingly around his cock.

“Fuck, you are going so slow, faggot,” Dad moans the words, “I've literally never had a bitch suck my cock this slowly.” Most folk would use that as an insult, but Dad's voice is warm, content. He likes that I am sliding this slowly on his shaft.

I slow down further, experimentally, and Dad's purr intensifies, almost instantly. He rumbles a low growl at me, low and rich with delight, “That was not a challenge, you enthusiastic little bitch! Gods, fuck, yes. You're going so fucking slow ... ”

It forces me to hold my breath, as I maintain this new pace, sliding down as slowly as I can without coming to a complete halt. For as long as it takes, I decide, I will suck Dad's cock as slow as this, because I can feel the love in his feathery touch.