Boner Trouble

Everything was going fine until the physical reality of his situation became impossible to ignore.

As they moved around the booth, adjusting displays and shuffling technical spec sheets, Peter felt a familiar, traitorous warmth pooling in his lap. It wasn't just an idle thought; he was pitching quite the circus tent again. The friction of his denim against his growing arousal was becoming an agonizing distraction. Every time 'Samus' turned her back to him or leaned over a table to inspect something, Peter had to look away, his eyes burning as they traced the curve of her hips.

His father—occupying the lithe, feminine form of 'Sams'—wasn't making it any easier. He was well aware of the gaze fixed upon him, and he was using that awareness as a weapon.

"You seem a bit distracted, son," 'Samus' remarked. The voice was still deep, carrying that resonant male timbre that belonged to Peter's father, but it was pitched in a way that made the words sound like a playful taunt. He turned slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Peter’s waistline with a smirk that could only be described as devious. "Is there something technical you're struggling to stabilize? Or is your hardware having trouble staying upright?"

Peter felt his face flush a deep crimson. The mockery in his father's voice was sharp, cutting through the polite hum of the expo hall. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to mask the protrusion with a clipboard, but there was no hiding it when he was standing this close to her.

He leaned in toward 'Samus', lowering his voice so the passing clients wouldn't hear the desperation in his tone. "Could you... could you help me with this?" he whispered, his eyes pleading as he gestured vaguely toward his lap. "It’s getting hard to manage while we work."

'Samus' let out a sharp, melodic laugh that sounded entirely too much like her old self, though the masculine tone remained. She stepped back an inch, putting just enough distance between them to make him ache.

"Yuck! Gross, Peter! I am still your father!" 'Samus' exclaimed, rolling her eyes with theatrical disgust. She crossed her arms over her chest, the movement causing a subtle jiggle that made Peter's stomach flip.

The mock-reproach was meant to sting, but it only served to highlight the absurdity of their situation. As much as he knew he was looking at his father, the visual of 'Samus' was making it impossible for him to keep his composure. He felt like a man caught in a storm of his own making.

He could feel the tension in his groin tightening with every second 'Samus' remained in his line of sight. The friction of his trousers was no longer just an annoyance; it was becoming an almost unbearable sensation as he pushed against the fabric.

"It's not funny," Peter hissed, his voice straining to remain low as a group of visitors walked past their booth with a polite nod. He shifted his weight again, trying to find some relief, but there was none to be found. The pressure was mounting rapidly. "If we don't do something, I might just jizz my pants any minute now."