Paternal Fruit

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Homoerotic love blossoms between father and son...
5.8k words
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Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

Author's Notes: It's been awhile since I've made a new submission; life has gotten busy. This is a revision and expansion on my most favorited story to date, Paternal Fruit. I've gotten many kind comments and feedback from you, including requests to continue the story beyond a one-shot short story.

This story is a work of adult fiction that describes in explicit detail incestuous homosexual acts between consenting men. This is not like my typical fare; it's just a scene in the life of two people who realize they love each other in a way they hadn't considered before.

This is an incest story and a gay male story. If either of these is a dealbreaker for you, or if such stories are repugnant or offensive to you, do not continue as you will not enjoy it. Please refrain from reading and then leaving homophobic or defamatory comments. They will be deleted.

If, however, you are open-minded and can appreciate the fantasy for what it is--first and last, a harmless fantasy and a time for you to indulge in ideas and desires that may be unavailable to you in your daily life--I hope you will enjoy it and savor the masculine, homoerotic energy that these two characters find intoxicating and that finally drives them into each other's arms.

As always, if you like the story, please do rate it and leave a comment. If you're a fan of my earlier work and would like to see a continuation, feel free to drop me a line with any requests you'd like to see as I'm looking for plot points and scenarios. Always glad to get a private message from a reader. Without further ado, I leave you to enjoy--

*****

His heart thunders in his ears at the erotic sight before him. No matter how he heaves, pulling in breath after breath, he can't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He knows what he is bound to do. The thought has him shaky and excited. His cock is all steely and wet and dripping with the seductive depravity of it all. His fingers go to his straining head and adjust it in his low-cut briefs. The same fingers tremble as he rakes them through his short-cut locks.

His fate was sealed the minute he realized just how intoxicated the man lying before him was. He rarely drinks. Definitely not like this. Something must have happened on the way home from the site.

He had come out of the shower, towel around his neck, sweatpants and tank top clinging to his damp body, to the sight of the man sprawled out on the futon, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled and shook his head. How unlike him. He pulled off the slumbering man's boots and tossed them aside. He had released the latches on the futon to flatten it out and make him more comfortable. It would be difficult to coax him into his bed at this rate. Better to let him sleep it off until morning out here.

It had started innocently enough. And then, he had allowed his eyes to fall to the bulge inside the older man's tight bluejeans. The way the bulge curved upward just slightly, the outline of his member diverging from the heavy sac, had done him in. He had licked his lips, heart suddenly pounding. Something inside him fell away. All rationality, all reason seemed to slip from him. "Maybe. Just maybe..." he dared to think. The man was really sleeping hard. "Just a little bit..."

The man's legs are open in a sort of 'V' shape. He is breathing in deep, rolling breaths from his abdomen. Even in the dim glow of the streetlight coming in through the long horizontal sliver of window at the top of the wall in the front room where they are, Jonah can see the older man's strong jawline with a dark shadow of brown stubble from the week spent on a job site out of town with too little sleep. No doubt, he was persuaded to have a glass or two with friends from work to celebrate a job well done and a break before heading out to the next site. He never ate enough when he was away. He had probably drunk his beers or whiskey on a nearly-empty stomach. Foolish though it was, Jonah was glad for it now.

The older man is solid, all muscle and sandy locks with some gray strands and sharp angles and brown stubble. Jonah himself is lithe and almost raven-haired. They look so little alike, save the coffee-brown eyes and angular jawline. Jonah has taken after his mother.

He kneels down in the 'V' between the man's legs and pulls his socks away revealing large feet with a smattering of downy hair. He licks his lips at the sight, suddenly desperate to suck at the toes. He resists the urge, knowing that one wrong move will prove disastrous. His treasure slumbers at the crux of the legs splayed out to either side of him.

The belt buckle rattles as his thin fingers force the tooth through the leather, and he pulls it open. The jeans are tight and the bulge is heavy. Jonah pulls at the stubborn button. It gives way and he makes quick work of the zipper. The sound of it slicing through air makes him gulp in anticipation. He quivers in a mix of excitement and fear. This isn't right. But it is. God, if it isn't more right than anything he's ever felt.

The briefs underneath are thin and gray and silky. He savors the warmth that fills his palm when he presses it against the bulge. It is warmer than he had ever imagined. It is meaty and thick and immediately mesmeric. Jonah feels himself falling under its sexual spell. A slave to furtive lust and an aching need in his own loins, he reaches up both hands to grasp the waistband and lift it up and down to free the object of his desire.

And now he sees the forbidden fruit in its magnificence. It lies, turgid from an instinct as old as mankind itself. The instinct to fuck. The instinct to pump its hot essence into a waiting orifice. The instinct to dominate and to seed. To give pleasure and take what it needs. Savage. Rough. Strong. Even as its keeper slumbers under the weight of the dram he has imbibed, it courses to life with the innate virility and masculine energy Jonah seeks.

The musky smell wafts at him. Jonah takes down his own tight jeans and peels away his ankle socks before returning to his knees to examine the object of his desire. He kneels in his tight briefs before the man he loves best. He is seized by the aching need to have it in his hands. Before he can even stop it, his right hand goes there and holds it. The weight and girth of it, and the faint ridge of his glans tempt Jonah. A masculine force pulses in his palm and the warmth of skin heats his hand at once. He stifles a moan in his chest and pulls back the foreskin. His father is uncircumcised, a peculiarity for that generation in the rural American town where Jonah and his dad have shared an apartment for the 10 years since the divorce. Still, Dad emigrated from a part of Europe where, even then, the senseless ritual was an obscurity.

Jonah had realized early on in middle school that both he and his father were different down there from his classmates and the guy on the team. He had showered at school and after practice. In their modest apartment, Jonah and Dad shared a bathroom, and it was not uncommon for Dad to come away from a shower toweling off his hair, uncut dick hanging down from its nest, fat and proud. Dad had often spoken casually to him as he stepped into his bedroom and pulled thin briefs up to cover his tight cheeks. Jonah sometimes snuck into the bedroom to open the hamper and smell these thin strips of cloth. When he got older, he recognized the smell of excitement his father left behind from time to time, no doubt on nights when he had gone out. At these times, Jonah would feel a twinge of jealousy at the women his father was no doubt meeting mingled with his desire. Once, he even let himself lick at the cloth, tasting the tang of precum and masculinity.

It was at the kitchen table of this apartment that Jonah studied for his driver's test and later studied for exams in a technical program at the local college before going to work in the same industry as his father. He made a better wage earlier on thanks to that piece of paper. It was at the same table that they had recently toasted Jonah's twenty-first year with expensive Scotch he had choked down and his father had said would put hair on his chest. It was in this apartment, too, that he had awoken to a love for his father that ran deeper than he could ever have imagined, a respect and a hero worship that kept him up at night, stiffened prick in his hands, and that compelled him to sneak peeks at the older man in the shower when he could.

Now, he is not peeking but drinking in the sight of the meaty, substantial cock in his hand. It is swollen now, and longer, almost scalding with the heat of an instinct to mate. Jonah pulls back at the foreskin to reveal the purple head and then lets it glide back into place, a pearl of his father beading and streaking down the piss slit. Jonah lunges forward, instinct hijacking his brain and forcing him to touch the tip of his tongue to the silky, hot skin.

Tang and sweet and salty. Vintage Dad. Better than any Scotch. He brings his lips to kiss the tip and indulges his need to suckle at the fountainhead of life that made him. Jonah reaches to clasp at the manhood from which his lips are sipping and his other hand goes into his own shirt to find the aching pebble of his nipple. His need to be touched and taken is almost maddening. If only his father would wake up and take him--hard and rough and without regard for the bonds of morality--he could lose himself in this man, the object of his admiration and worship for so many years of unrequited lust.

Jonah lets his tongue scrape along his father's slit, letting salty-sweet ribbons if precum ooze out from the thick head of Dad's dick. His fingers work and pinch at his own nipple. He feels his cock drooling precum and knows the carpet is soiled with the sticky traces of his lusty neediness.

The cock on his lips is titanium hard and yet velvet softness to his tongue. He lets his hand jerk the foreskin back and forth over the swollen head, his reward for his ministrations coming as more delicious wetness and musky fragrance. Jonah lets his jaw muscles soften, and he gulps down more of the head before taking part of the shaft, servicing more of the older man, inch by inch. He is pleasuring Dad, and Dad's cock is honest in its appraisal of his oral skill. It appreciates and accepts his pleasuring, letting go of more and more drool. The slippery head is so engorged, it looks painful. Jonah wants this never to end.

Jonah gasps. Long, solid fingers have snapped with steel grips at his triceps, and now, they dig into them. The smell of Belgian beer wafts to his nose from just above his head. A low growl assaults his hearing in the twilight.

"Boy, what the fuck you think you're doing? Hmm?"

Jonah looks up, letting the manhood slip from his lips. His balance crumbles beneath him and he falls back on his ass with a bang. He hears a rapid gasping and realizes the sound is his own desperate plea for air. His erection has withered, his hand instinctively raised to shield him from any blow to his face.

"Answer me, goddamn it," his father demands. Jonah yelps as he is yanked up by the armpits in the muscled arms of his father. He is standing, toe to toe, crotch to crotch, with the man who laid the seed to bear him, the man whose thick rod he had been worshiping against all decency and without permission.

"The fuck you think you're doing down on your knees like a whore, sucking my cock when I can't say no, hmm? You do this before to me?"

There is a wildness to the demand in the man's eyes. A confusion, a shock, a panic--perhaps even a fear. Dad's eyes dance from point to point on Jonah's face, searching desperately for an answer. Why? He grips Jonah's arms with such a vice grip he must be leaving bruises. Jonah cannot find his voice but shakes his head back and forth. No, he's never done anything like this before. Dad has to know that he hasn't.

"How dare you, boy? Hmm? You think you can just take me with your mouth? When I can't stop myself? Hmm? You showing me how you act like a whore in heat--can't control yourself? Can't tell right from wrong? This is wrong, goddamn it. You're my son. I love you, damn it all."

"I love you, too, Daddy. I love you! OK? I'm fucking in love with you... Please, don't hate me..." Jonah sobs, collapsing into the broad, muscled chest of the man standing before him. And then, the vice grip on his arms gives way to a steel-like embrace. The older man's hands circle around him, squeezing him tight and close to his chest now. One hand rakes through his hair, tugging at the ends, and the other is rubbing his back in calming circles.

"Shh... Nobody hates you, my boy. Nobody says anything about hate now. You see? I'm sorry I yelled. Okay, son? Forgive me. Please don't cry... Oh, Jonah... Damn it, boy--why would you do that?"

Jonah pulls himself into his father. Instinct takes the wheel again and he grinds his sex into his father's cock. His cock is ramrod straight and slides, if reluctantly, across Dad's naked penis through the thin fabric of his briefs.

"No, Jonah... Why?"

Jonah pulls in close to Dad's neck and suckles there. The skin is salty and musky and absolutely intoxicating. "Daddy, I love you..."

"No, my boy... You're confused. This can't be--" Dad pulls him back and rests his hands on his son's shoulders. He is just half a head taller than Jonah, but he seems to tower over him as he speaks.

He frames Jonah's face on either side with his palms, holding his cheeks. He peers into the young man's eyes.

"You're just confused, son. Just lonely. You'll find some nice girl..." Here, he hesitates, "Or some nice boy, yes?" He strokes Jonah's cheeks and smiles, his coffee-brown eyes crinkling at the edges. It is a weary smile, one of pity and worry.

Jonah shakes his head and reaches out to grasp the most sensitive part of him. This, he strokes boldly, gently. "No, Daddy... I'm not confused. For the first time... I'm being honest. With myself. And now with you. I shouldn't have... I'm sorry. I know I didn't have the right to... to touch you. Not when you couldn't say no. But, I needed this. I needed this so bad. Please, Dad... Just let me. Nobody knows but us. Nobody can know. Just let me take care of you. Please, Daddy. Let me show you how much I love you. Not just as a son. As a man... I need to worship you like this..."

Before his father can raise another objection, Jonah sinks to his knees, cock in hand and mouth on head. His father stumbles back at the assault and holds Jonah's shoulders tight for support. He is swearing under his breath now, a litany of fucks and sweet Jesuses and goddamns attesting to the onslaught of forbidden masculine pleasure seeping its way now through his defenses.

"Dathy... I ruff you..." Jonah chokes out, his mouth stretched obscenely around his father's fuckpiece. He looks up, eyes still wet with tears and mouth full of the cock that made him. The juxtaposed vulgarity of seeing his son servicing his tool and the vow of filial piety is too much. Dad nearly lets go of his seed all at once in Jonah's mouth. Instead, his hips instinctually thrust forward, burying his cock to the hilt in his own son's mouth and allowing him respite from the mouthfucking.

"Slow, Jonah..." he hisses out. "Nice and slow. Fuck my dick with your mouth. That's it. Just like that. Milk it like that."

His vulgar coaching has Jonah drooling from both places. His mouth waters and his cock drips as he works more and more of the fuckrod into his throat.

"Yeah, work it like that... Jonah, this is so wrong. Fuck, I need it, though. I need you like this," Dad confesses, fingers going to work at Jonah's sensitive nip. He slips them through the long armholes of the tank top and pinches and strokes the skin.

Jonah is on fire now. The raw pleasure of his own father's fingertips rolling his nipple back and forth nearly sends him over the edge. Jonah reaches up to help Dad stroke the little nips. Dick in mouth, he holds his dad's strong hands over his nipples and guides his fingers to stroke and tease in the way that sends jolts of pain and pleasure to his dick. He moans, "Mmm..." in appreciation and then stands.

His mouth leaps forward to connect with Dad's, and his tongue wraps at the end of Dad's own tongue, letting the taste of the older man bloom there. Dad groans and stokes Jonah's back. He suckles at the taste of his own cock on the young man's tongue. Jonah's hips thrust forward, betraying his need. Their cocks, both pointing proudly to the ceiling, connect with a slapping of skin. They rub and glide with the wetness of pleasure and saliva.

"Yeah, Daddy... Fuck..." Jonah moans into their kiss. Dad nods and rakes at Jonah's short locks with his fingers even as his tongue begins fucking the young man's mouth. Jonah is gurgling with pleasure when Dad's hand goes to both their rods and starts jacking them together.

"Together, Jonah, together now..." It is a command. Jonah rolls his hips back and forth, up and down, rods wet and hot and musky with primal need. Dad strokes up and down the shaft but ignores the heads, instead letting their frotting stimulate their frenula and coronae there. Jonah's cock is sloppy with precum. He can feel it dribbling onto Dad's cockhead and steals a glance at his drooling kiss slit. He strokes the length of his index finger across his slit and let's the wet digit strum across Dad's slit, their juices mingling. Traces of him are in Dad now, inside the cock that first pumped traces of itself to make Jonah.

"Fuck, Dad... You're so goddamn sexy..." Jonah whispers against their kissing lips. "Fuck me, eh? Just open me up and fucking take me."

Dad moans and his fingers go to both of Jonah's nipples and begins rolling and rubbing them. It's Jonah's turn to moan and to whimper, his fingers going to Dad's broad chest and the plum-colored smears there. He pulls away from their kiss and his mouth drops to one nip.

"Shit..." Dad swears. "You're so good at that... Goddamn." He strokes the back of his son's head and reaches down to stroke the long, thin dick of the young man.

Jonah feels a sob of pleasure catch in his chest. "Oh, yeah, Daddy," he moans against Dad's nipple, his teeth falling on the nub. Dad hisses in reply and the fingers of one hand go to Jonah's asscrack. Jonah reaches one hand back to Dad's fingers there and helps them find his tight, clenching hole.

Jonah feels Dad's arms at his shoulders again. Dad mashes his lips against his before flipping him around onto the futon. Jonah crumbles, his face in the sheets, ass in the air.

Dad slaps at Jonah's milky ass and then launches his face tongue-first into the mancunt before his eyes. Jonah screeches and screws his eyes shut. "Noooo, Daddy... That's dirty... No, Daddy. Stop... Please."

"Not a chance," Dad cooes and continues screwing his tongue into the young man's tight hole, flicking it back and forth with an obscene, moist squelching. He rakes the flat of his tongue up and down it, rendering it moist and soft. Next, his thick, long digit snakes its way into Jonah's mouth while Dad tongue-fucks his cunt. "Suck."

Jonah suckles at Dad's finger, recalling immediately the flavor and texture of the big dick that Dad is jerking now. He moans and drools on the finger, which disappears now. Jonah lets his left hand sink to his loins and work just the head of his cock, foreskin slick and wet from need and the heady freedom of the act. He revels in the delicious liberation of doing these deeds with Dad. He feels his cockhead let go of more precum when he let's himself think that he and his father are breaking taboos together. He is free to savor the pleasure of going beyond the bonds of any taboo right here.

He feels his cock drool when the pad of Dad's finger broaches his fuckring. "Daddy... Fuuuuuck..." he moans. "Fucking fuck my ass..."

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