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Better With Brandon

When my son Brandon came out, I never imagined we’d fuck. And it was even wilder to think that this young man would be the one to fuck me. But here we are.

It happened on a normal Sunday afternoon, the two of us on the couch watching football. We were relaxed, comfortable.

I had no problem with him commenting on the players as much as the plays. He had told me he was gay years ago, which didn’t surprise me at all. I even confided in him that I’d played around with some dudes in the year before I met his mother. I mean, anyone should be able to appreciate a pretty face, regardless of the anatomy attached to it.

So Brandon and I were sprawled on the couch, post-gym, in sweatpants and T-shirts, beers cracked open, with nowhere else to be.

I reached for my beer just as Brandon started shouting wildly about a play. His shout made me look up, and I immediately wished I hadn’t. The quick sharpness of the move triggered something in neck, and I sat back into the couch with a groan.

“Ahhh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong, Dad? Your neck?”

“Yeah, that’s where it hurts. But the problem is my traps. They’re tight as fuck and pulling on everything. Happens whenever I do those weighted dips.”

Brandon stretched his arm behind me and grabbed the meat to the side of my neck. He dug into my trap and squeezed, trying to break things up.

“You gotta take it easy, old man. Go lighter when you do that shit if you refuse to fix your form.”

“Fuck you.”

“Doss this help?”

“Yeah, it does.”

I should probably schedule a real massage sometime. Deep tissue or maybe some trigger point work. But this helped in the meantime.

Brandon worked one side and then did the other.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” I turned to face him. “Better. Thanks.”

He looked at me, real serious, and then leaned in slowly.

And just like that we were kissing. Not too long, but real slow and soft. Sensual. I got a funny feeling that ran throughout my body.

When the kiss stopped, we both pulled back a little. Not too far.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“Looked like you needed it.”

“But—“

He leaned in and kissed me again, stopping my words. But you’re my son, I said in my head.

Brandon didn’t seem to care. He kept on kissing.

After a minute, I didn’t care either. It felt really nice, even though it was unexpected, and definitely strange, and probably a very bad idea.

Brandon still had his arm around my shoulder and he pulled me in close. He dropped a hand down onto my chest and let it rest on my pecs. He rubbed a little bit and then he squeezed it while he kissed me. He pinched my nipple.

“You got your chest super activated today,” he whispered. “Feels nice.”

What felt nice was his hand on my tit. He was squeezing it again, and giving me another slow, wet kiss.

Things went from there. His hands roamed my chest, my shirt came off, then his. I ran my fingers over his smooth skin while he stroked the patch of fur between my pecs.

And then he dropped his head into my lap.

Brandon yanked my sweatpants down and nuzzled me, his warm breath going through my cotton briefs. Just as things got plenty damp, he pulled them down completely and took me into his mouth.

Good God.

A slow, wet blowjob is a thing of beauty on any occasion, but it’s something else, totally wild, when it’s coupled with the thought that this is my son. This is my son on his father’s cock.

My head told me I should be uncomfortable with this, and stop it probably. But the sensation of that expert blow job overrode everything else.

Brandon pushed me down onto the couch, shifting me sideways and laying me on my back. He lifted my legs and put his head between my thighs. He tongued my balls, stroked my cock, sucked the head with his hand wrapped around my shaft at the base.

I moaned.

He pushed my legs up higher and tongued a line from my balls down to my taint, going slow and lapping long, wet lines along that ridge of nerve endings before he came to rest at my hole. His tongue swirled there for an eternity.

My hole.

I had never thought about it. It was just a place to shit. A sweaty region with too much hair.

But not to Brandon. He pulled my cheeks to the sides and ate my hole like it was a fresh, pink pussy.

I lay writhing on my back, legs in the air, while my young jock son showed me that guys could get eaten too.

If I wasn’t so naive I would have recognized this as prep. But I totally didn’t. Not really. It was a surprise when he laid his cockhead at my hole and started pushing in.

Jesus! My body winced and I snapped shut like a clam. I screwed my eyes up tight; they were wet at the edges.

“Relax, Dad. It’s gonna feel good.”

He stayed there. He was insistent. He took my cock in his hand and stroked me while he kept his cock at my pucker with constant, steady pressure until I relaxed enough to open up and start accepting him in.

I’d never had anyone inside me. Never anyone, anytime—except now, Brandon. Except my son.

He was patient but persistent, and he worked his cock slowly into me until I felt his balls touch the back of my thighs. He leaned down to kiss me and he stayed there, just like that, letting my body adjust to him.

Then he started to fuck.

He locked his eyes with mine, and he watched everything play out across my face. He was watching what he provoked, as my boy thrust his cock into his dad, going slow and smooth, with a mix of affection and the kind of goal orientation I had instilled in him from a young age.

I’d meant that goal orientation for school, for sports, for his career. But now he used that skill to take what he wanted. And it happened to be me.

My body was electrified. There were flashes of heat, waves that undulated through me, and panting little gasps that escaped when he sunk it deep and pushed against my prostate.

Brandon smiled when I came. I was firing off before I even realized it was happening. I sprayed a bunch of crazy splotches onto his smooth chest.

He laughed and kept pumping.

“Can you take a little more? I’m close.”

I nodded and watched him rut. Saw his face screw up tight as he tried to hold himself back for just a little bit longer. But he couldn’t. Fairly quickly he blasted into me, flooding his dad.

It took a few minutes for our bodies to calm down. Brandon stayed inside me, moving slowly and sliding his cock tenderly along that slicked up chute while we kissed and waited for our breathing to return to normal.

When it did, he pulled out his softening dick and sat up on the couch, pulling me under his arm. He laid my head on his sticky chest and stroked my hair while he drank his beer and we finished watching the game.

It was weird and wonderful and ill advised, and I was sure it would never happen again.

But again, I was wrong.

End Part 1. Stay tuned for Part 2!

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