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Though not actually a sailor, Janice may as well be one. She spends the better part of every year working oil rigs in the Gulf, and has picked up a few bad habits.\n\n“Come on, Dad,” he whines urgently, more like the petulant teenager he is rather than the macho Tudanca bull he pretends to be. It’s cute.\n\nSo I purse my lips and low obligingly, managing a fair imitation of Janice. She can be quite loud when in the throes of passion. I can imagine what Ward would have heard on those nights when she was home and horny, as his bedroom shares a wall with ours. Ward confirms my suspicions by moaning and thrusting into me with increased vigor.\n\nIt may be wrong, but I find it particularly hot that he fantasizes about his mother. Moreso that he does it while doing me. Who would have thought that a Linguistics professor could have gotten so lucky with both his wife and his son.\n\nI can’t help but watch abstractedly as he hunches over me, straining against my legs propped up on his shoulders. He really is growing up to be a fine bull of a man. I try to picture how he will look in five years, or ten, but my cock keeps getting in the way. Squished between our bellies, it keeps distracting me: a wave of pleasure with each of Ward’s thrusts. No, it is enough—more than enough—to have him with me in the here and now.\n\nOf course, my phone chooses just this moment to buzz. I’d silenced it as soon as Ward came home from school with that look in his eyes, that look that said that he’d had a long day of trying to focus on his studies instead of his dick. I feel his focus slacking now, distracted by my phone’s dance around the bedside table.\n\nFlinging out an arm, I send the phone sliding onto the floor, where the vibration will be somewhat muted. I grab my own cock with my other hand, desperate to finish. Ward’s hands grip my legs tighter as he tries to maintain his hold on his flagging arousal.\n\nBut I know what to do to bring him back, and hopefully send him over as well. Pressing my hocks into his neck, I pull him in close. He grunts and snorts, and I watch his flaring nostrils—maybe I will let him get that nose ring he’s been asking for. It’s cute, seeing his muzzle all scrunched up like that, black hide glinting in the bedroom’s dim light. It’s time to push him—push both of us—over the edge.\n\n“MooooOOO!” I start low and soft, barely a rumble in my throat, but soon it rises to a bestial bellow, punctuated by my son’s erratic thrusts. Pausing to take a breath, I can finally hear him moaning.\n\n“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-nnk!” And then his voice catches in his throat. His thick nails dig into my legs as he cums, holding himself up when his own legs grow unsteady. Feeling the heat and slickness dripping onto my tail is enough, with the weight of Ward’s belly pressing against my hand, to finish me off as well.\n\nI keep my eyes open, taking in my son’s panting, sweating body, even as a small part of my mind prays that I won’t shoot myself in the eye. Again. Still, it is worth it, and though I end up with cum on forehead and chin (and all across my chest), my eyes are un-scathed. I grin at him as he swipes a finger through the puddle, gleaming white on my ebony belly.\n\nHe licks at the drop, then makes a face: “you drink too much coffee, dad.”\n\nI do, a bad habit from my post-grad days. “Sorry, Ward. Now come on and get cleaned up. You’ve still got homework to do.” I wince a little as he pulls out (my least favorite part) and gives himself a perfunctory wipe-off with one of my cum rags. I roll over, my face only a foot or two from his rump as he bends over to pull up his pajama bottoms. It’s always a pleasant view.\n\nAnd then he’s trotting off to his room while I heave myself up off the bed. I will take a quick shower and then I need to start cooking dinner. I catch a glimpse of my phone’s message light as I check the time, but it’s getting late. I’ll listen to the voicemail once the casserole’s in the oven. Whatever it is can wait a few minutes.\n\nThe shower feels almost as good as Ward.\n\n------------\n\n\nStory and art by tym\nThanks to all my editors!\nWritten for whyteyote", "description_bbcode_parsed": "“Fuckin’ moo, Dad.”

This from my son, who at eightteen swears as much as his mother. Though not actually a sailor, Janice may as well be one. She spends the better part of every year working oil rigs in the Gulf, and has picked up a few bad habits.

“Come on, Dad,” he whines urgently, more like the petulant teenager he is rather than the macho Tudanca bull he pretends to be. It’s cute.

So I purse my lips and low obligingly, managing a fair imitation of Janice. She can be quite loud when in the throes of passion. I can imagine what Ward would have heard on those nights when she was home and horny, as his bedroom shares a wall with ours. Ward confirms my suspicions by moaning and thrusting into me with increased vigor.

It may be wrong, but I find it particularly hot that he fantasizes about his mother. Moreso that he does it while doing me. Who would have thought that a Linguistics professor could have gotten so lucky with both his wife and his son.

I can’t help but watch abstractedly as he hunches over me, straining against my legs propped up on his shoulders. He really is growing up to be a fine bull of a man. I try to picture how he will look in five years, or ten, but my cock keeps getting in the way. Squished between our bellies, it keeps distracting me: a wave of pleasure with each of Ward’s thrusts. No, it is enough—more than enough—to have him with me in the here and now.

Of course, my phone chooses just this moment to buzz. I’d silenced it as soon as Ward came home from school with that look in his eyes, that look that said that he’d had a long day of trying to focus on his studies instead of his dick. I feel his focus slacking now, distracted by my phone’s dance around the bedside table.

Flinging out an arm, I send the phone sliding onto the floor, where the vibration will be somewhat muted. I grab my own cock with my other hand, desperate to finish. Ward’s hands grip my legs tighter as he tries to maintain his hold on his flagging arousal.

But I know what to do to bring him back, and hopefully send him over as well. Pressing my hocks into his neck, I pull him in close. He grunts and snorts, and I watch his flaring nostrils—maybe I will let him get that nose ring he’s been asking for. It’s cute, seeing his muzzle all scrunched up like that, black hide glinting in the bedroom’s dim light. It’s time to push him—push both of us—over the edge.

“MooooOOO!” I start low and soft, barely a rumble in my throat, but soon it rises to a bestial bellow, punctuated by my son’s erratic thrusts. Pausing to take a breath, I can finally hear him moaning.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-nnk!” And then his voice catches in his throat. His thick nails dig into my legs as he cums, holding himself up when his own legs grow unsteady. Feeling the heat and slickness dripping onto my tail is enough, with the weight of Ward’s belly pressing against my hand, to finish me off as well.

I keep my eyes open, taking in my son’s panting, sweating body, even as a small part of my mind prays that I won’t shoot myself in the eye. Again. Still, it is worth it, and though I end up with cum on forehead and chin (and all across my chest), my eyes are un-scathed. I grin at him as he swipes a finger through the puddle, gleaming white on my ebony belly.

He licks at the drop, then makes a face: “you drink too much coffee, dad.”

I do, a bad habit from my post-grad days. “Sorry, Ward. Now come on and get cleaned up. You’ve still got homework to do.” I wince a little as he pulls out (my least favorite part) and gives himself a perfunctory wipe-off with one of my cum rags. I roll over, my face only a foot or two from his rump as he bends over to pull up his pajama bottoms. It’s always a pleasant view.

And then he’s trotting off to his room while I heave myself up off the bed. I will take a quick shower and then I need to start cooking dinner. I catch a glimpse of my phone’s message light as I check the time, but it’s getting late. I’ll listen to the voicemail once the casserole’s in the oven. Whatever it is can wait a few minutes.

The shower feels almost as good as Ward.

------------


Story and art by tym
Thanks to all my editors!
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