“But your balls are right here, in the closet.”
“Son, my balls haven’t been in the closet for decades.”
“You want me to grab your bag?” This dialogue was too precious to give up.
“Negative. Too big and heavy. You gonna tell me whether or not I have to skip out?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly enough for him to hear. “Nobody here but us chickens.”
“Cocks, more like.” He stepped into the doorway, looking positively dapper in his work clothes. The tie he tied me up with last week while he tied me...the belt I loved to unbuckle with my teeth...the pants that never stayed up longer than five minutes after he crossed the threshold...and, likely, one of the many pairs of underwear I liked to wear straight out of his hamper. He had tried for the longest time to hide them or wash them before I could get to them, but he had eventually given up.
“Happy birthday,” I said, striding over to him to shove his pipe to one side and pry his lips open with my tongue. Mmmm, coffee and bacon. A good day. He suckled me for a few seconds before running his paws down my back to my hips, teasing my cheeks and tailbase. I made doggy noises and he chuckled.
“Good boy,” he said, pulling away. His bulge pressed insistently against my partially-sheathed chubby. “Don’t tell me you’re my birthday present. You’re my everyday present.”
I gazed through his glasses at those baby-blue eyes of his, that familiar tingle of excitement rippling through every fat cell in my body. How lucky was I to have memories like this?
I wanted to throw him on the bed and straddle him and take him with just enough spit to make it work. But I had other plans, and I had to stick to them.
“Nope. I thought you might like a birthday massage after your long day at work.”
He cast a skeptical glance down my muzzle. “It’s Monday. What good could that possibly do?”
Oh, Dad. You poor, deluded man.
“Massages are good, period.” I led him to the bed, where I took off his suit piece by piece.
“Is that why you’re naked?”
“Don’t wanna get the sheets messed up.”
“We mess up the sheets most nights anyway,” he reminded me. “It’s not like it’s your bed.” I ignored his lip and concentrated on getting him stripped down. Today he was wearing blue boxer briefs with a pawprint over his tackle. Last time he had those on he told me to stop nibbling or I’d take the screen print off. Memories. Once he was good and naked I tried to avoid looking him over (like every day) and told him to settle on his belly.
His ample rump in the air made up for the lack of bits on display.
Sighing, he murmured, “God, that feels good just doing that. Clearly I need a lesson in ergonomics.” He moaned again when I straddled his knees and placed my paws on either side of his ass. And fought off the urge to bury my muzzle in that musky cleft. Boy, was that ever hard. Well, only partially.
Balancing on my knees, I spritzed his back and butt down with my proprietary blend of fur detangler and scented oil. I heard him sniff and sigh contentedly. “That’s nice, Hector. What is it?” His pipe clacked as he moved it to the other side of his mouth.
“Lavender. It’s therapeutically relaxing,” I said as I worked it up and down, against the grain and back again, down to the roots. Then I started at his neck and worked my way down, rubbing each muscle group to get blood flowing. Once I’d worked down to his tail I rubbed lightly back up, feeling for heat on my pads. The warmest patches were the most in need of servicing, so I started with those and put most of my weight behind my fingers and elbows. But the whole time I had my eyes on my sheath gently rubbing between his mounds, not enough for him to notice but enough for me to feel really good.
After I lay into his trapezius muscles, words failed him and he merely made noises in his throat.
After a while his back began to capitulate to my insistent pressure and I could focus on sneaking myself a little deeper between his cheeks. To top it off, his even breathing turned to a light snore so I could be slightly more daring. Because, honestly, my birthday present was actually me after all...in the form of my dick in his ass. He just didn’t know it yet, and he wouldn’t have a choice.
I unscrewed the cap off the spritzer and poured enough on my paw to get it nice and slick. I lubed up my semi-hardon, pushing the fur right over my knot and luxuriating in the sensation of pad on shaft and fur on skin. Scooting up just a little bit, I leaned over to prop myself in a pushup position and ground my hips just a bit , allowing my tip to sink in until it met hot resistance. No matter how many times we did this, it still felt just as awesome as the first time he let me.
Two agonizing minutes of barely thrusting later, I flexed stiff and kept pushing. There’s nothing to describe that moment when a tailhole gives way around your cockhead, so I won’t try. You either know how it feels or you don’t. And that’s the moment Dad chose to wake up, clearing his throat.
“You should know by now you can’t pull that shit without me waking up. How long have we been doing this?”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “I know, you’re right, but can’t I just pretend?”
“We do enough of that with the pony gear. Or are you just not satisfied?”
I shoved a couple inches in quickly and made him gasp. “I’ll be satisfied here in about ten minutes. Happy fucking birthday, Dad.”
My knot bumped against his ring. I felt a squirt of pre make its way into his body from mine. “I’m honored, son. Remember to finish your gift off with a nice tight tie. Otherwise it’d be just gauche.”
“Awful,” I said. “I’ll give you gauche, you geezer.”
Insides need massages too, you know.
6/9/15 (Happy Birthday to the best father in the world)
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