Cucked By My Dad Ch. 02

If I don't lose my virginity soon, I think I'm going to lose my mind.

Graduation is just around the corner, and I'm the only one of my friends who hasn't punched his V-card! It's not for lack of trying, of course. I bat my eyes at the cute boys at school and flirt with strange men on the Internet all the time, but for whatever reason, I've yet to seal the deal for real. The closest I got was with my first real boyfriend, this hot guy named Kevin. But then my dad had to swoop in and fuck him instead!

It's so frustrating. Everyone says my dad's hot, and manly, and his dick is pretty big, but don't I deserve love? I like to think so. In any event, I've learned my lesson--don't let guys anywhere near my father. I never know what he's going to do! He claimed he fucked Kevin to try and help me, but I don't know if I buy all that. It's not like I need my first time to be anything special. I just want a dick in my ass, for crying out loud!

That brings me to my current mark, uh, I mean, guy. His name is Brock, and he's so fucking gorgeous. He's the quarterback of the football team, a real meathead with a thick neck and a head full of rocks. Just my type! He's never been particularly nice to me--in fact, he actively bullied me all through junior high. But ever since I came out last year he's been okay to me, and the last few weeks he's been downright nice!

Whereas he used to bump into me in the hallway and leave me with a bruised shoulder, pretty soon he started just ignoring me, which I counted as a major win. But last month, everything changed. I was walking to AP Chem when I passed him in the hallway. He was wearing his football jersey, his long blonde hair all sweaty from P.E. (it was the only class he wasn't currently failing). I was ogling him out of the corner of my eye--secretly picturing whether he was cut or uncut like I always do--when suddenly he turned and nodded at me!

Let's just say, for him, that was a lot. I turned to my closest girlfriend, a short, chubby little girl named Gibby, and squealed.

"Did you see that?"

"He's in love with you," she agreed, her eyes wide and desperate.

The next day, on my way to lunch, he did it again. But this time, he even smiled at me, too! I started to cherish these little moments of attention. I normally dressed relatively slutty (I had a virginity to lose, after all) but I started dressing even more outrageously. Thin tank tops that showed off my slender arms and smooth, pale skin. Ass-hugging shorts that were at least a size too small in order to show off my greatest asset. And cute, beach-ready little flip-flops so I could show off my pedicured feet and painted toenails. I was downright fuckable, and Brock definitely seemed to notice.

I was heading to my locker one afternoon after school when Brock grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me into an empty classroom.

"You're looking pretty faggy, Leo," he said, his voice low and stupid.

"Oh, am I?" I asked, batting my eyes.

"You really like showing off, don't you?" He eyed my bare legs, which I'd spent an hour before school putting lotion on.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Brock," I said innocently. "I just like to dress comfortable."

"I heard faggy guys like you like to suck cock," he said matter-of-factly. He grabbed my tank top and pulled me in closer, exposing my right nipple. He looked down at it and smirked. "So do you?"

I smiled sweetly. "Well, if you ask nice."

He pulled the string of his joggers to undo his pants. The head of his dick poked through the light grey material, eager to be released into my mouth. I got down on my knees and grasped the waistband of his joggers, pulling them slowly down.

A patch of neatly trimmed, dirty blonde pubic hair peeked out from underneath his compression shorts. His cock was thick and long, and it seemed to go on forever as he pulled his underwear down. Finally, the head of his dick came swinging upward, freed from the confines of its cotton prison. I salivated at the sight of it--cut, meaty, lightly curved at the end.

"Put your mouth on it," he said, his voice husky.

I needed no further instruction. I stuck my tongue out, lightly grazing the underside of his cockhead. The bitter, salty taste of his precum was like nectar on my tongue. He let out a low groan, gripping my curly brown hair with his thick fingers. I opened my mouth and took him inside, reveling in the taste of my very first cock.

Fuck, blowing my dildo at home did not do this justice. His cock was warm and pulsing with life, oozing its stickiness into my hungry mouth. I took him deeper inside me, determined to show him that gay guys really were good cocksuckers. His fingers gently squeezed my curls as he slowly started humping into my mouth.

I was blowing him about halfway by now, his cock sliding past my tongue and hitting the back of my throat at a regular rhythm. I tried to ignore my gag reflex, focusing instead on bringing the most amount of pleasure to the football stud in front of me. I grabbed his meaty thighs, holding onto him to steady myself as I tried to relax my throat. The feeling of his muscular, hairy legs made me leak, and at the same time, allowed me to open my throat enough to take him even deeper.

"Fuck, you're such a good cocksucker," he moaned. "Suck my dick, faggot."

He was now almost balls-deep inside my throat. I looked up at him, his pubic hair crowding my line of sight with every thrust. He wasn't looking at me, naturally (probably imagining some blonde bimbo like Haiyleigh from AP Bio) but that didn't really concern me. I was just happy to be of service! I'd barely had so much as a kiss, let alone a dick to suck and slurp and go to town on. If I played my cards right, I might even get him to pork me before he went off to UF on that football scholarship.

He was facefucking me now, his hands gripping the sides of my head as he threw his head back and groaned. I kept my eyes open and my throat relaxed, marveling at how dumb and sexy he looked. He was grinning like an idiot, the right half of his upper lip curled in a smile as he threw back his head and gave into pleasure. Guys like Brock would never cure cancer, but damn did they know how to empty their nuts. Lucky for him I was programmed to receive.

I watched a wave of emotion go over his face as his breathing grew short and ragged. He squinted his eyes in a look of intense concentration like he was trying to remember the square root of four. Then his face went slack and his jaw dropped open as he let out a short gasp.

"Oh, fuck," he said.

His cock pulsed against my tongue. A boy was cumming in my mouth, finally! I felt glamorous and classy, like Princess Diana. The warm, bitter liquid splashed against the back of my throat, burning slightly as it went down my esophagus. I swallowed as fast as I could, eager to impress him with my commitment to service. His cock twitched with every shot of cum, eliciting short little moans and whimpers from him as a satisfied smile crept across his face.

I did that. I made him smile with my superior cocksucking skills and soft, silky mouth. Take that, Dad!

He pulled his cock out of my mouth, wet and already at half-mast. He sniffed, itching his nose as he tucked his cock back in his joggers. There was a loud SMACK as the fabric of his waistband slapped across his belly.

"That was dope," he said in what I thought was a bit of an understatement.

I wiped a little bit of semen off my lips and nodded bashfully. "Anytime, Brock."

Well, he sure did take that to heart. Barely two days went by after that without Brock pulling me into some empty classroom or janitor's closet for a quick blowie. Most of the time he just shoved me to my knees and let his dick flop out onto my face, although sometimes he let me reach in and pull it out myself. I loved the feeling of his cock in my hand, the first real-live dick I'd ever touched besides my own. I made it my mission to learn what he liked--no talking, extra suction on the head, a quick tug on his balls when he was about to cum. Sometimes he would even flex for me while I blew him, which really got me hot. Staring up at his hot, sculpted muscles and the stupid smile on his face was almost enough to make me squirt hands-free.

He even convinced me to join the football team as a waterboy, "just to have that pretty mouth nearby" (blush). I didn't know the first thing about football, but luckily all I had to do was mix Gatorade powder into a jug and hand out cups to sweaty jocks during practice. I could practically smell the testosterone and don't even get me STARTED about the locker room. It was like every gay boy's dream: bare asses, swingin' dicks, and uninhibited masculinity, all with a healthy undertone of homophobia. Then, once the rest of the guys headed home after practice, Brock would meet me in the showers, his muscles swollen and cock begging for relief. It was like I had died and gone to gay heaven.

But no matter how much I tried to move the conversation toward him putting that big, beautiful dick in my pretty little pussy, things never went beyond oral. Brock made it clear that he had no interest in blowing me, which was fine. I mean, a little ass-eating would have been appreciated, but I can respect some guys aren't into that. But what was driving me crazy was him not wanting to fuck me! Oral sex was nice and all, but in the gay world, it was essentially a handshake. I needed a dick in my ass if I wanted to properly obliterate my virginity. (I guess I could also top somebody, but I had little to no interest in that--I know what I was put on this earth to do, and it was not to hammer away at some twink like I'm Woody Woodpecker).

The first time I tried to bring up anal, he seemed totally lost.

"What do you mean, fuck you?" he asked, his face screwed up in confusion. His cock was hanging out of his joggers, wet and hard mid-blowjob.

I batted my eyes. "You know, maybe you can put it in me some time."

He looked at his cock, then at me. "But I am putting it in you."

I stifled a sigh. Bless his heart.

I smiled coquettishly, stroking his cock as I said, "Yeah, but like, you could also put it in my pussy."

This really confused him. "But you're a dude. You got a dick."

This time I did sigh. "Yes, I'm aware. I also have an asshole. You know, a tight, wet hole perfect for fucking?"

He scrunched up his forehead, the wheels in his head straining to turn.

I jerked him off expectantly, waiting eagerly for the all-clear.

Finally, he pursed his lips.

"Nah." He grabbed the back of my head and shoved his cock back into my mouth. "This is good."

I tried to talk up anal over our next few sessions, but it didn't seem to go anywhere. He was already getting pussy from the girls at school, he said, and the thought of fucking a guy up the ass seemed a little gay.

With graduation coming up, I knew my time was running out to seal the deal. But it wasn't until I was chilling on the couch browsing Snapchat one Saturday night that the idea came to me.

Brock had posted a story of him and a few of his dumb friends at some frat party at the nearby college. He had a red solo cup in his hand and seemed to be quite a few beers in.

"If you're a hot chick and you're seeing this, send tit pics," he slurred into the camera.

I had no doubt that at least a dozen women would take him up on that. But suddenly it occurred to me--why not me?

"Everything all right, son?"

I looked up to see my dad staring at me. He was lounging on the sofa chair, a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. Tonight was family movie night and we were knee-deep in the middle of the third Magic Mike film.

I put my phone in my pocket and leaped to my feet. "Just gotta use the bathroom."

I ran up to my bedroom and locked the door behind me, then opened up my dresser. I tore through briefs and jockstraps until I found it: that white lace thong I'd ordered from Temu.

I slipped out of my clothes and pulled it on, wedging the fabric between my buttcheeks and sliding on a loose pair of sweat shorts to cover it. I turned off all the lights except for my bedside lamp and kneeled in front of the full-length mirror beside my bed (best birthday present I ever got). I held my phone out at arm's length, playing around with the angles until I got the perfect shot. My shorts were slipping just a little bit down my ass, revealing the top curves of my ass and just a hint of the thong slipping into my crack. I arched my back to perfection and snapped a shot.

I had just sent it when I heard a knock at the door.

"Son? Are you in there?"

"I'll be right out!" I called as I pulled my shirt back on.

"Hurry up. Mike's about to give Salma Hayek a lap dance and your mother's getting restless."

I kept one eye on my Snapchat for the rest of the night, only half-paying attention to the movie as I waited for Brock's response. Mom passed out on the couch about halfway through the film, drunk on Chardonnay. As the end credits rolled and I saw there was still no response from Brock, my heart began to sink.

"Goddamnit, Tatum, you did it again," my dad said approvingly. He stood up, clapped me on the shoulder, and kissed me on the head. "Good night, son. Don't stay up too late, we've got church in the morning."

I took a shower and was about to crawl into bed when my phone dinged.

"Hot. Got any more pics?"

It was a selfie of Brock. He was in the back of a car now, his shirt pulled up and hanging from his teeth as he flashed his stomach and a bit of his pubes.

I sat up at full attention, all weariness gone. I went back and forth between poses until I landed on one that I thought telegraphed what I wanted pretty well: a photo of my finger hooked around the thong, yanking it to the side to reveal just a glimpse of my hole underneath. No caption necessary.

Barely a minute passed before my phone began to ring. I picked it up immediately, my heart racing.

"Hello?"

"That was hella hot," said a deep voice on the other end.

I smiled, laying on my stomach and twirling an imaginary phone cord. "Thanks. Thought I'd show you what you're missing."

"You ever put anything in there?"

"Sometimes."

I could hear his breathing on the other end of the phone, hot and heavy.

"Like what?"

"Mmm, you know. The usual stuff. My fingers, a vibrator... nothing big enough to really satisfy me, you know?"

He was silent for a moment. I heard a faint squelching sound in the background. It took me a moment to realize he was stroking himself.

"I could show you sometime if you want," I said teasingly. "Maybe you could help?"

The noise got faster and faster until I heard the sound of a long, low groan. Brock's breath was heavy and panting.

"Meet me after the game on Friday."

I heard the sound of the click as he hung up the phone.

A smile spread slowly across my face. This was it! It was finally happening!

Friday night was the school championship as our team faced off against the East High Vikings. I hadn't really followed sports at all before joining the team as the waterboy, but apparently, we were the favorite to win. Coach was being really hard on Brock all week, so much so that he didn't even stay after for his usual post-practice hummer. I was fine with it, though--all it meant was that much more cum spraying inside my tight little hole.

The morning of the game I woke practically buzzing with anticipation. As I came downstairs for breakfast, my dad was sitting there still in his bedclothes, a t-shirt and a loose pair of tighty whities. He lowered the newspaper and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you so excited about?" he asked.

"The big game is tonight." I grabbed a waffle off the table and started nibbling at it.

"Uh-huh," he said. "I still don't know why you joined the football team. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're taking after your old man. I just never thought you were into that."

I shrugged. "People change, what can I say? Football is the great American pastime and I'm just here to support the team."

He narrowed his eyes. "Hmm. Maybe I should go with you tonight."

My eyes widened. "No, really, that's not-"

"I should be there! Support my son. It's the championship, right?" Dad set down the paper and scratched his balls.

I frowned. "Yes."

"Excellent. And with your mom on that Australian walkabout for the next two weeks, it'll be nice to get out of the house. Spend some quality time with my son."

I groaned. "Dad, I'm gonna be busy. Some of us might hang out after and I-"

Dad patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, boy. I won't make a nuisance of myself. Just wanna see the game and then I'll head on home. You can even take the car, how's that sound?"

I beamed. "Okay. Thanks!"

The school day couldn't come to an end fast enough. By the time the bell rang, I beelined straight to the field. The guys were already there stretching and getting ready for drills.

"Leo! Over here," said Coach Balz. He beckoned me over to the hydration station by the benches. "Tonight's a very important night. I got a lot of thirsty boys and they're all relying on you to keep them quenched. That sound like something you can do?"

I gave him a salute. "Absolutely, sir."

He gave me a quick smack on the ass. "Go on, son."

Gametime was at 6, and by 5:30, the bleachers were already mostly filled. Almost the whole school had come out to see the game, and I could see Gibby squeezing herself in on the end of a row of guys who had all painted their chests to say "Vikings Suck."

She waved ecstatically at me, then pointed to her left. I looked over to see my father squeezing in beside her, wearing his tan trucker jacket and a pair of Wrigley jeans. He gave me a quick thumbs up, then turned to the guy with the V painted on his chest and began chatting him up.

Soon the coach was calling us all in for our pregame huddle. Brock's face was furrowed in concentration, the same way it did when the teachers asked him to spell something like "elephant." The coach was going on and on about some play they were going to do and how the other team was all made up of cocksuckers who didn't know their ass from their elbow. I just stared at Brock, trying to picture how amazing his adrenaline-heavy post-win fuck would be.

As much as I'd never really cared for football, it was pretty exciting to witness a championship game from the sidelines. I cheered on the guys and handed out cups of Gatorade every time they came in from the field, swapping out used towels for fresh ones and resisting the urge to give the used ones a sniff. By the end of the third quarter, we were up by six and spirits were running high. I took a peek out into the stands, where Gibby caught my eye and gave me a quick wave. My dad was still talking to the guy with the V on his chest, his arm around the back of the bleachers as he leaned in close and said something I couldn't hear. I could tell the guy was blushing even from here.

"Leo! Keep your head in the game and hand me those towels," growled the coach.

The last quarter was particularly brutal. The guys kept making one mistake after the other, and pretty soon our places had switched and now we were the ones down by six. Brock took off his helmet and threw it on the ground, letting out a roar that was equal parts scary and sexy.

"Listen you sons of bitches," yelled Coach Balz. "We've only got three minutes on the clock. Now I know you cocksuckers can win this if you goddamn try, you hear me? Let's do this!"

They went back on the field after the timeout and took their positions. My eyes stayed on Brock, who was concentrating so hard he looked like he had been asked to spell something tough like "electricity." As soon as the ball got into the hands of the center, he snapped the ball back to Brock, who took off running. I joined the other fans in cheering him on, watching as he ducked and weaved through the other players to get to the endzone.