Sins of the Son
Conversations between a horny son and his Sexual Spiritual Advisor
Part 1
All rights are reserved by the Author. The Author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed without the consent of the Author. What you are about to read is a work of fiction. It is meant to explore certain taboo areas of male desire, including power, control, aggression, masculinity, helplessness, fetishes, and incest, desires that as men we often try to suppress or ignore, yet are always there just below the surface.
P.S. Nifty needs your donations to provide these wonderful stories: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Please feel free to email me at dadfootlover@gmail.com. I'd love to get feedback from you!
Young, horny and with an intense lust for his dad's and other men's feet, Ralph turns to a Sexual Advisor Chad for help. To him, he lays bare all his fantasies so that the Advisor can go deep into the young man's mind to expose and explore themes including Ralph's sexual urges toward men, religion, chastity and control.
Ralph:
Dear Spiritual Advisor, I thought I would share with you some deep fantasies about my dad and me because maybe you can appreciate them more than most other people and will be able to guide me on the right sexual path...
Let me give you some background about me.
I grew up in a very religious family - no sex before marriage, masturbation is a sin, homosexuality is a sin, etc. I discovered masturbation at a very young age (before I knew it was forbidden by my religion), and my feelings were normal for me. I found men attractive, and I found myself staring at other boys' feet and legs and bodies. When I was still a boy in the public swimming pool, I used to put on my mask and follow the men I found attractive, paying particular attention to their legs and feet. The more shapely and masculine they were, the more excited I got. When you are that young, no one pays attention to you, and I would swim around like that enjoying the sights. I used the jets at the swimming pool to tickle my dick and balls and got my first (dry) orgasms that way. Those were the good old days when I did not realise what difficulties my sexuality would get me into in my teens.
Anyway, I also noticed that my dad had magnificent feet. I would hide in corners and stare at his feet for hours when he was exposing his soles allowing my young body to be filled with all sorts of emotions and extreme arousal, yearning to be in intimate contact with them. I do not find my dad sexually attractive as such, but there is something about the strength and masculinity of his feet that I just couldn't resist. I could not stop looking at them at every opportunity. When I figured out how to masturbate by hand, I would lock myself in the bathroom, staring at his feet on his bed through the slits in the door (the angle worked out) while I masturbated frequently. Of course, I also had more 'normal' fantasies of hot guys at school etc., but this particular obsession with dad's feet I just have to talk to someone about. The intensity of my love for them is so strong... Knowing, of course, that he gave me life, that his gorgeous feet were flexing wildly probably as he spurted into my mum adds to the excitement even more.
One of my very early memories of trying to get close to his feet was hiding under my parents' bed when I heard him get home from work, his work shoes making firm repeated contact with the floor as he headed to the bedroom. He would sit on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes and socks, while he chatted with my mum about work. When his first foot was bare, he would place it so that the bare sole was pointing right at me underneath the bed, while he worked on unlacing the other shoe. The heat from the foot would reach my face, and I would get as close as possible to it, inhaling the masculine odour. Sometimes he would speak with mum for ages, while his feet kept changing position. I would get feelings in my groin that I was too young to explain fully (of course this had to stop when I got older and they asked me why the hell I kept hiding under the bed!). Sometimes, he would speak to mum while he lay horizontally on the bed. I would slowly roll over to wherever his legs were (I remember doing it ever so quietly so that they wouldn't know I was there) and I would stick my head out from under the bed so that I could see his soles and get close to them...
A few years later, when we were in our pool, I thought of an ingenious way to touch his feet. I remember asking him to grab the edge of the pool with both hands, face-down, while I tried to drag him away from the side. So the object of the game was that he had to try to swim back to the edge of the pool while I grabbed his feet firmly with both hands, facing the other way, and tried to drag him away... For some reason, sadly, we only did this once or twice. To be able to grab his feet so firmly like that was something special for me. It was a special kind of contact that I could usually only dream about... To wrap my boy hands around the feet of the man that I respected and loved so much was such a great feeling... I would move his feet as close as possible to my groin while he tried to swim back to the edge of the pool, my cock obviously rock hard in my pants. It was also interesting for me to feel the size of his feet. It was great to be able to squeeze his feet while my fingers tried to wrap around them completely...
I think perhaps the lack of men I could date while I was growing up at home increased my fascination with him. He was the only man close to me that I loved and respected. With no other outlet for my sexuality, I obviously obsessed about him a lot...
Another childhood memory was when he was on his knees, doing something in the shower when we were on holiday somewhere. I saw his feet sticking out of the shower, and I immediately got hard. My mum walked past, and she laughed as she saw my erection in my swimwear briefs and actually mentioned that I had an erection. I was obviously shocked and embarrassed. She, of course, did not realise what had caused it...
During my teenage years, while my straight counterparts could date, I could not, and I think that's what kept my desire to worship his feet so strong. One night, he was sleeping with his foot overhanging the edge of the bed, but the sheets were tight over his feet. You can imagine what a beautiful shape they made. So I did the most daring thing ever and knelt at the base of the bed (mum was out of the country - excellent!!), slowly peeled off the sheets and kissed and licked his soles. I used his snoring to determine his state. It was one of the most intense/beautiful experiences of my life. I wanted to whisper "I love you, Dad," as I repeatedly licked his soles. In some way, because he is so shy about his feet and is afraid for anyone to touch them, for me, it was like being intimate with him... I would have to lick the least sensitive parts; otherwise, he would wake up! I remember once when he was given a complimentary foot massage at this hotel, he got very nervous. He worried that his feet would smell (which they don't) and he kept washing them before he got his massage. I thought it was quite comical (and I was jealous cos it was some lady giving it to him instead of me!) This shyness he has with his feet... I wouldn't be surprised if deep down he is afraid of the arousal he could get from having his feet fondled/worshipped.
Now, I want to tell you some more profound thoughts that I generally keep to myself. As I was growing up, I found myself realising that I got very turned on by the idea of being denied sexual pleasure. Not so much being whipped, but denied in a much more subtle way. I'll try and explain what I mean... Please keep in mind the environment I was growing up in. I could not date because of where I was and the fact that religion forbade all sexual pleasure outside of man-woman marriage. I was in some kind of hormone frenzy. I wanted an outlet for my sexual desires, but it was being denied to me in all directions. I guess to summarise it, I was in Dad's house with his rules and his religion (that I firmly believed in). I was supposed to remain chaste and virgin until marriage with a woman (which I had no intention of doing because of my lack of attraction to the fairer sex), so theoretically I was supposed to never have an outlet for my sexual desires.
You can imagine the nights when I would masturbate in my bed or in the bathroom, with images of worshipping the feet of the man I loved and respected deeply, while he, firm in his belief that his teenage son should avoid touching himself at all times and refrain from 'perverted' thoughts, would happily fuck my mum whenever he pleased. While he conveniently had his sexual release with his wife, I was there wishing I could cum while worshipping his feet, knowing that I had to keep my love of men, among other things, a secret. It seemed so cruel for me to be denied pleasure while he could enjoy it and go to work the next day, content that he had had good healthy sex with his wife, all in line with what was in the Scripture.
I hope this helps you understand why I find the idea of being denied sexual pleasure paradoxically arousing. The idea of being told it is wrong to masturbate or to think about men actually turns me on a lot.
My parents found out I was gay when they found an email I had sent to someone online. I was only 16 or 17 then. That night my dad came up to me and said, "Your mum and I have something to speak to you about'. I thought maybe they were getting a divorce. They took me to the guest bedroom. My mum sat on my left while my dad sat on a chair on my right. My mum asked if I was gay, and I felt a coldness creep up my neck. Dad explained that they had found the email, and I realised I was caught. I wanted to cry and run away but I couldn't. I had to listen and bear it. Dad took out a book that was basically religious, giving guidance on different aspects of life. There was a long chapter about homosexuality, that basically treated it like a medical condition. He said, "I want to read to you what the Faith has to say about this thing you have". I had, of course, read those words many times before, trying to reconcile my Faith and my sexuality. I tried to explain to him, but he ignored me as he read the entire chapter. He was very serious and read everything somewhat monotonously. He did not pause from paragraph to paragraph. I had to listen to all of it. He seemed quite pleased with himself as he read out all the 'advice'. If I was homosexual, I basically had to remain chaste unless I could change my sexuality. After reading all that, they basically asked me to try and change. I told them I could not, but they were not pleased with that. I was so angry with dad for coldly reading out the chapter like that like I was not his son but some passer-by he was giving advice to. However, there was something about the calm way he said it that turned me on at some profound level. I realised that he was very content because his sexuality was 'normal'. For all I know that night, while I was very depressed in my bed, he was making passionate love to my mum, being thankful for being attracted to women, safe in the knowledge that fucking his wife was accepted by the religion. My parents had no intention of trying to understand me. Instead, they expected me to try and change, and if that failed, I was to remain chaste and have no sexual experiences. This is what they firmly believed in, and that was that. There was no compromise. The sheer stubbornness with which Dad believed in the religion, his opinion fixed according to what was written in the Scripture, made me feel anger but made my cock twitch at times, knowing that while I lived in his home, I had to abide by his strict rules.
The next couple of weeks, my parents interrogated me about many things to do with my sexuality. I think they finally understood that I couldn't change, but they were not pleased with that. My dad made a print out of all those paragraphs that he read out to me. He even found an article on masturbation and made it a point to tell my mum and me that this was forbidden. My mum was actually not so concerned about this, saying it's ok for me to do that (masturbate). Dad immediately said, 'No! That's what it says in the book!". I wanted to ask him if he masturbated when he was young, but I didn't dare to. In the following days, I would imagine Dad rolling off my mum after she drained his cock, sleeping peacefully and contentedly while imagining his sinful son trying to get rid of homosexual fantasies from his mind and trying hard not to touch his teenage cock. My desire to worship him and his feet grew stronger. And now I felt super guilty for having these thoughts and appetites after the events of the preceding weeks... I remember one night, dad came to have a chat with me about trying to get a girlfriend. He came into my room and sat on the bed so that he faced me and his long legs were in the centre of the bed. His feet were right up next to my crotch as his legs were long, and the bed wasn't that long. He actually crossed his legs and kept moving his feet. This was the first time he had placed his feet so close to my dick voluntarily. Basically, I was sitting up at one end of the bed and he at the other end. I was wearing my pyjamas and was trying hard to keep from getting an erection. His wide masculine soles were right there next to me, pointing in my direction, while he kept talking about which girl I should try and date from school... That night I masturbated frantically to thoughts of him pushing his strong manly feet into my groin. "I'm sorry," I thought to myself, as I exploded, feeling so guilty for jacking off, not only to thoughts of men but of my own dad's masculine feet...
I told them I would pray a lot and try and change, but deep down, I knew I could not. I had to lie to survive.
The interesting thing is pornography is also not allowed according to my religion. One day, when we were at a hotel that my parents sometimes would go to manage, I walked into my dad's room while he was in the office. I saw a DHL envelope lying on the bed. I looked inside, and I saw a soft porn story. The date on it proved that it had been printed out the night before and the only printer in the place was in the office. Only Dad had the keys to the office. Mum had gone home for a couple of days, so I knew it was dad who had printed the story. That's when I realised that my dad was a hypocrite. Some months later, he checked the internet history and found a site that I had forgotten to delete from the history. He gave me a very strong telling off, saying, "You know you're not supposed to look at that stuff!" I pretty much begged for forgiveness and said I wouldn't do it again... The hypocrisy was a turn on at some level. To know that he did whatever he wanted while expecting me to obey the strict rules of chastity. It must have given him a strong feeling of power over his son while he spoke to me like that, knowing full well what he got up to in his spare time. "Do as I say, not as I do," I suppose...
When I got to University, I was grateful that I had those videos of his feet that I stared at when I wanted. They are not just videos of sexy masculine feet, but they represent all the psychological trauma and thrills of growing up with this man that gave life to me. He expected the highest standards for me I'd like to think. He was doing what he thought was best for me. I can come within 20 seconds of staring at the videos of his feet. That's because of all the years of sexual frustration, of yearning for those feet and of acceptance by my dad. That is the history behind those videos.
I do have a lot of regular fantasies of course, but as paradoxical as it sounds, I have many fantasies of being a teen again and having my dad force his and his religion's rules upon me. I imagine creative ways he tries to stop me from masturbating. I imagine he shows me what healthy sex is like by having me watch him and mum fuck, while his toes wriggle all over the place. I imagine he figures out I like his feet and spends time training me to control my erection while I place my cock inches away from his soles, and he monitors my progress. I imagine him examining my bed for cum stains and punishing me for it if he finds any. I imagine him regularly checking my cock and balls for healthy development in preparation for me finding a girl to fuck one day. I like to pretend that there is something in the religious book that allows a father to teach his son how to masturbate, and he only allows me to cum in his presence...
Anyway, I think this shows how complex the human brain is. These are my deepest thoughts and fantasies, the ones I don't talk to anyone about!
Chad:
I hardly know where to begin, now that I've finished reading your letter.
First, I want you to know that I'm hard as a rock, and was throughout your letter. Second, I want you to know how THRILLED I am to meet a young man who is so ARTICULATE about the taboo ideation that excites him, and is able to express it so well--I spend hours and hours looking for a fellow just like you, who understands how much importance there is the fine nuances and details. Third, I want to reassure you that the admixture of incestuous desires, the involvement of your mother in some of the fantasies, and the presence of a theme of strict religion, all serve to make the discussion VERY exciting to me. You're not in areas which I, myself, have not enjoyed, DEEPLY, and shot many volleys of hot sperm, considering--probably long before your father squirted your life deep into your mother's womb.
You have found a man of like interests.
The photos of your father's feet have endowed those feet--which were already breathtakingly beautiful--with a "personality" and "meaning" that renders them even more cock-stiffening!
So, now that these first thoughts have been rolled off, let us begin.
Before you wrote to me recently, it wasn't clear to me whether or not you were still residing with your father and mother. I assume that you probably had already moved to your own dwelling. BEFORE I knew this, I suddenly thought of a ploy whereby a yearning son might obtain close contact with the holy feet upon which his father approaches his marriage-bed: It occurred to me that, at a time when the son was alone at home, he could go to his father's sock drawer, unroll a distinctive pair of his father's socks, and carefully place, inside the toes of them, some snips of his pubic hair--both from his penis, perhaps first moistened with a bit of the dew that seeps from his youthful piss-slit!--and some of the delicate hairs of his adolescent upper lip. He could secret these fibres in the toes of the sock, plant a loving kiss on the socks, and roll them up again carefully.
Then the boy need only wait for the day when his father selects those socks to wear for the day. For the whole time that his father is in those socks, the boy can know that the hairs, at least, of his mouth and penis are delicately curled into the damp crevices of his father's glorious toes, anointed with the delicate foot-sweat of his father. Perhaps, on a cool night, his father might even choose to leave the damp socks ON in bed, and enjoy the slick clasp of his wife's vagina coaxing forth his seed while his toes, curled with passion, clutch the hairs of his son's penis and lips!
And, of course, eventually, the father will take off the damp, scented socks, and place them with the clothing for laundering--how the son's hunting senses will be aroused at THAT hour--and how impatient the boy will be to be alone with the soiled clothing, to retrieve those holy socks!! When the boy finally gets hold of them, he can complete the ritual by carefully opening and inverting the socks, and rescuing the little hair fibres of which his father was completely unaware--and, lying back on his bed, forbidden to touch his penis with his hands, by taking the little hairs, one by one, and placing them upon his tongue, desperately trying to taste and sense whatever flavours and essence of his father's powerful feet might have been absorbed--untouched, he feels his penis leaking and weeping copiously. Each little hair finds itself down his throat, and deep inside his body, like the sperm that his father shoots up into his mum's belly.
I think you HAVE managed to convey some of the arousing "religious" scenario, too--and the frustrating contrast between your father's free access to relief and pleasure by utilising your mother's cunt whenever he wishes, versus the strict prohibitions placed upon you. Indeed, I'd like to re-author the religion of your father and the books from which he reads to you, to insert into a growing boy's meditations a religious GRATITUDE for the congress which authored his life. I'd like you to have to submit to some very special "sex education" from your father, and compose some prayers and meditations for you to "honour thy father and thy mother" properly, and think about how your father shot your life into her--and of course, the proper place for this sort of worship is at his feet.
There are one or two small details which would help me greatly in getting your father in better view. One thing I'm especially curious about is his general line of work--in one of your films, you show his "work shoes," and I wasn't sure whether they're just ordinary shoes of if he engaged in some sort of strenuous work--and how much time he spends walking or on his feet in the course of his work. The other critical fact I'd like to know is how old HE and your MOTHER were at the time when you were conceived--in other words, about nine months before your birth, how old were they on the night that his penis-tip, pressed tightly to her cervix, shot the lucky sperm that resulted in your life?
I don't know if you have brothers or sisters, but I do hope that the thought has occurred to you that, if you are an only son, then your father may well be aware of the fact that only HE and YOU have sucked the nipples of your mother's breasts, and only HIS penis and YOURS have been in the vaginal canal of his wife. I wonder if this thought has ever occurred to him?
I'm astounded to learn that there was one occasion when you actually managed to touch your tongue to your father's feet and at last taste them--many boys would go through life without ever being able to do this. It is certainly possible that your father slept through that episode--but there's a remote possibility, also, that he may have known what you were doing--and even ENJOYED the feeling of power over his son's emotions.
We have a great, great deal to talk about--and I hope this letter helps you feel at ease with me. You've definitely found a "sympathetic ear."
I just wanted to let you know--in case you thought the hypnotic, obsessive power of your father's FEET affected you, only!--that I've been reviewing, again, your films, knowing the additional information I know now, and find them even hotter to watch, as a result. I had to pause, a moment ago, because I felt so close to cumming, not even handling my penis, as I watched his soles, in the bedroom, with the bird sounds in the background, and here and then a bit of your adolescent catches-of-breath in your arousal--and thinking about how you were, LITERALLY, "under his feet" in those years, subjected to his will and to his control, denied release and pleasure while he could luxuriate in his--it makes it all so much more arousing and exciting!
It's a very important component of these films, and I find myself entering into your adolescent mind, and begging my father to grant me the taste and scent of the soles of his feet, at least--the powerful feet under which my life is pinned, and with which he asserts his will and ownership of me, the life he sired!
KNOWING he controls me makes his feet even more dazzlingly worthy of worship!!
You can tell how hard my penis is from viewing your movies now, afresh!
Another question I have concerns the DHL envelope with the soft-porn you found. Do you remember anything about the pornography you found? I'd like to know the sort of thing which appealed to your father.
End of Part 1