Uncle, Grunge & Love: Chapter Six
I think this may be the fourth or fifth time I've written something to the effect that I spent the rest of the day in a daze. Or was it a haze? Both? I don't know - all I DO know is that my balls were aching with a constant, buzzy lust, my head was full of images of debauchery, and my heart was heavy with shame that I'd disappointed Daddy.
My heart - when not shamed - was also rumbling with love and it was the first time I'd felt that emotion. Suddenly all those fucking poems and songs made sense. But, they never wrote poetry about incestuous couples that happened to be into raunch.
I could barely get a handle on myself.
At one point I thought of leaving the job just so I could go home and beg to be forgiven - beg for piss and cock and redemption. But that was stupid. Mostly I wanted to leave because I felt like I couldn't get control of myself - wasn't myself.
The only good thing about the day was the fact that we were getting constant deliveries. I worked my ass off, putting up a good sweat, wondering if the other dudes were beginning to get a whiff of my reek. But, I figured they would complain if they needed to and it's not like they hadn't stunk up their coveralls at one point or another.
By the end of the day I was calmer - more contained. Mostly it was excess energy and I'd burned that off. Over lunch hour I asked Carlo to put aside two pizzas for when I got off shift. He winked at me: "Hot date, Stewie?"
"Uhh - just my uncle."
"Huh - that's nasty," he said, whistling.
What the fuck? How the fuck did he get THAT clue? I just blushed, telling him to fuck off, but his eyes were sharp on me. He grabbed at his cock, obscenely, and laughed. "Always thought you were a puto, Stew," he said, laughing. Behind the laugh was desire. Maybe all the sex and love that was pouring off of me was beginning to show - was beginning to provoke reactions in other men.
I picked up the pizzas and grabbed some flowers that Lizzie, the flower lesbian, set aside for me, and headed home, texting Uncle Jay that was on the way.
He just emojied me back with an eggplant and suddenly I was hard again.
The door flung open before I had the key in the hole - he stood there, wearing a t-shirt and some ratty sweat pants. His cock showed, half-hard. He had that look in his eye.
"Hey kid - how was your day."
"Fine," I said, just standing there like a dork. My mouth was dry.
"Missed you," he said.
"Me, too. I mean - I missed you, too."
"You just gonna stand there ....?"
"Sorry," I said, handing him the pizzas. "I got some pizzas - in case, you know - you were - we were - hungry. I guess."
"S'alright," he said, taking them for me, turning his back. I caught the door and slid in. "I held dinner for you."
"You didn't need to -"
"But these will be great for Saturday night - after we load my shit - perfect. I'll freeze 'em."
He headed into the kitchen and I followed, sniffing his musk, which had matured and grown heavier. He tossed the pizzas on the counter and then turned, grabbing the flowers.
"These for me?" he said, face bright as fuck, but also devilish.
"Ya - um - I'm sorry about this morning ..." I said, blushing. "... Sir - I'm sorry, Sir." My heart was pounding now. He was so sexy just standing there.
He took the flowers, tossed those on the counter, too, then approached me, grabbing my body and pushing it up against the wall.
"'Bout that," he grumbled, shoving his tongue into my mouth. He ground his crotch into my own and I felt his hardness rising. "Get outta this thing," he said, rubbing his harsh beard against my cheek. I was dizzy, but unzipped my jumpsuit and he grabbed at the sleeves, pulling it off my body.
"Turn around," he grunted, eyes on fire. I did, and as I did he yanked the jumpsuit down around my ankles. Then he grabbed at my shorts - pulling them down.
"Fuck, Stewie - skid marks," he groaned, and then I let out my own moaning bitch-sounds, pushing out my ass. "Fucking nasty - been thinking about this ass all day long," he said, and I felt him lower to his knees. He spread my cheeks and shoved his face in my butt. It was sweaty and dank - nearly eight solid hours of hard labor and cum and other ooze had been dripping out. He growled like a fucking animal - lapping and biting at my hole.
"Fuck yeah - that's how an ass should taste - fuck - fuck," he grunted, lapping and snorting and biting. Slapping my ass, too. Nice sharp slaps.
"Dad - fuck - Dad -"
"I can taste ya, Stew - this is how I want this butt - always - so I can taste it."
"Yessir - fuck yes - "
"Iz fucking wet - why's this hole so fucking wet all the time," he huffed, shoving a finger in it, then another. I lurched and twitched at the abuse, but kept giving him access. This is what I wanted - couldn't get enough of.
"You fucking it, Dad, is why - your piss and cum and lube - makin' it a pussy," I huffed, reaching back, pulling it apart.
"Give me more, buddy - want to get deep -"
I pushed out my lips, only slightly worried about what may occur, but this man was relentlessly lowering my inhibitions and always seemed yards ahead of me in action and reaction. He dove on my blooming pucker, sucking the lips into his greedy mouth. I spluttered out his own spit and wet ooze and his body jerked in response -
"Fuck - FUCK -" he shouted, slapping my ass. "Fucking love eating ass, son - never knew how much I loved eating ass 'til I met you -"
Then he horked, deep and hard, and spit on my wet slot. Before I knew what was happening he'd stood. His cock was out of his sweats and the wet head was probing my hole.
"Lube?" he asked, but the question was a formality. The fucker wanted it now and so I just pushed back on his rigid cock.
"Take it -" I grunted, knowing that this may be the moment he encountered some sludge, but I didn't care - fuck, I wanted that, too, I was so turned on. "Fuck me, stud," I groaned, and he pushed in, nice and hard, like a man should, spearing me with his pole, pushing aside my guts with heedless urgency.
"Been hard all day thinking of this," he said, exposing his feral nature. Then he met normal resistance - there was no lube and no preparation so of course my body resisted. I flinched through a slow moment of pain and then I pushed out, hard, like I was taking a huge dump and he felt me expand around his urgent cock and suck it in like a whore -
"OHFUCKYEAHBITCH," he cried, slamming into his pleasure - my hole made an obscene flatulent sputter as he did so and then he was fucking me like I'd told him he could. And this was, in fact, all about him. There was nothing gentle about his ramming of me- I couldn't tell if he was testing my limits of testing his own - or if this was a test at all. All I could do is accept his thrusts and I did so willingly, mewling in desire as he crossed another line, plowing me with abandon.
Then I felt his hand on the back of my neck - the other wrapped around my waist. He pushed my face into the wall, finding the leverage he needed, and then he fucked, deep and hard - a relentless consummate pounding that secured his dominance of me as he found his footing and prepared to breed.
"Fuck - just like this - "
I nodded, making odd sounds like "unnnhhh" and "oooohhhhrrrrgggg."
"Just."
"Like."
"THIS."
In the end he slammed into me. I was learning his body and understanding his cock - I felt it swelling inside me and felt the final, expansive rigidness that opened me like no other man - I knew what was cumming next.
"Give it to me," I whispered, lips and nose smashed into the dry-wall, encouraging his use. He was so big and so strong - but I was no lightweight. I'd been working a hard-labor job for over a year and had been putting time in the gym. As he railed me I pushed back into it, legs solidly spread and stable, back arched, ass welcoming.
I could sense that it was this strength - my desire to be used which equaled his desire to use - that propelled his final fucking thrust. He bellowed into me, shooting a spew of hot sauce, pumping my guts full of the essence that I'd become addicted to. I flinched and flexed my hole, sucking it up as much as I could, letting him continue to rail me and smother my hot innards with his fertility.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he moaned, leaning over me. I felt drool paint my back - then droplets of sweat. He shook, from toes to butt to chest to shoulders and arms - vibrating as his cock kept spewing inside me. Each of his orgasms felt monumental to me. The truth of his existence was laid bare - he actually WAS a high-testosterone male, it seemed to me. There never seemed to be much differentiation in his orgasms - if anything they were getting bigger and broader and wetter, as if the availability of a breedable fuck-hole had triggered some additional manufacturing capability that created more and more spew.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck -" he kept mumbling, body shaking, cock twitching, fingers flexing into my flesh. I just sighed, doing a slow twerk that welcomed the continued intrusion.
This was new to me, too - the complete absence of my own cock in the scheme of things - and the complete focus on my asshole as a central organ of pleasure and desire. I THOUGHT that I had been ass-focused before. Now, it seemed, my hole was becoming the center of my universe and I was reveling in it - learning how to make it an active participant in our joint pleasure.
Finally, after more minutes than I could count, I felt him straighten - then he pulled out, slowly, as if gentleness was required after his rough rape of my raw ass. The expulsion left me empty - a slight touch of air cooled my open slot. I felt a slime of spew drip out - like a slug emerging from a soft shell. It must have splatted on my coveralls, which were pooled around my ankles. I heard him intake his breath sharply - felt his eyes on my hole as it dripped with his slimy use.
I pushed away from the wall, straightening - then shuffling a turn, so I could see him - see it - etch the visual of this image into my growing spank-bank. He stood, shirt spotted with perspiration, sweats around his ankles, white socks hanging loosely off of his muscled calves.
The smell of us in that moment was beyond something I can describe - suffice it to say it was part of the tableau - a sweaty tang of male meat that had marinated in lust for days now.
And then I saw his cock. And then he saw me see his cock and he looked down. When he did I felt a tremor run through him - saw him twitch and shift. His cock - which was been retreating - flexed upward again, a long spool of clear juice hanging from the head, lengthening in the evening light. Before I could catch even a hint of hesitation in him, I fell gently to my knees, eyes on his weapon as it flexed, glistening with his cum and his spit and his snot and my anal scut.
It was not dirty.
But, it was not clean, either. It stood there, between us, like a symbol.
"Aww gawd," I gasped, leaning into it. I wanted this moment to last - but it frightened me, too.
He just stood - watching -
I brought my face up to his cock and shuddered. Then my tongue lashed out, licking up the underside. The smell - which I had feared would bathe me in revulsion, had the opposite effect. It smelled of men - of man - of me. Of fuck and get-fucked. Of the harsh truth of male love and bonding.
If this wasn't real, what was?
In an instant I was overcome with desire - I groaned a groan of longing and becoming, then swallowed his streaked cock with the devotion of a pup on mom's teat. There was no questioning - no looking back. I had called this moment into being and although I knew - at some unknown point in the future - there would be a more dirty and disgusting dick - right now this was our calling and I took to it with a hunger that even I couldn't describe or understand.
I drove his cock deep into my throat, lathing it with my tongue, cleaning him with a passion that I'd never known.
"This is sick," he whispered, pushing into me, but the tone was one of lust, not revulsion. "This is fucking sick," he grunted, beginning to fuck my face, as I moaned in delirious pleasure.
I pulled off his cock, showing him a mouthful of wet spittle and remains, then swallowed it whole, eyes glazed in deviance as I looked up at him like he was a God.
"Daddy," I growled, then dove back on the cock and cleaned it like it was the last cock on earth.
"Good boy," was all he said, over and over. "Good boy. Clean up your filth, baby."
In the end, he WAS clean. He was spotless. Which was the point.
I licked the remaining scooge off of his balls and then looked up at him, crazy in love. He grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up. We shared a deep, tender kiss, his tongue raking into my mouth, seeking whatever remnants were left, but I'd done a good job and had swallowed it all.
Then - he broke free of me. We shared a look. It was all getting so personal.
"I should tell you to get cleaned up for dinner," he said, pulling up his pants.
"I'll never be clean," I said, surprising myself. "Not on the inside."
He blinked. Then he nodded. "No - I don't suppose you will."
Then he turned, steadying himself.
"I'm hungry, kid - sure you are, too. Get changed, at least. Dinner's up in just a few minutes."
Then he poured a box of pasta into a large pot of boiling water, rounding his shoulders, as if stretching from his exertions. I pulled up my coveralls, spotting the splot of spew that had fallen there. I scooped it up with my finger, sucked it into my mouth, and headed to the bedroom to get out of my work clothes.
My mind was blank - I was floating on air.
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