The car ride was a glide. Three hours pass quick when you've a dad who tells pretty entertaining stories, but it was still bumpy with the occasional rumble from potholes and grooves induced from long exposure over the years.

Normally this wouldn't bother the younger man who'd long been used to the weathered road from all the drives Dad had taken him on- but he didn't exactly take into account that chugging his bottle in one go to counteract the heat before the drive would make him so bothered. It was a minor pulse at first, growing til Dad’s hand on his thigh had him pausing to look over in favour of focusing on that pang of interest growing between his legs. “That eager to get home, bud? C’mon. Just a few more minutes.” He’d say, before turning on the radio as a distraction.

It helped for a bit, but the bass and its rumble soon made his feet tap and legs become antsy enough that Dad could tell it wasn’t just an urge to get home quick. “All right, gotta piss or something?” The expression his son gave was answer enough and the older man only let out a chuckle. “Well then say so ya lil weirdo! Can’t lie, gotta empty the tank myself.”

It wasn't long before the car was parked on the side of the road, clear of any oncoming vehicles for a long while- no one uses this road much anyway, so Dad just unzips his fly, and flops out his cock with a single paw, sighing in relief as the hot splattering liquid drains into the shrubbery along the outskirts of the road- foliage present on either side of the long stretch of pavement.

He’d feel a curious set of eyes on him when he looks over, catching his son looking away, fiddling with his crotch before pulling out his own length. Not too shabby, he thinks. The boy is probably curious, so he simply pretends he doesn't see a thing, letting the stream come to a slow as it soaks the ground.

He has to look again, the son thinks to himself, eyes set on that thick head covered by foreskin as dad lightly shakes the rest of the golden liquid off making it sway in weight- it has his mouth watering each time he thinks about the image, but damn...who'd have thought he could get away with sneaking a peak like that?

The steady fixation causes him to start growing in his pants once he's done releasing his bladder- the two already set back in the car and driving once more. Despite having seen a peak of it, he's curious and looks down once more between his dad’s legs as he drives, seeing the way his thick thighs squish against a package containing something so…large, in such an unbothered way.

He starts thinking about how used to it his dad must be, having such a fat cock between his legs at all times…he probably feels it when he walks, brushing against his thighs and the smooth of his boxers. He wonders what the heft is like, fishing it out of his pants to take a leak like earlier, or adjusting it when it gets to be too noticeable.

His own erection, now tented in his pants, was more prominent now than his fathers at least- but it was hard to imagine what size his dad could get up to if he himself was hard…was he more of a shower? Or maybe he’d grow to be much more than that…the thought made him excited, and when he was ousted from his thoughts by a question from his dad, presumably from some long tangent he was going on about when he noticed the radio was turned down, he only let out a soft hum of vague answer as he scrambled to look non-conspicuous.

It was noticeable. And the older man only had to take a small peak down before focusing on the road again when his son was looking away outside his window. The position of his legs, and his hands splayed awkwardly on his lap…and there was only one recent thing he could think of to trigger such a cute reaction.

The errant thought of passing curiosity swindled itself into a little fixation it seems, and Dad couldn’t be prouder. After all, he is a catch even without the hog he’s got, steadily swelling in thought of just how much fun he’ll have teasing his son at home.

It doesn’t take your uncle a second to relinquish all and every detail he had on the things he got up to when he was younger- available to ask by the way he regularly boasts about any lays he gets up to when he’s over to visit. Now though, in the privacy of his garage, there’s no need worry about thin walls and close-by ears.

"Well y'know boy, even back then there were a few fucks willin to let a boy 'round your age give em a good suck for a ride down this way n that." Uncle prattled on distractedly, skimming through a bunch of sticky old porn mags. With his pads playin with the shifting weight beyond the fabric using his free paw, when not taking a swig of his beer with a sigh.

"One of em was this big fella, the type of sleazy ol trucker you'd be thinkin up on the spot if ya were asked to imagine one- eyes covered by that hat, and all other features all swallowed up by that shaggy beard and furrowed brows of his if ya looked up from yer seat.”

“Surprisin how careful he was with drivin the way his gut pressed up against the steerin wheel" He adds with mirth, not bothering to mind your shifting legs.

“Those mitts of his…gave a good push down at least, big enough t’cover my head! ‘Fore I knew it, all I could smell was rank ol man and the feel of that padded bushy underside, all furry n bunched with all that hot raunchy ol musk, prolly from not showering a good while.” He sighs wistfully, nose twitching as if still remembering the smell. “Near damn marinated in it.”

“Least I knew what I was getting into ‘fore he buried mah muzzle down there. Sweet heaven it was, could stay down there for hours if the ride wasn’t so damn short, pumpkin my dick as much as I wanted. Least I got ta fish out his own hog when I got antsy enough, and the thing was dripping! Lapped that puppy up like it was melting, chin on his thighs between…with the rumble of the road drowned out and sweet melody it was…you ever hear a grown man moan cause of yer pretty mouth, son?”

His eyes finally trailed down your form, set on the press of thighs inward. With a grin, he puts down the stack of mags none too casually and rubs over your knee down to your inner thigh, soaking in the flustered state he caught you in with the slight bulge he catches. “Could always find a man like em’ and give a dial…been with more than a few who’d lend a favour to a pretty thing like ya…that is unless ya don’t mind if ol uncle here gives his lil buddy a test drive first?"

Being a man so strong-willed, it's a surprise to see him bedridden for once. Almost always up and attem' when not in his recliner watching the game, with calloused hands and a strong, portly figure carried by a sort of pride only a gruff tank like him would have no trouble portraying casually- as even just standing in line at the grocery would intimidate most folk.

It's refreshing in a way to see him just resting in bed for once, although with a grim expression, fingers twitching and a sort of low grumble rising in his throat every now and then, you can tell the lack of stimulation is getting to him through where you peak your head into his room. With his cantankerous ass usually one beer away from passing out on the couch at all times after coming home, it's safe to assume he'll be needing rest for at least a few days from what you remember of the doctors orders.

You'd never been quite touchy-feely with him, but you feel that now more than ever, might be a good idea to lend a comforting hand at least, let him know he isn't alone. So with hesitance, you wander into the room. The covers are thrown haphazardly unto his hulking body, most of it missing by a wide margin to the point that its only really covering his thick legs and some of his arm- better to be you think of it, given how awfully frequent he goes around wearing bare-nothing, sometimes lounging in only a pair of boxers and a worn tank top.

He seems not to mind you entering at least, and daringly enough you sit down on the edge of his bed. It’s obvious he knows it’s you by the way he tries composing himself, features fixed to be more stoic and unbothered, maybe in an effort to ease whatever worry there is painted on your features.

It’s a bad habit of his to remain so obvious yet closed off like that, emotionally a wall to better server others feelings and his own. Your hand decides to softly pat and smooth over his stomach, the feel of heated skin through the fabric of his damp shirt jolts you in an odd way, yet you keep your hand there- casting a weary glance over at your dad.

Surprisingly enough his expression seems to slacken much like all semblance of his grumpy sort of stoic state- eyes focused on you in a way that leaves you confused, but oddly flustered all the same as if caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“S’good, boy…don’t worry bout me.” He rumbles softly, a stark contrast to how silently threatening he can be. Instead, you feel invited further…hand finding itself wandering farther down the valley even breaching skin from how his shirt tugs up, the coarse warmth of his stomach hair surrounding your palm- breath hitching as you realize how close your reach is to the hem of his shorts and the accompanied heat further down.

You’re unsure if he noticed, cared, or better yet wanted more in his feverish state as you pull back, with the way his slow breathing echoes in your ears from an arms length away, like expecting an outburst in a calm before- though it never happens. He’s vulnerable there in front of you, sick and there isn’t a single catch. His eyes do open though to see your hand hovering over his crotch and midriff, a low curious rumble pulled from slack lips, teeth showing in a grin that slowly raises to become cheshire.

Throat dry and a slight sputtering sound leave you as you pull back, hand burnt and face flushed in a vein of the same temperature, pooling lower as you realize how twisted it makes you feel- opening up in some way with your dad and you get turned on of all things...

The remnant tingles of heat remain all around, but there’s no chiding comment. Rather, it’s as if he pretends he saw nothing- head tilting away with a sort of satisfied smile on his gruff face, and an unexpected swell under the covers of the blanket just below the hem of where his happy trail leads.

Dad always finds the time to put aside whatever plans he'd had prior when it comes to anything relating to his son, especially whatever games he has coming up. Not that he'd ever admit it, but his boy looks good- especially when running down the field, tight uniform highlighting curves he doesn't have time to glance over plentifully at home.

It's a different story though when he gets to sit on the bleachers, high up in the corners. Usually he has to come minutes later due to work and chores at home, but today he'd been able to secure a spot up top before the small crowd was forming too fast.

With a lounging sigh, the older man leans back, setting a cooler filled with iced refreshments down between his feet, eyes carefully looking over the rowdy cluster of players prepping for the game.

It's easy enough to spot his son, the damn cutie, getting slapped on his back playfully by another few teammates. Any lower and they'd be spanking handfuls of solid dough. The sight of tight billowing fabric against honed glutes brings about a familiar throb accompanied by a natural resting of the larger mans arms over his thick thighs.

This kinda thing comes naturally enough at least, so with no pre-amble, dad casually pops opens the lid of the cooler to coincidentally block any stray gazes to his sizeable bulge. The game starts, and his eyes are glued to his boy’s backside, legs working to carry him across the field. With each turn and subtle gyration, dad finds himself groping at his crotch, a small dark patch appearing over the lighter fabric.

“Fuck, son…go get em.” He mutters gruffly in a whisper with each subtle nudge to his own manhood, his elbow’s odd movement the only indication he’s doing anything lewd.

INTERESTING...i was thinking, and tbh the hottest scenario that comes to mind with this is actually involving a smutty fic i read a while back (forgot which one sadly)...contained this particular scene wherein the protagonist was in a cave with a group of sort of primal monsters that they managed to befriend sort of, but it was more of a mate arrangement, and they were feeding the biggest silent one (who was also injured and couldn't move, furthermore as a reward for protecting the cave or something) who was getting horny from being fed, to the point he'd almost cum- his thick cock pulsing under his loincloth and the protag got embarrassed at the sight and left him there all sensitive and groaning for more silently, and he actually did later on in his sleep at the thought of being fed even more thoroughly, with being topped and made to be fed more, with his cock attended to as he was fed more and it made this huuuuge mess in the cave, stinking it up with his musk and cum...it was lowkey kinda hot, the way that he was panting and groaning in sensitivity at being fed and stuffed and getting so hard so I definitely get the idea...

I guess the reverse of that is feeling horny at seeing it happen to another? Also plausible! I'll prolly write a thread abt this later tbh since this is a really good inspo...hehehe

OOOOH i like this one omg...wandering into his room and noticing that his drawer is slightly ajar, hmmm! You hadn't snooped through your dad's things before, and something was definitely making you wanna check it out. Besides, if he asks, you can just say it was open in any case…not as if he'd ever know.

Following this, you pull it open all the way. Within, is sizeable collection of...nude photos? Not just that, but of young men just like yourself. It's uncanny in a way, some seem cut out, printed, and even slightly crumpled in use as if held for a while, though when you focus on the models, there's similar proportions, eye colour, hair, even in the very sense of pose and personality, it’s all eerily alike, but it feels a bit too...obvious.

If you'd ask anyone else they might shrug it off, but a deep warm swelling pit in your stomach at the thought of your dad only wanting a boy looking like you, being you…it was his preferred type of guy.

Nothing could stop the stirring of your own erection at the thought that maybe on several occasions your very likeness had popped up into daddy's head as he blew his load, your face appearing there instead of the other similar men as seen, legs splayed, eyes rolled back, all begging for and wanting one thing to be true, only in your voice, your feel, under his touch.

With every time you've gotten close in proximity, has he memorized your height? The size of your hands in comparison to your own? There're moments the two of you roughhouse, and you always find him grappling you, pinning you down, yet his hold on you would be ever-changing as if finding the right grip...was that just an excuse to feel out the memory of your very body so as to imagine it in his grasp, and to pair that very feeling with the sight of a body just like yours?

It's unlikely. Yet it's existence is here, plain as day that your dad has a type.

And as you think harder...wouldn't he be more secretive about something like this? One wouldn't let it lie so carelessly in a drawer that could be opened and seen so easily even on accident, and better yet, a drawer that was already suspiciously ajar...

With that last thought though, you hear the door behind you slowly close, and it's lock slowly turned. You're already too deep in, so as casually as you can, you place the pictures back down in the open drawer, ignoring how they scatter. As carefully treaded heavy steps make their way over, a pair of hands finds its way onto your shoulders, head peaking over to take a glance at the opened drawer.

"Found dad's stash, did'ja? Well...can't blame a boy for bein' curious bout dad's things, especially the type I keep so poorly hid...how about we both sit down over on the bed then, and have a good long talk about this, son?"