Here’s an excerpt from Father Son Bondage.
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Dad looks around the campsite with a grin, then his eyes settle on me. I suddenly feel hotter and a new burst of sweat peppers my forehead, but it has nothing to do with the oppressive August heat. He breaks our eye contact long enough to peel off his sweat-soaked shirt. Fuck. He’s hairy and muscular — just like the Dom in the video he caught me watching.
“Take off your shirt, son. It’s scorching,” he says.
Without a word, I do as he suggests, revealing my slim twink frame. My chest is smooth and hairless, tight and skinny, basically the complete opposite of dad. He leans down and opens the cooler, pulling out two cans of beer. He offers one to me.
“Seriously?” I say. While legally an adult, I’m still a couple years from drinking age. Mom and dad have always been strict on that.
“Yeah. It’ll be our secret.”
I take it from him, a surge of heat and eroticism passing between us as our fingertips briefly touch. I crack open the can and take a careful sip, the cold beer instantly cooling down my overheated body. I wince slightly at the bite of alcohol, but recover quickly and have a second sip.
“Take it slow,” dad says. “You should take it easy if this is your first one.” Then dad sets up our two lawn chairs, side by side, facing the woods, to where we can just see the glimmer of a lake through the trees. He sits in one of the chairs and pats the other one, beckoning me to join him.
I quickly sit next to him, our arms only inches from each other, and shift in my seat, struggling to hide the bulge in my shorts. Dad takes a sip of his beer and then rests his hand on his crotch — and that’s when I notice the massive bulge he’s sporting. My eyes almost bug out as I take in the sheer size of it. He catches me staring and I look back toward the lake, my cheeks burning hot.
I take another sip of beer — anything to avoid eye contact with dad. I can already feel it going to my head, making my thinking a little foggy. As I raise the can to take yet another sip, dad puts his hand on my arm.
“Don’t get drunk,” he says. “I have a question for you and I want you to be sober for your answer.”
I put the can down in the little holder in the armrest of my lawn chair. I can’t tell where this is going — I know it has something to do with him catching me jerking off, but beyond that, I don’t know. In the silence that passes between us, I finally look up at him. His eyes are serious, yet caring.
“Do you want my dick?” dad asks.
To keep reading, click here to find out where you can get your copy of Father Son Bondage.