by Robert Furlong
A few months ago I met a guy called Edward and it turned out that, among his varied and chequered past, he'd been divorced and has a son in his late teens, just like me.
His lad is called Ashley; he's eighteen and at university in Sheffield. My son is Jake who's nineteen and at Leeds.
Edward is physically much larger and stronger than me; something I always enjoy in a man when we get to the bedroom. He's tall and muscular and could easily handle himself in a fight, and I wasn't too surprised when I first took his shirt off to find a scattering of tattoos across his arms, chest and back.
He and I aren't the sort of men who would naturally form a friendship and I'm sure that if Edward hadn't spent eighteen months in prison for tax fraud, we would barely have registered on each other's radar. But having developed a liking for using cellmate's obligingly-offered rump when he'd been inside, he'd emerged from his incarceration eager to continue his newly-discovered pastime.
Unfortunately for Edward, it turned out his girlfriend wasn't as willing as his cellmate to satisfy his craving for doggy-style anal. Fortunately for me, he sought to fill the breach by signing up to a male cruising site to find other men who would be willing recipients.
So that's how we met. Kind of cute, really.
It was during the lull between two very strenuous sessions – Edward inexhaustibly pounding in and out of my upturned behind – that we started chatting about our sons.
We were lying on his bed, both naked of course and with our cocks exploiting a brief opportunity to soften slightly, and I happened to mention that Jake would be coming to stay over that weekend.
"Nice," Edward muttered, well aware of how much I enjoy spending time with my son.
"It is nice, yeah," I replied. "Apart from all the bags of dirty laundry he'll bring back with him."
Edward glanced over at me and then asked, completely out of the blue, "Do you ever stash away any of his underwear to have a sneaky sniff of?"
I smiled. I liked the way he would just casually come out with deeply personal questions like this one.
"No," I replied. "But I often admire his butt when he struts about with barely a stitch on, as he so often does."
We sat for a few moments before I asked in return, "I take it, from the question, that you enjoy a sniff of Ashley's underwear from time to time?"
He nodded and said, a touch defensively, "I don't see anything wrong in it."
I nodded back. Neither did I.
"I mean, if he's going to bring so many bags of laundry home with him from uni," he explained, "it's only fair that I get something out of having to wash it and dry it for him."
I chuckled. "Don't worry, Edward – I'm no angel! I'm certainly in no position to judge. Which... er... part do you usually sniff?"
He grinned over at me. "Oh, come on, Rob! Like you have to ask! I like bum sex, mate – that's why you're here! Which part of his skanky shorts do you think I get my nose stuck into?!"
I laughed back at him. "So I take it he's a bit whiffy back there?"
"A bit whiffy?" Edward chortled. "You have no idea, mate! Every single pair absolutely reeks of his arse! That's why I do it... it's like... skidmark city!"
"Do you jerk off when you're sniffing them?"
"Of course I do!" he grinned. "I pick all his dirty boxers out from the black bags of laundry he brings back with him and keep a little stockpile of the... er... more fragrant ones at the bottom of my wardrobe. Then I work my way through them night after night, whacking off with his bum stink covering my face, imagining my dick was hammering away at a lovely round arse!"
"Ashley's arse?" I asked.
His head swung round pissed off at the suggestion of that. "Of course not! Jesus, mate! Like I'd get off thinking about shagging my son! What the fuck do you think I am?"
I smiled in an attempt to placate him. "I only asked, Edward! You didn't make it clear whose bum you were imagining... er... hammering away at."
"Carol's!" he called out; Carol being the anally-reluctant girlfriend. "Or yours," he added as an after-thought. "Yeah, sometimes yours."
"Aw that's so sweet," I laughed, knowing he'd be aware that I was being sarcastic.
"It helps fuel a good wank," he explained, "having a pair of dirty pants to sniff on. You can just about believe you're banging someone's backdoor for real, the stink on the back of the shorts is so similar to the smell you get when you're doing it butt-style!"
"Why Ashley's though? I mean, why don't you sniff your own briefs when you need some 'fuel'?"
His own underwear was, as I'd often remarked, rather wonderfully odorous: especially right behind his big hefty balls where the sweat from his arse-crack would make for some most stimulating sniffing. I'd spent goodness knows how long with my nose wedged in the back of his briefs, usually with Edward grinding his firm, meaty buttocks vigorously against my face.
"I dunno about you, but it's not as horny when it's your own," he replied. "There's something really sexy about someone else's smells. That's probably why I found I liked anal so much when I tried it that first time with Derek."
Derek had been the obliging cellmate. Their regular sojourns had started up after several nights of glancing over at each other struggling to masturbate in their bunks after lock-down. Perhaps inspired by the sounds of other men's furtive couplings from along the corridor, Derek had got on his bunk bending forwards on all fours and, as if further clarification were needed, had pulled down the back of his Y-fronts to expose his pale flabby arse. Edward had seized the opportunity and had tottered across to take up his place behind him, pushing his knees between his buddy's shins and lining his cock up against the thick clumps of matted hair bristling from the odorous crack that was being so generously offered.
After a few terse shoves and a good deal of grunting and gasping from Derek, the two of them had quickly developed a rapid, forceful rhythm of hips against buttocks, rutting noisily together in time with the quickening thumping of the other men on their corridor.
"So you got straight into it?" I asked. "As soon as your dick was inside him?"
"Immediately," he chuckled. "It was like it had been something I'd been desperately wanting without evening knowing about it. I figure I must have a thing about the smell of doing anal, so when I got behind Derek that very first time, the stink that my dick made sliding in and out of his bum seemed as if it had flicked a switch in my brain or something."
I smiled and nodded. He and I had an awful lot in common.
"So, yeah – that's the smell I really love when I'm whacking off," he went on. "The way a room ends up reeking when you and another fella have been at it full-whack."
"And that's what Ashley's shorts remind you of?"
"Kind of, yeah," he went on, "and yet his backdoor smell is totally different to mine or yours or anyone else's I've smelt. His pants have a stink of their own – really pungent and earthy – and that's what makes them so exciting to sniff."
He looked across at me and I nodded.
"That probably sounds grim," he laughed, flushing a little at the realisation he might have said way too much.
"Not at all," I said. "I know exactly what you mean. Jake's bum smell is very different to mine. Much stronger and more... well... vulgar, I suppose."
"I thought you said you'd never sniffed his dirty keks," Edward reminded me.
"I haven't deliberately done so," I clarified. "But like Ashley, he brings piles of laundry back with him and the smell of his dirty smalls – especially the backs – is something one can't help but be aware of."
Edward chuckled. "How do you know it's the backs?"
"Oh, come on, Edward," I smirked back. "You know I've had my face enough guys' crotches and arses to know the difference between the front and the back of a bloke's dirty undies."
Edward laughed more loudly. He knew that to be true and had probably lost count of the number of times I'd had my nose pressed into both sides of his.
"So don't you give your beef a quick bashing when you happen to get a whiff of your Jake's rear gussets?" he asked.
"I haven't as yet," I said, aware that I sounded disappointingly restrained given the intimacy of the secret Edward had just shared with me. "But on one occasion I... kind of... well..."
I hesitated before continuing, "But what I did was a lot worse than just having a sniff of my son's cast-off pants."
Edward looked over at me and grinned. "Sounds intriguing..."
I shrugged. "It's not the sort of thing I thought I'd ever tell anyone," I cautioned. "And as far as I know Jake had no idea it happened, so if I tell you, I've got to have your word that it stays that way."
Edward nodded. "Of course."
He'd never even met my son, but there was no guarantee that their paths wouldn't cross at some point.
"This has to be between just you and me," I reaffirmed.
He nodded again, his expression showing how interested he was by whatever it was I had to say.
"It happened last year," I began, "when Jake was eighteen. It was totally spontaneous – I should make that clear from the beginning. I didn't set out to do what I did – it really did just happen this way."
"I get that," Edward agreed. "I didn't go seeking out Ash's dirty boxers for wank fodder. That started out as an accident too..."
I looked over at him and he grinned, no doubt eager to hear my story but equally keen to elaborate his own.
"I got my two piles of laundry mixed up on the kitchen floor," he explained. "So I grabbed a pair of what I thought looked like clean pants and took a quick sniff without really thinking about it."
"Except they weren't clean," I suggested.
"They certainly weren't," he chuckled. "With my nose right there in the full-on stink of his arse crack, all I could think of was having a nice, hard shag of a lovely, juicy arse. My cock boned straight up and I felt an overwhelming compulsion to get it out and whack it off there and then."
"Right there in the middle of the piles of laundry?"
"Yeah – kneeling down in the middle of the kitchen with Ash right upstairs!"
I laughed, having been in a good few masturbatory predicaments of my own with my son close by.
"I beat myself off hard and fast," he continued, "grabbing more of his skiddy boxers and inhaling deeply where his arse had been. It was so fucking good – I tell you, Rob, you have no idea!"
I smiled. Actually I did and I was about to describe it to him.
"I hadn't realised that the smell of someone's cruddy pants – least of all my son's – could do it for me! My fist was literally clobbering my prick while my face was buried in his bum stink and – I kid you not – I had fucking drool dribbling from my mouth and dangling from my chin!"
"Something similar happened to me the first time I rimmed a guy," I grinned.
"I shot off really powerfully," he went on, "and it was as if my bollocks were totally out of control. I had no idea I could produce so much spunk! My hand was still bashing at my knob, making my jizz fling around and getting it all over the place. I had to wash the clean laundry again before Ash saw the white splashes covering it!"
"He didn't catch you whacking off with his boxers?" I asked.
"No," Edward grinned. "And if he had, I figure that would have been the end of it. I think the shame and the guilt would have stopped me from ever repeating the experience!"
I nodded and he urged me, "Come on, then, Rob. I've told you my secret confession – let's hear yours!"
He glanced at my bedside clock and added, "I was hoping for another go on your arse before I have to head off, so this better be horny enough to get me in the mood!"
"I don't know whether you'll find it horny or not. I'm actually quite embarrassed about what happened, although I found it extremely arousing at the time."
"As long as you end up with your nose in the back of your kid's pants, chances are I'll find it horny!"
"That's not where it ends up," I informed him. "There's rather more to it than that."
"Oh?" he asked with surprise. "So where does your nose end up?"
"I'll just tell you the story," I smiled. "You'll soon find out."
Jake and I had been to a football match up in Newcastle. We've done that for years: gone to stay over at a cheap hotel for the night so that we can go to a good match at one of the bigger grounds.
We always share a room unless he's brought a mate along. A few years ago, once he'd reached an age when morning erections were becoming a regular occurrence and he started noticing that my pyjamas were similarly tented when I got out of bed, I suggested that he could have his own room from then on. He's always insisted, though, that it's way more fun for the two of us to bunk up together so that's the arrangement we've stuck to.
The only issue we've had with sharing in recent years, is trying to conceal our masturbatory habits. After being awoken on a couple of occasions by the sounds of my son's enthusiastic fist hammering away beneath his duvet, we came to an agreement that we'd both attend to our erections in the bathroom from then on. I made it clear that neither of us should be embarrassed about our need to sexually relieve ourselves: guys need to wank off pretty regularly and that obviously applies just as readily to fathers and sons.
But just as often as we stick to our rule, we also seem to break it. Numerous times I've woken up with Jake trying to discreetly jerk one out under the cover of his hotel bedding, while I'm sure that on just as many occasions he's been aware of me doing the same. It's not easy to mask the steady beat of a quiet moment of pleasure and hotel beds seem deliberately designed to amplify every movement with their squeaky bedframes and creaking mattresses.
Sometimes we make jokes about hearing each other's hands going at it, but generally we just ignore it when we're awoken by the other's solitary rhythm. It just seems that some days the walk to the bathroom is way too much effort after one or other of us has woken up with our cocks at full-mast.
That was how it happened on this particular morning. It was early summer and the light spilling through the flimsy curtains woke me up at about half past five. The room was hot so I'd slept with only a thin bedsheet covering me, and a glance over at Jake showed him to be soundly asleep wearing just his underwear with his own sheet long since cast aside.
Needless to say, I had a raging hard-on and I didn't think it would hurt to have a sly pull of it on my bed before getting up to take a shower. I was sure Jake was in a very deep sleep: he was facing away from me but I could tell from his breathing that he was unlikely to wake up any time soon. We'd both had a few beers before turning in – a few empty cans were still strewn on his bedside table – and I knew from past experience that it would take some effort to rouse him after going to sleep tipsy.
It was safe to beat off and I intended to take full advantage of the fact.
I pushed my bedsheet to one side – within easy reach to hastily grab if my son were to suddenly wake up – and released my throbbing organ from my pyjama bottoms. I tucked the waistband underneath my large overfilled bollocks and took up a smooth, gentle rhythm up and down my stiffened shaft. For once, the bedframe was of a solid enough construction not to betray the steady vibration from the mattress on top of it, and I luxuriated in the chance to masturbate so openly with my son lying right next to me in the small hotel room.
It was a very pleasant wank, I have to admit. The birds were singing their early morning songs in the trees outside the window and the brightening light from the rising sun diffusing through the curtains created a warm and peaceful atmosphere to help me on my way.
I thought about the girl who'd checked us in at the front desk the night before. Her lovely round breasts had jostled alluringly against each other through the unbuttoned top of her blouse as I'd signed the paperwork, and her nice smooth legs had looked long and intriguing when she'd bent down at the cabinet behind her to retrieve our key.
I imagined her wearing pink lacy panties and for me to be kneeling down behind her with my face between her perfect thighs. To be sniffing at her warm, wet pussy; to be leaning forwards to lick it as its plump lips became inflamed.
That was nice. That was very nice.
I moved on to think about the young lad who'd emerged from the back office and wished he had bent down too. I'd noticed he had an amazingly pert arse sticking out from the seat of his dark grey trousers and that they were such a tight fit that the back of his briefs was plainly visible through them. How great would it be to stick my face up close between his cheeks and sniff at the whiffy hemline that had worked up between his incredible buttocks? To peel his trousers and underwear down and to ease my hot wet tongue slowly and firmly into his moist hairy crack?
A girl's fragrant pussy or a boy's stinky arsehole: what a wonderful choice to be presented with!
My hand swept more rapidly up and down my grateful shaft. This was a much-needed wank as I hadn't had time to attend to myself the day before. There'd been the non-stop rush of breakfast then work, and then the frantic loading up of the car followed by the drive up to Newcastle. After we'd checked into the hotel, the two of us had slumped out on our beds watching telly and by lights-out I'd been far too tired to have to stagger over to the bathroom to assuage my erection behind the locked door.
So this was something I really needed and I took the time to savour it.
I imagined the girl perched open-legged on top of the reception desk, still wearing her hotel uniform but with her panties pulled off and thrown aside. My cock was sliding in and out of her, my hips steadily thrusting with the same rhythm as my hand kneading my shaft, while the boy was standing on the desk facing away from me with his trousers hitched down around his muscular thighs.
The receptionist was sucking his long, thin hard-on as I gently fucked her and I was leaning forwards to lick the powerfully pungent trench nestling between his smooth solid cheeks. This was a hell of a position to imagine myself in: feeling the silky moist sumptuousness of a pussy around my erection while my face was pressed into the coarse wiry stink of another man's bum.
If only I could try it out for real! But I knew that there was no way that Debbie – my on-off girlfriend – would ever entertain even the suggestion of something so debauched.
I looked over at Jake as my hand sped up further up and down my swollen organ. He was still lying on his front facing away from me and the depth and the calmness of his slow, steady breathing proved that he was still soundly asleep. I happened to glance at his butt pressing outwards against the blue material of his boxer trunks. It looked attractive – quite arousing, actually – and I allowed my gaze to rest on it for a few enjoyable moments as my hand kept pumping at my cock and my thoughts remained firmly wedged between the hotel guy's cheeks.
After wresting my eyes away from my son's behind, I pushed the fingers of my free hand underneath the waistband of my pyjamas and between my sweaty legs. I teased my moist, puckered arsehole with a few firm, circular motions and then gently eased the top of my middle finger into the tight muscular ring. I drove it in and out a few times, hoping to smear on it at least a suggestion of the smell I was fantasising about.
Bringing my hand up to my nose, I took a few hungry sniffs of my discoloured fingertip but the effect on my cock was disappointing. The whiff of my own bum just wasn't doing it for me.
"So did you finger yourself more deeply?" Edward asked, sprawled out across his pillows with his cock now back to half-mast from my story. "Or were you worried that Jake would smell it when he woke up?"
"I wasn't worried about that," I replied. "Jake makes no secret about the fact that he fingers himself when he masturbates."
"Really?" Edward grinned. "I've got to meet your kid sometime!"
"He's very open about such things," I smiled. "Not only does he rarely close his bedroom door these days, but one morning when I went to wake him up and mentioned how bad his room stank, he actually told me with a cheeky grin that it was because he'd just finished doing a 'two-hander'."
"I realised that the smell was the sort of shitty-spunky smell you often get after a rough bout of anal sex. So I figured out he meant he'd had a two-handed wank with one hand pulling his dick and the other working his arsehole."
"Oh nice," Edward laughed. "Just what you want to hear from your son first thing in the morning!"
"It could have been worse," I shrugged. "I could have gone in to wake him ten minutes earlier when he'd been at it full-kilter!"
Edward grimaced like it would be such a disgusting thing to see, but I noticed that the thought of it made his cock lengthen by a couple of inches and stiffen up so much the shaft of it moved upwards against his belly.
"Right, so fingering yourself wasn't doing it for you," he prompted me. "What did you do then?"
"Well, just like you said earlier, I realised I'd grown bored with my own scent all the times I'd used it as a masturbatory aid."
"Okay..." he smirked, intrigued by where this was heading.
At first I just continued to jerk off, imagining me and the two hotel employees going at it on the reception desk. I'd let the lad fuck the girl and lick his butt-crack as he did so, then I'd stand up behind him and work my cock up his spit-moistened hairy pink hole.
All the time, though, I kept wishing I had something to spur me on. It's fun to fantasise about screwing a guy's arse – especially one so ripe and round that had been straining in the back of that young lad's trousers – but I just wasn't feeling excited enough to reach my climax.
At home I would have sought inspiration from the internet to help propel me towards my goal. The sight of one man rimming another never fails to arouse me and the sounds made by two men panting and gasping as they unite in anal sex together has pushed me towards many a self-induced orgasm.
Here, though, I had nothing to help me: even my own sexual smells seemed woefully inadequate. I needed something less predictable than the smell of my own bum to help arouse me as I imagined butt-fucking the boy; something with a harsher, rougher kick to it and something both my nose and my erection would find new and exciting.
That's when my attention returned to the seat of Jake's boxer briefs.
I knew he was whiffy back there: I'd already told Edward about the strong odour of my son's dirty laundry. I suddenly wanted to smell that same butt-stink full-on. Not to think of it as Jake's or to fantasise about my son directly: just to use the pungent scent of his sweaty, ripe crack to help me fantasise about what I wanted to do to the hot young lad I'd seen behind reception.
It didn't seem so wrong to me that morning. I needed help wanking off and here was something that would fit the bill. I wasn't going to be thinking sexually about my son – just using his underwear to hasten my orgasm – so it didn't seem in any way immoral or inappropriate or whatever.
"I mean, if he'd chucked his underwear in his rucksack," I told Edward, "and had slept in something else, I'd have just fished them out and had a smell of them while I was lying on my bed."
"Just like I do with Ash's," Edward nodded. "No difference really."
"Except this pair was still on Jake's body – he was sleeping in them."
"Still not much difference."
"There was the way I did it... what I went on to do..."
"Oh," he smiled as his cock thickened to full size. "I'd kind of assumed you weren't just going to make do with a quick sniff."
"Can I just repeat this has to remain completely between the two of us," I insisted. "Jake can't ever know what I did that morning."
"Absolutely," Edward agreed, glancing again at the clock.
"Look," he went on, "time's moving on. Carol's going to be wondering where I am."
"Okay," I nodded, thinking he wanted to get up and get dressed.
"Can I fuck you while you tell me the rest of the story?" he asked. "I mean, I really want to hear it, but I want another shag too."
I chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be fun."
I got back on all fours and Edward positioned himself behind me. This was how he always wanted to do it: doggy-style with him behind and with his knees between mine. I thought of it as his 'prison position' because, having discovered his intense enjoyment of it late one night on his cellmate's bunk, he'd never had any desire to vary or adapt it.
"How often did you and Derek do it?" I'd once asked him when we'd been at it mid-fuck.
"Every few nights," he'd grunted from behind me. "Straight after lights-out if the two of us were boned up."
"Did you do it standing up or on your bed?"
"On his bed, actually. Always on his. Him on all fours, me holding onto his shoulders."
"Just like this," I'd said, enjoying the image of the two of them rutting together, man behind man, in the semi-darkness of the cell.
"Pretty much, except there's no knobhead screw watching us through the peep-hole, whacking himself off against the cell door."
Edward worked himself into me, immediately enjoying the sensation of having my arse clamped around his cock for the second time that afternoon, and I continued my story.
"I crept over to Jake's bed and knelt down beside it."
"You were intending just to sniff him at that point?" Edward asked, taking up a slow gentle rhythm inside me so that his balls kept pushing against the back of my own scrotum.
"Of course I was," I told him over my shoulder. "What happened afterwards was in no way planned."
"So you leaned forwards to take a whiff of his arse... what happened then?"
I hovered my nose just millimetres above the crease between his cheeks, apprehensive about inhaling the odour of my son's most private place. I knew from the dirty boxers which would tumble out of his laundry bag that he wasn't the world's most attentive wiper, and I was concerned that the smell of the back of his shorts as he lay there on the hotel bed might actually disgust me. Jake could, after all, proudly emerge from our bathroom leaving behind a stink that could make a pig wince, and some of the farts that he finds so hilarious to trumpet out at full volume, can have me retching in horror.
His dirty laundry had never had that effect on me, though. I'd described it to Edward as 'vulgar' but I admit I had also found it interesting. I'd never gone so far as to sniff his shorts and masturbate, as he had with Ashley's, but that's not to say I hadn't appreciated how different my son's odour is from my own nor that part of me hadn't been somewhat intrigued by it.
I pressed my nose as close to his arse-crack as I dare and gently inhaled the scent his bum had infused into his underwear. The smell proved to be electrifying: exactly what I'd been so desperate to sniff. It was strong and punchy, the aromatic equivalent of tasting the most flavoursome of butts. Perhaps it was because the smell belonged to my son that made it affect me so deeply. It could be that the human nose is more sensitive to the odours of one's close relatives, or maybe Jake's scent bore traces of his mother's fragrance and subconsciously reawakened memories of the years I'd spent with my ex-wife.
Whatever the reason, I found myself instantly captivated. Here was a backside I'd lived alongside for so long, oblivious to the fascinating flavours that lurked between its cheeks.
I started masturbating quickly, my hand slamming up and down my pounding cock. I pushed my nose warily into his crack, sniffing low down where his slimy tush would be lurking among the forest beneath the blue material, pumping my hard-on as fast and hard as I could.
"What were you thinking of?" Edward asked me, his own rhythm increasing as he held onto my hips.
"Sniffing the lad in the hotel's cute butt through his trousers," I answered quickly.
"And what were you really thinking of?" he asked without missing a beat.
I thought carefully before I answered, enjoying the feel of his thick cock steadily gathering its pace inside me.
"I wasn't thinking of rimming Jake, I can guarantee that," I eventually acknowledged.
"I can believe that," he said. "I never think about doing stuff with Ash. The whole incest thing really doesn't do it for me."
"But I was very much aware that this was my son's bum smell I was sniffing," I went on. "And the fact that it was his – so similar to my own and yet so fascinatingly different – was, I admit, extremely arousing."
"That's exactly what I felt that day on the kitchen floor!" Edward proclaimed. "That's what made me whack off so fast... why Ash's skanky shorts had such a deep effect on me!"
He moved his hands up to my torso and started fucking me still faster. I could feel his pubic hair becoming damp with his sweat as his bush pounded back and forth against my buttocks, and could hear his breathing growing faster and more laboured as his exertions intensified.
"Do you miss having prison guards peering in on you when you're doing the dirty with another man?" I suddenly felt the need to ask him.
"Not likely," he grunted. "I hated having them watch me going at it behind Derek. It made me feel... I dunno... nasty... like they were getting off on seeing me using a fella's arse out of sheer desperation.... having to bum another bloke 'cause I was so hard-up..."
"How did you know you were being watched?"
"The doors had a slider on them. You could hear it being pushed open and see the light from the corridor. Whenever any of the men were getting some – which was pretty much every night somewhere on our corridor – there'd be some dickhead screw outside getting off on watching them."
"Did they call stuff into you?" I asked. "Make fun of what you were doing?"
"Some of them did, yeah," he replied, with his hips starting to make loud cracking noises against my buttocks. "They'd take the piss or tell you how filthy you were being. Or laugh that you'd been reduced to doing other fellas. Or say stuff like, 'If only your wives could see the two of you now!'"
I started muttering something in reply but he cut in and added, "But one of them – a total nutjob called Fletcher – would jerk himself off against the cell door to let you know he was using your state-imposed buggery for his own gratification."
He was pumping hard and fast against me now. He always said he didn't like to talk about his time inside but if I mentioned it during sex it never failed to get him going.
"Come on then, Rob," he urged me, reaching up to pull me against him by the shoulders. "You were sniffing your kid's arse, bashing away at your prick, but from what you said before that wasn't the end of it."
"No it wasn't," I admitted, becoming breathless from the pleasure of having his huge tool thrusting so relentlessly inside me. "I wanted more... something stronger... sniffing the back of Jake's pants just wasn't enough..."
"So did you lick him out?" he asked, his bollocks slamming into my own as his cock speared frantically in and out of my splayed crevice. "Tell me, Rob... tell me you eased the back of his shorts down.... that you had yourself a little sneaky taste of his sunken treasure...?"
"I was tempted to," I replied, smirking up at him over my shuddering shoulder. "I mean... you know... the idea did occur to me..."
I suppose by rights I ought to have told Edward that of course I hadn't; that the mere idea of rimming my own son was totally abhorrent to me. The trouble is, though, he knew me too well for me to try that line of defence. He was under no doubt at all how much I love to sup from the brown cup, and was well aware that I'd stick my tongue into pretty much any butthole I found in front of me no matter whose hairy arse it happened to belong to.
It has crossed my mind since that if Jake had been wearing briefs – the sort of loose-fitting underwear which would have allowed me to gently ease the rear gusset aside to expose his bristling crack – I would almost certainly have succumbed to the temptation to lean in for a sly lick of what was lurking inside. As it was, though his bum was bound up in tight boxer trunks which reached up to the small of his back and down to the tops of thighs, so I was far too fearful of waking him to risk trying to pull them down to give me the access I needed.
"What did you do, then?" Edward asked.
Before I could answer, he pushed himself upwards so that he was squatting behind me with his thighs clamped around my hips. He started driving in and out of me, his heavy knackers swinging underneath his sweaty, hairy arse-crack, with his hands hooked under my armpits so he could lever me against him.
No wonder the prison guards had enjoyed watching Edward slamming away behind his cellmate so much: with other men he liked his sex to be rough and boisterous, a fact he had made explicitly clear on our very first hook-up. At first I'd assumed that to be hangover from his time in prison, but more recently I'd wondered if it might be a reaction against his heterosexual experiences; whether his lovemaking with the women in his life tends to be more restrained and sedate.
"Come on, Rob – what did you do?" he repeated.
"Sniffing Jake's arse was turning me on so much," I panted, grabbing my own cock and wanking myself off as fast as Edward's thick chopper was pummelling me. "It was so raunchy but so... incredibly hot... I wanted more of it... I wanted my nose between his cheeks... to smell it at its strongest... up-close and full-on..."
"So what the fuck did you do?" he bellowed impatiently.
"I pressed my middle finger into the shorts he was wearing... right between his butt-cheeks... just above where his pucker would be..."
"Ah yeah... I like the sound of that..."
"I started grinding it hard into the blue material... working it deep into his hot, smelly arse crack..."
"Fuck! That's hot! So what did you do then?"
"I found his ringpiece... swollen up and raised like a mound... and rubbed my finger around it... feeling how moist and clammy it was through his shorts... "
"Oh God yeah! That is fuckin' well nice!"
He voice was breathless, his pounding now frantic.
"Then I pushed hard against it... so hard I felt it clamp around my fingertip... the tight little muscle feeling so wet with his slime..."
"So what then, Rob? Did you sniff your finger? Tell me you sniffed it!"
"Yes... I did..." I confessed.
"And what was it like?"
"It was horny but it wasn't strong enough for me... I could smell his arsehole... how rough and how nasty it was... but it wasn't doing it for me..."
"So what did you do then?" he asked, his voice growing more urgent.
"I worked my hand down the back of his shorts," I called out.
"Inside them?" he panted with rising excitement. "I mean, with your finger touching his arsehole for proper?"
"Yeah," I grinned, whacking my cock just as fast as I had in the hotel. "Working my middle finger into his crack... pushing it down through his wiry hairy stink... reaching all the way in to find his sticky brown hole..."
"Oh fuck!" Edward yelled.
He started using the entire length of his cock to rut with me: frenziedly sweeping the full curve of its shaft back and forth while digging his fingers into my shoulders to hold me firmly in place.
He always does this when he's on the home-straight. I bet Fletcher the prison guard had enjoyed this too; jerking away at his prick poking out of his uniform fly as he watched his big, tattooed detainee readying himself for another up-the-arse climax.
"I pushed the tip of my finger into him... worked it smoothly in and out... and he sort of moaned in his sleep... pushed his arse back against me... like he was enjoying the feel of it..."
"I bet he fucking was! I bet he was loving it!"
"Then I eased back out from his pants and raised my finger to my nose..."
"Oh Jesus yeah!" Edward gasped, his pelvis slapping hard and fast against my bum while his cock tirelessly bucked in and out of me like the thundering of a piston cranked up to full steam. "How did it smell, Rob? Tell me how it smelt!"
"It smelt like just what I needed, mate!" I told him as my hand bashed against my straining cock so fast that my wrist was a frantic blur of motion. "It reeked of his arse... like full-on butt-sex with a guy who doesn't wipe... the way that rimming stinks when it's really fucking seedy... but Jesus Christ... you have no idea how much it turned me on!"
"Did you cum? Did it make you nut?"
"Of course it did! I inhaled it deep while I wanked as fast as I could... then I stuck my tongue out and licked it... slurped away at my stinking middle finger with my spunk shooting across his bed..."
I felt him shuddering as his own climax quickly spread outwards from the large pair of bollocks that were swinging back and forth underneath him.
"Oh God yeah!" he cried out. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
"I wasn't thinking of it as Jake's arse... I swear to God I wasn't!" I panted, my hand clobbering my cock so fast that the huge helmet head was a throbbing, angry red.
Edward whimpered as he pounded against me, his own swollen helmet releasing squirt after squirt of his thick jizz up into my rectum.
"I wasn't thinking of rimming him!" I grunted as my balls started tingling. "I wasn't thinking of how awesome it would be to shove my cock up my own son's bum... to fuck my little Jakey... to fuck him hard and fast..."
I snorted as my fist-pounded organ started spewing my seed all over Edward's bedding. Edward kept his rhythm up inside me as I kept wanking myself, determined to drain every last squirt from my heaving knackers.
"Oh fuck!" I managed to gasp when my cock had finally finished spurting and Edward fell on top of me, pinning me flat against his mattress.
He laughed at how out of breath I was, before muttering into my ear, "Seems like that brought back a few good memories!"
"You could say that," I chuckled.
Once he'd pushed himself up off me and we were cleaning up, the way that he and Derek used to wipe themselves down in the darkness of the cell before both climbing into their separate bunks, I told him that I'd exaggerated my story for the sake of quickening our orgasms.
"Yeah, I thought it was a bit far-fetched," he said, but as he had his back to me when he said it, in the middle of wiping his dick down, I couldn't tell if he was being truthful or not.
"Like I'd actually finger my son's bum," I muttered, forcing an incredulous chuckle.
"Yeah, I know," he tittered back and turned to me with what looked like a genuine smile. "And like you'd spray your jizz all over him while he was asleep."
I smiled back, remembering the panic I'd felt as I'd hastily dabbed up all the semen I'd showered Jake with while making sure I didn't wake him. As he'd rolled over slightly, snoring gently in his sleep, I'd noticed that the front of his boxers were betraying the gratuitous thick rod of a full-blown erection. It was throbbing insistently against his stretched shorts, with the fattened head copiously soaking the flimsy material.
"Thanks for the story, Rob – even if it was a bit embellished," Edward grinned. "It made a very stimulating accompaniment to what was an extremely pleasant fuck."
"Glad to be of service," I laughed, pulling on my socks.
"If you remind me next time," he went on, buttoning up his shirt, "I'll tell you the story of what happened the night Ash turned eighteen and he got so pissed that I had to undress him and put him to bed."
I nodded over at him and he threw me a smirk. "Mostly made up," he added, "just like yours."
"Okay," I grinned. "In that case I'll tell you what happened when I helped Jake move his stuff to a new house in Leeds and it was so late when we finished that I had to bunk up with him for the night."
"Nice one," he chuckled. "It seems that we both have very... er... active imaginations!"
I pulled on my trousers and he walked over to his wardrobe.
"Here," he called out, throwing me a small piece of clothing. "A little treat for next time you're in need of a bit of inspiration."
I looked at what he'd thrown me and it was a pair of orange and white stripy boxer briefs. They were heavily stained I noticed, especially along an inelegant streak running upwards between the well-stretched buttocks.
"Ashley's?" I asked, fastening up my belt.
"One of his more effluvious pairs," he grinned before adding, "If you're up for doing swapsies with Jake's, we can set up a little arrangement if you like."
"Okay," I chuckled. "That might be fun."
As he let me out of his house, we agreed to meet up at the weekend. This time he'd come to my place but the itinerary we followed would be largely the same.
As I drove away from his house and out onto the main road, I wondered whether it was wrong for us to be using our sons as what was basically masturbatory fodder. Well that's not strictly true: I didn't wonder whether it was wrong, but rather how wrong it was and whether it was so wrong that I should draw an end to it next time we met.
Even as I pulled in to my drive at home, I wasn't sure quite where, on the scale of things that were wrong, what we were doing would register.
I decided that, as with many things in life, it would probably best for me to go with the flow and see which beach I washed up on. As nobody was getting hurt and since even the swapped underwear would in the end be returned to their rightful owners, what harm could a few shared stories and borrowed shorts possibly do to our relationships with our sons?