Warning: contains mild scat

Blast from the Past… and from my Son!
by Robert Furlong

 

The night before Jake and I were going to watch Liverpool play Leeds, the tumble drier decided to break down.  I had, of course, left the bulk of the laundry we needed until the night before our trip and so we had a large pile of wet washing waiting to be dried.  As an engineer by trade, doing impromptu repairs on our appliances is fairly commonplace for me, but the timing of this particular breakdown couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

As I got to work getting the back off the machine and seeing if I could locate the source of the problem, I asked Jake if he would mind finding my rucksack and bunging a few essentials into it like my shampoo, shaving foam and some shower gel.

“Where is it?” he’d asked impatiently, seemingly oblivious to the large pile of wet washing I was trying to deal with in time for the drive next morning.

“Where’s what?” I asked with my head peering into the rotary mechanism which was refusing to budge.

“Where’s your rucksack?”

“In the bottom of my wardrobe, I think.  Or maybe under my bed.”

My son had stomped off, muttering that he was in the middle of doing something else, leaving me to try and figure out what was jamming the drum.

A few minutes later he returned and, before I had chance to ask him to pass me a torch, he announced solemnly that he’d “found something weird”.

“Found what?” I asked him, impatient to get on with what was starting to look like it might be quite an involved job.

“I dunno,” he replied.  “I was going to just put it back where I found it, but I thought you’d want to see it.  Maybe it was something mum left behind.”

That was unlikely: she’d walked out on us well over a decade ago and had meticulously stripped the house of all her belongings as well as some of mine.

“I hope you haven’t been poking around in my stuff, Jake,” I said, pulling myself out of the back of the drier.  “I don’t rummage through your things.”

“It wasn’t like that!” he snapped.  “I only looked where you told me to. And this thing… well… it was under your bed, underneath the folded up exercise bike.”

Christ – how many years had that been there, gathering dust?  I’d probably used it twice; perhaps once even.

I stood up and wiped the oil off my hands, smiling to try and take more conciliatory approach.  “Of course.  I’m sorry.”

What on earth could it be?  A discarded tube of KY jelly?  Surely he’d be able to figure out what that had been used for.  After all, he went through plenty of his own.

As I washed my hands at the kitchen sink, Jake said, “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.  It’s like a dressmaker’s doll or something.  Only inflatable.”

A dressmaker’s doll?  Linda had never shown any aptitude in repairing clothes, never mind making them.

After drying my hands, I followed him upstairs.

“I just thought you’d want to see it,” Jake said as I reached the top.

As soon as I saw it, sprawled out on my bed, I knew exactly what it was.

It was made from transparent plastic and was clearly human in shape. Inside it, between the legs, was a large, commodious tube, the end of which was bulbous to collect a discharge of liquid.

“Oh,” I said flatly.  “That.”

I’d forgotten it had even existed.  If I’d have given it even the briefest thought in the last few years, I’d have put it out with the rubbish.

“What is it?” Jake asked.

I couldn’t believe that at nineteen years old he could be so naive.  Wasn’t it obvious what it was?

I considered making something up – maybe that it had kept his mum company in bed when I’d had to stay away from home from time to time – but everything I could think of on the spot sounded too implausible.

In any case, before I had chance to formulate something convincing, he answered his own question.

“What’s that tube thing inside it?” he asked.  “It isn’t a… oh God!  It is, isn’t it?  It’s a blow-up doll!”

He gaped at me, his mouth turning from surprise into amusement.

“Jesus, dad!  I’m sorry!” he stammered, suppressing laughter that showed he was anything but.  “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d have known.  I just thought it was like a mannequin’s dummy or something.”

There was no point denying it.  Any story I tried to fob him off with now would sound even lamer.

“Your mum and I got it not long after we married, Jake,” I told him.  “It hasn’t been used in years.”

He kept giggling but insisted on his contrition.  “Seriously, Dad, I’m really sorry.  I should have just pretended I didn’t see it.  I honestly didn’t realise what it was.”

I shrugged.  “Well, now that you have, you might as well know why it’s been there all these years.  It’s not like I was hiding it – I’d just forgotten it even existed.”

“Did you used to actually use the thing for sex?”

I sat down on the bed and picked up the doll.  I could still smell the strong whiff of plastic from it, just as I had when it had been new.

“It became clear, just after I married your mum,” I began to explain, “that my sexual needs were far greater than hers.”

“You don’t need to tell me this,” Jake cut in, still smirking.

“No, I want to,” I replied.  “I’ve always believed in being open with you about sexual stuff and, as you found this, I think it’s important that you know why I bought it.”

He nodded and I went on: “I like to have sex pretty much every night…”

He grinned at that.  “Yeah, I’d kinda noticed that!”

I smiled back, “Yes, and I suspect, from the noises from your room when you have one of your… er… buddies staying over, that you have a very high sex drive too.”

He laughed and nodded.

“Unfortunately,” I continued, “your mum had a rather more modest sexual appetite and we found that I needed sex far more often than she was able or willing to provide.”

I looked at the deflated plastic doll.  “Hence this… er… helpful aid.”

Jake stared at the doll and nodded.  “Why’s it see-through?  Aren’t they normally flesh coloured?  I mean… not that I would know, of course…”

I chuckled.  I knew what lads gave each other as joke birthday presents.

“That was because I didn’t check it before I bought it.  I was flustered in the shop and the guy said it was the only one that was… how should I put it… ‘of the right size’.”

“Of the right size?” Jake queried, missing the intended subtlety.

“If you hadn’t noticed, the tube inside is quite generous in its girth and length.”

He stared at me quizzically and I could see I would have to spell it out.

“It was the only model that was big enough for my penis to fit into.”

He laughed at that.  “Oh right… sorry… I didn’t know what you meant…”

I thought back to the excruciatingly embarrassing time I’d had in the ‘private shop’ I’d visited in Corby.  My instinct had been to buy as quickly as possible the first blow-up doll I was able to lay my hands on and get the hell out of such a seedy place.  The guy who worked there, however, had been unwilling to send me off with what might turn out to be an inappropriate purchase and had helpfully – although from my perspective a better adverb to use would have been ‘mortifyingly’ – taken the doll out from its box to show me its orifices.

At first I’d simply muttered my approval, eager for him to pack it away so I could pay for it and go, but then, even in my state of intense discomfort, I had noticed how small the vaginal opening was and had whispered to him, through deep scarlet blushes, that I wouldn’t be able to fit inside it.  He had smiled at the admission of how well-endowed I am – in retrospect, it occurred to me that he had probably been gay – and had taken me through to a back room where he had a bigger selection of dolls with a wider range of openings.

This being twenty years ago, there wasn’t the obsession with hygiene that there is now, and he offered that I could try some of the dolls for size. Being very self-conscious back then, I flatly refused, but he pointed out that if I found I was unable to use the doll that I had purchased, I wouldn’t be able to return it for an exchange.

Seeing my misgivings, he offered, “Look, I’ll go out front and I promise I won’t peek!” and I realised I was going to be given some privacy.

“Okay, then,” I hesitantly agreed.  “I’ll just… er… test a few for comfort…”

He gave me a tube of lube and a box of tissues, and left me to try out a few dolls for size.

I unzipped my fly and heaved my large, floppy penis out, feeling strange to be doing so in an unfamiliar place.  Having lubed myself up and jerked myself off a little to give me a semi, I had a try of ‘Cherry Poppins’, a startled-looking young lady whose lips were disconcertingly puckered into a permanent pout.

I turned her over so I wouldn’t have to look at her face, and gently eased myself into her plastic pussy.  It felt quite nice at first – the inside was surprisingly soft and yielding – and I developed a smooth, gentle rhythm as I worked myself in and out.

Yes, this might be just the ticket, I thought.  Far more pleasant than just using my right hand like I was having to do most nights and if I closed my eyes I could sort of imagine I was having sex for real.

Suddenly, just as I was really starting to enjoy it, my thickening girth became lodged inside the doll’s orifice.  I worked it this way and that but I found I couldn’t extract myself from it.  Worse still, the tightness of the opening was stopping my organ from losing the arousal I’d developed.

To my cringing embarrassment, I had to call the shopkeeper to come back through and assist me.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, my cheeks no doubt burning the colour of beetroot.  “I seem to have got myself stuck…”

“That’s okay,” he grinned, peering at the base of my large phallus wedged painfully inside the restrictive hole.  “Wow, your dick really is thick!”

“I was rather enjoying this one,” I explained, still trying to ease my girth out from the tight clutch of the plastic, “and I must have started… er… hardening up properly… and then my penis became jammed.”

He fetched some washing up liquid and squirted it into the artificial vagina.  “Slide your cock in and out as much as you can,” he advised. “It’ll start working itself loose…”

I did as he’d suggested and found that pretty soon I was able to start easing my swollen manhood out from the awkward grip of the doll’s cavity.

“If I’d known you were so large, I’d have suggested ‘Hungry Hannah’.”

“I did tell you I was well-endowed,” I grunted, trying to withdraw the head of my penis through the narrow plastic ribbing.

“You didn’t say you were horse-hung!” he chuckled.  “Once you’ve disentangled yourself from that one, I’ve got something much more commodious on a shelf somewhere…”

He went across to the far wall and started searching through boxes to find the sex doll of my dreams.

“Why do you need an inflatable when you’re packing such a huge schlong?” he asked.  “I bet the women are queueing up to have a ride on that thing!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had women queueing up,” I smiled back.  “The willy might look attractive, but clearly the man attached to it doesn’t have the same appeal!”

He laughed as he pulled a white cardboard box from the pile he was looking through.

“As it happens, I’m married,” I explained, finally dislodging my bulbous cock head from the tightness of Ms Poppins’ fake pussy.  “But it’s turned out since the wedding that my wife doesn’t share my enthusiasm for sex.”

“Oh I see,” he grinned over, checking the label that was stuck to the box perhaps to make sure it really was an XXL or whatever size such ‘appliances’ come in.  “You dated a nympho and married a nun… that sort of thing?”

“Indeed,” I smirked back, “although I think ‘nympho’ is over-stating it somewhat!”

He stared at my semi-aroused cock, now complete with red rings around its shaft from where it had been trapped, and his raised eyebrows and broad grin made it blatantly obvious that he liked what he saw.

“That really is a hell of a cock,” he smirked, “but I reckon this doll will be wide and deep enough to take it!”

Feeling another wave of embarrassment, I stuffed my softening member clumsily back through my zipper and told him in that case I’d take it, thank you very much.

I don’t know why I was so hung up about showing myself to other guys back then.  These days I would capitalise on the shopkeeper’s interest in my manhood and would likely wind up with him bending over one of the piles of boxes while I used it to fuck him roughly up the arse.

In those days, though, I was very self-conscious about the large size of my penis, so I’d beat a hasty retreat from the place with ‘Alotta Beaver’ (as she turned out to be called) wrapped in brown paper.

It was only when I got the doll home and had unpacked it that I realised the plastic it was made from was transparent.  Why the hell hadn’t I taken a look at her in the shop?  Who in their right mind wants a blow up doll you can see through?

“So yes,” I said to Jake.  “I did use it for a short while.  I probably would have continued to it had been flesh coloured, but it just seemed too weird – too clinical – to mount something so obviously artificial.”

“Aren’t all blow-up dolls artificial?” he asked.

“Well yes, obviously… but I would assume that with the right lighting and a good imagination, they could probably be fun.  But with this one, even with my imagination on full crack, I just couldn’t dispel the sensation that I was having sex with an inflated polythene bag.”

He chuckled before taking the doll from me and examining it carefully. “So, when you did do it, how did it work?  I mean, did you do it right there in front of mum, or were you banished to the bathroom?”

I smiled back at him.  “It varied.”

At the beginning, when the doll had still been a novelty, Linda had enjoyed watching me using it each night.  At first she had found it quite exciting to see me copulating with it, watching my cock sliding vigorously back and forth through the transparent tube inside it.  But soon, as with all things, she grew bored of my nightly exertions and decided that it was like, as she had charmingly put it, watching a bull have its semen collected.

So the doll had ended up being stashed away under my bed, waiting for my son to discover it a good twenty years later.

I went back downstairs and left Jake to pack for me and wasn’t until later that night, long after I’d fixed the tumble dryer and we were sharing a few drinks together, that ‘Alotta Beaver’ made a second appearance after such a long absence.

I’d gone out to the kitchen to fill up my wine and fetch Jake another bottle of beer when I heard him scamper upstairs and assumed he needed a pee.  I figured I’d use the time to take the wheelie bin out and sort out the recycling boxes, and it was only when I returned to the living room that I found Ms. Beaver fully inflated and perched on the sofa with her limbs poking outwards.

Jake guffawed at my reaction on seeing the doll propped up like that, its vacant eyes and gaping mouth giving it all the appeal of a transparent corpse, and even I had to chuckle at how ridiculous it looked.

“Does she still get your juices flowing, dad?” he giggled as I gave him his beer.

“Oh yeah!” I laughed.  “The old magic’s still there!”

He got up and went to swivel it round onto all fours and asked, “At least if you did it this way round you wouldn’t have to look at her face…”

“Yes, the face was always the problem,” I agreed.  “And with the way the arms and legs stick out, doggy style was pretty much the only option, or so I found.”

Jake surprised me by grabbing the doll by the hips, still on all-fours with its face pointing away from him, and positioning the vaginal opening level with his crotch.  He seemed to be trying out how it might feel to mount her and his smile slowly faded as he enjoyed the sensation of rubbing his bulge up against the raised mound of its plastic vulva.

“This is actually quite nice,” he muttered, and I could see the lump in the front of his jeans growing and fattening as he worked himself against the back end of the mannequin.  “The position is pretty hot… like taking Ellie from behind… or even better, doing a guy up the butt!”

I chuckled.  “Of course when I used to be going full-pelt on it, the idea of imagining it as another man bending over would never have occurred to me.”

Jake grabbed the doll by the shoulders and thrust his hips more roughly back and forth towards the moulded genetalia.  A slight blush to his cheeks showed how turned-on he was becoming by simulating sex against its rear and the crotch of his jeans began to push prominently outwards from the thickening rod of his cock.

“This is good,” he panted.  “I bet it’s a helluva lot better than using your hand…”

“If you’d like to try it for real, I don’t mind leaving the room,” I joked.

“No need for that,” he quipped back, taking my remark as serious.  “We’ve both seen each other’s dicks loadsa times.”

He quickly undid his jeans and yanked them down with his boxer shorts and then shoved the full length of his semi-hard cock up the mannequin’s hole in one rapid lunge.

“Aw yeah!” he gasped, grabbing the doll by the hips and fucking it hard. “This feels really nice… like fucking Marcus up his crapper!”

“Careful, Jake!  You need some lube up there… it can get quite painful.”

He ignored me and kept ramming his cock in and out of the plastic pussy.  I could see his large organ growing thicker and harder up inside the doll’s tubular innards and his swelling helmet was hammering roughly against the little rubber teat that had so often received his father’s semen.

“I know it’s supposed to be a pussy, but… oh my God… it feels as tight as a dude’s arse!”

I suddenly wondered if my son preferred anal sex with other boys than vaginal sex with his girlfriend.

“Oh fuck!” he called out, abruptely ceasing his urgent thrusting.  “It’s snagged my shaft… oh Jesus… I’ve got my dick caught up its muff!”

“It’s okay,” I laughed.  “I told you… you just need a squirt of lube…”

“I can’t move it, though… there’s like a sharp bit of plastic digging into my cock when I try to pull out…”

I went over to him to see if I could help him disentangle his manhood from where it was snared.  His organ filled the clear tunnel inside the doll far more plentifully than mine ever had.  His purple bell-end was straining against the tightness of its prison and his broad shaft was wedged solidly along the whole length of the tubing.”

“I can’t see anything jabbing into you…”

“It’s underneath,” he muttered, the pain apparent in his voice.  “Right at the base of my schlong… just north of my bollocks.”

“Well, pull out a bit and I’ll try and see where it is…”

“I can’t pull out,” he snapped.  “That’s the whole point!”

“Okay… well, I’ll have to crouch down behind you and look through your legs…”

I knelt down behind him and pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees so I could squeeze my face in between his thighs to peer up at the underside of his cock.

“I’m going to have to push my face very close to your bum, Jake…”

He giggled, “It’s hardly the best time to rim me if that’s your idea…”

“Don’t be silly… just don’t fart.”

I leaned in and lifted my son’s two big balls out of the way so I could see where the sex toy was snagging at his cock.  I could smell his arse really strongly and it had a certain raunchy appeal.  In fact, if I’m being totally honest, I felt my cock stirring in my trouser front from the curious pungence of my son’s dirtiest odour.

“Sorry if my butt’s a bit grody,” he muttered.  “I might not have… er… wiped so well.”

I glanced down at his boxer-briefs pulled tight between his knees among the folds of his jeans.  A thick brown streak ran up the seat of them, starting just behind the front sag made by his heavy bollocks and petering out halfway up the arse-crack.  I’ve noticed from doing the laundry that most of my son’s underwear ends up in this state after spending a day wedged into his backside.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of how well you wiped,” I said.  “I don’t see any evidence of wiping at all.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t know you were gonna end up so close to my ass stink!”

“I wouldn’t call it stink,” I told him.  “More of an earthy musk… not dissimilar to the smell of your bedroom when you have one of your university buddies staying over.”

“You mean when I’m taking one up me?” he chortled.

“Quite,” I nodded.  “So not completely unpleasant.”

Jake chuckled as he saw me adjust my swelling crotch with my free hand while I tried to locate where the sex toy was snagging at his cock.

I said, “As you lose your stiffness, you’ll probably find your penis works free of its own accord.”

“That’s the trouble,” he replied.  “Seeing you sniff my skid-marks is making me bone up even harder!”

“Jake!” I hissed.  “I’m your dad for Christ’s sake!”

“Yeah, well that isn’t stopping your trouser front tenting up from your son-and-heir’s doodie-stink!”

“I like the smell of anal sex, I’ve never made any secret of that,” I admitted from where I was hunched with my face between his legs.  “The odour of your bottom and underpants happens to be very similar to that… that’s all.”

“Yeah, well I like it when guys get horny sniffing my butt… I’ve never made any secret of that either!”

I reached up and managed to click a section of the plastic lip around the pussy back into its fitting, making flush with the rest of the interior sweep of the tubing.

“There… you should be able to withdraw your member without further snagging,” I said, removing myself from between my son’s muscular thighs.

“Who said anything about withdrawing?” he laughed.  “Might as well finish off what I’ve started!”

His buttocks started flexing again as he continued fucking the fake woman’s pussy (although I was now sure he was no longer thinking of as either a woman or a pussy!) and I quickly stopped his exertions, saying, “Careful, Jake… you’re going to need to calm your technique otherwise you’ll snag yourself again.”

He pulled out quickly, clearly alarmed at the thought of getting caught for a second time on the jutting shard of plastic, and turned to me with his huge cock now fully engorged and curving upwards.  I couldn’t help but smile at how big the thing was, raised proudly upright and dwarfing his two fat saggy nuts which hung low in his sack.

He grinned back at me, yanking his foreskin right back to reveal a broad purple dome with its slit gaping open and seeming pleased that his long thick shaft had in the last couple of years become swathed with a network of knotted veins.

“Wanna show me how to do it, dad?” he asked.  “I’ll grab some lube and you can demonstrate the best technique!”

“Jake, I’m not going to – ”

“Come on,” he insisted.  “You’ve grown a woodie as stiff as mine… and it’s not like I haven’t seen it before…”

“I hardly think – ”

“And I might wanna borrow your little toy… you wouldn’t want me to do myself an injury, would you?”

I sighed with resignation and he grinned and asked where the nearest stash of lube was.

“Coffee table drawer, underneath the condoms” I replied.  “Always good to have a supply of accessories at hand when one’s entertaining.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, grabbing the tube from the drawer.  “You never know when a few drinks with a mate is gonna get interesting!”

I unzipped myself and hitched my trousers and white Calvin briefs halfway down my thighs, making my large erection spring upwards and my two full, heavy bollocks hang down between my legs.  I pulled my foreskin back to expose the shiny red helmet underneath, making Jake grin and push his own cock forwards so we could compare his thicker, veinier organ with my slimmer, smoother specimen.

“Aw yeah!” he chuckled.  “Look at our two big dicks, dad… don’t they look hot!”

I called out, “On guard!” and jabbed my pulsing hard-on towards his.  We giggled as we thumped our two big manhoods together in a lunging cock-fight, with our balls slapping hard against each other and our slit juice smearing across our shafts.

When we’d settled down, laughing together at our silliness, I said, “This is nice, actually… I think it’s a testament to the strength of our relationship, Jake, that we can be aroused together without awkwardness or embarrassment.”

“We should wank off sometimes,” he suggested, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“We sort of do… you hear me from your room, I’m sure, as clearly as I hear you when we’re masturbating before sleep.”

“Yeah, but we should do it together.  Not touching each other or anything weird… just telling each other about the fun we’ve been getting up to and whacking ourselves off so we cum at the same time.”

I smiled back at him but shook my head.  “I’m not sure about that, Jake… I think if it’s just the two of us masturbating together, it does fall into the category of ‘weird’.”

I lubed myself up before mounting the doll from behind, just as he had.  My cock slid smoothly up its plastic pussy and I was surprised at how comfortable it felt to be in its warm, gentle grip.

“This feels quite nice, actually,” I muttered, holding its hips as I withdrew myself before starting up a slow, steady rhythm.  “Perhaps we should share it… you have it one night, I’ll have it the next.”

“Or use it together,” Jake smirked, always keen to push things to the boundary and beyond.  “You take one end, I’ll have the other!”

I ignored his suggestion – although for some reason it sounded less objectionable than the two of us simply masturbating together – and instead said, “See how you’ve got to be quite careful in the way you slide in and out of it.  If you get too rough that little plastic rim dislodges and you end up caught in it like a bear-trap!”

“I can’t really see,” he complained, straining to see the movement of my cock through the blurring of the plastic.  “Are you just holding it steady and jabbing your dick in and out?”

“Yes… if you try and pull its hips towards you, it’s likely to snag you.”

Then he surprised me by going behind me and crouching down between my legs, just like I had with him, so that he could see the underside of my cock thrusting back and forth into the smooth rim of the opening.

“Oh yeah,” he said.  “I kinda geddit now… but maybe we could superglue that dodgy piece in place so that we can get a bit rougher with it…”

“Perhaps we could… yes… but not right now.  I don’t want to end up with the thing stuck fast to my willy!”

“Aw yeah, that’d be a good one to take to A&E,” he laughed.  “I can see which piece is loose… it should be pretty easy to fix it…”

Jake craned in further and I felt his spiky fringe tickling into the crease between my buttocks.  He took an intake of breath right above where my saggy briefs were stretched tight betwen my thighs and then called out, “Aw fuck!  I can really smell your arse from this angle, dad!”

Embarrassed, I made to pull out from the doll, but Jake stopped me, saying, “Don’t freak out… I didn’t say it was a bad thing!”

“Are you sure?” I asked.  “I can get quite whiffy back there sometimes!”

“It’s a hell of a lot more than whiffy but… damn!  It’s sexy as fuck! It’s like you said earlier… dirty pants smell like a dude having butt sex!”

“So what you’re smelling now is similar to the smell I produce during sex?”

“Yeah, when you’re having it done to you.  Like when Guy’s staying over and I can smell him doing you up the arse!”

That made me chuckle and I started gently fucking the doll again.  “And you like that, do you?  You enjoy the odour of your dad taking it up the bum…?”

He took a longer sniff and said, “Oh God yeah!  It’s your crack-stink wafting up from the back of your pants but it’s the exact smell of your arse getting fucked!”

“You sure it’s not… you know… nasty?”

“It’s really ripe but… fuck!  It’s making my cock ache something chronic!”

“I’m sure my underpants don’t smell that strong… it’s probably my bum-crack you’re smelling.”

He pulled his head out from between my legs and I thought for a moment he was going to back off.  Instead, I suddenly felt his nose push firmly in between my cheeks, low down right where my arsehole was lurking, and he inhaled deeply inside my hot hairy crack.

“Fuck yeah!” he called out.  “It’s sure as hell is your crack but… Jesus! It’s so intense and awesome!”

Part of me was horrified to hear my son talk about the private smell of my backside in such graphic and sexual terms, but I confess that another part of me was extremely turned on.  I fucked the doll more firmly, loving the feel of my foreskin being swept back and forth across the fat head of my cock and enjoying the tight grip of the plastic around my steadily thrusting shaft.

“Jake – ” I began and then couldn’t think how I wanted to continue.

He took another sharp sniff with his nose squeezed tightly between my buttocks and said, “Oh God that’s hot!  Like a really rough stinky butt-fuck!”

I fucked the doll faster and with long sweeping strokes, feeling rampantly horny in spite of worrying that it might snag me if I thrust too hard.

He pushed in deeper so that I could feel the tip of his nose nudging against my slimy pucker, inhaled hungrily at the eye-watering pungence of his dad’s most intimate opening, and then gasped, “Aw yeah!  It’s ranker than when you’ve taken a dump… and I go in there afterwards and jerk myself off!”

“Oh my God… Jake – ” I muttered, but again I couldn’t figure out how to respond.  I was equally shocked and aroused by this and the conflict of emotions was proving almost paralysing.

He stood up behind me and I felt the heat of his blunt bell-end pressed firm into the crease that his nose had just vacated.

“I need to cum,” he said flatly and grabbed me roughly by the hips.

“No…” I managed to say even though my hole was dilating with excitement.

“I’ll just wank off using your butt-cheeks,” he panted into my ear.  “Grip me tight and I’ll sweep my cock up and down!”

I felt a sudden twang of disappointment – had I really wanted Jake to push his cock into my hole? – but I grunted in agreement as he wedged the thick shaft of his organ down the deep crack between my buttocks.  I clamped my cheeks tightly together and he started thrusting up and down so that the grip of my bum yanked his foreskin back and forth.

Enjoying the sensation, he pushed my back down so that I was bent right over the plastic doll I was now rapidly fucking.  I grabbed it by the tits and Jake held me firm by the shoulders, then he pounded his cock furiously within the tight clench of my cheeks.

The ridge underneath his cock was rubbing hard against the swollen ring of my arsehole, making it tingle and pucker and causing me to gasp with delight.

“Oh God… I can smell it, dad!” he growled.  “I’m making you moist, aren’t I?”

We both sniffed eagerly at the growing aroma he was causing my anus to discharge, and he humped me still harder, making our two big sets of bull-nuts swing painfully into each other.

I saw us reflected in the darkened screen of the TV: me crouched over and bucking my hips against the squatting the doll, with my son behind me thrusting his huge veiny cock wildly up and down inside the crack of my arse.

I could even see my own organ sliding frantically back and forth inside the doll’s translucent innards.  Could see my semen as it started squirting into the bulbous teat, filling the rubber receptacle that had not be wettened by sperm for over twenty years.

I panted with excitement as the acrid sharpness of my spunk overwhelmed the thicker and meatier stink Jake’s cock had elicited from my arse.

“Aw yeah!  I’ve made you cum!” he gasped just as a blast of his own juice splashed hotly onto my back where my shirt was hitched up.

He grabbed my bum-cheeks and smothered them tightly around the rod of his cock, still sweeping it frantically up and down to milk every last drop of cum from it.

“Oh no!  Oh shit!” I suddenly cried out, even as my son’s sloppy jizm was still dribbling down into my arse-crack.  “The bloody thing’s snared my cock… oh Jesus!  It hurts like hell!”

Jake laughed and pulled his cock out from my hairy trench.  “I told you it was painful… it’s like a fucking man-trap!”

“Just help me with it!  It got me right in the middle of my orgasm!”

Jake pushed his face back between my legs and helped to untangle me from the plastic pussy.

Once I was free and we were wiping ourselves down with the tissues that I also keep in the coffee table drawer, Jake muttered, “That thing I said about following you into the loo… that was just sex-talk, okay?  I’m not into stuff like that.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Jake,” I smiled.  “As we discovered this evening, sometimes faecal odours can be evocative of the smells of anal sex.  We both enjoy anal sex so inevitably some faecal odours are going to arouse us.”

“I guess,” he said, throwing a wad of cum-soaked tissue onto the coffee table.  “You don’t think something like that would be weird, then?”

“You saw that I was aroused by the smell of your rear… and clearly you were aroused by the smell of mine.”

He nodded, and I went on, packing myself back into my Calvins, “You said that you like the smell of men having sex with me and I get similarly excited when you bring your uni mates home and I can smell that you’re… well… on all-fours.”

He chuckled, pulling his boxers back up.  “So have you ever actually… you know… got turned-on by my ass stink?”

“Of course,” I admitted, hoping that he’d be encouraged to admit that his revelation about following me into the toilet was indeed the truth.  The way he’d blurted it out in his excitement had lent it authenticity, but I wanted to hear him be honest about it.  “Sometimes when I sort through your laundry, the smell of your bum on your boxers can cause me to develop an erection.”

Jake grinned broadly at me, pleased rather than shocked by my admission. “Wow… have you ever wanked off over it?”

“Once,” I nodded, fastening up my trousers.  “Hunkered down on the kitchen floor next to the washer!”

“With the back of my shorts against your nose?”

“Yes.  Sniffing the odour which smells very similar to that coming from your bedroom when you have one of your… er… ‘bi-boys’ staying over.”

He chuckled at my use of his word for mates who aren’t too fussy about which hole they’re sliding their cocks up.

Then he said, doing up his zipper and belt, “Sometimes you leave the bathroom smelling just like it gets when I can hear you getting your butt pounded.”

I smiled back at him and nodded.  My anal odour during sex could often be rich to say the least.

He went on, “There’s been times when it’s turned me on so much that I’ve shut the door and wanked off.”

“Well, thank you for your honesty, Jake.  It’s very crude – just as my own admission is – but I think it’s better that we know these things about each other.”

“You ever grown a boner following me into the bathroom?”

“Actually, no,” I smiled, thinking of the many, many times I’d had the very opposite reaction.  “But now that you’ve made me aware that such things can be interesting, I’ll be sure to investigate it for myself!”

That made him chortle.  “We’re a couple of dirty gits, dad!”

“We’re sexually inquisitive… that’s how I’d prefer to put it.”

We finished off our drinks as we had an early start next day.  We decided not to deflate the blow-up doll as we wanted to have more fun with it when we got back from the match.  So it was bundled away into the understairs cupboard with a promise that it would resurface in a couple of evenings when we’d take turns using it again in the living room after a couple of drinks.

It occurred to me as we went to bed that the doll had somehow made our sex-play seem more acceptable than if we’d simply masturbated together as Jake had suggested.  With the doll acting like a token female for us to focus our sexual energies on, our antics felt less homosexual and less overtly incestuous.

We were just a dad and his son messing around with a sex doll.  Just jokey and silly; completely without meaning.

I decided I’d be comfortable to explore things further with Jake as long as the doll continued to be included.  With a plastic woman in the room to keep things lighthearted and spontaneous, it would be interesting to find out what other sexual fetishes my son was harbouring.

 

Feedback is the only payment our authors get!
Please take a moment to email the author if you enjoyed the story.
robert.furlong@rocketmail.com