In this stand-alone story, an anxious father develops a new method of dealing once and for all with his spunky son's troublesome attitude and maybe, just maybe, father and son will learn something about themselves which will change their relationship forever.
Dr. Richard Chase was sitting in the drawing room of his late Victorian home, waiting for his son to get back from school.
He was not happy. No, not happy at all.
The three vices Dr. Chase could not abide were homosexuality, drug and alcohol abuse, and a poor temperament. He feared that in his eagerness to ensure his son did not embrace the one, he may have pushed him into the heaving bosom of the other two.
No, not at all happy. The indignity of it all! Some might say Dr. Chase was a stern father; certainly, he was a traditionalist. And he did not appreciate being called at work – whilst he was capping some poor chap’s filling, no less! – to be told that his sixteen year old son has been suspended from school for fighting with another boy.
Dr. Chase just couldn’t understand it. Yes, raising a son on his own was not easy, but he liked to think he had done a decent job of it.
Certainly, Aaron was a delightful child growing up; his short fair hair and flawless complexion sending his Aunties all a-titter.
And, quite naturally, as he matured, Dr. Chase encouraged the boy to take up a variety of sports. Dr. Chase himself was not at all sporting; no, he was more of a bookworm; but he always had a sneaking respect – a rugged, masculine affection, some might say - for the boys on the teams, and he knew that encouraging his own son to take up those sports was a sure-fire way to imbue the jovial spunky competitiveness and fortified male camaraderie necessary for strong, heterosexual roots to take shape in his little lad’s heart.
As Dr. Chase sat in his drawing room, angrily reading the Daily Mail – as he often did – he couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for his son’s combative attitude – or rather, his combative attitude when he was out of the house, away from his father’s strict gaze.
You see, what Dr. Chase hadn’t accounted for – what he had failed to consider, whilst planning his boy’s life – was the affect his actions would have on his son, and those around him. For whilst Aaron was a delightful child when he was younger, this delightfulness did not last: as his willowy cock thickened, and as his gem-like testes fattened, his coltish musculature combined with his perpetually boyish good looks to make him a target.
A target for girls; spiteful, calculating creatures whom Aaron developed quite a taste for, and then, a target for those girls boyfriends; boys who shared a lot in common with Aaron – certainly, more than either did with the girl, which indicated an irony no doubt lost on all concerned. Yes, teenage boys. Dr. Chase knew them well. Dumb pack animals who were led by the constant simmering in their loins; it constituted a form of madness, really; delightful madness – exciting madness; but madness all the same.
And these creatures used brute strength to communicate a grievance, and their targets – Aaron – well, they responded in kind.
As is the way of teenagers, for Aaron, it was always somebody else’s fault. ‘The other boy’. Always the other boy’s fault. But his father was growing tired with his excuses, and Aaron was uncertain how to respond.
You see, in spite of all this, Aaron respected his father; or rather, he feared him, which for Dr. Chase, was much the same thing. He never talked back, always did what he was told – why, he was positively meek, just as he had been trained to be from a young age; Dr. Chase would tolerate no sass or rebellion.
Indeed, whilst it would be an exaggeration to say Dr. Chase’s attitude was clear from his looks, he certainly appeared at first glance as the sort of chap who would never tolerate fools gladly. His pointed goatee, in the style of Vladimir Lenin, coupled with his steel-rimmed spectacles, in the style of Vyacheslav Molotov, gave his somewhat weathered, but unwrinkled 47 year old face the air of intellectual superiority most heavily associated with the Party Vanguard of the various Soviet Communist Parties of the 20th Century.
It is this confidence Dr. Chase very much hoped to pass on to his son: confidence, tempered with, well, temperance, but somewhere, he had gone wrong. Dr. Chase couldn’t be around him all the time, and when he wasn’t…that’s when the trouble would start.
Dr. Chase loosened the top button of his shirt. He always got rather warm at times such as these. Why had he insisted on wearing a sweater-vest today? Sweater-vests were for October through to February, and now, in April, as he sat there in his green sweater-vest and tan slacks, he was already regretting his own brief flirtation with rebellion.
The door opened, and slammed.
Dr. Chase gulped.
The crash of a heavy backpack being dropped on the floor.
The boy, a robustly built blond angel clad in his black uniform, barely acknowledged his father as he walked past the open doorway of the drawing room.
Dr. Chase shouted, “Don’t you DARE mount that staircase, young man! Come back here this very instant!”
Aaron returned, and stood in the doorway, his short blond hair a little damp after rushing home, his gold-and-blue striped school tie tied loosely around his neck, the point ending at his sternum, mid-way up his wide chest; his thin school blazer dirty with the rough-and-tumble of secondary school.
Dirty with the rough-and-tumble of brawling.
“I's gotta get changed cos’ I goin’ back out.”
Dr. Chase’s rage flashed. “You’ll be going out when I tell you and not before, young man. And stop speaking like a black person. You’re not black. You're from Essex, and you sound ridiculous. Would you put so much effort into mimicking the accent and mannerisms of an Indian gentleman? Well? No, you wouldn’t.”
Aaron put his hands behind his back and looked at the ceiling, realising this was going to be a big deal. He just hoped he wouldn’t get spanked again. “’k, first, Dad, it wasn’t my fault-“
“I don’t bloody care whose fault it is! I’m sick and tired of it all. You are becoming a constant problem for me, young man.”
“You were warned.”
“I told you, after that business with Marcus whatshisname – I told you what would happen if you repeated that behaviour.”
“I won’t do it again-“
“You shouldn’t have done it this time, should you? THIS was the time NOT to do it AGAIN. And you DID do it again. And, what? I’m supposed to just do the same thing again? Let you off? Like some bloody GUARDIAN READER?!?”
“Please, Dad. Please.”
“Get over here, right now.”
Aaron looked at the ground as he moodily shuffled closer to his father, who was sitting cross legged in a large leather armchair.
Dr. Chase pointed sternly to his leg. “Over my knee. Come on. Don’t make me ask again; you’ll get double.”
“Dad, this is-“
“IF I HAVE TO ASK AGAIN, YOU’LL GET DOUBLE.”
Resigning himself to his fate, and desperate to limit the experience as much as possible, Aaron quickly placed a hand on his elder’s shoulder, so he could drape his heavy adolescent body over his father’s knee. A position of utter submission; his head near the carpet on one side of his father’s profile, his short, muscular legs on the other; his pert buttocks at the apex.
Dr. Chase carefully lifted the base of the boy’s school blazer, and planted the palm of his right hand on the sporty lad’s cushioned rump, the texture of hardened flesh discernible even through his school trousers and underpants.
Aaron, whose heart was racing and blood was pumping, couldn’t stop his pert little cheeks from becoming stiff granite peaks beneath his father’s palm. Dr. Chase graciously ignored it as he leant down and pushed his face into the small of his son’s back, taking in an audibly deep breath.
“You stink of cigarettes and sweat, young man. Why is that, I wonder? Have you been smoking again?”
“N-nah, Dad. Honest, I ain’t. I-it’s Matty Wilkins, he smokes ‘em all day.”
“You stay away from that Matthew Wilkins. I met his father at the last parent’s evening, and he was a morose arse of a man. I can’t imagine his son being any more stimulating.”
“And did you shower after PE today?”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. I’ve told you before: after any sort of physical exertion, you must clean yourself. You’re of an age where your body starts to smell most diabolically if you don’t. Do you remember to clean behind the rim of your foreskin?”
“I won’t have my son refusing to answer simple questions regarding the hygiene of his own foreskin. I WON’T HAVE IT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Now: to repeat myself. Do you. Wash. Behind the Rim. Of your foreskin.”
As the blood began to rush to Aaron’s head, he felt lightheaded. Speaking in a strained voice, he replied, “um…y-yyyeah, I do, Dad.”
“My GOD you’d better be telling me the truth, boy. Right, you’ll get an extra switch for failing to answer immediately. Added to the twenty you earned for fighting with some boy at school, and that makes how many?”
“Good boy.” The tips of Dr. Chase’s right hand absent-mindedly feathered along the cliff-edge of the lad’s left bum cheek, so softly that his simple-minded brawler of a son probably didn’t even notice. “Yes, very good boy. Now I’ll be wanting you to count after each strike, so that I don’t lose my way, so to speak. You can do that, can’t you boy?”
“Yeah I mean yes, Dad.”
Dr. Chase somewhat reluctantly removed his big hand from his son’s firm rear, and brought it back down to his backside with a loud clap, reverberating through the austere drawing room.
“One,” replied Aaron manfully.
“Two,” quickly followed the second strike, after which Dr. Chase gave the boys botty a little reassuring rub, as if he were summoning a genie from it.
“Three,” he shouted, more fulsomely this time. He attempted to acquire better position; his feet dug into the carpet, and his muscular little legs pushed; he achieved his ambition, but soon realised with horror that his randy soft sausage was now sandwiched between his pubis and his Dad’s leg, like a hot dog squeezed into a too-tight bun.
“Four,” he gurgled a little more hesitantly.
Dr. Chase, of course, had detected his son’s length cockily resting along his thigh, as if to say ‘yeah, here I am; what’s it to ya’?’. He wondered what proper procedure was at times such as these: to ask him to move it? To draw attention to it?
No, better to adopt the classic British approach, and pretend the awkwardly offending article simply doesn’t exist.
As his hand reared up for number five, Dr. Chase immediately realised that he probably shouldn’t of shuffled his thigh this way and that as he did so. He wasn’t entirely sure of why he’d done it; he could only put it down to being so angry with the lad; so fed up with his diffident attitude, that he subconsciously sought to get a rise out of him.
Unfortunately, teenage pricks are delicate things; the merest tremor can set them off, and Dr. Chase soon realised that his boy’s appendage was thickening; lengthening; digging into his leg.
As he delivered number five, and once more gave the boy’s trousered behind a little rub, Aaron’s unseen face flushed red with embarrassment as that seemed to only compel that stupid fat poker of his to greater hardness. He tried to move his crotch, but…well, it was almost as if his father’s rubbing hand was pressing on him; keeping him wedded to his current position, with his turgid pussy-stuffer now rubbing against his leg.
Aaron was worried. Very worried. His father got upset over the slightest thing, and right now – at this very moment…well.
The thing was probably dribbling and all sorts. He really had no control over it any more.
Thankfully, a respite: at smack number five, Dr. Chase’s palm was stinging and the boy seemed to be taking it quite well. Hardly what the good Doctor wanted, given that this was supposed to be a punishment for the unruly lad.
“Right, up you get.”
“Stand. Up. NOW.”
Aaron stood, happy to allow his loose black trousers to fall about his hips. His precious winkle was now safely obscured by the trousers, which were loose enough to also allow the long hems to cover a majority of the muddy white trainers on his feet.
“WHAT?! Christ, Dad-“
“I will NOT have anyone taking the Lord’s name in vain in this house! Do you hear me? I won’t have it! I WON’T HAVE IT! AND I WON’T HAVE YOUR VINDICTATIVELY ARGUMENTATIVE ATTITUDE! YOU WILL BE BROUGHT BACK INTO LINE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BOY? DO YOU?!”
Dr. Chase’s normally calm voice was shrill, and hoarse. “Now you can lower your trousers for the remainder of your punishment, or I can USE A PAIR OF SCISSORS TO CUT THEM FROM YOU, and you can pay for a new pair.”
Aaron’s blue eyes looked around the room, their usual heavily lidded, lackadaisical appearance replaced by wide-eyed wonderment, as if wondering whether this was all a nightmare; it couldn’t possibly be real, could it? He hadn’t been spanked in ages, and never like this…
“Now, God damn you! Do it now!”
Aaron quickly, unthinkingly, reached for the clasp of his trousers. After yanking down his zip, he yanked down his trousers, and moved to return to where he was previously.
Dr. Chase raised his hand, signalling his teenage charge to stop.
He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as if suddenly fatigued by the exasperation of it all.
Returning the glasses to his face, he once more looked at the boy with a hard, angry face. “What are those,” he stated quietly, turning to look out the window as he did so.
“DON’T. You know what I am referring to.” Still speaking quietly, Dr. Chase crossed his arms as he continued, “two years ago – I remember it distinctly – two years ago, I bought you FOURTEEN pairs of Y-Fronts from Marks and Spencer. More underwear than you could possibly need, from a retailer renowned for the lasting quality of their clothing. And now….NOW, I am confronted by those ridiculous under-garments.”
He pointed with a waving hand.
The ‘ridiculous’ under-garment Dr. Chase referred to was a pair of tight neon red trunks with ‘D&G’ stamped on the waistband.
“Um…some girl got ‘em for me a while back, I think.”
“Oh really. And precisely why did this harlot see fit to buy you underpants, when you are to remain a virgin until marriage?”
Aaron, unable to stop his heterosexual bravado from showing, cracked an award winning cheeky grin as he solemnly shrugged and replied, “dunno.”
Not knowing what else to say on the topic, Dr. Chase blurted out “if she’s buying boys like you underwear like that, I shudder to think about what she’s sucked on over the years. You just remember that next time you let her give you a peck on the cheek.”
Still smiling, the teenager replied “yes, Dad.”
Dr. Chase motioned for the boy to retake his previous position, over his knee.
Unsatisfied with his lad’s truculent – almost cocky – demeanour, Dr. Chase shouted, “another ten strokes for those damn silly knickers.”
“Complain and you get more. I’m not joking; one more word out of you, and you’ll get another ten. And another ten. And another ten. Do you understand me? I’m free until Eggheads on BBC2, young man. You’re the one with places to be, not me.”
Aaron bit his dextrous pussy-loving tongue, as well as his thick bottom lip, and he once more lowered his body so his upturned arse was ready to be struck by his father – now, with just the thin cotton of his underpants in the way.
Dr. Chase began spanking each cheek in turn with short, sharp strikes. Dr. Chase summoned up all of his strength in his right arm for each and every one, one rapidly following on from the other, building up the pain in the lad’s game-hardened butt-cheeks.
“Six, ah, seven, umagh, eight, n-ahh-ine, AH, ten, HA-AGH, eleven, AHRGH t-t-twelve, Ple-THIRTEEN-ease, AHFUAC FOURTEEN, FIFTEEN…”
Aaron waited for number sixteen, but it did not come immediately. He was thankful. He was not used to be being spanked anymore; he was better equipped for doling out punishment beatings, not receiving them.
Dr. Chase returned his judicious hand to the boy’s bum, soothingly rubbing the affected cheeks through his underwear. “I do this because I love you, son. Because you need to be corrected, for the greater good. You understand that, don’t you?”
Aaron was having trouble focussing on the words of his father; his roving hand, which he was in no position to stop either physically or mentally, alighted a thousand raw nerve endings as it traversed across the expanse of his delicate pink bottom in a manner Aaron would normally most certainly not tolerate from another male.
He couldn’t explain why, but he felt sure that his Dad’s hand was not merely soothing, but pushing; the heel of his hand, and a few times even the claw-like talon’s of his fingers, actively digging into the red-hot flesh of his delinquent arse as it roamed freely, this way and that, from one cheek to another.
“Yeah, Dad,” he mumbled. Dr. Chase couldn’t explain his sudden paternalistic desire; his feeling of concern for his son. Certainly, that was the only explanation for why he suddenly felt obliged to soothe his son’s overly developed buttocks for him. I mean, what other explanation could there be?
Dr. Chase cursed himself for not having a nice, cooling salve on standby, which he could administer to the boy’s backside directly.
As for those moments neither man nor boy wished to acknowledge, when Dr. Chase’s long fingers, (in the process of gliding from one cheek to another) would slide down into the steep fissure delineating the two spherical cheeks, leading – quite naturally – to the entirety of his hand enclosing his firm teenaged arse-cheek, squeezing it fulsomely, and then moving on – well, that was just par the course for spanking a teenager with as developed an arse as Aaron’s.
Indeed, if blame lay anywhere for such incidents – and Dr. Chase wasn’t sure there really was any blame, in all honesty – but if there was, it most certainly lay with Aaron himself. After all, he was the one who insisted on playing those sweaty sports games and working out in the gym; nobody compelled him to make his backside so firmly rotund and muscular. How could Dr. Chase’s fingers possibly AVOID that cleft between his cheeks?
As Dr. Chase himself further rationalised; whilst the clueless lad worked on his backside to attract the girls, he must surely realise – like anyone committed to fitness must – that were he to be thrown into a position where he was spanked by a male authority figure for previous transgressions, then his developed musculature would come back to bite him in the, err, arse.
Really, nobody elses fault but his own.
Dr. Chase took a moment to breath in deeply, detecting the boy’s unique spice within the closed environment of the drawing room.
He felt he wasn’t getting through to him. That yet again, his punishment wasn’t sticking. He knew what this situation called for: humiliation. The mainstay of any conservative household.
“Up again. I’m dissatisfied with this punishment, boy. Remove your shoes, and trousers.”
Aaron looked up, to protest once more.
Before he could speak, Dr. Chase interjected – for his own good, you understand. “Ten more. Another word, and you get ten more.”
Aaron, already quite literally beaten into submission and not knowing what could possibly come next, extricated himself from his father’s knee as he reached down to remove his trainers, and slide his black trousers past his ankles, and off his legs entirely.
He stood in light grey ankle socks with a small white Nike tick on the top, his small, muscular feet sinking into the deep shag carpet.
Not knowing what to do with himself as his father watched, he placed his hands before the front of his tight boxers, which did disgustingly little to obscure the weighty teenage endowment contained within, and which Dr. Chase tried his best to ignore.
As one does.
But he couldn’t stop his eyes from focusing on the shape and sharply defined contours of what was, quite frankly, a great big cock and large, droopy balls.
Dr. Chase felt oddly proud of his son; proud of siring a son with overly large sexual organs. Not everyone does, he thought. He’ll make a pleasant young woman very happy one day.
In fact, he felt so proud of his son, that he began to feel himself erect in his Y-fronts. Weird or what?! Dr. Chase put it down to thinking about his future daughter-in-law; certain to be a creature of profound loveliness to win over a lad as deliciously good looking as Dr. Chase’s own son.
Dr. Chase remained professional, however, as he instructed Aaron to adopt a new, more humiliating, more sexually explicit position.
For his own good.
Firstly, Aaron was told to stand up on the arm chair, whilst Dr. Chase was sitting on it, his chunky little feet either side of Dr. Chase’s outer thighs on the chair’s cushion.
Dr. Chase ignored the sight – and stench – of his big lad’s giant sexual organs, but the stink was really quite profound and the sight, mildly intimidating – particularly the bulbed head.
That looked like a real monster.
Was he still sheathed, Dr. Chase wondered? Or was a little bit poking out the end? It was obvious Aaron was still quite excited, the poor thing; he was a roiling bag of emotive testosterone at this age – much like the heavyweight bright-red cotton-covered nutsack weighing down the contents of Aaron’s shorts, the fumes of which Dr. Chase couldn’t help but take in great, big, deep lungful’s of.
No, Dr. Chase could hardly blame the lad for a little hardening, given his own tumescent state; no, he decided; it was perfectly natural for father and son to develop erections whilst the former was administering corrective punishment to the latter.
After standing on the chair, his hand on Dad’s shoulder for support, Dr. Chase told Aaron to turn around.
Once more, Aaron looked like he was going to complain; once more, Dad laid down the law, as he had done since time immemorial: Aaron could either do what he’s told, or find a new place to live.
As ever, he did what he was told, gingerly rotating on the armchair, struggling to find placement for his feet.
Unavoidably, he put one socked foot between his father’s legs; on the edge of the seat, as far away from the older man’s groin as possible.
Absent-mindedly, really – not even really thinking about it – as Dr. Chase placed on firm hand on the adolescent’s hip – to help him maintain balance, with fingers snaking round one outer half of one tensing bum-cheek, Dr. Chase slouched ever so slightly into the chair.
Perfectly legitimate, of course – I mean, it was his chair, wasn’t it? If anyone was to blame for what followed, it was Aaron, for putting his foot where he’d put it.
What could he really expect?
So, as you might imagine; in the course of sliding down the seat, Dr. Chase’s distended ball-bag, still obscured by tan slacks, could not help but slide up the steep athletic incline of Aaron’s warm socked foot, all cosy-like, coming to rest with his inner thighs and his son’s ankle locked in a perfect join, the fat toes of Aaron’s foot resting beneath Dad’s bumcrack.
Aaron quickly removed his foot from his father’s crotch, and nothing was said about it, although the look of distress on Aaron’s face indicated that perhaps he was no as manfully accustomed to another man’s testicles as Dr. Chase had perhaps hoped he would be.
He definitely needed to shower after PE more often; he knew that the mannish horseplay of communal showers would certainly prompt renewed appreciation for the brute strength and delicate beauty of a male’s sexual organs.
Once he had turned around, Dr. Chase was faced with a close-up view of the roasting buttocks he’d previously been walloping.
Dr. Chase placed a hand on either hip – to keep Aaron good and stable, you see – and leant forward so he could take a sneaky little sniff of the boy’s musky back passage.
For good reasons, of course; to make sure he was properly cleaning himself back there.
Then, it was time for the boy to squat over his father’s crotch – something Dad was happy to help with, holding onto his hips and guiding his downwards.
Following that, the unawares boy was quickly pushed over, his upper body collapsing to the floor.
He had the good sense to hold his father’s knees on the way down, so that he didn’t hurt himself; in no time at all, his head was adjoined with the carpet, and his socked feet were lifted by a helpful father to rest on Dad’s skinny shoulders, effectively lying along his father with his muscular legs in the air, his head at the floor where his arms supported his weight, and his buttocks ideally placed over father’s own crotch.
Dr. Chase placed each palm on the boys upturned buttocks, and wondered if the erection he could detect through the boy’s boxers was matched by his son becoming aware of the smaller, but more authoritative erection through his father’s trousers.
Not dwelling on the subject, Dr. Chase ignored the exercised, sweaty smell coming from the boy’s thin socks, now either side of his head, as he spoke. “Now, you are probably wondering why I have asked you to adopt this position, boy. It is simple: to humiliate you. I imagine you feel quite, quite stupid right now, don’t you? Well, I’m hoping the desire to avoid this happening again, will prompt you to perhaps reconsider where your life is heading, young man.”
Dr. Chase squeezed the boy’s fulsome cheeks, to indicate that he had reached the end of his sentence.
“Yeah. I do feel stupid; that’s true.”
Even so, Aaron didn’t sound especially happy about the situation, nor willing to learn.
But what more could Dr. Chase do? He was punishing the boy; what else was there? Was there some root cause he was ignoring?
At that moment, Dr. Chase was festooned with doubt, but even so, he resolved to plough on with his predetermined plan, as he carefully lifted the waistband of the designer trunks, and hooked them beneath the stark hump of butt muscle, where rugger-bugger arse became footie-player leg, revealing the lad’s hairless, reddened arse-cheeks, dominated by a dark, seemingly bottomless fissure running down the centre.
Dr. Chase proceeded to administer the remaining strokes to the boy, who continued to count out his punishment. Thirty-one, it was supposed to be; but in the process of administering them, Dr. Chase had come up with several other transgressions which took the total up to fifty.
Whilst punishing the rough little lad, Dr. Chase couldn’t help but notice, through the dark recesses of his son’s delicately fair-haired, robustly muscular thighs, two walnut sized bollocks roiling around inside their leathery, corrugated sack.
After he’d finished, he spent a few minutes running his hands over the muscle-bound cheeks – for the punishment, you understand. In his bid to really humiliate the boy, Dr. Chase even compelled his thumbs to traverse along the base of the teenager’s sticky arse-trench, lined as it was by crinkly ginger pubes, and sweat.
As his thumb would run – quite naturally – over the rubbery knot of secretive muscle at the straight lad’s centre, Dr. Chase wondered if he should slip one in. A cheeky thumb, right into the boy’s unsuspecting anus. That’d make Aaron feel pretty flippin’ stupid, wouldn’t it? Yes, Dr. Chase was actually getting excited with how stupid it’d make the boy feel.
But, he stopped himself. He had heard – on good authority – that after a chap had a finger shoved up another chap’s arse, they both developed a taste for it.
And the last thing – the absolute last thing – Dr. Chase wanted was to introduce his son to forbidden passion. And so, reluctantly; very reluctantly; he stopped himself, and merely contented himself with scratching his blunt nail against the boy’s musky chute.
After what felt like an eternity for Aaron, who was so shocked by what he felt going on at his arse that he thought he must be imagining things, he was instructed to stand up.
The boy shakily pulled himself up, and stood before his father, facing away from him as he pulled his shorts back up into position.
“Turn around,” Dr. Chase barked, “and lower your shorts.”
“Dad, please, I’ve been punished-“
“I know you’ve been punished, and you’ll be punished a lot more if you don’t do what you’re bloody well told. Now turn around and lower those ridiculous under-garments.”
Aaron turned, and slid the shorts down his thick, boyish thighs.
Just as Dr. Chase had suspected.
The boy’s half erect cock bounced excitedly out of his underwear, like a puppy eager for a play. Finally coming to rest at a horizontal angle, the organ’s thick stalk led up to a delicate rose-tinted head still half-sheathed by a ring of invitingly peachy foreskin. Given its plump size and youthful slimy hue, his knob appeared as some monster in a horror movie, fattened by its host and now trying to break out of its musky chrysalis. The whole thing bounced and throbbed and flexed with sugary sexual energy
Beneath this heavy-duty porker was the imposing nutsack Dr. Chase had the opportunity to survey whilst the lad’s pride-and-joy was still obscured by garish underwear.
His ostentatiously large and worrisomely loose gonads were held within a tough, corrugated sack slick with nervous sex sweat.
Around the crotch there existed a tightly manicured and well-clipped erogenous zone of fuzzy fair hair, which also coated his nuts in the same golden curls.
Dr. Chase once more took in a deep breath. “Now,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’m not even going to ask why a virgin needs to give his pubic bone a regular haircut, like you seem to. I’m just going to ask this.” Dr. Chase pointed at the boy’s crotch. “Do you think what you have there is entirely normal?”
Aaron frowned, and dejectedly replied, “whad’ya mean?”
“What I mean is,” at which point, Dr. Chase reached out and wrapped a calloused hand around his son’s big boy balls, “doesn’t the size and…oh, Lordy, the stench of these…these golf balls, strike you as slightly…abnormal?”
Aaron yanked away from his father. “Dad, let go of me! I’m normal!”
Dr. Chase smiled reassuringly, not taking his hand off his son’s nut sack, nor doing anything to move what was for Aaron an annoyingly rampant teen erection which had just leapt onto the older man’s wrist, where it promptly deposited a hearty dollop of boy-juice.
Dr. Chase ignored the burbling cock on his wrist as he replied, “I most certainly shall not! This, Aaron Joshua Chase, is you all over – ignoring a problem til it’s so excessively large that even your father is forced to take notice of it. Remember when you had that fracture in your toe last year, and you just ignored it and kept on playing football? This is exactly the same thing. You should deal with problems AT THEIR SOURCE.”
Aaron stopped struggling for a moment, if only to try and figure out what the fuck his father was saying. “Dad, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Dr. Chase rolled his eyes. “Biology, boy! Basic human biology! Don’t they teach that anymore?! I’ve been punishing you all this time, completely ignoring the root-cause of your malfeasance.”
Now, Aaron was many things – athlete, philanderer, lifter of heavy boxes, Premier League aficionado – but one thing he was NOT, was a biologist.
He frowned. “What, me bollocks?”
“Boy, please, no vulgarity; but yes, you’re testes.”
Aaron continued to frown as his father continued to roll his nuts around in his leathery palm; testing them for weight and firmness as the boy’s prick continued to yelp and jump in subdued excitement along the older gentleman’s wrist, dribbling boyish ooze as it did so. “I still don’t understand.”
“Aaron. Your body is continually producing sperm. It is important – VITALLY important – that you release your emissions at regular intervals. This is because you, quite uniquely, I fear, produce a lot of it – over-production leads to a glut in your gonads, and this affects your personality.”
Aaron’s sex-addled brain had to admit that, regardless of the wrongs or rights or the situation, it did feel rather pleasant to have his father hefting his nuts as if he were considering the weight of a bag of pomegranates at the fruit and veg stall.
But he hadn’t completely lost sight of his faculties. Shaking his head, he replied, “nahhh, Dad; I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Are you accusing me of lying, boy?”
“No, Dad, but-“
“Then you must be suggesting that you know more about human biology than I, correct? That my degree in Dentistry from the University of Leicester – a fine establishment, for dentistry - is not equal to your GCNVQ in lower level sporting science as sponsored by Reebok, or whatever nonsense it is they teach these days?”
“No, Dad, I ain’t, but-“
“THEN IT’S SETTLED, isn’t it? Now, as I was saying – it affects your personality, boy. Essentially – and I distinctly remember learning this in my first year at university, for what it’s worth - whenever you see a teenager who acts aggressively around his peers in the pursuit of females; seeks to become the centre of attention through practical jokes and general japery, or otherwise insists on repeating ad nauseum what it is they’d like to do to some particularly famous pop-staress – such her such-and-such; squeeze her whatever’s – you get the gist - it’s because their testicles are full and they really quite desperately need to unload them.”
“It’s the sex lust, you see. Their – your - brain can’t handle it. You’re all well and good, used to the pure, rarefied gratification which comes from candy-canes and lollypops and the like, and suddenly your maturing bodies have had enough of that and bombard you with hormones which compel a darker gratification: the gratification which comes from rubbing your cock against something, at speed.”
He continued, “and I think that more than adequately describes your present pickle with the school authorities, now doesn’t it? Now, Aaron – and tell me honestly; I am your father, remember – when did you last masturbate yourself to completion?”
“DAD! I can’t tell you that!”
“Your refusal to answer is in-itself suspicious, boy…”
“Fine! Ok, fine! I had a wank, like, yesterday morning, I guess. Ok? Happy?”
Dr. Chase considered for a moment. “I would appreciate less of that attitude, young man. Irrational surliness is another sign of clogged testes.”
With his happy but stupid cock now fully erect and beating in time to his heart-beat, the organ large enough to constitute a third body in the room – it certainly held Dr. Chase’s attention - Aaron shouted “I can’t bloody win!”
Entranced by the pulsing wand, Dr. Chase said quietly, “normally, once every 24 hours should be enough…but then, given your age, together with what would, even in ideal circumstances, constitute a…swollen…set of sexual organs…yes, I suppose twice, maybe even three times a day would be more the norm.”
“I ain’t wanking three times a day, Dad.”
“No, you most certainly are not! Masturbating is a sin. A sin I have previously tolerated with you, out of my desire to embrace the liberal parenting methods of this damnable age – but perhaps that was a mistake, my boy. Yes, I think that was…wrong of me.”
“So, wait – I can’t wank AT ALL now?!”
Dr. Chase breathed in deeply, as if in contemplation of the situation.
He also inadvertently breathed in the stink wafting up from his son’s overgrown nutsack. “I think, a return to more…Godly…ways, would be for the best, my boy.”
Dr. Chase continued, “BUT…there is the issue of the spunk stockpile in you. When you masturbate, is your product…unusually thick, would you say?”
“Yes. So less like a, say, light béchamel sauce with lumps in it, and more like, oh, I don’t know, I’m no good with comparative language…more like a gluey sort of paste, dominated by a single, thick consistency?”
“Dad, I…I honestly, don’t know the answer to that…”
“Hmm. I think your evasion is indicative of the fact you realise something is wrong with your spunk flow, and you wish to obscure the facts from me – ME, your own father.”
“It’s indicative of the fact I don’t want to answer the question, Dad; please, st-”
Dr. Chase squeezed his son’s nutsack, and used his hold to pull the boy closer towards him. “There’s that surliness again.”
Dr. Chase suddenly shoved his face into his son’s crotch, keeping a hold of his ballbag to ensure the poor lad couldn’t move as Dad’s senses were festooned with the delights of teen-boy sex stink. “Well, you stink to high-heaven down there. Especially your testes; they’re unusually pungent. I can only imagine what it would be like to suck on them for half an hour.”
He licked at his wrist, where his son’s cock had placed a slimy dollup of seminal fluid, tasting his boy’s tangy ball-syrup for the first time. “That’s sick, Dad.”
“Yes, and that’s quite flavoursome, too. All-in-all, it would seem that my initial suspicion - that your copulation drive is really quite over-sexed – is accurate. Your earlier evasion is rendered meaningless, as I can now easily imagine your produce after a masturbatory session being too thick; certainly much too thick for the liquid-like consistency required for successful procreation. And being as we’re both heterosexuals concerned with procreation, that worries me, son. That worries me a lot.”
“Dad, please, let go…”
“Well, there’s only one thing for it, isn’t there?”
Dr. Chase let go of his son. “Turn around.”
The boy slowly turned, so he was facing away from his Dad.
As he sniffed at his lad-scented hand, Dr. Chase instructed “sit down on the floor.”
Aaron slowly slid down so he was on the floor, his own legs outstretched as he was placed between those of his Dad, and thankful that his head was facing away from his father, given that it was now level with his crotch.
He jumped as he felt his father put a hand on his shoulder and pull him back, so his neck adjoined the warm crutch of his father.
He wondered what was coming next, whilst of course knowing what was coming next.
This would be a good time to leave, he thought to himself. This would be an absolutely fantastic time to stand up and go to my room to do that homework I have due in tomorrow, he added.
But he didn’t. Partly because a little part of him just wanted some relief; his Dad was right in that sense; he was an over-sexed lad – he’d known that for some time; his demanding sex-drive was becoming somewhat legendary at school.
He normally would’ve jacked off that morning, except he’d got up late and hadn’t had time.
Damn snooze button! Right next to the ‘alarm off’ button!
Anyway, he was a little antsy as a result. A little…on edge. He was hoping to see Jennifer about it after coming home from school; she was good like that, but then his Dad wanted to speak to him…
But also, he remained where he was because, at the end of the day, Aaron always did what his Dad asked of him. He had never disobeyed him…except for when a girl was involved, of course.
But surely, that was special? There must be special rules for that sort of thing, reasoned Aaron.
He’d heard that in France, if a woman gives you a blowjob and then gives another bloke a blowjob right after, you can kill the bloke if you want. Crime of passion, they call it.
That’s what he’d heard, anyway.
These were the thoughts he used to occupy his mind as Father reached down, and wrapped his fist around his athletic sixteen year old son’s resplendent fair-haired poker.
Aaron tried to ignore it, but he could help emitting a low hiss through his teeth as his knees drew up and his socked toes wiggled at the sensation.
Dr. Chase softly but firmly drew down the loose nub of foreskin, enabling Aaron’s obese pink head to finally break free of its entrapment and release the pheromones, testosterone and sex stink that had built up beneath the lad’s bulbed head ever since he had hurriedly showered that morning: the first drizzle of sap in morning registration after Chloe winked at him; the rush of sweaty excitement after scoring a try in PE; the distractingly pleasant sensation of Suzie yanking his cock in his trousers – and the comedic thrill of seeing her boyfriend watch her whilst she did it. All of which culminated in the angry funk and sexy ball-sweat which built up in the stuffy confines of his domed head whilst he pummelled said boyfriend on the field, at afternoon break; the uncontrolled spurt which followed him whispering what a good fuck she was, trickling through to his underwear.
“Now, Aaron,” said his father, “I feel you should be told that I get no pleasure from this. I do it for your own good.”
Dr. Chase’s nose crinkled. “Good heavens that really is quite pungent, isn’t it? Mr. Winkle’s been very busy today, hasn’t he. Never mind; don’t worry about that. Just think of kissing some girl on a starry, moonlit eve,” he said suddenly adopting a dramatic, Shakespearian tenor to his voice.
He leant over the boy’s golden head, so he could see what he was doing whilst properly wanking the boy with long, slow strokes.
He placed his other hand on the lad’s round shoulder as he said, “now, if you want me to do it quicker, you really must say.”
Aaron sat there with his eyes closed, one wrist resting diffidently on his drawn up knee, the other gently tugging at his nutsack.
Dr. Chase quickly reached down with his shoulder hand. “No, no, no, I’ll do that – I’m not sure where God’s line rests when it comes to self-flagellation, but I’d rather not take any risks.”
Dr. Chase’s hand quickly cupped his son’s nut sack, causing his thighs to splay in response to the rather pleasant sensation of having his stinky fat knob fiddled and his pongy big balls jiggled by his father’s surprisingly experienced hands.
The room, like the rest of the house, was silent whilst father administered to his son’s needs. The man would draw his hand down the fleshy obelisk, revealing the purple head to the cool air of the room and allowing Dr. Chase’s stretching thumb to scratch its way across the slippery domed surface, fingers delicately squeezing the cock flesh as he did so.
The claw-like fingers of his other hand would roil and excite the unthinking nutsack which the boy so often used to think with.
After ten minutes or so, the boy’s breathing quickened slightly, as Dr. Chase continued his slow pace, but reduced the pressure he applied to the cock, ever-so-slightly. The hand cradling his bollocks stopped molesting his gonads, and moved forward ever so slightly.
The boy unthinkingly leaned his head back into his father’s crotch, his eyes closed, as he grunted “Uhg.”
“Teenagers these days; I don’t know. What was it you just said?” replied Dr. Chase calmly. “You’re not an ape. Speak like a human being if you want to say something.”
“H-harder.” He instructed. “F-faster.”
“Oh, I see,” Dr. Chase replied. He regripped the lad’s sweaty cock, but was pleased to see he didn’t have to do anything with his other hand, as the boy rutted his bum across the carpet like a dog, to thrust his nuts into Dad’s hands.
“UGH,” he grunted, once more.
Dr. Chase replied calmly, “I’ll take that to mean ‘thank you Dad’. In which case, ‘you’re welcome’.”
Aaron said nothing, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut as his Dad very kindly spanked his monkey for him, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in apprehension; his hips thrusting forward and backward, doing their part to encourage the orgasm that had become the entirety of Aaron’s being, the continued absence of it feeling like a crisply defined hole in his soul.
“Now,” said Dr. Chase, “it’s important that we shoot out as much of that thick, creamy stuff causing a blockage in your pipes as we can, so I’m just going to slow down again.”
“Now, it’s for your own good; I felt your testes drawing up there. That meant you were going to sperm yourself! Already! We’ve only been at it for ten minutes.”
With that, Dr. Chase’s calloused hands slowed their movement to a crawl, masturbating the over-sexed boy seemingly in slow motion, the jumps and flexes of his prick, previously interpreted as an eagerness to get up and say ‘hello world! Look at me!’, now seeming more like a silent cry for help from any passers-by.
Alas, Aaron was no longer the figure of robust physical strength and piqued sexual potency normally witnessed by his school chums. Because of his young age and prior unfamiliarity with an experienced male hand, after a mere 30 minutes of spanking and 10 minutes of perfunctory hand-jobbing, the boy had been rendered a crumpled sexual wreak, unable to so much as lift a finger to stop his father’s tormenting hand.
Dr. Chase left his son’s nutsack so he could place his hand on the boy’s forehead.
“Yes, your sweating up nicely,” he stated as he pushed the golden boy’s blond head further into Dad’s maturely musky crotch, which was gently thrusted forward as he did so.
“Aaron,” he said sternly, “I’ve been thinking. If you wish, you can keep the silly coloured underwear. I mean, they must cost quite a bit of money, so it’d be silly to throw them out, and whilst they’re not my sort of thing, I can see why some gentle admirer might think you look rather fetching in them.”
“Mmmahmmm,” Aaron purred, by way of either protest or agreement; it didn’t really matter.
Dr. Chase’s hand returned to the boy’s enlarged testes as he continued to flog the boy’s untamed dong with his other hand.
But how to tame him; that was the issue. It was all well and good improving the boy’s disposition now; but what about tomorrow? What about the day after?
“Yes,” he said conversationally, “I definitely think this is the way to go, from now on. Twice per day, I think. That’d be best, wouldn’t it? Yes, it would. Twice a day, I’ll check the size of your testes. Nothing too invasive – just whip down your boxers, I’ll perform a quick investigation; and if nothing’s amiss, you can go on your way. And if they’re still abnormally large, well, I’ll have to take care of it for you. In the morning before you leave for school, and of an evening.”
Thinking as he slowly wanked the boy, he continued to expand on his ideas for his son’s new sexual regimen. “It seems inconvenient, I know, but we can combine it with other household duties, and save time. In the morning, for instance, I can do it at any time – whilst you’re in the shower; whilst you’re shaving. Although we might want to be careful about that, now that I’ve thought about it!”
Dr. Chase chuckled at that, his sweaty palm continuing to stroke up, and down, up, and down.
Aaron gave no discernible reaction to the joke, apparently having slipped into a mild coma.
“Whilst you’re having breakfast; that’d be a good time. I can prepare your Frosties, like I normally do, and you can lower your school trousers just before you sit at the breakfast table. I can check you over and administer any relief, as necessary, whilst you dine with Tony the Tiger, like you do every morning. That’d be good for you, wouldn’t it? Saves time, and we don’t have to have any awkward moments, talking about it, or anything like that. You can just shoot your excess cream, and head off to school, safe in the knowledge that you can carry out a full day of learning, unencumbered by such heavy cum sacs.”
Aaron gurgled happily in response.
“Evenings will be easier, of course. A lot more time. I mean, yes, I could do it over dinner; but I do so enjoy the opportunity for us to eat a family meal together. Often, it’s the only time I get to see you properly during the day! But, let’s think…I mean, I could do it whilst you do your homework in your room? Yes, that’d be good all-round, I think. You can take off your joggers before you get started, and I can ‘do my work’, so to speak, whilst you do your French. Oh, that’d be quite handy, actually, because you always need my help to do long-division. Yes, we’ll do that, I think.”
Without realising it, twenty minutes of steadily wanking the teenager’s granite-hard cock had passed. Dr. Chase’s hand had unintentionally sped up its flogging of Aaron’s anguished fuck stick.
It was just as well; Aaron still had his eyes closed, but he was methodically banging the side of his head into his father’s inner-thigh, mumbling incoherently as he did so.
It struck Dr. Chase that the boy had become quite mad after today’s events.
It must have been that fight, he thought. The poor little thing; perhaps he sustained some sort of concussion, the effects of which are only now being realised.
Dr. Chase only hoped that the pleasure his lad would receive from spunking would help repair some of the damage to his mind; or at least, enable him to get a peaceful night’s sleep without all that mucky jizz clogging up his internal bits-and-pieces.
Dr. Chase had intended to slow down again – to reduce his speed to a crawl, but he thought: no. My boy isn’t well. This is no time for long-winded medical procedures such as this one.
If I can help lessen his suffering at this moment, then it is nothing less than my duty to do precisely that.
So it was that instead of slowing down, as Dr. Chase had planned, he infact sped up his ministrations; his fist becoming a blur as he skilfully diddled the kid’s foreskin like there was no tomorrow; taking a firmer hold of the shaft as he did so, his finger-tips squeezing the hard flesh into sweet submission.
Aaron was clearly grateful for the friction; mewling in a high-pitched whine like the sick puppy he was, he was now thrusting outward and upward into his father’s grasping fist.
His father’s other hand, now warmly wet after spending so much time enduring the slick humidity between the teenager’s muscled thighs, took a good grip of his furry drawn-up gonads, and gave them a good, firm toot: once; twice; and a third time for luck.
As if the fired-up sexual locomotive within him heard the signal, the nut-sack yank immediately produced a blood-curdling “UMMAGAHHD” from the lad’s normally more nuanced vocal chords, followed by a delicious, feathered geyser of thick, pent-up anguished lad glue; richly textured clotted spunk, fired with a big bucketful of the unseen sexual energy found only in a teenager prone to heavy spunking.
Dr. Chase watched, enraptured, and oh so proud, as a million tiny pearls flew into the air; above the boy’s torso; above his head; where their delicate weight enabled them to stay suspended in the air for the briefest of moments…before coming back down to Earth with a splat.
The first shot peppered Aaron’s white shirt (not too bad) and black blazer (annoying) and face (pretty humiliating) with what felt and looked like a double shotgun blast of just-ripened teen spunk to the chest and face.
But there was no time to react to such an audacious assault on the boy, perpetrated by his very own scurrilous spunk; for just as Aaron shuddered with the feeling of such a profoundly satisfying cum, so another volley rocketed out of his proud golden-maned prick, to once again briefly take orbit before crash landing on the teenager’s mucky shirt and blazer.
There followed a third, which instead of attempting aeronautics, satisfied itself with more of a pole-vaulter’s trajectory, flinging itself gracefully up his body, to the golden and blue knot in Aaron’s tie – yes, his tie! You’d forgotten that, hadn’t you? So had I. FYI: he’s still completely clothed from the waist up, and completely naked from the waist down, except for those cute sporty little ankle socks on his cute sporty little feet.
This Olympic-level gymnastics was rapidly matched by the fourth steaming-hot serving – but this one had to make do with the silver medal; for it stopped just short the lad’s sternum.
Number five was positively disappointing in contrast to what had gone before – it was like one of those old Soviet rockets, adopting a good speed and course as it shot of our Aaron’s flared, ever-so-angry cockhead, but it just seemed to putter out soon after take-off, returning to Earth not at all far from the initial launch site.
The continual flow of creamed lad which constituted eruptions six, seven and eight could hardly be said to have any bounce at all – they were more like one of those chocolate foundations you used to see in the 1990s, with the still-thick cum just cascading down the rigid flank of teen cock, to pool and congeal in his smart privet hedge of a public bush.
The boy’s eyes were closed, and watery. His shirt, stuck with sweat to his curvey upper body, bounced with the force of his heart-beat.
He was tired, bless him. Just as Dr. Chase thought; he’ll sleep more soundly for not having all that stinky boy gloop in him.
And speaking of stink; Dr. Chase wondered whether he’d have to get the room fumigated.
He himself didn’t object to the smell too much; it had a sort of acrid, manly smell, which made Dr. Chase feel proud; but colleagues who dropped in for a sherry would almost certainly not appreciate the overpowering aroma of Aaron’s prodigious sixteen year old cum.
“Pardon me for asking, Dr. Chase, but what is that smell?”
“It’s the contents of my adolescent son’s ballbag, Alec”
No, no, no, that wouldn’t do at all.
Dr. Chase let go of the boy’s cock, and stood; Aaron’s head flopped down and away from Dr. Chase’s crotch, and onto the edge of the seat he had just vacated.
The only movement was the occasional twitch from his cute little muscular grey-socked feet, now outstretched to their maximum extent.
Dr. Chase was going to leave the room; it felt a bit awkward to remain. He should give his son some privacy to get his affairs in order, he thought; he knew it was critical for a father to respect his son’s privacy.
As an afterthought – and with the best paternalistic intentions in mind – to help get him started on the not inconsiderable clean up of his cum– and Dr. Chase was damned if he was going to help with that; he knew this was an ideal occasion for his son to learn the importance of responsibility and cleaning up after himself.
But, just to help him along, Dr. Chase quickly knelt and put the entirety of his son’s lovely big softening cock in his mouth, sucking up all the tasty teenage vitamins and protein. As he knelt there, nose gently tickled by short blond pubes, Dr. Chase felt oddly infantile; sucking, licking and often even chewing on the big saucy cock, he felt perfectly content.
And, Dr. Chase had to admit; the flavour of his son’s super-human emissions were something he could learn to live with. Maybe he’d do this again for him, he thought. He knew boy’s liked that sort of thing; maybe he’s swallow his lad’s pleasingly thick, deliciously robust vintage product on his 17th birthday – in the little car he intended to buy for him, perhaps? That’d be a nice treat for all concerned.
He put his hand on the boy’s thigh – just for somewhere to put it, you understand; and gripped harder as he felt the pleasingly solid muscle tensing quietly in exquisite anguish.
After a minute or two (although Dr. Chase would be the first to admit, it *could* have been longer), Dr. Chase released his son’s cock from his wet mouth, now once more erect, but clean, at least.
He cradled the boy’s sticky, blond head so he could speak into his ear, reaching between his legs with his other hand to also cradle his sticky, blond balls. “These feel a lot better now, son. A lot less swollen.” He squeezed them to make his point. “I think you should probably take the day off tomorrow; stay around the house. So we can properly sort out your…regimen, yes? I think it’s important we sort it out. I do it for you, you know. I don’t enjoy it. You realise that, don’t you? That this is all one big sacrifice on my part. I only hope you learn, son. I only hope you learn.”
Aaron was at that moment barely sentient; certainly, he was confused about a great many things. But if there was one thing he knew, deep in his heart, even if he couldn’t admit it to anyone but himself – it was that he, like every other sixteen year old, had absolutely no intention of learning a damn thing.