Dad’s Weakness

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This is a true story, as told to me by a friend.

When I was 18 back in the Sixties, in my last year of high school, I met the school bus every day at the gate of the Army post where my father was stationed. Those were confusing years. I was still trying to decide if I wanted to go on to college or get a job — maybe even enlist in the Army like my father had at my age.

Dad was a drill instructor at a US Army basic training fort. In the Army, “drill instructor” was a military occupational specialty (MOS), meaning that Dad, unlike in the Marine Corps, could be a drill sergeant year after year. After years as an infantryman and a couple of wounds in combat, I think Dad preferred the life of an instructor.

Dad was a tough guy. Maybe because of his combat experience and his day-to-day screaming and raging at the recruits. Maybe he was just the no-nonsense type. But I was always a little afraid of Dad as I grew up. He had a quick temper, and I got more than one smack for doing something he didn’t like. He wasn’t exactly cruel to me, just . . . distant. Like he couldn’t quite figure me out. Like he could deal with Army recruits but not something as complicated as a little kid.

I knew very young that Dad was — if not “ugly” — at least definitely “not handsome.” His face was almost like a cartoon sergeant — broad, square lantern jaw; thick eyebrows; broad, flat nose; even a scar on the side of his head, from his ear across his cheek. He kept his hair clipped Army-short. I can see how he would have struck fear into the hearts of recruits.

As I grew up around him, I guess I wasn’t as awestruck by his physique as others were. He was Dad, and the fact that he was big, broad, and muscular was just . . . how it was. He did seem like a giant to me — 6″ 6′ and around 251 pounds. Wide shoulders, massive chest covered with dark hair, wedge-shaped torso that narrowed down to a slender waist, and powerful legs that could knock an opponent cold in the karate-training sandpits.

But I wasn’t afraid of him (when he wasn’t mad at me). I just wished he . . . liked me better. I always admired him, but Dad was always a sort of mysterious stranger.

My main connection in the family was my mother. Dad was a distant power, like an aircraft carrier escorting and protecting a passenger ship.

So I was ashamed that the older I grew, the more interested I was in men than in women. My mother would have been humiliated, but my father would have killed me if they knew I craved a naked male — not a nude woman. I even went out on dates with high school girls to keep up the disguise, but when I was alone and had the chance, I sought sexual contacts with men. I cruised the city parks late at night, hoping to be picked up by a pervert. I loved perverts.

Now I realize I was lucky I was not beaten up, killed, arrested, or at least infected with a venereal disease, but they say God looks out for the dumb.

Anyway, to get back to my story, one particular day at high school, while in the school office for something or other, the secretary asked me if I would take a note to Coach Coln’s office, a list of student names for something or other. Sure, why not.

The gym was in the far wing of the school, and the coach’s office at the far corner of that was distant from the classrooms and other school offices. I walked through the halls to the coach’s office, but before I could knock on the door, the note slipped from my hand and fluttered to the floor. I bent to pick it up, and as I did, I heard voices — and one of them I recognized as my father’s!

My father was at the school? Was I in trouble?

I leaned my head to the door to listen more closely. And I was astonished.

“Ya know ya got me, ya bastard! C’mon, I want it,” said my father’s voice. “Ram that cock up my ass. I gotta have it! C’mon, hurry, man! Forget the lube, my asshole is already slick! I don’t care if it hurts! C’mon, c’mon! My ass is up in the air for ya, man! . . . I’m beggin’ ya!!”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

I had to push the door open a crack. Slowly, silently I turned the knob and opened the door enough for a look. Again I was stunned. My father knelt naked on his hands and knees on the floor. He faced the side of the office, giving me a broadside view. Standing behind him, also naked, was Coach Coln.

Now, Coach Coln was big, muscular, and masculine. He stood 5″ 10′ or so and I guessed a good 217 pounds. Not quite as big as Dad, but he was big. Broad shoulders. Chest covered with dark hair. A torso like a tree-trunk. Fortress hips. A chunky version of the male body — whereas Dad was more the classic sculptured hero.

But Coach Coln’s dong had my eyes bugging out.

God! For starters, it was at least nine inches long, a big, fat organ filigreed in red and blue veins, ending in a graceful shroud at the tip that almost covered a deep-red cockhead — but not quite.

I watched with wide-open eyes as my father, the drill instructor, surrendered to Ankara escort Coach, I could see Dad’s face — he wanted it. Waiting impatiently, he dropped his head to the floor, his bum in the air, his asshole aimed at Coach’s big dick. My father was the most erotic sight of my life! I was dying to see his cock, but I couldn’t quite get a glimpse of it — Dad’s leg was in the way.

Finally Coach dropped to his knees behind Dad, wiping his cockhead up and down Dad’s butt-crack. Dad moaned and wriggled his rear end, and Coach scooped his fingers into a jar of Vaseline, which he rubbed in Dad’s ass. “Oh, yeah,” Dad gasped, “that’s it, that’s it! Grease me up! Ram that big thing in me! Make me yer bitch! I’m hot for ya! Gouge me a new asshole!!”

Before my disbelieving eyes, Coach pressed his bayonet against Dad’s ass, then with one violent lunge, he sank his mammoth cock into Dad up to the balls, smacking his groin against Dad’s buttocks.

“Yeeeow! Ya motherfucker!” Dad bellowed.

But he wanted it. He was panting, staring straight ahead, his eyes dark with lust. Coach gave him another thrust, then another, and another, stroking his cock in and out in an energetic, manly, no “tender sensitivities” fuck.

“You big cocksucker,” Coach gasped, “you’re just a cum-slut! A man-pussy who wants nothing more than to feel a big cock telling him which way to go!”

“Yeah,” Dad panted, “God, yeah!”

Finally, Coach gripped my father’s ribs for better leverage, his hips slamming into Dad, and Dad’s ass worked with him, matching his strokes. “You want my cum, Sherman” (my father’s name), “you got it!”

I could tell Coach was cumming. With a final, giant lunge, he slammed his hips hard against Dad’s ass and froze there, trembling, shivering in his ecstasy, and I could imagine him spurting his sperm up Dad’s butt in big gobs.

That did it for Dad. Still crouching there as Coach’s bitch, he raised his head in bliss, and Dad’s big dong shot a big mess of the family cum onto the tile floor of the coach’s office. Damn, he cums from being fucked.

By then my own dick was as hard as a beer can in my pants, painfully trapped in the tight confines of my underwear. I rubbed myself through the cloth of my pants, hornier than ever in my life.
When the two men had finished, Coach’s impregnator pulled out of Dad’s butt with a slurping sound. Both men stood up and kissed each other. Then they began putting their clothes back on, and I staggered away from the door and moved down the hall, ducking into the boys’ room.

Inside, I yanked down my pants and stroked my cock in short, sharp, violent strokes, banging against my groin with passion, jerking my pole full-length. I closed my eyes with ecstasy as my torture reached a peak. My foreskin slid back and forth as I went over the falls, and I kept up the pace, my hips out of control, fucking back at my hand, setting my whole body on fire. Spreading my legs apart, I could not hold back a blissful groan, and I shot big, long streams of jism into the air.

I had to find out more about this. I hurried back to the coach’s office and knocked on the door. “Come in!”

Inside sat Coach Coln, puttering with a handful of papers on his desk. My father was nowhere to be seen. “The office asked me to bring you this note.” I looked around the room. Nobody.

We were alone. Surprised once more, I handed the note to Coach.
“Thanks.” He looked back down at the papers on his desk. I was dismissed.

I left, but I was determined to find out more about the most erotic scene I had ever witnessed. That night at home, I looked at Dad carefully when he came home from the duty day. He had a sort of “contented” look about him and was maybe a little mellower than usual. Nothing really much out of the ordinary. In fact, if I had not been watching him with an ulterior motive, I would not have noticed anything at all.

The next day I lingered after school and headed down to the gymnasium. The coaching staff sometimes showered after all the students had gone, and I wanted to see if I might catch Coach Coln in there.

Yes! Coach Coln was in there soaping himself, his chunky, solid body like a tank in a car wash. I set down my books on one of the benches, then, standing in the shower room door, I unbuckled my belt and pulled open my pants. Kicking off my shoes, I shucked down my trousers. I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it open.

About then, Coach Coln noticed me. He stared.

Stripping off my shirt, I stood before him in just my jockstrap. Hooking both thumbs in the waistband, I pulled my jock down, and my cock flipped up rock-hard to slap against my belly. I stared a challenge into Coach Coln’s eyes.

“Damn,” he muttered. “The son and the father!”

I moved toward him, and when I was close enough, I grabbed his by-then hard baby-maker and stroked it. With a growl, he grabbed me, pulling me against him, and his mouth crushed onto mine in a savage kiss.

The next thing I knew, he had thrown Ankara escort bayan me onto my back with a judo hold. I surrendered, giving up without a fight. I raised my legs, feet in the air, my asshole aimed at him, and he took the bait. The shower water continued to splatter over us as he mounted, dragging his cockhead up and down my ass in the same technique I saw him use on Dad.

He squirted shampoo into my butt-crack to use for lube and pressed his big cockhead against my tight ass-ring. “Aw, God!” I groaned. It stung. Sure, I had been fucked before by strangers in the parks, but Coach Coln’s cock was big, fat, and vicious.

He stretched me damned tight, but gradually I adjusted to him, and my ass-ring slowly rounded out into the big O of pleasure, which was lucky because he fucked me in short, deep, violent strokes, driving into me with passion, jabbing as deep in my guts as he could possibly reach.

“You like a man’s cock in you, boy?”


“You a cum-slut like your father?”

“Yeah . . . I guess.”

His eyes stared into mine with grim determination, and as his length slid back and forth, he gradually fucked away my last defenses, blasting me past the point of no return, and I shot what felt like a pint of boiling spunk onto my chest and belly.

About then, Coach Coln got his, and his big, inhuman cock shot rounds of his baby-juice into me. It was fine! From the joy I got from my own prick, I always figured the cock got more pleasure than the hole, but that day my happy ass-ring writhed and clenched on the throbbing dong in me, and I could hardly breathe for the joy of that orgasm.

We remained in a frozen statue of male pleasure for several minutes, in an intense afterglow, water splattering all over and around us. God, that felt good!

Finally Coach pulled out and stood up. “Cumming just from being fucked. God, what is it about you Army people?”

I, too, crawled to my feet. “I saw you with my father last night. How did you two get together?”

Coach smiled, washing himself off in the shower stream. “When you first moved here,” — God, that was three years ago! — “he came walking in to make arrangements for you to start school. It was the end of the day; he caught me in the showers just like this. One thing led to another.” He looked back at me. “You didn’t know?”

“Had no idea.”

“Your father’s a real cock-hound. Loves to get fucked. He’ll carry you all night if you can ride that long. What really gets him off, though, is talking shit to him. Sets him on fire.”

He turned around — There’s that fine cock again — “It’s hard to believe that as hot as you are, you and he never got it on.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Coach Coln’s big dong, and he noticed my notice. The big thing started to lengthen out again. “Like what you see, do you?”

He watched me with a grim smile as I squatted on the shower room floor at his mighty legs and gripped his big cock. I pressed my lips against his cockhead, forcing a groan of pleasure out of him. He was damned big, but gradually I spread my jaws wide and worked my mouth over the big ball of his cockhead.

I began to suck, bobbing my head, at the same time jacking him sensually, his cock slick and slimy with my spit and his jizz. After a couple of minutes, I got to him. “Oh, yeah!” he growled.

I kept sucking, and sure enough, his hands gripped the sides of my head, his hips working with me, matching my strokes, his whole body begging me for it, and BANG! He shot what felt like a pint of boiling cum down my throat.

I sat on the shower room floor for a couple of minutes, jacking myself off while I swallowed Coach’s jizz and licked up what had spilled out onto my chin. When I came, I spurted out my satisfaction to run sluggishly toward the drain in the middle of the floor, I stood up.

Coach was leaning against the wall, weak from another orgasm so soon. “I think,” he said, “that your father needs to share more with his son. I’ve got an idea for a good father-son bonding.” He reached down to heft my balls as he went on. “Let me know the first night your mother will be gone from the house.”

By coincidence, my mother was flying back to Wyoming to visit her mother in three days. I gave Coach directions to our house in the fort’s NCO Housing area.

Those were three long days. I could hardly wait. The hours dragged by like honey drips on a winter day. There were pleasant interludes, though: I renewed my “connection” with Coach Coln nearly every day after school. I went home every day with a pleasantly sore ass.

On the Day, I drove Mom to the airport and saw her off. Then I looked forward to the Night.

It started out as usual. I put the dishes in the dishwasher after supper and came into the living room, where Dad had pulled off his boots and sat back in his chair with a beer, still wearing his fatigues. I wore a pair of jogging shorts and a T-shirt. The final portion of the 6:00 news was on TV.

The Escort Ankara doorbell rang. I went to answer the door, nervous butterflies in my stomach — but my cock was rock-hard. Coach Coln stood on the porch dressed in a pair of chino pants and a bright Hawaiian shirt. What a stud!

I invited him in, and the look on Dad’s face was worth a million bucks when he saw who had come to visit. “Dad, this is Coach Coln.” I was very polite.

Dad shook Coach’s hand. “Nice to know ya.” I had to fight back a smile, knowing how well these two had already “known” one another. “What brings ya here tonight?”

“Mr. Regex — Sergeant Regex — I’m here to talk to you about Tim’s possible participation on the XXXX High School track team.”

“Well, any o’ that is okay with me–“

“Can I get you a beer, Coach?” I had to turn this into a friendly conversation more than a no-nonsense discussion of Parental Consent for Sports Participation. I hurried to the refrigerator and came back with a beer for Coach and another one for Dad.

Coach Coln sat on the couch, and Dad settled into his chair. The conversation turned to a discussion of my abilities in Track & Field. I could see that Dad was a nervous wreck. His eyes darted back and forth from Coach to me, his mouth was dry (licked his lips often), and he fidgeted.

Coach Coln talked about the school’s new track equipment and timing gear . . . and he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. When he started that, I saw Dad’s nervousness turn up to High.

Still talking about new equipment, Coach pulled open his shirt, baring his chest. Dad gulped. “Getting’ a little hot in here for ya?” His voice was a dry, cracking gasp.

Coach ignored Dad and kept talking about starting pistols and photo-finishes, pulling the shirttails out of his pants. He leaned forward to take the shirt off, and he laid it on the arm of the couch.

“Why ya takin’ yer shirt off?” Dad’s voice was oddly soft. Almost scared.

Then Coach kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt and pulled open his pants, pushing down his zipper. “Wha-What ya doin’ there??” Dad’s voice was husky and hoarse — but desperate.

Coach had gradually stopped talking. Standing up from the couch, he shucked down his pants, leaving us to gape at the giant bulge in his off-white jockstrap. Dad was silent, staring in shock. He, too, got up from his chair.

Hooking both thumbs in the waistband, Coach pulled his jockstrap down, and his big cock flipped up rock-hard to slap against his belly. When he kicked the jockstrap off his ankles, he was naked. Just his socks.

Dad let out a low growl. “What . . . what are ya doin’ there? I got my boy here!”

Then Coach Coln growled in a low voice: “Take those clothes off. I like my bitches naked!”

Dad looked desperately from Coach to me, and I looked back with an expression of astonishment — no way was I letting out that I knew what was going on. “I . . . ain’t nobody’s bitch,” Dad said quietly.

Coach stroked his big cock, and a drool of precum fell from the hole in a silvery string almost to the floor. “You want this cock? Get out of those clothes.”

Dad looked at me, and panic in his eyes, he croaked, “Well, it is gettin’ hot in here . . .” and he pulled open the buttons of his fatigue shirt. Then his gaze moved back to the magnificent cock Coach was aiming at him.

I decided to twist the knife again. “Dad? . . . Dad, what are you doing?”

Dad looked over at me. “Look at that,” he said in a strained voice. “It . . . it’s huge!” Dad unbuckled his belt and pulled open the buttons in the fly of his fatigue pants. He looked back at Coach’s crotch, then shucked down his pants and pulled down his green Army boxers.

Wow! I hadn’t got a good look at Dad’s bayonet in years. Son of a bitch! It was hardening and had reached a good 10″, and it still had a ways to go!

Dad had a torpedo! A big, fat cock with a pointed warhead of foreskin covering a the furnace heat of his cockhead. The opening of his foreskin looked like a huge piss-hole. I wanted to stick my tongue in it. A big blob of precum spurted from that dark eye as I stared.

I couldn’t believe it! Dad was even more hung than Coach Coln. “Dad! Dad you’re naked!” More twisting the knife. Let him writhe.

He was helpless. “I know, son . . . I gotta do this.”

Coach’s voice was husky but commanding: “Get on your back, bitch! I want to fuck!”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My father the drill instructor, the biggest man I knew, certainly more powerful than any other man in the room, slowly lowered himself to the carpet and lay back, spreading his legs, raising his feet up into the air. He looked up at me desperately. “Gotta do it, son . . . gotta do it!”

Then Coach looked at me. “You, too, boy! Strip down!”

Dad’s mouth fell open in shock as I hurriedly stripped off everything I was wearing, and when he saw that I wore no underwear and was already rock-hard, Dad’s eyes grew wider. “Wha-what? You too??”

“Gotta have it, Dad. Gotta have it.” I lay down beside him on the carpet, spread my legs, and raised my feet.

“No, no,” growled Coach. “I got a better idea. Tim, roll over there and do the old man.”

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