Dad’s Poker Night
Dad’s Poker Night
(8,316 words)
Dyson Porter
$1.95
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Excerpt
Dad lay his palm on my ass cheek and rubbed. “Getting pretty red there. Think you’ve learned your lesson?”
I tried to nod, but my head was held fast. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” It was no time to keep being a smart-ass.
He patted my ass. “Good… there’s just one more thing.” His cock twitched under me.
“Frank, you may want to take a few whacks here.”
Frank sounded confused. “I… I don’t think so. He’s your son.”
Dad chuckled. “That’s the thing—sons. The other day, I saw my son and your son doing some very nasty things on the picnic table out by our pool.”
I jerked again, trying to get away. I didn’t know where this was going, and I didn’t want to be trapped so Frank could strangle me.
Frank’s voice was quiet. “What do you mean ‘nasty’?”
“I mean fuckin’, Frank.” Dad shifted his hips.
“You’re telling me…” Frank’s voice dripped with anger, “that your son was fucking my boy? Fuck! He’s twice Jimmy’s size.” A chair scraped on the floor.
A hand connected with my ass. The slap was deafening, and I yelled.
Frank yelled back, “Did you force him? What the fuck?” He hit me over and over. Every smack was louder and harder than the one before it. It took at least two minutes before he wore himself out and stopped. My ass burned like fire.
Dad laughed. “Calm down, Frank. Chris wasn’t dicking your boy. My son was the one bent over the picnic table taking little Jimmy’s rod.”
“He’s not so little,” I mumbled, remembering him filling me up.
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