I am so fucking horny each time I hear the doorbell, I have to do everything in my power not to let my cock pop right out from under my ripped up jeans. It is not just all the adorable little boys that are showing up at my house to collect candy, it is that I knew, at any minute, it would be my son, and he would be coming back with a lot more than sweets.
Around midnight, I start getting worried, though. I have run out of candy, and I knew my boy should be back by now. What is going on with him? What are the guys doing? I have been nervous all night as it is the first time I have sent my son out on his own to fulfill his Halloween duties.
I get up and pace a bit while trying to figure out if I should head out to start searching for my kid. Then I caught a look at myself in the mirror and knew that it is a bad idea. I am all bloody and pale, and my muscles are bulging out of my ripped shirt and torn up jeans. I can see my big calf muscles showing, and my biceps are looking mighty fine.
I am dressed as a zombie, you see, so I am pretty scary looking. Of course, I can be intimidating without my makeup and costume—I am a big man—but this is definitely a serious costume for me. I am not going out in public like this, and I am feeling too tired and lazy to wash off the makeup, so I decide I will just have to wait it out until the kid came back.
Finally, at around two am the doorbell rings. I knew it could not be any other kids since it is so late. I rush forward and rip open the door. I cannot wait to see what costume my son ended up in tonight, but to my surprise, there is no costume. There is barely a kid there. It is more of some sort of shivering animal. My son is completely naked, fetal on the doorstep, shivering (from the cold? or something else!) and beside him lies the big pillowcase that I had sent him out with to collect candy. It looks quite full.
“Oh, my god,” I shout as I quickly scoop the boy up and bring him inside, quickly checking to make sure the neighbors do not see him, “what the fuck happened to you?”
It is a rhetorical question since I know the kid is in no shape to answer. He looks like he has had a rough night, which is not surprising, but maybe a little rougher than I have anticipated. I guess that is what happens when kids are not supervised. +++ Okay, so shoot me, maybe I should have checked the kid out more thoroughly, but I am anxious to get to his bag downstairs that I sort of just throw him on his bed and give him a quick look-over. A few bumps and bruises, a little blood, his tiny body looks exhausted and paler than usual, and his dirty blonde, curly hair is matting to his head in some places with god knows what. I would soon find out.
“You’ll sleep it off,” I say to the kid.
I pat his head a bit while trying not to get too much of the goop in his hair on my hand. Then I switch off the light and head down the stairs. Yeah, I know, I sound like I am a bad dad, but I have more important matters to attend to.
These matters are downstairs in the pillowcase my kid brought home. I open it up, and inside I see what I have hoped so much would be there: three videotapes, marked with numbers one to three, but then, as I dug a bit deeper into the bag, I noticed something else—a fourth video.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud.
Why the fuck is there a fourth video in my son’s candy sack? I only picked out three guys. I push away that thought and allow myself to revel in what is before me. Just the site of these videotapes makes me drop my pants and whip out my poor, pent-up monster cock. I take it out and go to town on it with two fists, enjoying the feeling of my calloused hands on my eight-inch tool. Yes, folks, I have a thick eight-inch cock, and I use it on my son. So sue me.
I stand there jerking my dick, covering it in some zombie paint, as I rifle through the rest of his pillowcase. Mostly, it is just candy—looks like the kid had managed to visit a few houses that were not “haunted” along his route. Speaking of which, the little map I had drawn up for him on a piece of orange construction paper was still in there. I used a black crayon so that if anyone found it, they would think he had drawn it himself unless they turned it over and looked at the back, where I had written out (also in black crayon) the instructions for my son:
Follow this map EXACTLY.
Visit any house you like along the way that looks like it’s giving out candy.
You MUST visit each of the three houses with an X before I let you back in the house. Those are extra fun HAUNTED HOUSES.
You must videotape your approach to the house, and then give the camera over to the man who answers the door.
You must get one piece of candy from each of the HAUNTED HOUSES. DO NOT LEAVE UNTIL THEY’VE GIVEN YOU THE CANDY.
Do not eat any candy until you get home and I say you can unless one of the monsters you meet at the HAUNTED HOUSES tells you to.
Be safe. Look both ways before you cross the street.
Remember to say THANK YOU when you get your candy.
Happy Halloween – Daddy
Reading over the note gives me an odd feeling. My brain is telling me that what I had done was awful—to send a kid his age out on his own on Halloween night knowing that he was going to end up in considerable trouble with some scary strangers. After all, I barely knew anything about any of these strangers that I was sending him to since I had met them online. I checked out their houses from my car, but I didn’t want to meet any of them. Why? I don’t know. Call me a bad dad, but something about not knowing exactly what kind of danger I putting my offspring into had made my cock throb harder than it ever had before.
Knowing that I had just essentially thrown him to the wolves on the scariest night of the year threatens to make me cum before I even pop in the first video, but I know I have to wait. I want to save my load for after I watch for when I am going to have some quality time with my kid.
I dig through the rest of the candy in his bag, but it is just sweets for the little guy. No sign of the three costumes we picked out together a month ago. I had sent him out in his three favorite little getups and given the men at the Haunted Houses a heads up about what he would be wearing so they could plan accordingly. Another pang of guilt ran through me, and once again it makes my drooling cock bounce and throb in my fist. I had let my boy get so worked up about those costumes. I had encouraged his excitement because I had enjoyed his happy face as he ran through the aisle of the costume shop while he tried to decide which three were his absolute favorite.
I should clarify—I had enjoyed the smile on his face knowing that the three costumes he picked would be adding to what would happen to him on Halloween. The three costumes that got his little heart racing and caused big, toothy smile would be part of the torment that my boy would suffer on All Hallows’ Eve.
However, the costumes are completely missing, which is mystifying to me. What possibly could have happened to my son that would make his costumes not worth returning to his dear old dad? I shudder at the thought, and my cock flings a glob of pre-cum against my thigh.
Enough pondering—it is time to watch the videos. I am so excited I cannot wait, and even though it is close to two thirty in the morning, I am planning to watch them all while my baby slut upstairs takes a much-needed rest. I pop the first cassette tape in and plop down on the couch, enjoying the feeling of my big, low-hanging nuts bouncing on the sofa as I wait for the video to queue up.
VIDEO TAPE 1
I see a shot of a normal one-story suburban house like you would see in any neighborhood in any medium-sized town. It has a big front porch with fake cobwebs on it and a jack-o-lantern grinning evilly. From behind the camera my son is breathing heavily as he ascends the steps, then reaches up to ring the doorbell.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” he says excitedly in his tiny little boy voice, as the door swings open.
Behind it is a man in his late forties dressed as an army soldier in full camos. He has a camo hat, shirt, and pants, all in brown, green and khaki, which matches the paint he has smeared all over his square-jawed face to conceal his identity. You can tell he is sexy-hot underneath. His dark, intense eyes look so bright and white in contrast with the dark makeup.
The boy moves the camera up and down the man as I told him to do, giving me a good look at the man. He’s big, just like me, but broader in the shoulders. He has a military build, and it would not be surprising if that costume is actually his old uniform. He has thick arms, and for the fun of the costume, he has ripped the sleeves of his shirt to show off his biceps and tattoo sleeve.
“Hello, sailor,” the man says as he reaches out for the camera.
There’s a bit of a shuffling as the man grabs the recorder from my kid and turns it around. I nearly jizz myself looking at my kid in his costume as I had not seen him in it—I wanted it to be a surprise, so I was in my bedroom when he got dressed and headed out on his Halloween hunt. Good god, he is fucking adorable. The little boy slut is dressed in a cute, innocently white, sailor uniform. It is complete with the bell-bottom pants, blue and white scarf, and tiny little white cap. He is smiling as he gives the man a cute little salute. He clearly does not know what he is in for yet.
“Come on in, sailor,” the stranger says as he escorts my kid inside into the dimly lit living room.
He places the camera on the mantle of his fireplace aiming it perfectly at my son and him. For the first time, I see them together, and I am struck by just how much bigger this man is than my kid. I was always big for my age, and as an adult, I am really intimidating in size. I do not know why my son did not take after me—he has been small since he was a baby and is just a tiny little thing now. This man is even bigger than I am and towers over my little boy, who is standing there in his sexy uniform, anxiously wiggling his feet. The man walks over to the table and picks up a bowl of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, takes one and hands it out to my son.
“Tha—” my son starts to say as he reaches for it, but he is cut short when the man yanks it away from him.
“Did I say you could take that candy, sailor slut boy?” he barks at my kid.
Okay, yes, this man definitely was in the military at some point. Either that or he’s really getting into character because he sounds just like a scary army sergeant. It makes my kid tremble—he does not handle getting yelled at well. But, after all, it would not be Halloween without a little fear.
Then, the horrifying stuff begins. I hear an unzipping sound, and the next thing my videotaped son and I know there is a cock in the room. And it’s terrifying. The Halloween monster hanging out of the army man’s fatigues is not even hard yet, and still, its girth is insane. It rises to attention slowly in front of my son, and that is when I realize that it too is covered in camo body paint. WOW.
My son has gone completely stupid, gaga-eyed over it. As if he weren’t choking down my eight-inch dick every day. Kids are pathetic, no.
The thing is long and veiny, but what is most impressive about it, now that it is at full-mast, is the head on it. The thing is the size of a small apple, and though the whole cock is thick, the dick head really sticks out as just being way too big.
My kid has gone silent. He seems to agree.
“All right now, kiddo,” the man barks in a scary military voice as he begins to stroke his throbbing sergeant cock. “You know the drill. You want that piece of candy, you’re gonna have to work for it, sailor! So here’s how it’s gonna work. You’re gonna have to come over here and not just slobber on this cock, but choke on it. You are gonna stuff each and every inch down your throat, and I will fuck your mouth until you fucking snarf up cock snot! I wanna see you gag up my sperm out your little pink nostrils. You hear me?”
“Y...yes…sir,” my son hesitantly replied.
“Did I say you could speak, cumslut? No! So shut the fuck up and begin!”
The sergeant approaches my son, whose eyes are wilder than ever, and uses both of his big thumbs to pull my boy’s mouth open. I am proud to say my son did not resist. When he said he understood, he is probably telling the truth.
The cock insertion began, and he slowly slips the monster into my son’s mouth. You would think that he would take it easy and work my kid into it. Well, maybe it is the way that my kid is adapting to the thick cock in his tiny mouth. I mean, already at only four or five inches of that thing, he is doing his little hiccup routine. That one where he makes this funny snorting, gagging, almost vomiting sound, topped off by a cute little hiccup. What a champ! You go, sailor!
Inch by inch the commanding officer presses on, using my son’s ears to help get the last few inches into the warm orifice. He throws his head back and laughs hysterically as he feels the boy’s nose buried in his pubes.
I look at my boy’s lips. They are stretched as wide as I have ever seen them, his little face is turning red from lack of oxygen, and his lips are not pink at all. Oh no, his little lips are green, brown, and black—they’re slathered in the paint from the sergeant!
That paint begins to run as my boy gasps, drools and gags. Spit is flowing out his mouth like a waterfall, pooling at his little white knees in a wet green and brown pool of boy saliva. It is getting all over his costume, too. The sergeant stops laughing. Neither my child nor I am ready for what happens next—immediate, instantaneous, extreme skull fucking.
Seriously, he gives no break at all. Alternating between fistfuls of the boy’s hair or his little ears in both hands, the sergeant gives the child a skull fucking that he is going to remember. I have never done what the man on screen is doing to my child. Who is the man on screen with his cock buried all the way in my son’s convulsing throat, then out and then back all the way in again? Why the fuck do I care? I am getting off, right? What else matters? Sorry, son.
This goes on for minutes, all the while my son’s eyes water and his nose drools snot as he makes his hiccup noise as his throat is impaled on that fat fist of a head. The guy fucking my son’s face—whoever he is—is still in character.
“Suck my dick, you fucking faggot sailor! You’re gonna shoot my cock snot out your nose if it kills you, ya hear me? Aw fuck, I hope you have figured out how you’re gonna do that because here it comes!”
The sergeant lets out a roar, but then he falls oddly silent. I am focused on my kid, whose eyes are wide in surprise and fear, waiting for the stranger’s load to flood his mouth. And then he does. And I’m so proud of my boy. You know why. Because here is how it goes down: for the first few seconds, my boy tightly squeezes his eyes shut. I see his throat trying to work down the load that’s obviously pouring down his throat. I can see the sergeant’s balls churning as they expel the massive load, and he just moans and groans as he feeds my son.
Then it happens—a snort, a gag, a grunt, and a groan, and it works! My kid straight up snarfs cum out his nose. Imagine if you will, a tiny child on his knees in front of a stranger who is spurting cum out of his nose. The cum does not just dribble out. He is coughing and gagging too much for that. It shoots out of his nose in adorable little spurts. I doubt that it feels pleasurable, but it feels good for sergeant. I can basically time his shots of sperm as you see them fly out of my son’s nostrils like a little dragon.
And then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over. The orgasm stops, the cum slows to a steady dribble out my son’s nose, and the man extricates his giant cock from my son’s throat. The kid falls back on his back on the floor, exhausted. The now satisfied sergeant walks over to the mantle and picks up the camera. He points it down at my son so I can get a good look at him.
My offspring is lying there, panting, gagging and drooling. His costume is a mess. What was once sparkling white is now coated in his drool, and the man’s jizz and body paint. No wonder that costume didn’t make it home.
“Here’s your candy, sailor.”
I see a Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup fall into the frame, landing squarely on my son’s tummy. My son looks at it and then rubs his jaw.
“My mouth is too sore to eat, sir,” he says meekly through his gags.
“Then save it for later. I don’t care. Just change your costume and get out.”
The camera flicks off.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I cannot even begin to tell you how many thoughts are running through my brain. I have just seen the hottest porno ever created, and my cock was well aware of that fact. In both of my fists, my cock, already rubbed raw, is throbbing, drooling a literal pool of pre-fuck on the carpet below. It is the hardest cock I have ever felt, and it is my own! But the real mind trip was whom and what I had just seen.
First of all, this huge cock I am holding created our first-time porn star, like literally—that slut came out of these nuts!
Secondly, who was his co-star? That man was incredibly hot but so incredibly twisted! How could he fuck his cock into a little boy’s soft, warm mouth and intentionally squirt sperm the wrong way up his nasal cavity?
This was the first house on my boy’s route, and I picked it because it was supposed to be the easiest. By no means was that man easy on my son. I guess it might be because I had sent him some of the pornos my boy and me and forgive me, but I’m not exactly the gentlest fucker. My kid will tell you all about it if he’s ever able to speak again following that brutal assault on his vocal cords.
Only six months ago, when my wife died, my son had never even seen me naked. Since then, in such a short span, the kid has grown up so much. Admittedly, I gave him a crash course in cock, but it was the best way for me to deal with the grief of losing my wife.
And I think our first adventure in incest was good for my son’s grief, too. He had been so close to his mother, and he was devastated by her loss, so I found a way to fill the hole she had left inside him. Of course, it probably wouldn’t have been his first choice to have the tool I used to fill that hole was his own daddy’s very angry, very big, very scary cock.
Fuck this is getting me too horned up. I walked to the bottom of the stairs, still jacking my dick.
“Hey, son, just watched your first vid! What a fucking slut you are! Now that I know you shoot cum outta those cute little nostrils so willingly, we’re gonna be doing that a lot—maybe first thing every morning. Okay, back to my programming!”
I didn’t know if the slut could hear me in the state he is in, but I did not care. I had to get that off my chest, and my son is always there to lend an ear (or hole).
So with that, I rifle through my son’s bag of candy and find videotape two. I plop down on the couch and start rubbing my “zombie” cock as the tape queued up