Date: Tue, 20 Aug 2019 22:47:56 -0400 From: Taylor Foxx [email protected] Subject: Piglet Chapter 2 Submission | Gay Incest
Hello men! It's been a while since I updated this story, but due to popular demand, I'm back with the next chapter (and I hope to have a bunch more).
Fair warning, this story involves sex acts between adult men and younger boys. If that's not your thing, turn back now. You won't like this story. You definitely won't like it if you are disgusted by the idea of little boys slurping down loads of semen like it was lemonade. You'll hate it if you are reviled by a father investigating his son's sperm addiction with disgust and horror. You shouldn't read this if you don't want to read about a little boy searching for cock in an insatiable quest to taste ball juice.
Now that you've been warned, read on, if you dare. And please, get in touch. I make lots of announcements on my Twitter, and always love to hear from horny fans.
Twitter: @TaylorFoxxWorld KIK: TaylorFoxxAuthor Email: [email protected] Happy reading!
Piglet | Chapter 2
It was hours before I slept that night. In part, it was because I could hear the boy wailing for a long time in his room. I did my best to ignore him. It was a weakness of mine I'd had to work on. I knew I had a tendency to give in to the boy's bratty demands, if it meant he would be quiet. But this time was different. There was no way I could give into the demands of my son this time.
It wasn't just his crying and screaming that was keeping me awake. My mind was racing with everything I'd learned in the last few hours. Being a single father was hard enough. Having to cope with my only son being a... a...
A what? What words could I use to describe the incredibly bizarre and disturbing creature my son showed himself to be? There weren't words, as far as I know... at least not for a boy his age. Sure, I'd called women in the pornos of my past cum slut and jizz guzzler and all these other names... but how could I apply those words, that world, to my own flesh and blood?
Finally, my son's cries died down, and I was eventually able to get a couple hours of sleep. I woke up in the early-morning light, feeling groggy but slightly better. I was Hussein Domingo. I had been through a lot of shit in my life. Yes, this was the weirdest thing I'd ever faced, but I wasn't going to collapse now, in the face of trouble. That's not who I am.
I sat up in bed, feeling slightly hungover, even though I hadn't had anything to drink. The blue light of morning filled my room, and I began to think, deeply, almost meditating on how to handle this. I realized that perhaps, in a way, this was my fault. I hadn't thought even once about having "the talk" with my boy. He seemed far too young for it; I thought he'd at least be in his teen years before I had to discuss all that with him.
But obviously I was wrong. Somewhere along the line, somehow, my little boy had discovered a part of the world of adult sex. I began to wonder how much he knew. Had he seen a porno video? Maybe even one of my own, lying around the house? Perhaps his little brain had been confused by what he'd seen, and that had caused him to lap up my cum like a drug addict on his last hit.
Fuck, where did that come from? I thought, rubbing my hands through my hair. Why was I having such filthy ideas about my own kid? Why was this nasty language coming to me so easily?
No... I had to stop this. If that meant educating my son, then that's what I would do. I got up and got dressed, quickly throwing on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and my thin cotton bath robe. I made my way downstairs, got the coffee machine going, and then placed a call to my son's school. He wouldn't be coming in today. They didn't question it; my boy was frequently sick, or at least he told me he was. I think he was lying half the time, the little brat.
This time, though, we had more important things to do than school. We needed to talk. I made myself wait another couple hours, knowing the boy would be easier to deal with if he had some decent sleep. But pretty soon, I was getting anxious. Even though I didn't want to deal with this conversation at all, I hated waiting to have it even more. I'm the kind of guy who likes to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. And it was time to go grab those horns.
Upstairs again, I slowly pushed open the door to my son's room. He was still sleeping, curled up peacefully in his little bed, just as he had been a few hours ago when I'd made the disgusting discovery under his pillow.
I was always amazed at how peaceful he looked when he slept. With his little button nose and soft skin, his eyes shut gently as he dreamed, he looked nothing like the energetic, wild little animal he was when he was awake.
I crept over to his bed and gently sat on the edge, then ran my hand through his hair gently. His eyes fluttered opened, and I stared down at him as his gaze came to focus on me.
"Hi, Daddy," he said, giving me a small smile.
"Hey, baby boy," I said quietly. I watched him a moment longer as he rubbed his eyes, and when he looked back at me, I could see that he'd suddenly remembered our fight last night.
"Daddy?" he said quietly. "Are you mad at me?"
Dammit, this kid knew how to manipulate me. He always did this after a tantrum--the puppy-dog eyes, the quivering little lips, the sickly sweet voice. He had me wrapped around his finger, and he knew it.
"No, I'm not mad at you," I said, rubbing his hair again. "But we need to talk. Last night was... difficult. I called school, and instead of going in, we're gonna spend the day together going through some things."
The boy couldn't stop a smile from creeping across his face. "Oh boy!" he said, and suddenly leapt up and starting jumping on his bed, chanting, "No school today! No school today!"
"Ok, ok, settle down. Let's get you some breakfast, and then we can talk," I said, not wanting to deal with him on an empty stomach. Right now, all the had in there was...
I felt my cock thump slightly in my PJ bottoms, and I quickly stood up, not willing to follow that train of thought. I led the boy downstairs and poured him a bowl of his favorite cereal. I watched him hum happily to himself as he ate, trying to figure out how to start this conversation.
"So," I said, clearing my throat. "Do you want to tell daddy more about what I found under your pillow last night?"
I heard the boy's spoon clink against his bowl as he dropped it and slowly looked up at me. I watched his eyes change as realized that we really were going to have a talk today, not just a fun day off.
"Well," he said slowly.... "That's my special stuff. I've been collecting it for a while now."
"How long?" I said, not wanting to know the answer. But the boy just shrugged, which shouldn't have surprised me. He was still working on the concept of time. I liked to tease him, asking him to guess how old I was. He could never remember, and his guesses ranged anywhere from 18 to 150 years old.
"Son, why do you collect those things? They're dirty."
"They're not dirty!" he said, looking offended. "They're tasty! I love them!"
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my coffee down. This was harder than I thought.
"T-tell me about the first time. When you first.. started collecting."
"Hmmm...." he said, placing his little hand on his chin and looking up. "Well, one time in the night I woke up and had a bad dream. Don't remember what it was about. I was going to go wake you up, but then I remember you had one of your friends over."
Friends. He meant one of the women I was fucking. "Go on," I said.
"Well, I thought maybe I could feel better with some water. So I went to the bathroom. But when I turned on the night light, I saw... one of those things. What are they called, Daddy?"
"Condoms," I blurted out before I could even stop myself. Fuck! I had just added that word to my son's extremely limited vocabulary. What the fuck was wrong with me?
"Con...doms..." the boy said, testing out the word. "Condoms. I saw one of those funny bright pink ones, hanging over the edge of the trash can. I didn't know what it was... so I just thought I'd take a look. And then I found what was inside... and it smelled good. So I tasted it. And I loved it!"
Oh god, oh Jesus. I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself. This was entirely my fault. I'd been careless with one condom, and this had happened. I was the worst father ever.
"Are you ok, daddy?" he said.
I shook my head, unable to answer. Then I said, "Do you know why Daddy got so upset when he found those things? And when you came into my room?"
The boy looked down sadly at his cereal bow. "Cause I was being bratty?"
"No... well... yes, that's part of it," I said. "You know I don't like when you're bratty. But it's worse than that. Those condoms, and what's in them, it's not for little boys."
He looked up at me again, scrunching his nose. "Why not?"
"Well, see, condoms are.... The stuff that's in them is..." How the hell could I explain this to him. I cast my eyes about, then saw something that clicked in my head. The top shelf of our kitchen cabinet near the fridge.
"You know Daddy's special high-up drawer?" I said, nodding to the shelf. My boy swiveled in his seat to look at it.
"Oh, yeah, where you keep your special grown-ups-only drinks?"
"Uh uh," I said, nodding. "It's like that. The stuff in those condoms, well, it's for adults only. For little kids to try it, it's not good."
"Oh," he said, again looking down. Then, "So I can have it when I'm older?"
"No! Uh... no... because... uh... well, see, it's mostly for women."
"But Daddy! You said I can play with dolls and stuff. You said it's not good to say some things are only for boys or girls."
Fuck, he had me there. I wad doing my best to raise my boy for the modern world. I wanted to encourage him, support him, let him be himself. But if I'd known my son's sense of self involved drinking his daddy's sperm, then I might have taken a less liberal parenthing path.
"Daddy?" the boy said, milk dribbling down his chin as he finished the last of his cereal. "Where does it come from? The goo inside the condoms?"
I wanted to bite my tongue, but I had to keep going. This is what I was hoping to get out of today. A chance to teach him just why what he was doing was so bad. I couldn't shy away now.
"Well, see, when men and women get together, they like to play special games. Grown-ups-only games. And, it causes both the men and women to get really excited. And they have different ways of showing it. So when men get excited, they made that stuff."
My son looked up again, mulling over this information.
"But how?" he said. "How do they make it? Do they spit it out? Patooie!" he said pretending to spit.
"No... not quite," I said. I could have let the boy believe that, but I didn't want to confuse him more. What would happen when he got older, and other kids started talking about sex? I wouldn't want him to be embarrassed.
"No..." I said. "The men make it from... well, their penis."
My boy looked at me, stone-faced. Then, suddenly, a smile broke out, and soon, the little boy was laughing hysterically.
"You're silly, Daddy!" he said through his high-pitched giggles.
"I'm not," I said. "I'm serious."
This only made the boy laugh more. And I started to get pissed off. Was this a joke to him? I needed him to be serious, but all he could do was laugh in my face. Little brat.
I was about to yell at him, but I noticed something that gave me a shock. My cock. It was growing, fast. I always was a fast grower. When my cock got whiff of something to be hard about, it wasted no time. But why now? Why while I was getting angry at my son?
It seemed the more he giggled obnoxiously, the more my member began to swell, growing thicker and harder by the second.
The only thing more powerful than the blood rushing to my cock, however, was the blood rushing to my head as I became infuriated with my son.
The boy stopped laughing when I grabbed his wrist and yanked him to his feet. "Come on," I said. "I wanna show you something."
My boy trailed behind me as I pulled him toward our living room and sat him down on the couch. I plopped down next to him, turned on the TV, and scrolled over to the Web Browser we had installed on our flatscreen.
It only took me a few seconds to type in "Hossein Domingo Solo Shot" into a search engine before the screen was filled with thumbnails of my own pornos. These videos were everywhere, and I knew there would be a day when my son would discover what his dad had been up to in his younger years. I thought he'd be older, of course, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I'd made so many of these videos, I couldn't remember any specifics about them, so I just picked the first one: "Hossein Domingo Gallons of Cum In Jar."
The video opened with a shot of me getting a jug of milk out of a refrigerator in one of the modern kitchen sets they had at the studio.
"That's you, Daddy!" my son squeaked excitedly as he watched me pour the glass, then chug it and give my signature cheeky smile to the camera.
"You sure do like milk, daddy!" he said.
"Shhh," I commanded. "Just watch."
On the video, I set the glass back down on the counter, then fished in my fly and pulled out my big dick, flopping the semi-erection onto the counter with a big thud.
"Daddy?" my son said quietly. I turned to see him looking up at me, his eyes wide. "Why are you taking out your pee pee on the TV?"
I put my hand on the top of the boy's head and turned it, so he was looking at the TV again.
"I need you to see something. Just watch."
The video-version of me began to tug at my meat, pulling it to life. The producers always liked me to draw out this part, playing with my cock as it grew and grew, slapping it on the marble countertop and in my own fist until finally my massive meat was at full length.
This must have been one of those quick videos I used to make between longer shoots, just for some easy content for my handlers to push out on social media while my fans waited for full production movies. Because pretty soon, I was going at my meat with both hands, stroking it in my show-off way, getting myself closer and closer to orgasm.
When it was time for me to squirt, the camera zoomed in on my cock. Perfect. I wanted this to be crystal clear to my son.
You could hear me moaning as my cock burped out what my fans often referred to as my, "Intro squirt." Basically a wild spray of thinner cum that comes just before the full eruption. There's always just a moment or two of a pause before my cock starts spraying widlly, emptying the contents of my heavy nuts.
The glass soon became coated--I don't just shoot hard, I'm a sprayer, like a firehose or a sprinkler. After the first few shots, it concentrates into a thicker stream of heavy white ropes, and that's where the real volume comes in. The cup fills up, my semen quickly overwhelming the small amount of milk left in the glass, until it's more than three quarters of the way full.
About halfway through my on-screen orgasm, my son leaps off the couch and suddenly bounds toward the TV. He's almost pressing his face up against the glass as he stares at what's happening on the screen.
I fight back the urge to smack the kid right there. Instead, I opt for grabbing him by the back of his shirt and throwing him back onto the couch. I pause the video and switch off the TV. Then I get down on my knee so I'm right in his face, which is what I do when I really want him to focus on what I'm saying.
"No, son, don't you see?" I say sternly. "Did you see where that stuff comes from? Do you understand why it's so bad that you drink it now?"
The boy stared dumbly at me, then shook his head. "It comes from your penis. So what?"
"So what??" I said, incredulous. "So what? So, don't you see that's dirty?"
My son seemed to smile at this. "Daddy! How could it be dirty? You shower every day!"
"What else comes out of a penis, boy?" I said angrily.
He thought for a moment. Then a look of realization came through on his face. "Oh... pee?"
"That's right," I said.
"But... what is it then?"
How did I answer that? I knew there was no way the boy was old enough to understand the real meaning of sperm.
"It's something men make. You'll make it too, some day, when you grow up. Men make it when they are feeling good."
"Do all men... make it?"
"Yes," I said. "But they don't make it for little boys like you."
"Then who do they make it for?" the boy said, his big eyes questioning me.
"That doesn't matter," I snapped, getting frustrated. "But now that you know where it comes from, I don't want you drinking it anymore. Understand me?"
To my surprise, the boy nodded slowly. I wish I had looked deeper into his eyes, because I suspect that even at that moment, he was making his little plan.
"All right. Now, I'm going to leave you alone for a bit. I need to do some work around the house. You can have the rest of the day off, and an early bed tonight. Ok?"
My boy nodded and grabbed the remote, ready to start flipping through to one of his cartoons. Rather than hear the sound of yet another of one of his stupid children's shows, I headed off to take care of some of my around-the-house chores. By the time I was finished, it was bed time, and I came back to find the boy asleep on the couch. I carried him up to his room and tucked him in, looking again at how innocent he looked when asleep. I hoped to god my little talk with him had done the trick. It must have.
Once I was back in my room, I knew right away that I would need a good nut. It had been a stressful day, and I always needed to cum at least once a day, usually two or three times. I hadn't had the chance today with the boy hanging around, so I decided to enjoy this one.
I have no idea how long I spent tugging on my meat that night. When I wanted a good session, I liked to edge myself. Get out the poppers, watch some of my favorite porn, and bring myself closer and closer to the edge until I exploded everywhere. On nights like these, I could absolutely drench myself, and it wasn't until I was finished cumming that I began to panic, thinking that perhaps my boy would again burst into my room.
But as I lay there panting from my intense orgasm, covered in my own sperm, I heard nothing. Not a sound. No pitter patter of little feet in the hall. I smiled to myself, then got up to get a towel. My lesson had worked.
As always, shooting such a big load put me to sleep pretty quickly. I woke up feeling refreshed and happy. I could send my son back to school today, have a day to myself where I could probably squeeze out a few more loads, since I was still feeling horny.
I went to the bathroom to take my morning piss, then put on my boxers shorts and headed down to my son's room to wake him up. It's strange, but even before I opened the door to his room, I knew something was wrong. Call it fatherly instinct, but as I made my way down the hall, my heart started to pound, and I could feel sweat breaking out. What was wrong?
I immediately knew what was wrong when I opened the door. I looked to my son's bed, but it was... empty. Completely empty. He was gone.
"Son?" I called, stepping into his room. I opened his closet, checked under his bed, calling his name. No sign of him.
"Shit, shit," I mumbled to myself as I made my way through the rest of the house, calling out for him in an increasingly panicked tone.
My panic only got worse when I got to the kitchen and saw the note stuck to the fridge under one of the alphabet magnets I'd put there to help my boy with his spelling lessons. They hadn't helped much, I realized, as I snatched up the note and quickly read the words written there in crayon, scrawled in my son's messy, childing handwriting.
Dady,
If u wont let me have cum, I will find sumone who can! Im leeving! Dunt look for me, Im never cumming back!
"Oh fuck!!!" I shouted. When had he left? How long had he been gone? Where was he??
What was I going to do?
End of Part 2
Don't worry, guys, there's lots more to cum. I will be planning out the next chapters and love bouncing ideas around with horny readers, or just chatting about pervy stuff. Hit me up:
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