Another cigar-themed tale from the Vault…
When the last of the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Dad slipped his thick forearm round Mom’s trim waist and kissed her cheek.
“Dinner was amazing, as usual, baby,” he said, flashing her his million-watt grin. “If you don’t mind, Billy and me are gonna go catch some guy time.”
“You mean, smoke those putrid cigars of yours and bullshit all night? Yeah, I’m sure he’s really missed that,” she said, rolling her eyes, but with a smile of her own. “Go on, then. I’ll finally get to finish Downton Abbey. Just do me a favor, and shower the smell of those awful things off you before you come to bed. I just put fresh linens on, and I don’t want them smelling like a strip club ashtray.”
Dad feigned a hurt expression, but winked at her as he pantomimed a courtly bow.
“Anything for the lady of the manor,” he said, giving her a quick smooch on the lips that had me blushing and looking away. Then he clapped his big hand on my shoulder and guided me out the back door to the garage.
I guess at some point, the previous owners had framed the workshop part of the big garage in as a kind of in-law suite – really just a room with a kitchenette and a little bathroom. I think it had sold Dad on the house straight away, and he’d taken it over as his man cave. Mom had called it the Smoking Room, the one place he could enjoy his cigars whenever he wanted, and it had just kind of stuck. He kept it pretty well aired-out and clean – old Army habits – but it had always had the ghostly aroma of rich smoke to it. Stepping through the door now, my nostrils automatically flared as I caught the tang of his stogies, getting like a rush of sense memories flooding through me as we stepped inside and Dad eased the door closed.
His big hand was still on my shoulder, and his other one came up to squeeze my other shoulder as he stepped up close behind me.
“Good to have you home, bud,” he said, in that low, deep, rumbling voice of his that had always sent a little tingle up my spine. Then I felt the warmth of him all over my back as he leaned in and pressed his stubble-lined lips to the nape of my neck, slow and soft and a little moist. I shivered and let out a soft little sigh, and he chuckled at that, turning me in his big arms, then turning that sexy grin of his on me from beneath his ballcap.
“Good to be home, Dad,” I said. We leaned in at the same time, lips meeting in the middle, and fell right into a deep, wet, natural kiss, as our hands went to each other’s flanks and slid down to cup asses.
I knew the routine well, we both did, so when the kiss wound its way to its natural end, I stepped over the the minifridge and pulled out a couple of the microbrews Dad had developed a taste for lately. He was pulling a seriously fat cigar out of the little humidor on the coffee table, unwrapping the cellophane from it as I popped the caps off the beers and stepped over to him.
“Mmmm,” he said contentedly as he ran the cigar lengthwise under his nose, slowly, appreciatively inhaling its aroma, then reached over with it to do the same to me, his big hand cupping the back of my neck as he watched me savor the unlit scent of it. Rich, deep, complex. My cock flared up inside my shorts as I nodded approvingly, watching him snip the end off with the cutter, plant the tip between his smiling lips, and spark a match to it.
His eyes were on mine as he drew on it to get it going, making the big tip of it glow warmly, and then he pulled it slowly from his lips and reached up to graze my chin with his thick fingers. My mouth opened automatically as he nodded approvingly, then exhaled a stream of thick smoke into my mouth, making me grunt.
“Yeah, damn glad to have you home, boy,” he said, his voice even huskier and richer now, then leaned in to plant his mouth on mine. Our tongues battled, thick and wet and smoky, as I exhaled the smoke back into his mouth, and grunted again as he reached down with the cigar-holding hand to squeeze the prominent, still-growing mound in the front of my shorts.
“Been missing my guy-time, bigtime,” he growled as I handed him his beer and watched him draw on the beast again, his eyes on me the whole time.
“Me too, big guy,” I said, setting my beer down to tug my T-shirt up and off, loving how his eyes scanned the hard muscles of my torso approvingly. He reached over to the waist of my shorts, popping the button with practiced ease and palming my bulge again for good measure, knowing how his touch got me going. I felt my shorts slide to the floor as his hand reached around to squeeze my ass. He took the cigar from his mouth, winking at me as he flicked the tip of it with his tongue, then placed it between my lips and gave my ass a deeper, encouraging squeeze.
“Attaboy, stud,” he said throatily, taking a sip of his beer, still squeeze-rubbing my ass as I drew a thick mouthful of the smoke, held it, then exhaled it into his open, waiting mouth, drawing a growl from him. I handed the smoke back to him and then reached for his jeans, popping each button and fishing inside of them, finding his boxer shorts tented hard with thick, warm dad dick.
I fell to my knees before him, his big, muscular form towering over me, thick and powerful and manly, as his hand played through my short hair and he watched me, a beer in one hand, puffing on his fat cigar with the other, the picture of ultimate virile masculinity. He stepped out of his jeans when I pushed them down, and as I looked up at him and undid the button on the fly of his boxer shorts, he just nodded, eyes intent on mine, rumbling deep in his big chest as I slipped my hand in and wrapped it around the pulsing, hot thickness of his dad cock.
Dad set the cigar and his beer down for a moment, tugged off his ballcap, then slipped his T-shirt up and off, revealing the thick-carved muscles of his big torso, still as strong as he’d been back in the service, but beefed up nicely as he coasted into middle age. A man in his prime, carpeted with dark fur all over the impressive plates of his pecs, the still-defined muscles of his stomach, hair that flowed down into the low-riding waist of his boxers, where it thickened and curled even tighter. I took after him in build, just not nearly so much rich manly fur, and every time I saw him undressed, it was like a thrilling glimpse into my physical future.
He trailed his thick fingertips along my jaw as I pulled the hefty cock that he’d sired me with out the fly of his shorts. Seven and a bit thick, uncut inches, ridged with coursing veins and capped with a perfectly shaped helmet. The natural musky aroma of it, combined with the cigars and the depth of our bond, had my mouth watering. I looked from his cock back up to him as he set his ballcap back on his head and put the cigar back between his lips, and I guess the whole scene was just as mouth-watering to him, too, because I could see little bubbles of spit threatening to overspill his sexy lower lip as it stretched around the fatness of the cigar. Then it crept over and started to stretch into a strand, and I stretched up, mouth open, my body moving on instinct. Dad grinned some more, plucked the cigar from his lips and leaned down, letting the thick strand of smoky spit pour down onto my waiting tongue, both of us growling as it made contact. He cupped the back of my head again and chased his spit with his tongue, plugging the fat, wet muscle of it into my mouth and spreading it around, feeding me more as I suckled hungrily on his tongue.
“Yeah, you got no idea how bad I’ve missed this, son,” he said, low and husky, as I took a solid hold of his cock and jacked it slowly. I gave him a wink, leaned in and lapped the head of his salty, musky cock, slow and easy, moaning as I did, while he puffed on his smoke.
Dad let me work on him, getting reacquainted with that fat father cock I’d missed so badly all semester long. Every so often, he’d take firm, yet gentle hold of my jaw and guide me back up off it, then gust a rich plume of cigar smoke down over his throbbing, spit-slicked meat, before guiding me back onto him to savor it all. I fucking loved it. I had my hand inside my boxer briefs, just holding my own epically hard, throbbing dick, because if I stroked it, I was liable to cum in my shorts, and it was way too soon for that. I knew how I wanted to unload. How I wanted to have him make me unload.
“Thirsty, buddy?” he said, with that rich, deep, intensely sexy voice of his. I looked up and nodded as I lapped at the head of his cock, encased between my lips. He grinned, took a long swig on his beer, swished it round his mouth to thicken it with his spit, then leaned over and fed it down in a long stream, down over his thick shaft, and into my waiting mouth. I didn’t let a drop go to waste, thirstily swallowing my way to his root, then backing off again, mouth open, for him to spit some more beer directly into my waiting mouth. Beer with a dad tongue chaser, as we grunted and slobbered into a nasty, wet mankiss. So fuckin’ dirty – I loved it all.
I guess I’d always been a dirty kid, into eating my own cumloads and spitting into my palm to feed it back to myself while I jacked off. He’d stumbled across me doing just that out here one lazy Saturday before we were gonna watch the game, and once the shock of discovery had passed, the big grin on his face and the even bigger lump in his shorts told me everything I needed to know about where I got my piggy side from. The same place I got my strong muscles and dark hair and thick cock from – from my father. We’d wound up sort of watching the game, in between a good couple of hours of dirty talk, fooling around and mutual discovery. He sank the length of his big cock up my very ready tail just as his alma mater scored the game-winning touchdown, and that had called for a couple celebratory beers and a second round of very satisfying father-son time, sprawled naked on the big old leather couch.
We took our time now, me sliding my hands up and down the big, hairy steeliness of his thick thighs, bobbing my head up and down the rigid length of his cock, pausing to share smoke and beer and spit every now and again. Then I felt his quads tense up real hard, and he took my head in both hands and guided my mouth back off of his piece.
“Your Mom’s got like four episodes of that Downtown Abbey shit on the DVR,” he said, pulling me up to meet him in another slow, wet, sloppy kiss. “Let’s make the most of it, huh kid?”
He ran his hands all over my body, grunting appreciatively at all the work I’d been putting in at the campus gym this past semester, before plucking at my boxer briefs. He took another deep draw on the cigar, then planted the spit-wet end of it between my lips, and tugged my strained, precum-wet underwear down my thighs as I puffed contentedly on the smoke. My cock popped out as he dragged the shorts down over it, and he grunted at the fine spray of precum that hit his muscled stomach as it snapped upright. He wrapped his big hand around it, jacked it real slowly, and leaned in to plant a hickey on my shoulder. I pulled the cigar from my lips and gusted a cloud of smoke down onto my cock and his working hand, and he growled, turned his face to mine and fed me his smoky, beery tongue again.
Dad backed us up to the big old leather couch, kissing all the way, then guided us down onto it, looming over me, big and muscular and hairy-chested as we traded spit and tongues. He grabbed my almost untouched beer off the coffee table, took a long swig, then propped my jaw open and flowed it into my mouth from his as I moaned up at him, my cock bouncing angrily. Before I could close my mouth to swallow it, he shot a wad of his spit onto my tongue, then pushed it further inside with his as he pushed his weight against me and deeper into the couch. We both swallowed a mouthful of shared beer and spit before he backed off, put the back of his hand over his mouth and let out a deep, resonant burp that had us both chuckling like schoolboys. Then he maneuvered around behind me, settling his fine, thick ass into the couch and pulling me back against his chest, my head propped on his brawny shoulder so we could kiss and grin at each other and trade deep draws on the fat cigar. The whole time, his fat dad cock throbbed stickily against me, leaking pre onto my bare skin as we kept pigging out on each other.
“Been thinking about this ever since you called to say you were coming home, son,” he rumbled, pushing my arm up and bending in to run his big, wet tongue slowly up and down my pit, before kissing me with my musk heavy on his tongue. “Looking forward to guy-time with my big boy.”
“Fuck, so have I Dad… all damn semester… since Christmas…”
He growled at that, then even deeper as I squirmed around, lifting his powerful arm up behind his head automatically so I could bury my face there. No deodorant. Guess we were both totally ready for this, since I’d driven four hours in a warm car without any on myself. As I licked and nuzzled and swallowed his musk, the hand he held the cigar with was grazing up and down my inner thigh, tracing the firm muscles, up and down along that spot that had me tingling right to my core. On the teasing, intense verge of tickling, but not quite. Making my cock flow precum now, even more when he dragged the moist tip of the cigar up the length of my dick, scooping up those juices, then planted it between his lips with a hungry, appreciative rumble. Clamping the smoke there as he reached back down to scoop up more of my steadily flowing man juice, coating his fingers, then reaching deeper down to rub my tingling, itching pucker with it.
I took the smoke from him and puffed on it as I sprawled out in his big arms, moaning now as his thick fingertip breached my ring and pushed inside briefly. He angled his head around to spit a couple of thick wads onto his fingertips and slid one inside of me, as I drew on the cigar and puffed smoke up to his open, waiting mouth, then offered it to him to draw on while he worked. We went back and forth like that for a solid ten minutes, my cock flowing like a busted faucet now, two of his thick fingers rotating their way into me, stroking my insides, finding the edge of my prostate and teasing it mercilessly.
“Been keeping this in shape for me too, buddy?” he said, and fuck, his voice and his eyes and his face were damn near hypnotic.
“Been keeping it ready for you, Dad,” I moaned. “Just you.”
“Aw, not even letting those hot frat bros of yours keep it warm, son?”
I shook my head slowly. He was still the only man who’d ever been inside me like that. You’d never pick me for the submissive type, and at my core, I really wasn’t one. But in a real, manly, self-aware kind of way, I knew my ass belonged to Dad. I liked it that way. Sure, it was a hot idea to think about getting nailed by young college boy cock too… but that would be nothing compared to the masterful way my own father could fill me up and make me cum from the insides out. How could anybody else measure up?
I’d do it if he asked me to. If he told me to. Until then, my ass was all for him. Every inch of me was, really. Didn’t mean I wasn’t real in touch with myself that way. He’d come out here with his laptop one night a few months back so we could Skype in private, my roommate out on some football team bonding thing, and I’d loved having him watching me through our cameras as I fucked myself with the him-sized dildo he’d secretly given me at Christmas. Fucked myself with it as I jacked and talked dirty to him, listening to him talk dirty right back as he stroked his own cock, until we shot our loads together. Watching him mirror me, and tip his cum-filled palm back and pour his own seed onto his tongue nearly made my just-emptied balls rattle.
Now, though, we were both here, and both real ready to take it deep in real time. Dad’s thick fingers slowly worked their magic on me as we traded spit and suds and smoke, and then tongues, the air of the Smoking Room filling steadily with the scent of the cigar, our sweat, our musk. I wish I could bottle that smell up, take hits of it like poppers while I jacked my cock in my dorm bed. For now, though, I drank it in, fresh and deep and so fucking manly.
Even though I was a pretty big dude like him, Dad maneuvered me around on the couch like I was nothing, pushing me up so I sprawled against the couch armrest, shifting himself so he loomed huge and virile between my big, spread thighs. His cock was hugely hard, the fat head of it gleaming with precum and then the thick wads of spit he drizzled down onto it. He ran his big paws up and down my thighs appreciatively, clamped the cigar between his lips, and then nudged his slicked-up cockhead firmly against my very ready hole. I bore down as he pushed, the rhythm we’d been perfecting whenever we could for the last couple years, and then I moaned low and deep as Dad entered me. It didn’t really hurt anymore. Sure, there was always the slight twinge as he first breached my hole, but with practice, that had faded away. Just the pressure of entry, and then that dissolved into deep, glowing pleasure, as my own father fucked his way up into my insides, deep and steady and strong.
Dad fucked me steadily, not just for his own pleasure, but taking care to really fuck me too. We traded the cigar back and forth, he fed me beer and spit, even drizzled his saliva onto my sweating, straining muscles and rubbed it in. Man, this old couch had seen some things, and the thought of our intense, incestuous sexual history, our shared piggy bond expressed here on it, just made the whole experience even deeper, more intense, more powerful.
“Fuck yeah… my big guy,” Dad growled, stroking his cigar-holding hand over the flex of my thighs, my abs, my pecs, my arms, then reaching down to wrap it round the thickness of my throbbing dick. I returned the favor, squeezing his big biceps, the meat of his pecs, palming his big, stiff nips like I knew he loved. He leaned over to kiss me as he picked up his fucking pace, hips starting to slap against the solid flesh of my ass, pushing his cock up at a different angle inside me as he did that had me writhing on the couch cushions. “Daddy’s big buddy.”
“All yours, Dad, you fuckin’ stud,” I growled back. “My fuckin’ man. Fuck me, Dad. Fuck your dad cum into your own kid, you big hot fucker.”
“Aw you hot little son of a gun,” he moaned, kissed me again, then really started to fuck me rapid-fire, his big pecs flexing up even harder, looking even more awesome than he had when I first started crushing on him as a boy. All big, thick, prime ex-soldier beef, the man I was going to be when I got to be his age, and I could not fucking wait. Hopefully I’d have a son of my own to share this intense, masculine bond with too. Fuck, just the thought of that, of carrying this tradition down to another generation, really set my nuts to boiling.
“Fuck me off, Dad,” I moaned. “Breed me up good.”
“Yesssss,” he hissed, then took a serious draw on his cigar, blew the rich cloud of smoke down over my cock as he stroked it, and when he thumbed the juiced-up head, I fucking lost it. My hands clawed at his thick-pumped arms, hanging on for dear life as I blasted off, raining ten shots of thick, hot cum all over my twitching, sweat-glowing chest and stomach, Dad growling his encouragement and stroking his big paws all over me as I unloaded all over myself for him.
He’d slowed down his fuckthrusts to help me ride through the wave of my cum, and now he picked up the pace again, watching me scoop my own seed up off my body and lick it up, before lifting my cum-smeared palm up to his. He growled lustily, leaned in and licked my palm clean, then spat into it for good measure and lapped that up too, before feeding me all of it on his smoky tongue. I fastened my thighs round his trunk, grabbed hold of his big, juicy nips, and tightened my insides around him as best I could, still half-dazed from my epic orgasm, but knowing instinctively what I needed to do for him.
“Cum in me, Dad,” I said hoarsely, and I guess that did him in. He rumbled like an angry animal, deep in that big chest of his, his face strained and intense, beaded with sweat as he gritted his teeth and flooded me with his seed. I watched his body quiver and quake as he grunted and moaned and shivered all over before flopping back against the other end of the couch, cigar still held tight between the fingers of his right hand.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he gasped, then chuckled, staring at me with a little awe and a lot of love. I started to chuckle too as he pulled me up and against him, and by then we were laughing, low and deep and long. It was the best feeling, the greatest moment in the whole world. I lived for this.
I sprawled out against him as we traded the cigar back and forth, almost down to the nub now, slowly finishing first his beer together, then mine. Just talking, reconnecting, and recovering from the epic intensity of our time together. Even better, knowing tonight was just the first time we’d have together for the entire break. Weeks ahead to look forward to, weeks of opportunity and bonding and so much more.
“Guess we better get that shower, or your mother’s gonna be up both our asses about it,” he said, rolling his eyes. But he’d do anything for her, I knew that, and despite the complexity of our own bond, that just made me love the guy even more.
We popped another beer on the way to the little bathroom, then finished it off as we showered the smells of the session off of us, sharing the beer from the bottle and each other’s mouths as we soaped each other up and made out slowly. Afterwards, we pulled our clothes back on, Dad flipped the air on the ionizer that he swore up and down almost eliminated the smoke from the air, and then made our way across the patio and back into the house.
“Psst,” Dad said as we passed the laundry. He started to tug his shirt off, then his jeans, as I stared at him. “Clothes’re gonna smell too. It’ll cut down on any bitching tomorrow.”
I chuckled and shucked my own clothes, and then grunted when Dad pulled me into his big arms, grabbed hold of my muscled ass through my underwear, and laid a deep, long, sensual kiss on my surprised mouth.
“Got that new Jason Statham movie,” he said when we pulled apart reluctantly. “You know your Mom hates that shit. Maybe we can head back over and watch it tomorrow night, what do you say?”
“I hope you got more than that one cigar over there, Dad,” I said with a grin, and he growled and folded me back into his arms for another deep, slick kiss.
“Fuck, you think your old man didn’t lay in plenty of supplies for his big guy coming home?” he chuckled, cuffing the back of my head playfully. “Get your fine young ass to bed, kid, and get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow night.”
The End
(Copyright A4F Tales 2021)