My Dad's Asshole (2)
I wake up the next morning, stretch contentedly, grab my toothbrush, and pad to my parents' bathroom in just my boxers. I have my own bathroom, of course. I just feel like joining Dad today.
He's also in just his boxers, leaning over the sink and brushing his teeth. The position makes his ass jut out a bit, and the brushing movements make it waggle. I mean...what's a guy to do?
I just smile and kneel down behind him. Words come from his muzzle, at first muffled by his toothbrush and the toothpaste foam. "Cody whuffa fug--" I tug down his boxers easily, leaving them around his knees, and grab his ass cheeks, having to force them apart with my thumbs since he's violently clenched. He spits a glob of toothpaste out and then hisses at me anxiously, "Cody what are you DOING I haven't even washed yet I just woke up--"
"Don't care." I really don't. I never do. I wrench his tail to one side, then snuffle my muzzle up between his buttocks, my mouth easily finding the delicious black wrinkles of his anus. One lick for good measure, then I latch my lips around it and suckle. That warm fuzzy feeling I still had from a great night's sleep is even more pleasant with my dad's warm fuzzy butt cheeks around my snout. Nursing on his butthole like this is so soothing I forget for a few seconds that I did come here to actually brush my teeth, until we both hear Mom calling from downstairs. Dad stiffens up and his ass grips my muzzle. If I had any cat in me, I'd purr.
"Louis! Your breakfast!"
I reach around Dad and grab his balls between my fingers as he calls back with a yelp. "Just a minute, I need to...finish up!!"
I breathe a chuckle against the writhing folds of Dad's asshole. "You are so under her thumb, you know, Dad?" Of course, that gives me an idea and I reach up and slip my thumb into his ass crack and rub it over his butthole to irritate him.
He doesn't even huff in response to my gentle chiding. "Are you crazy? She's gonna catch you one of these days if you're so... reckless!"
"Well then. What's worse, her catching you like this or her catching you with those magazines? Your choice I guess." Since my right hand, the one I was using to bother his asshole with my thumb, was still holding my toothbrush, I get an even funnier idea. I wet the bristles of the brush in my mouth and start poking it up against the pucker of his anus, letting go of his nuts so I could keep his left ass cheek spread aside.
Dad lets out a weak whine, still trying to keep the whole interaction hushed, even though the sound of running water from the sink surely covers everything from Mom's ears downstairs. I can tell he's thinking over my question and his dilemma, probably cursing himself for letting the whole thing get this far anyway, but he doesn't answer, just rinses off his toothbrush and wipes his mouth.
"That's what I thought," I growl up at him, and jam the brush end of my own toothbrush up his anus. He lets out a "wrooooo..." sound that's almost like a wounded howl. It's fucking adorable.
I press in until my brush is up his ass to the finger-grips, and give it a few wiggles side-to-side before slipping the whole thing out smoothly. I lean back in for one last morning-smooch right on his shitter, then stand up and nudge him aside so I can stand in front of the sink. Without even washing off my toothbrush, I stick it in my mouth and grab the tube of toothpaste. I spare a glance down at Dad's crotch. Still totally flaccid. I think it looks best that way.
Dad should be getting in the shower, but he's just staring at me in horror, specifically at my mouth, where my toothbrush hangs limply. I snatch the brush out, rinse it only cursorily, apply a dollop of toothpaste, and set about brushing. Dad shakes his head in wonder. "What is wrong with you." It doesn't even sound like a question.
I just scratch my pubes through my boxers and keep brushing.
* * *
I don't even have time to think about everything that's wrong with me, but where it started to go wrong for Dad is the filing cabinet in the basement by his desk with stuff from work. The cabinet's stuffed to the absolute gills with papers and files, every drawer of it. All our family's tax forms, past bills, mortgage documents, Dad doesn't throw a scrap of it away. The whole desk and cabinet are a huge dusty scrap heap of paper and manila envelopes and folders. No one ever looks through it. I didn't even know why he keeps all that stuff, until a couple months ago when I was looking for last year's yearbook.
I'd just FINALLY started dating Shannon Derosa, the perky snow-leopard chick I'd been eyeing since last semester. I wanted to look her up in the yearbook to find out what she was into and what I could talk to her about, but since I usually would never give a shit about a fucking yearbook, I had no idea where it was. I figured my mom would have told my dad to file it away though, so down to the cabinet I went and spent most of an hour digging through mounds of dusty cobwebby papers.
The yearbook turned out to be in the bottom drawer with some other papers from my school. But Dad's small stash of hardcore porn was in the second-to-bottom one, so I found that first.
It's some real serious shit, all chicks blindfolded and gagged and chained up to walls and their legs pulled up and their tits and pussies vulnerable and on display for the leathered guys with riding crops and paddles and yeah you get the picture. Not just a couple of Playboys, that's for sure. Even before I started considering the implications of them, leafing through the ruffled glossy pages got my dick good and stiff in my pants.
I could see the smudges on the pages from Dad's fingerpads, and from that and the creases on the bindings I could tell which pages had been opened to the most. All those hours at night my dear old pops spent down here "reorganizing the files" suddenly made me grin instead of roll my eyes.
I didn't spend much more time down there that Monday afternoon, just found the yearbook in the next drawer down, and then took it and the magazines upstairs. I kept them in my backpack for several days, enjoying Dad's increasing distractedness and tension in those evenings.
And then came Thursday, the regular night of Mom's "Women's Bible Study" across town. Me and Dad were halfway through a Star Trek episode when I casually mentioned Chains Magazine. THAT made him sit up straight in his huge cushy chair. I told him I had them and that if he didn't want them to turn up somewhere Mom might happen upon them, I wanted something from him. That something was his asshole.
The rest is sweet, sweet history. I get his ass whenever I want it, and we have a good long session every Thursday night. I've never fucked him, I've never even gotten my dick out. It's better anyway if I'm fully or mostly clothed while he's butt-ass-naked and I'm messing around with his craphole. Lets him know what a truly vulnerable position he's in, I think.
I know he's looked through my room. I even expected it. That's why the mags stay in my backpack, which I often "carelessly" leave out in the kitchen. That's Dad's whole problem, he's careful but too slow. It's why he hasn't found a way to leverage himself out of this whole arrangement so far, he thinks inside the box and hasn't considered any bolder solutions. Me, though, I know the value of a brash gamble. And my poor dumb dad whose idea of living dangerously is guiltily hiding porn MAGAZINES, of all things, in a filing cabinet, would never even dream that I would be keeping such a linchpin in my backpack which he sees every single day, and I even take to school.
So now I get snow-leopard pussy whenever I want it, I get my dad's mostly-black-lab ass under my control, and I got some pretty decent porn mags out of the deal, to crank it to whenever I need something quicker than the first two. Senior year is already SICK.