Everybody loved VP Jones' previous installment of steamy phone encounters with an Ohio Daddy. (Click on "Getting Out" archives to read the whole episode.) Here's how it ended:
I shoot off, the steaming jiz flying spatters all over my fuzzy bear belly button. I lick the hot spunk off my fingers. He tells me I am his good boy. We hang up both pleased, another phone sex session drawing us together. I go and take a hot shower smelling the soap running down my body, thinking of daddy’s Da, magic, wizard hands, his forefinger fingering my corn hole. When we meet in January…I think…it's gonna rock.
Outside the first snow of winter slides white out of the gray air, drifting in harped flurries to the music on the computer like a bagpiped Gaelic air.
We all hoped the story would be continued… and so it is:
It’s Friday night after 10.30 and I was just on the phone with my hot Master, my old man in Ohio. We haven’t met yet, but if in-person is anything like how we go at it over the phone. Man, is he gonna be good.
I had been out to dinner at Lucky’s Garage, here in Nashville, feasting on their usual excellent pasta diner: two kinds of pasta, a red pizza sausage sauce and a creamy Alfredo over bow tie pasta, a great green salad with fresh tomatoes drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette and my favorite, their butter garlic bread -- simply the bomb. It made me think that food and sex must come from the same heaven.
I flirted with the young blond barback, thinking he was responsible for the cooking. No, he told me, a girl cooks. I said… “Don’t ruin my fantasy,” my eyes raking his limber, young lanky form in its mechanic's outfit. "When I win the lotto, you're available in a leather apron right?”
Feelin' good. I had cash for once in my pockets, so I bought myself a Corona with lime, my roommate a coke, my friend Goat (cause he has a cool goatee) a bud lite, and my friend Ballcap a rum and coke. The four of us, had a fun evening just eating and chilling, talking and cruising the art crowd -- oh, yeah, awesomely local artists from a group called Untitled.
Eventually, I could see Goat and Ballcap were hitting it off, so I pulled ye gay elder roommate out of the mix, and we went home. I settled in to the computer to check messages. That was when the Master called from Ohio. “Hey, baby. How you doing? I miss you,” he said.
“Yeah Dad, I miss you, too.” We chit chatted about the day as I slipped away into my bedroom.
“I think I am going to bed," he said.
“Ok," I said, "see ya in the morning.”
Meanwhile Dad sounds good and old Goat horny in my ear.
“Man, son,” he said, “I can’t wait for you to wrap your sweet and sexy lips around my corn hole plower.”
“Yes sir” I said.
I peeked out and made sure ye elder roommate was in his room. I got a plastic tankard we use for tea and took it in my room. Standing in front of the white Christmas tree talking dirty, like, on the phone to Da, I let go of a stream of piss real calm and common like into the mug. The hollow space echoed as the piss thrummed and gold liquid rushed from my body filling the vessel two thirds up.
“Listen Dad; I am drinking my piss. I gulped and gulped and the kidney warm whiz flowed back down my throat swallow after swallow after swallow till, with one or two breaths for air, I emptied the cup. “
Damn Boy,” Dad said. "That sounded hot."
“Piss makes me hot, Dad,” I said. “I am really horny now.”
I shucked my pants and my underwear and crossed the room to the bed and lay back in my baby pink shirt. Far off in Ohio, Dad was really worked up now. ”What do you want boy?" he said.
I said “I want to make my Master happy sir.”
"You really want that dog collar from Pet Surplus don’t you?“
"I do sir." Thinking of the brown leather with the silver buckle around my neck made me fevered. I lifted my pink shirt and played with my tender nipples pinching them hard then. I stroked harder. The cum wasn’t gonna take long for either of us. I could hear Dad getting close.
He has this kewl, cat-yowl thing he does like the fiddle from "The devil Went Down to Georgia." The cum started rushing in me too.
"Can I cum dad?" I like to ask.
He started to say yes but then surprised me with a moment of no. I tried slamming back a stroke and clamped down on my pecker cannon with the muscles under my nuts…
But the load was rising like a fat glob of cream lava, launching no matter what.
"Sir, Sir, I can’t…"
"Shoot it boy!”
"Yes sir," I said stroking my cock as Dad came like a cat fight in my ear...if the Dept. of Homeland Security was tapping that line they got an ear load that’s for sure. I shot... the Cum arched and rained globs of piss flavored wank juice wet all over my fist. “Damn, Dad," I said. "It’s hot and cummy and I am eating it up like a good boy.”
“You’re the best boy ever,” Dad told me, as I busy cleaned up my goo one finger at a time, squeezing the last of it out of my meat hole.
“I am wore out” he said. “Hit the showers dad” “I will son” I smiled hanging up the phone.
Vincent P. Jones writes and cavorts with like-furried bears in Nashville TN.