Chapter 11: Daddy's Guidance
The dorm’s curb felt different on a Friday afternoon, buzzing with the casual exodus of weekend plans. Harrison stood with his overnight bag, the sun warm on his bare shoulders and chest. His mesh shorts were practically clear, the neon pink thong underneath screaming its presence. He shifted, feeling the familiar, welcome slickness between his cheeks, a constant state of being since the crab cakes last night.
Barry’s familiar sedan pulled up, and the passenger window rolled down. His dad’s cheerful, bearded face grinned out at him. “Look at this masterpiece!” Barry called, not bothering to lower his voice. “Get in, gorgeous, you’re causing a traffic jam of horny tops.”
Harrison laughed, throwing his bag in the back before sliding into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like vanilla air freshener and Barry’s familiar, musky scent. He took in his dad’s outfit: a simple black, crotchless thong that did nothing to hide the polished silver cage encasing his cocklet, the straps framing his hairy pubic mound and the covered pussy beneath. Barry’s ample belly, dusted with graying hair, rested comfortably against the steering wheel.
“You’re one to talk,” Harrison said, leaning over to kiss Barry’s cheek. “Driving commando, I see.”
“Crotchless, honey. There’s a difference. Lets everything breathe.” Barry patted his belly and pulled away from the curb. “So. How’s my favorite slut?”
The question, usually so easy, lodged in Harrison’s throat. He looked out the window as the campus shrank behind them. “Complicated,” he finally said.
“Uh oh. That’s a new one.Complicated how? Top trouble? Did that Chase boy not call you a good enough pig?”
“No, it’s… the opposite.” Harrison took a deep breath. The car felt like a confessional, moving and private. “Dad, I think I’m in love. With two people.”
Barry’s eyebrows shot up, but his hands remained steady on the wheel. “Okay. Start talking. Don’t leave out the juicy bits.”
And so it poured out. Harrison talked about Chase first—his filthy mouth that promised worship, the surprising depth of his family story, his support for his faggot brother, the way his massive, tasty tits felt in Harrison’s mouth, the weight of him inside, the public claiming at Marrow that felt more like adoration than possession. He described the romantic dinner, the feeding, the fucking, the absolute acceptance when Harrison confessed he might be bisexual.
“He said it was hot,” Harrison said, his voice wondering. “He wants to watch me with other bottoms. He… celebrates it.”
“Sounds like a keeper,” Barry said softly, a faint wet spot appearing on the black fabric between his legs. Then Harrison turned to Gus. The shy smile, the hidden body in baggy clothes, the heartbreaking confession of being a lesbian, the kinship over comics and messy eating. He described the electric thrill of watching Gus fuck himself to lesbian porn, the natural, second-nature slide into kissing him, the profound rightness of their mouths together. He talked about Gus’s conservative father, his fear, the vast, unexplored territory of what Gus might want or be ready for.
“It’s different,” Harrison struggled to explain. “With Chase, it’s fireworks and feasting. With Gus… it’s like coming home. And I want both. I feel them both, here.” He thumped his hairy chest.
Barry was silent for a long moment, driving with a soft smile. “Oh, baby boy,” he finally sighed, rich with affection. “You have your bottom dad’s heart. Big enough to drown in.” He reached over, his thick fingers squeezing Harrison’s thigh. “My advice? Don’t choose. Not yet. Feel it all. Anyone worth your time will understand that love isn’t a pie—it doesn’t get smaller the more you share it. It multiplies. Chase sounds like he gets that. Gus… he’s on his own journey. Be patient. Be his friend. Be whatever else he lets you be.”
Harrison felt a knot unravel in his stomach. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Now, the real important question.” Barry’s eyes glittered with playful lust. “The lesbian stuff with Gus. You said it felt second nature. But you’ve never… you know. With another bottom. Not really.”
“No. Just that kissing. And the mutual stuff with toys.”
“Do you… want to practice?” Barry asked, his tone light but his meaning clear. “Before you dive in deeper with your roommate? Get your sea legs, so to speak.”
Harrison’s pussy throbbed. He looked at his father—the joyful, hairy, familiar body, the man who had taught him how to cook, how to tie his shoes, how to embrace his own sluttiness. The offer wasn’t strange; it was generous. A gift of experience, given with love.
“I do,” Harrison said, his voice husky. “I want to practice with you.”
Barry’s smile was brilliant, proud, and deeply turned on. “I’m honored, sweetheart.”
The rest of the drive was filled with a new, charged anticipation. They talked casually about Walter, about Barry’s garden, but the undercurrent was undeniable.
When they pulled into the driveway of the familiar, cozy house, Walter wasn’t home yet—still at the office. The silence of the house was warm and waiting.
“Living room?” Barry suggested, his voice a low rumble.
“Living room,” Harrison agreed.
They didn’t turn on the main lights. Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes in the golden air. The plush, faded floral couches seemed to invite them. Without ceremony, they both stripped. Harrison’s neon thong joined his mesh shorts on the floor. Barry stepped out of his crotchless one. Their cages—Harrison’s silver, Barry’s well-worn bronze—glinted in the light. They stood there, two fat, hairy bottoms, father and son, for a quiet moment of appraisal.
Then Barry opened his arms, and Harrison stepped into them.
Their bodies met, belly to belly, a soft, warm collision of flesh and hair. Harrison tilted his head up, and Barry met him in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. It was nothing like kissing Chase. Chase’s mouth was demanding, claiming. Barry’s was knowing, welcoming, a slow exploration of familiar territory made new by context. His beard scratched in a different way. His tongue tasted of coffee and home.
Harrison moaned into the kiss, his hands sliding up to cup Barry’s face, then down over the broad, hairy shoulders. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down his dad’s neck, over the swell of his chest, nuzzling into the salt-and-pepper curls. He lavished attention on the soft, heavy pecs, licking and gently sucking the nipples, eliciting soft sighs from above.
He moved lower, worshiping the vast, beloved terrain of Barry’s belly. He kissed the stretch marks, buried his face in the warm, hairy cushion, inhaling the deeply musky, uniquely paternal scent that was sweat and skin and love. It was wildly arousing, this olfactory dive, a testament to a life fully lived in a body fully enjoyed.
“Your pits, dad,” Harrison murmured, his voice thick. “Let me.”
Barry raised his arms, a trusting, vulnerable gesture. Harrison dove into his left armpit, a jungle of coarse, graying hair. The stink was intense, animalistic, profoundly bottom. He huffed deeply, his head swimming, before licking a broad stripe through the damp hair, sucking the skin, committing the potent musk to memory. He repeated it on the other side, delirious with the rawness of it.
“That’s it,” Barry whispered, his hands cradling Harrison’s head. “Love your dad’s stink.”
“Love it,” Harrison gasped. He was dripping, his own slickness making a mess between his cheeks.
He guided Barry to turn around, his hands settling on the monumental swell of his father’s ass. The cheeks were heavy, jiggling with a life of their own, covered in a dark, wooly forest. Harrison knelt behind him, his own belly pressing against the back of Barry’s thighs. He started by simply kissing the rounded slopes, nuzzling the hair, then gripping handfuls and jiggling them, watching the flesh wave and settle. He smacked one cheek playfully, earning a sharp, delighted gasp.
He spread them.
Barry’s pussy was nestled there, a dark, pink furl surrounded by hair, already glistening with its own wetness, loose and ready. The sight, so intimate, so trusting, stole Harrison’s breath.
He didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to it.
The taste exploded on his tongue—rich, salty, profoundly savory, with a hint of sweetness from Barry’s diet. It was delicious. It was right. He licked broad, flat strokes, teasing the rim before diving deeper with his tongue, fucking into the wet, yielding heat. Barry cried out, his legs trembling.
“Oh, fuck, Harrison… yes…”
Harrison ate with a single-minded devotion he’d never known. This wasn’t about being filled; it was about savoring, about worshipping another bottom’s sacred, slick center. He buried his face between those hairy cheeks, slurping and kissing, his beard getting soaked with his father’s lubricant. He reached around to jiggle Barry’s belly as he ate, feeling the older man’s whole body shudder with pleasure.
It felt as natural, as normal, and as wonderful as drinking from Walter’s tit. It was just another facet of love, another way bodies could speak joy and trust.
Barry’s moans climbed in pitch. His locked cocklet dripped a steady stream of clear fluid onto the carpet below. “I’m gonna… baby, I’m gonna assgasm…”
Harrison redoubled his efforts, plunging his tongue as deep as it would go, massaging the trembling inner walls. With a sharp, ragged cry, Barry climaxed. His pussy convulsed around Harrison’s tongue, gushing a fresh wave of thick slickness that Harrison eagerly swallowed. Barry’s whole body shook, his ass cheeks clenching, his little cocklet spurting in its cage until he was spent, panting, leaning heavily against the back of the couch.
Harrison pulled back, his face gleaming. He gently guided his trembling dad to lie on his side on the soft carpet, then curled up behind him, spooning him, kissing his shoulder.
They lay there in the silent, sun-dappled room, sticky and satisfied. Harrison nuzzled into Barry’s sweaty back, his mind quieter than it had been in days. The guilt, the confusion, the pressure—it had melted away under the simple, profound truth of the act.
Sex with his bottom dad was beautiful. His attraction to Gus was beautiful. His love for Chase was beautiful. They weren't contradictions; they were expansions.
Barry’s hand found his and squeezed. “You’re a natural, sweetheart,” he mumbled, contentment in his voice.
Harrison held on tight, understanding now, in his bones, what his heart had been trying to tell him. There was nothing to fear. Only more love to discover.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.