Chapter 7: Filthy Phone Call
The rhythmic, mechanical thump was the first thing Harrison heard when the call connected.
“Hey, baby!” Barry’s voice was a breathy sing-song, punctuated by a sharp, wet gasp. “Oh—fuck—hold on, sweetie. Just… adjusting the… ah, there.”
Harrison lay back on his bed, the familiar squeak of the springs muffled by his thick comforter. He knew that sound. He grinned, shifting so his belly settled comfortably. His own cage, a simple silver today, felt cool against his thigh. “You busy, Dad?”
“Never too busy for my boy,” Barry panted, followed by another low, metallic shuck-shuck-shuck. “Just… multitasking. Walt’s at the store. How’s school?”
“It’s good. Really good.” Harrison launched into an update on his classes—the interesting professor for History of Masculinity, the brutal workload for Chem—speaking over the steady, distant drone of the fuck machine. It was a normal background noise, like microwave hum or a washing machine. He described his study spot in the library, the weird cafeteria meatloaf.
Barry listened, interjecting with soft, appreciative moans and the occasional “That’s wonderful, honey.” The sounds built a vivid picture: his dad, probably spread out on the big leather sofa in the den, his thick legs hooked over the back, that expensive silicone attachment driving into his wet, hairy pussy at a relentless, deep pace.
“So,” Barry finally breathed, the word trembling. “Enough about books. Tell me about… extracurriculars.”
Harrison felt a warm, smug glow in his chest. “Well. I’ve been getting fucked. A lot.”
“Oh, I know,” Barry chuckled, the sound catching into a whimper. “Your Snapchats. My god, your ass looks incredible bouncing on that rugby player. What was his name?”
“Tucker. And he’s not the only one.” Harrison bit his lip, the excitement bubbling over. “So, you know Chase? The frat guy from move-in?”
“The one who… mmmnh… promised Walt he’d worship you?”
“Yeah. Him.” Harrison couldn’t stop the smile. “We’ve been hanging out. Like, a lot. He takes me to breakfast after he fucks me. We study together. He sent me memes when I was sick last week. I think… I kind of have a boyfriend?”
Barry’s response was a long, shattered moan that climbed into a squeak. The machine’s rhythm stuttered, then resumed, faster. “Fuck, Harrison. That’s… oh… that’s so good. Tell me. Tell me everything about him.”
So he did. He described Chase’s lewd charm, the way he’d grope Harrison’s belly in the cafeteria line while whispering about how pretty he looked. The affectionate way Chase would nurse him after sex, cradling Harrison’s head to his swollen, leaking tits, fingers carding through his beard. “He’s just… he’s so fucking tender about it, you know? But also a total pervert. Last night he ate a whole pizza off my back while his friend fucked me.”
“Christ,” Barry hissed. The wet sounds from his end grew slicker, louder. “Is he big? He looked big.”
“Massive. And so thick. I feel so full, Dad. Like, for hours after.” Harrison’s own hand drifted down between his asscheeks, petting himself over the fabric strip of his thong strap. He could feel his pussy, already slick from the conversation, clinging sticky against the fabric. He heard Barry’s ragged breathing, the creak of leather, and knew his dad was close, chasing his own pleasure against the machine’s tireless thrust.
The conversation lulled into shared, heavy breathing for a moment.
“What about your roommate?” Barry asked, his voice strained. “The modest one. Gus?”
The shift was sudden, like a cool draft. Harrison’s arousal pulsed, complicated now. “Gus is… amazing. We’re best friends, I think. Like, instantly. He’s so funny, and smart, and he gets all my references. We stay up late talking about everything. He’s just… the best person I’ve ever met.”
He gushed about Gus’s kindness, his secretly wicked sense of humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The words poured out, too enthusiastic, too fond. He couldn’t stop.
Barry listened, his moans quieter now, more thoughtful. The machine hummed. “You really like him.”
“Yeah. I do.” Harrison swallowed. “Dad… I think he might be a lesbian.”
The admission hung in the air, mingling with the electronic pulse.
Barry didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, honey. Okay.” Another gasp, this one softer. “You know… I’ve done some lesbian stuff.”
“What?”
“Sure. Back when Walt and I were first dating, at clubs. Sometimes a top wants a show. I’ve made out with plenty of bottoms. Deep, proper kissing, hands all over. It turns the tops watching into animals.” Barry’s voice took on a nostalgic, sly tone. “Once, at a party, me and this gorgeous bottom named Rhys… we rode a double-ended dildo. Ass to ass. It was… intense. Really fucking hot, actually.”
Harrison’s brain short-circuited. The image was immediately, vividly there: his dad, his big, hairy, joyful dad, entangled with another bottom, both of them sweaty and desperate. His cock twitched uselessly in its cage. His cuntlips pulsed against the strap of his thong. A strange, new heat bloomed low in his belly.
“Did you… like it?” Harrison heard himself ask, his voice lower.
“I liked the attention. I liked how wild it drove Walt. But…” Barry paused, and the machine’s thrusts became shallow, insistent jabs. “There was a moment, with Rhys, where our asses were pressed together, both of us so soft and sweaty… and I thought, ‘Oh. This is nice, too.’ Just for me.”
Harrison’s free hand slid under his waistband and down past his locked nub to. His fingers found the hot, slick furl of his own pussy, nestled deep between his asscheeks. He was soaked. “Does it feel good now?” he murmured, the dirty talk slipping out. “The machine? Is it hitting deep, Dad?”
“Fuck, Harrison,” Barry moaned, utterly shameless. “Yes. So deep. My cunt is so open for it. I’m so loose and wet. You should see it. Throbbing.”
Harrison’s fingers circled his own opening, imagining it. Not Chase’s thick top cock, but the hard, impersonal silicone fucking into his father’s willing, fat ass. He thought of Barry’s big, hairy ass cheeks, the wet, pink pussy they hid. He’d seen it a thousand times, in showers, walking around the house. It was just Dad. But now… now the mental image was charged, electric with a new kind of appreciation. Barry was a sexy bottom. A really, really sexy one.
“You’re so wet for it, aren’t you?” Harrison breathed, two fingers slipping inside himself easily.
“Dripping. Making a mess. God, I’m close, baby. I’m so close.”
The realization slammed into Harrison alongside the wave of his own building pleasure. He was getting off on this. On talking dirty to his dad. On thinking about his dad’s pussy. It wasn’t like with Walt, which was familiar, familial, comfortable. This was new. This was Barry.
“Come on, Dad,” he whispered, fucking himself with his fingers. “Let me hear you. Fill that greedy cunt up.”
Barry’s cry was raw and shattered, a glorious, screaming moan that broke into hiccupping sobs. The machine’s noise became a frantic, slapping rhythm and then suddenly powered down into silence, leaving only Barry’s heavy, spent panting.
“Oh my god,” Barry finally sighed, blissful and wrecked. “Oh, baby. Thank you.”
They both breathed, the line crackling with static and aftermath.
“Harrison,” Barry said, his voice tender and knowing. “If you ever… I mean, with another bottom. If you wanted to explore that. You could always start with me. Just like you did with Walt. No pressure. Just an offer.”
The thought was too huge, too immediate. Harrison’s own orgasm, which had been coiling, receded, replaced by a swarm of confusion. “I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. With you.”
“That’s perfectly okay,” Barry said, warmth radiating through the phone. “If it’s with someone else, that’s okay too. You just be you, my beautiful boy. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
The call ended. Harrison lay in the sudden quiet of his dorm room, the only sound his own heartbeat in his ears. Gus was at the library, wouldn’t be back for hours. Chase was at a chapter meeting.
He was alone with it now. The attraction.
It wasn’t a vague theory anymore. It was a solid, aching want in his gut. He wanted to kiss Gus. He wanted to feel Gus’s big, soft belly against his own. He wanted to know what Gus’s pussy felt like, tasted like. He wanted to see if he could make Gus moan like Barry just had.
And the want was terrifying because it sat right beside another, equally real want: for Chase, for his rough hands and sweet milk and the way he made Harrison feel like the perfect, slutty bottom.
He rolled onto his side, curling around the conflict. It felt too big for the room. He had a boyfriend. A wonderful, attentive, top boyfriend he was supposed to be crazy about.And he was.
But he was also, undeniably, crazy about his bottom roommate.