Chapter 3: The King's Throne
The towel slid away, a damp heap on the cedar slats.
What sprang free was not just a cock. It was an obscene testament. Thickly rooted in a jungle of dripping black hair, it curved upward, a dark and veined length of flesh that looked less like a part of a man and more like a weapon hewn from old leather and corded sinew. The head, a swollen, purple-red plum, glistened with a viscous pearl of pre-cum that trailed a shiny path down the formidable shaft. Beneath it, Sergei’s balls hung heavy and full, a dense sac of promised violence.
Sergei let out a long, satisfied sigh, the sound merging with the hiss of the steam. He spread his thighs wider on the bench, the muscles in his haunches bulging. The air between his legs was a thick, biotic fog of salt, sour sweat, and the deeply intimate, musky odor of his unwashed groin. It was the smell of raw, unapologetic use.
“Look at it,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Look at what your mother spent the night on. What you are for. It is hungry, Dima. Your mouth first. Get on the floor.”
Dimitri’s knees hit the wet wood without conscious thought. The heat from the bench above seared the skin of his back. He was eye-level with it now, the monstrous thing twitching slightly mere inches from his face. The smell invaded him—pungent, salty, layered with the faint, tart reminder of his mother’s sex from hours before. It should have revolted him. Instead, his own cock hardened to a painful ache, trapped in his towel.
“Show your father you remember how,” Sergei said, not asking.
Dimitri leaned forward. He opened his mouth, his lips stretching painfully wide just to accommodate the girth of the crown. The taste exploded on his tongue—bitter salt, the coppery tang of skin, the unique, heady flavor that was purely Sergei. He pushed forward, trying to take more, but his jaw screamed in protest.
The head nudged the back of his throat. He gagged, a wet, reflexive choke that sent vibrations through the cock.
“Yes,” Sergei hissed, his hands coming down to clamp on either side of Dimitri’s head. They were massive, smothering. “There. Now take it. Take your father’s dick.”
He didn’t wait. He pushed Dimitri’s head down.
The invasion was brutal. The thick head forced past Dimitri’s constricting throat, a burning, stretching agony that made his eyes water instantly. His nose buried itself in the soaking wet, coarse hair at the base. The scent here was overwhelming, a humid, fungal, profoundly animal stench that flooded his sinuses. He gagged violently, saliva and tears streaming down his cheeks.
Sergei held him there, impaled, for a long, suffocating moment. Dimitri’s lungs burned. He fought the panic, the instinct to thrash, instead forcing his body to go slack, to accept.
“Good boy,” Sergei grunted above him, his voice thick with pleasure. “You learn. Your throat learns to be a cunt for me.”
He began to move.
He fucked Dimitri’s mouth with a relentless, piston-like rhythm. There was no tenderness, only use. Each forward shove drove the full, impossible length down Dimitri’s throat, the thick veins dragging against his soft palate. Each withdrawal was a wet, sloppy release before the next brutal descent. The sounds were obscene: the choked, guttural gags, the slick slap of flesh against Dimitri’s lips, Sergei’s low, continuous groans.
“Fuck, that’s it… that tight little throat… milk your father’s cock,” Sergei muttered, his hips driving upward to meet his own downward push on Dimitri’s head. His breathing grew ragged. Sweat dripped from his chest onto Dimitri’s neck and back, hot and salty. “You taste that? You taste your mother on me? You taste the factory? That’s life, boy. That’s what feeds you.”
Dimitri’s world narrowed to the rhythm of the thrusts, the burning in his throat, the drowning, musky scent that filled his every gasp. His own need was a throbbing, secondary pulse. He reached a hand to free himself, but Sergei’s foot, a heavy, hairy weight, came down on his wrist, pinning it to the floor.
“No,” Sergei barked between thrusts. “This is not for you. This is for me. You take. You fucking take.”
The pace increased. Sergei’s thighs began to tremble with the building force. His grunts became sharper, more urgent. The wet slamming grew faster, more desperate. Dimitri felt the thick root swell even further in his throat, a terrifying promise.
“Gonna fill that stomach,” Sergei snarled, his voice cracking. “Gonna pump my cum straight down your fucking gullet. Take it! Take every drop!”
With a final, brutal series of drives that felt like they would crack Dimitri’s spine, Sergei slammed home and held. A raw, animal roar tore from his chest, echoing off the slick walls. Dimitri felt the hot, violent pulse begin deep in his throat, a flood of thick, salty fluid jetting against his clenched esophagus. It kept coming, pulse after pulse, a seemingly endless output that forced him to swallow convulsively just to avoid drowning. It was bitter, tangy, overwhelmingly potent. Some escaped his stretched lips, mixing with spit and tears and dripping onto the dark wood between his knees.
Slowly, the pulses subsided. Sergei’s grip on his head loosened, becoming almost a caress in the wet hair. He gently pulled Dimitri off, the spent cock slipping free with a wet, final pop.
Dimitri collapsed forward onto his hands, coughing, great shuddering breaths hauling the steamy air into his starved lungs. Strings of semen and saliva hung from his lips. The taste was cemented in his mouth, in his sinuses.
Sergei looked down at him, his own chest heaving. His cock, still semi-hard and glistening with spit and his own release, lay against his thigh. A look of profound, possessive satisfaction settled on his face.
“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse. He wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead. “You took your medicine. But that…” he gestured to his still-substantial erection, “…that is just the first course. The edge is off. Now we get to the real meal.”
For next chapter: minutes after, Dimitri impales himself on Sergei’s already hard cock, facing him. Sergei is surprised but loving it, and Dimitri starts up and down on that cock. He starts caressing Sergei incredibly hairy massive body, his shoulders, biceps, pecs, abs, his face. Sergei is completely turned on, and starts encouraging his son, crazy by the contrast of his massive boy literally split open on his monstrous cock. For the first time in years, Sergei kiss hard Dimitri and encourage him calling him ‘baby’. Then completely crazy, while Dimitri continues impaling up and down on the crazy cock, Sergei starts telling stories with his conquests, every day before coming home, fucking young girls in his car for an hour or two, destroying them like a demon, break them open and full of his thick Ukrainian seed. He also tells the hard nights Dimitri’s mother Irina has to endure, nights of hell with Sergei, his 26cm always rock hard, her pussy completely ruined every night by gus husband who is a demon of sex, an insatiable Ukrainian beast. Then he says he is proud to have a big son like that taking care of his father’s needs every time he wants.