Dad howled in agony as Mr. Anderson completed the Boston crab. I winced—both at my Dad’s pain, and at the thought of what I’d have to do if he gave up. “Keep fighting, Dad!!!” I cried. “Get out of there!”
Dad’s eyes were squeezed shut from pain; Mr. Anderson had him bent backwards almost in two! But then he opened them and his eyes locked with mine. I pleaded with him silently not to give up!
And he didn’t.
Dad began to kick his legs as hard as he could, back and forth, back and forth, and Mr. Anderson started to stagger. His grip on Dad’s legs became less solid, and finally, he lost Dad’s right leg altogether!
With his leg free, Dad kept kicking. His heel hit Mr. Anderson right in the small of the back, and Mr. Anderson let go of Dad’s other leg and sank to his hands and knees, holding his lower back and gasping in pain.
Dad got slowly to his feet…he wasn’t feeling too good, either. Anderson and I held our breath; we both knew, somehow, that the fight was going to be over one way or the other soon.
Dad turned around and saw Mr. Anderson pulling himself up onto his feet again. As soon as Mr. Anderson had turned to face him, Dad extended his left hand. Not to end the fight. Oh, no. Dad’s hand was up, and his fingers wiggling. “Mercy?” he challenged.
Mr. Anderson laughed, an ugly laugh that made me nervous, but didn’t seem to faze Dad at all. “You’re on,” he snarled.
Mr. Anderson took Dad’s left hand in his right, lacing his fingers alongside Dad’s. He slowly brought his own left hand up, his fingers spread, and Dad took it with his right.
And it was on!
Dad and Mr. Anderson came together, their meaty chests slapping against each other, their foreheads pressing against each other. Muscles were bulging in their arms and shoulders and back…and there was a lot more bulging in my singlet. My dick was screaming for release, and even if Dad lost and I had to…let’s not even talk about that…I was going to have to do something about it.
The sweat was pouring down their bodies, making their muscles stand out even more. I glanced over at Anderson; he was just as hard as I was, and a weird thought crossed my mind that it was too bad we hated each other so much.
“Come on, Dad!” I shouted—but he was far too absorbed in the fight to even acknowledge me...
rassler (4)
07/06/2014 14:19Great story but still hoping for some dad vs son action too... Is there a chance?
JiminQueens2 (51)
10/06/2014 16:48(In risposta a questo)
Not in this story, but maybe in the future!
rassler (4)
11/06/2014 14:21(In risposta a questo)
Great, your writing is good and exciting. I'm sure you can come up with a hot dad vs son erotic match like this one. Near future, I hope...
JiminQueens2 (51)
04/06/2014 17:44Dad howled in agony as Mr. Anderson completed the Boston crab. I winced—both at my Dad’s pain, and at the thought of what I’d have to do if he gave up. “Keep fighting, Dad!!!” I cried. “Get out of there!”
Dad’s eyes were squeezed shut from pain; Mr. Anderson had him bent backwards almost in two! But then he opened them and his eyes locked with mine. I pleaded with him silently not to give up!
And he didn’t.
Dad began to kick his legs as hard as he could, back and forth, back and forth, and Mr. Anderson started to stagger. His grip on Dad’s legs became less solid, and finally, he lost Dad’s right leg altogether!
With his leg free, Dad kept kicking. His heel hit Mr. Anderson right in the small of the back, and Mr. Anderson let go of Dad’s other leg and sank to his hands and knees, holding his lower back and gasping in pain.
Dad got slowly to his feet…he wasn’t feeling too good, either. Anderson and I held our breath; we both knew, somehow, that the fight was going to be over one way or the other soon.
Dad turned around and saw Mr. Anderson pulling himself up onto his feet again. As soon as Mr. Anderson had turned to face him, Dad extended his left hand. Not to end the fight. Oh, no. Dad’s hand was up, and his fingers wiggling. “Mercy?” he challenged.
Mr. Anderson laughed, an ugly laugh that made me nervous, but didn’t seem to faze Dad at all. “You’re on,” he snarled.
Mr. Anderson took Dad’s left hand in his right, lacing his fingers alongside Dad’s. He slowly brought his own left hand up, his fingers spread, and Dad took it with his right.
And it was on!
Dad and Mr. Anderson came together, their meaty chests slapping against each other, their foreheads pressing against each other. Muscles were bulging in their arms and shoulders and back…and there was a lot more bulging in my singlet. My dick was screaming for release, and even if Dad lost and I had to…let’s not even talk about that…I was going to have to do something about it.
The sweat was pouring down their bodies, making their muscles stand out even more. I glanced over at Anderson; he was just as hard as I was, and a weird thought crossed my mind that it was too bad we hated each other so much.
“Come on, Dad!” I shouted—but he was far too absorbed in the fight to even acknowledge me...