pops-last-ride

Bottomless

Subject: Pop’s Last Ride Here’s a story taken from my Tumblr, at a4f101.tumblr/storytime. You can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here: http://a4f101.tumblr/post/130905834889/ You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty – look for ‘a4f101’ in the Prolific Authors listing. This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2016. I own it and all legal rights to it. If you’re under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, please come back when you’re of legal age. Nifty is an incredible free service that depends on your donations to survive. It changed my life, and maybe it’s changed yours too. Please help them to keep providing this awesome resource for all of fty/donate.html I love hearing from you guys. hoo. Enjoy. ***** “It’s not bad,” Clint said, powering the seat back to a relaxed angle and shifting himself around to get comfortable. “A little floaty.” “It’s smooth,” I said. “There’s a difference. Trust me, you’ll appreciate it one day. It’s the last of the big American land yachts.” “It’s a cop car with leather seats,” he chuckled. “Pops sure liked his cars big,” he went on after a beat, quieter. I glanced briefly at the rearview mirror. The box was sitting in the middle of the back seat, belted in. It was sturdy, solid, handsome in its plain way. Just like him. Felt like Dad was right there in the cabin with us. Initially it had been a little weird, but as the miles of Florida rolled by under the big Mercury’s tires, hundreds more to go, it had become kind of comforting. Dad’s passing had been awhile coming, but he’d seemed too young, too vital. Made you think. Made me glad that he was with us, in a way, as me and my son took his car back to Maryland. Like he was taking one last ride with his boys. “He sure did,” I smiled, settling in myself. “Dad liked nothing better than cruising down the freeway in a big, comfy V8. We almost never flew anywhere. Your Grandma hated it, but I thought it was great.” I grinned at the memories flooding up, all those miles of America and Canada we’d seen, the highway unspooling under our wheels. Later on, Mom stopped coming on so many of the trips, so it’d just be Dad and me, and in a lot of ways, I liked that even better. “Your Pop loved to set the cruise control, stretch out, and if Mom wasn’t with us, fire up a cigar and just cruise,” I said, flicking my eyes at the box in the mirror again. “Oh yeah?” Clint grinned. “Sounds like a damn good way to travel to me.” I nodded at the glovebox. “Check it out,” I said. “He usually kept a few in there. They may not be any good by now, but who knows?” Clint popped the lid with an excited grin, and sure enough, sitting on top of a stack of road maps, there were a couple of cellophane-wrapped Padrons. I chuckled, shook my head. You could smell the faint traces of them in the headliner, even though he kept his cars nice, had them detailed often, and usually for that exact reason. “So… can we?” Clint said, holding them up. I looked from them to him, shrugged and grinned. “Spark `em up, bud,” I said, and shit, I sounded almost exactly like Dad did back in the day, in voice and word. Soon enough, it was like going back in time, the air growing rich with the powerful aroma of Dad’s cigars, an older and a younger man taking a long cruise. Only now I was behind the wheel, and it was my son, big and handsome and at ease on the passenger side, puffing away with a big grin on his face. Damn, I loved my boy. Damn, I was going to miss Dad. “You and Pop do this a lot?” Clint asked, one elbow on the armrest between us, the other forearm resting on his upraised knee, all strong and tan and golden-haired. “Every once in a while,” I smiled. “It was kind of special. Our thing.” “Sounds pretty great,” Clint smiled at me, and I was struck by a sudden wave of love for the kid. For the man, I guess, out of college now and getting ready to make his own way in the world. This must have been how Dad felt taking these long drives with me when I was 20 or so. It was a powerful thing. I reached over and gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze, under the brim of his ballcap, feeling the scrape of his buzzcut in my palm. The way he smiled over at me, let me keep my hand resting there, even settling back into it a bit, sent a powerful buzz all through me. Through my heart, and down though my loins too. Warm, powerful, a little intense. “It was, son, it was,” I smiled, my voice a little thick. “Made me feel like a real man.” “Did it, Dad?” he said, and slowly ran his hand up and down the exposed inches of his thigh past his shorts. A real simple gesture, but I knew what it meant. I remember doing the same thing, when Dad’s big paw squeezed the back of my neck like this, making my big young dick firm up in my pants, just like his did. How his deep, rich voice would slowly rumble, as the cigar smoke swirled around us, as a big V8 engine hummed lazily in front of us, while my hand slid down my inner thigh to grope at the big bulge down the leg of my pants, Dad’s hand giving my own bristly young neck another encouraging, manly squeeze. Clint’s cock was starting to make an unmistakable stretch down the inside of his left thigh, and he grazed his fingers over it real lightly as he took a puff on his Padron and slowly adjusted himself. I couldn’t help but grunt at the sight, and that just made his big grin stretch even wider as gaziantep travesti he exhaled. “Why don’t you tell me about it, Dad?” he said, his voice thick with the smoke. I looked at him, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes behind his Oakleys, the smile on his face told me everything. That, and the way his arm on the armrest between us grazed lightly up and down against mine, the hairs tickling against me. Then he slowly pulled on his cigar, and I felt my own cock push its way down the leg of my shorts. I sprawled out a little more to give it room, saw him look at it and nod, still smiling. I glanced up at the rearview mirror again, to the box on the back seat. “Damn, Dad,” I thought. “I wish you were really here to see this…” I reached down with my right hand and gave my son’s bare knee a solid squeeze, grazing my palm up the inside of his thigh a little, loving the light grunt he let out as he took another puff on his cigar. “Me and Dad were close, bud,” I said, taking another hit on my own. “Real close. These drive times were our time. Hours on the road, nothing to do but relax, watch the world go by, and talk. I remember the first time he let me smoke like this. I was, what, 17? One of the first times Mom didn’t come with us.” *** The scent of Dad’s cigar, the way he looked with his handsome, dark-stubbled jaw clenched around it. The hair on his thick forearms arms waving a little in the breeze coming through the little vent window. The grin on his face as he looked over at me, saw me watching him, and how he casually plucked the cigar from his lips and offered it to me, across the big bench seat. How it tasted, how it felt, the tip moist with his spit as I took it between my lips. How hard my teen cock got almost immediately in my jeans. The way he looked at it and nodded, grinning, approving. “Yeah, you get it,” he chuckled. “You’re a man just like me, bud.” How he’d let me see his own big erection, snaked down his thick thigh, as we passed his cigar back and forth. The way the tip of his tongue flicked at the tip of the cigar when he took it back from me, as if to savor my spit on it. How I started to do the same thing when it was my turn. How insanely hard I was, my cock big and throbbing and insistent inside my boxer shorts, making me hitch at it, constantly adjusting myself while Dad did the same. “Take it out if you want to, Sport,” he said. “Two hundred miles to go – might as well get comfortable.” I hesitated, feeling suddenly shy, but he just gave me a another of those sexy grins of his, and I heard the sound of his zipper. Even with the wind rushing through the vent window, the hum of the big engine, the thrum of the tires on the interstate below, it was the loudest sound ever. He reached down, fished around, and then his cock emerged, huge and hard, the head already gleaming, arcing up proudly from the gaping fly of his khakis. He gave it a slow stroke, sighing contentedly. “Nothin’ better than this, son,” he grinned, and he didn’t have to convince me any more. I unzipped my Levi’s and pulled my own big young dick out, curved like his, and nearly as large. He nodded, giving me an impressed grin, and when he stretched his thick forearm along the back of the bench seat and gave the back of my neck a squeeze, a bead of precum welled at the tip of my dick as I grunted with pleasure. *** “Fuck,” Clint grunted now, reaching down to squeeze his big young bulge with his cigar hand, and I felt my cock belch precum into my underwear. “Take it out if you want to, bud,” I said, my voice a little husky with smoke and lust. Clint grinned at me, and after a moment, pulled the leg of his shorts up his thigh, towards his crotch, revealing the sheer white stretch of his boxer briefs clinging to the thick young muscle of his thigh. Then he slowly peeled the leg of his boxer briefs back, and there it was, the gleaming head of his young college-boy cock, throbbing hard against his inner thigh. I grinned at him, then trailed my fingers down from where they’d been resting on his knee while I told him those old stories, grazing along until they reached the thick head of his big young dick, dancing lightly over the subtly moist heat of his flesh. He groaned a little, bubbled precum under my fingers, and then his hand closed over mine and brought it down to press more firmly against him, letting me feel him throb as he took another draw on his smoke. “Nice, big guy,” I growled, and he grinned even wider as he exhaled the thick mouthful of smoke down over our joined hands, over the gleaming, slow-dripping head of his dick. “Your turn, Dad,” he said huskily. I shifted my knees up to cradle the bottom of the steering wheel, and the big Mercury wavered a little in its lane as I tugged on my zipper, cigar clenched between my teeth like Dad always did when he extracted his piece, and hauled my cock out. Clint’s grunt was music to my ears, met with one of my own as he tentatively reached out towards my throbbing paternal cock and grazed his fingertips over the sticky head of it. “Go ahead, Sport,” I said, and that echo of Dad’s voice from thirty years ago reverberated through me, twinned with a deep tingle of pleasure as my son wrapped his hand around my thickness and gave me a slow, exploratory stroke. *** The big “Welcome to Pennsylvania” sign flashed by, but I barely noticed, my eyes half-closed gaziantep masaj salonları with pleasure as I stroked on my big teen cock, Dad’s strong hand rubbing the back of my neck easily, the power in his big ex-Marine paw radiating through me as he squeezed and rubbed encouragingly. His voice was deep and rich, talking about manly things – sex, women, his best buds growing up. The long nights in the humid heat of Vietnam, the scent of cigars, sweat on bared cheats, the grunts and sounds of big young men pleasuring themselves. The time him and his best bud double-teamed a little hooker in a sweaty, musty little room in Saigon, the feel of her petite body sandwiched between two big young American men. The heat in his buddy’s eyes as they locked on his over her head, the sensation of slipping his big young Marine cock up inside of her, and finding his best friend’s seed, all thick and warm there, slicking his way up into her depths. The feeling of the other man’s tongue, thick and smoky and scotch-soaked, as it fumbled inside of his mouth, tentative at first, then with heated, lusty assurance as Dad fired off his own load up inside of the girl, adding his own cum to his best bud’s. “Damn, I miss those days, bud,” Dad said, as I moaned and tried to keep from shooting all over the dashboard. “Not the war, fuck no. But the adventure. The freedom. The bond. You get what I’m saying, son?” “Yeah Dad,” I said, looking over at him, seeing his eyes gleaming at me, looking back and forth from the turnpike to me. He brought the nearly-done cigar over to my lips, held it for me to take a deep draw, then took one for himself. It was incredibly intimate, even amongst all the other mind-blowing intimacies happening on that big, cushy bench seat at seventy miles an hour. He grinned round the stub of the cigar, eyes meeting mine for a moment, then plucked it from his mouth and blew that rich smoke all down over my hand as it stroked at my straining, leaking teen cock, and I was done for. I moaned, grunted, dropped my head back against the headrest, and unloaded, ropes of thick young cum spattering my t-shirt as Dad growled encouragement at me, rubbing the back of my neck even more insistently. “Good man, Sport,” he said, as I moaned and shot the last little dribbles. He hooked his beefy forearm round the back of my neck and tugged me closer across the big bench seat. It felt completely natural to shuffle over and nestle into his side, lulled my the hum of the motor, the tires, like I’d done when I was a little boy. Only now, the soft press of his lips to the crown of my head was different, and the way he squeezed his big arm round me encouragingly as I took his big, leaking cock in my hand was very much a new thing. *** “Holy shit,” Clint half-moaned. He punched the button on the side of his seat, reclining the seatback a little more, then unbuckled his seatbelt, lifted his hips, and shucked his cargo shorts. I guess the Mercury’s Florida-grade tint was a bonus, but I couldn’t have cared less if everybody else on the road saw this. My son, the big handsome kid who looked so much like his Pop did at that age, stripping down to his sheer white boxer briefs, reaching inside of them to haul his big young dick out properly, grinning over at me as he slow-jacked himself with one hand, clutching his half-smoked cigar in the other. Damn. It had taken me at least two rides with Dad like this to be so bold, but kids these days were a bolder generation, or so I kept on hearing. I sure was seeing the living proof right now, as my son tucked the fabric of his Nike undershorts under his big balls – the hair on them trimmed down, I noticed with a wry grin – and spread his muscular thighs as he took a puff on his smoke and stroked his big young dick proudly for me. “Here, bud,” I said, and flipped the armrest up. This model had a split bench seat, and putting the armrest up made a little backrest and room for Clint to shuffle his ass sideways, closer in, grinning as he did. I slipped my arm round his big shoulders, and when he transferred his cigar to his left hand and offered it up to my lips – just like Dad did on that first drive – I grunted lustily, leaned in and took a draw on it, even though my own was smoldering away in my left hand. The tip was damp with my son’s spit, and I savored the rich taste of the smoke and the moistness, my big hand slipping down to cup his big, firm right pec as he continued to stroke his big, wet cock with his right hand. When I leaned over to exhale the cloud of smoke down onto his stroking hand and the fat tip of his cock, all slick and glossy with precum, I saw it jerk in time with his moan. “Then what happened, Dad?” he asked, a hint of boyishness mixed in with his husky, adult curiosity. *** I’d been thinking about it for some time – not just fifty-odd miles, but a good few years, by that point. There wasn’t room between his barrel chest and the steering wheel to do it properly, and I only had limited experience anyway, but I leaned in and inhaled the powerful, musky scent of his cock, tinged with the rich smoke of his cigar. Before I had a chance to second-guess myself, I lapped at the fat, wet tip of it, experimentally at first, and then when Dad moaned hungrily above me and grazed his thick fingertips through my hair, with more purpose. I felt the big Oldsmobile gaziantep escort bayan bobble a little on the road as I lapped my tongue round the rim of his head, then stretched my lips over it and swallowed it, starting to work the shaft with my hand as my spit began to drizzle down his length. “Aw hell, buddy,” Dad moaned, and rubbed the back of my neck encouragingly again, leaning back a little more in the seat to give me room to nurse on his fat, salty cockhead. My cock was back to near-full hardness in my other hand, and I guess if we passed a trucker, he’d get a hell of a show, but I was too busy in my own heady world to know if we did or not. I sucked eagerly on him, doing the best I could with the room I had, until I felt the big muscles of his thigh stiffening up underneath me, his big hairy balls pulled up tight to his body. “If you don’t want a mouthful, kiddo…” he started to moan, but I guess my faster sucking and stroking gave him all the answer he needed. “Aw fuck, Davey!” he bellowed, and then he was coming, pulse after pulse of hot, rich, mineral-tasting cum soaking my tongue, blasting the roof of my mouth. I swallowed furiously, remembering how difficult it was to chug down my buddy Tommy Hughes’ load, and caught the overflow with the hand that had been stroking Dad’s shaft. He was sweaty-faced, big chest heaving, staring at me with a mix of awe, pride, lust and love as I sat up, licking his excess cum off the back of my hand. When he passed me the smoldering stub of his cigar, I leaned in and drew on it, fumbling with my rehardened cock, and then exhaled the smoke down onto the wet, slowly wilting mass of his big Dad cock. Dad growled at me, looked up to check his mirrors, then punched the button for the four-way flashers, pumped the brakes, and hauled the big Ninety-Eight over to the breakdown lane. He barely had the shifter in Park before he leaned in, threw his big arm round my back and hauled me back across the big leather bench seat to him, his mouth finding mine hungrily. I grunted in surprise when his fat, smoky tongue plunged into my mouth, slurping up the smoke-tinged flavor of his thick, pungent load, but I kissed him back just as hungrily, my hand gripping my cock to stop me from firing off another load. “Fuck!” he grunted, sitting back, wiping his mouth, then grinned at me. He batted my hand away from my jutting, leaking cock, chuckling at my hungry moan of disappointment. “We’ll be stopping for the night soon, son,” he grinned. “Save it for then. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.” This time, it was me kissing him, and he indulged me for a few minutes, the car rocking on its big, soft springs in the downdraft of the traffic rushing by us at seventy miles an hour. Then he gave me a firm, but gentle push back over to the passenger side, dropped the shifter back into Drive, and started to push the car back up to merging speed. “Got me a running buddy, looks like, huh Sport?” he said with a grin and a wink as he pulled back onto the highway. *** “Jesus christ,” Clint grunted now, his cock making slick, wet sounds as his hand strummed it. His nips were like bullets under his blue polo shirt, and the way he clamped his cigar between his lips and reached down under his balls to fondle himself while he stroked made me growl with hunger. I slid my hand from around his shoulders, pushed his hand away from his taint, and watched him reclaim his smoke and continue jacking his big, wet young cock, as my fingers slipped down inside his shorts, under those big, tight, shaved balls of his, finding the sweaty, lightly furred stretch of his taint beneath. “Oh fuck!” he yelled, picking up the pace, smoking and stroking at once as I fondled him, and when my thick middle finger found the humid depth of his cleft, the crisp fur there, and then the tight knot of his hole, his hips jerked hard. “Gonna fuckin’ cum, Dad!” he gasped, and I nearly ran off the road watching that fine young piece, almost a twin of my own, fire those pearly jets of college-boy cum all up the front of his polo shirt. His hole throbbed and twitched tightly against my probing fingertip as his whole body bucked in his seat, deep in the throes of an epic cum. Yeah, I’d been there, and I chuckled at the fond memories of all those rides with Dad over the years. Chuckled, and slowly stroked my own big, throbbing dick. Clint’s hand reached for me, and I indulged him, growling at him as I grazed my lips over the bristly nape of his neck. I could tell he was leaning in to try what I’d tried with my Dad that first time, but I tugged on the collar of his shirt, pulling him upright. “I got us a room for the night in Savannah,” I said. “But maybe we should call it a day at St. Augustine, find a room there, and see what we can get into, son. What do you say?” “I say fuck yes,” Clint grinned, and the Merc weaved again when he leaned in and planted a warm, wet, smoky kiss on my lips. “Gonna mean an even longer drive tomorrow, Sport,” I said, squeezing the back of his neck lovingly as he settled back against my side. “Even better, Dad,” he said, running his hand up and down my thigh. “So long as we stock up on smokes before the next leg.” “There’s a box of Dad’s Robustos in the trunk, buddy,” I growled into his ear, and I felt the thrill course through his big, athletic body. “Then punch this boat up to eighty-five, and let’s get to that hotel, Dad,” he said, taking another long draw on his cigar and exhaling all over my aching dick. Eighty-five – hell, this thing would cruise all day long at ninety. So I took us there, looking up at the rearview mirror again, at the box that contained Dad’s ashes. This was gonna be one hell of a last ride for him, and an even better first one for me and my boy.

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