Blast from the Past and from my Son

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20

Warning: contains mild scat

===

The night before Jake and I were going to watch Liverpool play Leeds, the tumble drier decided to break down. I had, of course, left the bulk of the laundry we needed until the night before our trip and so we had a large pile of wet washing waiting to be dried. As an engineer by trade, doing impromptu repairs on our appliances is fairly commonplace for me, but the timing of this particular breakdown couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

As I got to work getting the back off the machine and seeing if I could locate the source of the problem, I asked Jake if he would mind finding my rucksack and bunging a few essentials into it like my shampoo, shaving foam and some shower gel.

“Where is it?” he’d asked impatiently, seemingly oblivious to the large pile of wet washing I was trying to deal with in time for the drive next morning.

“Where’s what?” I asked with my head peering into the rotary mechanism which was refusing to budge.

“Where’s your rucksack?”

“In the bottom of my wardrobe, I think. Or maybe under my bed.”

My son had stomped off, muttering that he was in the middle of doing something else, leaving me to try and figure out what was jamming the drum.

A few minutes later he returned and, before I had chance to ask him to pass me a torch, he announced solemnly that he’d “found something weird”.

“Found what?” I asked him, impatient to get on with what was starting to look like it might be quite an involved job.

“I dunno,” he replied. “I was going to just put it back where I found it, but I thought you’d want to see it. Maybe it was something mum left behind.”

That was unlikely: she’d walked out on us well over a decade ago and had meticulously stripped the house of all her belongings as well as some of mine.

“I hope you haven’t been poking around in my stuff, Jake,” I said, pulling myself out of the back of the drier. “I don’t rummage through your things.”

“It wasn’t like that!” he snapped. “I only looked where you told me to. And this thing… well… it was under your bed, underneath the folded up exercise bike.”

Christ – how many years had that been there, gathering dust? I’d probably used it twice; perhaps once even.

I stood up and wiped the oil off my hands, smiling to try and take more conciliatory approach. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

What on earth could it be? A discarded tube of KY jelly? Surely he’d be able to figure out what that had been used for. After all, he went through plenty of his own.

As I washed my hands at the kitchen sink, Jake said, “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s like a dressmaker’s doll or something. Only inflatable.”

A dressmaker’s doll? Linda had never shown any aptitude in repairing clothes, never mind making them.

After drying my hands, I followed him upstairs.

“I just thought you’d want to see it,” Jake said as I reached the top.

As soon as I saw it, sprawled out on my bed, I knew exactly what it was.

It was made from transparent plastic and was clearly human in shape. Inside it, between the legs, was a large, commodious tube, the end of which was bulbous to collect a discharge of liquid.

“Oh,” I said flatly. “That.”

I’d forgotten it had even existed. If I’d have given it even the briefest thought in the last few years, I’d have put it out with the rubbish.

“What is it?” Jake asked.

I couldn’t believe that at nineteen years old he could be so naive. Wasn’t it obvious what it was?

I considered making something up – maybe that it had kept his mum company in bed when I’d had to stay away from home from time to time – but everything I could think of on the spot sounded too implausible.

In any case, before I had chance to formulate something convincing, he answered his own question.

“What’s that tube thing inside it?” he asked. “It isn’t a… oh God! It is, isn’t it? It’s a blow-up doll!”

He gaped at me, his mouth turning from surprise into amusement.

“Jesus, dad! I’m sorry!” he stammered, suppressing laughter that showed he was anything but. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d have known. I just thought it was like a mannequin’s dummy or something.”

There was no point denying it. Any story I tried to fob him off with now would sound even lamer.

“Your mum and I got it not long after we married, Jake,” I told him. “It hasn’t been used in years.”

He kept giggling but insisted on his contrition. “Seriously, Dad, I’m really sorry. I should have just pretended I didn’t see it. I honestly didn’t realise what it was.”

I shrugged. “Well, now that you have, you might as well know why it’s been there all these years. It’s not like I was hiding it – I’d just forgotten it even existed.”

“Did you used to actually use the thing for sex?”

I sat down on the bed and picked up the doll. I could still smell the strong whiff of plastic from it, just as I had when it had been new.

“It became clear, just after I married your mum,” I began to explain, “that my sexual casino şirketleri needs were far greater than hers.”

“You don’t need to tell me this,” Jake cut in, still smirking.

“No, I want to,” I replied. “I’ve always believed in being open with you about sexual stuff and, as you found this, I think it’s important that you know why I bought it.”

He nodded and I went on: “I like to have sex pretty much every night…”

He grinned at that. “Yeah, I’d kinda noticed that!”

I smiled back, “Yes, and I suspect, from the noises from your room when you have one of your… er… buddies staying over, that you have a very high sex drive too.”

He laughed and nodded.

“Unfortunately,” I continued, “your mum had a rather more modest sexual appetite and we found that I needed sex far more often than she was able or willing to provide.”

I looked at the deflated plastic doll. “Hence this… er… helpful aid.”

Jake stared at the doll and nodded. “Why’s it see-through? Aren’t they normally flesh coloured? I mean… not that I would know, of course…”

I chuckled. I knew what lads gave each other as joke birthday presents.

“That was because I didn’t check it before I bought it. I was flustered in the shop and the guy said it was the only one that was… how should I put it… ‘of the right size’.”

“Of the right size?” Jake queried, missing the intended subtlety.

“If you hadn’t noticed, the tube inside is quite generous in its girth and length.”

He stared at me quizzically and I could see I would have to spell it out.

“It was the only model that was big enough for my penis to fit into.”

He laughed at that. “Oh right… sorry… I didn’t know what you meant…”

I thought back to the excruciatingly embarrassing time I’d had in the ‘private shop’ I’d visited in Corby. My instinct had been to buy as quickly as possible the first blow-up doll I was able to lay my hands on and get the hell out of such a seedy place. The guy who worked there, however, had been unwilling to send me off with what might turn out to be an inappropriate purchase and had helpfully – although from my perspective a better adverb to use would have been ‘mortifyingly’ – taken the doll out from its box to show me its orifices.

At first I’d simply muttered my approval, eager for him to pack it away so I could pay for it and go, but then, even in my state of intense discomfort, I had noticed how small the vaginal opening was and had whispered to him, through deep scarlet blushes, that I wouldn’t be able to fit inside it. He had smiled at the admission of how well-endowed I am – in retrospect, it occurred to me that he had probably been gay – and had taken me through to a back room where he had a bigger selection of dolls with a wider range of openings.

This being twenty years ago, there wasn’t the obsession with hygiene that there is now, and he offered that I could try some of the dolls for size. Being very self-conscious back then, I flatly refused, but he pointed out that if I found I was unable to use the doll that I had purchased, I wouldn’t be able to return it for an exchange.

Seeing my misgivings, he offered, “Look, I’ll go out front and I promise I won’t peek!” and I realised I was going to be given some privacy.

“Okay, then,” I hesitantly agreed. “I’ll just… er… test a few for comfort…”

He gave me a tube of lube and a box of tissues, and left me to try out a few dolls for size.

I unzipped my fly and heaved my large, floppy penis out, feeling strange to be doing so in an unfamiliar place. Having lubed myself up and jerked myself off a little to give me a semi, I had a try of ‘Cherry Poppins’, a startled-looking young lady whose lips were disconcertingly puckered into a permanent pout.

I turned her over so I wouldn’t have to look at her face, and gently eased myself into her plastic pussy. It felt quite nice at first – the inside was surprisingly soft and yielding – and I developed a smooth, gentle rhythm as I worked myself in and out.

Yes, this might be just the ticket, I thought. Far more pleasant than just using my right hand like I was having to do most nights and if I closed my eyes I could sort of imagine I was having sex for real.

Suddenly, just as I was really starting to enjoy it, my thickening girth became lodged inside the doll’s orifice. I worked it this way and that but I found I couldn’t extract myself from it. Worse still, the tightness of the opening was stopping my organ from losing the arousal I’d developed.

To my cringing embarrassment, I had to call the shopkeeper to come back through and assist me.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, my cheeks no doubt burning the colour of beetroot. “I seem to have got myself stuck…”

“That’s okay,” he grinned, peering at the base of my large phallus wedged painfully inside the restrictive hole. “Wow, your dick really is thick!”

“I was rather enjoying this one,” I explained, still trying to ease my girth out from the tight clutch of the plastic, “and I must have started… casino firmaları er… hardening up properly… and then my penis became jammed.”

He fetched some washing up liquid and squirted it into the artificial vagina. “Slide your cock in and out as much as you can,” he advised. “It’ll start working itself loose…”

I did as he’d suggested and found that pretty soon I was able to start easing my swollen manhood out from the awkward grip of the doll’s cavity.

“If I’d known you were so large, I’d have suggested ‘Hungry Hannah’.”

“I did tell you I was well-endowed,” I grunted, trying to withdraw the head of my penis through the narrow plastic ribbing.

“You didn’t say you were horse-hung!” he chuckled. “Once you’ve disentangled yourself from that one, I’ve got something much more commodious on a shelf somewhere…”

He went across to the far wall and started searching through boxes to find the sex doll of my dreams.

“Why do you need an inflatable when you’re packing such a huge schlong?” he asked. “I bet the women are queueing up to have a ride on that thing!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had women queueing up,” I smiled back. “The willy might look attractive, but clearly the man attached to it doesn’t have the same appeal!”

He laughed as he pulled a white cardboard box from the pile he was looking through.

“As it happens, I’m married,” I explained, finally dislodging my bulbous cock head from the tightness of Ms Poppins’ fake pussy. “But it’s turned out since the wedding that my wife doesn’t share my enthusiasm for sex.”

“Oh I see,” he grinned over, checking the label that was stuck to the box perhaps to make sure it really was an XXL or whatever size such ‘appliances’ come in. “You dated a nympho and married a nun… that sort of thing?”

“Indeed,” I smirked back, “although I think ‘nympho’ is over-stating it somewhat!”

He stared at my semi-aroused cock, now complete with red rings around its shaft from where it had been trapped, and his raised eyebrows and broad grin made it blatantly obvious that he liked what he saw.

“That really is a hell of a cock,” he smirked, “but I reckon this doll will be wide and deep enough to take it!”

Feeling another wave of embarrassment, I stuffed my softening member clumsily back through my zipper and told him in that case I’d take it, thank you very much.

I don’t know why I was so hung up about showing myself to other guys back then. These days I would capitalise on the shopkeeper’s interest in my manhood and would likely wind up with him bending over one of the piles of boxes while I used it to fuck him roughly up the arse.

In those days, though, I was very self-conscious about the large size of my penis, so I’d beat a hasty retreat from the place with ‘Alotta Beaver’ (as she turned out to be called) wrapped in brown paper.

It was only when I got the doll home and had unpacked it that I realised the plastic it was made from was transparent. Why the hell hadn’t I taken a look at her in the shop? Who in their right mind wants a blow up doll you can see through?

“So yes,” I said to Jake. “I did use it for a short while. I probably would have continued to it had been flesh coloured, but it just seemed too weird – too clinical – to mount something so obviously artificial.”

“Aren’t all blow-up dolls artificial?” he asked.

“Well yes, obviously… but I would assume that with the right lighting and a good imagination, they could probably be fun. But with this one, even with my imagination on full crack, I just couldn’t dispel the sensation that I was having sex with an inflated polythene bag.”

He chuckled before taking the doll from me and examining it carefully. “So, when you did do it, how did it work? I mean, did you do it right there in front of mum, or were you banished to the bathroom?”

I smiled back at him. “It varied.”

At the beginning, when the doll had still been a novelty, Linda had enjoyed watching me using it each night. At first she had found it quite exciting to see me copulating with it, watching my cock sliding vigorously back and forth through the transparent tube inside it. But soon, as with all things, she grew bored of my nightly exertions and decided that it was like, as she had charmingly put it, watching a bull have its semen collected.

So the doll had ended up being stashed away under my bed, waiting for my son to discover it a good twenty years later.

I went back downstairs and left Jake to pack for me and wasn’t until later that night, long after I’d fixed the tumble dryer and we were sharing a few drinks together, that ‘Alotta Beaver’ made a second appearance after such a long absence.

I’d gone out to the kitchen to fill up my wine and fetch Jake another bottle of beer when I heard him scamper upstairs and assumed he needed a pee. I figured I’d use the time to take the wheelie bin out and sort out the recycling boxes, and it was only when I returned to the living room that I found Ms. Beaver fully inflated and perched on the sofa with her güvenilir casino limbs poking outwards.

Jake guffawed at my reaction on seeing the doll propped up like that, its vacant eyes and gaping mouth giving it all the appeal of a transparent corpse, and even I had to chuckle at how ridiculous it looked.

“Does she still get your juices flowing, dad?” he giggled as I gave him his beer.

“Oh yeah!” I laughed. “The old magic’s still there!”

He got up and went to swivel it round onto all fours and asked, “At least if you did it this way round you wouldn’t have to look at her face…”

“Yes, the face was always the problem,” I agreed. “And with the way the arms and legs stick out, doggy style was pretty much the only option, or so I found.”

Jake surprised me by grabbing the doll by the hips, still on all-fours with its face pointing away from him, and positioning the vaginal opening level with his crotch. He seemed to be trying out how it might feel to mount her and his smile slowly faded as he enjoyed the sensation of rubbing his bulge up against the raised mound of its plastic vulva.

“This is actually quite nice,” he muttered, and I could see the lump in the front of his jeans growing and fattening as he worked himself against the back end of the mannequin. “The position is pretty hot… like taking Ellie from behind… or even better, doing a guy up the butt!”

I chuckled. “Of course when I used to be going full-pelt on it, the idea of imagining it as another man bending over would never have occurred to me.”

Jake grabbed the doll by the shoulders and thrust his hips more roughly back and forth towards the moulded genetalia. A slight blush to his cheeks showed how turned-on he was becoming by simulating sex against its rear and the crotch of his jeans began to push prominently outwards from the thickening rod of his cock.

“This is good,” he panted. “I bet it’s a helluva lot better than using your hand…”

“If you’d like to try it for real, I don’t mind leaving the room,” I joked.

“No need for that,” he quipped back, taking my remark as serious. “We’ve both seen each other’s dicks loadsa times.”

He quickly undid his jeans and yanked them down with his boxer shorts and then shoved the full length of his semi-hard cock up the mannequin’s hole in one rapid lunge.

“Aw yeah!” he gasped, grabbing the doll by the hips and fucking it hard. “This feels really nice… like fucking Marcus up his crapper!”

“Careful, Jake! You need some lube up there… it can get quite painful.”

He ignored me and kept ramming his cock in and out of the plastic pussy. I could see his large organ growing thicker and harder up inside the doll’s tubular innards and his swelling helmet was hammering roughly against the little rubber teat that had so often received his father’s semen.

“I know it’s supposed to be a pussy, but… oh my God… it feels as tight as a dude’s arse!”

I suddenly wondered if my son preferred anal sex with other boys than vaginal sex with his girlfriend.

“Oh fuck!” he called out, abruptely ceasing his urgent thrusting. “It’s snagged my shaft… oh Jesus… I’ve got my dick caught up its muff!”

“It’s okay,” I laughed. “I told you… you just need a squirt of lube…”

“I can’t move it, though… there’s like a sharp bit of plastic digging into my cock when I try to pull out…”

I went over to him to see if I could help him disentangle his manhood from where it was snared. His organ filled the clear tunnel inside the doll far more plentifully than mine ever had. His purple bell-end was straining against the tightness of its prison and his broad shaft was wedged solidly along the whole length of the tubing.”

“I can’t see anything jabbing into you…”

“It’s underneath,” he muttered, the pain apparent in his voice. “Right at the base of my schlong… just north of my bollocks.”

“Well, pull out a bit and I’ll try and see where it is…”

“I can’t pull out,” he snapped. “That’s the whole point!”

“Okay… well, I’ll have to crouch down behind you and look through your legs…”

I knelt down behind him and pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees so I could squeeze my face in between his thighs to peer up at the underside of his cock.

“I’m going to have to push my face very close to your bum, Jake…”

He giggled, “It’s hardly the best time to rim me if that’s your idea…”

“Don’t be silly… just don’t fart.”

I leaned in and lifted my son’s two big balls out of the way so I could see where the sex toy was snagging at his cock. I could smell his arse really strongly and it had a certain raunchy appeal. In fact, if I’m being totally honest, I felt my cock stirring in my trouser front from the curious pungence of my son’s dirtiest odour.

“Sorry if my butt’s a bit grody,” he muttered. “I might not have… er… wiped so well.”

I glanced down at his boxer-briefs pulled tight between his knees among the folds of his jeans. A thick brown streak ran up the seat of them, starting just behind the front sag made by his heavy bollocks and petering out halfway up the arse-crack. I’ve noticed from doing the laundry that most of my son’s underwear ends up in this state after spending a day wedged into his backside.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20