Most American pederasts would agree that one of the truly unfortunate fashion developments in recent years is the lengthening of boys' bathing suits. Nowadays kids wear absurdly long trunks that come down below their knees, almost to their ankles, a hip-hop-inspired design that deprives the world of one of nature's most beautiful sights: a young boy frolicking on the beach naked except for a think piece of cloth clinging revealingly to his hard wet body.
Despite the contrary societal trend, I have always forced my son Marco to wear speedos during our annual family beach trips to the Jersey shore. Last summer, when he was thirteen, he was positively breath-taking as he scampered on the beach in his green and white-striped speedos.
The small bulge in the front of his suit left no doubt that he had not progressed far into puberty, but his lithe form still commanded the rapt attention of young girls, and quite a few men, as he ran around the sand. Marco had undergone a growth spurt recently, so I knew that there would be a little bit more meat evident this summer.
Marco was obviously aware of this too and wanted to get something more modest when we went shopping for a new suit. He had outgrown the one from the previous summer and was clearly much more self-conscious about his changing body.
"How about this one?" he asked, handing me a horrible baggy thing that he picked off the rack at the sporting goods store at the mall.
"That kind is so loose and gets in your way when you move in the water," I told him.
"But it's what everyone wears," he responded.
"Well not you, you always wear speedos, that's a cool bathing suit. Now, how about this one?" I suggested as I picked out a bright red pair (I have a weakness for the classics). My dick started to stir in my pants as I thought about my son wearing them at the beach.
"Ah, Dad, those let people see everything," he complained.
"Well you're a good looking kid, you ought to let people appreciate it some," I explained as I playfully tousled his dark hair. Marco let out a weak, embarrassed laugh as his face turned the color of the speedos I was compelling him to get.
Two weeks later we were at the beach with my wife's tedious relatives. We always vacationed in Jersey as it was more-or-less equally convenient (or inconvenient) for all the members of my wife's family; we lived in Boston, my wife's brother and their family lived in Buffalo, and her parents were in Philadelphia.
This was quite a motley crew. My father-in-law never stopped talking about the stock market, and my mother-in-law seemed to have no interest other than sudoku. My wife's brother drifted from job to job and showed signs of alcoholism, and his wife was an amateur astrologist who was consistently offering my father-in-law stock tips based on the alignment of the stars. They had two kids, Jeffrey, who was a sixteen-year-old stud and quite an aficionado of windsurfing (and the only one of the group I really liked) and their weird daughter Carla, who was into the Goth scene and quite morbid.
But none of this really mattered as all I wanted to do was gaze at my son Marco on the beach, and our first day there I confirmed that he was still a sight to behold as he body-surfed and splashed around in the water. I stared endlessly at his lean muscular body and could see that the lump in the front of his speedos was noticeably larger than it had been the previous summer.
I used the X-ray vision of my mind to penetrate his suit and see his young dick and balls pressed up against the confining fabric and wondered how much pubic hair he had now. He hadn't had much the previous summer, just a narrow band of light fuzz above his dick.
But as beautiful as the teasingly plump bulge in the front of his Speedos was, I am at heart an ass man, and was accordingly even more taken with his backside. The thin material clung tightly to his nicely formed ass and dipped sensuously into his crack so that you could see the outlines of each of his cheeks perfectly. My own dick was rock hard as I watched the show that Marco was obliviously putting on. No one could notice my tumescence, however, as I was wearing rather conservative trunks myself; speedos are for beautiful young boys, not middle-aged men.
I had brought a book with me, one of Thomas Mann's, but I couldn't peel my eyes away from the sight of Marco in his skimpy Speedos and didn't get through many pages. In the mid-afternoon, Marco and his cousin Jeffrey played frisbee with some other kids, and I delighted in watching him run and dive into the water as he endeavored to grab the disk. One time he was blinded by the sun and couldn't see it coming, and it hit him right on the head, which made all the other kids laugh. Marco was a good sport and laughed it off himself.
Around four o'clock Marco ran up to me and asked if he could go back to the house to get a snack. He stood in front of me and dried himself off with a towel, giving me an up close view of his nubile young body, which over the course of the day had turned an exquisite shade of bronze that complemented the scarlet of his speedos quite nicely. I didn't want to take my eyes off Marco, particularly his beautiful ass, and was determined to go where he (and his ass) went. I told him he could go and that I would go with him, offering the pretext that we were running low on beer.
We walked over the sun-baked dunes and up to the house in silence. When we reached the beach house, we entered the dark storage area on the ground floor. We started to make our way to the stairs that would lead to the main floors of the house, but something caught Marco's eye, and he stopped suddenly.
"What's this?" he asked, pointing at a table in the corner which was covered by large planks, sails, and poles.
"That's Jeffrey's windsurfing equipment," I answered.
"Cool, do you think he would teach me how to do it?"
Marco idolized his older cousin, and the impressionable youngster must have decided that if Jeffrey was interested in windsurfing, then he would be too. He walked over to the table and bent over it to inspect the equipment, and in the process thrust his rump out towards me. Each of his luscious mounds pressed insistently against the wet fabric, and the erotic sight made something inside me snap. His ass was so divine that I decided I had to fuck it right then and there.
"Marco, your ass is beautiful," I murmured.
The boy was so engrossed in looking at his cousin's windsurfing stuff that he didn't hear me. So I repeated, "your ass is beautiful, Marco."
He looked over his shoulder at me with a confused look on his face. "Thanks, I guess."
"I mean it, Marco, I need to have it. Daddy needs your ass."
"I need to fuck you, Marco. I'm going to fuck your nice ass," I told him as I sauntered towards him as if controlled by some unseen force.
He turned all the way around and faced me. "That's not funny, Dad."
"It wasn't a joke, Marco. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you, but either way, I'm getting inside your tight little ass."
I was even scaring myself as I said these obscene words, words that no father should ever say to his son. Marco looked around nervously as if trying to see if he could get away, but I was now standing right in front of him, and of course I was much bigger and stronger than he was. I jerked him around violently so that he was facing away from me once again, then pushed him face-down over the table.
"What are you doing, Dad?" he screamed, "let me go!"
"I'll let you go after I've fucked you," I informed him as I pulled his left arm up over the surface of the table. I took a black nylon strap from my nephew's wind-surfing paraphernalia and tied his wrist to a railing on the far side of the table, then repeated the process with his right hand.
My son was now bound to the table with his ass sticking over the edge. He couldn't move his arms but could shake his ass and kick his legs, which was so sexy it just spurred me on all the more. I cupped Marco's left ass cheek and squeezed it gently, then squeezed it again hard. I delighted in the firmness of his ass flesh while Marco continued to struggle against the cords that tied him down, but I had done a good job, and he was unable to extricate himself.
"Don't, Dad, don't!" he cried, "Stop it! I'm not a fag!"
I didn't care if he was a fag or not and in any event, I was in no mood to stop. I urgently needed to see his bare ass, so I grabbed the side of his speedos and started to pull them down. The damp material clung to him tightly, and it took a great deal of effort to get them to slide off his hips. Once they finally slipped over his ass cheeks, I tugged them down to his ankles where they could act as a restraint for his lower limbs, which were still flailing about in a desperate but futile protest.
I started to rub my hands over my son's bare boy ass. It was still wet from the ocean and was a pale white color compared to the tan of the rest of his body, having been protected from the blazing power of the sun's rays by the tantalizing pair of speedos I had forced him to wear. I reached around and felt up his dick, which I could tell had grown nicely since last summer.
It was probably around four inches or so. I could feel more pubic hair above his cock and wondered if he had also gotten hair on his balls, so I dropped my hand a few inches lower to find out. I was happy to learn that the boy's scrotum was still smooth and hairless.
By this point my own prick was begging to be released from my shorts, so I quickly peeled them off and let it spring free. I then walked over to the tote bag that I brought back from the beach, removed some sun tan lotion and squirted it onto my turgid meat. Then I returned to my imprisoned son and spread his ass cheeks apart and squirted some lotion directly onto his young hole so that I could sodomize him.
"Stop, Dad, stop!" Marco continued to yell.
Disregarding his pleas, I placed the greased head of my penis against his anus, but it had clamped down tightly. This boy was no match for me, however, and I was able to force the length of my prick into his stubborn hole without difficulty. I plowed all the way into him until my pubes were tickling his ass cheeks. Marco screamed in agony, but I just lay on top of him and enjoyed the pressure of his sphincter clamping down on my rod.
"Oh fuck, Marco, your ass feels as great as it looks," I said as I started to caress his right butt cheek. Marco continued to yell and started twisting his ass in an attempt to escape the onslaught, but the added friction only intensified the pleasure his tight poop chute was giving my dick.
After a few minutes of enjoying the initial penetration of my incestuous rape, I began a slow in-and-out pumping motion and started to lose myself in the sensation that spread over my body. I had never felt anything so good. Marco's ass was the best fuck I ever had. Better than his mother's stretched-out cunt or any of the young hustlers I had picked up while on business trips to various cities. He was even better than that twelve-year-old boy I had fucked in Mexico City two years ago, who had been my best fuck up till that point (but that's a story for another day).
I wiggled my prick from side to side and reveled in the warm and snug sensation his ass provided. I pulled nearly all of my cock out of him until only the blood-engorged head was lodged inside, then slammed back inside, only to repeat the process. As my fucking wore on, the sounds coming from Marco's mouth began to sound less like screams of terror and more like moans of pleasure.
I started to fuck him even harder, and he groaned even more lustfully. I ran my hands all over Marco's firm back and shoulders and then started mussing his thick black hair. I reached underneath to feel his prick again and was pleased to note that it was as hard as steel. A few more frantic thrusts and I felt the flood-gates of my testicles open up and the sperm shoot down my penis tube and into Marco's boy ass.
"Oh, fuck, yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh, oh what a fucking nice ass, oh yeah!" I sighed as my cum coated his insides, then collapsed on top of his body. As I lay on top of him, I unexpectedly heard a voice coming from the doorway.
"Very nice, Uncle Charles."
I whipped my head around and saw Jeffrey standing there with his swimsuit around his feet and his hand busy pumping his large pecker.
"Hey Jeffrey, uh, um," I stammered, "Yeah he was pretty tight." I was astonished at having been caught, but in light of my nephew's masturbatory activity, it was pretty obvious that Jeffrey wasn't going to rat me out. A lewd thought immediately came to mind.
"You want some sloppy seconds?" I asked him.
Jeffrey didn't hesitate. "Fuck, yeah!" he said, "I've always wanted to try fucking a boy."
He then crossed to the other side of the table so he could look at my son directly.
"What do you say, cuz, can I have a go at your little butt?" he asked him. Marco was clearly overwhelmed by the afternoon's developments. He had initially resisted his father's rape but had started to like it, and now his older cousin, who had been his hero since he was a little kid, was asking to fuck him too. He knew he would do anything for Jeffrey, and this was no exception. He looked up at him like a little puppy.
"Yes, Jeffrey, you can fuck me," he murmured.
Jeffrey quickly walked over to take my place behind Marco. I moved off to the side and watched my sixteen-year-old nephew enter my son's ass. Jeffrey's prick was big and thick, much bigger than my average six-inch cock. Jeffrey's tool was probably eight inches and thicker than a banana, but he had no trouble slipping his prick into Marco's hole. The boy was no longer resisting, and his ass was lubricated my sperm. Although I had just come, my prick hardened again as I watched the two boys fucking and I started to beat my meat.
Jeffrey must have been pretty excited by watching me fuck Marco because he didn't last long. After only a minute or so of thrusting, he started to shout that he was coming and then grunted loudly. The sound of his ecstasy and the sight of the two fucking brought me over the edge, and I shot another load all over the floor.
"Wow," he said as he withdrew his deflating cock, "that was hot."
"It sure was, boys. Now, how 'bout that snack?"