Quillon's Covert (14 page)

“A bubble?”

Marty nodded against Martin’s knee. “Our ‘real life’ doesn’t touch our time here, and our time here doesn’t touch our ‘real life’. I said before I’ve accepted that we’ll never live as a couple, and I meant that. It’s taken me a long time to get to that point, but it’s true, Dad.”

Martin thought he understood where Marty was going, but he let him continue.

“You love Mom. I get that. I love Mom too. And, yeah, I think I could love Andrew. So, I choose to think of this place as a bubble. What we do here is between us and no one else.”

It was times like this when Martin was taken aback. Times like this when he was so surprised at how similarly he and his son looked at life. Indeed, Martin had chosen to see their time at the cabin—their intimacy—in much the same way. He loved Allie, of that there was no doubt whatsoever, and he’d never voluntarily hurt her, or their deeply loving relationship. But, that said, the thought of giving up what he and Marty were creating was quickly becoming nearly as unfathomable. Could they do this long-term? Could they grow something special that wouldn’t ultimately affect their ‘real life’? God help him, but he couldn’t imagine not trying.

He smiled down into his son’s kind, yet serious eyes. “A bubble. I gotcha.”

Marty smiled back, pushed his face into Martin’s crotch again, and then quipped, “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, I’m wondering if you could perhaps give Andrew a few pointers? The man can’t fuck ass to save his life! And you know how much I enjoy a good pounding.”

Martin laughed at both his son’s crassness, and his attempt at lightening the suddenly sober mood. He appreciated both and decided he’d play along. “Well, not that I haven’t noticed how handsome he is,” he grinned as Marty’s gaze met his again, “but my thoughts have always run more along the lines of me fucking you while he swallowed your cock…but, I suppose I could be persuaded to give him some lessons on exactly how to work your nub. Of course, they’d have to be hands-on lessons.”

He could tell by the mirth in his son’s eyes that Marty understood he was joking.

“As hot as that sounds, and don’t get me wrong, it sounds really hot, the only dude you’re spending sexy-time with is me, Old Man.”

Martin shook his head and clucked. “Well then, you’re gonna have to be satisfied with only getting a quality pounding two weeks outta the year, then.”

“I’ll manage. Besides, it’s not just your skilled fucking I’m looking forward to this trip.”

“Oh?”

Marty pulled his brows together in mock concentration. “I seem to recall something about a spanking this year.”

Martin’s dick surged against his son’s cheek.

“And, somehow…” he continued while running his flat tongue up Martin’s bobbing shaft, “a pair of Velcro wrist cuffs may have found their way into my bag.”

With that, his wicked son pushed off of the dock, backstroked away from him with a mischievous grin, and left Martin’s mind racing with possibilities. Yeah, there was no doubt he was looking forward to spanking Marty’s ass, and not in a way he’d ever done before. He chuckled, tossed the pole aside, and went in search of his son’s backpack.

Digging around the small storage shed was hot and dusty, but Martin finally found what he was looking for, stowed in a box on the top shelf: several coils of soft hemp rope.

A few years back, he and Marty had trained in rappelling. They’d brought the gear up to the cabin with the intent of putting it to use on the steep peaks surrounding the Quillon land. Marty’s car accident had happened the following year, but this year it seemed they’d finally get to use some of the gear—just not in the way it was intended.

He shook his head as he ran his finger along the rope sitting in the open box, and couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating trussing his son up. Yet, despite the stifling heat of the shed, and sweat pouring out of every opening of his body, his dick bobbed with an anticipation that unnerved him a bit.
Jeez, I’m a perv!

Ignoring the thought, he folded the thick canvas tarp he’d already located into the box, and got the hell out of the fiery shed.

Twenty minutes later, he’d cut down the two-person swing—he’d planned on rehanging it this year with fresh rope anyway—and had placed a line of rappelling rope over the strong, low hanging branch. He’d also spread the tarp out and brought out the lube, a few rags, the wooden paddle, a leather belt, and the cooler stocked with ice and drinks.

Marty had finally dragged himself out of the lake, he swore the man was half amphibian, and was rinsing himself off under the outdoor shower. Martin sat, resting his arms on his pulled up knees, in the center of the tarp watching Marty, and took a long pull from the brown beer bottle while once again trying to reconcile the fascination he felt toward his son.

Since realizing he loved sharing a more intimate side with Marty, he’d begun studying other men for any kind of similar allure. Each and every time, he found nothing; thus far, Marty was the only man he was attracted to. And
attracted to
, he admitted, wasn’t strong enough a term to adequately describe the hunger he often felt for his son. He drained the bottle, flipped open the cooler, and sat it inside. However, the enticement no longer bothered him and he’d accepted it for whatever it was. But that didn’t explain why his heart nearly thumped out of his chest when he toyed with the end of the rope that hung off the branch above him.

Although he hadn’t actually said anything yet, the feisty grin Marty laid on him as he took in Martin’s handy work left him slightly self-conscious. He stooped over, grabbed a Mike’s Hard Lemonade out of the ice, and sat down next to Martin.

“So…” He grinned. Bumping his shoulder against Martin’s, he popped the cap on his own drink and let out a satisfied
ahh
!

When Martin didn’t reply, he felt Marty’s stare on him.

“Wait, are you blushing, Dad?”

Instead of offering an answer, he busied himself with draining his second bottle.

Marty seemed to sense his apprehension and schooched even closer so the entire sides of their bodies pressed together.

The skin of his dick being drawn back by his son’s wicked fingers shot zings of pleasure up his spine. He looked down between his parted legs and watched Marty playfully pull and tug at his cock.

“Seems at least part of you is looking forward to this,” he said quietly.

Martin didn’t trust himself to speak, so he gave a jerky nod. Fuck, he hadn’t ever felt such uncertainty with sex. Not even the first time he’d gotten to third base with Karrie, a girl he’d briefly dated in high school. They’d thrown a ton of blankets in the back of his dad’s old pickup truck, pointed it ass-end toward the drive-in theatre screen, and made out the entire evening. He’d brought her to orgasm with a thick finger shoved under the open buttons of her jeans, while she’d panted incoherently into his ear, and he’d felt like a fucking stud. Now though, with his son, the ropes, the paddle, the belt, he felt like an overeager twelve-year-old who’d discovered a porn magazine in the trash and was hiding in the garage while beating his under-aged dick with ferocious, uncoordinated determination.

Strong, sure fingers played across his tight balls. “Dad, we don’t have to—”

“No!” Martin started way too strongly. Backing off, he turned to face Marty’s questioning eyes. “I want to. I
really
do.” He swallowed and tore his guilty gaze away. “Perhaps a bit more than I should.”

The scrape of Marty’s chin stubble grazed across his shoulder before it was replaced by his son’s smiling lips. “Would it help if I told you I’m looking forward to this a bit more than I probably should too?”

He reached between Marty’s legs and mirrored his son’s movements, taking hold of the thick, excited cock and stroking it.

“At some point, and I don’t know exactly when, this stopped being about simply sharing a closeness with you,” Martin started, as if making a confession, “and turned into…”

He stopped, pulled the bottle from Marty’s fingers, and drained it. “Jesus,” he grimaced, “How can you drink that stuff?”

Marty ignored the comment. “And turned into…?”

Martin dropped the empty bottle next to him and pulled on his son’s long skin. “It turned into me wanting to do things to you, wanting to feel my cock in your ass, wanting to watch your lustful face as you shot, wanting to…spank you…and do other things.”

Marty didn’t have the chance to respond. Martin grabbed the bill of his cap, swung it around to the back, quickly pushed his son onto the tarp, and went to his knees. Before Marty could say a word, Martin bent down, and with a loud choke, swallowed his son’s thick cock to the root. When he’d run out of air, he forced himself to relax and dragged in noisy breaths from around Marty’s cock.

Marty started to lift his torso, but Martin’s strong hand landed on his chest and pushed him back down—and kept him there. With his other, he took Marty’s balls in his palm, kneaded them roughly, and finally pulled himself off his son’s throbbing cock. After a rackety gasp, he eased Marty back into him, feeling every inch of Marty’s arousal.

“Daaaaad. Fuuuuck!” Marty moaned. “If you don’t stop that, this is gonna be over before it starts.”

Martin pulled off and stood. “Up,” he commanded.

His son’s eyes darkened even further as he held Martin’s gaze.

Their cocks seemed to be dueling as Martin stood facing his son and fastened the padded, Velcro wrist cuffs. Once he had them secure, he ran the hanging rope through the ring holding them together, knotted it off, and pulled the loose end, drawing Marty’s hands above his head. Once they were fully extended, he tied it off.

Wedging his fingers under the padded cuffs, he was satisfied they weren’t too tight, but there was also no doubt his son wouldn’t be going anywhere without Martin allowing it.

The veins in Marty’s forearms stood out, and Martin ran his palms over them, down his son’s prominent, hairy biceps, and stopped just short of his jutting nipples. Gently, he glided the pads of his thumbs over each brown stub. Marty’s body, shuddering with need, only heightened Martin’s arousal.

“Jesus, Dad…want this so much.”

Martin focused his attention on Marty’s sensitive nubs, and although he didn’t take is eyes from them, he asked, “And you promise me you’ll say
when
, Martin Junior?”

His son’s sober response was clear and without hesitation. “I promise you I’ll say
when
, Dad.”

Martin’s gaze rose from Marty’s chest and landed on his son’s lips. He leaned in, brushed his own across them several times slowly, and then ran his tongue over the bottom one. When Marty groaned, Martin tilted his head toward the paddle and belt. “Which would you like?”

Marty’s eyes caught his. “Unless you’d prefer to use one of them, I’d like your hand—like the last time. I want to feel
you
.”

Martin moved to Marty’s side, lifted a hand, and smoothed it across his son’s muscled ass. Resting his forehead against the side of Marty’s head, he asked quietly, “Have you done this before?”

“Only with you, two years ago…and I don’t think that really counts as
this
. So, no.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Have you?”

Martin couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped. “That would be a
no
for me too, Son.”

The blue-gray of Marty’s eye slowly disappeared behind a closing lid. “How about if we start out slow…warm up, so to speak? If that’s okay?”

Martin reached his other hand out, took hold of Marty’s tight nuts, and worked them free of his body until they were firmly clutched in his palm. He felt his son’s body stiffen slightly. “I think me holding these might keep you from squirming around too much, don’t you?”

With that, Martin landed the first heedful slap to his son’s ass. And, per Marty’s suggestion, he had started out slow. But now, each slap echoed across the still lake and reverberated around them. Marty’s soft moans had grown into full-fledged howls of pain and pleasure. At times he screamed out in pain, while other strikes provoked sharp groans of unadulterated gratification. Martin was in rapt awe as his son’s body tensed with each blow, but then relaxed immediately after. Marty’s toned body gleamed with sweat, testing the strength of the rope as it supported more and more of his weight, while his dark blond curls were plastered to his forehead. The grip on Marty’s nuts never wavered; his unyielding hold kept them, and his son, firmly in place.

“
When
,” Marty gasped.

With two quick motions, Martin slicked both Marty’s hole and his own cock, then pushed himself between the slippery cheeks. Positioning the head of his cock against Marty’s opening, he twined his fingers into Marty’s damp hair, pulled back and held his son’s head against his shoulder. When he pushed in, he wasn’t sure if Marty’s wail was caused by Martin’s fingers digging into his hair and baring his son’s neck, or from being impaled by Martin’s yearning cock. But when his pelvis met Marty’s ass, the fiery heat against his skin only fueled Martin’s already overwhelming need.

Marty’s back arched, and despite Martin’s firm hold, his head thrashed back and forth.