Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. The fishing trip We always took the little tent my dad had bought at the army surplus shop when we went fishing; that and flasks of soup, and enough sandwiches for a small regiment. It all seemed singularly pointless on that summer day just after my fifteenth birthday. Early in the morning, the sun was already blistering and was bringing a tarry, fusty smell off the heavy green canvass I was struggling to stretch over the frame. As junior partner in the enterprise, it of course fell to me to put the tent up, once dad had selected a suitable site, leaving him free to walk the bank seeking a good position for our day's fishing. I was only glad that I wasn't wearing the wet weather gear that dad always packed, and usually insisted on wearing: "You can never tell when it'll turn to rain," he would invariably advise, and you'll not be laughing then." For now, the shorts and trainers I was wearing looked like a good choice and reason for at least a self satisfied smile. We'd been going fishing ever since I was a little kid. Not every Saturday - he worked most of those - but perhaps once a month over the season. The days were spent sitting by the bank (admittedly, often in the persistent drizzle that characterises British summers) hoping for a bite and - still more optimistic - that it would be a bite from something substantial enough to take home to mum as justification for the day's efforts. We talked - about football; school; his experiences in the army; girls, sometimes. We never had that embarrassing "birds and the bees" talk that's supposed to take place between fathers and sons: rather, through these conversations, he'd taken care to ensure that the knowledge I'd accumulated from other sources wasn't too far off beam. There were continual injunctions that, if I couldn't be good, I should at least be careful and a packet of three durex had mysteriously found its way into my sports bag on one of our trips about a year before. He obviously over-estimated my prowess: I certainly hadn't found occasion to use them "in anger" - all of us at school talked with massive exaggeration and bravado about our exploits with girls but I think we all knew that we were making it up as we went along. There was certainly no girl at my school prepared to go all the way for a spotty fifth former. I'd almost immediately used two of the three in solo performances in my bedroom at home - just to see what it felt like to put on a condom. The truth was it felt so sexy, so adult, that I filled the first with my watery teenage spunk within a minute of unrolling it onto my cock. I couldn't resist sacrificing the second just to re-experience the thrill, and only contemplating the remote chance that some real pussy might come along some day kept me from using the third. That one, I carried in my wallet, allowing it to be seen there by school mates at first exciting envious looks and a few months later ridicule for the fact that it was still there. "It's my emergency supply," I explained unconvincingly. "I keep the ones I use at home." The truth was, the furthest I'd got with Kirstie, my then girlfriend of four weeks, and the only one with whom I'd got anywhere, was some quick fumbling. She'd made a major concession and taken off her bra, allowing me to see a very disappointing pair of tits that surely couldn't have filled it; none the less, it was a major achievement and enough to raise my excitement level to almost immediate ejaculation when she slipped her hand down my tracksuit bottoms. In the other department - "basement goods" as we called it amongst us lads at school - she'd allowed my hand inside her knickers and my index finger to push inside her cunt lips as we sucked on each other's tongues and she jerked me off. That, for me, was sex. That and masturbation, something I was resorting to at least four times a day at that period. On our all day fishing trips, I'd typically slip away at least twice, making the excuse of needing a piss, and come back after shooting a load of jizz into the bushes. Dad knew what I was up to and seemed to enjoy making a joke of the embarrassment: "You've been a long time - you usually only need four strokes and you're there!" or, "Don't be going in the van - I don't want to smell cheese all the way home." That day was no different. It was just that there was more to excite me. We'd been sitting on the bank - Dad on the sort of lounger chair that mum and me had bought him from the tackle shop the Christmas before, and me on the big tackle box - for a couple of hours when the bird turned up. I recognised her straight away because she'd been excluded from our school the year before. The rumour was that she'd been taking e's and sharing them around. Two sixth formers had gone at the same time. What surprised me was that she obviously recognised my dad. It turned out he'd done some work at her parents' house (Dad's been a plumber since he came out of the army) and then a few times, he'd given her a lift to her new school on the other side of town, when he was working over there. I guess that wasn't really the full extent of their acquaintance up to then --- but that's what they both said. It's embarrassing enough when a bird comes on to you in front of your dad; even worse when it's a bird he already seems to know a lot better than you do. Suzy had never been in my form at school, and we'd never been friends. But she was friendly with dad - friendly enough to use his first name, Rob. And she was a stunner: a lot better than Kirstie. Her tits didn't need any oversized bra to fill out her teeshirt. You could see the nipples, and they even seemed to lift her tight teeshirt up, showing about two inches of bare, browned stomach until your gaze moved down to the top of her denim skirt. And the skirt wouldn't have detained your gaze for very long at all. She'd obviously cut it shorter because it had a frayed edge that barely covered the top of her thighs. Standing there in front of me, as I looked up from my low position sitting on the box, I could see no trace of underwear but irritatingly couldn't see quite far enough to catch a glimpse of anything else. I didn't realise I was staring, but she picked it up right away and didn't hesitate to comment, "Seen anything you fancy up there, Mark?" I hadn't seen it, but I definitely fancied it - something that manifested itself by a steadily stiffening cock, which I knew would soon be too prominent to conceal in my thin nylon football shorts. It was pointing downwards, and I knew that a full hardon would stick out of the bottom of the leg. Now I cursed the fact that I wasn't wearing long pants. I tried to make it go away, thinking about the least sexy things I could imagine - but there was nothing for it, with Suzy still there, arms folded, and her left foot now lifted up to rest on dad's chair, exposing even more of her. I announced my need for a pee as a cover to retreat and readjust things - and regretted it almost immediately. "I reckon your Mark's a bit excited, Rob" she said with a smirk. I expected him to join in the humour - but I think Dad realised how embarrassed I was. "Well, what do you expect standing there like a tart, trying to show him your bush?" I was amazed at the words; she was slightly crestfallen and turned to scowl at Dad. I used the moment to get up and escape. I didn't actually dare to crack one off in the bushes: I was worried that Suzy would come prying after me. So I waited till my hard-on had subsided, then took a piss and wandered back. Looking back on it, I suppose Dad must have known I would come looking for them when they weren't by the river bank where I'd left them. I went to the tent and knew straight away what was going on. Suzy was giggling occasionally and I could hear Dad saying things to her in a voice so low I couldn't make out the words. The tent was only six foot long, and I could see the feet of Dad's size 13 wellies sticking out of the end flap, toes in the air, so I could tell he was lying on his back. When I looked in through the half open end flap, I saw she was kneeling over him, straddling his waist, still with the denim skirt on, stretched almost to ripping point by her parted legs, but her tee-shirt was off. All I could see through the half-open tent flap was her bare back - but I guess as she leaned forward, her tits would be nearly in my Dad's face. Neither of them could see me. I could see that Dad was fondling her tits with one hand and had got the other one up her skirt, digging deep into her pussy with his fingers and making her moan. I heard the next thing he said to her very clearly, but I couldn't at first believe it. "Imagine that's our Mark's prick going up there. I saw the way you were looking at it. I know you want it." The answer was just louder moaning. "Yes, that makes you wet, doesn't it baby, thinking about his hard teenage cock fucking you for all he's worth. He's probably stroking one off right now, thinking about exactly the same thing." Even louder moaning, and a whispered "yes." "So," he continued, "do you think he's anything like as big as his dad?" Dad took his hand away from her cunt and used it to guide her hand, behind her, onto the swollen shape of his prick inside his pants. "Feel it. Shall we let the monster breathe a bit?" He pulled his feet into the tent and dug his heels into the ground, pushing so as to lift his hips, and eased the waterproof pants he was wearing down, lifting the elasticated waist over his hard prick which immediately stood straight up. It was the first time I'd seen an erect adult penis. My seven inches had earned me the nickname "donger" at school, but Dad's got at least nine. Probably more - there wasn't a ruler around. But it was the thickness of it that amazed me - almost as thick as my skinny forearm at the wrist - and the size of the nobe end: the size of, say, a large plum. I moved out of the way so as not to be seen as Dad started manoeuvring Suzy into a position where she could suck him. I didn't know that was going on - but his next words, "That's right, suck it, get the head in your mouth." told me. I dared another look through the flap - Dad now had his back to me, and she was on the floor, with him kneeling over her. I couldn't see what was going on but from the sounds I could tell he was fucking her face. I lay down myself, my face almost in the soles of his wellies, looking between his legs to catch sight of his shaft entering her mouth. Dad was now doing the moaning as the bird slurped and choked on his dick. The angle can't have been right for him to get much of his length into her mouth and suddenly he decided to go the other side of her so he could 69 her. I was caught red handed, by this time my prick was in my hand, bigger and harder than it had ever been before, and I was looking straight into the face of my dad as he fumbled to get his penis into a schoolgirl's mouth. It was too much to cope with at once and I just froze - unable to imagine what he'd do, what he'd say, what we'd tell mum. It felt like minutes, but I'm sure in fact it was only a second till he said, without blinking an eye, "Are you coming in then or what?" I was gobsmacked. I didn't know what I was doing as I pulled the flap back, ready to crawl into the tent. "Get your shorts off before you come in - there isn't room to swing a cat in here." he told me - and I did as ordered. Later I thought I should have made some smart answer about a pussy but right then, jokes were the last thing on my mind. My cock was still hard - stiff as it had ever been, as I crawled into the tent, naked but for my socks and trainers. The tent was full of a mixture of strong smells: the smell of Suzy's pussy juices mixed with the slightly cheesy smell of Dad's cock; then the musty smell from the canvas of the old army tent, and a strange warm, damp smell from my Dad's rubber boots. He was still kneeling at the end of the tent, Suzy's head between his knees, his huge prick and balls out over the top of his waterproofs, and jutting over her face. It must have looked like I didn't know what to do: "Haven't you ever seen a cunt before?" I shook my head. I think Dad was shocked. "Christ, I'd fucked dozens when I was your age. Well, Suze, it looks like you're going to be our Marky's first fuck." She couldn't answer cos Dad had by this time put the head of his prick back in her mouth. She responded by bending her knees, drawing her legs up, and opening them wide, exposing the pink slit in the middle of her bush. "Now you know what it looks like, why don't you find out what it tastes like?" Dad leaned forward and used two of the fingers of one hand to pull the lips slightly apart, and his middle finger to probe for her clit. "Put your tongue there, where my middle finger is," he ordered and I obeyed. It was all so horny I didn't really care what it tasted like. And I was so turned on, I'd have done anything Dad told me to: there were uncharted waters for me. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the world's best at tonguing a pussy - but she seemed to be enjoying it and the same moaning and slurping on dad's tool carried on. As usual he was the one to move things along. "Time you returned the favour, Suze," he said, and pulled his tool out of her mouth. She looked up at him to see what he meant. "Turn round and suck him." he said, "Suck that teenage cock." It was like a game of twister in the tent as the bird got up on her knees, turned round and took my cock into her mouth, whilst Dad slid underneath her and took over, with no doubt greater expertise and a longer tongue, where I'd left off. "Promise you won't come in my mouth?" were the first words she'd uttered since we were on the river bank and I nodded my head in agreement. Dad winked at me from his new position and she started to suck, easing her lips up and down the shaft of my cock. My nob head is only about as big as the shaft, whilst my dad's is a enough to fill anybody's mouth - so I'm sure it was a lot easier for her to suck on me. Being the first bird ever to suck my dick, I thought she was fucking marvellous at it any way and it was less than two minutes before I knew I was going to cum. Both of them seemed to know it was coming before I did. "Go on Suze - don't be a spoilsport, take his spunk" You can guess where the words came from. I was panting and moaning as the first shot of jizz went in her mouth. "Hold her head, son" it was good advice - she immediately tried to pull away. "Fuck her mouth son, fuck that spunk into her mouth" I was on autopilot, just pumping away with my prick. "That's it, fuck her. Rape her fucking mouth" My cock was painful by this point - still fully stiff but empty - but I kept doing as Dad told me, pushing it in again and again despite her gagging and spluttering. "That's it, make her swallow the spunk. She wants it really, don't you, Suze?" What ever. She wasn't getting the choice. Finally, I couldn't go on any longer and I was sure she must have swallowed it all, so I let my prick flop out of her mouth. As soon as my nob end was clear of her lips, she retched violently and gobbed a huge mouthful of spit and spunk right onto my dad's boot. He sat up and stared at the spoogey mess on his boot, spittle dribbling away and spunk sticking to the black rubber. Then without saying anything, kicked both his wellies off, extricated him from our complicated arrangement of bodies, and got out of the tent. "Both of you stay where you are. Mark, you put them on. I'll be back." He didn't sound like Arnie, but it was as ominous as a line from Terminator. The bird was still coughing and occasionally spluttering out the gob and cum mixture. I noticed there was a little blood and felt bad about what I'd done to her and started to say sorry. All she said was "He gets a bit rough sometimes but its worth it" then started to retch again. Dad came back with a big green holdall from the back of the van. "I thought I told you to put the wellies on?" I did as he said, kicking off my old reebok classics and reaching for the spunked-up rubber boots. They were at least three sizes too big for me and came almost up to my knees. They felt warm to the touch, from my dad's body heat, and slightly damp from his sweat. I began to wonder how many birds my dad had fucked wearing them. He obviously wasn't the sort of guy who would turn down opportunities - and I guessed that his work as a plumber must bring him into contact with plenty of bored housewives. At 39, he was still a good looking guy, and he wore his wellies to work almost every day. I began to picture him in some middle class bitch's kitchen, bending her over the worktop, standing with his legs apart and feet firmly planted in his rubber boots, shafting her from behind, getting the muck from his wellies all over her kitchen floor and the muck from his prick deep in her cunt. The thought was enough to bring my cock back to full stiffness. I moved my feet around inside the boots, bending the thick rubber, and looked down with a degree of pride at the large wad of spunk that had dribbled down the front of the boot onto the toes. "That should have been in her cunt," I thought to myself. The boots were black with a grey rim round the top, and thick grey soles, with a sort of tyre tread pattern, and a thick, grey rubber welt. Out of the holdall, there now came a pair of waders in exactly the same style. In the cramped space, dad needed help to get them on. I took one of the heavy rubber boots and slid it onto his leg. The tops of the boots came right up to his balls and my hand brushed against his semi-erect tool as I attached a rubber strap that fastened the top of the boot onto his belt. I'd never seen these waders before. I knew dad kept a pair in the van, for when he had to do drains work - but they were steel toed, and always filthy. These were shiny and new-looking. "Nearly ready," he said, as I fastened the strap on the second boot, and his prick stood stiff, erect again to its full nine inches. "I think you're going to need this if you're going to last more than two minutes." Reaching into the holdall, he brought out what looked at first like a black condom. He stretched it like an elastic band then handed it to me. Like a jonny, it had a teat at one end to collect the cum, but at the other ballooned into a round shape. "Come here," he said, correctly diagnosing my confusion. He spat into the "jonny" and rubbed his spit around inside it, then slid it onto my cock, pulling the opening wide and pushing my balls inside the "balloon" When he let go, it gripped my prick tightly round the base, and my tool was encased in black rubber, much thicker than any condom. "That'll keep you going. Now lets see what you can do." I followed each of his orders as best I could. He never spoke to the girl again: it was as if she wasn't a person: just a cunt we were going to use. "Get her on her back. Lift her legs up and apart. Now get it in her." I tried to aim my cock at the pink, puckered opening. Dad spat down on it, most of his gob landed exactly on the slit. "Go on, penetrate her. Put that hard black rubber tool in." I managed it at the second attempt, a stab that pushed my nob end through the inner lips. Then it was easy and soon the black ball sack was pushed up against her pussy with my tool as deep as I could get it. I'd never dreamed my first fuck would be like this. I'd always imagined it would be in Kirstie's bedroom, where we'd had our few fumbles up to now. Ronan Keating's gormless mug, five times life size, on the celing above us. And I'd imagined it would be the culmination of a long process of pleading and wheedling on my part - a privilege bought with gifts from the HMV shop and Boots' perfume counter. A quick fuck that had to be over in seconds, and silently performed, so that her mum downstairs wouldn't hear. But this was so different. This bird was totally at my mercy. I could do what I liked. She was lying on the ground in a tent, with my rubber sheathed prick seven inches inside her. My dad was holding her legs so she couldn't move, and I was free to saw away at her cunt to my heart's content. It gave me an immense feeling of power and manliness - filling my dad's boots, literally. "Go on - hammer it. It's nothing to what she's going to get from me" I raised myself almost into a press-up position, with my hands and the toes of my boots the only contact with the ground, and started to pump my cock back and forth, pleased to draw a sharp little moan from the bird with each forward stab. I dug my boots into the soft ground to get better purchase and listened to the creaking of the rubber on every stroke, and felt the tops of the wellies slapping on my calfs. "Give it some fucking welly, son" The intense pleasure I'd felt when she sucked me was slightly dulled by the thick rubber sheath and I pumped all the harder to try to get some extra stimulation. I was panting, she was moaning, dad was giving me his verbal encouragement with every thrust, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" chanting the word in time with my stroke, "Fuck it, fuck the cunt, fuck the little bitch, fuck her full of spunk" All the time smacking his nob end down on her face. Then, "Fuck I need a piss!" I thought that meant we'd be taking a break. I was completely unprepared for the torrent dad unleashed on us. It had never occurred to me that it was possible to piss with a hard-on; it had never occurred to me that piss could have anything to do with sex. Still less that it could have anything to do with pleasure. But as dad directed the gush of hot urine - on her face, at the junction of her cunt and my prick where I was still energetically working away; on my chest, over my back and onto my wellies - the excitement grew. It was warm. Intimate. Filthy. Horny. Our pubes were sopping with dad's piss; the smell was mixing with the already strong cocktail of dampness, warm rubber, cunt juice and smeg that filled the tent. The noise of the piss sloshing about in my wellies as I pumped away added to the mix. It was soon to become a much stronger mixture. From the bag, came out a wartime gas mask with a long elephant's-trunk of a rubber tube hanging down from the nose. And with it, a small brown bottle like a pill bottle from which dad took a long sniff of something before spilling a little of the contents on a tissue and stuffing it up the tube. He held the mask over my face. The smell of the rubber was intense at first but then I took a breath - or tried to. It was hard to pull the air through the almost blocked tube and dad pressed the mask firmly to my face. The air that came had a strange, rancid smell to it. Then it started to affect me: I felt light headed; my cock felt bigger and harder than ever. The urgent need to fuck the cunt, and fuck it as brutally as possible, was suddenly twice as urgent. The mask went on her face too. And within a few seconds, her cunt lips were gripping my prick with a new tightness, while the rest of her body went more limp, more ready to accept the treatment I was dishing out to her. The moaning grew louder and a murmur of "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" was silenced by a second application of the mask. I speeded up my fucking and dad moved round to a position where he could get a hand to her cunt from underneath. I felt a finger on the shaft of my penis, then his hand gripping my rubber encased balls, and a finger inserted alongside my prick. Suddenly with this new invasion, the bitch started to moan wildly and buck her hips. It made me all the more determined to hold her down and fuck. I was getting there fast. I felt dad's other hand on my boot, squeezing my thigh and my calf through the thick rubber. Fuck her son, fuck her. Make her scream with it. Fuck her" Dad increased the pressure on my balls. "Fuck her like a man. Boot your prick into her. Boot it in. Welly it into her.. Pump, pump, pump. Fuck her. Fuck her. FUCK HER!" He was almost shouting it in my ear. "Take the rubber off and give her some spunk" I pulled my prick all the way out, freed my balls, and obediently unrolled the sheath from my penis. It felt brilliant and I was sure my cock had never been so big before. Another delve into the holdall brought out dad's old waders. "Put these on" The feeling as I slid my foot into the boot was incredible, pulling the top of the rubber boot right up beyond my knee, and up to the top of my thigh. They were too tall for me and I had to turn the tops down to get them on, exposing the filthy, yellowed canvass inside of the boots. "Feel good ?" I nodded - but the truth was I felt a lot better than good: I felt all powerful. Dad pressed the gas mask to my face and spoke almost into my ear: "Go on you little fuck machine: use those fucking steel toecappers and fuck her full of spunk. Her little fucking boyfriend had his prick up there last night and left his calling card - so if we sprog her up its his fault. Shame you wasted a load in her mouth really." My dick was pointying vertically upwards, hardgainst my stomach, and I had to point it downward to get inside her again. "Now spunk her up. She wants it, and she's going to show you how much she wants it." He grabbed the discarded wellington boot, dripping with the mess of jizz and gob from my first orgasm and brought it up to her face. "Eat the spunk off it, bitch. How dare you spit my son's fucking spunk out. How dare you put your filthy gob on my boot? Lick the fucker clean. Eat it all." He rubbed the boot over her face, covering her mouth with the mixture of mud, spunk, piss and gob. "Come on I want to see your tongue, bitch. Show him how much you want his spunk." I wondered momentarily what was going through her mind and whether she enjoyed it - but any such notions were overwhelmed by the fact that she was actually doing it, and my dad was making her do it. Licking my spunk, the load I'd tried to make her take before, off my dad's filthy wellington boot. Taking again with the maximum of humiliation what she'd spat out before. "Time to do the fucking business now, Mark." I didn't need the encouragement but I got it anyway. "Put your spunk in her" The urge to put another load in her overtook me and I shot my cream with a series of yells: "Fuck, fuck, fuck" got the response, "Spunk, spunk, spunk" from my dad. My dick flopped out from between her swollen cunt lips, with a dribble of juice and cum following after it. Dad turned her over straight away, so she was lying face down on top of him. He got his rubber booted leg between her thighs and started to slide her up and down on his boot, dragging the cunt lips, lubricated with my jiz, over the rubber. He was holding the mask over her face again. I thought my part in proceedings was over - but dad had a continuing role marked out for me. The bird was moved into a new position, on her knees. Drops of the magic juice from the brown bottle went into one of the Wellington boots and while dad fastened the mask onto his own face, I was to apply the boot to hers - forcing her to breathe the mixture of sweat, rubber and what I'm now told they call poppers. I was forgetting the smell of dad's piss which by now permeated the tent, and a goodly portion of which had got into the boot, soaking the inside. I didn't see why she should get all of it, and I was soon breathing deeply from the boot myself - and like any teenager, had another erection within minutes. Dad turned the top of his waders down, enabling him to pull the waterproofs down far enough to free his cock and balls completely. He used one of the rubber straps that had secured the boots to his belt, to tie round the base of his cock and balls. Then he positioned himself to fuck. His tool looked huge: at least a couple of inches longer than mine, but much more than twice the girth and with a large, swollen, purple head. "You want it?" and he rubbed the end of his prick on her lips, frigging them at the same time with his fingers. "Say please." She said it. "Say please fuck me" She said it. "I'm really going to hurt you." the response to that, "Please, please fuck me" and she pushed back onto dad's tool - but it didn't go in. "I decide when you get it, bitch" He got hold of her by the hips, and with his tool carefully positioned on her hole, thrust forward. She screamed with pain and dad nodded at me to clamp the boot over her face. "Shut the fuck up and take it, bitch" - then a series of sharp thrusts that took the whole of his shaft into her up to the hilt. I was mesmerised by the sight of that huge penis disappearing into the cunt that had been so tight on my teen cock just a few minutes before. Dad got into a rhythm, slowly rocking his thighs back and forth, taking the whole length of his cock in and out of her hole. It looked like he was going to pull her insides out as well, the way her lips gripped his tool as he slid it backwards. He speeded up and the tent was full of the noise of fucking: moaning from her; slurping noises from her cunt; the waders slapping against her arse and the rubber creaking; and dad, his voice muffled inside the gas mask, "Bitch, bitch, bitch, cunt, cunt, cunt" and I found myself saying, "Fuck her dad; fuck her good; fuck her till she bleeds." He took the mask off and gave me a broad smile, put the bottle to his nose, and sniffed deeply. Then he licked his lips, pushed his legs out straight behind him, and gave her half a dozen almighty full length thrusts, each one accompanied by a loud roar. The angle at which his iron-hard tool was entering her must have been agony for her and pretty uncomfortable for him. She cried out bitterly. Six more pile-driving thrusts, this time with dad's hand over her mouth: "shut it bitch - or there's plenty more where that came from." He went back to his original position, pulled his cock half out and nodded to me to take a look. His shaft was streaked with red. "You want to taste? Get down there" Down I went. I couldn't get my tongue to his shaft with it still in her cunt, so he pulled all the way out. I ran my tongue the full length of his tool, licking the blood and cunt juice off it several times as he dipped it to get more for me. "Get underneath and lick my balls while I fuck her" From my position down there, I got the perfect close up view of his prick as it punished her cunt; could get my tongue to his balls, and rub my once again erect penis on his rubber boots. Dribbles of blood and juice ran down her legs and onto dad's waders. On command, I licked them off. We didn't care any more about the noises she was making. Dad speeded up his fucking to a mechanical rate. "Take it, bitch." "Fuck her, dad" "Lick my boots, son" "Fuck her guts out, dad" Somehow, your rhythms synchronise - not just stroke for stroke, he in her cunt and my hand on my cock, but in building to the climax. We spunked at the same time - dad's jizz planted deep inside her; mine spilled on his boots. I was amazed at how nonchalantly she put her skirt and tee-shirt back on; astonished that she seemed to have no difficulty at all in walking, after the treatment she'd received. But so it was. "They recover quickly" was all dad said. The look on his face told me we'd be going fishing again soon. "Catch anything?" The predictable question back home. "Mark got one - but we didn't bring it home." "I don't know why you bother going." "No," my dad said. "And I don't suppose you ever will."