Standard warning that appears in all my stories: this is a very over the top, far-fetched work of fantasy. It contains lots of humiliation and taboo sex between a man and his father-in-law. Please skip if it's not your thing. Otherwise, enjoy.
*****
As I approached the twelfth floor I nervously adjusted my tie. The elevator was mirrored, and I saw myself. Fresh out of the office and gym, in a blue suit with a gray tie. My blonde hair cut short, conservatively. Looking every bit the successful businessman and respected husband and family man. No one who passed me on the street moments ago could have guessed where I was going, where I was delivering myself again. My hard-on was visible under my trousers.
I stepped off the elevator, glancing at the two other apartment doors that shared the lobby with Roy's penthouse. His door swung open just as I was about to knock.
Roy was my father-in-law. 65 to my 32. Just like me, when fully dressed in his usual khakis and sweater vests, no one would guess what was beneath his good-natured demeanor.
But standing in the doorway, Roy was not fully dressed, of course. He wore his usual forest green bathrobe, obscenely open. My eyes were drawn to his pelt of gray body hair, from his neck to his toes. It covered his drooping pecs, his large red nipples, his big kingly belly. And below that his thick silver bush, his intimidatingly large penis. The fat, crimson penis I knew would unman me again and again this weekend.
He stretched out his hands and beckoned me, and I came to him. He closed the door and slowly pushed me up against the wall, running his hands all over me.
"My sweet boy." He cupped my face in his large, rough hands. He pulled me to his mouth, and I felt that same wave of queasy lust and revulsion, knowing that I was about to submit to another long, lapping french kiss from my own father-in-law. That once again I would have to taste him, and let myself be tasted.
He smiled, and his large tongue darted out of his mouth, licked around his teeth and the sides of his lips. It was almost like he was mocking me with it, or threatening me. That big man tongue was about to make itself at home in my mouth and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
He pulled my head to his. We were the same height. His hands clasped the back of my neck as he sealed his large mouth over mine. His white beard bristled against my clean-shaven cheeks. Both of our penises stiffened- his naked and much larger rod imposing itself against my meeker trousered tent. Pushing against mine insistently.
His big hands squeezed the sides of my head and I obediently opened my mouth, and his tongue instantly slid past my lips and over my teeth. He explored the inside of my mouth, and his face bobbed back and forth against mine. I always hated this, being forced to submit to my father-in-law's passionate kisses. The intimacy felt so wrong, letting his thick, probing tongue run rampant in my mouth, to open myself up to him like this. The smacking sounds of it filling the room, his gratified moans, the wetness of his mouth, the sliminess of his tongue, the distinct taste of his saliva -it all turned my stomach. His fiendish smirk, looking me deep in the eyes, when he would come up for air seemed to indicate that he took delight in my clear discomfort.
But aside form the shame and misgivings, these deep tongue kisses had another effect on me. They made me literally swoon, losing myself in my closeness to this man. He must have been able to feel me weakening in his arms, as he held me up by his grip on the sides of my head, backing me into the wall. Held me up the way a man holds his woman in intimate embrace.
He always started our encounters by several minutes of intense french kisses like this, swapping spit like horny teenagers. It seemed to suck the resistance right out of me, take away all my hesitation and modesty as my muscles loosened and my head swam. Pausing every now and then to smile at my flustered expression and observe the poisonous power of his kisses.
Then I felt his lips pulsing against mine. His spit was welling into my mouth. Not again. My heart sank, knowing I lacked the resolve to stop this. He was generating saliva, then shuttling it all into my mouth. With his hands locking my face against his I had no option but to accept his saliva, swallow it down my throat. He pushed the top of my head down in an angle and funneled a flood of his warm spittle into my mouth. My stomach churned and I suppressed my gag reflex, forcing myself to swallow it all. He churned more and more spit into my mouth, forcing me to consume it. Finally he retracted, smiling at me, his lips shiny.
"Good boy." He remarked, smiling with delight.
His hands ran over my belly, and he began unbuttoning my dress shirt. He stripped me out of my suit jacket, letting my dress shirt fall to the floor with it. Bare-chested, he ran his rough hands over my naked pectorals. He put his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his chest.
"Still just a little boy." He remarked breathily in his deep, rich voice, running his hairy fingers on the chest he had begun to keep shaven at the beginning of our affair. A week after we began, he had dragged me by my ear into his bathroom and removed every bit of body hair below my ears. I had just stood there like a fool and let him turn me back into a prepubescent kid.
"Just a little boy." He repeated. Roy almost had me in a headlock, marching me over to the mirror in his entry hall.
"Now Billy, what do you see? A man or a little boy?" He asked in a sweet clear voice, like a father talking to his 3 year old.
"A little boy." I admitted. Roy was constantly making me disavow my own manhood, and even my adulthood. He fondled my pectorals. I had lost the X of brown hair that had been on my chest since college, and the happy trail I'd had since I was 15- the sight was still a shock, and I still felt a sense of loss and self-consciousness every time I looked at it. He spun me around so that his face was pressed to mine.
"Just a sweet little boy who needs his Daddy, hmmm?" He looked into my eyes expectantly.
"Yes Daddy." I answered meekly. He grunted in satisfaction then pulling up a chair from a desk to the center of the room. He sat down and pulled me in front of him, then began undoing my belt. I looked down and saw that where his bare penis had pressed into the crotch of my pants, his big cock head had smeared precum all over the crotch of my pants, staining them.
"Time to see if Billy's little penis has gotten any bigger. Let's take a look at that pecker, my boy." He opened my pants and pulled them to the floor. He placed his hands on the waist band of the white jockey briefs he had ordered me to wear everyday. "Tighty-whities." Until three months ago, when Roy began making use of me, I had not worn them since I was 12. Quickly into Roy's taking over of me, he had come to our home when my wife was out and had ransacked my underwear drawer, claiming all of my boxers and boxer briefs and replacing them with 15 identical pairs of virginal white fruit of the looms. My wife had barely noticed but that and the shaven pubes definitely got me some smirks and raised eyebrows in the gym locker room.
He gingerly pulled down the briefs to my thighs, and his smirk widened to a beaming grin. My erection bobbed out inches from his face
