Mr. Jones the Neighbor

The next morning, I woke up with a surreal dizziness almost like a hangover. What had happened last night? Was it all some kind of dream, a perverse fantasy that was all in my head?

Then I saw the key to Dad's cage on my nightstand, and I knew that this was real.

I picked it up and weighed it in my hand. It was surprisingly light and small. It was hard to believe that it was the key to Dad's entire manhood, and Mr. Jones wanted me to control him with it. But what was I supposed to make him do? What did Mr. Jones want? I had a few ideas, but I didn't know the rules of this game yet.

I felt my dick stir. I wasn't sure how things were going to go, but I was still excited to find out.

I got out of bed and threw on a tank top and pajama pants (I had slept naked). I dug around for a moment in my desk until I found what I was looking for: a fine chain with a cross on it, from my first communion. I undid the chain, slid the cross off, and put Dad's key on it. I put it on and slid it into my shirt so that the key wasn't visible.

I stepped out of my room, intending to grab a bite for breakfast. From the top of the stairs I heard the sizzling sound of bacon being fried, and Dad whistling softly. How weird. After everything that had happened yesterday, he was still Dad—still making breakfast in the morning, still whistling merrily. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. When I stepped into the kitchen, that was even more apparent to me.

Dad was completely naked except for an apron that protected him from the spattering grease and (my dick chubbed up) a tight black thong that ran between his cheeks. His ass, with its dusting of dark hair, looked round and perky. It hadn't ever looked that good when I lived at home, had it? Maybe Mr. Jones had an ass workout regimen for him.

Dad looked up when he heard me enter, then turned to face me, inclining his head slightly like a nod. I got the impression this was how he greeted Mr. Jones. I could make out a slight bulge in the apron where his cage pressed against the fabric. The little key around my neck felt hot.

"Good morning Max—er, sir," he said, looking embarrassed. He stumbled over his words awkwardly when he asked, "do you—I mean—how should I call you?"

I was taken aback.

I can even change what he calls me?

"Max is fine."

He looked relieved. Maybe he was worried I wanted him to call me 'your royal highness.' I bet he would have, if I'd asked.

Day's not over yet

.

"I'm making crispy bacon, just like you like it," he said, returning to the skillet. I sat at the breakfast bar.

"Thanks, Dad."

"I'll start on the eggs here in a minute."

"Great."

"What do you want to do today?"

"I thought I'd go to the gym, maybe sit by the pool."

"Okay."

"What about you?"

Dad paused, the tongs hovering over the bacon. "Well, with your permission, I'd like to do some yard work."

"Why would you need my—oh. Okay. That's fine."

"Thank you, Max."

We lapsed into awkward silence as Dad tipped the bacon onto a plate and opened a carton of eggs. I pretended to be busy on my phone, but I was really scrolling through twitter without reading a single damn word. Dad's ass seemed like a third person in the room, screaming "HE'S YOUR BITCH NOW!" I didn't know what to do with my new position.

Then, Dad broke the silence. "Um... Max?"

"Yeah?"

"It's just that, I mean, if you're going to the gym and the pool, um, Sir says that I'm supposed to—you know—serve you."

"Yeah."

He gulped. "So, you know, whatever you want, I have to make it happen. You control my cock now. At least until he gets back. So, that's, um, where we are with that. Anything you want."

"Anything, anything?" I asked.

"Yes, sir. I mean, Max. Sir said that if I disobey you I'll regret it. I—I've regretted not serving well enough in the past. Sir punishes harshly. It's how I learn."

"I see." I was burning with curiosity, but it could wait. We would have plenty of time together before Mr. Jones got back. A whole week.

"Do your yard work first." I said authoritatively. My voice was odd in my own ears. I sounded like I was trying to be a super villain. I was surprised when Dad nodded.

"Yes, Max."

"Sir," I corrected. "You can call me Max, but when I give you orders, it's sir."

"Yes, sir." This was so weird. He was doing what I said. I felt a rush of power, a giddy swell in my head and my cock. Would he really do anything?

I stood up suddenly.

"Come here."

He stalked over to me, eyes wide.

"Turn around." He did. "Kneel." He did. "Open your mouth." He did. "Close it." He did. My dick was definitely chubbing up now. "Say, 'I'm a faggot.'"

"I'm a faggot."

"Get back to cooking."

My mind was racing now, teeming with possibilities.

Anything.

Dad's face had turned pale pink; he was humiliated by his son giving him orders. I wondered if his dick was pressing against his cage. He would have to get used to it.

"When you do your yard work today, don't wear a shirt," I said.

"Yes, sir."

He served me breakfast. I ate slowly, thinking about the things I could make him do.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"No, sir. I ate before you got up. It wouldn't be proper for me to eat with you."

"Go start your chores."

He left. I sat back in my chair, wondering what the day would bring.

An hour later, I was sitting in my swimsuit by the pool in the backyard. Outside the tall fence that encircled the backyard, I could hear Dad mowing the front lawn. His shirt, I knew, was off. There was something oddly powerful in the gesture, something that made my dick swell in my swimsuit. I thought about the other neighbors who would look out their windows at this very moment and see him, thinking idly to themselves that my dad was just minding his business, mowing his lawn, and his shirt happened to be off.

Maybe it's hot outside.

Or maybe his son is making the rules now.

Abruptly the lawn mower stopped. I heard the creaks of the wheels as Dad took it to the garage, then a crash as it knocked something over. He was putting it away. Another moment, and the gate to the backyard creaked. Dad's head peeked through the brown of the fence. "Need anything, son--er, sir?"

I already had a book and my sunglasses, but I could throw him a bone.

"Um, sure... I guess I could use a drink."

"Yes, sir."

He brought it out like a bona fide waiter, on a circular tray that I had never seen before. An extra strong mojito, complete with a little paper umbrella. I took it, and Dad took a step back, head down, clearly waiting to be dismissed. I gave him an up-down. His hairy chest was definitely bigger than it had been last summer; whatever workout regimen Mr. Jones had him on, it was working.

"Lose the shorts," I said.

Dad set the serving tray on the pool chair next to mine, peeled off his sweaty shorts, folding them up carefully, and laid them next to the tray. Underneath, he was still wearing his tight black thong; the font pocket had probably accentuated his big dick at one point. Now, all I could see was the imprint of his cage, straining against the front pouch. His muscular legs showed the same progress that the rest of his body did; being a full-time slave did a body good, it turned out.

"What do you have left to do?" I asked.

"Skim the pool," he said. "May I?"

I nodded. He went to the shed and pulled out the skimmer pieces. I pretended to read my book, watching his furry ass bounce as he bent over to assemble it. I noticed him tug at his cage uncomfortably and wondered if he had ever been locked before. Probably not, or at least not for this long, by the way he kept looking down and readjusting himself as he skimmed. He certainly had been broken of any awkwardness or shame in wearing a thong; he flaunted it proudly. Soon he was tilting his leg out to reach the middle of the pool, putting himself on display. The thin black strip laid perfectly across his crack. I thought about how his twitching hole felt as he deposited Mr. Jones' cum onto my tongue the night before, and felt myself getting hard.

God, I wish I could just jack off here.

But wait. I was the King as long as Mr. Jones was gone, wasn't I? And Dad definitely didn't have any worries about showing his ass off in that thong. I looked at the fence. Not quite high enough to guarantee that nobody would see anything, but probably high enough that nobody would see unless they were looking on purpose. That was good enough for me. I pulled my swimsuit down enough to whip my cock out and tentatively gave it a stroke. Already, a clear drop of precum lazily oozed out of the tip. After only a couple more strokes, I was fully hard. Emboldened, I slipped my swimsuit all the way off. No—just having it off wasn't good enough. I took it and threw it into the pool.

Clothing be damned!

I sat my bare ass back on the chair and threw my head back, enjoying the sunlight as I jerked off.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dad fishing my swimsuit out of the pool. He wrung them out and laid them out to dry. I looked over at him; he was eyeing my cock with an odd mixture of hunger and reticence.

"What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious.

"It's just..." he said, embarrassed now, "sir usually feeds me by now."

"Ah," I said. Was he asking me to...?

"You—you don't have to," he said quickly, tugging uncertainly at his cage, "I mean, I would—sir says—you don't have to. Just—if you need help," he finished lamely.

I gulped.

"Are—are you asking to suck my cock, Dad?" I asked. It was obvious, but I couldn't stop myself from saying it.

"Yes... sir. " he said.

I took my hand off my dick. I was afraid I was going to cum.

"Say it," I said. "Ask politely."

"May I... may I please suck your dick, sir?" Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I saw the outline of his cage twitch. He was totally getting off on this.

"Take your underwear off," I said. Orders were coming easier to me, now. Even I was surprised how certain my voice sounded.

Dad's cage bounced uselessly as he obeyed.

"It's inspection time," I said, improvising. "If you pass, I'll feed you my cum."

He nodded. I knew he would do anything I asked anyway; now that my cum was on the line, he was locked in. Literally. "What if I fail, sir?"

I thought for a moment. I was out of ideas.

What would Mr. Jones do?

I thought to myself. Anything he wanted.

"If you fail," I said slowly, "you stay locked until Mr. Jones gets back."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "I was wondering if that was your plan." He glanced down at the key on my chest, somewhat involuntarily.

"And... and you have to drink my piss, every time, until Mr. Jones gets back."

Dad nodded this time. "Is that all?"

His face wasn't coy, but there was a certain defiance in his voice.

What do I need to do to get him to take me seriously?

"And... and... you'll sleep naked, in the backyard, until Mr. Jones gets back."

That seemed to get his attention. "Yes, sir." He nodded grimly. He stood with his shoulders back, chest puffed out, staring determinedly ahead. He couldn't have been sure what the inspection would entail (I certainly didn't), but he looked ready for anything. His locked cock sat between his tree trunk legs, extended slightly from the base from his wannabe hard-on. He looked amazing.

I reached out and tweaked a nipple; he didn't move. I realized that, apart from eating Mr. Jones' cum out of his ass, I hadn't yet made physical contact with Dad since I got home. And now I could have as much as I wanted; the possibilities were intoxicating. I ran a hand across one pectoral, then the other, then back to the first. I rubbed across one shoulder down a tricep. "Flex," I said as sternly as I could, and I felt hard muscle bunch up against my touch. I slid my fingertips gently down a forearm, across a palm. Soon I was hungrily grabbing all of him, rubbing and prodding and squeezing all over his torso. He tried to keep his face impassive, but it was obvious from his occasional coos and slight moans that he was enjoying the attention.

"You look good," I said, tugging on both of his nipples simultaneously (his cage strained pathetically).

"Thank you, sir," Dad said, swelling with pride. "Master has me on a strict workout regimen."

"It's working."

I circled behind him and began to give his muscular back the same scrutiny I gave his front. But this time, I had an agenda. As I descended lower and lower down his back, rubbing like a masseuse, I approached his round ass cheeks...

"Max," he said automatically, when my hands parted his cheeks to peek at his pink, hungry hole.

"What?"

"I—never mind. Sir." He sounded embarrassed.

"Did you just try to stop me?" I asked. I didn't know whether to laugh or be mad.

"No, sir," he said quickly.

"No?"

"I mean—it's just—"

"Well?"

"You're... you're my son."

It would have been sweet, if he hadn't been trying to stop me from eating his beautiful ass. Oh, shit. He had defied me. Now I had to punish him. The idea was daunting.

"You'll pay for that," I said, "...later."

I took my tongue and ran it down his spine. He let out a breathy whine of pleasure. He tasted lightly salty beneath a thin sheen of sweat from working outside. I knelt down and opened his ass. Instinctively, he leaned forward and arched his back. It definitely wasn't the first time he had presented to have his ass eaten. What all had Mr. Jones made him do?

I nibbled on a cheek, and he shivered. Slowly, as slowly as I could stand, I moved my mouth closer and closer. He tasted lightly musky from the yard work in the hot sun, but it was clear that he had prepared for this. Had Mr. Jones demanded that he be ready at all times? He moaned when my tongue reached his hole, arching his back to push himself against me. I was surprised how easily he yielded to my probing tongue; before long I could press

inside

him. He was so soft. I nibbled around the edges of his hole, slapped his cheeks, and enjoyed how that tightened him back up. I carefully used a finger to put pressure on his hole, and before long he had taken it inside with almost no effort. I started on the second, and he moaned again.

It wasn't long before I felt that familiar bump in the wall of his hole--his prostate. I felt a wry smile tug at my mouth as I pulled my fingers back, stroking it, working it hard. He was panting like a dog, practically bent over double, whimpering every time I hit it particularly hard. Without warning, I spat on his hole and added a third finger; he writhed from the sensation. A glistening rivulet of sweat dripped from between his shoulder blades. I worked away at his hole, my cock leaking precum like a goddamned faucet. And it wasn't just me; I saw a glob of precum ooze from his cage and splat onto the pool concrete. His knees were shaking. His breathing was tightening up. He was getting close, I realized, just from my playing with his ass. Jesus, it was so hot.

"Sir--" he gasped, and I redoubled my efforts.

"Sir--no--please--"

That slowed me down. We were both clearly enjoying this--why would he want me to stop? I pulled my fingers out slowly; his hole winked at me, pink and perfect.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Sorry," he said, suddenly bashful. "It's just--well, I was getting close, and... well, sir doesn't let me cum unless I..." he demurred for a moment.

"Unless you what?"

"Unless I have cum in me." He blushed, then hastily added, "Sir."

I felt my cheeks redden to match his. I'll be honest, it was kind of a relief that he was enjoying having his ass fingered and eaten. I knew that I was going to have to perform, but there was a nagging sense of trepidation that fought with the horniness. He was my dad, after all. Fuck, I was doing the same thing that he did--trying to dodge what was clearly happening. The wheels were already in motion. And I had, twice now, eaten his ass. Mr. Jones gave me control. Why not take control?

I gritted my teeth. I had to do this, and I was going to do it right.

"On your knees," I barked, and he knelt down immediately. I reached down and touched his beard, tilting his face up to look at me. He had perfect sub eyes; pathetic and eager all at once.

"Tell me you want it."

"I fuckin' want it so bad, sir."

"What do you want?"

"Your cock and cum, sir," he said immediately. "Fuck my face and throat and feed me your seed."

Goddamn. He really had been trained well.

I stepped forward, presenting my erect penis. A droplet of precum flopped off and hit him in the chest; he delicately scooped it up with one finger and tasted it.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

He opened his mouth, tongue out. He had put his hands behind his back automatically, and I realized that that was to show off his prowess with his throat. Dizzily, I felt the intrusive thought:

Look Dad, no hands.

Everything was topsy-turvy, now.

I knew I wouldn't last long once I really started into him, so I teased him as much as I could. I touched my precummy dick-tip to the tip of his tongue, pulling it away gently to stretch a gossamer strand between us. I gently rubbed my frenulum against his tongue, then slapped his cheek with my cock. He panted; his cage jerked involuntarily. I did this several more times, until my precum had practically drenched his face and tongue, and he finally broke.

"Please," he whispered desperately. "Please... please..."

"Please what?"

"Please feed m--"

But the end of his sentence disappeared down his throat, along with my cock.

He was as good as I knew he would be. I had only had a few drunken blowjobs in college, but I knew enough to see a master at work. He took the entire length without gagging once, twice, a third time. Deep strokes, all the way. He stared up at me with those eyes, as cockdrunk as he had been the night before; I knew instinctively that he was thanking me for giving him what he wanted. No--what he

needed

. It was so hot that I--oh shit--

"I'm--I'm gonna cum!" I stammered.

Dad made an "uh-huh" noise and began slurping away at my cock, holding my balls as he fed from me like it was his last meal. I felt a tingling surge as one, two, three, four--no, wait, it was still going, his mouth felt so

good

--blasts of cum shot through me and into his eager, waiting mouth. I heard him gulp loudly as he swallowed. He never stopped sucking for a moment. I was vaguely aware that I was making noises, loud noises, but it didn't matter. These few seconds were ecstasy, they were life itself, and that feeling was so, so good--

I don't remember sitting down, but as my cock softened I became aware that I was sitting on the pool chair again, with Dad carefully nursing on my deflating cock between my legs. Incredible--somehow he managed to work it with his mouth continuously without overstimulating me. He really was well-trained. I patted his cheek, and he pulled off with a gentle *plop*.

"How was that?" he asked mildly, though a gleam in his eye showed that he knew his own skills well enough.

I patted his cheek again, hard enough that it might even be called a light slap. "Sir," I grunted. No blowjob was going to make me forget who was in charge here. Still, I couldn't help but smile.

Dad laughed lightly. "Sir," he corrected himself. "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking around. My mojito was still half-full. Christ, it was moving through me fast, especially since I had just cum. My bladder was suddenly so full. I wondered if I would need to put my swimsuit on to go back inside, but no, the neighbors probably wouldn't see.

Unless--wait.

"You disobeyed me earlier," I said contemplatively.

"I--sorry, did I? Sir?"

"You tried to stop me from eating your ass."

"Oh. Yes, sir. I did. Only for a moment, though."