Category: Daddy-Chief

Jeramie Lecleaux: Boyslut Detective: Four-Pack Bundle #2

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his sharp eyes, clever wits, and well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects.

Jeramie is always ready to give it his all to root out the clues and solve the crime, even if it means bending over for an older man...or two, or three...or diving into the world of super kinky taboo gay sex... No criminal is safe when this boyslut detective is on duty!

This bundle collects the previously-published Jeramie Lecleaux parts 5-8 stories:
- Escaped Convict Gangbang
- Catching the Coach
- Cucking Coach's Boyfriend
- Cheating Coach

Jeramie Lecleaux: Boyslut Detective: Four-Pack Bundle #2 is a 73,000-word collection.

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As Foxx hauled Jeramie into his room, Dirk called out, “Don’t take too long. I gotta take me a man-sized piss.”

Kent and Foxx both ignored him. Neither bothered to close the door to Jeramie’s room. Once they were inside, Foxx tossed Jeramie onto his bed. The eighteen-year-old bounced on the mattress twice, coming to a stop on his belly to stare right at the two escaped convicts.

“Keep an eye on him,” Kent ordered. “I’m gonna get dressed first.”

Jeramie spotted a pile of clothes over by the corner. The other two were still wearing their convict uniforms. They must not have had time to change, Jeramie reasoned. Kent was the only one with any actual clothes to wear.

To Jeramie’s shock, the Black man dropped the towel he had wrapped around his waist. It fell to the floor with a heavy, wet sound. Jeramie had time to register that before something else captured all of his attention.

Kent was, by far and wide, the biggest man he had ever seen!

There was not an inch of fat anywhere on Kent’s whole body. Every single spot contained muscle. It was like looking at a moving statue carved out of solid stone. Each time Kent moved even the slightest bit, a part of him flexed.

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. His youthful eyes raked down over Kent’s massive body. The man had to be at least six-four in height and well over two-hundred pounds of muscle. One bicep looked to be twice the size of Jeramie’s skull. The young man doubted that he could have gotten both of his arms around one thigh. They were just that thick.

Jeramie felt his throat go dry. He tried to swallow in order to wet it.

Foxx caught the look Jeramie was giving Kent and burst out laughing. “Hey, Kent. That lil’ faggot is pervin’ on you something fierce. Check it out!”

Kent turned his head and saw Jeramie starring. “Hell, what’s the matter with you, boy? You ain’t never seen a real man’s body before?”

Kent flexed his arms, which caused multiple muscles all over his body to pop out. Jeramie’s eyes did so as well. He felt his mouth fill up with saliva. Rather than having a dry throat, Jeramie now feared he might drown in his own thirst.

“Fuck, don’t let me feel left out, papito.” With no forewarning, Foxx stripped out of the upper half of his prison uniform. “Like what you see over here?”

Kent rolled his eyes at the other man. Foxx, however, moved closer to his partner so that Jeramie could have a better look. The convict flexed his body, showing off every single muscle, as well as the tattoos that adorned his flesh.

Foxx was, in Jeramie’s assessment, just as physically fit as Kent. The difference came down to a difference in height and the size of their bodies. Kent was the bigger man on the whole. Foxx was slightly shorter and more compact. They were each, however, loaded with rock-hard muscles that bulged when they moved. More importantly, they had been in prison for a long time and were desperate to unload.

“Too bad,” Kent said proudly when Jeramie’s eyes continued to wander back over his way. “Can’t steal the spotlight for too long. Lil’ man must have a weakness for dark meat.”

To emphasize his point, Kent reached down to grasp hold of his cock. “See this?” Kent taunted. “This here’s what makes a real man. You like it?”

Against his will, Jeramie ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it so that it shone in the dim light of the weak winter midday sun. Seeing this as a challenge, Foxx reached down and grabbed hold of his waistband. A quick push dropped both the uniform’s lower half and the boxers underneath.

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Cheating Coach

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. Daddy’s birthday is nearly here, but Jeramie still needs to get his father a present. A quick errand turns into a baffling mystery. Even more suspicious, though, is Ricky’s behavior. Has Jeramie’s best friend got a secret of his own?

Cheating Coach is a 25,000-word story.

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Excerpt

Coach studied Jeramie for a moment. Slowly, he bent over slightly so as to look Jeramie in the eye.

“Listen,” he said in a gentle voice, placing a big hand down on Jeramie’s slender shoulder. “What goes on between Shaffeur and I… well, it’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem.”

Jeramie raised his head. “Really?” he asked, feeling uncertain. “Because…”

“Because nothing.” Coach didn’t give Jeramie the chance to recover. “He and I have some things to work out. Maybe I should have been clearer to him. About… a lot of things. But you didn’t make things bad between us. That’s on me.”

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. Coach was naked. He knew Coach’s smell drove him wild and made his cock spring to life and bounce in his pants. Spreading his arms wide, Jeramie reached out and gave Coach a big hug. The two boxes of underwear—his father’s birthday present––that he had been carrying around with him fell to the floor, forgotten.

Immediately, Jeramie felt himself drowning in Coach’s sweat and scent. The changing room tilted. Before he knew it, Jeramie was on his knees. Coach Ramirez’s cock was right in front of him. The thick tube of man meat was starting to fill out. A thick runny line of precum was already drooling down out of the piss slit, making a stain there on the carpet.

Jeramie couldn’t resist anymore. He launched forward like a young man starved and inhaled Coach’s big cock down his throat. The precum flooded his mouth at once, coating his tongue. Jeramie moaned deeply at the taste. It was like heaven and fireworks going off on his tongue.

“Fuuucckkkk,” Coach groaned, louder than he’d meant to. “You are one insatiable little faggot, ain’cha?”

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Cucking Coach’s Boyfriend

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. The super sleuth with the insatiable boypussy can’t seem to keep his mind on case work lately. This is bad news, because there is a foul plot afoot at his school. Somebody has unleashed an unearthly stench. Is this the work of a harmless prankster, or is a much more devious mind scheming to steal something?

Cucking Coach's Boyfriend is a 19,000-word story.

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Excerpt

Thunder shook the Lecleaux residence.

Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the clouds for an instant. The gale cried out as the wind whipped through the neighborhood, scattering children’s toys and shingles to the four corners. Rain battered against the roof and the sides of the house. It was as if some ancient monster was beating its eldritch fists against sheetrock and masonry, trying to claw its way inside.

Jeramie lay bundled up under his covers. He didn’t believe in fairy tale monsters anymore. Since his Daddy started pounding his tight little faggot boypussy, Jeramie didn’t have nightmares. He never felt afraid so long as Detective Lecleaux’s warmth was pressed deep inside of him.

Tonight, however, Jeramie was asleep in his own bedroom. Daddy was in the room next door sleeping with his mom. Faintly, against the pounding of the rain and the rattling of the thunder, Jeramie could hear his father’s light snoring. He could almost picture the slow rise and fall of his father’s muscular, hairy chest.

Thinking about Daddy made Jeramie’s body ache. He wanted to be next to Daddy so badly. His hands needed to explore his father’s chest and stomach, to run his fingers all the way down to where Daddy’s hard cock stuck out from that thick patch of hair. He needed to cup Daddy’s huge balls in both hands and feel how heavy with cum they were.

Thoughts of Daddy made his little boypussy twitch. Jeramie knew that sensation well. He had been taking Daddy’s cock for a while now. That hard meat had carved a path inside of him, forming a groove where the thick, manly cudgel fit perfectly.

Jeramie started to get out of bed, but another clap of thunder shook the house, so he stayed put. He wasn’t usually this afraid of thunder. It was loud, certainly, and that brought with it a degree of caution. But this storm was different somehow. Jeramie could sense it.

The storm was bringing something to Pembrooke Falls—Jeramie’s hometown—and Jeramie wasn’t sure that he liked it.

To calm himself, the eighteen-year-old sleuth began counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. Jeramie had learned this trick years ago. One second equaled approximately one mile.

Of course, the storm was right on top of him. He could figure out that much without counting. Primarily, Jeramie wanted something to keep himself occupied. The storm would blow over eventually. He simply had to ride it out.

Gradually, Jeramie became aware of a sound. It was difficult to make out at first. The thunder and the rain together made it hard to hear. Jeramie raised up off his pillow and listened closely. For a moment, though, he thought that he’d heard footsteps.

Every so often, he would hear it again. The thunder would shake the house and mask every other sound, including the rain hitting the roof. As Jeramie continued to listen, he made out a step or two.

Someone was making their way up the staircase from the first floor, stepping in time with the thunder. Except, every so often, they would miscalculate. Jeramie felt sure of it.

Daddy was still asleep. Jeramie could hear his father’s light snores more easily now. It was like his senses were dialed up, on fire and alert for the slightest change. He could make out the footfalls on the soft carpet as they ascended the staircase. Whoever it was turned at the top and headed down the hallway toward him.

Jeramie tried to think, but it was like a fog had encased his skull. He couldn’t put together a plan of action. Nothing on his body wanted to cooperate either. Jeramie struggled to move, as though his bed sheet now weighed a ton.

A blinding flash of lightning shot down out of the sky, streaking past his window. Jeramie turned his head at the exact moment. The window on the right side of his room next to the closet was lit up. Light spilled out toward the bedroom door where a hulking shadow stood.

Jeramie’s eyes widened in shock. He thought he felt his heart skip a beat. The breath in his lungs seized up. His entire body went rigid.

It was Kent, the convict who had broken into his home a couple of weeks ago.

“Hello, bitch!” said Kent. A wide smile, exposing white teeth beamed, spread across the giant of a black man as he took a step into the room. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Something jumped through Jeramie’s body. It felt like a small electric shock. Whatever it was, the sensation did the trick. At last, he could move. Jeramie had enough time to rise up before Kent was on him. The enormous Black convict reached out with two massive hands, seizing Jeramie in both of them. Jeramie tried to scream, but one hand came down hard over his mouth.

“You ain’t going nowhere, lil’ man!” The strength in Kent’s hands held Jeramie fast. He could feel them squeeze his smaller body. The darkness of his skin—like obsidian—stood out against Jeramie’s pale flesh. “Not until I’ve gotten my piece of boypussy again!”

Jeramie felt himself being lifted into the air. Kent dragged him out of the bed. Jeramie was thrown against the foot, lying face down with his legs hanging off.

“And this time,” Kent said, the hunger in his voice evident, “I ain’t sharing this faggot cunt with nobody!”

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Catching the Coach

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. Dodgeball season is almost over, and the championship is coming up. Pembrooke Falls High School is a shoo-in to win, but on the afternoon of the tournament, disaster strikes. Jeramie thinks the score was tampered with, but there may be no way to prove his theory since the crowd’s attention was conveniently diverted. It will take all his brains, and every trick his boypussy can do, to work out what really happened.

Catching the Coach is a 12,500-word story.

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Excerpt

He decided to go look for Shaffeur. There was a possibility that the star dodgeball player hadn’t gone back to class yet. If so, Jeramie could ask him directly.

“Here’s hoping Shaffeur hasn’t finished changing,” he mumbled, beginning the short trek.

The locker room was located on the right side of the gym, near the Visitor bleachers. Jeramie noticed a strange noise as he drew closer to the entrance. The door was cracked ever so slightly. Whoever shut it didn’t make sure the door was closed all the way.

Even better, Jeramie recognized the sounds.

“Fuck me, Coach!” cried a familiar voice, deepening the boyslut detective’s suspicions.

The locker room carried the unmistakable fragrance of young males. Despite this, Jeramie detected a faint trace of something denser. It was heavier and held a much stronger musk which tickled the hairs in his nose.

This confirmed what Jeramie already knew was happening. He could hear deep grunts from far on the other side of the locker area. Heavy breaths came through the thick, moist air. There was the noticeable sound of thick hairy flesh smacking hard against the smooth, tender thighs of a much younger man.

“Please! Please! Please!” cried Shaffer, begging for more. “Fuck me, Coach!”

This left no doubt in his mind. Coach Ramirez was fucking Timothy Shaffer. And, from the sound of things, this wasn’t their first time.

A hot shiver of lust rolled down Jeramie’s spine. He felt the world tilt around him. The smells coming from the locker room were intoxicating, especially for a lusty little slut puppy like himself. Jeramie could feel his cock grow hard in his shorts. His faggot boypussy flexed and puckered, suddenly alive and slick with need.

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Escaped Convict Gangbang

Jeramie Lecleaux is an eighteen-year-old teen detective and slut puppy. When trouble strikes, he uses his wits and his well-trained boypussy to root out clues and interrogate suspects. A gang of crooks are looking for a place to hide out until the heat dies down, but none of them expected that their luck would take them to the house belonging to Pembrooke Falls’ best detective. Jeramie will have to use all of his tricks to outwit these horny home invaders and save his father!

Escaped Convict Gangbang is a 17,000-word story.

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Excerpt

As Foxx hauled Jeramie into his room, Dirk called out, “Don’t take too long. I gotta take me a man-sized piss.”

Kent and Foxx both ignored him. Neither bothered to close the door to Jeramie’s room. Once they were inside, Foxx tossed Jeramie onto his bed. The eighteen-year-old bounced on the mattress twice, coming to a stop on his belly to stare right at the two escaped convicts.

“Keep an eye on him,” Kent ordered. “I’m gonna get dressed first.”

Jeramie spotted a pile of clothes over by the corner. The other two were still wearing their convict uniforms. They must not have had time to change, Jeramie reasoned. Kent was the only one with any actual clothes to wear.

To Jeramie’s shock, the Black man dropped the towel he had wrapped around his waist. It fell to the floor with a heavy, wet sound. Jeramie had time to register that before something else captured all of his attention.

Kent was, by far and wide, the biggest man he had ever seen!

There was not an inch of fat anywhere on Kent’s whole body. Every single spot contained muscle. It was like looking at a moving statue carved out of solid stone. Each time Kent moved even the slightest bit, a part of him flexed.

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. His youthful eyes raked down over Kent’s massive body. The man had to be at least six-four in height and well over two-hundred pounds of muscle. One bicep looked to be twice the size of Jeramie’s skull. The young man doubted that he could have gotten both of his arms around one thigh. They were just that thick.

Jeramie felt his throat go dry. He tried to swallow in order to wet it.

Foxx caught the look Jeramie was giving Kent and burst out laughing. “Hey, Kent. That lil’ faggot is pervin’ on you something fierce. Check it out!”

Kent turned his head and saw Jeramie starring. “Hell, what’s the matter with you, boy? You ain’t never seen a real man’s body before?”

Kent flexed his arms, which caused multiple muscles all over his body to pop out. Jeramie’s eyes did so as well. He felt his mouth fill up with saliva. Rather than having a dry throat, Jeramie now feared he might drown in his own thirst.

“Fuck, don’t let me feel left out, papito.” With no forewarning, Foxx stripped out of the upper half of his prison uniform. “Like what you see over here?”

Kent rolled his eyes at the other man. Foxx, however, moved closer to his partner so that Jeramie could have a better look. The convict flexed his body, showing off every single muscle, as well as the tattoos that adorned his flesh.

Foxx was, in Jeramie’s assessment, just as physically fit as Kent. The difference came down to a difference in height and the size of their bodies. Kent was the bigger man on the whole. Foxx was slightly shorter and more compact. They were each, however, loaded with rock-hard muscles that bulged when they moved. More importantly, they had been in prison for a long time and were desperate to unload.

“Too bad,” Kent said proudly when Jeramie’s eyes continued to wander back over his way. “Can’t steal the spotlight for too long. Lil’ man must have a weakness for dark meat.”

To emphasize his point, Kent reached down to grasp hold of his cock. “See this?” Kent taunted. “This here’s what makes a real man. You like it?”

Against his will, Jeramie ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it so that it shone in the dim light of the weak winter midday sun. Seeing this as a challenge, Foxx reached down and grabbed hold of his waistband. A quick push dropped both the uniform’s lower half and the boxers underneath.

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Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: The Complete Series Bundle

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

When Billy gets sick before going on a special retreat with his dad, he sends his best friend Mark in his place. But things soon get heated between Mark and Billy's dad, and Mark sends teasing videos to Billy—and this all sparks unexpected feelings in Billy, feelings that make him reach for his meat.

Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: The Complete Series Bundle collects all four previously-published parts of the Cucked Son saga.

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Excerpt

Mark messaged me again a moment later.

Lol. The resort staff thought I was your dad’s son.

That text came at me like a punch to the gut.

What?

Mark took a whole fucking ten minutes to answer me.

Yup! Lol. They were even commenting on how we look alike.

That had to be the biggest oversight in the history of the world. Mark looked nothing at all like my dad. He was blond and had green eyes. Dad was dark-haired and had blue eyes like mine. Even a child could figure that one out!

Mark’s next message—a whole eight minutes later—pissed me off even more.

Your dad played along.

He’s been calling me “son” this whole time.

My temper flared. I wanted to put my fist through my tablet. Dad was actually claiming that Mark was his son, and in front of other people?

“Not cool, Dad!” I yelled at the empty room.

My voice echoed off the walls. There was no one in the house except for me. Mom was at work and Dad was off in another state with Mark playing father-and-son with my best buddy. The isolation that had been eating away at me really hit home, then.

I was all alone.

I lay there feeling sorry for myself. Mark didn’t take nearly as long to message me back this time. His texts came within a couple of minutes.

Check out your Dad.

Dude, he is fucking hot as hell!

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Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 4

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Billy’s finally been given a clean bill of health. That means he can make his way to the resort and confront his best friend. There is no way that Mark or his father are going to get away with what they have done.

Or will they?

Cucked Son: Part 4 is an 8,800-word story and part four of a four-part series.

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Excerpt

I imagined myself coming here with Dad and Mark. Would I have enjoyed myself if I had joined them from the start? Could we have had fun in spite of Mark’s machinations? Would I have been able to keep him away from my dad?

There weren’t any obvious answers and the ride ended before I could come up with some. The car slowed to a stop in front of a nice enough cabin. There were no numbers on it, or on any of the others for that matter.

Regardless, this appeared to be the place. I thanked the driver and got out, remembering to bring my bag with me. The ground crunched underneath my shoes as I approached the front door. The whole time, my heart was pounding.

“You got this,” I told myself softly, glad at least that my voice had come back. “You can do it.”

In spite of this pep talk, my hand shook as I reached up to take hold of the knob. It turned before I could touch it. To my surprise, the door swung inward sharply. I jumped back slightly at the sight of a stern, slightly out-of-shape man in his forties. He had a mustache and wore a polo shirt. The eyes below his receding hairline narrowed at me.

“Can I help you?” he asked severely.

People were asking me that a lot today. At least Navarro had been nice about it.

“I'm looking for my dad,” I explained, feeling nervous for some reason. This guy had a way of making me feel as though I had done something wrong. “This was supposed to be our cabin.”

The stern man shook his head. “’Fraid not,” he replied before looking over my head and past me. “Hey, Phil! You know where…?” He paused and looked at me again. “What’d you say your name was?”

I gave him my dad’s full name instead, which the stern guy in the doorway repeated. When I looked in the direction he was facing, I saw another man in the road. It looked like he had been going for a walk along the road past the cabin.

“Oh yeah!” the man called Phil replied. “He and his son got upgraded to Bunny Burrow a couple days ago, I think.”

Hearing someone mistake Mark for me set my teeth on edge.

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Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 3

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Billy is in for an even bigger surprise. The cookout was only the start of the shenanigans he’s missing out on while his Dad and Mark are at Camp Wannakukka. Mark lets Billy know that he and Billy’s Dad will be going to a wild party. Once again, jealousy roars inside of Billy’s chest.

But the party is just the beginning, because Mark has a special treat in store for Billy later that night.

Cucked Son: Part 3 is a 4,200-word short story and part three in a four-part series.

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Excerpt

“What the hell, Dad?” I wondered aloud in the quiet of my empty bedroom.

I had refrained from opening the window. The lights were off as well. It gave the impression that I was squatting inside of a cave. That felt appropriate given my current mood.

For the dozenth time, my hands went for my phone. I brought up the video Mark sent and scrolled through to the point where Mark set his phone down. The scene played out exactly as I recalled.

In the beginning, I told myself that I had been imagining things. The phone was pretty far from the picnic table. It would be easy for me to misread the situation.

I had told myself that several times. And each time, I would go back to the video. All it took to remind me was watching this same scene over again. It took me several tries, but my denial receded at long last.

I kept right on replaying, though. Try as hard as I might, I couldn’t stop jerking off to it. The look on Dad’s face in particular fascinated me.

It should have been me sitting on Dad’s lap. I should be the one feeding him those fries. He should be feeling my ass grind against his massive cudgel of a cock. The fact that some other punk was doing it instead sent rage pumping through my blood and I had to fight to keep from throwing my phone against the wall.

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Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 2

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Try as he might, Billy cannot escape the lust that has bloomed in his heart for his father. The images Mark sends to him of his dad at Camp Wannakukka are tantalizing to say the least. Poor Billy can only stare at his screen impotently while his best friend and father have the time of their lives.

Things take a turn when Mark sends Billy a video of a barbecue cookout. The friendly fathers over at Bunny Burrow invited Mark and Dad along. Things seem to run a little differently over on this side of Camp Wannakukka, however. Billy is in for the surprise of his life.

Can he hold it in, or will he make another mess?

Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 2 is a 3,000-word short story and part two of a four-part series.

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Excerpt

My bed sheets were a mess!

It was the very next day. I lay in bed wearing nothing but the jockstrap I had fallen asleep in. The window was cracked slightly so my room could air out. This meant summer pollen could seep in, but I was already having a coughing fit.

The runny nose I had yesterday had given way to me hacking up a lung. Worse, my body had begun to ache all over. There was still no sign of a fever. That was a relief. Mom had gone to work already, but told me to call her if I felt even the slightest increase in my temperature.

I sure as shit felt feverish all right, but it wasn’t from COVID.

My phone was lying on the pillow next to me. The screen showed a picture of Dad standing beside Mark, holding up a trophy. There was a three-legged race that morning. Dad and Mark participated and won first place.

The picture after that was the one I had been fixated on all morning. I told myself that this was normal. There was nothing to do while I was sick but lie in bed and jerk off, after all.

None of that explained my sudden obsession with Dad’s body, though.

I had been scrolling through the pictures Mark sent since yesterday. They never failed to make my cock harden. It didn’t matter how many times I jerked off either. Inevitably, my balls would reload and I was ready for another stroke session.

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Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 1

Welcome to Camp Wannakukka! A special place for fathers and their sons. Camp Wannakukka provides a safe, relaxing environment for men who wish to bond with their young sons in a very unique and permanent way. At Camp Wannakukka, we hope that the bonds forged here will last a lifetime.

Billy is all fired up to go to Camp Wannakukka with his father and best friend. It will be their last big adventure before college starts. At the very last second, however, disaster strikes. Billy comes down with COVID and has to stay home under quarantine

Not wanting his Dad and best buddy to miss out, Billy tells them to go on ahead without him. It isn’t as though his quarantine will last forever. Mark and his Dad will find a way to amuse themselves in the meantime.

It isn’t like they could get into any trouble without him, right?

Cucking Daddy III: Cucked Son: Part 1 is a 4,800-word short story and part one of a four-part series.

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Excerpt

Mark messaged me again a moment later.

Lol. The resort staff thought I was your dad’s son.

That text came at me like a punch to the gut.

What?

Mark took a whole fucking ten minutes to answer me.

Yup! Lol. They were even commenting on how we look alike.

That had to be the biggest oversight in the history of the world. Mark looked nothing at all like my dad. He was blond and had green eyes. Dad was dark-haired and had blue eyes like mine. Even a child could figure that one out!

Mark’s next message—a whole eight minutes later—pissed me off even more.

Your dad played along.

He’s been calling me “son” this whole time.

My temper flared. I wanted to put my fist through my tablet. Dad was actually claiming that Mark was his son, and in front of other people?

“Not cool, Dad!” I yelled at the empty room.

My voice echoed off the walls. There was no one in the house except for me. Mom was at work and Dad was off in another state with Mark playing father-and-son with my best buddy. The isolation that had been eating away at me really hit home, then.

I was all alone.

I lay there feeling sorry for myself. Mark didn’t take nearly as long to message me back this time. His texts came within a couple of minutes.

Check out your Dad.

Dude, he is fucking hot as hell!

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