Page 11 of The Trailer Park Twink
“Holy shit,” he whispers, and then, “Fuck. That’s it, Aussie. That’s my good boy. You’ve got this. Come for me.”
With a roar, I unload, shooting the biggest load of my life into the toy. I keep coming and coming until my balls feel physically empty, and still my cock keeps twitching. It’s only now I realize Dallas is no longer a bystander in my world-rocking orgasm, he’s actively stroking my cock with the toy, pulling pleasure out of me by force. His strokes come slower and gentler as he stops the recording and places my phone on the arm of the couch.
Fuck.
What did I just do?
I’m terrified he’s going to freak out on me, because I’m literally naked on his lap, writhing like a slut, filling his toy with my load. Instead, his expression softens even more. He presses a kiss to my forehead and pulls me to his chest, cradling me in his arms. My cock is cold and wet when he pulls the Fleshlight off and places it on the end table. Dallas doesn’t say anything about my bare, cum-coated cock touching his stomach when I turn and bury my face in his neck, relishing the afterglow.
“I’m sorry if that was weird,” I say. “I kind of lost control.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me for doing something that makes you feel good.” He pauses, reconsidering. “Unless it’ssomething that could hurt you, in which case, I’ll take you over my knee and wear your ass out.”
He nods his head at the Fleshlight. “Remember, if you need to use it, you know where it is. I don’t mind.” He stares up at the clock and sighs. “As much as I hate to leave you, I’ve got work in four hours. I need to try and get a little sleep.”
Reluctantly, I shield my cock with my hand and slip off his lap, allowing him to stand. Maybe it’s just me, but it kind of looks like he’s half-hard. I want to offer to hold the toy for him the way he held it for me, but Daddy needs his rest, and now that we’ve shared this, I’m hoping it’s only the beginning. Wanting to be brave, I pull my hand away from my cock, revealing myself to him fully, then I take a few steps forward and wrap my arms around him in a hug.
“He jacked off in your lap?”
For God’s sake. I don’t know why my boss keeps asking for clarification. When I walked into the breakroom ten minutes ago, I didn’t expect to have to explain in vivid detail, and multiple times, how my stepson found release in my lap, but here we are, explaining it all. My boss, Bubba, and the rest of my work crew—a group of guys my boss refers to as the Core Four, which makes sense, since we’re the only four guys who work the day shift at the machine shop, aside from our intern—followed inside and surrounded me. It’s been ten minutes of telling and retelling, and it’s working my lastgoddamn nerve.
Truthfully, my head’s been all over the place this morning. So much happened last night that I don’t know how to reconcile. Austin called me Dad for the first time. It was the proudest moment of my life. Then he masturbated in front of me. First in the bathroom, then on my lap in the living room.
When I walked into the bathroom, it felt like my heart was going to slam out of my chest. He had his hand around his . . .his cock. My boy was stroking himself, and he was watching an old video of me serenading him for his birthday. I don’t know if I simply don’t understand why the heck he was watching it, or if I’m just too scared to learn the answer. And then I stood there, pretending to pluck my eyebrow hairs because I didn’t want to leave him there alone.
“I’ve already told you the damn story four times. I ain’t telling it again.”
“I could fire you for hollering at me, D-Bag,” Bubba says, pulling a chair from under the small nearby table and grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge behind him. “I mean, obviously I wouldn’t, but I could.” He twists the lid off the bottle, his arms looking like barrels under his coveralls. I don’t know why he insists on buying the tightest ones he can get, aside from the fact that he’s a vain son of a bitch, but I guess he has every right to be. The guy is a wall of endless muscle, and every one is visible through them. He guzzles the bottle of water in one go. “Now, tell us the story again.”
I roll my eyes. “The fuck is wrong with you today? It’s like you’re all stuck on stupid.” I pull my phone out, wanting to make sure my boy is keeping his word. So help me, God, if I pull up his profile and that little green dot appears, I’ll call his ass in a heartbeat and raise hell, the same way I do every day.
“So,” my buddy Clint says, pulling off his welder’s cap and fluffing his light-brown hair with his fingers. “You asked Shelly to let you bring Aussie to the cabin with you and she said no?” It still feels funny to hear them call him Aussie, considering he’s only been to the shop once, and even then, he only stayed a few minutes because of the heat. None of them even met him, but they use his pet name like they have all the right in the world to do so. I don’t ever call them out on it, because I would look like an even bigger fool than I already do. I mean, who gets jealous to the point of wanting to rip someone’s heart out with their bare hands, just for using an affectionate nickname?
Before I can confirm Clint’s version of events, another of our Core Four pipes up. This time, it’s Johnny, Bubba’s best friend. “So, he just pulled his shirt up and then you started jacking him off?” He scoots his chair a little closer to Bubba, which is nothing new. Bubba took Johnny in after Johnny’s wife kicked him out, and he's been trying to help the man rebuild his confidence ever since.
“Fuck no,” I spit out, almost choking on the potato chip I’m trying to swallow. “He’s like a son to me, of course I didn’t jack him off.”
“He just fucked the Fleshlight while you held it,” Clint says, and thank God someone’s finally paying attention to the story.
“Exactly!” I say. Popping another chip into my mouth, I add, “They’re making it sound so fuckin’ sordid. All I did was hold the toy.”
Clint arches an eyebrow. “You realize he was essentially fucking your fist by proxy, right?”
I scowl at him, because I guess I was wrong. “Looks like we got Benedict goddamn Arnold at the table.” I point at Johnny and Bubba who have their chairs so close together, they might as well be cuddling. “Those two gang up on us all the time. You’re supposed to be on my side, but you never have my back.”
“Because you’re always wrong. I’m just stating the facts. If you don’t want me to tell you that letting your son fuck your fist through the protective barrier of a sex toy isn’t normal father/son behavior, stop telling the story.”
“Then stop fuckin’ asking about it!”
“They’re fucking with you,” a new voice says, startling all of us.
“Motherfucker,” Bubba shouts in surprise. He turns and glares at the fifth and final day-shift employee at our shop. Ican’t remember the guy’s name, because during his interview, the man assumed Bubba was gay and offered to go down on him. Bubba quickly told him he was straight. The second he admitted he was just flirting with Bubba to land the job, Bubba told the guy he was worse than one of those queerbaiters he follows on Instagram. When Bubba explained to me what a queerbaiter was—usually a straight guy who shows a lot of ass on Instagram just to drive thirsty gay guys to their OnlyFans—I wasn’t sure why he was following those kind of accounts to begin with. I asked him, but he just scoffed, telling me I didn’t know shit about the Kinsey scale, and I didn’t have a retort for that, because I still don’t know what the hell it is. Anyway, Bubba nicknamed the guy Queerbait on day one, telling him he admired his gumption, but not his problematic methods of obtaining employment off the backs of queer people. Honestly, as far as nicknames go, it ain’t all that bad. It ain’t any worse than mine, at least.
Queerbait blinks at me. “The only reason they’re asking you to tell your stupid, idiotic story so many times is because each time you tell it, you look more and more lovesick by the second. For God’s sake, you have an erection.” He points at my crotch, and when I look down, my eyes bulge like a cartoon character, because he’s right. I didn’t even know I was hard. I was just so consumed with the memory.
The fuck is going on with me today?
“Are you insinuating what I think you’re insinuating?” I clench my fist. “Because that’s fuckin’ filthy.”
