Derek

The knock on the trailer door was hard and impatient.

Your dad opened it in nothing but thin, worn pajama pants, already looking defeated. Derek Kane stood on the step — thick, hairy, naturally stern-faced. The smell of cigarette smoke, beer, and warm male musk rolled off him in the cool night air.

“You’re two months behind,” Derek said flatly. “Current rent plus late fees. Cash. Tonight.”

Your dad’s voice cracked as he started making excuses. Derek listened for only a few seconds before cutting him off.

“Then you’re out. Both of you. Tomorrow morning.” He didn't say he had no intention of throwing you out.

Silence stretched. Then your dad’s shoulders slumped. His voice came out small and ashamed.

“…You can have my kid instead. Just— just for the rent. Please.”

Derek’s heavy eyebrows rose slowly. He stared at your dad for a long moment, the judgment in his face clear and unimpressed. Then the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, more like cynical acceptance.

“…Alright.”

He stepped inside. The door shut behind him. Your dad led him down the short hall to your room without another word. The door was already half-open. You were asleep on your back in the small bed, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of your dad’s thin, oversized cotton boxers. One arm was flung above your head, exposing the soft hollow of your armpit.

Derek stopped at the side of the bed. In the quiet room the sound of his zipper going down was loud and deliberate. He freed his thick, heavy cock — still soft, foreskin wrinkled, a faint smear of smegma already visible — and left it hanging out of his open jeans.

Then he braced one knee on the mattress and leaned down.

The first touch was his mouth on your neck: hot, open, tasting your pulse. He worked slowly downward. The dense scrape of his mustache and beard. Wet suction on your collarbone. His tongue dragging over one nipple, then the other, until they peaked under his attention. He buried his face in your exposed armpit and breathed in deep, then licked a long, slow stripe through the hair there, tasting salt and skin. His free hand rested heavy on your stomach, thumb stroking absently. The whole time his soft cock rested against your hip, warm and heavy.

Your dad stood frozen in the doorway. The thin fabric of his pajama pants was already tented hard, a dark spot of precum spreading through the cotton.

When Derek finally lifted his head, his beard was slightly shiny. He threw his jeans somewhere in your room, keeping his socks on but not wearing underwear. He unbuttoned the front of your boxers, pulled the fabric away from your body, and nestled the head of his cock inside against your genitals. Then he simply let go.

The hot stream of piss was sudden and heavy. It flooded the thin cotton, soaking your groin, running down your ass and thighs, darkening the sheets. The sharp smell of ammonia mixed with his deeper musk. Derek kept his eyes locked on your dad the entire time he emptied his bladder into your underwear.

The heat and the wetness and the smell pulled you toward waking. You shifted, made a confused sound, then tensed as full awareness hit — the soaked boxers, the massive hairy man looming over you, the sight of your dad standing in the doorway with a shameless, leaking erection.

You started to object, voice still thick with sleep.

Derek moved fast. He turned, swung a thick thigh over your chest, and sat down, a smelly, socked foot on each side of your skull. His heavy, musky ass settled right on your face, smothering the protest. The dense hair, the heat, the rich sour-sweet smell of him filled your nose and mouth.

“Lick,” he said, voice low and calm. “Properly. You’re gonna take it until you like it.”

He didn’t lift up until your tongue was working him in earnest — until you were pushing inside his hole and feeling it clench and pulse against your tongue, until two of your fingers had joined your mouth and he was moaning as he rocked back onto them. Only then did he shift his weight forward into a 69.

His thick cock dragged heavily across your chest and settled against your chin, already leaking clear strings of precum onto your skin. The dense thatch of his pubes brushed your face every time he moved. At the same time his mouth opened over you — hot, wet, skilled — and two thick fingers pushed inside alongside his tongue. He ate and fingered you with the same steady focus he’d given your neck and pits earlier, groaning quietly whenever your tongue or fingers pressed deeper into his ass.

He only lasted a few minutes like that. When his cock was dripping steadily across your chin and chest, he pulled away, ripped your piss-soaked boxers apart, pushed your thighs open, and sank inside in one heavy thrust. The stretch was sudden and thick, so much so that you climaxed on the spot. He fucked you in short, deep strokes — only a handful of them — before burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural sound and flooding you with pulse after pulse of hot cum.

For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard and the soft drip of fluid onto the already-ruined sheets.

Then Derek did something almost gentle. He eased out, rolled onto his side in the too-small bed, and pulled you back against his chest. One thick arm locked around you. He guided your face into the soaked hollow of his armpit — hot, dripping, dense with hair and the concentrated reek of his sweat and the piss still drying on both of you. His other hand stroked slowly down your side, smearing his cum into your skin.

The whole room stank of him: sweat, piss, sex, cigarette smoke.

Over your head, Derek looked at your dad — still standing there, cock straining obscenely against the wet spot on his pajama pants — and spoke in that same calm, almost conversational voice.

“You’re gonna see my cock inside your kid every day from now on. Get used to it.”

Then he simply settled deeper into the narrow bed, pulled you tighter against his heavy, hairy body, and closed his eyes like he planned on sleeping there all night. His breathing slowed. One big hand kept stroking absently over your hip, smearing the mess between you.

The trailer was quiet except for the sound of three people breathing and the faint drip of cooling fluid hitting the sheets.