late-for-work

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Subject: Late for Work (Call Me By That Name) My stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults. This story deals with relationships among male family members. If that fantasy bothers you, stop reading. If you like this story, check out my Patreon! Lots more content there: eon/jayspearstories The Nifty Archive has been a fantastic resource to all of us! Please consider supporting them with a donation: fty/. Late For Work (Call Me By That Name) by Jay Spear “Come on, get up! You’re late.” He threw back the curtains and flooded the room with bright sunlight. I groaned and rolled over to bury my face in the pillow. “Seriously, Evan. Get the fuck up. I’m putting on a shirt and then we’re going. I need you in the car in 10 minutes.” “Not going today, Roger,” I mumbled. “The hell you’re not, boy. I went out on a limb to get you this job. You’re going to show up and bring a smile on your face.” “I didn’t ask you to do that, Rog.” “Your mother and I agreed that if you’re going to stay with us for the summer, you need to work and pay your way. And don’t shorten my name. Now get moving! I mean it. You’re not too old to spank.” I flipped over and giggled. “Hilarious, *Roger*. So paternal right now. I guess someone decided to be the Big Bad Dad this morning.” “I don’t have to be your dad to know you need a smack.” “You wouldn’t dare. Anyway, don’t worry about it. I don’t need your office job. Go ahead without me, I’m sleeping in. If it’s money you want, I’ll get you money.” “Oh really? From where, Evan?” I yawned and flexed my arms and legs in a long, luxurious stretch. “From the club.” “From the club? That bar? No wonder you’re coming home at 3 AM reeking of booze and sleeping until noon. That’s not a job. That’s laziness, and probably addiction. You shouldn’t even be going there.” “Oh, but I have to Rog. No other place in this town to be with my people.” “Your people.” “The *gays*, Roger.” “You don’t have to say it. I know.” “Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?” “Look, I understand that’s your…situation. And you have an agreement with your mother. So I’ll stay out of it. But if you were my son–” “What? You’d do what? If I were your son.” “Just get up, Evan. Get dressed. Put on some clothes.” “OK, OK,” I said, getting out of bed and standing in the sunlight to face him. Roger was going to hate the hot pink thong I had apparently slept in all night, but he already hated so much about me, so what did it matter? I gave my cock a little tug to try to get my morning wood to lie flat. “Jesus. Get dressed, kid.” “Yeah, yeah. I am.” “Is that glitter?” I glanced at the light dusting on my pecs and shoulders. “Yeah. I guess some of it didn’t come off.” “What kind of job requires glitter?” I giggled. “One that pays better than mindless data entry.” I pulled a wad of cash from my nightstand and showed him. “Where did you get all that money?” “Tips, babe.” “Don’t call me, babe.” “Settle down, Rog. I’m making good money at the club. I’ll go to your stupid normie job if that’s what’ll make you and Mom happy. But I’m gonna make me happy too, and I’m also gonna make some *bank*.” I fanned out the bills in front of him. He slapped my hand and sent the cash flying. Bills fluttered to the ground. “Don’t wave that filthy money at me. So they’re tips. Tips for what?” “Just dancing, Rog. It’s not a big deal.” I swiveled my hips. “Well, maybe a little more. Some nights. But nothing crazy.” “I told you not to shorten my name.” “Settle down. I’m doing what you want.” I hunted around on the floor and found a pair of jeans to pull on. “No, you’re not. You’re disrespecting me with your attitude. You’re disrespecting all of us by doing God-knows-what with these men at the club.” “Lighten up, Rog.” “I istanbul travesti meant it. You’re not to old to spank.” “Haha. Try me.” “Don’t push me, kid.” I just smiled back. “Sure thing, Rog.” “That’s it. Take those pants back down.” “You can’t be serious. Didn’t you say we’re gonna be late for work?” “Take them down, Evan.” “You wouldn’t.” “I will.” I looked back at him. His face was dead serious. I unbuttoned and pushed my jeans down my legs. They puddled at my ankles. He grabbed a chair and sat down. “Come on. Over my knee.” “What? Really?” He pulled me toward his legs and pushed me down across his lap. I was staring at carpet fibers while my thong left my cheeks exposed to the morning air and his stern gaze. “Fucking pink pile of floss,” I heard him mutter under his breath. “This is for your own good,” he told me. And then a sharp crack rang out in the room as his hand smacked my butt. Seriously. He was spanking me. “You *will* go to work this morning,” he continued. “Decent work. Honest work. No more of that seedy club.” “Can’t promise that, Roger.” Crack. Another slap. “Ow, OK. I’ll focus on the day job.” “I’m not your father, kid, but dammed if I’m gonna let you live some dirty life under my roof.” “It’s not dirty, it’s–” “Oh yeah, Evan? Tell me what you do at the `club.’ Why do you come home in glitter and trailing dollar bills?” “I told you, I’m dancing.” “Dancing. Like what? On a stage?” “On a platform. On the bar. Various places. On display.” “That’s what I mean.” Slap! “You’re putting yourself on display for these…men.” “Yes.” I wiggled my butt for emphasis. “I like it. They like it. What’s the problem?” Roger said nothing and I got another slap in response. I don’t know if was the cool morning air, or maybe the heat of Roger’s hand on my hip, or the stinging crack of of it when he’d smack me; but the mix of sensations was getting me hard. I shifted in his lap and tried to hide my boner. “The problem is you can’t control yourself. Life is work. Responsibility. Obligations. It’s not all fun and games.” “But it’s not *no* fun and games either.” “You need standards, boy. Don’t give yourself to everyone who comes along.” “If their money is good, what’s the problem?” Slap! “You sound like a fucking whore, Evan.” Jesus, I was really getting hard now. Could he feel it too? “What do you do for this money?” he demanded. “Not much. Just dancing. The men like to look. And they want to give it to me.” Slap! “They touch you?” “They’re not supposed to. They’re supposed to look and not touch. But, yeah, they usually cop a feel when they’re stuffing some bills into my thong.” Wait? What was that? Did I feel some movement from his lap? I continued, “You know, some guy runs his finger down my crack. Maybe another gives my butt a little slap.” Yes, definitely. I could feel it through his pants. Roger was getting hard. Fucking amazing. “That’s all then?” “When I’m dancing, yeah. But when I’m done with my shift, sometimes a guy will buy me a drink, want to talk. Maybe invite me to his car.” “And what happens there, Evan?” His voice got lower. His breathing was shallow. “If I like the guy, I’ll follow him out.” “For what?” He spoke low and breathy. “To be honest, I hope for some kissing, some making out. It’s always nice to start that way. But usually they go right to pushing my head in their lap.” Roger’s cock twitched under me. And he hadn’t hit me in a while; he was just listening. Intently. “Go on.” “And I suck them.” “Isn’t that degrading? Pushed down on some guy in his car?” “No, I like sucking cock.” “You like taking cock in some alley behind a bar–” “How do you know there’s an alley behind the bar?” “I don’t. I mean, I imagine there is. Some seedy bar on that part of town.” “You seem to know a lot about this bar, kadıköy travesti Roger.” “Fuck off, Evan.” “You do, though. Seem to know a lot about it, *Dad*.” “I’m not your dad, Evan. I’m your mom’s husband. That makes me your stepdad.” “Whatever. Guess my stepdad is curious about the gay bar.” “Watch it, Evan.” “Curious about me.” “The fuck I am. I just have a responsibility to your mother–” “She doesn’t care. It’s not about her. You’re curious about *me*.” “No.” “You are, I can feel it.” I ground my pelvis into his lap to make my point. His swollen cock poked back at me. “Stop it, you little shit.” He slapped my ass hard. I wiggled again. “Does that make you feel better about it?” I asked. “Go ahead. Hit me. I can take it.” Smack. Smack, smack! Stinging slaps rang out in the room. I could image the red handprint rising up in my creamy skin. “They fuck you? These men?” “Yeah, sometimes.” “Jesus, kid…” “Sometimes I’m sucking someone and his cock is so good that I need to feel it in my ass.” “You whore yourself out in their car?” “What’s the right answer, Rog? What do you want to hear?” “Tell me what you do with them.” “With the ones who want to fuck, I get it good and wet with my mouth. So it will go in easy. And then I climb over. It’s hard in a car, so this is the best way. I climb over and sit on his lap. Until every inch of his cock is inside me. And then we start to move.” “I knew you were sick, Evan. But I didn’t know you were a little whore.” “Why do you care, Roger?” “I don’t. Not about you, you little shit. But I care about your mother. I don’t know why she tolerates… Look if you were my son–” “You’d what? You’d do what?” “I’d ground your ass. Keep you here at home until you got it out of your system.” I didn’t know how he meant that line, but in that moment where I was draped across his lap and could feel his cock pressing against me, I could only take it one way. And it made me leak. A spot of pre on the bedspread. He continued, “I’d keep you here until you could go out into the world in a more decent way.” “I can’t be decent, Dad. Sorry, *Stepdad.* I need it.” “You need what?” “Need to be filled up.” “Back here?” Roger ran his finger down my crack. “That’s…” he drew in his heart and then let it out slowly. “That’s not right, Evan.” “Right or wrong, it’s a need. Go ahead. Push in. See what it feels like.” Hesitantly at first, and then with more intention, Roger ran his finger up and down my crack, slowing to pause and tap on my pucker. To massage it. Pressing against it. I knew he was conflicted, but eventually his curiosity won out. He slipped in the first section of his digit. “Keep going,” I told him. He answered with another section of his finger, then another. And then he was fully inside me. “So tight. So hot…it’s like furnace.” “Yeah,” told him. And I arched back to push his finger deeper into me. “That’s real good, Roger. That’s what it’s like.” “This is what you like? You like to be filled up.” “I do. Filled up, rawed out. Plunged in deep. Like this, like you’re doing with your finger. But of course that’s not thick enough to get me there.” “What gets you there?” “I need cock to really feel it, Rog.” I felt his cock twitch under me. Like an invitation. I reached my hand between us and grabbed him. “So thick, Rog,” I said, squeezing him in my hand. “Don’t touch me, Evan.” “Why not?” “I’m…I’m not like you.” “Never said you were. But you’re turned on.” “Stop.” “You want this.” “Stop it.” “You want me.” “I said stop!” he roared. He pulled his finger out and drew back his hand to slap me. Then he slapped again. And again. Harder. And harder. Tears welled up in my eyes. He said nothing, just continued his smacking my ass. And then. Then he stood up to push me off his lap. I stumbled bakırköy travesti to the ground and looked back at his red, angry face. He fumbled with his belt buckle. Oh shit. Was he going to beat me with that? I retreated, scooting across the floor while he came over to me. He hauled me up, threw me against the bed, and pulled his pants down. Oh wait. He pushed his shapeless white briefs down his legs, where they got stuck on his meaty thighs. His cock swung free, showing off both its length and a significant curve. Like some fucking parenthesis. As much as I loved cock, I was worried about him spearing me with that fish hook. He pushed my face into the bedspread and pulled back on my legs to position me beneath him. One more smack to my ass and then he was lining up his cock at my hole. I could feel the flared head push against my pucker, which gave only a moment’s resistance before it swallowed him whole. “It went right in,” he said in half wonder. “Still lubed from last night,” I muttered into the blankets. “You little whore,” he accused. He pushed in aggressively, burying his long, curved cock to the hilt. Jesus, it hurt. But he was reaching new places inside me. I knew it wouldn’t take long before I’d beg him for more. He began to fuck, angrily. “A goddamn whore for any man in that dark alley.” He spit out the words harshly and I could only nod. I gasped as his cock scraped in and out of my ass chute. “And they’re not even enough for you, are they? No, you gotta try to bring me to ruin too.” I didn’t know what to say in response. My communication was simply to push my ass back against him. To push myself against his cock, letting him know that I accepted it and wanted him deeper. Showing that I silently agreed with his criticism; he was right about me. He was taking me rough but I was leaking pre all over the bedspread. “Fucking little f…little whore.” “Say it, Roger.” He grunted continued rutting. “Say it. Call me a faggot.” “Gooddam little faggot whore.” He slapped my ass for emphasis. It no longer hurt at all. I thrilled to his touch. I wanted it again. “That’s it,” I said, pushing my face into the bedspread and my ass into the air. “Let it all out. Name it. Let’s be honest with each other. We both deserve that.” He bucked his hips and fucked wildly, exorcising his demons. “I try to live a good life. Married a great woman. Make love to her on Saturdays, go to church on Sundays. And then this fucking *faggot* son…lazy, dirty faggot whore, sleeps all morning and prances around all afternoon.” Slap! “Lubes his ass so any man can just slip it right in. Even his fucking Stepdad.” “You’re right, Dad.” He plowed me harder. “It’s not right, you little shit.” “But it feels good., doesn’t it?” I bucked back to take him deeper and he hit me again. Slap! Slap! “This is all your fault. Can’t even beat some sense into you.” He thrust deeply, digging out my insides. Had anyone ever fucked me this thoroughly? “This is better, Dad. Now you’re being honest. About your faggot stepson. How disappointed you are in me. About what I deserve.” I wiggled my butt suggestively. I needed to taunt him, to tempt him more. I needed much more. He pumped and pushed and hit me again. Slap, slap, slap! “What a fucking mess,” he said. “I married a righteous woman and got stuck with a fucking faggot whore of a son.” “Help me, Dad.” He grunted and pushed deep. “I need you.” And with that he cried out and collapsed on top of my back, sweaty and exhausted and coming inside me like a dam had burst. I could feel the cum rushing into me. He was coming and shaking and sobbing, and in that moment I felt unusually comfortable and whole with him. We lay there in silence for several minutes. His full weight was on me and he heaved with each breath. “Faggot,” he said softly, kissing the back of my neck. “Dad…” I murmured into the bed. Minutes passed and then he stood up, leaving me face down as he grabbed his pants and buckled his belt. “We leave in five minutes,” he said, preparing to leave the room. “And this is the last time.” We both knew it wouldn’t be. END

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