Father and son

Father and son

Father and son

Father and son is one of the most recurring erotic fantasies. No matter what age you are, you’d want to be the son or the father. Obedience, authority, though also crossing the red lines of incest.

I am sure psychologists are able to explain it —maybe analysing one’s childhood.

Not too long ago, while Alek was still working in Barcelona, we offered a very sexy four-hands massage we named “Daddy & Son“. Since Alek was 22 and I was 40, the roles were obvious. I met Alek in TantraTouch, the leading Tantra massage studio in Barcelona.

This incestuous fantasy intrigued not only locals, also visiting men from the whole world. Most of them were gentlemen who had never thought about receiving a Tantric massage. So I guess we did a very good job explaining that erotic Tantra is a flexible and enriching treat to enjoy eroticism.

The autumn evening

That autumn afternoon was an uncomfortable one. Barcelona was windy, and even sitting at home I had a feeling of unrest. The wind was pushing my window, making reading a task I could hardy focus on.

The phone always rings when I least expect, and that was another good example.

This guy spoke to me as a real son would, assuming we both knew who we were, going right to the point.

Dad, I want to see you tonight.

I immediately recognised the role I was supposed to play.

Sure, son. At what time are you coming over?

Father and son

The appointment was exactly after all the female masseuses were leaving the studio. This meant my “son” and me would be absolutely alone in the huge massage clinic. The parlour where I was working had about 5 cabinets and 2 suites, all of them would be in the dark. I just left some candles at the entrance and inside the room I chose for “son”. The sandal sticks started to burn, and the scent felt solemn. I thought the medium sized room should make it, it was also easier to warm up and very cozy.

The dimmed light had a wicked air that late evening. I wasn’t used to that deadly silence.

I had a second look at everything in the room while “son” was coming up the stairs. The mirror was clean, the new towels and the white paper sheets covering the Japanese Tatami were flawless. The armchair sat perfectly in a corner facing the massage surface.

I lit a candle for the massage oil to warm up. The doorbell rang and I opened.

“My son” was a young guy, about 25. Tall, blond and slender, harvest wise  dressed. His face showed a blend of desire, curiosity and guilt.

Long time no see! Come in! I’m so happy to have you back.

Yes, dad.

He didn’t mention his name, so I’ll refer to him as “son”. He stepped in and gave me a real hug, long and longed for. I felt his soft breathing on the side of my neck. Then he put his front on my chest, as begging for excuses.

Come inside the room.

Will you undress me? Like before?

He stood silent in the middle of the room. I took his coat. He closed his eyes and I wonder if he was trembling of fear. The room was warm enough.

Alone as usual

Close the door, dad.

He was aware of the slightest details. I got the message his game was serious. I went on undressing him. Next were the pants.

As I tried to release his belt I could already see quite a big bulge. Since he stood quiet, pulling down the pants was easy. Then he raised one foot and then the other, to help me remove the pants.

In his white tanks and slips he looked fragile. Somewhat terrified, but also with a clear mission. “Son” didn’t have any tattoos, his skin was milky and smooth. I could sense he was going to be obedient as long as I commanded the right stuff.

His nipples were still sleepy, as I could see though the white fabric. He was looking down as if he was ashamed. Even though he was erect, I said:

Don’t be afraid, I’m here with you. Nothing wrong will happen.

And I really meant it.

I removed my black tank. As I was about to pull down my black silk bermuda he looked up and stopped me.

He kneeled down in front of me, without touching me. His placed his nose right in front of my bulge, and he obviously was starting a ritual. What I could sense in that room was not massage, but also not sex.

It was a sort of sacred reunion.

Little by little he pulled down my black silk bermuda. He wanted to uncover what secret I was hiding, though he also was delaying it as much as he could. I wondered how his real fathers’ dick would look like. Too different?

The ritual

I was still semi-hard. My penis popped out as he went on pulling down my last piece of cloth. He stopped again. Slowly he opened his eyes and his lips.

That’s big, father.


He kept silent again and put his nose closer to my pubic hair. Whatever masculine scent I had, he was breathing it in. Maybe that moment was all filled with remembrance.

I knelt down to watch into his face at the same height, with a tender but serious look.

Lay down on the bed.

I called it “bed”, but it was the Japanese massage surface. “Son” was still wearing his white underwear, and I started a slow and tender massage.

At that time I realised we hadn’t agreed on anything further than who we were. But I had no clue about what his expectations were. It felt like a huge responsibility, and I had no other option than trusting my intuition. And “reading” his clues correctly.

Nobody knew which dangerous territories we were about to step in.

The snake

As I got nearer to his inner thighs, “son” started to move like a snake. I could hear his moaning and I could sense his sexual excitement. Inside his underwear his light skinned balls were rolling left and right. He was desperately pressing his penis against the massage surface.

Out of caution, I didn’t remove his underwear. He turned around to look into may face and asked:

Carry me.

His erection got much harder and bigger, and I could see a small stain of pre-cum. I carefully lifted him and took him like a dead Madonna.

He was tall and slender, but his weight was urging me to decide what to do next.

I feared he’d faint, because his head fell back. To my relief he raised his head up again and looked demanding into my eyes.

Now I know I want you, dad.

I stepped towards the armchair. Slowly I managed to sit down while carrying him. He moved his body to change his position from sidewards to front, embracing my body with his legs. Literally he sat on top of my lap.

He felt like a victim who is deciding how he wants to die. And his ideas were becoming clear to me.

One more step

My dick got harder against his buttocks. Still with his underwear on, he lifted and then sat down again in a way he could press his perineum and balls against my dick. He also moved back to rub his balls and long dick against mine.

His breathing went wild, and he started to pant. He also lost control over his voice tone.

Take me, make me yours!

There was anguish in his student voice. He surrounded my neck with his arms, in a suffocating way, and started to jump as we were fucking. “Son” started to kiss me all over my face. My lips, cheeks, front and eyes.

As he discovered the texture of my beard, he rubbed his face against my cheeks and chin.

Everything was unpredictable, but I guess there must be certain limits. So I didn’t plan to go any further from what was happening.

Hold me again, dad.

I lifted him with my dick almost entering his hole if he’d be naked, but finally sticking against his buttocks.

With some slow pelvic movements I started to stimulate his perineum again. It felt like a soft and seducing way of making love. I guess he was afraid I could penetrate him any second. Or did he want me to?

His underwear was absolutely wet from his pre-cum, and he went on pushing his stomach against mine.

Father and son

Gay Father and son

The intruder

His nipples were drilling his shirt’s fabric. I guess he had achieved his maximum level of sexual excitement.

Something hit the cabinet’s door. As if someone was about to push the door wide open and storm inside. We could also hear a further door squeaking in the corridor. I immediately knew it was the pressure of the wind against the door.

“Son” panicked and yelled anxiously:

Who’s there?


I immediately felt his violent embrace around my neck, suffocating me.

A feeling of wet and warm covered my stomach, and I perceived his dick pumping and ejaculating against my body. It was an endless amount of springs of warm semen. First inside his underwear and then all over my body.

Then he kept absolutely petrified, with his face and saliva on my neck.

I’m your bitch.


I was thunderstruck. Not only about the unforeseeable ending, but also about how far my own mind game had gone.

My “son”had finally experienced the most desired moment of his adolescence. About 10 years later than he really wised it to happen. I guess.

He showered and dressed with an ease that didn’t correspond to that awkward moment. As if nothing had happened there, and once he was ready to go, he started walking himself towards the door. Without expecting me to say goodbye.

As he put his right feet down the first step, I said.

Come back soon, son.

He turned around, and his look was of an outraged surprise. I could read on his expression:

Who are you? Are you crazy?

Father and son’s epilogue

Indeed, who was I. Instantly the Russian Matrioshkas came to my mind. One doll inside another, so one never knows if he’s inside another doll or protecting the smaller one. Or everything simultaneously.

A friend of mine who’s a psychologist told me what I did to that young man was a big mistake. At the end of the day I would not help in. While in my opinion, “son” used me because he based on the fact my job is about giving pleasure.

Of course I’ll never know how “son” intimately valued that episode. Maybe he’s still jerking off on its remembrance. Or maybe he preferred erasing it out of his mind.

And I say this because there are men who want to get dangerously close to their fantasies, but never want them to come true. Their lives would become meaningless.

Before we go

Just another small note for honesty.

I never forget what my job is about. Erotic massage and Tantric massages are not about the full sexual act. So kissing and penetration are never included.

You bet I’m frequently tempted, but limits need to be clear.

Once I served a client who was constantly screaming “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” during the session. After finishing the massage he told me he didn’t mean it literally.

I just like to verbalise it.

Will I be always able to avoid these sweet temptations?

I know gay escorts don’t!

Here you’ll find more erotic stories.

And als testimonials about my gay massage, written by the clients.

See you soon in Barcelona!

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