Tales about Hot Daddies
In the tantalizing world of "It's Also Love?", innocence collides with desire, and familial bonds blur as Meet, a sweet and impressionable young boy, finds himself swept into the captivating orbit of his adopted father, Rajbh...
I stride down the hall to Meet's—Johnny's room now—boots thudding, a quiet fire burning in my chest. John's horny obsession with his tiny cock has me rattled, pushing my limits. I'm a man of care, intense and warm, not like Param's brute storm, but Johnny's got me teetering, testing my gentlemanly control. I knock once before entering the room, and there he is, as expected—naked as a newborn, sprawled on Meet's bed, one hand lazily stroking his little cock.
My pulse kicks up, that fatherly pull. "Johnny," I say, commanding but caring, "caught you at it again, eh?"
He jumps, hand freezing, then grins all giddy. "Uncle Rajbhir! Uh, just... chilling! My little cock's always out, you know—seen it tons, right? Bet you like it—wanna touch it again?" He scoots closer, grabbing my wrist bold, pressing my palm to his cock—warm, small, pulsing eager under my fingers.
I stiffen, gentlemanly instinct clashing with his pushiness, but I let my hand rest a moment, thumb brushing light to calm him, feeling the smooth tip twitch. "Easy, kiddo," I chuckle warm, pulling back slow, my voice intense but kind, "your cock's a handful, but Papa's here to care, not play your games." My eyes hold his, intimidating just enough to set boundaries, but his grin doesn't fade—too much game, this kid.
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"C'mon, Uncle—shower me like you did at camp! Wash my little thingy proper!" he chirps, hopping up naked, tugging me to the bathroom, his skinny ass bouncing. I sigh, half-annoyed, half-amused, following—his energy's infectious, but it's testing my resolve. Inside, he flips the shower on, standing bare under the spray, water slicking his smooth body, cock bobbing eager. I grab sponge and soap, lathering firm, my hands moving with fatherly intent—broad strokes over his shoulders, down his chest, scrubbing hard to ground him.
He moans soft, "Ohhh, Uncle, feels nice..." hips shifting, pushing his cock toward me, horny spark in his eyes.
I work the sponge lower, over his flat tummy, then thighs, avoiding that eager nub at first. But he whines, "My cock, Uncle, PLEASE—wash it!" I grunt, harsher than planned, sponge grazing his ass first—firm scrubs on each cheek, making him squirm, my grip tight to intimidate, show him I'm in charge.
"Behave, Johnny," I warn, voice deep, but he giggles, unfazed, thrusting his hips forward. Sponge hits his cock—small, dark, cute—scrubbing rougher than needed, soap foaming thick, my fingers brushing the base unintentional. He moans louder, "Y-yeah, like that!" and I feel my control slip, his horniness outpacing my restraint. Damn kid's too much.
Frustration spikes—his craving's clear, that tiny cock begging release. I decided. Roughness was needed. I drop the sponge, hand wrapping his cock firm, stroking steady—give him what he's chasing. Up and down, foam-slick from soap, my palm rolling the small length, pink tip flaring under pressure.
But then, he gasps, startled, eyes wide, "Uncle—no! Wait, what're you doing?!" Scared but blushing, voice shaky with surprise.
I freeze, hand still—shit, have I went too far? "Relax, John," I say quick, voice warm but firm, "I thought that's what you wanted, pushing me all day. A release. But don't worry, kiddo, I won't do anything you don't like. You know that."
