Quillon's Covert Read Online Free PDF

moved to the right one. Martin started at the knee and worked his way up just like before.
    Marty knew there was no way to hide his raging hardon, so he finally mumbled, “Suh-suh-sorry.”
    Martin looked up at him and shrugged good-naturedly. “Hey, you’re fifteen, if you weren’t popping wood every time the wind blew, I’d be concerned. And you’re a Quillon on top of it, we’re a horny bunch.” Martin squeezed both of his thighs, got up, and ducked into the cabin.
    He was back with more drinks and handed one to Marty before settling in the lounge chair next to him.
    After taking a swig of beer, he asked, “Feel better? More relaxed?”
    Marty only nodded, using his Strawberry Crush as an excuse not to form a response right away. When he was relatively certain he could speak without his voice cracking, he said, “Yeah. Thanks.” He licked his lips and lowered the soda to his crotch, the cold contrast of the bottle against his burning dick nearly caused him to double over from the shock. It worked though, his boner finally started to die down.
    Actually, once he’d gotten over the initial shock, the bottle’s coolness pressing into his balls felt nice. Martin pulling the bill of his cap down to shade his eyes caught Marty’s attention. He glanced over at his dad and wondered if he’d sprout wood every time Martin looked at him now. And, just that quick, Marty was hard as a rock again.

    Martin / 35
     
    Fighting to keep still on the sofa, Marty chuckled again, and Martin quickly scolded him. “Every time you laugh, my fingers lose their spot.”
    Marty’s mischievous eyes darted up from where his head lay on Martin’s lap, but his dad ignored the look and concentrated on the task at hand.
    “You know, most folks would find this super gross.”
    Martin merely grunted in response, grabbed another Kleenex, and delivered the next admonishment. “I said be still.” His fingers squeezed and he sighed with satisfaction. With a quick swipe of the tissue, he dabbed a spot of blood off Marty’s chin, and then refocused his gaze back to his son’s lower jaw. The intent determination at which he studied Marty’s face provoked another chuckle from his son.
    He flipped the used Kleenex onto the table where it joined a pile of others. “Okay, I’m done, then. If you’re not gonna be still—”
    Marty grinned with relief. “Jeez! Thank God! I thought you were gonna keep going until there was nothing left of my face.”
    Martin grabbed for his son’s ear, intending to give it a hard tug, but Marty laughed and turned his face toward his dad’s stomach. However, the position he’d been lying in on the sofa, his neck supported on one of Martin’s thighs, found his turned face nearly buried in Martin’s crotch.
    “I bite,” Marty started to warn wickedly, but it came out as more of a loud yelp when Martin managed to get hold of his other ear and gave it a firm yank. “You cheat!”
    “Yeah, like threatening to bite my bits is playing fair,” Martin shot back. “Get off me, you Choad,” he said as he pushed his son aside. After grabbing the pile of tissues, he walked toward the kitchenette. “I gotta wash your blood off my hands. You think you’d be more grateful to someone who just spent the last twenty-five minutes popping your nasty zits.”
    Marty laughed. “You like popping my zits. Don’t even try to pretend like you don’t. It’s always your idea to start this.”
    Martin flipped the tap on and soaped his hands. “I never said I didn’t like it. I said you oughta be more appreciative, ya Sod!” He snatched a few paper towels and dried his hands. “And me liking it is my cross to bear…you just worry about your own problems, Sonny.” He balled up the paper towels and lobbed them towards Marty.
    “Whoa! That’s three nicknames in a row…you’re on a roll tonight. I’m still tryin’ to figure out what the first one means.” Marty raised his eyebrows. “Choad?”
    “Look it up on