the consequences of being a [redacted]

by PrinceDreading

Summary:

When a father catches his son kissing a boy, he does what any good father would do.

He teaches him the consequences of being a [redacted]

Notes:

there's a lot of f slurring in this one. faggot this, faggot that, faggot ass, faggot clap...whole lotta fags here. wait...

i didn't name the characters. at first, it was because i had an idea and didn't have names, but since it's an accidental outing story, i thought that it was apt that the characters are Dad & Son because...you know...this is an extreme case, obviously, but parents are still having violent reactions to their children coming out, so it's unfortunately a bit of a universal experience. or maybe i was just being lazy idk.

i did not proof read this. it's a oneshot i'm splitting into parts because it got too long.

anyway ily, say it back in the comments

Chapter 1: being gay isn't wrong

Now, he knew for certain: his son was a faggot.

 

Dad hadn’t thought much of it when his son came home with a classmate. The kid wasn’t an awkward, gangly little thing like his son, sure. He had a more athletic, stocky build. His features were more rugged and classically handsome than pretty like his son’s. Maybe he’d thought, in passing, that his son was growing up, surrounding himself with boys who would encourage him to better himself. Get into sports. Be a man.

 

But no, that wasn’t what was happening.

 

They were kissing.

 

Dad wondered if this other boy had taken advantage of his son’s weakness, his femininity. His…faggotry. If he’d seen him as an easy lay.

 

Dad knew how fags could be. He knew how boys could be, too.

 

Boys were horny. Some boys grew up to be real men, Alpha men, and others turned into faggots. 

 

And fags needed Alphas.

 

Dad heard footsteps approaching from the hall, then saw a blur as the kid raced past him. 

 

“Uh, thank you, sir,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Have a good night.”

 

Even if Dad wanted to reply—and he didn’t—he’d have to yell it through the front door because the kid was already gone.

 

Dad wanted to yell.

 

But he didn’t.

 

Instead, he continued to sit in silence at the kitchen table with only the light above the sink to illuminate the dark house.

 

---

 

His wife came through the front door a few minutes later, carrying a grocery bag and wearing a big smile. She opened her mouth, about to greet her husband, then noticed the grim atmosphere. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

Dad told his wife what he’d seen, and he watched her expression go from concerned to fearful. She asked, “Are you going to beat him?”

 

“I have to do something, ” Dad replied. “If I don’t toughen him up…”

 

His wife pressed her lips together, expression somber.

 

---

 

Their son paced in his room, arms crossed and holding his elbows for comfort as his thoughts spiraled.

 

“What am I going to do?” he mumbled. 

 

Had his dad seen him kissing his classmate, or had they pulled apart in time? And if he did see…what if he told his friend’s dad what they’d been doing? Then they’d both be outed for a stupid mistake.

 

Not the kissing, of course, but getting caught.

 

The boy shoved his feet into his sneakers. He had to get out of the house for a while, go for a run or something. He needed to burn off some of the anxious energy building up inside of him.

 

He flung open the door and gasped in surprise. His father was standing on the other side, hand raised to knock. His son had to tilt his head back just to meet his eyes when he was standing that close.

 

“Son,” Dad greeted solemnly. 

 

“Dad,” Son replied hesitantly.

 

Dad stepped into the room, forcing his son to move out of the way so he didn’t get mowed over. “Sit down.”

 

His son obeyed immediately, going to sit at the edge of his bed.

 

Dad closed the door behind him. Son swallowed nervously when his dad flicked the lock before sitting on the desk chair.

 

Dad stated the obvious. “I saw you earlier.”

 

Son nodded.

 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

 

Son didn’t answer for a moment, wondering if it was a trick question. Eventually, he shook his head no.

 

“You were kissing the boy you brought home from school.”

 

Son’s cheeks heated, and he looked down at his hands where they were folded in his lap. The room felt too small with his father’s imposing form taking up so much space.

 

“You don’t have anything to say about that?”

 

Son glanced up, uncertain. Dad didn’t appear to be angry. Just waiting. Patient. 

 

“Dad, I…” Son inhaled deeply, and on the exhale admitted, “I’m gay.”

 

His dad didn’t yell or rage, didn’t get up and punch a wall or storm out or do any of the things his friends said their dads did when they came out. Dad just nodded thoughtfully and replied, “I suspected as much. Thank you for telling me, Son.”

 

Son’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, um. You’re welcome?” 

 

Dad nodded again and stood. “I do wish you’d told me sooner.”

 

Son’s eyebrows went up. Really?

 

“Stand up, Son.”

 

Confused, Son stood. His father opened his arms in invitation, and Son stepped into them. They weren’t a family of huggers, so the embrace was awkward, but it was also warm and soft and safe and comfortable. Son thought, Why don’t we do this all the time?

 

“I’m gonna help you,” Dad promised, and Son sighed at the sensation both the feel and the sound of his father’s deep rumble where it emanated from his chest.

 

“Thanks, Dad.”

 

They stood like that for another few seconds, then Dad patted him on the back a few times, rougher than he would with a lady but significantly gentler than he would with a real man, then he released his son.

 

“Alright, Son,” Dad said, surprising the boy when he sat back down, this time on the son’s bed. “Come here.”

 

Son’s brows drew together in confusion. Did his dad want…? 

 

The son went to sit next to his dad on his bed, but his dad surprised him by reaching out, roughly turning him so he was facing his father’s side, then gasping when he was suddenly tipping forward over his dad’s lap.

 

“What are you—!”

 

Dad pulled the boy’s running shorts—a bit short for a heterosexual, Dad knew, but sometimes the serious runners wore them this short, too. It got harder and harder to tell who was a fag and who was normal every year—and underwear down around his knees, revealing a smooth, unblemished ass, not a hair in sight.

 

Dad grimaced. His son was shaving his ass. He reached down with both hands to spread his boy’s cheeks, confirming when he saw his smooth, pink pucker and crease that he’d been doing a thorough job. 

 

“Dad!” Son whined at the indignity of it all, the impropriety, the disregard of his bodily autonomy. “Dad, stop!” 

 

Dad let out a long sigh, releasing his boy’s baby-soft ass. “Checking what kinda fag you are.” Confirming, more like. His son wasn’t the fruitiest boy he’d ever seen, but he was the type of guy that girls probably wondered about before they’d consider approaching. He knew the type.

 

“Dad, don’t say that!” his boy protested. He’d been squirming uncomfortably, though he’d briefly tried to dislodge his father’s hold when he’d started probing at his ass. “Being gay isn’t wrong!”

 

“Being gay isn’t wrong,” Dad agreed, repositioning his son on his lap with ease. It’d been years since he’d done this to discipline his boy, and even then, he’d only done it once or twice when it had been necessary. “But you’re not just gay. You’re a fag, Son. You’re not a masculine man. That might be okay if you were straight, but being gay and effeminate…life is going to be hard for you, Son. I have to toughen you up.”

 

“Dad, no—!”

Before his son could continue protesting, Dad brought his hand down on the boy’s ass with a resounding crack!

Chapter 2: the difference between [redacted] and real men

Son grunted. Before he had time to react, Dad smacked the other cheek. This time even harder. Crack! Son yelped and was about to make a lunge out of his dad’s hold when Dad hit him a third time on the first cheek. Crack!

 

Any time his son seemed like he was about to try and get away, to voice another protest, Dad increased the strength of his spanks. “I’m doing this to help you, Son,” he’d say. Or, “I’m doing this because I care.”

 

At first, Son was letting out the occasional grunt with each hit. After about ten of those, when his ass was starting to hold onto that pinkish hue, it turned into more of a distressed whine. Then it grew more pained. By the time his ass was beginning to feel hot to the touch, the pink color deepening, he was gasping and yelping.

 

By the time Dad got to the thirties, methodically popping his son on each ass cheek, making sure that each one counted, his son was whimpering and letting out little sobs of pain.

 

Dad was surprised at first to find his cock stiffening in his jeans. He and his wife didn’t play like this, and he wasn’t a sadist nor was she a masochist. Frustrated by his reaction, he made the last ten strikes in quick succession, focusing on the underside of his ass where it met the tops of his thighs to spread out the punishment so he one, didn’t hurt him too badly, and two, made more of an impression.

 

And despite Son laying limp and weeping over his lap, he didn’t seem to notice that his dad’s ten inch fuck stick was erect.

 

Dad thought about what his parents would say if he’d cried like this in front of them. His mom would probably say something like “I’ll give you something to cry about.” His dad might call him a pussy or a faggot, smack him around a bit. Not like what Dad was doing to Son. This was gentle by comparison. Significantly so.

 

Dad petted his son’s ass. Son didn’t even seem to notice that the lesson was over. He wept, still limp, though sometimes his body shook when sobs took him over.

 

Five more minutes of blubbering, slowly titrating until his breathing stabilized and he was no longer lost in overwhelm.

 

Dad guided his son so he could kneel on the floor between his dad’s legs, bracketing him on either side. Dad hugged Son, and Son clung to Dad. Not angry at his father for spanking him, or perhaps in that moment needing the comfort more.

 

Or, Dad thought, maybe he just wanted to be close to a man. A real man like his dad.

 

His son was a fag, after all. 

 

Dad’s erection had subsided, but it began to thicken once more while their bodies were pressed against each other, Dad’s limbs curling around his son who sank into the embrace needily.

 

Dad considered his options, what to do next. He’d planned on leaving his son in his room, perhaps bringing him his dinner so he didn’t have to sit on his sore bum at the table. Now, however, he was thinking about his fag son’s clinginess, and that maybe he could take the lesson further this first time, since he’d planned on giving his son multiple lessons until he deemed him no longer a fag.

 

He could tell the moment Son noticed his father’s erection pressing against his belly. He went from taking shaking breaths in and long, slow exhales to barely breathing at all, body going still.

 

Dad didn’t wait to see what his son would do. Even if Son intended to ignore the stiffening rod between them, Dad had no intention of allowing it.

 

“Do you know what that is, Son?”

 

Son didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t acknowledge him.

 

Dad was still holding the boy; there was no way he didn’t hear.

 

Dad gave Son a warning swat on the ass; the boy hissed in pain.

 

“Answer me,” Dad said, voice dipping low. Threatening. 

 

“It’s your penis,” Son finally said.

 

“Have you touched someone else’s penis before, Son?”

 

“N-not really.” 

 

Dad swatted his ass, and the boy jerked in his dad’s arms. 

 

“I t-touched one over the pants once,” Son answered. “And I’ve h-humped over the clothes before. But never directly.”

 

Dad rubbed Son’s bare ass gently, and Son shivered, though from pain or pleasure, Dad wasn’t sure. He did intent to find out if his son was the type of fag to become aroused by a cruel touch.

 

Dad’s hand slipped from his son’s ass, around his bare hip—his shorts and underwear were still tangled around his knees—and felt his son’s penis.

 

It was hard.

 

Dad squeezed Son’s erection, and Son bucked into his hand.

 

The sensation was strange. Dad had never touched another man or boy’s penis. He’d changed his son’s diapers on occasion when he was a little guy, but he’d had no reason to since.

 

It felt like his own erection. Much smaller, of course, perhaps only half the size and width. That only made Dad’s cock throb in his pants.

 

The skin was hot to the touch and soft, spongey, and Dad could feel precum already dribbling from the tip.

 

Had Son been hard while he’d been spanked? Had Dad been too distracted by his own arousal to notice his son’s?

 

Dad released his boy, who leaned back, instinct—or hope—keeping him from rising to his feet.

 

Son sat on his heels and waited while his dad unbuttoned his fly, watching with hungry eyes. 

 

His face burned with embarrassment. He wondered what he looked like. Probably ridiculous, like a dog waiting for a treat with its cock out. His small member was fully erect and waving in front of him. He felt stupid still wearing his T-shirt with his shorts and underwear around his knees, but he couldn’t bring himself to take them off. What if he was reading what was happening wrong? What if his dad stopped what he was doing? 

 

Son wanted to see Dad’s cock. He didn’t know what that said about him. That he was a pervert, probably. That he had Daddy issues. That he was desperate. That he had low self-esteem. Who would want to look at the cock of the man who’d just assaulted them? He was sick.

 

Dad lifted his hips and pushed down his jeans and underwear just far enough for his dick to burst free.

Notes:

i cannot remember the last time i wrote a smut scene this long. like at least 4k of this is just porn

Chapter 3: an advanced case of [redacted]

Notes:

*whispers* an advanced case of faggotry

It was magnificent.

 

Ten inches. Fat enough that even his dad’s big, long-fingered hand could barely encircle the whole thing. Prominent veins and red tip making the whole thing look mean. Violent. Like it wouldn’t take no for an answer.

 

Son’s small dick oozed more precum. 

 

“I’m going to teach you the consequences of being a fag.” Dad’s voice was husky, pupils blown. Watching his son as he slowly stroked his thick, meaty cock. 

 

Son’s mouth watered.

 

“Do you know what a blowjob is, Son?” asked Dad.

 

Son nodded. “Yes, Dad.”

 

Dad’s cock flexed. “What about a throatfuck, Son?”

 

Son tilted his head curiously. “What’s that?”

 

“I’ll show you, boy,” Dad said. “Get your mouth on my fuckmeat, Son. Let me show you what you’re made for.” 

 

Son’s eyes widened, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He placed his hands on his father’s powerful thighs and leaned in, short enough that he didn’t have to bend his back to reach. Dad was holding his cock at the base so it angled up, otherwise it was too heavy to lift so high on its own. 

 

Son wrapped his lips around the tip, stretching his jaw wide. He stuck his tongue out and licked the precum. “Mmm.” His eyes fluttered shut at the taste, salty and a little bitter.

 

He was eating his dad’s cum. He was licking his dad’s cock. The cock that fucked sperm into his mom’s fertile cunt and created him. His father. The man who gave him life.

 

Son’s cock erupted, bouncing with every string of cum that burst from his piss slit. Son cried out, both in surprise and delight. He’d had his fair share of wet dreams, but he didn’t know he could cum like this.

 

Dad might not have guessed Son was a born-faggot based on his oral skills—or lack thereof—but the boy looked to be having the best nut of his life and he hadn’t even touched himself. Hadn’t had any stimulation to any part of his body except for his mouth where he sucked and licked at his father’s tip.

 

Maybe the boy really was a painslut. Maybe he enjoyed the humiliation. 

 

Son’s faggotry was worse than Dad originally thought.

 

Dad grabbed Son’s face in both hands. 

 

Son’s eyes flew open when Dad laced his fingers behind his head and tugged while he thrust his hips an inch or so, forcing his cock in behind his teeth, stretching his jaw beyond what he thought had already been its limit.

 

Son choked, air trying to expel around his father’s impossible girth, dribbling spit as his face went red, eyes bulging has his gag reflex was triggered. 

 

With another shove forward, Dad was able to slam his bulbous tip into the back of his son’s throat, earning another gag from the boy. A string of snot flew from his nose, and the hands he’d had resting on his father’s quads were now shoving, attempting to push away from his father. 

 

Dad watched with rapt attention, more turned on than he had ever been in his life as he watched his son suffocate on his father’s Daddycock.

 

“I’m doing this because I love you, Son,” Daddy said, not normally one to voice affection, but he wanted his son to understand why this lesson was necessary as he thrashed and gagged violently. “Real men will expect you to service their cocks, and they won’t give a fuck about your comfort. You’re just a throat sleeve to them. A place to put their dicks.”

 

Another string of mucus flew from his son’s nostrils as he began to grow limp. Just as he was about to pass out, Dad pulled him off his cock.

 

Son took ragged, painful breaths between fits of coughing.

 

Dad decided he’d had enough time to breathe and he grabbed his son by the hair again. 

 

“No!” Son croaked, getting his legs in front of him and putting his feet on the side of the bed, trying to leverage himself away from his dad. “Stop, Dad, please!” 

 

Dad did not stop, just scooted forward on the mattress, angling his cock down so he could meet his son where he was, head forced backwards and lengthening his throat. “Fags don’t get to say no, Son.”

 

Dad’s fat round cockhead pressed against his son’s lips, sealed shut. His nose was making wet sounds as he breathed through it, and Dad pinched it between his fingers. Son gave his dad an alarmed and betrayed look, hands going to his father’s wrist as he tried to tug free, only resulting in hurting his own face, nose feeling bruised and lips smashing against his own teeth due to his father’s rock-hard tip.

 

Son was only able to gasp air for a second before Dad’s cock forced his mouth wide for a second time. At this angle, Dad was able to go deeper than before. “I’m almost in your throat, Son,” Dad said. “It’s better to get used to it now. Real men are going to use your throat like a cunt.”

 

Son gagged repeatedly, jaw almost unhinging in an effort to get air past the battering ram blocking his airways. He was no longer fighting his dad but fighting for breath. His face was soaking wet with tears, snot, and throat slime, so it shouldn’t have mattered when his dad tipped forward so he could spit right on his face. Son almost didn’t notice because he seemed like he was about to pull out, but he only pulled back enough that he could slam forward once again, another horrible gurgling sound emanating from Son’s throat. 

 

“Fags don’t deserve respect, Son. Either get used to it or man up.”

Dad spat on his face again, this time directly on his eye. 

 

Somehow, when Son’s eyes reflexively blinked in an attempt to clear the spit, his throat gave way that last little bit, and his father’s humongous shaft entered his throat.

 

That was the moment when Son thought for sure that he was about to die, and his father was speaking the last words he would ever hear:

 

“You’ll never be a man, Son. Even if you get a little older and start to look like one. You’ll always be a little boyslut.”

Chapter 4: no such thing as consent for [redacted]

Notes:

i was gonna split this one up into two chapters, but the natural break for chapter four was like five hundred words, so

Dad once again pulled out of his son’s throat.

 

It was amazing how it felt just like a cunt. The way it squeezed his massive cock, spasmed and tried to choke it right back. Incredible.

 

Dad was hanging onto control by a thread, eyes wanting to roll back in his head and let loose his load. The lesson wasn’t over yet, though, and he wouldn’t be a good parent if he didn’t teach his son. 

 

If there was another reason to confirm his son was a fag, it was that he took to oral like a fish to water. He went longer and longer between breaks without passing out from oxygen deprivation. His shirt was drenched in his own fluids, worse at the collar where the mixture slid down his neck and soaked into the fabric.

 

The boy was a fast learner, Dad thought as he let him go once more, this time letting him fall backwards onto the carpet. His shorts and underwear were around his calves now, his wet shirt sticking to his body, and, interestingly, his cock was once again erect, small as it was.

 

Son laid on his back, taking weak breaths. He no longer had the strength to cough, leaving him with the sensation of drowning. His throat was killing him, and his arms wouldn’t cooperate when he told them to push him up so he could reach for a tissue, get his cold shirt off, find water, anything.

 

Dad stood, and Son’s tired eyes fluttered back to him. He couldn’t get away even if he wanted to, and when his father pulled his shirt over his head, God, he wanted to.

 

Son whimpered when his dad kicked off his shoes and pushed down his jeans and underwear, damp at the crotch where he hadn’t been able to avoid some of the flying slime.

 

He stood, fully nude in front of his half-dressed boy, letting him drink his body in. See a real man in the flesh for the very first time, and it was his father. How humiliating, he thought, to see what he could have been and not even come close.

 

Dad reached down to pick his son up, cradling the boy to his chest and carrying him back to the bed. His son was docile, and Dad wondered if he knew what was coming and had accepted it, or if he had no idea.

 

Dad pulled his son’s shirt over his head with a gentleness that belied his earlier violence, then he tugged his shorts and underwear the last fourth of the way off. He deposited the clothes in his hamper and came back to the bed, rifling around the bedside table.

 

Son watched his dad nervously, now able to move just his head. His dad straightened to his full height holding what he’d been looking for: a bottle of lube.

 

Son shook his head. Croaked, “No.” His dad wouldn’t do what he thought he was going to do, would he?

 

Dad kneeled on the bed, nudging Son’s legs wide apart. Son was starting to get some of his strength back, but he’d lose it all if he attempted to fight off his dad again.

 

“Doesn’t matter what you want, boy,” Dad said, uncapping the lube bottle and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. “No such thing as consent for fags. Your ass is going to be permanently gaped, stretched out and used.”

 

Son whimpered as Dad’s strong fingers prodded between his cheeks, finding his hole and pressing one thick finger past the ring without effort. 

 

That’s how his cock is going to go in, Son thought with dread. It was going to bust his hole wide open, leaving him limping and sore.

 

Dad slipped a second finger in before Son had adjusted to the first, and Son whimpered as his body tensed, hurting muscles in his body that were already overused.

 

And Dad was about to hurt the last part of his body that wasn’t in pain.

 

Son let out a small sob, hurting his chest even more. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would make his dad disappear.

 

“It’s okay to fuck men, Son,” his dad said in the same conversational tone he’d used this whole time. Like he was just telling his son the truth, not hurting him intentionally. Like it was for his own good. “Lot’s of men fuck other men. But being a fag… that’s a different kind of responsibility.”

 

Dad shoved a third finger in, then a fourth shortly after. 

 

Dad fucked Son with all four long, strong fingers. Son’s little cock rested against his belly, hard and weeping as his father curled his fingers and abused his prostate. It hurt, but it felt good, too, and Son hated himself for it. 

 

Dad pulled out his fingers, and now Son was whimpering at the loss.

 

Dad squirted more lube onto his cock, which was as erect now as it had been when it was raping his throat. 

 

His dad was…his dad was raping him, Son realized dazedly.

 

Dad lined up his unreasonably fat ten inches with his son’s small hole, not wanting to stay open for long.

 

This would be the last time.

 

Dad pressed forward, holding Son’s legs up and open. Son’s hands fisted, clawing the sheets at his sides, face scrunched up in obvious agony. Dad watched in fascination as the tiny, hairless pink hole stretched for him, going white and looking like it would snap at any moment. His son had a stranglehold on his thick erection.

 

“Tightest pussy I’ve ever had, Son,” Dad said, and that got Son’s attention. This was the first time all night that Dad had said something positive, something…complimentary, almost. 

 

Son’s hopes were dashed when his dad added, “It’s never gonna be the same after this.”

 

Dad was only a quarter of the way in when he pulled back out, watching his son’s greedy hole grip him, refusing to let him go. He pushed forward again, not stopping until he was half in, and his son’s breathing turned labored. 

 

Dad continued pulling out a bit only to push in deeper until he met more resistance. He nudged forward, trying to figure out what the blockage was, not familiar enough with anatomy to realize that he was poking at another sphincter with one inch to go.

 

Dad decided that was good enough and pulled out completely, his son tensing when his body was empty in anticipation of the reentry. “Just gonna hurt more if you don’t relax,” Dad warned. “Gotta get you used to this if you’re gonna live this lifestyle.”

 

Son sobbed and protested, “It’s not a lifestyle!” 

 

His voice was gone, and it came out a rasp, but Dad only rolled his eyes. It would have been funny to see the burly buff beefcake do something so immature if Son didn’t feel like he was about to split down the middle.

 

That time, when Dad pushed in, he did it with a sharp snap of his hips, slamming that thing deep inside of Son.

 

Son screamed. It hurt, it hurt.

 

His baby cocklet was still hard and leaking.

 

“If you’re gonna be a fag,” Dad continued through gritted teeth as he maintained a fast rhythm, refusing to nut until he’d hammered the lesson home. “You’re gonna be Daddy’s little cumdumpster, Son. You’re going to be Daddy’s filthy whore until you’re old enough to go out into the real world. And even then, you’ll always know that this hole belongs to Daddy. Both holes belong to Daddy.”

 

Son was crying, his abs tensing and flexing, his hands fisting the sheets, shaking his head back and forth even as he let out tiny whimpers of pleasure. He was in agony, and he was getting off on it. Disgusting. 

 

Daddy’s hips continued snapping forward, his heavy low hangers making loud slapping noises as they swung against his tailbone.

 

“What are you, Son?”

 

Son’s nose and eyes were streaming once again, and he was drooling from the overwhelming, conflicting sensations.

 

“F-fag!” Son cried.

 

“That’s a good boy,” Dad grunted, and his hand went around Son’s dick, not jerking it but holding it proprietarily. Son’s body was no longer his own, point hammered home not just by the relentless thrusts, dick deep in his guts, but by the hand that reached down to slap his face before pinching his son’s nipple and twisting roughly. “Good little fag.” Dad squeezed his son’s cock hard enough that he cried out, a new kind of torture.

 

Daddy continued to rut into his son until he felt his nut churning in his balls, ready to explode after hours of edging in his useless son’s fuckholes.

 

“Ready to take Daddy’s load?” he asked rhetorically while Son cried. “Fuck, tell Daddy whose filthy fagwhore you are.”

 

“I’m y-your f–fag-wh-whore, Daddy,” he wept.

 

Daddy pressed a hand to the mattress so he could dig even deeper into his son’s bowels, sparks of pleasure collecting at the base of his spine. “Nothing but Daddy’s fuckwhore,” Dad grunted, close enough to Son’s face that he wanted to shy away from the intimacy. This couldn’t be what love was…could it? “Take Daddy’s nut, baby.”

 

Daddy slammed his hips forward one more time before he released his colossal load inside of his little boy, pulse after pulse spilling into Son’s colon. Daddy squeezed Son’s cock tight and jerked it just half a dozen times before his son was exploding all over his chest with a weak cry, eyes rolling back in his head.

 

Daddy thrust lazily a few more times, swiveling his hips so he could make sure that he’d conquered every part of his son’s no-longer-virgin ass.

 

Eventually, he pulled out, and Son winced, first in pain, then at the feeling of wetness trickling from his abused anus.

 

Daddy smirked at his son’s gape. Yeah, a few more sessions and his ass was going to become a cunt permanently.

 

Dad stood from the bed, tugged the blanket from under Son, and covered his limp body.

 

“Goodnight, Son,” he said before turning off the light and shutting the door behind him.

 

Son was in too much pain to cry, so he laid there, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, tears rolling down his temples and soaking into the sheets.

Notes:

okie dokie i hope you liked it! i'll prob give it a lil read through later and if i notice mistakes i'll come back and fix them. ty!

p.s. i don't plan on there being a sequel, i just randomly was seized with this lil idea and ran with it one day and forgot to post it

Notes:

comment if u liked it n leave me kudos and i will kiss your forehead

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 9 of Porn Logic: the series