This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual intercourse, incest, and Dominant/submissive themes between adult males. If this offends you, is not appropriate for viewing in your location, or you are not of legal age, do not read it. Any resemblance of characters in this story to the living is purely coincidental. If you like the story or have suggestions, comments can be addressed to mummyscurse@yahoo.com. Please put the title of the story in the subject line.
My Construction Dad
The series of events I will relate to started late one Friday night or, more accurately, early one Saturday morning. I believe the seeds of these events were sown well before then, however. The fact that I came home after a night of drinking and that my father was "in his cups" as well, does not fully explain what happened that night and afterward. Neither does my burgeoning awareness of my own attraction to men, for even that does not explain how in the course of one day I went from being an average, attractive, athletic High School junior to being a virtual sex slave held in thrall by my Dad and, later, by his friends, workers, and associates. It was the night I became Cunt in my father's eyes, an object to act out his lust, anger, and perverse desires upon. He accused me of being spoiled and soft and took great pleasure in abusing my body or watching me debase myself with other men at his direction. I learned to take my own pleasure from being of service to him.
One fact of the matter is that my dad is stunningly handsome. Black-haired, swarthy, muscular and, as I was about to discover first-hand and up-close, devastatingly well-hung. These things I had known all of my life of course, since modesty was not one of his virtues. From a young age I was used to the sight of my father swaggering around nude, his pendulous cock swinging between his thick, hairy thighs. Even in public he was hardly any more shy; at summer pool parties and such he was locally famous for wearing a skimpy pair of white Speedos that would become almost invisible when wet, his long fat cock barely contained. After he exited the pool a coterie of my mother's friends would surround him, women and men, and slyly dart looks at his bulging crotch as he preened, sunlight glistening like diamonds on the drops of water captured by the thick hair that covered his chest and legs. His green eyes would take on a look of knowing as he flexed and strutted, fully aware of the show he was putting on.
From my childhood on I had been more aware of my parent's sex life than other children are. I knew that my father had impregnated my mother while they were still in school themselves, though she attended an exclusive, expensive private school while he went to a rough and tumble public school. Her parents were appalled by the fact that their little Princess had allowed this loud, Italian, cock-proud stallion to take her virginity, knock her up, and convince her to marry him. Many times I had been awakened in the night by the screaming of their bedsprings, often followed by loud cries of praise and pleasure from her as she begged him to fuck her harder or faster. In more recent years I even gained a somewhat limited view of the proceedings, first by angling a small hand- mirror under the door, later by opening their door a crack or looking through gaps around the curtains covering their windows. I secretly thrilled to the view of his muscular ass swelling upward then dimpling with effort as he thrust downward with speed and force into her waiting body. After puberty I spent many nights listening to the rythmic slapping of his groin and thighs against her as he pounded her into screams of pleasure. My first masturbatory forays were taken as I watched and listened, as I imagined him doing these things...to me. Though my mother was considered a great beauty, petite and blond, I was immune to her charms and only had eyes for the rough beauty of my father, in spite of, or maybe because of, the fact that he treated me with disdain because I had inherited her small frame and none of his swagger.
I knew from their loud arguments over the last two years that she had begun to withhold sex from him, since many of their fights ended with his yelled accusation that she treated her "goddamn pussy like the fucking Crown Jewels" and the threat that she either put out or he'd take one of her friends up on the offers they were always wagging in his face. Finally, he bedded her sister Pam and she walked in on the event. Over the course of a week this somehow led Mom to a tearful reconciliation...with her sister. Together, my mother and aunt Pam took off together on a voyage of self-discovery. The last exchange I heard between my parents was her tearful declaration that she needed to find herself and his scathing reply that if she wanted to find herself she should look under rocks, where the other worms hid. He slammed the door at her retreating back and my father and I were left alone.
After that, the two weeks leading up to that fateful Friday night were full of his criticism of me and how he felt I was just like my "cunt of a mother." Somehow it was my fault I attended the same private school that she had when he knocked her up. Somehow it was my failing that I grew up with "nice things" and "a big house with a pool" instead of struggling though a childhood filled with poverty, like his. It did me no good to point out that it was his successful construction company that led to my having these advantages, since that only started a diatribe against my maternal grandfather, who had given him a loan to start his company, and his repeated defense that he had paid back "every goddamn penny to that hateful old bastard." If I ever imagined what it would be like if my mother were to leave, I had envisioned a revolving cast of plastic, medically enhanced strippers and bimbos rolling through his bed. I hadn't expected this barrage of hostility against me. Even my name was a source of ridicule. Instead of a manly name like his, Vince, my name was one that he thought was soft, weak, and "faggoty", Tyson. That it was my grandfather's middle name was no defense, in fact it made it worse, attracting his scorn like iron filings to a magnet.
So, this was the atmosphere between my father and I leading up to these events. Instead of a parade of bimbos though the house there had been only his anger, increased drinking, and derision of me. I would never have guessed that it was all leading to fulfillment of every pornographic thought or dream that I ever had about him and far, far, beyond. I didn't know then that he would rarely call me Ty or Tyson again, and then only in front of others. Starting that Friday night, my new name, place, job description, and purpose, was "Fuckbitch." That night Sir or Daddy became what I called him, an indication of the power he held over me.
None of this would have started, as I said, if both of us hadn't been a bit drunk. I'd been out with my friends Scott and Mason and drank at least a six-pack of beer by myself. I wasn't used to drinking very much, but I was in a bad mood. The tensions at home were wearing on me, and also my own sexual frustration. I was attracted to my friends, a feeling they did not reciprocate. Sure, I'd had alcohol before but never that much in such a short period of time, so by the time I made it home that evening I was feeling pretty buzzed, on top of being horny and frustrated. Given what I know now, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing.
I came in late that night, after 1AM. I entered the house quietly, trying to keep from alerting dad. He was waiting up for me though and yelled for me to get my ass in the den as soon as the door was closed behind me. As I approached I could hear the soundtrack from some cable porn movie on the TV, all bad music and moaning, but by the time I got there he'd turned it off. One look at him and I could tell two things. He had been drinking heavily and he was pissed off.
"Where the hell have you been?" he yelled at me. He was swilling Johnny Walker out of a glass, but from the empties nearby it looked like he had started with beer. His eyes were unsteady and his speech a little slurred. Dressed in nothing but worn white cotton boxers, he was slumped loose and beautiful against the leather couch. His construction job and exercise regimen keeps his body fit and muscular and he loves to show it off. In my own inebriated state, I was happy to just drink him in. His thighs were spread wide on the leather couch, causing the fly of his boxers to gape open. There was nothing visible through the gap other than the kinky mound of his pubic hair, but even that was enough to draw my thought to what lurked underneath the thin fabric. Coarse black hair covered his arching pecs and brawny thighs. Through some perfect accident of genetics, his bulging arms have less hair down to the elbow, then his swollen forearms are covered again, down to his strong, thick fingers. Drunk and distracted I approached closer, taking in the view.
"Hey! You listening to me? I asked where the hell you've been."
"Out," I said rudely. I'd finally had enough of his ridicule and his complaints. It wasn't my fault that my mom had walked in on him banging her sister and taken off.
"Who the fuck you think you're talking to, Tyson?" He lilted my name girlishly, in falsetto. "Out with a buncha your faggoty-assed private school friends. Who was it? Scott and Mason, I bet. Hope you at least got a blow job offa those two pansies 'cause they aren't worth a shit otherwise."
Finally my anger broke and I tossed caution to the wind. I was more than a bit buzzed and tired of being put down by him. I wanted to hurt him with my words.
"You got it all wrong, dad. Scott and Tyler aren't fags or queers. I'm the queer."
Saying it out loud made my heart pound. Between that and the beer I'd drunk, I felt dizzy and disoriented.
He looked stunned and licked his lips. I couldn't help but notice how full and sensuous they look. His nostrils flared. Suddenly my mouth opened and lies spilled out. My only real life sexual experience until then was the one time Mason and I played with each other when we were sophomores. We dared each other to put our mouths over each other's cocks. I pretended to hate it so Mason wouldn't see how badly I wanted to go further. So, other than an inch or two of cock in my mouth I was a total fucking virgin but instead of telling him that I reeled out every sexual fantasy I had, placing myself at the center of them as an active, willing participant.
Now it was my turn to be shocked, because I could see his cock poking from the leg of his underwear, thickening as I told him lies. The head was covered in foreskin with just the piss slit exposed. A shiny pearl of pre-cum shone on the tip. Further lies fell from my mouth. I bragged about my skill as a cocksucker and a champion piece of ass. I told him how the swim team and gymnastic coaches abuse me after school and how they've promised the football coaches they can fuck me too. I lied blatantly. Before I lied to hurt him. Now I lied to turn him on.
"Swim-Coach says I've got the best technique he's ever seen. He says if I can swim as good as I suck cock, I'll be in the Olympics," I lied.
I looked and even more of his cock was showing, pinched between his boxers and leg. His foreskin is stretched thin over the head and a slick of viscous shiny drool is smeared on his thigh. I want so much to lick it up.
I opened my mouth to lie some more, to make him harder, but before I could say another word he struggled to his feet and slapped me hard. White light exploded in my head and the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the floor in front of him, my ears ringing.
I remember what happened next as clearly as if it were happening to me now.
I look up at dad from my position on the floor. Wobbling on unsteady legs, he is glaring down at me with his brow furrowed and his face creased in anger. Even now, through the ringing in my ears, all I can think about is how sexy he is with a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw. Then I notice that his eyes are glittering with unshed tears. I have been punished and spanked before, but he has never hit me that hard or in anger. His expression breaks a little.
"Tyson," he says, "Oh, God, I'm sorry that I hit you. I don't think we should talk about this right now. I'm messed up and...uh, missing your mom...and I wasn't thinking. I don't want to hurt you, Tyson. My thinking is all messed up right now. Just go to bed and we'll forget about tonight."
I use his legs to pull myself to my knees. I am close in front of him, my chin just below the loosely gathered opening of his boxers. Placing my right hand on his leg and slowly move it up his thigh, I look into his eyes as I do it. I don't stop at his boxers. Instead I reach inside the leg and grasp the dangling cock I find there, still asking mutely with my eyes for everything that follows. He reaches down with his right hand as if to push me away, but I catch it with my left and pull it to me, popping his middle and ring fingers into my mouth and sucking on them. While I squeeze and tug on his cock with my right, I look into his eyes and caress his fingers with my tongue, placing my lips on his wedding ring and licking around it, lubricating underneath it with my saliva. I grip the flat gold band with my teeth, the symbol of his union with my mother, and slide it down and off his finger. I spit it under the couch, out of his sight.
"Let me suck your cock, Dad," I beg. "I've wanted to for so long."
Lifting the leg of his boxers, I pull his cock to my lips and milk it with my hand, licking and sucking at the bounty of pre-cum that oozes from the tip, spreading it on my lips in a shiny gloss. I make a fine point of my tongue and insert it into the tip before removing it and smacking my lips. His eyes never leave mine.
He looks at me, stunned, and then collapses back on the couch, his legs spread wide. I reach through the fly of his boxers and expose his cock and balls, then let them hang free. His balls are plump, each larger than a chicken egg, and they move slowly inside the hairy sac with a secret motion of their own, rolling and contracting within. His penis, which I have imagined like this so many times, thick and vein covered, hangs down to the surface of the couch cushion then extends toward me. A steady stream of sticky clear fluid runs from it. I reach down and gather the cock drool on my fingers and bring it to my mouth, licking it off. The shaft grows thicker and longer, the drag from the sofa cushion pulling the skin back, exposing more of the head. The spill of pre-cum replenishes around it. Before I can reach for the puddle again, Dad twists his fingers in my hair and draws my head down so I can get it straight from the source.
I lift the shaft in my hand, weighing it before bringing it to my mouth. Dad watches silently. Puckering my lips, I kiss the piss slit and leave them there, letting his fluids drip into my mouth and run over my tongue. Leaning back, I masturbate the growing rod, watching the skin cover the tip then pull snug behind the flange of the big head. His foreskin fascinates me, the way it connects in folds to the cleft of on the underside of his cock, the way it leaves the head slick and gleaming when it is pulled back, the brash, masculine odor that gathers underneath.
He seems to know what I'm thinking, because he says, "Your goddamn mother had you cut when you were born. Didn't even tell me she was doing it. Stick your tongue inside the skin. Yeah, baby. Just like that."
His cock throbs and bounces in my hand; the head expands as it inflates with blood and becomes shiny as polished steel. A strong scent wafts from it and I become dizzy again, so affected am I by the pheromonal power of the smell. My nose tingles and unconsciously I moan, my mouth filling with saliva. Pavlov's cocksucker, ready for a meal.
I place the glans in my mouth, the curve of the bulbous knob a perfect fit. My palate rests over the top like a purpose-made container designed to cup my Dad's cock. I lap gently and the bottom with my tongue and am rewarded with a burst of pre-cum filling my mouth.
"Oh, yeah. Suck on it faggot," Dad says. I am taken aback by his use of that word, but he moans, "Yeah, baby, suck Daddy's dick," and my reservations go away.
I suck as if life itself is contained inside it and, in a very real way it is. My life spurted from this cock and it only seems natural that I worship it in return. I begin to rock back and forth on my hands and knees sliding up and down on it, nothing separating him from me but a thin layer of slippery saliva. Every time the head slips from my mouth the flange rubs the inside of my puffy lips, a sensation that drives me wild. Everything about this is the fulfillment of my every erotic dream.
"Go down on it," he says. "Get it deeper."
I try but with out much success. When he hits the back of mouth it sets off my gag reflex and I start choking. Even when I am able to suppress it, the knob rests against the opening of my throat like an oversized cork, too big to fit. Even when I go as deep as I can, there is still a vast expanse of cock left untouched, not stimulated. Thick veins pulse along the shaft, standing out like ropes. I balance on my knees and wrap both my hands around it, sliding the skin back and forth.
This seems to piss him off, as he says, "I can jerk the damn thing off; I want some fuckin' throat action." Then in a gruff and nasty tone he says the one thing that nobody wants to hear during sex, "Hell, your momma sucks better cock than you do."
Humiliated, I attack it as if getting further down on it is my goal in life. At that moment it is. I want to make him feel good, pleasure him with my mouth. I want to give my Dad the best blow-job he's ever had. I pummel the back of my throat against it, as if force alone can take it deeper inside me. It fails every time.
With a sigh he pulls away from me. At first I am sure it is over, sure that I have failed. He made me ask for what I wanted then now he's taking it away. But then he elevates himself on the sofa back and shucks his underwear away. His cock levitates inches above the leather like a magic trick, neither soft nor hard but afloat. It is larger than I imagined, not yet fully hard, but thick and covered with veins. The head is still coated partway with foreskin and dripping clear slag like a faucet.
With a deep sigh, he sinks back in the cushions and spreads his legs, giving me even better access. "Is this what you want," he asks. "Are you SURE this is what you want? If this is what you want, you better be sure."
"Fuck my throat, Daddy. Teach me to take your cock. I want to take it all." With that I thrust my head down until his cock hits the back of my throat. I want to gag, but pull away before I do.
His voice gets stern and demanding. "You want this down your throat, bitch?" he asks. I look up and nod, then impale myself on it again. No matter how hard I try, even after I quell my gag response, his cock will go no deeper than my mouth. His cock is only wet a third of the way when I look.
So I suck his balls, pushing each orb in one at a time till my cheeks bulge like a chipmunk's and his pubic hair scrapes my mouth. I kiss the head. I lick the shaft. I do what I can when what I really want to do is seemingly impossible. Every once in a while I try again, aiming my mouth at his cock and falling short. Now he's fully hard and his cock points up at an angle, the foreskin pulled back to expose a plum-sized head. Erect, he looks like a fertility God; hairy, beautiful, with a thick prong that juts from his groin like an iron bar. His fat cock-head must hit my throat a hundred times before he slaps me again, not to hurt but to distract me from my failing goal.
Dad pushes my head back and says, "Open your mouth as wide as you can." I open as if yawning, the corners of my mouth stretching painfully. He places his hands on either side of my head, holding it firmly. "Now say 'Aahhh" like you're at the doctor's office.
I am panting by this point, but I say "Aaahhhh" like a trouper and with one jerk he pulls my head down and over his shaft, filling my throat with cock. I feel like I am choking but he just says "Oh, God yeah. That feels so fucking good." He pushes me off, but before I can complain or cough a solid pull from him buries even more cock deep in my gullet. "Damn, baby. See? You're a fuckin' natural!"
Once again he pushes my head back and this time there are thick streams of throat mucus connecting my mouth to his cock. The entry was so rough I can't speak; my vocal cords are bruised. His cock is shiny with spit, but even now only halfway.
"Look at me," he snaps, and my eyes flick upward from his swollen cock to his eyes. He smiles, but it holds no concern. It is only the smirk of a predator to his prey. His voice is loud, rough, demanding.
"You wanted this so it's feedin' time, bitch!" With this he pulls again and I am impaled, feeling like I will never breathe or speak again. "Look at me, I said!" I look over his hairy chest to his dark eyes and he holds me there. "This is what you've been wantin' isn't it?" he asks. His cock feels like it is tearing through my throat, like I am drowning on dry land, but still I nod 'yes'. "That's what I thought," he said, and spits clear saliva on my face. "Then take it, bitch." He pumps into me unmercifully, ignoring the choking noises I can't seem to control.
Once again he pulls me, panting and coughing, off his thick prong, "This time we're goin' for the goddamn gold and don't you look away "he says, and pulls me down full force. I feel his cock hit the back of my throat. I feel my throat stretch wide, packed with his meat, but all I can see are his eyes calmly looking into mine. "Look down, cocksucker." I look down to confirm what my stretched lips already know. My dad's big cock is buried in my throat and my lips are against his pubic hair. He pumps my head over his prick as if it's no more than a foam rubber appliance or a hollow melon, created to get him off.
So I balance on all fours, my movements directed by his hands, rocking back and forth like a mechanical toy. Suddenly I start to gag and cough again and fight him a little, trying to get back under control. He pushes me off and slaps me, hard.
"Cut it out, faggot. Relax your throat and hold your breath. You're on the goddamn swim-team aren't you?" Without waiting for a response he stabs into me again, starting a pattern where he pulls me off all the way each time and then thrusts in full length. It's painful, it's overwhelming, and it's exactly what I want. My esophagus rides the ridges of his cock all the way down on each stroke, feeling them massage the walls of my throat.
I am still dressed in my khaki dress pants and through this whole thing I haven't touched my own cock. I try to balance on one hand and reach for my zipper but he kicks my hand from underneath me, making me fall until my nose is smashed flat against his groin and my lips feel like they are tearing.
"Keep your hands off your cock. This is all about me," he says.
Suddenly inspired, he pushes me off and tosses me upside down on the couch so my head hangs over the edge and down. This time he kneels on the floor and fucks my face with no concern for me at all. I suck in a breath when I can, but that is not his concern. With each stroke his balls rub my nose, bump against my eyes. At some point my thoughts fade and the whole process becomes automatic. I no longer struggle or fight to breathe. My face and my throat have become one long tube for him to plunder at his will and at his own pace. Dad notices the change and makes his thrusts faster and harder, burying himself deep and grinding against my lips.
My entire being is in his cock. It determines when I breathe. When he graces me by burying it deep, my tongue goes into action, in the hopes of giving him that much more pleasure. My orgasm builds so subtly I don't recognize it when it comes. He is fucking my face and it feels so good. I am giving my dad pleasure. He is telling me it makes him happy, even as he calls me "cocksucker", "whore" and "bitch" while he does it. His own words seem to egg him on, make him pump harder, meaner. My entire consciousness is reduced to his cock thrusting over and over into my throat; no other thoughts intrude. Suddenly I can't contain myself and I have a spontaneous orgasm in my pants, squealing around the invader inside me. He feels it and smirks, liking the sensation, still treating my face like in empty vessel. He grips my head and pounds it. All I can feel is the hard veined cock slamming into me over and over.
"Little bitch likes getting his face fucked, huh?" he sneers. "Got a goddamn bitch- clit in your throat that needs to be rubbed. Shootin' all over yourself with a big cock ramming your throat, just like a fucking faggot."
It no longer has anything to do with me. I am just a hole that makes him feel good. He stops and pulls back, watching me strain my lips toward his cock, inviting it back in. I am still hard, wanting more.
His balls are pulled up tight against his shaft, one on either side of his massive rod. Cum spurts from his cock so hard I can hear it, splashing my chin, my lips, and my nose. One more spurt and my face is covered.
Then his cock head is in my mouth and that too is filled with semen. After that his cock is deep again and I can feel it pulse in my throat. He pulses there for a moment then does the whole thing in reverse. He fills my mouth, and then shoots again on my face. Just before the pulses stop, he aims his cock upward and lets cum drip over the sides like a candle in an Italian restaurant.
He looks at me steadily and says, "Now turn over and lick it all off, cunt."
The next morning I sit at the kitchen table, fighting the knowledge of what happened. He was drunk. I was drunk. I know that I sucked my own dad off. It was a dream come true but now I am afraid of how he will react. I have no idea what he remembers or how he feels about it. I'm shoveling down a bowl of Corn Flakes, hoping I will be up and gone long before he gets up. I freeze at the sound of him entering the kitchen. "Have a good night's sleep, dad?" I ask. My voice is raspy from how rough he was on my throat, but I plan to claim I'm catching a cold if he asks.
"Oh, yeah. Best sleep I've had in a long time."
I barely have time to swallow my Corn Flakes before he is buried once again balls deep in my throat. He holds my ears in his hands and tilts my face up so he can look down at me with my lips stretched wide around his cock. He humps my face a few times, looking steadily into my eyes.
"Suck it, faggot. We've got all day."