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.
Dad's been gentle and solicitous of me since the session with him and Tiny. By the time it was over, just like Tiny promised, I was crying and moaning with pleasure at the same time. So Dad has been giving me some rest and recovery to let the swelling and pain around my hole recede. Every few days he'll dip his little finger in to make sure I can squeeze tight, but otherwise he's left me unmolested and quite, quite needy. Now that I've gotten taste for it, a week without his cock in my ass has been a huge frustration. Frankly I am climbing the walls in want of a fuck, but all my offers have been rejected.
Not that I've gotten off scott-free of course. He still expects me bright and early to take care of his morning wood and full bladder. Even though my throat is still sore he's willing to use it and so every morning I find myself deep-throating him shortly after his alarm goes off, working him up to blow a load in my mouth. Afterwards he suggests that maybe some liquid would help wash it down and then pisses in my mouth as if he is doing me a favor. Well he is when you get right down to it, since I like it, but we both know he is thrilled and fascinated that I provide this service for him. As King of the castle he now takes as his due that I, his lowly serf, will act as urinal for him.
He has taken to drinking beer and watching TV in the evenings while I kneel between his thighs, his tube nestled snugly in my mouth, waiting to drink his waste without him even having to call for it. One of the other new additions to his behavior is to whip out his cock while he is driving and announce, "I gotta go," with full expectation that I will lean over and relieve the problem. I always do, even though I know that this act has been witnessed by passing truckers. In fact, Dad's burning need to piss seems to often hit him when he is driving parallel to the cab of a big rig. He honks the horn to get their attention. If he's positive we've got an audience he makes sure the flow is visible between my mouth and his bone. It's garnered us several thumb's up and blasts from air horns and even some frantic motioning to let the other driver join in. Dad sometimes makes as if he is going to drop by a busy truck stop and offer my services, but he never makes the turn. I haven't decided whether his proposal is a threat or a promise.
Another part of our routine is the last blowjob of the night, followed by my licking his asshole till he drifts off. Really, he's developed more bedtime rituals than a toddler!
But I digress.
So, anyway, tonight it's business as usual when he stops by and pops a finger in my ass while I am doing homework on my bed. I have taken to wearing no underwear other than a jockstrap (he doesn't care about my dick and jockstraps leave the back exposed) and shorts held together entirely by Velcro in the hope that he will pronounce me good to go and mount me then and there. He still isn't taking me up on what is so clearly on offer, though. He must notice that not only is my asshole tight as a fist but it is also greased up and ready. He doesn't mention it, of course, since we don't discuss my preparations, like lubing and the multiple enemas that have become part of my daily ritual. The first time he pulled out with a dirty cock he informed me that the next time it happened I was going to clean him off anyway, so I take care to always be clean and ready.
"Ty," he says, using my name for the first time in a long while, "why don't you get cleaned up and dressed so we can go have some fun? Maybe later you'll get that itched scratched. You've been drooling for it for days."
He unzips and exposes himself, saying "I gotta go" before letting loose with his stream. I barely miss taking it full in the face before I get my mouth in position, not that it would bother either of us. It wouldn't be the first time I've gotten a face full of his hot piss.
After dealing with that pleasant chore, I rush off to the shower to clean off the chlorine from my earlier swim, brush my teeth, and rinse out with another bag of water from my recently purchased enema kit, in the hopes of "getting lucky" later on. By the time I emerge from the bathroom Dad has even laid out clothes for me, my school "uniform" of gray slacks, white shirt, a red tie, and a blue blazer with the school crest on it. This doesn't really surprise me since I know that in some way defiling an attendee of that exclusive school, as he did my mother before me, is part of the thrill for him. As if banging his own son weren't enough of a kink, throwing in a bit of class resentment of his own adds to his fun. Hey, if it gets me fucked tonight I'd dress in a gorilla suit, so I put them on.
Dressed and ready, before heading downstairs I check myself in the mirror, making sure that my curly, dark hair is tamed and all the seams and tucks are in the right place. A smear of Chap Stick on my lips to make them soft and just a little bit shiny and I look like a choir-boy, not even a particularly naughty one. All dressed up like this; you'd never even guess that a curse word, much less a hard cock, has ever crossed my lips. Practically skipping, I head down the stairs.
You can imagine my surprise when I enter the living room to find four construction workers there and Dad videoing my entrance with his digital camcorder.
"Ah, here's Ty," Dad says. He looks at me through the viewfinder, still recording. "Mr. Stone and his sons do sub-contract plumbing for us on some of our jobs. I've been thinking that maybe we need to keep a plumbing company on retainer. This is sort of an audition, to see if they can fill all of Vitale Construction's needs."
Still a bit thrown by the whole thing, I step forward to offer a handshake and introduce myself. The camera should be the only clue I need to figure out what is going on here, but I think, "Surely not. He doesn't know these guys that well." I really can be a bit dense sometimes. They just look at my offered hand blankly, as if they've never seen one before.
I'm looking them over surreptitiously, since I've discovered that men usually don't like it when other guys check them out. What the hell is dad thinking? Why is he making a video of them? Surely he isn't planning to put them in a TV commercial! I mean, to someone of my tastes they have a certain rough appeal, but is Susie Homemaker going to look at these guys and feel comfortable letting them into her house? Not unless she wants a run-down of the latest NASCAR standings or a teenage daughter with a bun in the oven and a wife-beater for a new husband.
Papa Stone is built like a fireplug, shorter than any of his sons. A hairy fireplug that likes his beer a bit too much, but with muscles curving from his neck and massive forearms. He looks like a guy you'd want to have on speed-dial in case you ever needed a piano lifted. The last time his face met a razor had to have been several days ago and I'm betting that deodorant hasn't been near him since before that. His jeans are worn to threads in places. A quick glance tells me that the denim over his grapefruit sized bulge, hiding in the shadow cast by his belly, is worn most of all. He must spend a lot of time rubbing it.
His oldest son is more appealing, though again a hairy mother. He has a full, dark brown, almost black, beard; he seems to shave a small strip under his beard to create a clear space between his chest and facial hair. He's in a tank top, and fur seems to cover his upper arms, shoulders, and back. He at least has sort of a smile on his face, though it turns up a bit at one side. There is something smug about him, confident and pleased with himself.
The middle son has much better grooming than the rest and a military bearing. His hair is cut in a flat-top and a fading tattoo, USMC, peeks out from the sleeves of his polo shirt, stretched over thick biceps. No longer in the service, he has grown a moustache and goatee as sharply sculpted as a formal hedge. It lends his face a demonic aspect, one he clearly cultivates. He looks like he's just smelled something bad, since his face is creased in seemingly permanent displeasure. My first thought is that this guy is a born prick. He has the face and build of a drill sergeant, weaned on vinegar and with a fondness for pulling the wings off flies. He stares back at me, challenging, more than a little scary. When our eyes meet something inside me flinches in recognition and my asshole tightens as if to defend against an invader.
Baby Stone is the tallest. Unless Papa has a newer wife at home, he needs to look into a paternity test, since his youngest son looks nothing like the rest. He doesn't look like the brightest of the group either, with a big goofy grin on his face. He's wearing a pair of denim overalls with no shirt and has red hair in a mullet, with sideburns extending almost to the bottoms of his ears. I'm not sure if this is supposed to be retro-cool or if he missed the last two decades. He is pale and freckled, in keeping with his red hair, and not as hairy as his brothers. Tiny pink nipples show on either side of the overall's bib, so broad is his chest. What throws me off most about Baby is that when I check him out, he is checking me out in return. He likes what he sees I think, since he winks at me and grins even bigger. Big and stupid, I think, there are much worse things.
I look at Dad, questioning him with my eyes. "What the hell is going on here?" I ask silently.
"He's all yours, boys," Dad says.
Sometimes it takes me while to catch on, but finally I'm getting the picture. I try to back away but, before you can say "well, if gang-banging the owner's son is what we have to do to get the job, I guess we'll just have to suffer through," the assembled group has thrown my jacket in the corner, ripped my shirt off with buttons flying, and stripped me to my jockstrap. Less than a minute later I'm on my back on top of a leather ottoman with my legs folded and my hands bound together behind my knees with my red school tie. Papa Stone is slapping my belt into his palm over and over. Dad circles the room, catching all the action with his camera.
Papa reaches between my buttocks with one of his hairy Popeye forearms and probes a bit with his finger. He pushes in then pulls his finger out, surprised. "Holy shit. The little faggot's got his asshole all greased up. Guess that's just in case somebody comes along and wants to fuck his ass." He gives me a couple of good slaps across the butt with my belt. He lifts the front of my jockstrap to see underneath. "Fucking queer's hard as a rock. I say we give the little bitch what he's asking for."
Zippers sizzle down and buckles clink open, shoes are kicked away, and in minutes there is a pile of discarded clothing on the floor and four nude men surround me.
Dad is still filming it all. Each of them react differently to the camera. Papa stretches his fat, average length cock to make it longer for the camera. My guess about his deodorant use was generous; I don't think he believes in it at all. The oldest son struts a bit, circling me like he can't decide where to start, pointing his fat joint first at my head then my tail. The middle son preens openly, flexing his muscles, pulling on his angry red prick and fondling his balls, sneering down at me. Baby is smiling like he's been given a balloon at the circus, his long, thin cock bouncing in happiness at the toy he's been given.
"Uh, Dad," I say. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Shut the fuck up, bitch," the middle son says, swooping in immediately and stabbing my face with his cock. He rides me hard; grinding against my face, deliberately making it hurt. He is punishing me with his cock and I squeal in pain every time he grinds against me, mashing my lips hard against my teeth until I taste blood. I was right to be afraid of him.
Subtlety must not be a family trait, since Baby lands on my ass with the same force. He must have learned to fuck on a trampoline, since that is how he treats my ass. He piledrives my hole with each stroke, slamming me deep into the ottoman so when he rises I bounce back up and stay impaled. The ottoman is on casters and moves back and forth between the two brothers. They find a rhythm and start to play a game of cock hockey with my bound body, a hard slap from Baby's groin sending my face careening onto his older brother's iron prick. A return volley from the military brother pushes my ass back onto his brother's rod. Eventually they tire of this game and lock forearms together over me, matching thrusts so they both slam home at the same time.
"C'mon, boys," Papa says. "Save some pussy for the rest of us."
He needn't worry. With a pussyboy strapped down between them, there's plenty to go around. And when I get tired the middle brother is more than happy to wield my belt in his hard hands, driving me on to make sure my enthusiasm doesn't wane.
Soon the players have changed. Papa's cock is bitter with sweat and his ass rank and unwashed. I take care of that with my tongue. Soon the ottoman is turning me like a carousel between the four men. I'm never sure when I am turned whether my mouth will be met by cock or ass. It hardly matters, since any cock was pulled wet out of my hole on the last go round. Eventually I lose track and the only difference to me is whether I yawn open for a prick or extend my tongue for an asshole, I no longer know or care who they belong to. The oldest son has scrubbed my face raw with his furry buttcheeks and it all feels the same.
Finally a volley of cum shots is my reward and I think finally it is over.
Dad asks, "Is that the best you can do?" and the games start again, with a meaner edge this time. I am lifted bodily and passed around, swung back and forth, held upside down. In their powerful arms the schoolyard insult "sit on it and rotate" becomes very real. The opposite is possible too and my mouth is suspended, rotating over thrusting cocks, my face getting redder as the blood rushes to my head. If they drop me they are rewarded with especially deep throat and I am punished with the belt if I scrape their groin with my teeth. They begin to play games of skill, trying to "thread a moving needle" and see who can hit dead center in my asshole with a swinging belt. The middle son is a crack shot and soon he is wielding it for all of them so they can experience how great if feels when a boy screams around your buried cock.
Dad moves round and round the room, recording it all.
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Later on Dad and I are having a little screening of tonight's footage. Dad has become a camera buff these days, recording my "greatest hits," as he calls them. I like to watch them too. I've seen myself take Tiny's massive tool up my ass for the first time more often than I've seen the opening credits of "Seinfeld." I practically yodel when Tiny hits bottom. Well, until Dad shuts me up with his cock, anyway.
Dad's sitting on the couch, reviewing the video, his hard-on like a pipe running down his leg. Despite my rough treatment at the hands of Stone and sons I still want him, but any move of mine to help him take care of his erection has been rebuffed. We're relaxed and talking like we rarely do anymore, calmly discussing my performance and theirs. I'm sitting next to him nude. The first time I sat down I leaked a puddle of semen onto the leather. Dad had me lick it up and then I went and got a towel to sit on. I didn't mind the cum chaser at all, but you have to take care of nice furniture.
Stone and Sons Plumbing has left the building, sweaty and, I would hope, satisfied. Two orgasms each and, as a special favor to Dad, a circle jerk onto my face by the sons ought to have taken the edge off at least. Poor Papa Stone looked a little worn out afterwards, but I think he was pleased. By the time he was finished with my tongue he was cleaner than he was when he walked in and definitely smelled better. He gave me a slap on the ass, stuck two fingers in my hole, had me suck them clean, then shook Dad's hand, and said, "Pleasure doing business with you." I'm sure the signed contract in his back pocket helped his mood. His oldest son looked smug and pleased; as well he should, given that he shot a bucket of semen in my guts. That man is a walking cum gusher, shooting so hard and so much you can actually hear the squirts. He shoots jizz like other men piss. I don't know what the middle son thought, since he has a perpetual scowl on his face, but he didn't have any performance problems. He's a mean bastard and seemed to be happiest when he could make me cry out. I'm sure I still have his handprints on my ass, next to the red streaks he left with my belt. He sat on my face and rode my tongue like a bronc-rider, mashing down as if to smother me. Strangely, he was my favorite. Baby Stone had a bang-up time so to speak and winked at me on his way out, right after writing his phone number on my thigh. I'm so glad he wasn't hurt, slamming into my ass like he did. If Dad doesn't come through tonight, I may well be dropping by Stone and Sons soon for a replay; hanging around in the hope they will work me over again.
Before leaving, Papa Stone cradled his belly. "Hey, Vince. Where's the head? I gotta piss like a racehorse."
Dad pointed at me and said, "Right in front of you." All four unzipped again and I took care of their bladders before they left laughing.
"Watch this," Dad demands, pointing at the TV. "This was my favorite part."
There I am on the screen, still with my hands tied behind my raised knees. The family Stone has placed me so I am lying on top of Baby with his long, thin prick thrusting in my ass. The older brothers are sword fighting in my mouth, though every once in a while one of them will back off so the other can have full access for a while. Papa Stone is looking bored and left out, a fifth wheel. Suddenly inspired, he swoops in behind me and thrusts his fat cock into me alongside his youngest son's, both of them fucking away at the same time. Suddenly violated like that, I open my mouth to yell but the two brothers on either side of my face thrust in simultaneously and cut off my cry. Dad freezes the frame. There I am on the TV, double penetrated at both ends.
"Man. That's something," Dad says. "I'd like to try that some time. Think you could take me and Tiny?"
"Jesus, Dad. I don't know," I say. "I'd have to work up to it or the two of you would rip me down the middle." I place my hand on the rigid lump against his thigh, squeezing it. "If you want me to I'll give it a try, though."
He starts the video over again from the beginning A few skillful manipulations of the remote and he's flipping back and forth between three stored images. The first is of me entering the room dressed as if I'm on my way to church, looking chaste and innocent. In the second I am hardly visible for all the cocks being thrust into me at once. In the last I am still trussed like a rodeo calf, my face dripping with semen, cum even running out of my nose thanks to the gusher the oldest Stone son released in my mouth. My tongue is busy trying to lap it all up. There's quite a contrast between the pictures, from clean-cut innocent to cock receptacle to cum guzzling whore.
"Did you like my little surprise tonight?" Dad asks.
"Did you like watching it?" I respond. I did like it, but I want to make sure he's not upset before I admit it. He's the one who that set up this surprise gang-bang, but I'm not sure what he thinks about it now that it's played out.
He pauses a while and places a hand on my thigh, squeezing hard. "Yeah, I did. I like watching other men use you, treat you like that. And you enjoy it so much, you fuckin' whore." He smiles. "That night you came home and told me that all your coaches and teammates were fucking you, it turned me on. The idea of all those men...doing that to you was...exciting. Hot stuff. I'm glad it was a lie, though. I'm glad I was the one to take your cherry."
"I'm glad it was you too, Dad. I like it with other guys too, but you're my favorite. You're my Daddy." I lean over and kiss his cock through his pants. "I gotta tell you something, though. If you don't fuck me right now I'm gonna go crazy. Those guys were fine, but I don't care how many of them there are, they're all just warm-up acts for my Daddy. You hit all the right spots. Nobody does it like you."
He turns and smiles at me, then his face gets angry. He's putting himself in the mood. "There's no way in hell I'm gonna fuck your nasty ass with it packed full of other men's ball-juice, you little cumslut. Put your hands under your ass and get rid of it. Now, goddamnit!"
I cup my hands underneath me and expel the multiple loads, filling my palms. Getting it from underneath is clumsy and it runs down my arms. "What do you want me to do with it Sir?"
"What the fuck do you think I want you to do with it, bitch? Eat it. All of it." He watches while I do as he orders. "Thank me for your dinner on the town, cumwhore." I mutter my thanks; even I am a little sickened by the huge volume of cum and ass juice.
"Now let's get you ready for dessert. Stand up and bend over. Show me that slut pussy."
My cock is hardening at the sound of his voice, the tone of it. His cock is the one that made me and I love to serve it. Somehow his calling me names is part of it, part of the thrill and the joy. I'd enjoy it anyway, but worshipping my Dad's cock is even better when he reminds me that I am lucky that he allows me to do so, when he makes me beg for it.
I stand and bend over, pulling my buttocks apart. Dad steps behind me and I hear the rasp of this zipper going down. Finally, I think. Finally. He pops the head in and I gasp. The perfect cock. The perfect fit. I move back on it, but he slaps my ass, hard. On top of the marks left by the Stones, it stings badly.
"Did I tell you to move, bitch? Did I give you permission to fuck yourself on it?"
"No Sir. I'm sorry Sir." I want it so bad I can't stand it. It's all I can do not to push back and take it all, no matter what punishment would follow.
He holds me in that position for what seems like forever, until I feel warmth spread through my bowels. Daddy is pissing in me, rinsing out the other men's cum so he can fuck me and I'll be only his. His bladder must be the size of a basketball, because soon I feel distended and beyond full. He keeps going till my belly is swollen and I can barely hold it in.
I gasp in pain. "Oh, thank you Sir. Thank you for cleaning me out."
"You better thank me, bitch." He pulls out and gives my ass a hard, stinging slap to make my hole snap closed. "You better keep that mess in till you get to the bathroom. Spill a drop and you're gonna lick it up before I let you dump the rest."
I start moving toward the bathroom, my legs held close together, walking like a geisha. His piss is working in my guts, giving me wicked stomach cramps, bending me over in pain. I struggle to hold it in. He stops me before I get to the hall, enjoying my discomfort.
"Hey, faggot. That was a great deal I signed tonight. You're still MY fuckhole, but now Stone and Sons have visitation rights. I'm gonna start having you entertain some guys. A bunch of guys. Your ass is on the table now in all my negotiations. I'm gonna offer your mouth and ass around just like the cigars I gave out after you were born!" He laughs. "Tonight was just a sample. Now get rid of that load and I want you on my bed, face down, ass up in the air in two minutes flat. I'm gonna wear your ass out! Oh, and bring some clothespins from the laundry room. Those lazy fuckers neglected your titties. Now go!"
I rush to the bathroom, a little worried about what is to follow. But thank God my vacation from his cock is over!