Chapter 2: The Real Fun Begins
Rick loomed over Michael, breathing heavily. The air was sharp with sweat and desire. “Strip,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and low. “Everything. Let me see what you think you’re offering.”
Michael scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling not with fear but with a frantic eagerness as he pulled his shirt over his head, shucked his jeans, and kicked away his underwear. He stood before his father, lean and pale against the dark room, his own erection bobbing stiffly.
“Look at you,” Rick sneered, his eyes raking over the younger body. “Posturing little slut. You think you’re ready for me? You think that college-boy body can take what I need to give?” He stepped closer, the heat of him radiating against Michael’s skin. “Calling me ‘Dad’ while you dream of my cock. That’s some fucked-up shit, kid.”
Michael flinched, but his eyes stayed locked on Rick’s, burning.
For a second, the fury in Rick’s face wavered. A crack appeared. “Mikey,” he said, the name softer, almost hesitant. “This talk… the names. Is that… is it okay?”
Michael’s answer was instant, a desperate whisper. “I love it. Please. Don’t stop. I want you rough. I want you hard. Like you were in that video with Mom and that guy. I want that.”
The crack sealed over, replaced by something darker, more consuming. A green light blazing in the shadows of Rick’s mind. The permission was absolute.
“Then you’re just a whore,” Rick stated, his voice flat and cold. “My whore. On your knees.”
Michael dropped.
“Crawl.”
Michael crawled on the rough carpet, following Rick’s bare feet as he stepped back.
“Lick my feet, you desperate cocksucker. Show me how nasty you are.”
Michael bent his head, his tongue swiping over the arch, between the toes, the salt and musk filling his mouth. He moaned, his own cock leaking onto the floor.
“Pathetic,” Rick spat. “Now get up here.” He raised an arm, revealing the dense, damp thicket of his armpit. “Worship it. Inhale it. You wanted a real man? This is what a real man smells like, you little bitch.”
Michael pressed his face into the dark hair, breathing deeply, licking the salty skin, intoxicated by the raw, animal scent of his father. His mind swam with submission.
“Should’ve fucked you months ago,” Rick growled, his hand fisting in Michael’s hair again. “Saw you staring in the shower before you left for school. Saw that hungry look. Picked the wrong one to wait for. Should’ve bent you over the fucking bathroom counter and ruined you for those college boys right then.”
Before Michael could reply, Rick bent, hooked an arm under his legs, and hauled him up, throwing him over a broad, muscular shoulder like a sack of grain. Michael gasped, the world tipping, his face pressed against the solid muscle of Rick’s back. Rick’s massive, still-hard cock slapped against Michael’s stomach as he walked, a thick, insistent pointer leading the way down the dark hall to the bedroom.
He threw Michael onto the unmade bed. The sheets smelled like Rick—clean cotton, old spice, and man. Michael bounced once, scrambling back as Rick climbed on top, his weight immense and crushing in the best way.
Michael’s hands came up, fingers sinking into the dense pelt of hair covering Rick’s chest. He let out a shaky sigh. “I just… I just wanted to get good.At school. I heard you. Through the walls. With Mom. The sounds you made her make. I wanted to learn how to… to be good enough.For you. So maybe you’d want me like that.”
Rick stared down, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he leaned in and kissed him, not with tenderness, but with a hungry, consuming possession. His tongue plunged into Michael’s mouth, claiming it. When he broke away, he moved down, kneeling over Michael’s face.
“Suck it. Clean it. Get it wet for where it’s going.”
Michael obeyed, taking the thick head back into his mouth, lavishing the shaft with his tongue, nuzzling the heavy balls. He was lost in the taste, the weight, the sheer reality of it.
“You’re a horny little slut, aren’t you?” Rick grunted, watching his son service him with zeal. “Admit it.”
“Yes,” Michael gasped around his cock. “I’m a slut. Your slut.”
“Beg for it.”
Michael pulled off, strings of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening head. “Please, Rick. Please fuck me. I need it. I’ve needed it forever.”
Rick rolled him over onto his stomach. He paused, looking at the younger man’s exposed back, the curve of his ass. He’d been rough, but he wasn’t stupid. This needed preparation. He wasn’t a monster, just a man with a very specific set of desires and a very large cock.
“Gonna open you up first,” he muttered, more to himself. “Gotta make sure you can take it.”
He spread Michael’s cheeks, revealing the tight, pink furl. He leaned in and, without ceremony, pressed his tongue flat against it.
Michael cried out, his hands fisting the sheets. The feeling was electric, shocking, intensely intimate. Rick ate his ass with the same focused intensity he did everything else—thoroughly, wetly, his tongue probing and licking, circling the tight ring before pushing insistently inside.
Michael was whimpering, pushing back against his father’s face, his body alight with a shameful, profound pleasure.
After minutes of this, Rick pulled back, slicking two fingers with his own spit. He pressed one against the loosened entrance, and with a steady, relentless pressure, pushed it in to the knuckle.
Michael gasped, his body tightening then forcibly relaxing.
“Breathe out,” Rick commanded, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the filth. He worked the finger slowly, in and out, before adding a second. He scissored them, stretching the resistant muscle, feeling the hot, tight clutch of his son’s body.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Rick breathed, his own cock throbbing against Michael’s thigh. “Gonna feel like a goddamn fist when I get in there.”
He curled his fingers, searching, and found the spot.
Michael jolted as if shocked, a ragged cry tearing from his throat. “Oh, fuck! What is that?”
“Your prostate, you inexperienced little whore,” Rick growled, rubbing the nub deliberately. “That’s where I’m gonna make you scream.” He worked his fingers, stretching, preparing, watching Michael unravel beneath him. The invasion was methodical, necessary, a promise of the brutal penetration to come.
The invasion was methodical, necessary, a promise of the brutal penetration to come. Rick withdrew his slick fingers, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet room. He spat into his own palm, stroking his cock with a rough, slickening grip, his eyes fixed on the flushed and open place between Michael’s ass cheeks.
“Those college boys,” Rick laughed, the sound low and derisive. “They haven’t been treating my horny stepson right at all, have they?” He leaned his weight forward, the broad, plum-colored head of his cock pressing against Michael’s loosened entrance. “But I’ll show you exactly what you’ve been missing.”
He didn’t push. He surged.
Michael screamed, a raw, shattered sound as his body was breached in one relentless, splitting thrust. Rick buried himself to the hilt in a single, shocking plunge, his pelvis slamming flush against Michael’s ass. The burn was instantaneous, a white-hot tear of pain that bled almost instantly into a deep, fulsome pressure that shoved the air from Michael’s lungs.
“Fuck! Daddy, it’s so deep!” Michael choked out, his fingers clawing at the sheets.
“You’re my tight little fucking hole now,” Rick grunted, already pulling back. He didn’t give him time to adjust. He drove back in, setting a punishing, piston-like rhythm. His huge balls swung heavily, smacking obscenely against Michael’s round ass with each violent forward slam. The sound was a wet, rhythmic slap-slap-slap that filled the room, a base counterpoint to Michael’s ragged cries.
“That’s it, take it you fucking whore!” Rick snarled, his hands gripping Michael’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Call me Daddy again. Beg for it.”
“Daddy! Please, Daddy, don’t stop!” Michael wailed, pushing back against the invasion, his voice breaking on a sob of pleasure. “Fuck me harder, please, as hard as you can!”
Rick obliged without mercy. He dominated the space, the air, the very bed. He hauled Michael up by the hair, keeping his cock buried deep, and twisted him onto his back. He shoved Michael’s legs toward his chest, bending him nearly in half, and plunged again, the new angle forcing a different, sharper cry from his son’s throat.
“Such an easy lay,” Rick laughed, breathless but powerful, his sweat dripping onto Michael’s heaving chest. “If I’d known how easy you were, we would’ve been fucking months ago. Right after your mom left. Would’ve kept you home instead of sending you to school.”
He flipped him again, onto his hands and knees, taking him in a brutal doggy style that made the bedframe squeal in protest against the wall. Rick’s pace was inhuman, a relentless, driving hammering that robbed Michael of coherent thought. He was just a vessel for this relentless possession, a babbling mess of “yes” and “more” and “Daddy.”
“You’re nothing but a slut,” Rick growled, his own climax coiling tight in his gut. “A whore for a real man. Not those silly college boys. You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours!” Michael shrieked, the words torn from him. “I’m your slut, Daddy, I’m yours!”
The declaration, the sheer submission, snapped the last thread of Michael’s control. His body convulsed, his untouched cock pulsing and spilling his cum in thick, hot stripes across the rumpled sheets beneath him. He clenched hard around Rick’s driving shaft, milking him through his own violent orgasm.
Rick roared, a guttural, triumphant sound. “That’s it, squeeze me, you perfect fuck-hole!” He pistoned into the clenching, fluttering channel, his rhythm fragmenting into frenzied, shallow slams. His balls tightened, and he buried himself as deep as he could go, unleashing with a massive, shuddering groan.
Heat flooded Michael’s guts, jet after jet of thick cum painting his insides. Rick collapsed forward, his weight pressing Michael into the mattress, both of them slick and heaving. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, leaking proof of what they’d done.
Michael went limp, spent, thinking it was over. Then he felt it—a faint, insistent twitch deep inside him, followed by a gradual, impossible re-hardening. Rick’s cock, still sheathed in his ass, began to swell and lengthen again.
“Christ,” Rick muttered against his shoulder, his voice thick with satiated wonder. “Been so pent up for so fucking long. One round isn’t even gonna scratch the surface.”
Michael grinned into the sheets, a tired, filthy, triumphant smile.
What followed was a sweaty, groaning montage of possession. Rick, fueled by years of starvation, was inexhaustible. He took Michael against the wall in the hallway, pinning him with irresistible strength. He laid him on the cold kitchen countertop, fucking into him with slow, deep rolls of his hips as the dawn light bled through the blinds. He bent him over the arm of the same living room couch where it started, each thrust a possessive claim.
Each time, he finished inside, grunting his release, filling Michael up until cum seeped out around the red, used ring of his ass, dripping down his thighs.
Finally, back in the bedroom, Rick pulled out. He knelt over Michael’s spent face, his re-softening cock shiny with their mixed fluids. “Open,” he commanded, his voice hoarse.
Michael opened his mouth, greedy, his tongue outstretched.
Rick fisted his cock, working himself with rough, quick tugs. “Look at you. My cum-drunk little bitch.” His orgasm this time was still substantial. Thick, pearly strands splashed across Michael’s cheeks, his lips, his tongue. Michael swallowed what he could, licking his lips.
“Fuck, you look good in my cum,” Rick panted, smearing it across Michael’s face with his thumb. “Perfect picture. My personal fucking slut.”