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Man attacked by thugs finds his son one of them
*
This is a true story, as told to me by a friend. Names have been changed to protect identities.
I was about to retire. A couple more years. I was looking forward to it. I was getting tired of teaching. I coached the sports teams and taught physical training at Obaledi College. I had a favorable rating–lost a few, won a few. We were currently on a winning streak, and I hoped that would last so I could go out on a positive note.
Life at home was okay. All but one of our kids were grown and out of the nest. Aaron, our youngest, still lived at home and was about to graduate from Obaledi.
That particular night the wife was in Florida visiting her sick mother, and Aaron was out somewhere with his friends. I drank a couple of beers and fell asleep in the recliner while watching TV.
The first thing I knew, I was waking up to guys grabbing my hands and feet. Before I could come to my senses, they pulled me up out of the chair and threw me on my back on the floor.
When I started to struggle, one of them held a long kitchen knife in front of my face. “See this, Coachie? Ya give us any trouble, yer going to get hurt!”
I looked up. Three men held me down. All were naked, and all wore black hoods over their heads. The speaker was a young man but big. Built. Muscular. Powerful shoulders. big chest. A body-builder.
And he had a hardon, a big one.
I looked from one to the other of those holding me down. Shorter, not as muscular as the speaker–but they were strong enough to hold me. College kids, no doubt, since they knew I was a coach. Probably my own goddamned students.
I forgot to lock the front door. Bastards had come right through it. I saw piles of their clothes around the recliner.
I looked at them hard, searching for something to identify them by since I couldn’t see their faces. The big guy had a silver ring in his cockhead–a piercing, a metal ring right through his piss slit and out the bottom of his cock–ouch!
One of the others had an outie belly-button. Okay, not such a definite identifier, but everybody’s is different. I tried to memorize it. He, too, had a hardon, but his cock wasn’t the size of the big guy’s.
The third one was a typical college-age male–I’ve seen thousands of them in the locker rooms and showers. On his left shoulder was a tomahawk tattoo. Of the three, he was the only one without a hardon, and I got another weird thought: must be the only one not queer. The soft thing swinging between his legs was a hefty one, though–Bet he’s got a baseball bat when he’s hard. Strange things you think when you’re panicked. “Who are you little bastards? I’ll have you expelled for this!”
The big one stuck the knifepoint against my neck. It hurt. Couldn’t tell if he’d drawn blood. “Oh, I don’t think so, Coachie. Story could end up them burglars broke in and left you dead on the floor.”
Shit.
Then the guy with the knife (the damned thing from my own goddamned kitchen drawer) took it and started cutting off my clothes! “Fucking perverts! What in hell are you doing?”
“Gittin’ back a little of our own, Coachie–“
–“Little of your own? Stop this, you goddamned perverts! I’m old enough to be your father!”
“Maybe, but now yer gonna be my wife.” They snickered, and he kept cutting and pulling away my clothes. “Look at that. Wears a jockstrap even around the house.” Two knife cuts, and I was naked. Then they rolled me over onto my belly and spread-eagled me.
Couldn’t believe it. In the autumn of my life, after I had two wives and four children, I was going to be fucked by a man. He spread my legs wider, and although I wasn’t in a crouch, at first I felt like a center with the quarterback behind me.
It was the opposite of a football game though, the quarterback passed something between my legs to me: he sank his cock in my ass. The whole process was very slow, and it hurt like hell. I wanted to yell or struggle, but the bastards would not get the pleasure of hearing me cry out. I gritted my teeth and stood it. I couldn’t move; they held me securely. And there was the knife.
When he was in all the way–felt like the knife was in my guts–he started plowing. My rear end was on fire, and tears ran from my eyes. Torture. Pure torture.
But finally, after what felt like hours, the pain reached a peak, a point where it didn’t get any worse. I could stand it. Maybe I’ll live, after all.
About the time I mercifully got used to the huge thing up my butt, he pulled it out. My body cavity was stretched so wide, I could feel the cool air up my backdoor.
Then he rammed back in, and with my asshole tight around him like a slip-knot, he growled, “Okay, ya big bastard, I’m gonna cum!”
His lunges became truly mind-blowing, and I felt something I never thought I would–a warm fullness in my guts like drinking a hot toddy–the bastard was ejaculating in me, filling me with his sperm!
He Side Escort kept at it for a few more minutes, grunting quietly, ecstatically. Then, “Feel that, Coachie? My cock loves ya–“
–“Why are you doing this??”
“Remember the try-outs ya held a year ago? Remember the guys tryin’ their hearts out? No, you had a hard-on fer Gafemini. He wasn’t that much better’n me”–he gave me a particularly vicious lunge, and I let out a yell–“None of ’em were better’n us, but we didn’t make the team.”
I wracked my brain, trying to remember the dozens of guys who came to the try-outs. He pulled out, growling, “The three of us are leavin’ town, Coachie. Goin’ someplace where we can play, someplace we get appreciated.” He stuck his finger in my rectum, swirling it around in the mess of his jism. “Couldn’t leave without gettin’ back at ya, Coachie. Yeah, that was good.”
But it wasn’t over. The next one took his place, and again I got a cock up my ass. Same thing, although it pissed me off to realize I was “getting used to it.” No man should have to get used to another man’s dong up his ass! But I was glad it didn’t hurt as much. The sons of bitches! Twice!
Something else: I realized that I myself had a hardon digging into the carpet. Oh, fuck, no! I am not getting an erection from these queers!
Rapist
got his gun, and again I felt that warm fullness. Worse, I didn’t feel bad; I felt good. Actually horny. Getting “that feeling” in my balls. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. If these bastards keep this up, they’ll make me cum! The ultimate humiliation.
When bastard
pulled out, my asshole felt warm and–I’ll say it–“pleasant.” When he stopped, my orgasm stopped building, and was I relieved! I looked back to see if bastard
, the guy with the tattoo and the soft cock, was going to take a turn.
Yep. He was soft no more, and fuck! I was stunned. His jockstrap would have to be a size Giganto to control that thing! I’ve seen Nigerians not hung as well. His mama must’ve been fooling around in the pasture with the bulls.
This was no boy. This young student had a trailer hitch that was a real gay-cruiser–a tawny column sculptured rough with huge veins and ripples. He was stroking it and when he saw me looking, he pulled back on it, tightening the cockhead into a hot, shiny, ruddy-red thing that was downright frightening! Proud, glowing, taut, commanding.
A terrible feeling swept over me, a strange emotion. Jesus, what a cock. It’s beautiful. Wish I was hung like that. Never felt that way before. Something about the guy really got to me.
And when he mounted me and shoved that thing up my ass, it hurt again–he was even bigger than the first bastard–but that time it was fucking weird! It hurt so bad I clenched my fists in the rug, but at the same time, it felt wonderful! A magnificent feeling! Glorious!
I bit my lip. Had to admit it: I actually wanted this guy to fuck me. And sure enough, as the guy sank into me and started to pull out, I couldn’t help myself. I went into an orgasm!
The pain, the shock, the struggle–and that heavenly, maddening stretch–made me want to scream with pleasure. I bit my lip, forcing myself to be silent, but the intensity was more than I could stand. Sperming all over the carpet, I thanked God that I was lying on my belly, and the rapists couldn’t see what I was going through.
How goddamned demeaning! I had cummed after the guy gave me only two strokes! And without touching myself! I was so ashamed I wanted to cry.
But as the young stud continued to sock it to me, the little bastard literally took me along with him, straining out my climax into a long, quavering, piercing note that I swear to God must be the male equivalent of multiple orgasms.
When I finally felt the big stud cumming in me, I actually felt grateful. Glad. Like I just got treated to something, like I was just done a favor.
When he pulled out, I was exhausted. I lay there sweating, breathing in shallow gasps, my legs splayed out. Open and inviting.
Actually exhausted. What the hell difference did it make, anyway? If any of them wanted seconds, there was nothing I could do about it.
I didn’t look back up at them. I heard them pulling on their clothes. “Don’t git up for ten minutes, old man, or we’ll be back with the knife!”
Oh, I got up, all right. Ran straight to the closet and got out my shotgun. I grabbed some clothes and ran out of the house, but of course no one was there. I went back in to call the police–but to tell them what? Burglars broke into my house and took me? Fucked me, a man?
I turned on the lights and walked around–nothing was missing. Oh, the six-pack of beer was gone from the refrigerator, but I couldn’t figure out how to call a squad car for just that.
The little bastards! What in hell was their problem? High on drugs, most likely, bad apples made even worse with narcotics. Little fuckers, hope they get run Manavgat Escort over by a car! Except maybe that last guy. The one with the huge cock. Damn, he made me feel good.
Couldn’t sleep that night, of course. I didn’t really think they would come back, but after I took a shit to get the jism out of my ass and stood in the shower running water so hot I almost boiled myself, I sat all night in the chair with the shotgun across my knees.
Aaron didn’t come in. Probably out scoring with Emily. On the other hand, could be I’m the only one of us to get any sex tonight.
I bowed my head. What would he think if he knew his father just got fucked? I was glad he didn’t come home while the bastards were there. It was one secret that would go with me to my grave.
When the sun came up, I got up, took another shower, made some coffee, and went over to the college. I knew the odds were against it, but that day I looked in the locker room and showers in every single class. Looking for a cock-piercing. I looked at so many guy’s crotches, I probably started a rumor. I watched for outie belly-buttons. I looked for a tomahawk tattoo.
But nothing. Maybe they weren’t students after all. I wanted somebody to talk to, but who? My wife wouldn’t be back for three days–and of all people, I couldn’t tell her.
When I went home for lunch, Aaron was there. “Hi, Dad.” But no way in hell could I tell him.
He was moving around in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich–wearing nothing but his tighty-whities. “Split out the crotch of my jeans,” he said. “Bent over to pick up some books, and rip!” He chuckled. “Had to come home to get another pair of pants. I guess Mom was right; they were too tight.”
I was proud of Aaron. Good student, got good grades. Nothing spectacular, but he was a good kid. Nicely muscled, healthy.
And hung. I hadn’t noticed before, but my son packed a nice bulge in those briefs. Made me proud. Then he turned away to put something back in the refrigerator, and I saw his left shoulder.
A tomahawk tattoo!
Jesus fucking Christ! I was stunned. Suddenly no longer hungry. My blood froze in my veins. Aaron tried out for the football team last year, but didn’t make it.
He had always been the brainy type. Took after his mother. Never much interested in sports. Played them because of me, I think, but he was never truly a sportsman. Tried out just because I wanted him to, and he didn’t make the team because his heart really wasn’t in it. The other coaches voted him out; I couldn’t override them.
And I thought he was okay with that. No complaints. I actually thought he was relieved.
I sat at the table with him, just drinking a beer. He looked at me. “You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I wasn’t home last night–over at Emily’s–but did anything happen last night?”
“Why do you ask that?” My voice was a growl.
“I don’t know. You’re acting funny. You feeling sick?”
I can’t believe it! “Naw, I just drank too much last night. Got a bit of a hangover.” But there it was. The same tattoo. My own son took me.
I wanted to cry. What had I done to deserve that? I lowered my voice. “That tomahawk tattoo gives you away, you know.”
“What, this?” He chuckled. “Got it a week ago.” He looked at me. “Gives me away? What do you mean?”
“Anybody sees you with that will remember who you were.”
“What does that mean? Anyway, a lot of guys have this tattoo. It’s like a fad.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s just say it’s like a big cock. People see that, and they remember you!”
“Dad, what’s wrong? Why are you talking like this?”
I got up and walked over to his chair. I reached down and hefted that big package between his legs. “Let’s just take a look at this big thing!” I looked him in the eyes. “Again!”
“But–but–“
“Stand up, Aaron!” He stood up, I put my thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, and I yanked them down. Ohmigod, there it is! Soft, but my asshole remembered that big gun. I grabbed it, and it began to swell in my fingers.
Aaron gulped. “Dad! What are you doing?”
Damn! God, this thing is gigantic! It swelled up out of his crotch, gradually getting so big it pulled my fingers apart. I couldn’t touch my fingers around it. Suddenly I wasn’t so much pissed off as–feeling something different. “You got a big cock, Aaron.”
I looked up at his face, and he smiled shyly. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
It grew hard, throbbing, and shiny-headed in my hand. I looked back down. God, it was hypnotizing. My mouth watered.
My mouth is watering?? What the fuck is happening to me?
But it was true. Couldn’t help myself–I started stroking it, and a big drop of precum oozed out of the slit. God, look at that stuff! Couldn’t help myself. I dropped to my knees for a better look.
Up close, I swear I could feel waves of heat from it on my face. The big thing was commanding me. Couldn’t help myself. I lowered my mouth Kumköy Escort onto it and licked up that drop.
Aaron sighed, and with that first touch, I got the weirdest feeling: gratitude. Like I was glad. I parted my lips even wider and sucked as much as I could of that big cannon.
My boy! What a hung stud!
“Ahhhh, God! Dad, what are you doing?”
I’d never been so damned excited! I kept licking over his piss-hole, checking for precum. That I was sucking my own son was gasoline on my lust. I was already going to hell for it–so I sucked harder.
“Oh, Dad, Jesus Christ!”
I loved to hear him get excited. Made me even hornier. I’m sucking off my own son!
Sucking off, indeed. After a short time, he let out with a deep, wedding-night groan, and big gushes of my own spunk (a generation later) shot into my mouth, whole globs as big as ping-pong balls, and I fought to gulp them down. Naturally, Aaron’s cum was soon dripping from the edges of my mouth.
When I rose to my feet, Aaron fell into my arms, and I hugged him. First I had to know: “Aaron, tell me, why did you and those other–“
–He raised his mouth to mine and kissed me! Jesus!
God, what a kiss! His tongue entered my mouth, chasing my tongue, pushing it around, and it suddenly hit me: He’s in charge! He was in charge of me when he fucked me last night, and the power he has over me just made me suck his cock!
But it was good. I loved to feel the power of my son sweeping over me, and I loved to surrender to him, to pitch him a slow ball so he could hit it out of the park.
We stopped the kiss, still hugging tightly. “Oh, Dad,” he murmured, “I never dreamed–“
–“All you had to do was say something. Why did you and those other–Whoa! What is that I feel against my leg?” I smiled. “Aaron, you reloaded that big thing already?”
“Can’t help it, Dad, you suck cock even better than Em–” He gasped, watching me as I lay back on the couch, yanking off my pants and spreading my legs.
“Show me again what you can do, Aaron.”
“My God, Dad, I can’t believe this!”
“Come on, Aaron, fuck me again.”
He sank onto me and sank into me. Yeah, there was that wonderful pain again! This time I was not being taken. This time I had a hardon, and it was okay!
Ohhh, yeah! The fiery pain of Aaron’s entry was replaced by that fiery paradise, a craving so powerful, I wanted him to stretch my asshole as big as a bowling ball! As it was, that giant cock had me so tight, his slightest movement sent jolts through my nerves. When he started his thrusts, my brain went numb in a shower of sparks.
My voice was a hoarse growl, “Yeah, Aaron, you big fucker! Fuck me! All those times I spanked you? Take your revenge! Ram it in deep!”
And he set me afire: “Yeah! My cock’s in you, Dad!” Amazed voice. Dizzy voice. Innocent. Must be all those acting classes.
Then in an uncertain voice, trying to sound masterful, he grunted, “I’m fucking you, Dad–you, you. . .big motherfucker!”
Never thought about it like that. I really was his motherfucker.
“You fuck better than a bitch,” he went on, gaining confidence. “Gonna make you my bitch.”
Hey, now wait a minute!
With his hips pistoning me, he went on, “God, this is fine! You’re even sexier than Emily!” His voice grew husky, “Fuckin’ feet up in the air for me! Gonna fill you so full of cum, you’ll be puking it!”
I loved to hear him talk dirty, but the part about “his bitch” bugged me. But at that moment my asshole cinched around his organ like a wedding ring and drove me crazy. I felt myself lifting off the ground, suspended in mid-air, floating electrocuted, pivoting on that huge stag’s dick, so dizzy I imagined myself with a football up my ass.
“Yeah! My bitch now, ain’t ya, Dad!” His voice was so hoarse I hardly recognized it. But “ya”?
Couldn’t believe my ears, though. Impossible words. No man can accept them. How could my son dare to say such a thing?
But the damned kid was farming my sensitive, tight-stretched asshole, jazzing every vein, bumping every fold of skin, sizzling my flesh. Unbearable rapture! His colossal cockhead banged against my prostate, showing me how pain and pleasure were the same thing. I was speechless.
“Almost there, Dad. Get ready!”
With the winning play of the game, he lunged into me so far I swear I felt his cock in my chest, and although the pain was incredible, the ecstasy was even more agonizing. “Ahh, fuck me, you bastard,” I groaned, “Cum in me!” And I couldn’t stop myself: “Make me a bitch!”
Damn, I was proud of him! My head jammed back against the couch as I felt a big, long, boiling fullness in my guts, and that touched me off. He fucked the jizz out of me without my even touching my father-rod. I ejaculated like a hunting rifle, sperm all over my belly, my chest, and Aaron’s lunging body!
When we were done, I fondled my cock lovingly and lay back, breathing hard, glad I was alive, somehow feeling like a bride on her wedding night. My son was quiet, lying on me like a triumphant groom.
Finally he spoke: “Dad, I never in a million years would have believed you would–” suddenly he pulled out his cock and stood up. “Oh, shit!”
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