Date: Wed, 30 Aug 2006 19:50:21 -0400 (EDT)
From: Herb <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: Daddybitch

Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without
the author's permission.

Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between males, as well
as humiliation and incest. It also alludes to straight sex. If any of
these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you
are under the age of 18, read no further.

The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

-----
Daddybitch

All my life, my father was a wimp. Mom had him wrapped around her little
finger. He would kowtow to her every whim. He cooked the dinner, cleaned
the house, did the laundry, and he always wore a floral apron around the
house. Even as a toddler, I was ashamed of him.

Mom called him Ricky. He hated the name. At his office, he tried to be
known as Richard. But of course, when Mom called him at work, she would
ask, "Is Ricky there?" At home, whenever she called him Ricky, he would
bite his lip and frown. But of course, he never did anything about it,
because he had no backbone.

He also had no muscles. When he tried to play baseball, football or
basketball with me, he was a spaz. His milquetoast body was skinny for
the most part, except for his big fat ass from spending all day sitting
at his desk. I often told myself I couldn't be his son. I must have been
the bastard Mom had with some lover. But unfortunately, there was just
enough similarity in our faces that the genes couldn't be denied. How I
hate those genes.

Once when I was in second grade, Mom was visiting Mrs. Jackson around the
corner. Phil Jackson was one of my classmates and we were playing on the
kitchen floor with our trucks while our mothers drank coffee and
gossiped. Mom kept telling Mrs. Jackson what a loser Ricky was. First,
she went on how he couldn't fix anything around the house, -- the car,
the kitchen sink, the toilet, the roof. Phil was grinning as he listened
to her and I was turning red from embarrassment. Then Mom started in
about how Ricky never got anywhere at work, never asked for a promotion
or a raise. That he was worthless at bringing home the bacon. Now Phil
was giggling and my eyes were tearing. Finally, Mom told Phil's mother
how Ricky was useless in bed too. She called him Little Ricky with the
little dicky. Phil was laughing uncontrollably now and I had to run home
and hide in my bedroom. The next day at school, Phil told all the kids
about Little Ricky with the little dicky. I wished I had som! ething to
say, some small shred of evidence to counteract this assault on my
father's manhood, but no, I couldn't think of one redeeming feature about
that man.

Mom always told me she was surprised when Ricky knocked her up. I
wasnâ^À^Ùt exactly the kid they both wanted. She had assumed with his
tiny dick there was no way he could get her pregnant. When I was born,
she had her tubes tied so it wouldnâ^À^Ùt happen again.

As the years went by, I eventually stopped trying to think of ways to
defend my old man. I simply joined the rest of the world in its contempt
for him. By sixth grade I too was calling him Ricky. Any other father
would have given me a smack across my mouth. Or at least have made it
clear that he was taking no sass from his own flesh and blood. But not
Ricky. He just stared sadly at me, and knew that there was no way he
could ever gain my respect. Whenever he saw me, it seemed he could never
think of anything to say to me.

Mom was seeing other men. I knew it and I knew that he knew it. Hell, Mom
would meet some guy at a bar and then bring him home as if to rub her
husband's nose in it. As if she were saying, "You see, I'm still able to
attract a real man!" Then they'd go into the bedroom. Often, she would
make Ricky come in with them. I guess she must have made him watch as
another man cuckolded him. I would admire these lovers of hers. Even a
young boy could tell that one of them was ten times the man Ricky was. I
would fantasize what it would be like to have a father like that. But of
course, these guys had no interest in the whore's little kid. Basically,
I realized I was going to have to make it in this world with no real male
role model to emulate.

That is, until the summer of my twelfth birthday. I was walking over to
the park, dribbling my basketball, hoping to meet some of my friends
there, when I saw a moving van parked in front of a house down the block,
and four or five strong men carrying in furniture and cartons. I had to
stop to watch them. I stared at these real men doing real work, and
working up real sweat. I was so engrossed in the scene that I didn't
realize there was someone beside me until he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Oh, uhh, sorry Mister. I was just, uh, watching."

"Hi, Kid. You live around here?"

"Uh, yeah, over there." I waved my hand toward my house.

"Well, then we're going to be neighbors."

"Oh, uh, I thought you was. . . . I mean, uh, I'm sorry."

"You thought I was one of the movers?" I nodded. The man gave me a big
smile. He certainly looked like he could carry in a sofa all by himself
if he wanted to.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"No need. Look, my name is Mark."

"I'm Dennis."

"You like to play basketball?"

"Yeah. I was on my way to the park. It's two blocks over."

"Listen, these guys will be done here in a half hour or so. If you don't
mind, I'll meet you over there and we can shoot some hoops."

"Wow, really, Mister?"

"It's Mark. Sure. And then you can tell me all about my new town. Where
the bank is, and the post office, and where to get the best burgers,
stuff like that, ok?"

"Gee, sure, Mist . . . I mean Mark."

I sat on the swings and waited for Mark to come. I thought what a great
guy. He took an interest in me. He had a real friendly face, a nice
smile. And wow, that body was so hunky. I wondered if he were an athlete.
I tried to picture him. I remembered his light brown hair. I remembered
he had no beard or mustache. I remembered his broad shoulders. I
remembered his soft low voice. But I couldn't recall if he had an
earring, or any tattoos, or even what he was wearing. The time seemed to
drag and I began to wonder if he had gotten delayed, or lost, or worst of
all, if he had forgotten about me.

But, just then I spotted him coming through the park gate. I got off the
swings and waved at him. He spotted me and started jogging toward me. He
wore a gray T shirt and dark blue jeans that hugged his thighs. He also
wore a great smile.

I ran to him and together we headed for the basketball court. At first,
Mark let me score a few easy dunks. But it wasn't long before his true
competitive nature came out and he was giving me a real run for the
money, making me dance around as I tried to block his throws. By the time
we quit and sat together on a bench, we had both worked up a real sweat.
Mark pulled off his T and used it as a towel to wipe off his chest and
underarms. Now I could see his perfect pecs, his dark brown tits, and his
6pack abs, all covered in beautiful dark wet curls.

That night, as I lay in bed I kept thinking about my new friend. He was
everything my father was not. He was athletic, assertive, self-confident,
and handsome. And he knew how to talk to a twelve-year-old boy and make
him feel important.

As the summer days passed, I spent more and more time with Mark. He never
minded my company. He coached me in all my sports. I watched him tune up
his '79 Thunderbird. He took me fishing and taught me to shoot rabbits.
He brought me to the zoo, and to a ball game. He taught me to lift
weights and drink beer. All the stuff a boy should learn from his own
father. That is, if he has a normal father, which I don't. Some days Mark
and I just sat and talked. Of course, the one thing a twelve-year-old boy
has on his mind is sex, and Mark took the time to help me through my
hormone-driven anxieties. He taught me not to be afraid of masturbation,
that all men jacked off. He even sat beside me and we jacked together. He
taught me about pussies and how to fuck them. He taught me the "winning"
lines he used to get the broads to suck his dick. I began to look forward
to sex with excitement.

Mark also sympathized as I opened up to him about my parents. He seemed
to know the pain I was feeling having a Ricky instead of a real father at
home. He said I would always be welcome in his house.

When school got under way again, Mark was the one who was truly
interested in hearing about my day. He encouraged me to do well in my
classes, to try out for the football team, and to make friends. Each day
when I got home, Mom was usually out or on the phone with one of her
lovers. Ricky never asked me about school, or anything else for that
matter. I really hated that guy.

For the next five years, Mark was there as I struggled with adolescent
love life. He brought me to the local drug store and explained all about
condoms. He handed me a box of Trojans and had me bring them to the
cashier. "If you're man enough to be fucking, Son, then you gotta be man
enough to buy your own protection." After that I always kept a couple
rubbers in my pocket.

Mark's shoulder was always available to cry on when I struck out with one
of the girls. And when I finally made it to home plate with Mary Sue
Giaconelli under the bleachers, Mark was there to congratulate me and to
listen to all the delicious details. After that, I began to use my
condoms regularly.

Of course, Mark too was scoring. He had this ugly statue of a leprechaun
that he called Paddy. Whenever I went to his house, if I saw Paddy
sitting in the middle of the front window, that was our signal not to
come inside, that Mark was entertaining a lady friend. Of course, I felt
hurt at first, but I always knew that the next day I'd be able to talk to
him and not only relate how my life was going but also hear all about the
cunt he fucked the night before.

I tried to imagine having a conversation like that with my father. I just
couldn't picture Ricky listening to my stories of sexual conquest, but
what was even more ludicrous was imagining me or anyone else in this
world wanting to hear about his pitiful sex life.

Mark and I would often watch porn films together. Mark rented the ones
where the guys treated girls like shit, like the bitches they were. We
would laugh at them and jerk off and high five each other whenever the
guy fucked one of their sorry asses.

Once is Sex Ed., Mr. Miller told us about conception (the sanitized
version). Thatâ^À^Ùs when I finally figured out how Ricky was able to
conceive me. I decided that when I was just a little sperm, I was so
determined to get away from Ricky, to beat all my fellow sperms out of
the chute, that I swam quickly through his short little dick and up into
Momâ^À^Ùs oven. It made sense; after all, I was always a great swimmer.

Another time, Mr. Miller explained to us boys that it was important to
respect the girls, to be kind and gentle to them. When I relayed that
lesson to Mark, he began to frown.

"Listen, Dennis, your teacher means well, but that ain't the way it is in
real life."

"What do you mean, Mark?"

"A broad wants to be with a real man, Son." -- (I loved it when he called
me that.) -- "She can't admire a guy who's soft, who has no backbone. She
wants you to show her who's boss right from the beginning. If I were you,
I'd forget all this respect and gentle crap they've been feeding you."

"Really?"

"Well, look at Ricky! He was always nice and kind to your Mama and look
where it got him."

"Wow! I don't want to be like him."

"Shit, of course not. No real man would. And broads certainly don't want
a man like that." I thought about my Mom and had to agree.

In fact, when I was fifteen, Mom proved once and for all what she thought
of Ricky. She moved to Florida with one of her lovers. She said I could
come with her, but I knew the guy wanted nothing to do with me, and
anyway I didn't want to leave my friends at school and especially Mark.
So I decided I could put up with living in the same house as my worthless
old man, at least 'til I could move out on my own. Mom assured me that
Ricky would continue to provide for me, and even send me to college when
the time came. "Cause if he doesn't, I'll personally hang him up by his
balls."

Without Mom around, Ricky was even more pathetic than ever. He kept
making my meals, doing my laundry and cleaning up after me, but never
found the courage to talk to me. Which was fine with me. Fuck the
bastard!

As soon as I turned sixteen, I got my driving permit and was able to get
away from Ricky. I simply asked him if he had put gas in the tank, and
when he nodded sheepishly, I took his keys and went out. Now I had the
means to bring a bitch to some lover's lane outside of town and fuck her
with total abandon. Mark was right, of course. All the cunts at school
worshipped me, because I knew how to treat them. Sometimes, I'd let a
young inexperienced girl tag along with us so she could learn from the
older bitch how to please a guy. I'd make them kiss and play with each
other while I watched, and after I fucked them both, I had them felch
each other.

A week before my seventeenth birthday, Mark said he had a surprise
present for me.

"What?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. Just be ready next Saturday for
some real fun. And of course, bring your Trojans." He gave me a wink and
a sly grin. "Oh, and I think you'll really learn something too."

I showed up at Mark's all excited. I knew this was going to be a super
birthday. We hopped in the Thunderbird and drove out of town. I found a
cool station on the radio and put the volume on high. Mark handed me a
beer and I felt like a true stud.

We drove to the nearby city and into a seedy neighborhood. As we cruised,
I saw lots of hot ladies standing on the corners. I thought to myself,
"Wow, I think tonight I'm gonna fuck my first hooker!" But I just sat
there as Mark drove slowly down Main Street.

He turned on to Jefferson Avenue and again I saw a bunch of bitches, but
these weren't nearly as good looking as back on Main Street. I wondered
why we didn't turn around.

"OK, Dennis, let me know when you see something you like."

"Wow, really? You want me to choose one?"

"It's your birthday, Son."

"Wow, swell." I sat up and began studying the merchandise as the
Thunderbird crawled along. Too tall, too chubby, too old, too ugly. "Hey,
that one over there is kinda cute!"

"Dennis, you got a great eye for whores. I think that one's damn near
perfect! Get in the back seat." I hopped over the seat as Mark swung over
on to the wrong side of the road and pulled up beside the one I'd chosen.
He began negotiating the price and explaining what we wanted, telling her
it was his son's 21st birthday. Then he asked if she had a friend. She
whistled and a tall girl appeared. The cute one got in back with me and
the tall one sat up front with Mark and directed him to a motel that she
seemed to be very familiar with. The girl beside me lost no time kissing
me, rubbing my chest and giving my boy dick a good feel.

Mark ran into the office and in thirty seconds came back with the key. We
drove around to room 38 in the back and all hopped out. Once inside, my
girl immediately got on her knees in front of me and rubbed my crotch as
she opened my fly and undid my waist. My trou fell to the floor and she
began licking my package through the briefs. I glanced over at Mark and
whispered a thank you. His date had already gotten his underwear off and
was sucking away on his rock-hard cock. Then she swung him around and
buried her face inside his ass. But I couldn't concentrate on Mark any
more. My own cock was now fully erect and sticking out the top of my
undies. The girl pulled them down and swallowed my cock down to the
balls. She sucked me off like no girl in school ever had. She knew what
she was doing, and she knew when to stop.

"You ready to fuck me now, big boy?" she cooed in her low sultry voice.

I opened my eyes, "Yeah, sure, I mean yeah, well . . ."

"Well, what, big boy? You do want to fuck me don't you honey?"

I glanced at Mark and he gave me a puzzled look as his asshole was being
royally rimmed. "Yeah, well, I do. Really. It's just that . . ."

"What is it, Baby?"

"If you don't mind, could we please . . . uh"

"Say it, Darling."

"I mean, could we please do it . . . uh, anal?"

All three of them burst out laughing. "Sweetie, I wouldn't want it any
other way." She turned her back to me, dropped her skirt down, leaned
over the bed and pulled her lace panties to one side. I fumbled with the
condom pack and finally got it on and pushed my dick against her asshole.
I had tried doing anal with a few girls in school but most of them
resisted and a couple who agreed to try found it hurt way too much. This
time, my cock went in relatively easily and I began to pound away at the
whore. I loved it.

"OK, Bitch, now you're going to feel my mantool." I recalled a line from
one of Mark's movies.

"Yeah, Big Boy. Fuck my ass. Fuck me hard."

I reached around and squeezed her bra as I felt the cum building in my
balls. My face was clenched tight. This was the most wonderful birthday
of my life. Finally, I let loose a mighty load and filled the rubber. As
I started to breathe again, my dick still parked in her garage, I reached
around to pet her pussy.

"Oh Son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong, Son." As much as Mark was into his own fuck, he was
concerned about his boy.

"She's got a you know . . . She's not a . . . She's got a thing, a willy.
Shit, Mark, she's got a fuckin Dick!!"

"I know, Son. Mine does too." The two of them turned slightly and sure
enough, Mark's date was sporting a good seven inch boner.

"But . . . " By now, my limp dick had fallen out and I slipped off the
rubber and held it in my hand. My "girl" turned around, pulled off "her"
panties, and gave me a good look at "her" equipment.

Mark finished pumping the other girl's ass full of his mancream and
pushed her aside. He came over to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

"Son, are you going to keep that thing for your scrapbook?" I looked down
at my hand and tossed the Trojan into the wastebasket by the wall. "I
know you're confused, Son. But I wanted you to have a real special night
tonight. You did get a good fuck in, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but . . ."

"Look, I know these two faggots are pure scum."

"Hey, watch it Mister!"

"Look you got your money, we used you, now get out of here, you bitches!"

The "girls" picked up their clothes and ran out the door.

"You see, Dennis. Most babies who are born with little dicks grow up to
be real men. Guys like you and me. But a few of them for some reason
never get to manhood. They can still serve a useful purpose. Their asses
are good for something, but we can't consider them true men. There's
really no middle ground, Dennis. You can either be a real man . . . "

"Like you."

"Yeah, like me, Son. Or you can be some sorry excuse for a cock-carrying
human. Someone like them."

"Or like Ricky."

"You got it, Boy. That's why I wanted you to experience this. So you'd
know that the choice is yours."

"Yeah, don't worry. No way will I end up like him."

"That's my boy. Oh, and just one more thing, Dennis. Tonight you asked
that faggot's permission to do it anal. A man doesn't do that. No cunt
can respect a man who shows weakness like that. You gotta take total
control of your bitches, Son."

After that night, we began going down to Jefferson Avenue about once a
month. It was always good to fuck a real tight willing faggot asshole. To
give "her" a taste of honest-to-goodness man cock.

The following fall, I went off to college. I called Mark about three
times a week and we exchanged tales of what cunts we had been scoring. It
was great to have a wise mentor to confide in. Of course, I never called
Ricky. What was the point? He wouldn't know what to say to me anyway.

"You know what else, Mark? I found a couple queer guys here in my dorm
who are just like those guys down on Jefferson. Sometimes they dress in
drag and call me up to their room to fuck them. And guess what, I don't
even have to pay them to fuck their pitiful little asses. They like the
way I treat them."

"Good for you, Dennis. Believe it or not, I found someone like that
myself. Right here in town. Don't need to drive all the way to the city
any more to get a piece of queer ass."

"No shit!" I couldn't imagine anyone like that in our small town. But I
knew Mark didn't lie about stuff like that.

"Yup. And just like the assholes you found, I don't need to pay this one
either. She loves to serve my needs. When you come back for Thanksgiving,
I'll show you."

I got home on Tuesday night. I told Ricky to fix my supper and iron a
shirt for me while I showered. Of course, he silently complied with his
son's orders. Paddy was sitting in Mark's window when I went over, so I
drove down to a bar and picked up a young little cheerleader to bring out
to lake for some entertainment.

The next day, I got up about noon and told Ricky to make my breakfast. He
stopped doing the laundry and hustled his ass into the kitchen and
started rustling frying pans. After eating, I did my morning shit and as
I was passing the washing machine, I realized Ricky was washing some
dresses. "Oh Shit," I thought, "the guy kept Mom's stuff all these years.
Probably thinks she's going to come home some day. What a wuss. But he's
washing them now, so maybe he's finally realized she ain't coming back
and he's giving the stuff to the Salvation Army." I shook my head and
called Mark.

"So, tell me all about this faggot bitch of yours, Mark. What do you do
with him?"

"Oh, it's great. But first of all, it's her, not him. She is not a man in
any sense of the word. When I ain't got a cunt for the evening, and I'm
feeling like having some fun, I call her up and tell her she's got
fifteen minutes to get her ass down here. Doesn't matter what she's
doing. She knows she has to drop everything and come when I call."

"Cool."

"She has to wear a dress, of course, and she has to walk over here. I
want everyone in town to see her walking down the street in her dress."

"Wow. I can't imagine who would do that."

"When she gets here, she immediately gets on the floor and licks my feet.
Then she takes off my pants and sucks me off. Then I make her do a little
dance as she takes her stupid dress off and wiggles her fat ass for me."

"Then you fuck her?"

"No, then she lays across my lap and I spank her butt until it glows
bright red."

"Then you fuck her?"

"No, she has to beg me first. She has to shout for me to fuck her."

"I gotta see this." I knew I could pick up a lot of tips to use with my
own boycunts back on campus.

"Come by at seven tonight, and you'll see the whole show, Son."

I got to Mark's house and we shared a couple beers and talked about my
school and our conquests. Then Mark said, "Well, time to get this show
started." He picked up the phone. "Hey, you didn't pick up on the first
ring, you bitch. I'm sick of this shit keeping me waiting. Now get your
ass over here quick and let me teach it a lesson."

Mark hung up the phone. "Say, Dennis, get that white scarf out of the
closet. The one you used to wear when I took you skating down on the
pond." I dug around in the front closet and found the scarf for him. Then
I stood by the front window and waited.

Sure enough, soon I saw a figure come paddling up the sidewalk. A homely
looking critter. Real skinny, wearing a dress and low heels and an
obvious wig. As she passed under the streetlight, I recognized her dress.
It was the bright red shift my mother often wore when she had guys over.
On her it looked sexy hot. On this thing it looked comical. As she turned
to walk up Mark's driveway, I suddenly realized who it was. "Oh shit."

"Yeah, that's right Dennis."

"Jeez, it's Ricky!"

"Yup, Ricky finally discovered something she's good at."

"But, . . ." The doorbell rang.

"Tell you what, go into the kitchen a second."

I got out of sight and Mark opened the door.

"Get in here bitch. I thought we'd have a little extra fun tonight." Mark
took the scarf and tied it around Ricky's eyes. "Let's see how well you
know the routine, bitch boy. See if you can do it blindfolded."

Mark slipped off his loafers and my biological father got down on the
floor and began to lick Mark's feet as I emerged from the kitchen. Mark
nodded at me and I too took off my shoes and socks and tiptoed over to
stand next to him. Ricky immediately knew there was a stranger in the
room. Maybe he smelled my feet. What thoughts must have raced through his
mind! Was it someone he knew? Was the room full of strangers watching
him? Was there a camera? But he made no objection. He meekly continued to
lick Mark's feet and gradually moved over to lick mine as well.

"That's right, bitch. This here is my boy and you will worship him with
the same reverence you give me. Got that?"

"Yes Sir." Ricky never questioned that Mark suddenly had a son. Probably
figured Mark had kids all over the country, and one of them had finally
tracked him down.

I kept my mouth closed as Daddybitch lathered up my feet with his (no,
her) servile mouth. Then she got on her knees and undid my pants.
Blindfolded, she took my cock in her mouth and deep throated it. It was
by far the best bj I'd ever had. Mark had trained Ricky well.

Just before I was about to cum, she stopped. Mark motioned for me to sit
on the sofa. Ricky began doing her little ass wiggle dance. I nearly
threw up. This was my father, but I had no pride for him at all. He
obviously had none for himself. Ricky took off the shoes and then reached
behind her back and unzipped my mother's shift. Wow, what dexterity. The
dress fell off and my ex-Dad stood there in a black bra and black lacy
panties. Her legs were shaved and she must have had a bikini wax. Again,
the hands went back to undo the clasp on her bra and as it came off, the
two falsies dropped on the floor. Mom certainly never needed any of
those. Finally, the panties went down leaving her standing in only a wig,
the blindfold and a very tight g string that held whatever equipment she
had snugly in place. Mark called her to come over. Still blind, she did
so warily and when she reached the couch, she lay down for her spanking,
only this time it was my lap she was on, not Mark's! . I began swatting.
The frustration of all those years living with this scumbag spilled out
of me as I whipped Ricky's butt until it was as red as Mom's shift.

"You felt my son's hand, bitch boy. A real man's hand, isn't it?"

"Yes Sir." Ricky stood up, her ass obviously sore, and felt for the
coffee table. She lay back on it, just as she had obviously done many
times before, and held her knees up, spreading her legs to show us her
hungry asshole.

"What do you want, bitch boy?"

"I want to get fucked, Sir."

"You want my son, a real man, to fuck your sorry old fat ass?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then beg him."

"Please, Sir, whoever you are, fuck me Sir."

"Louder. He didn't hear you."

"Fuck Me! Please Fuck Me!!"

I positioned my cock on my own father's shit chute and leaned in close
and whispered, "Say it louder."

"FUCK ME, PLEASE FUCK ME." I think the whole block heard him screaming.
But Ricky had a pained look on her face. Did she recognize the stranger's
voice? I bent down and pulled the scarf off my father's eyes, and waited
for the sight of her son to sink in.

"Now, tell me again, what do you want, Ricky?" I sneered.

"Fuck me, Dennis, Fuck me," he said, fully resigned to his place in this
world. After eighteen years, my father had finally found the right words
to speak to his son. He and I had discovered what our relationship was
meant to be. He knew that from this night on, whenever he saw me, that
sentence would be the only thing he needed to say. The only thing he
could say. "Fuck me, Dennis, Fuck me." So I did.