Date: Sat, 4 Dec 2021 21:28:20 -0800 From: Bad Dad Subject: To Cuck, Honor & Obey To Cuck, Honor and Obey by Bad Dad I shouldn't have been startled. I knew he'd be here - somewhere. Waiting. But he had that capability. To scare the shit out of you - Coming up behind you in a basement. Lying in your bed after you came out of a shower. Sitting in the dark in your living room - Waiting. "Stanley," I said, after catching my breath. "Howie," he replied. "Didn't mean to scare you." "Yes you did." He didn't respond to that. Didn't move. Not a muscle. He was sitting there, in the shadows, seeming to own the larger Mid-Century Modern chair that I had so carefully selected for that corner. One leg was thrown over the arm of the chair - the other was splayed out, displaying his substantial hooded cock and heavy balls. He was naked. "See you've made yourself comfortable." "Yeah," he said, smiling. "Where's Brenda?" I asked, trying not to look at him. "Went to bed. Said she had a headache." "Stan," I said, urgently. "Don't do this - fuck -" "Shhhh. She took a sleeping pill. She's out." "No - not this - we can't do this -" "Sit down, Howie." "Fuck you - no - I'm hungry. Gonna get something to eat. How was your flight?" I exited the living room, went to the kitchen. There was no reply. "You want a drink? Beer?" I opened the fridge. They had ordered take-out. It was still mildly warm. I pulled it out, flipped on the oven - grabbed myself a beer. I drank. Deeply. Tried to gather myself. Reminded myself what the therapist had said. Believed in my ability to be strong. But then the silence got to me. He hadn't responded. Hadn't said a word. I went back to the living room. "Stan -" "Sit the fuck down you useless fucking faggot," he said, quietly. Coldly. He hadn't moved. Not a muscle. But when he called me a faggot his cock grew. The head emerged from the skin. The length of it rose up his thigh, like it was being lifted by a pully ... "Stan -" I whispered, "Please." Still no movement but the relentless growth of his cock. "I will take you out back and beat the living shit out of you if you do not sit the fuck down, right now, like I ordered you to." He was half hard now. I was fully hard, unable to hide my truth from his eyes, which bored into my weakness. I sat on the couch. "How many times do I have to tell you, Howie? Faggots belong on the floor?" I had started to tear up. FUCK! I hated myself at times like this - the fucking pussy-ness of me. I scooted down on the floor, leaning up against the couch. "Faggot!" he said, exasperated now. I saw the blood come up in his face - knew what could happen when he got like this. But, of course, as his frustration accelerated, so did his cock. It was full on, now. Magnificent, as it always had been. He was the rare man who was BOTH a shower AND a grower - you look at it soft and think, "Damn - that dude is hung." Then it gets hard and you go, "FUCK - that dude is HUNG." He snapped his fingers. I'd been staring at it again. I looked up, knowing what the signal meant: to stop perving on his cock and look him in the eye, which was always difficult for me to do. Always. The oven chimed - preheated. "Leave it," he said, staring daggers at me. "You're getting only one meal tonight." His cock flexed. It had started to drip. I knew what he meant. We both did. I was crying now, unable to stop myself. All my preparation for his visit had failed. I was here again, on the floor, staring at my brother-in-law's cock. Like a faggot. "Clothes." "But - " My 'but' was the final straw - he shifted position, standing, raising his arm. Then he swung his had at me, stopping right at my cheek. I flinched, but I didn't need to. He didn't hit me - wouldn't make that kind of noise here. I should have known that. He was skilled at martial arts, so he had perfect muscle control. His physique was toned and tight, like it always had been. Then he spoke. It was menacing. As he did the hand at my cheek gripped my throat, tightening around it. The grasp was quick and harsh. Unexpected. "Just one, more, fag. Just one more. You resist me just one more time and I will choke you out, right here, while my sister sleeps upstairs." I believed he would, too. I knew how he got. I knew what he was. He'd told me that first time. He said, "If you do this, I own you. Period. You need to think about what that means, Howard. Think hard about what that means." He held me like that for at least a minute. Just as I was starting to panic, then he let me go and I gasped for air, but couldn't get control. I was nearly hyperventilating. He turned his back on me so I could witness his impressive legs and alluring ass - with the back-hair which spouted up just above the crack, and trailed down to what I believed was the most intoxicating place in the world. "Naked. Now." I pulled off my shirt as quickly as possible, popping buttons. My pants caught in my shoes. It was clumsy. Finally, though, I was naked, on my knees. My penis betrayed me. It was rigid and pouring spew. But he laughed at it when he saw it. He always did. He always made it feel so small. My wife praised it so much, lifting me up - making me feel good about my size and how well I used that size. But, in front of his thickness and girth, my just-under-five inches always felt puny. Insignificant. "Tiny dick," he chuckled. Then he sat, kicking out his feet. I knew the signal. I dove on them, lapping. I couldn't believe that my wife - his sister - slept just upstairs. We could be caught if she came down. The house was solid - we wouldn't hear her walking down those stairs. The possibility of discovery caused a near panic in me that only aroused me further. My ass started to flinch involuntarily as I slobbered on his toes. They were better than usual. He often made me do this after a work-out or pick-up game. But the taste now was .... Oh fuck it was wonderful. Sweaty. Bold. Male. More tears. He presented the other foot and I didn't stop myself from taking it entirely in my mouth, trying to push it down my throat - trying to please him. "Have you told my sister that you're a faggot?" "Nnnmmmmpfff," I said, shaking my head. "Fucking bitch," he growled. "You live a lie." "No," I said, pulling off his foot, but keeping under the sole, utterly subservient. "I'm not gay, Stanley," I whined, nuzzling the musky underside. "It's just . . . you. No one else." He grabbed my hair and slapped my face, hard. The sound was . . . explosive. I was panicked. "Please - don't wake her -" "Cunt," he said, spitting in my face. "Stupid cunt, too. It's not the number of cocks you suck that determines your fagdom, Howie. It's that you suck cocks." "I'm just - " "And that you love it." He pulled my head to him and rammed his spear down my open mouth. I choked. He pushed harder. I choked harder. Thrusting into me he chuckled. "Shhhh, Howie - you'll wake up Brenda." It was a mocking imitation of my panic. It was belittling. I tried to compose myself - tried to quiet myself - but he'd attacked my throat too quickly. I was out of practice. I was gagging uncontrollably, and my gags covered his huge cock with slimy, snotty bile. "Please - please -" I said, nearly vomiting, "Can't we go down to the storage ro -" He stood up. "Useless faggot," he growled, pushing my face into the chair. I could smell his ass trench on the cushion - the scent of it wafted up from where he had been seated. It was aphrodisiac. Being honest, it had been this LAST humiliation in our FIRST engagement - him shoving my face into his sweaty, hairy taint - that had sealed my fate. Made me his. Just the slightest whiff brought back the most vile urges - the most abject submission. "Oh, God," I groaned, opening up to him, knowing what came next. I heard him jacking his cock - "Well - at least it's lubed - your throat is good for something." And then he knelt down behind me and pushed in. It wasn't as brutal as he had been in other interactions. But it was urgent and painful. When he was away from me and Brenda I kept everything I could away from my hole, trying not to be the faggot that he insisted I was. However, that lack of use brought outrageous pain now. I cried out, then slapped my hand over my own mouth, trying to stop the bitch-moans that he - and only he - could elicit. "Just bite the pillow, you fucking pillow-biter," he grunted, going balls deep, making me insane. Only halting my breathing stopped the scream that was trying to claw its way out of my throat. But I couldn't scream because my wife was just upstairs, so I endured as he pulled back out, then shoved back in. He humped me again, gaining speed and torque, getting in me deeper than any man ever had. "Yeah - that's it," he growled, losing himself, as he does. Finally able to gasp, I took a huge intake of breath, grabbed the pillow, bit it, then pushed back into him, presenting myself in the way he'd trained me to. "Oh God," I gasped, losing myself as well. "There's my boycunt," he grunted, picking up speed. His heavy balls slapped against my smaller ones. "Kept it nice and tight for me, too." "Yes Sir," I moaned, bucking into him, pushing my prostrate against his rigid rod, getting the internal pleasure that he also trained into me. He called it my 'pussy pleasure'. I hated that term - hated it until he was inside of me, making me shake and shift and slut for him. "Not tight for long, though," he said, beginning to pound now, stretching me, hitting angles, opening me up. God it felt good. I began to shake - the tears were gone, replaced by uncontrollable lust. I heard him spit, felt it slap into my upper back, lodging between my shoulder blades. This final debasement pushed me over the edge. My orgasm came so quickly - so violently - that I shook and bucked, but he was bigger and stronger. He rode me like an expert horseman, rammed his cock deep, letting my cunt-muscles grip his slick dick. "Yeah - you're a faggot - " he groaned, pulling out and ramming balls deep. As my pussy clutched and gripped, my cock spewing all over our furniture, my moans filling the space, I felt his hammer expand, then explode in me deep, flooding my guts as I did his work for him, twerking my ass, spasming my hole, and sucking out his vital, fertile seed. He just held my hips, pulsing billions of sperm into me. "Faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot" he whispered, each repetition followed by another pump of his firehose cock, another hot dump of cum filling my guts. And still I shot my own cum, hands free - still my hole twitched uncontrollably, ass-gasming as my cock lost its urgency, retreating to its natural state: small, slack subservience. Then my hole took over, delivering shudders of pleasure to both me and my brother-in-law. "Fuck that's good pussy," he said, once he'd finished fertilizing me. Then he withdrew his cock. It felt like he was pulling me inside out. "You could be a good little faggot, Howie, if you just shut up and learned your place." I felt empty. The emptiness threatened me. I worried about how I would remain appropriate in his presence this next week during his visit. I whimpered, in spite of myself. Then I made the mistake of turning back and looking at him. Fucker. He wasn't classically handsome - wasn't outrageously muscled (though his physique seemed perfect to me - lean and cut and defined). But, his authority was profound, standing there, cock curved slightly downward, dripping, sweat covering his chest mildly hair - therefore, perfectly hairy - chest. He looked at me. "You gonna tell her?" "I can't," I whispered, turning away from him. "You're a fag, Howard," he said, simply, his voice deep and resonant. "I'M NOT," I protested, bleakly. The tears were coming again. "Bro - your ass is full of my cum - you just shot your load HANDS FREE - because you were getting FUCKED. You're a fag - a PATHETIC FAG. But, the only reason you're pathetic is because you won't admit that you're a fag." "I'm not gay," I grumbled, searching for my manhood, somewhere inside of me, but unable to find it. "I'm bi . . . or something - I don't know - I'm not . . . " I whimpered, unable to convince even myself, let alone the man that had just bred me. "Dude - you're playing with your hole." I stopped. I hadn't even NOTICED I was doing it. My fingers had crept inside of me, feeling my walls, exploring my depths - enjoying the sensation of cum that sloshed in my pussy - I mean, my ass. I wanted to pull it out and take a taste. I couldn't do that now. It would be another betrayal of the lie to myself. "I'm not," I said, defeated, trying to figure out what to do with myself - "You have to tell her, Howard." "I can't." "Dammit - you have to. It's the right thing to do." I heard his anger. Knew what it meant. It frightened me. "I can't," I sobbed, losing control, pulling my fingers from my depths and burying my head in my arms. I knew he saw me lick them. I didn't care. There was nothing left of my dignity. He'd wounded it two years ago, before the marriage - then successively destroyed it with each additional coupling. It was gone now. It had disappeared. "I can't, Stan . . . (sob) I can't (sob) I CAN'T - please don't make me, don't make me, don't make me." I considered turning, begging at his feet, but I knew that wouldn't work. I just remained there, hole dripping ceaselessly on our hard-wood floor, hoping he would tire of my pathetic display, go to bed, and leave me alone to erase the evidence of our dangerous tryst. I waited - wiping my tears - barely gaining control of myself. But ... he didn't move. Not a muscle. It wasn't like him to stick around, unless he wanted seconds. And if he wanted seconds, I would know by now. And then - then . . . then in that long moment, as my crying subsided, as I gained control of my breathing, as the snot cleared my nose - at that moment, as silence attempted to fill the space, overwhelming my simpering man-less-ness - I KNEW that we were not alone . . . We KNOW when we are being watched. It's a genetic trait. Fight or flight. The alarm went off and I froze. But I couldn't stop myself from looking up - briefly - then turning away again, flinching, trying to dive into the chair. "Oh God Bren - no -" "I told you," he said. I flipped out, panicked. "It's not what it seems, hon - he made me - it's him -" I said, turning back, pointing to her brother. "You were right," she said, looking at me with true disdain. There was boredom, too, or seemed to be. "Brenda - it's not - this is not what it seems," I said, scrambling for my underwear or a shirt, tears welling back. "Jesus, ya gotta believe - " He kicked my hand away. "SEE??" I nearly screamed, scrambling, trying to cover myself. "He's a monster." "Shut up, faggot," he said, raising his hand again. Even my wife flinched at that - but only a little. I froze - a cornered animal. Then, in that moment, I saw her pull a folded hundred dollar bill from her ample breast, and pass it to him. "You win," she said. He took the bill. "What the fuck?" I said, hyperventilating now. She was dressed . . . scantily. A teddy barely covered her upper body. She wore some kind of garter and thigh-high stockings, without panties. She was casually rubbing her mound. Her breasts were erect. Her brother's cock began to rise. "I was certain he would come clean." "Yeah - no. He's a pathetic faggot." She nodded. "Fucking long wait. Hot show, though," she said, nodding to the laptop on the desk in the corner. The camera light was on. "Oh Jesus -" I said, speechless. "Are you always that rough?" she asked. He nodded. "He likes it. The rougher the better. You see how hard he was?" She just nodded. "You guys," I whined - He stepped forward. "Clean off my cock," he said, grabbing my head. "Gross, Stan," I objected, recoiling. "It's been in my ass -" "Precisely. I can't fuck your wife with a dirty dick. Clean it the fuck off. Get me hard." He shoved it down my throat. I tasted his spew and my gut-drool. My stomach turned. I began to gag. "He's a shitty cock-sucker," she said. "Yeah - I know - but we can work on that." I'd had enough - I was enraged. I tried to pull back and he yanked my head off his cock, slapping my face. "Listen to me," he said. "Listen good, Howie, cuz I'm not gonna go over this again - not that you deserve to know anything, you pathetic, sniveling faggot." When he said that I saw her shudder. She was just as excited as I was by his explosive power. "I'm not the kind of brother that would let his sister marry a fag, okay? So after the stag party I told her. Told her everything. Told her how you begged for it. Told her how you kept texting me. Told her you were a faggot. She didn't believe it at first -" "I didn't," she interjected, now with her hand on her mound, playing with herself tenderly, but with intention. "I thought he was jealous." "And I was jealous," he said, eyes getting big, nostrils flaring. "Little faggot fucking my sis - " his hand shook. He was barely able to control his anger at me. "Then I showed her the vid my buds took when they caught you begging for my morning load. And then we made a bet." "I wouldn't have believed it otherwise," she said. "I thought you loved me, Howard." "I do," I said, convincing no one - not even myself. "Two years, we bet." "Two long years," she said, exasperation and boredom filling the phrase. "She thought you loved her enough to be honest with her. I told her all you loved was cock and would do anything to keep servicing mine." "Two years," she whispered, glassy-eyed. "And I just won." He tossed the bill on the floor next to me, grabbed both sides of my head, and pushed his cock down my throat. "Now," he said, thrusting deep, "you're gonna clean my cock so I can fuck my sister here - because she and I go way back -" "Way back." She pulled off the teddy, releasing her gorgeous tits - they were erect and her chest was heaving. The look in her eye was feral. "And this little gay marriage adventure has seriously gotten in the way of the best pussy I ever had." "I need your cock so bad, baby," she groaned, legs shaking. "I'm so sorry - don't know what I was thinking -" "No worries, babe," he growled, shoving his cock deep down my throat as I relaxed into the service of him. "You needed space - I get it. But I missed you. Fuck I missed you bad. So bad." They kissed then. It was passionate. I couldn't see it. My face was buried in his crotch. I could feel it though - they tremored with desire. They kept talking - talking dirty - grinding into each other while completely ignoring me. I'm not sure when I stopped listening to them - maybe it was the third entry into my throat when my gag-reflex finally disappeared. Maybe it was my fingers playing with my wet hole. Maybe it was her wanton stares at her brother's mega-cock. "That's enough," she said, once he got hard - once it was gleaming clean with my spit. He stopped. Then he pushed me out of the way and sat on the chair, covering my cum with my own shirt, and spreading his legs wide. "Come on, babe," he said, looking at her. "Time for a real man to take care of you." She moved forward, stepping over me. Then she turned, looking down at me. All I could see was her wedding ring as she grabbed her own brother's cock and maneuvered it against her vulva - which was soaked, pulsing. "Lick his balls, Howard," was all she said, and I did, not taking my eyes off of her. "Oh damn, Stanley, I have missed this so much," she groaned as she slipped his thick cock into her pussy. "Me too," he whispered, as she settled down on it - stopping less than half way to adjust. "Oh yes," she groaned. Then she looked down on me, my mouth bulging with her brother's testicles. "I've been barely able to feel him inside of me. This is sooooooo much better," she said, as she let gravity fill her with his stallion cock. "Oh fuck," he cried, pushing up, jamming my head into her snatch as I followed his thrust. "Lick her clit," Stan said, beginning to pump my own wife - his own sister. "Take care of your wife." "Little fagboy," she cooed, riding her family fuck-tool. They coupled - me lapping at their conjoining, but more of a tool to them than a participant. He pulled her back on his chest, massaging her breasts, beginning to fuck her with meaning and authority. She took his thrusts and returned them, riding him. They were practiced lovers - passionate. Coordinated. Everything she and I weren't. I saw her sensuality for the first time in that moment and understood my utter failure as her lover and her husband. It only made me groan more obscenely, service them more completely. He pushed his ass forward, spreading his legs, lifting his muscled thighs up, supporting both her urgent weight and his own mass. "Watch this," he growled. "It's fucking freaky." Then he curled his ass up and out, while driving into her deeply. Suddenly his taint was available. The scent took hold. I couldn't help myself. I dove into his trench, lapping and sucking on his pucker, tasting his musky-funk-ness. I shoved my tongue in him deep. He groaned and shot. She began to writhe. "Oh God Stan - oh fuck Stan -" she said, grabbing my head and pushing it into her brother's ass. I shot my second load then, hands free. Well - one hand was playing with my pussy while the other played with her clit - as I tasted heaven in his hairy ass. "Oh - god - " she convulsed, coming in a way she had never cum with me. Then her juices and his cum poured out of her cunt and over his balls, allowing me to lap them up as they hit my tongue, even as my tongue penetrated his man-ass. We stayed like that - them cooing like lovers - trembling in post-coital bliss, me lapping and cleaning the mess they made with their passionate pairing. Finally ... "Did he cum again," he said, playing with her tits. She pulled off of him, stood up, looking down on me. "Yes," was all she said. Then she turned, sat back down on his lap, facing him, kissing him deeply. I took that opportunity to swallow his cock again. It was somewhat softer now. I could take it all. I needed practice. "Yes. All over the floor," she said, kissing him again, lovingly. "Did you bring the chastity thing?" she asked. He nodded. "Yeah. I'll put it on him soon." She kissed him again. It was so sweet - a lover's kiss. "I've missed you so much, Stanley," she said. "Me, too, Sis," he replied. "When do the movers get here?" "This weekend." He hardened once more as I ministered to his cock. She reached back, but I anticipated her needs - theirs - and aimed it into my wife's pussy, massaging her dripping opening with the cock that satisfied her. "Good fag," he replied. "Yes," she side, beginning to undulate slowly. "Good fag." ((((())))) Donate to Nifty. That's an order. https://donate.nifty.org/ This work is copyright of the author and commercial use is prohibited. Personal or private copies are permitted only if they include this notice. This is a work of fiction. All characters are of legal age domdadtop@gmail.com pagespermer.tumblr.com emails and inquiries welcome. Patience required.