Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 12:02:29 -0700 From: Bend Sinister Subject: The Way Home - Part IV The Way Home - Part IV Wonderfullife Note: This is a fantasy. If you are not legally, mentally, morally, emotionally/etc. equipped for fantasy, don't read this. If you are under 18, definitely do not read this. If you enjoy this, I encourage you to get in touch at hizzlito[at]hotmail[dot]com. Thanks to those of you who have - I hope you like this part. At least, I hope you like the dad... My father turned me to face him and pulled me away from the wall. As soon as he removed his arm, I fell, as though my legs couldn't hold me up anymore. I landed on my knees, looking up at him in the darkness as the guard disappeared, slinking away. The bright security lights were coming from behind my father, backlighting that made him just a black, indistinguishable shape. I was terrified. It was like looking into a void, a black hole that would consume me - and the most terrifying part was that that was what I wanted, to be consumed, to disappear and not face him. "Get on your feet," he said. I couldn't, and he reached down and hauled me into a standing position. "Follow me." He gave me a shove and got me moving. Somehow I managed to keep going, one foot after the other up the hill behind him. He didn't say a word, and the walk felt interminable. The slope made my calves burn. He walked fast and had gotten far away from me, but he stopped to let me catch up. "Is that the fastest you can move?" he snapped, but he didn't give me a chance to apologize or try to speed up. In one move, he had me scooped in his arms like a child, and it was all I could do to wrap one arm around his shoulders for balance. My other hand ended up pressed against his broad, muscular chest, and I could feel his heart beating, pounding inside his skin like a drum. The door was open and he carried me inside. I only had time to register that that was how you brought a bride home - carrying her over the threshold - before he kicked open another door and tossed me like a sack onto the carpet. From there, getting up was impossible. I lay there, pulling my arms in to keep from reaching for his feet. "I didn't believe your mother when she told me she thought you were a faggot," he said distantly, as though he weren't talking to me at all. "She said you had been raped. That you said you had been raped." One foot came towards me, slowly, nudging me in the ribs and turning me over so I lay on my back looking up at him. He wore a thick, dark blue robe, the belt tied loosely at his waist. "I was," I managed to say. "He raped me." The foot pulled back and then landed hard on my side. "Don't lie to me," he said. "I'm not lying," I gasped. He didn't let me feel the bruise, but stepped on my wrist lightly with his foot. He was keeping most of his weight off - the full force of his massive body would probably have broken the bone. "Who would have thought my son would turn out like you?" he said. "I could have lived with a faggot. But - you think I don't know what you've been up to? You think I don't know what you did with Khalid in the car, with that idiot out there? Sucking every cock that comes your way? Are you starving to death?" I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying not to cry. Even though maybe it was preferable that he thought of it that way, as a hunger. He couldn't know yet that it was something far worse, something that would never be sated. It was a disease or an evil, a hole inside me that would never be filled. He took his foot off my wrist and brought it to rest between my nipples, the sole tickling the hair on my chest. He moved it slowly up, then down, sliding along my ribs, to my navel. It was like he was inspecting an animal he had just bought, trying to decide what to do with it. "What - " I began, but his foot flew up to cover my mouth. "I didn't give you permission to speak," he said. "Turn over." I turned. Still with his foot, he explored my ass through the thin fabric of my shorts, then knelt on top of me, straddling my thighs. I felt the cloth tighten as he took it in his hands, then heard it tear. I felt my father's hands land on my naked ass, one side in each. Then a finger slid into the valley between them as though he were trying to comb the black hair there. With his other hand, he kneaded the round muscles I'd gained over years of tennis and swimming, like he was learning the feel of them. His weight shifted, moved downward, and I felt his breath on my asshole. "You know," he said, sounding different again, the way he had when we first met, "lots of boys have sucked my dick. All over the world. But..." A finger traced circles around my hole. "I've never fucked a man before. Never wanted to." The finger disappeared and I heard a sharp crack a second before my ass began to burn from the pain of his full-armed slap. As though I weighed nothing he flipped me over so I lay facing him. The robe had begun to open, the black hair on his chest matted with sweat. He put his hands on either side of my shoulders and looked down at me, a drop of sweat falling from his neck into my mouth. "I guess it's a good thing you're such a whore," he growled, his mouth inches from mine. "At least one of us has practice." "I'm not," I breathed. "Please - believe me - I've never - no one has - " He cupped a hand over my mouth and my nose. With his other hand he reached for the cloth belt that held his robe shut, undoing the knot and pulling it from the loops. He wadded it into a ball and stuffed it into my mouth, using its long, trailing ends to tie it in place. He didn't even bother telling me to stay quiet. He stood up and let the robe fall from his shoulders. "You're used to cock by now, I know," he said. "God knows how many men you've let inside you. But you've probably never had one like this." He moved his hand and let me at last see the cock that, once upon a time, had made me. It was as amazingly beautiful, as monstrous, as the man it belonged to. The hair on his stomach thinned slightly below his navel before exploding into a wild, thick forest of jet-black hair, out of which was rising this angry phoenix. I had thought Mr. Gutierrez and Khalid were big, but this was easily over twice my length, a column of brown flesh with one long, pulsing vein running along one side. It was thicker even than the guard at the gate's - thicker than my wrist. It curved slightly to the right, like a scimitar or one of those Arab swords. My father's cock didn't even seem human, and at that moment neither did he: This was a monster, with a monster's cock and a monster's anger, all the rage of the beast defied. Even as I wanted it - even as I knew that if there was any hope for me, any salvation or redemption, that it would come from there just as I had - I knew that I could not possibly let him even try to fuck me. It was instinct more than any conscious decision: As he bent to come down on top of me, with my free leg I kicked as hard as I could at his knee. He stumbled and it bought me a moment of freedom. I struggled into a sitting position and then onto my feet and sprinted for the door, the torn shreds of my shorts still hanging around me. He was closer, and even limping he reached it only a second after I did. I swung an elbow into his chest and managed to open the door. As I ran out into the hallway I could hear him laughing. I fought as hard as I could. I fought the way I hadn't tried to fight Mr. Gutierrez, or Khalid, or the man with the gun. I can't say why - maybe we always try to fight what we know will change us forever, maybe we fight when what we need most is so close to us. All I know is that I fought, running from him, swinging fists and knees, and he still came up behind me, barely flinching at my blows but with each of his - a punch to the stomach, a cuff to the head - bringing me one step closer to submission. At last - as though he had simply just gotten bored of my flight - he managed to hit the back of my knees and I fell onto my back before him. We were in the kitchen, somehow, and the stone floor was cold and rough and hard. Quickly, he was on top of me. "Look at this," he said, hefting his cock. It looked even bigger than before, drooling precum. "Look how hard you've made me." He wrapped a hand around it, stroked it, coating it so that it grew slick and shining. "No one's ever done that before. Does it go in easier like this?" I still couldn't speak, but I wouldn't have been able to even if he'd removed the cloth from my mouth. I was done, defeated - I couldn't fight anymore. He pushed my legs apart and I let him. I didn't move even when I felt him place the fat, blunt head of his cock against my virginity. "Open your eyes, faggot," he hissed. "I want to see what you look like when your father rapes you. This is what you wanted, isn't it? If I had known..." I opened my eyes. His were sparkling. We were both covered in sweat. He didn't have a mark on him but I could feel bruises everywhere. He smiled at me. "I guess you're lucky I didn't," he said, and then it began. He put his hands on my shoulders and simply held me in place, not allowing me to move an inch. There was one vicious, sudden thrust, as if he had planned to go all the way in in one move, to bury his dick in me like a sword in the heart. But my body still had some defenses left and somehow, something brought him to a halt. There was a quick flash of doubt in his eyes and he retreated a little bit, but that was quickly wiped away. "After all those men had their way with your ass, you're going to make me go slow? Any jackass off the street can treat you like a slut and I have to be gentle with you?" He slapped me. "I'll show you gentle." If anything, it was worse when it was slow. I could feel each agonizing inch of his immense dick boring into me. I knew there was blood; I could feel the skin ripping around the intruder. But it felt like I was breaking inside, too, like things were being pushed aside, retreating before this invader. He paused, looked down, smirked. "Halfway," he said. "Maybe you've only been with boys? No one with a man's dick?" He put his hand down between us, brought it out again, held it out for me to see: His fingers coated with his precum and with my blood. "It looks like you know how to be quiet now," he said. Roughly, he pulled the gag loose and let it fall, then shoved his bloody fingers into my mouth. How could that only be halfway? It felt like someone had driven a truck into me, a mile deep, but he began pulling out, farther and farther until there was a slick, shuddering sound and he was all the way out of me. Only the head remained resting against my bruised, trembling hole, as though the two of them had paused for a kiss. He pulled his fingers from my mouth. "I didn't think you'd be this tight," he said. "But it looks like you're ready now." He had had me in a half-sitting position, but now with one hand he eased me to the floor and stretched himself on top of me, holding himself up easily on his forearms. My legs were spread to either side of him. I was paler, but the black hair on my legs matched that growing on his. It was like having a wolf on top of me, I realized - like we were both wolves, and it was undeniable which was alpha. I spread my legs wider, let my head fall back. "Look at your father," he said, and as my eyes opened he thrust himself into me. It went in like it was cutting butter, and this time he didn't stop, just jacked himself in harder when my body put up a wall. I only realized I was screaming when he clapped a hand over my mouth to make me be silent. "Shut up," he said. "It's all in, you little faggot. All the dick you could ever want. Feel that?" He twisted his hips and the wires of his pubic hair scratched against my skin. "Think this'll be enough for my little faggot boy? That's twelve inches of dick in you, slut. Twelve inches of your father. How does it feel?" "I - hurt," I choked. "You hurt? Let's see what we can do about that." He pulled out a few inches, then slammed back in. "Hurt better?" Again, a little farther, a little harder, and again, until he stopped completely, let the full length of it sink back inside me. It was less painful, as though he had literally reshaped my insides to fit his dick. With the full twelve inches - and he was minimizing it, I'd learn later, maybe to keep me calm - buried to the hilt, he began making tiny, almost imperceptible movements. It was as if he was moving no muscles but those in his cock inside me. Somehow, my body began to respond. I felt my hips rock, my back arch as though seeking more of him. "So that's what it takes to get a boyslut warmed up," he muttered. The way he was leaning over me, his armpit hovered above me. I stared into it, the tangle of black hair in brown flesh, and maybe he could sense what I wanted. He pulled me almost into an embrace, albeit one that ended with my face buried there. The smell of his sweat was overwhelming. He moaned as I licked, sucked, bit the flesh there. "You're so goddamn tight," he said. "Looks like I've been missing out. But I'm gonna make up for that. I'm going to wear this little fuckhole out. My son going out looking for cock on the street?" He pulled off me, slapped me hard across the face. "This isn't enough for you?" "It's enough," I breathed. He slapped me again, dug his fingers into my mouth like he wanted to pull out an answer that suited him. "I didn't hear you," he said. "It's enough." "It's enough, what?" Finally it got through to me, what he wanted. The steady speed of his thrusting had increased and it felt like he was swelling inside me. "It's enough... Dad. Daddy, it's enough. Daddy, you're enough. Daddy..." The word made him explode. He collapsed on top of me, his weight driving the air from my lungs. He was still all the way inside me but I could feel his spasms - just like I was sure he could feel, from my shuddering, that I was crying.