The next few days, while they were alone in the house together, Shane realized that he was zoning out more than he had in quite a while. In fact, over the past month, he’d been surprisingly lucid and aware of himself–and of what Roger was doing and saying at any given moment, but this reminded him of when he’d just arrived home from college. Roger was changing things again, planting ideas and directions in his head, but he had no idea what they might be. College–that was something he hadn’t thought about. The trees were starting to change color, and he should have been back on campus weeks ago–but that wasn’t his life, not anymore, and he was starting to doubt it ever would be again.
After all, even if he could figure out what Roger was doing to him and his father, what then? It felt like his imagination had shrunk–the idea of ever being without Roger, without being his boy, it seemed so far-fetched as to be impossible. Still, it was his father he felt the most sympathy for, more than himself. Watching him everyday, in the same ill-fitting suits, leaving the house for work with a belch, half drunk from the beers Roger made him drink each morning–there was no sign at all that he could even tell something was wrong with all of this. But worse–he seemed so happy now. Before, he’d always seemed so stressed, and angry. It had been hard at times, especially for his mom, but this wasn’t better.
Then, on a Wednesday, Shane was painting when he heard the front door open, and his father came in. At first, he thought he must have zoned out longer than he’d thought, but it really was only shortly after noon–far too early for him to be home already. He came in and found Roger, a big grin plastered on his bearded face, and announced, “Fuck feels good–finally got my ass fired today! Don’t have to wear this fuckin’ shit anymore, don’t have to go to fuckin’ work, fuck!”
He started ripping off his clothes while Roger congratulated him, but Shane could only see the glee on his father’s face–and in that moment, something shifted in him. He knew, as his son, he should feel sympathy for him, that his father had loved his job–but instead, what welled up was contempt. He was so fucking happy about not having to work anymore, but here Shane was, working up a sweat every fucking day. He was too stupid to even realize he was being controlled by Roger! He pushed the feelings aside, but by the time they left, his dad was planted in a recliner, naked aside from some nasty looking underwear, smoking and drinking…and Roger winked at him as they stepped out the door, but didn’t broach the subject.
From that day on, his father was always home while they were working, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in Roger and Shane–that is, unless they were having sex. Then, it seemed like he was always there, watching, staring at Shane in particular with a look of desire in his eye that made Shane…hate him. Didn’t he realize it was his own son he was lusting after? Why couldn’t he fight it? Why couldn’t he at least try and help? Did he want this? Had he been wrong about him all of this time? That weekend, the first of many visitors appeared at the house, other men arriving to see his father, “friends” of his that Shane had never seen before in his life, and his father had sex with all of them, begging the fat, dirty fucks who came by to fuck his drunk ass. Worse, listening to his father beg for cock would make Shane incredibly horny–and Roger, seeing his boy with a hardon, would of course encourage Shane to take a break, and go watch his father get fucked while he jacked off. Shane didn’t know if he obeyed because he had to, or because he wanted to. Still, he held out hope all the same–and then, he was given an opportunity so golden he couldn’t resist it.
One afternoon, they ran out of paint. When they needed supplies, Roger almost always made Shane go with him to the hardware store, but today, he wanted Shane to keep working while he ran over there quickly–alone. That meant, for close to an hour, he’d be alone with his father in the house–if ever there was a chance to escape, this would be it. He watched Roger go, and as soon as he’d heard the truck drive off, he ran for where his father was in his recliner, drunk. “Gary! Gary, come on, we have to go,” Shane said, “Roger’s gone for a while, and this is the only chance we’re going to get.”
His father just looked up at him in the recliner, and nodded. He stood up, groping himself, and leered at Shane. “Yeah boy, let’s go to the bedroom–I was worried you were just a bottom for him, but looks like you can’t resist this ass of mine either.”
“No, don’t you get it? We can fucking escape!” Shane shouted, shaking his father by the shoulders, “Don’t you fucking remember fucking anything?”
His dad didn’t pay any attention–he just dropped to his knees and dug Shane’s cock out through the hole Roger had cut in his coveralls for easier access. “Yeah boy, let me see that fuckstick of yours–fuck, hard already! You really do want it bad.”
He backed up, and slapped his father across the face, “You fucking idiot, you have to fucking wake the fuck up!”
His father just groaned, “Fuck–god, ya really know how tah treat a faggot properly, boy,” his dad said, hauling his cock out of his underwear, “I love the rough ones.”
“You’re disgusting,” Shane said.
“Fuck–you fucking know it, just a disgusting faggot–that’s all I wanna fucking be. So fucking use me! Beat me, I don’t give a damn. Just make sure ya fuck me with that big cock boy, because that’s what makes this faggot pig real fuckin’ happy.”
Gary crawled forward on his knees and licked at the head of Shane’s cock, making him shiver. He should run. Just forget him, and save himself. But that wasn’t what he really wanted, was it? It wasn’t what either of them really wanted. Instead, he shoved his cock down his father’s throat, listening to him choke, and slapped him again. “Be careful what you ask for, faggot,” he growled.
Bracken's Corner 