Category: Uncategorized

Father’s Rules (Part 6)

***Warning*** Really dark. Physical and emotional abuse, extreme aging, amputation.

His father rarely brought home the same man more than once, and once he had Blake willing to do anything he wanted, he rarely brought home anyone at all. There were a few that came over regularly, but it was always focused on sex. But as soon as they stepped in the door, Blake could immediately sense something different between them. They came home, and his dad wasn’t drunk off his ass, and they were…laughing. He introduced Anthony to his filthy brother, but instead of using him…Saul told Blake that he should go spend a few hours at the gym–give them some privacy. A small part of Blake was relieved, but his new self was…hurt. Hurt that his brother didn’t want to use him, hurt when he saw the look of contempt and loathing in Anthony’s eyes. He worked out, but during his multiple breaks for a cigar outside, he fumed. What did that guy have that Blake didn’t? Sure, he was young, he was clean. He wasn’t obese, just chubby and soft in all the right places. But could he take two dicks in his ass at once? Could he drink a gallon of piss in one sitting? Did he have teeth you can take out, like Blake’s proper mouthhole? No! So why send him away? Why do all of this to him, if you didn’t want to use him?

Blake returned that night. Anthony was still there, sleeping with Saul in the bed, and Blake started a fight. He wanted to know why Saul had sent him away, why he couldn’t play with him. Anthony was disgusted, and told him so. Saul suggested he leave–that he needed to have some words with his brother. Saul finally confessed everything to him. He’d been dating Anthony for a few months now, behind Blake’s back. Blake wanted to know why, and Saul told him it was because he wanted someone in his life who wasn’t a pig. Who had some self-control, and some basic hygiene and who wasn’t in their sixties. Blake exploded. Saul stopped responding, marched over to the list, and scrawled a new rule:

My son has to move out out of the apartment.

Blake begged and pleaded. Where was he even supposed to go? Saul was uncaring, and shoved him out of the apartment and locked the door behind him; he searched his key ring for the key to the apartment but it had somehow disappeared, so he started banging and pounding on the door, screaming threats until the police arrived, cuffed him, and dragged him off.

Saul posted his bail, but said that was the last he wanted to see of him. He’d already talked to their boss and gotten him fired, and told him he’d have to find something else to do with his “retirement”. That if he ever came near him or Anthony again, there’d be hell to pay. With nothing else to do, he emptied his wallet at the bar, and decided he might as well use the only skill he had left, and started turning tricks with anyone desperate enough to fuck him, usually only asking for a bed or a couch and a meal for payment, instead of money. He knew enough perverts from his years living with his father that he was able to survive, at least–although now that he was at their disposal and rather helpless, he found himself at the mercy of each man’s own extreme natures. One man offered him a home in his basement, but only if he slept in a cage, and he suffered as the man’s old helpless pig for two month, until he too grew tired of him and kicked him out again. He met several men who would pay him to be in amateur porn flicks, and he found his sexual limits pushed in all sorts of strange–often painful–directions. Throughout, he would still see Saul and Anthony on occasion at various bars. The meetings were always coincidental–the list wouldn’t allow him to seek them out–and he would always leave as soon as he noticed them, but not without incurring another year or two of aging each time. Before too much longer, he was nearly eighty–his hair pure white, contrasting with his riot of tattoos. It was around then that he went home with someone too rough–someone who beat him senseless, shattering his arms and legs in multiple places, before dumping him at the hospital.

Blake woke up in a bed, his father looming over him. He tried to speak, he tried to yell, but his dad shushed him.

“Don’t worry dad,” Saul said to him, “I’m here for you.”

“But…but where am I?” Blake replied, “Where–did you say…dad?”

“Of course–you know me. It’s Saul, your son.”

Blake couldn’t speak, tears welling up in his eyes. He hurt all over, but he managed to look around the room. It was small, and looked like a hospital–some other old man was in a bed next to him, sleeping, some monitor beeping quietly. “Is this the hospital? Why…why can’t I feel my legs…”

“I’m…the doctors said you were too obese to save your legs–they had gone necrotic. I’m afraid that they had to amputate them, dad–after, you know, your fall? They saved your arms, but they say you won’t be able to use them very much in the future. ”

Blake refused to believe it. He started screaming, and an orderly came in, helping him calm down, before showing him his missing legs–one at the hip, and the other at the knee. His arms and hands were still in casts, but he could…feel the damage enough to know they weren’t lying. He was too terrified to do anything but cry, and his dad stroked his bald head gently.

“Don’t worry, I picked out this nursing home especially for you. You’ll be quite happy here, and I’ve made sure you’ll be well taken care of now, isn’t that right Mr. Allan?”

“Of course, Mr. Emerson–I’ll follow your instructions to the letter, I promise.”

“Good,” Saul said, “My father has a very particular set of needs, after all, and I’m sure you’re just the man to help him through these last years of his life.”

Blake tried to protest, but he was too tired to speak. Saul turned and left, leaving him with Mr. Allan. He was young–probably in his thirties and very muscular. He came around the side of the bed, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. “Yeah, your dad’s told me that you need all sorts of special treatment to stay happy, and it just so happens this sort of thing is my specialty.”

Blake tried to resist, as the young man reached in his mouth and pulled out his dentures, but once the cock was in his mouth, he decided to just enjoy it–and he did enjoy it. He was especially thankful when Mr. Allan shot deep down his throat, and followed the cum with a load of piss–just how Blake liked it. After, he helped him into a wheelchair and pushed him outside, lighting a cigar for him and helping the old man smoke it, before reaching one hand under the blanket covering his stumps and jacking his old, soft cock until it leaked out a load of cum–and then wheeled him back inside, and lifting him into his bed–but only after hooking up a milker to his cock and a sliding a large vibrating dildo into his hole–to help keep him happy, Mr. Allan said.

Yeah, happy. This…this wasn’t so bad, was it? He told himself, as he spasmed and let loose another load into the milker. But then again, if this wasn’t so bad, why couldn’t he seem to stop himself from sobbing?

Father’s Rules (Part 5)

***Warning*** Darkness ahead.

The list began growing longer all over again. His dad would still bring home men, but now instead of just watching, Blake was forced to serve them and his dad sexually all night long. To further his sexual education, his daily routine of masturbation began incorporating any number of toys–at first, just dildos, but then also clamps, stretchers, pumpers–before long Blake was compelled to fuck his hole regularly as he masturbated, and had to wear a buttplug at work and the gym. His father forced him to have his nipples and cock pierced, and they were pumped and stretched as well. He fought, of course. He fought hard, but there was nothing he could do, except watch himself grow older and older in the mirror, his hair picking up strands, and then streaks of grey–though grey was a bit of a misnomer. He smoked so much, that they were really just yellow. His face grew wrinkled, his eyesight failing and forcing him to wear glasses. Eventually, one day–either from exhuatsion or simply terror at his own age, he decided to give in.

He worshiped his dad happily, cleaning his entire body every chance he could get. He would offer up any of his holes to any man his father took a liking to, and happily submit to any kind of sex. Slowly, he even began to forget that there was ever a time when he wasn’t his dad’s personal whore. Reality, thankfully, shifted with him. He went from being his father’s son to his brother. He hoped that would be enough for his father, he hoped that, maybe, he would let things slide, let the list die, so he could be free–instead, Saul saw his son’s new eagerness as an excuse to double down and force him to go even further.

He established a cum quota on the list–the number of loads Blake would have to swallow or take in his ass–raw–every day. The number began at a manageable five, but soon escalated to a nearly impossible fifty. Blake was forced to spend nearly every moment of his day seeking out men to service sexually–and he soon became a regular feature of local gloryholes, bathhouses and gay saunas, where he would occasionally collect enough loads to satisfy his father’s demands, but often his failure would simply mean disobedience, and he continued aging. He hoped that when he grew older than his own father, the list’s power would wane–but it made no difference, as he became his father’s older brother, resting in his upper fifties, once he realized how low he had to go in order to meet his father’s arbitrary quota.

His desperation had rooted out any remaining desire to disobey–he became meek and desperate to please, one eye always on the list, hoping it would finally shrink to nothing, but there was always something else–a new commandment that he drink ten loads of piss a day. Another, forcing him to eat his own cigar butts, as well as any cigarette or cigar butts he found, not to mention he would happily serve as a spittoon for anyone who asked. His nicotine addiction became crippling in short measure–before too long, simply smoking his cigars wasn’t enough for him–he would have to smoke and chew at the same time, swallowing his own foul spit, just to keep the tremors at bay, but finally, his father seemed pleased. He encouraged him, told him that his son had finally become a real man, and the praise…the praise made him so happy, it disgusted him. But the list waned, it waned slowly, but he held out hope that the end was finally in sight.

In those rare times when he was home alone, he would often just stand in the bathroom, staring at himself, trying to hold onto some bit of his past, trying to remember who he’d been. It had been a little over a year now. A whole year, and he was older than his father, his thick, tangled beard reaching down the length of his belly, his hair–what remained, at least, now that he was balding severely–reaching halfway down his back. He reeked all the time–like he hadn’t showered in ages, like a full ashtray someone had pissed in. His teeth had started rotting out of his months ago, and he’d gone into the dentist to get a full set of dentures. Saul and his friends appreciated it–he loved the feel of his “brother’s” gums around his cock, much more than teeth. All of his clothes were soaked with piss, cum, tobacco spit, ash and sweat–no one at work could get within a few feet without facing his stench. Yet, every time, in front of the mirror, cigar permanently clamped in his jaw, a huge wad of tobacco also pushing out his cheek, he would end up jacking off. He would jack off, staring at himself, because a part of him, a part of him growing larger every day, liked it. Liked how much he reeked, liked the feel of the dildo thrusting in and out of his loose hole, loved licking the cum from his gritty, filthy hands after he shot his load. Loved that he was a perverse, nasty old bear, constantly hungry for cum and piss and smoke. Despairing, he’d leave the bathroom, until even that despair abandoned him too. Until that became a routine too–after his father caught him–forced him to enjoy his new body, to feel confident in his perversity.

The list was almost empty again. Saul seemed to have forgotten about it, mostly–that, or Blake had finally become the disgusting pervert he’d always wanted, and had no more desire to change him. Just as Blake had suspected, it had been his father all along. Saul had given up pretending, at this point. He lorded it over him, that he could do whatever he wanted to him, and Blake couldn’t do anything to stop him. Hell, Blake didn’t want to stop him. He liked this. He liked being his father’s–no, not his father. He didn’t think of him as a father anymore, not really. His brother’s pig. His younger brother’s filthy sex pig. But then, his father brought home Anthony.

Father’s Rules (Part 4)

It wasn’t often that Saul didn’t manage to bring someone home–his standards were relatively low–or, he preferred his standards low. Blake was beginning to suspect it was a matter of choice more than anything. Hell, he’d watched his dad have sex with who knew how many men. Some of them he was certain were hobos he’d picked up off the streets. He was drawn to their desperation, it gave Saul a certain level of control over them that he couldn’t otherwise get, a form of control Blake was well acquainted with. He came home, and Blake sensed that he shouldn’t be there. He tried to excuse himself for a late night trip to the gym, but Saul grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the the couch, where he suggested he help his dad out with a blowjob first. Blake told him there was no way he would ever suck his dad’s cock, not after what he’d done to him. Saul slapped him. Blake tried to punch him, but couldn’t–as always. They fought for a moment, but Blake couldn’t keep him from the list, where his dad wrote:

My son must have sex with me whenever I want.

Blake tried to fight it, but his body is no longer interested in what he might think. His dad yanked down his filthy underwear and rammed his cock in his ass, Blake begging him to be gentler, but Saul just spanked his ass, telling him to fucking enjoy it, that this is how real men fuck. He came quickly, and stumbled off to his room where he passed out, Blake sobbing himself to sleep on the couch, staring at the list. He’d been close–so damn close…

Saul woke him up with his cock at five-thirty. Blake sucked him off. They went to work, together, Saul making him blow him in the truck on their mutual cigar and lunch break, and then came home. Blake had said nothing to him all day, and Saul tried to apologize, tried to tell his son that the list had made him do it. Blake exploded, calling his dad a rapist, calling him a pervert, and he stormed out, spending the rest of the afternoon and evening at the gym, trying to lift away his frustration, and he considered simply staying away entirely, and not going back. He didn’t have to go back there, he could just leave, but something…something dragged his feet back home…where he found his father, once again drunk off his ass, sitting on the couch, naked. Blake found himself sinking to his knees and licking his father’s filthy body clean, from his stinking pits and crusty feet, to his sweaty balls and ripe asscrack. Only then, could he finally beg his father to fuck his fat, nasty pighole. Saul was only too happy to oblige him, and it hurt, but not as much as the night before. In fact, Blake realized he’d soon be used to this, just like he’d gotten used to everything else. It was only afterward that he noticed the list had grown longer, again.

My son must worship and clean my body every day.

My son must beg for me to have sex with him at least three times a day.

Saul came up behind him, stinking of smoke and booze, and ran his hands over his son’s body, “You think I’m a pervert, son? Maybe so, but you’ll be a pervert soon enough too, begging me to fuck you every day, obsessed with my body. And last I checked, you can’t rape the very, very willing.”

“You sick fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No Blake–the question is what’s wrong with you! I think I’ve neglected a very important part of your education, Blake. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced and educated in the ways of sex, and who better to show you then your father? I thought I was sparing you, by keeping this distance between us, but you haven’t really learned anything, have you? No, you’re still the same prick, you just look hotter. Well don’t worry–we’ll have you singing a different tune here soon. You’ll be a perfect fucking pigson.”

He shoved Blake against the wall, and Blake could smell him, smell them both. Smell the musk between them, the smoke from both of their cigars, the booze and coffee on their breath, and his cock…his fucking cock was getting hard. When Saul leaned in and kissed him, pushing smoke into his lungs, he tried to push him away, but his efforts grew weaker until he was kissing him back, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Their lips parted–Blake was panting, Saul at ease with a smirk.

“P-Please…” Blake said.

“Please what, son?”

He meant to ask him to stop–he really did. But what came out was Blake begging his father to fuck his face, his knees buckling, Saul only too happy to use his son’s throat. Blake tried to resist, but his hand found his way into his filthy briefs and started jacking his own cock, cumming even before his father did.

“I don’t think you’re going to be sleeping on the couch anymore, do you?”

Blake didn’t respond, and he tried to hold out for the whole night, but when he woke up to smoke a cigar, the longing in him was undeniable, and he climbed into bed with his father, asking him to for a midnight fuck while they smoked. So close–he’d been so damn close, but things were only going to get worse, Blake realized–or, from a different perspective, better–he thought, as his father wrapped him in his burly arms, cock still lodged in his ass, and they drifted to sleep.

Father’s Rules (Part 3)

Blake woke up, hungover, at six in the morning like always, only to discover more rules had been added to the list while he was asleep:

My son must masturbate to the smell of his own pits, his dirty underwear, and his father’s dirty underwear.

My son never showers, brushes his teeth, or cuts his hair or his beard.

His father had already left for work, and he spent the whole day fighting the new rules–trying to trick himself into getting wet and cleaning himself, but the best he could do was wash his hands–without soap. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn’t stop from smelling himself, couldn’t stop smelling his dad’s underwear as he jacked off madly, soon falling back into his routine of smoking, drinking, eating and jacking off. He had to do something, he had to. He held out for about a week, but finally, he broke down sobbing one morning, begging his father not to leave him alone in the apartment, that he couldn’t take this anymore.

“I tried to be reasonable.”

“I know, but please, I’m sorry. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything, just…just make it so I don’t have to smell myself, please, I fucking reek…but I’m starting to like it dad, I’m starting to fucking like it!”

Blake looked up at his dad, but Saul was looking away from him. Why couldn’t he look at him? Finally, he responded. “I can’t. I can’t erase the rules I made. That’s not how it works.”

Blake just stared at him. “W-What?”

“The list is educating you, Blake. The rules don’t disappear until you follow them without even thinking about them. Until you don’t even realize you’re following them. Until you want to follow them. Do you remember that first rule I made? About you masturbating?”

Blake nodded.

“Go look for it.”

It wasn’t on the list. It should have been at the top, but he’d become so used to spending almost his entire day jacking off…he hadn’t even noticed when it had disappeared. “How…how long has it been gone?”

“Probably two weeks now.”

“You mean…you mean I’ve been jacking off this much on my own…for two fucking weeks?”

“You’re going to be jacking off like that for the rest of your life son, trust me. You couldn’t do it less if you tried. Look at those fucking balls on you, I mean, they’re fucking huge. You’re made to pump cum out now, son, you don’t have a choice anymore.” Saul looked away again, “Look, the list…the list wants me to punish you, Blake. To be honest..I don’t remember writing those last two rules, I just don’t. But I thought…I thought about them and they just…appeared on the list. I don’t know what it’ll do if you keep fighting me. Please, for your own sake, just…let’s figure out what to do together, alright? You’re already thirty or so…if you aren’t careful, you’re going to be as old as me before too much longer.”

Blake didn’t want to believe him, but did he have much of a choice? Even if his dad was lying to him and had written those rules…if Blake didn’t obey, something worse was bound to happen, regardless whether it was his dad doing it sadistically, or the list itself forcing his hand.

“I should never have done this to you, I know that. But if you just…if you be good, it’ll be over soon enough. I promise. I figured it out when I was a kid, when my dad did this to me. I know you can get past it too.”

Together, they sat down and talked–for the first time, really. Saul suggested that, if he wanted to get out of the apartment, then the best thing he could do was get a job. Blake didn’t know what sort of job he could get, however, looking like he did–so his dad asked his bosses at the construction company he worked for, and they agreed to hire his son on a temporary basis, to see what he could do. It was hard work, for sure, but with his dad helping him–and with a few rules urging him on to be a hard worker and quelling some of his…nastier…urges while he was out in public, Blake was given a full time position after a few months. His dad helped him out with a few other rules as well–especially by requiring Blake to lift weights regularly at the local gym. It didn’t change the fact that he was well past obesity, but before too long, between the hard labor and the weightlifting, he’d gone from total pudge to a 400 hundred pound, chubby bull. He’d stopped aging as well, now that he was cooperating, and was holding stable at thirty-two years old.

Many times, Blake asked his father to make some rules that might help offset his earlier punishments. The guys at work complained about how bad he smelled, for one thing, and his hair and beard were simply unmanageable, and seemed to only be getting longer. He also wanted him to help him cut back on the cigars. The addiction had gone from constant to nearly crippling. He could barely last half an hour without smoking one, and he’d usually have to get up three or four times in the night just to satisfy his nicotine craving. His dad said that there was simply nothing he could do. The list refused to accept any rules that would reverse earlier changes–he could try to balance the equation with other rules as best he could, but there was only so much he could do.

Blake was becoming more and more certain that Saul wasn’t telling him the whole truth–and that the real reason he wouldn’t change him back was because he liked his new son better than his old one. Granted, Blake liked his dad better too, now that they had more common interests, but he still couldn’t forgive him for doing this to him. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was an attraction there. He’d been watching his dad fuck for so long, that he started to…admire him, and the way Saul would look at him sometimes…that worried him even more. Still, he watched the list grow shorter and shorter by the day, doing his best to follow the rules to the exact wording, feeling them become a second nature to him, so he could finally be free of the curse. But then, one night his dad went out to the bar, but didn’t get lucky with anyone–and returned home very drunk, and very, very horny.

Father’s Rules (Part 2)

Blake woke up at six o’ clock on the couch, right on the dot, like someone had thrown a switch. He looked up at saw his dad was up as well, dressed in his clothes for work, next to the list of rules on the wall.

“What, watching me sleep, pervert?” Blake said, sitting up.

“No, I was just waiting for you to wake up–no more sleeping in for you. Up at six o’ clock every morning, whether you like it or not. Now I have to get going to the site, but I wanted to make sure you saw your new rules.

Blake looked at the list, and saw a number of new entries had appeared:

My son will consume at least one pot of black coffee and at least 2000 calories between six A.M. and noon.

My son will consume at least one twelve pack of beer and 4000 calories between noon and midnight

My Son will consume at least six cigars a day.

“What the fuck? But what about school?”

“Both of us know you weren’t even going to school when you could go to school. No, I think you’ll be staying here for a while, where I can keep an eye on you, son.”

Blake tried to protest, but Saul just left the apartment, abandoning him to his rules. The first few days he fought–but his body wouldn’t let him disobey. His father had kept the house stocked with plenty of food–almost all of it fatty snack foods, and since he couldn’t count calories easily, he’d just eat until the hunger died away, usually jacking off as he did to get to fifteen ejaculations by the end of the day. He was a mess the first week. The second week he managed better, but by the third week, his father increased the numbers–two pots of coffee, 9000 calories a day, eighteen beers, and ten cigars. Almost every night, his father would bring home another man to fuck around with, and he’d managed to find a quite a few guys who didn’t mind Max watching them fuck, while he drank his beers and smoked his cigars, but he couldn’t keep doing this, he just couldn’t.

He got a knife from the kitchen and tried to attack his dad when he got home one evening, but the list wouldn’t let him harm Saul, he couldn’t even bring himself to try and land a blow on him. So Saul made a new rule that Blake had to eat all of his own cum. He lasted two days before he finally broke down, sobbing. He couldn’t live like this, he had to get out of the apartment. He felt sick all the time, his cock was chaffed, the smoke hurt his lungs, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d do anything, anything Saul wanted him to do, if he could just go back to being a normal teenager again.

Saul didn’t do or say anything right away. Then, he laughed. “Teenager?” he asked, “Son, you haven’t been a teenager for quite a while now.”

Blake just looked at him, confused. Saul rolled his eyes. “It usually takes a few days for your head to catch up and fill in, but you’ll figure it out. Now, I’m fucking beat–I’m gonna go jack off if you wanna watch, and then I’m going to bed.”

Blake figured out what his dad was talking about the next day, when he finished taking one of his long beer pisses, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was a mess, of course. He eyes were bloodshot, and he’d gained quite a bit of weight from his binging. Too much weight, really. It had only been a month–he managed to dig an old scale out from under the sink, and sure enough, he’d gone from one hundred and fifty pounds to two hundred and sixty in less than a month. That didn’t make sense, did it? Then again, he hadn’t weighed one fifty since he was in high school, so–

He ran that thought back. Since he was in high school? He was still in high school…wasn’t he?

He knew the answer. He’d dropped out when he was sixteen–he was too lazy to do much of anything beyond smoke, drink, eat and jack off in his dad’s apartment. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he did look older–like he was probably around twenty seven or so, not sixteen. He freaked out–all he could think to do, however, was drink more beer and smoke more cigars, anything to calm him down until his dad got home from work, and Blake demanded answers.

“The more you fight it, the more you age, son. That’s how it works. And you become whatever the rules you’re following think you should be. You’re a fucking slob now, son. You stink–Have you even showered this week? You didn’t even notice the beard either I bet–hell, it almost reaches your chest–the same with that hair of yours.”

“No…no, this is insane.”

“No, this is your fucking punishment. But if you’re ready to grow up and be a man, then we can have a conversation about what your rules might be, but–”

“Fuck you!” Blake screamed, tried to punch him, but he only hit air, “I fucking hate you! I don’t fucking care what you do, fuck you!”

Saul scowled, “I’m trying to be patient. My dad wasn’t this patient with me, but I know how it feels. If you just cooperate…”

Saul could see Max wasn’t listening, so he shrugged, and went to bed; Max sat on the couch and did his best to keep his hand away from his cock, but he…he simply couldn’t. He was addicted to masturbation as he was to the cigars he was smoking and the cheap beer he was guzzling. What was this list doing to him? Hell, what was his dad doing to him? He was beginning to suspect this was less about punishment and more about his own father’s twisted imagination, but what could he do?

Father’s Rules (Part 1)

Blake had never met his father–he’d abandoned him and his mother when he was just a kid. When his mother died of cancer, he certainly hadn’t expected his dad to take him in, but when the state found him and gave him little choice, the two were forced to co-exist. Blake was a sixteen year old rebel, with no interest in authority. His father was a burly, hairy lower class slob, holding down a construction job when he wasn’t too drunk to go to work. Their first few days together, unsurprisingly, were difficult. Saul–his father–refused to make room for him in the small one bedroom apartment he kept downtown, forcing Blake to sleep on the couch. Blake refused to accept any sort of authority, and when his dad brought home a burly coworker one night for a fuck, he was disgusted and stormed out of the place after screaming at Saul, calling him a “disgusting faggot,” and spitting in his face. He stayed away for several days, and only relented to returning home when a police officer picked him up as a runaway and took him back against his will. Saul was waiting, and they sat down to talk some of this out.

Much to Blake’s anger, Saul had no real interest giving any sort of ground–in fact, Saul told him that if Blake wanted to live with him, then it was going to be on his terms, under his rules. Blake told him that if he was grown up, he’d be out of there immediately, but since he wasn’t eighteen, then he didn’t have much of a choice. Saul leaned back on the couch. He confessed that when he’d knocked Blake’s mother up as a teenager, his father had been furious–and he decided that Blake would just have to see what it meant to live by his rules. He’d still be living by them if his dad hadn’t died the year before.

Blake just narrowed his eyes, and did some math. As a teenager? But his dad was at least in his fifties, and Blake was a teenager. How did that even make sense? Saul just got up, picked up a strange looking piece of parchment and pinned it to the wall by the front door of the apartment. Something was already written on it–a header in some fancy calligraphy which simply said, “Father’s Rules.” The rest of the page was blank. Saul leered at him, and then said to the paper, “When at home, my son can only wear his underwear.”

As he watched, Blake say the words appear on the parchment, and immediately after he stood up, his hands stripping off his clothes until he had on nothing but his boxers. “What the fuck, you fucking pervert!” he shouted at him, and Saul laughed.

“My son must jack off at least fifteen times a day. He can only cum while looking at gay porn featuring older hairy men, or while watching his father jack off or have sex with another man.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

Saul chuckled, “You’re in my house now, son,” Saul said, “I swore that I’d never put someone through what my dad did to me, but you know what? Fuck it. Because you’re a fucking brat, and someone needs to teach you a fucking lesson, and who better than your dad?”

“You can’t make me, I’ll just fucking leave!”

Saul turned to the list, “My son can’t leave home without my explicit permission.”

Blake pushed past him, but his hand couldn’t grab the knob for some reason. Saul laughed, pushed Blake back, and said, “I’m going out–see you in a few hours. You might want to get started, or you aren’t going to be sleeping tonight, son–I got plenty of old mags you can use under my bed, since I don’t have a computer.”

Blake spent a few more minutes trying to get out of the apartment, and trying to ignore his rock hard cock. Finally he started stroking himself, but just like the rule said, he found it impossible to shoot–he was only rubbing himself raw trying to think about women. Finally he relented, dug around under his father’s filthy bed and found a box full of gay porno mags. Most of them were well used–their pages crinkled with who knew how many of his father’s loads, but looking at the burly, hairy, fat men in the magazines let him finally start pumping out load after load of cum–shooting on his father’s bed and pillows out of spite. After ten or so loads, his arms aching, he heard the door to the apartment open, his father laughing drunkenly with some other guy. Terrified that someone might see him, he fled his father’s room, clutching a magazine and dashed to the bathroom, but the more he listened to his dad and the man talk and grunt outside the door, the harder he got, and the more curious he became.

Unsure if he could stop himself or not, he opened the door and slipped out into the hall. Saul had left his door open–his dad was fucking some other man on the bed, a man as fat and hairy as the men Blake had been staring at all evening, and he wrapped his hand around his cock and continued.

He shot twice before the man heard him, looked over and saw Blake in the doorway, letting out a yell.

“What the fuck! Who the fuck’s the kid?”

Saul looked over, “Oh, sorry. That’s my son–he’s a bit of a pervert. He loves watching me fuck.”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” the man said, “I’m getting out of here!”

He grabbed his clothes and pushed passed Blake on his way to the front door, shooting him a look of disgust Blake had never imagined might be directed his direction in his life. He just sat in the hallway, his dad padding to the doorway, stroking his still hard cock, “Now who’s the pervert, son?”

“F-Fuck you.” His eyes were locked his his father’s cock, and he jacked off again, watching his dad stroke himself off as well.

“Have a good night son,” Saul said, and stepped back into the bedroom, “Hope you won’t be up too much longer now–we have quite a few more rules to discuss in the morning.”

Choose your own change – There are Unforseen Consequences for Corey

Today’s post is a new chapter by me of an interactive story over at CYOC. There will be a second part posted tomorrow. You’ll probably have to back your way up in the story a bit to understand what’s going on–a better starting point would be here. The story has some hetero sex, as warning.

Choose your own change – There are Unforseen Consequences for Corey

Cal’s Tapes

As far as I know, we were the only two. I mean, we couldn’t have been the only two, right? But in a rural high school of 600 kids, who in the hell wants to come out of the closet? Hell, the femmy ones had it hard enough, straight or gay–one of ‘em committed suicide my sophomore year, but Cal and I could both pass as straight. Hell, we only found out about each other by accident, hanging out one night, drunk as fuckin’ skunks in the woods by ourselves, and he leans over and fuckin’ kisses me. That was so fuckin’ like him, and so fuckin’ like me.

We fucked all summer back then, like fuckin’ Brokeback. Fuck, that’s a hot movie, I have it on tape, even though the ending makes me sob like a fuckin’ bitch. But Cal, man…some of the shit he asked me to do. fucking and sucking, sure, whatever. But the piss. He’d ask me to meet him in the bathrooms during class, so he could drink my piss, or eat out my asshole. We almost got caught so many times, but he liked the risk, and I was stupid and so fuckin’ horny. I think he wanted people to find out, actually. He hated hiding, and he…liked being humiliated. It was…hard, being his friends with him sometimes. But we had each other. Or maybe we just didn’t have anyone else–but then…he left.

Look, everyone wants to leave shitholes like this. No one graduates from Riverwood High School planning on living here for the rest of their lives. We all had dreams and ambition, but it’s like fuckin’ quicksand. The poverty. The family. We stay…we stay because all that ambition and desire and imagination doesn’t mean shit when compared to fear and the terror of anywhere else. Of everywhere else. Hell, I’d never even been to a city before, I’ve still never been. I wanted to be a fuckin’ chemist, and instead started working with my dad on his construction crew. Just for the summer, I said to myself. Just so I could save money for college. And then I was stuck with credit card debt and sinking into the trailer park, eating away my fucking misery. Look at this fucking gut, right? I’m fucking disgusting.

But Cal left. One day, he was working at the grocery store, and the next he just up and fucking left. No one knew where, and…and he didn’t tell me. He didn’t take me. I would have gone with him anywhere, I fucking…I loved him, or something close enough that I could have not cared what happened to us. But he left, and I was here, angry, eating, working with my dad, who I fucking hate. Becoming a piece of shit trailer trash slob just like him, the kind of person that I always promised myself I’d never be. He wasn’t here, and I was alone, and it was the loneliness more than anything–I had no one else I could turn to.

I cruised. Trucker’s mostly. It helped that I could host. But they always just left too. An awkward fuck. Never completely attracted to each other, just two faggots slightly happy for a cock to suck, for a body that didn’t repulse us to share a bed with. Fat, stinking…you trick yourself into liking it, eventually. You tell yourself that you like “bears”, “real men”, “rednecks”, and maybe you fucking do. But really, you just don’t have a fucking choice. That’s all you got. It’s bears or celibacy. Raunchy truckers or another night with your hand.

But the world did change, slowly. No one could admit that I was gay, but they all knew why I never got married or had a girlfriend. I had my nieces and nephews, and I was “Fat Uncle Phil,” the little shitheads. And then we got the dirty video store–a video store run by a faggot named Kenny. He never could tell me why he blew into town, or how he could get all these videos, but I was too happy to ask. Finally, I could get porn in ways other than seedy mail-in offers from the back of Playgirl magazine. Kenny had some crazy tastes though–some of the crap he got a hold of was disturbing…

And then I found Cal. In this fucking german porno, some obese fucked squatting over his face, feeding him his shit. He had a mohawk, tattoos. He looked like he was having the time of his life, doing everything he had ever wanted to do with himself. And I wanted him…I wanted him so badly. I told Kenny to find every video he was in, that I’d pay anything he asked. They trickled in, out of order. Some of the earlier ones–he was so young, they m ust have been shot while he was still living here in town. Had he been going into the city without me knowing? Why hadn’t he told me about any of this? I was watching, from the future, the past that he’d kept from me for so long, and I realized, reluctantly, why he’d abandoned me. I was too tame. He’d cut his teeth on me, but I was too scared. He hadn’t told me what he’d done because…because I would have tried to stop him. I would have tried to keep him here, with me, where we could both live our sorry lives in trailers, fat and lonely in separate closets, colliding occasionally for sex and then breaking apart again. He didn’t tell me because he knew I was scared, of everything, but especially of being hurt by him.

Something I had forgotten came back to me. He’d asked me to choke him, really choke him, while he jerked off, and I couldn’t do it. In the end, he choked himself with a noose while I watched, ready with a knife to save him if he passed out. I cut the rope before he’d finished, and he’d been so angry–he didn’t speak to me for a week. In some of these videos, the later ones, men would tie him up, flog him, cut him, bleed him. I could only watch them in spurts, in the short moments where my horniness could push down my shame and terror.

And then Kenny got me the last tape. I hadn’t told him why I was obsessed with Cal, he just thought I liked him films, and he told me this one was the…the last one. I thought he’d meant the last one he could find, or the last one that he could find.

It was unmarked and untitled. The men in it were speaking German, like in a lot of the newer films. The quality was bad, almost amateurish. Cal looked beaten, his body cut, the concrete floor bloody. The men had tied him up, and I watched two masked men walk up to him, bind his balls, cut them off, and then cut off his cock. He didn’t scream, I don’t know if he was drugged or if he was…or if he just wanted it so badly. They showed them to him, and the look in his eyes…Then they sawed off his feet and hands, cut him from his bondage and watched him struggle to crawl around the room, a strange grin on his face, until he collapsed from blood loss. They fucked his corpse, every single one of them. They cut off his head, and fucked his throat the wrong direction, with his bloody face to the camera., their cocks bloody stakes.

I watched that video over and over. I couldn’t stop, I wanted to save him at first, and then I just stopped caring, I just watched that moment when his eyes lost that light I’d always loved. In the mirror, my eyes were already dull like that, already dead, here in this trailer, waiting for my body to catch up. Even as he was dying, Cal was more alive than I am. Than I have ever been. I watched all of his tapes in order, from first to last. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d never see him again, and I thought about killing myself–but the terror that has always been my greatest complicity stopped me before I could even get the gun in my mouth.

It was…I was dark for a while. I don’t remember much. I got drunk a lot, I lost my job finally. I finally confessed everything to Kenny, and he was…he didn’t say anything, but I knew he…liked it, in some sick way. He told me about…about these encouragers. That I could make money with some videos of my own. The come to my trailer with Kenny, he sets up the equipment, and then they start force feeding me, stuffing me full, and…and I love it. And not because it’s killing me faster, who gives a fuck about that anymore? I spent my whole life terrified of death. I eat, because of the way they look at me. I eat because it helps me feel alive. I eat and eat, and I make more off my second career than I ever did working construction. I make enough that I could leave, if I wanted to. Six hundred pounds at my last weigh in, fuck. I used to think that this fear was me trying to protect myself. I let terror destroy everything I could have been, and I realize now all the courage that Cal must have had inside of him that, back then. At times, I think about everything everyone had always warned me about. Don’t do this, be careful, stay safe–for what? For fucking what?