It didn’t feel good. It hurt. But that…that was oddly satisfying. He deserved this, and…and he wanted this. He’d wanted his son for years, and the first time Shawn had raped him, years ago now, he’d fought weakly, secretly happy his son wanted to abuse him. He…loved being abused. It reminded him of where he belonged. Ned shoved a filthy foot in his face and Gerard licked at it, smearing it with blood, but he needed to serve, it was who he was, what he was made to do. Some small piece of him fought, told him this was wrong, this is what Ned wanted, but the sheer force of years of torment and abuse at the hands of them both had made it impossible to think beyond the next beating and rape.
The both of them teamed up and abused him all night long, and by the end of it, the pleasure was back, the pain was so good again, it was the only joy he felt, now that his cock was dead. He…craved it, begged for it, begged for his beastly son to pummel him over and over. He called out of work, and they let him rest, finally, for a few hours, until he was well enough to drive him and his son back to his house, where his son had been living for years now, his father’s abusive master. Gerard did everything his son demanded, both out of fear, and a certainty that his son was his superior–or at least that’s what Shawn and Ned told him. Shawn was generally skilled in his abuse, only leaving bruises where they could be covered by Gerard’s suits at work, returning home after being visited by Ned each night, so he could satisfy his son’s insatiable, sadistic appetites. It was exhausting, his work suffered, but he clung to it, like a waterlogged piece of wood in a storm. Without this office, what did he even have anymore?
Ned, however, kept making it harder, and after that night in his trailer, he was determined that Gerard should be the master of his own fate. His first choice, about a month later, was between becoming addicted to drinking piss, needing it as much as he desired cum, smoke, and alcohol; or becoming his son’s and Ned’s personal toilet paper, desperate to clean out their filthy ass cracks. The piss seemed insane, and he’d already been forced to lick out Ned’s hole once or twice, so he chose an addiction to crack. From that day on, he found it impossible to get by without shoving his face in his son’s sweaty crack after every shit, and he begged Ned for the pleasure of his own crack each day. He found himself more interested in crack than cum too, and would often troll through the bathhouse, waiting for a top to fill a bottom with his load, before swooping in and eating it back out.
The second choice was easier–filthy pits which Gerard would never be able to hide? Or Horrendously loud, disgusting farts? He went with the farts of course–he’d already become rather keen on them, after having his face shoved in cracks on a daily basis–but what Gerard hadn’t counted on was what his own gas would do to him. Everytime he caught a whiff of his own stench, he would find himself compelled to snort up as much of it has he could, making a scene of himself every time, making sure everyone around him in the office knew just how much he enjoyed the smell of his own filthy farts. It wasn’t too much longer after that, that his manager called him into his office, fired him, and had security escort him out of the building, kicking and screaming and raving and sobbing.
He’d lost it. He’d finally lost his job. He’d known it was coming, of course, he’d known that Ned would never let him keep it. But…But he’d destroyed his son for this job. He’d…fought so hard against Ned, to try and cling to it, and it had still slipped from his hands, all the same. Why had he even cared so much about it? Everyone had hated him, had been cruel, even back when he was just fat, calling him Tubby and Fatass to his face. He’d hated it, and yet…it was the last piece of himself, and now, on the sidewalk outside, wearing a filthy suit, he let loose a huge fart, snorted it up, and broke down into sobs, struggling to light a cigar to help him calm down.
he went home, and found his son working out, like always. He’d only gotten larger, his arms so packed with muscle he couldn’t even drop them to his sides. He told him what had happened, and his son beat him to a pump, screaming at him, calling him a disgusting failure of a human, and then fucked his hole. Gerard didn’t fight back; after all, Shawn was right. It was late when Ned arrived–he’d figured out what must have happened when he was cleaning the office and didn’t see Gerard there, his desk cleared out and empty.
“Well Ned? It’s finally come to this,” he said, swinging the medallion in a circle, watching the chair wrap around his finger in one direction, and then the other, “I don’t blame them, really. Hell, I thought for sure they would fire you sooner, to be honest.”
“Please, what else do you want from me? I don’t have anything else, please, just leave me alone,” Gerard said.
“Oh, but Gerard! I can’t just have you be unemployed! You’re far too diligent for that. No, you’re going to have to do something with your life. Still, it might be hard finding a job that would take someone like you, some fat, filthy, cigar and drink addicted fart sniffer cum swiller. I mean, you’d have to be willing to take, well, just about any kind of work, don’t you think? Still, I found the perfect new career for you, and I guarantee you’ll love it. Now hold on, this one’s going to hurt like a bitch,” he said, and shoved the medallion to Gerard’s breast one more time.
Bracken's Corner 