FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

The low rumble of the tires on the road--along with the occasional thump of a pothole--was the only sound in the car. In the backseat, Roy sat hunched over and against the passenger-side door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. The young-adult bull snorted, and did his best to ignore the occasional glance in the rear-view mirror from his father.

"Just about another ten minutes, Roy."

Another snort as the younger bull glared out at the passing trees.

Roy's father let out a heavy sigh. "Look, I know you hate this, but your grandfather's the only one your mom and I know who can get you set straight. You're graduating in six weeks, for Pete's sake... We don't need another call from your school."

The younger bull only huffed in response. "Fucking faggots deserved it."

He could feel the stare from the rear-view mirror grow more intense. "That's what I'm talking about. You can't go bashing people's heads in just because they're gay, Roy."

Again, Roy's only response was a huff and a roll of his eyes. It wasn't his fault the guys he'd beaten up were gay, after all. If they'd just kept that shit to themselves, he wouldn't have had to kick their asses. They were the ones who needed to be set straight--literally--not him.

Silence fell once again. The thicket of trees which rolled past outside the car window began to thin out, allowing sunlight through. Roy wasn't sure why the hell his grandpa lived out in a cabin in the woods all by himself, but faint memories of childhood trips to visit--to fish, and camp out, and to hunt when he'd grown a bit older--tickled the back of his skull as he watched the scenery. That day, their visit was to be for a much different reason; and Roy doubted he'd have much fun getting lectured by an old fart about being a 'real man', or whatever the fuck his dad and grandpa had talked about over the phone the night before.

At last the tree line ahead began to clear out, and the thrum of the potholed road was replaced with the crunching and churning of gravel. The car came to a stop in the middle of a clearing deep in the woods, and there it was: the cabin where Roy's grandpa lived.

"Alright. You got your stuff?" Roy's father turned in his seat to look at his son, and the younger bull grunted while grabbing his backpack. Enough clothes for a week. A couple magazines. Tucked down into the bottom, a handheld games console and his phone; like hell was he gonna stay completely disconnected while spending the time at his grandfather's. He opened the car door, hopped out, and then slammed it shut without glancing towards his dad even once.

The area looked exactly like he remembered it from his youth. The wide, sunlit clearing, with a large circle of gravel outside the rustic, one-floor cabin. The structure itself, carved and constructed by his grandfather's own hands long before his father was even a twinkle in the bull patriarch's eyes. The fresh air, filled with the clean scent of the great outdoors; for the most part.

As Roy's nostrils flared, he caught the faintest whiff of something pungent in the air. Sharp, not exactly rancid, but still bitter-spicy enough to make his nose tingle. And then it was gone; or rather, the young bull's concentration was broken by the honking of the car horn.

His father was leaning out the driver's side window. "I'll be back next week! You behave for your grandpa, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." Roy waved the older bull's words away, as though they were flies buzzing around his head. "Whatever."

With that, his father rolled the window up. With that, the car turned and began to cruise back along the gravel road leading into the thicket which surrounded the clearing. With that, Roy was left alone.

He let out a long, heavy sigh. May as well get it over with.

The bull slung his backpack onto his shoulders, and turned away from the sight of the retreating car to trudge towards the cabin's front door. He mounted both steps up to the porch at the same time, grunting to himself, and was just about to knock when he caught it again: another whiff, sour-bitter and masculine. Like the locker room back at the high school if it hadn't been cleaned in decades.

Roy blinked. He lifted an arm and took a brief sniff of his pit; that smell wasn't him. It was in the air surrounding the cabin, blown towards the young-adult bull with every slight shift of the wind. And now that he was closer, he could catch something else above the rustling of the trees: the sounds of short, huffing, rhythmic grunting from the back of the cabin.

For a moment, concern furrowed his brow. His grandpa was about sixty or seventy, by his estimation. And his cabin was out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. If the old bastard had hurt himself, then there wouldn't be any way to easily get any help. And since Roy was stuck there for the next week, he'd be the one who would have to deal with anything that might have happened.

And so, Roy hopped down off the porch. Crunched over the gravel drive. Made his way around the side of the cabin towards the backyard, following the sounds of grunting and clanging metal. What he found as he rounded the corner, however, froze the bull in his tracks.

The backyard of the cabin had been converted into an outdoor gym of sorts. The tiny shed which Roy remembered had been off-limits during his youth had its door wide open, allowing the bull to see inside at last; it was empty, of course, its apparent contents strewn across the yard. Laid-out woven mats, barbells, dumbbells, massive metal plates, and hand-carved benches and racks for lifting and squatting.

And there was Roy's grandfather using one of those racks.

Large. Huge. Bulky, every inch of his body bulging with firm musculature which twitched and flexed under flesh and fur with every movement. And Roy could see every inch of that toned and sculpted body, feeling his face flush and his eyes widen in both embarrassment and awe; his grandfather was working out completely nude. His traps and lats, his rock-solid glutes, his calves and thighs, all of it was put on display. And between the old man's legs, dangling down like an obscene hose almost to his knees, was his grandfather's cock.

The older bull looked like a bodybuilder. A model straight out of magazines. And with that gargantuan thing between his legs, Roy wouldn't have been surprised if the old bastard was a porn star. But even with that in mind, there was the familiarity of the grizzled fur, those craggy features, and those imposing horns which had intimidated the younger bull during his youth.

The sheer, nearly schizophrenic clash between memories of his childhood and the sight before him must have made the younger bull cry out. The old man's ear flicked, then he racked the bar on his shoulders--loaded down with enough plates to give Charles Atlas himself a run for his money--before turning around with a rumbling grunt. "Oh, it's you." A snort as a massive, calloused hand brushed through the sweat-soaked, salt-and-pepper fur of his brow. The older bull's pectorals bounced with the movement, and the man's heavy manhood--his shaft and low-hanging balls--swung like a pendulum between his thighs. "Long time no see, Roy."

"Wh-wha..." Dazed. Confused. Reeling; and not just from the sight. The entire backyard stank of masculine exertion, sweat and male body odor soured and ripened into a heady funk that burned his nostrils. Fogged his brain. Made it hard to think beyond the sheer reek of what he quickly realized was his grandfather's body. "Why the fuck are you naked...?!"

His grandfather laughed, loud and long, as though that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "Have you seen this body, boy?" The older bull grinned and flexed, bulking up those muscles into Adonis-like perfection. "Why the hell would I cover up muscles like these?" And then, as Roy stared at him, the older bull ducked his head to press a long, lingering kiss against one of his biceps.

The younger bull wrenched his thoughts out of the musky mire into which they'd sunken, and forced his expression into one of disgust. He turned his head and held a hand up, as though to block the vision before him. "At least put on some fucking pants while I'm here. Don't need to see your junk." He snorted, trying to blow the miasma which filled his lungs out. "And take a fucking shower."

"What's the matter, don't like seeing a real man?" The older bull's heavy footsteps pounded the dirt and grass as he approached. Loomed over the younger man. Almost completely engulfed Roy in his sheer, overwhelming, imposing presence; for a moment, Roy felt like he was a child again, staring up in a mixture of fear and awe at his granddaddy. "Don't like smelling one?" With a smirk on his face, the older bull lifted a musclebound arm up high; and as the younger bull watched, the train of his thoughts screeching as it was derailed, the older man pressed his snout down into the dank forest of fur in his own armpit. Sniffing. Snuffling. Breathing deep of the rich, overripe musk which wafted from that dank hollow.

"What the fuck...?" Roy tried to take a step backward, but it was like his feet had been bolted to the ground. His stomach roiled at the sight of his grandfather taking a whiff of his own brand; and the knot in his stomach clenched when he noticed the older bull's free hand idly kneading that monolithic--twitching, pulsing, lengthening and thickening--shaft of his. "The fuck are you doing, you faggot?" The word slipped out, Roy barely even realized he'd said it; but it made his grandfather snort.

"What does it look like? I'm giving my body the appreciation it deserves." He looked down to the younger bull with flashing, burning eyes. He hummed. He released his chubbed-up cock, and set that hand onto his grandson's shoulders; it was like a weight crashing down upon the younger man, making him flinch and choke down a low groan. "Just like you're gonna be doing for the rest of the week."

"What...?" Roy trembled. Roy shuddered. Roy stared up at the other man. He considered himself pretty built. Pretty muscular. Pretty strong. But his grandfather was on an entirely different level; he'd rather die than say it aloud, but it was true, and he knew it.

"Your daddy told me about what a little shit you've grown up to be." That hand on his shoulder closed into a crushing vice, and Roy's expression twisted as he choked down another groan; of pain that time. "Starting fights at school, disrespecting him and your mother at home..." Another squeeze, and the younger bull's legs threatened to collapse underneath him. His shoulder throbbed, and he could almost feel the fingertips of that hand starting to go numb. "So he's told me he wants me to make you a decent son, by any means necessary."

A sharp, crackling sound nearly made the younger bull jump out of his skin. For a moment, Roy was sure that his grandfather had broken his shoulder; but no, the older man had merely cracked his neck. And his smirk, wide and confident, had grown into a teeth-baring grin.

"And that's exactly what I plan to do. You're gonna learn your place... and learn how to appreciate your granddaddy. How to appreciate a man... a real man." One last squeeze to draw one last hiss of pain out of the younger bull, and then that hand released his shoulder; and Roy's grandfather cracked his knuckles. "Every. Fucking. Inch of him."

"You're... you're crazy." Roy shook his head. "There's no fucking way dad would agree to..." He could barely finish the sentence, his mind flinching away from the very idea. "Stop fucking around, you old bastard...!" He glared up at his grandfather. It had to be a joke; but if it was, there was no hint of it in those burning eyes which were glaring right back down at him.

"If you don't like it, try beating me up. Like you beat up those gay kids at school." Roy's grandfather drew himself up, putting his hands on his hips and pushing his chest--those gargantuan boulders he called pectorals--forward. "Come on, I'll even let you have the first punch. Show me what you can do..." His lips twisted. "...faggot."

That did it. The twisting knot in Roy's stomach ignited, and the young bull let out an incensed snort. Just like when he'd seen those fags at school, he twisted his face into a mask of rage. Just like back then, he felt the tension gathering in his shoulders, his arm, his clenched fist. Just like that time, he drew back and then shot a punch right at his grandfather's rippling six-pack; right under the ribs, where it would do the most damage.

However, unlike the gay kids at school, his grandfather didn't wheeze and crumple into a groaning heap at his feet. His fist made contact, Roy could hear the dull smack of flesh against flesh and feel the aftershocks of the blow traveling up his arm. But it was like punching a brick wall; all Roy had to show for it was an aching hand and an embarrassing gasp of agony slipping out from between his slackened lips.

"Really, that's it?" The older bull began to laugh. "Well then, guess it's my turn, isn't it?"

Roy barely understood what happened next. All of a sudden, his lungs were completely emptied of air, and his stomach felt like a steel beam had been rammed right into it. No, that was his grandfather's fist he was hunched over; the older bull had given him a punishing blow in return, and unlike his grandson's, that punch had hit its mark. Right in Roy's belly, just under the ribs, the force of it nearly shooting straight through the younger man's body to his spine. Then that fist pulled back, and the older bull whiffed the follow-up punch as Roy collapsed to his knees; but the younger bull could feel the velocity of it against the crown of his head, could imagine it shattering wood and brick with the force of the blow, and certainty solidified into a shard of ice in his mind.

If that punch had connected, it would have split his head open like a melon.

"Come on, boy. You were talking some pretty big shit just a second ago. Stand up and fight like a man."

The younger bull couldn't answer. Snot dripped from his nose, and drool dribbled from his slack lips. He could only stay there on his knees as the ringing in his ears scattered his thoughts. And then the older man's own knee shot straight up into Roy's lowered face, and pain exploded like a star in his snout as the force of the blow shot his limp body right back up to its feet. He gasped and groaned, and then another side-punch to the jaw connected fully, sending his saliva flying out in an arc before him.

But the beatdown wasn't over. Roy turned back around to try and face his conqueror, but it was already too late. The younger bull could see the next blow coming, but there was nothing he could do; once more, it was like his feet had been bolted to the ground. He saw every twitch and flex of his grandpa's musculature as the older bull drew back. The way his bicep bunched up as that large, calloused hand closed into a fist. The fierce, almost feral grin on the massive man's face. Roy saw it all, heard the low and victorious grunt as the hulking brute gathered his incredible strength into another punch, and could only watch as that fist approached. Growing closer.

Closer.

Connecting with all the force of a sledgehammer against his chin. Making him reel backwards. Unbolting him from the ground, and sending him flying towards the tree line. Again Roy's breath rushed out of him in a high-pitched wheeze as his back slammed into the grass-covered dirt, and then his upper body continued the motion as he tumbled ass over head away from his grandfather.

The younger bull choked. He gasped. He felt wet heat spilling from his eyes and nose and mouth as he tried to force himself up on shaky limbs.

Roy needed to get away. His grandfather was insane. The old bastard was gonna kill him; or far worse, if he understood what the older bull had been insinuating.

"Hh..." His tongue was numb. His lips wouldn't cooperate. His aching jaw throbbed and pulsed, sending surges of pain into his brain like red-hot daggers. "Hel... Help...!" He slurred and dribbled, but finally managed to cry out while scrabbling against the ground. "Help me...!" The younger bull staggered to his feet, trying to make a run for it; to the front of the house, to the gravel drive, out to the road which led into the woods. Anywhere but where his grandfather was. "Help! He's crazy! Help me!"

There was a snort from behind; and for a moment a wild image flickered across Roy's consciousness: his grandfather was a feral bull, pawing the dirt and lowering its horns, ready to charge and trample him. But instead of bulk slamming into his bruised spine, he saw--felt--a gargantuan presence behind him. Above him. In front of him.

His grandfather--that bulky, musclebound brute--had leapt into the air, executing a perfect ten-point front flip as he soared like a bird over his grandson's head. Then he landed. He turned. And before Roy could stop himself, his own momentum slammed him face-first into that rock-solid chest.

Sweat. Stench. Hot, fur-covered flesh. And of course, yet more pain in his abused muzzle as he bounced backward and fell to the ground in a groaning heap once more. Through teary and hazed eyes, he could see the older bull standing tall and proud, hands set upon his hips while he loomed over the younger bull like a vengeful god.

"Get up, faggot. You gonna put up a fight, or just take it?"

Roy spat, ignoring the dark red in his saliva as it splattered on the ground. He choked down a wheezing cough, and willed his nearly-broken body to move. To stand. To widen his stance and lift his arms up, fists clenched before him. Every inch of him hurt, every inch of him trembled, every inch of him wanted nothing more than to fall back to the ground and beg, plead, cry and scream for mercy.

"Good boy. Get ready for this...!"

He wasn't ready. He couldn't be ready. His mind was already flickering in and out, turning the sight before him into a slideshow of still images. His grandfather rushing forward. The older bull leaping into the air with a roar of primal fury. The sole of that hulking bastard's foot approaching, slamming into his chest, wafting a brief whiff of its pungent stench right into his nose as the younger bull was blown backwards. Like a bullet out of a rifle. Like a cannonball out of a cannon. Again he was sent reeling, flying backwards for what felt like forever, until at last he slammed into the gigantic oak tree which shaded the entire backyard with its canopy.

Leaves falling onto him like gentle touches. Branches and twigs landing on his back as he laid prone, whimpering and sobbing with every shuddering breath. Darkness seeping into the edge of his vision, into the edges of his thoughts, ready to smother him like a warm blanket in blissful unconsciousness.

Footsteps pounded on the dirt and grass as they approached. A presence loomed over him, engulfing him, pinning him in place. A rumbling voice barked out an order that his flicking ears took a moment to process. "Get up, faggot."

Dazed and reeling. Shuddering and whimpering. Feeling about blindly for something--anything--he could use to pull himself to his feet. Roy finally grasped onto something thick and sturdy, and began to haul himself up with his burning and aching arms. He managed to get his trembling legs under his torso, and forced himself to his knees. He panted, and groaned, and collapsed against whatever lifeline he'd found.

Stench, pungent and cloying as it burned his nostrils. Firm flesh and wiry hair tickling his tear-streaked cheek. Something large and thick pulsing and throbbing against the side of his snout. The younger bull groaned and grimaced, forced his clenched eyes open while he clung for dear life to that single rock in the maelstrom, and froze when he realized exactly where he was.

Clinging to his grandfather's solid thigh. Face-first in the older bull's unwashed crotch. And when the massive, hulking male grabbed the fur between his horns in a crushing grip, the bottom of Roy's stomach dropped out at the sight of his grandpa's thunderous expression.

"Look what you did, faggot. Got your blood all over my dick." A rumble, almost a growl. An incensed snort. Indeed, the wet, coppery heat flowing from Roy's aching nose and split lip had splattered dark red onto the older bull's dark fur and flesh. In the crook of a thigh. Caught in the sweat-soaked forest of his pubes. And there, right in front of his eyes, a droplet right at the base of that stinking manhood. "You're gonna lick it the fuck up off my perfect body. Now."

"N-no...!" He struggled. He squirmed. He lowed in desperation, trying to break the iron shackle of his grandfather's grip. "No, stop! Please!"

Another snort, and Roy froze. A wrench of his head, and Roy cried out. A massive fist hovering like a boulder ready to crash down upon him; and beyond, the glare of the furious god against whom he'd blasphemed. "You want another beating, boy?"

Roy couldn't speak. He could barely think. He could only sob in desperation and shake his head.

"Good. Then lick!" With that, those calloused hands grabbed him by the horns and shoved his face into that reeking crotch. And Roy licked, lapping up the splashes of his blood. From his grandfather's thigh, wincing at the sting of briny sweat on his tongue. From the older man's pubes, sucking it and the masculine stench out of the wiry fur. And then, with a low whine--and a wince at the pulsing heat of what he knew was another man's erection--the younger bull quickly flicked his tongue out to get the dribble of blood which had stained the older one's virile shaft.

It was filthy. It was disgusting. It made the younger bull reel at the acrid, sour, raunchy flavor of his grandfather's pungent body odor. But it was all he could think to do to avoid another punch, another kick, another beating from the larger, stronger man.

"Good boy." A pat on the crown of his head. "Looks like you got it all up. Nice." Those hands released Roy's horns, letting him reel back at last from the musky prison of the older bull's groin. "Now..." Again, the world went into slow motion; the younger bull watched, numb, as his grandfather cocked his hips to the side, then aggressively rotated them back around and brought that thick club of a cock forward in a punishing smack across his face.

Shadows at the corner of his swimming vision. Fog--smelling strongly of bitter-spicy-sour masculinity--filling his brain. Grass and dirt on his aching back as he stared up at the man who loomed over him around the filthy foot which was pressed against his sore cheek. Again Roy had been knocked flat, beaten, put into his place; and still, it wasn't over.

"Think it's about time you learn your place, faggot." Roy's grandfather smirked, striking another few poses as he flexed. Bounced his pectorals and squeezed his gargantuan cock. Gave his biceps another loving kiss, his pits another deep sniff, and groaned in awe-filled appreciation of his own body. Then, with a grunt, he looked down to the smaller, weaker, younger man underfoot. "Roll over. Let me show you what a weak little faggot like you is good for."

"N-no..." Roy coughed, and wheezed, and breathed through his mouth to avoid burning his nostrils and lungs with the stench of his grandfather's toes and sole. Defiance or pleading or mere denial of what was happening to him, even the younger bull wasn't sure what was in that low groan. But either way, he was no longer in control; and the larger, stronger, older bull was eager to make that fact abundantly clear.

Roy's grandfather grabbed his grandson's neck and thigh. He hauled the younger bull up high into the air. And then, with a victorious roar, he brought the little shit's back right down onto his knee in a punishing blow. Roy heard the impact, felt the gunshot crack of it throughout his body; and as the world faded into senseless nonsense around him, he knew that mature god of muscle and masculinity had broken him.

When the younger man came back to awareness, he found himself on his stomach, grass tickling the bruises on his cheek and ribs. Something was wrong, but the thick mire entrapping his thoughts wouldn't allow him to gather them up. His lower body was being held in the air. There was a breeze on the bare flesh and fur of his thighs, and cloth crumpled up around his bent knees. And a thick, pulsing, throbbing heat was grinding into the crack of his ass. It was only when something which felt almost like a fist--round and girthy and firm--pressed right against the taut ring of his asshole that Roy realized what had happened.

His grandfather had flipped him over. The old bastard had ripped the younger man's shirt off, and pulled his pants and briefs down. And that massive thing on his ass was his grandpa's massive, hard, throbbing and dribbling erection.

He felt rock-solid muscles on his aching spine, the older man pressing in against him to snort right against Roy's flicking ear. "You're lucky I'm drenched in sweat from my workout." That low, almost purring voice--rumbling like a peal of approaching thunder--sent a shudder down the younger bull's back, and the older one seemed to delight in his grandson's squirming and trembling. "That's all the lube you're getting, faggot."

"Oh god..." It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. His grandpa wasn't about to rape him with what felt like at least a foot and a half of dick.

"That's right, I'm your god now." A laugh. A snort. And then that gargantuan cockhead was shoved forward to pop through the tight rim of Roy's ass--to break it open in a single merciless thrust--while the younger bull screamed.

It hurt. It burned. It ached and stung, his back passage being forced open around the older bull's shaft even as it worked desperately to push that solid rod back out. But there was no resistance he could put up against the larger, stronger, older man; with a shove and then a rough sawing motion, Roy's grandfather slid his cock deeper into the writhing young man.

Deeper.

Rocking in and then out, battering the inner walls to bruised tenderness, and then jamming himself in deeper. Until at last, with one more sob from the smaller, weaker man underneath him, Roy's grandfather hilted in the younger bull.

Roy screamed. He cried. He tried to pull away--to buck the older man off him so he could scramble off that monolithic erection--but the musclebound arms of his grandfather closed around him like a vice. Held him in place. Pulled him back against that sweaty crotch and that heavy, overfull ballsack which ground against his taint.

"Fuck, that's it." A laugh right in his ear. "This is what little shits like you deserve, faggot. Gonna make you learn your place like I did your dad."

His brain was plunged into a frigid tide, smothered as he was sent into shock. Roy turned his head to peer over his shoulder with one wide, tear-filled eye, and his grandpa let out another laugh at the question in his grandson's gaze.

"Like father, like son, I guess. Your dad used to be a little shit, too." That gargantuan intrusion inside of him began to slide out, and Roy almost sighed in relief; until another jab, slamming his grandfather's erection back into his depths, forced a pathetic whine from his throat. "Caused no end of grief for me and his mama. Fights at school, disrespect at home..." Another rock of those crushing hips against his rump, sliding the shaft which skewered his ass out and then in. "Taught him real quick, though. Gave him a nice beatdown, and showed him what a real man does to little shits like him." Out and then in. "Just like I'm gonna teach you, faggot."

Out and then in. Out and then in. Sliding out, teasing that fist-sized glans through the broken ring of Roy's pucker, and then slamming right back in with the resounding slap of flesh against sweat-soaked flesh. Those balls smacked against the younger bull's--so much larger, so much fuller, so much heavier than those of the smaller, weaker man--again and again, driving home who was the real man. The older bull went harder, faster, deeper, until at last--adding a triumphant roar to the sound of Roy's sobbing and whimpering--he came inside of his grandson.

Filled the younger bull with shot after shot of hot, thick, sticky cum.

Marked, and claimed, and defiled him.

"Mmmfuck. Still got it..." With a breathless chuckle, the older bull wrenched his cock free of his grandson's ass. He took a long moment to examine his handiwork--the broken-in, cratered hole which had once been a pert, tight pucker, drooling out his load as its inner walls tried to clamp around empty air--before grunting and heaving and rolling the younger bull onto his back once more. "Now then, faggot, time to really teach you how to respect your betters.

"S-stop..." A whimper. A tremble of his lips. A quiet snort to clear the snot and blood from his nose. Roy looked up and his grandfather, trembling under the might of the looming muscle god. "Stop... c-calling me that..."

"Why?" Roy's grandfather smirked. "It's what you are. A weak, pathetic, whiny little faggot. In fact... I think that's a much better name for you, don't you?"

"N-no...! Call me Roy, please, grandpa-!"

A foot, large and sweaty and reeking, slammed down on the younger bull's face to cut him off. To grind him down into the dirt. "Say your name wrong again, Faggot. I dare you."

"Okay, okay!" The younger bull cried out in pain, agony, desperation. "M-my name is Faggot! I-It's Faggot!"

"That's what I thought. Now, Faggot..." That foot lifted off of Roy's--off of Faggot's--face, settling on the ground near the younger bull's shoulder. Then its companion moved to the smaller, weaker man's other side, the looming Adonis straddling the whining faggot like a proud colossus. Then he turned. Squatted. Brought his own ass--large and rock-solid, and stinking of sweat and body odor--down towards his grandson's snout.

"Wh-what...?" Roy stared as that pair of firm, supple boulders descended towards him, frozen at the sheer insanity of what was happening. "No...! No-nnngh!" And then they closed around his muzzle, clenching and gripping and refusing to let him go. Refusing to let him turn away. Refusing to give him a single smidgeon of mercy.

"Shut up and sniff, fag! That's the ass of your god you're huffing!"

It stank. The sour-sweaty reek of it singed his nose and lungs, and filled him like a cloying fog. Bitter-spicy, almost acrid, with an earthy undertone that left no doubt of--no way to deny--exactly where he was: pinned beneath his grandfather's sculpted ass.

"You call that a sniff?" It ground down onto him, making his skull creak at its weight. "Come on, get in there!" It's reeking, raunchy aroma stained his snout and nose and lips, stained his insides, stained his mind until every thought that passed through his brain was focused upon that cloying, smothering scent. "And if I don't feel that tongue by the count of three, I'll give you something way worse to cry about. One... Two...!"

Roy--Faggot--licked. He whimpered, and groaned, and dragged his tongue into that dank trench, feeling the salty smut which filled his grandfather's asscrack smearing onto his wriggling oral muscle. He could taste it, sharp and almost alkaline as it tingled in his raunch-stained mouth, as he pushed in deeper. Deeper. Until he found the greasy ring of the larger man's pucker, and began to heave in between every chest-shaking sob.

"Hmph, pathetic." Another push downward. More rocking of the older bull's hips, rubbing his ass down onto his grandson's face. Every twitch and flex of those iron-hard glutes against Faggot's burning cheeks made it abundantly clear who was in control. "Better get comfy, Faggot. You're gonna stay right the fuck there until I get a proper rimming out of you."

The younger bull tried. Desperate to please, to earn a shred of mercy, to end the torment the larger, stronger man was putting him through; to get it over with before his musk-stained tongue shriveled up to nothing. He lapped and slurped, forcing that tongue out of his mouth again and again to trace up and down that cleft. Over each solid cheek. Around the taut ring in the center of that muscular boulder-butt. But with every lick, every second that passed, every breath of sheer masculine ass funk, he could feel his thoughts slipping away. Could feel himself sinking below the roiling tide. Could barely breathe, could barely move, could barely resist the sweet call of oblivion.

Eventually, when it became too much, the younger bull blacked out.

---

Flickering in the darkness. Sensation on his face, humid and heavy. Scent, pungent and cloying and tingling in his lungs with every slow, even breath. Roy stirred, groaning and screwing his already-closed eyes tight. He could feel the softness of a mattress--large, huge, gargantuan--underneath him, and rumpled sheets gathered around his bare body.

For a moment, the thought that it had all been a dream--that he was waking up in his own bed, ready to return to his normal life as the insane phantasms of the night faded and were forgotten--drifted through his mind. But then a shift of his body sent a surge of dull pain through his ribcage. Through his snout. Through his spine and limbs; and a sharper throb from the burning pit under his tail and between his asscheeks. Roy whimpered and whined, and then froze when he heard a snicker from far above.

"Wakey wakey, Faggot."

The words were accompanied by the smack of something thick, fleshy, and damp against his cheek, and Roy's eyes flew wide open. He stared upward, and the knot in his stomach became a stone that crashed into the pit of his gut. His grandfather was looming over him, naked and soaked with sweat which dripped down onto the younger bull's face from the pulsing shaft of his cock; and the grin on his face was just as domineering as it had been before Roy had lost consciousness.

"Well good fucking morning. Thought you weren't ever gonna wake up." A low, rumbling purr of a laugh as that stinking shaft dragged itself along Roy's cheek. "Sun's up, and so's my dick. Just finished my morning workout, and I need to get all the sweat off. You gonna be a good faggot and help, or lay in bed all fucking day?"

Roy could barely understand what his grandfather was saying. It was morning; he'd been knocked out all afternoon and night? And laying in bed; he jerked his face away from the pulsing length of the older bull's erection, looking around with wide eyes. Indeed, he was lying in a massive, king-sized bed. A familiar one. The only one in the cabin, he knew well from the time he'd spent there as a kid.

His grandfather's bed, in the bedroom that comprised an entire half of the rustic cabin.

"Hey!" Another heavy smack against his cheek, almost hard enough to send him reeling back with ringing in his ears. The younger bull flinched and groaned, feeling a smear of musky precum and pungent sweat left behind by the raunchy manhood that had just struck him, and then looked up to meet his grandfather's gaze. That thunderous, expectant expression. Those burning eyes, filled with a potent mixture of contempt and lust. "I just told you to do something, Faggot."

"Wh-what...?"

With a snort and roll of his eyes, Roy's grandfather reached down to grasp the younger bull's horns and tug his nose right into the swampy space between the older one's thigh and heavy ballsack. "Lick me, Faggot. Get all the sweat up off my perfect fucking body. And while you're down there..." Roy could feel the smirk his grandfather was giving him burning into the crown of his head. "Give my stud dick a nice kiss as thanks for filling you with my seed."

Roy--Faggot--struggled. He squirmed. But even as he tried desperately to pull back and away from that stinking hollow--back and away from the dick that had raped him, the balls that had pumped his ass full of the older bull's cum, the musky stench that had been burning in his nose and lungs since he'd arrived--he knew that it was pointless to resist. That grip on his horns was like a vice, and the arms that held him in place may as well have been carved from stone or smelted from steel. And even if he did escape, all that would await him was another beating from the old bastard.

And so, hating every second of it, the younger bull turned his head just enough to press his lips against the side of that pulsing erection.

"Yeah, that's it. Kiss my dick, Faggot." A rock of those muscular hips. A flex of those firm thighs. A twitch of that gargantuan shaft as a dribble of precum escaped from the tip.

"There. Now please... please, grandpa..." Roy grimaced at the whining tone in his own voice. "Let me go, please..."

"Why? You only just started." Those hands pulled the younger bull in closer to the older one's crotch, until he was practically smothered in the hot and sweaty fur and flesh. "And also... Call me Daddy while you're worshiping this god bod."

A choke. A whimper. A tiny shake of Roy's head, the muscles of his neck straining to offer even that bit of resistance.

Then his throat closed--a massive hand closed around his throat, making the younger bull wheeze--and he was hefted upward. Up, and up, until he was looking down into his grandfather's infuriated eyes; the older man was holding him up in the air by the neck with a single arm. "Well? I told you, Faggot." A squeeze forced a coughing, gagging, desperate gasp out from Roy's slackening lips. "Call. Me. Daddy."

"Gh... Nnngh!"

The older bull's eyes flashed. His free hand closed into a fist, and his muscular arm cocked backward. Then Roy was dropping downward, and the world froze around him; he could only watch, wide-eyed and staring, as his grandfather's tremendous fist grew closer.

Closer.

Slammed into his chin in yet another crushing blow.

Then, just like the day before, he was flying backwards, almost floating through the air; until his back slammed into the far wall of the room hard enough to leave a large dent behind. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, choking out a pathetic squeal as he did so.

He moaned. He coughed and whined. He tried to force his shaking limbs into order, to pull himself up, to escape from the incensed brute stomping over towards him. But again, it was in vain; the younger bull could only let out a cry of panic and pain as he was wrenched upward by the throat once more.

"Look what you did, Faggot." Shaking him. "You got blood all over my body again." Forcing him to look at the splatters of red across that large, built, heaving chest. "Clean it up, or I'll give you something to cry about!" Letting out a thunderous growl and shaking a fist in Faggot's face, leaving no doubt he would more than make good on that threat.

The younger bull couldn't pull away. Couldn't hope to fight against the larger, stronger, more muscular man who had a hold of him. All Roy--all Faggot--could do was sob, and nod, and duck forward and downward to start lapping at his grandfather's chest.

Again and again, he dragged his tongue over every coppery-tasting spot, the acrid flavor of salt and body odor mingling with it into a nauseating tincture. Again and again, he did his best to lick up the mess he'd made; and once he was done, he started to lap at those rock-solid mounds of muscle as the older man had ordered him to. He slurped, and suckled, and let out the occasional whine as he did his best to bathe his grandfather's flexing pectorals with his wriggling oral muscle.

"Good boy." A grunt as Roy was released; but even then, the younger bull didn't dare to pull away. "Good boy, Faggot." A low groan, and Roy flinched as he felt his grandfather's erection--large, thick, a monolith of virile masculinity which rose from the humid forest of the older bull's crotch--grinding on his own lean abdominals and the lower curve of his pecs. "Who's your Daddy?" The larger, stronger man stood with a smirk on his face and his hands on his hips, proud as a god as he was worshiped by his grandson.

A whimper. A sob. A quiet, desolated sigh into the cleft of the older bull's chest. "You are... Daddy."

"Good. You aren't completely stupid." One musclebound arm lifted up, both to flex a boulderlike bicep while giving it another deep kiss and to release another waft of masculine stench from the hollow underneath. "Now, you got more work to do. Lick my pits clean, then work your way down like a good fag."

Roy--Faggot--obeyed. With a grimace, he forced himself down into his grandfather's armpit, lapping and slurping and sucking the sweat right out of the wiry fur. The bitter-spicy taste and scent burned his tongue, tingled in his nose and lungs, filled and stained him beyond any hope of getting clean again. And when the older man began to rock his hips, hump the younger one's stomach, grind his dribbling length right on the throbbing bruise which marred his grandson's torso, Faggot stayed right in his place to allow that further humiliation. That complete and utter defilement.

Then he licked his way across the older man's chest to the other armpit. Sucked the sweat and stench out of it, then forced himself down his grandfather's--down Daddy's--abs. Traced his tongue over every rise and into every cleft, working to get every drop of sweat out of the muscular stud's fur; until at last he was kneeling before the larger, stronger, far more masculine male to clean up that raunchy dick.

Licking the ballsack. Into the swampy spaces at the base. Up the shaft and around the head. Just hold your breath and do it, get it over with, make the old bastard happy so he won't cave your face in; that mantra was the only thing which filled Faggot's head. He would do it to survive. To avoid another beating. And not because the heady, cloying, overwhelming musk of the older bull was making his head swim and his thoughts sink into a smothering mire.

"Nice job, Faggot." The words from far above--from the god who was enjoying his acolyte's worship--almost sounded like praise to Faggot's flicking ear. His grandfather--Daddy--pulled back, turned around while hiking his whip-like tail upward, and lifted a leg to set one massive foot up on the bed by his side; and then once more, the younger bull was staring at the older one's solid, muscular ass. That pair of flexing boulders, and the swampy cleft between which had smothered him out the day before.

Daddy's backsack. Daddy's taint. Daddy's tightly-puckered, greasy asshole.

"Kiss my ass, Faggot."

Faggot whimpered as his lips pressed to one iron-hard mound and then the other.

"Yeah that's right, you'd better worship those glutes well, boy." He watched them twitch and flex, knowing full well the power within those muscles from when they'd driven his grandfather's--his Daddy's--foot into his chest and face. "There's more muscle in this ass than there is in your entire pathetic body."

Faggot didn't answer with anything more than a nod, gritting his teeth at the insult; at the comparison of his own--smaller, weaker, pathetic body--to the godly form which towered over him.

"Go on, take a whiff." One large, calloused hand reached down and back, dragging itself through that muggy trench. Grinding on the fur, rubbing itself against the side of either boulder-like glute, and making the rim of Daddy's asshole clench and twitch as it brushed against the pursed ring of smut-coated flesh. Then it pulled back and rose up, and faggot heard the sound of the older bull taking a slow, deep, appreciative breath of his own earthy, acrid, spicy scent. "That's sixty years of daily working out and sweating built up. No finer smell on earth."

Faggot waited until the tension grew as oppressive as an impending lightning strike, and then forced himself into his Daddy's cleft. Sniffing. Snuffling. Rubbing his nose against the rise of one asscheek, then the other, then pushing in to settle the tip of his snout right on that raunchy rim. He choked, and gagged, and took a whiff of the older man's stench; and when a heavy hand landed on the crown of his head to keep him in place, he let out one last, desperate whine.

"Gonna give you one more chance, Faggot." Those glutes gripped the sides of Faggot's snout like a vice. "You're gonna stay right there until every bit of sweat gets licked up. I want you worshiping my stinking hole like it's the best goddamn thing you ever smelled." Those powerful hips rocked backward. "Better get started."

Faggot obeyed.

---

Time passed, the hours and days blending into a haze as Roy suffered his grandfather's tender affections. Every morning he'd wake up in the old man's bed, face tucked into the cleft of the larger, stronger bull's pecs. The dank pit under one of his burly arms. More than a few times, smothered by those chiseled, sweaty glutes. He'd be held in place until he gave his grandpa--his Daddy--a proper 'good morning' tongue bath, licking every single inch of that massive body from neck to toe. Then they would get up, have breakfast, and Roy--Faggot--would assist the older man in his workout.

Passing over iron dumbbells and barbells to lift, and wooden chunks to rip apart with his bare hands.

Spotting and steadying the older man.

Offering water, a towel, his tongue and lips, anything the larger, stronger male demanded of him until Daddy was satisfied. And then, the older bull forced the younger one to lick up his sweat and body odor once again, bathing and appreciating and worshiping the rock-solid muscles which had been built up over years of working out.

Faggot hated it, at first. But as his nose and mouth grew used to the scent and flavor of the larger, stronger man's body, he began to find it tolerable. He could force himself to explore every raunchy nook and cranny, to huff his grandfather's sweaty pits and swampy crotch, to lick his feet and kiss his balls and tongue the older bull's hole. It was better than a beating, at least. And by all accounts, his father had been 'disciplined' the same way.

Daddy was eager to talk about it. How he'd punched and kicked and given his 'little shit' of a son the same beatdown the younger bull would dish out at school. How he'd bend that 'little shit' over to rut his ass, fill it with Daddy's potent seed, and mark the younger bull as a Faggot; just like Roy was. How that 'little shit' had learned to bear, and then to tolerate, and at last to love huffing the stench of his Daddy's pits and dick and ass.

"Still loves it to this day. Just needs a single whiff of me to turn back into a drooling little faggot that begs to suck my dick and eat my ass."

Hour by hour, day by day, the words solidified in the younger bull's mind. Began to tinge every one of his thoughts, much like the musky fog which filled his head at every moment. Echoed again and again through his mind.

Then, one day, Daddy ordered him to jack off while huffing the older bull's stink.

Roy had demurred, of course; he wasn't gay. He wasn't attracted to men. He didn't like huffing masculine musk that much. But after a few blows to set the younger man straight, Daddy had reminded the smaller, weaker male of what he was: a faggot. And faggots were good for nothing but servicing real men. And so, whining and sobbing and swallowing down his own blood and saliva and snot, Faggot kneaded and squeezed and stroked his cock while he lapped and snuffled into his Daddy's armpit.

Sucked on each firm pectoral, and ground his tongue on the older bull's abs.

Worshiped the cock that Daddy used to rape him every morning, kissed and lavished affection on the balls which filled him with his Daddy's cum, and ate out the swampy muscle ass which smothered him with its raunchy aroma at his Daddy's leisure.

Hating himself, hating his position, hating that another man's body was getting him hard. Was sending arcs of pleasure shooting up into his groin with every sniff and lick. Was making him cum, crying out into the maelstrom of pleasure as he blasted his own seed onto the ground between his Daddy's feet.

Again and again it happened. On and on it continued. And as Faggot began to bear, and then tolerate, and then love the smell of his Daddy in his lungs and the larger, stronger male's flavor on his tongue, he found it harder and harder to resist.

Harder and harder to disobey.

Harder and harder to deny what he was: a faggot, good for nothing but worshipping his studly, hunky, muscular god of a Daddy.

---

The quiet rustling of the trees in the wind--along with the occasional bright flitter of a birdsong--was the only sound in the clearing. On a stump a few feet away from his outdoor gym, Roy's grandfather sat like a king on his throne, scrolling through the text messages on his grandson's phone. The old bull snorted, and did his best to ignore the occasional muffled whimper from between his thighs.

"Just about finished up, Faggot. Stay there like a good boy until Daddy tells you."

Another whimper as the younger bull glanced up to his Daddy with bleary, pleasure-filled eyes, and then grunted in acknowledgement. And then Faggot got right back to work sucking the older man's ballsack clean.

Daddy let out a heavy sigh. He bucked his hips at a particularly sharp suckle, and squeezed the slabs of his thighs around his grandson's bobbing head. Then he turned his attention back to the phone in his hand, looking through the texts he'd exchanged with Roy's father.

The details of everything he'd done to the boy over the course of the week.

Pictures of the drooling, whining, eager little faggot he'd made of the younger bull, along with a few--coerced, ashamed, but obedient--pics and vids of the loads Roy's father had blown to his son's defilement.

Daddy smirked. His son remembered well all the times he'd been forced into his father's armpits, and crotch, and especially the older bull's raunchy, reeking, swampy ass. And he'd admitted that seeing the youngest of their lineage following in his footsteps--being a good cocksucking, ass-licking, musk-loving faggot for Daddy--almost got his dick as hard and dribbling as the thought of being in his place. Of joining him. Of worshiping the larger, stronger, more masculine bull the way a pair of faggots like them were meant to.

All in good time, though.

Daddy grunted, feeling an eager tongue begin working its way up and down his shaft, and looked back down to Faggot. "Eager, are you? Can't even wait for Daddy to finish up?"

"Mmngh..." Faggot whimpered, swirling his tongue around and around his Daddy's smut-coated cockhead, gulping down every drop of sweat he licked up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." With an almost gracious smile, Daddy gave his Faggot a pat on the head between the younger bull's horns. "Who's your Daddy, Faggot?"

The smaller, weaker male smiled, and moved to grind his face into the larger, stronger one's inner thighs. His abs. The reeking pubic patch which crowned his gargantuan erection. "You're my muscle god daddy."

"That's right. And you aren't ever gonna forget it, are you?"

"No, sir!"

"Good. Then stand up and bend over."

With a low, needy groan of anticipation--and more than a little effort--Faggot hauled himself up to his feet. His expanded belly--filled with load after gushing load of his grandfather's virile seed, to the point that it could almost be mistaken for a pregnancy--jutted out before him as he tottered over to one of the lifting benches. Bent over, resting his hands and shaking arms upon it. Spread his legs and hiked his tail up high, presenting himself for the older bull.

Daddy grinned at the sight, snapping one last pic of his broken-in grandson's broken-in ass--along with a brief message that they'd be waiting for his son's arrival--before tossing the phone aside. Standing up to stretch, to flex, to show off every ounce of the burly musculature which graced his godly bod. Moving over to loom over the younger bull, give Faggot's rump a ringing smack, and grab those cocked-back hips in a crushing grip so he could slam his erection to the hilt where it belonged.

Deep in his faggot of a grandson's loosened, cum-slickened asshole.

In, and then out. In, and then out. In, grinding his heavy balls onto the smaller, weaker man's smaller, weaker sack, and then pulling out to work his glans through the grasping rim before starting all over again. Daddy worked himself up into a steady rhythm, bucking and rutting and slamming home into Faggot's ass. That ring which had clenched shut against the intrusion before had long bloomed open to welcome it instead. Those grasping inner walls which had squeezed so tight around his foot-and-a-half of cock had long learned to grip and grasp and almost milk it as the shaft slid through the younger bull's passage. And rather than whining, and screaming, and sobbing as he was fucked by his granddaddy, Faggot had long learned to buck and push backward against every thrust while reaching down to pump his own drooling erection.

Harder and faster and deeper, until with a triumphant groan of completion, Daddy pumped yet another thick, sticky, ample load of cum into his eager Faggot.

"Mmmfuck. Still got it..." With a breathless chuckle, the older bull wrenched his cock free of his grandson's ass. He took a long moment to examine his handiwork before stepping back. "Now then, better make yourself presentable, Faggot. Your dad should be here soon."

"P-please..." A whimper. A tremble of his lips. A quiet snort as he continued to stroke his still-throbbing cock. Faggot looked over his shoulder at his grandfather, trembling under the might of the looming muscle god. "I n-need to get off... Please, Daddy, let me eat your ass..."

"Sure." Daddy smirked. "I guess you've earned a little treat for being a good faggot. And my ass does need a good cleaning."

The older bull made his way back over to the stump which he'd been resting on. He turned his back to his whining, moaning faggot of a grandson, and hefted one musclebound leg up to set his foot upon the impromptu stool. His own tail hiked up, and the burly male raised his arms to flex and pose like he was Charles Atlas himself while the solid mounds of his ass spread apart.

"Get over here and lick my hole, Faggot."

Faggot obeyed. With another groan, he forced himself up to his feet. On shaky legs he trotted over to the older man, and then fell to his knees like an acolyte before a holy altar. With one last whimper, he buried his face into Daddy's swampy, sweaty cleft to begin his worship.

He licked, dragging his wriggling oral muscle up and down the raunchy cleft. He pressed suckling kisses to each granite-hard boulder of a glute, and the older bull's taint, and the low-hanging sack which had just emptied its load into him. He sniffed, slow and deep and appreciative, to fill his lungs with the bitter-spicy-earthy aroma of his granddaddy's overripe musk; and then, while he stroked his throbbing shaft, Faggot kissed and lapped and slurped all around and over Daddy's taut, puckered rim.

As he felt the younger bull start to eat him out in earnest, breathing in his stench and whimpering in bliss at his flavor, Daddy felt himself up. His large, strong, calloused hands kneaded and squeezed his pectorals while he flexed, taking notice of every twinge and twitch of his shoulders and back. He made out with his own biceps, those colossal mounds which were more manly and beautiful than anything else on Earth. He ducked his head down, pressed his nose into the sweat-soaked and reeking pit under his arm, and breathed in deep while giving his lingering half-chub a squeeze.

He was a stud. A hunk. A muscular god deserving of only the most pious of worship; and he, his son, and now his little faggot of a grandson knew it.

Speak of the devil, and he'll appear; Faggot didn't notice it--he was much too preoccupied with licking up every iota of sweat and smut and musk from between his grandfather's sculpted asscheeks--but Daddy's ear twitched as he caught a quiet intrusion on the symphony of breeze-blown boughs, occasional birdsong, and ravenous slurping and snuffling. Tires crunching on gravel. The sound of an engine rumbling to a halt. A single car door slamming.

"Dad! Roy!" Roy's father called out, the middle-aged bull making his way up the gravel drive and towards the side of the cabin. "You guys back there?"

"Yeah, we are!" Full-throated, proud, domineering, Daddy called out in return. "Be a good boy and get on back here! Your son and I've been waiting on you!" He grinned, already anticipating the look on the middle-aged bull's face. "And I've got plenty of nasty sweat for you to lick up, too, bitch!"

Footsteps approaching. Clothing rustling. A long, low, needy moan. "Yes sir... Daddy!"