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Dad lived on the other side of town, the rundown area where you didn't hang about in the streets after dark and where you made sure you knew who you could trust. I remembered vivid memories of my childhood often lying in bed, too scared to even close my eyes let alone sleep, just listening to the commotion of the world that lived just a few feet away from me, my only protection was a single sheet of worrisome-looking glass. It was a stark contrast between the gentle sounds of leaves rustling in the wind from my view overlooking my mother's garden.

My parents were divorced. They had been since I was about five, and being an only child I didn't have anybody I could share my life with. I was tossed from side to side of this city as though I were just a tennis ball. I should probably correct myself. I was more like a hot rock. Neither of my parents really wanted me, so I ended up being shoved back and forth between two very different homes. Now, I suppose I could have been given up for adoption, but my dad was having none of it. Despite what he'd done, he still wanted the chance to be a 'good dad'. Problem was that at the time, my mother had won the domestic abuse case and had been granted a divorce mostly in her favour. The house, the money, the car... Nearly everything went to her. Including me, though I know she regrets it. I was their lovely little mistake. A teen pregnancy that they ended up keeping; my dad dropped out of college to get a job, and my mum did her best to try and continue studying. I ended up being raised by my grandma, up until she passed away around about my fourth birthday. It really went downhill from there. Dad took up drinking, mum became a housewife and a socialite, and I became the ignored child who relied upon the nanny who visited every other day. Behind closed doors where nobody thought I'd hear were arguments, real vicious fights where things were thrown across the room in the good old cliché fashion, and in the morning I'd end up waking up and walking downstairs only to see that a picture was missing, or that we were eating off different plates than usual. Gradually the signs of violence begun to show, and my mum ended up getting black eyes and cuts on her face which she desperately tried to hide beneath expensive make-up dad bought for her the day after. The court feared he would have gone on to me next, so I was about to be handed over to the system when my mum swooped in the save the day, and took custody of me so as to milk the case for all its worth. It gave her a tidy nice cash settlement too in child support.

After the divorce, I could see my parents for what they were. My mum was an air-head, and relied upon the men in her life to get by. She had no care for me, and so long as she kept me alive and well enough for the social services to deem acceptable she didn't care what I did. I suppose it was because I looked very much like my dad than her. I had that very prominent Bull Terrier look, complete with the snubbed pink muzzle and pointed ears. I even had a matching blotch of black over an eye, just like my dad too - I'd seen photos of him when he'd first started dating my mum, and I'm a spitting image of him. My mum though, she was a pedigree; a fine Cocker Spaniel, and because her boyfriends disapproved of such a ghastly son, I was pushed to the shadows of her life so that she could live it freely. It was an empty childhood, but I never wanted for anything other than a proper family. My dad, however, lived in a pretty shoddy state. His apartment was still half-packed from the day he moved out, and whenever I'm forced to stay with him I always end up sleeping in his bed which smells of God knows what and he stays on the couch. I have the worst of both worlds; a careless mum who couldn't give a shit, and a layabout dad who smelt like it at times.

I stood there, waiting outside the door trapped between a cheap takeaway and a rundown looking fur salon banging on the battered wood. The paint was peeling, and it looked as though the wind had ripped away a good few layers of red paint to reveal the splinters beneath. There was no answer, so I figured I'd let myself in. If my lazy ass of a father could tear himself away from the television for just two minutes to welcome his son home, then I wasn't going to stick to the pleasantries either.

I fished out my spare key, chuckling to myself as I did so. It was ironic, because I'd actually had to go and have dad's key get replicated myself because I kept getting so sick and tired of being left in the cold far too much. Unlocking the door, I hurled my suitcases in behind me before kicking the flimsy thing shut again. I descended the stairs with a sense of bland misery, the sort you get when you know things are gonna be shit, but you just don't have the energy to care. It was quaint, really, as the higher up the stairs I went, the greater this feeling felt. I stood up at the top surrounded by the tattered coats, broken umbrellas and rank shoes and boots wondering what the hell I was going to do for the next two days. Part of the custody agreement was that I would stay over at my father's for one weekend in every month, a weekend I dreaded openly. Fortunately, I had the looks to avoid too much trouble, and was still too much of an outsider to be involved in anything, so the two days were brief but dull.

Moving into the main living area, where my dad had pretty much set up his office, his bedroom, and his dining room, I looked about to see if he'd made any preparations for my arrival. I was surprised social services even still let me visit given the apartment's state, but he must've been doing something to keep them happy since they kept sending me here. In all fairness, he had vacuumed the carpet and the filthy clothes were in neat piles near the edges of the room. Other than a bit of hasty cleaning, there wasn't much to say that a feral pig hadn't just made its home here. I suppose then I should maybe just dump my bags in his 'bedroom' and unpack before I found out where the hell he was. It wouldn't surprise me if he was hanging out with 'the guys' or staying late at work. It often felt like he wanted to spend more time with inanimate objects and men than with his own son. Another ironic point, as I liked to spend my time with certain inanimate objects too and I love the company of men - like father, like son, right?

I often get asked by close friends when I found out I was gay. Obviously, I could have easily launched into an intimidating tirade, shouting animatedly at them about how one simply doesn't just 'find out', and all that jazz, but really it was half true. I had dated my share of girls during my time in high school, and whilst they were just childish charades I liked to think they counted towards real love. However, just before the beginning of my final year in high school, I held back late in the showers and a guy on the football team saw me. A bear named Rodney. When I say he 'saw' me, I mean he caught me slowly jacking myself off and tweaking my nipple whilst moaning into the showerhead. There was a problem though; I caught him groping himself as he watched, sporting the hardest cock I'd ever seen - you know, since I've seen male junk before but only soft. Hastily he had dried himself off, dressed in utter silence and fled the locker-room leaving me panicking and shitting bricks. The next day he asked to talk to me alone. We snuck under the bleachers and he confronted me, apologising profusely for staring at me and that he was a closet bisexual. I was dumbfounded, sure! Rodney and I barely spoke. We weren't even acquaintances. I suppose to him this was a disaster, that he was now at my mercy and that I would bleed him dry for all that he was worth and then out him to the rest of the school for scrutiny. But I took pity, and randomly, I asked if he and I could experiment. At first, I just thought it was hormones, that I needed to let off some steam and here I had some free sex without any catches or clauses to think about. After the first few times we met up to stroke each other, suck each other, we went further and further until I figured I was just full blown gay. Rodney was a passionate fucker, and he refused to ever bend over for someone, so I ended up just accepting my place as a bottom. After that, I just lost interest in girls. I chatted to some of them and pretended to act like I was trying to score, but it was just another childish act to stop people prying. Rodney and I were now fuck buddies pretty much, and weekends I spent with my dad always drove him crazy because he couldn't have access to my rump.

Dad's room wasn't hard to find; it was where it always had been. The room smelt stale, so I left the door open as I let my suitcase land on the sketchy looking bed with a rusty squeal of its springs and I moved towards the window that overlooked the back alley. The frame was a little worn, so it took some real work to get it open. Something must've snapped as I heard a crack, but I didn't think much on it. The place was a rotting dump anyway, so it wouldn't surprise me if I wasn't the first person to break something in the flat.

Now that the rancid air was being replaced by more tolerable but by no means better city air, I turned my attention to what I could salvage of the room. No matter how many times I cleared this place, in a month my dad would have it back to some sorry state. Whether he did it to annoy me or because he just didn't realise I'd cleaned the place and put things back to the way they were I'd never know. Fuck, he might just be angry at clean things, being the mechanic that he is. He might prefer things covered in greasy stains and coloured smudgy black. He'd taken a real fall since the divorce. Before he'd been working selling cars, and earning a tidy profit, but the split had sucked him dry, and he ended up servicing the cars of the rich snobs he'd sold the cars to in the first place. A bitter irony, if not hilarious from my point of view; I did feel a little sorry for him though. Yeah, it had been his fault why my mother had filed for divorce on grounds of domestic abuse charges, but he didn't deserve to lose absolutely everything. Maybe he did though, and I was just favouring him since he was my dad after all.

It didn't take me long to unpack. The wardrobe and the draws were pretty much empty aside from the sticky porn magazines my dad hoarded away there, so I just tossed them out and onto his couch, alongside the empty DVD case of 'Dessert Heat' from Kaiser Studios. I was familiar with that one - some seedy teenager had apparently managed to get the whole thing onto the internet. It was set in some odd desert setting, as the clearly punned title would suggest, and it focused on hot women who were caught in the agitations of their reproductive cycle. So they were all 'in heat' as it were - or at least pretending to. Porn studios would never risk a pregnancy. But anyway, it was about women who desperately wanted it, and who smothered their crotches in whipped cream. Men with big dicks would then obviously come along and put their 'bananas' in their 'splits'. It was just on movie out of the many my dad had stashed away somewhere. His apartment reflected his sexuality; he was a pig, pretty much. We never spoke about how dirty he could be, but I knew from his reputation. One time, when I had been fourteen, my dad was hosting a poker game with close friends. I overheard the banter of their conversation, and it didn't favour kindly for the women in their stories. One guy even proclaimed in a drunken shout that my dad had fucked a dozen women until they couldn't stand one night back in college, and was still randy for more when they'd called it a night. Suffice to say I ended having somewhat of a weird image of my dad after that. That this layabout fur with a rock-hard muscle gut and a mug that would test anyone's arousal once managed to score, and score big - it was strange, but he didn't really show any keen interest in finding another wife once mum left him. Maybe he just felt he couldn't trust women. I could relate. Being gay had its perks.

I went to check what food he had in stock. Probably nothing but tinned crap and ready meals that were way past their sell-by date. Like always, the sink was piled high with filthy plates and swimming in dirty dishwater that smelt just as bad as it looked. It was an assault on all the senses, and the whole kitchen permeated with the rank odour. The only way I can properly describe it is that it's like swallowing a thick stream of vomit, and it's never-ending and has the consistency of glue. Probably the equivalent of nails down a chalkboard for sound, and the sight was ghastly. Bits of food, sodden by the water and having lost all solid form, floated freely. The water was an off-colour murky brown, and did nothing to calm my stomach that wanted nothing more than to empty its contents as the stench became more powerful the closer I got. No way would I even be venturing near the sink over the course of the weekend - I would very much rather take my chances with rain puddles on the street than get a glass of water from that tap - so like usual, I would be ordering take-out and then surviving off whatever else I could find. Something was stuck to the fridge door, a garish looking toy magnet keeping it in its place. I recognised my dad's spidery scrawl immediately, and began deciphering whatever message he'd left. I managed to cobble together something about him planning on working late for a client's car, so I would be on my own until late. All the better; it meant not having to deal with awkward silences and the even worse attempts at chit chat about my life and where I was at - sometimes, it just felt like my dad had no idea who I was, and that I'd essentially just grown up without him. In fact, he was pretty much a stranger to me, except I knew everything about him, and he just didn't know a thing about me.

I guess I had time to kill. It wasn't late enough yet for dinner, nor was I hungry enough after seeing the horrors my dad was cultivating in the supposed 'kitchen'. That left me with time to kill, and I had none of my stuff at my dad's, just the bare minimum. All I had brought with me was my laptop for any work that I needed to do, and for talking with my friend's back near where my mum lived. Actually... I had the perfect idea, and my dad's somewhat shudder-worthy porn stash had inspired me. Kaiser Studios were renowned for their talent at making not just straight porn, but high quality gay flicks too - a few of which I was a fan of. I'm sure I had some saved somewhere for just such an occasion...

I scampered back to the bedroom, snatching up my laptop and flopping down on the bed. I gave myself a precursory grope as the system started itself up, quickly tapping in my password and waiting for the desktop to come up. What was I in the mood for? Dad might not be back for a while, so I had a choice from both short and lengthy stuff. Naturally I might go for something with big cocks, though maybe I wanted something a little more subtle than just the regularly smut they produced. I loaded up the small folder I kept tucked away and scoured through what I had. I had everything from 'Bareback Barn Tales', a series of twinky guys who get screwed by anthromorphised animals on a farm, to 'Frat House 4ever', a raunchy series about the urban myth of hazing rituals turning into gay orgies. But I settled upon a small film called 'Boys and their Toys'; denoting to the classic phrase about guys and cars, it focused on a small garage where young men would drive into for repairs only to then be seduced by the drivers. Then, when they couldn't afford the repairs, they'd end up repaying them by 'other means'. It was as awful as it sounded. It would have been a terrible clichéd porn film with phrases like 'why don't you blow my gasket' or 'careful, humps for twenty more minutes', but Kaiser Studios always managed to keep a cut above the rest with actually decent actors as the stars and with well-crafted plots that made some sense.

I clicked play, and as the film set the scene I too got myself ready. I stripped off my clothes, throwing aside my top and then kicking away my jeans until all I was left in were my boxers. Already I had a bulge forming as the film's main character was put into shot. He was dressed in a greasy looking overall, a bright blue colour were it not for the black oil stains. I knew him already to be Jared Jackman, also known as 'The Jackhammer'. He was often depicted as CJ's rival, and was referred to as JJ in the director's cut. Jared was a rough looking Doberman, whom seemed to always have this cocky trademark smirk on his face. Already the front of his overall was unzipped right down to the treasure trail of lighter brown fur which led to his pubes, and his prized washboard abs were on show. His fur had been oiled for the shot, and you could see him putting on the act of being all hot and sweaty from working all day with heavy machinery. His paws groped freely along his body, pressing himself against a stack of tyres as his paws moved further and further down, groping lewdly at the bulge forming at his crotch. I was getting excited too, but I knew the shot too well.

Whilst I massaged my growing length through the fabric of my boxers, Jared was drawn away from his solo act to tend to a customer who'd just arrived. Without much sense for decency, the Doberman strutted his way into the main area of the garage where a slender looking tiger had just driven in. The car was something sporty - I hadn't figured out the make yet - and there was some brief dialogue between the big cat and the dog about what a beauty of a car it was. The tiger blushes, typically, and then some flirty comments are passed between them until the brutish Jared locks lips with the bombshell tiger. The tiger's a natural pro though - according to the credits, he was a guest star called Erin Stripes whom they'd managed to hire in from another studio - and he's sucking Jared's face with just the right amount of enthusiasm. Jared's groping those dirty paws of his all over the tiger's body, cupping those firm cheeks and squeezing them just for the camera. Here's where I knew the film got interesting...

Jared had the tiger on his knees, with his iconic dick slapping against the feline's muzzle. It was an angry blood red colour, lined with veins that bulged in just the right way. His knot was immense, a fat bulbous piece of flesh that bloated out the base of his cock. Erin had been sucking the dog off for a considerable while now - with scenes of the infamous sixty-nine, and of Erin deep-throating that fat monster - and there were just a few minutes now between the oral portion and the part where Jared finally stuffs his meat up that cute little behind. They'd lost all their clothes now, Jared only adorned with his heavy duty boots that gave him an even gruffer look, and the tiger left naked in the semi-public garage. I was now jacking my cock with speed now as I watched the Doberman lift the tiger to his knees, growling for the kitty to bend over and lift that tail like a good little boy. I was about to blow a load, watching that thick tapered prick push against the pink pucker of the cat, gliding in with a cacophony of mutual groans and grunts, and my balls were ready to explode. My breathing was ragged, panting, on the edge of an orgasm...

"What the fuck..."

Those single three words were enough for my heart to stop, lurch up my throat and attempt to run for freedom. My mind just went into an instant white noise as actions took over, reacting in double time to hide everything. I yanked my boxers up, slammed my laptop closed, then fumbled to get it open again as the film was still playing and their moans were as loud as ever - louder even. My voice was yelling something, to get out, to go away, but something was wrong. I knew who it was that had spoken. My dad had come home, finally, and of course with just my luck it had to be whilst I was still rubbing one out. I hadn't yet come out to anybody, so if he had seen what I was watching, then I might as well kiss my life goodbye. My eyes snapped round to the open doorway, to the sight of my dad staring at me, his jaw agape and his gaze wide and fixed upon the deed I was doing. Most parents might've looked away by now, become embarrassed or flustered and left their son be after catching them, but my dad just stared as I desperately tried to hide my package, the erection having softened considerably, but a small stain and bulge still remained.

"What the fuck." He repeated the same statement, but this time his voice was sterner, more solid. I knew I was in deep shit. His fists were clenched, his knuckles quivering; I looked from them back up to his stare, seeing those eyes even angrier than I'd ever seen them. I wondered quite morbidly if he was going to hit me, if I actually might get beaten to death by my own father in his grotty bedroom after failing to cum watching porn. It was a sober thought, and I didn't say anything as he processed the scene.

"You're a tail raiser." It was a statement, not a question. It might have been more okay if it were a question. That way I'd be included with his consent, but he still shut me out. I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming guilt and sadness, that somehow I was to blame for this, for something. It wasn't his fault I was gay. It was just all those men and penises.

Now, understand this; I'm not the scrawniest of guys. In fact, rounding off at six foot, I'm not that bad a height, and I've got a decent build. I could never quite pack on the muscle since I spent my time studying and desperately aiming for that college on the other side of the country, but I worked out enough. But my dad... He was where I got my genetics from. He was built like a brick house. He rose another few inches above me, and back in his time had an impressive build that could make strongmen cry. Family life and living like a single slob after that had softened him though, and despite still keeping his muscular physique he often boasted about, he had grown a bit of a gut. Not so much that you could call it a beer belly, but he was halfway there. We were exact clones, both looking like thoroughbred Bull Terriers with a pink tinged muzzles and clean white coats of fur. His ears were maybe a little larger, but I was a mongrel whilst dad was a questionable pedigree.

"Please don't call me that..." I practically squeaked, but I instantly regretted the words as soon as I'd said them. His vicious stare snapped onto me, the fury unrelenting as it bore into me,

"Shut up, fag!" He snarled, with his voice beyond his control and savage, "I'll call you what you want. You pillow-biter; you faggot, drag queen, fairy, puff, queer... You're a fucking disgrace."

He stormed away from the door, his footfalls stomping through the apartment. I'd never seen him so livid, and I said nothing despite having been cut down with plenty of insults from a man who was supposed to love me unconditionally. I picked up my jeans and pulled them back up. I spared time by leaving my shirt and I followed out rather timidly to meet him again in the main area of the apartment. Minutes of awkward tension passed by; he said nothing, just leant onto the back of the sofa, his paws clenched so hard that I feared he'd rip the upholstery. His breathing was shallow, and rapid, like he was trying to hold himself back from going berserk. Once more I pictured myself broken and bloody, crumpled beneath him, and I shuddered. This was really happening... a day I'd feared for years was finally coming true...

"How long?" He spoke suddenly, and I was taken aback by the question. His voice was so calm, and yet so devoid of any emotion.

"What do you-"

"How fucking long have you been a fag?" He growled again, interrupting me and looking up. His glare was unbearable. Now not only was there rage smouldering behind his eyes, but also disappointment and bitter resentment and hatred. So much for a father's love... Bu then again, I'd known both of my parents never really be ones to show they cared. To assume he still did was foolish. I'd just finally sealed the deal.

"A few years now..." I might as well be honest. Lying was pointless. The very fact that I was gay could get no worse in his eyes. It was a disgusting enough thing for him. He huffed, looking away and rubbing his face. There was reluctance in him. I could see he was in turmoil between accepting who I was and between telling me to get the fuck out of his home.

"Why?" I had to think... He wanted an answer, and simply shrugging off the question with a 'just because' wouldn't really suffice for him.

"I just do... I don't want to act any different, or be treated any differently, I just don't like girls. Never have done..." I was close to tears... Why did I care so much? He'd never really bothered with me. "I'm sorry, dad..."

"Save it." I held back the tears, and I sucked back the sobbing sigh with much effort. I had to hold my composure, if just to retain my sense of dignity in front of him. Watching him carefully, he kept huffing and sighing, and his face was scrunched up, and had the comparison to old sodden newspapers I'd see littering the streets. No doubt they'd be my new friends since I'd be joining them.

"You like sucking cocks then?" I nodded, mutely. I couldn't even look at him anymore. In my head, I'd always envisioned this to be different. I had expected the resistance - hell, I had thought he'd have hit me by now, taken his belt off and slung me over with it - but I had always imagined I'd be the one with the upper hand, not standing before him half nude having been caught out watching dudes do it on my laptop. My fantasy had played out with me shouting back at him, equally aggressive yet so powerful and inspiring. I had hoped to leave him gormless, to storm out the door with my last parting words telling him to insert his own head rectally into himself with force that was borderline suicidal. But no... I was taking it all like a punching bag whilst he vented and fumed.

"Any sort of cock, or just off your faggot bum chums?" I didn't know what to say... Everything was happening so quickly, and it threw me off a little. Why did it matter? I stuffed man meat in my mouth and took it up the back passage, what more was there to discuss? Did he want to pretend his daughter all these years had been hiding in a male body?

"I don't know... Any, I guess..." I bet that made me a bit of a whore. Watch this. Watch him call me some fairy slut who bends over for all the fellas. You'll see...

"Suck my cock then."

I did a double take. Was I hearing this right? Had my own father, flesh and blood, just ordered me to give him a blowjob? I must've hit my head or something, and I was in a coma or having a bad dream. This couldn't be true. Had he seriously just fucking asked me to suck his own cock?!

"What are you waiting for, a bloody applause?" He was already unbuckling his jeans, pulling them apart as he groped over his dirty looking boxers. Cupping his package, he was looking at me with a stern yet lewd look on his face, even if it was tinged with a slight frame of nervousness. Something was off...

"What the fuck... Are you serious?"

"I am if you want to carry on living under this roof. And don't think about running home crying to that bitch you call a mother. I'll out you to her, and then you'll have nowhere to go." Oh god, he was being serious... He was trying to blackmail me... "Sure, you might then go wail and claim I was making you trade sexual favours in return for me not shoving you onto the streets, but that would mean publically acknowledging you're a pillow-biter. No more mommy then, and certainly no more me."

"I could manage on my own..." I said quietly. I couldn't believe this was happening... I was being bullied into a corner, and I knew he was completely right.

"Then what? You can kiss your graduation goodbye then. You'll have to get a job and pay for your own food and rent. Pretty soon I'd bet a pretty faggot boy like you would end up on the streets dressing up in drag to earn an extra dollar..." The nerves were gone now. All that remained in his eyes was that cocky self-smugness of having utterly caught me out, and a slight mix of anxiety. He was about to use his progeny, so I could grant him some hesitation.

"You bastard... you'd do this to your own son?" My last resort - kind of a trump card, I guess. He faltered for a moment, that father I remember as a kid who at least treated me decently flashed across his face for a brief second before it soured. In my mind's eye, I bet he was visioning all the guy's I'd been with, imagining me bent over like a girl and moaning just like that tiger in the film. He was probably getting sick at the thought of me then panting, mouth open as some guy jacked himself all over my face, my tongue licking up what it could...

"It's been years since I slept with another woman. Married men become shapeless when they're not happy. I put on weight, lost my charm and became rusty, so when that bitch dumped me I was no longer a prize stud." I didn't want to point out that he was abusive. It would only ignite the tension and send him skyrocketing. "Plus every bloody women wanting to date a guy my age wants commitment by date three, then it's marriage, another fucking kid, and then divorce all over again and I'm back in the shithole feeling like a miserable waste of life." I didn't know dad felt left out... I mean, I did feel sorry he was the one who wanted to try being a parent rather than my mother, but still... "After a while it became so hard to pick up chicks that I had to start paying for the strange... Then work became stringent with their wages, I had to fork out cash for you and that bitch... I had to quit getting action. But now, now I've got you, and if you want to be such a princess faggot, then all I'm doing is helping you out." He stopped his rant, wheezing through his nose like an animal which had finally calmed down from a fit. His eyes were wide, and I thought for a moment that was it. That this was just about sexual frustration, but then there came the next five words.

"I have no fucking son."

Five words which closed that last door. We were no longer related, not emotionally. By law, we both still had to acknowledge and recognise each other's existence and what that meant, but behind closed doors where nobody could see I would never trust that man again, and I most certainly he would not give me an ounce of respect.

"Then how do you want to do this?" I asked with as much coldness in my voice as possible. Might as well; I could take solace in the fact that it was only for a short period of time. Once I left for college I wouldn't ever have to talk, see, or even acknowledge the sack of shit.

"Just do whatever feels natural, I guess..." He had no clue. I bet with all the girls he had them on their knees begging for it. But with a man in the room, he must've been pretty dumbstruck right now, and probably because he hadn't had expected to get away with it. Whilst I knew he had a lot of ammunition against me to keep me in my place from here on out, deep down I knew he wasn't brave enough to _really_go through with it. But this had been something I'd often dream about. Not in the sense that someday I expected it to happen - that shit was nearly impossible - but something that had gotten me through a few bedroom sessions with my right hand a nothing else to do. It was a chance to actually go through with the fantasy, even if it did come with the sour side effects of rejection and disownment.

I knelt down to his already exposed crotch, shuffling on my knees until my face was mere inches away from his groin. I could already feel the heat and the smell was overpowering. It had that familiarity I'd grown up with, the aromas of unwashed fur and sweat, and I recognised the heat from my other encounters with males. My dad had been waiting for this for a while. I could already tell. His breathing had become staggered within moments of me reaching up for the waistband of his underwear, and I could see his legs tensing up and shifting their weight.

Slowly, I peeled away the boxers, revealing the cock and balls that had made me. I had to stop my jaw hitting the floor. My dad was hung... From the sheath alone, I would have had to say he was about eleven inches long, and about as thick as my wrist. I might have been worried about its size, but I couldn't help but feel jealous that I'd only managed to get a slither of his good genes; he dwarfed me by about three inches, and made mine look like it could fit in a keyhole. His balls too were huge and sweaty, and I pressed my nose into them to give them the praise they deserved. These two meaty orbs had delivered me into my mum's womb, and without them I'd be nothing but a possibility and a stained of dead cells on some tissue paper in the bin. His musk was overpowering and ripe, and soon my nose had been rubbed in all the built up sweat it could find. Meanwhile, my dad had been getting into the spirit of things. The bright pink tip of his cock was poking out from the furry tube now, and gently I prised it back to let the rest slide out.

I had been right. Though there was not much difference between my predictions and the actual size, he was still a large guy. It never occurs to you until much later that in order for you to conceived, your parents must first have had sex... and then it's an even more peculiar thought to then wonder what exactly they were like beneath the clothes. Most kids just shake these brief thoughts off, but for me I was being faced with the answer. This beer can cock had been the tool that pounded my mother into a state of bliss, then unloaded the seed I would surely taste into her where it took hold and began to grow into me. A thin line of pre was leaking from the tip, and tentatively for the first time I stuck out my tongue and curled it up along the underside of his meat, licking from the base of where his knot was all the way to the tip, scooping up all the errant ooze. The taste was potent, and strong, the flavours of seed that had been held back from reach proper pleasure other than a hasty session with some skin flick, a box of tissues and a bottle of lube. But that had been it. I'd broken the first barrier that father and son should never cross. I had sampled the taste and feel of my father's manhood, and now I had to follow through. There would be no turning back from this now.

With one paw reaching up to squeeze and address his throbbing knot, I opened my mouth to see about actually taking him into me. I was no stranger to giving a male some attention. I'd had enough curious friends who were willing to close their eyes for the sake of finally getting blown off. Even though it doesn't bode well for me to have such a reputation, but amongst most of the guys in the locker room, I was kind of a freebie. Not that I'd just gladly drop to my knees and do whatever the hell you wanted, but rather if I fancied it just as much as the guy asking, then it'd be a sure thing. I'd developed my technique though, and having dealt with many suppressed adolescent teenage guys I knew how to keep a man going despite wanting to desperately bust his nut. I let my lips close around his head, and carefully I swirled my tongue around the rim. The tension in his legs was still there, and judging by the rate his knot was swelling I knew I couldn't do this to him forever. Best to give him a show at the very least if all he wanted was to be sucked.

I begin to push myself down upon him, ignoring the sensation he was watching my head at his groin, most likely not believing his luck and trying to swallow the fact that this was _his_son... or at least his former son. I felt his girth begin to stretch at my muzzle, forcing my jaw wider as I let him slide deeper into me. The tapered head pressed down into my throat - another useful genetic trait I'd got off my 'dad' was the lack of a gag reflex, and I felt a weird sense of irony that he was now benefitting from it. My lips began to push and fold around that swollen knot of his, the size of it being quite nearly the same size as my fist, and he was lodged firmly down my neck. Sticky spurts of pre spat into my throat, and I could barely catch the faintest trace of their bitterness before I was forced to swallow them. I began to pull off just a few inches, keeping him firmly placed in my muzzle until all that remained was his head between my teeth. Then I bobbed back down, setting the pace to be brisk and quick whilst still retaining its depth. He was grunting and growling, his hips making only the slightest of thrusting motions as I slid my tongue along each sensitive inch. I had thought he would cum into my mouth, but suddenly, just as his knot was throbbing beneath my paw, he pulled himself out, and I fell back onto my haunches. I couldn't help but look up mildly surprised at him, wondering what the deal was now.

"I ain't cumming yet," he growled, stroking his spit-slicken member, his fingers running over his tip and making him visibly shudder, "If I'm getting sucked by a dude, I might as well fuck his hole too. Seems only fair he gets his full enjoyment out of it..." He had that cocky sneer again, "Besides, an asshole is an asshole, right?"

"I couldn't agree more..." I responded, though whether I was goading him on or actually trying to harm him I couldn't decide...

"Get into the bedroom then."

I got to my footpaws as he moved past me, his dick swinging freely in the open air like he didn't care now what I saw. He was wearing a simple jeans and tanktop, combined with heavy duty boots just like Jared had worn. It was a hot look I had to say, so I could at least take to heart that I was about to get fucked by a guy who was sexually attractive. I mean, I'd already stuffed his manhood down my throat, I might as well just go the whole hog and replace my mum and be the 'girl' that dad screws. I had to admit, a dark part of me relished the thought that I'd be pounded hard with the junk that had made me.

My dad was already pulling off his tank top when I'd moved in behind him. At this point it seemed like his worries of fucking his own kin were now non-existent. To him, I was now a hole to fuck, and to fill with his seed. I undid my jeans and pulled them back down, exposing myself once again just as my dad did the same. This was probably the most I'd ever seen my dad show off naked. Sure, I'd caught glimpses of him going topless about the apartment as he scoured the place, looking for a clean shirt, and I'd seen him sleeping sometimes in the chair in just boxer shorts and a t-shirt, but as he slipped off his boxers and threw them onto the floor, I finally saw him nude in all his glory. He looked intimidating, just as I'd always thought him to be growing up, and I couldn't help but feel that little submissive side of me kick in as he stared at me. He pointed to the bed, and I pretty much flinched at the quickness of his movements,

"Get on your hands and knees, faggot." The abuse was unnecessary, but it probably helped. It made me separate this between lovemaking and sex. Dad was most certainly not going to be gentle with me. He most likely saw me as an expert cock-taker, and that I'd been doing this for years now despite having only really been active in the past few months. Dutifully though, I did as I was told like a scorned child. I climbed up onto the already dishevelled bed and pushed my laptop aside, feeling dad already move himself behind me. Forcibly he spread apart my legs, placing himself between them as I was forced to look forward, staring at the other edge of the bed as he prepared me. Given that he was about to fuck a guy for the first time, a guy he was supposed to now hate, he was pretty considerate. No lube, of course, but he did spit on his dick again and then once more on my winking hole to add for a little slickness. It wasn't much, but it was something, and his insistent and needy fingers were greedily probing at my rim, pushing in without much warning and scissoring apart. It was a brutish assault, but I gritted my teeth and bore on, steeling myself for the big event.

Once he deemed me ready enough to take him, dad slapped his dick on top of my ass a few times, spraying a bit of pre over the small of my back. It was all about marking for him, making sure he knew I was beneath him. Then I felt him start to enter. The tip pressed at my hole so suddenly I gasped, making him growl and shove about three inches in with one fell push. The pain was immense, but there was no other way out of this other than to get it over with. I pushed back onto him, burying his bone into my hole, doing what he wanted. Sadly though he took this as a different sign,

"Looks like the faggot is desperate for my cock, eh?" He announced to no one in particular except maybe the damp walls. He shoved himself into me, pressing that knot against my hole daringly attempting to get it all in at once. But there was no budging it. I refused to let him tear my ass apart that much. It was uncomfortable enough already without him pushing his luck. He gave a few slow thrusts to test the waters, growling and groaning to himself, saying how much better than a pussy this was, about how he should have found out sooner. I just ignored him. His praise wasn't what drove me; I wanted him to knot me, to cum in me and make me his bitch like he did my mother. I grew used to his size easily enough, though I knew that wasn't the hardest challenge. His thick member slid into my inner depths with ease, reaching just far enough to tap and jab at my prostate, making my own manhood stir back to life. I wasn't quite as big as my father, though I did resemble him in many aspects. I was just as thick, if not thicker, though my length had been stunted apparently. My knot was larger too, and now it swelled and ached with each moaning stab at my prostate. I soon found myself joining in with my dad's grunts, his fucking driving the air from my lungs with powerful slams.

I was enraptured with bliss, finally beginning to enjoy an otherwise grim experience, and fulfilling a long since abandoned fantasy. Dad seemed no longer to care he was fucking another man up the arse, and grabbed me by my shoulder, teeth clenching down on my neck and very nearly piercing the flesh. He went at me full force, that swollen knot of his ramming itself against my back door with wild need. It was like a battering ram; unrelenting and unstoppable. I could feel the resistance giving, my dad resorting to sheer force and speed to send that puppy home, and with one final great shove my ass exploded into a hair-raising mixture of pleasure and pain, with sensations so indescribable I was set on edge. I hadn't even realised I'd came from the knotting until about my fourth or fifth spurt, where my cum hit my chest and spread all across the bed. Dad however wasn't quite finished. As I rode out the final waves of my orgasm, he was just about to unleash his. With his knot having found a warm and clenching home in which to trap itself in, he gave a few short thrusts, rampantly pushing onward the climax that was coming. Then it came like a tidal wave, years of suppressed sexual need all pouring into my abused ass. I could feel each spurt as though my dad wasn't a mere dog but a breeding stallion, that his cock was the equivalent to a fire hose and flooding my guts with warm sticky pup batter - the same batter that had resulted in me.

As dad spurted out the last of his jizz into my sore ass, he tested my hole with a short tug. I whined, whimpering from the sensation, but he didn't seem to care. With a huffed growl, he yanked his cock brutally from my ass, making me yelp loudly. He clutched my tail and lifted it high, slapping one cheek with his paw loudly, the sound resonating in my ears, and the feeling travelling through my hip. I couldn't hold the seed in, my hole was just too loose and stretched, and his cum dribbled freely from my puffed rim, running down the inside of my leg and balls. It was probably a sight to see, and I could feel him leering at me,

"Look at you, faggot; taking cock like some cheap slut." He gave a sigh, "Well, you held up your end of the bargain, so I guess I should do too. You can stay, but next time you visit I want you naked on your knees for when I get home, and you're gonna be my little cock sleeve from here on out."

I didn't doubt him for a second.