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Richard was a drunk lizard bastard. Son of another drunk bastard, he started drinking when he was fifteen, and smoking even earlier. He visited the principal office almost every week, and had a collection of scars all over his body. Some scales missing over here, a couple of scars over there, two fangs loss before he has twenty years. Obviously, he grew to be an abusive piece of shit, father of two lizards. The older one ran away a couple of years ago, and was living as an urban artist in Florida. The younger one, a little 10-years-old lizard named Brock, was in the coach's office, gagged with a used jockstrap while being fucked by a stocky bull. And yet, Brock couldn't think of anyone but his father. His drunk, bastard, musky and sexy father.

He was more rude than normal. And faster, too. 10 minutes aren't enough to satisfy him. But since the sudden change in the class schedule, he can't go to the coach's office during lunch. It's not a surprise the bull was desperate. The surprise was to find his father's truck at the entrance. Old and rusty, with the right window shattered, the kind of truck you can expect from a creep or a serial killer, or in this case, a plumber.

"Where the fuck have you been?" yelled once Brock was in. He was a chubby lizard, although almost all the lizards had stocky bodies, with a scar on his left cheek and a small part of his nose bitten down, something about fighting a couple of lions years ago. He puffed on his cigar while gazing at his son with his green eyes.

"The coach ask me to pick up the equipment," he said a little nervous.

"That's his fuckin' job. Next time tell him that," then he sniffed loudly and wrinkled his nose. "And what's that smell? Jeez, you're taking a bath when we get home".

The cub didn't answer, and almost immediately opened the window. Later, he finally asked.

"Where's mom?"

"She's out," he said without taking his look from the street.

Brock looked at him. He seemed to be angry, showing part of his fangs and squeezing the wheel. He never liked when he was angry. Well, that was before. Recently, seeing that old beast growling and chattering his fangs was incredible hot to him. But on his condition, with his ass leaking, it wasn't a good idea to look at his father.

Richard sighed and spoke again when he stopped at the traffic light.

"She's visiting your grandma this week. You can be alone at home, right?"

Brock didn't answer. Mom did left him alone sometimes, but it wasn't for a long time. Half an hour at last. His dad was talking of an entire day during the rest of the week. He barely knew how to made a sandwich.

"I'm going to order you food," he added, like if he read his mind. "Just clean the house. You can do that, right?" he questioned him, doubtful.

"Y-yeah."

"Good. Do your homework and clean. Hope you do it better than your mother."

Later on, Brock was at home, seeing his father through the window, leaving. Once the truck wasn't on sight, the cub ran upstairs and undressed himself. He managed to hold the load left by the coach, or at least most of it. The little and horny brat laid on his fours and start fingering his cum-filled hole. The bull really emptied his balls inside him. Some of that warm seed was already leaking out, as he thought of how close his father was to catch him. If it wasn't for his cheap cigar he would surely recognized the smell. And thinking about the way that old lizard could punish him turned him on even more.

His father was truly a piece of shit. He never hit them, but humiliated them. Words like bitch, whore, useless, faggot, and more, where part of his main vocabulary. His mother received the worst, but she doesn't care, or at least never showed to be annoyed or hurt by that. His brother ran away because of that. And him, well, he kinda liked it.

But the attraction for his dad was something new. Two months ago he came back from school earlier and found him in the kitchen with the neighbor's daughter, a 16-years old lioness. She was over the table, with her legs on the air, biting her claw to muffle any moan, or scream. But that fat lizard, humping, no, ramming her, pushing his fat cock deep inside her. His pants on the floor, his tank top covered in sweat. And the way he looked at her. He was smiling, enjoying her suffering. Drooling over his back, holding her from the neck. That was a true beast.

Being fucked like that... shit, that would be a dream come true.

After finishing with all his chores, including cleaning, the cub waited for his father to come back home, but he didn't appeared. Surely he went with his friends to drink, and when that happened, he used to came back past midnight. Nothing to do, then. Brock took a bath and went to sleep.

But in the middle of the night, something woke him up. It was a couple of voices. The scared cub though about burglars, and he was about to hide under his bed when he recognized his father's voice. He walked to the door, feeling his heart pounding hard. They were talking about his mother, but Brock couldn't understand most of the words. Well, as drunks as they were, none of that would have sense. His digital alarm read 2:23 AM. The cub sighed and go back under the sheets.

He woke up once again. There was a blurry silhouette over him, panting heavily. Little drips of saliva fell on his face. A strong reek of alcohol was coming from his maw. Brock recognized him, but his father held him from the neck, and his pants became growls. The little cub took his wrist, and the older bastard just squeezed harder.

"Shut it, you bitch!" he mumbled, dragging the words. Not only his paw, but his entire body had him pinned down. He was barely breathing. "Been tired of your fucking excuses!"

"B-but, dad..." the words sounded faintly. Brock was trying too hard to freed himself, wriggling under his heavy body.

"I said shut it!" he screamed and released him, just to slap him in the face.

The little cub started to cry of pain, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Before he could noticed it, his father already had him face down, his cheek pressed against the pillow.

"I've been patient too long," he continued. "Don't want me to keep fucking the neighbor?"

Brock was terrified, wriggling, trying to scream. But nothing worked. He felt his boxers being pulled down, followed by a strong paw grabbing his ass, squeezing hard. The weight was already hurting his back.

"Well, now it's your turn..." he listened a zipper going down. Something big started to rub his ass. "Now I'm gonna put you on your place! You're my wife and is YOUR duty to obey me!"

He was mistaken him with his mother?! Brock tried once again to speak, but his father pressed harder his head. He spat on his hand and rub it all over his hard 6-inches long cock. The strong musk coming from his dick reached his nose. It was delicious, but in that situation was impossible to enjoy it. Isn't that what he wanted? Have his father ramming his ass? No, it was just a fantasy! Isn't fantasies supposed to be just that? He wasn't looking to be fucked by his father in reality! But now the tip of his cock was pushing against his hole. The coach hasn't been the only one to breed him. You might even say that the kid has experience. But that was the first time he was scared. After all, his father's cock was thick. Very thick.

It didn't get in at the first try, but it hurts like if did. His father kept trying, and he laughed in satisfaction when the head got in, unlike Brock, who was screaming with his maw shoved in the pillow.

"Oh fuck! Didn't knew you were so tight, woman!" he bit his lip and pushed, his cock slowly making his way in, tearing apart the little ass of his son.

"Please, stop! It hurts!" Brock managed to scream, tears flowing right into the pillow. He couldn't relax, and that just made it worst.

"Of course it hurts!" then he whispered at his ear. "But I'm gonna do it every night until you love it. Then I won't need to keep paying that bitch to let me do what MY wife is supposed to do."

"Dad, I'm not-!"

"For fuck sake, shut up!" he spat at his face and pushed his hips until his cock was all the way in. With the eyes wide-open, Brock tried to scream, but nothing came out from his mouth. "The only thing I want to hear is your moans, get it?"

The old bastard started to hump, not giving him the slightest chance to get used to it. He had to push harder for how tight it was. Brock was ripping the sheets apart, looking for anything to grab. At least his father wasn't holding his head, so it was a little easier to breath. And cry. It was then when he noticed the blood coming out from his nose. The pillow had a huge red stain.

With that hole completely loosened up, his movements became harder and faster, using his own weight to go deeper. Brock felt that huge piece of meat breaking everything inside, tearing his hole apart. He tried to calm down, go to his happy place, but the pain in his ass, no, in his entire body, was too much to ignore it. Like if he had read his mind, his father held him from the hips and pull him; Brock was now on his four, with Richard fucking him like a beast, his cock getting even deeper like that. A single scream came from his throat.

"I said I want to hear you moaning!" and his father slapped him in the ass. "Moan like the bitch you are!"

And that's what he did. Brock moaned. And moaned again.

"Yeah, that's better. You like it, right?"

"Y-yes..." the tears kept flowing, and that bastard was laughing. He was enjoying his suffering.

Heavy pants were coming from his maw, spreading the smell of that cheap rum he used to drink. Little drips of sweat fell all over his body. His entire room was now full of that sickening musk. And Brock was feeling guilty. Because that last moan was real.

He just came over his bed.

Because he was enjoying it too. The rum. The sweat. The blood. The pain. Oh, that sweet pain coming from his ass. And he felt guilty, because he wanted more. With real moans coming out of his mouth, he squeezed his cock. His father clearly understood, and he slapped his ass once again. He pushed forward with every hump, and Brock followed it going backwards.

"Just like that, yes! I knew you'll love it, you whore!" roared his father.

And the moans of that little kid became a mixture of pain and pleasure, both increasing every second. His father kept ramming him without any mercy, growling, seeing him with a depraved smile on his face. If he knew it was his son or not, that didn't care anymore. He was too excited to stop there, so he shoved his claws on the skin and fucked harder, almost desperate. And that kid, broken in every way, was enjoying it. No matter how much it hurts, he wanted more. He wanted that cock to break it, to fill him, to breed him. He wanted the seed of his father deep inside of him, to carry it. Because he was...

"A whore," he muttered. His tongue was hanging out of his maw, with little drips of blood mixed with saliva falling. And there was now blood flowing from his hips. When he turned to see his father, he saw him licking the blood from his left claw. And the way he was looking at him, that face would stay in his memory for the rest of his life: he recognized him.

Without any warning, Richard shoved his cock and shoot his load into his own son. Brock felt that fat cock throbbing, and the warm, thick cum filling his insides. He smiled in gratitude, while his father just roared, triumphant, shoving even more his claws into the flesh. And that was enough to bring the little cub to have his second orgasm...

Richard left the room minutes later. Brock fainted after that, laying in the sheets stained with sweat, cum and blood.

He resented all the pain the next morning. When he woke up, his legs, his ass, almost his entire body was sore. But he was bandaged from the hips, where his father held it.

"Finally," someone exclaimed. His father was at the door's frame, dressed just in his tank top and boxers. "I was about to throw you."

"I-I'm sorry..." he look at his clock. 9:57 AM.

"Forget about that. Dress up and come down. I make you pancakes."

"But what about school...?" he asked, looking at his paws.

"I said you were sick. You're not going for the rest of the week."

"What...? Why?" Brock was confused. His father was very strict to let him skip school, even when he was sick. But now... he was containing a laugh.

"I'm not going to keep paying that slut when you do it for free."

Brock could feel his cheeks blushing and his heart pounding hard when he said that. He showed off a shy smile.

"Now hurry up. After that you're gonna give me a paw massage. From now on you'll have to win your right to live on this house, kiddo. And ain't gonna put it easy for you."

"Whatever you say, daddy!" Brock said, with his face shining of happiness.

Good boy.