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I missed the headshot because of Dad's bulge.

I was visiting the city, staying at Dad's apartment. I didn't like the city these days, but Dad had work, and he couldn't get time off to come and visit me, so I was visiting him. Well, I say work. He had "work". Dad's special work, that kept him busy most nights and sometimes had him in the bathroom afterwards, grunting as he wiped disinfectant over some fresh wounds that looked awfully like claw marks. But they weren't, of course. Dad had told me so when I was younger. He simply worked with a lot of sharp equipment.

Uhuh.

Now, don't get me wrong -- I wasn't at all ungrateful for what Dad did for me. He did what he did in order to raise me right, and I can't fault him on a single part of that. I got fed, clothed and schooled for eighteen years, and Dad was always there for me when I needed him -- even if you had to break through his grumpy shell first. He listened to my problems, helped me with homework, and gave me the odd smack when I deserved it. I'd say I came out pretty normal by the end of it -- for a ram that had some kind of underworld enforcer for a dad.

That was the only kink in our relationship. I never approved of Dad's job, not from the moment I put the pieces together -- which, I have to say with chagrin, took me quite a long time -- but I also never confronted him about it. Yeah, yeah, call me a coward, I don't care. Dad was all I had, and I was scared if I said anything, I'd break us. I almost did, once, when he didn't come home until the next day and when he did his face looked like bruised plum and he had a real deep new scar right down the side of his broad chest. I remember the moment like fucking crystal: standing in the bathroom's doorway, watching Dad grimace as he slid the cotton wool up and down the wound, the yellow colour of the disinfectant turning deep umber as it absorbed the blood. His big head turning to look at me, that awful, bruised face making him look so much older and weaker than I knew he was.

Maybe he was expecting me to say it at last, because there was a resigned look in his eyes, like, "get it over with". And I wanted to; wanted to tell him I was scared of him, scared for him. That I hated knowing he probably hurt people -- and definitely got hurt -- to put bread on the table. But I just...couldn't. I didn't see a thug sitting there on the toilet seat, the edge of his mouth rising in a quiet snarl whenever the antiseptic stung; I saw my dad. And so, like all the times before and after, I grabbed the cotton wool and the disinfectant and helped him get cleaned up, without saying a word. And as I dabbed at a wound, or applied a bandage, I'd sense him looking at me with those intense blue eyes from under his proud brow, and weirdly, I'd feel a little proud. Like I was being a good son, helping his dad out after work. Just as other kids did, I imagined.

Except with more blood, you know.

I gotta stress again, though: I did not approve. Dad was probably still a criminal -- and even if he wasn't technically breaking any laws, doing whatever he did, he was still involved in some seriously dangerous shit. By the time my schooling ended, I'd decided it was the city's fault. The city was too...much. It scarfed people up and spat them out, bruised and scarred like Dad. I couldn't stay in the city. Plus, after I turned eighteen, Dad started to get really intense about things. He wanted us to spend a lot more time together, for one, and I'd see him looking at me with these weird looks I couldn't decode. I started to think he thought I might go into the same line of work as him.

The idea of that freaked me out something fierce, so I did what my cowardly ass thought was best and fucked off the moment I was done with school. Not in a bad way, mind; not like he woke up one day and I was simply gone. I talked to him about it and explained I needed to be on my own. He was heartbroken, but he seemed to understand; I was touched by how deeply it affected him. The tears flowed like wine for a good few days after, lemme tell you. My Dad, Jonah; the scary ram with a heart of gooey marshmallow. He did make me promise that we'd get together at least once a month, though.

I found a nice little community college in a town about three hours drive away, and moved there. Started studying veterinary science; started building my own life. And it was great. I loved everything about it: being independent at last, out on my own, building my future. And I didn't need to worry about Dad, because he could handle anything life threw at him. Probably by gripping it and squeezing until it capitulated.

But, of course, I still worried. Now and then. I mean -- how could I not? He's still my dad, you know? He texted me several times a day, so I knew he was alive, but sometimes there'd be longer gaps than usual, or his language would be terser. As if it hurt to type. So, when the worrying got extra bad, I'd make the time to drive back up to the city and see how he was doing. Only an overnight trip. We'd go out for dinner, maybe, or order in some pizza. Dad would ask about my studies, and I'd not ask about his work, and we'd have a great time. I'd sleep in my old room, back at the apartment, and drive back out to college the next day. Just long enough to touch base and make sure the old goat hadn't gotten an arm ripped off or something.

Plus, Dad loved it. He practically fucking shone every moment we were together. He'd sit and stare at me as we chatted, nodding and smiling and bleating at my bad jokes. And it really seemed like the time away from me had made him care more. He watched me closely, eyes barely breaking from mine. He'd reach out and touch my arm a lot, like for emphasis, or agreement. And before I left, every time, he'd hug me. He'd never been much of a hugger before I moved out, but now I'd get a bone-crushing embrace to say farewell, his muzzle resting on my shoulder, and he'd groan and sigh and say, "You be good now, Bastian, alright? I love you."

And I'd say "Love you too, Dad." And I'd get a kiss on the neck and a gentle pat on the back of the head before I headed out. And it felt good. It gave me hope, you know? Dad would be alright. He didn't need me. That muscle-mountain of a ram didn't need anyone.

Well, perhaps a psychiatrist -- but you can be the one to suggest that to him, alright?

So, this one weekend, I'm back up there. We'd gone out the night before, and Dad got pretty buzzed. It was a riot. He tried to do karaoke, but he's so damn tall, his horns kept knocking against the lights in the dinky place we were at and throwing him off. Eventually, he had to kinda hunker down like he was trying to shrink into himself, and I laughed so hard I almost pissed myself. His breath was mostly alcohol by the time I helped him through the front door of his place, and he dropped into his bed like a rock, already snoring, still fully clothed. I stayed up long enough to drink a ton of water and then headed to bed myself. I didn't plan on having a hangover. Woke up well into the morning, with Dad's door still firmly shut. Didn't want to disturb him, so I kept myself busy. Had some breakfast, watched a bit of television, and eventually hooked up the console I'd brought from college and began playing some games.

I guess the headset and the game sounds muffled the rest of the noises in the apartment, or I was just super focused on the game. All I remember is lining up a headshot on a guy, and then sensing motion in the corner of my eye. I glanced over without thinking -- and then my fingers clenched, and I fired my shot way wide of the guy I'd been trying to hit.

There comes a moment in every son's life when he has to make peace with the fact that the cruelty of genetics means he won't necessarily end up like his father. I'd made that peace years ago. Dad was a hulking beast, and I was not. I was a slim little thing with barely any definition; a hundred fifty pounds, max. A strong wind would blow me down. Dad, though, had easily a hundred pounds on me: I mean, each of his thighs was half the width of my entire torso. His horns were also enormous, arcing behind his head far enough to curve back around again -- a far cry from my short, straight little ones. He'd had symbols branded into them decades before, mystical signs that he told me kept him safe. I'd been so jealous of those horns when I was younger. The ultimate status symbol for a ram, I'd thought. I got over that in time, but they were still fucking impressive, and doubly so when you added their effect to the rest of his body.

Dad worked out like he'd die if he didn't, and it gave him a body of a ram fifteen years his junior. His chest was a slab of muscle, crisscrossed by old scars and decorated with a splash of hair right between the pecs. His belly was flat and muscled, almost completely pale, with another spot of dark hair below his pecs trailing down to meet an expanded growth of hair right above his underwear. His arms and legs were of a type, and that type was "will crush you like a soda can". Corded with muscle and covered with dark hair; clearly, either a kick or a punch from Dad would knock you the fuck out -- if you even survived at all.

But all that I knew. I'd seen Dad shirtless whenever I helped him get cleaned up, and he enjoyed shorts in the summer. What I hadn't really seen, though, was Dad in underwear. I guess you'd call us prudes, but we'd avoided being naked or half-naked around one another all our lives. The most I ever saw was him in a large towel, hurrying from the bathroom to his room, the folds of fluffy material obscuring anything below the waist -- but I'd avert my eyes in any case, because that's what you did, right? He'd only get dressed behind a firmly closed door, as would I.

I never even thought about it as something unusual before that day, and probably never would have again, if it wasn't for three things. Firstly: Dad was wearing briefs. Not in itself noteworthy, but an impossible-to-ignore factor when you consider the second and third things: his nuts, and his cock. Because when I glanced across from the screen to my father, my eyes landed squarely on the biggest fucking bulge I'd ever seen in my life, headlined by an incredibly fat, semi-hard cock whose outline was visible in impressive detail through the ridiculously thin fabric, sitting atop two huge, oval ram balls.

Dad was bigger than me in every single way.

My eyes shot back to the screen, trying not to blush and failing. We'd never been one of those "casual nakedness at home" families. You spent your time indoors dressed up normally. Dad had clearly changed his mind about that since I'd moved out, though. Which was cool; it was his house, and he could do what he liked in it. I simply hadn't been expecting it to be...so big. Or so close. I tried to focus on the screen as I heard him stepping closer until he stood right next to the couch. I didn't look across again, but I could sense him -- sense it -- hovering just out of sight. I felt more awkward than I'd ever been around him, even more than when he'd been beaten up real bad. It just felt wrong having your father standing next to you, wearing nothing but briefs that couldn't possibly be designed for a male of his, uh, size, and having to act normal. I attempted to play a little more, but my focus had been obliterated. I put the controller down and tried to make a joke of it.

"I got enough big weapons in the game already, Dad. Can you, uh...put some pants on?"

I looked up at him as I spoke, and saw that he was already looking down at me with an expression that I didn't know how to interpret. It was similar to the look he gave me when we were hanging out, with the same intensity and delight -- but there was more this time. Maybe it was the way his mouth hung open a little, or the overall effect of him being almost entirely naked, but I felt his look like a physical thing. Like it had come right up to me and was hovering a fraction of an inch above my skin, an invisible, trembling potential that was so close, so close to doing...something. And it kinda freaked me out.

Plus, I could have sworn I sensed his dick swelling in my peripheral vision. Not that I was gonna look. That would be creepy.

"Hey...Dad?" I repeated, more loudly than necessary. "You hear me?" I wouldn't say he looked like he was in a trance, but it did seem to take him a moment to process my words. That bizarre undercurrent to his look vanished, like he'd slammed a door closed, and he gave one huge blink and looked down at himself.

"Right," he said slowly. He turned away, and I shook my head and turned my attention back to my game.

"Next time we'll skip that last round of shots, huh?" I said after him, chuckling. He didn't answer, and disappeared into his room. I sighed. "Alcohol and old rams," I muttered. Wasn't his fault he couldn't handle his liquor as much anymore, though. I carried on playing for a few minutes, hearing a door open behind me, followed by the sounds of plates clattering into the sink and the fridge being opened and closed, until Dad finally re-entered my field of view: now fully clothed. He raised his eyebrows at me to get my attention, and I pulled off my headset.

"What's up?"

He pointed a thumb at the door. "I gotta buy some stuff. Fridge is empty." He spoke a little quickly, as if he was nervous.

"Oh, okay. I'm alright here." He nodded. He seemed a little bleary eyed, honestly. Some fresh air would probably do him good. "Will you be long?"

"Couple hours. Lunch when I get back?"

"Sure thing. Grab some mini-pizzas, maybe?"

He shot me a thumbs-up as he picked up his keys, and I turned back to the screen again as the front door opened and shut behind me. I'd died in the interval -- again -- and I spat an angry bleat and tossed the controller to the side. As I shrugged the headset off, I picked my phone up off the table and checked it. Couple messages from school friends, and -- oh. A message from Samantha, a doe I'd been chatting to the last few weeks. My heart rate instantly doubled, and I paused with my thumb over the message, equal parts excited and scared before opening it.

Hey, Bastian! Yeah, a drink sounds good, hehe ;) Maybe the week after next? I've got a chem prac coming up and...

I didn't even finish reading it. One fist pumped into the air, and breath hissed in through my teeth before I spat a "yesssss!". Fuck, yes. I had a date! Holy fuck. I hadn't expected her to say yes. We'd gotten along pretty well, but shit, my experience with women was like zero. I'd been way too shy in school to ever do anything, and only the fresh anonymity of college, hours from anyone who knew me, had let me even consider it. I was thrilled. She was really great: charming, smart, loved exotic food as much as I did. Looks to die for, too: big brown eyes, soft little ears, a winning smile. It made me feel all fuzzy inside to think about...and that cheeky wink had me all hard on the outside.

I was super fucking ready to lose my V-card.

I pulled the headset off and looked down at myself. There was nothing about Dad that I wished I had -- except his body. Mine was alright, I supposed; I just wished it was bigger. I got up and walked over to the hallway mirror, tugging my shirt off -- watch the horns -- and considering what I saw. Same colouring as Dad, only painted over much less canvas. I flexed my bicep and squinted at the mild mound of muscle it formed, then sighed. At least there was something to see there, unlike my chicken legs. I looked at my pants for a second before glancing at the door. A couple hours, he'd said. Plenty time. Off they came, and I turned this way and that, checking how I looked in my snug-fit underwear. I looked pretty fuckable if I do say so myself. Ass was pert, and my cock made a nice bulge in front. The balls helped with that, though; once the underwear came off, it didn't look quite as impressive. But it'd get the job done. You didn't need to be a horse to make a lady happy, and hopefully Sam would be up for lots of practise.

Thinking about does and their wonderful, soft, eager bodies was making things interesting downstairs. I gripped my now-hard dick and bleated softly, wondering how best to handle it. I'd usually lie in bed and spend a few hours edging to the thought of my dick slipping into wet, tight doe pussy, imagining her body clenching around mine and her horny moans filling the room -- but even a couple hours weren't enough to do that properly. And thinking about that had made my balls begin to ache. Great.

Fuck it, then. I'd just watch porn.

I hopped over the back of the couch and grabbed my controller again, navigating over to an unassuming icon called "Preferences". For the umpteenth time, I silently blessed the indefatigable porn-hound that had developed this app, and opened it. A small password prompt popped up, and I entered mine. Instantly, pornography exploded across the screen, scraped from every source imaginable around the Internet. If people got off to it, anywhere, in any way, you'd find it in here. I jumped to my favourites and scrolled down to the exact video I wanted. Tags: doe, ram, anal. Fuck, I was dripping just from reading that. I clicked on it, grabbed the remote to turn down the volume a bunch -- she got real loud near the end -- and settled back with a hand on my crotch. The clearly home-made title card splashed into view: "Horny doe gets hard anal fucking from hung ram". I huffed and gripped my dick harder through the material, feeling myself begin to drip. This would be a good--

The front door opened.

I want to say I handled it well. Like, I could have switched off the television with a practised flick of my hand and then casually dropping a cushion onto my lap. But what I actually managed to do was bleat loudly in shock, flail a hand out wildly to grab the remote -- instead sending it skittering off to the corner of the room -- and then whip my head around to gawk in awkward terror at my father, who stood just inside the entrance, eyes flicking disbelievingly between my horrified expression and the huge ram on the television that was happily snorkelling into a doe's vagina. I was so frozen by panic, I didn't even realise I still had a hand gripping my underwear until Dad walked closer and added that sight to his slow visual tour of "what the fuck is my son doing".

Why the fuck was he back so soon?

I think I managed to say "Sorry" or something equally pointless, but Dad ignored it. He was looking at the screen now, and -- robbed of the tools to make my slow descent into complete disgrace end -- I felt obliged to look as well. To own my shame. The doe had flipped over onto all fours, and the ram was digging a couple pussy-lubed fingers into her ass as she squealed and moaned in response to his husked words about where he was going to put his dick. His other hand was jerking off his huge dick, and my shame only deepened when I felt a little part of me considering that Dad's dick was probably as big as the porn star's, if his bulge was anything to go by. I felt like every atom in my body was transmuting to pure humiliation. My entire skin felt numb. Caught watching not only porn, but this filth. A ram about to stick his dick in a doe's ass. I'd never fucking live this down.

Dad still hadn't said a word, but his nostrils were flaring as if he could smell the people on the television. He broke his gaze to look back at me -- and the hand that was still fucking gripping my dick what is wrong with you let go of your cock you idiot! -- and then walked over to pick up the remote. He didn't turn the TV off, though -- oh no. As if my process of melting into a blob of hot shame topped by two horns wasn't progressing fast enough, he brought it with him when he walked over, sat down on the couch next to me, and started unbuttoning his fucking shirt.

I wanted to die.

We didn't fucking do this. We didn't take off our clothes around each other, for a start, and we absolutely did not watch porn together. I'm sure Dad got all the pussy he wanted, looking as he did, but he never brought it back to the apartment when I still lived there. As far as I was concerned, he was a sexless, androgynous thing who happened to have sired me. I could tolerate the faux pas with the underwear that morning because he'd been drunk as fuck, but this was beyond the...aaaand now he was loosening his pants as well. Well, then.

I prayed for a lightning bolt to manifest and incinerate me, or for the couch to turn into a mimic and devour me. I can't properly convey how impossibly uncomfortable I was. Dad had not just crossed a line -- he'd vaulted over it, punched our unspoken agreement in the face along the way, and then begun grinding his hips against anyone else that happened to be nearby. I guess I could have stood up and left, but it didn't even occur to me. My brain was too broken by that point. I was a deer in the headlights of my father's casual gaze, frozen to the couch as if with glue as more and more of his incredible body was revealed. The shirt had been tossed behind the couch, and when his pants had been shucked down to his ankles, they got flicked off as well, landing behind the television somewhere. And then, just like that, we were both sitting on the couch, in our underwear, watching raunchy anal porn. What a lovely father-son moment. It would be an odd thing to have in my mind as I later tried to disinfect my eyeballs, but that's how life went sometimes, I supposed.

Dad had kept glancing over at me as he got undressed, but I didn't know if he was looking for approval or making sure I was still there. I certainly was: slid back into the very corner of the couch, not looking directly at the screen, trying my best to ignore the squeals and wet slaps emanating from the television as my ram avatar started fucking the doe's back door and definitely not looking at my father's near-naked body. Unfortunately, the memory of his bulging underwear from earlier was pretty fucking fresh, and my mind was helpfully making it float around in front of my mind's eye. Fuck you, brain. But even so...if that had been all, maybe nothing would have changed. I could have left whenever an opportune moment presented itself. Driven home, taken a four-hour ice-cold shower to wash away the heat of my shame, and just never gone back. Or at least never fucking talked about it ever again.

But nooooooo. Dad, apparently, wanted to chat while we got aroused together.

"You gotta show me how to get the good stuff sometime, son." Maybe this was the voice he used when he was trying to pull a confession out of some poor schmuck. He sounded so smooth. Where was the rushed, grumpy Dad from not twenty minutes ago? "This is good shit. Who's she?" I sensed his hand lifting to point at the television, and my eyes were dragged along, kicking and screaming. The doe was rocking back and forward on the bed as the big ram slammed into her, his heavy balls knocking against her taint wetly. They looked like Dad's. I felt thoroughly creeped out that I now knew that. He was bigger, though. Was he? I didn't...why was I thinking these things?

My eyes took advantage of my brain's confusion to drop down and look at my father's body. Dad's one hand was resting on his belly, the fingers slid in under the elastic of his absolutely-not-big-enough underwear, gently stroking the hair there. I couldn't see his cock or balls, of course. Small fucking mercies. Just the bulge again, and that huge cock-outline. Fuck him for not giving me those genes, though, seriously. I stared blankly for another moment, and then looked away. The heat of my face felt almost normal by now. "Uh," I said faintly. What had Dad asked? "Her name's...Kylie...something."

Dad grunted. "You've got a nice asshole, Kylie Something!" he yelled at the screen. Oh, good grief, what was happening. I felt like I was escorting a horny octogenarian through a strip club. His hand, to my horror, was sliding further into his underwear, and beginning to move rhythmically. "Fuck, I love ass," he growled. He glanced across at me and smirked, probably enjoying my look of pale disbelief. "Just like my boy, huh? You get a lot of ass at college, son? Making your old ram proud?"

I could only shake my head, and Dad chuckled. "Just pussy for you? Yeah, it happens. You'll find a Kylie someday, though. I bet you will." I really, desperately wanted him to stop talking about ass and pussy. Despite the horrifying situation I found myself in, that -- and the approaching climax playing out of the television -- was starting to make me hard again...and Dad noticed. An arm slid around my shoulders, and he leaned in a little like a conspirator. "Relax, son," he murmured. "It's cool. When last did you get laid, huh? Was she hot?" He paused. "Or...him?"

I jerked at that insinuation. "Uh, no," I said, flailing at the slippery words. If getting naked around one another was a five on the "we don't do this" scale, talking about who we did or didn't fuck was a thousand million. "I'm not, uh, and I haven't...actually..."

Dad's mouth dropped open, and even his masturbating hand stopped moving. I gritted my teeth and cursed myself. Why'd I said that? Now I'd get some lecture about how to get with women or something, and this whole clumsy experience would keep dragging on. I looked away, angry and embarrassed, but felt my father put a hand on my leg, stroking the hair gently. That helped -- kinda. "Relax, son," he said. "Nothing wrong with that -- with either of those. And even if you were...I love you just how you are, Bastian." This was the most Dad had ever said to me on the topic of sex and sexuality. Even more than when I'd been unceremoniously gifted a book during puberty titled Your Developing Body with a picture on the front of a ram looking down his pants with wide eyes_._

"And it's not like you're wrong," he continued. He sounded giddy, like he'd won a prize. "Ass is fucking hot."

The arm slipped out from around my shoulders, and Dad got to his feet and walked over to the television. His long fingers flicked through a pack of loose DVDs that sat there until he picked one out and popped it into the machine. He turned back with a cocky saunter that brought him to stand closer to me than he'd been when he stood, looking down at me with a look that made me feel a weird tingle across my skin -- until I realised it was the same one he'd given me when he walked out of his bedroom earlier. Then his hands dropped, and his thumbs caught his underwear, and a second later he'd tugged them off and I got an eyeful of my father's long, fat dick, bobbing in the air in front of him and already dripping as if he was taking a piss of pre-cum.

He turned on one hoof and fell to the sofa with a grunt, one arm sliding back across my shoulders and his other hand picking up the remote to flip the television to the DVD. He pushed his underwear a little further down the leg it was still wrapped around, and then grabbed the end of his cock with a satisfied, breathy exhalation. Then he looked at me with that same fucking expression, like he could see right through me, and grinned, and said, "See what you think of this ass, son."

Like a magnet, the screen drew my eyes to it. I didn't have to look, sure, but fuck it -- I was curious. Not like you think. I just...well, how often do you get a chance to steal sex techniques from a pro? Dad had been fucking people longer than I'd been alive, and I doubted he'd ever been at a loss for a practise hole. I wanted to see what he did.

Turns out, it wasn't what he did, but whom. A twinky little ram, naked as sin and ready to get fucked.

My mouth dropped open, and fire ants began crawling up my face from my neck to my horns. The lighting in the video was excellent, and there was no mistaking it. A bedroom, and a big double bed. My old bed, in fact, in my old bedroom. On top of it, on all fours, looking behind himself was a young ram. Very definitely male; his cock stuck down between his legs like a little flag. Couldn't have been more than twenty. He looked drugged on lust. His tail was flagged real high, and he was swinging it from side to side. Behind him, at the edge of the bed, stood Dad, in his full nakedness, hard cock thrusting out from him like a warrior's spear, shining like polished metal from the condom that only barely covered it. He was gripping himself at the base and shaking the overlong member in the young ram's direction. Taunting him, it seemed. The younger ram's eyes couldn't have been wider, and his voice was so breathless, the camera only caught it by being so close to him.

"G--God," he moaned, "that's huge..."

Dad's grin was as feral as they came. "You want it?"

The young guy gulped, and I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down a bit before he answered. "Yeah..." He couldn't break his eyes from Dad's dick, but I couldn't break mine from his face. He looked so enraptured. All the porn I'd seen, I'd never seen a face like his. The females might look eager, but you could always tell it was an act. They'd had countless dicks before, and would have again. It was just a number. But this young guy -- he looked like he'd actually cry if Dad packed his dick away and left. He wanted it so...so passionately. Like Dad's cock was his world right now. It was...shit, it was really hot. To see that level of need, of raw desire for someone else's body on display so nakedly. Fucking hell. I wanted someone to look at me like that.

And when I slid my eyes over to video-Dad, it was the same deal, but from the other end. He knew the kid wanted him. The confidence oozed out of him. He stood with his legs spread and his balls hanging low. Holy fuck. We'd had to watch a bull's castration for school once, and I swear Dad's nuts were like double the size. He was staring at the other guy's body like it was a dessert to be devoured in a single greedy gulp. He stepped closer to the bed with a cocky little motion, and one hand came down to press his thumb and two fingers against the small of the young ram's back. That contact made the guy shudder and bend, ass and head rising up as his back flexed down obediently at Dad's touch. Dad's glans looked huge under the condom, and it bulged even more as he pressed it under the ram's tail, making the young male moan and shiver.

"Good answer," Dad said. He'd paused with the tip of his cock barely inside the male, not even stretching his hole open. "Now -- beg for the rest."

The other ram whimpered and dropped his head to the pillows. "Fuck," he moaned, "please...please..."

"That's it," Dad said, beginning to push forward a little. The other ram gave a choked cry as the rest of the glans found its way into him, a sort of huh-hu as he gasped for breath. "Speak up!" my father told his lover, his lip rising in a snarl of delight. "Nngh..."

The young ram seemed incapable of responding for a bit, only moaning and shuddering as more inches of my father's oversized prick slid into him. Dad had to slap his side with the flat of his hand to get him to react. "Oh!" the young male squealed. "P--please...!"

"For the camera," Dad commanded in a stern tone, and the guy's head turned on a shaky neck to look into the lens. At his rear, my father was pulling out a little now; I guessed he'd gotten all the way in. I'd been too distracted by the young ram's expression, which had crossed over from drugged into blissful. He looked as if every wonderful thing was happening to him on a loop, with half-lidded eyes and a slack mouth. He had small horns, I suddenly noticed, same as me. Then a new sound began: the unmistakable slap, slap, slap of wet cock against hole. "_Nngh..._yeah...come on..." Dad hissed, hands gripping the ram's hips tightly as he fucked his ass.

"F--fuck..." was the other ram's contribution. "P--please..." The last word dissolved into a rush of expelled breath and jagged moans. The smaller ram's body was swinging back and forth as Dad's mass and power fucked him hard, just like the doe in my own video. The expression on Dad's face was unreal, looking down at his conquest like it was everything he'd ever wanted in the world. His cock would pull out with a squelch, sluicing pre-cum across the bedspread, and then he forced right back in, right up to his sheath. The sweat on him glistered in the lights, and his snarls sounded like a wild animal.

"Take it, boy!" he yelled, and the other ram screamed his response.

"Please!" The craving in that one word hit me like a hammer blow, right in the chest. It was hot, so fucking hot, so...submissive. A guy giving himself up like that...oh fuck, why did this turn me on so much? "Please, Daddy!" the sub continued. "Fuck me, please!"

Dad's bellowed bleat was unearthly, and he slammed himself back into the young ram. "Fuck yeah," he snarled. "Just like that...boy..."

Even my thick skull figured it out then. A daddy...and his boy. Who looked, now that I cared to notice the details, remarkably like me. Far too much to be coincidence, in fact. I looked over at my father in confusion -- and found him already watching me with a calm expression. The hand around my shoulders began to gently scratch my upper body. His other hand worked his cock. I'd not realised, but half the sexual noises in the room were coming from his masturbation, not the television. As the two males on the screen continued to grunt and moan and fuck, Dad slid his pre-soaked hand along his shaft, squeezing and releasing the soft, engorged flesh. I couldn't believe how productive he was. Strings of gooey pre-cum ran between his shaft and his balls, and now and then he pulled a finger away to form a new one that stretched as far as he cared to move his hand. "What's wrong?" he asked me gently. "Don't like the movie?"

What a fucking question. Of course not, I wasn't gay, and it was two dudes fucking, and one was my fucking Dad, and the other looked like...holy shit, what was happening? "Are you..." I started to say to him, but I bit my tongue before finishing the sentence. I found that I...couldn't. If I said it out loud, it would...it might...

It could break this weird spell that hung over both of us, that I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to be broken.

And Dad sensed it -- or maybe he just saw my now-obvious boner and assumed. "Oh, don't get shy on me now," he murmured. "Go on." He nodded down at my underwear, clinging to my hips like a final line of defence between me and the onslaught of unhindered sexuality all around me. "Take those off." And when I yet paused, freaked out by even wanting to do what he asked, he leaned in closer and I felt his breath on me at the same time I heard what he said.

"I won't tell..."

I was staring at a knot in the floorboards now. One hand was stuffed in between my legs, trying to hide my erection without touching it, while the other gripped the arm of the couch like it was a life-jacket. The television continued to grunt at me, and I could see the two bodies on the edges of my vision. The powerful, confident figure pleasuring himself with the smaller, submissive one. Both getting what they wanted.

"D--Dad..." I bleated softly. I didn't know if I wanted this. I didn't know what the fuck I wanted, just then. And Dad knew, he knew. So when I tried to say, "I--I'm not..." he cut me off again, with a finger to my lips. But it was soaked in him, completely dripping with his scent and taste and power, and I shut my eyes tightly and shivered as the merest part of him passed into me and...fuck me, yeah, it made me want more. I wanted to taste more of my Dad. The arm around me tightened, and that calming ovine voice spoke into my ear once again.

"You're not," he agreed. "You're more. You're family."

He helped me to my feet and stopped my hand when I made to take my own briefs off, doing it himself instead. My traitorous little cock stuck out like a third horn, looking pathetic next to Dad's monster. He didn't say a word about it, though. Just slid a hand under my balls to cup them and fondle a little, a small smile on his face as he looked at my junk. Then sliding that same hand up to grasp my cock instead, the digits surrounding it and stroking it. Dad's face rose to watch me as he did so, and I wonder what he saw. A puffer-fish, perhaps, or a toad caught mid-croak. I knew my mouth was open, that's about it. All the rest of me was focused on how fucking incredible my dick felt.

When I say virgin, I mean virgin. Never so much as a fondle from someone else. Feeling another hand on my cock for the first time ever was...I mean, you'd normally say mind-blowing, but "blowing" seems a loaded term in that context. It was...not at all how I'd ever imagined it. The sudden absence of tactile feedback from an activity I'd done to myself thousands of times over the years, combined with Dad's different rhythm and the things -- oh, the things -- he did with his fingers against my tip made it feel like I was experiencing the very first time I masturbated. Except better. So much better. Dad fucking knew his way around a dick! And if I'd been in anything like a rational, sober frame of mind, I could have guessed what came next.

Dad had already made it clear he was an ass guy, after all.

He released my cock and stood up, his own massive member sliding in next to mine as he pushed our bodies together. I stared at his muscled chest, closer than I'd ever been, and then up into his regarding gaze. He took the end of one of my horns in his fingers, sliding down the smooth surface to the base, and thence down my cheek to cup my face. He smiled down at me, taking one of my slack hands in his and pushing it under his balls, leaving it there for me to begin to fondle. I did so, in what must have been the worst fondling in history -- but it still made him lift his head a little with a groan and say, "Ah, fuck, son...yes...at last..." His nutsack was covered in fur and felt so warm in my palm, so heavy. Either he was really pent up, or his emissions matched his leakage. Either option made me feel faint to consider.

Was there any part of my musclebound father that wasn't the peak of what our species could achieve? I stared into his closed eyes as my fingers rolled his testicles around, then looked down at his massive cock as it rested against my slight form. It was still oozing pre-cum, and with a hesitant finger I reached for the tip and scooped some up. Dad's head lowered when he felt the contact, and I looked up to meet his eyes directly as my finger came to my mouth and licked it off. The grin that spread across Dad's face when I did that made me feel like I did when he'd give me one of his goodbye hugs. Awkward, yes -- but deep down, happy. Happy to know that Dad cared for me, and that I made him happy.

"I love you, son," he said, and chuckled at my blush. "I love you so much...for who you are, and what you are." His hands stroked down my side. "My beautiful son...my sexy young ram." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm so happy this is happening..."

"Dad..." I said. Hey, I'd found my tongue again. Good job. "I don't know what to..."

Dad's mouth met mine in a soft kiss, his hot breath rushing into my lungs and making me giddy. "It's fine, son," he murmured when his lips moved away. "We're going to fuck. Daddy's going to fuck you, boy. He's gonna slide his big, hard ram dick into your beautiful, tight, virgin ass." He kissed me again, harder. "Do you want that, son? You want Daddy's big cock in you?" His words were growing urgent, as if he'd had them trapped inside for too long and was in a rush to get them all out now. "You'll love it, son. Daddy fucks hard, it feels so good. All the boys say so. But none of them were you, son, and Daddy wanted you the most. He wants you so much...he's so fucking hard for you, son..." He grabbed my hand and shoved it against his cock; I could feel the heartbeat throbbing inside it and I whimpered. "That what you want, son?" he growled. "Say you want Daddy's big dick, you sexy fucking virgin ram twink. Daddy's all hard for your ass, son, he's gonna fuck you deep and empty his spunk so far inside you..."

I had fucking nothing to say to any of that, honestly. I was so far out of my depth, whales were breaching around me. But one thing, one glowing, solid-gold, dick-shaped beacon burned like a star at the heart of everything my Dad was saying as he gabbled out the words to seemingly every fantasy of me he'd ever had. I wanted that one fundamental thing just as much as Dad wanted everything else, and for that alone I'd give him everything he desired.

Dad wanted me to submit to him, and I had a raging fucking boner to do exactly that.

"Yes, Daddy," I squeaked. I was getting scared now, but somehow hornier at the same time. Dad's dick was big, so fucking big -- but oh, oh, oh...to spread my legs for him, to be his mate, to be dominated, controlled, mastered by him. To be the sub for my father, a creature that radiated control and power like a fucking testosterone supernova...I had to grip one of my father's huge arms for fear my legs would buckle from the intensity of the emotions those thoughts roiled up in me. I was panting now, and my head dropped forward against my father's chest, and I heard his heart beating just as fast as mine, as if they were linked, as if we were operating on the same universal rhythm. I moaned and tightened my grip on his cock. "Yes, Daddy...whatever you say, Daddy...fuck me, Daddy." I looked up into his horny, eager face. "Please, Daddy?"

The fucktoy on the television had said something similar, but he wasn't here, and I was. My father turned, pulling me with him, and pushed me back onto the couch. He looked even bigger now, his arms seeming more vascular, his dick thicker. The loot he gave me was pure lust -- the very look I'd seen him give the nameless ram he'd fucked and filmed, and lusted after for myself. I trembled on the couch, slowly spreading my legs, unsure what he was after -- but he turned and hurried to a cupboard, opened a drawer, and returned with a couple items. Oh -- a condom. He tossed it to me and it landed on my sweaty chest. "Put it on for Daddy, son," he said, as he took the top off the other item and squeezed out some clear gel into his palm. He stood right before me now, his cock barely an inch from my face. I stared at the monster in awe, trying not to feel terrified about somehow getting it inside me. My nervous hands unwrapped their first condom, and -- after putting it on the wrong way around at first -- I started rolling the latex down my father's impressive length. I guessed it had to be a larger than usual condom but even so, it was a tight fit. The veins stood proud against the rubber, and the glans looked swollen and purple and ready to explode. Another thought that made me jittery. Feeling him...feeling Dad cum inside me. Knowing I'd made that happen by giving myself to him.

The moment the condom was fully applied -- with a good two inches of cock still uncovered at the base -- he stepped forward, onto the couch. His legs bent and his knees slid inwards to either side of me, and I felt my cock sliding up along the crack of his ass as I looked up at his grinning face in surprise. He got settled, his sweaty skin practically glueing itself to mine, and then reached behind him with his lube-drenched hand. I felt one of his fingers probing my ass until it found the hole -- and then paused. Dad's grin faded a little as he looked down at me, replaced by a look of intense care. His weight pressed me down into the couch like a protective shield. He carefully cupped my face and bent forward to kiss me. No hint of roughness; his tongue gently wetted my lips before the tip slid inside, circling within. I couldn't believe how different a kiss it was to the ones he'd given me before. It was wonderful. It made me feel loved, cared for. And still his finger waited at my asshole, not even trying to push in.

He broke off. "Son," he said, words thrumming with love, "I love you." I blinked and nodded my understanding. I felt too shaky to try and speak. "I don't want to hurt you, I promise." I nodded again, and he looked down at his cock, and my eyes followed. "But I'm...really fucking big."

"So big..." I agreed in a whisper.

"So, I need to loosen you up."

"I--I know," I said; I had a little secret. "I've...I played with...um...things...in me..." Dad's eyes grew wide, and his cock betrayed his arousal with a squirt of pre-cum that landed right on my nipple and began oozing down my chest. It tickled.

"Have you?" he asked hoarsely, clearly thrilled. "When? With what?" His free hand pressed against my chest. "Please tell me, son...it makes Daddy so hard..."

I wanted him to be hard. I wanted my Dad to be aroused and horny for me, so he would make me his, make me bend to his will, give up my body to him. So I blushed, and told him all of it. How -- at the height of my fascination with anal, and deprived of any willing third parties -- I'd tried it on myself. With the smooth plastic handle of a screwdriver, and watching porn of a mare getting nailed by two guys, I'd gotten about an inch into myself. My spit had made do for lube-- "spit only gets you so far, son," Dad told me sagely -- and I'd just let it sit there, inside me, feeling it.

"And?" Dad inquired. "Was it good?" His cock had grown even harder from my story, and the entire condom looked fit to burst from the mass of raging purple flesh it now contained.

I'd wondered that a lot myself since then. "Kinda?" I said hesitantly. Dad chuckled and stroked his hand down my chest.

"It can be much better, son," he said. "It can be the best feeling you'll ever have. You have to put some work in first, though." I felt the pressure of his finger increase, and I tensed up. Dad felt my muscles through his legs and shook his head a little, not breaking eye contact with me. "Hey. Hey. Look at me." I did, and his finger paused again. "I won't hurt you, son. I promise. I can see you, hear you, feel all of you." His free hand pressed to my chest, above my heart. "I'll know if it's too much, and I'll stop. Trust me."

I gulped down some air, as my lungs seem to have emptied, and nodded at him. The finger pressure increased again -- and then subsided in an instant as I felt a give, and a new feeling formed, of a mass inside me. My instinct was to shit it out, and my body tried, but Dad only giggled. "I'm in you, Bastian," he said, and I moaned. Just the tip of a finger, but he was. My Dad had conquered me. The rest was merely a matter of degree -- and of cock.

Dad continued to press his finger into me, never breaking eye contact. He murmured calming things to me as he reached the first knuckle, and encouraging things when he felt me doing my best to relax my muscles. And in between those -- dirty things. Wonderful, naughty things, like he'd said earlier. About how sexy I was, and how horny my body made him. About how much he loved virgins, and how honoured he was to be my first. About the size of his dick, and how much his pretty false sons liked it. So many of those, he said. Ever since I left, he'd sought them out, satisfying the urges that he used to satiate by jerking off while lying in bed, imagining me sleeping next door. They worked for a bit, but he always needed another hit. Because they weren't real. They weren't me.

At last, he kissed me on the forehead and sighed. One entire finger was inside me, perhaps two inches. He was swirling it in a circular motion, stroking along my tight inner walls, making me feel amazing things. One spot felt especially good, but Dad didn't linger there. "Can I put in another, son?" he asked, and I clenched my ass around his finger in assent. His slippery digit vanished, and I was shocked at how empty I immediately felt. Not for long, though; the pressure returned, only firmer, with two points this time. Dad was even slower this time, seeming to know that girth took more time to adapt to than length. He stroked me, coddled me, thanked me the entire time, making sure I knew he was there, that he cared for me, that he wanted this to be amazing for me.

The fingers dived deeper.

Dad stroked his cock a little and let me lick his pre-cum off his fingers. It was silky in the mouth and salty on the tongue, just like my own. When two fingers were in me, and Dad could move them around freely inside me without seeing flashes of pain on my face, or a tensing of my legs, he raised his eyebrows questioningly, and I nodded. A third finger, and the process repeated. It was getting easier now, though; Dad's huge body had been straddling me for over forty-five minutes, and my ass was learning how to accept him. I took the third without much more effort, and the delight on my father's face was a wonderful thing to see. He slid all three in and out of me now, slowly and regularly, and I had to grip the material of the couch to suppress my moans. But Dad didn't want suppression, and his mouth met mine and absorbed my moans, breathing them in as if they were his driving force.

And then the fingers withdrew for a final time, and Dad stared at me, and I him. He seemed to be the nervous one now, which made me smile, and I reached up to hold his face and saw his eyes close as he leaned into me.

"Fuck me, Daddy," I said huskily. "Dominate me. Take me. Make me yours."

The unknown symbols on my father's giant horns almost seemed to inflame for a second, filled with fiery power, but it was just the way the sunlight caught them as he lifted his head and bellowed with lust and might.

He slipped off the couch and stood up, his ramrod cock at the ready, slathered with fresh lube. He had me get on my knees, holding the back of the couch for support, and I looked back at him like the nameless ram in the video had. His eyes were locked on my ass, and I made it flex a little for him. He growled, and his eyes snapped up, looking at me sensually from under his heavy brow.

"You want it?" he asked. The answer was burned into my mind.

"Fuck, please...Daddy..." I replied in a needy moan.

His body lurched forward and his swollen, desperate cockhead was at my hole. It began to press in, feeling just like his fingers at first, only slicker. But then he stopped.

"Good answer." His voice was thick with desire, and he snorted between every other word. "Now beg for the rest."

And oh, did I beg. The slut on the video had barely tried; I showed him how it was done. "Give me all of you, Daddy, hung Daddy, fat-dicked ram stud-daddy," I all but cried. "Fuck me until I'm yours, fuck me until you cum, fuck me and make me know I'm yours, only yours, owned and marked. Take my virginity, Daddy; it's yours. Fuck me, Daddy...fuck your son..." Holy fuck, did I want him. More than I'd ever wanted anything. And when he reached down and pressed three fingers against the small of my back, I lifted my needy ass, and pushed back against his cock, and felt him slip deeper into me. It took no time at all for him to get as deep as his fingers had reached, but his careful fingering kept it from being more than a dull pain. And he knew, he could feel; he slowed, and his body came down to rest against my back, and his hands slid under my chest to cup into my armpits.

I felt his weight settle into me as his muzzle rubbed against my neck. I felt surrounded by my father, impaled by him. He whispered soft nothings to me, and kissed my neck, and let my body get used to the impossible size of his amazing cock. I couldn't say how long that took, but I gloried in every moment, and never wished it to end. It was a beautiful thing, to be his: to have all his strength and power focused on me, his sexuality filling me, his love telling me how much I meant to him. So slowly did he continue to penetrate me that I did not feel it, only realising -- abruptly -- how full I was when he let out a soft shudder against my skin when his hips met mine.

My ass had swallowed Dad's entire prick, and it felt like heaven.

His first strokes were slow and sensual, as he had been for the last hour, but soon they sped up. His hands gripped me hard, holding me still as his body started slapping against mine, louder and louder. I squeaked and moaned with every thrust, only speaking when Dad addressed me.

"_Nngh..._come on, boy..."

"Yes, Daddy..."

"Fuck...take it, son..."

"Yes, Daddy, fuck me..."

"Louder, boy!"

"Please, Daddy! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!"

Slap slap slap slap. His oval balls clapped against mine like plumbs, the flickers of pain only serving to anchor the rest of the incredible experience. My father had expertly prepared my ass; only endless pleasure flowed from there. I could never have imagined it. To think I might have gone my whole life without experiencing this...my father had done more than seduce me. He had opened my eyes. I buried my face in the couch as, behind me, his deep voice yelled: "Fuck, yeah!" His cockhead was all I felt, the fat bulge of flesh barrelling along my sensitive inner walls. He touched everything inside me and made it sing. My own cock was brutally hard -- had been, for over an hour -- and I was making a mess of the cushions under me. That was irrelevant. Only Daddy's prick mattered. It squeezed into me, parting my flesh and letting it rejoin, only to part it again moments later -- and then, unexpectedly, something gave.

I didn't know what, but I felt it, and so did Dad. He froze with a gasp, but the pleasure was too great; I could feel him trying not to move, his hands now gripping my body so hard it was almost painful, but he couldn't. He was still pressing into me, slow as molasses, and groaning as if he'd cum...but he couldn't have. Not yet.

"It broke," he gasped. "The condom broke, son." I felt his muscles flex powerfully, and he was pulling out of me, a half-inch every few seconds, as slowly as he could. "Sorry, sorry..."

I didn't even need to think. "Don't stop, Dad," I begged. "Don't you dare fucking stop. Fuck your load into me, stud, I want all of it...all of it...all of it..."

Two words in, he was already responding with a ferocity I'd not have believed he still had in him. The fucking felt berserk; my ass-cheeks were nearly numb from the repeated impacts of his hard body against me, but my ass felt aglow, a tunnel of warm pleasure for my father's cockflesh. Except now, not even a fraction of latex separated us: his firm flesh, the cock that had made me all those years ago, was flush with my own, kissing my insides and mixing his slimy issue with the lube that coated me. He fucked me like I was a toy, and my moans at what was to come only made him more excited. I felt it in the speed of his thrusts, the growls he made, the grip of his rough hands on my smooth skin. I wanted him so much now, I wanted the final marking, the true destruction of my virginity. I wanted my father's semen to flood me.

"Cum, Dad, cum," I moaned. "Cum in me, please Daddy, cum now, I want it, I want you..."

He fucked like a maddened incubus, his cock a weapon of lust. His balls weren't hitting me anymore; had they risen? Was he close? Please, please, please. Would he stop when he came? How would it feel? I had to know. He had to cum soon, I couldn't bear it much longer. With the condom gone, I was feeling the full texture of his penis, and it was unearthly. The veins, the dip of the glans, the slickness against the roughness...

"Son, son, son," my father gasped, and groaned, and pulled my body roughly upward, tearing my hands from their claw-like grip on the couch. He held me upright, tight against him, his mouth right under mine, his hips shuddering and hammering away. "Son, I'm coming, I'm coming in you, boy, Daddy's coming, he's gonna fill you...I'm cumming, son, now, now, oh fuck ohhhh fuuuuuUUUUUUUUCK...!"

I probably just said something like "Yes, yes, yes" on repeat. I wasn't focusing on words. I was feeling Dad's thick cock get even thicker, and then feeling it pulse like mine did when I took a piss. Except, not piss, but cum. Every time Dad's cock jerked in me it was cum. How could this be; it was too much. The throbbing didn't stop, didn't slow. So much cum, I couldn't believe it. Endless pulsing, deep within me, and a slowly growing feeling of fullness as Dad's bull-sized nuts got the emptying they had so desperately needed. The condom would never have contained this flood anyway, surely -- and wouldn't have let it leak out like it started doing now, dragged out of my body by every frenzied withdrawal of Dad's big cock, scooping out his seed and splattering it over both of us in the process. Dad's hands were sliding all over my body, feeling my chest, my nipples, my cock, jerking me off for a few seconds before gripping me to thrust in harder. His mouth licked and kissed along my neck and shoulder, moaning and murmuring, and not once, not for a single second did his fucking pause.

Dad fucked me until well after his own orgasm had ended. The pulsing sensation faded, but his cock stayed hard, and he jerked off mine at the same time: those long fingers making a tight, sweaty tunnel for his no-longer-virginal son to thrust into eagerly, like a small ass of my own. And only when I bleated and sprayed my small orgasm over his hand, and he'd lifted it to spread it all across my body and let me lick the rest off of his palm, did his hands relax, and his legs move back, and the blood-red, cum-soaked, horse-sized prick he'd fucked me with finally come slithering out of the loose, cummy mess he'd made of my asshole, leaving it crimson and white and still throbbing with the aftershocks of the pleasure he'd given to me.

My legs crumpled without his support, and I fell to the couch a boneless thing. He dropped next to me, pulling me to himself and groaning in pleasure. His still-tumescent cock was squashed against my back, and I goggled at the feel of it. It was fucking enormous. How had I managed to take that?

I reached a hand up to touch Dad's face. I had to make sure he was real, that his cock was real, that this hadn't been some insane, wonderful dream. He was there. And I was here. And it had really happened. I lay back into his embrace for a while, stunned and happy and confused. A lot of new questions were tapping their fingers on the desk for my attention, now that the haze of lust had faded. I ignored them. There'd be time later. Time with my Dad. My lover.

Dad kissed my head as we lay together, and stroked my horns. I coughed. He looked around at my face, and I blushed when I saw his eyes. So tender, so loving. Blue as the clear, bright morning sky.

"Sooooo..." I said slowly. "My college has a remote study option..."

Dad's cock flexed against me.