Being Used By Dad

Author’s Note: This is roughly the “gay crossdressing” version of “My Father Loves My Tran Ass.” There are plenty of differences from that story and this one, but they aren’t greatly notable to deviate from the original plot. 

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 Despondently, my old man was never a fan of mine. My brothers came out as fathers expect their sons to come out: handsome and rowdy with a magnetism that men admire and women desire. I came out second to last soft and pretty much like my father’s little brother. Unlike my uncle however, I genuinely like many manly things like the rest of the men in our household. Where I differed was while they liked to get mannish in activity, my eyes could never break from enchantment afar. There was something oddly magical watching men be men, roughhousing with each other made me tingle and open up back there. I was too timorous to put it into words, but it was a sentiment that coursed through me like blood through the veins. It fully came to light for me the night my older brother won the State Championship. The swell of raw energy he channeled pounding and choking that groupie of his like a piece of meat made me yearn to receive such treatment. I had no desire to become a girl, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt I wanted what she was getting. I was young, so I took it to be one in the same at the time seeing I saw no other way. And since everybody said I looked far more like a pretty girl than I did a fine-looking boy, I let it shape me into a quiet queer.

“You look like a fine bitch,” Mr. Culbreath puffed on his cigar. He was in his recliner in the shrine he called his cave watching me strut around in his wife’s high heel pumps and slutty attire he confiscated from his teenage daughter. Mr. Culbreath was my man, or so I fancied him to be. Before then, he was someone I saw around the neighborhood, but didn’t know by name. That changed when we used to frequently cross paths at the park cruising the night away. He was one of my favorites. Most guys just want a blowjob and some feign macho bravado never wanting the world to know that they want to be the cocksucker, too. Mr. Culbreath came with a wrath to fuck my throat and use my stomach like it was his personal semen receptacle. He equated queer with fags and thought all fags were sissies, which only meant I was a lowly young mortal to his middle-aged Alpha god. So after he made me suck his cock, spanked my ass red, and used my back as his foot rest between massages occasionally, I swear, as he held me tight while we napped it never even crossed my mind he was interested introducing me to a new massage as I felt his hard cock rub against my rear. Sure, he could be my first.

Going over to his house that night while his family was out of town in my sister’s finest dress and the expensive makeup, I ordered online was called setting the mood. Getting tipsy was to loosen me up to the idea, not for Mr. Culbreath to get plastered leaving me to sneak out of the window before his wife and children decided to come home early.

If I thought my night was terrible before, I didn’t know that the horror had just begun.

I swore I was being smart by quietly sneaking in through the front door. I had seen my brothers get caught and reprimanded many times trying to come into the house many other ways. They’d learned overtime coming through the front door worked best, of course, but that was predicated on everyone in the house being sound asleep and neither mother nor father was up roaming about.

As my luck would have it, I wasn’t expecting my father to be home much less up. Nor was I expecting his study doors to be wide open or to find him reading on his chaise. He welcomed me with a smirk on his face. A first in our entire tumultuous rapport, I remembered distinctly in that moment. He probably thought I’d finally come home a man, after scoring with some girl as my brother often did. He quietly motioned me towards him, to close the sliding doors behind me as I did. He stood up, undoing his tie. Before I could explain the makeup I still had smeared on my face, my father slid his tongue into my alcohol-stained mouth. I was so lost and confused I didn’t know what to make of it. This was my father for Christ sakes, I screamed in my head. My heart skipped a beat, being this was the first time my old man ever showed me any kind of love and affection, and I craved it from him dearly. As quickly as the moment appeared out of nowhere it dissipated in kind, being tossed against the edge of his chaise lounge. My head bounced off the chaise and spun me onto my back as I landed. I was too dazed to make any sense of it all, too many questions swimming in my inebriated mind and my mouth just wouldn’t move properly. I slightly came to my senses when my father stuffed my mouth with his tie. He said something about his little brother, calling me by his name. We wrestled, but my hands seemed busiest fighting him for my waist before a breeze swept over my legs. He unzipped. He ripped the red-laced panties I wore special for the occasion. He grabbed me by my windpipe and violently plunged me into a kaleidoscope of pain that quickly surged through my body from there.

My father had his way with me on his study floor. Three times he blasted, spitting in my face and calling me all sorts of dirty sissy-whore each time.

I stirred the next morning right where he assaulted me. My incredibly sore legs spread wide leaking the same cream of my origin brew. Through the ache, I regretted then that Mr. Culbreath wasn’t my first. Mr. Culbreath truly loved me after all.

I spent the next several weeks letting Mr. Culbreath fuck my brains out, convinced he was my real first. That I could bury the memory of my cherry being ripped away from me in this vast sea of tepid fucks. It didn’t do any good. Mr. Culbreath and my father were two different men with two different styles of charge. Mr. Culbreath was a great actor of aggression, not a ruthless fucker. And it was becoming quite obvious I was turned on by the animalistic needs of a brutal pillager just like my father.

I was completely wrong for stepping out on Mr. Culbreath like I did. Not ending things then when it was clear I should’ve ended them then and there. But strangely, I loved Mr. Culbreath. I just simply hungered for something he couldn’t provide, and when I came close enough to get that in which I needed, I went for it with a multitude of married men that was only interested in using me as a fuck toy. They’d gone back home to their normal lives. Why couldn’t I?

Alas, there was no such thing as normal for a fag like me.

Another neighbor caught her husband face fucking me on their deck one morning when he called me over to drain his balls.

My father didn’t look at me much after our night. Embarrassment and shame would’ve been nice to roll off him in the days thereafter, but he went from being ashamed and disappointed in me to wanting to have nothing to do with me whatsoever. And like a virus that spreads throughout a house, everyone else shared the same unspoken disposition.

Before the incident on the deck made their rounds around the neighborhood, I swiftly moved out without much fanfare and moved in with my sweet paternal uncle down on the island. “He’s cute,” Uncle Fred bit his lip hungrily. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sweaty Mr. Culbreath bringing in my boxes after climbing the stairs. Caught in a bind, I offered Mr. Culbreath some ass and throat in exchange for the move, in which he agreed to, but later took a rain check for when Uncle Fred sated his needs without ask.

Uncle Fred’s condo was a bit small, but extremely nice and well-furnished for the lone occupant. I didn’t put up much fuss about the space because he allowed me to crash rent free and bring in random guys whenever. One time, a strange guy came out of his bedroom and saw me admiring his bulge and had me right there on the kitchen island. Another time Uncle Fred invited me into his bedroom where we kneed the bed with our bare asses in waiting our turn for the same Persian cock to pummel our eager holes. “The blonde bitch and the blonde fag,” the delighted man called us, forcing us sissies to make out.

Even with our many conversations over cocktails, I always felt Uncle Fred was holding out on me. I toyed about asking him about him and my father, but I also dreaded the tables he might turn on me with the same inquiry. A fear that might leave me completely mortified if raping his little brother was just a mere fantasy he acted out on me.

One morning, after spending the evening with one of my suitors, I found Mr. Culbreath peeling boxes out of the condo. When I got upstairs to meet my uncle, he told me, “The owner wants me out.” I freaked out, of course. “Oh! Don’t worry. He just wants me out. He wants you to stick around as long as you like.” I was so relieved by this I didn’t bother to ask him about the wink he gave me or pepper him with a host of the many obvious questions I should’ve been grown enough to ask just then. When I thought to ask them, Uncle Fred was gone. Although I was sad to see my favorite uncle go, I was glad he was gone too. I couldn’t always dress feminine when he was around. Because I could pass for a natural woman so well and so many of our neighbors didn’t know we were related, many of his Christian scolders naturally assumed he repented his abominable ways and was walking the “straight” and narrow. Certainly, he didn’t want those rumors to spread like wildfire just in case the boys got wind of that rumor and began to ostracize him.

Although it had crossed my mind a time or two, I went on living in the condo for the next three months not fretting over a thing. I’d never seen a bill, and although I could never prove it, I swore my fridge was secretly being stocked whenever I left for a considerable amount of time.

With my past life a distant memory, there was nothing to stop me from dressing up as a girl and collecting the horny men that sought me out along the way. It never once occurred to me to give my anonymous benefactor a second thought. If I had, several more things might’ve crossed my mind to ask. But it didn’t even occur to me he might’ve had eyes on me or he was someone I even knew. I was dissolved of this blissful ignorance one morning I stepped out of my bedroom to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. It had been one of those long sweaty nights of heavy entertaining; four frat brothers I picked up at the beach the night before were still crashing in my room. I didn’t see the intruder when I went into the kitchen, but after I closed the refrigerator door he was there in my peripheral view.

“God! You scared the crap out of me!”

My father glanced over at me calmly, like I hadn’t acknowledged his presence. No words stuck in his throat, just his eyes piercing through me with scorching lust through my frilly robe and pink negligee.

“Please, I beg you. Stop looking at me like that!”

My father got to his feet and began to undo his tie. “Why?”

“W-what the fuck are you doing…here?”

My father slowly sat his tie down on the table. “Since you hadn’t stopped whoring long enough to give your poor bum a break, I decided now was as good of time as any for me to make use of it again while I was still in the area.”

“I got company in the next room.” I pleaded, quickly realizing it didn’t sound much of a deterrent as it did in my head.

“One short of a basketball team, you mean. I got cameras all throughout the condo. The way those four guys were sawing into you last night, I’m surprise there’s even something left! Then of course, who hasn’t worked you over the past six months.”

I froze.

“What’re you going to do? Run?”

I weighed my options of that, looking back at my bedroom door.

My father chuckled. “You’re not that dumb, are you, son?”

“What?”

“You honestly think those guys in there are going to get mad at me for doing the same thing they’ve been doing to you all night? Face it. You’re just a hole for a cock to spit in, nothing more. I can take it again like I did back in the study and they’ll circle around to round out the train to make their last deposit before starting their day–that’s if they don’t just bolt for the door laughing at your whorish ass on their way out the door!”

I took a deep breath.

“What do I have to do to make this easy on myself, Father?” A cock is a cock, right?

He motioned me to turn around, putting on a show for him like I’d done Mr. Culbreath for what felt like so long ago. I slowly let my robe drop to the floor. His eyes were fixed on me in the remaining negligee. I peeled off my straps and let my negligee fall to the floor.

“Good.” He came to me, standing in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I wasn’t aware of my father being nothing more than a prominent attorney, but his hands felt firm like he was no stranger to real work. He pulled the chair from the table and sat down. He pushed his hands down my panties and jammed his fingers inside me. It hurt, but the moistening of the remaining loads lodge in my canal reminded me of who I was and what I was, just like my father said.

“You’re a real fucking slut, you know that, son?” My father hissed at moan and spreading legs inviting more of him into me.

Once he had me looking up at the ceiling, he tossed me back towards the table.

I could hear him undoing his belt and his zipper, knowing he was bound to fuck me like an animal with my ass naturally presented.

“Can you at least throw on a condom?” I urged.

“You wouldn’t know what a condom was if I showed you one.”

He grabbed my hips and pulled my ass up higher. He rubbed his cock up and down my crack roughly and sharply across my puckered abyss, pushing the tip in a little and pulling it out again, perhaps amazed at the tightness. No trace I’d been up the night before getting pounded by four young virile studs.

My charm, I chuckled, remembering the constant drip of my father’s loads I felt come out of me that next morning.

“You dirty little minx!” My father pushed his cock a few inches into me and pulled out again before a series of repeat motions.

His cock was fat. It felt tight and heavy inside me.

Once my hole loosened up again, he jammed his cock right into me soon feeling his balls against mine.

“Slut!” He yowled as he started to jackhammer me.

He called me all sorts of dirty names that made me eager to receive him for the next ten minutes or so.

“You know what whorish bitches are good for? Dumping a warm load in! Take my cock and its load, you fucking sissy!”

“Please! Don’t come in me!” I begged.

I may have screamed that line a million times already with each guy I ever let breed me raw, edging the excitement that I was a real good girl and that I genuinely feared getting pregnant. When I said it with him, my father, there was a much more familiar ring to it. And then I remembered.

When he was on top of me before, guilt and disgrace came crashing over me through the shards rupturing throughout my body. It was humiliating enough to be soft and weak and drunk getting raped by my father, but the thought of his load forced inside of me only solidified the degradation even more.

“Please, please,” I implored.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

After a couple of minutes, my father started to stammer and groan and rocked his cock further into me than he had before. His cream spunk blasted, hot by the pints inside me.

I tried to move, but he forced my chest into the table with his cock still deep inside me still dumping its contents.

He came down on my back, kissed the nape of my neck, and whispered, “If you hadn’t figured it out by now, this is how you’re going to pay me to live here just like I had with your Uncle Fred.”

I closed my eyes. So he had been fucking him! This only left me curious as if there first time was like our first time or like this.

“You got that, bitch?”

I nodded into the table. “Yes Sir,” I murmured subserviently.

My father pulled his cock out of me, pulled up his pants and left without saying another word.

I was left torn. A part of me wanted to get up off the table and head to the shower, wash away the sins of my father. Another part of me, the better part of me, wanted to stay there in place and let his slime become me–the part that wasn’t oozing down my leg.

When I stood to retreat to my bathroom instead of the half bath, I woke up the four horny frat boys encouraging their cocks to get back into me much like I had Mr. Culbreath the first time we got together after an assault by my father. Even with the four of them sharing me like they had the night before, I couldn’t help but to think my father loves me. So much so he was probably watching me use his cum as fuck cream for these four frat guys. Thanks Daddy!