A full month had passed.
Thirty days without his voice, without the solid weight of his hand on the back of my neck, without the thick stretch of him forcing me open whenever he decided I was useful. I went back to my apartment and tried to live like nothing had changed. Slave work as an intern. Coffee with people I barely liked. Scrolling through Grindr at three in the morning with my hole twitching around nothing. None of it worked. My body had learned the shape of him. Everything else felt thin and temporary.
Then the message arrived on a Thursday night.
Dad: Your mother is doing a yoga retire with her friends this weekend. I’m flying Friday morning. Be ready. Don’t make plans.
That was all.
Friday evening the heavy knock came exactly when I expected it. When I opened the door he was standing there in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the same thick, hairy forearms, the same cold, deep eyes. He looked me over once, slow and thorough, like he was inspecting property he hadn’t seen in a while.
“Miss me?” he asked, voice flat.
I nodded. My throat was already tight.
He stepped inside, shut the door, and locked it. For a long moment he just stared at me. Then he grabbed my jaw and spat on my face. Marking his territory. When he pulled back his eyes were darker.
“Missed you too, champ. Go shower. Clean yourself properly. Inside and out. We’re going out.”
I did what he said.
The place he took me to sat on the industrial edge of the city, unmarked except for a black metal door and a small buzzer. Inside it smelled like steam, clean sweat, chlorine, and sex. A gay sauna. Dim red lighting. The low, constant thump of music. Men moving through narrow corridors in white towels or nothing at all, eyes sliding over bodies with open interest.
Dad paid for both of us without speaking. In the locker room he told me to strip completely and wear some white jockstraps he offered me. He kept his own towel slung low around his hips, the dark trail of hair disappearing under the fabric. When I was naked he opened a small black bag and took out leather cuffs connected by short chains, and a wider collar with a heavy D-ring.
“Arms behind your back.”
I turned. He cuffed my wrists tightly, the leather biting just enough to remind me it was there. Then he buckled the collar around my neck, adjusted it, and clipped a short leash to the ring. He gave it a testing tug that pulled my head slightly back.
“Walk.”
He led me deeper into the sauna, past the wet area where steam hung thick in the air, past dark rooms where shadows moved and low wet sounds drifted out, until we reached a larger play space at the back. In the center stood a heavy leather sling — thick black straps, sturdy metal frame, adjustable stirrups. The leather was already darkened with sweat from previous use.
Dad stopped me in front of it.
“Up.”
He open the cuffs and me helped me into the sling, guiding my legs and arms into the stirrups and securing the wide straps around my thighs so I was fully suspended, ass at the edge, completely open. The position left my hole exposed under the low red lights, tilted at the perfect height for a standing man to step between my legs and push in. Dad adjusted the chains until he was satisfied, then stepped back and looked at me hanging there.
“You’re going to take everything that comes to you tonight,” he said quietly. “Every cock. Every load. You’re not going to close this hole until I say so. Understand?”
“Yes, Dad… I mean yes, sir!”
He gave a short nod, then turned his head toward the open doorway where several men were already watching from the corridor.
“He’s open,” he called out, voice calm and carrying. “Fresh cumdump. No limits. Don’t be gentle. His my real son and I’m his owner.”
The first one stepped forward almost immediately.
He was around thirty, tall, gym-built, with a smooth chest still damp from the showers and a thick cock already hard in his fist. He didn’t speak. He stepped between my spread legs, rubbed the head of his cock against my hole once, and pushed in. The stretch made me gasp. He bottomed out in one steady thrust and started fucking me in deep, controlled strokes, hands locked on the straps of the sling for leverage. The wet sound of it filled the space.
“Fuck, he’s tight,” he muttered to no one in particular.
Dad watched from the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
The man came after a few minutes with a low grunt, pulsing deep inside me. He pulled out slowly and stepped away without looking at my face. The next one was already moving in — shorter, thicker through the chest, with a dark happy trail and a heavy uncut cock. He shoved in while the previous load was still leaking out of me and fucked me harder, the wet slap of skin on skin louder than before.
“Sloppy already,” he said, almost pleased. “Perfect.”
He came quickly and was replaced by two more in quick succession. One was lean and sharp-looking, with tattoos running down both arms and a mean set to his mouth; he spat on my hole before pushing in and fucked me with short, vicious strokes while muttering about what a good little deposit I was. The other was older, maybe late forties, solid and silver at the temples, with a thick cock and the unhurried rhythm of a man who had used plenty of holes like mine. He ground deep, one hand resting on my stomach, and came with a quiet, satisfied sound.
Load after load was pumped into me.
Dad never left my side. He stood close enough that I could smell the clean sweat on his skin and the faint trace of the expensive cologne he always wore. Every time a man finished and stepped away, Dad would reach down, spread my cheeks with two fingers, and inspect the open, dripping hole like he was checking the progress of a job.
“Still taking it,” he would say quietly. “Good.”
The room filled. Word had moved through the sauna. Men came in ones and twos, some still wet from the showers, some already slick with sweat from the dark rooms. Most of them were exactly the kind Dad had attracted without effort — fit, athletic, good-looking men in their twenties and thirties with solid cocks and the casual arrogance of people who knew they were desired. They fucked me like I was furniture. Some talked. Most didn’t. They simply stepped up, pushed into the growing mess of cum, and used the hole until they finished. Some of them asked my father if he was really my own legit father… the reaction from me the answer was always cumming faster, like the information was too much for them to handle.
One of them — tall, dark-haired, with a runner’s long muscles — stayed longer than the others. He fucked me in slow, deep strokes while looking down at my face.
“How many is that?” he asked Dad.
“Lost count,” Dad answered. “Keep going. He’s not full yet.”
The man laughed under his breath and came hard, adding another thick load to the rest.
My hole was softening now, opening more easily for each new cock, making wet, filthy sounds every time someone pushed in. Cum ran down the leather of the sling and dripped onto the floor in slow, heavy drops. My own cock stayed soft like a clit , leaking steadily inside the jockstraps, completely ignored by everyone including me.
A pair of older men took me one after the other — both in their fifties, thick around the middle but still strong, with heavy cocks and the kind of rough, practiced rhythm that said they had been using holes like mine for years in the saunas. One of them held my legs wider while he fucked me and told Dad I had the kind of slutty, broken-in ass that was wasted on only one man.
Dad only nodded once.
“That’s why I brought him.”
The night blurred into heat, dance music and friction and the constant wet noise of cock after cock driving into me. I stopped trying to count after thirty. My throat was dry from breathing with my mouth open. My arms ached from the cuffs. Every new thrust sent another trickle of cum out of me and down the leather straps.
At some point a group of four younger guys came in together — all gym-built, all loud, all clearly high on the idea of sharing a suspended cumdump. They took turns in rapid succession, cheering each other on, slapping my ass, spreading me open so the next one could watch the previous load get pushed deeper. One of them came across my hole instead of inside and the next one immediately shoved the mess back in with his cock while the others laughed.
Dad watched all of it without blinking.
“Harder,” he told one of them when the pace slowed. “He’s not going to break.”
The man listened and fucked me with short, punishing strokes until he finished.
More men came. A tall one with a thick, curved cock that dragged against the front wall of my hole with every thrust and made my stomach jump. A shorter, stockier one who spat on me repeatedly and called me a dirty little cumdump while he used me. A quiet, extremely fit man with almost no body hair who fucked me in complete silence and came with only a sharp exhale. An older silver fox with a heavy gut and an even heavier cock who took his time and left me dripping more than most.
My hole was completely soft now, open and ruined, making wet, obscene sounds every time a new cock pushed into the mess. It was like a used pussy, not an ass hole anymore. Cum covered the insides of my thighs, the leather straps, the floor beneath the sling in a spreading puddle. I could feel it moving inside me every time I breathed — a heavy, filthy warmth that had no more room to go.
Dad stepped between my legs when the last of the casual users finally drifted away. He looked down at the destroyed hole for a long moment, then freed his own cock from the towel.
“One more,” he said quietly.
He pushed into me slowly, feeling every soft, overused inch of the hole he had spent the night filling. The sensation made him exhale hard through his nose. He fucked me in deep, possessive strokes, hands locked on the straps, while I hung there completely open for him.
“Fifty-six,” he muttered after a while. “I counted. Fifty-six loads in my son’s ass in one night. Push them into your dad’s dick. Now.”
I pushed and I felt a relief while tons of cum left my hole and covered my father’s hard cock.
He grunted like a broken beast came with a low, rough sound, adding his own thick pulse to everything already inside me. He stayed buried for a long time afterward, just breathing, feeling the heat and the mess he had created.
When he finally pulled out, a heavy rush of cum followed and spilled down the leather in a thick stream.
Dad carefully helped me out of the sling. My legs would not hold me. He had to support most of my weight. Cum ran down my thighs in heavy streaks and dripped onto the floor with every step as he led me back toward the locker room.
He cleaned me roughly with warm towels, dressed me in the clothes he had brought, and walked me out to the rental car with one solid arm around my waist. I sat in the passenger seat with my hole still open and leaking, the heavy, filthy feeling of dozens of loads still moving inside me every time the car turned.
Dad drove in silence for a long time.
Then, without looking at me, he said:
“Next month. Same weekend. I’ll find a bigger place.”
I closed my eyes and felt another slow trickle of cum escape me and soak into the seat. I was so fucking tired and destroyed.
“Yes, Dad.”
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