My Father Loves My Trans Ass

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

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My old man never liked me. My brothers came out handsome and virile and I came out second to last soft and pretty much like his little brother. Unlike my paternal uncle however, I genuinely liked many manly things like the rest of the men in my house. Where I differed from the herd was while they liked to participate also, my eyes could never break from fixation from afar. There was something magical watching men being men, roughhousing with each other that made me tingle. I didn’t know how to explain it before, but when my older brother won the State Championship, the swell of raw energy he channeled into conquering his girlfriend, I knew then I wanted to be on the receiving of that. I wanted more than anything to be a girl. Many people always said I looked more like a girl than a boy. You look better than a girl, Paul complimented me when he dared me to put on a fashion show for him. They were my sister’s slutty clothes and his aunt’s pumps, but they fitted me like a charm. Paul was my boyfriend, or so I fancied him to be. He didn’t mind I was a sissy; that I liked to make myself up and dress pretty. Paul loved me, I swore, as he held me while we napped on his bed. It never crossed my mind he should be my first before I felt his hard cock rub against my rear. Going over to his house that night while his folks were away in my sister’s finest dress and the expensive makeup I nervously bought at the mall counter was called setting the mood. Getting tipsy was to loosen me up to the idea, not for him to get plastered leaving me to sneak out the window after his aunt and uncle decided to come home early.

If I thought my night had taken a terrible turn for the worst before, I didn’t know my awful night 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 of times trying to come into the house many other ways, but they’d learned coming through the front worked best–of course, if everyone in the house was sound asleep and mother and father wasn’t up roaming about.

As my luck would be, 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 luxurious brown leather chaise. He welcomed me with a smirk on his face. A first in our entire tumultuous rapport, I remembered distinctly. He probably thought I’d finally come home a man, after scoring with some girl as my brothers 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 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 the ordeal. This was my father for Christ sakes, my head screamed. But my heart skipped a beat being this was the first time he’d ever showed me any kind of love and affection, and I craved it so from him anyway I could get it. As quick as the moment appeared out of nowhere it dissipated in kind, being tossed against the edge of his chaise longue. My head bounced off the leather and spun me onto my back as I landed. I was too dazed to make sense of it all, too many questions swimming in my inebriated mind and a mouth that 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 evening. He grabbed me by my windpipe and violently plunged into the kaleidoscope of pain that quickly erupted through my body from there.

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

I woke up the next morning right where I was assaulted. My panties were ripped to shreds also in my mouth with his tie. My sore legs spread wide leaking the same cream of my origin brew. Through the ache I regretted then that Paul wasn’t my first. Paul truly loved me after all.

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

I was completely wrong for stepping out on Paul like I did. Not ending things then when it was clear I should’ve ended them. I loved Paul. I just 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 bevy of married men only interested in using me as a fuck toy. They’d gone back home to their normal lives. Why couldn’t I?

Alas, I learned, there wasn’t such a thing as normal for me.

Paul’s best friend’s mom caught her husband face fucking me on their deck one night when he called me over to drain his balls.

And my father didn’t look at me much after our night. Embarrassment and shame perhaps 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. And like a virus that spread throughout the house, everyone else shared the same unspoken disposition.

Before the incident on the deck made their rounds, I quickly moved out without much fanfare and moved in with my sweet paternal uncle down on the island. “He’s cute,” Uncle Kallen bit his lip hungrily. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Paul bringing in my boxes after climbing the stairs. Paul and I were freshly broken up, but he was still a doll to help move me in. Afterwards, Uncle Kallen was more than happy to give Paul a tip–that came with a satisfying blowjob and a few bills so he might circle back around sooner rather than later.

Uncle Kallen’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 in my bra and panties and had me too, right there on the kitchen island. Another time he invited me into his bedroom where we kneed the bed with our bare asses up waiting our turn for the same Kuwaiti cock to pummel our eager holes. “The blonde bitch and the blonde fag,” the delighted Arab called us, forcing us sissies to make out.

Even with our many conversations over cocktails, I always felt Uncle Kallen was holding out on me. I toyed about asking him about him and my father, but I dreaded he might turn the tables to turn on me. 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 Paul peeling boxes out of the condo. When I got upstairs to my uncle, he told me, “The owner wants me out.” I freaked, of course. “Oh! Don’t worry. He just wants me out. He wants you to stick around.” I was so relieved by this I didn’t bother to ask him about the wink he gave me or pepper him with a multitude of the many obvious questions I should’ve asked then. When I thought to ask them, Uncle Kallen and Paul were gone. Although I was sad to see my favorite uncle go, I was glad he was gone too. I couldn’t always dress like a woman when he was around. Because I could pass for a natural woman so well and so many didn’t know we were related, many of his Christian neighbors assumed he’d repented for being gay and was walking the “straight” and narrow. Of course, he didn’t want those rumors to spread like wildfire just in case the boys caught wind of them 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 being secretly stocked.

With my past life a distant memory, there was nothing to stop me from living my life in women’s clothing 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 met. 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: three frat boys I picked up at the beach the night before still crashing in my room. I didn’t see the intruder when I went into the kitchen, but after I closed the refrigerator door there he was 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 me with scorching lust through my frilly robe and pink negligee.

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

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 bum a break, I figured now was as good of time as any for me to make use of it 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.

“I know. I got cameras all throughout the place. The way those three college boys were sawing into you last night I’m surprised there’s even something left of you! Then of course, who hasn’t worked you over in the past six months.”

I froze.

“What are 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?”

“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 made-up cumdump to drain some balls in and nothing more. I can take it again like I did back at home in the study that night and they’ll circle around to round out the train to make their last deposit before starting their day…that is if they don’t just bolt for the door laughing at your silly ass on the way out the door!

I took a deep breath.

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

He motioned me to turn around, putting on a show for him like I’d done for Paul 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?” My father hissed at my moan and my 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 it to you.”

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 three 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 whore!” 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 bitches are good for? Dumping a warm-hot load in! Take my cock and its load, you sissy whore!”

“Please! Don’t come in me!” I begged.

I may have screamed that line a million times already with each guy I ever let hit it 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 breasts 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 Kallen.”

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 three horny frat boys encouraging their cocks to get back into me much like I had Paul the first time we got together after an assault by my father. Even with the three 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 three guys!