I’m Steve Berg, a 45-year-old straight, conservative, redneck dad from Texas, built like a goddamn tank from years of farm work, with a thick beard and a no-bullshit attitude that screams alpha. My life was my hot-as-fuck wife, Samantha, the sexiest bitch in town with tits and ass that could make a man beg, and my 18-year-old son, Dan, a ripped baseball stud with six-pack abs and a cocky swagger that turned heads. But shit flipped when Samantha’s trip left me alone with Dan’s laundry, and his musky jockstrap scent turned me into a cum-hungry freak. I’d sniffed his briefs, licked his crusty loads, and even sucked his beer-can-thick dick, cumming hands-free like a bitch. Dan knew it, called me out, and now I was fighting to stay the man of the house. But deep down, my body craved his dominance.
The next day, Samantha finally rolled back home, her curves looking finer than ever in those tight jeans. I hugged her tight, my dick twitching at the normalcy, but Dan was already scheming, that evil smirk on his face like he owned me. He woke up early, banging around the kitchen, inviting us both to the breakfast table with a grin. “Made y’all something special,” he said, sliding plates in front of us. Samantha got eggs and toast, but mine? Fried eggs and a steaming mug of what looked like hot milk. Dan plopped down right next to me, his thigh brushing mine under the table. “Mom, don’t you think I’m grown enough to run this house now?” he joked, winking. Samantha laughed, ruffling his hair. “You’re getting there, sweetie.”
I lifted the mug, ready for a sip, but the thick, salty warmth hit my tongue—not milk, but Dan’s fresh, gooey cum, still warm like he’d just jacked off into it. That bastard! My eyes shot to him, but he just smiled innocently. “That’s why I made breakfast, to show I can handle things.” Samantha beamed, clueless. I hesitated, the cum swirling in my mouth, my cock already stirring in my boxers. Dan leaned in. “Why aren’t you drinking my milk, Dad? I mean, the milk I made special for you.” Samantha chimed in, “Yeah, honey, drink up! Cheer our boy on for stepping up.”
Fuck me, I couldn’t spit it out without raising hell. So I chugged it, Dan’s thick, bitter load sliding down my throat in front of my own wife, coating my beard in sticky dribbles. The taste exploded—pure son jizz, potent and musky, making my balls tighten. “You really like that milk, Dad, don’t ya? Drinking it like a pussy—oh, I mean, like a thirsty cat,” Dan teased, his hand sneaking under the table to squeeze my thigh. And bam, I blew my wad right there, cum flooding my boxers in hot spurts, soaking through as I fought back a groan. Dan knew, his eyes gleaming. “Hey, Dad, stand up and grab me some cereal from the shelf.” I froze—my jeans tented and wet, no way in hell. “Nah, boy, you get it yourself,” I growled, humiliated, my face burning. He was pushing me, proving who the real alpha was, making me squirm like his bitch.
Samantha got up, busy with chores, humming as she cleared plates. I bolted to Dan’s room, raging to end this shit. “What the fuck, boy? You’re crossing lines!” But as I burst in, Dan spun around, wrapping his super-musky briefs—fresh from his morning jack—right over my bearded face. The scent hit like a drug, sweaty balls and cum residue invading my nose. My cock betrayed me instantly, throbbing and unloading another load into my already-soaked boxers. I staggered, high as fuck, horned up and ready to breed like a animal in heat.
Dan laughed, yanking out his beer-can-thick dick, eight inches of veiny meat slapping against his abs. “See, Dad? You’re my bitch now.” I was dazed, no control, and he grabbed my head, forcing that monster into my mouth. He face-fucked me mercilessly, his balls slapping my chin, precum leaking down my throat. “Take it, you cum-slut dad!” I gagged, tears streaming, but my hole twitched, wet and needy. Then reality hit—I pushed him off, gasping. “Enough, you little shit!” Fear crept in; he was right, I was turning into a bitch. To fight it, I roared like the alpha I used to be, shoving him onto the bed. “I’ll show you who’s boss!” I dove on his cock, sucking aggressively, deep-throating that fat rod, my beard scraping his balls as I tried to dominate.
Dan moaned, thrusting up. “Drop the act, Dad—I mean, bitch. You’re my hole now, I’m the man!” While I slurped, he yanked my boxers down, exposing my furry, hairy asshole. His fingers teased, then—fuck!—he grabbed a lubed-up beer can from under his pillow, slick with spit or whatever, and shoved it in, huge and unyielding, stretching me like a whore. Pain ripped through me as Dan burst, flooding my throat with hot jizz. I gagged, screaming around his cum, the can buried deep, my ass clenching around it.
His evil smile said it all. Then footsteps—Samantha! I yanked the briefs off, pulled up my boxers quick, the can still lodged in my hole, pressing my prostate with every shift. She poked her head in, frowning at my huffing breaths and the jizz smeared in my beard. “What’s going on? You look like you ran a mile, and... is that yogurt on your face?” I blurted a lame excuse: “Uh, just wrestling with Dan, honey—spilled some... cream from breakfast.” She bought it, rolling her eyes. “Boys.” Outside, rain poured, trapping us inside. Dan suggested board games, that fucker, to keep me from yanking out the can. “Family time!” Samantha loved it, and Dan made sure she stuck by me all day, no alone time. Every move sent shocks through my ass—painful but filthy hot, my cock leaking precum nonstop. I squirmed on the couch, the can grinding inside, humiliating me as Dan smirked.
Finally, I mumbled an excuse: “Gotta piss.” Bolted to the bathroom, but Dan followed, whispering through the door. “Like my gift, Dad? Admit you’re my bitch.” I yanked down my boxers, pushing the can out—it popped free like I was birthing it, my hole gaping. A goddamn beer can, slick and warm. Rage boiled; I flung the door open, yelling like a true alpha dad. “You think that’s funny, boy? I’ll beat your ass!” But my voice cracked, the high lingering.
Evening dragged, night came. We hit the sack, Samantha snoring softly beside me. Then I felt it—my boxers tugged down in the dark. Samantha was out cold; it was Dan, sneaking in like a predator. He smashed his musky briefs into my face, the scent flipping my switch, my cock hardening instantly. Before I could fight, he shoved his eight-inch beast straight into my hairy asshole, raw and brutal. I muffled a scream into the briefs he stuffed in my mouth, his cock splitting me open like a cheap whore.
He fucked me like a wild cowboy, pounding mercilessly right next to my sleeping wife, his balls slapping my ass. “Take it, bitch-dad! Admit I own this hole!” Humiliation burned—my son railing me, proving his dominance. But fuck, pride swelled too; my boy had become a real man, thick dick destroying me. Sadness hit—I was inferior now, body accepting what my mind fought. I came hands-free, cum and piss spraying from Dan’s thrusts, soaking the sheets. Samantha stirred, almost waking, so I hissed, “Stop, Dan—I admit it, I’m your bitch! Fuck you, you pig, but you’re the real man of the house now.”
That did it; Dan flooded my guts with potent cum, ropes painting my insides. He slapped my ass, whispering, “My property!” and slipped out, leaving me leaking his seed.
After that, I accepted my fate. We fucked everywhere—quick and dirty in the barn, his cock down my throat while Samantha shopped; bent over the truck hood at night, his loads filling my ass. Even at the bar, chugging beers with my farm buddies, Dan’d corner me in the bathroom stall, shoving his dick in my mouth while they laughed outside, clueless. “Suck it, Dad-slut,” he’d growl, cumming down my throat as I swallowed like his personal cum-dump. In public, I was still the alpha dad, barking orders, but in reality, I was owned by my son, living off his musky loads, his bitch through and through. Dan ruled the house, and my hole was his throne.
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