Big-dick Bottom Pt. 07

I considered screaming for help, but thought better of it. After all, my parents weren't home, and the next nearest neighbor was even farther away, across an empty wooded lot. And besides, if I screamed, surely the daddy would hear me and come back to shut me up.

Fear and anxiety coiled in me, along with the growing and disconcerting sense of arousal from being tossed around and strung up so roughly. Once again, I tried desperately to shake loose of the nylon ropes, to no avail. I was sweating now, from the effort of trying to stand on my tip toes, and from being in this hot, stinking shed.

I swore and muttered to myself as I hung there, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Paulie... how could you be so fucking stupid?

The sunlight was gone and the light was fading fast. The shapes of the objects in the shed began to dim and after a while, I couldn't really see anything. My mind shut down and all I focused on was pushing up through my legs to relieve the painful pressure on my hands.

~

When the door flew open, the first thing I registered was the cool air that rushed in and hit my hot, sweating body. I took in a deep breath and came back from the half-conscious state I'd been in.

Then there was a blinding light. An overhead fluorescent bulb blazed in my eyes, and I tried to shield myself from by twisting my head to the side, against my armpit. I heard yelling and grunting, and when my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I saw them.

There was the daddy, standing over his son--the ginger--who was cowering on the floor of the shed. It looked like he'd been hit in the face. His skin was red, even redder than usual, and there was a bright red ring around his left cheek and eye. The daddy had another cigar--unlit--in his mouth, and... I gulped. Under his right arm was the shoe box, the one from my bedroom.

Casually, the daddy put the box down on the workbench and came over to me, grabbing the rope he'd used to hang me up and feeling its tautness. He looked around and kicked a bucket over toward me--a inverted five gallon bucket. Desperately, I clambered up onto it and sighed with relief as I felt the pressure come off my hands and wrists. There was about a foot of slack in the rope now, and I could even lower my arms a bit. My hands were still bound tightly, but the muscles of my arms, back, and legs could finally relax a bit.

The daddy pulled another bucket over to the wall for himself, and he sat down on it, leaning back against the wood of the shed. The ginger was still on the floor, curled in an almost fetal position, not looking at either his dad or at me. The daddy pulled out a small paring knife and used it to cut the tip off of his cigar, which he then lit with a match. He puffed a few times and then held the fat cylinder of it out from his face to look at it, thoughtfully.

The daddy wasn't wearing a shirt, but he had put on a pair of jeans and he had replaced his slippers with large work boots. In the bright light I could see that his skin, under the fur of his chest, shoulders, and belly, was wet with sweat. There was a light breeze blowing through the shed from the sliding door, which the daddy had left open. I waited, quietly, watching the daddy, with a pit of dread in my stomach.

"Boys, boys, boys..." the daddy said, after several silent minutes, "what are we going to do with you?" He looked at his son, who curled tighter under his father's gaze, and then up to me. His eyes were dark, angry pits. The stench of his cigar had filled the shed.

"Seems to me," the daddy said, looking at me, "that my son has somethin' like an obsession with you." He turned to look down at his son. "Isn't that right, boy?"

The ginger didn't reply, and the daddy lunged to his feet, suddenly, and landed a hard, booted kick against the ginger's ass.

"You answer when I talk to you!" the daddy roared.

The ginger sat up and looked at his father. "Yes, sir," he said, under his breath.

"Are you obsessed with this faggot?" the daddy asked him, pointing his cigar at me. There was venom in his voice.

"No, sir," the ginger said.

"You want this faggot's cock?" the daddy said. The ginger scuttled back until he was cowering against the wall. The daddy began kicking his son again, harder and harder.

"No! No, sir! No!" I heard the ginger wail as his dad landed hard kicks against his legs, stomach, and the side of his chest. I looked away, terrified of how brutally neighbor daddy was attacking his son.

The daddy stopped kicking and stood back from his cowering boy. I saw sweat streak down his broad, furry back and he lifted a shaking hand to his mouth to suck again on his cigar. He turned to me. The muscles around his eyes were quivering. I looked away from him.

He reached out and grabbed the rim of my pants and yanked down. He had to yank several times to get the rim of my belted khakis down past my ass and thighs. My underwear came down, too, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what I knew was there--my hard cock, swinging out in front of me. Ever since the daddy had hauled his son into the shed, I'd felt it getting hard. The itch, though I was trying desperately to ignore it, blazed up through me, burning wildly in my brain stem. My cock, of its own accord, had reacted to the fear and adrenaline of being near him, this huge beast of a man, and the implicit danger that he posed.

The daddy swore and spit onto the ground. Then he grabbed my cock and yanked it, nearly pulling me off of the bucket. He turned to his son.

"Here it is, boy... here's the cock that's been keepin' you up at night."

The ginger flinched and looked away.

"Get the fuck up," the daddy roared at him.

Slowly, pushing himself against the wall, the ginger stood up. His white tank top and gray, baggy basketball shorts were streaked with dirt from where his father had kicked him.

"Get over here," the daddy said. Stone-faced, the ginger trudged over to where I was standing on the bucket.

"Put your hand on it."

The ginger looked at his daddy with fear and pleading in his eyes. He shook his head. The daddy slapped his son across the face with an open palm. The ginger staggered back a step, but the daddy grabbed his son's arm and brought his hand to my cock.

"I told you to touch it, boy," the daddy said.

The ginger put his hand on the base of my cock. Involuntarily, at his touch, I felt my dick thicken even more.

"Rub it," the daddy said.

Sniffling, now, the ginger started to stroke my cock. The skin of his hand was rough and dry, and pulled painfully at the skin of my penis as he ran his hand along the shaft. The daddy watched his son stroking my cock and narrowed his eyes.

"You like that, son? Is that what you like? A big cock in your face? Are you some sort of fag?"

"No sir," the ginger said, under his breath.

The daddy knocked his son's hand away from me and then he grabbed the base of my cock in his hand. Then he pulled his son closer to my cock.

"Suck it," the daddy said, spitting the words into his son's ear. He took another drag on his cigar, his hand wobbly with suppressed rage. "That's what you want, right? Suck this cock, boy."

The ginger looked up at his daddy and there were fresh tears in his eyes. The daddy still had my cock in his hand, and he was squeezing it, drawing precum out of the tip of it, which dripped in a long, dangling thread down onto the dusty concrete floor. They held each other's gaze for a moment before the daddy let go of my cock and grabbed his son by the hair on the back of his head.

"I told you to suck it," the daddy yelled, and pushed the ginger's face onto my cock.

For several minutes, neighbor daddy forced his son's mouth onto my cock, trying to cram it as far in as possible, making the ginger gag and squirm and squeal. I tried to stand as still as possible, worried about what the daddy might do to me, but it was almost impossible, since the the ginger's teeth were tearing at the skin of my cock. It felt like my dick was being shoved into a blender. The ginger's spit and mucous were coating the shaft of my dick, the base of which was squeezed in the daddy's huge, rough fist. Chewing on the cigar in his mouth, he was using both of his hands. One on the back of his son's head, and the other on my cock, shoving it down his son's throat. The ginger's hands were drawn in fists and he was flailing his arms at his sides, trying to breathe.

Despite the pain, or maybe even because of it, I felt a flicker of pleasure lick up the length of my shaft. The feeling of the daddy's rough hand on me, squeezing, and the sight of my cock disappearing into the ginger's face... all of a sudden I was about to come. My stomach seized up and the daddy looked at me, surprised, and then crammed my cock even harder into his son's mouth.

The ginger, realizing what about to happen, grabbed at his daddy, pounding at his daddy's thighs as I unloaded cum into his mouth. The daddy pulled my cock out of his son's mouth and a jet of cum shot out onto the ginger's face, streaking his eyes. Two more spurts of cum landed on the ginger's shoulders before his daddy let go of his son's hair. The ginger fell to the ground, coughing and sputtering.

The daddy started to laugh. "You liked that, didn't you," the daddy said, staring down at his writhing son. "That's what you wanted, huh? You little cock-sucking faggot."

His face twisted into a sneer and he landed two more hard kicks on his son. The ginger curled up again into a ball and tried to scoot away. Then the daddy turned to me.

"And we still need to deal with you, don't we?" he said, pushing his fat finger up against my cheek.

My knees started to shake and in spite of myself, I jerked against the ropes holding my hands, trying to get away from him.

The daddy laughed and kicked the bucket out from under me. I fell down and the rope dug into my wrists again. I grunted with pain.

"You know what? I think I need to teach my boy here how to be a man, again," the daddy said, and his hands were at his belt, unbuckling it, then unbuttoning his tight jeans. He pulled out his cock, which was hard, and spun me around so that my ass was facing him. He put his hand between my legs, poking roughly at my asshole.

I heard him spit once, and again, and then he grabbed my hips in his hands. I was trembling now, waiting for the inevitable. But then there was a horrible searing pain on the small of my back. For a second, I didn't know what had happened--I couldn't place the sensation. But then I realized that the ash from his cigar must have fallen down and burned me. I heard the daddy laugh. The sound of his low voice, the burning of the ash, and the anticipation of what he was about to do drove me over the edge. My mind blanked out as the fire of the itch consumed my brain.

"Watch carefully, son," the daddy said, and then with a grunt, he pushed his cock into my hole.

The pain was incredible. I tried to pull away from him, but tied up as I was, there was nowhere I could move, no way to get away from him. He just grabbed my hips tighter to prevent me from twisting away and started to fuck me fast and hard, tearing his way through my clenched asshole.

"See," he said, breathing hard, "this here's how you fuck, boy. This is how you fuck like a man... fuck this faggot ass, fuck 'em like a bitch."

The daddy had spun me so that I was facing the ginger, who had drawn his knees to his chest and was watching us from against the wall. The pain in my ass was unrelenting, and my legs and arms were also screaming with fatigue, but with the vestiges of my vision, I watched the ginger as I got fucked. I watched him watch me.

The daddy was fucking me faster and faster, slamming his hips against my ass with his hands on my thighs. He had pounded me open to the point that he could stroke in and out of me and after what felt like an eternity of hard, rough fucking, he finally came, grinding into me and roaring as he ejaculated. I felt his whole body contract as he dug his fingers into my thighs and jerked his hips, grunting the entirety of his load into me.

Then he pulled out and let go. I let out a moan of pain and helplessness as he left me to hang again from the ceiling.

The daddy stepped toward his son and waved his still-hard cock at the ginger's face.

"A man's cock," he said, laughing, and he spit down onto the floor next to his son's bare feet.

Then the daddy reached down and pulled his son up to stand. I saw that the ginger's shorts were tented out. The daddy saw it too and he reached for his son's bulge. The ginger tried to pull away but the daddy grabbed his shoulder. He groped his son's hard cock through the material of his shorts and grunted with approval.

"Show me, boy," he said, "show me you have what it takes to be a man."

The ginger looked up at his dad, and then over at me. In the harsh fluorescent light, through the red, inflamed flesh of his tear-streaked face, the ginger's clear and soulless blue eyes met mine. I shuddered. He stepped toward me, made a fist, reared back, and hit me as hard as he could across the face. I spun, on my rope, dazzled for a moment by the punch before the pain registered. But then the wave of pain and fear hit me like a truck. I cried out as the force of his punch ricocheted across my head.

I raised my head to see the ginger rearing back to hit me again, but the daddy grabbed his arm.

"No, boy, not like that. Fuck him. Show me you can fuck him like a man."

The ginger, still shaking with rage, flexed his fist open and shut, wringing out the hand he'd used to hit me. Then he nodded and spit down onto the floor, and spun me around. I felt his cock punch into me but, my head still ringing, it didn't register with any sense of pain. It was like my body was numb. I blinked, trying to get hold of my brain, which felt like it had gotten knocked out of my head by the ginger's punch. I tried to breathe, but my breath was just coming in shallow gulps.

"That's it... that's it, boy... that's how a man does it..."

There were loud grunting noises and the daddy was talking, somewhere to the side of me. There was a hand--the daddy's hand--around my neck. My awareness came roaring back into me, and I felt the ginger's cock slamming into my ass. His arms were clenched onto my waist, pulling me toward him and his fat knob of a cock was knocking right up against that knot inside my ass, the bulb of pleasure that was starting to throb.

The daddy twisted my head to look at him. The cigar was in his mouth and his other had was on his dick. He pushed my head down to watch him stroking his cock, which was hard again. Spit trailed out of my mouth as I watched his hand on his cock, saliva streaming out of me reflexively.

The daddy let go of his own dick and grabbed mine. As the ginger fucked me, my cock slid back and forth in jerks in the daddy's rough hand, and in spite of myself, I was instantly hard again. The daddy shook his head and looked into my eyes.

"You're a real piece of work, aintcha?" he said.

Behind me, the ginger was grunting louder and louder and I could tell he was about to come. His daddy seemed to sense it, too.

"Do it, boy, seed this bitch."

The ginger slammed into me and let out a yell, and I felt his cock jerk in my ass, disgorging his cum inside me. The daddy's hand was still on my cock, and he squeezed me hard, but I didn't come. My body was too broken, and my head was still distant, not quite screwed on straight after the punch.

The ginger pulled out of me. I felt my battered hole tried to contract.

"P-please," I sputtered. "Please let me down, sir..."

The daddy laughed. "Let you down?" he said, squeezing my still-hard cock. "But you're having such a good time!"

He looked over at his son, who had pulled his pants up and was back standing against the wall.

"Two men's cocks and this faggot hasn't had enough!" he said, waggling my hard dick at the ginger. The ginger snickered and folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't cowering anymore.

The daddy turned back to me and let go of my cock, then grabbed my chin.

"Let's give him what he needs," the daddy said. "Boy, go get me the pickax."

The ginger pushed off the wall and walked, strutting now, past where I was hanging, to the other end of the shed.

I heard the scrape of metal against concrete and then he was back, holding a large pickax. in his hands, the one I'd seen them swinging all summer. The daddy moved a couple steps back from me and reached out for it, and the ginger handed it to him. Daddy's cock was still hard, poking out of the fly of his jeans in front of him. The daddy spun the pickax. around a few times in his hands, watching me as I trembled, terrified, hanging from the rope. Finally, he stopped spinning the ax and held it, metal side down, with the shiny wooden handle pointing up. He ran his hand along the handle, raising his eyebrows as he came to the widened, flared end of it.

"I wonder if this is enough for him?" he said, glancing over at the ginger, who chuckled and smiled back at his daddy.

"No, n-no, please," I said, staring at the handle of the pickax. "I'm--I'm sorry, sir, I'll never come over here again, I swear. I promise. I'm sorry."

"Too late, faggot," the daddy said, and he walked around behind me.

I kicked and screamed and tried to wrench my hands out of the rope, but the ginger was there, holding me still, and clamping a hand over my mouth. I felt the daddy kick my legs apart and press the outside of his calves against the inside of mine to keep my legs spread. I shook my head and looked at the ginger, but there was nothing there--nothing behind his eyes.

Thankfully, I blocked out the next few moments. I know that he did it--the daddy--he shoved the handle of the pickax. into me. I know I felt the most acute pain of my life scream through my body when he did it. But I don't know how long it lasted. It might have minutes later and it might have been just a few seconds, but the next thing I knew I was looking at him, there in the shed. The massive frame of him, looming over the ginger's shoulder, standing with a look of shock on his face in the doorway of the shed. All I know is that he came. Son #1. He came.

As if in slow motion, I saw him pick a two by four off the ground and charge into the shed, swinging the beam with his huge arms. I heard the crack of wood against flesh and bone and I felt the crash of a body--the daddy--hit the floor. And with the crash, the ax handle tore out of my ass and clattered to the ground. The pain of it, leaving my body, ripped through me anew. Then I saw the ginger fly across the room and hit the workbench, where he crumpled onto the concrete. Then I felt hands on me, on my legs and back. I heard the snick of a blade and then I felt the pressure on my wrists and hands go away. And then I was in strong, soft arms, being carried out, slowly and carefully. Out into the dark, cool night.