Taken by My Boy

He broke loose from me and looked at his watch. "Oh, shit, I hate to say this, Dad, but I've got to get out of here!" He broke loose from me and ran to his bedroom.

I got up, fuck-drunk, and wandered dizzily down the hall after him. He was at his closet throwing on clothes. "This is such a mind-blowing development, Dad, I wish I could stay, but I HAVE to go see Dean Tazello, or I'll lose all my cumulative credits! Sorry!" He dashed by me and out the front door.

Well, I'll be a son of a bitch!

I went back to the living room and sat down. He doesn't hate me. Why in hell, then, did my own son take me? Is he in with some gang of hoodlums? Is he taking drugs?

I didn't go back to the college that afternoon. I didn't have any classes, and I could skip the time. I sat at home. Thinking. Trying to figure out what I was going to do about Aaron.

And drinking. Robert Redford knew best: Drink only Scotch at least 12 years old. Glenlivit, my best friend.

That night, of course, I was jumpy as hell. I didn't expect another attack--the bastards left town--but I was all wound up. Knew I wouldn't be able to get to sleep. I couldn't figure out Aaron. Why had he been with them? And did he think he could hide it from me?

He was out late again. Poor Emily. I hoped he didn't knock her up. I ended up getting myself drunk and passed out on the couch.

Couldn't believe it when I felt somebody pulling me up. "Glad to see us again, Coachie?" The words made me instantly furious, but the little shits had me in their control again, pinning my arms. "We missed the bus. Got ourselves drunk and missed the goddamned bus."

Once they got me on my feet, they jammed me up against the wall. Fuck, why did I get even drunker than they? I was helpless.

"Gonna catch the morning bus, so we got us some extra time. Better get them clothes off, Coachie." I expected a yank at my pants, but the dirty dogs pulled my college polo shirt up over my head and off my arms. Then I felt my belt unbuckled, and with a mighty yank, the bastards pulled it through the belt loops and off.

One of them was groping at my fly. "Whatcha got in there, Coachie?"

But the other one grabbed both my pantlegs and yanked them down, pulling my pants off in one swoop. I wished my head wasn't spinning, that I wasn't so dizzy.

"Off with the jock, Coachie. I love it--ya go as commando as ya can. Yer a horny dude."

They yanked it down to pile at my feet on the floor. "Now spread yer legs again, and let's see how ya do standing up."

"No fucking way!" I tried to struggle, but one of them hit me, and I went down.

As they yanked me back up, I wasn't thinking of them as college students, as kids, anymore, they were felons I was going to put in jail if it took me the rest of my life! Even my own goddamned kid!

They picked me up again and faced me once more against the wall. I could taste blood in my mouth, and I was pissed.

"Got your cherry last night, Coachie, so now we're old lovers. Spread yer legs out for me, and let's get at it." He stood behind me.

Ohmigod, NO! Every decent bone in my body was outraged when he rammed his cock up my rear end. "We cut up yer jockstrap last night, so now I figure we owe ya one back. Here ya go!" With that he crammed some cloth over my mouth and nose, then jammed it between my lips.

I could hardly breathe! It was something nasty, such an odor I felt sick. My lips and tongue felt a rough mesh--Oh, shit, no! It really is a jockstrap!

The musk of his crotch was fit only for a toilet-diver, filling my nostrils with a circus of nauseating, overpowering stinks. Damn, did he ever wash this thing?

They pushed me against the wall as the big guy's cock slid up my butt (gratefully not as painful as the first time). In fact, I gnashed my teeth in frustration--but it felt good. Aaron's first sex with me and his fuck at lunchtime had opened not only my backdoor but my whole thinking to new, strange possibilities.

I lifted one of my legs to ease the pain--and to make it easier for him to get in deeper.

"Yeah, that's it, Coachie. Enjoy yerself."

The bastard. That got me. Whatever happened, I wanted to see this son of a bitch in jail. But I also figured the faster I let him get his orgasm, the sooner this would be over. But I was ashamed--I was horny again, and I had a hardon.

That time the bastards noticed. "Hey, looky there! Coachie, are ya gittin' turned on? With a fine dick like that, ya must keep that varsity team happy."

Fuck! I was so ashamed my face blazed hot, but my goddamned body knew what it wanted. When one of them reached between my legs and grabbed my big flower, I bloomed for him. So fucking mortifying! He stroked me three times. Exactly three times, and I lost it!

I planted my feet like I was in the batter's box, let out a loud, hoarse, cave-man groan, and the ecstasy spread out from my cock like the roar of the crowd. It was a hell of an orgasm. With the guy's cock up my ass, pounding me like a stag rutting against a whimpering deer--and breathing nothing but pure male musk--I shot out streams of boiling jism in carloads, tight spurts that actually splashed off the wall and back onto me.

"Hee-hee," giggled the morons. "This ol' alley-cat can still git it on!"

God, I was put down.

Worse, my asshole, clamping down on the cock lunging in and out of me during my climax, sent my rapist over the falls, too, and soon I had streams of his cum running back out of my ass and down my legs.

Man, what an orgasm. I went loose, sagging against the wall, completely fucked out. And when he pulled back, I actually missed it, felt empty, wished it back.

No, I do not feel empty! I do not miss the bastard who just fucked me! What in hell's the matter with me?

The big guy then grunted something in my ear. "Gonna let my posse do ya again, too, Coachie. They missed ya."

"Fuck you," I growled. "You've got me pinned. Nothing I can do about it."

He chuckled. "Coachie, nobody's been holdin' ya for the past ten minutes."

Ohmigod! It was true! Nobody was holding my arms against the wall. Nobody was holding my legs. I had been standing there letting the guy fuck me! Oh, fuck, was I degraded!

Before I could move, though, one of the others centered himself on me, and his cockhead nudged against my no-longer-resisting hole. Already slimy with Bastard #1, with a slight push, he was in and shoveling away.

Nobody was holding me. I let it happen. What the hell.

I could have struggled, I guess, but I mean, my ass was already full of semen. And I had cummed myself while being fucked. Whether I liked it or not, my life had changed. They had fucked me. And they knew I was beginning to like it. I had no more self-respect to lose.

So a few minutes later when the guy behind me got his gun, I had been jacking myself off, and as I got his hot slime gushing up inside me, I got off again, myself, spurting my own sperm against the wall and down onto the floor. What the hell.

Nevertheless, I decided the third guy, Aaron, was not going to fuck his own father again!

When Bastard #2 pulled out, I moved to turn around and face them, maybe throw a few punches. The time had come for me to put my foot down.

But the foot I put down slipped in the mess of sperm on the floor, and I went down like a sack of potatoes. Naked potatoes.

Before I could recover, Aaron was on me, pulling me up onto my hands and knees, spreading my legs. He had the black bag over his head, but I knew who it was. "Aaron! Aaron, don't do this!"

But Stab! His giant cock sank into me, up to the balls with a single stroke! He was big enough that even as loose as I was, he straightened me out with that thing, and I arched my back with the pain.

It dawned on me that I was becoming a whore. I liked his violent entry--I liked the pain. And something about the situation really turned me on, after all--Aaron was raping me. Wearing the black hood of a burglar. My son's cock was in my guts. Again.

Couldn't help myself. The very idea that I was being mounted by my rapist/son who held me helpless set me on fire. As he was only starting his fuck-routine, I must've surprised him when I let out a deep, bass growl and sprayed the poor carpet again with quick, short gushes of Coach-sperm.

"Looks like yer really gittin' into this, Coachie," Bastard #1 laughed.

"Assholes," I growled. What else could I say? Thanks?

I couldn't deny it: I loved it when Aaron planted the hard lunges in me, when he short-stroked me on the way to his orgasm, when the splurge of his big load boiled up inside me. I tried to, but I was not really resisting. In fact I wallowed, I writhed, I contorted in pleasure as he had his way with me.

And when he finally pulled the big thing out, I missed it. I did feel empty.

I rolled over. That was Aaron, all right. My asshole knew that cock.

Then I saw his foreskin slide forward over his cockhead!

I clenched my eyes shut and looked again. He had a foreskin! A big one. His cock looked like a Catholic monk with a dark hood. A cobra about to strike.

My mind buzzed, a Waring blender of confusion--Aaron was circumcised! Like me: no foreskin!

They left me lying on the floor, pulled on their clothes, and walked out of the house. The big one paused in the door. "G'bye, ya son of a bitch. Hope ya die soon."

I crawled back to lean against the wall. The house was caving in on me. Oh. My. God. I fucked my own son! Aaron was a clean, innocent guy, and I brought him down into the shit with me. I hoped the big fucker was right--I hoped I did die soon. Right then, as a matter of fact.

Not a long time later, Aaron opened the front door and walked in. "Hi, Dad. Emily and I were studying--Wow! You look hot! I love you naked!"

"That wasn't you. I know now."

"Wasn't me? Wasn't who me? He smelled my breath. "Dad, you're drunk."

Well, to cut a long story short, until his mother came home, he slept with me, and on occasion afterward, whenever his mother had a headache or Emily wasn't putting out, Aaron and I "worked together out in the greenhouse."

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