My Dad, The Bully
My bully of a father turns me into his little baby-dicked bitch boy
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You know how some people have to deal with bullies at school making their lives a living hell?
Well, my bully lives in the bedroom next to mine.
Yep, that’s right–my father is a huge bully. He has been ever since I was young, always able to pinpoint the weakness in others and use it to his advantage. It’s what helped him be successful in business and why he’s making seven figures bossing around a bunch of nerdy, eager-to-please underlings.
Unfortunately for me, being his only son didn’t shield me from his bullying instincts. In fact, I think I got it harder because there was so much pressure on me.
My name is Benji–well, really, it’s Ben, but I was named after my grandfather, and according to my dad, “He was a real man. You… well, let’s just say you haven’t earned that title just yet.”
It’s not my fault, really! I didn’t choose to be born weaker than the other boys, or shorter. I tried to work out and grow muscle like Dad; I really did. But no matter how many times he took me to the gym or how many sports he threw me into, I always stayed weak, slim, and soft.
It’s also not my fault that I’m, well… teensy.
Okay, I have a small dick! It’s not a micropenis, I don’t think. It’s at least three and a half inches when I’m fully hard, but it shrivels up to a puny half an inch when I’m soft, which I usually am whenever Dad catches sight of my little cock.
“How can you call that thing a cock?” Dad would ask anytime he saw me changing in the locker room. He’d open his towel, letting his huge, girthy cock flop out onto the bench. “This is a real man’s cock.”
It really was. Ten and a half inches, thick as a cucumber, a giant knob on the end that peeked out from Dad’s foreskin only when he was hard.
I know what you’re thinking–what kind of son knows what his Dad’s dick looks like hard?
Well, the truth is, Dad is a bit of a showoff as well as a bully. He walks around in his underwear pretty much all the time, usually a pair of loose tighty-whities or ripped boxer shorts with holes in them. And he’s always leaving his bedroom door open whenever he has lady friends over or he’s watching porn. I’ve walked past a few times on my way to my bedroom at night and heard the sound of women moaning from the TV, seen him pumping away at his thick, meaty dick as he works out a big fat load. It’s quite a sight, the way his muscles tense and shimmer underneath all that sweat, glowing under the blue light of the television. As a weightlifter, his body is completely shaved except for a big, hairy bush and furry, low-hanging balls. You can really see the contrast with how his abs flex when he cums, his hairy nuts pulling in low and pumping out their thick, virile seed, the same seed that made me…
Sorry, I lost myself for a minute there. In case you couldn’t tell, I have a reluctant appreciation for my dad’s body. Sure, he makes my life a living hell sometimes, calling me a “sissy” and “shrimp dick” and insisting that I’ll never be a real man like him and grandpa. But he’s not exactly wrong. He is, objectively, the perfect version of a masculine, muscular, virile man. I’m… well, not.
I also have to confess something: sometimes, when I start thinking with my little dick instead of my head, I give into temptation and swipe a pair of dad’s underwear to sniff. I know, it’s gross, but I can’t help it! I smelled it by accident one day when I was doing laundry, giving his old briefs a sniff to see if the pile of clothes in the basket was dirty or clean. The smell that came off it was… intoxicating, to say the least. Musky and dirty, but thick with sex. I don’t know if he had cum inside them, or it was just the smell of his sweaty balls after a workout, but the scent went straight up my nose and burrowed deep inside my brain. I shoved those briefs against my nose and rubbed my little dick against my leg so furiously I squirted harder than I ever had before.
Soon I was swiping pairs of his underwear once a week, using them to fuel my jerkoff sessions. Even though I’d just turned 18, I was too scared to buy a dildo or anything, so all I had were my fingers to diddle myself while I inhaled the scent of dad’s underwear. Of course, Dad quickly started to notice that his underwear was going missing, and when he eventually found a pile of his dirty briefs, boxers, and jockstraps in my bedroom closet, I thought he would be pissed. I thought he would ream me out, call me a sissy or a faggot, maybe even kick me out of the house.
The reality was much worse.