My Dad, The Bully – Part Two
Dad says even caged boys get birthday rewards when they're good.
All good things must come to an end.
For a while there, I had it all. My dad’s thick mancock inside my tight, wet snatch once or twice a week. Slurping his shaft before hookups and cleaning off the remnants of his delicious, potent cum when he was done. When I was good, I even got a pair of his dirty white briefs to sniff, smell, and huff until the cows came home.
Sure, my little dinky hadn’t seen daylight since my dad made me start wearing that inverted chastity cage. And I hadn’t left the house, had any friends, or done anything but chores and sexual servitude for the last six months. Still, I wouldn’t have had it any other way! I would have gladly kept going like this until I was old and fat and Dad eventually traded me in for a younger model.
But then I got cocky.
It started with my addiction to cumming. No matter how high I got on the smell of Dad’s balls, the taste of his cum, and the sight of his sweaty, bulging muscles flexing as he fucked the shit out of some young male cheerleader, I could only cum when Dad fucked me.
It had something to do with the way his round mushroom head would jab my button in just the right place. Even with the chastity cage, I’d start squirting like crazy, leaking cum all over myself and Dad until he forced me to clean it off him with my tongue. He wasn’t too happy about that, but he accepted that his dick was just that powerful that it could make even a sissy like me cum.
Dad only used me in that way when he was extra horny or his other hookups canceled. The rest of the time, I was limited to his personal bitch boy, fluffer, and maid. I guess I got kind of pouty one week after watching him fuck a seemingly endless parade of twinks without giving me so much as a five-minute pump-and-dump.
“Don’t look so sullen, faggot,” Dad said when I was cleaning off his dick after the fourth boy had left. “Taking my dick is a privilege, not a right. You get it if and when I say you do. Now get my balls, slut.”
After that, I didn’t get my pussy stuffed for weeks. Dad would make me sit out in the hallway while he fucked his conquests, forcing me to listen to their needy moans and cries of, “Oh, GOD sir, your DICK is sooooooooo fuuuucking BIG! Pleeeeeease FUCK my BOYpussssssssyyyyyyyy!”
I’ll admit, they had a certain je ne sais quoi that I lacked.
Anyway, pretty soon he stopped letting me clean off his cock after his fuck sessions, going back to using the cum towel and forcing me to get my licks and sniffs in private. He wouldn’t let me fluff him, either, instead stroking his big dick while watching porn of big-breasted women doing things that didn’t seem anatomically possible. He even stopped letting me smell his dirty underwear, keeping his laundry under lock and key and outsourcing it to a fucking laundering service, of all things!
The only thing he didn’t take away was my ability to drool over his hot, godlike, naked body. He hated wearing clothes in the house, so as soon as he’d come in at night, he’d make me strip off his suit until he was in nothing but his loose, sweaty briefs. He liked to get a pump in to look extra ripped for the boys whose holes he was stuffing, so he’d do a quick set of push-ups after dinner, which I watched with eyes gleaming. I loved the way his muscles flexed when he moved, the way his shaved skin would shine with sweat. He always got a bit of a chub after working out, and the sight of his bulge and low-hanging balls made me drool.
When he caught me looking (which was often), he would just laugh, flex his bulging biceps, and say, “Like what you see, shrimp dick?” Then he would head up to his room and start stroking himself in anticipation of the lucky young man who’d get his seed that night.
I was definitely in the doghouse. And it was all of my own making. Months went by like this, caught in an endless loop of sexual frustration. But then, on the morning of my 19th birthday, Dad said something that surprised me.