Date: Thu, 11 Jan 2007 22:58:19 -0800 (PST)
From: J Miller <mummyscurse@yahoo.com>
Subject: My Construction Dad part 1 {inc, bd}

This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual intercourse, incest, and
Dominant/submissive themes between adult males. If this offends you, is not
appropriate for viewing in your location, or you are not of legal age, do
not read it.  Any resemblance of characters in this story to the living is
purely coincidental. If you like the story or have suggestions, comments
can be addressed to mummyscurse@yahoo.com. Please put the title of the
story in the subject line.


My Construction Dad


	The series of events I will relate to started late one Friday night
or, more accurately, early one Saturday morning. I believe the seeds of
these events were sown well before then, however. The fact that I came home
after a night of drinking and that my father was "in his cups" as well,
does not fully explain what happened that night and afterward. Neither does
my burgeoning awareness of my own attraction to men, for even that does not
explain how in the course of one day I went from being an average,
attractive, athletic High School junior to being a virtual sex slave held
in thrall by my Dad and, later, by his friends, workers, and associates. It
was the night I became Cunt in my father's eyes, an object to act out his
lust, anger, and perverse desires upon. He accused me of being spoiled and
soft and took great pleasure in abusing my body or watching me debase
myself with other men at his direction. I learned to take my own pleasure
from being of service to him.

	One fact of the matter is that my dad is stunningly handsome.
Black-haired, swarthy, muscular and, as I was about to discover first-hand
and up-close, devastatingly well-hung. These things I had known all of my
life of course, since modesty was not one of his virtues. From a young age
I was used to the sight of my father swaggering around nude, his pendulous
cock swinging between his thick, hairy thighs. Even in public he was hardly
any more shy; at summer pool parties and such he was locally famous for
wearing a skimpy pair of white Speedos that would become almost invisible
when wet, his long fat cock barely contained. After he exited the pool a
coterie of my mother's friends would surround him, women and men, and slyly
dart looks at his bulging crotch as he preened, sunlight glistening like
diamonds on the drops of water captured by the thick hair that covered his
chest and legs. His green eyes would take on a look of knowing as he flexed
and strutted, fully aware of the show he was putting on.

	From my childhood on I had been more aware of my parent's sex life
than other children are. I knew that my father had impregnated my mother
while they were still in school themselves, though she attended an
exclusive, expensive private school while he went to a rough and tumble
public school. Her parents were appalled by the fact that their little
Princess had allowed this loud, Italian, cock-proud stallion to take her
virginity, knock her up, and convince her to marry him. Many times I had
been awakened in the night by the screaming of their bedsprings, often
followed by loud cries of praise and pleasure from her as she begged him to
fuck her harder or faster. In more recent years I even gained a somewhat
limited view of the proceedings, first by angling a small hand- mirror
under the door, later by opening their door a crack or looking through gaps
around the curtains covering their windows. I secretly thrilled to the view
of his muscular ass swelling upward then dimpling with effort as he thrust
downward with speed and force into her waiting body. After puberty I spent
many nights listening to the rythmic slapping of his groin and thighs
against her as he pounded her into screams of pleasure. My first
masturbatory forays were taken as I watched and listened, as I imagined him
doing these things...to me. Though my mother was considered a great beauty,
petite and blond, I was immune to her charms and only had eyes for the
rough beauty of my father, in spite of, or maybe because of, the fact that
he treated me with disdain because I had inherited her small frame and none
of his swagger.

	I knew from their loud arguments over the last two years that she
had begun to withhold sex from him, since many of their fights ended with
his yelled accusation that she treated her "goddamn pussy like the fucking
Crown Jewels" and the threat that she either put out or he'd take one of
her friends up on the offers they were always wagging in his face. Finally,
he bedded her sister Pam and she walked in on the event. Over the course of
a week this somehow led Mom to a tearful reconciliation...with her sister.
Together, my mother and aunt Pam took off together on a voyage of
self-discovery. The last exchange I heard between my parents was her
tearful declaration that she needed to find herself and his scathing reply
that if she wanted to find herself she should look under rocks, where the
other worms hid. He slammed the door at her retreating back and my father
and I were left alone.

	After that, the two weeks leading up to that fateful Friday night
were full of his criticism of me and how he felt I was just like my "cunt
of a mother." Somehow it was my fault I attended the same private school
that she had when he knocked her up.  Somehow it was my failing that I grew
up with "nice things" and "a big house with a pool" instead of struggling
though a childhood filled with poverty, like his. It did me no good to
point out that it was his successful construction company that led to my
having these advantages, since that only started a diatribe against my
maternal grandfather, who had given him a loan to start his company, and
his repeated defense that he had paid back "every goddamn penny to that
hateful old bastard." If I ever imagined what it would be like if my mother
were to leave, I had envisioned a revolving cast of plastic, medically
enhanced strippers and bimbos rolling through his bed. I hadn't expected
this barrage of hostility against me. Even my name was a source of
ridicule. Instead of a manly name like his, Vince, my name was one that he
thought was soft, weak, and "faggoty", Tyson.  That it was my grandfather's
middle name was no defense, in fact it made it worse, attracting his scorn
like iron filings to a magnet.

	So, this was the atmosphere between my father and I leading up to
these events.  Instead of a parade of bimbos though the house there had
been only his anger, increased drinking, and derision of me. I would never
have guessed that it was all leading to fulfillment of every pornographic
thought or dream that I ever had about him and far, far, beyond. I didn't
know then that he would rarely call me Ty or Tyson again, and then only in
front of others. Starting that Friday night, my new name, place, job
description, and purpose, was "Fuckbitch." That night Sir or Daddy became
what I called him, an indication of the power he held over me.


	None of this would have started, as I said, if both of us hadn't
been a bit drunk.  I'd been out with my friends Scott and Mason and drank
at least a six-pack of beer by myself. I wasn't used to drinking very much,
but I was in a bad mood.  The tensions at home were wearing on me, and also
my own sexual frustration.  I was attracted to my friends, a feeling they
did not reciprocate. Sure, I'd had alcohol before but never that much in
such a short period of time, so by the time I made it home that evening I
was feeling pretty buzzed, on top of being horny and frustrated. Given what
I know now, if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

I came in late that night, after 1AM. I entered the house quietly, trying
to keep from alerting dad. He was waiting up for me though and yelled for
me to get my ass in the den as soon as the door was closed behind me. As I
approached I could hear the soundtrack from some cable porn movie on the
TV, all bad music and moaning, but by the time I got there he'd turned it
off. One look at him and I could tell two things. He had been drinking
heavily and he was pissed off.

"Where the hell have you been?" he yelled at me. He was swilling Johnny
Walker out of a glass, but from the empties nearby it looked like he had
started with beer. His eyes were unsteady and his speech a little
slurred. Dressed in nothing but worn white cotton boxers, he was slumped
loose and beautiful against the leather couch. His construction job and
exercise regimen keeps his body fit and muscular and he loves to show it
off. In my own inebriated state, I was happy to just drink him in. His
thighs were spread wide on the leather couch, causing the fly of his boxers
to gape open. There was nothing visible through the gap other than the
kinky mound of his pubic hair, but even that was enough to draw my thought
to what lurked underneath the thin fabric. Coarse black hair covered his
arching pecs and brawny thighs. Through some perfect accident of genetics,
his bulging arms have less hair down to the elbow, then his swollen
forearms are covered again, down to his strong, thick fingers. Drunk and
distracted I approached closer, taking in the view.

	"Hey! You listening to me? I asked where the hell you've been."

"Out," I said rudely. I'd finally had enough of his ridicule and his
complaints. It wasn't my fault that my mom had walked in on him banging her
sister and taken off.

	"Who the fuck you think you're talking to, Tyson?" He lilted my
name girlishly, in falsetto. "Out with a buncha your faggoty-assed private
school friends. Who was it?  Scott and Mason, I bet. Hope you at least got
a blow job offa those two pansies 'cause they aren't worth a shit
otherwise."

	Finally my anger broke and I tossed caution to the wind. I was more
than a bit buzzed and tired of being put down by him. I wanted to hurt him
with my words.

"You got it all wrong, dad. Scott and Tyler aren't fags or queers. I'm the
queer."

Saying it out loud made my heart pound. Between that and the beer I'd
drunk, I felt dizzy and disoriented.

	He looked stunned and licked his lips. I couldn't help but notice
how full and sensuous they look. His nostrils flared. Suddenly my mouth
opened and lies spilled out.  My only real life sexual experience until
then was the one time Mason and I played with each other when we were
sophomores. We dared each other to put our mouths over each other's
cocks. I pretended to hate it so Mason wouldn't see how badly I wanted to
go further. So, other than an inch or two of cock in my mouth I was a total
fucking virgin but instead of telling him that I reeled out every sexual
fantasy I had, placing myself at the center of them as an active, willing
participant.

	Now it was my turn to be shocked, because I could see his cock
poking from the leg of his underwear, thickening as I told him lies. The
head was covered in foreskin with just the piss slit exposed. A shiny pearl
of pre-cum shone on the tip. Further lies fell from my mouth. I bragged
about my skill as a cocksucker and a champion piece of ass. I told him how
the swim team and gymnastic coaches abuse me after school and how they've
promised the football coaches they can fuck me too. I lied
blatantly. Before I lied to hurt him. Now I lied to turn him on.

"Swim-Coach says I've got the best technique he's ever seen. He says if I
can swim as good as I suck cock, I'll be in the Olympics," I lied.

I looked and even more of his cock was showing, pinched between his boxers
and leg. His foreskin is stretched thin over the head and a slick of
viscous shiny drool is smeared on his thigh. I want so much to lick it up.

I opened my mouth to lie some more, to make him harder, but before I could
say another word he struggled to his feet and slapped me hard. White light
exploded in my head and the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the floor
in front of him, my ears ringing.

I remember what happened next as clearly as if it were happening to me now.


I look up at dad from my position on the floor. Wobbling on unsteady legs,
he is glaring down at me with his brow furrowed and his face creased in
anger. Even now, through the ringing in my ears, all I can think about is
how sexy he is with a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw. Then I notice
that his eyes are glittering with unshed tears. I have been punished and
spanked before, but he has never hit me that hard or in anger. His
expression breaks a little.

"Tyson," he says, "Oh, God, I'm sorry that I hit you. I don't think we
should talk about this right now. I'm messed up and...uh, missing your
mom...and I wasn't thinking.  I don't want to hurt you, Tyson. My thinking
is all messed up right now. Just go to bed and we'll forget about tonight."

I use his legs to pull myself to my knees. I am close in front of him, my
chin just below the loosely gathered opening of his boxers. Placing my
right hand on his leg and slowly move it up his thigh, I look into his eyes
as I do it. I don't stop at his boxers.  Instead I reach inside the leg and
grasp the dangling cock I find there, still asking mutely with my eyes for
everything that follows. He reaches down with his right hand as if to push
me away, but I catch it with my left and pull it to me, popping his middle
and ring fingers into my mouth and sucking on them. While I squeeze and tug
on his cock with my right, I look into his eyes and caress his fingers with
my tongue, placing my lips on his wedding ring and licking around it,
lubricating underneath it with my saliva. I grip the flat gold band with my
teeth, the symbol of his union with my mother, and slide it down and off
his finger. I spit it under the couch, out of his sight.

"Let me suck your cock, Dad," I beg. "I've wanted to for so long."

Lifting the leg of his boxers, I pull his cock to my lips and milk it with
my hand, licking and sucking at the bounty of pre-cum that oozes from the
tip, spreading it on my lips in a shiny gloss. I make a fine point of my
tongue and insert it into the tip before removing it and smacking my
lips. His eyes never leave mine.

He looks at me, stunned, and then collapses back on the couch, his legs
spread wide. I reach through the fly of his boxers and expose his cock and
balls, then let them hang free. His balls are plump, each larger than a
chicken egg, and they move slowly inside the hairy sac with a secret motion
of their own, rolling and contracting within. His penis, which I have
imagined like this so many times, thick and vein covered, hangs down to the
surface of the couch cushion then extends toward me. A steady stream of
sticky clear fluid runs from it. I reach down and gather the cock drool on
my fingers and bring it to my mouth, licking it off. The shaft grows
thicker and longer, the drag from the sofa cushion pulling the skin back,
exposing more of the head. The spill of pre-cum replenishes around
it. Before I can reach for the puddle again, Dad twists his fingers in my
hair and draws my head down so I can get it straight from the source.

I lift the shaft in my hand, weighing it before bringing it to my
mouth. Dad watches silently. Puckering my lips, I kiss the piss slit and
leave them there, letting his fluids drip into my mouth and run over my
tongue. Leaning back, I masturbate the growing rod, watching the skin cover
the tip then pull snug behind the flange of the big head. His foreskin
fascinates me, the way it connects in folds to the cleft of on the
underside of his cock, the way it leaves the head slick and gleaming when
it is pulled back, the brash, masculine odor that gathers underneath.

He seems to know what I'm thinking, because he says, "Your goddamn mother
had you cut when you were born. Didn't even tell me she was doing it. Stick
your tongue inside the skin. Yeah, baby. Just like that."

His cock throbs and bounces in my hand; the head expands as it inflates
with blood and becomes shiny as polished steel. A strong scent wafts from
it and I become dizzy again, so affected am I by the pheromonal power of
the smell. My nose tingles and unconsciously I moan, my mouth filling with
saliva. Pavlov's cocksucker, ready for a meal.

I place the glans in my mouth, the curve of the bulbous knob a perfect
fit. My palate rests over the top like a purpose-made container designed to
cup my Dad's cock. I lap gently and the bottom with my tongue and am
rewarded with a burst of pre-cum filling my mouth.

"Oh, yeah. Suck on it faggot," Dad says. I am taken aback by his use of
that word, but he moans, "Yeah, baby, suck Daddy's dick," and my
reservations go away.

I suck as if life itself is contained inside it and, in a very real way it
is. My life spurted from this cock and it only seems natural that I worship
it in return. I begin to rock back and forth on my hands and knees sliding
up and down on it, nothing separating him from me but a thin layer of
slippery saliva. Every time the head slips from my mouth the flange rubs
the inside of my puffy lips, a sensation that drives me wild. Everything
about this is the fulfillment of my every erotic dream.

"Go down on it," he says. "Get it deeper."

I try but with out much success. When he hits the back of mouth it sets off
my gag reflex and I start choking. Even when I am able to suppress it, the
knob rests against the opening of my throat like an oversized cork, too big
to fit. Even when I go as deep as I can, there is still a vast expanse of
cock left untouched, not stimulated. Thick veins pulse along the shaft,
standing out like ropes. I balance on my knees and wrap both my hands
around it, sliding the skin back and forth.

This seems to piss him off, as he says, "I can jerk the damn thing off; I
want some fuckin' throat action." Then in a gruff and nasty tone he says
the one thing that nobody wants to hear during sex, "Hell, your momma sucks
better cock than you do."

Humiliated, I attack it as if getting further down on it is my goal in
life. At that moment it is. I want to make him feel good, pleasure him with
my mouth. I want to give my Dad the best blow-job he's ever had. I pummel
the back of my throat against it, as if force alone can take it deeper
inside me. It fails every time.

With a sigh he pulls away from me. At first I am sure it is over, sure that
I have failed. He made me ask for what I wanted then now he's taking it
away. But then he elevates himself on the sofa back and shucks his
underwear away. His cock levitates inches above the leather like a magic
trick, neither soft nor hard but afloat. It is larger than I imagined, not
yet fully hard, but thick and covered with veins. The head is still coated
partway with foreskin and dripping clear slag like a faucet.

With a deep sigh, he sinks back in the cushions and spreads his legs,
giving me even better access. "Is this what you want," he asks. "Are you
SURE this is what you want? If this is what you want, you better be sure."

"Fuck my throat, Daddy. Teach me to take your cock. I want to take it all."
With that I thrust my head down until his cock hits the back of my
throat. I want to gag, but pull away before I do.

His voice gets stern and demanding. "You want this down your throat,
bitch?" he asks. I look up and nod, then impale myself on it again. No
matter how hard I try, even after I quell my gag response, his cock will go
no deeper than my mouth. His cock is only wet a third of the way when I
look.

So I suck his balls, pushing each orb in one at a time till my cheeks bulge
like a chipmunk's and his pubic hair scrapes my mouth. I kiss the head. I
lick the shaft. I do what I can when what I really want to do is seemingly
impossible. Every once in a while I try again, aiming my mouth at his cock
and falling short. Now he's fully hard and his cock points up at an angle,
the foreskin pulled back to expose a plum-sized head.  Erect, he looks like
a fertility God; hairy, beautiful, with a thick prong that juts from his
groin like an iron bar. His fat cock-head must hit my throat a hundred
times before he slaps me again, not to hurt but to distract me from my
failing goal.

Dad pushes my head back and says, "Open your mouth as wide as you can." I
open as if yawning, the corners of my mouth stretching painfully. He places
his hands on either side of my head, holding it firmly. "Now say 'Aahhh"
like you're at the doctor's office.

I am panting by this point, but I say "Aaahhhh" like a trouper and with one
jerk he pulls my head down and over his shaft, filling my throat with
cock. I feel like I am choking but he just says "Oh, God yeah. That feels
so fucking good." He pushes me off, but before I can complain or cough a
solid pull from him buries even more cock deep in my gullet. "Damn,
baby. See? You're a fuckin' natural!"

Once again he pushes my head back and this time there are thick streams of
throat mucus connecting my mouth to his cock. The entry was so rough I
can't speak; my vocal cords are bruised. His cock is shiny with spit, but
even now only halfway.

"Look at me," he snaps, and my eyes flick upward from his swollen cock to
his eyes.  He smiles, but it holds no concern. It is only the smirk of a
predator to his prey. His voice is loud, rough, demanding.

"You wanted this so it's feedin' time, bitch!" With this he pulls again and
I am impaled, feeling like I will never breathe or speak again. "Look at
me, I said!"  I look over his hairy chest to his dark eyes and he holds me
there. "This is what you've been wantin' isn't it?" he asks. His cock feels
like it is tearing through my throat, like I am drowning on dry land, but
still I nod 'yes'. "That's what I thought," he said, and spits clear saliva
on my face. "Then take it, bitch." He pumps into me unmercifully, ignoring
the choking noises I can't seem to control.

Once again he pulls me, panting and coughing, off his thick prong, "This
time we're goin' for the goddamn gold and don't you look away "he says, and
pulls me down full force. I feel his cock hit the back of my throat. I feel
my throat stretch wide, packed with his meat, but all I can see are his
eyes calmly looking into mine. "Look down, cocksucker." I look down to
confirm what my stretched lips already know. My dad's big cock is buried in
my throat and my lips are against his pubic hair. He pumps my head over his
prick as if it's no more than a foam rubber appliance or a hollow melon,
created to get him off.

So I balance on all fours, my movements directed by his hands, rocking back
and forth like a mechanical toy. Suddenly I start to gag and cough again
and fight him a little, trying to get back under control. He pushes me off
and slaps me, hard.

"Cut it out, faggot. Relax your throat and hold your breath. You're on the
goddamn swim-team aren't you?" Without waiting for a response he stabs into
me again, starting a pattern where he pulls me off all the way each time
and then thrusts in full length. It's painful, it's overwhelming, and it's
exactly what I want. My esophagus rides the ridges of his cock all the way
down on each stroke, feeling them massage the walls of my throat.

I am still dressed in my khaki dress pants and through this whole thing I
haven't touched my own cock. I try to balance on one hand and reach for my
zipper but he kicks my hand from underneath me, making me fall until my
nose is smashed flat against his groin and my lips feel like they are
tearing.

"Keep your hands off your cock. This is all about me," he says.

Suddenly inspired, he pushes me off and tosses me upside down on the couch
so my head hangs over the edge and down. This time he kneels on the floor
and fucks my face with no concern for me at all. I suck in a breath when I
can, but that is not his concern. With each stroke his balls rub my nose,
bump against my eyes. At some point my thoughts fade and the whole process
becomes automatic. I no longer struggle or fight to breathe. My face and my
throat have become one long tube for him to plunder at his will and at his
own pace. Dad notices the change and makes his thrusts faster and harder,
burying himself deep and grinding against my lips.

My entire being is in his cock. It determines when I breathe. When he
graces me by burying it deep, my tongue goes into action, in the hopes of
giving him that much more pleasure. My orgasm builds so subtly I don't
recognize it when it comes. He is fucking my face and it feels so good. I
am giving my dad pleasure. He is telling me it makes him happy, even as he
calls me "cocksucker", "whore" and "bitch" while he does it. His own words
seem to egg him on, make him pump harder, meaner. My entire consciousness
is reduced to his cock thrusting over and over into my throat; no other
thoughts intrude. Suddenly I can't contain myself and I have a spontaneous
orgasm in my pants, squealing around the invader inside me. He feels it and
smirks, liking the sensation, still treating my face like in empty
vessel. He grips my head and pounds it. All I can feel is the hard veined
cock slamming into me over and over.

"Little bitch likes getting his face fucked, huh?" he sneers. "Got a
goddamn bitch- clit in your throat that needs to be rubbed. Shootin' all
over yourself with a big cock ramming your throat, just like a fucking
faggot."

It no longer has anything to do with me. I am just a hole that makes him
feel good. He stops and pulls back, watching me strain my lips toward his
cock, inviting it back in. I am still hard, wanting more.

 His balls are pulled up tight against his shaft, one on either side of his
massive rod. Cum spurts from his cock so hard I can hear it, splashing my
chin, my lips, and my nose. One more spurt and my face is covered.

Then his cock head is in my mouth and that too is filled with semen. After
that his cock is deep again and I can feel it pulse in my throat. He pulses
there for a moment then does the whole thing in reverse. He fills my mouth,
and then shoots again on my face.  Just before the pulses stop, he aims his
cock upward and lets cum drip over the sides like a candle in an Italian
restaurant.

He looks at me steadily and says, "Now turn over and lick it all off,
cunt."


The next morning I sit at the kitchen table, fighting the knowledge of what
happened. He was drunk. I was drunk. I know that I sucked my own dad
off. It was a dream come true but now I am afraid of how he will react. I
have no idea what he remembers or how he feels about it. I'm shoveling down
a bowl of Corn Flakes, hoping I will be up and gone long before he gets
up. I freeze at the sound of him entering the kitchen. "Have a good night's
sleep, dad?" I ask. My voice is raspy from how rough he was on my throat,
but I plan to claim I'm catching a cold if he asks.

"Oh, yeah. Best sleep I've had in a long time."

I barely have time to swallow my Corn Flakes before he is buried once again
balls deep in my throat. He holds my ears in his hands and tilts my face up
so he can look down at me with my lips stretched wide around his cock. He
humps my face a few times, looking steadily into my eyes.

"Suck it, faggot. We've got all day."