Chapter 2
"What is this?" Lem Durkin demanded again. "You little faggot!"
Davey felt his heart sink. What was his father doing home now? He shouldn't be here until six-thirty, by that time Davey would have supper ready for him. The two lived alone, Davey's mother dead.
"Well? I'm waiting for an answer, boy!"
"We, uh, were just foolin' around."
"Bulishit!" The word exploded from the burly man, his hands working into fists as he stepped into the bedroom. Davey felt his heart sink, knew Tommy was trembling beside him.
"We didn't mean anything."
The elder Durkin wasn't in the mood to listen, even if there had been an excuse that he would consider adequate. His face was red with his anger as his eyes caught the intruder, Tommy quavering with his fear.
"Get home, Tommy -- now!"
"Are you gonna tell my father, Mr. Durkin?"
"Get the fuck out of here, boy! You'll find out what I tell your father when I tell him!"
Shaking with nervousness that made it difficult for him to dress, Tommy pulled on his shorts and pants, catching the top snap but leaving the fly gaping, the belt hanging loose, as he shrugged into his shirt. Then, carrying his shoes and socks, he ran from the room; seconds later the back door slammed behind him.
"Well?"
Lem Durkin moved closer to the bed, his hands on his hips now as he stared down at the boy.
"Sir, I-I'm sorry..."
"Blow that shit, boy!" His choice of words didn't register. "How long you been a Goddamn faggot?"
"I'm not!" protested the boy. "Please..."
"Bulishit! I suppose I didn't just catch you suckin' cock?"
"Please, Daddy."
"Don't call me that! I'm no father of yours, freak! I always knew your bitch mother was a tramp, fuckin' everything that walked about -- including four-legged critters. Knew I couldn't trust her alone while I was out with the truck. Oh, I can see it all now, bet I even knew who it was who planted you in her belly. It was that Goddamn faggot schoolteacher, sure as shit. I didn't think he had balls enough to fuck a woman, but I guess I was wrong."
"Daddy..."
"Shut up!"
The man's hand swung out, caught the boy on the cheek, knocking him halfway across the bed. Suddenly he was fumbling with his belt, ripping it out and doubling it, raining blows on the terrified and helpless body of his son. Davey cowered in the corner of the bed, unable to move farther away, as the strap hit again and again, raising red welts on his arms and his hips and his legs.
"Cocksucking little queer bastard! Fuckin' faggot freak! Knew you wasn't mine, Goddamn it! I always knew you was rotten! Christ, takin' a cock in your mouth -- I bet you even swallowed his cum!"
Crack! Whack! Crack! The belt whipped down again and again, the man oblivious to the boy's cries of terror and pain, not seeing when Davey turned and huddled against the wall, drawing up his legs and arms and burying his head until he was little more than a ball, the cheeks of his ass showing in perfect position for his father's whipping. His flesh was completely red now wherever it was exposed as the cruel leather strap continued to slam down.
"Bastard! Cocksucker! Queer!"
Suddenly he tossed the belt aside, wiped sweat from his face. Davey cringed, expecting the blows to continue, not daring to look up.
"Get your ass into that bed, boy! Move!"
He did look then, saw his father's chest heaving with the exertion of the beating. Pain stabbed through every inch of his flesh as he uncurled himself, unable to hold back a groan. He pulled the covers down and crept between the sheets, wincing as the fabric rubbed across the multitude of new bruises.
"You stay there until I tell you to move again!"
His father was gone, Davey alone. He stretched out his legs, the pain every place. Now the tears came again, flowing freely, the pain of the beating almost more than he could bear. He tasted blood where he had bit the inside of his lip, and now he began to cry, the tears and sobs heaving his aching body.
Davey didn't know how long he was alone. When his tears subsided, he could occasionally hear his father moving about the house, heard a door open and close, heard the refrigerator start up when beer was taken out. Time passed, the tears drying on his cheeks. Twilight crept over the outside world, darkening the shade drawn across his window. Soon it was too dark for him to see clearly, although a spill of light came from the hall.
It was supper time, but he hurt too much to be hungry. How long had he been alone now? He reached for his watch on the night stand, saw that it was nearly seven.
The doorbell rang. He heard his father curse, then clump to answer it. "What is it?"
"Can David come out, Mr. Durkin?" It was Billy, a boy from the next block and his closest friend, after Tommy.
"David isn't here." The boy's heart stopped in his chest. "If you see him, you tell him I said for him to get his tail home right now, you hear?"
"Yeah, sure, Mr. Durkin. I'll tell him."
The door closed and there was silence again, lasting for nearly an hour, punctuated only by the trips to the refrigerator and the hissing of pop tops as several more cans of beer were opened. Once his father came into the hall, but stopped short of Davey's bedroom.
"Dad?"
Silence answered him, although he knew the man was standing just beyond the door.
"I've got to go to the bathroom, Dad. May I get up?"
No answer, but the footsteps retreated, and Davey accepted that as a yes. He got up, made his way to the bathroom, the air cooling his bruised flesh. His hands rested against his thighs as he stood over the bowl, but they hurt so much from the bruises caused by the belt that he let them drop as the piss spurted from his cock. It was a relief to empty his bladder, the pain in his groin almost worse than the pain of the beating.
He retreated to his bedroom, then paused, in the hallway. The door to the living room stood open, the light level telling him that his father was in his recliner. Davey chewed on his lip, wanting to go forward but afraid. He made a tentative step in that direction, then retreated into the bedroom as he heard his father dialing the telephone. The conversation was short, brusque, mysterious.
"Lem Durkin here. Yeah, the trucker. That talk we had last year, I been thinkin'. You said a thousand. I'm interested." A pause. "Yeah, I'll be here."
The receiver clattered down and Davey dived under the covers, turning his face to the wall. A moment later the footsteps came to his door. He could feel his father's eyes burning into his back, but he did not turn. A minute later his father returned to the living room and he heard another can pop open.
Davey dozed, woke perhaps an hour later when the telephone rang. His father answered, grunted once, then spent the next two or three minutes listening. At last he grunted again.
"Ten o'clock. I'll deliver."
He hung up and Davey knew he was coming to the bedroom. The boy turned to face the wall again, but this time his father came into the room, not stopping until he was at the foot of the bed.
"You're awake. Turn over."
Davey did so, blinking; his father was almost lost in the shadows. Tears had dried on the boy's cheeks, and now he reached up to brush his eyelid.
"How long you been suckin' cock, boy?"
He knew he had to answer. "I don't know -- as long as I can remember. Since I was a real little kid."
Durkin grimaced. "A queer, in my own Goddamn house! You like it, boy? Answer me!"
"Yes, sure I do."
The man was fumbling with his pants, reaching for the belt buckle that was already absent, the beer befuddling his senses. At last he glanced down, saw that the belt was gone. His fingers caught the tab of the zipper, yanked it down, opened the pants. They fell heavily to his ankles while he worked at the buttons of his shirt.
"How many cocks you sucked, boy?"
"I don't know," said Davey, truthfully. He had never attempted to keep track of the boys he had played with.
"How many? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Goddamn you, answer me!"
"I guess maybe ten," he said, frantic, as his father continued to strip. The shoes were worked off awkwardly, the trousers making it difficult, and then the pants and underwear kicked off. The shirt fell to the floor, followed by the sweat-stained undershirt, leaving him naked.
Even in the darkness Davey could see clearly the white shaft of his father's cock. It stuck out straight before his belly, the balls hanging impossibly low in their hairy sac, the hair spreading thick over his groin and up his belly to cover his chest, not stopping until it blended with the hair reaching down his neck from his beard.
Jesus, he was big! Impossibly big! That cocks must be at least two inches thick, maybe more. It wasn't as long as Mr. Gleidor's maybe, but in sheer mass it would have made two of the teacher's.
Davey swallowed, fearful, knowing what the man was going to do to him. He shook his head as his father reached down to yank the covers away.
"You ever suck a man before, boy?"
"No, Daddy."
"Don't call me that! You damn faggot freak bastard, you're no brat of mine! Goddamn your rotten soul to hell, may you burn with your filthy mother!"
The curses were the most terrible the boy had ever heard, but they passed almost unnoticed over him as he stared at his father's tremendous prick. The foreskin was worked back over a bulbous glans qoated with white cheese where he had not washed today. He couldn't make out the dark color of the cockhead, but he could see the shadow of the opening. It seemed big enough to swallow up his own prick.
"You know what you're gonna do, don't you, boy?"
"No! Please..." The man laughed, moved closer. Suddenly his hand shot out, caught the boy's shoulder, dragged him toward the edge of the bed. He positioned himself better as he caught the back of Davey's head, forcing the boy against his groin.
"Take a deep whiff, boy. That's a real man! Taste it, damn your ass!"
The stink was enough to gag him. Davey tried to turn away and then the hand slammed against his ear, cupped just enough to hurt most. He saw stars, and his father's fingers were twined in his hair, yanking him around, forcing him against the hot, burning length of the cock.
"You're a cocksucker, boy! Suck!"
"No, please, nononono..." The cock was shoved against his mouth, battering at his lips. He tried to turn away, but could not. His head was shoved tight against the hot length of the prick. The man humped against him, working up against the boy until his balls bounced off Davey's chin.
"Suck, damn you!"
The cockhead banged between his lips, against his teeth. Davey had to take it in to escape the pressure of the fingers in his hair. The pressure did not ease as he accepted his father's prick, sucked convulsively through the tears of pain, taking as much of the cock as he could.
It was not enough. Less than half of the man was in the boy, and he wanted more. He fucked against his son's face, holding the back of Davey's head with both hands. The boy choked, tried to breathe, but the terrible cock shape was jamming in, filling his mouth and forcing into his throat to gag him.
He retched, twisting free far enough to gasp in breath.
"Please!" he begged. "You're killing me!"
"Little faggot freak, it's what you Goddamn deserve!"
But he relented, eased up, let the boy suck as best he could. Davey worked against his father, taking him in again, taking as much as he could, trying to please the man and avoid more pain. He sucked more, swallowed convulsively as the cockhead batted against his throat, feeling the balls jump as they swung up against the underside of his chin.
And now his own cock was hard, embarrassingly so, as his hands clung to his father's hips. He was on his knees, could feel his prick sliding across the sheet, his balls twisting against his thigh. He reached down to ease himself and his father caught the significance of the movement.
"Little bastard! Cocksucker!"
His fist slammed against Davey's ears, laying the boy out flat on the bed. Davey sobbed for breath, staring through his tears at the man, afraid to get up again as his father wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then licked his lips. He gasped, his cock bobbing.
"You're pretty good at suckin' cock, boy -- better'n your bitch mother. How are you at takin' it up the ass?"
"No!" Davey stared, horrified. "Please, I've never done that! I can't!"
"Can't, shit! You'll do whatever I tell you to do. Now get over on your belly!"
The man gave him no chance to respond. He caught Davey, his hamlike fist slamming between his legs, his thumb digging cruelly into the boy's balls, the middle finger working against the rectum. Davey screamed.
"No! No!"
"Shut up!"
The fist slammed through the air, caught him by the chin, nearly knocking him senseless. The helpless body was lifted, turned, dropped flat. The man spread his son's legs apart, then reached for the asshole again, digging into it with one finger.
"Please, don't, oh don't!"
Davey's begging was ignored. The finger probed, working around the tensed muscles of the rectum, digging sharply and making the boy jump again. He sobbed against the bed, his hands clenching the sheet as he tried to pull away. But there was no escape. The man was going to do as he pleased with the boy, and he pleased to fuck him in the ass.
"Daddy!"
"I told you to never call me that!"
A tremendous slap across the ass, and then he was crawling onto the bed, falling heavily across his son, knocking the breath from Davey. For a moment he lay there, fumbling, almost too drunk to move properly. Then the man lifted himself up, put his knees between the boy's legs, and lifted Davey's ass until he could see the opening clearly even in the dim light of the bedroom.
The finger probed again as Davey gasped, clenching the sphincter tight around the intruder. His father laughed.
"Oh, you want it, boy! You got a talent for it, I'll give you that. Your Goddamn mother was a whore, too!"
His fingers went beneath the boy's belly, yanking him up against his own hairy body. The cock was trapped for a moment between the boy's ass and his groin, and then slid back along the crack of the boy's buttocks. When it reached the opening it dropped heavily, banging against Davey's balls and bringing another gasp from the boy.
"Please," he said again, softly, but his father was beyond hearing, inflamed by the passion that rippled though his whole being. His cock was throbbing in the air, anxious to be filling the tight space of the boy's body, and now it probed forward, battering against the cheeks.
"Please!"
The saliva of the sucking had mostly dried away. The cockhead butted, would not enter. Suddenly the boy was dropped, the man leaving the bed to pad down the hallway to the bathroom. Davey sucked air into his lungs in deep sobbing gasps as he huddled on the bed, unable to comprehend what his father was doing to him. His jaw ached, pain stabbed in a hundred places where the man's rough hands mauled the bruises of the earlier beating.
Davey heard his footsteps returning, looked away so that he would not have to see his father's face when the man came into the bedroom again. He was holding something in one hand that he dropped to the floor when he fell heavily onto the bed, across the boy.
"Oh!"
Davey gasped as his father's thumb suddenly stabbed into his asshole. It was coated with Vaseline, the man rubbing it around thoroughly, working his thumb in and out and forcing the sphincter wide open. Then he reached down to take the jar again and greased his cock.
"Please, Daddy! Don't!"
Durkin grunted, his hands grabbing the boy's shoulder as he pulled himself up over Davey. His weight crushed the breath from the boy's lungs as he positioned himself between Davey's legs. One hand reached down to direct the cockhead to the opening, moving it back and forth a bit until it was seated perfectly.
"No! Please!"
The words were wasted. The man shoved, the shape of his cock forcing the sphincter open even though the boy's ass muscles were tight-clenched.
"Aiiieeeeeeeeee! Please! Please! Please!"
The pain was too much. For a minute Davey fainted while his father continued to force his cock through the tight entrance, shoving with his strength and making the cockhead slide, slide in and through.
"Ahhhhh, yeah!"
The grunt of satisfaction came when the cockhead popped through the outer ring, the muscles squeezing tight. Durkin pulled back a bit but he was seated firmly, the glans locked into place. He grunted again, his hands moving along the boy's ribs, his ass flexing several times in preparation for the first driving stroke.
"There! You little faggot bastard!"
He cried in triumph as he shoved forward, his cock pushing against something soft and crumbling, half the length ramming into the depths of the boy. The pain shot through Davey's faint, stabbing him back to consciousness again.
"Ohhhhhhhh, no! NO, please!"
It felt as though he were splitting open, as though his body was tearing apart around the shape of that terrible cock. He could feel the cockhead all the way in his gut. And then his father drew back slightly and shoved again, the second stroke carrying another two inches of his meat deep into his son's most private place, and Davey screamed again.
"No! Nooooooooao!"
"Shut up, bastard!"
The man's hand slammed against the boy's ear, and Davey subsided, chewing on his lip, burying his face against the bed. Without hesitating, that terrible cock drew back again and shoved forward almost in the same instant, and then repeated the stroking, each time the shaft drilling farther and farther into the soft flesh of the boy, through the surrounding pelvic saddle and protective skeleton. A fourth stroke, and a fifth, and then he was in all the way, there was no part of his cock left outside.
"There, damn you! You got it now, how do you like it, queer?"
The boy did not answer, but the man wasn't listening for a reply. Davey's ass clung tightly to the shape of the terrible erection, the heat of the cock burning deep into him. The boy sobbed, his body heaving, the reflex movement caressing the cock-shape and sending a dart of pure pleasure into the man's sexual system.
"Yeah, do it, boy! Do that again!"
Even as he said it, he was beginning the regular stroking that was fucking, fucking his son, fucking the young boy who was tighter than any cunt he had ever known. Lying passive beneath him, the boy was heating the man's guts beyond the responses of any female, the raging fire of Durkin's blood heating his cock and swelling it larger than it had ever been before.
"Oh, fuck!" cried Durkin. "Fuck, boy! Take my cock! Squeeze it, you little faggot bastard! Yeah, make me feel you, feel me!"
He was stroking regularly, faster and faster, his ass slamming down against the boy, his belly slapping against the small of Davey's back. The bed rocked with the efforts of his fucking into his son, slamming it against the wall and chipping paint.
"Please!" Davey cried, voiceless, unheard. "Please, please, please -- fuck me! Fuck me, Daddy!"
Davey was forgotten, his rage forgotten, the world forgotten as the man continued to pound into his son, feeling only the delightful sensation spreading through his belly from his balls and his prostate. He groaned with pleasure, grunted with delight as he continued to fuck. Then the fuse was lit and he tightened against the boy, pawing for a second then renewing his fucking effort.
"Take me, boy!" he cried. "Take me! I'm coming! I'M COMMINNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!"