Chapter 1

Stark naked and shivering in the basement chill, Tim Harding groaned and stared expectantly towards the door leading to the warm, comfortable living quarters above. Even the big gobs of white cum his father had shot onto his stomach had lost their initial warmth and stickiness. The jism was now wet and cold, as chill as the steel clasps and chains around his ankles and wrists that bound him to the work table Sam Harding had diabolically fashioned into a torture rack.

The room was small, ten by ten feet at the most, one wall bearing a huge mirror in an old wooden frame. The only light came from a bare forty watt bulb hanging from a frayed cord over the torture rack. There was a small bookcase in one corner of the chamber. The shelves were lined with profusely illustrated porno magazines, most of the sadomasochistic variety, but Tim's father had never permitted the youth to feast his eyes on any of them. On the shelf below all the fuck magazines, the senior Harding kept all his sex tools, and he had a large assortment. Adult toys, Sam Harding liked to call the studded leather belts, hoods, handcuffs, thongs, and harnesses.

Tim, was prematurely wise to the ways of master-slave sex. He had come to know and tolerate all of his father's wild fantasies and fixations, and he was all too familiar with each and every day on that lower shelf in the corner.

Now, as he lay shackled, naked and chilled, waiting for the old man's return, he once more pondered whether he had made a mistake two years earlier. It had been his decision to go with his father at the time of his parents' divorce. His mother drank too much and slept with far too many men; he had reasoned that his father would be more secure, easier to please, and certainly more financially rewarding. Little did he realize the option he had chosen would lead to this bummer domination trip. Sam Harding, he had come to learn, believed in keeping sex strictly in the family, at least as far as his son's getting off was concerned.

Tim figured he was just as oversexed and hot-blooded as his father. He had, in fact -- once he was used to his father's assaults -- looked forward to getting his rocks off as often as possible, regardless of the means. Yet Sam Harding's most recent behavior, the increasingly sadistic nature of the man and his clutching manner, had come to pain him. What had started as impish fascination was evolving to plain and simple hate.

Only last week he had been left bound in this room for forty-eight hours while his father carried on upstairs with two teenagers from out of town in a weekend orgy. The older Harding was a truck driver, and he never had problems finding hitchhikers; the odds were always good he could con them, either with good booze, strong grass, or the promise of a few uppers, into coming home with him. And never, not one solitary time, had he shared any of these exciting bodies with his son.

Now Tim wondered why Sam had abruptly left him, hurrying out the door. What was it that he had forgotten in the truck outside? Another new toy, even more bizarre than the others? Was he in for one of his weekly Godawful leather thrashings? Did his father have a new, even more grotesque instrument of torture to initiate on him?

Tim stared fixedly at the ceiling, his wide blue eyes blinded by bewilderment and fear. His arms, stretched out above his head, were growing sore, and his wrists chafed at their bonds. His long, reddish-brown hair was tucked under his head, except for a few strands across his pale forehead that were still wet with perspiration from the sex action just ten minutes earlier. The youth's face bore a slightly upturned nose, a sharp chin, and smooth boyish cheeks without a blemish; his body, too, was flawless, except for the red marks across his perfectly formed, round rump. The welts were souvenirs his father had left on him just the day before. Tim Harding, despite his scars, was in every respect a beautiful teenage boy. Unfortunately, his father knew this, too.

The youth looked once more to the silent doorway, then returned his vacant stare to the bare bulb swinging overhead. The teenager knew full well that he had a lot going for him. Most important of all, he figured, was his long, fat cock. Tim loved to watch it in the minor as he jacked himself off. His prick was big, unbelievably big for a mere teenager, and he never failed to get excited just gazing at his dick when it was throbbing hard with its big swollen head staring angrily back at him. But his jealous, possessive father had repeatedly warned him not to beat off in his absence, lest he risk a sound thrashing for wasting good cum. On two occasions when he had been caught in the act, Sam had beaten him unmercifully; his eyes had remained black and blue for days.

Ever since they had first started getting it on together, Tim had called his father Sam. He had never thought to reason why. Somehow, the words "Dad" and "Father" never fit -- even when he was younger they were more like buddies. But all that was before Sam Harding started using and abusing him. Now the older man would occasionally insist on the young calling him "Sir", especially when he was into one of his ruthless master-slave acts.

Just then the door burst open and Sam Harding swaggered into the room. He hunched his broad shoulders, grinned and held up a brown paper bag.

"Here it is, kid," he grunted, in a low, strong voice.

Tim turned his head and gazed blankly at his father.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

Sam afforded him a thin smile. The older man had shoulders almost an ax handle wide and stood over six feet high, with no gut at all and the rump of a twenty-year-old. His thick wavy brown hair showed no signs of receding. For a man pushing thirty-nine, he was a prime specimen. Sam Harding had light-blue eyes that nailed in like steel spikes if he was intent on something, which the younger man knew was all too often. And right now those penetrating orbs were zeroing in on Tim's helpless, naked body.

Coming up beside his son, Sam slapped his big hand on the teenager's tight, flat stomach. He rubbed what was left of his sticky cam all over the youth's gut, spreading it down in between his crotch and balls, and all through his pubic hairs. Then he wiped what remained of the sticky fluid on Tim's smooth, hairless chest. Sam's face bore only a thin smile, a familiar intent look that meant he was horny and wanted to get his rocks off. Finally the older man stood back and held up the paper bag he had been carrying in the other hand. He tossed it up on Tim's chest, then busied himself removing his shirt and pants.

"What's in the sack, Sam?" Tim asked again, innocently. The bag felt heavy on his skin, and he wondered, by the feel, if it contained a couple of salami sticks.

"Toys, my little slave. Fun toys for big boys." Sam glowered at his son as he dropped his pants and climbed out of them. He wore no undershorts and no sooner were his clothes tossed aside than did his immense swinging cock begin to stir. In quick spasms it swelled larger and larger until it stood straight up, as big around as a cucumber and half again as long. Sam was hot and horny, eager to poke his giant throbbing prick into his son's beautiful butt, to fuck the hell out of that puckering little asshole he had come to need, to demand, to enjoy far more than any woman's loose, sloppy cunt.

Tim liked getting fucked. Especially by a large cock. And Sam Harding's heavy piece of meat had, indeed, spoiled him. If it were not for some of his father's other shit-ass games, the comfortable relationship might easily go on forever, he reasoned. But of late the youth was getting full up with bruises and welts across his ass -- even the role of playing the submissive slave was getting a trifle boring, less and less exciting to him.

Still, every time he saw his father's giant prick sticking out of that massive forest of dark crotch hair, his senses would be blitzed to the point of hot, immediate desire -- a totally compulsive want. He wondered what it would be like encountering a stranger, a new face with a cock that large. He felt sure the excitement would be even wilder, more intense yet. But how was he ever to experience sowing wild oats when his father was so possessive and watchful?

Sam quickly unshackled Tim's ankles and wrists, then abruptly slapped him on the hip and grunted: "Okay, you fucker. Roll over on your stomach and get that pretty little rump of yours up here where I can get at it."

"Sure, Sam. But easy, will you?" Tim's tone was hesitant, guarded. "What's in the bag?"

The older man tore open the sack and removed two black-leather-covered cocks, complete with a chain-link waistband attachment. One of the dildos was the size of Sam's own prick, far from small by any measure, while the other was huge, resembling a baseball bat. Both were made of carefully sewn black cowhide, hollow inside and tailored at the end to form a round, knobby head. Tim's eyes grew wide with alarm as he gazed at the formidable tool Sam had placed on the rack beside him. His father had chosen the larger of the dildos. Tiny beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead.

"Uh, Sam," he started to say, nervously, "I think..."

His father cut him off. "You think nothing. Absolutely nothing, understand? Keep your Goddamn trap shut until I'm good and ready, nice and hot. Then you can scream your fucking head off!"

Tim knew full well that hollering up a storm was a futile gesture. There was no one around to hear, and in any event Sam Harding had made doubly sure his little torture chamber was sound-proof.

Tim's eyes once more surveyed the size of the leather dildo. "But Jesus!" he said, protesting.

"I said silence, you little cock-sucker slave!"

Sam roughly thrust his son's wrists back into the restraining shackles and quickly did the same with his feet. Tim lay spread-eagled across the rack, his firm, round, teenage ass glistening in the light of the lone overhead bulb.

The older man looked once more at his son's beautiful rump and fought back an immediate, compulsive urge, a very familiar need, to get in there with his face and eat it out, suck all of its succulent juices dry. Right now he had a different, more unusual game in mind. Beneath the table Sam's probing hand found a large can of shortening. He grabbed a handful of the white, paste like substance and crammed several fingers full into Tim's twitching shitter. The pinched walls parted easily as the experienced, deft digits squeezed inside, working the lubricant all along the tender folds of the teenager's well-used asshole.

The youth moaned softly -- not the wail of pain but the sounds of delight, need, fulfillment. Sam was well-aware that this was the part his son derived the most pleasure from. He worked two, then three fingers inside the tight butt-hole, massaging more feverishly; the youth writhed back eagerly.

"Hell, Sam, I'm not in the mood for the toys. Just fuck the hell out of me with your own fist and cock, okay?"

Sam gave him a quick, hard slap on the ass. "You little sonofabitch, when we're in this room and you're tied down to this fucking rack, my name's not Sam! Understand, slave? You either keep silent, moan and groan, or call me Sir. Or Master. Get it? You're nothing, nothing but a Goddamn slave down here. Totally worthless except for that pretty little ass of yours, understand?"

Tim shrugged and sighed. "Okay, okay, Master." The words had been uttered softly, flatly, void of meaning.

"You're getting to be a cheeky little cunt. Just like your mother, eh? Well, the old man will fix that soon enough. That's for sure. My juicy little teenage bung-hole needs some new toys."

Sam's voice trailed off into a low, guttural mumbling as he struggled with the chain that held the big leather dildo to his waist. His own cock was almost too large to fit inside the sleeve of the dildo, but finally, after patiently twisting the prick back and forth, he worked his hard meat into the soft leather. The huge dildo, heavy as it was, fitted him perfectly. It felt good enough to jack off into, but he knew that wouldn't be nearly as hot and exciting as the pleasure he would derive from shoving the monster into his son's asshole as far as it would go. He tightened the chain links securing the menacing-looking tool to his waist and felt his cock slip even deeper into the leather. The formidable prick was sticking straight out now, firmly in place, with the rear end pressing hard against his swollen balls. Sam tried to clasp its diameter in his hand, but his fingers couldn't close and touch it was so fat.

Tim glanced back, his eyes gravely taking in the frightening piece of equipment between his father's legs. He shuddered, his eagerness for a good hot fuck suddenly disintegrating, replaced by a cold, clammy fear, a real and immediate fright that made him tremble from head to toe. His asshole instinctively pinched tighter, firm as a drum.

"Chrissakes, Sir," he said, with deference, "I can't take it. No way! It's too fucking big!" Tim knew the plea was futile. So too, was the energy he wasted straining at the ankle and wrist bonds. "Shit! Shit!" he said repeatedly.

Sam Harding chuckled deep inside his throat, rubbed eagerly at the fur on his chest, then hefted his big body up over the smooth, hairless form of his son. His improvised torture rack trembled only slightly; he had built it of the best and strongest timbers, fashioning it just like the ones he had seen.

An the horror movies. He was sweating and hot as a firecracker now and felt like an angry bull picking up the scent of heat. He wanted to see the beautiful young body beneath him squirm and wiggle, try desperately, futilely, to escape from him. He was eager to watch the big leather cock slip in and out of that stretched-to-the-limit bung-hole and to hear the cries, the begging, pleading for mercy.

Sam slapped both of Tim's ass-cheeks fiercely, then laid the rump apart just like he was splitting a succulent, juicy peach. The tender little asshole was wet and moist, its inner folds covered with a thick smear of slippery white shortening. He knew that a mere mouthful of spit would never suffice for an instrument the size he had sticking out threateningly from his crotch. Even with plenty of lube it was going to take skill and patience to cram the fat round monster inside the kid's shitter. He laid the big leather prick up against Tim's rump and gently let it slip along the crack in the cheeks, easy like, without the slightest pressure. Then he bent down and whispered hoarsely in his son's ear.

"Dig that sexy hot leather sliding around on your ass, kid? Feels real good, does it? Groove on that cowhide chafing back and forth, back and forth, against your naked little ass. There. Now it's rubbing up against your beautiful juicy bunghole, baby, and it wants in. Wants in real bad, just like a wild stallion that's fucking hot in heat. Want to smell that black leather, kid?"

Sam propped himself farther up on the table and thrust his hips forward until the huge leather dildo lay right up alongside Tim's nose. The older man rolled his thighs, working the big prick back and forth along his son's lips and nostrils, playing havoc with the teenager's senses, all the while running his huge fingers repeatedly through his son's long locks. Abruptly, he grabbed a handful of hair and harshly thrust Tim's face against the hard leather shaft.

"Lick it, you little bastard! Go ahead, kid. Stick your Goddamn tongue all the way out and coat the black fucker with slippery warm spit. Lots of it. Just lick and slaver around on that leather from one end to the other. Go ahead, damn you! What are you waiting for?"

Sam tightened his grip on his son's brown locks and pushed down hard.

Trembling from head to toe, Tim closed his eyes and obediently did as he was told. His tongue darted out and he began to lick, slowly at first, then more eagerly. The leather dildo only frightened him when placed in close, threatening proximity to his asshole. Where it was now, the curious tool, when coupled with the rich aroma of his father's sweaty crotch and balls, assaulted his nose and taste buds. He began to lick more passionately. As if gripped by some sudden desire, almost as fiendish as his father's, he began sniffing, slurping and tonguing with feverish enthusiasm, his teeth wantonly chewing on the end of the leather dildo, his tongue wrapping itself around every inch of its length, right up to the big chain links that held it to Sam's waist.

Eagerly, passionately, he licked the chain, then sucked on his father's swollen, full balls, one at a time. They were big, too big, to get both nuts in his mouth at the same time. Tim plowed his nose through the mass of dark pubic hair surrounding his father's big genitals. He was drunk with the aroma of sex, sweat, and wet cowhide. The teenager's own cock throbbed, his balls itched on the table beneath him, and his entire body writhed in eagerness for orgasm.

But as quickly as his father had begun tormenting him by shoving the dildo into his face, he withdrew it, backing away and gloating. Sam edged back and assumed the fuck position over his son's gently undulating rump. The boyish asscheeks twitched and rolled slowly back and forth from side to side, then up and down in a sexy pumping motion, beckoning, hot and hungry for action.

Tim's brain was swimming. He did and did not want the black leather dildo up inside his asshole. He was afraid, yet he was hot, horny, and eager to get fucked. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn't look back at the massive whang attached to his father's own big cock, he could bear it. He made up his mind to try. Non acceptance, to his old man, would make things worse -- far worse than a mute, painful submission. He knew full well that Sam Harding always sought and demanded what he couldn't have; he craved impossible challenges. And it was this insatiable craving that often drove his father to sadistic, diabolical madness!

Tim tried to relax, to allow his whole body to go as limp as a washcloth. He had to try. There was no other path open to him.

Sam began probing, pushing, with the round head of the dildo. His son's asshole tightened and resisted the big sewn leather instrument, pushing back against it, pinching closed tighter in defiance. But the young muscles couldn't withstand the older man's strong, powerful hips and thighs that relentlessly applied more and more pressure against the thick black shaft. Tim winced and bit down fiercely on his lip. The tiny beads of moisture on his forehead came together into a long rivulet of sweat that ran down his cheeks to the table. His face became distorted with excruciating pain.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted. "Stop! It's too big. Too fucking big, I tell you!"

Sam Harding only applied more pressure, coming down hard with his pile-driving ass. At the same time he gave his son a couple of stinging backhand whacks on the thighs. Tim's body jerked; the older man's distracting blows worked perfectly. The teenager's ass muscles ever so briefly relaxed, for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Sam's hips to savagely lunge forward. The head of the big, thick dildo quickly penetrated inside the asshole's pinched outer rim.

"Oh, my God! Oh, no!" Tim cried out, in vain. Then the thick coat of lubricant took over, and the pain, although still causing the youth considerable agony, was less sharp and excruciating.

Sam Harding became more and more excited over his son's obvious misery. He grinned devilishly and began to fuck, not in a pumping, up and down manner, but with a circular, corkscrew motion. As sadistic as the older Harding was, he was no fool, and not knowing how much length the small body beneath him could handle, he wasn't about to put his prized young ass out of commission just for the sake of one Goddamn leather dildo. He would experiment. That precious, tight, teenage butt had a lot more serviceable mileage due it, plenty of good hot fucking that was his to enjoy when and where the mood hit him.

The heavy dildo slipped around inside Tim's asshole more and more easily, and the youth's groaning diminished. He cried out only when Sam thrust the leather tool in past its three-quarter mark of length. When Sam finally determined just how far he could slip the device into his son's ass without rupturing a gut, he began fucking in earnest, measuring the strokes but not the intensity. The length of his own meat felt hot and excited inside the dildo's leather sheath. The diameter of his devilish toy was unbelievable; just watching it glide in and out of his son's stretched shitter drove Sam Harding mad with lust.

Tim endured the fuck, for the first time in his life not really enjoying it. He grimaced with pain every time the thick shaft probed to the very limits of his guts. His horniness withered, but the leather dildo rubbing relentlessly against his prostate made him helpless, totally at his father's mercy.

Suddenly, with a low, measured moan of relief, he came, his cock spurting long streams of hot jizz between the table and his stomach.

Sam Harding trembled all over as he felt his son jizz beneath him. His own tormented cock and balls, hot with pleasure, abruptly fired off salvo after salvo of thick cum into the tight-fitting dildo. As the fuck-juice repeatedly pumped out of his prick, he grabbed his young quarry by the hair and began wildly flailing with his open hand at his son's face. His passion was uncontrolled, violent, beyond himself.

Tim's cheeks flushed red, and he started to cry. He had suffered much pain at the hands of his oversexed father, all too often, but never had he incurred the indignity of being slapped in the face. His mind reeled in anger and he tried to pull away, but the chains dug into his wrist.

"Sonofabitch! Jesus!" shouted Sam, pulling out the big leather dildo. The shaft made a dull, sucking noise as it slipped from his son's reddened asshole.

"Beautiful fuck. You Goddamn beautiful slave," he went on.

He swatted his son twice more, even more brutally, across the face. Tim grimaced.

Sam carefully slipped the dildo off his prick, and, as if it were an insignificant afterthought, swung it against Tim's ass, raising a big red welt. Then he exhaled wearily, and apparently satisfied, climbed to his feet, wordlessly unfastened his son's shackles, and went over to gather up his clothes.

Fearfully, Tim looked up at his father, big tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He started to say something but bit back the words.

Sam Harding tossed the sticky, cum-filled dildo in the corner, glared defiantly at his son, then shrugged his broad shoulders and shuffled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.