Dad Rapes Son, Shares him then an accident

[Hotanthony]

The dim glow of the living room lamp cast harsh shadows across the cluttered house, bottles scattered like fallen soldiers on the coffee table. Mike, a 42-year-old construction worker, slumped on the worn couch, his massive frame spilling over the edges. At 6'2" and built like a brick wall from years of manual labor, he was a force—broad shoulders, hairy chest straining his stained tank top, and a gut from too many beers. But it was the bulge in his sweatpants that told the real story: a thick ten-inch cock, veined and heavy, always ready to wreck. Tonight, after losing another shift to the bottle, Mike was three sheets to the wind, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the hallway where his 18-year-old son, Tyler, padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

Tyler was the spitting image of innocence lost too soon—slim and athletic from school sports, with messy brown hair, smooth skin, and a tight bubble butt that filled out his boxer briefs. He'd just turned legal, but to Mike, he was still the boy he'd raised alone after Tyler's mom bailed years ago. Resentment festered in Mike like rot; the kid reminded him of failures, of nights spent jerking off to twisted fantasies instead of building a life. 'Fuck it,' Mike slurred to himself, swigging from a half-empty whiskey bottle. The alcohol burned, fueling the rage and lust churning in his gut.

Tyler froze when he heard the heavy footsteps behind him. 'Dad? You okay?' he asked, turning with a glass of water in hand. Mike lunged without a word, grabbing Tyler by the throat and slamming him against the fridge. The glass shattered on the linoleum, shards skittering like ice. 'Shut your mouth, boy,' Mike growled, his breath reeking of booze. Tyler's eyes widened in terror, hands clawing at the iron grip. 'Dad, stop—'

Mike's free hand yanked down Tyler's boxers, exposing the boy's firm ass cheeks. 'Been watchin' you prance around, teasin' me. Time you earned your keep.' He spun Tyler around, face smashed into the cold metal door, and freed his throbbing dick from his pants. It slapped against Tyler's thigh, hot and rigid, the foreskin peeled back to reveal a glistening head. Tyler bucked, screaming, but Mike pinned him with his weight, kicking the boy's legs apart.

No prep, no mercy. Mike spat once on his palm, slicking his shaft just enough, then rammed forward. The blunt cockhead breached Tyler's virgin hole, tearing a raw scream from the teen. 'Tight little fucker,' Mike grunted, forcing inch after inch past the resisting ring. Tyler's body convulsed, nails scraping the fridge as pain exploded inside him. Mike didn't stop, hips snapping brutally, burying his full length until his hairy balls mashed against Tyler's taint.

He pounded like a jackhammer, each thrust ripping deeper, the dry friction grinding tender walls. Tyler sobbed, begging, 'Please, Dad, it hurts—stop!' But Mike laughed, a guttural sound, slapping the boy's ass red. 'Take it, you worthless shit. This ass is mine.' Sweat poured down Mike's back as he reamed relentlessly, his cock pistoning in and out, stretching the hole to its limits. Tyler's struggles weakened, body going slack from shock, but Mike kept hammering, grunting with every plunge.

After ten minutes of savage assault, something gave—Tyler's ass tore, a sharp rip inside sending fresh agony through him. Blood welled up, warm and slick, coating Mike's shaft as he pulled back for a look. 'Fuck yeah, bleedin' for Daddy,' he rasped, mesmerized by the crimson streaks on his dick. Tyler whimpered, vision blurring from tears and pain, but Mike dove back in, using the blood as lube now. It squelched obscenely with each thrust, the metallic tang mixing with sweat in the air. Mike's pace quickened, the slipperiness letting him go deeper, harder, churning the blood into a frothy mess that dripped down Tyler's thighs.

'That's it, grease my cock with your guts,' Mike snarled, gripping Tyler's hips hard enough to bruise. He fucked through the resistance, the bleeding hole clenching spasmodically around him. Tyler's cries turned to broken gasps, his small cock trapped against the fridge, untouched and soft. Mike reached around, squeezing it roughly. 'Bet you're lovin' this, fag.' The teen shook his head, but his body betrayed a twitch, the pain blurring into numb haze.

Mike railed for another half-hour, the kitchen floor slick with blood and sweat. Finally, with a roar, he slammed balls-deep and erupted, hot jets of cum flooding Tyler's ravaged insides, mixing with the blood into a sticky slurry. He held there, grinding, milking every drop before yanking out. Tyler collapsed to his knees, ass gaping and oozing red-tinged jizz, body trembling. Mike tucked himself away, panting, then hauled the boy up by his hair. 'Clean up your mess,' he ordered, shoving Tyler's face toward the bloodied cock. The teen gagged, lips parting weakly as Mike skull-fucked him, smearing the mess across his tongue until satisfied.

But Mike wasn't done owning him. The next evening, after sobering up just enough, he dragged Tyler—still sore, walking bow-legged—to the garage where his buddies gathered for poker nights. Four roughneck construction mates: Hank, a burly redhead with a beer belly and thick seven-incher; Lou, wiry and mean with tattoos snaking up his arms; Pete, the quiet one with a surprisingly fat dick; and Vic, the loudmouth, hung like Mike but crueler. They'd crashed at Mike's before, swapping stories of bar fights and easy lays, but tonight Mike had a surprise.

'Boys, got a treat,' Mike announced, shoving Tyler into the center of the circle of folding chairs. The teen was stripped to nothing, bruises blooming on his pale skin, ass still swollen and faintly bloody. The men leered, beers in hand, as Mike explained. 'My boy's open for business. Twenty bucks a pop, or free if you make him bleed more. Use him rough—ass, mouth, whatever. He's a hole now.'

Tyler pleaded, 'Dad, no—please,' but Mike backhanded him silent. 'Shut up and bend over the table.' The poker game turned into a gangbang auction. Hank went first, tossing a crumpled bill and dropping his jeans. His cock was rigid, uncut, and he spat on Tyler's ass before shoving in. The boy yelped, the fresh intrusion reopening the tear, blood trickling anew. Hank gripped the table edges, slamming forward, his gut slapping Tyler's back. 'Fuck, he's loose but grippy,' Hank groaned, pounding steadily, the cards scattering forgotten.

Lou was next, paying double for the mouth. He grabbed Tyler's hair, forcing his throat down on his tattooed shaft while Hank kept reaming the ass. Tyler choked, saliva bubbling, as the two men spitroasted him over the green felt. Pete waited his turn, stroking his girthy meat, eyes on the blood smearing Tyler's cheeks. Vic laughed, filming on his phone. 'Gonna make bank whoring this kid out.'

They rotated, each man taking a hole. Mike joined in, pimping his own son like chattel, collecting cash and barking orders. 'Deeper, Lou—make him gag.' Tyler's body rocked with the assaults, ass bleeding freely now, the table slick beneath him. Pete flipped him onto his back, legs over shoulders, and plunged his fat cock in, stretching the torn ring wider. Blood lubed the way, squelching as Pete thrust, hitting spots that made Tyler's dick leak despite the horror.

Hours passed in a blur of cocks and cum. Hank came first, pulling out to shoot across Tyler's face, then shoving back in to plug the load inside. Lou flooded the boy's mouth, holding his nose until he swallowed. Vic went raw in the ass, churning the mess, his hips blurring. 'Bleed for me, slut,' he taunted, clawing nails into Tyler's thighs. Mike took the last turn before a break, using the fresh blood to slick his way, fucking slow and deep while the mates cheered.

By midnight, Tyler was a ragdoll—body limp, covered in jizz and bruises, ass a ruined, gaping wound pulsing blood. They propped him on the couch, passing him around for seconds. Pete straddled his chest, tit-fucking the boy's pecs before shoving into his mouth. Vic and Lou double-teamed the ass, one after the other, no recovery time. Hank held Tyler's arms, ensuring no escape.

In the frenzy, things escalated. Vic, drunk and raging, decided to choke the boy while fucking him. He wrapped a belt around Tyler's neck, yanking tight as he rammed in. 'Squeeze that hole,' Vic grunted, the constriction making Tyler's ass clench hard. The teen's face turned purple, eyes bulging, but the men laughed it off as play. Mike watched, counting bills, too buzzed to intervene.

Pete took over the ass next, flipping Tyler face-down and mounting him like a dog. He thrust wildly, the blood making obscene sounds, while Lou face-fucked from the front. Tyler's struggles faded, body twitching erratically. Vic tightened the belt again, riding the high, not noticing the boy's gasps turning silent. A final, brutal plunge from Pete—too deep, too hard—snapped something inside. Tyler went still, neck limp, the belt's pressure crushing his windpipe in the accidental strangle.

The room stilled for a beat. 'He pass out?' Hank muttered, poking Tyler's cheek. No response. Mike checked the pulse—nothing. 'Fuck, he's gone.' But the booze and lust overrode sense. Vic shrugged, still hard. 'Dead meat's still warm. My turn.' He yanked the belt off and flipped the body over, shoving his cock into the slack mouth. No resistance now, just a lifeless hole to plunder.

They kept going, the accidental death fueling a darker frenzy. Hank claimed the ass first, pounding the cooling flesh, blood still oozing as lube. 'Tighter now,' he groaned, slamming until he came inside the corpse. Lou and Pete double-penetrated the ass, stretching it impossibly, grunting as they chased release in the unresponsive body. Mike, last, mounted his son's face, jerking off onto the glassy eyes before skull-fucking the throat one final time, cum bubbling from the lips.

By dawn, Tyler's body lay sprawled, used and discarded, cum pooling from every orifice amid the drying blood. The mates cleaned up, pocketing their change, joking about the 'best poker night ever.' Mike dragged the corpse to the basement, already planning how to spin the story—runaway kid, nothing more. The house fell quiet, but the echo of thrusts lingered, a [banned word] legacy sealed in silence.