Mickey "Daddy" Ray
MM, Mt, Oral, Anal, NC, Rape, BD, WS, Sock Fetish etc.
Copyright 1998, and 2008
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction, which contains consensual and NON-consensual adult, homosexual sex between men and with a sixteen-year-old boy, and there is some violence. Please do not read any further if these issues are bothersome to your sensibilities even in fiction.
While there are several populated areas in the United States called "Goshen", the area "Goshen, Alabama", referred to in my story is completely fictitious, although the surrounding mountains, rivers and other locals mentioned do exist. The characters in the story are also fictitious and are in no way meant to reflect on or resemble anyone living or diseased, nor should any negative generalizations be implied regarding the fine people of Alabama or of any alternate lifestyles.
***A reminder that "Land O' Goshen", as well as any of it's chapters, is copyrighted and is the exclusive property of Mickey Ray, AKA "Daddy", of Artistic Affairs in Binghamton, NY. The author may be contacted by email at email@example.com. "The Bachelor Party" may not be used, edited or altered, directly or indirectly, in part or in whole, for any commercial purposes without express permission from the author.
The content is adult, sexual reading material which is primarily homoerotic in nature, contains particular sexual fetishes and is meant for entertainment purposes only. The author takes no responsibility for illegal accessing of this material to minors. All characters are fictional and any similarities of names or personalities with real persons are purely coincidental. Today, things being what they are, the author neither approves nor condones unsafe sex. Daddy
You may email comments to "Daddy": firstname.lastname@example.org
The story so far:
Young sixteen-year-old Theodore Burrows lost his mother in horrible fire and now has to live with his depraved and sadistic father, Clyde, who left him and his mother long ago. Already living with his father is his mentally challenged, eighteen-year-old brother, Willie, whom he has also not seen since he was a baby.
Already verbally, physically, and sexually abused by his father and brother, desperate, Teddy escapes in the middle of the night in the dead of a snow storm nearly frozen to death, he finds himself rescued by a retired State Policeman. Frightened and skeptical of his new surroundings, the boy warily accepts this huge, gentle giant's offering of shelter.
Meanwhile Theo’s father is furious that the boy got away and takes out his rage and frustration on his other son, Willie.
Six hours earlier, that same evening, Clyde Burrows was giving his eldest boy, Willie, what for! The muscular, hairy and unshaven man gulped his beer and paced back and forth behind his son. He stood about 5', 11", and weighed just over 210 pounds, not an ounce of it was fat. He was dressed only in a graying, moth-eaten tank-top, his filthy white socks, and his favorite, discolored, and cum-stained jockstrap. His face was florid with fury, his dark hair, oily and wet with sweat, clung to his forehead. The space-heaters’ thermostats, in the parlor and kitchen, were long since busted and nearly useless, but they were working overtime heating their small hovel. Reasonable or not, he wanted answers and he wanted them now! They'd drunkenly partied with the boy all Friday night until they passed out. Now it was Saturday evening and the boy was still missing.
"He's been gone since we got up early this afternoon," he yelled in his thick mountain drawl, his hand unceremoniously scratching at the glistening, black hairs of his sweaty crotch. "Where the hell you suppose he ran off to?" With his free hand, he smacked his son sharply at the back of his head just as the boy was ladling another spoon of soured, milk-sopped Fruit Loops into his mouth.
"Aw, gee, paw! You made me spill muh cereal!" Willie whined, brushing the colorful, wet bits off his bare chest. Like his father, he had massive body hair and he too was nearly naked except for a pair of very worn and yellowed boxer shorts from which he picked off some raspberry-red and orange-orange bits of cereal that landed in his lap. In the process, he noticed his cockhead peaking through the fly-slit. Distractedly, he tapped and poked at it watching it react to the attention by slowing stretching outwards.
"How'm I to know what that fool's gonna do? He don' know nobody 'round here! He prob'ly be froze to death down by the Tombigbee. He's so puny, the wind might maybe have picked him up and tossed him into that mean ol' river! Shoot! Just one less mouth to feed! Screw him!"
Clyde circled around to face his son. Grasping the boy's head between his strong hands, he turned the boy's face to him. Willie could smell his father's putrid beer and cigarette breath just inches from his nose. "Well now, son, you may be right! But that pretty little mouth o' his ate a lot more than food! And screwin' him is just what I had in mind! Or maybe you'd like to take his place! You think?" The man eyeballed his son. "Hmmm. Y' know, I do believe I see a really interestin' similarity in your lips that I have never noticed before."
"Now, paw, don' be gettin' any ideas! You forget, I am a whole lot bigger 'n you now. Ah can whup your butt, if'n I wanted to!"
Willie was suddenly lying on his back on the patchy linoleum floor before he knew what hit him. Papa Clyde raised his socked foot and gave his son a swift kick to the ribs. With the same foot, he turned the boy's head to the cracked floor tiling, pressing down on his cheek with his filthy, smelly sock. "You piece of shit! You, ever try to raise a hand to me 'n' I'll kill you, boy!" He slid his foot down and over the boy's mouth and nose, rolling his head back and successfully keeping him from getting any air. His large foot nearly hid the boy's face completely. Willie instinctively brought his hands to the large foot on his face, but knew better than to make any real efforts at removing it.
Clyde felt the boy try to suck in air and knew he'd only succeed in sucking in sock juice from his sweaty foot inside it. "So help me! I'll kill you!" Froth and spittle sprayed from the man's mouth. "Now, you go get me my strap, boy," he demanded, giving Willie's head a last shove.
"I'm sorry, paw! I didn't mean nothin' by it! Jes' a joke, is all. I swear, I'd never raise my hand to you! Never!" Willie's fear overrode some of the pain in his jaw from when his father hit him to the floor and the ache in his side where papa's foot met rib bones.
"Boy! I'm not gonna ask you again. Get ...me ...my ...strap!" His father left him in the kitchen to consider his order.
Clyde confidently waited in the junk-piled parlor of their wooden, three-room claptrap. The poorly built shanty consisted of two large rooms and a bathroom. The one, and largest, room served as a parlor. It was furnished with an old, thirteen-inch Motorola TV that only received two stations across from a makeshift coffee table, which consisted of a warped board and four cement blocks. The rest of their homely possessions consisted of two beat-up lounge chairs, and two battered dressers. They were paint chipped and decorated with clothes hanging from the drawers. Their pride was the queen-sized sofa bed, equally distressed, which when opened, converted their living room into the bedroom.
This was just one more item they salvaged from the dump outside of Bessemer. Every piece of furniture in the place was some man's trash, but by no stretch of the imagination could it be claimed as another's treasure. Still, ...it serviced.
The other large room was the kitchen, separated from the parlor by a crookedly built archway. It held a small, wobbly, chipped, Formica table, on three sides of which sat differently styled kitchen chairs, one wooden the other a combination of metal and plastic and an old, wooden fruit crate. Against one wall stood a tall, thin, rust dappled, metal cabinet which held what few food provisions they thought to bring in. The thing was once painted flat white. Now it was tinged with the yellow of cigarette smoke. It was dented all to hell, the door having disappeared ages ago.
A tiny, twenty-year-old Frigidaire angrily hummed its dust-clogged fan in protest of being forced to survive above and beyond its call to duty. It was getting even by souring any milk it held within twenty-four hours and making its torturers drink warm beer. Unknown to them, water had been gathering in puddle all along the kitchen wall. The catch pan underneath had long ago overflowed and if the floor had been level, they'd have been slopping around in two or three inches of water by now. As it was, the floor tilted the other way and as luck would have it or not, it was slowly being drained out from their abode through a gaping hole under the kitchen counter.
This was a cheese-board size counter and was flimsily constructed and connected to the sink. All of which was obscured with a pile of dirty dishes, beer cans, bottles, and chipped cups filled with cigarette butts. Had Teddy not been made to clean things up for the most part, things would have looked a lot worse. Still, the entire place reeked of stale beer, smoke, dirty socks, underwear, piss, old cum and body odor.
Just off the kitchen was the john, separated only by a small entryway where they stored more crap and hung their coats when it occurred to them to do so. There, Willie found Clyde's strap¾the only thing in the house hanging up at the moment.
The thick, black, Garrison belt was worn supple from use. Willie had, for the most part, been its primary target for years, until his younger brother, Teddy, had become available to share in its ferocity. He recalled how, years back, it was used only to discipline bad behavior, now his father had made it a tool to whet his, and now their perverse appetites. The routine was set, the body conditioned, the mind molded. Now all that was left was to go through the motions.
The mountain boy walked into the living room. He stood in front of his father, his head down, his clothes removed. He held the belt out in ritualistic fashion as an offering to the demon God...his father.
Clyde grinned as he took the belt from his son's hands. Appraising the boy from head to foot, he slowly circled him one full round. The young man was about two inches taller than his old man was, but his posture and humility belied that. The boy was strong, rugged and muscular. He was hairy like his old man too.
He was also ruggedly handsome, with his thick mop of wavy, black hair, full beard and mustache. His cheekbones were set high, his lips full. The contrast of his thick, black lashes against his pale blue eyes was beautifully intriguing but visibly vacant. He was a bit on the slow side, but that wasn't the boy's fault. He'd been suffering from colic as a baby, and in a fit of rage at the boy's crying he hit the child real hard in the back of the head. The three-year-old child flew across the room, slamming his forehead into the opposite wall. His mother, pregnant with their second child, screamed until he agreed to take the boy to the hospital in Tuscaloosa.
The doctors said all kinds of gobble-de-gook neither Clyde nor the boy's mother, Marie, understood, but they got the gist of it. Their boy would never be quite right.
Fear of further violence, Marie left without a trace, her boy still in the hospital, but too afraid to come back for him. She gave up her one son, to save the other yet to be born. She would start a new life. It would be years before she even told her child about his father and older brother. The dimwitted, but beautiful baby who grew to be to be a rugged mountain boy, obedient to his father's every wish, failing only with momentary memory lapses of his proper place in the house.
Yes, he was his father's boy, all right. Very different from the petite, fair skinned teenage boy, who looked so much like his mother and had now come into their lives. Seeing his big, strong, humbled boy, standing naked before his eyes stirred those dark, unnatural and primitive urges in his loins. It always did.
"Take your position, boy!" Clyde told him.
Willie turned his back to his father, bent over and placed one hand on each of the arms of his father's easy chair. The first slap of the thick, wide, leather strap hit him sharply on the soft mound of his right ass cheek. "Thank you, papa. May I have another one, Sir?" he said, without emotion.
Whack! The left side of his ass received a blow equal to the first. "Thank you, papa. May I have another one, Sir?" he repeated. Again and again the belt landed on his ass and across his back and with each blow, he asked for more.
Clyde had stripped himself naked, except for those dirty socks, before his son came into the room. He was fondling his cock, which was fully aroused. It jutted out at seven inches in length, but it was the width that was so surprising. Easily as wide around as a beer can, it waved threateningly at his son. "See what you make me do? You damned, ungrateful son-of-a-bitch! See what happens when you cross your father." He raise his head and spoke to the ceiling, " 'Thou shalt honor thy father'!" he said.
"The Lord insists that I have to punish you, boy! I have to make you see who's the boss here! It seems no matter what I do, to keep you right in His eyes, you keep fuckin' up!"
He kept up the blasphemous liturgy as he continued to swing the belt across his son's body. Willie's ass was bright red and spotted with tiny droplets of blood where skin had broke. The mass of hair on his back and ass cheeks hid some of the red welts but not completely.
"What can I do, boy, to make you listen?" Clyde asked his son when he paused whipping him.
"Something bad, pa! Y' gotta make me do somethin' bad so's I'll remember to be good and not want to be bad no more!" Willie's poor brain only fed him the words it remember from repeated experiences.
"What, son? What should I make you do? Should I humiliate you, boy?"
"Yeah, pa, ...Sir, you should humiliate me. I need to be humiliated!" The boy's face was florid and he shivered as he spoke through clenched teeth. The beatings hurt but he refused to cry or yell in pain. He reacted as though he hated his father's beatings but his erect cock said something else entirely.
"How should I do that, son?" How should I humiliate you and punish you?"
"You should make me smell and lick y' dirty feet, pa. You should make me lick y' dirty, shit stained asshole!"
"And that will humiliate you, son? Why? Because you don't want to do that?" "Yes sir, I do not want to do that. I hate to do that. That's why you must make me do it, so's I won't be bad no more, pa!"
"Very well, boy! I have to do a father's duty, to make his son be good. Stand up, boy!"
Willie straightened up while his father slipped around in front of him and sat in the chair. "Get on your knees, son!" Clyde ordered and the boy obeyed. "When you talk back to your father, you show your tongue to be wicked, and it must be the tool of your punishment. To suffer the tastes of things you find distasteful will help to remind you the error of your ways before you do wrong again. Is that not true, boy?"
"It's true, Pa, Sir."
"Then you will worship the parts of my body a man does not worship on another man. Parts you find distasteful and unnatural! Do you understand?" he asked his son, reaching down and lightly tapping his son's erect cock with the fold of the Garrison.
"I understand, Pa."
"Then you shall begin!"
Willie doubled over and placed his head between his father's feet. He turned his head side to side planting a kiss on each socked foot. With each touch, the kiss got longer. He lingered longer every time he'd switch from one foot to the other. When he kissed each toe through the smelly, white, sweat-sock of one foot, he repeated the ritual on the other. He lifted his father's right leg and brought his foot up to his face. Pressing his nose against the sole and in the crevices of the toes, he inhaled deeply, allowing the pungent odor to fill his head. He moved his face in a circular motion, rubbing it about his father's foot, inhaling through his nose and exhaling the air through his lips. He grew light headed and shivered with anticipation.
He opened his mouth and placed the first three toes of the foot inside. Forming a tight circle with his lips, he began to suck on those toes. His mouth filled with his own juices mixed with the sweaty moisture of his father's foot and the acrid filth that coated the sock. He opened his mouth like a fish and worked his way along the toes until each was thoroughly soaked and sucked. This he repeated with his father's left foot. All the while his pale blue eyes looked up at his father's face for approval.
Clyde sat with the air of an emperor. There was no sign in his face that betrayed his complete enjoyment of what was happening. He maintained the appearance of a man in cool judgment and that of an executioner meeting out just punishment. Certainly not that of a man who was getting off having his toes sucked and contemplating the other pleasures he would soon be enjoying. His thick cock was solid as a rock, pre-cum oozed out and formed a drop at the tip of his ample foreskin.
Willie raised his father's legs and taking the cue, Clyde slid down and offered his hairy ass to his boy's lips. The boy scrunched down further and dove in to the dark cavern before him as Clyde draped his legs over the boy's strong shoulders and rested them on his back.
Willie began by pressing his nose just beneath his father's balls, kissing and gently licking the sensitive area and thick, bushy hairs that nearly obscured his old man's asshole. The acrid smell and bitter taste of sweat and fecal residue attacked his nose and tongue. Down, down he went, his tongue guiding his face into the wrinkled folds of skin that told him he found what he was searching for.
He pushed his way into his father's ass crack. Jabbing spit at the hole and lubing it so his tongue could enter even further. Slavishly, Willie licked and pushed his way inside that asshole and began tongue-fucking his father.
His boy's face hidden from view, Clyde no longer hid his pleasure. His eyes rolled back behind closed lids and his mouth gasped open in hot pleasure. "Oh, yes. Taste it, son! Eat my shitty ass! This is your punishment!" He pumped at his cock, with his free hand, sticky with pre-cum. "Clean my balls with that sinful tongue, bad boy!" He drove home his order with a swift hard pelt to the boy's back from the Garrison belt he still held in his other hand.
Willie immediately complied by bringing his head up and began to lave his father's huge, hairy ball sacks. They were already soaked in sweat as he licked and lapped the wet skin and glistening hairs.
Experienced with years of practice, he gently sucked in his father's testicles, one at a time, swirling each around inside his mouth, then, opening his mouth wider and with a great inhale he had both of them. His tongue moved them about as his cheeks stretched to manage their contents. His upper lip pressed against the base of his father's cock; his nose, the pinkie-knuckle of his father's hand, which was furiously working at the fat cock. The boy could smell his father's pre-cum, which had dripped down and coated the man's fingers and the shaft of the considerable cock rising before him, hardened red and gorged with blood.
"Do you know what you must do now, boy?" he heard his father's voice above him.
Carefully extracting his pa's balls from his mouth, the boy stretched up on his knees. "Please, pa, I don't want to do it!"
"But you know you have to, don't you, boy?" Clyde said, playing out the ritual.
"I know I have to taste what I hate to taste to punish my tongue for talking back to you."
"Then do it!" the man said, aiming his hard cock at his boy.
Willie brought his mouth down to accept his father's cock. His lips peeled back the slimy foreskin as he slid the huge, rubbery head of his father's fat cock further into his mouth. He could smell and taste the salty and drying pre-cum as his spit freshened it with new moisture. The large cockhead and shaft bulged out even more and demanded more room, pushing its way down and stretching his throat. He felt his father's strong hands pushing his head down, forcing more cock in until his lips pressed against the base and he had the entire seven inches of his father's fleshy cock all the way in.
Clyde began a rhythmic pulling and pushing of the boy's head up and down, with Willie's lips gripping tightly and creating a strong suction.
Faster and faster. Up. Down. Up. Down. Willie slurped and gobbled that huge dick, his increasing saliva poured over the shaft of the invading cock which he sucked up back into his mouth with sensual slurping sounds. His father's grunts, commands and moans only served to heighten Clyde's sexual excitement, making him fuck the boy's face even harder.
Clyde felt the tight grip of his boy's throat muscles clutch and release the fat head of his cock each time he dove in and out inside. He felt his foreskin riding back and forth over the sensitive cockhead. The hot spit and pre-cum coated his entire cock in wonderful, warm ooze. That added even more pleasure to his getting such a great suck job. Now, he felt the pleasant, familiar build-up and pressure of his ensuing ejaculation!
Willie felt the tremendous surge of heat and sudden expansion of the cock in his throat just before it exploded its contents. His father pulled the boy up so just the head of his cock rested inside between his lips.
"Ahhhh!" his father screamed as he shot load after load of cum into his son's mouth. Five, six, seven strong pulses of cum were dumped onto the boy's tongue before Clyde began to ease up and he started to soften. "Do you taste it, boy?"
Indeed he did. It was thick and brackish, but the boy could only nod his assent. "Soon boy, soon you'll be suitably punished. Hold on to that. Don't y' swallow till I say so." another obedient nod. "Here, boy. Here's the rest."
Willie felt the first warm trickle of piss that told him he could now swallow the contents in his mouth. His lips held tightly to the cockhead, squeezing it now and again, effectively shutting off the flow of piss and giving him a chance to swallow the liquid. After all the previous beer and earlier pisses, his father's urine was comparatively tasteless having sampled his cum.
Greatly relieved, Clyde knew he'd given the boy everything he was going to at this point. He pulled his piss ebbing cock from his son's mouth, allowing some to dribble from his foreskin down over the boy's chest. He ordered the boy to lie on his back and raise his legs.
Clyde stripped himself of his filthy, white socks then rose from his chair. His spent cock was swinging contentedly. He grabbed the boy's ankles and bent him back so his son's erect cock hovered directly over the boy's mouth. He tossed his ripe socks down and buried his son's nose under them. "Now, sniff my socks, boy! Sniff 'em real deep and feed yourself, boy! Pass your Daddy's cum from yer ass up to yer dick and into yer mouth!"
With the boy's legs up the way they were, his young, hairy, firm ass lay against his father's cock. Within moments, the feel of that ass aroused Clyde's cock to further action. Even if he wasn't ready to cum, he was hard enough to shove it inside that hot ass. He bent down and hurled a massive load of spit, perfectly landing at the boy's asshole. Holding both the boy's ankles in one hand, he used his free hand to shove his cock up Willie's hairy asshole. Once he started the journey down inside that warm tunnel, he returned to holding the boy's legs with both hands and started working his cock in and out of the boy's ass. More immediate than he could have imagined, his load built up and jettisoned furiously into his son's tight asshole.
The heavy odor of his father's socks drove Willie crazy. He masturbated himself vigorously, and when he felt his father shove his cock up his ass and then the sudden warm gush of cum blasting up his hole, that was the trigger that would shoot off his own pent up explosion of cum. He aimed those creamy bullets directly into his mouth as instructed. Grunting, shooting and hungrily swallowing, Willie came again and again into his mouth, encouraged by the push of that fat cock against his prostate. When he was finished, his father slipped his cock from the boy's ass, released the boy's legs and let him stretch out on the floor. Seeing Clyde standing up over him, his legs on either side of his hips, Willie grinned and gently stroked his father's feet with one hand and held the treasured socks from those feet against his nose with the other.
"Go 'head, boy. Clean it off!" Clyde said.
Willie raised up, his father's socks slipping off his face and down to his crotch. With his hand, he took his father's slightly shit stained cock to his mouth. He licked and lapped it clean, then lay back down between the man's legs and returned the socks to his nose. He had a woeful look in his eyes that his father understood.
Clyde raised his right foot to his boy's face, pressing it against the socks beneath. Willie closed his eyes, hugged the socks and foot to his face, kissed the sole of his father's foot and inhaled deeply through his nose.
"I love you, pa," he exhaled.
"I know, boy. I know. But, we gotta get dressed now. We still gotta find that brother of yours."
Willie's expression of contentment never changed, but his mind clouded over darkly. He hated his little brother. He knew the kid just wanted to take his father from him. That was never going to happen.
End of Chapter V
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