Here’s an excerpt from Dominated By Dad.
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“Peter!” Dad’s voice, shouting from across the house, chills me to the bone. Last time I’d heard that tone of voice was when I came home with a couple of Fs on my report card. “What the fuck is this?”
I hurry down the stairs and find him in the living room, on the couch, with my laptop on his thighs. Oh, fuck, did I leave something open? I usually cover my tracks with porn and shit, but I’m always terrified that one day I’m going to forget and something like this will happen.
“Uh…” I say, struggling for words. “Yeah, dad?”
He looks up at me with angry eyes and a flushed face, framed by that luscious beard that I fantasize about at all the wrong times. I push that thought out of my mind — I don’t need dirty thoughts about my dad, especially not right now. His massive biceps shift as he turns the laptop to face me.
“Explain this,” he says.
I can feel my face heating with a deep blush as I see what I most fear on the laptop screen — a muscular daddy-type, very much resembling my dad, dressed in leather, flogging a twink that looks very much like me, who’s chained, cuffed, and bent over a padded bench.
“I, uh…” I lose my words again. I can’t look at dad’s face and I can’t look at the screen anymore, so I just look down at my feet. I guess it’s time to come out. “Dad, I’m gay.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “No shit, Peter. But I’ve known that for years.” He puts the laptop aside and stands up, coming close to me. The dirtiest parts of my brain focus my gaze on his bulge as he approaches. Since I’ve got my head down, he can’t catch my staring and wondering. “What I want to know is what you’re jerking off to.”
My eyes go wide and I finally look up at dad. He’s several inches taller than me and towers over me like a wall made of pure muscle. “Uh…”
“Because if you’re jerking off to dad/son BDSM porn, then I’ve got to teach you a lesson.”
I open my mouth to say something, but am still at a loss for words, so I close it, then open it again, then decide to close it again. I must look like a fish, struggling for air. “What?” I finally say.
Faster than lightning, dad has his hand gripping my throat and he shoves me back against the wall. My head bounces and a flash of pain makes me close my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, dad’s face is in mine, his hot breath washing over me, his eyes inches from mine, his pouty lips so tantalizingly close. While his hand on my throat is tight and holds me in place, it in no way restricts my breathing.
“All that shit,” dad says with a nod of his head toward my laptop, “is make-believe. There’s nothing better than the real thing.”
“Uh … what?”
With his other hand, dad gropes my crotch, his fingers clasping around my suddenly-raging erection, contained by denim and cotton. “Is this what you want, boy? Do you want your daddy to dominate you?”
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