My Drunken Dad

My Drunken Dad

By: Spectronica247

...

Summary:

Kevin McDaniel was forced by his father, Greg, to watch straight porn in an attempt to convert him into a heteronormative life. This led to a hostile fight between the two but later turned into a warm incestuous moment.

Main Characters:

Kevin McDaniel: 18 years old, Caucasian cis male, rich auburn hair that's cut short and bristling with long fringe, pure blue eye behind a pair of glasses, has a slender, athletic body that belief the strength he developed from the manual labor at the diner. Cock size: 6 inches and circumcised.

Greg McDaniel: 43 years old, Caucasian cis male, dark-brown crop of curly hair, chestnut brown eyes, and developed a patchy stubble mustache that clung to his upper lip.His body was endomorphic, with broad shoulders and a thick neck that tapered into a pronounced beer belly, and the muscles in his arms and chest bulged under his stained t-shirt, remnants of the strength he had once used to support his family. Cock size: 8 inches and circumcised.

CONTENT WARNING!

This story is 18 and may involve themes of homophobia, violence, mentions of abuse, and incestuous sexual intercourse between a father and son. If this story offends you, or if you live in an area where it is outlawed, or if you're under the legal age, then please do not read and click yourself out of this site, just to save yourself from a life of sin. This is supposed to be 100% fictional, any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. Thank you!

- Spectrotica

Chapter One - "The Film"

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"Why the hell can't you go outside to play football like a normal kid instead of wasting time at some diner?" Greg McDaniel slurred, eyeing his son Kevin, who was busy unpacking his backpack after returning home from his after-school part-time job. His words hit the air with a pungent whiff of alcohol, stale from a long day of unemployment and self-loathing.

Kevin McDaniel, 18 years old and trying his best to ignore the daily grind of his father's taunts, replied without looking at him, "Someone in this house has to do something to put money on the table, dad. Also, I have a math test tomorrow so I need to study."

Kevin's auburn hair was always slightly disheveled from the hours of work and study that filled his days, the fringe often obscuring the pure blue eyes that matched his late mother's, with intelligence and determination behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. His slender yet athletic body was a testament to the physical labor he endured at the diner, balancing trays of food and navigating through bustling crowds, all while maintaining a stoic expression that never betrayed the weight of his responsibilities. The diner was his sanctuary, a place where the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversations drowned out the echoes of his father's resentment.

Meanwhile with the McDaniel patriarch himself, in stark contrast to his son's youthful vigor, he'd let himself go over the years of hardship and drink. His once handsome face now bore the marks of a life consumed by anger and disappointment. His dark-brown hair was unkempt and receding, revealing a broad forehead lined with sweat and frustration. His chestnut-brown eyes, once filled with hope, had sunk into deep sockets, clouded by the constant fog of his alcoholic haze. Despite the extra weight around his midsection, his arms remained thick and powerful from the days when he had been the breadwinner, his hands calloused and rough from the manual labor he had once been so proud of.

Greg stormed into the room, the floorboards groaning under his heavy boots. He grabbed the bag from Kevin's shoulders and tossed it aside. "You've got bigger problems than money and algebra, boy," he sneered, his face reddening. "You're becoming too soft, too sensitive. It's time to toughen up."

Kevin sighed, his eyes darting to the pile of textbooks that had scattered across the floor. "Ugh, great! Just had to come home from work to hear this shit again." He bent down to pick them up, his heart racing. The argument had become a tiresome ritual, one that seemed to loop endlessly through his days. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he tried to ignore the way his father's gaze lingered on him.

"Dad please, I'm not in the mood for this," Kevin said, his voice a mix of annoyance and resignation.

Ignoring his son's protest, Greg's grip tightened on Kevin's bicep as he yanked him out of the room. Textbooks and notebooks spilled out of the bag onto the floor like a waterfall of academic despair, slapping against the cold, hardwood floor. Kevin's heart hammered in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety and anger.

"Dad, let go of me! I have homework to do!" Kevin's voice was a mix of desperation and defiance as he tried to pull away. But Greg was in no mood to listen, his eyes glazed over with a fiery determination that only booze and ignorance could fuel.

"Shut up and come with me, you little faggot!" Greg roared, his breath hot and reeking of whiskey. The words stung, but Kevin had heard them before. They were the usual slurs that painted their dull, sad lives in a vile palette of homophobic rage.

It has been a year since Kevin had found the courage to reveal his true colors to his parents. Despite knowing Greg's deep-seated prejudices, he had hoped that revealing his true self would be a step towards a better understanding, a chance to breathe in the suffocating environment of their home. His mother, Linda, had been the first to know, her blue eyes, matching her son's, brimming with tears and a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She had promised to support him, to love him no matter what, and to keep his secret safe from Greg's wrath.

However, when the truth inevitably spilled out, Greg's reaction had been explosive. The man Kevin had once looked up to had transformed into a monster, his homophobic slurs and violent outbursts escalating to new heights. Linda, desperate to maintain any semblance of peace, had tried to mediate, to soothe her husband's bruised ego and protect her son, but the damage was done.

Linda had been fighting a losing battle for months, her soft voice often lost in the cacophony of Greg's drunken rants. She had pleaded with him to lay off the bottle, to find a job, and to understand that Kevin was their son, their flesh and blood, who deserved love and acceptance regardless of his sexual orientation. But Greg's misogynistic views only amplified his rage towards his wife, dismissing her pleas as the whimpers of a weak-willed woman. The more Linda pushed, the deeper Greg sank into the abyss of his addiction, his resentment towards Kevin festering like an open wound that never healed.

While Linda McDaniel had always been the buffer between her son and her volatile husband, the constant battle to keep the peace was taking its toll on her. One evening, unable to bear the weight of Greg's relentless abuse and desperate to escape the toxic atmosphere, she decided to leave the house to clear her head. As she drove away, her thoughts swirling with a mix of anger, sadness, and fear for Kevin's future, she never made it to her destination. A drunk driver, much like her own husband, collided with her car at a blind corner, and she was killed on the spot. The news of her tragic accident sent shock waves through the already fragile household, leaving Kevin to face his father's wrath alone.

Greg McDaniel had never been the same since Linda's tragic passing. He took her absence as a personal affront, a punishment for his failures as a husband and a father. In his warped state of mind, he had found a scapegoat in Kevin's sexuality, blaming his son's 'abomination' for driving her away. He had convinced himself that if only Kevin could be 'fixed', if he could be 'straightened out', then maybe she would have stayed, maybe she would have loved him enough to keep fighting. The grief had twisted into anger and the anger into a relentless crusade against his own son's identity. But the reality was that it was his own toxic behavior, the relentless abuse, and the stifling environment of fear and intolerance he had created that resulted in Linda's departure. But in his warped mind, it was Kevin's truth that had destroyed the family, a truth that now served as the justification for his cruelty.

To add to the tumultuous mix, the weight of financial responsibilities had also fallen onto Kevin's shoulders after his mother's passing. Despite his young age, he had been forced to find a job to keep the house afloat. Working part-time at the local diner, he juggled his school work with the exhausting demands of supporting a household and caring for his father's needs. Greg's unemployment had not only depleted their savings but had also left him with a gaping hole in his ego, one that he filled with bottles of whiskey and a misplaced sense of entitlement.

Today's battleground was the living room, where a grimy old TV set was the centerpiece of Greg's sad attempts to 'make a man' out of his son. The room reeked of stale cigarette smoke and the sour smell of Greg's sweat-soaked armchair as empty beer bottles were lying on the table.

With enough strength, Greg shoved Kevin onto the worn-out couch, his hand still clamped around his wrist. "You're gonna sit here and watch this," he growled, pointing at the TV with the remote in his other hand. "You're gonna learn what real men do, boy. It'll make you see things straight."

... No pun intended.

Kevin's eyes narrowed as he tried to discern what was happening. "What are we watching?" he asked, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear.

Greg delivered him a cold sneer. "I got you a little educational film," he said, his grip on Kevin's wrist tightening. "It's called "Straight to Manhood". It'll show you what you're missin' out on with all that boy-lovin' nonsense." He waved the DVD case in the air, the plastic glinting under the harsh fluorescent light.

Kevin's stomach churned as he took in the cover: a hyper-masculine Caucasian man with textured crop of dark-brown hair, flexing his muscles, his broad shoulder wrapped around a busty, half-dressed strawberry-blonde-haired Caucasian woman with the belt strap wrapped around her wrists like handcuffs.

"You can't be serious," he said. The very idea of watching porn with his father was repulsive, a violation of the sacred barriers that were meant to separate a son's burgeoning sexuality from the shadow of his father's twisted worldview.

But Greg was deadly serious.

He shoved the DVD into the player with a grunt, the plastic clicking into place with a finality that made Kevin's heart sink. The TV flickered to life, and a sleazy, over-the-top theme song filled the room, the kind that made Kevin want to laugh, if not for the dread coiling in his gut like a serpent ready to strike.

On the screen, the opening scene unfolded in front of them, a ridiculous display of machismo and misogyny. Two muscular men strutted into view, shirts discarded, chests gleaming with sweat. Their pants were tight, cinched by leather belts with a silver buckle that glinted under the harsh arena lights, the dangling straps swaying with each of their movements.

The man, also Caucasian, with golden-blonde hair, curly and styled in swept-up quiff, flexed his biceps, his leather belt strap hanging loose, almost seductively, and Kevin felt a strange tingle of attraction despite his revulsion. The other man with tousled dark-brown hair (which is the same man from the DVD cover) mirrored the pose, the leather of his own belt slapping against the wet skin of his abs. They were in a makeshift fighting ring, a puddle of something unidentifiable on the floor, and their eyes locked with the kind of intensity that promised pain and passion in equal measure.

The strawberry-blonde woman, her hair in loose, sensuous waves that framed her face and fell down her shoulders, watched from the side, her eyes hooded with desire. Her crimson-painted nails tapped a rhythm on the wooden chair, each tap echoing in the tense silence of the room. She licked her pink glossy lips, her pearly white teeth biting down on her bottom lip as she took in the men's flexing muscles. Her breasts heaved with each breath, her chest barely contained by the flimsy fabric of her top, which was so damp it was practically see-through. Her eyes, green as the forest trees, flicked between the two men.

The men cracked their knuckles in unison. Their eyes never left each other's, a silent battle of wills playing out on the dusty, grimy mat as they circled each other.

"So you think you're something special, huh? With your so-called pretty blonde boy looks, don't you?" the brown-haired man jeered, his voice a gravelly drawl that sent a shiver down Kevin's spine. "Think you can just waltz in here and take what's mine?"

The man with golden blonde hair smirked, his teeth flashing like a predator's. "I've had my eye on that sweet piece of ass for a while now," he retorted, his gaze flicking to the strawberry blonde, who responded with a coy smile. "And it looks like she's ready for a real man, and that's me."

The brunet man took a step forward, his gaze never leaving his opponent's. "Oh, so you think you own her, huh?" he sneered, his eyes flaring with challenge as he brought up his fists. "Well, let's see who can give her what she really wants,"

The blonde man's smirk grew into a full-blown grin, his white teeth gleaming in the harsh light. "I've seen the way she looks at you, begging for something you can't give," he goaded, his voice dripping with confidence. "But I'm here to show her what she's been missing."

The brunet's eyes narrowed to slits, his jaw tightening. "You don't know what you're talking about," he spat. "This isn't a game, it's a fight for dominance. For the right to claim her."

The blonde man's grin never wavered. "Oh, I know exactly what this is," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent a thrill through the room. "It's about showing the world what real men are made of, and get this, loser; you ain't got the goods."

Kevin couldn't tear his gaze away from the scene, his stomach churning with a mix of disgust (and fascination at the same time). He can feel his father's eyes bore into the side of his head, expecting a reaction, any sign of 'normal' teenage lust. But Kevin's eyes lingered on the blonde man's powerful thighs, the way his muscles flexed as he stepped closer to his brunet opponent, the anticipation of a clash that was as much about physical dominance as it was about the raw, carnivorous attraction between them.

The brunet's fists clenched real hard, and with a fierce growl, he lunged at his rival, fists flying in a blur. The fight has begun. The screen was a cacophony of grunts and slaps of skin on skin, the leather of their belts slapping against their bodies as they grappled, each trying to prove their dominance over the other.

To Kevin, the scene was ludicrous, a caricature of masculinity, yet the undeniable heat between the two men was impossible to ignore, and his body was responding in ways he couldn't help. He'd always felt a strange attraction to the power dynamics in these types of scenes, the raw physicality of it all.

Kevin's mind was transported back to his early teen years, where he had discovered a confusing and secretive attraction to the raw, testosterone-fueled scenes of bare-knuckle brawls from movies like the 1975 film "Hard Times" and the old shows his father used to watch, like "Walker, Texas Ranger". In those moments, hidden in the shadows of his room, he would find himself getting aroused as he witnessed the sweat-soaked, muscular men grappling with each other, the sound of their fists connecting echoing through the quiet house.

He had felt guilty and ashamed, not understanding why his body responded to such intense violence between characters played by Charles Bronson, Chuck Norris, and other male actors. It was in these secret, solitary moments that he had first realized the truth about his sexuality. And now, as the men on the screen grunted and grappled, his body began to react, his cock thickening in his pants despite his best efforts to ignore it. What his father is doing to him is not teaching him about sex education or manhood; it was about control, about forcing him to fit into a mold that he knew he could never fill.

The fight grew more vicious, the thwacking sounds of punches echoing through the grimy living room. Kevin's eyes darted from the screen to his father's face, then back again, his mind racing. He couldn't help but feel a perverse thrill as the men's bodies collided, their grunts of effort and pain becoming almost erotic in the tense silence. But the sight of his father's leering grin, his eyes glued to the woman's breasts, made him want to vomit.

Greg leaned in, his breath reeking of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke, and whispered in Kevin's ear, "See that, son? That's what real men do to each other. They fight for the woman, show who's the real man in the room. And you... you're a complete joke, a pathetic excuse... soft and weak. You need to learn how to be a man, like me."

Kevin's cheeks burned with rage, but he didn't dare speak. He could feel the tension building, a volatile mix of emotions that threatened to spill over at any moment. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, his pure blue eyes behind his pair of glasses never leaving the screen.

On the TV, the blonde man had the brunet in a headlock, their sweat-slicked bodies entangled like serpents in a dance of dominance. With a snarl, the blonde man brought his knee up into the brunet's stomach, eliciting a strangled cry of pain. The brunet's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, his eyes wide with shock and agony. The blonde man's eyes gleamed with victory, a smirk playing on his full lips.

Just as the blonde man was about to bring the heel of his shoe down onto the brunet's face, the latter managed to roll away with a surprising display of agility. The shoe smacked into the mat, sending a puff of dust into the air. The woman's eyes widened, a hint of worry flickering across her face as she leaned forward, her nails digging into the chair's armrests. The brunet took the opportunity to spring to his feet, his eyes flashing with a feral determination that belied his earlier pain.

Greg leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face as he took a swig from his beer bottle. "That's more like it," he murmured, his gaze never leaving the screen. "That's how a man keeps up a fight."

The fight on screen resumed as the muscular men continued to grapple, their grunts and gasps punctuating the air. The brunet, fueled by his opponent's underestimation and a deep-seated anger, threw a series of swift punches, each one connecting with a satisfying thud that sent the blonde man staggering back.

Kevin watched, his own pulse racing as he felt the power in each blow, the raw, primal energy that seemed to electrify the very air in the room. The woman in the scene, her eyes alight with excitement, leaned in closer, her breath hitching with every hit.

In a flash of movement, the brunet man managed to catch the blonde's leg mid-kick, his strong grip surprising even Greg. With a swift twist, he sent the blonde man crashing to the floor, the thud echoing through the small, cluttered living room.

Kevin couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for the underdog's tenacity, his own body responding to the display of strength and dominance. The teen clenched his fists even harder as he forced his mind back to algebra formulas and geometry theorems, trying to drown out the grunts and slaps of skin that seemed to resonate through his very soul. Despite his efforts to remain detached, he couldn't help the traitorous stirrings in his pants, his body won't stop responding to the raw, primal display of power and dominance.

With every punch thrown and parried, every flex of muscle and grunt of effort, his heart pounding against his ribs faster, his breath grew shallower. No… not here. Not like this! He thought with anger and panic as he grinded his teeth. Damnit! How could he do this to me!? Forcing me to watch this shit that gets me hard 24/7 out of all things! I can't let myself get aroused with him around!

He focused on the pain in his palms, the ache in his wrists, anything to distract from the growing pressure in his groin. He was a straight-A student, a good son, and a hard worker; he would not let this twisted spectacle claim him. He mustn't! He certainly mustn't!

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to obey, to not betray him in his moment of need… only to be forced back to reality when his father's hand squeezed tightly on his wrist as the middle-aged man whispered, "Look at her, boy." while pointing to the woman at the TV screen.

The strawberry-blonde actress, with a wicked smile filled with lust, had reached down between her legs, her hand disappearing beneath her skirt. She began to rub herself, her green eyes never leaving the men as they fought.

"That's what real men do to women." Greg licked his lips with lust-filled malice. "Make 'em wet and wantin'."

The brown-haired teen felt sick at this scene, his blue eyes glued to the screen despite his horror. He could feel Greg's anticipation, his need to prove a point, to break him.

Back on the screen, the brown-haired man's punches grew more frenzied, each hit landing with a wet thud. The blonde man took the blows with a stoic expression, his eyes glued to his opponent's, as if he could see through to the fear and doubt beneath the surface. And then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he brought his leg up, catching the brunet's stomach with a knee that looked like it could crush rocks.

The brunet's eyes went wide with pain, and the air left his lungs with a whoosh. The woman in the film gasped, her hand momentarily stilling in her own private battle as she watched the tides of power shift. The blonde man took advantage of the opening, pushing off the mat with his other leg and sending the brunette flying backward with a kick that connected with a sickening thud against the metal bars of the ring.

With the brunet down, the blonde took his time to saunter over. He reached down to the buckle of his belt, and Kevin watched, transfixed, as he unbuckled it. The young man's thoughts raced, trying to ignore the traitorous arousal that coursed through him as the blonde man on the TV screen began to slip his belt off through the loops with a sinister hiss. His heart pounded in his chest, his eyes glued to the scene despite the revulsion he felt towards the toxic display of 'masculinity' that his father had forced upon him.

The blonde man's intentions were clear as day, and yet, a strange, perverse curiosity took hold of him. What was he planning to do with that belt? The 18-year-old had seen enough of these types of scenes to know that they often ended with one man being degraded, forced to submit to the other.

As soon as the blonde man yanked his belt free with a flick of his wrist, he swung the leather through the air with a 'crack' that made Kevin jump. The blonde's eyes glinted as he approached the brunet, who was now struggling to get to his feet, his legs wobbly with pain and exhaustion, still determined to keep the effort of staying in the fight.

"You know what's coming, don't you, boy?" The blonde man taunted with a sadistic smirk etched on his face, the belt swinging casually in his hand. "You're gonna learn who's the real man here."

Kevin's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. The belt arced through the air, aiming for the brunette fighter's bare back, a promise of pain and submission. But with a surprising burst of strength, the brown-haired man managed to dodge, the belt smacking against the mat where he'd just been a moment before. The woman's eyes grew wide, her breath hitching in her throat as she watched the scene unfold. The brunet turned to face his attacker, a fierce determination etched into his features. His eyes, dark with anger, locked onto the blonde's.

With a roar, the brunet lunged, catching the belt mid-air as the blonde attempted another swing. The leather strap quivered with the force of his grab, and the blonde's eyes narrowed, a hint of surprise flashing through them. The brunet's grip was like iron as he yanked the belt back. The sudden shift in momentum sent the blonde stumbling, and before he could recover, the brown-haired man had twisted the belt around his own hand, the buckle glinting dangerously.

The room was so quiet that Kevin could hear the whistle of the belt as the brunette swung it with all his might. The buckle connected with the blonde's cheek with a crack that made him stumble, a crimson bloom spreading over the perfect skin. The brunet's chest heaved with the effort, his teeth bared in a snarl of triumph as he stepped closer, the belt cocked back for another strike. The woman in the film leaned forward, her eyes alight with a dark excitement.

Greg's hand tightened on Kevin's wrist, his brown eyes glued to the screen. "That's it," he growled with gritted teeth with amusement over the brute scene. "Show him who's the real man. Show her you're the one in charge."

The blonde man managed to catch the brunet's wrist, the two of them locked in a struggle that seemed to hold the fate of the world in its grasp. The belt fell to the floor with a clatter that was lost amidst their grunts and snarls. But the brunette was not to be denied. With a swift, vicious move, he brought his knee up and slammed it into the blonde's groin. The blonde's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he crumpled to the floor, the air whooshing out of his lungs. The woman in the film leaned forward, her hand slipping out from beneath her skirt, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and excitement.

The brunet didn't pause. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, he swung his leg back and kicked the blonde man with a power that seemed to defy gravity. The blonde's body arced through the air, flying over the top rope of the makeshift ring, and slammed into the floor outside it, landing in the puddle with a wet, sickening splat that sent water flying in all directions.

Kevin felt his arousal wane, the reality of the situation crashing over him like a cold shower. He couldn't believe what he was feeling as he watched the blonde man lay in the puddle, his body limp and defeated, the water soaking into his hair and pooling around his face. He knew what was coming next: once the man defeats his opponent, the woman would choose the winner, while the opponent would be discarded, left to lick his wounds in defeat.

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to focus on the pain in his wrist instead, the sharp sting of the carpet burns on his palms, literally anything to push down his arousal. This isn't what I want, he whispered in his thoughts, his eyes squeezed shut. This isn't what being a man is about.

Deep down, the teen in glasses desperately wished he could give in to the illicit thrill coursing through him, to let his hand wander down to the bulge in his pants and relieve the tension that had been building since the fight began. The raw power, the dominance, and the struggle between the two men on the screen had his heart racing and his cock throbbing. But the very thought of his father witnessing his arousal, interpreting it as a victory for his twisted ideals, was unbearable. This wasn't a game, a harmless kink; it was a battle for his very identity, and his father was the enemy general, laying siege to the last bastion of his self-esteem. He knew he couldn't give in, not here, not now. Not like this.

On screen, the brunet's chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths, his muscles tight and tense, sweat glistening like oil in the harsh arena lights. He looked down at his unconscious opponent sprawled in the puddle. "Looks like you're the one who needs to learn more about manhood," he sneered, his eyes alight with a fierce, almost feral victory. He spat a mouthful of saliva onto the prone blonde, the glob landing with a wet splat on the blonde's cheek. The woman's eyes followed the arc of the spit, her own breath hitching with anticipation.

"Look at 'im, boy," Greg said, his voice thick with the excitement of the fight. "That's how you handle someone who thinks they're better than you."

The brunet reached down, his hand wrapping around the leather belt that had been discarded earlier. He picked it up with a flourish, the metal buckle glinting as it caught the light, and approached the woman with a predatory stride. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

Greg leaned closer to Kevin. "This is it," he whispered in his ear with anticipation. "This is where the real action starts. You better keep watching, boy."

Kevin's eyes remained on the screen as the brunet man towered over the trembling woman, the belt hanging from his fist like a weapon. He couldn't deny the tension in the air, the electric charge of dominance and submission that seemed to crackle between the two. But he also couldn't shake the feeling of disgust that coiled in his stomach, the sense that this was all wrong, that he was being forced to watch a twisted play of power that had nothing to do with love or attraction.

The brunette leaned down, his breath hot against the woman's face. "You liked that, didn't you?" he sneered. "Yeah, sluts like you love watching a man beat the shit out of another man. But you know what real men do to whores like you when they're done playing games?"

Her eyes widened with fear and excitement, and she tried to shrink away, but he was too fast. The belt snaked out like a whip, catching her wrist and yanking her towards him as she fell on her knees from the chair. He then rips open the fabric of her shirt with his free hand, exposing her bare, sweat-slicked skin to the harsh arena lights.

"You think you can touch yourself without any man's permission?" he snarled, the veins in his neck bulging with rage. "Well now you're gonna learn who's in charge here."

Greg chuckled darkly with amusement, his hand moving to his crotch. "That's right, show her," he murmured, his eyes glazed with lust. "Take what's yours. That's how a real man does it, Kevin!"

Kevin shook his head, appalled by Greg's repulsive reaction to the scene. He couldn't believe that this is his own father forcing him to watch this horror show playing out before him with a relentless attempt to 'straighten' him out, that this is the same man who had once held him as a baby and taught him to throw a baseball. Now, he was watching this depraved film with a sick fascination, his own desires twisted by years of anger and frustration.

Back on the TV screen, the brunette man's grin grew wolfish as he used the belt to bind both of his rewarded slut's wrists to the chair, her forest green eyes went wide with a mix of terror and arousal. The leather bit into her skin, leaving red marks that stood out against her pale flesh. "You're gonna learn your place, you whore," he rasped, his deep husky voice a blend of rage and desire. With a brutal jerk, he ripped her top open, the fabric tearing like paper under his powerful grip. Her breasts spilled out, bouncing slightly from the force, the pink tips of her nipples hardening from a mix of fear and exposure.

"You ain't gonna be touching yourself with me in control for now on," The man on TV growled, his hand coming up to slap her across the face. Kevin felt a surge of rage boil up at what was unfolding in front of him. This wasn't what he wanted; this wasn't what love or manhood was supposed to be. It was a grotesque caricature, a twisted reflection of Greg's own desires and insecurities.

He recoiled at the idea that he was supposed to find this behavior not only acceptable but aspirational. How the fuck can this be what he thinks makes a man? Kevin thought to himself, his revulsion for Greg's distorted view of masculinity growing with every passing second. This isn't about sex or love. It's about power and control, about reducing people to objects to be used and discarded... I don't know how Mom could stand him. He knew he could never be like Greg, no matter how hard the man tried to mold him, and the very thought of it filled him with a determination to escape this toxic environment and find a life of his own.

The brunet fighter's mouth descended to her neck, teeth scraping against her skin as he kissed her roughly, leaving a trail of bruises. With his other hand, he tugged at the flimsy fabric of her bra, the cheap material giving way under his force. The woman's breasts bounced free, and Greg's eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold, his own lust mirroring the brunette's on-screen. "Oh ho, yes... Now we're talking," The heavy set man licked his lips with a predatory gaze.

The brunet didn't waste any time, his mouth immediately finding her nipple, sucking and biting it until she let out a strangled cry that Kevin isn't sure if she's really acting or not. Finally, the teen in glasses couldn't take it. He tore his eyes away from the screen, his gaze meeting Greg's. There was no love in his father's eyes, only a desperate hope that his son would become a mirror of his own failings. The rage inside of him grew, a volcano ready to erupt, and he knew that he couldn't take this anymore.

"Well, boy?" Greg questioned with malice. "Are you enjoying the show?"

...