A Father's Gift

by mikey2much

Copyright© 2010 by mikey2much

BDSM Sex Story: A gay male hears his father's voice on the way home from his father's funeral, telling him to be himself, a gay slut.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/mt   Consensual   Slavery   Gay   True Story   Incest   Son   Father   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   Rough   Humiliation   Sadistic   Torture   Group Sex   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   .

You don't just become a slut over night. No! You think about it as you play with your dick for years. You practice in your head, work out the details in your fantasies; go through the motions a thousand times.

Fetishes are not like plants: they don't need the light of the day. They grow best at night, in the dark, where shapes are vague, and things are never clear. They are born behind closed eyes, living their lives in your dreams, growing stronger as you grow older, at first nothing more than an innocent list of your likes and dislikes; the things that make you happy.

Then puberty strikes! Until this point in your life, if you were relatively normal, you had dreams of being strong and brave, and making your parents proud. Puberty reveals that your entire life is being lived in a lighted stadium. And puberty lets your eyes go beyond the lights, lets you see vague shapes out in the shadows of the dark side.

In your dreams you are still brave and strong, and rescuing sweet young maidens; you are loved and respected, living up to all your parents expectations. Brave and strong, admired by all, you travel through your dream world.

After puberty you need to have a sex-life You need a woman who can give you the sex you want. So you continue to rescue sweet young maidens, and they can hardly wait to spread their legs for you.

Real life poses much harder questions though, and success is not guaranteed. For years you have disliked girls. A few games of 'Doctor', where you show them yours and they show you theirs, check out the different plumbing, and you have exhausted all your interest in them. They are boring; they don't like to play the same games that boys do. They would rather sit around trying on clothes and playing with dolls for fun. You have nothing in common with them, so the boys play together and the girls form groups of their own.

Puberty lets you see women in a different light: they have something that you really need and want. They don't want to give it to you and you are not allowed to take it. Some guys are born lucky, and seem to be able to interact with women with no problems. Other boys, such as Johnny, have a hard time reaching out and finding acceptance with girls.

At night though, alone in your dark room, everything is good. As your little right hand pumps your sock-encased dick, some of the day's events start to intrude into your happier dreams. Suddenly, a grateful young maiden would say some hurtful thing that had been said during the day. That can't happen here! Here, where you are brave and strong and admired by all, violence enters dreamland. At first it is just verbal, but that is far from painless. This violence and hurt is returned by you with force and strength.

Before puberty violence is something that you watch in a cartoon and has no real after effects. Now, the violence is real; it is the man applying his strength to counteract the desire the woman is using against him. Force applied through pain to make the ungrateful maidens at least act grateful and spread those legs. Even though you get to fuck the maidens in your dreams, you feel a sense of failure because their sex is taken, when you wish it had been given freely.

As you learn more about sex and the different things that can be done to you, and for you, by your lover, you find that you like the idea of blow-jobs. They dominate your thoughts and your dreams as you force the young maidens to their knees instead of putting them on their backs.

Over time, alone in the dark, the feelings grow stronger. You begin to work things out so you don't need the force. Instead of using force against the girls, you willingly take their place. As your hand fondles and pulls on your hard cock, you begin to wonder what it feels like to the person doing the sucking. You begin to imagine yourself on your knees giving these feelings to another. In the past, you might have pictured a sweet young thing on their knees, but one night, it was you on your knees, and you came so hard!

Since that time, you have proven to yourself so many times what a slut you are by the thoughts that make you come the hardest. You realize that you are a giver not a taker; the sucker not the suckee. Your fantasy is to be the person who makes other people's fantasies come true. You are the slave; they are the master.

Naturally you resist the idea at first. Everybody wants to think they are the strong one, or at least, every man wants to be a 'real' man. But over time you allow the slut to come out in your dreams and fantasies.

But only in your dreams and fantasies. In real life you fake it. You try to live up to the standards that your parents expect of you. You hide behind what they want you to be: the real you can only come out behind closed doors. And closed eyes. In the dark, you thrive. In the light of day, you fade away, and your 'normal' self replaces the real you.

Johnny shook his head as if he could dislodge this train of thought by doing so. It didn't really matter whether he understood how he had become the way he was. He was what he was, and nothing could change that. He had come to realize that he could find sex with men much easier then he could with women. Men were much more up front about what they wanted and willing to settle for what could be had in the here and now.

Johnny was a reasonably intelligent person; he knew that the dream was a side effect of seeing his father in his casket at the funeral yesterday. The radio in his old caravan didn't work, so he had no distractions to keep his mind from dwelling on his dead father, and the relationship they had shared. Loving his father, and yet well aware that if his father knew who he really was, it would break his heart. Now his father was gone ... and with him, the biggest source of his shame! Twenty four years into his life, he was free of the burden of trying to live up to his father's expectations.

He had always been sure of his father's love, but he suffered every time he didn't live up to what his father thought was a man's role. While his father never said anything, Johnny always read the disappointment in his eyes after every failure. And there were so many of them. Little league baseball was an unending torture! But his father was at every game. His dad had always held up his part of the bargain, working hard to be supportive and encouraging, showing his love through his actions, patiently waiting for his son to blossom into the man he hoped for, waiting for his son to become another man like himself, strong and confident, hiding his fears that his son didn't have what it takes.

Johnny knew that he was a bit emotionally unstable after his father's sudden death in an automobile accident. He had left to make the long trip back to his hometown in Texas as soon as he heard the news. It was his first trip home in three years since leaving to start his life in Atlanta, where there seemed to be a little more tolerance for different lifestyles. In his new home, he had allowed himself to grow into a man who would not have been accepted in his small Texas hometown; he pulled the mask back over his real self and went home for the funeral.

The event went well for a funeral. He greeted the members of the extended family and hugged old friends, accepting their condolences. It was when he returned to his old bedroom to sleep that things started happening. He experienced a dream ... a dream so real that it seemed it had to have a purpose. Even being aware that he might have been weakened by events, he couldn't discount that the dream was so real and the message so much on target. In his heart, he knew that the dream was his father talking to him from the grave!

His dick had started to harden as his memories of the dream he had last night were replayed in his mind.

Lately he was in bondage a lot in his fantasies, and in the dream, it was more of the same. He had been naked with his arms crossed behind his back. He liked having his arms behind his back; he loved the helpless feeling of total exposure and no defense. In this sexual dream, he had been blindfolded and led into a room full of people. He pretended that his dick was hard and impressive as he was walked across the room. He imagined the hands of strangers touching him, caressing his hardness, teasing him and making him want release. He was forced to his knees; he waited with his head down until a man came to stand before him. Not only could he smell him, but the smell was distressingly familiar. Lost in the scent of his dad's aftershave lotion, he felt the man's legs as they rubbed against his shoulders. The hands grabbed his head and pulled it closer to the hard cock that strained to reach his mouth.

His hand had found his stiff cock and he began to stroke himself as he let his mind replay the events that had so shaken him since awakening this morning. Up until then, the dream had been pretty normal. Well, consider it! Being forced to suck off guys in public is a pretty common fantasy. He had that fantasy all the time, being forced to suck a dick on a bus or a subway, in a taxi ... hell! In an alley...

But in the fantasy last night, things took a turn for the dark side. In the dream, as he sucked the unknown and unseen man's dick, he also heard a voice.

His dick throbbed in his hand and come soared up onto his chest to splatter on his shirt. Holy shit! Just the thought of that voice had made him come again! It was his father's voice, coaching him to relax his throat and take his cock, like a good slut should.

Johnny found a napkin and cleaned up the mess he had made. This was the final proof that he was well beyond weird; he was a full-fledged pervert!

Johnny was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He needed to stop and think about what the meaning of the dream could be. He thought that Monroe Louisiana. was just ahead as he drove down Interstate twenty. As luck would have it, he happened to see a sign for a rest plaza ahead. A cup of coffee might help him to focus his thoughts, he thought as he maneuvered over to the exit ramp.

As he approached the main building, he saw that the 'Men's' restrooms were being re-modeled, and a long line of portable johns had been placed along the sidewalk. He made ready to get out of his car when the door of the closest porta-potty opened and a man stood in the rectangular shape of the opening. Johnny saw a man in a casket: his father!

Like a scene from a fifties bible flick, his father looked down at him from his upright coffin. Shimmering white light radiated out from his father, making everything appear a little fuzzy like it was slightly out of focus. Everything except the eyes; his father's eyes were clear and sharp, intelligent eyes, full of sadness. His father was naked with his hard cock calling to Johnny, wanting Johnny, needing Johnny.

He snapped his eyes shut and leaned his head against the coolness of the window glass. When he opened his eyes, the man was gone, and it was only a porta-potty again. He felt that maybe his father wanted him to use the one that he had appeared in the doorway of. He stepped inside it. It was hot, and smelled of disinfectant and fiberglass. He stood in front of the funnel shaped urinal and pissed, looking at the writings on the wall as he did. One message drew his eye. "Meet me tonight at the office, men's room last stall on the right."

He shook himself dry and walked to the food area and got his coffee. Thinking he was crazy, he nevertheless asked to borrow a phone book, and looked for listings under "Office". There was one for "The Office Lounge" in West Monroe, just a few miles up the road from where he was now. Could this be a message from his father? A follow up to the message in his dream? More importantly, could he afford not to check it out? What answers might be waiting on him in "the last stall on the right"? Shaking his head at the thought, he wondered if his dead father was actually talking with him through graffiti on a public toilet wall.

Once he had the car back up to speed, he hit the cruise-control, put his coffee in the cup-holder and took his dick out again. He let his mind return to the details of the dream, the dream that had released him from acting like he was somebody other than who he really was.

On his knees with his father's cock in his mouth, he could even feel the heavy weight of its rubbery bulk filling his mouth. He ran his tongue around it and sucked it like the slut he knew he was. Bobbing his head to the encouragement of the two hands that held it, he face fucked himself on his father's hard dick.

He listened to his father; he did everything that his father told him to do; he totally debased himself to his father.

When he had sucked all of the seed from his father's staff he sat back. His eyes were still blindfolded but he had no doubt that it was his father talking to him.

His father told him that he loved him. His father told him that he enjoyed the way he sucked his dick. His Father forgave him for being queer, forgave him for being weak and feminine.

Until then, the dream had been a plausible chance, could happen to anyone, but his father's voice continued, and delivered a message that made the dream more than just a dream: "Son, I want you to be happy. But you have to follow your own path to find where you belong. Tonight, I want you to show me what a slut you can be, show me who you are, what you are. Tonight I am going to allow you to be the slut that you have always wanted to be. Tomorrow and for the rest of your life you will be my special little slut."

He was a good slut, he thought, as his hand gently stroked his hard dick. Feeling like he was performing for his dad, Johnny let his hand speed up, and moments later, he came again, shooting come up onto the steering wheel where it dripped back onto his pants. His cock was slick with it, and it felt so delicious as his come-covered fingers caressed the head of his dick. It almost felt like a warm wet tongue.

Johnny was wide awake now, but he heard the voice of his father again. He was unable to determine whether it was in his head or not, but there was no doubt about the contents of the message.

"There is a gay bar down off of Fairview Drive, the name of the place is 'The Office'. I want you to go there. Your dick will be hard again by the time you get there. Leave it sticking out of your zipper when you go inside. Say nothing to no one. Do not avoid their eyes if they look at you. Just return their look, but say nothing. Walk through to the back, to the men's restrooms, and go to the last stall. Strip all your clothes off, fold them and put them on the floor behind the toilet. Leave the door open and sit on the bowl. Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. Pretend you are wearing wrist cuffs chaining your arms to the wall behind the toilet tank. Be a good slut, I'll be watching."

Johnny couldn't imagine not following the instructions, so he rented a motel room in West Monroe. Concentrating on the road had been taxing in itself, and the other stuff going around in his head made him feel like he could really use a nap, so he lay down and went straight to sleep. He woke up at nine in the evening, unable to remember if he had dreamed at all during his nap. He showered and had a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee at the waffle house in front of the motel. Feeling a bit more human, he continued his quest.

He found the bar and like his father had predicted his dick was hard again. He let it lead the way as he walked down the half block of sidewalk to the door of the bar. Nobody seemed to notice, he walked inside and several pairs of eyes turned toward him. They all noticed. He watched as each set of eyes dropped down his body to where his hard dick jutted out of his pants fly. He returned their stares as he walked through to the rear of the place where he found the restrooms.

Alex Kent had been enjoying a quiet drink before he went home to his lonely apartment. He had almost finished and was fishing out a tip for the waiter when his eye was drawn to a young man walking in a very determined manner. Closer examination revealed that the resolute young man had his cock sticking out ahead of him like a lance. Alex thought that he might be some latter day Pied Piper from the way the lounge rats were following him to the restroom. While Alex thought of himself as being above common bathroom sex, he never the less felt that he had to know the story here and joined the parade.

Johnny was aware that a couple of the guys who had looked him over in the bar had followed him to the rest room. He ignored them as he followed his father's instructions. When he had removed all his clothes he placed his arms behind his back and waited in the stall with the door open.

Alex stood as silent as the others watching the strange man strip, but he broke the silence with a question. "What's your name slut?" He asked.

Johnny looked at the man and realized that he was about his father's age; he even looked like his father a bit, tall and slim with eyes that burned into his soul.

"My name is Slut". Johnny replied the answer came out before he knew what he was saying. Was his father putting words in his mouth now? Was he going crazy?

For several moments there was silence and stillness in the restroom as all the players came to terms with the game being played. The man who had asked him for his name unzipped his fly, stepped forward and shoved his cock into Slut/Johnny's mouth.

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