I hear more of the spooky moaning coming from upstairs. I can’t go check on him now—I’m too anxious. There are still two videotapes, my cock is still oozing cum, and my kid is once again trying to get all the attention on himself. So annoying. I march to the bottom of the stairs.
I shout up, “You’re fine!”
All that returns is a high-pitched whine and a few sobs, which I’m going to take as a, “Yes Daddy, I’m fine.”
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and give myself quite a fright. I had forgotten that I still have my bloody, green/gray zombie makeup on. With my cock still jutting out of my ripped, bloody jeans—a pole of peach and purple flesh stained with some of my green makeup, I look like any child’s ultimate nightmare. And I guess that’s what I am, really because my son has already met two nightmares tonight. He got his face battered in by a military Adonis with a penchant for making boys shoot cum out their nose, and then he had been brutally beaten, whipped, electrocuted, and forced to boy cum by a twisted black man with a mean streak.
However, there was one man who was at the top of it all—one man who let those two strangers brutalize the boy. And that man was I. I’m my son’s worst nightmare, and that’s how I want it. I know it sounds awful, but ever since I started to see my son as a sex toy instead of a human, I have wanted to scare the shit out of him continually—and what better time to do so than on Halloween? Ignoring the kid’s moans, I reach into the bag and pull out the tape marked with a three. It’s time to get this party started.
Shit. It looks like Venom kicked my kid out before the boy had a chance to get dressed. The first thing I see when the camera comes on is my boy squatting on the porch in the dim light, rummaging through his pillowcase. Thank god that house was tucked back from the road. I can tell my son is frantic trying to get dressed. Fortunately for him, it’s late at night, and no one could see the porch from the road anyway. I can’t remember what the third costume was until I see my son pull it out of his pillowcase and slip it on quickly.
Then I remember. I had chosen to “recycle” one of my son’s costumes from a few years ago. I bought him two brand new costumes (which he has already ruined!), and I could not justify spending that much more money on the kid. So I had him tell me what his favorite costume was from years’ past, and decided to add that into the night. Unfortunately, it’s been a few years since he wore this costume, and it looks absolutely ridiculous. I also cannot believe my son picked this costume as his favorite. It’s the dumbest thing ever—just an ordinary sheet with two holes cut in it—a classic ghost. Except since he’s grown quite a bit since he wore it trick or treating with his now dead mommy, it is way too small. So small, in fact, that as I watch him try it on, I realize that the very bottom of his round, plump ass is visible when he moves. And you can just barely see the bottom of his abused hairless little scrotal sack. The kid is obviously self-conscious as fuck because he keeps trying to yank down the sheet to cover more of him. But it’s useless—my son is on display, and he still has one more house to visit.
Fortunately, the house isn’t too far, and like I said, it’s late, and all the good little boys and girls who aren’t trolling for cock have gone to bed, stuffed full of candy. I hear my son’s stomach growl. He’s so damn obedient, the dumb thing. He understandably wants to eat some more of the candy he’s gotten, but he knows the rules—no candy until he gets home. And at the rate I’m burning through the candy while I watch this video, it might be no candy ever. Not that he needs it. I like him scrawny.
Still tugging at the costume, he lifts up the camera and makes his way out to the street. I hear him unfold the map I drew him and make a turn down a tree-lined street. I’m so close to cumming in anticipation of the last guy—he’s the one I’m most excited about. But suddenly the kid stops, and the camera pans over to a house just up ahead and across the street. There is a group of boys—probably teenagers from the high school judging by their size—dressed all in black, some with red kerchiefs pulled over their faces. They are egging the shit out of the house, and I can hear them quietly laughing as they do.
My son doesn’t know what to do. He’s stopped there, because the house he’s supposed to go to is past those boys, and I know they scare him. He’s told me before there are some “older boys” in the neighborhood who like to pick on the little kids, and I am sure these kids are the ones he’s been referring to. Well, too late. The dumb kid stood there too long, and now the teens have noticed him. The group of boys moves forward under a streetlamp, bunching together as they point and laugh at my son. I can see them only sort of clearly—there’s a tall, skinny, white boy, a Latino-looking kid, and one big, square, shaved-headed boy who has to be a football player. I can hear them shouting things like, “Faggot!” and “Look at the little pussy in the dress!” at my tiny, terrified little boy.
The teens start to cross the street, and that’s enough to send my boy off running. They shout at him to come back, but my son takes off and cuts through an alleyway and around the corner. My slim boy may be beaten and abused, but he’s visibly clearly scared enough to hightail it. Still, his little legs are no match for the teens’ long strides, and soon they’re right on top of him. The camera shakes crazily as my son turns up a random house and bangs on the door. The teens are right behind him, and I’m sure they’re going to grab him when suddenly the door bangs open, and I hear a man’s voice.
“GET OFF MY PORCH! NOW!”
The teens don’t need to be asked twice. They scatter like cockroaches in a light, and soon the camera stops shaking as my boy calms down. He’s been saved. I wonder if this tape is going to be a dud after all, but then my son turns the camera to the man who answered the door.
Of course, my son’s shoddy camera work leaves something to be desired, so the first thing I see is the big bowl of candy corn the man is holding in front of his crotch. My son slowly pans up, and it is clear this man is a bit odd. He is dressed in a bright orange sweater, festive but conservative, and a pair of black slacks. He has a white collared shirt under his sweater, which gives him a button down, professional, look. When my boy scans up to the man’s face, my jaw drops so hard I think it might fall off, and I feel my cock actually squirt a little bit of pre-cum.
It is him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I cannot believe it is him. I recognize that handsome face. Anyone would. The sharp jaw with the blonde stubble, the wavy, sandy hair, the square, wire-frame glasses, he looks like a dad out of a 1950’s TV show. Everyone in our town knows him: Walt Beaumont. He is the man who, about five years ago, lost his son. The boy was playing outside in the yard—come to think of it, it was the night before Halloween—and he was snatched and never heard from again.
There are lots of rumors about Walt. Some say he lost his mind after his son disappeared. He used to be a man about town and always very friendly. I enjoyed chatting with him, not just because he was a charming, polite man, but also because he was so damn sexy with his classic dad face and a hot body to match.
However, some say his son’s disappearance was a bit odd. The boy’s body was never found. People say Walt knows where he was buried, or even that he was the one to make the boy disappear. It is a mystery that is for sure.
And now, my son is standing in front of this potential psychopath, on Halloween night, dressed in nothing but a sheet that barely covers his most intimate features. I see a wicked grin crawl across the man’s face before the camera shifts back down to the bowl of candy. The man is still holding the candy corn bowl in one hand, and his other is fishing around behind it. Then time seems to slow down as I hear an unzipping sound, and the man moves away from the bowl of candy. My son almost drops the camera and then steadies it as the screen is filled with a close-up of this man’s meat.
“Meat” is the only word I can think of because it looks so fucking heavy. The man is totally soft, but he’s got one of those cocks that look enormous even when it is flaccid. The man is uncut in just the right way. The skin covers his thick, hanging cock head, but it is pulled back just enough to expose the red cock lips of his cock through the opening. His cock is so damn thick it must be stretching his foreskin all the time. However, what is really impressive are the two nuts that go with it. The already churning, low hanging balls look like two hard-boiled eggs with the left one hanging lower than the right one. He has an excessive amount of ball skin, which allow the nuts to sit there, full and heavy, like hanging mistletoe. Wrong holiday, but you get the idea. Everyone involved in this scenario is surprised, I can tell. The look on the man’s face, which is now in the camera frame, is one of pure shock and delight.
I guess some of the rumors are true—this guy is a perv for kids. I hope that the whole murder thing is not true, but Jesus, what are the odds? I am totally shocked as well, because how could it be that my son chooses the one house in the neighborhood that just happens to have an insane, horrifying pedo living inside? I had picked out three pedophiles, confident they were the only ones within walking distance of my home, but my kid lands on the doorstep of the scariest fucking house in the neighborhood. It’s so fucking dangerous for him. My heart is pounding even faster than my cock is throbbing.
I can only imagine how shocked my son must be. After the bullying and abuse he’s been through tonight, he goes to a house—only to be confronted with cock too big for most porn stars. “Howie?” the man says. “I can’t…I can’t believe it’s you! You came back!”
Howie. Shit. That was the one who disappeared. The man reaches forward, grabs the camera, and yanks my son inside. I’m so happy to have the camera back in the hands of an adult. My son’s handiwork with the cam was starting to make me feel a little queasy. I know first-person horror films have been popular since the Blair Witch project, but this is one scary movie I want to see clean and crisp.
Speaking of clean and crisp, the man’s house is immaculate. It looks like it has not even been lived in. The floors are gleaming, and the walls, which are decorated with picture frames and shelves of little knickknacks, are all in place. There’s so much stuff on the walls that everything clinks as he leads my trembling son into the living room. I see on the camera that these pictures are of Howie. In fact, it’s pretty clear the whole house is a shrine to the kid. I swallow deeply. It’s pretty clear this guy is not in his right mind. He gets to the living room and sits down on the big, green couch. He points the camera at my son, and I can see my boy’s wide, terrified eyes focused downward. He must be staring at the man’s massive, exposed meat.
“Son, I’ve been so scared. Daddy’s been so scared! Let me take a look at you. Are you hurt?”
This man clearly thinks my boy is his dead son, which is ironic seeing that my kid is dressed as a ghost. Walt props the camera on his thigh, so it is still pointing at my kid. Then I see him lean forward and start to inspect my son. Inspect is not quite the right word. His hands are all over my kid. Within seconds, his big, meaty paws are up under my kid’s thin costume, rubbing his chest and tummy, under his armpits, and then downward. His right hand cups my boy’s ass, and I know he can feel just how pert and plump it is. And his other hand grabs the boy’s already abused crotch and gives it a squeeze.
“Oh, Howie, what have you been up to?” the maniac asks as he feels my son up. “There are bruises and cuts all over you!”
My son does not have the ability to explain that those marks are from an intense session with a black sadist. That is because the man’s right hand has moved upward and is now feeling around in my son’s mouth through the hole cut in the sheet.
“And I can tell you’ve been eating candy. Your mouth is all swollen!”
The logic of that sentence doesn’t really make sense, but I heard once there is no point arguing with a crazy man, and though my son is trying to say something, I doubt he is contradicting what he knows to be true. His mouth is still swollen, and he has only had a few bites of candy tonight.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” the man says. “Come on.”
They are on the move again, this time going to the kitchen. I see the man lead my son over to the counter and then rummage through the drawer. To my horror, he picks up a small, sharp knife.
“Upstairs,” the man commands.
My son starts to sob, but the man ignores him as he urges my son by the shoulder out of the kitchen and upstairs. Once upstairs, they get into the bathroom, and the man begins to draw a bath.
“Okay, kiddo, time to get you naked.”
He could easily slip the sheet off over my son’s head, but instead, he makes my son shriek by jabbing the knife forward, stopping just under the hem of the sheet. Then he begins to slice upwards. My son is shaking and whimpering. I know he can feel the cold, dull side of the blade against his waistline, maybe even the sharp point of it a bit. That must be a spooky experience! Or perhaps he’s upset his costume is getting cut in half. In any event, I can tell the man is enjoying the slow, intense reveal of my son’s naked, shivering, and pale little body. He keeps slicing upwards until he gets to my son’s neck where he stops.
My blood is pumping so hard that I would be terrified if I knew my boy was not safe and sound (well, sort of) upstairs. There is a long moment where I can see my son vibrating. He’s trying so hard to stay still, but it is impossible! Halloween is just too scary this year! After this long pause, Walt pulls the remains of the costume away, and I can actually see the man’s tears well up as he stares at my son.
“I’m so happy you’re back,” the man says.
Jesus, this guy is really fucked up. It hits me now that my son and the boy, who went missing all those years ago, do have some similarities. They are both small and frail looking, with big, wide eyes and messy blonde hair, but this guy clearly thinks my son is his son.
“You go take a shower, kiddo,” the man says, giving my son a swat on the ass. “I’m going to go get ready.”
My son does not question this ominous statement. He knows what it means when a man says he has to “get ready.” My son used to go pale at those words and try to run away and hide. Now he just accepts it, even coming from a stranger. The man snatches the camera as he leaves, which is too bad. I was very curious to see how my son would manage his alone time in the shower.
Instead, he carries the camera down the hall and into his little boy’s bedroom. Holy shit! The bedroom is a goddamn shrine. It looks like nothing has changed since his son disappeared. I can see his pictures all over the walls, along with a shelf of trophies and a few posters of jungle animals and trains. The bed itself is a train—just a single bed with a headboard shaped like the grill of a blue steam engine. Cute.
It’s odd, however, to see a fully-grown man sitting on the bed with his massive package out. The man props the camera on the bed next to him, so the screen is viewing alongside his thigh. It is a terrific angle to appreciate the size and girth of his cock. He looks like he is about half-hard, and the thing is already about as thick as my adult wrist. And Jesus, his balls just pool over his thigh. It’s clear that carrying around two balls that probably weigh a pound each when empty has stretched his nut sack to make plenty of room for all the sperm he churns out. He begins rooting through my son’s candy bag, and it doesn’t take long to find the two videotapes. He pulls them out, and I hear him say, “Hmmm” with curiosity.
He stands up and walks over to a part of the room I cannot see, and I hear the distinctive sound of someone popping a videotape into a VCR. He sits back down on the bed, and after a minute or two, I can tell it is videotape number two he has in the player. I can hear the deep voice of Venom, the sound of my crying boy’s squealing and whimpering, as he’s tortured in the stranger’s basement.
And, of course, as I’m watching this, I see Walt’s big, fat, semi-hard cock start to grow. And grow. And grow. Oh, shit, it is massive. It raises its head up like an animal looking up from a watering hole. As it rises up, the thick hood of foreskin pulls back on its own, and out pops a truly frightening cock head. The head is about the size of a pool ball and bright purple-red. Talk about spooky! The shaft is only slightly thinner than the head, and it gets even thicker down near the base. In fact, the place where his cock meets his pelvis is actually the size of my forearm. It is a cock that would be more like fisting than fucking. The man apparently does not need to keep watching because he grabs the camera again and is moving down the hallway.
I hear a high-pitched, quiet voice singing a song. It’s my son, singing his bath time song that his mommy used to sing when she gave him a bath as a baby. It’s always been comforting to him to sing, and I imagine right now that he really needs some comfort, which is too bad, because, in a very Psycho moment, the man walks into the bathroom and rips back the curtain, causing my son to scream. That scream is cut short, however, when the man grabs my boy, picks him up, and then carries him down the hall and back into the bedroom. As soon as he has my boy under his arm, he starts talking.
“Oh, Howie, I missed you so much. You were such a bad boy to run away. You made Daddy so scared! How could you do that to Daddy?”
He continues talking this way. In a way, it’s very fatherly and sincere. As he continues his speech about how bad my boy was and how scared he was, his actions are becoming more and more outrageous. First, he throws my son on the bed, letting him bounce as he drops to his knees and begins fishing around in a drawer that is part of the bed frame below the mattress. My son and I watch together as the man begins to unpack a few things from there. The first thing out gives me a shock (and from the look of it, my boy gets a shock too)—handcuffs, two pairs, a bundle of black rope, and a long wooden stick. I note he does not pull out any lube. Once he has everything, he gets up on the bed with my son. He is still fully dressed, with just his pants undone, so his cock and pelvis, which is covered in coarse blondish hair, are exposed.
“You’re gonna have to make it up to Daddy. Yeah, you’re gonna have to find a way to get Daddy to forgive you,” the man says as he bends my only son in half.
The boy’s little ass is immediately on view for the camera, thanks to the fact that the man adjusted it and put it on the dresser nearby. My son bends in half easily, but he has told me it is really uncomfortable. And this is actually more than half because the boy’s knees are basically up against his shoulders. Once the boy is in position, the man slips the long stick of wood behind the boy’s bents knees and then uses the black rope to keep my son in that exact position.
Shit. He is definitely going to fuck my kid. You do not put a boy in that position—so exposed and unable to move—unless you plan to fuck him. Now my son is no stranger to cock. Fuck, I have been shoving my cock up his ass for years now, pretty much every day of the week. He is a total fuck slut and can take a real pounding without too much complaining. I am not small either; I have a substantial piece of meat that boys his age absolutely hate, but I’ve got nothing on the monster that is now hovering over my son. The man is standing on the bed, and I watch as he reaches down and flips the boy up, so the back of his neck is against the mattress. It looks extremely uncomfortable because his head has to turn to the side to avoid breaking his neck. My son is such a good porn star—he instinctively knew to look toward the camera, and I now have a glorious view of his little face all scrunched up in pain and flattened against the mattress. The boy’s ass is now straight up in the air, and I know as the man looks down that he has a straight view of the pink entrance to my son’s innards.
“Oh, son! What have you been doing while you were away? You look terrible!” the daddy bemoans as he stares down at my child.
That’s right—the boy’s hole must look pretty special. Less than twenty minutes ago, that hole had gotten a really intense zap, and I imagine it is all irritated and swollen from that harrowing experience. Like any man, the daddy on camera cannot resist reaching out to see what it feels like. My son cries out in pain as he feels the man’s fingers on the most tender part of his anatomy.
“Oh, this is just awful! Oh, son, you never should’ve left Daddy!”
The man is totally ignoring the fact that the kid is squirming and squealing in pain as he runs his finger over the swollen sphincter over and over and over. After a few minutes of this, the man stands up again, and he grabs his throbbing monster of a cock and points it downward, directly at my son’s exposed hole.
“Oh no,” I hear myself whisper out loud.
This is it. It is happening. And still, no lube. My son is obviously conscious of this because his face is twisted in the anticipated agony that is coming.
Oh…please…it’s too big…please…don’t.
“Don’t talk back to me, boy!” the man shouts.
He brings his big, heavy hand to my son’s cheek, hard. It makes a loud, jarring slap, and my boy shuts up instantly. In fact, his eyes dim a bit, and I can tell he sees stars. He has never been hit like that before. Shit.
“You will take daddy’s punishment like the good boy you are!” he says as he bends his knees until his insanely fat cockhead is pressing up against the boy’s hole. “You will take this punishment, because it’s the worst one, and you’ve been a very, very bad boy.”
He still has his hand on my son’s face, forcefully pushing it into the bed. And I can see he is moving his hips, trying to get into my son. Bone dry. The kid is grunting and groaning—he is obviously terrified and in pain. The position alone would be enough to make any boy cry, but the fact that he’s been slapped silly and now has a flagpole of meat pressing at his little boy-cunt door makes his Halloween nightmare so much worse.
I have to stop jerking off when I see what happens next. Why is it that the truly horrible moments of my boy’s experiences are the ones that almost make me cum? What’s wrong with me as a father, when the worse it is for my child; the better it is for my cock and balls? I do not really give a fuck. I just think it’s an interesting question.
My son’s battered and bruised little poop chute is no match for this man’s cock. Also, he is outweighed by about two hundred pounds. I can see the man is super fit under his dorky sweater. God...he’s still dressed like a total Halloween nerd while he rapes my child!
I focus intensely on the cock head pressing at my boy’s fuckhole, and I swear to god, I shoot pre-cum up to my chest when the monster cock pops in. I imagine the pop of the cock head going in made some horrible, sickening sound, but I cannot hear it because my child is screaming. Not just screaming—howling. He sounds like a baby werewolf tied up and unable to move, but it is not the full moon that’s making him squeal—it is the moon-sized cock head that is now buried in his already ruined fuckhole. And it does not stop there. No, the monster continues to push, which only makes my son scream louder and louder. I imagine the neighbors can hear them, but on Halloween, who is frightened by a spooky sound effect? The man is still mumbling as he pushes down on my son’s face and fills the child with too much dick.
“You bad, bad, boy. This has to hurt. You won’t learn your lesson if it doesn’t really hurt. You’re never leaving me again.”
“Oh, nooooo!” my son cries out.
God, this guy is not just ruining my son’s ass. He is also fucking with the kid’s head. My son probably thinks this guy is going to keep him forever. Hell, I would fucking believe it myself if I did not know my kid was upstairs. Tears are wetting the pillow where my son is laying—along with his wet hair and body. That sweat on his ass cheeks is the only thing he’s getting for lube right now as the man keeps pushing and pushing and pushing until more than half of his cock is lodged in the kid. That’s about the most cock my kid’s ever had, so I’m happy to see the guy stop.
But then he says, “Come on, baby. You know what to do. Open up your second wall. This is how daddy punishes you.”
Second wall? What the hell is he talking about? My son does not have a second wall. Oh, shit! There’s a loud pop, and my son lets out another one of his horror-movie screams. Something must have broken inside him—it does not sound right. Definitely not a sound the human body should make, especially not a human body that has only been on earth for only a handful of years. But it has the desired effect. Whatever snapped inside my kid’s body has allowed the rest of that mighty dick to sink home. In less than three seconds, he’s entirely in my son, and I almost want to laugh at the expression on both their faces.
The man is in absolutely rage-rape bliss. There’s a smile playing under the sternly fatherly look on his face. My son, however, is making a face like a dead fish. He’s got his mouth open in a silent scream, his face is red from the tears he’s shedding, and his cheeks are all smashed by the man’s hands. He looks like he’s having the worst moment of his life, which he very well may be.
The man surprises me again by cumming, right then and there. He does not announce it or anything, but I can it is happening. He’s clutching my son’s upturned waist, digging his fingers in so hard they’re white. He is throwing his head back, moaning loudly with a sly smile on his face, but the biggest tell is the way he keeps every fucking inch of that meat buried deep inside the kid. I cannot see any of his cock, which means that this stranger is depositing what appears to be a massive, long-lasting load about a foot into my son’s insides. Shit.
He rips his cock out of my son in one swift movement, which makes my boy make a funny kind of a grunting yelp while his ass lets out a loud suction sound. Damn. I cannot believe all of that cock was in him! The man looks down at my boy’s ass, which I can see is now gurgling up the cum. Damn, he must have shot buckets in the kid. My boy’s hole looks volcanic the way it’s just pushing out jizz, oozing like a wound.
“You’re so damn messy, son,” the man says, tsking. I can tell this is a guy who doesn’t like a mess—even one he made. “That is very naughty, boy.”
He reaches down by the bed once again and begins wiping up the boy’s ass with a kerchief. My son moans and whimpers—it probably still hurts, but I am guessing the cleaning up is better than what just happened.
“There we go, all clean,” declares the man when the child’s ass has stopped vomiting up jizz. “Now we can finish your punishment.”
“Finish?”
My boy wails, and then screams as he gets a hard smack on the ass, then another and another. Then he’s flipped over, so he’s face down on the bed with his legs under him, like a little shivering ball of boy sex. His ass is now facing the man.
“Yes, son, don’t be dull. You know this. First, I get off in you so I can punish you for longer. Now get ready.”
I don’t know how he expected my boy to get ready. The kid was naked, hogtied on the bed, and his cunt was still gaping from the hell it had just gone through. And also, the boy didn’t have any time to prepare. None at all because by the time the man had finished that sentence, he was back inside my screaming offspring. The boy’s voice was getting hoarse, which was probably for the best—his screaming was getting a bit irritating. So dramatic!
This time, there was nothing slow and gentle about it. This man had apparently decided that my son was ready to take not just the massive cock, but to take it fast, deep, and extremely roughly. There was no doubt about it—it was rape, a vicious, brutal rape. The kind of rape that should put men behind bars, and that’s coming from me—a child rape enthusiast. I would not wish the pounding my son is getting on even my worst enemy. Which, in a way, is kind of like saying my son was worse than my worst enemy because even as I winced and watched, my hard throbbing cock was coated with a thick layer of pre-fuck.
I loved seeing my terrified child debased and ruined while in excruciating pain. It is how I wish he were all the time because it is how he looks best. Without pulling out, the man reaches forward and snaps one of the handcuffs around my son’s wrist. He does the same to the other hand. He attaches the right hand to the grill of the choo-choo bed frame, and the other he handcuffs to his own right hand. He’s now handcuffed to my son and still giving him the rape of a lifetime. Once he has my kid in place, he leans over—still banging away—and grabs the video camera. The way he reaches oddly, which twists my son, and he is literally unable to do anything about it because his legs are tied tight, and his one arm is stretched so far above his head it looks like his shoulder might pop out of its socket.
When he grabs the camera, he gives me an expert view of what is going on with my son’s hole. It is not a pretty sight, honestly. I cannot even see the pinkness of my son’s anal ring, because the cock is so massive that it’s actually pushing his ass in around itself. I am happy I have fucked my kid senseless before because I have learned that boys’ intestinal organs are extremely elastic and can take a very severe beating. Still—this rape was one that looked like it might put him in a wheelchair forever or worse. It really looked like his ass was going to collapse in on itself, turning him inside out.
The man lowers the camera and sets it underneath the action. It’s pointing upwards, and I have yet another amazing view. I realize now that the massive cock in my son’s guts is not the only thing that must be hurting him. The man’s bull balls are swinging back and forth like crazy, and every time they swing forward, they batter my son’s little ball sack. The sound is absolutely horrific.
My son has gone quiet—he has lost his voice completely, or he’s passed out from the pain. No—he is quite awake; I can see his toes wriggling. The dumb thing can’t even pass out when it would be good for him to do so. His silence, however, has amplified a different kind of distress call—the kind that comes from a tiny boy pussy that is forced to take a cock that is far, far too big. It’s not unlike the sound of a plunging toilet, but somehow wetter and more terrifying. Honestly, this is worse than a horror movie—though most horror movies do not make me throb like this. The rape persists unremittingly.
The man keeps shifting the camera so I can really take it in, and I’m so appreciative. My favorite moment comes near the end when he puts the camera right in my boy’s face. His breath fogs up the camera, and I’m staring into his eyes. Honestly, the look in his eyes is the most haunting thing I’ve ever seen. There is no person in there. It’s not even a shocked look—just dead. The horrible things I’ve put my son through tonight have not just hollowed out his torso; they’ve hollowed out his soul. It gives me chills, and it makes me jerk my cock uncontrollably. I fucking love the way the little cock slut looks.
I pause the movie there. I cannot take it anymore. I have to know what that devastated ass feels like. I take the steps two at a time, and when I get into my son’s room, it looks like he has finally passed out. He is still naked, of course, and even in the dim light, I can see the bruises and red marks all over him. I can’t wait for a second longer. I jump onto the bed, waking him up with a fright. The kid is prone to nightmares for some reason, so he is already startled when I wake him up, and he lets out an anguished wail as he feels me grab his ass cheeks and yank them apart.
“No, daddy please—no more!” he whimpers.
I take a page from the video I was just watching and reach forward and slam my hand into his face to hold him down and keep him quiet. I look down at his swollen, bloody ravaged boy-cunt, and I grimace. It’s just as disgusting as it looked on camera. It looks really gross, but I bet it is going to feel amazing.
“Happy fucking Halloween,” I say as I thrust forward.
His hole does not resist at all. Apparently, it has lost all muscular ability. It is so wet and gooey, it’s kind of like sticking your dick into a bowl of wet pasta.
“Oh…no…oh…it…it…hurts…daddy…no,” my sniveling son mumbles as I push deeper. Damn, he’s really hollowed out. It just keeps going and going. Even when I bottom out in him, I can tell there is still space I could expand into, left over from Walt Beaumont’s horrible cock.
“Let’s go,” I say to my son, leaning forward and wrapping him in my arms.
I stand up, holding him against me. He is still moaning, and I can tell he is still out of it, which makes it all that much easier to carry him downstairs impaled on my cock where we return to the couch. I sit down with him and bend him forward, so he is balancing himself on my thighs. Then I reach for the remote, ignoring his pleas, and turn the video back on.
He’s now staring himself in the eye as I rape him. He can see how whorish he looks, how ruined his life is, while I continue to ruin his life. We watch together as I fuck, and I find myself picking up the same rhythm as the slapping sound I hear in the movie.
“I’m gonna cum!” the man shouts. “Hold on, boy!”
“Me too!” I shout!
Then we do it. The man on the film and I cum together. My cock is now filling up the space this man had carved inside my own son. We’re both watching as he is spermed by a psycho on screen, and my little bareback cumslut has the spooky treat of taking yet another load of his father’s jizz into his dick ditch.
“Fuck you, slut,” the man and I say together.
I laugh—jinx! We both allow our cocks to finish their business, and then together, the man on the screen, and I pull out. My son falls forward onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably in the fetal position. I think the boy on the screen wanted to do the same, but his bondage does not allow him to.
“All right, kiddo,” the man says. “Now you know what we have to do. Time to go to the cemetery.”
Then the man reaches for the camera, and it goes black. Oh, fuck. What did that mean?