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Though soft and feathery, Drake could feel the slow, near imperceptible feeling of sweat building up on the cuffs about his wrists. He couldn't see to confirm, but the longer time seemed to trickle by the more aware of every lingering sensation about him flared in his mind. The same delicate graze of artificial plume from the blindfold sunk that into his sockets, the elastic band too snug now overstretched behind his scalp, the press of the inner faux silk upon his eyelids, all while he knelt upon his bed, chained to the bedpost in the quiet of his own room, simply waiting for her return. The mechanical clack of the second hand on his clock reminding him that time was passing, even if it felt as if it weren't, all while the faintest of creaks and knocks had him second guessing if he was even alone. The Tyrunt did his best not to succumb to fear, he was much too used to his girlfriend's antics thanks to many risqué liaisons, but he would be lying if he didn't admit to some small part of anxiousness that sat in his belly as he waited patiently for her.

His body had a dull ache of restlessness from being still for so long, bound to the same position for what may as well have been hours, though rationally it couldn't have been no less than ten or so minutes. Drake was a prized quarterback, a steadfast gym junkie, and too much of a man to bear the thought that this might be physically exerting, but the longer he listened to that same tick tock punching in his ear, the more he wanted release. Then again, she knew that blue-balling him was the easiest way to get his attention, and this wasn't the first time she had left him to stew while she feigned need to do something else, to leave the room, anything to 'distract' herself from his very obvious needs. Even now he was still at full mast, his manhood jutting from his crotch and sloped towards the bed, precum soaking sheets that would undoubtedly need to be washed before his father came home to avoid any suspicion.

Being barely legal at eighteen oft cast him as the jail bait other girls fawned over, a self-asserted 'twunk' to his gay friend that danced a line between being the ripped athlete girl's loved him for and the young, enticing fresh meat that men lusted after, his stricter than strict dad made a dedicated effort to ensure his son kept hold of his now non-existent virginity until marriage. The charade of his innocence was easy to act out when out in public, but denying the sex-soaked sheets and used condoms discreetly buried in the trash would have been a far trickier ordeal. Drake, though wary of his father's wrath, felt the rewards of going behind the man's back far outweighed the lengths he had to go to and the trouble he'd face if he were ever caught.

His dad was a military man, from a line of veterans that Drake was someday expected to join himself, a divorced single father after his wife and former childhood sweetheart of nineteen years cheated on him while on tour. Drake could see perhaps where the man's views became so entrenched in their archaic ways after the brutal separation that now left him living up to his prehistoric lineage in not just species but attitudes as well. The Tyrantrum perhaps was the epitome of everything in both body and mind, for his size and stature commanded the same respect that his personality did, overbearing and visceral, with the same nuance and subtlety as a butcher's knife has to a scalpel. With a name like Nero, growing up under his father's care thanks to a runaway mother who left in the arms of some punk Zangoose, his upbringing had been as militaristic as the man had deemed necessary. Resentment had never come to Drake's mind for his childhood, both of them were just products of a bad hand dealt to them by someone else, but it was a ripe breeding ground for the seeds of rebellion.

And rebel he did, as Drake had long since undermined every rule set out to him by his father well before he was of legal age. Drinking, drugs, sex, and anything else along the way he found opportunity for if it went directly in opposition to Nero's command. Now that he was at least old enough to get his rocks off, it seemed a fairly insignificant step to him, the only reprieve it now afforded him was that if he were ever rumbled he was at least on the right side of the law. Even as humiliating as it might have been in that very moment to be caught by his father, shackled to his own headboard with a pair of ridiculous fluffy handcuffs and accompanying blindfold from the same cheap novelty gift set, it wouldn't have landed him in such hot water were he a year or two younger.

But then again, Drake would never have been found dead like he was now were it not for his current girlfriend Medea. The Salazzle was the most recent in a longer line of previous lovers who had led the Tyrunt down a more adventurous path to sex. She had been introduced to him by his friend, a Bidoof who was similarly less innocent than he appeared, something Drake was made abruptly aware of when the beaver had offered him a blowjob following complaints of his dad's wait-until-marriage ruling. Bucky had been acquainted with Medea who lived a town over through some fetish forum - Drake hadn't been inclined to delve any deeper into what site this was - and figured the pair would click. At heart, the Tyrunt had never really been one for kinks, but he would be remiss to not admit that he found the idea of overpowering his partner exciting, or vice versa as was often the case with Medea. Their first 'date' took a dramatic shift when the Salazzle demanded they go back to one of their places to just get that first fuck over with, which while not Drake's first sexual experience, it was perhaps his first epiphany into his sexuality that he'd never had the chance to explore.

A memory that had him hard and dripping in an instant, his first date with Medea ended with him getting pegged.

Not just simply fucked with a strap-on by a woman older than him by a few years, but utterly railed and decimated until his whole body was left trembling, spent of many loads, and with a memento photo Medea had snuck of him face-down, ass-up with his hole gaping wide, the fake Mudsdale dildo resting across his bruised buttocks still wet from lube and his gut's fluids. Ever since that day, though they regularly switched roles and kept things fresh in the bedroom, Drake found himself craving more and more that feeling of being pinned beneath this woman's grasp as he was ridden hard.

Drake refused the idea that he was gay, especially when the conversation finally broke between him and Bucky. To the Tyrunt, he would never let another man get inside him as flexible as he might have been to receiving the odd head from a guy here or there. But that was about as far as he dared to think his sexuality stretched, which was to say about as far as Medea could open him up with toys, fingers, and anything else she could push into his ass. It made him shiver even now at the thought, wondering what new surprise she had in store, as once the cuffs were on and the blindfold in place, she'd excused herself and told Drake to prepare himself for something different.

Time continued to drip by the second like an intravenous in Drake's attention-starved body. His erection was still painfully hard, as if every heartbeat thundered into his meat with veins bulging and swollen until he swore it might burst. His tail remained obediently lifted in some vain hope that doing so might reward him sooner with what he had long since craved. The stale air of his bedroom wrapped around the shimmering blue scales of his hide offset by the dulled grey of his underbelly, his hole breathing from its exposure, no longer virgin tight from many hours under Medea's brutal attention, the rim soft and puffy just begging as much as he was to be filled and fucked. He kept is legs spread as much as his tail was high, bottom-up for her return, just the way she liked him when it was her turn to top.

Tonight though, unbeknownst to Drake, was going to not just be different but incredibly wrong. At least, it would maybe start that way, but by the end he might feel otherwise.

The first sign of trouble should have been the red flag that Medea had wanted to spend the weekend at his place instead of hers. Still living at home with his father, though sporadic as his presence might have been around the house was, made him always on edge if she ever persuaded him with her wiles. The adrenaline of potential exposure might have been a rush, it was always overshadowed by the reality of what his life might be like after being caught in the act. But goading the Tyrunt was an easy feat when temptation was too much to bear, and balls easily overruled brain any day of the week for the late eighteen year old.

The second alarm bell should have rung though when she didn't return after what had felt like too long. The footfalls of something heavy prickling in Drake's head only ignored with a dismissal of overthinking the situation. The moment was just getting to him, that was all, he would tell himself, even as his chest gripped tighter like a vice and his heart beat just that little bit harder. Cloaked in his world of darkness, he was oblivious to the monster creeping up the stairs to greet him.

Of course, he wasn't ignorant to the soft, unmistakable sound of his bedroom door being pushed open. What he wasn't prepared for though was to hear his father's voice suddenly boom loud and clear from the doorway,

"I fucking knew it."

Panic seized at Drake in an instant and his stomach dropped through the floor. He made a scramble to move, but naturally there was nowhere to go in his vulnerable state, naked before his father and cuffed to his own bed unable to even look the man in the eyes and see what expression burned upon his face. All he could was speak, and garble incessantly he did, the words already tumbling from his mouth before he had a chance to even formulate them into something coherent,

"Dad, I-"

"Shut the fuck up." The retort came sharp and quick, like the cracking of a whip with pain as close to real for the Tyrunt. His body trembled from the adrenaline that flooded every fibre and had nowhere to go but to burn through his blood vessels. Every sensation devoid of his sight was amplified in that split second moment, from the sound of the metal clinking softly against his bed post, his heart pounding in his chest, to the shallow, furious breathing from across the room, even the very creak of the floorboards that gave way ever so slightly beneath the weight of someone approaching the bed. Drake froze, some periphery sense convincing him that his father must only be a few feet away now, getting ever closer with each step. It was only when the man spoke again did the Tyrunt's heart once again stop mid beat, frozen in fear, "I knew you were going behind my back. Couldn't keep it in your pants, could you? Nothing but a horny dumb ass with more blood pumping between his legs than in his head." He must have been so close, Drake was certain of it. His very scales prickled with the electricity of another's presence, the sparks coursing through him as he stayed there, stock still and much too scared to make another move. "Not only that, but you're a fucking queer too."

Drake recoiled at the slur. He had never seen himself as gay. Bisexual had seemed the easiest fit given his experience, but spending enough time online and drifting through various crowds, he realised sex was more complicated than just guy and girl. It was how he so readily accepted letting Medea fuck him with a dildo, how he let other man suck him off, as he knew he still liked to fuck girls and the thought of letting another man fuck him struck him as too outlandish. So to be singled out by his own father for it, the wound cut deep, realising that it may be a step too far for the man so set in his ways.

"I'm not..." he meekly tried, his voice already failing him before he had uttered a single syllable. The words died as they fell away, as if they were already lifeless to begin with. An empty denial formed from an exposed truth.

"Not what?" Nero demanded, "Not a fag for lifting your tail to anybody who'll fuck you? Just like your fucking mother."

Abruptly, Drake felt his tail being gripped. The sensation sent lightning bolts scoring through him, the simple touch electrifying as he suddenly tensed. His father's paw, tightly wrapped about a portion of his tail, hoisted the appendage further up, leaving the Tyrunt no choice but to expose himself further, his hole presented between cheeks of blue and his ashen taint. Hot shame flushed through him that bled into the apprehension he already felt, until he was nothing but a bubbling wash of mortification that rendered him incapable of saying or doing anything. He didn't want to antagonise his the Tyrantrum any further, nor did he want to provoke a nastier reaction. So he was left, shivering all over, as his father forcibly raised his tail high into the air leaving him on nothing but the tips of his toes. He struggled to keep balance under Nero's hold, but there was little else he could do. Worse still, he felt large footpaws kicking at his ankles, spreading his legs further apart than they already were. Between them hung his erection, ashamedly still hard as some twisted part of him was enjoying the fact he had been caught and was now so crudely put on display before his own father.

"You're disgusting." With his tail still held aloft, another paw wrapped around his shaft. Once again, the sudden and all too intense feeling of being intimately held had Drake fighting to control himself, trembling anew as he fought back the pleasure of finally being touched after so long waiting. It should have been Medea to tease his urgent needs, but instead the rough palm of his father's paw and the claws that dug against his tender flesh grasped him roughly. There was an incredulous snort from over him, "You're still hard, even now? Even in front of your own dad?" His cock was released, practically shoved away as if only now was it an offense to the older male. Drake grunted from the sensation, a slice of desire cutting from that single action, "And you had the nerve to say you're not a queer."

As unpredictable as the situation had become, never in a million years had Drake considered the thought of what was about to happen next. Still reeling with humiliation, trying to blot out the pleasure of being manhandled, the sudden shock of feeling fingers pressing against his hole threw him right back into full blown panic.

"What're you doing?!" His blurted near incoherently, enough of his voice to attention to be heard, but still shaking from nerves that were by now long since shot. Nero however didn't respond. With two fingers, what must have been his index and middle digits, he pressed them firmly into the Tyrunt's hole. Drake grit his teeth hard as he felt them enter him dry, his rim protesting and losing the battle as it yielded to his father's strength. Fortunately for him, he was at least no virgin bottom, and so taking two fingers even without lube was not impossible, but he would be lying if he had claimed to feel no pain. The feeling was uncomfortable to say the least as he tried to pull himself forward and away from his father, grabbing onto the headboard and yowling under a clamped jaw. All he got in return for his resistance was the grip on his tail cutting down tighter, claws pressed into his scales, and pulled backwards onto the male's hand.

"Don't you fucking dare try to get away from me."

Though Drake struggled to tell by feeling alone, he guessed he must have been down to the second knuckles as the Tyrantrum shoved harder. Every second that passed as Nero pushed in felt like it took an age, all the while he strangled his cries in his throat and rode out the discomfort. His father was much larger than he was, the sad fate of genetics, so compared to his own paw it felt as if Nero was not just simply fingering him but trying to fuck him with an actual cock. His jaw ached from clenching down hard, feebly attempting to distract himself from the discomfort of been fingered without lube, his body felt uncomfortably tense as he both fought his father behind him as much as he resisted the instinct to resist. He couldn't wrap his and what was happening. Part of him figured this was some form of demented punishment Nero deemed suitable for finding his son bound and waiting to be pegged, but another part of him refused to believe this was all out of spite and maybe, just maybe, it was some fucked up projection of the old man's own feelings. But those thoughts were far more complicated than the situation unfolding, a sharp, stabbing pain shooting through his ass as the Tyrantrum surged ahead to the knuckled, burying the full two fingers in his own son. Bitterly Drake spat between his teeth with a tight snap,

"It hurts!" His hole was aflame, irritated and sore, as it clenched around his dad's digits, "I need lube or something, you dickhead."

From behind him came a dissatisfied snarl, low and riddled with thinly veiled aggression.

"Then admit you're a fag and I'll think about it." Drake could feel his body bristle as alarm scoured through him. Think about it? What was there to think about? Surely things had gone on far enough. How much further did Nero intend to take things just to make a point?

Another fiery stab shot through him and had Drake rethink his defiance. He was desperate for the pain to just end...

"Fine!" He whined, fearing the words came tumbling out all too quickly, "I'm a fucking queer who likes it up the ass! Please just stop going in dry!"

"Yeah, damn right you fucking are..." His dad hissed behind him, quickly followed by the sound of gurgling saliva being hacked up and spat unceremoniously at his hole. He felt the sullied, thick spit splatter against his stretched ass, an unsavoury warmth dribbling down between his cheeks as it did little to soothe the soreness from his father's fingers. Even as they rocked back and forth inside him, digits now wet with just a sheen of spit, he could still feel himself twitch and tremble at the slightest movement. It wasn't enough...

"Please, I need more," Drake quailed, unable to stop himself before the words had left him. He was too wrapped up in the tightening tension in his body that came from being painfully fingered, failing to specify what it was he actually wanted.

Nero, however, was all quick to fill in the gaps with blind ferocity.

"You fucking fag," he snarled, tearing his fingers out of his son's hole, "you dirty little shit, of course you want more. There's fucking morals with people like you." Drake was, in some way, relieved to have the intrusion free from his ass, wincing at the lingering sting that radiated through him, but altogether thankful it was at least over. His muscles seemed to fail to close, leaving his rim open and stretched like a chasm inside him, and he shuddered at the humiliation the sight must have been to his own father. It would have been the last nail in the coffin for the Tyrunt, were it not for the shifting from behind him. He felt the mattress beneath him sink with added weight, something moving into position right at his rump, and Drake felt him stomach twist into a knot of anticipation as he realised what must have been happening. After another snort of saliva was shot at his gaping hole, it was then he felt it...

"No, that's not wha-"

"Shut the fuck up, this is exactly what you wanted," Nero barked, the sound of slapping wet flesh and the thump of something ridged, hard, and big landing on the boy's exposed hole. There was a part of him that told him to protest more, resist what was happening, but between his father's authority overpowering what resolve he had and some dark part of him that was enjoying it, he kept his mouth shut. Even if he did, it seemed the Tyrantrum was set on doing whatever he wanted whether his son wanted it or not. But his painfully hard erection that reminded him of its presence with a throb in time to his racing pulse seemed to tell him otherwise, any moral quandary overruled by carnal instinct.

Drake would have liked to think that he hadn't been curious about his father an idol of masculinity, but as early on in his days of uncertain bicuriousity he had found himself sneaking glances and peeks at the Tyrantrum whenever possible. Steamy shower stalking and workout wandering eyes had told him enough that the male was physically well endowed. A certain endowment that now threatened to breach his rear... Drake recalled sights of his father's own manhood, a bludgeon of meat that in his morbid arousal he realised had spawned him, a foot in length, as thick around that it he swore his own father's own grasp couldn't fully encompass it, and layered in ridges as a true draconic masterpiece. An all-consuming black that only showed its true definition of shape and size when slick and shining, showing of its many angles of its frightening might. The very tip was placed to his hole, and suddenly Drake could only imagine the sight of that monster sliding into him, inch by inch and ridge by ridge, grinding up his insides into well-bred pulp...

The thought then occurred to him that this would be the first real male to enter him. Not a toy, not his own fingers, not Medea, but a hot-blooded man with a real cock who could very well breed him. His heart raced at the idea, its tempo thundering even higher as that thought soon transformed to account for that it was his own flesh and blood that would be his first, and suddenly the idea of it was all he could think about, consuming every slow, agonising second.

"Bite the pillow or whatever you fags do," he was ordered with a curt, snort as if, for the briefest of moments Nero was actually considering his son's own feelings, but it was quickly snuffed as Drake felt the male press against him. One paw gripped at his waist with claws digging into his blue hide, while the other must have been holding and angling his meat into the boy's hole, and Drake could do nothing but grit his teeth with a sharp hiss of pain as he was impaled upon his father. There was a moment of resistance, where clearly something far too large was forcing its way into an opening too small for it, but against his own father it was a losing battle as he felt the rim of his hole stretch, worn down as the strength behind Nero forced it in. The Tyrunt grimaced and whined as he was split open, his hold on the headboard tightening until his knuckles must have been turning white as he willed himself to relax. "Fucking take it!" He was growled at, but Drake couldn't muster a response, just another pitiful cry as he felt his body giving way to his dad.

Then it happened, with a sickening and sudden lurch of flesh spearing flesh, his body being pierced and all too abruptly full. He couldn't help but let out a mewling yelp, feeling the surge of his dad behind him all too quickly forcing inches into him as if penetration alone now meant he could take a rutting just like the slut he must have thought he was. Even he though getting pegged needed to warm up, so as Nero ground his cock into his son's ass, he still found himself braced for the worst, his jaw still tight, teeth still grinding against one another.

But the feeling, as uncomfortable as it was to be penetrated so bluntly and forcefully, the feeling of someone real inside him, the hot flesh filling his hole and stretching him open, it was so much unlike dildos he'd been taking before. They were rigid and unwelcoming, something fake and half the experience of being truly fucked. Even when Medea would thrust her weight behind the toys themselves, there was always something lacking to the sensation, like even though Drake had never been with a man before, he knew there was something more to the act than just accessories and gear. His body trembled and shivered as he bucked at his father's hips, feeling his ass almost greedily suckle down upon the man's cock as it was pushed into him. Each slip of a ridge against his rim as it slid into him made him quiver with fresh feelings of an intense orgasmic pleasure that felt more like a deep pleasure. What he knew made him think it was his prostate being stimulated, but he was very easily corrected as his father's girth pressed down upon that hidden sweet spot inside him and made him moan feverishly with a sudden bloom of pleasure.

This was not left amiss by Nero, who seemed both enraged yet emboldened by his son's whorish display of submission.

"Yeah, you fucking like that, don't you?" He rolled his hips forwards to feed an inch into Drake's hole, the boy feeling yet another ridge slop past his rim and elicit another struggling groan that was betraying his will to keep silent, "fags like you know their place, on the end of a real man's cock." Another paw landed on his hip, joining the other which seemed to take control of the Tyrunt's weight, now pulling him back onto Nero's length, slowly but surely impaling him, "I'll show you what a real man can do."

Drake could feel his father leaning against him as his shaft was forced inside, swearing he must have been nearing his full size soon enough but yet more just kept being fed into him. He felt somewhere deep in his gut his inner ring being opened by his father's head, he felt his inner muscles begging to expel the intruder, but Drake was at least experienced in calming his nerves to take whatever was inserted into him. Even his father must have approved as their came a breathy sigh of what he'd acquaint with pleasure, but it was too enamoured with his own sensations to worry too much what was going through his dad's mind. Anger, arousal, disgust, pleasure, he could deal with the aftermath of things later. Right now he could only focus on the cock sliding into his guts.

Finally he took his father's full length, with a beleaguered moan from Nero hilted himself inside his son. There was something so absolute as Drake felt the older male's balls nestle against his own, their size making him feel almost so small compared to his father as one sack practically engulfed the other, and he could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as the gravity of things sank in. His father was bottomed out inside him, his first real man, and he was loving every second of it. His cock dribbled strings of pre across the sheets where wet patches formed, his panting was erratic and desperate, and all he wanted to do was for Nero to grind his dick in further.

"Bet that feels good, doesn't it, to a queer like you," the older man breathed, as if he himself was struggling to catch himself in the euphoric feeling of his own son wrapped around his cock, enveloping his shaft completely and caressing every inch as if made just for him, "beg for your Daddy to fuck you. Show me how much you want it, you perverted little shit."

The last vestige of Drake's resolve flared in a weak attempt to remind him how messed up the situation was, to be bound and blindfolded while your own father took you from behind, but what little was left of that rationale was swiftly eroded away by waves of pleasure radiating through him. The fullness of his dad's cock swelling inside, sitting like a fat snake baking under the sun in his guts, turned what little sensibility remained into horny mush. Even before he realised it, he heard himself chiming aloud,

"Please Daddy!" His cries were almost as girly as the cuffs that held him, "Please fuck me like a good little girl!" He pressed his ass back against the male's crotch, swearing he could feel that head push into him just that little bit deeper, "show me what a faggot I am!"

"Such a little bitch," Nero swore with a hiss as he began to pull his cock back out his son, "fucking worse than your mother..." there was another deep grunt of intimate satisfaction as Drake felt those ridges grind back on his rim, cruelly slopping free making him wince with each one, "but at least your cunt feels so much better though..."

The Tyrunt was lost in his own toiling sensations of his ass being pulled back out. Entry was always difficult, but exit could be a challenge, especially with a cock like Nero's. Those ridges worked him in ways he never thought possible, flashes of some strange feeling that sliced through him and had his toes curling tightly. He bit his bottom lip as a hollowness overcame him where his father used to be, his bowels squelching to fill the void while that manhood slid free. It was if his guts were churning to pull the cock back in, not wanting to be empty and greedily needing to be filled. A whimper bubbled from his lips as he felt the head of his dad's meat slip just to the rim, teasing the hole with its brutal tip, all before he felt Nero angle himself yet again to thrust back inside. The second entry was easier, if only for the man fucking him, whereas for Drake he felt the air sucked from his lungs as flesh surged into him like a piston. The sudden flurry of ridges against his hole had him groaning caught somewhere between discomfort and pleasure, the intensity lancing up his spine and sending tail-tingling, toe-curling, teeth-chattering sparks blitzing their way back throughout his body. It was an altogether visceral experience, one he wasn't prepared for, and he felt his cock pulse between his legs as a jet of pre was milked free.

"Fuck..." Nero slurred overhead as he seemed to hunch over his son, moving one of his paws up to the boy's shoulder and clamping down on it, using the grasp to pull Drake back into him as he bucked forwards. He was as ruthless in his fucking as he was in his fingering, unrelenting and merciless with little regard to what kind of state Drake was in. But as he railed his son hard, Drake was perhaps granted a reprieve of slowly increasing pleasure beating out the waning uncomfortable feeling of being so full, his prostate being ground down and massaged by every passing inch. In his addled mind of fucked up feelings, words were so far out of reach that he settled instead for unintelligible grunts and groans as if he were the bitch in heat that Nero saw him to be. His father wheezed down his ear, laboured snorts and snarls of a man so caught up in his own pleasure that he was turning beastly.

He felt every roll of Nero's hips slide in and out of him, the sensation of hot, pulsing flesh so much more euphoric than latex and rubber, and he wondered why he had even settled for strap-ons and dildos in the first place when he could have been getting bred all this time by a real man. Suddenly he no longer wanted Medea to take him from behind but for his dad to lift his tail, spit on his hole, and go to town with wild abandon. His guts felt like they were being sloughed from the inside out, worn away to create the perfect tunnel of silky wet flesh for his father to fuck as if he were nothing but a sleeve. Balls smacked at his, their heavy weight driving home just how much more masculine his dad could be over him, all the while speared over and over until he could think of nothing else. Darker thoughts bled into his mind of worshipping his dad's cock, letting it fill him in any hole the man so chose, wanting nothing more than to feel his size dominate him and turn him into the drooling, writhing mess of orgasmic bliss.

He was unaware of his cock dribbling across the bed by this point, so lost to cock driving through his guts that he could only focus on the deep, alien pleasure it gave him. With toys this feeling had been a glimmer, a tiny kindling of fire that now burned like an inferno with a real piece of manhood sliding through him. Not only had his dad been the first actual male to take his hole, but before Drake could even realise what was happening as he moaned weakly in desperation, he would also be the first to give him an orgasm without so much as touching his own erection. The stimulation from that cock riding against that sweet spot now eroded into the cavernous depths of his innards, had him wearily shaking as he cried out one final time, body wracked with his orgasm, all before his cock jutted hard, throbbing as his seed spurted forth. Jet after jet shot across the bed as he felt out of control, unable to satiate the release just enough to let go as his father ignored his measly pleas. He was forced to ride on the descent of his climax and pushed into overstimulation, sucking in ragged breaths as Nero continued to use him.

"Yeah, just like that," Nero seemed to almost coo, "milking my dick as you cum, just like a fag would." Drake just moaned in response, his limbs feeling like jelly, body abuzz with the crackle of sensation like static, unable to see the pleasure from the pain, the occasional twitch fluttering through him. "You want Daddy's cum, yeah?" Hot air whistled past Drake's ear, teeth nipping at his face while Nero remained looming over him, "yeah, you want Daddy's cum. Gonna breed you like the bitch you are."

With those words, Drake knew his fate was sealed, and held on for dear life as his father rutted hard against him, losing any tempo to his thrusts and falling into an erratic, savage pattern of slamming into his son hard, sometimes making short thrusts or at times pulling out all the way only to ram himself back in. It made Drake unable to predict what would come next, unable to relax his body to at least allow the man to do what he wanted, and as he heard the growing growls of rampant climax rising in his dad's chest he counted the seconds.

"Fuck, so close," the older male snarled, moving his last paw from his son's hip to his shoulder, using every ounce of strength to pile drive his cock into those torn up guts, bellowing aloud as, finally, he orgasm came.

Drake felt the tight throb of his dad's dick hardening first, stretching out his hole just that little bit more, just as the first floods of cum entered him. He realised, in the back of his sex-addled brain, that this would also be his first breeding, by his father no less, and unbeknownst to him at the time it wouldn't be the last he'd get from the male. The hot, slurping torrent of his dad's load poured into him like heavy slurry, the very feeling of its viscosity coating his guts until he could feel the sticky juices begin to leak from his ruined hole. He could feel the heat running down his taint, over his balls like a river, and he felt his cheeks flush in absolute humiliation at the thought of receiving his first creampie.

Nero was grunting in absent satisfaction, lingering on the afterglow of his orgasm, holding himself in his son's ass for a few seconds more as he milked the last drops into him before pulling free. It wasn't something Drake had prepared for, and in the wake of his own climax, the sensation was sudden and unusual, and he couldn't help but feel his guts push back on instinct to expel the intruder. But with that came his dad's load, sloshing from him with a quailing whine, shuddering all the while as his hole yawned and gaped, dripping with the last dregs of cum. He panted hard, sagging in his bindings, not knowing what would happen now but accepting whatever it would be with trepidation, just so long as it was all over.

"Fuck..." he heard his father curse, as the weight over him seemed to lean back, as if the male were looking him over like a piece of meat, "now I know you're a real tail-raiser." It was a matter of fact statement, as if everything before now hadn't proven that already, and so Drake stayed silent, head pressed against his forearms as he felt suddenly cold, sweat covering his body from the strain he'd gone through. Rough fingers probed at his hole, but now that he had been bred open, he barely felt a thing as two, maybe even three delved into his sloppy guts. He just let Nero do what he wanted, tail still lifted even though it was over, and waited.

Fingers were removed however, but only from one hole as he abruptly felt them now press at his muzzle. They were wet, cold and slimy, and he realised what it was. Shamefully, he let Nero push them into his mouth and licked them clean, any thought to resist his father's control thoroughly shattered. He tasted himself, his dad's own load, and swelled hot with embarrassment as he savoured the bitter, musky taste. Even when the last drops of seed was lapped up, he continued to suckle on his dad's digits as he refused to remove them from his boy's mouth, keeping them there as if to remind him who was in charge now.

When Nero spoke, he was more controlled, less exerted from the wild fucking he'd just delivered, composed and stern,

"Now that the truth's out," he said, words cutting like ice through Drake, "you're forbidden to see Medea. From now on, you're my bitch, you understand?" His paw wrapped around Drake's muzzle suddenly, "If you're gonna be a dick-sucking, tail-raising queer, then I'm gonna make you into the best one yet."

Even if Drake could have said something in return, he didn't think he'd have had to resolve to, as he felt the last lingering layers of his defiance and rebellion melt away while the thought of submitting to his father became real. There was apprehension for what would come next, but now it was dangerously muddied with terrifying excitement...