Dad Preps Me

For about forty minutes in all, I am under the table, licking one cock and stroking another, until they are finished. I wait, until Mom and Dad leave the table, before crawling out from underneath it, myself. I look up at my parents as they move.

“Stay, faggot,” Dad commands, his cock still out and hard, and I kneel in place. I watch and wait as they tly clear it and put dinner away in the refrigerator, in neat little dishes. When Dad returns to me, one hand comes to rest atop my head.

“Up, faggot,” Dad orders, and I lift up as he gets a good grip on my hair. He turns me around toward the table and presses me down until my chest is flat on the tabletop. I shiver at the sharp temperature shift, some parts hot, the rest of it, cool.

“Arms out, grip the table, whore,” Dad commands. I obediently move my hands to either side of the table, one on Mom's side, the other on the twins' side of the table. I bite my lip, looking over my shoulder at my Dad, as he retrieves lubricant.

“Don't worry, faggot,” Dad assures me, “Your mother and I have no interest in tearing you open, or in making you bleed.” My cheeks warm and I smile, arching my spine and lifting my hips cooperatively as he moves behind me, and Dad smiles.

“Good faggot,” he praises me as casually as if faggot is something he's always called me, and I smile happily in response, as programmed. Then his fingers slide down the crease, spreading a warming lubricating oil between my cheeks as he does.

“Are you going to be gentle, Dad?” I ask, and he answers by driving one finger into my hole, spreading the oil inside of me. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the tabletop, lifting my hips more. His finger slides as deep as he can press it.

Then back out, then in again, before withdrawing once more. I feel more oil being applied, and two fingers instead of one. Dad works his fingers into me, two and then three, before moving away. I hear him washing his hands, then coming back.

“Of course I'll be gentle, faggot,” Dad says, and I feel his oiled crown at the entrance of my ass as his fingers grip my hips, and he takes a deep breath, behind me. “You're nothing but a slut, but you're also a virgin whore. You deserve to enjoy it.”

I lift my head, looking back at him, and he slides one hand up my back and into my hair. He gets a good grip, pulling on my hair, making me lift my head fully off the table, arching my spine and lifting my hips. Then, Dad drives his crown into me.

Slow and smooth, Dad shows me how disciplined he can be. Millimetre by millimetre, he slides in, then pulls himself back a bit, then slides in farther than before. Dad stretches my hole slowly to accommodate him, but he never hesitates to push.

I realise that I will feel his balls against my ass as soon as it is physically possible for him to push himself to the hilt without hurting me. He's serious about not making this worse for me than it has to be, but I am going to be taking Dad's full length.

Mom watches, leaning against the China cabinet, in front of me, stroking her cock. Her eyes are focused on my hips as his cock slides into me. Mom sighs in arousal at the view, stroking herself slow, her cock glistening with her own high arousal.

I'm proud of how hard I've made them, as new as this is to me. They don't seem to be hesitating at all to use me, and after about ten minutes, I feel Dad's jewels touch my ass. I twist a little to look over my shoulder even with his hand in my hair.

“Yep, you're feeling that right, faggot,” Dad smirks at me smugly, “You've got my whole cock inside you.” He bucks firmly against me to emphasis his point. I can feel my stomach pinned against the table, but still no more cock slides into my ass.

“You're ready for use, now, slut,” Dad tells me, holding my hair tightly in one hand. I feel his hips slowly puling backward and steel myself, my cock hard as his grinds across my prostate. I don't know why it is so pleasant, but I cannot deny it is.

Then, all at once, Dad thrusts, slamming himself into me, until his hips slap against my ass. My eyes flutter and I gasp and arch in pleasure. I stare at Mom's cock as she strokes it in front of me, out of my reach, and I groan loud, “Oh, fuck! Dad!”

“That's right, bitch!” Dad growls, pulling back and slamming in again, “And now I'm going to wreck this perfect little ass!” My hips arch and buck involuntarily, reflexively, when he slams his cock across my prostate and establishes his rhythm.

Author's Note:
Please click LIKE if you are enjoying these chapters.