I'm Fuced

Please note... the following story contains incestuous behavior as well as some mild bondage, dominance and submission.

...

"I'm fucked," Richie said as we neared his farmhouse, and although it was still almost a quarter of a mile away I could see the faint glow of a cigarette being inhaled on the porch of Richie Snyder's place.

"Don't blame me," I said, having warned Richie a couple of times that it was getting late while we drank our quarts of beer out behind my house as the time passed.

Richie had a strict 10 o'clock curfew, and while I didn't know exactly what the punishment was, knowing the reputation that his father, Horst Snyder had as a hothead, I was sure it wasn't pleasant.

My friend Richie and his father had a simple relationship. Horst Snyder was a strict disciplinarian who treated Richie like shit (as he had his sister and older brothers, who flew the coop as soon as they could), and Richie took it. He often talked of leaving home and joining the service as soon as he turned 18, but that day had passed and Richie was still there.

He said his folks needed him to help out on the farm, like mine did, but at least my old man was halfway reasonable. Anything Richie did was cause for punishment, and this - us being out at 10:45 while his old man fumed on the porch - was apparently no exception.

"Better go," Richie said as we stopped on the edge of the road.

"See you tomorrow?" I asked, and he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, yes, if I'm still alive.

I watched as Richie walked toward his house, his slight frame getting smaller with every step under the faint moonlight, and as he neared the porch I wanted to run up and take his place, willing to take whatever punishment that lunatic father of his was going to dish out.

It was something I would have been more than willing to do, but this was 1966 and people didn't mess in other folks affairs out in the sticks where we lived. I would have though, because Richie was not only my best friend, he was more than that.

I loved Richie Snyder. If you asked him he probably would have said the same thing, but he wouldn't have meant it like I did. I loved him, really loved him, but I had never been able to tell him that, because that wasn't something a guy told another guy.

...

It was right after I turned 18 almost a year ago, when I let that salesman looking for the local AGWAY talk me into going in town with him so he didn't get lost. We never got there. He pulled off the road down by the creek and asked me if I wanted my dick sucked, and when I couldn't get my mouth to work he took that as a yes.

Since no other mouth had ever gone near there, and only one hand besides my own had ever touched my dick (Tammy Tobin behind the church on May 14, 1966 at 8:36 p.m.) I didn't have much to compare this experience with, but the half minute or so I managed to last before cumming in that man's mouth was the greatest 30 seconds of my life.

Then the guy asked me if I would suck his, and even though I told him that I never did it before he didn't mind. I did it, probably badly, but I kept my eyes shut and did the best I could while imagining that it was Richie Snyder's dick my inexperienced lips were going up and down on.

I didn't like the taste of his cum, but I must not have minded it too much because my own dick was hard again after I finished with him. The man saw that and offered to help me get rid of that. This time I lasted longer and after I came I offered to do him again, since having paid attention this time I was sure I would do better, but he said that he was an old man and couldn't again so fast, so instead he dropped me back home and drove off, in the opposite direction of the AGWAY.

...

I knew I would never have the guts to suggest anything like that to Richie, but that didn't change the feelings I felt for him, and so that might have been the reason that when I saw Richie's silhouette near his porch and heard his old man's booming voice asking him "where in blazes" he had been, I stopped and headed back toward Richie's, making my way in as stealthy a manner as a guy about 6 foot tall and just under 200 pounds can manage.

I could see Richie getting shoved toward the barn with this brute of a father following close behind, and when they reached the doorway at the side of the barn closest the house I was stumbling along the back, looking for a place to observe from.

Remembering a wide gap in the boards where Richie and I had watched his older sister make out with a boy once years ago, I headed in that general direction, finding the opening just as the barn lit up. Richie's old man had just lit an oil lantern hanging from a beam and was holding a long switch, whipping it around as Richie cringed.

"You know the drill, son," Horst Snyder growled, with the whistling of the tree branch accompanying his words.

"Daddy?" Richie whined.

"You want to make me even madder?" his father said. "Hellfire, you must love it because you keep asking for it. Crossing me every chance you get."

"Just lost track of time," Richie tried to say, but crazy Horst Snyder was having not of that.

"STRIP!" Horst bellowed, the force of his voice making me back away from the wall of the barn. "Every second you make me wait is another stroke."

It was hard for me to comprehend what I was seeing. I mean, I remember getting my drawers pulled down for spankings, but that was years ago. Richie was 18 going on 19, for crying-out-loud!

My eyes had strayed to Richie's father, who was doing something with a rope, and after he threw one end of it over a rafter my eyes returned to Richie, who was naked and standing under the end of the rope that dangled in his face, practically right in front of me.

I had seen Richie naked many times over the years, when changing into swimming trunks or dressing after gym class, but those where just peeks where I didn't want to get caught. This was different, and although I could see how upset he was, standing naked with his hands cupped over his privates, that didn't stop me from getting a little aroused.

Richie's father stepped in my line of sight for a second, and was apparently putting a blindfold over Richie's eyes after tying the rope around Richie's wrists, because suddenly he yanked the other end of the rope, causing Richie's hands to fly upward toward the rafters.

As his old man tied the rope to a beam, I couldn't help looking at poor Richie, helplessly strung up as he was, and while his feet were on the ground, he was stretched upward so far as to have to stand on his toes, causing every muscle in his slender body to strain as a result.

Richie had such a beautiful body - not a trace of fat on his 5'8" frame - and while he was far from being muscular the position he was in made him look different than he did normally. As he stood there, the red bandanna blocking his eyes, I took in the sight of Richie fully exposed.

Richie's arms had a farmer's tan, with the brown skin stopping abruptly at his biceps, and as my eyes went lower I found myself taking by dick out of my jeans and started stroking myself. As I looked at the thick tufts of dark brown hair than filled his armpits I thought back to how jealous I had been years ago when he started developing before me, despite my being a little older.

Richie's chest was still as hairless as ever, and his ribs were clearly visible as his body stretched out. My cock was as hard as blue steel, but Richie's was limp, and my heart fluttered when I looked at the beautifully shaped penis under the little patch of pubic hair, his wrinkled dick about the same length as mine, although his was much better looking, and he had a big pair of nuts on him.

"What does ten o'clock mean?"

The voice startled me, and it was coming from the man holding the stick behind Richie, and even though Richie told him that it meant he was supposed to be home by ten, the answer apparently wasn't enough.

"OW!" cried Richie an instant after the whistle of the switch and the smack of the wood smacking into his back, and as the tears started to flow from under the bandanna it came again.

Mr. Snyder wasn't swinging as hard as he could, but it still seemed brutal, and I was glad that I couldn't see what Richie's back looked like after a few blows. I could see what was going on with the front of my friend, and when I saw it I almost fainted.

Richie's cock was now as hard as mine, and that little wrinkled tube was neither any more. I had never seen Richie with an erection - in fact had never seen any besides my own, but mine didn't look anything like what was swaying in front of my best friend.

I had assumed that Richie would be a lot like me, that when hard his 2 or 3 inches would become 5" or 6" like mine, but that sure wasn't the case because even in the dim light of the barn it was clear that his boner had to be 8" long at least.

Stranger still was the fact that while Richie's back was getting whipped, his cock had gotten hard despite what had to be a lot of pain. Then again, even the sight of my friend being abused didn't stop me from being excited.

I came. While staring at Richie's long prong I had spat a load of seed against the wall of the barn, and after I stopped coming I knelt down and wiped it off the weathered wood with a leaf before rising back up to the peep hole.

Inside, Horst Snyder had set down his stick and was carrying a little paddle - one of those things that had a red ball attached to it with a rubber band at one time - and he was smacking his other hand with this paddle as he looked down as his son's erection.

"This a game to you boy?"

"No Daddy."

Horst shook his head as he looked down at his son's erection, so taut that it arched upward a bit, and with a flick of his wrist smacked Richie's balls with the paddle. Not hard, but still and all, it made me groan along with my friend. The sound of the wood hitting Richie's fully exposed balls, which were pushed forward because his thighs were together as he stretched, was a hollow thud.

"Shut up," Horst Snyder bellowed, and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, which he promptly stuffed in Richie's mouth to stifle him.

Horst went back around Richie, and I saw that my friend's once majestically arching erection had whithered back to the size and shape I was more familiar with as his old man began smacking Richie's butt with the paddle.

"Beer on your breath too, son?" Horst Snyder asked. "You and that pecker-head Anderson kid getting all liquored up?"

I winced, not only from Richie's butt getting whacked but also from hearing me called a pecker-head. I knew he didn't like me, but that was okay because this sadist didn't like anybody, and around then I wondered where Richie's mother was. Did she know what was going on back here?

And Richie's cock was hard again. Despite it all - hell - maybe because of it all, he had a full-blown boner once again. How could this scrawny kid take this? I looked at his wrists and arms, which had been up in that binding for over 10 minutes, and knew that his hands and shoulders had to be killing him.

Richie's skin glistened in the dim light, his body drenched with sweat as rivers of perspiration poured down his face and from his armpit jungles. I wanted it to stop, wanted to help Richie and hold him, rub his shoulders and tell him that I loved him, more than ever. Truth be told, I wanted to touch his cock, to stroke it and maybe even suck it until he came like I had.

As if hearing my prayer, Horst Snyder set down his toys and untied the rope from the beam, and then brought a saw horse over for Richie to lean on for support. At last it was over, I thought while Horst Snyder walked around, which only proved how wrong a guy can be.

While Richie stayed bent over the saw horse, his father walked over to a shelf at the end of the barn and returned with a bottle of something - Vaseline or Corn Huskers lotion, and after shaking it stepped behind his son and shrugged the shoulder straps of his overalls off and let the jeans drop to his knees.

"What the...?" I mumbled as I watched what couldn't really be happening.

There he was, Horst Snyder, standing behind his son with the jeans down near his ankles and clad only in boxers. Richie's father's 6'2" and 220 pound frame was only marginally larger than my own, but my body wasn't rippling with muscles and covered with hair, and when those boxers came down I was in for another shock.

Mr. Snyder had an erection, and while his son's was impressive, what was sticking out in front of this brute could not be human. The tan uncircumcised cock was like a third leg, and if it wasn't a foot long it wasn't far away from it. With a look that reflected how much in control he was of the situation, Horst Snyder calmly ran his lubricated fist up and down the length of his manhood, the foreskin sliding back as he stroked the ungodly organ.

He's going to jerk off while looking at Richie's butt sticking up in the air. That was what I thought at first, and while I thought that was pretty sick, I hadn't been much better because in Richie's time of need instead of helping my friend I had an orgasm while staring at him.

"Relax," Richie father was telling him, and I saw Richie squirm when his father was doing something to him after moving closer. "Take it like a man."

What Horst Snyder had been doing was apparently sticking his lubricated fingers into Richie's rear-end, because then he looked down with his cock in his hand, and while the angle made it impossible for me to see, I could figure it out by the way that Richie was thrashing around on that sawhorse while squealing like a pig.

How long did it last? It seemed like an hour, or maybe two as I stared with my head resting on my forearm which was against the back wall, but in fact it was probably 5 minutes. Five minutes of watching Richie's father standing behind him, hands on my friend's bony hips, calmly thrusting forward and back, grunting with each move while Richie kept squealing with the parts of his face not hidden by the cloth a deep crimson.

Then suddenly Horst Snyder stopped, let out a deep groan, and it was over. Seconds later, Richie's father leaned back, his now limp cock looking no less impressive flaccid that it had been erect, and after helping Richie straighten up he moved the sawhorse and took the gag from his son's mouth and the blindfold from his eyes.

"I'm sorry Daddy," Richie was saying, and then I think he told his father he loved him, but I'm not sure because I was distracted by what Richie's father was doing.

Mr. Snyder was standing behind his son with his left arm around Richie's chest, holding his sweat drenched body upright, but his right hand was what got my attention. Unbelievably, while Richie seemed to be almost out on his feet his cock was still very much alive, sticking out in front of him long and stiff, and his father's right hand was wrapped around it.

It took less than a minute, as Richie leaned back against his father while that meaty fist glided up and down his fully engorged organ, before Richie groaned while his cock erupted, sending jets of cum all over the dirt around them.

Mr. Snyder milked Richie dry, pulling on his dick hard even after it had deflated, and then let go of his son's penis and told him to make sure he took a shower before going to bed. He then calmly pulled up his own boxers and overalls and left the barn.

Richie. I was so confused I didn't know what to think. I almost didn't look when Richie turned around and stared to get dressed, not really wanting to see how badly his back and buttocks had been savaged, but I was surprised to see that there were only light streaks and redness on his backside where I had feared deep slashes and worse.

I was going to run around and catch Richie as he left the barn, but I suddenly noticed that the front of my jeans were very damp. I had cum myself, sometime during that last episode, even though I hadn't touched myself. No way I could go out to let Richie see me like this, so I waited for the sound of the screen door closing at the house before beginning to leave my position at the back of the barn.

"Get a good look?"

I don't know what made me jump more, the sound of Horst Snyder's voice or the iron hand that grabbed the back of my neck like a vice and practically lifted me off the ground as he slammed me against the back wall of the barn.

"I'm sorry - Richie - I - wanted to," I babbled.

"I could shoot you, you know that?" he sneered, his face inches from mine. "Pervert snooping around here. Looking in my wife's bedroom."

"I never..."

"Shut up. Move."

...

"You were so interested about this barn out there," Mr. Snyder snapped. "How you like it now?"

I didn't like it. Not a bit. What looked like a barn with sick stuff going on looked far worse from the inside. It looked like hell.

"Have a good time pleasuring yourself, Anderson?" he asked. "Or did you soil yourself?"

There was no good answer to that, but the truth was that it might be a combination of the two. I had cum while watching, and might have even peed myself a little when he grabbed me from behind, because while he didn't scare the shit out of me, he had come close.

"You scared me," I managed to say, my mouth so dry I was having trouble talking.

"You spend a lot of time out there minding our business?"

"No sir. Never."

"Except tonight?"

"Yes sir."

"How you think your old man would feel if my boy was down there watching what he does on his own property?" Horst Snyder asked. "Watching how he disciplines his own?"

"No - he wouldn't - like it," I babbled, because while my father wouldn't want anybody snooping, neither would he do what this guy did to his kid.

"Strip."

"What?"

"You heard me. Strip."

"I'm..."

I got a word out and half a step toward the door before I was stopped rather abruptly, and then he repeated what was not a request.

"You one of them homosexuals?" he asked while I fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, making that word sound like a complete sentence the way he enunciated it, and after I shook my head no he asked if I had ever done anything with Richie.

"No sir. Never. I swear."

"The pants, and the underwear too," he said.

"Please?" I whined, making Richie sound like John Wayne in comparison to my own pitiful begging, but after he gave me one of those cold looks I did what he told me to do.

"Move your hands away," he said, and after I moved my cupped hand away from my genitals he smirked.

"Where's the rest of your pecker?" he sneered, laughing at my modest endowment which was so frightened it looked as if it was trying to crawl inside of me.

"I'm scared."

"Heck with scared. You should be embarrassed. Sorriest excuse for a pecker I've ever seen," he said, and then after looking me over and humiliating me as much as he could he said that he was going to give me a break.

"Thank you, Mr. Snyder," I gushed as I started to pick up my clothes to get ready to run out of this hell called a barn, but then came that steel grip on my neck again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"You said you we're going to let me go," I said.

"I said I would give you a break," he said in correcting me. "Big difference. Get over where my boy was."

"Please - no.." I whined, backing away before his iron hand grabbed my neck again. "Don't."

...

My shoulder were hurting already, and the ropes around my wrists were making my fingers numb. This was the result of being bound like Richie had been, and Mr. Snyder had only tied me up less than a minute ago. I looked up at the rafters of the barn, where the rope was making me reach upwards to, and blinked to clear my vision, since the sweat pouring down into them was making my eyes burn.

I had debated making a break for it, or even punching Mr. Snyder before flying out the door, but I was too scared. Part of me was still thinking that he was just trying to scare me and would let me go, and if that was his idea, it worked, because I was shaking like a leaf.