Bride of my Father-In-Law 3 (Gay SPH)

By RSchwuler.


Read Part 1 Here.
Read Part 2 Here.


Part 3…

I looked at the bedside clock. It was 6:30 pm. I had arrived at Roy’s penthouse only an hour ago, and already for a second time, his hard penis had invaded my rectum, sawing into me.

This time my father-in-law gave me a much slower, gentler fuck, both of us on our side, rocking back and forth in the spoon position. Again, he thrust in and out carefully and deliberately, bottoming out and then retracting so that only his big cockhead remained docked inside of me.

“We gotta be careful, sweetpea. My baby’s already inside of you.” He cooed into, his head close to mine, slurping on my earlobe and poking my eardrum with his tongue.

Each push was slow and controlled, his hips bucking into my rear end at a sleepy rhythm. It was night and day from the bed-rocking pounding he had doled out only a few minutes before. But the slower pace drew another kind of pleasure out of me as his nectarine-sized cockhead and thick, veiny shaft raked over my prostate, spending more time with each stroke. The moans he elicited from me were long and feminine. I looked between my legs and my penis, while shriveled to less than two inches and soft as a noodle, was steadily leaking a clear fluid.

Roy kept our bodies locked together, and we were sweating like hogs despite the steady snowfall outside. His slick skin, and the matted hair of his pubes and belly, would stick against my butt and lower back, then separate with a sound almost like velcro pulling apart, only to be resealed with the next thrust. As he humped me, his big rough hands greedily felt up my body, zeroing in on my erect nipples and shaven chest, which he set upon fiendishly. Tweaking my nipples, the most sensitive part of my body, sent me into hysterics. I sounded like an alleycat, and I began meeting each of his thrusts with my butt.

Roy chuckled behind me at my eagerness, then grunted manfully as he seized my hips and fucked another load into my guts. His thrusts slowed as he emptied his balls into me once more, and I felt his pulsing penis depositing his semen as he finally came to a rest, his body tight against mine and his cock embedded deep in me.

For a while, we were quiet, panting to catch our breath as his rough hands rubbed me from my neck to my lower belly, up and down in long, sensual strokes over my sweat-soaked, shaven skin. Though softening, his penis remained inside of my rectum. Finally, after a few moments, he spoke.

“You know, little boy, I didn’t have any intention of fucking you again so soon. That was entirely your doing, you sweet, horny, little pussy boy. I’ve turned you into quite the little slut, haven’t I? You must really love getting butt-fucked by Daddy’s cock, huh?” His voice had his usual lilting, patronizing tone.

When I didn’t respond, he spun me around, the bedsheets sticking to my skin. Roy brought his face close to mine, a big smarmy grin on his face.

“Huh?” His eyebrow arched expectantly.

“Yes, Daddy, I love it,” I admitted

“What do you love, little boy?” He probed, poking my bare chest with his finger.

“Getting butt-fucked by your big cock, Daddy,” I said, looking him in the eyes.

“Good boy. Always remember that I’m Daddy. I’m not Roy. I’m not even Dad. I’m Daddy. I don’t care who’s around. If you don’t address me properly as Daddy, there’ll be hell to pay. My big cock and balls brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”

He reached over my hip and spanked my naked butt cheek for emphasis. “Now lick me clean, little boy.”

I crawled down to his groin and got to work.


After the sunset, Roy drew a bath for me. He preferred me to take long baths instead of showering when we had the time. I think this was because it was both boyish and womanly. Perversely, that’s where Roy wanted me – at the unmanly intersection between weak, undeveloped prepubescence and shameless femininity.

Sometimes he would bathe me like a father bathes his young boy. He would wash me with a bar of soap and washcloth, nose to toes, telling me to lift my arms so he could scrub my pits. Often he would humiliate me by throwing in a rubber ducky or little wind-up boat, instructing me to play with them like I was a child. He would sit on the edge of the tub in his suspenders, smoking a cigar and drinking a Scotch, laughing at me while I dragged the toys along the surface of the water. Making me bring my lips to the toy to kiss it, then lean over and kiss him on the lips too.

But this time, Roy was treating me like I was his mistress. The lights in the bathroom were low, and there were candles along the sides of the tub. He had set out different aromas and scents, lavender, things to moisturize my skin as if he wanted it to be a feminizing spa experience for me. He handed me a razor and had me shave off any stubble that had developed on my legs, my arms, my armpits, chest, and of course, my crotch. I felt like his woman, shaving my legs for him. He loved to watch me do this – his crooked smile never left his face, chuckling into his whiskey, and he freely took photos of me, stripping away the new growth.

Once I was done shaving, he handed me a very full glass of red wine. Then, he took another work call as I bathed and came in and out of the bathroom to fondle me, top off my wine, or lightly kiss the top of my head. At 65, Roy had no intention of retiring any time soon, though he did not need to work that many hours each day or visit his office more than a few times a week, able to lead his business mostly from his penthouse. As he ranged through the bathroom, his big maroon cock shook heavily as he commanded his underling over the phone.

This may have been another source of his authority over me- I could work for 100 years, and I would never be nearly as wealthy as Roy. This had been intimidating when I started dating his daughter. Still, now I just accepted it, just as I accepted the fistfuls of fifty or hundred dollar bills he would place in my back pocket without explanation. The first couple of times it happened, before his taking control of my sexuality, I had balked, resisted, just as I knew a man should. He always won out. Now I knew to kiss him on the lips gratefully and say, “Thank you, Daddy.”

When I emerged from the bath, having dried off and applied the moisturizer, he left for me. I found he had laid out clothes on the bed for me to wear. A pair of ‘fruit of the looms’ briefs, dress socks, and then a pair of black trousers he had tailored to cup my ass obscenely, and a light, silky dress shirt, the rosy pink material so thin it was practically translucent. Its sleeves only went past my elbows. Worse still, its buttons only went to my navel – just holding the shirt in my hands, I knew it was impossible to wear with any amount of modesty or dignity. I ran my fingers over the silk, cringing at the prospect of wearing something so unmanly but also fascinated and titillated.

“Don’t get dressed yet, my dear. I have some special gifts for you.” Roy watched from his doorway, now in a pair of dress socks and an undershirt, but his big hog still hanging free between his thick, hairy legs.

Roy presented me with four boxes from a fancy jewelry store. It was where I had bought his daughter her engagement ring, in fact.

I opened them – there were several articles of gold jewelry, all distinctly feminine. He led me to his master bedroom’s ensuite dressing room, where three full-length mirrors, as well as a fourth on the opposite wall, showed my naked body, well-lit from the front, sides, and back.

One by one, he placed the presents upon me. First, there were several jangly bracelets, and worse, anklets that he clasped just above my feet like shackles. Next, he hung several necklaces around my neck, laying them delicately upon my chest. Each had dangling jewels or pendants, including a heart with the distinct word’s “Daddy’s Boy.”

I watched as he reached around and grabbed my chest, his hairy fingers playing with my nipples as he nuzzled the back of my neck.

“You’re my golden boy, sweetheart. My priceless treasure. Gold should be touching your naked skin at all times.”

He then grabbed my left hand and removed my wedding ring, putting it in the pocket of his hanging suit jacket. Roy smirked, understanding the sickening symbolism of what he was doing. For a brief moment, I saw my naked ring finger. He looked at it too, rubbed it between his thicker, hairy fingers. He winked at me knowingly as he held my marriage in his pocket.

Then he replaced it with a large, gaudy ring. Roy proceeded to add eight more rings to my fingers, on my pinky, pointer, and index fingers of both hands. Some had stones on them, but all were gold and womanly. Finally, he completed the look with a gold watch with a jeweled face and a skinny band. It couldn’t be further from the chunky, masculine watches socially acceptable for the guys in my office to wear.

“Finished.” He handed me my second glass of red wine and bade me to down it, tipping the cup. He set the empty glass on a table and grabbed my waist, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Now, I want you to stay here until I tell you. Just look at yourself. Look at how beautiful I’ve made you.”

He felt me up along the sides of my body and kissed my neck a few times before leaving me to gaze upon the strangely ornamented, hairless naked man I saw reflected. Roy had bedecked me in what might have been thousands of dollars worth of gold. It shimmered under the lights with every small move I made, shifting self-consciously in place as I obeyed him, looking at my naked, decorated body.

It felt like I was wearing a Halloween costume. I looked like a slave from ancient times, a golden temple whore. I could not have felt less manly. The longer I stared, the less I recognized myself.

“Do you like your gifts, my sweet girl?” He asked, buttoning up his dress shirt.

“Yes, Daddy,” I answered sincerely and kissed him fervidly.

He pulled me into him and mauled my mouth with his tongue. I gave my body into his crushing embrace, gave myself with no resistance to his strong grasp and hungry kisses, the ridiculous jewelry tinkling as he squeezed me. After several moments he released me from his clutches, having stolen all of my breath. He instructed me to dress in the clothes he had selected, chivalrously helping me into an overcoat, and we left the apartment together.


I looked at us in the mirrored elevator as we descended. Just a few hours ago, I had ridden up here alone, wearing a conservative gray suit. I had looked no different than the scores of other men I commuted with, traveling to and from the city each day – nothing about my appearance would have caught their eye, and at most, my presence would have elicited a polite nod of acknowledgment.

But now, if I were to move among those same men, they would stare, smirk and sneer, chuckle, maybe even comment. I was no longer one of them, no longer a real man. I had on pants so tight that my small penis looked like a woman’s camel toe. My bright pink dress shirt, a color I would have never worn, had a ridiculously plunging neckline, exposing my bare shaven chest and the multiple gold necklaces he had decorated me with. Even my fingers covered in golden rings. I looked weak, vain, and frivolous. These clothes marked me as sexually receptive, cock-hungry. There was no polite way to say it – I looked like a pansy, a faggot. It was clear that I was far from my own man, but rather another man’s bitch, his pussy.

On the fifth floor, a man roughly between Roy’s age and mine stepped in, his eyes widening at the sight of me. As he looked me over in the mirror, then to Roy’s possessive, hairy hand around my waist, his surprise was replaced by a look of recognition and a smirk of amusement. It was clear to him just whose bitch I was.

As Roy led me down the street, I kept having that feeling. Every man who passed us gave the same condescending smile – all of these men knew that I was not one of them, not really. That I was the kind of guy who bent over for a man old enough to be my father, one who decorated me like a ponce.

Roy had made a reservation at his favorite place right around the corner. He pulled the chair out for me, ordered for me, even cut my food up for me. The waiter, Georges, smirked, familiar with us, and long amused by our January/ December relationship. I was clearly the ‘woman’ in the relationship, and the rotund middle-aged server was quite forward with me. Kisses on both cheeks for a greeting, Georges was French Canadian. Hands-on my shoulders. Calling me ‘dear’ and ‘sweetheart.’ Roy’s broad smiles at these little debasements certainly encouraged him.

After a dessert that Roy mostly spoon-fed to me, we went to a cigar bar to Georges’s amusement. To my surprise, we were greeted there by one of his best friends. Barney Hubbard was a boorish man Roy’s age, one I had met a few times around when we got married. He was leaner than Roy, and tall, still much bigger than me, with grey eyes, a long face, and aquiline WASP features.

My heart pounded, and I felt my face redden furiously – this was the first time Roy had exposed me like this, showed me off to a third party, particularly while I was dressed up as a pantywaist. I looked over at Roy, who was smiling at me slyly, his face quite rosy himself from all the whiskey he had enjoyed. I dreaded how far this might go.

“Billy, my boy,” Barney shouted, beckoning me to him with both hands.

As I recalled, Barney had always been hands-on, just like his pal Roy, but tonight he shocked me by pulling me into him for a wet kiss right on the lips, his hands squeezing both of my butt cheeks.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, sweetcheeks.” He laughed at the worry on my face, still embracing my rump, holding me close to him. “Roy’s told me all about how close you’ve gotten. I think that’s wonderful, boy, just wonderful.”

He placed his forehead affectionately against my own as his hands continued to grope my rear. He then turned away from me to address Roy. “And how hot, huh? Deciding to keep it all in the family.”

He stuck his tongue out, fondled and pinched my rear once more, then slapped both cheeks and released it.

The three of us shared a rounded couch in the corner, and Barney pulled me onto his lap, freely feeling me up as the two men talked. I looked at Roy, who nodded his approval. Barney was his best friend, and they shared everything. The men drank whiskey while Roy picked out a fruity cocktail from the menu for me. All the while, Barney’s big hands felt all around my body, unbuttoning my shirt to dart his fingers across my bare belly. A hardness pushed out insistently from his crotch against my backside.

“Roy, you lucky bastard. My son-in-law is all man, and besides, he’s about as pretty as an ox.” Barney caressed my face as he spoke, rubbing his big rough hand against my cheek. “Billy here’s always been a looker, but you’ve really turned him into quite the cupcake.”

I looked at myself in the long mirror opposite of our couch, balanced on Barney’s lap. His big hands ran up and down my waist, dipping into the open neckline of my shirt. I felt oddly flattered by his demeaning words, gratified that he was pleased by me. Realizing this made my face burn with shame anew.

At one point, I returned from the restroom, and Barney announced while pulling me back into his lap, “Well, cupcake, you don’t seem to be walking funny. Well, maybe a bit bowlegged, but that’s how sissies like you walk. He must have really broken you in. But I can smell him on you. Roy and I used to screw sluts together back in our wild days. You got his seed all up in you, I know it.”

He sniffed at me theatrically while feeling up my sides, and both men shared a laugh. He then slapped Roy’s shoulder. “That’s the nice thing about dicking pretty boys, huh? Don’t have to worry about knocking him up.”

He slapped my stomach then pressed his fingers into me, rubbing.

“Maybe so, but that hasn’t stopped our trying!” Roy joked, and the two men roared with laughter, clinking their drinks.

The men talked about business, golf, travel, their shared social life, completely ignoring me for the next few rounds for drinks. Barney and Roy passed me back and forth between their laps, freely fondling my body. Occasionally other men in the bar raised an eyebrow or elbowed each other to point out the spectacle, but most seemed to accept that I was the two old men’s mistress.

“When are you going to let me take a crack at this one’s tight little rump?” Barney’s big hand had reached down to pat the space between my buttocks, just past my balls. A stifled moan escaped my lips, and both men laughed before Roy shot him down.

“Not anytime soon. Billy’s my girlfriend, after all, and no girl of mine will be a slut. But if you play your cards right, I might let you use his sweet mouth. My son-in-law is quite the accomplished cocksucker, and it’s just about the time that he starts practicing on other cocks.”

“Well, that’ll have to do, for now, then,” Barney said. “I think there’s plenty I can teach you, little lady.”

Barney squeezed my chin suggestively before going in for a deep, lapping mouth kiss before sending me back into Roy’s arms with a slap on the rear.


Back at the apartment, my father-in-law put on some slow, romantic jazz music and quickly stripped off the clothes he had selected for me, leaving on the excessive jewelry. Roy appeared from the kitchen, now butt naked himself with two glasses of red wine. Even while nude, it was as if Roy was wearing a white and gray robe of dense, curling hair, covering his shoulders, chest, belly, arms, and legs, and bearding his massive genitals.

In turn, the glittering gold ornamenting my shaven, pale body only served to make me feel more naked. He handed me a glass and pulled me close to him, and the two of us slow-danced, cock to cock, as he held me close and made out with me. He hadn’t turned any lights on – the only illumination was from the buildings across the street. We slowly spun in each other’s arms.

His mouth moved from my lips to my ear, and he growled into it.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to be just my little boy again, sweet little Billy,” Roy said. “But tonight, you’re my woman. And I’m going to fuck your pussy.”

His voice was even lower than usual, a fearsome rumble. I looked down, and his thick, veined snake of a cock had stood up from his bush and was rapidly lengthening, expanding, poking into my belly. Soon the mighty mallet stood up far past my navel, jutting into me at its full firmness. Then, as he chewed on my ear and neck and hissed his filthy threats of insemination and impregnation, my own penis began to wake up too. As always, the sight of our two endowments together was devastating.

My hard little pecker stretched up against his colossal cudgel, curled against it daintily. It looked like my dick was a miniature version of his, the pink, baby version, a thin little seedling growing up in the shadow of his fully grown oak. It was a punch to the gut, a blow to my pride. It felt like being pantsed on the fifty-yard line of a football field.

I held onto him for dear life as he picked me up and led me to his master bedroom. He placed me gently down upon the bed and set upon eating me out, his mouth wet with red wine. As he lapped and munched between my cheeks, I rubbed his big, sweaty bald head as it bounced between my thighs. Embracing him, welcoming him to devour me. Eventually, Roy lifted himself up and grabbed my legs and slung them over his shoulders.

Outlined in the dark, his big, hairy form looked like an ogre or a giant. A fairy tale monster comes to consume me, to eat me alive. As he lined his enormous cockhead up with my hole, he poured the rest of the bottle down my throat. I accepted the flood, and things became slightly fuzzy after that. I know that as he mounted me, penetrating me for the third time that night for a long, rutting fuck, he told me he loved me, and I said that I loved him too.

The End.


*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Just remember, even with the limited editing we do, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed.

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