X: @coachgyatgawker
Nick had always been the quiet, lanky kid—the one who blended into the background during his senior year of high school. But something shifted hard during his first year away at college. Maybe it was the endless cafeteria carbs, the late-night stress eating, or just the cruel joke genetics played on him the moment he hit nineteen. Whatever the cause, his ass had exploded into two obscene, heavy, mouth-watering globes of pure jiggling meat. They were fat, round, and impossibly plush, the kind of cheeks that clapped softly with every step and strained the seams of anything he tried to wear. His hips had widened just enough to make him look bottom-heavy in the most humiliating way possible, and the soft, pale flesh wobbled and bounced like it had a mind of its own. Back home for the summer, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from anyone. Especially not from his stepdad, Rick.
Rick was the picture of rough, blue-collar masculinity—forty-five, built like a linebacker gone slightly soft around the middle, with thick arms from years on construction sites, a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, and a deep voice that could bark orders at a job site or in the living room without missing a beat. He wore faded jeans and tight gray t-shirts that hugged his barrel chest, always fully clothed, always in control. He’d married Nick’s mom when Nick was twelve, and for years he’d been the gruff but distant father figure. But the second Nick walked through the door that June with those new, massive cheeks filling out his sweatpants like overripe melons, Rick’s eyes had changed. They lingered. They darkened. And behind the homophobic bluster he’d always thrown around, something hungry had woken up.
It started the very first night.
Nick had come downstairs in loose basketball shorts and a tank top, hoping to grab a soda from the fridge. The house was sweltering—Rick had the thermostat cranked up to eighty-five on purpose, claiming it saved on the AC bill. But Nick felt the heat immediately on his skin, especially where the shorts rode up between his fat cheeks.
“What the fuck are you wearing, boy?” Rick’s voice boomed from the couch, where he sat sprawled in his work jeans and a stained t-shirt, beer in hand, eyes locked on the way Nick’s ass shifted with every step. “Those shorts ain’t doing shit to hide that fat fucking ass of yours. Look at it—clapping around like you’re trying to advertise it to the whole damn neighborhood.”
Nick froze, cheeks burning. “Dad, it’s just shorts. It’s hot in here—”
“Don’t ‘Dad’ me with that whiny shit,” Rick cut him off, voice laced with that familiar mocking edge. “Real men don’t walk around with an ass like that all crammed up and sweating. Yours got so goddamn meaty and bottom-heavy over the school year it’s practically obscene. You look like some prissy little fag trying to shake it for tips. From now on, in this house, you wear nothing but that jockstrap I bought you last Christmas. The one you never touched. Gotta keep those cheeks aired out proper. Can’t have all that hot, juicy meat trapped and steaming like some queer sauna.”
Nick’s stomach dropped. “You’re kidding. That thing barely covers anything! I’ll be basically naked!”
Rick smirked, taking a long swig of beer, his eyes never leaving the swell of Nick’s rear. “Exactly. And stop acting like such a delicate little bitch about it. I ain’t raising no sissy who can’t handle a little fresh air on his fat ass. Now go change before I rip those shorts off myself and make you walk around like that anyway. Move it, boy.”
There was no arguing with that tone. Nick slunk upstairs, heart pounding, and dug out the jockstrap from the back of his drawer. It was black, the pouch thin and stretchy, the straps nothing more than narrow bands of elastic that dug into his soft hips. When he pulled it on, the effect was immediate and mortifying. His heavy cock and balls filled the front pouch to bursting, the outline obscene, but the real show was in the back. His massive cheeks spilled out completely, framed perfectly by the straps that disappeared between them, accentuating every curve and dimple. The pale flesh jiggled freely, unhindered, already glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the heat.
He came back down, face flushed crimson, trying to walk normally but failing as each step made his cheeks bounce and clap softly. Rick’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning, but his mouth twisted into a sneer of fake disgust.
“Jesus Christ, look at you. Parading around like a goddamn whore in heat. That ass is even fatter than I remembered—two big, sloppy handfuls just begging to be stared at. Good thing you’re my stepson, or I’d think you were trying to turn me into some faggot with a view like that. Now get over here and let me make sure it’s properly aired out.”
Nick hesitated, but Rick’s glare was iron. He stepped closer, turning slowly as ordered. Rick leaned forward on the couch, fully clothed, the contrast stark against Nick’s near-naked vulnerability. Rough, calloused hands reached out—CMNM in full effect—and palmed one fat cheek, squeezing hard enough to make the flesh spill between his fingers.
“Fuck, it’s even softer than it looks,” Rick muttered, voice low and rough, but he quickly covered it with a taunting laugh. “See? This is why you gotta keep it out, kid. All that meat needs to breathe or it’ll get all sweaty and gross like some fairy’s secret. Bend over the coffee table. Gotta inspect it proper.”
Humiliation burned through Nick as he obeyed, gripping the edge of the table, ass thrust out. Rick’s hands spread him wide, thumbs digging into the soft cleft, exposing the tight pink hole hidden between the massive globes. “Look at that—nice and pink, all puckered up. Don’t get any ideas, boy. I’m straight as an arrow. This is just family maintenance. Making sure my stepson’s not turning into a complete bottom-heavy slut behind my back.” His breath was hot against the exposed skin, but he pulled back with a sharp smack that sent the cheek rippling for seconds. “There. Aired out and ready. Now go make yourself useful—fix me another beer. And don’t you dare cover up.”
That was night one. The rule stuck like glue.
By the next morning, the house had become a playground of sexualized family bullying. Nick woke up already in the jockstrap—Rick had thrown out every other pair of shorts and underwear the night before, claiming they “cramped his style.” He padded downstairs to the kitchen, the thermostat still blasting heat, his fat ass cheeks already starting to glisten with sweat. Rick was at the table, fully dressed in his usual jeans and tee, newspaper open, coffee steaming.
“Morning, princess,” Rick drawled without looking up. “Shake that fat ass a little faster and make Daddy some breakfast. Eggs, bacon—extra crispy. And while you’re at it, bend over the counter to reach the pans. I wanna see how those cheeks spread when you work.”
Nick’s face flamed, but he complied, the jockstrap straps digging deeper into his hips as he stretched. His heavy cheeks parted naturally, the sweat from the heat trickling down the crack. Rick watched openly, sipping his coffee, his own bulge subtly thickening in his jeans but hidden by the table.
“Goddamn, boy. That thing’s clapping already and you’ve barely moved. Real men don’t have asses that jiggle like jelly. You sure you ain’t been sneaking off to some fag gym, pumping those cheeks full of silicone? Nah, this is all natural bottom-heavy faggot genetics. Keep it aired out like I said—look how shiny it’s getting. That’s good. Means it’s breathing.”
He stood up casually, still clothed, and wandered over. One big hand cracked down in a sharp spank that echoed through the kitchen. Nick yelped as the flesh rippled, a red handprint blooming instantly on the pale globe.
“Ow! Dad—”
“Quit your bitching,” Rick taunted, voice dripping with mock disgust. “That was just a love tap. Fags like you need regular reminders not to get too cocky with an ass like that. Now keep cooking. And spread your legs wider—gotta make sure everything’s properly ventilated back there.”
The morning dragged on like that. Nick did the dishes, bending and reaching, cheeks wobbling. Rick “supervised,” delivering casual smacks every time Nick’s ass jiggled too enticingly, each one harder than the last. “Look at it bounce—hypnotic as hell. Bet you love showing it off to your old man, don’t you, you little tease? Don’t worry, I’m not queer. This is just me bullying the gay out of that fat ass before it ruins you.”
By afternoon, the taunting escalated into full-on house bullying. Rick had Nick vacuum the living room in nothing but the jock, the vacuum cord forcing him to bend and stretch in every compromising position. Rick lounged on the couch, feet up, fully dressed and smirking. “Faster, boy. That ass is shaking like it’s auditioning for a strip club. Only reason a stepson walks around like this is if he’s begging for attention. Good thing I’m a real man—keeps me from doing anything stupid with all that exposed meat.”
Nick’s cock had betrayed him hours ago, half-hard in the pouch, the outline impossible to ignore. Rick noticed, of course. “Hard already? Pathetic. One day of airing out that bottom-heavy fag ass and you’re leaking like a whore. Bend over the couch arm—time for your daily maintenance spanking.”
The first real spanking came then, right in the middle of the living room. Rick stood up, still in his jeans, and positioned Nick over his lap like a misbehaving kid. The CMNM contrast was electric—Rick’s clothed thighs against Nick’s bare skin, the jockstrap pulled tight, cheeks fully exposed. His rough palm came down in a rapid volley, each smack making the heavy globes bounce and redden.
“Count ‘em, princess. One for every time you sassed me this week. And don’t you dare clench—that just makes it jiggle more.” Smack. Smack. “Fucking look at it—red as a stop sign but still so soft. I ain’t into guys, but damn if this ass isn’t built for a real man’s hands. Keep it aired out or I’ll have to spank it twice as hard tomorrow.”
Nick whimpered through twenty stinging blows, his hole twitching visibly between the spread cheeks, sweat and heat making everything slick. Rick’s cock was rock-hard against Nick’s stomach through the denim, but he never acknowledged it—just kept up the homophobic mask. “See what you made me do? Got me all worked up bullying my own stepson’s queer ass. Straight men shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”
Evening brought the most seductive scene yet. After dinner—Nick cooking and serving in the jock, Rick eating at the table while casually groping a cheek between bites—the “inspection” ritual began. Rick led Nick to the couch, ordered him face-down over the cushions, ass up.
“Time to really air it out, boy. Can’t have all that sweat building up in the crack. Daddy’s gotta check circulation.” His hands—still the only thing touching skin while he remained fully clothed—spread the massive cheeks wide. Thumbs traced the slick cleft, pressing lightly against the tight hole. “Nice and warm back here. Pink and puffy. Bet it gets real sensitive when it’s this exposed. Don’t get any ideas—I’m just making sure my bottom-heavy stepson stays healthy. Fags get all sorts of problems if they don’t air their asses out proper.”
The massage started innocent enough—oiling his palms from a bottle he “just happened” to have—and turned filthy fast. Rick kneaded the fat globes like dough, spreading them, watching the hole wink, fingers sliding dangerously close. “Feel that? All that meat needs to be worked over daily. Keeps it from getting too tight. You’re moaning, boy? Typical. Only a little queer bitch moans when his stepdad’s just helping with chores.”
Nick was rock-hard now, leaking into the jock, hips twitching involuntarily. Rick noticed and laughed darkly. “Look at you—dripping like a faucet. I should make you wear a plug next, just to keep that hole aired out and ready. But nah, I’m straight. This is family bullying, pure and simple. Teasing my stepson’s fat fag ass until he learns his place.”
The seduction built over the next few days in layered scenes. One afternoon, while Nick folded laundry—bent over the dryer, cheeks spread wide—Rick “accidentally” pressed his clothed crotch against them while reaching for a shirt. The hard bulge ground there for a long second. “Whoops. Don’t read into it, kid. Just a real man’s natural reaction to all this exposed meat shaking around. Straight guys get hard sometimes when there’s a fat ass in their face. Means nothing.”
Another night, during TV time, Rick pulled Nick onto his lap for “couch sharing.” Nick sat right on the thick denim bulge, jockstrap pouch tented, cheeks enveloping Rick’s crotch. Rick’s hands roamed freely, spanking lightly between commercials. “Settle down, you little slut. Stop grinding that bottom-heavy ass on me. I ain’t queer—just punishing you for being such a tease. This is how real dads handle sissy stepson behavior.”
The tension snapped on the fifth night. Rick had Nick oiled up again, face-down on the bed this time, the room thick with heat and the scent of sweat and musk. Fingers delved deeper during the “inspection,” one thick digit circling the hole, pressing in just to the knuckle while Rick’s voice stayed gruff and taunting. “Tight as hell back here. Good thing I’m airing it out for you. Bet a fag like you loves this, huh? Moaning like a bitch while your straight stepdad fingers your fat ass. Don’t worry—I’m not enjoying it. This is just me bullying the queerness right out of you.”
Nick broke, pushing back shamelessly, whimpering, “Please, Dad… I need it.”
Rick’s laugh was low and victorious, but the mask held—just barely. “Knew it. My little bottom-heavy stepson slut. Fine. Daddy’ll keep this ass aired out and used every damn day. But remember—this is still your fault for growing such a perfect fuckable ass in the first place.”
From then on, the house rule wasn’t just about airing out anymore. It was about ownership. Rick stayed clothed through every encounter—jeans open just enough for his cock to slide between the oiled cheeks during “maintenance sessions,” spanking turning to full-on rutting, taunts never stopping. “Take it, you little fag. Only reason a straight man like me is balls-deep in his stepson’s ass is because you made it too damn tempting with all that jiggle. Keep it aired out, boy. Daddy’s got years of family bullying to catch up on.”
And Nick—reddened, humiliated, and utterly addicted—obeyed every command, cheeks clapping louder than ever as the summer heat, and Rick’s masked hunger, consumed them both. The jockstrap stayed on, the cheeks stayed out, and the line between bullying and seduction blurred into something filthy, addictive, and inescapably theirs.
Nick had always been the quiet, lanky kid—the one who blended into the background during his senior year of high school. But something shifted hard during his first year away at college. Maybe it was the endless cafeteria carbs, the late-night stress eating, or just the cruel joke genetics played on him the moment he hit nineteen. Whatever the cause, his ass had exploded into two obscene, heavy, mouth-watering globes of pure jiggling meat. They were fat, round, and impossibly plush, the kind of cheeks that clapped softly with every step and strained the seams of anything he tried to wear. His hips had widened just enough to make him look bottom-heavy in the most humiliating way possible, and the soft, pale flesh wobbled and bounced like it had a mind of its own. Back home for the summer, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from anyone. Especially not from his stepdad, Rick.
Rick was the picture of rough, blue-collar masculinity—forty-five, built like a linebacker gone slightly soft around the middle, with thick arms from years on construction sites, a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, and a deep voice that could bark orders at a job site or in the living room without missing a beat. He wore faded jeans and tight gray t-shirts that hugged his barrel chest, always fully clothed, always in control. He’d married Nick’s mom when Nick was twelve, and for years he’d been the gruff but distant father figure. But the second Nick walked through the door that June with those new, massive cheeks filling out his sweatpants like overripe melons, Rick’s eyes had changed. They lingered. They darkened. And behind the homophobic bluster he’d always thrown around, something hungry had woken up.
It started the very first night.
Nick had come downstairs in loose basketball shorts and a tank top, hoping to grab a soda from the fridge. The house was sweltering—Rick had the thermostat cranked up to eighty-five on purpose, claiming it saved on the AC bill. But Nick felt the heat immediately on his skin, especially where the shorts rode up between his fat cheeks.
“What the fuck are you wearing, boy?” Rick’s voice boomed from the couch, where he sat sprawled in his work jeans and a stained t-shirt, beer in hand, eyes locked on the way Nick’s ass shifted with every step. “Those shorts ain’t doing shit to hide that fat fucking ass of yours. Look at it—clapping around like you’re trying to advertise it to the whole damn neighborhood.”
Nick froze, cheeks burning. “Dad, it’s just shorts. It’s hot in here—”
“Don’t ‘Dad’ me with that whiny shit,” Rick cut him off, voice laced with that familiar mocking edge. “Real men don’t walk around with an ass like that all crammed up and sweating. Yours got so goddamn meaty and bottom-heavy over the school year it’s practically obscene. You look like some prissy little fag trying to shake it for tips. From now on, in this house, you wear nothing but that jockstrap I bought you last Christmas. The one you never touched. Gotta keep those cheeks aired out proper. Can’t have all that hot, juicy meat trapped and steaming like some queer sauna.”
Nick’s stomach dropped. “You’re kidding. That thing barely covers anything! I’ll be basically naked!”
Rick smirked, taking a long swig of beer, his eyes never leaving the swell of Nick’s rear. “Exactly. And stop acting like such a delicate little bitch about it. I ain’t raising no sissy who can’t handle a little fresh air on his fat ass. Now go change before I rip those shorts off myself and make you walk around like that anyway. Move it, boy.”
There was no arguing with that tone. Nick slunk upstairs, heart pounding, and dug out the jockstrap from the back of his drawer. It was black, the pouch thin and stretchy, the straps nothing more than narrow bands of elastic that dug into his soft hips. When he pulled it on, the effect was immediate and mortifying. His heavy cock and balls filled the front pouch to bursting, the outline obscene, but the real show was in the back. His massive cheeks spilled out completely, framed perfectly by the straps that disappeared between them, accentuating every curve and dimple. The pale flesh jiggled freely, unhindered, already glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the heat.
He came back down, face flushed crimson, trying to walk normally but failing as each step made his cheeks bounce and clap softly. Rick’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning, but his mouth twisted into a sneer of fake disgust.
“Jesus Christ, look at you. Parading around like a goddamn whore in heat. That ass is even fatter than I remembered—two big, sloppy handfuls just begging to be stared at. Good thing you’re my stepson, or I’d think you were trying to turn me into some faggot with a view like that. Now get over here and let me make sure it’s properly aired out.”
Nick hesitated, but Rick’s glare was iron. He stepped closer, turning slowly as ordered. Rick leaned forward on the couch, fully clothed, the contrast stark against Nick’s near-naked vulnerability. Rough, calloused hands reached out—CMNM in full effect—and palmed one fat cheek, squeezing hard enough to make the flesh spill between his fingers.
“Fuck, it’s even softer than it looks,” Rick muttered, voice low and rough, but he quickly covered it with a taunting laugh. “See? This is why you gotta keep it out, kid. All that meat needs to breathe or it’ll get all sweaty and gross like some fairy’s secret. Bend over the coffee table. Gotta inspect it proper.”
Humiliation burned through Nick as he obeyed, gripping the edge of the table, ass thrust out. Rick’s hands spread him wide, thumbs digging into the soft cleft, exposing the tight pink hole hidden between the massive globes. “Look at that—nice and pink, all puckered up. Don’t get any ideas, boy. I’m straight as an arrow. This is just family maintenance. Making sure my stepson’s not turning into a complete bottom-heavy slut behind my back.” His breath was hot against the exposed skin, but he pulled back with a sharp smack that sent the cheek rippling for seconds. “There. Aired out and ready. Now go make yourself useful—fix me another beer. And don’t you dare cover up.”
That was night one. The rule stuck like glue.
By the next morning, the house had become a playground of sexualized family bullying. Nick woke up already in the jockstrap—Rick had thrown out every other pair of shorts and underwear the night before, claiming they “cramped his style.” He padded downstairs to the kitchen, the thermostat still blasting heat, his fat ass cheeks already starting to glisten with sweat. Rick was at the table, fully dressed in his usual jeans and tee, newspaper open, coffee steaming.
“Morning, princess,” Rick drawled without looking up. “Shake that fat ass a little faster and make Daddy some breakfast. Eggs, bacon—extra crispy. And while you’re at it, bend over the counter to reach the pans. I wanna see how those cheeks spread when you work.”
Nick’s face flamed, but he complied, the jockstrap straps digging deeper into his hips as he stretched. His heavy cheeks parted naturally, the sweat from the heat trickling down the crack. Rick watched openly, sipping his coffee, his own bulge subtly thickening in his jeans but hidden by the table.
“Goddamn, boy. That thing’s clapping already and you’ve barely moved. Real men don’t have asses that jiggle like jelly. You sure you ain’t been sneaking off to some fag gym, pumping those cheeks full of silicone? Nah, this is all natural bottom-heavy faggot genetics. Keep it aired out like I said—look how shiny it’s getting. That’s good. Means it’s breathing.”
He stood up casually, still clothed, and wandered over. One big hand cracked down in a sharp spank that echoed through the kitchen. Nick yelped as the flesh rippled, a red handprint blooming instantly on the pale globe.
“Ow! Dad—”
“Quit your bitching,” Rick taunted, voice dripping with mock disgust. “That was just a love tap. Fags like you need regular reminders not to get too cocky with an ass like that. Now keep cooking. And spread your legs wider—gotta make sure everything’s properly ventilated back there.”
The morning dragged on like that. Nick did the dishes, bending and reaching, cheeks wobbling. Rick “supervised,” delivering casual smacks every time Nick’s ass jiggled too enticingly, each one harder than the last. “Look at it bounce—hypnotic as hell. Bet you love showing it off to your old man, don’t you, you little tease? Don’t worry, I’m not queer. This is just me bullying the gay out of that fat ass before it ruins you.”
By afternoon, the taunting escalated into full-on house bullying. Rick had Nick vacuum the living room in nothing but the jock, the vacuum cord forcing him to bend and stretch in every compromising position. Rick lounged on the couch, feet up, fully dressed and smirking. “Faster, boy. That ass is shaking like it’s auditioning for a strip club. Only reason a stepson walks around like this is if he’s begging for attention. Good thing I’m a real man—keeps me from doing anything stupid with all that exposed meat.”
Nick’s cock had betrayed him hours ago, half-hard in the pouch, the outline impossible to ignore. Rick noticed, of course. “Hard already? Pathetic. One day of airing out that bottom-heavy fag ass and you’re leaking like a whore. Bend over the couch arm—time for your daily maintenance spanking.”
The first real spanking came then, right in the middle of the living room. Rick stood up, still in his jeans, and positioned Nick over his lap like a misbehaving kid. The CMNM contrast was electric—Rick’s clothed thighs against Nick’s bare skin, the jockstrap pulled tight, cheeks fully exposed. His rough palm came down in a rapid volley, each smack making the heavy globes bounce and redden.
“Count ‘em, princess. One for every time you sassed me this week. And don’t you dare clench—that just makes it jiggle more.” Smack. Smack. “Fucking look at it—red as a stop sign but still so soft. I ain’t into guys, but damn if this ass isn’t built for a real man’s hands. Keep it aired out or I’ll have to spank it twice as hard tomorrow.”
Nick whimpered through twenty stinging blows, his hole twitching visibly between the spread cheeks, sweat and heat making everything slick. Rick’s cock was rock-hard against Nick’s stomach through the denim, but he never acknowledged it—just kept up the homophobic mask. “See what you made me do? Got me all worked up bullying my own stepson’s queer ass. Straight men shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”
Evening brought the most seductive scene yet. After dinner—Nick cooking and serving in the jock, Rick eating at the table while casually groping a cheek between bites—the “inspection” ritual began. Rick led Nick to the couch, ordered him face-down over the cushions, ass up.
“Time to really air it out, boy. Can’t have all that sweat building up in the crack. Daddy’s gotta check circulation.” His hands—still the only thing touching skin while he remained fully clothed—spread the massive cheeks wide. Thumbs traced the slick cleft, pressing lightly against the tight hole. “Nice and warm back here. Pink and puffy. Bet it gets real sensitive when it’s this exposed. Don’t get any ideas—I’m just making sure my bottom-heavy stepson stays healthy. Fags get all sorts of problems if they don’t air their asses out proper.”
The massage started innocent enough—oiling his palms from a bottle he “just happened” to have—and turned filthy fast. Rick kneaded the fat globes like dough, spreading them, watching the hole wink, fingers sliding dangerously close. “Feel that? All that meat needs to be worked over daily. Keeps it from getting too tight. You’re moaning, boy? Typical. Only a little queer bitch moans when his stepdad’s just helping with chores.”
Nick was rock-hard now, leaking into the jock, hips twitching involuntarily. Rick noticed and laughed darkly. “Look at you—dripping like a faucet. I should make you wear a plug next, just to keep that hole aired out and ready. But nah, I’m straight. This is family bullying, pure and simple. Teasing my stepson’s fat fag ass until he learns his place.”
The seduction built over the next few days in layered scenes. One afternoon, while Nick folded laundry—bent over the dryer, cheeks spread wide—Rick “accidentally” pressed his clothed crotch against them while reaching for a shirt. The hard bulge ground there for a long second. “Whoops. Don’t read into it, kid. Just a real man’s natural reaction to all this exposed meat shaking around. Straight guys get hard sometimes when there’s a fat ass in their face. Means nothing.”
Another night, during TV time, Rick pulled Nick onto his lap for “couch sharing.” Nick sat right on the thick denim bulge, jockstrap pouch tented, cheeks enveloping Rick’s crotch. Rick’s hands roamed freely, spanking lightly between commercials. “Settle down, you little slut. Stop grinding that bottom-heavy ass on me. I ain’t queer—just punishing you for being such a tease. This is how real dads handle sissy stepson behavior.”
The tension snapped on the fifth night. Rick had Nick oiled up again, face-down on the bed this time, the room thick with heat and the scent of sweat and musk. Fingers delved deeper during the “inspection,” one thick digit circling the hole, pressing in just to the knuckle while Rick’s voice stayed gruff and taunting. “Tight as hell back here. Good thing I’m airing it out for you. Bet a fag like you loves this, huh? Moaning like a bitch while your straight stepdad fingers your fat ass. Don’t worry—I’m not enjoying it. This is just me bullying the queerness right out of you.”
Nick broke, pushing back shamelessly, whimpering, “Please, Dad… I need it.”
Rick’s laugh was low and victorious, but the mask held—just barely. “Knew it. My little bottom-heavy stepson slut. Fine. Daddy’ll keep this ass aired out and used every damn day. But remember—this is still your fault for growing such a perfect fuckable ass in the first place.”
From then on, the house rule wasn’t just about airing out anymore. It was about ownership. Rick stayed clothed through every encounter—jeans open just enough for his cock to slide between the oiled cheeks during “maintenance sessions,” spanking turning to full-on rutting, taunts never stopping. “Take it, you little fag. Only reason a straight man like me is balls-deep in his stepson’s ass is because you made it too damn tempting with all that jiggle. Keep it aired out, boy. Daddy’s got years of family bullying to catch up on.”
And Nick—reddened, humiliated, and utterly addicted—obeyed every command, cheeks clapping louder than ever as the summer heat, and Rick’s masked hunger, consumed them both. The jockstrap stayed on, the cheeks stayed out, and the line between bullying and seduction blurred into something filthy, addictive, and inescapably theirs.
