CAUTION : Themes of family, church and discipline ahead. Please let me know your thoughts! The story can continue if there is an interest for it. It's already written and ready 
.The air in the Henderson-Clarke household was always still, conditioned to a perfect seventy-two degrees and smelling faintly of lemon polish and old money. It was the kind of air that brooked no disruption, much like Daniel Henderson himself. At forty-eight, Dan was a man carved from granite and principle. A sharp jaw, hair the color of distinguished silver at the temples, and a physique honed by disciplined morning runs and the quiet rage of the perpetually self-controlled. His marriage to Lydia Clarke, a whirlwind romance after his first wife’s passing, had been less a matter of passion and more a merger of shared values and tax brackets. With Lydia came her son, Cody, a variable Dan was still struggling to solve.
Cody was… a good kid. Respectful, bright, with an easy smile and his mother’s sunny disposition. He was graduating a semester early, already accepted into a prestigious business program on the West Coast. On paper, he was the perfect son. Yet, there was something about him that subtly disturbed the perfect stillness of Dan’s world. It was a physical presence that seemed too loud for the quiet halls of their Greenwich estate. The boy was built with a startling incongruity; a lean, athletic torso and strong shoulders that tapered down to a waist and then flared out into an improbably heavy, high, and perfectly round backside. It was an anatomical anomaly, a feature so pronounced it seemed to belong on a different person entirely, perhaps a woman bred for childbearing. Dan, a man who prided himself on his righteousness and his unwavering attraction to the fairer sex, found himself noticing it far more than he was comfortable with. He’d catch sight of it when Cody bent to tie his shoes, the way the thick, plush globes strained the seams of his khaki shorts, or the heavy, bouncing sway of them under his basketball shorts when he jogged up the grand staircase. Dan would quickly avert his eyes, a flicker of something hot and unfamiliar coiling in his gut, and immediately busy himself with thoughts of scripture or stock portfolios. It was a sinful distraction, a test from the Almighty, and he would not fail it.
He took his role as a stepfather with the grim seriousness of a battlefield commission. He was here to provide structure, guidance, and a firm moral compass for a young man on the cusp of adulthood. He wanted to mold Cody into a man of character, a man like himself. He and Lydia had already had several serious talks with Cody about the temptations of college life—the loose women, the drinking, the liberal ideologies that sought to poison the minds of America’s youth. Cody had listened patiently, nodding in all the right places, his expression earnest.
“Yes, sir. I understand completely,” he’d said, his voice polite and clear. “I won’t let you or Mom down.”
Dan had wanted to believe him. He truly did.
It was a quiet Tuesday evening. Lydia was at her weekly charity board meeting, and the house was submerged in its usual tomb-like silence. Dan was in his study, reviewing quarterly reports, when a faint, rhythmic sound began to seep into his concentration. It was a dull, repetitive thudding. Thump-thump-thump… thump-thump-thump. He frowned, trying to place it. It wasn’t the house settling, nor was it the distant hum of traffic. It was coming from upstairs. Specifically, from the direction of Cody’s room.
Dan’s first thought was of a leaky pipe, an unwelcome expense. He rose from his leather chair, the reports forgotten. As he ascended the plushly carpeted stairs, the sound grew more distinct. It wasn’t just a thudding; there was a wet, slapping quality to it now, accompanied by a low, steady creaking of a bedframe. A knot of paternal concern tightened in his chest. Was the boy alright? Was he sick?
He reached the landing and walked down the hall, the sounds growing louder, more urgent. He stopped outside Cody’s door, which was slightly ajar. The sounds from within were now unmistakable and deeply unsettling. A rhythmic, wet squelching, the frantic beat of the headboard against the wall, and the heavy, ragged breathing of someone in the throes of intense exertion. Dan’s blood ran cold. He knew that sound. It was the sound of sin. Of fornication. Had Cody snuck a girl into their home? Under his very roof? A surge of righteous fury, hot and potent, flooded his veins. The disrespect. The flagrant disobedience.
He reached for the doorknob, ready to burst in and unleash the full fire of his condemnation. But something stopped him. A sliver of the scene within was visible through the crack in the door, and it wasn't what he expected. There was no girl. There was only Cody.
And what a sight he was.
His stepson was on his hands and knees in the center of his large bed, stark naked, his back arched. The lamplight from his nightstand cast his body in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the slick sheen of sweat on his skin. His focus was entirely downward, his hips pumping with a frantic, powerful rhythm. And beneath him, gripped in his own hand, was some sort of contraption. It was a garish blue plastic cylinder, but from its top protruded a disturbingly realistic, flesh-toned orifice into which Cody was violently thrusting himself. A pocket pussy. An instrument of self-abuse, of solitary, shameful pleasure. Dan felt a wave of disgust, but it was immediately swamped by something else, something much more powerful and terrifying: a raw, magnetic fascination.
His eyes were drawn, against his will, to the source of the slapping sound. Cody’s ass. Freed from the confines of clothing, it was a spectacle of obscene proportion. Two perfect, heavy hemispheres of flesh, impossibly plump and round, jiggled and bounced with every powerful thrust. They were so large they seemed to have their own gravitational pull, wobbling in a hypnotic, pendulous motion. With each forward pump, they clenched tight, the deep cleft between them disappearing. With each withdrawal, they relaxed and spread, before clapping back together with a wet, fleshy report that echoed in the quiet room. Clap. Slap. Clap. It was the sound Dan had heard, the sound of his stepson’s freakishly fat ass cheeks colliding with his thighs.
Dan stood frozen in the hallway, his hand still on the doorknob, his own breathing forgotten. He watched, transfixed, as the boy’s pace quickened. Cody let out a low groan, his head falling forward. The muscles in his back and thighs corded with tension. The jiggling of his buttocks became a violent, chaotic shudder, the flesh quivering like gelatin. The sheer volume of it was astounding. It was softer, plumper, more bountiful than any woman’s rear he had ever laid eyes on, let alone his hands. It was a monument to excess, a caricature of femininity attached to a boy’s body.
A traitorous heat began to build in Dan’s groin. The sight was an abomination, a perversion of God’s design. It was a filthy, shameful display of solitary lust. And yet, he couldn’t look away. The rhythmic pumping, the sight of those heavy globes of flesh bouncing and clapping, the sound of Cody’s panting groans—it was a potent, intoxicating brew. He could feel the front of his tailored trousers growing uncomfortably tight. A thick, hard erection pressed against the fabric, a physical testament to his own shocking depravity. He was aroused. Aroused by his stepson. The realization hit him like a physical blow, leaving him dizzy with self-loathing.
But then another thought, sharp and clear, cut through the haze of shock and lust. An idea. This was not just a moment of sin to be condemned. It was an opportunity. A teaching moment. This boy, his charge, was clearly lost, drowning in the filth of carnal desire. It was Dan’s duty—his sacred duty as a father—to pull him out. To lay down the law. To administer a punishment so memorable, so embarrassing, that Cody would never again dare to engage in such a disgusting display. He would not just stop this; he would correct it. He would use this moment to assert his authority, to instill a proper sense of shame and fear. And the growing hardness in his pants? That was merely the righteous anger of a father preparing to do what must be done. It was the physical manifestation of his moral fury. He clung to that thought, weaponizing it.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dan shoved the door open. It banged against the wall with a crack that made Cody cry out in shock and terror.
“What in God’s name is this?!” Dan’s voice was a low, dangerous roar that filled the room.
Cody’s head whipped around, his eyes wide with panic. He tried to scramble back, to cover himself, but he was tangled in his sheets and the obscene toy he’d been violating. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His entire body was frozen, caught in the headlights of his stepfather’s wrath.
Dan stalked into the room, his face a mask of cold fury. He kicked the discarded toy, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor where it came to rest against the wall with a pathetic plastic clatter. He didn't look at it. His eyes were locked on Cody, drinking in the sight of his complete and utter vulnerability. The boy was still on his knees, his body slick with sweat, his erection wilting in shame. And his ass, those two enormous, quivering mounds of flesh, were aimed directly at Dan, seeming to fill the entire room with their sinful presence.
“Get up,” Dan commanded, his voice dripping with ice. “Stand up. Now.”
-to be continued-
X: @thelonegoonman
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