Holstered

“All right, faggot,” Dad says, pulling out of my ass and moving his hands to my hair. I cooperate as he yanks my hair and pulls me around until my head is in front of him. I look up for a moment before he rams himself in so hard he's holstered.

I groan on Dad's cock and caress his balls with my tongue, sucking hard and swallowing. Soon, Dad's thick cum begins to pump into my stomach once more. My stomach's already well-filled with cum, but I'll never complain of too much cum!

Dad holds my head down fiercely as he unloads, and I hold my breath while he empties his balls into my throat yet again. While he cums, I simply continue nursing on his balls, and swallowing to stroke his cock using the muscles in my throat.

I gasp softly for air as Dad pulls out, as soon as his cock leaves my throat. He looks down at me and smirks, giving my face a slap firm enough to sting. “Good faggot. Now go to sleep. Your Mom and I won't have a poorly-rested faggot serving us.”

“Yes, Dad,” I answer, shifting back to my previous position, resting my forearms on my pillow, looking over, “Dad, may I ask a question?” He pauses and turns to me, stepping close enough that his cock is directly in front of my face. I lick softly.

“Good boy, faggot. Yes, you may,” Dad replies.

“Am I still your son? Am I allowed to call you Dad and call Mom, Mom?” I ask. Dad taps his prick against my lips. I start to lick and kiss his cock.

“I'll be honest. If Amy registered you as our property? The answer would be no,” Dad answers truthfully, as I worship his shaft obediently, “You would be our property. You'd address me and your mother as Master and Mistress. The twins, too.”

“However, she's registering you as free-use, which means you're nobody's property,” Dad tells me, stroking my hair while I continue licking and kissing his phallus, “So yes. You're still my son, even if you're nothing but a little faggot slut, now.”

“You are still living in our house, though,” Dad warns, “So you don't wear clothes. Ever. Not inside the house. We'll move your dresser to the living room. You can get dressed by the front door when you're going outside for any length of time.”

“No clothes in the house, no clothes in the back yard,” he tells me, and I nod, “Good faggot. Now, go to sleep, little fag.” Dad looks down at me, and I nod obediently, kissing his crown before he puts his cock away and tousles my hair gently.

Then he turns and walks out of my room, our relationship forever changed. I rest my head on my pillow and fall asleep, still smiling from my Dad calling me a faggot, having used me so thoroughly for his pleasure without worrying about me.

—

Author's Note:
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Here the story converges in Chapter 32: Alone, Early Morning.