I've always had a rough and fraught relationship with my daddy. I'm currently undertaking a pathway to healing. My husbear and my therapist are gently coaxing me to come to terms with the horrific abuse I suffered as a child at the hands of my so-called father. I grew up on a ranch in Montana in 70s. My daddy was huge, powerful, weatherbeaten man inured to the hardships of ranch life. He was 6'3" and weighed at least 250 pounds and was built like a shit brickhouse. I could barely wrap my hands around his thick biceps. His thighs were as thick as my waist.
My father as a mean, abusive drunk. He began doing it to my brother and me when I was eight. At first it was rape. He would throw me around, lube up his enormous, cheesy, unwashed shaft with gun oil, and really tear up my fuckhole. My ring was blown out when I was in Junior High. My brother and me both had incontinence issues because of the constant tearing. His cock was thick, and he didn't always have no gun oil on him. So sometimes it was just spit and the full weight of his enormous, hairy body barreling down into us while we screamed and begged him to stop. We would often get hard, and he would punish us if we tried to jerk off after getting fucked. He would loudly demean us with blame language, and call us punks and f@ggots.
That's when he started dressing us up in our sister's clothes. We would be forced to follow him into to town wearing dresses and patent leather shoes. He would often lift up the hems of our dresses and show laughing passers-by our tiny cocklets. He would then degrade and berate us for having tiny punk clits and having blown out fuckholes. He would also pimp us out to friends and relatives. We were forced to wear lingerie and short skirts and parade around and dance degrading dances and sing humiliating songs. He would make us dance provocatively for our uncles, lifting our skirts to expose our well fucked pleasure rings, and swaying our hips. He bought us pornos so we would learn how to act.
By the time I was 16 I was the class f@ggot. Everyone knew I took my daddy's cock, and the jocks abused me incessantly. They would beat me, spit on me, piss on me, and degrade me with blame language. The wrestling coach caught them once, but instead of helping me, he joined in. He administered throat rape and blew a humongous was up my cunt. I was constantly made to service their rank, sweaty cocks. If my daddy found out I was getting pushed around at school he would fly into a rage at his f@ggot son bringing shame to the family. He would double down on the beatings and rape. My uncles forced me to do horrific things like drink their farts and eat their toejam.
The abuse, beatings, and rape only stopped when I ran away at 17. I drifted down to Boise, where I worked truck stops until I found a decent job in graphic design. I'm now happily married to my husbear, who is a total top but never abusive, and I have a wonderful adopted son.
My daddy has invited me to his hunting cabin, but I don't think I will go. Over forty years later the wounds are just too raw.