Fun In The Park

Written by , on 2024-05-10, genre domination

Fun In The Park

My son, Steward or Stew, was born 2 years before my acrimonious divorce from my wife. Laura. She managed to win custodial rights and moved across the country with him.

Though I was wealthy, I lost all the court battles I waged since judges always ruled in her favor. Too, she remained so pissed-off that I didn't see my son again until 18 years later after he'd found “ ”, a site I'd established for a submissive and red-haired 42-year-old.

But Laura's wrath toward me was so relentless that she'd told Stew about me only a few times throughout the years, though he recognized my name from the-above mentioned group, sent me an e-mail and asked to meet.

Nevertheless, I startled him because by then, I'd entered into an unsanctioned marriage involving Suzanne, Marcus, a black man, and Jay, a white one.

That befitted our common wife since Suzanne had an irrepressible need for kinky sex, exactly as we husbands wanted.

However, she was built to fornicate, being that while her boobs were smallish, guys sometimes said she was gorgeous, since she had a beautiful face and a lovely tush.
But I won't detail her obscene interests until I decribe getting acquainted with my 20-y/o son at The Southern Rose, a restaurant in my Mississippi town.

And Stew had grown into a strapping buck with muscles 'bulging out to here', as the saying goes.

'Dad, I'm glad to finally meet you,' he smiled as he strode up to me.

'The same here,' - and we shook hands, followed by me asking, 'Are you hungry?'

'Not really, but thanks, anyway.'

'How about a cup of coffee?' I went on.

'That'd be great,' Stew said, whereupon I waved a brunette waitress over to the table and was delighted to notice my son's eyes boldly stripping her more naked than naked.

'You dirty dog, you!' I teased him after she'd gone behind the counter.
'Guilty as charged, dad,' Stew grinned, after which he continued, 'Speaking of dirty, I want to hear all about this Suzanne character. Who is she?'

'Keep your pants on, if you can. She's my unofficial wife, with 3 husbands, Jay, a white guy, Marcus, who's black and me,' I replied.

'Interesting. In other words, your marriage isn't real?' Stew inquired.

'Right,' I answered.

'Okay. Where are Suzanne's other husbands?'

'The 3 of us own a business, and they're attending a financial conference in Paris. where I'm sure they're stabbing their cocks into Parisian hookers whenever they can,' I, too, smiled.

'What does Suzanne think about that, or does she even know?' Stew questioned me.

'She knows, all right, but has no say in the matter, considering she's a cheap, part-time prostitute, herself,' I informed my son who asked, 'Seriously?'

'Want to pimp her?'

'You bet. I saw her photos in your group and she's smoking-hot,' Stew replied.

'Yeah, she is. But Suzanne's not into golden-showers, bestiality or family intercourse, though some fantasy-incest would be fun, wouldn't it, son?' I responded.

'You mean that, dad?'

'Symbolically, being that a near-relative pimping her would thoroughly humiliate her,' I said.

'Suzanne likes that – huh?'

'To an amazing degree. But don't worry about anything. I can force her into whatever I want,' I confirmed the facts.

'How's that?' Stew asked.

'Well, Jay, Marcus and I are non-violent misogynists and Suzanne has a fetish for guys detesting her while they rape her,' I responded.

'You can't be serious!' Stew exclaimed.

'Yeah, I am. She has a remarkably high tolerance for pain and strongly craves unlimited verbal abuse. You can call her anything you like, including a 'turd',' I said.

'Wow, she must be a wild chick!' Stew remarked,
'You couldn't begin to imagine, son. Kind of like I said, I can impose the most degrading things upon her. So, this is what I want you to do. We're going to a dinner party tomorrow night. I'll come to your hotel tomorrow afternoon and give you a copy of the key to the front door. Let yourself in while we're gone and shoot your jizz on her pillow. She always sleeps on the bed's right side. Piss a little on it, too,' I answered.

'You got it!' the youngster enthused.

'I'll let you ambush the cunt. With the weather being so balmy, I'll persuade her to go for a walk in the park at 2 a. m. Sunday morning when nobody's around, Trust me, don't be the least afraid to insult her. Suzanne loves that. By the way, do you think all women are cunts, Stew?' I asked.

'Of course, dad. Nothing's like eqating them with the holes between their legs. I'm a chip off the old block, aren't I?' he once more grinned.

'You'd better be!' I chuckled, then: 'Oh, memorize my address,' - and I recited it.

'My computer's saved it,' Stew responded while tapping his head.

He then inquired, 'Do you love the skank, dad?'

'Not romantically, don't kiss her or lick her snatch, either.'

'Awesome,' Stew said.

So, fast-forwarding, I had a locksmith copy the front door key, went to my son's hotel the next afternoon and gave it to him.

'God, my dick's almost hopping out of my jeans,' he grunted.

'You're still a dirty dog about to urinate on my wife's pillow,' I laughed.

'I can hardly wait,' Stew remarked

After Suzanne and I had come home from the party and gotten ready for bed the following night, however, she laid her head on her pillow, suddenly jerked upright and said, 'My pillow's wet, sir. What is that stuff?'
'I have no idea how, but maybe a dog slipped in and lifted a hind leg on it. Go to sleep and have some dirty dreams – all right?' I suppressed a smirk.

'Yes, sir.'

But I was as eager as my son for what occurred on Sunday, while at 1:45 Saturday night, I said, 'I'm feeling rather tense from work. Let's go for a relaxing stroll in the park – okay?'

'That'd be nice, sir.'

'Good. Wear a pair of high heels, though I have a special dress for you,' I replied before I went to the basement to retrieve a gunny sack, in the bottom and sides of which I'd previously cut head and arm-holes.

I returned to the living room, tossed it at Suzanne and ordered, 'Put that on.'

'You expect me to wear a feed bag, sir?' she gasped.

'Do it!'

'Yes, sir,' - and she donned the 'garment', followed by us starting to walk to the park 6 blocks from the house.

Meanwhile, I could sense the occasional harlot steaminng in derogation, though we encountered a solitary white man who ignored her mode of attire.

Once we arrived at the park, we turned onto a winding sidewalk past a picnic table in a dimly-lit area.

As I'd thought, nobody was in sight, not yet.

'Stop. Raise your 'dress' and bend over that table, bitch,' I instructed.

'Yes, sir,' - and Suzanne obeyed, though I could see her beginning to tremble.

However, Stew had a creative idea. He was wearing a light jacket, with its hood pulled over his head as he started approaching her while stroking his thick 10-inched cock which was protruding through his jeans-zipper.

Startled by his abrupt appearance from the shadows, Suzanne looked over her shoulder and stammered, 'W-w-who... are... you?'

'Shut up and watch me, you worthless 'ho!' Stew savagely whispered.

Since the tart didn't know him, he qualified as a stranger, and the sexy troll seemed mesmerized as he masturbated while humping his crotch in her direction.

'You ought to be happy if I used you as a jerk-off bucket! You'd hate me not banging you to hell, wouldn't you, stupid?' he sneered, then: 'Don't answer! I'm going do anything I want! I despise you!'

'You should, sir!' she groaned.

'Fucking witch! Close your mouth!' my son rasped before slapping her butt.

Next, he acted as though being aware of me for the first time by turning and asking, 'Does this 3-slitter belong to you, man?'

'Yeah, my wife.'

'Really, now? I usually avoid stray wives but mind if I rape yours? I do believe that's one purpose for marriage – right?' Stew snickered.

'Absolutely, young man. In case you're wondering, her name's Suzanne, And you said it, she's a witch,' I merrily responded.

'She's not a turd?' Stew mockingly inquired.

'She's moral turd.'

'Wait a second. Since when do turds have ANY morals?' Stew answered in an incredulous tone of voice.

'They don't,' I said.

'For sure, and I guess I'll grind this one to mush,' Stew replied.

Nevertheless, I'd already planned to reveal the identity of Suzanne's enforcer and almost cackled, 'Please do, son.'

'What?' she squawked in astonishment.

'Let me introduce the fruit of my loins,' I said.

'He - he – he's your son?' she stammered again.

'Yeah, Stew, an expert rapist,' I responded.

'No, my god, no!' Suzanne vented her dismay.

'Didn't I tell you to shut up?' Stew growled before he rammed his cock into her vag.

'Take it, take it, you filthy whore!' he yelled into the still-deserted surroundings as he started hammering her.

'Eeeh, yes, yes, violate me!' the slattern begged.

'What the fuck else am I doing, you little shit?' Stew hissed, while continuing to viciously slash his prick in and out of her drooling snatch.

'Aaah, I'm cumming!' Suzanne screeched.

'Who cares, you piece of shit!' Stew shouted, then turned toward me: 'Your sleazy Mrs. is even lower than shit, isn't she, dad?'

'True enough, son,' I said.

'Yeah, you are!' Stew sounded as if he was swearing, then withdrew from Suzanne's twat, shoved her knee-ward and snarled, 'Swallow this, scum-toilet!'

Having said that, he swung his dick against her face and scoffed, 'Whatever you're wearing looks ridiculous!' - and he stowed his prick in his jeans before flipping her the middle finger.

After that, he disappeared down the trail, with me spilling my seed on her rump, then once more laughing, 'Before I forget, Stew ejaculated and pissed on your pillow, slut.'

'Thank you, sir,' she gratefully murmured.

Following that morning, however, Stew visited his cock upon her orifices daily, as well as desecrated her by street-marketng her the next Friday night.

Still, he'd 'used' her for more than a 'jerk-off bucket', hadn't he?

Yes, he had!

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