---
title: 'Chapter 1'
pp_protect: '0'
---

## Chapter 1

 If you like this story and want to see more, send me an email at
dirk.carlor@gmail.com.  You can also reach me on YAHOO at dirk.writer.  I
love to chat with my fans, but if I don't hear feedback, I probably won't
keep this one going.



   You can read my other stories here:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/what-i-learned-from-dad/

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/institute-for-father-son-incest-resea
rch/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/what-i-learned-from-dad/







   THIS STORY IS A COMPLETE WORK OF FICTION.  IT SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN
SERIOUSLY.  IT SERVES AS AN OUTLET FOR MEN WHO HAVE EXTREME AND SAFE SEXUAL
FANTASIES.  NO ONE SHOULD EVER ACT OUT ANYTHING SEXUAL OR OTHERWISE ABUSIVE
ON A CHILD, EVER.  IF THEY DO, THEY SHOULD BE PUNISHED BY THE LAW.  THIS
AUTHOR DOES NOT CONDONE CHILD ABUSE.



   What's in Box 15?



   In order to understand my story, there are two things you need to know
about my dad.



   1.  He is, or was, a complete psycho.  He was very, VERY insane.

   2.  He was a total genius.



   He was the smartest, craziest, most twisted man who has ever lived.  I
can say that with confidence because I spent virtually every moment of my
childhood chained to him -" both literally and figuratively.

   Dad was a planner.  He had been the manager of a small contraction
company for years, so he knew how to run things.  And while he put his all
into that company, it pales in comparison to his biggest project -" turning
me, his innocent 5-year-old son, into a kid whose entire being was centered
around throbbing, hairy, thick, mean, drooling, veiny man penis.  He spent
years turning me from a regular kid who loved baseball and swimming into a
hollowed out child who constantly had the taste of man sperm in the back of
his throat, who barely got any sleep because he was so busy taking it up
his teency, tiny child hole.

   Just writing those words makes me feel almost as crazy as my dad.  Once
my days with my sick father ended, I never imagined that I would ever, EVER
be turned on by my tortuous past.  But then I had that wet dream --and
everything changed.

   But that's the end of the story.  To truly know what I went through, we
have to go back, way back.  Twenty-one years back when I was four years
old. Back before I knew what a man's cock look liked.

   Mom died when I was 4.  Dad says she got into a car accident, but I
never learned the truth.  Knowing my dad, it wouldn't be surprising if
there were other more sinister explanations for how my mother died.  But in
any event, it didn't matter.

   I was a mama's boy, like most 4-year-olds.  And I was devastated when
she passed.  All I could do was cry and cry and cry for days, and then
eventually I just grew quiet.



   Looking back, that seems to have been part of dad's plan as well.  A sad
little boy was a little boy that was extremely easy to control - as if he
needed any help controlling me.  I was a very small boy for my age, thin as
a rail since I was a baby.  My hair was and still is golden, and I have
always been noticed for my big blue eyes.  Sure, when I was a kid, it was
mostly older men saying that as they sprayed jizz into my mouth.  But I
still get complimented for my blue eyes even today, now that I'm living a
somewhat normal life.

   About two months after my mom died, dad announced that we were moving. I
don't remember much about the actual move itself - thinking back it's all
hazy.  One day I had a mom and a house in a big suburb, the next thing I
knew -" mom was dead and it was just me and dad in a big house in the
middle of the woods in Maine.  I think he had the house built for us -"
money was not much of an issue at that point.  He had taken all of mom's
inheritance and spent it on that house and the year he took off from work.
He paid the contractors form his old business to build it, and then he paid
them more to not tell anyone about it.  It took 40 minutes drive to the
nearest building - an abandoned farm.

   I'll never forget that house.  For me - it was less than a house, it was
a prison.  Despite the fact that it was LUSH.  Daddy wanted a nice place to
call him and to use his son in every way imaginable, so he went all out. 
The front door opened into a huge living room that had a to giant L shaped
couches that could be pushed into a closed square.  There was a big
fireplace and several large flat screen TVs around the room.  There was a
full bar, which was enormous, separating that room from the kitchen.

   Upstairs were six bedrooms, each opening up onto a balcony that
overlooked the living room.  The biggest, of course, went to my dad.  Like
the rest of the house he went all out.  He had a giant black bed frame with
blood red silk sheets.  The bathroom in his bedroom was just as big, with a
specially made Jacuzzi tub that could seat 9 men.  He also had a roomy
shower, and the walls were lined with mirrors.

   There was a bathroom downstairs, that dad kept locked because he said it
was out of order.  Really it was just that he didn't want me to know what
he had done to that bathroom.

   My bedroom was fantastic.  My bed was shaped like a race car and had
Ninja Turtle sheets -" my favorite.  I had my own bathroom too, though much
smaller, with a shower and a tub.

   Dad also kept the other three bedrooms locked.  He kept the door leading
to the basement locked too, and told me he would open them up to me some
day -" but they weren't quite ready.

   I have to admit, I was excited when we first got to the house.  Or
former residence with mom had been nice, but this was amazing!  Dad kept
telling me how it was "all for me" and that he wanted the house to help us
build a new life together, without mom.  I didn't know what he meant at the
time -" but sometimes 4-year-olds are slow on the uptake when it comes to
sexual cues.

   Those first few months before my 5th birthday were some of the happiest
days.  Dad and I grew very close - before I had been a Mama's boy, but now
dad was showing me extra tenderness and allowing me to be close to him.  He
was always telling me I was a good boy - cooking me home made meals -
tucking me in at night.

   About a month before my birthday - which is on July 1 - dad started
talking up the big day.  I was very excited to turn 5, mostly because dad
kept going on and on about how big of a day it was gonna be for me, how
many presents he was gonna buy me, how much fun we were gonna have.

   It doesn't take much to get a 5-year-old excited about his birthday, so
having my dad talk about it nonstop every day got me so excited that I was
bouncing off the walls most of the time.  Again, this was all part of dad's
master plan.

   Finally the day came.  The night before, I could barely sleep, but dad
happily fed me some warm milk -" and who knows what else was in that glass
-" to get me to bed.  At 5 a.m.  the next morning, I woke up in my race car
bed to dad shaking me.

   My big dad stood over me, grinning like a mad man.  He was clad only in
a thin bathrobe that was tied loosely.  I was used to seeing dad in minimal
clothing, so this wasn't too shocking to me.

   Dad was just big all over.  He stood at 6 foot 4, and he had a solid
frame.  He definitely had muscles, but it wasn't all bulky.  Instead he
just looked like a big, hairy brick wall.  He had a shaved head and
piercing, icy blue eyes, but they weren't as big as mine.  He wore a size
13 shoe, and I remember always noticing, even before he started my new
life, that his legs were particularly thick and hairy.  When I stood next
to him, I barely reached his hip.

   Unlike me, who had my mom's pale skin, dad always looked like he had
just gone tanning.  Even in the winter, his skin stayed a darker color than
mine.  His chest hair had gone gray for the most part, but his big,
buldging arms had light brown hairs on them.

   I sprang up out of bed.  I was so happy to be awake -" I was finally 5!
I jumped up and hugged my dad, and he took me into his arms and hugged me
real tight.  With his hands on my thighs he held me, kissed me on the
cheek, and I swear I heard him whisper in my ear "Goodbye."

   Dad set me back down on the bed.  Then he nodded to the foot of my bed
and smiled.  I looked and there I saw at least 20 packages all wrapped up
in superman and spiderman paper.  I squealed with joy!

   "Start opening them up, boy!" Dad said.  "They're all for you!"

   In an instant I was down with the presents.  I saw that each one had a
number written on it, 1 through 15.

   "Should I follow the numbers, Daddy?"

   "Good job, boy!  You're so smart.  Follow the numbers."

   I picked up box number one, which was smaller than most of the others. I
ripped open the paper and opened the box -" that was like a largish jewelry
box.  Inside was a black leather dog collar with a word I didn't understand
on the tag.

   "Daddy!  Daddy!  Are you getting me a puppy??"

   "Just keep opening, son." Just keep opening was dad's mantra, as I
continued to dive into my presents, making my way toward 15.  But something
wasn't right -" even then I could sense it.  After the first present -" I
didn't recognize any of them.

   In box two there was what looked like a red rubber ball with a black
strap -" maybe a doggie toy I thought.

   In box three, there was a little brown bottle full of weird liquid.  I
shook it up and a ball was in there, floating around.

   In box four, I got handcuffs.

   In box five, a paddle that had the same word written in holes on it as
the word that was on the dog collar.

   Boxes six, seven, and eight each contained what looked like rubber
versions of -" I couldn't believe it -" but like rubber versions of what I
had between my own legs -" but much much MUCH MUCH bigger.

   Box nine was heavy.  It proved to be filled with ropes and chains.

   Box 10 had a funnel attached to a long tube.

   Boxes 11, 12 and 13 had outfits in them -" a speedo, pajamas and my own
soccer uniform, respectively.

   Box 14 had a weird instrument with a needle on it, and another long
metal pole with a metal shape on the end that said DADDY'S.

   Finally I got to Box 15.  At this point, I was feeling kinda weird and
sad.  I was upset that none of the presents were what I wanted.  But I had
hopes for box 15.  It was flat and small, maybe a video game?

   I ripped open the Mickey Mouse paper, and inside was a calendar.  Dad
had clearly made the calendar himself.  The pictures on the calendar made
me burst out into tears -" it was pictures of me and my mom.  Dad had found
some of the best pictures we had of mom and put them on this calendar.

   The calendar didn't run from January 1 to December 31.  Instead, it
started that day, on my birthday, and the last day on the calendar was my
6th birthday, next July 1.

   "Oh, it's ok, Son.  Come over here and sit on my lap and I'll explain
everything."

   Still crying because of the pictures, I got up and headed over to my
daddy, then crawled on to his big knee.  His thighs were wide enough to
support my tiny frame, and I handed him the calendar.

   That was the first time dad ever slapped me.  Right there, while sitting
on his lap, dad gave me the first slap of my life, hard, quick and right
across the face.  I was so shocked I stopped crying right away and just
stared at him, shocked and scared.

   "That," he began.  "It what happens when you cry or interrupt me.  Don't
forget it -" that's rule number one.  There are gonna be a lot of rules
coming your way today, so just listen up and listen good.  I won't be
repeating any of this, so try to keep up, kiddo."

   That was how dad started the speech that would take over my whole life.

   "Starting today, your training begins.  Your training will end one year
from today, when you turn six.  Don't bother asking what you will be
training for -" you'll understand the theme parties when you're 6."

   "You and I will be spending every day together for the next year,
learning new lessons.  The lessons are NOT going to be fun -" that's the
whole idea.  Unfortunately, you're going to have to hate every second of
it. But it's all worth it because Daddy will really enjoy hurting you, and
we'll both enjoy the theme parties in your future.  Well, actually you
probably won't enjoy those either.

   "It's gonna be very painful, son, and very scary.  You're gonna be doing
things no boy should ever -" or has ever -" done, and you're gonna be doing
it every day.

   "Look at the calendar, boy.  Written on there is our very strict, very
specific schedule for the next year."

   I got another slap, hard, almost knocking me off dad's lap.  I had
started to cry again, but that slap shut me up.

   "Be quite.  It took me forever to put this together.  Now you'll see
that each day has an activity marked off.  Some last only one day -" some
span for a month.  We have a year long schedule to follow boy, so let's go
over this now."

   At that point, Dad started going through all of the events that would be
happening over the next year.  Like the presents, the list was confusing at
first.  But this time, dad took his time, explaining to me exactly what
everything was.  He went into great detail, and even went so far as to pull
out his massive cock to give me a better understanding.

   "See, then in August we have two weeks of throat rape.  That means that
I'm gonna take this,"

   He took his girthy meat stick in his hand and waved it at me again.  The
word penis wasn't right for what my dad had -" it was more than that.  It
was the most powerful thing in the room when it was out -" more powerful
than God.  It was God.  It was my creator and it had it's own gravitational
pull.  It was about the same girth and length as my arm.  Dad's fuck weapon
was covered in thick, pulsing veins, and it was always bright red when it
was rock hard.  It had a big upward curve about halfway down its 10.6 inch
length, meant for hooking my ass, dad would always say.  It was a cock made
of steel, with a GIGANTIC head on it that any woman would shudder at.  It
was Hitler in cock form.  It was meant to bring pain, not pleasure, and it
was coming for me.

   "I'll take this and shove it down your throat for most of these days.  I
bought extra Viagra for that week so that I will always be ready to plow
your throat.  Don't worry -" the first three days are dedicated to puking
when you suck cock.  Some men will like that.  But after that no puking or
else -""

   Bam, another hard slap across my face.  I was so terrified I felt like I
wanted to puke.  Dad spent two hours with me there on his lap, meticulously
going over every single thing on the calendar.  He was throwing around
phrases like "piss slurping" and "cock slop" and "testicle worship" and
"severe anal plundering."

   "And this week you'll only be sleeping 2 hours a night.  And then this
week you'll only be eating cum for three days.  You'll see what cum is."

   Finally, at the end of the calendar, dad pointed to my sixth birthday.
All that was written on it was "THEME PARTY 1 -" 5 AM!"

   He didn't explain that day.  Instead, he stood up, had me undress, and
proceeded to empty out my dresser drawers without a word.  He carried them
out of the room, then came back in.  He picked up the leather dog collar
and snapped it on to my neck.



   Then he bent down and grabbed my face in his big hand, roughly.  He spit
right onto my nose, smiled, slapped me hard enough to nock me to the floor
and said:

   "You have one hour, boy.  Feel free to cry for mommy all you want.  Then
it's time for our first lesson."
