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Orel had been a wreck ever since his father had taken advantage of him. He’d grown skittish and paranoid over the past few days, increasingly plagued with vivid memories of sensations and sounds—his father’s panting in his ear as he screamed out in pain.
He’d been having nightmares. His grades were slipping. Orel couldn’t even pray properly because of what had happened. How could he talk to the Lord now that he was a whore?
So Orel did the only thing he could think to do, and the next opportunity he got he was showing up at the church repressional to talk to Reverend Putty.
The Reverend looked through the window of the booth, only to see the wide-eyed face of Orel Puppington staring up at him. Oh, this was going to be interesting .
"And what is it that you need help repressing today?" Reverend Putty asked, already tapping his foot in anticipation of hearing something juicy.
Orel gulped nervously, fidgeting with his hands as he tried to think of how to phrase his problem. “So, well, uh… I-I kind of have a question? I think I sinned r-really badly, but, um…. Is it still a sin if.. if someone makes you do it?” the boy asked worriedly, his bottom lip trembling. Just thinking about the incident was enough to make Orel cry. He’d been avoiding his father ever since.
Reverend Putty had to actually take a moment to think about that one. "Well... the thing about God is that he doesn't just see everything we do. He also sees everything in our hearts and minds. So if you sin with your actions, but not with your heart, God knows that."
The reverend's curiosity was definitely piqued. What could little God-loving Orel have done that upset him this much? "If you tell me what it is you've done, I can try to put in a good word for you with the big man upstairs."
“Um…” Orel hesitated, taking a moment to consider the new information he’d just learned. He hoped God knew he didn’t want to sin when his Dad did that to him.
“I-I think… maybe my Dad got possessed. He made me sin on purpose—he’s never done that before! Ever! H-He always teaches me not to sin!” Orel tried to explain desperately, attempting to skate around the truth of what happened. He didn’t want to tattle on his father for sinning, but was that even really his father?
“He m-made me sin. And I kept trying to tell him it was a sin and h-he just kept going. I think… God is angry at me,” Orel admitted tearfully.
"Possesed?" Putty said, aghast. "Orel, that's a very serious accusation to make against someone!”
He knew Clay wasn't exactly perfect. Moralton was a small town, people talk. Still, though, it wasn't up to Orel to spread his father's business like that.
"Okay, how about this. Go home, say 3 'It didn't happen 's and 5 ‘I'm fine' s, and try not to dwell on it too much. If you keep thinking about it, God might start to think you actually liked sinning."
Orel flushed at the insinuation, humiliated at the prospect of God thinking he was a whore like his Dad had said. “Y-Yes Reverend Putty! I will!” he nodded quickly, “Thank you!” And with that the boy scurried away, eager to go up to his room where he could hide and be with God.
When Orel got home he went straight up to his room, locking the door behind him and getting on his knees to pray. When he tried to talk to God, though, all he could think about was what happened. It made the poor boy sick to imagine how God must see him—some depraved, slutty little boy who kept thinking about sinning even when he said he didn’t want it. Orel recited his assigned prayers, repeating the lies to himself in the hopes he’d soon believe them.
His prayers were interrupted by a knocking on his bedroom door. "Orel, I need you to let me in. I have your laundry here to put away," his mom's voice called out from the hallway. He was almost relieved to know it was her.
Orel took a breath before he got up to unlock his door. “Sorry, Mom. I was just praying,” he explained, hands behind his back as he took a step away to let his mother in the room.
"And what could you possibly have to pray about at 2pm?" Bloberta asked, busying herself by organizing his clothing in the drawers. "This is why all of your pants have stains on the knees."
“Gee, I dunno, Mom. I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately,” Orel shrugged, scratching at his neck as he took a seat on the bed. There was a small part of him that wanted to reach out to her for help—he wanted to tell her about what his father had done. Then he remembered what the Reverend had told him, and like always he reluctantly kept quiet, looking down at his lap until Bloberta was finished.
"Well, I don't think children should have much on their minds at all. It's not healthy to think too much." She grabbed the new dirty clothes out of his hamper, ready to bring them to the wash. "You have more important things to focus on, like doing your homework, or drinking milk."
“Yes, Mom,” Orel bowed his head respectfully, watching her leave the room and waiting a few moments afterwards to ensure she wasn’t coming back. Orel got back up and locked his door again. He didn’t want his Dad coming in. Hiding out in his room was proving to be difficult, especially when he was trying so hard not to think about a certain incident. Orel felt like he was running in circles.
Orel's plan to hide away in his room was thwarted, though, by a big booming "Orel!" coming from the kitchen. Sounds like whatever the issue was, his dad wasn't happy.
Orel’s eyes widened, a horrified look creeping onto his face as he froze up. A few moments passed where he sat there, trembling as he imagined all the awful things his father might do to him. Then he was standing up to rush downstairs, exclaiming, “Coming!!”
When he got into the kitchen he was immediately taken aback by his father’s stern glare, and he stood in the doorway nervously, hands behind his back. “Yeah, Dad?”
Clay tapped his foot, still gripping the phone. "Can you explain to me why I just got a call from Reverend Putty?" The man glared down at his son, watching as the boy squirmed. "I'll give you a hint: A certain little boy had some choice words to say about his father at the repressional today."
Orel felt like he was going to break down in tears right then and there, guilt and shame making his cheeks flush as he avoided eye contact. “I-I- Well, y-you see, I-” Orel stammered, sounding small and defeated as he tried to conjure up some explanation that wouldn’t just get him in more trouble. “I didn’t say anything bad!” Orel insisted, “I-I wasn’t saying anything bad, I was talking about something else, y-you just came up!”
"Is that so?" Clay raised his eyebrow, his stony face telling Orel that he absolutely wasn't buying it. "Me being possessed just... came up?"
Orel shrank in on himself timidly, gulping as he realized he’d been caught in a lie. “I-I… guess so…” the boy mumbled so quiet it was barely audible, his eyes fixed on the floorboards.
Clay opened his mouth to continue scolding his son, but he had to stop himself. Bloberta was knitting in the other room, and she would definitely hear if anything incriminating was brought up.
"Let's continue this conversation..." Clay said, putting down the phone. "In my study."
Orel cowered , giving Clay a pleading look as the man stood up to usher him to the study. Orel had no choice but to go along with him, unable to manipulate the situation when his father held all the power. Orel hesitated when Clay guided him over the threshold of the study, a chill running down his spine as he stared at the desk. He really didn’t want to be here again.
Clay sat down in his chair, beckoning his son over. "Orel, do you remember the lost 29th commandment?" He asked, pointing to a plaque on the wall that says "Everything's fine! " Clay poured himself a glass of whisky as he continued to speak. "Well, it seems you've forgotten about the lost commandment 29.5: Even when everything's not fine, everything's fine."
Orel bowed his head in shame, fingers laced together behind his back as he nodded. “Yes, sir. I really didn’t mean to say anything bad!” Orel reminded his father, wobbly knees knocking together as his legs threatened to give out under him. The poor boy was petrified .
Clay grabbed Orel's chin, tilting his soft face towards him. "We don't need everyone in Moralton knowing about our business. That's how gossip starts, Orel! You're not a gossip, are you?"
Orel shook his head, looking up at his father with doll-like eyes. “No, Dad… I’m not a gossip,” he agreed obediently, shifting his weight. He was almost sure this was a big enough screw-up to warrant a spanking, so it only worried the boy more that he wasn’t already over his father’s lap.
"Well, then why did you feel the need to go talk about personal family matters with the reverend?" He took his hand off Orel's face, instead choosing to take a sip of his drink. "Are you trying to shame me in front of the whole town? Is that it?"
“No! That wasn’t it!” Orel exclaimed childishly, eyes welling up with tears as he tried to reason with his father, who just kept staring at him with that cold, calculating gaze. “I-I’m having nightmares, Dad! And-And it’s been happening ever since—since-!” Orel began to blubber, nearly losing his composure, “I don’t know what to do!”
"Nightmares? That's how Satan gets into your brain, Orel!" Clay feigned concern, twirling his drink in its glass. "Tell me, what happens in these nightmares?"
Orel’s bottom lip trembled, clenching his hands into fists. “W-Well… um..” he started, glancing around the room with uncertainty, “You’re always there. And we’re always… in here.” A moment passed where Orel tried to find the confidence to articulate all the awful images flipping through his mind.
“And you t-touch my butt like before…”
Clay smiles and shakes his head, as though Orel were only making a joke. "Is that what this is about?" He puts his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Son, everyone has sex eventually. It's one of the rare joys God has granted us in life."
Orel flinched noticeably at his fathers touch, cringing as he looked up at the man. “…But, it-it’s is a sin, Dad! And I’ve been trying to ask God for forgiveness but I don’t think it’s working—it just keeps following me..”
Clay started to worry a bit. It seemed like he was losing Orel, here. "Well, you know, I had a good talk with God about it, and he says everything is A-okay! Water under the bridge, you know?" He gave Orel a used car salesman's smile. "It's no use dwelling on it when God isn't even thinking about it anymore."
Orel seemed to settle down at that, taking a moment to consider the new information carefully. “He said it’s okay? Even though it’s a sin?” the boy asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He supposed if God had already forgiven him he didn’t need to repent anymore, but somehow Clay’s explanation didn’t sit right with the boy.
“Well, thanks, Dad. If God isn’t angry then I-I think I’m gonna go now,” Orel took a step away from his father, glancing towards the door.
"Woah now, son!" Clay said, grabbing Orel's wrist to keep him from leaving. "Did I say you could go? I mean, you haven't even been punished yet!"
Orel whined, trying to tug his arm away from Clay. “But-But I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!!” he protested, “I only told the Reverend because God was mad at me! It’s not my fault!”
"Whether you meant to or not, you still broke my trust," Clay said, shaking his head. "That deserves to be punished, don't you think?"
“No!! It-It doesn’t, Dad!! Please!” Orel begged, trying again to pull away from the man, his panic becoming increasingly apparent. His big, frightened eyes caught Clay’s. It felt like looking into the gaze of a predator .
Clay used his grip to pull Orel closer to him. "You're only digging yourself a bigger hole, here," he said, deepening his voice. "You don't want to also get punished for trying to skip out on your first punishment."
“But you’re gonna hurt me again! Y-You’re gonna do it again!” Orel was near-tears, making another frantic glance towards the door. Maybe if he was able to tell his mother Clay would stop, right? Clay had been insistent on keeping him quiet last time—insistent on keeping their activities under wraps. It couldn’t be right if his Dad was being so secretive about it. Bloberta was Orel’s last hope for a savior.
So with all his might, Orel thrashed out of his father’s grip and bounded towards the door, tears blurring his vision as he cried out, “Mom!! Mom!” He all but tumbled down the stairs, making a beeline for his mother, who was still knitting in her chair. He clung onto her, burying his face in her skirt as he cried, “Mom! Mom, D-Dad is gonna hurt me! H-He’s hurting me!! Please, y-you gotta stop him!!”
"Orel!" Bloberta shouted, trying to keep herself from falling over. She put her knitting down beside her, reluctantly. "Slow down. I can't understand you when you're crying like that."
Orel took a deep breath, wiping his tears on the palms of his hands before he started speaking again. “H-He’s gonna hurt me, Mom. And-And he told me not to tell you about it but he-the other day he-he forced me to sin and it hurt! He put his fingers in my butt, Mom!” little Orel wept woefully, cheeks ablaze with shame.
Bloberta sighed, scrunching up her face. "Now, Orel–"
She was interrupted by Clay bounding down the stairs, face red. "Get back up here right now, young man! Or else!" He shouted.
Orel cowered behind his mother, frightened eyes pleading with her to do something. Anything to make his father leave him alone. “I didn’t even m-mean to do anything wrong, Mom, honest!” he blubbered, trembling as he glanced over to his father. Clay didn’t look pleased at all.
Bloberta looked at Orel. Then at Clay. Then back to Orel. She sighed.
"You heard your father, Orel," Bloberta said, her tone cold. She gave the boy a slight push away from her, for good measure.
Orel’s face fell, a horrid, mortifying disbelief leaving him stuck in place, paralyzed as he realized he had no one on his side. There was no way out of his father’s punishment no matter how unwarranted it seemed.
After a few moments Orel desisted, sniffling pathetically as he took a step back. He looked up at his father. Boy, did he look angry. Orel slowly shambled back over to the stairs, his head hung in shame as Clay grabbed his arm and marched him right back up to the study.
Orel jumped as Clay slammed the door behind them. Clay tossed his son into the room, almost knocking him over.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Clay asked, through gritted teeth. "Really, I want to know your thought process here. What did you think was going to happen?"
Orel felt like he might be sick, he was so scared. He was trembling like a leaf as his father glared down at him. “Gee, Dad, I-I guess I just… Thought…” he began, his shoulders already beginning to shake with unshed sobs as his fate was sealed. “You’re not gonna— Dad, you’re not gonna do it again, right?” the young boy whimpered.
Clay began unbuckling his belt, face red in anger. "Pull down your pants. Now."
Orel did as told without question, too scared to see what would happen if he continued to disobey. Clay was already mad enough.
"Hurry up, over my knee." Clay lashed Orel in the thigh before the boy even had time to move.
Orel flinched and yelped pathetically, but dutifully scrambled to lay over his father’s lap as instructed. He clenched his hands into fists, wincing as he tried to anticipate the blow. As if he could ever prepare himself.
Clay slapped the belt down, the horrible crack slicing through the air. Usually, he was firm but forgiving in his punishments, but today, he was angry .
Orel let out a broken cry, flinching and grabbing onto his father’s leg like a lifeline, desperately grasping for something to ground himself. The shock from the intense blow left the boy gasping for air, tears already spilling down his red cheeks. Getting punished with his father’s belt was always bad, but never quite this bad.
By the second blow Orel was sobbing and writhing in Clay’s lap, absolutely humiliated by how easy it was for his father to put him back in his place. He’d been a bad boy, and now this was him getting what he deserved. It was shameful , how he’d acted, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“D-Dad—I’m sorry!!” Orel managed to sob, struggling even more as he tried to escape his father’s belt. “Dad-Dad, please!” he tried to beg, but was cut off by another harsh blow. Orel pressed his thighs together tighter, hiding his face in his Dad’s leg as he continued to cry. He wasn’t sure what exactly did it—if it was just some awful biological reaction or if it was due to the friction from worming around, but Orel only cried harder when he realized he was half-hard from the punishment.
With all of Orel's squirming, it wasn't long before Clay felt a certain hardness against his leg. Clay brought the belt down harder when he realized. Was Orel getting off on this?
Callously, Clay gripped at Orel's dick through the front of his underwear. "You little slut," he hissed. "You like this, don't you?"
“No!!!” Orel bawled, shaking his head frantically, his little body twitching as Clay groped him, making his little dick perk up even more. “No! No no no, Dad-!!” Orel wept, weakly trying to push his father’s hand away, which didn’t work at all. Facing his father’s belt was bad. His Dad touching his privates was so much worse, though.
"Don't lie to me," Clay snapped. He dropped his belt on the floor with a terrible clatter, and pulled poor Orel up into his lap once again. "Since you're such a little whore anyways, might as well make you enjoy this." With one hand, he gripped Orel's arm, while the other held his waist. "Go on, get off against my leg."
Orel whimpered and sniveled as his father propped him back up. He leaned against Clay’s chest, still sobbing weakly as he clung to his father. Gently, he began rocking his hips against his Dad’s leg, hiding his cries in the man’s shoulder.
"Come on, you can do better than that," Clay said, giving the boy a firm slap on his ass. "Move faster, put some effort in."
Orel cried out, tensing up for a moment before trying again, really grinding himself against his father, this time. It was awful, being forced to make himself feel good in front of his Dad like this. He was fully-hard by now, the tiniest bit of precum leaking through his boxers as his breathing got heavier. Orel was just at that age where he was starting to produce sperm. Everything still felt so sensitive and new; before now, Orel had only ever rutted himself to completion against his pillow.
Clay unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down just enough to whip his own dick out. He was fully hard as well, eager to finally give himself some attention. He gave himself some slow, hard strokes, keeping himself occupied while he waited for Orel to finish.
Orel tried to pretend he didn’t notice the way his father had begun to touch himself. That only made things more scary. Orel wanted to finish and be done . No more punishments. No more Clay.
Orel’s cries had begun to warp into little whines and moans, shallow gasps and grunts falling from the boy’s lips as he humped Clay’s leg desperately. He was so close to finishing, becoming more debauched by the second as he chased his orgasm.
Clay sped his hand up, spurred on by the way that Orel's body felt pressed against him. All of his little noises were buried in Clay's chest, muffled alongside the heavy beating of the man's heart. But he didn't want to finish yet, no. He had more plans for his poor boy.
It didn’t take much longer for Orel to cum with a strangled little cry, his little body tensing up as he came in his pants, gasping for air as he rode out the high. He couldn’t properly enjoy it, though. Not with the voice in his head screaming at him. Sinner. Sinner .
The first time he hadn’t enjoyed it at all. But this time? There was unequivocal proof Orel was a dirty sinner.
Once he heard Orel's little gasps and saw the wet spot form against his boxers, Clay took his hand off his dick. The boy had gotten his fun, now it was Clay's turn.
"On the ground, on your knees," he demanded, pushing the boy away slightly. Orel made eye contact with him, and he could see the gears turning behind his teary eyes.
Orel blinked for a moment, taken aback by the coldness of his father’s voice. Something about the previous moment had felt… intimate. The way their bodies were pressed close, one of Clay’s hands on his waist, it almost felt like a hug.
It took an expectant glare for Orel to remember the task at hand, obediently sliding off Clay’s lap and sinking down to the floor in front of him. He looked up at his father with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, bottom lip trembling as he awaited his next command.
Clay quickly kicked off his pants, struggling a bit to pull off his boxers in his haste. He'd been edging himself for too long, now.
"I'm gonna need you to put it in your mouth, like you did the other day," he said, trying to keep his impatience from slipping too much into his tone. He noticed that Orel liked being spoken to in a firm, but kind voice. Fatherly, even.
Orel gulped. He could do this. He’d done it before.
Timidly, he reached out and took Clay’s cock in his hand, glancing up for approval as he wrapped his lips around the tip, sucking for a moment before he began to sink down. He was a bit uncoordinated, trying to hollow his cheeks and bob his head after he’d gotten a few inches in his mouth, but he’d been careless enough to let his teeth graze the length as he did so.
Clay tugged on Orel's hair, pulling the kid's head back a bit. "Careful with the teeth!" He shook his head as he pushed Orel back onto his length. "I shouldn't even have to tell you that."
Orel whimpered timidly, closing his teary eyes as he continued trying to satisfy his father. It was difficult, though, when Clay kept trying to force Orel down deeper than he could take. He didn’t like it when his dad tried to make him take it down his throat. It just made poor Orel gag and suffocate.
Orel’s father was far stronger than him, though, so when he felt the insistent push to go deeper, he let it happen. Orel looked miserable , tears rolling down his face as he gagged pathetically, choking on his father’s dick like a good little boy.
Finally, Clay was getting somewhere. He tried to pull back a bit every time he heard Orel gag; he didn't want him puking on him, after all. But every time, he'd barely give the kid a break before pushing him back down again. It was a vicious cycle, just like their entire relationship. Every time Orel thought he was safe, his father was there to tear him down again.
Orel looked absolutely wrecked from the abuse. His face was smeared with spit, snot dripping from his nose and tear tracks running down his red cheeks. Every time he thought his father might let him go there was more. Orel had never wanted his father to cum so badly before. He even made an extra effort to get things over with, forcing himself past his comfort zone and taking Clay nearly all the way down to the base. He managed to stay there all of six seconds before he was pulling off, gagging and coughing.
Clay immediately forced him back down. He was so, so close, and Orel's throat was so warm, he just needed that last little push to finish. And with Orel taking him so deep, it wasn't long before he got that push.
"Oh my God," he gasped, spilling cum down Orel's throat. As he pulled out, some of the fluid came up with him, into Orel's mouth. If anything was a sign of an intelligent creator, it was how gorgeous Orel looked in that moment.
Sobs wracked Orel’s body as he keeled over coughing and gagging, spitting the cum out immediately. He kept coughing for a minute, shuddering in disgust. He was pretty sure it was dripping from his nose. Everything hurt.
Clay's expression quickly switched from desire to disgust. "Oh, gross, Orel. Don't get any on the rug," he said, pushing the boy back a bit.
“Sorry…” Orel blubbered pathetically, cupping a hand under his chin to catch the remaining saliva and cum dripping down his chin. He wanted to ask if they were finally done, but he was worried the answer would be no. Instead he simply waited for further instruction—or for dismissal. Orel really hoped it was the latter.
"Do you think you've learned your lesson?" Clay said as he tucked himself back into his pants. "Just so I know you understand, what does the lost commandment 29.5 say?"
“E-Even when everything isn’t fine, e-everything is fine…” Orel repeated through his shaky sobs, looking up at Clay with a pleading gaze. “I-I’ll be good from now on, Dad, I promise… I won’t tell anyone…”
"Right-o, son. And that means Reverend Putty, your friends, anyone at school, even your mother." Clay actually somehow remembered to put on his belt this time. No pants falling down today! "It's nobody's business but ours."
“Yes, sir…” Orel nodded, “C-Can I go take a shower now, Dad?”
Clay sighed, downing a glass of whisky. "Yeah, yeah. Go on. I've been sober for too long today."
Orel sniffled and wiped his face on his arm, standing up on shaky legs to leave the room. He found himself right where he was just a few days before, crying in the bathtub as the shower ran, desperately trying to scrub away the horrid phantom touches of his father.
He was powerless, like this. All Orel could do was pray.