Read the tags, use your blacklist. This is dark and mean spirited and not fun. Don’t be a dick and leave a bad comment because you read something you should have blacklisted. You alone have the power to ensure you never see this content. It’s not MY responsibility to curate YOUR space.
Cub, drugging, gay father/son incest, birthday rape, cock musk, asphyxiation etc.

Endless

Sweet little Dexter jolted awake in his bed with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat and feeling a deep sense of dread. His throat was sore and scratchy, and he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Today is his 12th birthday. “Aww, man. First that awful nightmare, and now I wake up with a cold? Happy birthday, I guess.” he reached over to his night stand to grab his water bottle and flip on his phone. “6AM? Jeez. Saturday and my birthday and I don’t even get to sleep in. whatever” he mumbled to himself in the darkness of his uncomfortably warm room. Dexter feels off, given how his birthday has started. He got up and headed out into the hallway to get to the bathroom. All the lights were still off, being the only one awake this early.
Dexter groggily bent over the bathroom sink, looking at himself in the mirror. “Wow I look like shit right now. This is gunna be a bad cold when it kicks in all the way.” he thought to himself, splashing some cold water on his face to try to wake up a little. He heard his dad’s bedroom door close gently, and footsteps heading down the stairs towards the living room. “looks like I’m not the only one up early now, at least.”
Exiting the bathroom, the little gray squirrel closed the door and slowly padded down the stairs, rubbing the remaining crust from his exhausted eyes and yawning. Hearing his dad in the kitchen, he walks over to see what the older squirrel is up to at this hour. His fathers back was turned towards the kitchen entrance, hunched over the counter next to the sink doing something Dexter couldn’t make out. “Hey, dad. Wutchya doin there?” The older man jolts, surprised at the sound behind him, and rushes to put something in his pocket. “Jesus, kid. Gunna have to put a fuckin bell on you the way you sneak around. Scared me half to death, haha” he said nervously. Dexter cringed a little hearing his dad swear. He usually only did that when he was mad, which thankfully wasn’t all too often lately. “S-sorry, dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 
Dexter felt his fathers hand on top of his head, gently ruffling his already disheveled gray hair. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. Just surprised me a little, is all. No big deal, no harm done. Wipe that sad look of your face, Dex! It’s your birthday! 12 years old, that's pretty exciting stuff. Big day ahead of you. Got a lot of...fun stuff planned for you today kiddo.” He smirked down at his son. Something about the way the man paused there made the tiny squirrel feel very nervous deep down for some reason, adding to the inexplicable sense of dread he’d woken up with. 
He couldn’t explain why, but recently his father had been making him feel strange when they were alone. A sense of anxiety he couldn’t explain from the way his father spoke about certain things, the way he looked at his son when he thought he wouldn’t notice or couldn’t see. Dexter almost felt like there was a hunger in those eyes when they were locked on him, boring holes through him. He’d been sure to be on his absolute best behavior lately to avoid pissing him off, and hopefully avoid that uncomfortable gaze.
“I’m actually not feeling too good today, dad. I had a real bad nightmare last night, but I can’t really remember it now. My throat hurts pretty bad and I just feel real nervous today. Like something bad is gunna happen soon. I don’t know. Maybe breakfast will help. Is there any cereal left?” he asked nervously, looking down at the floor to avoid those intense eyes. “Yeah, buddy. I saved you some cinnamon squares in the cupboard. There should be enough for a bowl for the birthday boy. You ok? Got a fever or anything else?” He sounded almost excited asking about his son’s condition. That made Dexter feel even more uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Probably just a cold. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow if I feel worse or not.”
Dexter was a lithe little thing, exceptionally small for his age. Borderline skin and bones and sitting at 3 feet 10 inches, he was the smallest in his class and often bullied for being so tiny and unable to fight back. Opening the cupboard and spotting the box of his favorite cereal, the little squirrel struggled and strained trying to reach the box until he felt two large hands grab his waste. Lifted into the air with a strong grip and a surprised yelp, Dexter looked down behind him to spot his dad looking up at him. “Sorry, buddy. I forgot you couldn’t reach that shelf, hehe” he said holding the boy up to grab the box. Dexter grabbed his cereal and waited to be set back down. “Th-thanks, dad. Uh, I got the box you can put me down now…” he said, turning his head back around to look down at the older squirrel again. His fathers eyes were glued to the boy, low on his back, clearly not paying attention. “is there something on my back? Did I sit in something?” Dexter thought to himself while watching the mans face. “Uhm, d-dad? Can you put me down now?” “Just like her…” his father quietly mumbled under his breath, lost in his son’s ass. “Dad!” he exclaimed loudly. “huh?” the older squirrel shaking his head a little as he finally noticed his son calling to him. “I got the box. Can uh, can you put me down now?”
Gently setting the boy back down on the floor, the man rubs the back of his neck with one hand and sets the other on Dexter’s head, messing up his long gray hair again. “Sorry Dex. Zoned out a little there. Go sit at the table and I’ll get the milk out of the fridge for you.” Dexter grabs a bowl out of another cupboard and sits at the table, watching his father open the fridge. “Tonight’s the night, little buddy. Can’t fucking take it anymore.” Dexter’s dad thinks to himself as he opens the fridge and finds the nearly empty bottle of milk. “Just enough left.” He reaches down into his pocket to pull out a small bottle of pills and drops 3 of them into the milk, swirling it around to make sure they dissolve quickly. 
Dexter watches his father standing behind the opened refrigerator door doing something he can't quite make out, feeling strange. “Dad? Are we out of milk, or something?” The older squirrel flinches, realizing how long he's been standing there with the fridge open. “No, uh, just...looking for a drink I thought I left in here. I guess I drank it already.” Quickly putting the cap back on the milk and closing the fridge after giving one last swirl to the bottle, he walks over to his son with a slight smirk. “A bit low on milk, so just go ahead and dust it and I’ll get more tonight.” 
Emptying the bottle into his bowl of cinnamon squares, he looks back to his father sitting across from him. “What were you doing at the sink when I got in here?” he asks, curiously. “Oh, just a surprise for later. You’ll find out real soon, don’t worry.” His grin takes on a truly unsettling appearance as he speaks. Dexter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, slowly eating his cereal wondering why his father seems so weird and scary to him lately. “Dad? Did I...did I do something wrong?” he asks solemnly, tapping his spoon on the bottom of his bowl nervously. “Hah, what the fuck haven’t you don’t wrong you scrawny little shit.” he thinks to himself before he speaks. “No, buddy. Don’t worry, I’m just stressed out about work stuff.” Dexter’s father stands, heading towards the counter to grab his cigarettes and lighter, turning towards the door to the back yard. “finish your breakfast, buddy. I’ll be back in in a few minutes and we’ll do something REAL fun for your birthday. It’s nice and early so we’ll have plenty of time,” he says as he opens the door. “See? the sun’s not even fully up yet. Plenty of time to make sure today’s a day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” Dexter can’t see the dark smile on his dad’s face as he walks out the door, but still feels unsettled by the way he spoke.
Still crunching down on his last bite of cereal as he sets his now empty bowl in the sink, Dexter stretches and tries to wipe the last of the remaining sleep crust from his eyes. Pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time, he sighs, feeling very stressed about his birthday. “It’s only been 15 minutes? Jeez it feels like I’ve been up for 2 hours already,” he thinks. Fidgeting around nervously, he thinks about what he wants to do now that he’s awake and full of sweet delicious breakfast sugar. Plopping down on the couch, he reaches for the remote and flicks on the TV over to his favorite channel. He always felt a little self conscious about the shows he likes, knowing they’re made for children a few years younger than him, but something about the cute little blue and brown dog family on the kid’s channel fills him with such a sense of joy he can’t explain.
As the next episode begins, the cute little squirrel boy is snuggled up on the couch holding his large fluffy tail and smiling, having finally started to ignore the overwhelming sense of dread hanging over his head since he’d woken up from his nightmare. Comfortable with his body starting to feel heavy, he jumps and whines a little as his father speaks up from behind the couch. “Don’t you think you’re a little old to be watching this one now, Dex? You know you’re allowed to watch the older kid’s shows now, right?” Dexter holds his tail a little tighter, trying not to let his fathers words get to him. It was bad enough being made fun of at school, but hearing it from his dad at home all the time hurt even deeper. “S-sorry, dad. It just makes me happy. I’ll find something else” he says, trying to hold back the tears he feels welling up in his big green eyes. With a small sniffle, the boy quickly wipes his eyes across his arm once and reaches for the remote before his father chimes in. “don’t worry about it, bud. It’s your birthday, after all. Can’t have you sad on your birthday. You only get one a year, you know. Haha” his father chuckled in a way that made a pit form in the child’s stomach. 
Dexter’s father plopped himself down on the couch beside his son to watch with him. The boy noticed his dad fidgeting around, seemingly impatient about something. “How’re you feeling, Dex? You said your throat hurt at breakfast, how about now?” Dexter takes a second to think about how he feels, noticing his throat still aches a little, lifting an arm to reach for it and noticing how unresponsive his body feels now. As if his arm was being weighed down with cinder blocks, he shifts around uncomfortably feeling that mornings anxiety ramping up all over again. “I-I don’t know, dad. My body feels so stiff right now. I think something’s wrong. I can barely move m-my arm…” Heavy and immobile as his body may be, his mind was still sharp and began racing with thoughts of fear and panic as he continued to struggle to move body parts that simply refused to budge.
The older man noticed his son’s struggle with excitement in his eyes that he could no longer hide, no longer had reason to hide. His plan was working as the muscle relaxers finally kicked in, full force, into his scrawny child’s minuscule frame. Smiling darkly, he lays a large, strong hand down on his son’s thigh and speaks. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says in an artificially sympathetic tone. “You know, there’s someone else who can’t move around much anymore.” Dexter’s heart was racing listening to his father speak, feeling like it was about to pound straight out of his chest and straight out onto the floor in front of him. “D-dad?” he speaks up. “Dad what’s-” cut off by a strong, painful squeeze of his thigh and a sharp growl from his father, the little boys face slowly grows wet, his tears no longer able to be held back. “You know, you’re 12 now, Dexter. Do you know what that means to me?” Sensing where this was going, Dexter whimpered and whined pathetically. “12 years ago you killed the love of my life. All she wanted to do was bring a sweet little boy into this world to raise with me, and you made her bleed out on the operating table. 12 years I’ve been alone, taking care of a FUCKING murderer. Over a decade of feeding and wasting money on a scrawny, worthless, PATHETIC little reminder of what beautiful life I could have had.” 
Dexter had never felt such an extreme sense of fear before, but seeing the genuine fire and fury in the eyes of the man next to him with a death grip on his small thigh made him feel such a deep and primal panic in his heart that his vision had started to pulse black around the edges. He could no longer bring himself to speak, truly paralyzed by sheer terror. “TWELVE years, Dexter. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Taking care of a PARASITE that just TAKES and TAKES and FUCKING TAKES. She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’d ever laid my eyes on. Young, happy, hopeful. We were so fucking excited to have you, Dexter, you have no idea. We would lay in bed at night near the end talking about our hopes for you, how it would feel to finally be parents. Her eyes never sparkled so bright except when she was talking about how happy the thought of having you made her.”
His cheeks well and truly soaked through with endless tears, tiny little Dexter sobbing and hiccuping no longer having control of any part of his body has no choice but to sit and listen to his father describe how he’s really been feeling lately. “She gave you a beautiful gift, Dexter, and you ended her life. She gave you her eyes. Those big stupid green fucking eyes that you parade around not even knowing what it does to me. You look just like her. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach when I wake up and see her walking around the house, happy and humming to herself and then remembering she’s gone, and its just you, like you went through my memories and took every feature I loved on her just to taunt me.”
Dexter hadn’t heard his dad talk about his mother since he was very small, but it was always so very bittersweet to hear about her. He’d stopped asking about her when he noticed how sad and small his dad seemed after talking about her. Now he was starting to understand why the man who always seemed so large to him seemed to shrink just mentioning her. “It’s my fault,” he thought to himself. “It was always my fault he got so sad. My fault. My fault. My fault.” A wet spot was rapidly growing on the couch from the bitter, salty tears dripping off the child’s terrified face. He wanted to scream, to jump up and run. He didn’t know where, he just knew he needed to run. He no longer felt safe or at home with the one person who was always there to take care of him, and he couldn’t even blame the man for feeling what he was feeling and exploding the way he was. 
Dexter couldn’t get up and run, he couldn’t even roll himself over anymore. He was stuck absorbing the vitriol being spat at him by the only family he’d ever had. Ever will have. His father slowly stood up and walked to stand in front of Dexter, placing one hand on his cheek and used the other to roll the feather light boy onto his back, setting his fingers on the boys stomach after. Leaning down staring the boy in the eyes more intensely than ever, Dexter could FEEL the fire in the older mans seemingly now empty eyes. As if something had taken over control of his body. But the man was very much in control of himself, having waited for this moment for ages now. Dexter felt the hand on his stomach roughly pull his shirt up to reveal his thin stomach, his fathers fingers now roughly running through the thick, soft white fur on the child’s belly. “You even feel just like her. It makes me fucking sick. I never could bring myself to find another woman, to bring another poor soul into this house with you in here sucking all of the joy out of everything. Always smiling and laughing like a fucking idiot at your stupid god damned baby cartoons having no clue what you do to me.”
The pit in the little squirrels stomach had seemingly reached a breaking point, starting to feel like it was sucking the rest of his body down into it. Well and truly glued to the couch he couldn’t even move his head to look away as his father stood up, revealing the slowly growing bulge in his dirty plaid pajama pants, his black boxer briefs slightly visible through the loosely buttoned fly in the front of them. “Do you know why I wouldn’t let you take that sex ed class last year or the year before?” The boy gulped, trying but failing to shake his head. “I was waiting for today, so I could teach you everything you need to know myself. You killed the love of my life. You ended my sex life, and now you’re going to revive it just the way I like.” 
Dexter's face was far too soaked through with his sadness and fear to notice the added wetness of the spit his father had violently shot down at his face before roughly grabbing the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly and laying a long, slow lick from the boys chin up to the bottom of his left eye. Cringing, deeply disturbed by the violating lick, Dexter’s mind screamed at him to move, to struggle and run away. “Get up, you’ve gotta get up and move. You need to run. You can't stay here, he’s lost it. He’s going to hurt you, run. Run. RUN!” well and truly glued down to the couch cushions as he felt another lick, this time across his lips, Dexter could do nothing but break out in stronger sobs as the gravity of the situation had fully set in. This was happening for real. There was no escape, no way to stop the man violating him.
Lost in his own mind for a moment, Dexter didn’t come back to the real world until he felt his fathers tongue roughly wresting itself inside the boy’s mouth as he tried to hold it shut and prevent its entry. Trying and failing to hold back a gag as he felt the slimy muscle squirming around in his mouth, Dexter coughed and sputtered a little. He had no strength to bite the squirming invader, even with as badly as he wanted to just make it all stop. He could feel every grunt and moan his violator let out into his mouth as he mentally struggled to just get through what felt like hours of torture. In reality, it was only 7am. He’d only been awake for an hour, his body having gone fully limp just 10 minutes earlier.
Feeling the invading muscle in his mouth finally leave, the poor little squirrel boy opens his blurry, wet eyes to look up at his abuser, seeing the long strand of saliva still connecting their mouths together as the larger man stands and reaches down to his sizable bulge. “You even fucking taste like her, you little cunt. Jesus Christ.” Quickly reaching down and grabbing the back of the child’s head, the man roughly pulls the boys hair up until his tear soaked nose is roughly pushed up against is rapidly growing cock. Breathing heavy through fear and exertion, the child chokes and gags as he smells his father’s heavy deep heavy musk from the unwashed clothing covering his lower half. “Breathe it in deep, you worthless faggot. This is your life now. You deserve it for everything you fucking put me through, now do your job and breathe me in. I’ve been wearing these for a week, anticipating this. Finally making you suffer for making me suffer all these years.”
Dexter felt both the man’s hands strongly grip his head and roughly grind his nose into the vile, reeking bulge as it neared full mast before even being revealed to the poor, defenselessly drugged child. Coughing and sputtering on the stench, the small boys eyes seemed to start to dry up, feeling as though there were no tears left to shed after crying violently for so long. Resigning himself to his fate, Dexter closed his eyes. His mind had started to ignore the mans stink as he continued to breathe, offering the boy a slight reprieve from his torment. 
Slowly opening his eyes again once he felt one of the hands let go of his head, his mental struggle had started to ramp up again upon seeing it head towards the waistband of the sweatpants holding back that most vicious organ. “This is it,” he cried in his head. “He’s really going to do it. It’s not stopping...it’s all my fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. I did this. I deserve this. I should have never been born. Stupid.” Slowly, that hand was pulling down the boys last line of defense against his true violation that had yet to begin. Thick, black pubes contrasting against the light gray fur of the rest of his body, were slowly revealed as the man pulled his pants down. When the boy started to see the shaft of his fathers thick penis revealed, the tears he thought gone had come flooding back hard. Working up his final bit of strength to speak one final time, he shakily croaked out. “D-dad...please…” immediately cut off by  a sharp slap to the face, the boy gave up trying.
His aching fat cock finally fully revealed to his son, the man gripped the base and quickly slapped his sons cheek with a heavy, meaty thwack as all 8 inches came to a stop against his face. “I’ve been waiting for this, Dexter. I’ve been waiting so patiently to teach you your place...fuck…” he states firmly, pushing his son’s nose down into the pit where his hairy unwashed ball sack meets the underside of his thick, angry cock. Dexter’s nose once again assaulted by his fathers smell, even heavier now no longer being covered by 2 layers of cloth, the boy gags and chokes on the heavy, sharp manly heat invading his nostrils. “Breathe, Dex! It’s your birthday. Aren’t you happy with your present? I worked so hard on it!” The boy could only sob in despair and cough once again.
Feeling that his sons senses had been well and truly inundated with his smell in a way the boy would never forget, the man began slowly lifting the boys head up towards the tip of his penis, roughly rubbing his shaft along the kid’s nose along the way. Holding the boys mouth open with one hand, Dexter realized what was happening and began crying in earnest, trying his absolute hardest to struggle away from his imminent violation. His body still wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. His father made sure of that with the pills in his breakfast, but the boys mind was still fully intact, forcing the cute little squirrel to fully consciously experience the absolute worst of what he was about to go through with no way to end it.
His attempted scream was immediately cut off before it even began with a hard thrust forward from his father, his penis having officially invaded the boy as he’d been dreaming of for years with a groan of ecstasy from the man, and a sharp, violent gag from the boy below him as the fat rod rested at the back of his throat, patiently waiting to force its way through. “FUCK that’s good. Even your mouth is as warm as hers. Of course, she never let me do this-” he emphasized his words by roughly pulling Dexter's head down onto his penis, fully invading the boys small, narrow throat and cutting off his airway as he violently gagged and choked, struggling to push the blockage out of his throat with no success. “Calm down, kid. The harder you struggle the worse it’ll be for you, haha.” Dexter could hear his father speak, could hear him moan and laugh as he violated the small boy below him, but he was too scared to understand anything he was hearing. The thick tube blocking his airway hadn’t budged since it entered his throat, and the cub was desperate to catch a breath. Feeling the tight little throat roughly squeezing and rippling around the tip of his cock, the man pulled back an inch, just enough for Dexter to quickly and violently cough out a small trickle of clear slime from his throat and take a sharp, short breath in before his father thrust in even harder and deeper than before.
Searing pain was all Dexter could feel in his poor stretched little throat as his airway was cut off deeply by the man he was supposed to depend on and trust for everything in his life. Trying his hardest to breathe, all his struggling did was caused his throat to ripple, vibrate, and contract around his guardian’s thick, musky penis as it punched its way deeper and deeper into the poor boys body, stimulating the rapist more deeply than anything the man had ever felt before. With a deep groan of satisfaction looking down at the violently choking squirrel boy below him, he drew his hips back again and thrust himself forward brutally, again and again, rapidly building pace into a deep throat fuck. Dexter was in a hell far worse than anything he’d ever experienced before in his life, and it wasn’t going to be over any time soon. 
Deep, guttural gags and chokes were the only sounds that would leave the boy’s mouth as he rapidly ran out of breath time and time again as the man above drew out his throat torture. Thick, sticky strands of saliva and throat slime mixed with his fathers musky pre cum were rapidly streaming from the child’s mouth as the man wouldn’t let up for even a second. Continuously suffocating the boy with his large rod, bringing him to the brink of consciousness only to pull back at the last second to let him take one large struggling breath and cough out the thick slimy fluids blocking his throat before slamming himself home again into depths the boy never thought he had. 
Dexter had given up any hope of ever getting away or stopping his brutal violation, fully resigning himself to his fate as his mind finally started to go blank and his vision pulsed black around the edges once again. “Don’t you fucking give up on me yet you useless cunt. You don’t get to sleep until I’m fucking done with you, now TAKE IT!” he yelled with another violent thrust, cutting off his son’s airway for the last time that night. Holding himself deeply in the boy’s rapidly convulsing, slime coated throat, he gave short rapid pumps of his hips never pulling back enough to let him breathe again. He felt the pressure building up in his slime coated, unwashed balls as the boy coughed up more fluids violently around his angry, throbbing cock. Slowly feeling the sensation of his oncoming orgasm, the older squirrel firmly holds Dexter's head in place and picks up his pace even faster, his hips nearly a blur at this point as he reaches the point of no return feeling the sensation reach up to the tip of his penis. 
Dexter was barely hanging on at this point, bordering unconsciousness now having not been allowed to breathe in nearly a minute throughout the hour his father had been stuffing his throat. Quietly blaming himself for his brutal treatment as his eyes start to flutter shut, the last thing he felt was a large, violent rush of thick, vile, bitter fluids shooting down his throat, quickly racing up forcing him to cough one last time around the fat uncut squirrel cock violently abusing his throat, a rush of rapist semen gushing out through his mouth and nostrils splattering around his fathers waist. His vision finally fading to black, his face blue as he falls fully unconscious as his father gives himself a few more seconds to allow his orgasm to fully die down before pulling out of his unconscious son. “Happy birthday, Dexter.” he spits down at the boy unconsciously coughing out the bitter seed blocking his poor abused airway. “I hope you liked your present”
Sweet little Dexter jolted awake in his bed with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat and feeling a deep sense of dread. His throat was sore and scratchy, and he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Today is his 12th birthday.