Heritage

By Cokey the Cat

Summary: Vegeta uses the excuse of a Saiyan custom to molest Trunks

Disclaimer: DBz not mine.

Warnings: Yaoi, incest, pedophilia, abuse, violence, tissue warning

Thoughts: ‘blah’

Heritage Pt. 1

Trunk’s POV

I lay in my lavish bed, tugging at my self for the second time that night. Since I had turned fourteen two months ago, my hormones had exploded. Every night and even during the day, I would get hard for no reason. It was so embarrassing . . .

Grunting into my pillow as I stroked harder, a deep, familiar voice spoke behind me.

"Don’t pull it off, boy."

"P-Papa . . ." I stopped my motions immediately, whipping around to face him.

"Boy, don’t be embarrassed. It is natural for a Saiyan." Clad in only his plaid boxers, my father came around the side of the bed and sat beside my sweaty being, smirking as I panted.

"It is?"

"Yes . . ." His voice dropped to a husky level, his hand on my thigh under the sticky sheet.

"Papa, what are you doing?" I tried to scoot away, but his grip turned iron.

"It is custom for a father to guide his son through this period . . . just let me help you." His hand crept higher.

"But . . . at school, they told us this was wrong . . . an adult and a kid . . ." Sweat rolled cold on my forehead as if I had been sparring in snow, my thighs quivering.

"They know nothing of our kind . . . I will help you . . ." Papa’s grip tightened further and I squelched a squeak of pain. "Just do as I say."

"O-ok . . ." I feared the man before me, but I also trusted him deeply. My father would never hurt me. He loved me.

"Lay on your stomach."

Warily doing as he said, I yelped as he pulled the sheet back to reveal my bare buns, but he just ignored it, spreading my thighs and settling between my knees. A deep, hot blush settled over my cheeks, causing me to press my face into the feather pillow to hide it, just as I hid my wilting erection. Suddenly, two fingers dove into a place that had never been touched before, pulling a harsh gasp from me.

"Owwww . . ." I whined loudly, the fingers pushing in as far as they could, dry and rough.

"Hush, brat," Papa ordered, slapping my backside harshly with his free palm. I immediately quieted, fearing his wraith.

The evil intruders wiggled around as I slowly adjusted, opening me up slightly before they were removed, accompanied by a sigh of relief that was cut short. Papa entered me quickly, and my screams would’ve shattered windows if not for my father pushing my face into the pillow, grasping my long hair sharply.

"Shut up! Do you want your mother to find out? She wouldn’t understand and then she would hate you . . . never speak to you again. Probably disown you." I grasped my jaw shut. I-I loved Mama. I didn’t want her to hate me . . .

Papa took my silence as opportunity to move within me, rubbing against raw wounds as he pulled my hips up so I rested on my knees. My cries were low and inaudible as he quickened his pace, sparse tears littering my pillow. He slammed into me again and again, ripping me anew, his sweat trailing thick down my back . . . I grit my jaw so hard to keep from screaming, my teeth ached, my head pounding as the bed shook with my father’s movements.

The whole horrible ordeal was over in a few agonizingly long minutes, but I hurt terribly as he withdrew, making me lay on my back so he could stare me in the eyes.

"Lesson #1: The seme’s pleasure is always more important than yours. As long as your seme is satisfied, you are satisfied." I nodded weakly at his words, not even bothering to wipe away my tears. "Lesson #2: Crying is weakness, and weakness is unforgivable. Your mate will accept no such action. No one wants a weak uke."

"Yes, Papa . . ." I hurried to dry my face, the ache within echoing loudly with each tiny movement of my slender body.

"You did good for your first time. Your next lesson will be soon." With than, he tucked himself back into his boxers and left back to his bedroom.

I lay perfectly still, thinking. ‘What if Mama heard me? She’s in the far wing of the house, but maybe she came by my room looking for Papa . . .’ I checked her ki, and it was deeply asleep, something that usually took her hours to achieve. I had the urge to cry again as I rolled over on my side, but I remained stoic. I would be strong for my future mate.

The next morning, the ache was worse and there was blood on my usually dirty sheets, so I hid them in the back of my closet before the bots found them and told Mama. Quickly, I dressed, my jeans covering the bruises on my thigh and backside, and went down to breakfast, unable to meet Papa’s eye across the table, preferring to stare at my dozen pancakes, unusually silent. The moment Mama went into the kitchen to grab more coffee, he berated me.

"Boy, act normal. You do not want her to know anything. She would never understand."

"Y-yes, Papa." Shame and fear twisted in my stomach as I thought of Mama ever finding out. Certainly, she would never speak to me again.

After eating, I kissed Mama and waved to Papa, going to the chauffeured limo waiting for me out front. The leather seats were soft, but still, I was in barely disguised agony.

The whole school day, I couldn’t concentrate, only thinking about my father’s actions. They had felt so . . . wrong, like he was using me. But he had said it was custom, so that it must be. My father, the Saiyan no Ouji, never lied.

Returning home, I found my father alone in the kitchen, devouring a sandwich, Mama probably working in her lab, on the far side of the complex.

"Papa, can we talk?"

"In the GR," he ordered gruffly, finishing his food.

I followed him to the training room, settling on the floor as he leaned against the wall.

"Papa, I don’t feel right . . ." I searched for words as my face burned, my feet the most interesting thing in the room.

"It is natural to be a little sore, boy. Deal." My father wouldn’t even look at me, probably ashamed of my weakness.

"Yeah, but . . . it’s something else."

"Spit it out, brat. I don’t have all day."

"I feel . . . wrong. Used."

"That also is natural. Every Saiyan teenager has felt those things. Soon, they will fade away. Now quit your whining and fight me."

I did as he commanded, ignoring the way his hands brushed over my body between hits and the lust that flooded through our paternal bond.

Each punch threatened to knock me on my ass, but I fought hard, giving more than I usually did. Papa smirked at me, his blows much harsher than usual also. Blood trickled into my eyes, but I ignored it as I avoided his ki blasts, strong enough to do real damage.

"Come on, boy!" he shouted, his voice edging on maniacal. "Don’t just run!"

Trying to avoid his blasts and fire my own, I found myself rusty, taking several charges to the chest, getting knocked off my feet. Hard.

"Come on, whelp. Rise!"

"Papa . . ." I tried desperately, but found myself unable.

"Don’t whine! Get up!" He stalked over, his boot tip knocking between my bruised ribs, evaporated what breath I had regained.

"Pa . . . pa . . ."

"You are worthless, brat. No man would ever want anyone as weak as you." My father spat on my bare, panting chest and calmly walked off.

I curled into a ball, succumbing to tears, adding to my weakness. I only wanted to please my Papa.

What will happen to poor Trunks in the coming chapters?