His mother had been a shrewish, overbearing woman, who had terrorised her husband and son alike, reserving her love for her three daughters.

To make matters worse, his father had been driven to the point of distraction by sexual frustration by his wife’s frigidity.   “She must have said yes at least four times in her married life, since she gave birth to my three sisters and me,” said Paul, “but I always suspected that was probably the limit.”

When Paul was twelve there had been a series of brutal rapes of teenage girls committed in the Glen Hartwell to Merridale area.   Despite his mother’s continual lectures about “The evil that men do!” and her snipes that he was probably no better than the rapist, “Since all men are rapists at heart!” Paul had not thought too much about the rapes.   Until one night his father had staggered home drunk and dishevelled, his shirt and trousers splashed with blood after he took off his thick, woollen overcoat.

“My God!   What, have you been up to?” demanded Paula Williamson, staring at the matted blood in amazement.

“Nothing dear,” replied her husband, Anthony Sonneborn.   “There was a helluva blue at the pub, and I got splashed with the blood from a bloke’s broken nose.”

Although his mother had accepted this simple explanation, Paul had not been so sure.   Particularly after reading in the next morning’s newspaper that the “Merridale Slasher” had struck again the night before, beating his victim to a bloody pulp before raping her.

As the rapist’s toll mounted, Paul had started to fear that one of his three sister’s would be his father’s next victim.   But it was not until soon after his thirteenth birthday that Paul had discovered where his father’s real weakness lay.

“Daddy!   What?” asked Paul, seeing the outline of his father leaning over his bed in the dark one night.   “What do you want?”

“You babycakes!” said Anthony ominously, pulling back the sheets to climb into bed with his son.

“Daddy!   What do you mean?” asked Paul, afraid.   He noticed for the first time that his father was naked.

“Sorry Paulie” but I need this,” said Tony, holding his rampant cock up to his son’s face.

At last realising what his father wanted from him, Paul tried to fight him off.   But Tony was a lot larger and stronger than the thirteen year old boy and was able to easily overpower him.   He rolled his son over onto his belly, then placed a pillow under his hips to raise his backside into the air.