Abusive Father Novels & Stories

"As the years passed, things continued to worsen between father and son. Fear for his father shifted towards hatred and anger as black as the bruises left upon his flesh. Each bottle emptied down the drain, its contents replaced with water and food dye, was a misstep towards sobriety and another invitation for the marks of his father's retaliation." Abel paused and took a calming breath, his gaze fixating on something outside the window. Following his gaze, Ashlyn watched the breeze stirring in the curtains, a darkened stain on the back of the fabric recreating images of a bruised young boy whose only crime was in caring too much. Clenching her fists and grinding her teeth, Ashlyn felt her a

There was so much agony in his eyes, like the memory scraped him from the inside out. “We had money,” he said. “A lot of it. People assume money softens things.” His mouth tightened. “But sometimes all it does is make your pain more… presentable.” I stayed quiet giving him room. “My father,” he continued slowly, “was a narcissist. The textbook kind. Charming in public. A monster at home.” His jaw tensed. “He never loved my mother. He knew early enough, that she needed help, but didn’t get her any. My brother and I were young and cluelsss at the time.” He shuddered. “He abused her, sometimes physically. Mostly emotionally. The kind of cruelty that doesn’t leave marks on skin but tears through

All we need now is Sara (my little sister), Valentinas parents and Stephan and his parents. "Don't you think I know?," my dad snapped as he prepared to tell me. "What do I need to know?," I asked. "What else are you keeping from me?" "Sebastians father was going to kill him, his brother, Luca. He was perfect for the role of being a mafia leader. At such a young age, he always seemed mature. But that was before we found out that his father was abusive. He beat his wife and children until they were almost dead. One day, Sebastians mother, Valeria tried to escape.

He was lucky I allowed him to breathe the same air. He glared up at me. “She a good cocksucker? Is that how she roped you in?” I stepped forward, looking down at him, towering over his aging frame. “Say another fucking word, and I will punch you so hard you won’t remember your own goddamned name.” “Are you threatening me? What lies has that little bitch been spreading to get you to defend her?” “No lies—just the truth of a verbally and physically abusive father who encouraged his stepson to abuse her as well, to the point of almost killing her on more than one occasion. Should I go on, asshole?”

“You’d love my club then. I can already see you dressed in lingerie, watching as another woman is pleasured by a man.” Fuck, this was a dangerous game we were playing. My pussy was already beginning to throb. “Okay, my turn. What was childhood like for Bane Rivera?” He opened his mouth to answer but closed it when the waiter returned. “The usual, Mr. Rivera.” “Please,” he replied, not taking his eyes off me. When the waiter was gone, he said, “My father was an abusive alcoholic who battered and assaulted my mother on an almost daily basis. He gambled, and he lost. And when he lost, he would take that shit out on my mother… sometimes on me when I tried to interfere.”

I sank to the floor, my body shaking with sobs. The memories came flooding back, overwhelming me. My mother, her warm smile and gentle touch, is gone forever. The way my father changed after her passing, his grief turning into anger and abuse. Everything that had happened to me in Mistwood Pack rushed back like a tidal wave. The memories of my father's verbal abuse, his cruel words slicing through my self-worth. The beatings, the abuse, the relentless anger in his eyes. His …almost… I couldn’t even bring myself to remember what he did to me. Every day had been a nightmare, a constant fight to survive in a home that felt like a prison.

Fine. "My father was an abusive bastard. He beat up my mother every fucking day. I used to take the abuse for her, but he still hurt her, if not with fists then with words." His jaw clenched and unclenched. Tension turned palpable in the air like dreary dark storm clouds.

"Well I want to tell you. And I'm not being forced, okay?" He nods, giving me a kiss on my lips. "We were all one big happy family, until my father lost his job and things changed. He started becoming more aggressive, always coming home late and having one thing or the other to complain about. It got to a point where Bryson and I would always see bruises on our mother." I shuffle about in order to get comfortable before continuing,"It got real when he started abusing Bryson and I. I always received the most beatings. We tried all we could, you know. We tried all we could to get him in prison. He was friends with the cops, he was the cops." I let out a shaky breath.

“Because of my father. He doesn’t believe in mincing his words or masking his emotions. It’s why he is the way he is, perfection is his watchword and he would condone nothing less.” “Well, I think your father is a scumbag, Joshua.” “What?” “You heard me.” I insisted. “I may not know what transpired between you both but I certainly overheard a handful and I know he was mad at you because you couldn’t carry out his dirty deeds for him.” “What else did you hear?” “Nothing else but from what transpired I know you’ve been abused several times by your father. I could see the way you responded when he was gone, spasms of relief coursed through your body. That was all I needed to know that your fath

“Yeah that’s what mama said too. She said she remembered your dad too. That he wasn't the best?” “Oh yeah uh” Axton runs his fingers through his dark hair and lets out a heavy breath as he leans against the counter. “My dad abused me a lot. If I played badly in a game, if I did anything he disagreed with. He’s homophobic, and when he found out I was into guys, into you. He punished me for it a lot. He did the same to my brother and mom. We moved into the pack house because it was getting really bad. My uncle is thinking of kicking him out of the pack”