A disclaimer from the author: This story is a work of fiction, and is intended to be read for entertainment purposes only. It is not designed to be instructional, nor aspirational, and contains themes that some readers might find difficult to read about, including: incest, male pregnancy, dubious consent (alcohol related), and themes involving dominance and submission. Any resemblance to real persons and events is purely coincidental. Please consider your tastes/comfort levels and show discretion before reading, voting, or commenting on this work.
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I.
The first time was an accident, or at least that was what they told themselves. Years later, after so much had happened between them, Tyler would have his doubts. With the benefit of hindsight, it felt less like a random occurrence and more like the first step toward an inevitable outcome.
It happened on Prom Night.
Tyler stormed into the house, face flushed and eyes wet, but not from the rain that was beginning to pour as an unexpected storm front drew closer. He couldn’t believe Sheila had done this to him. On Prom Night of all nights. He ripped his tux jacket off his back and tossed it over his mop of chestnut hair and across the room, not caring that he was probably burning his deposit in the process.
It was supposed to have been easy. A little fingering, a little tongue action, then straight to home base. That was always how the story played out when the other guys talked about it. Tyler sneered at the thought, his normally handsome, pinkish face turning priggish. He had never even managed to make it up to bat. When his hand snaked beneath the hem of Sheila’s too-short dress, the teenager’s face, pancaked with makeup, had morphed from flirty to appalled. As if she didn’t know what he wanted. As if they weren’t both 18 and adults. As if they hadn’t spent weeks teasing each other and building toward it. As it it wasn’t fucking Prom Night.
Marching into the kitchen, he helped himself to one of his dad’s cheap, pisswater beers. He would beg for forgiveness later. All that mattered now was getting good and plastered. Mentioning that…
Tyler sauntered out of the kitchen, a half drunk can in one hand, and peeked into the living room, certain of what he would find. He leaned against the open arch’s frame and smirked, unhappy. There he was, Rick Reynolds in all of his drunken glory, passed out on the Easy Boy, the glow of a forgotten TV program illuminated his pale mug. At least this was predictable.
Downing the rest of his beer, Tyler tossed it absentmindedly to the overflowing trashcan on the far wall where it bounced off the rim and landed on the pile of its aluminum cousins. Rick made no move, just lay there in his all of his middle-aged, doughy glory. His gut, well developed after so many years of heavy drinking, hung from the bottom of a too tight shirt. Tyler resisted the urge to sigh. Time to put the old man to bed.
“C’mon, Pop,” he said, tired and bored after his disappointing night. “Time for bed.” No response. He rolled his eyes. Typical. It looked like it was going to be one of those nights after all.
He reached his arms under the massive bulk of Rick’s body, his forearms protesting against the strain. He was glad he had taken up weight training over the summer even if he was more toned than heavily muscled. The core strength was really paying off right about now.
He lifted with a mighty grunt that deepened as his father’s mass settled onto his own, lankier frame. He felt Rick stir in his arms, his dad’s head lulling to the side, before one eye cracked open to stare at him blearily. Rick grinned, big and stupid.
“Hey, buddy,” he slurred, and before Tyler could stop him, he was rolling in his son’s grasp and slipping from Tyler’s fragile grip. Rick collapsed back on the chair, face first this time, dead to the world.
“Dammit, Pop,” Tyler hissed. He gave the hefty man a mighty shake, feeling the bulk jiggle beneath him. “Wake up, Pop!” The only response he got was a choked out snore.
Snarling now, Tyler hooked his fingers into the waistband of Rick’s loose jeans and pulled. He would drag the drunk bastard down the hall if he had to. He had only managed to pull his father a few inches down the worn poly-blend of the chair before the button of Rick’s jeans snapped off, pulling pants and all down Rick’s thighs and shifting Tyler’s center of balance.
Slipping, Tyler tried to grab onto the chair, but his hands were too full of denim, and in his effort to right himself he instead he fell forward, knees crashing onto the beige carpeting, his face landing right onto the bouncy curves of his dad’s butt cheeks. Before he could stop himself, he instinctively breathed in and inhaled the musky scent of his own father’s butt.
“Ew! Gross!” he gasped, not noticing the complimentary twitch in his own pants. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the position and leverage was bad, and he only succeeded in grabbing a handful of those massive mounds.
The meaty flesh beneath his palms gave him pause. The skin was surprisingly smooth, almost like a baby’s. Rick was a generally hairy man, except for the bald dome of his head, but his butt was pale white and porcelain fine. Steve ran his hands over it slowly, seemingly mesmerized and couldn’t help but give a sharp intake of breath as a tiny shudder ran through his father’s body making those fat cheeks jiggle like a prize jello mold.
Taken in by his rapidly rising libido, he became more bold, squeezing the meat of Rick’s ass like he was shaping clay. He had always imagined himself grabbing a woman’s tits this way, Sheila’s tits especially, and Rick rotund mass was proving to be a potent substitute. The fullness in his hands was satisfying a deep craving he didn’t have a name for, one that was tapping into his current sexual frustration. He had expected pussy, but had been gifted something altogether more erotic.
He knew he was crossing a line, one that he wouldn’t be able or easily explain away to himself, but he couldn’t help it. With both hands, he parted the mounds of his father’s flesh and got his first look at his father’s hole. The sight was unbelievable. A bright pink, there wasn’t a hint of hair here either. Did Rick shave? No, he shoved that explanation aside almost as soon as it popped into his head. Rick had grown up in a blue collar factory worker home. He had been raised to embrace and perform masculinity. There was no way in hell he manscaped between his cheeks. This butthole was naturally smooth. One fingertip prodded at the hole gently, and Tyler’s eyes widened at the way it puckered in response. He had never seen anything like it before.
He touched again, more firmly this time, and meeting resistance, he brought the finger to his mouth and swirled it around the open cavity, noting the faintest tinge of salt. Now dripping with saliva, the entry was much easier. His finger was wrapped in a velvet heat, and it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he was inside his father’s rectum to the second knuckle. As he began to explore this uncharted territory, he failed to notice Rick begin to rouse from his stupor.
“...whah…”
Tyler froze, a deer caught in the headlights. He was in too deep, literally and metaphorically to excuse this away. Maybe if he didn’t move Rick would pass out again and he could remove the offending digit? For one brief, shining moment, he thought that was what was going to happen, when Rick surprised him by squeezing on his finger.
“What…?” another squeeze and a low rumble from Rick’s chest. “What’s that…?”
Starting to panic now, Tyler yanked his hand backward pulling the his finger from the moist cavern of his father’s body. As it began to exit, those same bowels clamped down on the digit and a hearty moan spilled from Rick’s mouth. Tyler paused, the tip hanging by a thread around the rosy rim.
“Ohhhh…” the drunkard moaned, his body tensing and going limp. “Do that again…”
Tyler didn’t breath as he pushed the finger back inside his old man. It slid inside easy now and Rick moaned again, longer and louder. It hadn’t been a fluke, he realized, skin flushing. Encouraged, Tyler began to slowly finger fuck his dad, his digit exploring more freely now, twitching and probing around the moist space. When the tip brushed against a particular spot, Rick’s moan rose an octave.
“Oh fuck,” he said, breathlessly, face still buried. “Do that again!”
It took a moment to find the place, but he knew he had succeeded when Rick’s cries became higher pitched. Tyler’s nostrils flared and he pushed a second finger inside his dad’s body, which only made Rick cry out louder. As he pistoned those fingers together, it was as if his father’s body was opening completely to him. Rick’s hole was wet, strangely so. There not a hint of resistance now, only an elastic give that promised deeper pleasures.
During all of this, Tyler had been hard on and off, ebbing and flowing with the rapid shifts, but he was hard as a brick now, and he couldn’t stand the wait anymore. As he continued his fingering, he discreetly freed his erection, let a trail of saliva drip down and quickly coated his inches. It was a simple enough matter to line his cock up between his fingers and push the head past the stretched hole, entering his father as his fingers retreated.
“OH FUCK!” Rick yelled, his arms gripping the back to the chair, his face buried in the fabric. It had to hurt, Tyler knew that, even if his old man was wet as hell inside. He wasn’t about to stop now, consequences be damned. Sorry, Pop, he thought, feeling the words only skin deep.
The first thrust was rough, crudely experimental, but as he got used to the feel of an asshole clamped on his dick, Tyler picked up the rhythm easy enough. He had never wanted to fuck a man before, not even once, but as he pushed deeper inside his old man he had to admit...it was pretty fucking awesome.
At first Rick’s hole fought him. It must not have liked being speared by his teenage meat. But then something curious happened. Rick’s hole began to loosen and relax in its deathgrip. Stranger still, it was getting wet. Like, hungry pussy wet. Not that Tyler had much experience in that area.
Setting aside such thoughts, Tyler focused on his task, fucking into his dad’s asshole with the sloppy coordination of a drunk teenager. Despite his lack of sexual finesse, Rick wasn’t complaining. If anything, it sounded like he was trying to muffle his own cries. Tyler hardly cared. All he could focus on was the tight, wet heat, and the sight of his cock plunging into a virgin hole.
Blind to anything but his own pleasure, he thrust near mindlessly, ignoring the muffled cries coming from in front of him. He could feel it coming, an orgasm, his first with anything other than his hand. Dimly, he realized he was going to cum inside his own father, but that worry seemed far away and insignificant. When it happened, it hit him like a punch in the gut and he spilled inside Rick’s ass with a shattered grunt.
As he began to come down from his orgasm, he leaned across Rick’s back and his softened dick slipped from his dad’s ass with a wet splurt. He staggered back, nearly tripping over his own pants that had slipped to his ankles. He pulled the pants up just enough to make a panicked escape from the room, running from the scene of the crime and his post-nut clarity.
-----
II.
The next morning, Tyler tiptoed out of his bedroom, his eyes darted to and fro looking for any sign of a rampaging Rick Reynolds. His head was an aching mess. It felt like someone was pounding on his skull with a rusty hammer. He warily made his way to the kitchen, but froze in the entryway when he saw the form of his father standing in front of the sink, looking out the window.
Standing up, Rick was an intimidating figure. A hulking mass of muscle and fat, he looked like an SUV in human form. And you took him for a joyride last night...his conscience judged. Rick said nothing as Tyler walked to the fridge and fetched the quart of whole milk. His dad continued to ignore his presence as Tyler poured his cereal, then made toast, then ate a banana. He just stood there, looking away, occasionally sipping from a mug of lukewarm coffee. It was maddening and the guilt was beginning to eat at him.
“Uh, about last-” he had barely begun the sentence when Rick’s hand stopped him in his tracks.
“Nothing to talk about.” Simple as that. Locked away and buried. Tyler frowned. Even if he was overtly relieved not to have the conversation, he couldn’t help but feel this was a bad way to go about things.
For weeks the pair barely exchanged more than a few words. Not particularly different from usual, since Rick generally preferred the company of a brewskie over his son, but this time there was an unspoken tension buried in the silences. Every time they were together, even in separate rooms, there was a buildup of pressure, like a furnace about to explode. The house felt haunted and neither man knew how to exorcise the ghost.
About a month after the incident, as Tyler thought of it, Rick’s sickness started. At first, Tyler paid little mind. It wasn’t unusual to wake up most mornings to the sounds of Rick expelling the contents of his stomach into the toilet next to his son’s bedroom, but as weeks passed and the morning vomiting fits showed no sign of dissipating, Tyler finally put his foot down.
“Pop…” he said, waiting in the kitchen as his dad walked out of the bathroom again. “This is getting crazy. We need to get you to a doctor.” To his surprise, Rick didn’t fight him on it, just gave him a tense nod, unspoken words in his head, and let his son lead the way.
Tyler had only been waiting in the urgent care waiting room for about 10 minutes when Rick reappeared, pale-faced.
“What is it?” Tyler asked, and he grunted out an additional “Hey!” as Rick shouldered past him, which only made him more worried. On the car ride home, he watched as Rick white-knuckled the steering wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead, never leaving the road.
“Pop, c’mon...what’d they tell you?” he tried again, seeing Rick grit his teeth. His first thought, insanely, was cancer, that’s how his dad was acting, but it couldn’t be that. You don’t find out about cancer at the corner clinic. “Pop!” He swore as Rick swerved off the road, nearly colliding with another car before he settled on the side of the road.
“I’m pregnant!” Rick said, venomously. “Happy now!?” Tyler stared at his dad, dumbfounded, and said not one more word the entire drive home.
Against all odds, the tension at the Reynolds residence only became more tense. The cold shoulder Rick gave him was arctic in its stinging intensity. Truthfully, Tyler couldn’t blame him. The situation was seriously fucked up. He had brought up the idea of abortion and had been shot down like a stunt double from a noir gangster film. He didn’t make that mistake again.
The drinking, always a problem in the Reynolds family, took on a new gravity. They got in their first real fight the day Tyler poured the beer down the sink.
“You can’t have any of this!” he screamed back at his furious father. “You’re going to fuck up the baby!”
“I wasn’t drinking it, I-I just like having it around!” Even to Rick’s mind that excuse sounded weak. It was perfect drunkard logic. Then Rick made it worse by saying the 7 words that doomed all addicts. “I can stop whenever I want to!” Tyler wheeled on his father, holding an unopened tallboy in his fist.
“Prove it!” he demanded, thrusting the aluminum can out to Rick. “Pour it out with the others.” He saw Rick, a man who he had no memory of ever going a day without alcohol, look at the can of cheap booze like it was a loaded gun. After a moment, Rick took it from his son, his eyes hard with a new expression that looked suspiciously like fear. He hesitated, but eventually his son’s waiting glance implored him to action and cracking open the tab, he tilted the can to the side, watching with damp eyes as the golden liquid began to pour into the sink.
“Pop…” Tyler began, but stopped himself short. He could see it in Rick’s eyes, how much this was killing him and how humiliating that was for the older man. Rick didn’t look at his son, no doubt fearing the judgment or pity he expected to find on his boy’s face.
“I know,” he stammered, voice beginning to crack under the first stirrings of long buried emotion. “I just, I-I know…” When the can was empty, Rick held it there for several long, painful moments, sadness filling the void where fermented liquid once sat. They said nothing to each other, and Tyler only watched as Rick gave the can two violent shakes and tossed it across the room, storming out of the kitchen before his son could see him fall apart.
A week later, Rick Reynolds checked himself into an alcohol addiction in-patient rehabilitation program.
-----
III.
Tyler couldn’t remember a month longer than the one where Rick was away at the clinic. It wasn’t so much that he missed his dad, he told himself, it was just that he was so used to having that constant paternal presence slouching around the house. There was a bulky, Rick-shaped hole in the house now and it weirded him out.
When Rick finally came home it was like he was a new man.
“Hey, Pop,” Tyler said quietly, unsure of what to say to a dad who had just exited rehab. “Good Job! Welcome back!” somehow seemed like too little and too much at the same time.
Rick didn’t seem to mind though, instead pulling his son into a tight, but brief hug, gently dwarfing his son in his mass, an experience Tyler hadn’t felt since his age could be counted in a single digit.
“It’s good to be home,” Rick said, giving his son a friendly pat on the shoulder before moving around the smaller weight of him and down the hall toward his bedroom to unpack.
Weeks passed and with it the Reynolds men settled into the new normal. Tyler wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. There were no excuses, no promises. Just Rick. Out-patient rehab three days a week, then two, then one. He couldn’t help but feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he pushed his misgivings down, glad to have that emptiness in the house filled with his dad’s comforting weight once more.
Rick never slipped up, at least as far as Tyler could tell. No booze mysteriously appeared in the house the way he feared it would. The usual hiding spots remained empty. That didn’t mean he completely trusted his dad. Once or twice a week, Rick would disappear, leaving without a word to anyone in the world and then come home hours later with no explanation for his absence. Tyler didn’t ask, afraid of the lies that would teeter the fragile calm that had settled into their lives.
Determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, Tyler decided to follow him one night, fully convinced that Rick was sneaking off to a bar on the sly. He was confused then to watch his father walk not into the dilapidated brick buildings that housed most of the neighborhood dive bars, but through the old battered doors of a tiny, non-descript church. Realization hit him and with it a healthy dose of shame. Rick wasn’t boozing his night away, he was going to an AA meeting. And his own son had followed him like he was a criminal about to be caught in the act.
Back home, his mind still processing these sudden, unexpected changes in his father, Tyler opened the door to Rick’s room. He had only entered his father’s inner sanctum a handful of times in his young life, but never for a good cause. Those experiences had never been pleasant. The darkened room had always stunk with the faint odor of old sweat, stale beer, and middle-aged desperation.
Now, it was like a different man lived here. Everything was clean and orderly. The room of a man of sounder mind, if not perhaps sound body. On the dresser next to the full-size bed, Tyler found a thick tome, dog-eared in the way that only a precious, well read second-hand book ever was. Alcoholics Anonymous: The Big Book. It was like some kind of AA bible or something. Tyler’s hand hovered over the paperback tome, unsure. Finally, the decision settled into place. He picked the heavy paperback up, sat down on the mattress, and started reading.
-----
IV.
A few weeks later, Rick cornered him in the kitchen as he was grabbing a plate from the cabinet.
“Crap!” he shouted, finding his dad sitting there staring at him. “Don’t sneak up on me, Pop!”
Rick, his hazel eyes serious, didn’t acknowledge his son’s startlement.
“Son…” he said, slowly. “There’s something you and I need to talk about.”
Tyler leaned back against the counter, trying to keep his pose casual even though he wanted to coil in tension.
“Uh, sure, alright,” he mumbled, turning away from his dad and toward the microwave where he was heating up some leftovers. He had an inkling where this conversation was going and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Tyler, a lot of things have happened between us over the years,” Rick started, the words already sounding like a script. “Lots of things I’m not too proud of…” Tyler’s eyes narrowed as he poured the rice onto his plate, ignoring the stinging burn on his fingertips.
“About that night, um, you know the one-” Tyler knew exactly what Rick was talking about. It wasn’t everyday a son buttfucks his own father. “I-I wanted to apologize to you for what happened.” Tyler whirled, the chipped plate almost slipping from his hand.
“What? You apologize!?” Rick nodded, expression stone cold serious.
“Yes. I took advantage of you, I-” the last word was choked out. “I got drunk and used you. I’m sorry. Truly.” Tyler just stared, mouth hanging open.
“Are you serious?” Rick nodded, his eyes shining like he might start crying.
“Yes, I was wrong. I hurt you, and I can’t make that right, but, I’m-I’m trying to make amends.”
Tyler burst out laughing, a move his father hadn’t been expecting.
“Tyler?” he asked, wary and uncertain. Tyler held a hand up, until the absurdity of the situation passed enough for him to speak clearly.
“You’re the one apologizing to me,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “When I’m the one who rawdogged you while you were blackout drunk.” Rick smiled at him, not a happy smile, but one that was shy and trepidatious.
“Well,” Rick said, quietly. “When you put it that way…” He shook his head, he too trying to free himself from the absurdity of that night. “I still owe you an apology. I’m the adult. I should have tried to protect you. Guided you. Not...what I did…” Tyler’s brow furrowed, sensing the unspoken words.
“What do you think you did?” He could see the conflict in Rick’s eyes, the desire to stuff the truth down the rabbit hole. He was secretly proud of his father for telling him the truth even if it left him with more questions than answers.
“I can’t rightly put it into words, but-” Rick looked away, imagining some scene that made him lick his lips. “I got far too much pleasure from it, that much is clear.” His eyes were sober now. “It won’t happen again. I’ll figure out how to...to manage.”
Then, sensing an opportunity to run, Rick rose from his seated position and made a hasty exit back to his bedroom. Tyler watched him go, a fork full of grains in one hand and a question burning in his mind. Manage what exactly?
A few days later the first package arrived. Tyler didn’t pay it much mind. It was just a nondescript cardboard box with his dad’s name on it. Nothing peculiar there. Then a week later another, similar box. And 2 weeks later, a third. Rick was not the kind of father bound to troll sites like Amazon and impulse buy to his heart content. He was up to something, something private. But that wasn’t what made Tyler open the last one.
Tyler didn’t notice the sounds at first. Rick was doing a good job muffling them, but soon enough he heard them even through the wall. Quiet telltale moans of pleasure that made Tyler’s face burn when he finally realized what they were. When the latest package arrived and Rick was away at work, Tyler took the opportunity to snoop and had his suspicions confirmed. A dildo, thick and plastic in his hand. Oh, and it vibrated too, he discovered when it pulsed with obscene life in his sweaty palm. How nice for his dad.
He was about to stuff the accursed object back into the box and forget all about it, when Rick chose that exact moment to walk into the kitchen. He froze, the smile on his face drooping and Tyler thought he might shit his pants.
“P-Pop!” he exclaimed weakly. “I-I didn’t think you’d be home so early.” Rick looked at him, his eyes darting from his son’s face to the dildo and back again.
“My session got canceled. The therapist is out with the flu,” he said, voice cautious. He waited and Tyler provided the panicked answer.
“I-I accidentally opened your box,” he managed, the excuse feeling lame as it came out of his mouth. “Sorry, Pop!” Rick didn’t say anything, just studied his son some more, accessing. Tyler couldn’t help but feel like he was coming up wanting. Even then, he couldn’t help himself from prying.
“What’s this for?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Rick’s eyes narrowed and for a second Tyler got a glimpse of the snarky paternal asshole Rick had left behind at rehab, before Rick’s face set back into stone.
“It’s called managing,” he said, swiping the box from his son’s grasp with no further explanation. As he watched his dad storm out of the room, the bedroom door slamming down the wall, Tyler could only mutter one word to describe that had just happened.
“Fuck.”
That night there were no more moans, no more sweet nocturnal squeals of delight. Rick was aware now and with eyes wide open was censoring the heights of his pleasure. But Tyler knew what was happening, what had been happening for weeks. If he closed his eyes, he thought he could just faintly make out the occasional sound of a bedspring squeaking, but maybe that was just his overactive imagination haunting him. Or trying to tempt him further.
-----
V.
Just because he couldn’t hear his father diddling himself to sleep didn’t mean that it wasn’t happening. After that fateful, awkward encounter, they didn’t speak anymore about Rick’s new sexual tastes. The idea, a perverse image that penetrated Tyler’s mind as easily as the dildo penetrated his dad’s ass went unaddressed.
What became more apparent, as the weeks passed, was Rick’s ballooning belly. Rick had always been a husky man, even as a boy. His size had proved formidable in high school when he used it tackle twiggy teenagers onto the grass during football games, and he never lost that weight just slowly added to it over the years, until he had reached the large and in charge state that he currently lived in.
Now, months into the unexpected pregnancy, Tyler could see the way his father’s form was filling out past the usual confines he was used to. He was rounded, true, but fuller in face and in spirit. This was a weight purely physical, not spiritual. If anything, when it came to his mood, Rick seemed to be thriving. He possessed a newfound calm and confidence that Tyler could never recall seeing in him, and as another month passed, that aura of health seemed to grow.
Eventually, the physical limitations of his new body type began to catch up to him. It would take longer to rise from his chair, the same one he was impregnated on. He moved at a slower, more steady pace, as if walking on an ever-thinning balance beam. Surprisingly, Rick would let Tyler help him out, just a little, a tiny surge of some unknowable energy passing through them each time their hands clasped together as he climbed a steep staircase.
One evening, while Tyler lay in bed, counting down the days before he became a new dad, he heard the crash, muffled but still audible from behind their joined walls. He shot up instantly, his mind and body at arms, and wasted no time storming into his father’s bedroom. He was convinced he would find his dad huddled in a heap on the ground, and that was exactly what he found. But there was more to it than that.
As he dropped to his knees to help his pregnant father rise, Rick was already huddling in on himself, trying to hide his legs from view. It soon became obviously when a dildo, thick and veiny looking dropped onto the floor with a wet plop and rolled a few feet away from Rick’s bottom. Tyler stared at the wet toy, unblinking.
“Pop…” he started, but Rick cut him off.
“Shit, you weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, starting to babble and trying, unsuccessfully to reach for the toy. “I was just trying to take care of business, and I couldn’t get the right depth, so I tried doing it on the floor and I lost my-” Tyler grabbed his father’s hand, desperately halting the inappropriate splurge of information.
“It’s all good, Pop!” he said quickly and started pulling his dad to his feet. He paused when Rick reached for the toy in his hands. “What-What are you doing?” Rick gave him a quiet, amused expression.
“I’m not done, son,” he said quietly, his hand wrapped around the toy and his son’s fingers. “You can go back to your room now.” The look Tyler gave him was priceless.
“You just fell on your ass trying to…” he shook his head, not wanting to finish the sentence and pulled the toy from his father’s grasp. “Just go to bed, Pop. You can do...that, later.” Rick’s eyes narrowed.
“No, I’m not done,” Rick said, more forcefully this time, grabbing with both hands. Tyler gawked at his dad, as they proceeded with their obscene tug of war.
“Pop, let go!” he cried, and shoved his dad back. For one nightmare moment, Tyler thought his dad was going to crash back to the floor, but then Rick’s arm grabbed onto his and they both cartwheeled onto the bed. “Hey, stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself!” Rick let go, tried to get up too fast and fell back down.
“Damn it,” he whined, a new sound for Tyler’s ears. “Son, you don’t get it. I need it.” The neediness in his dad’s words gave him pause. It was a more sober version of the cries he had heard all those nights ago back on the lazyboy, and it sparked something sinful in Tyler.
“Pop…” he said, coming to a decision. “Let me help you.” He smiled faintly at the incredulous look his dad gave him. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He patted Rick on the hip. “Roll on your side and we’ll take care of this.”
The look Rick gave him was hard and scrutinizing. He could feel his old man piecing together his thoughts before eventually giving in. With a tiny grunt, Rick rolled his heavy form onto its side, his beach ball sized belly shifting until resting in a more comfortable position. He faced the wall, away from the look on his son’s face. He parted his legs, lifting the right one enough to give Tyler space to do his work.
Tyler turned his brain off, focusing on nothing more than the sensory input in front of him. Sweaty legs, trembling thighs, pink wet hole. He was about to pleasure his own father. The dildo, still damp from its earlier usage, slid home with a surprising ease. The sigh that came from Rick’s mouth, muffled from his closed lips, spoke to his true desires. Tyler gave his dad a few moments to acclimate, then he set to work.
The small room filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, tiny damp squeaks, and shuddering moans. Rick was trying to hide the worst of it, his face buried in a pillow, mouth full of head-flattened cotton, but no amount of cloth would have been enough to bury the evidence. His father wasn’t just slick anymore, he was wet, dripping with a natural juice Tyler didn’t know a man could make. Was it a pregnancy side-effect?
He didn’t have time to probe his mind for an answer, because his father’s hole clamped on the dildo and he was spilling his seed on the sheets. Tyler watched his father’s body shake and shiver with rapt fascination and when the worst of the tremors had subsided, he gingerly removed the toy, which plopped out of Rick’s ass with a noisy gargle. Tyler stifled an embarrassed laugh.
“All good, Pop?” he managed, eager now to toss the accursed toy out of his hand. Below him, Rick nodded, still not looking his son in the eye.
“Yeah,” he said wearily. “...thanks.” Tyler nodded, dumping the dildo into a nearby drawer and making a hasty exit. By the time he was back in his room he was sweating. He closed his eyes, reached into his sleeping pants and began to stroke himself. He imagined cunt, tight wet, hungry for cock. Hungry for his cock. He played porno clips in his mind, the images of whorish women narrowing in scope until, slowly but surely, they began to shift toward a new hole. Just as wet, but tighter, buried between two fat mounds of ass. He was plunging in and out of that hole, the sounds he had just heard minutes ago filling the room, until finally he spilled into his hand.
Bleary eyed, he pulled his soiled fist out of his pants, staring at the spillage between his fingers with minor disgust and marched to the bathroom to wash away the mess and his unwanted fantasy at the same time.
-----
VI.
The sex between Tyler and his dad became common after that night, though neither of them called it sex, preferring the cozy security blanket of euphemisms like “stress relief”. But they both knew what they were doing, and even if their minds lied about it their bodies knew the score.
They didn’t do it often, maybe once a week at most. Just sparingly enough to facilitate the lie. Eventually, even that wasn’t enough and as Rick’s pregnancy progressed, his libido seemed to grow alongside his body. They tried new positions, more intimate than before. Rick on his back, legs spread, with his son between his legs working his wet orifice with a toy.
Sometimes, when the height of Rick’s cries of pleasure would hit their peak, Tyler would grasp his father’s cock, stroking it in time to the toy in his rectum and watch with a secret thrill as he pushed his dad, previously untouchable, over the edge. Rick would stare up at him, glassy-eyed, a lazy content smile on his face as Tyler wiped the slime of his father’s release onto the bedsheets.
Tyler never let Rick see how much he enjoyed their encounters, never let his dad know how he would stroke himself furiously afterward, imagining all the depraved things he could do to his father’s pregnant body. Ever since his pregnancy began to set in, Rick had transformed from a figure of masculine aloofness to a regular cast member in Tyler’s personal spank bank. The tightrope walk between helping his dad and helping himself was getting precarious, but he was convinced he had the situation under control. He wasn’t as sneaky as he thought.
Rick noticed. He caught glimmers of domineering arousal in his son’s eyes: the tiny exhalations of breath every time Rich had an anal orgasm, the mound in his son’s pants that seemed to bulge more every time they were together. He couldn’t deny what his eyes saw, and didn’t want to. Every time his son finished him off, he would watch Tyler leave, and lick his lips, his hole already throbbing for another round. Something had to give.
Tyler was back in his room, furiously beating his meat with one hand, and so enraptured by the imagined sounds and sights in his mind that he didn’t hear Rick walk in.
“Need help with that?”
Tyler released his prong with a startled yelp, hastily covering himself, but even in its owner’s horror at being caught red-handed that dick stood tall and proud.
“Pop!” he gasped. “What are you doing in here?”
Rick stepped forward, eyes staring directly at his son’s cock, lips bunched together.
“You’re always taking care of me, son. I think its about time I took care of you.”
Rick straddled his son’s lap with an ease that was surprising for a man of his size. Tyler lay beneath him, cock hard under his hands, frozen in shame and shocked lust. He didn’t try and stop his dad as Rick gingerly moved his hands aside. Rick’s eyes glittered with a hint of excitement, his fingers practically trembling as he gripped his son’s length and aimed it true.
The descent was a small revelation. The first time their shared lust had been warped by liquid courage, but tonight there was no such excuses. Tyler stared up at his father, unblinking, as he was consumed by a wet heat that felt too good to be true. As he bottomed out on his son’s lap, Rick took a moment to savor the sensation of true fullness, so different for his toys that never seemed to quite satisfy the ache inside.
He rose slowly, descended faster, establishing a lazy rhythm that made both Reynolds men hiss is pleasure. Tyler forced his eyes shut, trying to block out the sinful image of his father taking pleasure from his cock, but that only served to make the squeezing sensations that more powerful. The bed began to rock and squeak from the force of their hips joining together and Tyler felt like he was riding on a liferaft adrift on a salty sea, only one that smelled and tasted like his father.
At one particularly drawn out moan from above, Tyler risked peeking an eye open and realized his mistake too late. For one instance he got the eyeful of the century. Rick Reynolds, hard working, formerly hard drinking, single dad, bouncing on his own son’s cock like a well-seasoned whore. This was not work for the older man, but pleasure dressed in service. He bounced with a fluid grace that seemed natural, his belly and tits shaking with each rocking impact.
That wasn’t what did Tyler in though. It was Rick’s face, eyes glazed and lidded, head cocked to the ceiling as if gazing into divinity. He was shaking in his pleasure, tiny uncontrolled tremors passing from his core through his limbs. Rick’s head tilted down, drool on his lips that threatened to spill over like a newborn infant. His eyes met his son’s one open eye and it passed through them in a wave of unspoken communication. Love, lust, companionship.
Before he could stop himself, he was spilling inside Rick Reynolds. He watched his dad’s eyes open wider in excited recognition and then his abs were being painted white by his father’s own delighted response. As they both began to come down from their sex, Tyler grabbed a hold of his father’s hips, holding his old man’s leaning form steady.
“Pop…” he whispered, awe struck. Rick nodded, doe-eyed.
“Yeah, son.” Another tremor from his rectum drew a moan from them both. “Yeah…”
------
VII.
A few months later, their first son, William Joseph Reynolds was born. He was a wild, screaming, take no prisoners kind of baby. Sleep became a fantasy to dream about during the waking hours as you tried not to nod off from exhaustion. Intimacy of any kind beyond the brush of a hand on a weary arm as you passed the child from one to the other, or the small, thankful smile in return were out of the question.
Tyler had never imagined a life like this one, full of piercing screams, wet nappies, and the smell of his own father’s milky tits. He wanted to pinch himself, convinced he would wake up and it was all some wild nightmare. Rick seemed far better equipped for parenthood, taking on the lion’s share of mothering and even playing house while he was on paternity leave. Tyler didn’t know what to think of this new maternal side of Rick.
Months in, as the worst of William’s tantrums began to die down, father and son found time for more fleeting moments of contact. Contact that Rick was only all too willing to take advantage of.
“Pop, what are you doing?” Tyler whispered, even though there was no one else in the room but them. Rick, who was too busy staring at his son’s crotch replied back in a husky voice.
“C’mon, Tyler,” he hissed, voice already dripping with lust as he pulled down his pants. “Neither of us have gotten any for months…”
It was true, the Reynolds house had more blue balls than a soccer team before the World Cup.
“Pop…” he said, with less reluctance than he should have felt. “We-we shouldn’t be doing this anymore.” He had wondered why his dad, or himself for that matter, hadn’t tried to hook up with any more women. The baby and the steady exhaustion that came with it was an easy excuse, but Tyler couldn’t help but wonder if it all ran deeper than that.
“Forget about that,” Rick retorted, already dropping his drawers. “I don’t see any other prospects knocking on the door.” He bent forward, spreading his cheek with one hand, showing his son the easy, willing target.
“What if you get pregnant again?” Tyler whined. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with his own father, but Rick was ready for his rebuttal.
“Just pull out when you need to shoot,” he said, irritation starting to form in his voice. He gave a little wiggle of his hips, his balls swaying in a come hither dance. Cursing himself and his raging libido, Tyler let his pants drop to his ankles and sank back into his father’s willing body for the first time since their son’s birth.
The heat was exquisite and even without any actions for months, Rick’s hole opened up for him like butter. His head locked in on the idea of getting off, Tyler didn’t bother with finesse. His mind was too wrapped up in trying not to shoot his load too early. He felt like his cock was a loaded weapon that might discharge at any moment and he needed to be ready to pull out.
Rick seemed to have no such reservations. Only happy grunts of pleasure and the occasional “oh, fuck” or “god, yes!” would tumble from his lips from time to time. He didn’t have a care in the world even though it only took one fuck to knock his old man up last time. An image of that night popped back into his head. Rick grunting like a stuck pig as Tyler spilt his virgin baby batter inside his dad’s drunk ass.
Tyler caught himself, but barely, pulling out just in time to spray his load on Rick’s thick back and plump cheeks. Below him, Rick grunted, and looked over his shoulder with a knowing grin.
“Bet your balls are lighter now, ain’t they?” he said, saucily, reaching behind to try and fondle his son’s orbs with his fingertips. Tyler stepped back, trying not to laugh, and Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Got another in ya?” Tyler stared at Rick’s gape for a long moment, swallowing slowly, before shaking his head.
“Sorry, Pop,” he admitted, voice wary. “I’m all tapped out.” Rick nodded, as if this was no big deal.
“Maybe we can do this some other time,” he said, hopeful. His fingers ghosted over the dripping mess on this lower back and Tyler almost missed the look of disappoint that passed over Rick’s face.
Tyler swore that would be the last time, but 2 weeks later he was back in his father’s bed. This time Rick was on his back, legs spread, eagerly making room for his boy. Tyler, despite his reluctance, was only too eager to fill it. He didn’t need any coaxing this time. He remembered that tempting heat all too well and the near torturous pulling out that followed. If he was careful, he told himself, this might work. Just proceed with caution.
He sheathed himself inside Rick with an embarrassing ease, somehow able to pinpoint the exact location of his father’s anus without even looking. He set a punishing rhythm, looking everywhere but at his dad, too afraid that a glimpse of his father’s lewd pleasure would tip him off the cliff’s edge. He focused all of his attention on the blank space on the wall where his mom’s portrait used to sit before Rick broke it during one of his drunken stumbles. Now when he looked there all he saw were pictures of his own father, heavy with child.
Even with the distractions, it wasn’t long before Tyler could feel himself reaching the brink. He bit his lip, hoping the tiny sting of pain would slow the plummet and tried to pull away, but Rick’s beefy legs were clamped on his lower back in a paternal vice grip.
“Pop!” Tyler choked out, not stopping his thrusts. “Le-lemme go!” He tried away again, using his hand to push backwards, but Rick’s hold tightened as did his old man’s spasming hole. “Pop! No!”
It was too late. Millions of Reynolds family sperm shot straight out of Tyler’s dick and right into the warmth of his father’s rectum. With his eyes pinched shut, Tyler rode the waves of pleasure while below him the realization of his son’s orgasm had triggered a series of anal orgasms in the elder Reynolds, making Rick tremble in hedonistic delight.
When the worst of the spasms died and Tyler was finally able to dismount from his father’s bulk, the anger began to set in.
“Pop!” he said, voice tense and chiding. “I told you to let go, now…!”
He didn’t finish the sentence, not needing to. Speaking it aloud might make it real. They both knew what had just happened and only one of them seemed concerned about it. When Rick finally opened his eyes to stare at his son, his voice came out dreamy and subdued.
“Sorry, Tyler. Guess I got carried away…” Never had the word sorry sounded anything but.
Disgusted with the scene, and more truthfully himself, Tyler Reynolds stormed out of his father’s bedroom, his mind swirling at the possible consequences. It was alright, he tried to tell himself. It was just one time. One mistake.
“Yeah,” he whispered to himself. “Nothing to worry about.” Plenty of couples had a slip up and got lucky. He just needed to have faith and be more careful next time.
One month later, the pregnancy test came back positive.
-----
VIII.
With Rick knocked up again the need for any sort of contraceptive techniques flew out the window. Neither man even bothered trying to date, each for their own reasons. For Tyler, he found himself too busy with night classes and a son to squeeze in a woman. With his dad ready and willing just down the hall, he could get his sexual needs met almost on call. Rick just liked to get fucked. He didn’t bother looking for a fancy excuse.
Rick’s hole was an open house anytime he caught a look of lust in his son’s eyes. Their sex, previously regulated to the private confines of Rick’s bedroom, rapidly expanded. As did Rick’s pregnancy belly, which still held some of the weight from their first son. Every piece of furniture was a new prop for Rick to brace himself onto as his insides got rearranged, his son marking his territory with every drop of semen, breast milk, or even his father’s own natural lube that seeped endlessly from his old man’s body.
“Tyler,” he moaned, tits swaying while he took more cock inside his warm body. “You feel so good.” He didn’t need to say the words out loud, they both already knew it was true, but with each passing day, Rick couldn’t help but want to amp up his son and his sexual prowess. He wanted that cock, needed it with a passion that sometimes scared him. He hadn’t bothered going back to his dead end bus driving job. He just stayed home, took care of his boys and the baby on the way and looked for any opportunity to get roundly screwed. He would look at himself in the mirror sometimes and see a stranger, yet somehow always found his reflection smiling back at him.
After dumping his load inside him, as Tyler started to dress, Rick tried to stop him.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, still a little breathless. “Got somewhere to go?” Tyler gave him a look. His son always got cagey after one of their fuck sessions.
“Got work to do,” Tyler muttered, avoiding his father’s questioning gaze. He zipped up and made his escape. Rick slumped back on the bed, soaking up the disappointment. He knew his son would be back, he always was, but did he have to cut him off like that? He absentmindedly rubbed his belly, just as he always did whenever his lover ran off, willing himself to relax. Tyler would be back and give him what he needed. He always did.
As the months passed, Rick’s body began to show the now familiar signs of pregnancy. Thick gut, bouncy tits, full ass. For Tyler, it was a walking sign of their mistake, glaring like a Las Vegas billboard. For Rick, it was like living a dream he never knew he wanted. He would stare at himself in the mirror after feeding their son, his nipples still sore. He would give his pecs a shake, watching them jiggle, tiny droplets of milk forming on the tip. Were they getting bigger? Or was it just his imagination? His body felt new and lived in all at once.
Labor came early this time, and the ambulance ride to the hospital was fraught for father and son. The birth of their second son, Patrick Matthew Reynolds ended ok in the end, but Tyler swore to himself never again. Once was a mistake, even two times could be forgiven, but three…
This difference of opinion would end up being the turning point in their relationship.
-----
IX.
It was only a matter of days before Rick cornered Tyler, his hole aching for more of the Tyler Reynolds treatment.
“Bet your balls are nice and full now, ain’t they?” he asked, voice throaty. “Let me take care of that…” He started to drop to his knees, ready to get his man hard for him with his mouth, when Tyler arms jerked him back to his feet.
“Whoa! What are you doing, Pop!?” Tyler knew what this was. He knew it was coming as soon as Rick got discharged from the hospital. Rick made a faux hurt expression.
“What? Can’t a father take care of his son?” Tyler resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but finally relented.
“Fine,” he relented. “But mouth only.” Rick, having already given himself the go ahead long before Tyler uttered a single word, dropped to his knees with a loud crack.
Rick sucked on Tyler’s cock, slowly, luxuriously, as if the hard member in his mouth was a prized meal made to be savored. In a way it was, this was the cock that had impregnated him twice. His son’s cock. That thought alone made his hole twitch, the anal passage dampening for more of the same. He loosened the drawstrings on his pants, letting the thick fabric bunch and slowly slide down his thighs as he worked over his son.
“Fuck, Pop,” Tyler hissed, eyes lidded in pleasure. This was heaven. The kind of treatment he had gotten used to after so many months. Sloppy holes, wet as fuck at both ends up for offer at a moment’s notice. He could have stood there like that for hours, just being worked over by a pro, but his father had other ideas.
Tyler’s eyes shot open, white and alarmed, as he saw Rick bend over, present him, and slowly begin to back up onto his son’s rod. Tyler backed away quickly, almost stumbling as he did so.
“What the fuck!” he yelled, lust running red now. “I told you, no-” The words choked in his throat when he saw the needy, near desperate expression on Rick’s face.
“I need it, son,” Rick whined, his face beginning to sweat. “I’m so hungry for you.” He tried again, big sausage fingers reaching for his favorite meat, but Tyler dodged.
“Hey, I said mouth only!” Tyler warned. His anger had taken on a new quality, because he could see what was happening. “I’m not going to risk impregnating you again!” Rick looked like he was going to burst into tears.
“Please, Tyler,” he moaned, fingers sliding across his damp hole. “I want it. I-” A long hard swallow, and the water works started. “I want you to put another baby in me.” Tyler looked at him, long and hard, horror written in his eyes. Yet, he was hard as hell at the thought.
“No.” Tyler hissed, voice quiet, almost childlike. This had gone on far enough. “I won’t let you-” He blinked, trying to find the words. “I just won’t do it, okay!?” He saw the change come over Rick then, like an unexpected cold front.
Rick bent down, exposing his hole in the process, sopping wet, and hiked his pants up. He stormed toward the door.
“Hey!” Tyler shouted, suddenly worried. “Where are you going!?” Rick didn’t bother to turn around.
“If you won’t do it…” The briefest, most devastating of pauses. “I’ll find someone else who will.”
Tyler saw it in his mind’s eye: His father, the only paternal figure he had ever truly had in his entire life, bent over and impaled on a nameless man’s cock. The brute was using him like he was a prize hole. A broodmare waiting to be knocked up. And Rick loved it. Craved it.
“Like hell you will,” Tyler hissed, grabbed Rick’s arm and yanking his old man back with a ferocity that surprised even him. Rick collided into his smaller form, and the pair stumbled back onto the couch, falling side by side. Rick tried to rise again, but Tyler’s grasp was like steel. “You’re not going anywhere, Pop.”
“Let go of me, Tyler,” Rick said, though his voice sounded more desperate than angry. He was beginning to shake, as if his exposure and the reaction from his son was more than he could bear. “Let me get what I need.” That was the final straw.
“Fine,” Tyler was on his feet, hovering over his dad. He pushed Rick’s head down into the cushions of the couch, burying any further protests in stale fabric. The voice of reason was becoming eroded by possessive anger and a confused lust. “If you want to be used like a bitch. Then I’ll use you like a bitch.”
He gave Rick no more warning, just thrust inside his old man with a savagery that drew a sharp cry from his old man’s lungs. There was pain there, no doubt, but so much more. It was a cry of relief buried under the sound of a man being broken. Rick’s body went limp, opening to the coming assault and Tyler wasted no time.
With his father’s insides a sloppy tunnel, it was easy to form a steady solid glide. He didn’t fuck for his father’s pleasure, the way he often would when they were together and Rick’s pregnancy lust hit its peak. This fuck wasn’t about pleasure. It was about ownership. He grabbed fistful of his father’s thick flesh, holding onto the padding like a set of reins as he rode his prize steed to the finish line.
When he finally shot his load and painted the womb of Rick Reynolds white, Tyler collapsed onto his dad’s back. He was breathing heavy, but not as heavy as his old man, who he feared might be on the verge of hyperventilating. Rick didn’t move from his position, holding it, as if frozen on command. When Tyler placed a sweaty palm on his father’s lower back, he actually shivered.
Now that he had nutted away the worst of his anger, guilt and a new worry came over him. He leaned closer to look more closely at his dad’s trembling form.
“Shit, I kinda got carried away,” he admitted, shamefaced. “Are you ok, Pop?”
Rick didn’t answer right away. It took another minute of so before his mind came back to his body. When he turned his head to look at his son, he face shined with fresh tears.
“Thank you, son,” he said, happy, content, sated. “Thank you.”
-----
X.
“You know, I think I had an uncle like me.”
The words shook Tyler form his post orgasmic sleep. He rubbed his eyes, rolling over to stare at his father’s pensive face.
“What about an uncle?”
Rick nuzzled into his son’s shoulder, his baby bump sliding into place just like it always did whenever they cuddled.
“Years ago, back when I was a kid, my grandma said something real weird to me once,” he began, his voice sounding distance as if coming from the memory itself. “She had a brother, my granduncle I guess, who was always disappearing for big gaps of time.” He inhaled his son’s calming scent and continued.
“She told me to stay away from him. Said he had a sickness. The Reynolds Curse, she called it. Was worried I might catch it for some reason.” He frowned, as if an uncomfortable implication was weighing down on him. “I don’t remember him too well. Just thought he seemed nice. Was real popular with the guys.” A considered pause. “Even my grandpa.”
“I heard my grandma and grandpa arguing about him once. About how embarrassing it was having to ship him away so much.” Rick shook his head, as if the thoughts were painful. “I think he was like me, Tyler. I think he liked getting pregnant.”
“What happened to him?” Tyler asked, already expecting the worst. Beside him, Rick shrug, his face nestling in closer to his son’s pleasing form.
“Not sure. Just never came back at some point. I hope he ended up happy. Guess the curse got me in the end too.”
Tyler didn’t say anything about that. If Rick’s hypothesis was true…
“...how do you feel about that?” he asked his father quietly, and didn’t hide the smile as Rick pulled him in closer.
“Don’t know really. Kinda weird, but…” here his voice became a little emotional. “It’s nice to think I’m not alone. And I know that you’re normal, so I guess the curse dies with me...”
Tyler wasn’t so sure about that. Normal seemed like a pretty big stretch of the definition when describing the incest happening in their family bed. Best not to voice those thoughts too loudly.
“You’re alright to me, Pop,” he said, low and intimate, and most importantly truthful. He felt Rick melt in his arms.
“Thanks, son,” he said, voice quivering. “Means a lot.”
-----
XI.
Their 3rd son, Alex Lucas Reynolds was born a few months later, and yet too early.
As Rick was rushed into the ER, his eyes full of fear and pain, he clasped onto his son’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping him going, but as the gurney pulled away the connection broke and Tyler watched helplessly as his father and future child were wheeled away.
The wait during the surgery was excruciating, and as Tyler paced up and down the halls he couldn’t help but imagine the worst. A life without his father, without their new son…
When the doctors came and told him that the procedure went well, that father and son were A-OK, Tyler nearly broke down. It was only when the doctors told him that they needed to keep both of them behind for further observation that he sobered up.
Hours later, a new doctor found a sleepless Tyler sipping stale coffee in the empty cafeteria. He laid it out plain as day.
“I’m not going to lie, Mr. Reynolds,” the kindly looking old man told him from across the table. “It was a little touch and go for a while, but your father should be in tip top shape in a few weeks. Even sooner for the newborn.” Tyler sighed in relief.
“I’m glad,” he said, voice weary. “I just want things to go back to normal.” He saw the doctor’s gaze turn and a lump of dread filled his gut.
“Since you mention that, Mr. Reynolds…”
-----
Nearly a month later, Tyler was driving his father back home, back to their home. Rick had an excited, almost restless energy about him.
“I’ve missed my boys.” Rick had told him and Tyler believed it, especially after all he had learned in the meantime. Breeder...Pop’s a breeder...
When he pulled into the driveway, he tried to help his father out of the car, but Rick was having none of it.
“I’m not helpless, Tyler,” he complained, “I can get up just fine on my own.” For now, Tyler thought, remembering all those nights of a heavily pregnant Rick Reynolds folded on the couch. There would be many more nights like those in Rick’s future, he was certain of it.
They ate a hearty meal together, each of them taking a turn with the boys. Learning how to micromanage with 3 kids was going to be a challenge, but Tyler was sure they would be up to the task. Especially now that he had made up his mind about how things were going to be.
“The doctor told me about your wishes, Pop.” Tyler watched, hiding his amusement, as the color drained from Rick’s face.
“Oh, son…” Rick said, regretful. “I-I was hoping I would have a chance to talk with you about it first.” Tyler held up a hand, shaking his head. Instead, he reached into his pocket, procuring the bottle of tiny pink pills. He slid it across the table, where Rick caught it in his hand and stared.
“...Is this what I think it is?” Rick asked, and Tyler nodded.
“If you want to start slow, take 2,” he smiled, enjoying the squirm from across the table. “But if you really want to go whole hog, Pop...take 4.” He rose from the table, clearing the dishes. As he washed them at the sink, he watched his father pop 1,2,3,4 of the pills from the bottle, stare at them as if contemplating some forbidden secret, and then clam his hand over his mouth, swallowing the lot down his gullet without taking a bite. Not even a hint of gag reflex.
Tyler stepped behind his dad, reaching around and grabbing his old man’s tits. He gave them a squeeze, half-playful, half-possessive.
“Go get ready for me, Pop,” he whispered, kissing Rick’s bald head. “I’ll put the boys down for the night and meet you in our bedroom.” He could feel the shiver of anticipation run through his father’s body and he couldn’t hold in his chuckle as he watched Rick dash off like a kid running for the tree on Christmas morning.
He gave the bottle of pills, the pills that would have filled him with dread only a few months ago, one last look. Everything changes now. He walked into the boys’ room, checking each one in his respective crib. All was quiet. The calm before the storm.
-----
“We don’t really have an official diagnosis for your father’s condition, Mr. Reynolds,” the doctor had said in a professional tone. “Colloquially, they have been known as Breeders for years. Not just men capable of pregnancy, but ones born with an innate desire for it. Until recently, the medical establishment didn’t believe they were real. Like an urban myth. Now we know better.”
He slid a manila envelope across the table to Tyler. Setting aside the terrible coffee, Tyler looked over the flimsy papers with their photos and stats and graphs. Words and phrases jumped out at him: breeding potential, elevated fertility rates, triggering events...
“You’re not just a doctor at this hospital, are you?” The elderly man considered him for a moment, before nodding, his spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose.
“I work for a pharmaceutical company who specializes in fertility treatments. We’re always looking for new medications and treatments that might improve the lives of potential patients.” He grinned at Tyler. “As you can imagine, your father’s condition is quite intriguing to us.”
“I bet…” Tyler said, eyes narrowing.
-----
When he entered the bedroom, he found Rick there, naked and erect, staring at the bed. Rick turned toward him, face flushed.
“What is this, Tyler?” Tyler glanced around his father’s bulky form, his eyes landing on the cuffs attached to the bed.
“Just some tools for the job, Pop,” Simple as that. “Get on the bed now.” He saw it there in Rick’s eyes, a tiny old flareup of defiance, something he hadn’t seen in his dad’s eyes for a long time, but nearly as soon as the flame appeared it ate away the little oxygen that remained to feed it.
Tyler watched his dad climb onto the bed, his fat ass jiggling invitingly, and roll onto his back. He stared at his son inquiringly. Tyler gestured with his finger.
“Hands up on the headboard, Pop,” he said, following his father’s previous movement and placing each wrist into a leather cuff. After securing them, he gave the restraints a tug, satisfied that they would hold up for what was coming next. He rolled them down the bars of the headboard, so Rick’s arms were nearly lying flat on the mattress. “Comfortable?” Rick nodded, wide eyed, but not afraid. Now it was time for the feet…
-----
“You want to make my dad into a guinea pig.” Tyler couldn’t help but enjoy the wince of discomfort his words caused.
“That’s a little unfair, Mr. Reynolds. We simply wish to enter into a mutually beneficial relationship with your father.” He slid another piece of paper across the table. Tyler recognized what it was immediately. “Your father already agreed to it.” It was true. Tyler could see Rick’s near illegible signature on the dotted line.
“Then why are you having this conversation with me?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.
“It’s simple, Mr. Reynolds,” the doctor said, as if giving an obvious diagnosis. “We believe your father’s condition requires guidance and observation. From a person he trusts.” The older man rubbed his glasses his shirt. “Your father requested you to be the co-signer…”
-----
It took a little finagling, but with a bit of effort, he hooked the cuff around Rick’s last ankle and sat back to observe his work. Rick Reynolds, father of 4 boys with more coming in his near future, was restrained in the perfect position: On his back, heels to heaven, pose held, wet hole open and built for breeding. Tyler’s erection sprung from his pants as they dropped to the floor, jutting toward Rick as if by a primitive magnetism.
Convinced his dad was firmly secured, Tyler got down to business. Even with the slight awkwardness of the angle, it was easy enough to climb into position and push his now throbbing erection into Rick’s willing hole. There wasn’t even a hint of resistance. It was like sliding effortlessly onto home base.
A sound of pure ecstasy erupted from Rick’s chapped lips. Instinctively, his legs tried to kick out, perhaps to wrap around his son’s lower back or shoulders, but the restraints held firm. Rick was effectively helpless. The look in Rick’s eyes was like agony, but a kind the older man couldn’t help but lean into.
Tyler fucked his father with deep, athletic strokes, allowing his modest muscles to propel him upward and let gravity do its dirty work. He could hear the tiny hits of air being punched out of Rick’s lungs with each impact, dimly thought how uncomfortable that must feel, and decided he didn’t much care.
They both knew who and what Rick was. What he needed. What he was here for. Rick’s orgasm came as no surprise to either man. He always came before his son now even when he tried to hold himself back and this time was no different. As Rick’s hole convulsed and the first thick trickle seeped from his cock, Tyler renewed his attack.
“That’s it, Pop. Let it all out.”
The tears flowed freely. Not tears of pain like Tyler used to mistake them for in the beginning. These were the kind of tears shared by all men of that specific, repressed orientation when they experienced emotions so complex from their minds and bodies, built on a steady diet of rugged individualism and masculine pride, that had no proper avenue to express them. So, the tears.
Tyler fucked Rick through his orgasm, his landings coming down hard enough now to leave stinging bruises. He was brutalizing his old man, using him as a sheath for his cock, and for once he felt no shame, no anger, no regret. I know what you need, Pop.
Tyler’s orgasm hit him like a hammer in the back, a spike of twisted pleasure that ran up and down spine. His eyes were closed but when he remembered to open them and the world burst back into vision, he saw that same contented, awestruck expression on Rick’s face. It was the face of a man who knew he was getting knocked up.
He pulled out of his dad’s body with a wet pop, the angle of Rick’s legs holding in his son’s copious load. A tiny drop of semen dripped from the head of his deflating cock to land on his father’s puffy rim. Perfect, at least for one of them.
He glanced up at his father’s face, staring back at him knowingly and wanting. The face of a man not satisfied with a single helping. Tyler smiled, mechanically, as he set his mind to the next task at hand. He ignored his father’s questioning call as he exited the room, leaving Rick in his suspended state. When he returned, he came baring gifts.
Under his arm was what looked like an oddly-shaped pillow. Rick’s eyes widened as Tyler lifted his hips with one arm and shoved the plush wedge beneath them, smacking the stiff foam several times to set it in place. When Rick’s hips lowered, he found them now raised higher, the passageway to his fertile temple now on a pedestal.
There was a loud, clinking sound and tilting his head to the side, Rick’s eyes widened. On the top of the cheap faux wood dresser now sat a glass mason jar, sealed tight, and filled with a thick, viscous fluid.
“Is that-?” Tyler ignored the question, instead drawing Rick’s eyes back to his son when he saw the object in the younger man’s hands. It was a funnel, maybe 6” in diameter, and it was pointed at his puckered anus. Before he could even formulate the next question, the tip swiftly descended, piercing into his loosened anus. The plastic was a shock against Rick’s flushed flesh and a new wave of prickly humiliation began to pump through his veins.
As Tyler returned to the bed with the jar, unscrewing the lid with a noisy spin of his wrist, he addressed the elephant in the room.
“You know what this is, don’t you?”
Rick stared at the jar full of semen, undoubtedly his son’s, and nodded, mouth hanging open mutely. As the lid came off, the pungent aroma of sperm filled the air, thick and cloying. Rick could feel his asslips pucker around the plastic tip keeping him open. The jar began to tip, a promise and threat.
“You know what I’m about to do, right Pop?” Another nod from Rick, more animated this time as the thoughts of so much seed took hold of his libido. The rim of the glass jar met the plastic rim of the funnel. “Ready?” Rick didn’t hesitate.
“Yes, son.”
The deluge of of semen poured into the funnel, a month of family planning swirling down the drain into the fertile folds of Rick Reynolds’ yielding body. It was not the constant pouring of a running sink like he expected, but something closer to a slow, steady drip feed. From Tyler’s viewpoint, it was like watching an hourglass slowly empty from one side to the other. He ran a finger along the rim of the funnel, smiling at the sigh his motion brought to his father’s lips.
“You’re going to be knocked up, Pop,” he said, liking the feel of the nasty words on his tongue. “More than you ever have been.” He watched with satisfaction as his father’s body convulsed, the semen sloshing as Rick shook. His words alone had drawn a tiny orgasm out of his dad. Rick’s eyes were wide and wild.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you want-” Tyler laid a finger on his dad’s lips. There would be time for that later.
“Believe it, Pop. I’m keeping you knocked up all the time now. Until your ovaries give out.” He twisted the funnel with his fingers, letting it rotate around his father’s rectum and Rick cooed with pleasure.
It took a while for Tyler’s semen to finish it’s journey, and the last remnants had to be scooped out and digitally inserted, but as Rick licked his son’s fingers clean Tyler had no regrets, not one. His father was his man, his dad, his bud, his partner, his lover and most of all he was his breeder. Be fruitful and multiply, all in one man.
He pulled the funnel out of Rick ass with a tiny gurgle, running a finger along the cummy rim of his father’s hole. Rick had stopped crying, the tears long dried on his cheeks, but the stunned, blissful affection in his expression never changed.
“How’s it feel, Pop? Nice and full, huh?” Rick nodded, excitedly, his cock dripping pre in a steady flow across his round gut.
“So full, Tyler. So full of you.” Tyler looked down at his cock, hard again after the rest and mealtime. It was time to churn the butter.
“Brace yourself, Pop.”
As he once more took what was his, Tyler’s cock and groin became blanketed in splooge as he plunged downward into Rick’s conquered passage. The room filled with the obscene call and response of cum squirting from an overfilled hole and the desperate cries of a man broken and begging for more. The sounds echoed through the halls of the house, on and on, until a third harsher grunt overruled both, and then blissed silence.
-----
Tyler stared at the bottle in his hand, the little pink pills looking like the most tempting poison. The contract lay beneath them on the table, a pen rested near the dotted line waiting for a signature.
“And there’s no cure…”
“There is nothing to be cured. Your father’s condition isn’t a disease. It’s a different state of being from other men, that’s all. It might help if you saw it as a gift not a curse…”
Tyler saw the gift all right. A gift of Rick spreading his legs for any opportunity to get knocked up. Yet...he couldn’t help but feel himself twitch in his pants at the thought.
“Can I ask you one thing?” Tyler meekly said, having already made up his mind about the future. “Why is my Pop the way he is?” The doctor’s face turned kind, the way a teacher’s might when they were about to explain something complicated to a child.
“We don’t really know for sure, Mr. Reynolds. Heredity perhaps? A genetic marker? The only thing we know is that some men have a prefixed vulnerability in place that comes out as they reach puberty.”
The doctor stared at Tyler and the bottle, his eyes probing.
“You’re father’s case is unique, Mr. Reynolds. Most men show signs much earlier in life. Your father is a bit of a late bloomer. Do you have any idea of what event might have triggered his condition?”
Tyler’s eyes met the doctor’s and the silent exchange between them said it all. The doctor smiled, placid again as Tyler scribbled his signature next to his father’s.
“Excellent,” he said, pulling the contract into his briefcase. He shook Tyler’s hand, an odd mockery of a professional handshake. “You should receive the first check in the mail once we finish the paperwork. In the meantime…” He pointed at the bottle of pills with his pen. “We hope this new medication amplifies your father’s natural talents...”
-----
XII.
Tyler sat on the plastic foldout chair, the unseasonably warm June sun beating down on his head and he adjusted his ballcap, making sure to keep the thinning part of his hairline covered. He discreetly checked his watch. Now that the Principal had already made it past the Rs, his interest in the graduation ceremony had pretty much died. Oh well, maybe Rick could stave off the boredom.
Hangin in there Pop? He texted. There was a brief pause, the usual bouncing dots as Rick tried to formulate a coherent sentence and then the response.
Just about. Kids are kicking my ass. Thank god for the help. Tyler bit his lip, trying to stifle an inappropriate grin. They had finally talked the foundation into supplying another part timer, an unpaid intern most likely, to help out around the house. With all the money they were making on their fertility and hormone treatments, they could afford that and more.
There was a new, stronger wave of applause from the audience and Tyler instinctively rose to his feet with the rest of the parents. He smiled, waving to all the graduates as they passed by, even if his heart wasn’t in it. He was ready to scoop up William and get back home to his man.
“Bill! Over here!” he shouted, waving his handsome 18 year old son over. The boy was tall and thick framed for his age, a curious mixture of Dad and Pop. William was all smiles and Tyler allowed himself to match his son’s pitch.
“Where’s Dad at?” his son asked, husky voice sending an unexpected shiver down Tyler’s spine. Tyler shook his head, looking sorry.
“Bedridden. Doctor’s orders.” Rick was under strict instructions to stay on off his feet until the septuplets were born, which was only a few weeks away. It killed Rick that he was missing their oldest son’s graduation, but the recording Tyler made would have to suffice. As a consolation prize, Tyler had made sure his dad was loaded up good and proper before he left.
“Guess its a good thing you are here then…” a pause, then lower and conspiratorial. “Dad.” Tyler froze.
“When did you figure it out?” he returned, just as quiet. William’s expression was calm with a hint of teenage mischief buried beneath faux maturity.
“Tyler...Its not like you and Dad are discreet about it. We can hear everything you guys get up to.” His eyebrows rose, tellingly. “Everything.” Tyler swallowed, unsure of how to process this kind of information in such a public environment.
“I see,” he managed, and as the old wave of shame came back he added, “I’m sorry your parentage isn’t more...normal.” As the boys got older and the questions started, he and Rick had decided to tell their sons that Tyler was their brother. Which was technically true, in a twisted pretzel kind of way.
William waved at his face with the cap in his hands. He was curiously unbothered by his parentage.
“It’s cool, really. Kinda weird, but…” now it was Bill’s turn to blush, under the summer sweat on his brow. “I don’t hate it.”
Tyler felt it then, his son’s expression filled with hidden lust and desire sparked something new in his body. His asshole, untouched by even his father, quivered in response and begin to dampen. His eyes widened.
Uh-oh…
It looked like maybe the Reynolds Curse wasn’t so dead after all.
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