Justin Timberlake slumped in the worn leather seat of his rental car, the engine ticking as it cooled in the driveway of his father's modest ranch house in Memphis. It was late afternoon, the Tennessee sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the quiet suburban street. At 44, Justin felt like a shadow of his former self—the Prince of Pop, reduced to tabloid fodder. The resurfaced scandals from his past haunted him: the messy breakup with Britney Spears in 2002, where he'd painted her as the villain in 'Cry Me a River'; the infamous Super Bowl wardrobe malfunction with Janet Jackson in 2004 that derailed her career while he skated by. And now, fresh wounds—the 2024 drunk driving arrest in the Hamptons, mugshot splashed across every outlet, and whispers of infidelity with Jessica Biel, his wife of over a decade, fueling divorce rumors. His latest album, 'Everything I Thought It Was,' had flopped harder than expected, critics calling it a desperate grab at relevance. He needed an escape, someone who understood without the glare of cameras. His father, Charles Randall Timberlake—Randy to most—had always been that anchor, hidden from the spotlight since his divorce from Lynn in 1986.
Justin grabbed the duffel bag from the passenger seat and knocked on the door. Randy opened it quickly, his face weathered but kind, graying hair cropped short, a flannel shirt over jeans. At 72, he moved with the steady gait of a man who'd built a quiet life as a manufacturing supervisor, far from the Hollywood chaos.
'Hey, son,' Randy said, pulling him into a firm hug. 'You look like hell. Come on in.'
The house smelled of fresh coffee and faint cigar smoke. They settled in the living room, cluttered with old NSYNC memorabilia Justin had sent over the years—posters from the 'No Strings Attached' tour, a framed platinum record from 'Celebrity.' Justin sank into the couch, rubbing his temples.
'Dad, it's all falling apart,' he started, voice low. 'The DUI... they won't let it go. And Jessica's been distant, asking questions about that waitress in Vegas. The media's eating me alive. I feel like I'm back in '02, hiding from the Britney fallout.'
Randy nodded, sitting across from him in a recliner, his eyes sharp. 'You've been through worse. Remember the Janet thing? You bounced back. This'll pass too. But you're here now. That's what matters.' He paused, a knowing glint in his eye. 'You need to unwind, like old times?'
Justin's pulse quickened. Old times. It had all ignited back in 1998, smack in the whirlwind of NSYNC's breakout frenzy. Justin, just turning 18, was drowning in the relentless grind—endless rehearsals, screaming fans, the suffocating weight of teen idol expectations. After a grueling concert in Nashville, he'd shown up at his dad's doorstep, exhausted and raw, crashing on the couch in a haze of post-show adrenaline crash. They talked late into the night, beers loosening their tongues, until vulnerability cracked open. Randy had pulled him close for what started as a comforting embrace, but their lips brushed, then pressed fully, the kiss igniting like a spark on dry tinder. It lingered, mouths opening, tongues tangling with a hunger that shocked them both. Hands wandered in the dim lamplight—Randy's callused palms sliding under Justin's shirt to trace his smooth back, Justin's fingers gripping his father's belt, tugging it loose. They stripped each other bare right there on the living room floor, cocks hardening as they explored forbidden territory: Justin dropping to his knees to suck his dad's thick shaft, gagging on the musky length while Randy groaned and fisted his curls; then Randy bending Justin over the armrest, spitting on his hole before thrusting in deep, pounding his ass until Justin came screaming, cum splattering the carpet. That first filthy night set the template for their secret ritual—every time the fame's pressure cooker boiled over, Justin fled to Randy's arms, where they'd fuck like animals, bodies slick with sweat and cum, indulging in the dirtiest urges no one else could touch. Jessica, his mother Lynn, the tabloid vultures—utterly oblivious. Randy's off-the-grid existence was the ultimate shield, letting them wallow in their incestuous depravity without a whisper leaking out.
'Yeah,' Justin whispered, leaning forward. 'I need it bad.'
Randy stood, extending a hand. 'Upstairs, then. Let's make you forget.'
In the master bedroom, the air was thick with anticipation, heavy with the promise of their twisted reunion. Randy locked the door with a click that echoed like a vow, then turned to Justin, his eyes dark with raw hunger. He cupped his son's face roughly, thumbs digging into the jawline, tilting it up. 'Give Daddy a kiss on the lips, baby,' Randy murmured, voice low and commanding, laced with that paternal filth that made Justin's gut twist in depraved excitement.
Justin whimpered softly, leaning in like a needy slut, their mouths crashing together in a sloppy, desperate mash. They kissed like two bitches in heat—lips smacking wetly, tongues thrusting and slurping obscenely, no grace or restraint, just pure animalistic need. Randy's stubble scraped Justin's chin raw as he sucked on his son's lower lip, biting down hard enough to draw a coppery trickle of blood that Justin lapped up greedily, their saliva mixing in thick strings that dripped down chins. Justin moaned into the kiss, his tongue probing deep into Randy's mouth, swirling around teeth and palate like he was fucking it, while Randy responded by grabbing a fistful of Justin's hair and yanking his head back slightly to spit a glob of warm drool straight onto his tongue before sealing their lips again. The kiss devolved into a messy frenzy, cheeks hollowing as they sucked faces, noses bumping, breaths ragged and hot, the wet sounds filling the room like pornographic symphony. Justin's hands clawed at Randy's back, nails raking through the shirt, while Randy groped his ass cheeks through the denim, fingers probing the cleft hard enough to make Justin grind forward, their crotches bumping with hardening bulges.
'God, I've missed this,' Justin gasped when they broke apart, strings of spit connecting their swollen lips, his mouth bruised and glistening.
'Me too, boy,' Randy growled, nipping at his earlobe before shoving him toward the bed. 'You're tense as a drum. Let me loosen you up.'
He guided Justin down onto the mattress, pushing him flat on his back. Randy knelt at the foot of the bed, unlacing Justin's sneakers with deliberate slowness, building the tension. Justin watched, his cock already straining, as his father peeled off the socks, revealing feet marked by faint calluses from endless stage stomps, toes curling in anticipation. Randy lifted one foot to his face, inhaling the musky scent deeply before pressing his lips to the arch, kissing the warm, slightly damp skin with open-mouthed reverence. His tongue dragged along the sole in broad, sloppy laps, collecting the salty residue of sweat from the long drive, savoring it like fine wine. Randy engulfed Justin's big toe, sucking it deep into his mouth with vulgar, slurping pulls, his cheeks hollowing as he bobbed, teeth nipping the sensitive pad. He worked to the next toes, tonguing the crevices between them, spit dripping down the heel which he massaged with rough, kneading fingers that pressed bruises into the flesh. A light bite on the ball of the foot made Justin arch off the bed, a whine escaping his throat, legs spreading wide to expose the bulge in his pants.
'Your feet are perfect, son. Always have been. Remember that time in the tour bus? I couldn't keep my hands off 'em.'
Justin nodded, lost in the haze, his dick leaking pre-cum into his boxers. 'Sucked me off under the blanket while the guys slept. You swallowed every drop while JC snored two bunks away, your spit dripping down my balls.'
Randy released the foot with a lewd pop, his beard slick with saliva and foot grime. 'Your turn to worship mine, boy. Make Dad feel good—show me how much you crave this nasty shit.' He kicked off his own boots and socks, propping his larger, weathered feet onto the bed—veins prominent, soles rough and hairy from decades of manual labor, carrying a potent, earthy reek that hit Justin like an aphrodisiac.
Justin scrambled down the bed on all fours, grabbing one ankle and hoisting the foot to his face. He buried his nose in the toes first, inhaling the pungent mix of leather, sweat, and faint dirt, his cock throbbing at the degradation. Then he attacked with his mouth, tongue rasping from heel to toes in one long, greedy swipe, lapping up the gritty flavor. Justin sucked each toe like a mini-cock, lips stretching wide around the thicker ones, head bobbing with wet, gagging enthusiasm, drool cascading down his chin. He nibbled the hardened calluses, thumbs digging into the arch to elicit grunts from Randy, then licked the instep with flat, pressing strokes, moaning whorishly. 'Taste so fucking good, Dad—like pure filth, like coming home to our dirty secrets.' He rubbed his cheeks against the sole, smearing the dampness across his face, even pressing his tongue into the wrinkles under the toes, cleaning every crevice while Randy jerked his cock lazily through his pants, pre-cum staining the fabric.
'Get naked, you little whore,' Justin demanded, voice thick with lust, dropping the foot with a wet smack.
They tore at their clothes in a frenzy—Randy's flannel ripped open, buttons flying, his jeans shoved down to reveal a thick, veined cock jutting from a nest of graying pubes, the head purple and oozing. Justin stripped faster, his toned, tattooed body exposed, abs flexing, his own dick slapping against his thigh, slick with arousal. They collided in another kiss, bodies slamming together, cocks sliding slickly in the space between bellies, hands everywhere—Randy pinching Justin's nipples until they reddened, Justin clawing red welts down his father's back.
Randy lunged for the nightstand, yanking out lube, a massive vibrating dildo ribbed for extra torment, a bulbous plug, and a thick red candle. 'Bought these thinking of your tight holes, son—gonna wreck you tonight.'
Justin's eyes gleamed with depraved glee. 'Deeper, Dad. Fuck me with it—make me your slut.'
Randy struck a match, lighting the candle and letting molten wax gather as he pumped Justin's cock with a vise-like grip, thumb smearing the leaking slit. 'On your back, arms up—hold still for Daddy's burn.' Justin obeyed, wrists pinned by Randy's iron hold. The first scalding drop splattered on his chest, right over a nipple, the sizzle drawing a sharp hiss from Justin as pain bloomed into throbbing heat, his hole twitching emptily.
Drops rained down relentlessly—crisscrossing his pecs, pooling in the ridges of his abs, trickling to his groin where the wax hardened on his balls, making them draw up tight. Randy leaned over, tongue lashing a cooled patch on the collarbone, licking the wax clean with rough swipes before biting the skin beneath, leaving teeth marks. 'You love this fire on your skin, don't you? Turns you into a dripping mess, begging for cock.' He drizzled a line along Justin's inner thigh, the heat making him buck, then blew cold breath to contrast, goosebumps erupting.
'On my dick—pour it, Dad, torture me,' Justin pleaded, hips jerking wildly.
Randy angled the candle, a thin, blistering rivulet hitting the shaft, watching veins pulse under the agony. Justin howled, the burn pushing him to the brink, but his cock only swelled harder, tip weeping. Randy slathered lube over the wax-coated length, stroking viciously, foreskin peeling back with each twist, pre-cum bubbling through the mess.
'Now open wide for the toy,' Randy commanded, greasing the dildo until it gleamed. He nudged the flared head against Justin's pucker, circling teasingly before shoving in, the girth splitting him open with a burn that had Justin's eyes watering. Inch after girthy inch invaded until it nudged his prostate, Randy cranking the vibration to medium, shallow thrusts grinding it deep. 'Take it like the slut you are—feel it buzz in your guts.'
'Deeper, Dad. Fuck me with it—make me your slut.' Justin begged, toes curling, sweat pouring.
Randy obliged, pounding the dildo with brutal force, angling to abuse every sensitive spot, his other hand fisting Justin's cock in sync, thumb plugging the slit to trap the building load. Their gazes burned together, the father-son perversion electric. 'So greedy for it, clenching like a virgin. Jessica could never fill you this nasty.'
The room reeked of sweat, lube, and wax as Randy yanked the toy free with a filthy schlorp, jamming three fingers in to stretch the gaping hole wider, knuckles deep, twisting to scoop at walls. 'Need to piss bad, boy—want Daddy's hot stream all over your worthless body?'
Justin's depravity surged, nodding frantically. 'Drown me in it—piss on your son's face, make me your urinal.'
Randy climbed onto the bed, straddling Justin's chest, cock hovering over his mouth. He unleashed a powerful jet, yellow and steaming, first blasting Justin's hair, soaking it dark, then arcing to his open mouth where he gulped the bitter flood, choking on the volume as it overflowed, cascading down his neck and chest in rivulets. Justin pawed at his skin, rubbing the warm piss into his pores, fingers dipping to his hole to finger himself with the slick urine. The acrid stench permeated everything, his balls drenched as the stream hit them, cock jerking untouched. 'Yes—claim me, Dad, soak every inch of your filthy spawn.'
Randy aimed the last spurts at Justin's eyes, blinding him temporarily, then shook droplets onto his tongue. 'Now feed me yours—piss down Daddy's throat like the good boy you are.'
Justin rose, fisting Randy's hair to force his mouth open wide. He pissed in heavy bursts, watching Randy swallow convulsively, Adam's apple bobbing, excess bubbling out to drench his beard and shirt, piss pooling in his lap. 'Drink it all, you dirty old fuck—taste how bad I need this.' Randy gargled the urine lewdly before hocking it back onto Justin's balls, then slurped them clean, tongue bathing the sac in noisy laps.
Randy flipped Justin face-down, ass high like an offering. 'Gonna breed this hole now.' He slathered his cock in lube mixed with piss remnants, battering the head against the rim before spearing in to the hilt, the invasion raw and unrelenting.
'Pound me—wreck your son's guts,' Justin sobbed, slamming back to meet each thrust.
Randy rutted like a beast, hips colliding with bruising slaps, balls smacking Justin's taint, one hand yanking hair to arch his back, the other slapping his ass red. They twisted for a sloppy kiss over the shoulder, tongues spearing amid grunts, Randy's teeth clashing Justin's in feral bites.
But the depths called. 'Time to get truly vile, son,' Randy snarled, withdrawing with a gush of lube. He squatted over Justin's back, cheeks spread wide, jerking his slick shaft. 'Beg for Daddy's load—my hot shit straight from the source.'
Justin's shame burned away in lust. 'Shit on me, Dad—dump your waste all over your boy's back, make me wallow in it.'
Randy strained, face contorting as a massive, steaming turd crowned, the foul, chocolatey aroma exploding—dense and acrid, laced with undigested bits. It slithered out in a fat coil, heavy and warm, splatting across Justin's spine, the heat radiating like a brand. Randy panted, breaking off chunks to mash into Justin's crack, fingers plunging the soft feces into his hole like a plug, smearing the sticky sludge over cheeks and balls, the mess squelching under his palm. 'That's it—Daddy's crap owning you, painting your skin brown and nasty.' He daubed a fingerful toward Justin's mouth, who sucked it ravenously, moaning like a whore, gagging on the bitter, gritty sludge, tongue cleaning bones from the turd while humping the bed.
Randy smeared his cock through the filth, then re-entered Justin's ass with a plunge, the scat acting as vile lubricant, creating sloppy, farting sounds with each thrust, the warmth enveloping his length. Justin scooped handfuls of the mess to stroke his cock, the texture pushing him into frenzy, ass clenching around the invading meat.
Justin shattered first, orgasm ripping through him, cum erupting in thick jets onto the piss-soaked sheets, body spasming as waves of taboo ecstasy hit. 'Dad—oh god, your shit's making me cum so hard—'
Randy hammered deeper, flooding Justin's bowels with ropes of thick semen, the mix churning inside. He slumped, then rolled them side by side, grabbing a towel to wipe the worst—though brown streaks and piss stains clung stubbornly. Drawing Justin close, Randy captured his lips in a final, languid kiss, tongues lazily sharing the cocktail of flavors: scat bitterness, urine tang, cum saltiness, all underpinned by their unbreakable bond.
'Feel better now, baby?' Randy whispered, fingers tracing a wax scar on Justin's thigh.
'Fuck yes,' Justin breathed, burrowing into his chest, inhaling the reek of their debauchery. 'Ready to dive back into the world's bullshit.'
They entwined in the afterglow, the depravity sealing their secret tighter, the outside world forever blind to the depths of their perversion.
