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, sex involving supernatural elements, dubious consent, non-consensual recording/voyeurism, aspects of erotic mind control, and themes involving dominance and submission. Any resemblance to real persons and events is purely coincidental. Please consider your tastes and comfort levels and show discretion before reading, voting or commenting on this work.
Positive and/or constructive comments are always appreciated at: [email protected]
If you enjoy my writing and use social media, consider following me on Bluesky at: https://bsky.app/profile/mikeharrigan.bsky.social
I.
When Justin finally dragged himself from bed at 9:45 AM, a cardinal sin in the Collins household, he had already prepared himself for the expected ridicule. To his parents, the early bird didn’t just get the worm, it cleaned out the whole dang garden and swooped back for seconds. Stepping into the family kitchen, a minimalist affair more suited to an East Coast aesthetic than the warmer, breezy vibes of Orange County, he felt the icy chill smack him in the face long before any words were spoken.
Seated at the oversized island, the designated breakfast spot, Elaine and Steven were engaged in a heated discussion. Discussion was a polite way to put it. It was the kind of “productive conversation” that the US and the USSR used to have with each other as they held their itchy fingers over the red, nuclear launch button. The tension was so thick, Justin could have cut it with a knife and serve it for dinner.
“I can’t believe you are serious,” Elaine Cunningham-Collins, Justin’s mother, barked at Steven. “You are so unbelievably ungrateful!” Justin’s head swiveled over to his father Steven, hunched over his toast like a dog about to get smacked with a newspaper.
“El, honey, I already explained-” Elaine’s pointer finger shot up like like a pistol, a sure fire sign you were on her shit list.
“Don’t you honey me, buddy!” she barked back. “I can’t believe we are even having this conversation. This was all for you for god’s sake!” Justin ignored his dad’s likely useless rebuttal, letting the words sink into a droning “whah whah whah” that played in the background, as he instead sauntered off to the far edge of the island where his older sister Natalie was watching the match between their parents with the bored fascination of a dedicated fan stuck watching an old rerun.
He sat down on a stool next to her, gently ripping her as he did so, which earned him a soft smack in return. He leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper into her ear, brushing the brunette locks that matched Elaine’s off her ear.
“I bet you’re so happy you came home for college for Dad’s 50th now, aren’t you?” Natalie said nothing to that, sipping on her chamomile with both hands and giving her younger brother her best bored cat side-eye.
“Just business as usual,” she muttered, finishing the last sip. She sat the cup down on the counter, no coaster. Normally Elaine would jump down her throat about that, but mother was grilling a bigger catch at the moment. Justin leaned forward, resting his broad chin on his hands. His eyes, partially obscured by his thick muddy blonde bangs, his most distinguished Collins trait, bounced back and forth between his parents, an audience member watching a tennis match that he wished he could set on mute.
“So...what’s got them worked up this time?” he asked his sister from the corner of his mouth. Beside him, Natalie snorted, whether from his question or what she saw on her phone screen who could say.
“Steven decided he’s skipping his own 50th birthday vacation,” she replied drolly. “Big mistake.”
That was putting it lightly. To be fair to his mom, who was always wound tighter than a drum, he too would be livid as hell if Dad had pulled that on him. It was no secret to anyone, even his oldest sister who had only come back home from college for the trip, that Elaine had been slaving away planning the trip. After all, you only turned 50 once, and that was doubly so for a man of Steven Collins’ standard.
For the longest time, Justin had always thought of his life as normal. Didn’t everyone’s parents run two hugely successful companies and rake in millions of dollars every year? It really wasn’t until middle school, when he began to venture beyond the gated communities and exotic vacation villas of his youth that he started to get taste of how the other half lived. No, it turned out most boys didn’t have an internationally recognized lawyer mother or a real estate agent father to the rich and powerful of California state at their beck and call.
This was not to say that Justin felt guilty. No, far from it, the discrepancy simply cemented in his mind that he was born of privileged stock and destined for greater things. Now, if only he could figure out what that greater thing actually was…
His meager self-musings were interrupted by the clatter of Elaine’s coffee mug in the kitchen sink. It seemed mother’s caffeine-free diet regiment had gone down the same road as her patience. She wheeled on her husband, her severe brunette bob swaying with the motion.
“I swear to god Steven...if you do this…” she actually paused then, perhaps the only time Justin could recall her having a lack of words, but then he realized she was just prepping the bomb. “There’s no coming back from that.” The words hung wet and heavy in the air, like a gasleak waiting for an idiot to light a match. Justin and Natalie exchanged a quick look. Oh shit.
“Honey…” Steven started, trying for sweet but only hitting pathetic. “I just can’t get out of it…”
Justin watched it happen in real time, the gates of his mother’s affection for his father closing on her heart. Elaine didn’t say anything more. She knew when a case was hopeless. And a marriage. She just walked past Steven, her husband of almost 25 years as if she was passing a stranger on the street.
Justin saw the expression on his dad’s face, the reality of what had happened and it was like he aged decades in a single moment. Then, with the practiced ease of a man well used to selling a dud, he smiled weakly at his two children, his good nature and tanned looks contrasting with a mouth of gleaming white teeth.
“Guess I messed that one up pretty bad, huh kids,” he said, self-appreciatively. The urge to roll his eyes was severe, but Justin wouldn’t give his dad the credit. Instead he pulled his own phone from his loose hanging sweats and copying his sister, began to doomscroll his way through the rest of breakfast.
-----
II.
The rest of the day was mercifully uneventful, one might even say boring. Justin, who was usually fishing for fun at the first sign of tedium, had let himself sink into the comforting monotony of the day. There was a strange feeling in the air that he couldn’t quite place. He thought at first that it was the impending dissolution of his parent’s marriage, but that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t something that had erupted overnight like a surprise volcano. No, what had started out as minor differences between Steven and Elaine, a small creek of insecurity, had filled in and widened more and more, year by year, until it had finally grown into a river too wide to be passed over without the sturdiest of boats. The end of the Cunningham-Collins marriage wasn’t a shock, it was an inevitability.
He tried to focus on what the strange feeling could be. He knew, deep in his heart, that it had something to do with his father, the big doofus, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure it out. Spending too much time thinking about the eldest Collins man carried its own risks, so he tried to distract himself with his introductory criminology classes at UCLA (a meager attempt at a career path), but his perturbed mind refused to focus on the whining drone of voices babbling about topics he couldn’t bring himself to care about.
The question still haunted him even after he showered and prepped himself for bed. It was still early spring, not even April yet, but already he could feel a sticky, almost prickly heat in his bedroom. Good thing I sleep naked, he thought to himself, stretching his lanky arms and legs, nearly as tanned as his father’s, across his queen-sized mattress. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. He could feel himself stirring down by his groin, a tiny twitch that promised far more if Justin only took the bait. No shocker there, he was only 19 after all, but the heat in the house felt like something else. It made his head throb in a way that was making him a little dizzy.
He let his mind wander to the usual suspects, the ones he liked to turn to for these private moments for himself. His sophomore year history teacher, Mr. Beechum who he had dumped his first nut into. The delectable Coach Stevens who had popped his cherry butt senior year, and most recently, the ridiculously named Rick Springfield, a well built, well hung, one-time tight end that more than lived up to his former position’s namesake.
Rick was Justin’s latest conquest, the newest in a string of slutty, daddy types. This one was a little more challenging and risky: Rick worked with his dad at Collins Co. Realty. The danger of fucking his own dad’s coworker, knowing that he was plucking forbidden fruit with each encounter, just made every orgasm that much sweeter. And inversely, only served to drive home the point of all these older male fuckbuddies he had accumulated over the last few years. As if on cue, Justin’s rampantly horny thoughts drifted to the source of his wildest imaginings.
It really wasn’t his fault he wanted to fuck his dad. Seriously, how many other dads seemed to work so hard to make themselves look like a piece of prime fuckmeat. When Justin was 10 years old, Steven, always looking for some challenge to commit himself to, had joined the Church of Crossfit and never looked back. He wasn’t “shredded” or arrogant about it though. Steven Collins didn’t have a competitive bone in his body so how he had managed to climb the ladder to become one of the biggest real estate agents in the state was truly beyond Justin’s understanding. He couldn’t say a single bad thing about his dad’s body though. No, that physique, toned within an inch of its nearly 50 years of life was a thing of breathtaking beauty.
Steven was always trying to get Justin to go with him, flexing his trimmings like a trussed up turkey, but Justin took every chance he could to avoid it. He told his dad he preferred running and swimming, which was technically true, but the real reason was that he couldn’t sit there watching his old man strain his body, muscles sweating and bulging, without popping a first-class boner. So, no Crossfit for the youngest Collins.
Now that he had planted the image in his mind, he knew it wasn’t going anywhere unless he took matters into his own hand. With his eyes already closed, he wrapped a fist around his erection, the feeling of his palm comforting and familiar. As he stroked up and down, he pictured the scene in his head: Steven Collins, deep in the throes of his workout, sweating profusely as he did squat after squat, causing his firm, but deliciously plump glutes to bug out. Biting his lip and stifling a groan, he stroked himself in time to this phantom dad’s movements, each imaginary set inching him closer to the finish line, all the while he promised himself it would just be for a few more moments before he went back to a saner fantasy.
That was when he heard the words and everything changed.
“Go away.”
Justin paused, his eyes popped open, thinking someone was talking to him. Then he heard more murmurs, quieter now, coming from the wall to the right of him. The quest room. It clicked then, Steven was in the doghouse with Elaine, so he was banished to the guest room indefinitely. He smirked, unkindly. No surprise there, really. It wasn’t the first time his old man had slept in that bed instead of with his mom, and it sure wasn’t going to be the last now.
Justin gave his drooping cock a few more weak tugs, but the low, unintelligible chatter from next door was too distracting to focus on the task, like someone playing a TV show too loud from a distant room while you were trying to sleep. Groaning to himself in annoyance, he let his softening cock drop uselessly onto his lap and sat up. If he was going to be kept up, he might as well get some entertainment out of it, right?
Rising to his feet now, he quietly slipped across his room and pressed his ear against the wall. There was still more of that chatter from before. He could make out the sound of his father’s voice, the familiar timbre and rattle of it, but he still couldn’t make out any words. As he continued to listen, he felt confusion descend upon him as he realized he couldn’t hear any voices but his dad’s.
Justin frowned, unsure exactly what to make of this entire situation. Was his dad having some weird dream? Was all of the matrimonial drama finally making him crack? It wouldn’t be the first time a Collins man had flown over the cuckoo’s nest. Justin’s paternal pondering was put on pause when he heard what sounded an awful lot like a moan coming from the other room. Justin’s eyebrows rose, his baby blues pointing at the wall with rapt interest. What he wouldn’t give to have some X-ray vision right about now.
Justin kept listening, holding his breath and not moving a muscle, as if the tiniest creep might break some kind of spell. That’s truly what it felt like. There was an energy in the air, like static electricity and he could feel his cock beginning to throb again, reinvigorated by these curious developments. C’mon, Dad...gimme another moan. What he got instead was more babble, but louder this time, and he was able to piece together a few words and phrases.
“You said….isn’t supposed….still have time….days….” There was a long pause, thick with an almost unbearable tension, and then an unmistakable groan from beyond the wall. Justin couldn’t be sure if it was a moan of pleasure or a groan of pain, but whatever it was, it sure wasn’t a happy sound.
He continued to listen, smooth jaw clenched, straining to detect even the faintest sounds of movement, but after several blank minutes, nothing. Whatever had happened in the guest room was over. He stepped away from the wall, trying to make sense of what he just heard, and then realized he had a far more pressing issue to deal with. Glancing down between his legs, he noticed the way his cock was standing at attention on top of his well-trimmed bush, a bead of precum already forming at the head. He smirked. He wasn’t sure if his old man got off or not, but he knew for a fact he was going to.
Jumping back in bed, he spread his legs wide, letting his fit, but more modest form take up all the space he wanted. He always liked doing that when he was getting off. It made him feel like a king on a throne. As he stroked up and down his length, precum easing the slide with each pass, he let his mind drift to all the hunky men he wanted to dump a load in. But one man, the wrong man, had settled back into his thoughts with a vengeance and wasn’t going away anytime soon. Justin huffed, not liking the taste of defeat, but was too wound up to fight anymore.
He pictured his dad in his head. Something about the guest room incident unnerved him, so he fell back on that steady and reliable jerk off fantasy: his dad training at the gym like some kind of Crossfit fuckboy. He could picture it clearly in his mind. His dad, already shining with a gleaming sheen of sweat, his breathable tank clutching to his shoulders and abs like a second skin. His old man crouched, his hands gripping a barbell with a familiar, practiced ease. His posture was perfect, every leg muscle bulging in just the right way, unconsciously presenting himself as a perfect specimen of masculine flesh.
Justin’s strokes were lightning fast now, the sound of wet, taut skin filling the room and that old musky smell that was uniquely his sex. He honed in on the perfect image, the one guaranteed to push him off the cliff. Steven, barbell held high, lowering and raising, all the while the older man’s compact ass, squeezed into a pair of too tight compression shorts, looked ready to bulge and rip the fabric. He saw it then, in his mind’s eyes, and his imagination was so strong, he could have sworn he heard it as well.
On the furthest crouch, when Steven’s buns were pushing the shorts to their utmost limit, the unthinkable happened and the fabric ripped in half. With no compression shorts left to contain his dignity and already in a stressed position, Justin saw his father’s muscular cheeks spread open, giving Justin and the gym an eyeful of a blonde-haired, virgin butthole. The hole winked once, and a drop of sweat escaped from the pucker and dripped down the older man’s taint to settle on top of his ball sack.
Justin grunted and his spooge shot across the bed, nearly hitting him in the face. He took it in the chin though, quite literally, and after the final splurt, Justin’s breathing began to settle down to something more manageable. He lay there, limp and spent, and cursed himself for giving into the temptation once gain. Collins men were supposed to be better than that.
----
III.
When Justin entered the kitchen the next day, even later than the previous morning, he found the room already deserted. It seemed any member of his family worth their salt had already risen and committed themselves towards a long day of productivity. He did a quick glance around the house, just to doublecheck and make sure no one was really home, and trusting that the coast was clear, he stepped back into the kitchen and straight to the pantry, bypassing the grains, boxes, and cans and straight to the good stuff: Elaine’s top shelf tequila.
The sound of ice cubes in glass and then the pouring of fine booze were like music to Justin’s ears. He took a sip, allowing the harsh sweetness to burn its way down his throat as he pondered last night’s events. He had sworn to himself that he would stop fantasizing about his own father, but yet again he had failed. It was more than humiliating, it was downright unhealthy, but could he really be blamed when those sounds, whatever they were, kept coming from the room next door? No young man should have to live, much less sleep next to such a temptation.
Downing the last of his drink, dimly hearing the glass clink on the countertop, and after letting the dizziness pass, he busied himself around the house doing one of his favorite activities: not a god damn thing. It was rare that Justin was left alone without one of the harpies flapping their wings at him about “being productive”, and he was going to milk the moment for as long as it was worth.
That was the scene that Steven Collins, soaked through his gym trainers from his run, walked in on as he marched through the front door. He was walking past the living room, a staid but tasteful beige affair meant to marry both parents’ styles, but succeeding only in boring everyone involved and skidded to a halt when he caught a glimpse of his youngest child sprawled across the couch, his feet hanging over the edge, a big bag of greasy chips on his lap as he binge watched afternoon game shows. Steven marched into the room, sweat dripping, a disapproving look on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Young man, if your mother catches you, she’s going to flay you alive,” he says, standing at his full height, arms crossed. Justin only glanced away from the TV for a moment, before turning his attention back to the multicolored spinning wheel on the big screen.
“What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he muttered, as if daring his dad to question his superior 19 year old logic. His eyes narrowed and he shouted at the screen, “Buy a vowel! Buy a vowel!”
“I’ll make sure and remind her you said that when she starts to crack the whip,” Steven said, smirking to himself. His eyes fixated on the screen for a moment, watching Vanna White turn the lit squares to show the letter “A”, and he said lowly to his son. “Got space for your old man, Justin?”
Justin made a show of considering it, but he was ready to open his legs and let his dad settle in between them the minute the sweaty old man walked through the front door. Justin lifted his thighs, well aware of the image he presented, but Steven, either ignoring it or not catching the undertone, said nothing. He settled down on the corner cushion, his son’s legs coming down on top of his lap not dissimilar to a safety rail on a rollercoaster. With his dad pinned in position, Justin watched as the sweaty man began to stick to the dark leather.
“Mom’s going to kill you if she see you stinking up her furniture,” he teased, and Steven returned his joking comment with a distinctly familiar one of his own.
“What Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he said, snatching the crinkled bag of chips from his son and grabbing a fist full, before tossing it back, where it spilled fried spuds between them.
The pair, settling down into an old, but rarely engaged father-son bonding ritual, spending the next 20 minutes arguing at the television and debating the merits of various consonants. Justin didn’t think much of it at the time, but he would look back to this simple moment many times in the future.
“No, T. T!” Justin barked, “Not F, you fucking moron!” Steven slapped his leg, feeling the tense muscle jutter on his lap.
“Language, mister!” he said, but secretly agreed with his son. It was the obvious choice.
Once the show was over and a lucky guest won an all-paid trip to Maui, the pair now faced the challenge of having an actual conversation between them. Steven rubbed up and down his son’s bare shins, a movement designed to be paternal, but coming across far too inappropriately carnal to Justin’s teenage hormonal state of mind. The problem wasn’t that Justin wanted his dad to stop. It was that he wanted it to never stop.
Justin lifted his legs off his dad’s lap, goosebumps covering his smooth flesh, and shifted in his seat before his body could react and give away his true desires. He hunched forward, avoiding the concerned, slightly hurt expression on Steven’s face. Chancing a glance to the side, he changed the subject, ready to take the upper hand.
“What was going on in the guest room last night?” Justin saw it then. His father’s handsome face, currently smiling, froze, a deer caught in the headlights. His dad didn’t respond at first, just carried that short circuited expression on his face, like a broken Motel sign. When he spoke, his words came out quiet and slow, a machine playing a recorded message.
“What do you mean?” Justin studied the blank expression on Steven’s face. He was used to a certain placid blankness that Steven would adapt from time to time. A carefree dad face that took any insult flung at it and bounced it off like rubber. That was his dad’s usual, pitiful M.O., but this was something else, something with more weight. He couldn’t be sure, because he had never seen the expression on his dad’s face before, but it felt awful similar to fear.
“I don’t know what you were doing in there. Just...lots of noise. Like words and grunting and stuff…” It was obvious that he was expecting his dad to clarify what that all meant, but his old man seemed to have other ideas. The scared, but not scared face lifted, almost by magic and Steven gave him a goofy, lopsided grin.
“Ah, well, I’m not too sure about that, but…” he scratched the back of his head, another of his “Aw, Schucks” mannerisms. “I was having some awful funny dreams…” Now he smiled widely at his son, back in his prime. “I bet I said all kinds of weird things in my sleep.” Justin raised an eyebrow at that.
“Yeah, I guess. I sounded like you said Go Away at one point,” It happened then, just for a second, just a sliver of a moment. The mask broke and a look of unmistakable exposure came over Steven’s handsome face. He suddenly looked 80 years old. Then he was back, the laid-back Crossfit bro, always eager to make a new bud and sell another condo at the same time.
“Wow, must have been some kind of nightmare,” Steven said with a quiet chuckle. Justin returned the awkward sound with one of his own. This was another new one, and an uncomfortable one at that. His dad was actively hiding something from him. He tried his best to give Steven a sympathetic look.
“You sure it was just a nightmare?” he asked quietly, completely uncharacteristic for him. At that, Steven’s eyes widened just a fraction and then seemed to melt into a more genuine warmth. He set his hand on his son’s knee.
“Yeah, bud. Just a dream. Nothing to worry about,” he said, soothingly rubbing his hand across the protrusion. Justin nodded along, giving his understanding, while beneath his own good son mask he realized that something disturbing was happening right in front of him. Steven was lying to him.
“That’s good, Dad. Real good.”
----
IV.
In retrospect, the text to Rick was bound to happen. It wasn’t just that Justin was a horny young man. He most certainly was, no doubt about that, and Rick would put out for him at the drop of a hat, no questions asked. It was something else, something hazy and indefinable hanging in the air at the Collins household. He had felt it last night, thick and cloying, and he could feel it creeping back after his unnerving talk on the couch with Steven. It set Justin on edge, and when Justin was on edge, he took that edge off by dropping a load in an eager hole.
The drive to Rick’s condo was pretty short by Orange Country standards, usually 20 minutes or even 15 if the traffic gods were on your side that night. He made it in 13, breaking numerous rules of the road to get to his destination as fast as humanly possible, his loins feeling ready to burst. When he knocked on the door, always a knock, never the doorbell, Rick opened it in one smooth motion, a huge grin plastered on his thick face.
Now, to be clear, Rick wasn’t the most traditionally handsome guy in the world. He had a short, stubby gait that brought to mind an overeager bulldog, and a face that wasn’t far off either, but what Rick might have lacked in stereotypical hotness, he more than made up for with an eager, daddy wants to please, can-do attitude. It had actually started when Justin was 18, and no, Rick didn’t pursue him. Justin was rarely approached, and certainly not by the kind of men he was almost painfully attracted to, which was most of his problem. On the evening he had met Rick, he had been stood up by his usual slut, so he was more than ready to gamble when Rick had slyly commented on good looks running in the Collins family.
The first time had been a quick, messy affair, a no-strings attached blowjob in the closet during a company party, and when Justin spilled his first load down the man’s hungry, bulky throat, he knew he had found his new, steady hole. The look Rick had given him as he let the Justin’s cock slip from his mouth was just short of adoration. They had graduated from oral to anal by the second “date”, and had never looked back.
This time they barely made it into Rick bedroom, before he was pushing the stocky man onto his hands and knees, the best position for a man like Rick Springfield to be in. He tested the hole, prelubed just like a good slut but still snappy like a rubberband. He tested the waters with one finger, Rick keeping his bald held lowered the way Justin liked it, and after pushing in to the last knuckle with almost no resistance, he knew the older man was good to go.
The entry was as smooth for his cock as it had been for his digit, and Justin soon set a brisk pace, watching Rick’s fat cheeks bounce as he took the Collins cock. Rick had a Goldilocks ass, not too small, not too big, just right. More importantly, while Rick had a solid bit of muscle buried under the layer of bulky fat, he was in no way, shape, or form a carbon copy of Steven Collins. Justin would never admit it out loud, but the stark difference between the two men mixed with the taboo of their working relationship scratched around the edge of Justin’s erotic obsession. He got to fuck near his dad with a worthy substitute without feeling like he was actually trying to fuck Steven Collins.
That discrepancy was usually enough for Justin to focus on his task, to stay in the room with his latest sexual conquest. It was normally so easy to fall into the tight folds of Rick’s welcoming asshole that he didn’t have the need or desire to let his mind wander. Tonight was a different matter. It seemed that no matter how fast he moved, how tight Rick’s rectal muscles squeezed and no matter how sweet the sounds he made, a familiar man wouldn’t leave his thoughts.
Go Away. Steven had lied about the dream. He could tell by how clear the words had been, clear enough to hear them through the wall, that Steven had been awake when he spoke. He had been talking to someone, but who? And why? Then there were the moans and the...pleading? He couldn’t be sure, he wanted to tell himself there was another explanation, but that was what it sounded like over the broken connection.
The thought made his blood boil, and his thrusts quickened, enough to make Rick’s deep baritone moans rise an octave in surprise. Someone had made Steven beg. Collins men didn’t beg. No one should have been able to make Steven beg except…
It hit him then, the image of himself in the room, taking his pleasure from Steven’s body, his dad panting the words. “Still have time...days…” He was so overwhelmed by the thought, that he almost missed his own orgasm, but was brought back to reality when Rick chuckled out a hearty, “Hell yeah, get that nut, Justin!” The orgasm felt less like a release and more like losing a piece of himself inside Rick’s hungry body.
The pullout was a sloppy matter, his wet dick making Rick’s hole gape and spill some of the seed still feebly shooting from his dick. The sheets would need a good wash after this, but Justin didn’t much care. That was Springfield’s concern not his. He tucked himself back into his pants, gave Rick’s ass a playful slap, and zipped himself up, blowing on a few damp hairs sticking to his forehead.
“Thanks man, I needed that,” he said, catching his breath. “I feel about 10 pounds lighter.” It was an old joke, but only partially true. He did feel better, are at least lighter, but that sense of ease didn’t extend to the thoughts running through his head. “I’ll text you again later, alright?” he said, already turning away and heading toward the door. The transaction was over, now it was time to get back to the real issue. Who the hell was harassing his dad? And why did it sound like they were having sex with him? He had only just cum, but the thought made his blood burn straight to his still damp groin.
-----
V.
When Justin arrived home, the Collins house felt eerily deserted. Everyone had already retired to bed, or something like it, so he snuck down the narrow hallways, shadows dancing in the pale light, back to his room, where he quickly locked the door. Breathing a short sigh of relief at having dodged a truancy bullet, he felt the exhaustion of the day set in. He had only been in his sanctuary for a few minutes, nearly naked now except for his boxers, when he heard it again. The telltale sounds of masculine panting coming from the guest room next door.
Instantly, before common sense or decency could get in the way, he pressed his ear back against the wall, a repeat of the night before. He strained his hearing, trying to make out the sounds in more detail, hoping for a stray word or comment to pierce through the veil between their domains and shed some light on the mystery hanging over his father. His cock, even though it had spent less than an hour ago, was already rock hard in his shorts.
Justin fondled himself absentmindedly, feeling a queer fog settle over his mind. His skin was sticky with sweat and he wasn’t even fucking. He hadn’t felt warm when he entered the house at all, but now the air in his bedroom felt almost stifling. A particularly loud squeal punched into his eardrum, and his eyes widened in shocked delight. A fat drop of pre soaked into the cotton tent on his groin, staining the strained garment. He bit his lip, hard enough to make his eyes water. His free hand, the one not trying to start a fire on his crotch, clawed quietly against the primer on the wall, as if wanted to tear apart the plaster and assault his father himself.
“Oh god…” he heard a muffled voice say, and his eyes widened as he realized it was his dad. Fuck yes. Give me more. He had to take a deep intake of breath, steadying himself on his feet, he was feeling so light headed. He felt the cool drip of drool on his chin and wiped at his mouth with an embarrassed laugh. He could feel himself rising to that peak again. Please...just a little more. As if heard by a dark god, his obscene prayers were answered.
“Stop it...you’re going to make me…!!!” Justin heard it clearly, a sound he was well familiar with under less bizarre circumstances. It was the sound of an orgasmic scream being muffled by a pillow. The realization of what he was hearing was like a gunshot going off in his head, and his hand, which had been stroking his cock at a fever pitch, sprayed a torrent of cum all over his wall. It was a monumental orgasm, even bigger than the one with Rick a mere hour ago. As the final splurts subsided, a wave of lightheadedness came over him and he began to collapse again the wall, his head connecting with plaster.
For one horrible minute, as he slowly slumped to the ground, he thought his dad had heard him, but when no further sounds came from the guest room, he allowed himself to release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. With a cheek pressed against the wall, eyes honed in on the streaks of white slowly dripping down toward the carpet, he thought to himself, Where did the other person go?
-----
V.
The next morning, Justin came to earlier than he normally would have. He had managed to drag himself across his room to his bed and had passed out before he could even slip himself under the sheets. He was the furthest thing from rested. A real doozy of a headache was hammering away behind his eyes, but he forced himself up out of bed and into his bathroom. He stood in the shower for a long time, just standing there slouched against the tiles, his mind racing, as the water continued to cascade down his trim body unabated, all as the thoughts began to slowly clear in his mind. By the time the water had shifted to lukewarm and on its way to cold, he had begun to form the beginnings of a plan.
His first battle of the day occurred nearly the moment he set foot in the kitchen.
Elaine, struggling a bit with a pair of overstuffed suitcases, relaxed her deathgrip on the handles long enough to turn her attention to her youngest brood. Justin hadn’t bothered to put on much more than some jeans, his skin still feeling prickly from last night even after his lengthy shower. He needed a glass of water badly, but that meant walking into the minefield.
“I hope you’ve been packing, Justin,” Elaine said, full Mom voice. “We’re leaving for the airport in two hours whether you are fully ready or not.” She didn’t even bother to look directly at him, just continued with her mission of manhandling her luggage. He grounded himself, feet flat on the floor, a fighter about to enter combat.
“I’m not going,” Justin said.
Elaine’s motions halted and a deathly silence fell over the room. From her seat of the island, Natalie’s eyes widened and darted between mom and brother at a breakneck pace, a spoon full of yogurt still hanging in her mouth. Elaine didn’t turn around when she spoke.
“I’m going to pretend you just made a very bad joke. A very ill-considered one,” she said quietly, her frame tight in mounting tension. For a second, Justin almost backed down, that’s how strong Elaine’s domineering influence ran, before the memory of his father’s shattered orgasm came back to him.
“I meant every word I said.” She was on him in flash, finger wagging in his face as he backed into the hallway.
“No! I spent too much time and too much damn money on this trip to have both of you ungrateful boys ruin it,” she hissed, eyes full of righteous fury. Her voiced dropped and quieted. “I’m warning you, Justin. Don’t be a fool and make the same mistake as your father.” Justin opened his mouth to respond, to bite back at her accusation, but before a word could leave his parted lips, someone else beat him to it.
“What’s going on down there?” Justin and Elaine’s heads swiveled, mirror images of each other and landed upon the disheveled appearance of Steven Collins. Steven was standing in the middle of the hallway, halfway between the doors to the guest room and his son’s. He hadn’t showered or shaved and was dressed only in an old Collins company t-shirt and loose fitting gym shorts. Justin was only slightly grateful when Elaine turned her indignation away from him and onto his poor father.
“You’re idiot son was just telling me he’s not going to Aspen either,” she said, the unspoken accusation only shallowly buried in her voice. Steven looked back at his wife, baffled, and turned his attention to his son.
“Really, Justin? Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. Elaine huffed in annoyance and snapped her finger at him.
“Nevermind why! Tell him he has to go, Steven!” he snapped at him. Steven’s eyes burrowed and he slid past his wife’s irate form to come up next to his son. A warm, concerned expression came over his face.
“Justin, bud,” he said, falling back to the little kid terms of endearment he always used whenever he wanted something from his son. “I really think you should go on this trip.” He placed a gentle hand on Justin’s shoulder and Justin bounced back as if stung.
“No way, Dad. If you aren’t going, neither am I.” Steven stared into Justin’s eyes deeply, the irises probing, and for one terrifying moment, Justin was convinced he knew what was going on, but then Steven reverted back to his beach bum Dad personality and turned bashfully to his wife.
“Sorry, hun,” he said, looking like he wanted to shrug his shoulders. “He seems pretty set on staying.” The look of dismay on Elaine’s face soon morphed into one of open disgust. She shook her head, her strings of pearls bouncing in anger.
“Unbelievable...absolutely unbelievable,” A newfound strength came to her then and she barked across the hall into the kitchen, “Natalie, pack your shit up and call up your friends,” she gave both Collins men a dismissive glare. “This birthday bash is now a girls’ trip.” Then, barging between the pair, she marched down the hall, grabbed her luggage, and was out the door, not bothering to close it behind her.
Natalie stepped into hallway, gave her dad and brother a “What the fuck are you two even thinking!?” look, before pulling her phone from her pocket and started making calls. Steven, another long weary expression of defeat on his face, stared at the open front door.
“Sorry, Dad,” Justin mumbled, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. “I just made things worse for you and Mom, didn’t I?” Steven turned back to his son, his sad look melting into one of paternal affection. He looked as if he wanted to give Justin a tight dad hug, but thought better of it, and settled instead on a shoulder slap.
“Don’t worry, bud,” he said heartily, back in Dad mode. “It’s nothing you need to worry about…” he turned away from Justin then and marched down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom with a working shower. As he closed the door behind him, Justin was just barely able to hear him mutter out, “...not anymore.”
Justin stood in the hallway for a long moment, listening to the sounds of his sister excitedly chatting up her friends with the new plans and distantly the sound of a shower coming to life. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, suddenly wanting a drink of something much heavier than water. Elaine would forgive him eventually, he was certain of that, but he now knew in the depth of his heart that something very wrong was going on with his father, and by god he was going to get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing he did.
-----
VI.
Justin knew without a doubt that something strange and sexually frightening was happening to his father, right underneath the Collins family’s nose. He didn’t understand exactly what it was. Some kind of blackmail or coercion? Whatever Steven was doing in there sounded...fraught in a way that concerned and aroused Justin in equal measure. His investigation in his father’s nocturnal activities, if you wanted to call it that, had hit a literal wall that couldn’t be climbed over. But that wasn’t going to be enough to stop a Collins boy, especially one as enterprising as Justin Collins.
The plan was simple enough on paper. If he couldn’t actually be in the room to see and expose Steven’s dirty little secret, he would do the next best thing. It turns out hidden cameras are shocking easy to come by if you do a little bit of digging, and it just so happened that Justin had previously stumbled upon a very eager source back at UCLA.
Derek Hollander was a bonafide nerd of the first degree. The kind who would have gotten pantsed or dumped in a trash can everyday back in high school but was now on the fast track to a primo office in Silicon Valley and a model girlfriend that would blow him no matter how dorky he looked. Not that he suspected Derek really had much interest in girls, because Justin knew from experience that wimpy little Hollander had a big fat crush on him. Until now, he would have never given the dweep the time of day. Justin was built for bigger and better conquests. But now Derek had something Justin needed and every boy had his price.
Justin had to apply a much gentler touch on Derek than he did with most of the game he hunted. The kid wasn’t much different than a mouse, skittish at the first sign of trouble and ready to run for the nearest hole in the wall. Naturally, Derek hadn’t believed or trusted Justin when he came knocking on the shy boy’s dorm room door and started sweet talking him. It turned out that Hollander had more brains than Justin had initially gave him credit for.
“I’m just going to be straight with you, Derek,” Justin said, beginning to unbutton his belt. “You’ve got something need. Something I need fast,” the belt clattered to the floor and rolled into a tight spiral like a sleepy rattlesnake. Derek’s wide eyed gaze at him was just precious. Justin stepped forward and pushed the bridge of Derek’s glasses back into position on his face, which had begun to droop as Justin exposed more of his toned flesh.
“Wha-what are you doing, Justin?” Derek finally asked, finding his voice at the last minute. Justin’s shirt came off next and with a gentle toss it glided across the room to land on the back of Derek’s desk chair.
“I’m giving you what you want, dummy,” he whispered, thumbs gripping the waistband of the too tight briefs he had intentionally worn to torture Hollander with. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it,” the thumbs pushed down, exposing the first tantalizing glances of Justin’s golden bush. “I’m making all of your dreams come true.” Derek’s eyebrows raise at that, the look behind his glasses becoming sharper now.
“Really…” Derek said, a hint of caution in his words. He looked everywhere but at Justin’s crotch, his curly hair resting on top of a very concerned looking face. “I don’t remember you saying more than a few words to me since we started school and now you are serving yourself up to me on a silver platter.” He stood more firmly now, finding a backbone Justin hadn’t been aware he possessed. “Tell me what this is about, Collins.” Justin grinned at that. Hollander had just gained a few points.
“Simple. Cameras, tiny microphones, things like that,” he says, discarding the final piece of clothing along with his modesty. “I’ve developed a real interest in...home security.” Derek’s eyes narrowed at that, and when he spoke his tone had a new stony edge.
“I’m not about to let you record someone without their consent, Justin,” he said, his voice surprisingly powerful, full of an admirable moral authority. Justin actually smiled at that, his notions of Derek Hollander rising at every moment. He held a hand up, making a pledge.
“I give you my word that I have zero intention of using that equipment outside of my house,” he said, which was actually true, but he knew the tech geek was going to need more than that to bite at the bait. “Derek, listen...I need to keep an eye on things at home, alright?” It was as close to the ugly truth as he would allow. He felt Derek’s eyes washing over him, pale face examining Justin’s words closely, and his tanned body even closer. Derek said nothing for a moment, doing the math in his head, before finding an equation that suited his fancy and nodded.
“Alright...and what are you going to offer me,” he said, licking his lips in anticipation. Justin just smirked at that, far more comfortable with the libidinous energy floating in the room than the vulnerability and trepidation of only a few moments ago.
“Well,” he began, giving his cock a hardening tug, “How about I jerk you off. Jerk us both off. Show you the famous Collins load.” He licked his lips, anticipated the positive response he would receive. To his surprise and delight, Derek upped the ante.
“Eat my ass until I tell you to stop and you got yourself a deal, Collins,” Justin’s eyes widened at that and he chuckled. Derek Hollander had a little bad boy in him. He gestured for Derek to strip. He might as well get a good look at the meal before he got to eating.
After the briefest of moments, both boys were nude, erect, and roaring to go. Derek collapsed back on his cheap twin mattress with a loud oof as Justin crawled on top of his thin, almost bony body. Justin couldn’t keep the look of hungry mischief from his eyes. Derek wasn’t Justin’s type, not at all, but if someone was into young nerdy twinks, then Hollander was a true diamond in the rough. All innocent looks and a hint of edge to spice things up. One day you’re going to rock some poor guy’s world, Hollander.
It was easy enough to lift Derek’s twiggy legs up to his chest, and after taking a moment to appreciate the glimpse of hairless pink hole, Justin got to work. He hadn’t had as much practice rimming as he might like. As a nearly dedicated top, his stable of eager bottoms were usually the ones jumping at the chance to service him and not the other way around, but as his tongue got its first state of soap and sweet ass, he knew he was doing something right by the high pitched moans Derek was making.
As he continued to poke and prod his tongue at Hollander’s eager pucker, enjoying the novelty of his youthful flavor and exuberance, his mind drifted back to Steven. He remembered the muffled cries coming from behind the wall, the load squeal of an orgasm designed to tear a man apart. His grip on Derek’s ankles became iron, cuffing the boy’s legs to his shoulders. Derek’s hands, clutching at whatever they could, finally settled on Justin’s scalp, pulling and tugging at the golden locks as if he needed some physical expression for the wonders he was experiencing.
“Fuck...fuck me, Justin,” Derek whined, and Justin smirked around the little twink’s butthole. You wish, kid. He gave Derek the best consolidation prize he could offer, his tongue and face digging into his trench as deep as he could manage. He knew he had Hollander on the edge, skating along the cliffside guardrail, never bending either way, just hanging suspended. It was an exquisite torture the poor boy hadn’t been prepared for.
Derek finally gave up the fight and released his hold on Justin’s head long enough to doublefist his aching length, stroking with a fury that matched the whiplash of Justin’s agile tongue. When he came it was with a pained squeal as if he was passing something mighty and painful like a kidney stone from his body. A splash of white soaked his chest, only a shade or two whiter than his natural skin tone. Justin pulled back, watching Derek’s trembling form, his soaked hole twitching from overstimulation. Derek looked like he was about to cry as Justin rested his chin between Hollander’s balls and thigh, saying in a husky voice,
“Show me that gear of yours.”
-----
VII.
Derek Hollander had coughed up the goods easy enough after the treatment Justin had given him. As he handed the box of equipment to the youngest Collins man, there was something wary in his gaze, a kind of awe mixed with and impressed apprehension. Justin smiled about it on the drive back home, drumming cheekily on the steering wheel as he inched down the highway. He liked knowing that he made an impression.
He had worried for a moment that Steven would be back from work already since driving to and from UCLA was no quick walk in the park, but luck was on his side and the driveway was mercifully empty when he arrived back at the Collins household. He counted his blessings, never in short supply, and decided not to squander this rare opportunity.
The installation of the camera was a surprisingly simple matter. He just had to find an innocuous place to position it. Now that the girls had left for snowy slopes, he presumed Steven would regain control of the master bedroom. Like most of the house, the bedroom matched Elaine’s stern, no nonsense style. Smooth lines, clean surfaces, tasteful colors. There would be no easy and obvious places to hide his equipment. Certainly no strategically placed teddy bears to be found in this room.
Instead, he settled on a spot on the frame of a large, ornate mirror draped on the far wall. With a little bit of work he was able to position the tiny camera so that it blended in nearly seamlessly with the ornamentation. Steven, and whomever else might show up, would have to be looking directly at the top of the frame to even catch a glimpse of the machine.
The mics were a slightly more complicated prospect. Derek had insisted they were unnecessary, and the little twink was probably correct in the matter (he was the expert after all), but Justin was leaving nothing to chance. He wasn’t about to risk getting a clear image and not being able to make out every word being said. More importantly, and he definitely kept this fact to himself, he wanted to capture every tiny noise of pleasure that could possibly spill from Steven’s lips and feast upon them like a meal of gourmet oysters.
Eventually, Justin settled on the most practical option: two mics, one on each end of the banister at the head of the bed. It was easy enough to position them out of eyesight. Even he could only tell they were there after he ran his hands through the back of the bar and brushed his fingertips against them. Satisfied enough with the installation, he darted back to his room and nearly collided with his dad as he walked through the front door. Justin froze, a momentarily uncharacteristic panic striking him. He was certain Steven would read the guilt painted on his face, but when his dad noticed him standing awkwardly in the hallway, the sunkissed elder smiled at him warmly.
“Hey bud, sorry I’m so late,” he said, cheerfully, completely oblivious to his son’s recent behavior. Justin never understood why Steven always got so chummy with him, apologizing to him just for working like he was some kind of little baby boy. The thought rankled him and he ignored the flutter of butterflies in his stomach at his father’s gleaming smile.
“No biggie,” he said, super casual, and made a hasty retreat into the adorning bedroom, completely missing the tiny droop of disappointment on his dad’s face as he closed the door behind him.
Justin leaned against his door, letting out a shaky breath. He’d almost gotten caught and only Steven’s energetic dog brain had saved him from the ensuing humiliation. He shook his head, willing the nerves to fly from his membranes and moved over to his laptop. He needed to get moving on installing that program.
While Justin watched the loading bar fill up slowly, he took stock of the situation again. He was hoping, beyond all hope, to catch his dad in the act. He wasn’t sure exactly what act that was, but the mystery was prodding at him like a scratch he just couldn’t reach. Now, he had the tools to get to the bottom of things. But then what? Confront his father on his likely infidelity? But that would just expose his own clandestine behavior in the process. He frowned at that, willing away the knot of discomfort that was forming in his chest.
Thankfully, he was able to set aside the moral implications of his behavior for a little while longer as the camera’s program finished its installation process. Time for the moment of truth. He pressed a few buttons on his keyboard, the gentle clatter of plastic keys filling the desk space, and like magic the Master Bedroom came into view in dim shades of black, white, and gray, with a tiny hint of green that gave the picture a vaguely nauseating quality. His eyes darted across the full range of the laptop’s small screen, looking for any hint of deficiency in the equipment, and then grinned when he found nothing to harass Hollander about. He had worried the image would get too grainy, but Derek had convinced him this was the real deal. He patted himself on the back for a job well done. Maybe he would throw Hollander a bone somewhere down the line as a bonus once he got this mystery solved.
There was the tiny creaking sound of wood on the laptop speakers, and Justin actually jumped in his chair. As he scrambled for headphones, he saw a rectangle of white pierce the darkness, a door opening, and then the room flashed back into a world of grays. He watched, his heart racing in his chest as Steven stepped into the room and stared directly at the mirror. For one brief, horrible second, he was convinced that Steven would stare directly into the camera. He imagined the look of horror and eventual revulsion that would pass through his father’s handsome features, and the thought alone felt like a stab into his gut, but thankfully the moment never came. Instead, something equally wondrous happened.
He watched, in mute fascination, as Steven began to hum a jaunty tune while he shimmied out of his sports coat. His dad was always a jovial man, eager to please in his own way, but he had never seen this particular presentation of his father’s blissed-out bro persona shine so brightly. Steven wiggled his way out of his pants, and he kicked them across the room where they crumbled out of frame. His shirt came next, Steven unbuttoning the garment with a slow swagger he never possessed in public. It wasn’t anything truly out there, just an older man taking off his button-up shirt, but the clandestine nature of what was happening gave the disrobing an erotic appeal it would never otherwise have. Justin felt like he was watching his own father do a striptease just for him.
He was practically drooling when Steven set aside the shirt in a flash of white, and took a moment to examine his tanned and shaved body in the mirror. There was only a pair of black jockeys left on his father’s body. Take it off. Please god, take it off. He watched his father glance upward, almost in eyesight of the camera as he nimbly slid the black cotton down his toned thighs and stepped aside. Justin could feel himself begin to sweat. It almost felt like his dad was staring right at him.
Steven gave himself one final look in the mirror and sighed at some unknown contrivance, before he stepped out of view, giving Justin the briefest glimpse of his dad’s pert buttocks. As the sound of running water distantly filled his headphones, Justin turned off the video feed, his hand shaking. This was way more intense than he had expected. He knew the erotic potential of the camera. It was one of the reasons he was going to all of this trouble, but the image in his head was clashing with the reality that had danced right in front of him. He glanced down at the tent in his shorts, palming himself gently as he nervously gnawed on his bottom lip. Tonight was going to be interesting, one way or another.
-----
VIII.
By the time Steven stepped out of his bedroom, skin glowing with a fine shower sheen, Justin had quelled the worst of his paternal cravings enough to be lying on the couch waiting for him. He closed his eyes when Steven’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, strong, nimble fingers gently working the flesh.
“How about you and I order a bunch of junk food,” Steven said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “All the garbage your mother never lets us eat.” Justin forced his eyes open and peered his head upward, meeting his father’s sparkling gaze.
“Sounds good to me.” The Chinese arrived first, followed by the Thai, and last the double helpings of meat lovers pizzas. It was a feast for a small family. There was no way they could eat all of this food, but that was beside the point. For whatever reason, Steven had taken the opportunity to create a father-son bonding experience, bachelor pad style, and Justin wasn’t about to kill the vibe. At least not at first. They talked quietly for a while, nothing serious, just shooting the breeze as they passed boxes of noodles and chicken and plates overflowing with greasy slices of cheese and dough, an easy lightness between them. Steven belched and gave his chest a thump.
“Damn,” he murmured, between bites of pepperoni and sausage. “I gotta slow down. I’m not a young buck anymore.” He gave Justin a sly smile. “Not like you over there chowing down like you got no tomorrow.” Justin simply shrugged, a self-depreciating smile on his face, and pinched another helping of lo mein with his chopsticks.
“What can I say?” he asked, innocently. “I’m blessed with good genes.” He laughed at the exaggerated eye roll his dad gave him, the sound calm and freeing in the big house. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes more, before Justin tried to broach the topic.
“Sleeping any better?” he asked innocently as he could, mouth full of noodle. He watched the hesitation pass over his dad’s face, could see the man concocting the lie in real time. Steven shrugged, his toned shoulders shifting like boulders on his back.
“I’ve had worse,” he said, nice and vaguely dismissive. Justin nodded, accepting the face value of the answer before adding his own comment.
“You can always talk to me if something’s bugging you,” he offered, feeling more than a little awkward at the suggestion, but the offer seemed to have sparked something in the older man. Steven regarded his son in a new light.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he said, the tone sounding teasing, but not feeling that way at all. Justin could sense it there, not far from the surface. A tangible tension that had the whiff of fear about it. He tried again, this time more direct.
“I’m serious, Dad,” he said, catching Steven off guard at the normal term of endearment. “I’m not a little boy anymore. I’m old enough to carry the burden from time to time.” He was surprised to discover that the words felt true and he meant them. Steven’s intense gaze softened at that, and for a moment, Justin feared he might make his old man cry, but then the well-built man stood up, crossed the room and placed a strong hand on Justin’s shoulder as he passed.
“Sons should never have to carry their father’s burdens,” he said quietly and full of emotion. Justin didn’t turn to face his father. He simply sat in his place on the sofa, a carton of Pad Kee Mao in one hand, chopsticks in another and listened as his dad walked down the hall and into the bathroom.
“Some of us don’t have a choice, Dad,” he whispered, even though the room was empty.
-----
IX.
Justin tried to contain his excitement, he really did, but he felt like a boy stealing from the cookie jar. Even though the idea of looking forward to his own father’s molestation was a taste of depravity that was a little sour for his liking, he couldn’t deny his body’s reaction. The tent in his pants said it all. His cock knew exactly what it wanted, and like many men his age, when the cock starts giving orders, the rest of the body has a way of falling in line.
By the time Justin stepped out of his bathroom, all freshened up for the show ahead, he knew his dad must have long retired for the night. Plopping down on his cushioned desk chair, not bothering to get dressed, he booted up the camera app, pupils dilating as the evening’s recording came on screen. Derek had warned him there would be a short delay, likely 20 to 30 seconds, so it technically wasn’t a by-the-moment viewing experience, but it was pretty damn close. As Steven’s near nude body walked across the screen, Justin leaned forward, his breath misting the screen as he tried to memorize every pixellated contour.
He watched his dad strip off his underwear, a true treat for the eyes, and then climb underneath the blankets. Elaine was the kind of woman who, despite usually having minimalist tastes, enjoyed her billowing pillows and oversized comforters. Justin watched, with more than a little amusement, as his father irritatingly tossed and kicked the offending articles off the king-sized bed. His dad looked like he was scorching hot, in the body temperature sense of the word. It was hard to tell from the camera’s distance, but he thought he could see the tell tale signs of perspiration beginning to build on the older man’s torso.
Justin shook his own neck, feeling more than a little warm himself, despite his own lack of clothing and the cool air outside. The temperature had been pleasant during the day for the entire week so far, but every night at home this week had felt surprisingly and inexplicably balmy. It felt not dissimilar to sitting in a sauna.
He watched Steven toss and turn on the mattress, his glutenous legs kicking around the length of the bed irritably as he tried to chase the faint specter of slumber. Other than his dad having a typically sleepless night, nothing much of note was happening. Justin drummed his fingers on the pristine desktop, the rat-a-tap rhythm a steady accompaniment to the nervous excitement he felt inside. Justin continued to watch aptly, a bored security guard pouring over bland footage, feeling more foolish by the minute. This must have been a mistake. Nothing was really happening after all. His dad was just being...Steven.
Then the tide changed.
One minute, Steven was rolling around uncomfortably, the next his entire body went rigid as a post. Justin, concerned, peered closer, trying to figure out what set his dad off. He saw Steven’s chest begin to rise more rapidly, from fear or...excitement? It was impossible to tell from the video image alone. He saw Steven raise his head, looking up around where his legs were. Justin’s eyes narrowed. There was nothing there.
“I’m not interested.” Justin frowned. He had heard the bizarre words slip out of Steven’s mouth, clear as day. There was nothing for several long, awkward moments, Steven staring intently ahead, body still tense, before his father’s body began to faintly tremble. Steven’s eyes closed, his arms pushing forward, as if to ward off some sort of attack, before the older man spoke again, this time with a venomous passion that went straight to Justin’s cock. “I hate you.” Who was his dad talking to?
Justin gasped, leaning back on his chair in surprise, as he saw Steven’s arms shoot up into the air and then crash down above the man’s head. He watched as his dad’s upper body strained, a sharp grunt hissing into the air, but it made no difference. His arms just lay there flat and seemingly useless against the mattress, like a man being restrained, but again, there was no one else there in the room with him, no one to hold him down. Was Steven doing this to himself?
His eyes widened when he heard his father gasp, the sound very different from the previous grunt. There was just the faintest shuffling of the sheets near Steven’s groin, an ambiguous movement that could have been caused by a breeze of a shifting of muscles, but immediately called to mind very specific behaviors. Justin’s eyes narrowed again and he tried to fix them on the image, pinpointing on the area, but whatever was or wasn’t happening to Steven Collins was too subtle for the camera to pick up.
What the camera had no problems with was the sounds coming out of Stevens mouth. Low, breathy groans that floated into the air like tiny balloons and seemed to hang around the ceiling, building a collection that gave the moving image a suffocating aura of reluctant arousal. His father was obviously sweating now, profusely so. Justin could see the gleam of it reflecting off Steven’s abs and chest. It was difficult to tell, but it looked like his old man was biting his lip as if trying to stifle the noises he was making.
Justin stared at the computer screen, unblinkingly watching the black and white image of his father writhe and moan from his prone position. His cock throbbed with every movement of Steven’s body, having no compunctions about his father’s safety or wellbeing. It sure looked like he was being manhandled and roughly, he figured, swallowing a buildup of saliva down his throat. It sure sounded like he was being roughed up too, but there wasn’t another soul in the room with him, so what the hell was going on in there? A stranger might think Steven was having some kind of episode, but Justin knew his father well enough to know that he wasn’t crazy. At least...not this kind of crazy.
He caught his first glimpse of the shape almost the second the thought passed his mind.
At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. There was a sudden blur on the screen, right above Steven’s crotch, just for a second. A true blink and you missed it moment. A glitch of some kind. It had to be, right? But then it happened again, and then minutes later, again. He heard something too, a low grumbling noise he didn’t recognize. The reaction from his father was instant. What had been had once been unknown, was now painful clear by the rising of the sheet across Steven’s lap. His father was becoming painfully erect.
“No. We have an agreement.” The words shot through Justin like a shot of adrenaline as he realized that as impossible as it seemed, Steven was actually talking to someone, or something. He watched as his dad gave a thin nod of ascent then the older man’s eyes closed tight, never opening through the rest of the act.
Justin wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first. Even after later watching the video feed back multiple times he couldn’t truly be sure, but…
The telltale sign was Steven’s obvious erection, creating a big top out of the sheets with a stability that could have earned him a permanent fixture in the circus. What was less obvious was what exactly was happening to that magnificent cock kept under cover. Justin could see the way Steven’s hips would raise, even as his old man grimaced at the same time. The movement was depraved and undeniably erotic.
“I’m not…” he heard Steven hiss through clenched teeth. “I don’t like this…”
There was more of that strange blur, more low grumbling noises, sounding demanding this time, and then Steven’s poise crumbled with a sharp cry of pleasure that sounded nearly indistinguishable from pain. His cock twitched wildly under its sheeted prison, and Justin’s nostrils flared as he saw a dark stain begin to spread across the cotton covering his father’s groin.
Steven’s body, previously wired, now slumped. His arms remained in their same position, but his head was facing toward the wall, away from the instigation of his pleasure. Even now, Justin could see the way his father’s body continued to tremble. When he spoke, the words sounded tired and hollow.
“There, happy, now go…” More silence, Steven’s body tensed again and he gritted his teeth hard enough it must have stung. “No! Not that! You promised! Not until...my birthday.” Justin’s eyes gaped at that nugget of information. Steven turned 50 in 2 days. He heard his dad sigh in defeat, the fight already burned out of the man.
“Fine. More. Tomorrow. I’ll cooperate. Just...just go.” There was another blur, this one seeming to twist and distort the entire screen, then a new sound, clear, definable, unforgettable. It was a chuckle, dark, foreboding and masculine sounding. The hairs on Justin’s arms rose to their full height even as his cock shook in delight. That laugh hadn’t come from his father.
Later, as Justin rewatched the recording for the 5th time, his erection painful even after 3 orgasms, and his bloodstream feeling like it has been shot with pure caffeine, he was able to modulate the sound to make out some of the mystery sounds from the live show. He was horrified but somehow not shocked to hear the distinct sounds of words.
“...more”
“...so...tasty…”
“my beloved...”
“... inside you…”
Each word made Justin’s vision blur, and by the end, his cock was dripping fresh pre profusely down his length. That last one in particular nearly broke Justin. He tried to dismiss the evidence, but there was too much that couldn’t be explained away. The pure idea that something had been inside the room with his father, something unnatural, was already a shock to the system. The fact that it wanted to fuck his Dad, was almost unthinkable. He felt his blood boil at the thought, but he couldn’t decide if it was from jealousy, passion, or an odd mixture of the two.
When Justin finally managed to pry himself away from the computer screen, his mind continued to swim in the knowledge that had been dropped into it. His father had a lover. A phantom lover, like a demon or something. Justin didn’t believe in such nonsense, but unless insanity was catching his old man was getting it on with something not of this world. Reluctantly too, by the looks of things. He couldn’t help but smile, perversely, at the thought of his dad arguing to preserve his virginity. Something that depraved shouldn’t have pleased him, but it did and no rationalization was going to change that.
Justin wasn’t satisfied though, not by a long shot. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, not really, and beneath the anticipation, fear clung to him wet and sticky. All he knew was that something big, something that felt undeniably bad was looming on the horizon. My birthday, Steven had said. Justin had 2 days to piece together this puzzle, but he would have to wait for tomorrow.
Sleep felt impossible, but not even the whirlwind blowing inside his mind was able to hold back the exhaustion that had wracked his body after so many hours of shocks and self-pleasure. As he finally drifted off to a tortured slumber, the last thoughts to pass through his haphazard thoughts were new and deeply unsettling. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely worried for his father.
-----
X.
Justin came to with a truly raging headache, one for the ages, the kind reserved for the most unhinged of benders. He winced at the rays of sun shining down his face, and looking up across the room at his open laptop, he only frowned deeper. He had hoped sleep would calm the turbulence in his mind, but found the glare of the morning light only shined on them more harshly. Groaning, he dragged himself from bed, not bothering to put on any coverage beyond last night’s underwear, thankfully free of spooge. He figured he had the house to himself by this point, so why bother getting dressed?
He was surprised then to find Steven hunched over the couch when he walked into the room. Freezing for a moment, he slowly made his way over to his dad, sniffing the air as he did so, a pained expression deepening with each step. He could smell the alcohol even from halfway across the room and wasn’t surprised to see a half empty bottle of Grey Goose toppled on the sofa next Steven.
“Dad?” he asked cautiously. He watched as his father jumped in his seat and swerved his head to face the sound of his son’s voice. Steven’s eyes, usually bright and glowing first thing in the morning, were watery and red-rimmed. Justin didn’t know what to say. He had never seen his dad cry before. He thought about last night, about the confusing incident he had witnessed on his computer, the one that had set him so shamefully aflame, and then his eyes finally noticed what was on his dad’s lap.
“Hey, Justin,” Steven said, his voice sounding tired, but also happy at the sight of his boy. He held up the old leather album he was holding. “Just looking at some old family photos…” Justin made his way around the sofa, gingerly picking up the bottle of vodka before his dad got any more bright ideas and setting it well out of easy reach of his father. When he sat down next to his dad, their bare legs touching together, Steven slid the album so it rested across both of their laps.
“It’s been so long since I got to see any of them,” Steven said, wistfully. “Your mom always hated my side of the family.”
That was an understatement. Elaine, in one of her moodier fits, had once regaled Natalie and Justin about her first encounter with Frank, Steven’s older brother. Apparently, if the legend could be believed, he had shown up to the chapel with two women, one on each arm. That would have been shocking enough, until at the reception that followed, Frank Collins, in a misguided attempt at brotherly bonding, had let slip from his grinning drunk lips that the ladies were both earning a salary at the same time. Needless to say, Elaine had not been amused.
Justin glanced down at the photos spread across the pages, and while he had only a limited recollection of his uncle, he recognized the older man’s rugged good looks quickly enough. Frank was kind of a stud, physically the opposite of his father in most ways. Where Steven had originally had an almost twinkish build before embracing the Crossfit lifestyle, Frank had always been a thicker, swarthy looking man, with his coal black locks, bushy mustache, and devilish twinkle. It was no wonder he was such a hit with the ladies, and frankly, if he had still been around Justin would have likely crushed on him too.
To his knowledge, Justin had only met Uncle Frank in the flesh once in his entire life. He was maybe 7 or 8 at the time and he had been enraptured. Even Natalie, cool headed even at 10, had fallen under his spell. He dusted off the old memory, and smiled as he recalled Frank whispering tales of bawdy backroom brawls, illegal dives into half-buried pyramids, and rendezvouses with buxom beauties too scandalous to explain in detail to children. They had eaten every word up like he was hand feeding them gourmet chocolate. The presents he had dumped on them, gaudy little trinkets from his travels, hadn’t hurt either. He and Natalie had spent weeks pulling heists on each other’s bedrooms, bickering and clawing at each other like savages, until Elaine finally had enough and dumped it all in the garbage.
Justin smiled a little at the thoughts. Those kind of memories felt so rare for his family, especially for a Collins. They never seemed to want for anything, yet nothing intimate or emotional ever seemed to last. Frank Collins was no exception. The family had lost contact with Frank for many years, so they didn’t even know he was missing, let alone deceased, until hikers found his body frozen on a Himalayan peak. When they got the news, Steven had understandably been shattered, and it took weeks before some of the color came back to the Collins father. Then, like magic, it was like Frank never existed. Collins men were just built to suck it up and move on.
Justin watched his dad turn a page in the album, and his gaze fixed on what looked to be a family portrait. There were three men standing in front of a large lake of some kind. The image was slightly blurred, so the phototaker must not have been the greatest, but he recognized the two younger men almost immediately. It was Uncle Frank, barechested and sporting a full mane of black chest hair and next to him, smiling sheepishly at the camera was a younger, paler version of Steven Collins.
The brothers looked to be in their mid-20’s which meant that the older gentleman standing proudly between them must have been Grandpa Bertrand. Justin had never met the man, he was long dead before he had ever been conceived, but he certainly lived up to the reputation Steven had built up of him over the years. He struck an imposing figure, thicker and stockier than either of his sons, but you could tell it was all muscle. He remembered, vaguely, a story about Bert being a firefighter or something, but the details were hazy. Grandpa Bert was one of the no-go topics in the Collins household, usually quick to set Steven into a funk and Elaine into a tizzy at the merest mention of the man or his untimely passing. He was surprised then to see his dad lingering on the image of the three together.
“...Do you miss them?” he asked, timidly, not sure if he was overstepping. Justin was never one for concerning himself at offending others, but something about this moment felt sacred and fragile. A quiet moment of peace he didn’t want to shatter with his juvenile insensitivity. Steven looked long and hard at the picture, his fingertips grazing over his father’s stern face and bushy head of grey hair.
“Yeah,” he eventually managed. “I miss them both. A lot.” In a rare moment, Justin reached over to his dad and rested his own hand across his father’s more wrinkled knuckles. Steven spread his fingers, letting his son’s limber digits settle between the gap like a warm blanket.
“Wish I could have known them,” Just managed to say, and beside him Steven nodded, eyes misty.
“Yeah, me too.”
-----
XI.
The rest of the day at the Collins house passed in a blur of lazy motion and dreaded anticipation. Justin watched as the sun slowly began to set outside their small gated community and the hour of conflict approached. He did his best to make as natural and graceful of an exit to his bedroom as he could manage. Steven had been preoccupied all day so had only given Justin a silent nod as he closed the door to his bedroom.
Once he was safely locked away in his inner sanctum, Justin wasted no more time, booting up the camera app and starting his long vigil to see just what would happen with his old man tonight. After last night’s debacle, he was better prepared. As he sipped water from his bottle, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Already it was happening, that blasted heat that settled on the Collins house each evening and seemed to seep into his marrow and drain him of all of his juices and energy. It was extra potent tonight, and he actually caught himself drifting off more than once, eyes fluttering wildly each time he started to slump, before motion from his computer monitor fully jolted him awake.
He saw Steven enter the frame and stand next to the bed. He was facing away from the camera, so Justin couldn’t be sure what he was seeing, but it was like his father was just standing there staring blankly at the mattress. He saw Steven’s chest expand and then heard a long held sigh of breath before his dad began to disrobe, taking off each article of clothing, one piece at a time until he stood naked in his bedroom. It shouldn’t have felt so wrong. He could see the gleam of sweat on Steven’s body already, so he knew the man must be as hot as he was. It was completely natural for a man of any age to sleep naked if he so desired. But this felt different, felt nasty, as if his old man was stripping away the layers of armor he wore and offering himself willingly to...whatever it was.
He saw Steven climb onto the large bed, his muscular figure spreading across the comforter, before he grabbed the offending articles, sheets and all, and tossed them to the foot of the bed where they crumbled in a heap half onto the floor. Steven lay flat on his back, arms placed upon his chest, breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, waiting for the inevitable.
This time when it occurred there could be no denials.
“Good evening, Steven…” Justin heard a voice purr, clear as day, and he was hit full force with that same wave of giddy dizziness. It was certainly not the sound of his father’s voice. Not at all. Steven said nothing, just kept up with his calming breaths.
“What’s wrong, Steven? Playing hard to get?” the voice said, teasingly. “No shouts of denial? No cries of mercy? I’m almost disappointed…”
That was when it appeared. A black, shadowy shape moved from out of frame and seemed to glide across the room until it settled at the foot of the bed. Justin stared unblinkingly at the screen, his mind refusing to accept the proof being supplied by his own eyes. I must be losing my mind…
“Have you said your goodbyes, Steven?” the shadow said, and Justin’s ear pricked up. He saw his father’s eyes open and while he couldn’t see the details in them, he could imagine the look of anger they must contain.
“Leave my family out of this,” Steven said, wary and jumpy. The shadow chuckled, low and rumbling, shaking as it did so, and Justin felt a shiver of something frighteningly like excitement shoot up his spine.
“Oh, Steven, darling,” the shadow purred as it slinked up the bed, covering the man’s legs. “This has everything to do with your family.” The shape settled into place, or something like it. It was hard to tell when you were looking at an amorphous shape. Steven ignored the shadow’s comment, instead pivoting to a newer, more urgent topic.
“You are going to keep your end of the bargain?” he asked, eyes piercing the blackness on top of him. The shadow seemed to shimmer for a second, and Justin wasn’t sure if he should take that as a good or a bad sign. He watched with rapt amazement, face inching closer to the screen, as a tendril poked from the black mass. As it reached for Steven, it began to take the shape of a long spindly arm. The black arm raked itself across Steven’s torso, and his father arched off the bed, a startled moan torn from his chapped lips.
“I’ve ALWAYS kept up my end of the deal, dear Steven,” the voice said, a new hint of menace that quickly dropped away. “Why focus on such negativity when we could enjoy each other?” Steven laughed at that, hard and biting.
“Enjoy this? You must be out of your mind!” Steven said defiantly, and then gasped as lightning quick, the black arm slapped him across the face. When the shadow spoke again, its voice carried a sharper edge under the surgery molasses.
“That’s no way to talk to you husband-to-be, Steven Collins,” it said, and Justin actually had to cover his mouth to stop himself from gasping. Steven managed to open his eyes and stared squarely at the mass on top of him. Justin imagined them watery and hurt from the blow. It made his skin crawl and his blood boil even more than it already was.
The creature, whatever it was was, rubbed a “hand” across his father’s chest, grazing sensitive nipples and making Steven cry out. “Only I can make you feel this way, my beloved...” When Steven spoke again, he was calmer, more docile.
“I’m sorry…” he muttered reluctantly and the shimmer of the shadow felt like a smile of approval.
“All is forgiven, Steven,” the shadow sighed. It began to ship and twist again, changing its shape before both Collins men’s eyes. “You have so many days of pleasure ahead of you. If you behave.” The words sounded like a threat, but felt equally like a promise. Steven just shook his head, the meager fight he had in him already extinguished.
“...what happens this time?” he asked quietly, and Justin watched the shadow, which now looked vaguely humanoid bend forward, nearly covering his father’s body, it’s shape resting against the ear of Steven’s head.
“Anything you can dream of,” It whispered tantalizingly, and then with another chuckle it added, “And before you complain, no dear, I won’t ravish you…” The “this time” was left unspoken. “But tomorrow…” Steven growled at that, shifting his body, as if wanting to shove the creature off of him.
“Just have your fun and let me sleep,” he said, irritably, his body shaking in a strained mixture of lust and overwhelmed frustration. The shape sat up, its squiggly body taking the sharpest form yet, as if it would need the physical structure ahead. When it spoke again, it came out like a growl, the words sending shivers up Justin’s spine.
“Time to play, Steven…” It happened so quickly, Justin thought he had missed it. A literal blink and you missed it moment. One second, Steven was on his back, spectrally bound, the next he was flipped on his belly, the air knocked out of his lungs as he landed hard on the mattress. The shadow coiled itself, balling up around Steven’s midsection. Justin watched his father’s hips raise off the mattress, as if he was a horse trying to shake off an unwanted rider, but the shadow was a glue, sticking to him like tar.
More disturbing than the image was the noises coming from his father’s throat. Justin couldn’t tell what the shadow was doing, but it covered every inch of Steven’s groin and abdomen from navel to taint. Justin watched in rapt fascination as Steven writhed on the mattress, hands clawing at the bedsheet and ripping it from the its corner. His dad arched his back and a low, whining groan, a defeated kind of pleasure spilled from his mouth, not dissimilar to a kettle reaching a boiling point.
There was no ambiguity when Steven’s orgasm hit. His body went tense and shook like a tamborine, his arms and legs weakened by his fraught nerves until he eventually collapsed onto his belly. Still, the shaking never stopped. He watched, mutely, beyond words at what his eyeballs were picking up as the shadow’s form slithered up and down the rest of his father’s body, covering him from head to toe. And still, it didn’t stop, Steven Collins draped in shadow convulsed in an otherworldly pleasure that was bringing the man who raised him apart.
If he looked closely, Justin could just make out the erection covered in black and he thought he could see it pulse as his father was hit by orgasm after orgasm. Justin, his pants long since discarded, stroked himself frantically, feeling as untethered as his father on the screen. He imagined himself there, not consumed like his poor dad, but doing the consuming himself. He wanted to wrap himself around the man, be in and on every square inch of his body. Make every cell of of Steven scream Justin Collins.
The thought alone was almost enough to make him orgasm. He bit his lip, the moan still slipping free, the drag of a dry hand on his cock a painful blur of pleasure that made his eyes water. He was so close, just a little more…
“Enjoying the show?” Justin’s eyes shot open, wide and terror filled, as his orgasm struck. Broad ropes of white shot from his overworked dick, splattering the screen and keyboard, but he hardly noticed. His gaze was fixed on the gray image of the bedroom, and one specific spot. Even with the mucous-like fluid blocking the view, he could see it clear enough. The shadow, perched on his father’s back, it’s claws digging into Steven’s exposed asscheeks. But the shadow wasn’t looking down, not admiring its handiwork. It was looking directly at the camera.
Justin bolted backward, taking the chair with him and it tumbling to the ground. When he regained his wits, he leaped for the computer, slamming the lid down and ripped every cord from it he possibly could before shoving it inside his desk. He scrambled backwards again, tipping onto the bed, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He couldn’t stop the shaking. He wasn’t sure how long time passed before the voice came back.
“Little lamb…” Justin closed his eyes, clamped his hands over his ears. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. He had climbed under the covers of his bed, giving into the old childhood fears. Any bravado he might have once had evaporated.
“There’s no need to hide, little lamb. We’re all friends here,” the voice sounding treacly sweet even muffled by the desk drawer. Justin didn’t respond. He wouldn’t give this creature the dignity of hearing his terror. Worse, he couldn’t hide the way his body wanted to lean towards the sounds coming from his desk drawer. The creature, whatever it was, seemed unbothered by Justin’s hesitance.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, little lamb. We go way back, your family and I.” Justin’s eyes narrowed at that, a small calculating part of himself wanting to pry. This creature had answers, he knew it in his gut. But he was too chicken to even entertain the thought beyond acknowledging its existence.
“Only one more day...better enjoy your time with Steven while you can. Ta-ta, for now.” Then it was gone. The tension dissipated almost instantly. The oppressive heat willowed away. The house felt...normal. Every bit of tension in the air that had caressed his body into its unnatural passion was nowhere to be found. As Justin lowered the blanket from his pale face, he could almost believe the strange event had never occurred at all. He knew better.
With the grip of lust and terror now gone, Justin’s thoughts immediately turned back to his father. He jumped out of bed, stopping only to slip on the pair of briefs that were left discarded on the floor, before he bolted toward his parents’ bedroom. He didn’t bother to knock, just shoved the door open as if he expected it to be locked and barricaded. Yet, the door opened easily, as if nothing was wrong. For one moment, a sudden feeling of embarrassment came over Justin. What if all of this was some kind of mistake or something? But one glance at the bed told him that wasn’t true at all.
The bed, normally so immaculate as was Elaine’s standard, was a shambles. Bedclothes were strewn every which way, hanging and suspended from all corners of the king-sized mattress. That wasn’t what caught Justin’s attention though. He rushed to the bed, climbing on top of the sagging mattress without a thought beyond the unconscious body draped haphazardly across it, and began to shake his father’s nude form. At first, there was no response, and Justin’s stomach tightened in a renewed grip of horror, but then he saw his father’s body twitch and his eyes slowly flutter open. Steven glanced up at him, weary and confused.
“Justin…?” the word sounded like it was coming from a stranger, and feeling the panic sinking back in Justin shook him again, jolting Steven to a better sense of awareness. As he saw his dad’s eyes begin to clear, and a hint of pink come back to his features, Justin tried to talk to him.
“Are you ok? Is it gone?” Justin said, glancing nervous to and fro across the dim lighted room.
Steven said nothing, his mind a blank mask, until the reality of what his son was asking hit him and he tensed. All sense of ease and familiarity disappeared in an instant, replaced with a wariness Justin had never felt directed toward him ever in his 19 years of existence.
“What are you saying, Justin?” Steven said, an edge to his voice that was also new, but in his panic and relief Justin failed to heed the warning.
“That thing. Whatever it is. What does it want from you, Dad? What are we going to do?” Justin knew almost immediately that he had said the wrong thing, but it was too late to eat his words. A look passed over Steven’s face, something raw and fierce, like a wild animal that had been cornered and was snarling at a predator. Then his “deal man” face came on and he answered his son.
“Justin. I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken. You just had a bad dream. Everything is fine. Go back to bed,” Justin gawked at his dad, partially from the bold-faced lie and partially at being so casually dismissed. He shook his dad’s shoulders, his fingers making angry marks on Steven’s shoulders.
“Dad!? What are you talking about!? I saw-” Steven’s hand, surprisingly strong given what he had just endured, batted Justin’s hand off his body. He rolled to the other side of the bed and off the mattress, away from his son and his nosy concerns.
“Like I said, you were mistaken,” Steven repeated, face against the wall. He stood up, in all his glory, then thinking better of his nudity, pulled a sheet around himself, like some damsel from a Lifetime movie, before exiting into the bathroom, ignoring his son’s shouts behind him.
Justin jumped off the bed and sprang to the door, pounding on the locked wood. He stared at the closed door, unbelieving, even as the sound of the shower coming on drowned out his voice. Stunned, he backed up slowly, each step more painful than the last, before his knees hit the mattress, and he sank back onto the bed, wide-eyed and shellshocked.
He could smell the sex in the room, the sweat mingled with spilt semen. It should have excited him, it did excite him, but all he could do was sit there, breathing in the smell of dad’s secret, and remembering the words. Tomorrow...he said tomorrow. Then it clicked. Tomorrow was Steven’s birthday. His father was turning 50…
He stood, absently straightening the bed as he did so, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. There was no use cornering Steven again. He would just get the same denials on repeat, ad nauseam. No, he had to come up with his own plan. His own way to fix whatever mess Steven was caught up in. He frowned. How was he supposed to fix something when he didn’t even know what the real problem was?
He could feel it though, the sound of the timer running down. Tick-tock. The clock had started ticking long before now, and everyday the feelings got stronger, the sounds got louder, the promises more damning, and he knew that time was about to run out. That demon or whatever it was, it had dug its claws into his father and he knew it wasn’t ever going to let go willingly. After all, he had seen the telltale proof on Steven’s body as he retreated into the bathroom.
Two handprints, red and angry. One on each buttcheek, a possessive curve, shaped like a claw...
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
