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/horror 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.
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I.
At first, trapped beneath the weight of his early morning stupor, Justin didn’t recognize or understand the blinding heat coming from his groin. Having never spent more than a handful of hours wrapped in the loving embrace of another human being, he had no practical knowledge or experience to refer back to. Actually, that wasn’t true, not totally. Dimly, he had the faint memory of his father holding him when he was a very young child, way back when he was so much more vulnerable than he was now, before he had entered private school and toughened his hide to the slings and arrows of childhood existence. There was a faint echo of that distant feeling now, a muscle memory of a familiar embrace and a smell that used to make him feel safe and protected. He didn’t feel safe or protected, not anymore. There was nothing but the damnable heat and a desire for more.
When he finally cracked his eyes open, squinting at the dim light leaking into the room from behind the thin curtains, he didn’t at first understand where he was. He vaguely recognized the bed, which felt slept in, yet alien beneath his body. The cotton and nylon were perfumed with the scent of masculinity. There was a man with him, his back pressed up against Justin’s chest, his form instantly familiar even if his actions felt unnatural. It came back to him then in a wild shock of acidic recall. This muscled form was Steven, his father, the one man he desired more than anyone else in the entire world and who he was convinced would be forever out of his reach. Until last night.
Ignoring the knot in his gut, he took in more of the scene inhaling the damp and dried sweat of desperate sex and morning musk on their shared skin. He saw the near-bronzed glow of his father’s body shudder as he minutely adjusted his position on the bedframe and heard the tiniest of sighs pass Steven’s bruised lips. His father was awake and it was time to face the music.
Steven shifted, his pert buttocks rubbing against his son’s morning erection, the head catching and slipping from the rim’s grasp as the older Collins man moved his hips. Justin’s arm, already draped across his father’s abdomen during their shared slumber, jerked in surprise and accidentally brushed against a rigid pillar of flesh as hard and unyielding as the one between Justin’s own legs. Steven sighed at the sensation, his hips jutting more intently now, and Justin’s eyes widened in realization. He had assumed the night of debauchery was over, that the insane spell that had undone them both was broken, but the aching push of Steven’s buttocks against Justin’s hardened length put that theory to rest. The enchantment was permanent and the disease was contagious.
Justin hissed, both at the sensation of Steven’s naked flesh on his own, but also the surprise of waking up to such a twisted fantasy brought to life. At the tiny exhale of breath on his neck, Steven stilled, his body tensing like it was going into rigor mortis. Justin froze in turn, convinced he had ruined the moment with his telltale exhalation and breathed an unfortunate truth into the encounter, but then he felt his father begin to sag once more in his arms, as if his paternal inhibitions were being melted away by forces stronger than his own will.
The pop of his cock breaching his father’s asshole was a shock to both Collins men. Justin inhaled sharply more from overwhelmed surprise than a genuine need for oxygen. Steven’s reaction was more primal. As his son’s head popped past his bruised sphincter, Steven released a guttural gasp that sounded equal parts pain and reluctant pleasure. He stilled for only a moment before something dark and needy took over and he began pushing his backside against his son’s groin, forcing more of Justin’s inches inside his still aching hole.
Justin didn’t actively participate in his father’s further defilement, not at first. He simply lay there, an erect statue toppled by desire while Steven took his painful, needy pleasures from his son’s body. Justin had never heard his father make sounds like this before. Deep, grunting animal noises, like a pig being lead to the slaughter. Sounds he would never associate with love or even human sex, but the rutting of base creatures. It was as arousing as it was painful to listen to.
It wasn’t long before Justin bottomed out inside Steven’s greedy insides, but his father gave him no time to acclimate, taking from his son’s body with a single-minded focus. Initially smooth, almost mechanical, Steven’s movements became increasingly frantic, his hand grasping onto his son’s and trying to communicate something vital that his lust fucked brain didn’t currently have the capacity to explain in words. Justin couldn’t make heads or tails of what his father’s thoughts might be, but even under the confusion, he understand that his father craved something only he was capable of providing and he tightened his grip on Steven’s flailing hips.
When he spilled inside his father’s body, it felt less like pleasure and more like relief, but Steven’s reaction was intense and instantaneous. The older man’s body tensed again, rigid as stone, before he released a roaring grumble of animal pleasure. Justin could tell by the fluttering of Steven’s abused anus, that his dad was having another orgasm. He wished he could see his father’s face, so he could tell if Steven was even finding any enjoyment from their coupling. He didn’t move, just held his father as the older man rode the waves of pleasure and then mercifully, his father’s form slackened and he realized from the tight snores that he had drifted off once more.
Justin didn’t move for a long time, still deep inside Steven. He just lay there, trying to piece together how they had fallen into this incestuous web and unable to see any way of breaking themselves free from it. Or even if he wanted to.
-----
II.
Justin tried to sleep, needing the rest almost as badly as his old man, but some combination of nerves and excitement stopped him from sinking into oblivion like his father had. He lay there on the lumpy mattress, content to hold his father in a perverse reversal of their old dynamic, until the call of his bladder proved too much to ignore and he reluctantly extricated himself from his father’s grasp.
The light of the bathroom was no less harsh during the day, it’s cruel florescence leaving no shadows to hide his feelings behind. Looking into the mirror, Justin saw the face of a world-weary man and the eyes of a frightened child. As he washed his tacky hands, he glanced downward peering at his half-hard length, still covered in the juices of their mixed sex. Even now, after all that had happened, his body wanted more.
He urinated as fast as he could, shaking the last drops from his cockhead, and washed his hands as quietly as possible, hoping neither the sounds of running water or the call of nature had stirred his father’s exhausted form. Peeking out from behind the door, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when he saw Steven curled on his side, still blissfully unconscious. Justin was tempted to climb back into bed, to wrap his arms back around his father and answer whatever drive called to the pair in that particular moment, but he stopped himself when he felt his stomach grumble against the white-painted wood.
Slipping past the bedroom door, he walked around the wall into the kitchenette and began to open cabinets, taking stock of their slim contents. It was about what he had expected. The cupboards were barren except for the most rudimentary utensils, cheap plastic things you could buy at a dollar store. They were the kind of products Elaine, as a source of principle, would have never allowed in their home and as Justin held a small box of plastic sporks with an amused frown, he wondered how this ramshackle bachelor pad and its role in last nights activities would effect the deeply uncomfortable conversation they both knew as coming.
It was a simple matter to find the emergency ration coffee and get it brewing in the Mr. Coffee. As the smell of dark roast began to find the air around him, Justin took better stock of his surroundings. In the harsh light of day, he was more able to clearly see his situation and the state of the living quarters. The house itself might have been dated, like something from a 90’s night soap, but it had a simple cozy charm to it nonetheless. It was the kind of place that a younger, single man would have killed for. A total weekend, beachside party pad. The old matching white leather couch and loveseat were obviously leftovers from whatever sale Steven might have made, but the big screen TV on the wall looked suspiciously new, and after a cursory perimeter check, Justin found the oversized cardboard box it had come in stuffed away in the corner leading to the two-car garage. He pursed his lips, wondering how long his dad had been coming to this lonely beachhouse.
As the coffee finished its brewing process with a resounding click, he poured his first mug of the day, wincing a little at the bitter taste. He had looked and failed to find any cream or sugar to mellow the harsh flavor. Steven Collins was a strict black brew kind of man and had clearly not expected to have to entertain visitors, which only made Justin’s frown deepen. He forced another gulp down, his body singing as the blessed caffeine began to take effect and glanced at a far wall facing away from the glass sliding doors. That was when he saw it.
Hanging from the wall, in some kind of fancy wood and glass frame was a uniform. Justin couldn’t be entirely sure from across the room, and he was no expert on the subject, but it looked like a fireman’s uniform. Intrigued, he stepped toward it, taking another bitter swig from the mug as he closed the distance. Up close, his suspicions were confirmed. It was the uniform of a firefighter, clean and pressed, but slightly faded as if well worn with age. The entire package was there: dark wool trousers, a heavy turnout coat, and even the classic domed helmet. Above the left breast pocket lay a small metal name tag gracefully pinned: B. Collins
“It was my father’s.” Justin swerved in place, nearly spilled his hot drink on the floor.
“Jesus! You scared me!” he whined, feeling his heart pump in his chest. Across the room, standing in the doorway to the bedroom stood his father in all of his glory. He was naked except for the off-white sheet he held wrapped around his body, like some sort of love interest from a cheesy erotic thriller. He must have been exhausted, but to Justin’s roaming eyes he never looked sexier.
Steven walked around the couch, his eyes not meeting his son’s until he was standing next to him, and looked at the glass-paned frame with obvious nostalgia. Justin glanced at him warily, noting the hints of red on his father’s tanned body, telltale signs of last night’s debauchery.
“Your dad was a fire fighter?” he asked, grateful to have a topic to fixate on and avoid the real discussion that waited for them both. Next to him, Steven nodded, his eyes never leaving the wall as he gently touched the glass, leaving the barest fingerprints.
“Yeah,” he said, voice almost dreamy. “A hell of a good one too…” Justin nodded at that, unsure of how to respond. He knew next to nothing about Grandpa Bertrand. Not much more than his name really. The Collins family had never been much of a topic of discussion in their household. He pulled his face away from his father’s, forcing himself to look at the uniform.
“I never knew…” he said, the words true yet somehow feeling painful. He glanced at his father from the corner of his eyes, saw the way he stared at the uniform with naked reverence. He couldn’t recall ever seeing that expression on his dad’s face ever in the past.
“So...you kept it?” he asked, feeling a sharp, unwanted spoke of jealousy in his gut. Steven had never been the sentimental type. It wasn’t in the Collins blood, or the Cunningham bloodline for that matter, to dwell on the past, so this sentimental museum piece was completely unexpected. When Steven responded, his voice had a little more edge to it.
“I’ve had it for years,” he said, as if that was a completely sensible thing to understand, and then, with an added hint of bitterness. “I kept it in storage. Your mother didn’t want it in the house.” Justin frowned at that and looked more closely at his dad.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Why would she do that to you?” To us? He added in his head. His dad smiled, low and bitter, devoid of happiness. It was an expression that looked completely alien surrounding the typically happy aura that surrounded Steven Collins.
“Your mother never approved of the Collins side,” he said, the subtext unspoken. Justin nodded at that. That much was true, no doubt. Elaine had always approached the Collins side of the family, most of whom were virtual strangers to them, with barely concealed disdain.
“She’s always been a bitch about them,” he muttered, and then jumped at the slap on his arm that Steven gave him.
“Don’t talk about your mother that way!” he chided, devoted husband and father even now after all the lines had been obliterated. “She has her reasons…” Whatever those reasons might have been, Steven kept to himself. This was just one of many mysteries that seemed all too apparent after the destabilizing week the Collins men had shared, but Justin couldn’t think of a way to bring it up without starting other less comfortable discussions. So, he pivoted.
“Hey, you don’t keep any food in this joint?” he asked, hoping it sounded like a tease, which earned him a tiny smile from his dad.
“I wasn’t expecting company…” Steven began and stopped short, perhaps sharing the same trepidation as his son. He glanced around the room, as if looking for something, before turning away from his son and started to walk back toward the bedroom, the sheets trailing behind him like a cotton train. “Why don’t you have something delivered...son.”
The door slammed behind him, and Justin stood mutely staring at the portal his father had just walked through, his mind suddenly numb, until the sound of running water from the other room pulled him back, and with a tiny shake of his head he pulled his cellphone out of his pants pocket and began to look up local eateries…
-----
III.
Justin eventually settled on the Cali-Mex food truck parked nearby, and ordered across the menu with no shortage of extra toppings, a rare guilty pleasure in the Collins household. Normally, Steven and Elaine would be counting calories, not unusual for people in their station in life, but after the week they had endured together, Justin decided they were going to stuff their faces and damn the consequences. He ordered a small feast: California and Wet burritos, Baja and Carnitas tacos, Quesabirria, and whatever else could conceivably be stuffed in a bag. When Steven came out of the shower, looking freshly scrubbed and gleaming with perspiration, he stopped in his tracks at the spread on the table.
“Really, Justin?” he asked, hands on his trim hips, more than a little amused. Justin just shrugged and slid his dad’s credit card across the counter, not missing the nakedness of his dad’s body.
“What can I say?” he teased, feeling a little of his old bravado returning, “I’m hungry.” He bit into his Al Pastor taco, grunting as the shell feel apart in his hands spilling adobo and pineapple juices onto his fingers. When he looked up, he saw his dad watching him with the old, reliable twinkle in his eye.
“You’re still a growing boy after all,” he teased back, and Justin turned beet red as the double entendre slid past his defenses. He coughed, swallowed and glanced back at Steven, while he licked the juice off his fingers.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” he replied, and then testing the waters added, “I’ve still got plenty of parts that got growing to do too.” Steven smirked at that and the twinkle seemed to brighten into a tiny ember. His father looked him up and down, as if reappraising his son for the first time.
“You sure do, son,” he said, voice husky. Justin was suddenly grateful he was holding a bottle of kombucha at face level so he didn’t have to look his dad straight in the eyes. This sudden bout of insecurity wasn’t like him at all. He had always been in charge, ready to take whatever he thought was his, consequences be damned. Now he was like a virgin all over again.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of Justin,” he heard his father’s voice say around the label of nutritional information he was hiding behind. He lowered the bottle just enough to give his old man an incredulous look.
“You can’t be serious…” he began and was surprised to see his dad holding his gaze without an ounce of regret on it, just a placid understanding that felt baffling to his more befuddled son.
“I’m not going to lie, Justin,” his father said, in his lecture voice. “I was...taken aback by it, but…” he paused, looked upward toward the ceiling, as if the words he was grasping for had been painted upon the ceiling tiles. “It makes sense.” Justin nearly choked on his tea.
“Makes sense!?” he spat. “How does anything that happened between us make sense!?” The smug look Steven gave him with mildly infuriating.
“I knew you were gay, Justin,” he said, a total surprise to the younger man, “I just never expected to be…” Steven trailed off then, frowning, as if saying the desires out loud left a bad taste in his mouth that he couldn’t rinse out. “Let’s just say I’m more accommodating now.” Justin gawked, his hands shaking.
“I don’t get how you aren’t freaking the fuck out about this.” The look Steven gave him made him recoil in his seat.
“Language!” Steven chided, and then shook his head, a tight smirk on his lips. “I’m...different now, Justin.” When he opened his eyes, they looked haunted. “He changed me, son.” That caught Justin attention.
“What does that mean?” he whispered, already secretly suspecting. Steven looked down, shaking his head, his golden locks swaying with the motion.
“He made me want it, Justin,” he said, a tiny murmur, full of awe and horror. “I still want it even now. It won’t turn off…” Justin’s eyes widened as the full implications of his father’s words hit him.
“Do you mean-?” Steven nodded and rose from his seat, tossing his towel aside. Justin glanced down and gasped. Steven had thrown on a pair of boxer shorts but he shouldn’t have bothered given how the thin fabric was tenting obscenely. For once, Justin was actually at a loss for words, so his father continued.
“I’m not the father I used to be, son,” he said, so quiet it was barely above a whisper. “I’m...corrupted.” He hooked both thumbs under the waistband and pulled the fabric taut, letting it pass over his straining erection and then tumble to the floor. As he stepped out of the abandoned gear, his skin glowing like a bronzed god in the late morning light that glimmered from the glass doors leading outside, he continued.
“I need it again, son,” he said, voice filled with naked desire. “I need you to fuck me.”
Justin wanted to slap himself on the face. This was like living his wildest wet dreams but under the worst circumstances possible.
“I-I don’t know what to say-” Steven stepped forward, grabbed his son’s hand, brought it around to his ass until Justin’s fingertips were digging in the valley between his buffed globes.
“Don’t say anything. Just fuck.” So, they did.
Soon enough, Justin was back inside his father, plunging into the wet canal of his father’s rectum with an ease that was sinful to think about. Steven clutched onto the edge of the countertop, his eyes glazing over as a pleasure that shouldn’t exist took hold of him once more. It wasn’t the feverdream of last night when the demon had his way with him, but it was a potent substitute.
“Oh god…” he panted, the words slipping from his parted lips. “Why does it feel so good?” Justin didn’t answer his dad, in part because he had no answer, but more because he was too caught up in his own pleasure to decipher what his father was trying to express. As he shifted his angle, wanting a better view of his father’s hole gripping his inches, Steven cries rose an octave.
“Yes! There! Oh fuck, yes!” he cried, the tears in his eyes beginning to spill down his cheeks. He rested his head on the linoleum, letting it rock gently with each thrust, rolling across the smooth surface. He stared at a spot on the wall, his world honing in on the sensations emanating from his battered prostate, all thoughts of his formerly heterosexual existence melting away. When Justin sheathed himself fully, no doubt spilling more Collins seed into his hungry hole, he lost it completely.
“YES!!” He didn’t feel the orgasm, he just whited out for a few precious moments, before eventually his soul seeped back into his body, his lungs filled with deep gasps of air, and he slumped onto the floor. The exit of his son’s cock from his ass was as messy as expected and he landed in a heap on his own sodden defilement. He didn’t care. He got what he needed. For now.
-----
IV.
They didn’t talk about what happened then, nor when it happened again an hour later on top of the couch. Each time Steven faced away from his son, focusing on some dim illusion on the horizon of his vision so he could be nothing more than flesh and pleasure. The first time was fun for Justin. Fucking one’s own father was too novel to be boring, but as he pulled out the last time and his father pulled away from him once again, retreating into the safety of his mind and role, he had enough. He reached for Steven, his lankier arms trying to pull his old man back to him.
“Don’t Justin,” Steven hissed, a new coiled tension in his body that had nothing to do with pleasure. Justin released him, scowling, and stormed out of the house, ignoring his father’s cries for him to wait.
He hadn’t considered that he was walking out naked as the day he was born into the wider world, but even as the realization dawned on him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just knew he had to get away from the hurt and confusion and disappointment that clouded over him. He eventually settled on the beach, dropping to his knees in the warm sand and letting the morning tide creep up on his feet, legs, and unmentionables. He knew his father would follow him, so decided to take these few precious moments to look out into the wild blue yonder, so deep and unfathomable that his insurmountable problems felt completely insignificant. Sure enough, his old man, nude except for a pair of hastily donned running shorts, sat down next to him. Neither Collins man looked at the other. Their eyes were planted straight ahead watching the gulls, and in the vast distance, the pinpricks of sailing boats completely oblivious to the drama unfolding on land.
“I’m sorry, son.” Justin didn’t respond, just rested his head on top of his knees. It was petulant, but he wouldn’t give his old man the benefit of seeing him sore. He didn’t flinch when his father reached out to touch him, nor did he reciprocate. He simply rested there like a sand statue, until with a sigh, Steven removed his hand from his son’s knee and Justin snuck a peek to his side.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” he heard his dad say, and now he turned to look at Steven more fully, the hurt naked on his face.
“No…” he lied, and seeing the disbelieving expression on Steven’s face, he about faced. “Not like that.” Steven grunted, the kind of sound he made whenever he was going to have a difficult conversation with his wife, which only made Justin angrier.
“What do you want from me, Justin?” he spat out, harsher than he intended, the rawness of the last 12 hours present in his voice, but the damage was done. Justin wheeled on him, his full attention planted squarely on his old man.
“I want-” he began, biting his lip to stop himself from babbling and embarrassing himself further. “I don’t want to just be a dick you use to get off with.” It turned out it didn’t feel so good being on the other end of a one-sided Collins fuck after all. He didn’t share that information with his father and the sheer idea of his dad possibly knowing how much he whored around with old men set his teeth on edge. This was the safest version of the truth he could manage under the situation. His father nodded with understanding.
“That’s not how I see you, Justin. At all,” he tried to explain. “It’s just…” Now it was his turn to look away, the sunlight reflecting off his darkened features, making him look handsome in a world weary kind of way. “I don’t know how to be what you need. What you want...I don’t think it’s good for you. Not in the long run.”
“Why? Because you’re my father?” Justin challenged, his attention going to the most obvious source of conflict, but Steven shook his head.
“Because I’m...taken,” he said softly. They both knew he wasn’t talking about Elaine. Justin swallowed and turned away, his eyes beginning to well up.
“So you’re really going to go,” he asked, not truly wanting the answer. Steven didn’t reply, but that was a tell all its own. Sometimes no response was a response. He buried his face down on his knees, not trusting himself to hold the emotions in any longer. This time, Steven’s touch was more comforting, if equally unwelcome.
“Son,” he began, but stopped himself. What could he say? What words of comfort and wisdom could he possibly provide to his boy? “This is why I didn’t want you to know…” Justin’s head rose at that, eyes shining, a new accusatory flame burning in the irises.
“You’re such an asshole,” he said, voice wavering. “You were just going to disappear on us.” It was true. That had been Steven’s plan all along. It was the only way he knew how to handle the pain that was coming.
“Is this really any better?” he asked his son softly, and he was surprised when Justin challenged him.
“Of course its better!” he shouted. “At least I get to say goodbye!” His hands came up to his mouth, eyes wide in horror as the full weight of what he had just said hit him like a freight train and the emotions held in denial flowed out of the gaping wound. “Why is this happening!?”
Steven didn’t reply to this either, instead holding and rocking his son through the worst of it. From a distance, the pair appeared to be one unified shape, gently swaying to a tune only the figure could hear.
-----
V.
Justin managed to pull himself together, rubbing his eyes with his sandy palms and blinking away the dust as he mumbled his embarrassed apologies. Steven didn’t comment on his son’s actions, only holding and touching him any moment his aggrieved son would allow it. The pair eventually rose from the dunes, salt and sand sticking to them like a second skin, before, after some playful goading from Steven, they raced back to the beach-house like little kids running home for dinner.
By the time they reached the stairs to the deck, bounding up them two at a time, the rush of adrenaline had reignited Justin’s libidinous interest and Steven wasn’t racing his son so much as running from him like a flirtatious wood nymph. The sliding door ended up being his downfall, and the few seconds it took to push the heavy monster to the side gave Justin all the time he needed to tackle his old man to the floor.
On the way down, Steven managed to roll onto his back with a solid “umph!” His legs, still covered in grit, instinctively spread, creating space for his firstborn. He was positively shaking with excitement as his son pulled his tiny shorts off with a grunt of sexual frustration. When Justin aimed true, piercing his father’s body with a now practiced ease, Steven hooked his legs around his boy’s back, locking them together as one and rocked with the motions of his son’s passions.
“Mine,” Justin hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re mine.” Steven didn’t argue, just squeezed tighter, letting Justin have his way. He could make it true for his boy, at least in these precious moments before the clock ran out. The initial thrusts were always a challenge that knocked the air from his lungs, but even with the discomfort he was taking everything Justin gave him and secretly craving more. When he felt his boy still and spill inside him, the spark of joy from his insides was anything but fake.
“Yesss…” he murmured, the word sounding reverent on his lips. His hole clenched, as if trying to milk every drop from his son, an involuntary reaction that would have be inconceivable a day ago. When Justin tried to lift off of him, he locked his legs tighter around the younger man’s waist and felt his heart swell at the little laugh that poured from his son’s mouth.
“Mine…” he copied, a lazy grin on his face, which after a moment’s hesitation, his son’s mirrored. They lay together like that, father and son bonded as one for several minutes, gently rocking and breathing each other in, before the discomfort in his legs and bowels began to tinge with pain and Steven reluctantly released his hold. He hissed, his eyes clenching shut as his son pulled free of his hole’s grasp.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Steven forced his eyes open, blinking away the tears and nodded, not trusting himself to form words with the pounding coming from inside. He rolled over, his body protesting every inch of movement and slowly rose to his feet with an effort that made him appear far older than 50 years old.
“What the fuck, Dad?” Justin complained, eyes full of worry. “Why did you-?” Steven held a hand up, stopping Justin in his tracks. He was in no mood for sympathy.
“Doesn’t matter,” he grunted and inched toward the fridge, each step feeling like a mile. “This is what I wanted.” The words were appalling, a betrayal of everything he was, everything that made him him. But that was the past. That Steven Collins was dead and buried. Now there was just this needful creature that would wound itself for its next meal.
To his credit, Justin didn’t challenge him any further, a small mercy, but the boy hovered even more than before, if that was even possible. Truthfully, Steven didn’t mind it so much. A part of him had always craved this closeness. Not the sex, never that, but a kind of physical intimacy that he always imagined loving fathers and sons having with one another. The kind of closeness where they could touch, hug, and kiss platonically without fear of emotional recrimination. Steven had never known that kind of love when he was a child, had secretly craved it, and as an adult had wanted to pour that same affection onto his son, only to have his oldest push him away as if his love was a smothering blanket.
That had stung more than words could express, but he did what he always did when life dumped another disappointment on him, faced it with a bashful smile, until the object of his affection forgot all about him. It was a timeworn strategy that had served him well, gotten him where he was in life.
But not where you wanted to be. A darker, more judgmental voice said in his head. He didn’t argue with the voice. It was an old stranger and the smiling mask worked just as well on him as it did anyone else. Besides, his time for grinning like the fool was almost done. It was already early afternoon. It wouldn’t be long before the sun started to set…
-----
VI.
Later, after a long bath that did much to soothe his sore muscles, Steven began to open up.
“I always wanted to be a firefighter.”
Justin’s hand, which had been casually stroking the smooth glides of his father’s chest, stilled.
“What?” he asked, incredulous. Next to him, Steven nodded, his expression far away and dreamy.
“It’s true,” he said. “I never really had any interest in real estate. I just-” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing, as if smelling an unpleasant stench. “Dad always told me I needed something more reliable.” Justin actually laughed at that.
“In what world is real estate reliable work?” he asked, remembering all the news reports of fluctuating markets and crashes that plagued his childhood, all of which the Collins family seemed suspiciously immune from. His smirk died at that thought. He had a good idea now why that was. Next to him, Steven, still looking up at his son with that same far away look in his eyes continued.
“I always looked up to my dad,” he said. “He was the epitome of a man. Calm, cool, collected. Full of this quiet, masculine energy that everyone respected...everything I found lacking in myself,” he stalled his story, his mind going back to scenes from his childhood that were less than flattering. Justin didn’t question his dad, even if he didn’t believe the words. Steven might have been a bit of a doofus, a forever dadbro in his mind, but he was hardly lacking.
“Dad always said I should make something of myself. Well, me and Frank,” he said and his eyes narrowed again. “Not that Frank ever needed the encouragement,” Justin frowned at the obvious jealousy at play, but held his tongue. He felt like he might end up biting it off before the night was through at this rate.
“Maybe its all in my head, but I always felt like I had to work twice as hard to make Dad notice me,” he said, his voice quieter, more vulnerable sounding now. Justin recognized the tone immediately: resignation.
“I’m sure grandpa saw you, Dad,” Justin replied, even though he had no actual idea if that was true or not. It just sounded like the thing you should say in this kind of situation. It was the wrong thing too, if Steven’s scoff was to be believed.
“He was too caught up in his real family to notice the rest of us,” At Justin’s probing stare, he clarified. “The firehouse.” Justin’s eyes widened in understanding and he nodded. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to be a fireman so bad. I guess I thought that would get me into his world. Maybe he would actually notice me then.” There was a hint of bitterness there as if the idea felt cruel and unusual.
“So why didn’t you?” Justin asked quietly, already knowing the answer was going to be sad and ugly. Steven closed his eyes and gave his reasons.
“I went into real estate to satisfy the old man and get him off my back,” he said the words like they were ironic, though Justin couldn’t see the joke. “But then I met your mother and everything changed.” That caught Justin’s attention. He had never heard him talk about Elaine with such reverence.
“She saw something in me. Could see how dissatisfied I was and forced me to tell her the truth.” He turned his head toward the couch back, suddenly bashful. “I thought she would laugh, but she was actually incredibly kind. She didn’t get it, not at all, but she knew it would make me happy so she told me to go for it.” He turned back toward his son, continuing his story.
“So, I started to prepare myself. I hit the gym hard, trying to hit that peak fitness I always dreamed about,” he looked up at his son with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “That’s how I discovered Crossfit.” Justin rolled his eyes at that. The other woman.
“Things were going good. Great even. I was ready for the fitness test. Almost ready to tell Dad. It was like everything was coming up roses…” His voice went deathly quiet. “Then Dad died.” Justin looked down again, eyes sharp.
“Was it…” Steven nodded.
“Yes...I’m certain.” There was a new coldness in his father’s voice that Justin had never heard before and it made him shiver.
“Is that why…” Steven nodded again, a look of profound pain coming over his features.
“There was a big funeral for him. He was a big deal in that world. Firefighters from all over the state came to pay their respects.” He frowned. “They all told these amazing stories about him. How he had climbed into a window of a skyscraper and dashed through flames that should have killed him, how he saved so-and-so after a roof started to collapse around them, that sort of thing. But from where I stood, they might as well have been talking about a stranger.” He shook his head, freeing himself of the negative thoughts.
“Afterwards, they gave us his uniforms. Mom didn’t want them in the house and Frank-” he scoffed. “Frank didn’t give a fuck, so they went to me.” He glanced over at the uniform on the wall. “Once I got a good look at that uniform...I just couldn’t do it anymore. Anytime I thought about the job, all I would see in my mind’s eye were those damned empty suits.” His eyes welled up. “So I gave it up…”
“Was that after I was born?” Justin asked, trying to pin down a timeline. Steven shook his head.
“Before. Your mom was pregnant with your sister.” Justin frowned at that.
“Was I around when you...made the deal?” he felt his father stiffen in his arms and he couldn’t deny the little thrill of satisfaction it gave him.
“No, but shortly after,” Steven said, not clarifying further. Now that the topic had been broached, he moved in for answers.
“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly, hoping the feelings of betrayal weren’t apparent in his words. Steven didn’t respond right away, either because he was concocting his story or just trying to piece it together. “You said you had no choice…” That got his dad’s attention.
“We always have a choice, son, don’t ever forget that,” he said, in dad mode. “I just...I just couldn’t imagine trying to raise you all from 0.” Justin frowned, not understanding.
“Zero?” Steven sat up, rubbing his temples, knowing it was going to be a challenge to explain further.
“By that point, I was a father, with big responsibilities and bigger expectations. I had built a life for myself with your mother. A damn good one too. We were happy then. So when he appeared, with his tainted chalice...I couldn’t give it up. I couldn’t drop us all into the gutter just for myself.”
“So you thought sacrificing yourself was the answer?” Justin asked, genuinely baffled. He didn’t bother to hide his feelings of disgust and he didn’t back down from the look his father gave him.
“Don’t you judge me,” Steven hissed, suddenly all viper. “Imagine if you had to give up everything you owned and all your prospects right here, right now.” He smirked as he saw the understanding pass over his son’s face. “And you don’t even have any kids to worry about.” Justin frowned at that, not liking the implication, but shoved it aside for more pressing questions.
“So now you’re stuck,” he muttered, eyes feasting on his father’s naked flesh. They met Steven’s own, the older man’s returning the look of lust. Steven leaned forward, crowding into his son’s space and slowly forcing Justin onto his back. His trim build, all muscle and sinew, lay upon him with a solid, comforting weight.
“I guess I better start learning how to do my job good and proper then, shouldn’t I?” Steven said, his eyes tracing the bulge in his son’s underwear. It was a simple enough matter to free that erection from its cotton prison, and even simpler to take it into his mouth where he suckled on it with a slow, exploratory motion, his tongue swirling around the head, collecting the taste of Collins’ precum.
“You-you don’t have to-” Justin offered, wanting to smack himself for even thinking about denying himself a blowjob from his old man. Steven, bristled jaw wrapped around cock, only gave him a knowing look, and took his son to the root, choking as he went, but never stopping. When Justin, overcome with passion began to face fuck him, he didn’t protest, just held on for dear life, his nails digging into his son’s thighs. So caught up in the act, he didn’t even notice his son was coming until he found his face held balls deep, his son’s pubes tickling the tip of his nose. His throat instinctively swallowed, feeling the heat of his son’s seed trailing into his stomach. He didn’t know which realization was worse: that he desperately wanted to be able to taste it on his tongue, or that having that desire didn’t bother him even a little bit anymore.
-----
VII.
“Why does Mom hate you?” Steven sighed as if dealing with a small child.
“Your Mother doesn’t hate me, Justin,” he said, going back to the skillet he was using to reheat the seasoned meat. Justin scoffed.
“Could have fooled me…” Steven huffed again at that, dipping his head down as if digging deep for patience and understanding.
“There’s a lot you don’t understand,” he said, as if that was enough of an explanation.
“Better start talking then,” Justin challenged. “It’s not like we have all the time in the world.” Just saying the unspoken implication out loud stung.
“Fine,” Steven muttered, turning off the heat and letting the spatula drop with a quiet clang. “You want to know why your mother acts the way she does…” He turned around and lifting up the hem of his t-shirt. His hand hovered over the tattoo on his abdomen, highlighting it like a designer product on sale.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Justin asked, having an unfortunate inkling of where this conversation was going. Steven released his hand, letting the cloth settle back into place and turned back toward the stove.
“Women are very intuitive, Justin. Your mother especially. She can tell that I’m-” he paused, his fist tightening over the handle of the skillet. “Wrong.” Justin’s eyes widened.
“She knows!?” Steven laughed at that, the bouncing sound cold and bitter in the room.
“God I hope not,” he muttered. “No, she can just feel that I’m...tainted.” The words seemed to cost him something intangible. “Things were never the same after I made the deal.” Justin saw his opportunity and pounced.
“What actually happened, Dad?” he asked quietly. “Tell me.” He said the last two words with a tiny whine in his voice, the kind he would always use on his dad when he was a child to manipulate the older man. It still worked like a charm.
“I’d rather not,” Steven began, turning off the heat. He could feel it though, that sensation that he got when his son became like a dog picking away at a bone. “But if you insist…” He walked past his son and settled down on the end of the couch making himself as comfortable as he could in the situation. He sipped on his coffee and began.
“It happened the night I turned 30. Your mother was away on a business trip at the time. Those were the early days when she was still fighting to be taken seriously in the firm. She felt so guilty for not being home to celebrate with me…” Steven got a sad, almost wistful look on his face. “I didn’t go out, didn’t have a big party. I never was one for big social interactions anyways and by that point Dad was gone and Frank had jumped off the face of the Earth.” His face, as handsome at 50 as it must have been when he was 30, darkened at the mention of his brother.
“I was in bed and he appeared to me wearing that same face he always did,” Justin raised an eyebrow at that.
“You were into a knockoff Valentino thing he’s got going on?” he asked, his voice sounding dubious. Now it was Steven’s turn to look incredulous.
“Is that what you saw?” he laughed at that, devoid of any warmth or humor. “No, he always appeared as the same person every time without fail. My father.” Justin’s eyes widened as the true depths of the manipulation revealed themselves.
“Of course, at first I thought maybe it was Dad, or a ghost, or something weird like that,” he shook his head as if trying to banish an illusion. “If only. The bastard knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He made me the offer, signed in blood, dripped poison in my ear and implied all the things that would go wrong if I denied him, so…” he sighed and looked down at the floor. “I gave in and here we are.” Justin frowned at that.
“That’s it?” he asked, unbelieving, and Steven shook his head again.
“That’s the gist of it, but,” he took a deep breath and shuddered at the memory that came to mind. “I ingested his...blood,” a mirror mixture of revulsion appeared on both of their faces. “I know its still there, flowing through me like poison. For 20 years. That’s why I am the way I am. That’s why I’m tainted. Why we are tainted.” There were tears in his eyes now.
“What does that mean, Dad?” Justin asked, his skin running cold. “What do you mean we?” Steven forced himself to look at his son, his eyes shining as he did so.
“It’s my fault you are the way you are, Justin,” he said, low and defeated. “I brought the corruption into our bloodline. I made you...want me.” Justin didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at his father unbelieving, before he couldn’t hold it in anymore and began chuckling lowly. Steven looked at him in alarm.
“Dad…” Justin began, slowly, as if talking to someone dimwitted. “Did you want to fuck your Dad?” He saw an expression pass over his face. A knee-jerk revulsion that slowly melted away into a look of surprised arousal. When Steven finally mustered the courage to respond, his voice was low and disbelieving.
“No...never, not until…” he didn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t finish it and admit out loud how much he had been irrevocably changed. He didn’t need to, Justin already knew and understood.
“Salleo didn’t make me want you. I always wanted you.” He didn’t know if that was strictly true. Maybe there were other Collins men in their long, torn family history who had deviant cravings too, and maybe the demon’s pact with Jeremiah, the original sin, played some role in that. But Steven wasn’t gay, for his son or anyone else. Except all of that changed last night.
“But now,” Justin leaned forward, his voice dropping toward a sultry whisper. “Now you can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” He licked his lips. “Not since I put the idea in your head.” He watched his father begin to shiver under his gaze. The room wasn’t cold, it might have been even accurate to say it was a little steamy, and not just from the way Justin was looking at his father like he was a prime piece of meat.
“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he asked, unblinking, staring into his father’s awestruck eyes. “You are thinking about committing incest with your own father.” Steven didn’t speak, didn’t shake his head. A tiny tear, so small it was almost imperceptible ran down his check.
“Tell me, Dad. Say it out loud,” he commanded, feeling a little more of that heat from last night, the devil having woken back up. God help them all, but he liked being in control, even without a demon’s influence. When Steven finally spoke, he was visibly shaking.
“...yes…” Justin peered closer, smelling the shame and arousal dripping from his father’s pores.
“Say it again. Say it properly,” he commanded, like a master to his servant. Justin’s words seemed to have set steel to his father’s form, because when he spoke again, it was with more of an edge.
“Yes. I want it,” he admitted, clear as day. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” Justin closed the gap, his lips crashing into his father’s. Their teeth mashed, clacking together painfully, but neither man cared or slowed down. They were far past the point of no return.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Dad,” he said, vocalizing the act out loud for the first time. A spoken declaration with no excuse. “I’m going to use you just the way you need it.” He reached for the loose sweats his father was wearing, his fingers twisting around the tangled up drawstrings. Steven didn’t stop him or move to help. He just lay there, a deer caught in the headlights. By the time, Justin pulled the old thing off his dad’s muscular legs, Steven was already painfully hard.
Justin grasped his father’s length, the first time he had intentionally touched him this way since this entire sordid affair began. Steven was hot and hard in his hand, the fit perfect. He didn’t stroke, just held him possessively as he continued.
“What were you like before?” he asked, and seeing the confusion in his father’s eyes, clarified. “Before the demon made you like this?” He gave the length a squeeze, enjoying the tiny gasp that came out of his dad’s mouth. When Steven responded, he closed his eyes tightly, as if he could ward away the feeling of his son’s touch by not directly seeing it.
“I...I liked women. One woman really,” he said, the pinch in his eyes stinging. “I never wanted anything like this…” Justin smirked and gave his father’s cock an experimental stroke.
“And now?” Steven’s eyes opened, gleaming from unshed tears of overwhelmed stimulation. When he finally spoke, his lip shook.
“Now...I can’t stop thinking about it…”
Justin began to stroke his father in earnest, long and smooth strides, as if it was completely natural for him to be doing this to his own father. This was a dream come true, granted by a devil with desires even more depraved than his own. But he still wanted more.
“Who do you think about doing it to you?” Steven shook his head, clearly not wanting to answer the question, but Justin wouldn’t be denied. He continued stroking, but tightened his grasp, the up-down motion tiptoeing toward painful.
“Him...others...and…” Now a tear, big and fat dripped down his face. “You.” Justin smiled, overjoyed beyond words at his father’s truthful declaration. Salleo, for all of his trickery and deceit, had done what should have been impossible. He had made formerly heterosexual Steven Collins into a cockhungry homo, eager to take and please cocks.
“You want to come, Dad,” he asked, empathizing the last word. His strokes became lighter, teasing. “All you have to do is ask nicely…” For a long moment, Steven resisted, and then finally he snapped like an overburdened branch.
“Please, son. Make me come.”
Justin didn’t need to be told twice. He set about his work, stroking his father with a touch that seemed more practiced than what he had ever actually experienced. It was doing the trick and soon the elder Collins was writhing on the couch, eyes parted, lost in sensation. When he finally orgasmed it was perfect, better than a dream. Thick, wet stripes of white shot in arcs and landed on the t-shirt, nearly indistinguishable from the color of the fabric. As it began to soak in, damp spots formed on the white like newly created tributaries.
When Justin released his father’s cock, he watched with lustful amusement as it feel back and landed on its owner’s belly, bouncing once and settling down, still hard. He glanced up at his father’s flushed face, eyes wet, lips thick and kissable. He watched as his father’s eyes glanced downward at his son’s sizable package. He grinned.
“Not done, are you?” Steven flushed deeper, but didn’t deny. Whether by magic or his innate nature, he couldn’t help but want to please.
With a little lube and a little fingering, the penetration went as smooth as always. When Justin sheathed himself balls deep inside his father, an arrangement that was beginning to feel eerily second nature, he leaned forward, his nose bumping into the tip of Steven’s own as he laid down the law.
“I love you, Dad,” he said, slowly pulling out. Beneath him, Steven looked away.
“Justin, dont-” The inward thrust shut him up.
“It’s true. I’ve always wanted you this way, ever since I could make myself hard and shoot.” It was a nasty, sinful thing to say, but since their family line was cursed it suddenly didn’t seem to bother Justin so much. He ignored the feeling of time pressing down on them, instead focusing his attention on staking his claim while he had the opportunity.
As Justin continued to use his body, the curse disguised as a gift did its work, twisting Steven’s own affections for his son toward the same decadent direction his son walked. He closed his eyes, panting with each brush against his prostate. He didn’t bother to hide his arousal, and if he was being honest, a small part of him, growing bigger by the hour, wanted Justin to see. He wanted his son to see how powerful his affections were even if they were wrong in every way that mattered.
When Justin spilled his seed inside once again, Steven wrapped his legs around his son’s lower back, his heels digging into Justin’s tailbone. His face was buried in his son’s neck, breathing in his scent, memorizing it for the long road ahead. He might not have much else to look forward to. He wouldn’t be able to be the father his son needed, not in the long run, and not in the way that a father should truly be for his boy, but he could give him this. One night of untethered passions and no rules to speak of. He just wish it didn’t feel so damn good…
-----
VIII.
They didn’t move, not for a long time. Nor did they speak, both knowing on an unconscious level that words would only shatter the perfect, escapist harmony of their current union. They simply stayed locked together, father and son as one, until finally Steven grunted under his son’s weight.
“Too heavy for you, old man?” Justin teased, a twinkle of laughter in his eyes which only shown brighter at the look of annoyance his father shot him.
“Never,” Steven hissed, pulling his son in closer and licking a stray drop of sweat off his son’s chin.
“You better stop that,” Justin warned, the playful tone still evident even now. “You might get yourself into more trouble.” Steven answered by rolling his hips, or as much as he was able under the ample weight of his oldest child.
“Maybe I like trouble,” he taunted, and Justin could see what this was, could read between the lines of the game they were playing. You want to stay distracted, I’ll keep you distracted.
Erection renewed, Justin went back to plowing his father, the tiny almost pained moans the other man made only making his aching cock harder. This time when he orgasmed, Steven released his hips with a weary sigh, the beast fed for the moment. Unfortunately, while one beast was sated another one woke up in its wake.
“Hey!” his dad cried out as Justin began to stroke him once more. Steven moved to stop his son, but Justin batted his hand away as if swatted a fly. His pointed a finger at his dad’s chest, the motion saying Stay. To his surprise and delight, his father obeyed the unspoken command laying back and allowing his son to touch his body as he pleased.
Justin couldn’t be sure if this new submissive side of Steven’s was new or something that had always existed deeply embedded under his happy dog personality. He had no data to compare it to, so instead of beating the dead horse, he decided he would rather beat his dad’s meat instead. The erection, and it was an erection as hard as it had been every other time they fucked today, showed no signs of withering despite the frequent use and constant orgasms. This, if nothing else, had to be a consequence of the demon, but he wasn’t about to complain.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asked, his gaze piercing Steven’s more weary expression. He watched with amusement as Steven bit his lip and gently nodded his head, giving in to his son’s demands. Or perhaps more accurately, giving into his body’s ravenous appetite.
“Look at you,” Justin said hotly. “Spread open like a slut for your own son.” The words felt nasty in his mouth but good all the same, like drinking a bottom shelf liquor when you were still underage. Steven didn’t answer his son, just closed his eyes, his hips moving minutely to the strokes of Justin’s sweaty palm. Justin, still sheathed inside his father didn’t move, just let the fullness of himself remain a constant presence.
“Say it,” he said, voice commanding. “Say how much you want it.” Steven opened his eyes again. Justin could see how bloodshot they were, but they looked feverish as well. I’m driving him crazy, he realized, and that made his cock twitch inside his father’s body.
“Use me…” Steven said, his eyes closing again, tongue licking his thin lips. “Do whatever you want...whatever feels good…” There was a moment of hesitation, then he added the title. “Son.” Justin’s nostrils flared, and he could have spread his dad’s legs even wider and fucked his old man to oblivion right then and there, but there was something else on his mind, something more pressing.
“Is that what you really want, Dad?” he asked, his voice more measured now, more probing. Steven looked at him again, his eyes still full of desire, but more clear than before.
“I want to be whatever makes you happy, Justin.” he said, voice clear as day. “Anything at all.” His chest fit to burst, Justin lunged on his father, mashing their mouths together, teeth clashing as he began to stroke Steven at a breakneck speed. Even with his mouth covered by his son’s domineering mouth, Steven’s scream escaped into the room and only died down when he was spilling his load between their warm bodies. Breathing hard, both gasping for air, the pace of the kiss slowed down, but didn’t stop.
I want to make you mine, Dad. I want to love you, fuck you, suck you, stroke you, eat you out, do whatever I can think of to make you know you are mine. I want it to be so good for you that no one else could or would ever compare. I want to imprint myself on your body, so if we ever get separated you will always feel me inside. I want to be the most important man in your life.
I want you to love me as desperately as I love you…
-----
IX.
By the time they finally made it to the bedroom, the sun had already set and the moon was shining bright in the sky, filling the tiny bedroom, their shared boudoir of sin, with its pale illumination. The rampant heat had diminished even if the embers still lay there and with only the slightest jab a flame could be reignited. So, instead of ravaging each other once again, they settled into a slow, passionate embrace.
Steven’s legs were entangled with his son’s, the four limbs rolling among each other, almost like lovers themselves. They were kissing, of course. Father and son’s lips matching pace to the beating of each other’s hearts. They had never felt more like lovers and this union, as wrong as it might have been, had never felt more right. Maybe it was the demon, maybe it was psychopathology, but this felt like coming home, and it wasn’t long before Justin began to breakdown in his dad’s arms.
“Justin,” Steven said, stroking his boy’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. They didn’t speak about the tears, from either of them. Some mountains were too big to be climbed, especially in a single day. Instead, they allowed each other the grace to get out what they couldn’t express and come back in whatever form they need. Still, even Steven was surprised by his son’s desires.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his brow furrowed. Justin, who had pulled himself back together into a form that felt younger than his 20 years, nodded, his gaze strong.
“Yeah...I want to feel you in me.”
24 hours ago, if you had told Justin Collins that he would be asking, almost begging for his father to fuck him, he would laughed in your face and told you to fuck off. Yet, here he was. The world had turned upside down and this felt like one of the only ways to right himself. In the back of his mind, he imagined the clock running down. Tick tock, tick tock…
It was Steven’s idea to let Justin drive the car.
“I really think you should be on top, son,” he emphasized quietly, stroking Justin’s bicep. “I think it will be much easier for you.” He left out the words from the little voice in the back of his mind telling him, You just like him being in control. To his relief, Justin agreed, apparently as relieved by the idea as Steven was.
It was easy enough to climb onto his father’s lap, to reach behind his back and buttocks and grasp Steven’s aching prong, lubricating those ample inches with the vegetable oil from the kitchen. Even though he was technically bigger than his dad, Steven felt huge in his hand, and he was relieved to release him and move his wet fingers to his now aching hole. The stretch was uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar. It had been a long time since he had touched himself like this, probably back in middle school. All of that older man ass had made him neglect his own hole.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, his voice strained as he positioned himself. He felt the head of Steven’s cock flirt with his wet opening and there was a moment of brief, pained resistance, as if his asshole was trying to hold onto some last vestige of dignity, before he opened up and sunk down with an ease that was surprising even to him. When he felt Steven’s balls touching the bottom of his cheeks, he closed his eyes, breathing deep, slow breaths and feeling fuller than he could ever recall in his life. When he opened them again, his eyes were blazing.
“Don’t cum until I tell you to.”
He started slow, rising a few inches, dropping back down, but soon his pace quickened and he was bouncing on his father’s lap with the practiced ease better associated with power bottoms. It felt good, damn good. He looked down at his dad, just laying there and letting his son use his cock like he was muscle slut daddy dildo. The thought alone made his hole flutter, his first taste of what an anal orgasm would feel like.
“You like it, Dad?” he asked, smiling manically, as he experimented tightening his hole around his father’s length. He already knew the answer and he upped the game. “You’re taking it, Dad. You’re taking your own son’s cherry.” The pained moan of arousal that spilled from Steven’s lips was delicious. He rose up, almost unseating himself, letting his tight asslips make out with the head of his father’s cock and then took him back inside with a savage plunge. He rode Steven with eager hops, hungry for his prize.
“Give it to me, Dad. Breed your son. Shoot all that seed right into my virgin hole.” Prove I’m yours.
The tortured look on Steven’s face as his orgasm hit him was exquisite. He felt like he was sucking his dad’s life from his body. Salleo never gave you this, he thought, memories of the demon making his cock swell and he sprayed his load, the sticky white substance hitting Steven square in his unshaven face. Steven gasped in surprise, only managing to take the next hit straight into his mouth, before he clamped his jaw shut and raised his chin. His eyes bleary in a post-nut fog, Justin looked down at his father, marked from head to nipple in viscous white fluid. He watched Steven’s Adam’s apple bob as more of his son’s seed dripped down his throat. Even with his eyes protectively squinted, Justin could still see the hunger filled adoration cooked into those irises. He smiled at the sight, and leaned down, slow and seductive to kiss his father on his cum-stained lips.
Who owns Dad now, bitch.
-----
Steven lay on the damp mattress with his son their shared lust finally sated after so many hours. He was as sore as he could ever recall, even more than the previous night. But he had never felt better either. Outside, the moon was hanging crooked in air and as cloud passed by, the rays of white were dampened and the room became dark. It wouldn’t be long now.
“Justin, son,” he said, shaking his boy who was already starting to nod off. Despite his younger age, Justin seemed even more exhausted than his old man. Maybe I’m running on adrenaline. Or its magic. Or… he didn’t finish his contemplation because Justin began to stir in his grip.
“Hmm?” his son asked, sleepy and childlike. Steven wasn’t sure if he had ever loved his son more.
“Justin,” he began, going over the script in his mind. “I hope you remember I love you. That I’ve always loved you and will always love you. I couldn’t be more proud of you.” He tried not to stare at his son’s face, imagining the expression that must be appearing now that he was wising up to what kind of conversation this was.
“Dad-” Steven placed a finger on his son’s lips, feeling the softness against the tip. He wanted to kiss those lips so bad right now.
“Justin, I need you to promise me something,” he said, staring at the wall, his vision focused on a future he wouldn’t be a part of. “I need you to promise me that no matter what that monster says to you, no matter what he promises, that you won’t take his offer.” He felt Justin’s lip quiver under his digit and it was taking everything in him not fall apart right there.
“I want you to have a long, happy life. Take care of your mother and sister. Meet a man who makes you happy. Go out there and live your life no matter what form it takes. Just promise me that you will never make an agreement with him.” Justin didn’t answer, but he could feel the way his lips had settled into an uncomfortable grimace. “Son, please.”
“I promise.” Two words, spoken slowly and so quiet Steven barely heard them, but it was enough and he finally released the breath he had been holding. He pulled his son close, his eyes damp now from too many emotions to keep track of.
“Your old man’s feeling kinda bushed…” he said, too drowsy to keep fighting. “Will you watch over me while I take a nap?” He felt Justin nod against his chest and a small part of him felt it then. It was over. No more waiting. No more worrying. It was time to let go. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. I really hope I get to see you, Dad. I’ve missed you so much. The last thing he felt was the ghost of his son’s breath warming over his chest and settled above his heart.
-----
X.
The blinding glare of the early morning sun creeping behind the gap in the thin curtains pierced through the veil of Justin’s slumber. He froze, his eyes bulging and then wincing close as the glare slammed into the orbs. His squeeze, formerly relaxed, tightened on his dad’s prone body, until reality seeped back in and he began to relax just as he had the previous day.
“Shit…” he muttered. He hadn’t expected to drift off like that. So much for standing guard, he thought wryly. He nestled in closer to his dad, snaking his arm back around his dad’s midsection. “Sorry,” he said, quietly. “I must have fallen asleep…”
His dad didn’t respond, no doubt in an even deeper sleep than Justin had been. That was ok, he needed the rest after the last couple of days. The thought of it sparked a little obscene thrill in his loins, but he ignored it, for now. This was actually better. Just laying in bed with his old man, play acting as lovers in the early morning light. He lazily rubbed his hands across his dad’s chest, the fingertips hopping along the pectoral muscles, when he finally noticed.
He froze again, worse this time, like a statue sculpted from an iceberg. His hand clamped down hard on Steven’s chest, feeling for the telltales signs. The drumming of oxygenated blood running through aged arteries and the small inhalations of life giving breath that supported them. Nothing. His pulse quickened, shooting fire through his icy veins. Forcing himself up, he began to roll his father onto his back, trying to ignore how heavy Steven felt in his grip.
“Dad?” he asked in a tiny voice. Steven’s eyes didn’t open, his chest didn’t rise, breath didn’t release from his nostrils. He just lay there, motionless. A pair of shaking fingertips on his father’s neck confirmed it. Justin ran into the bathroom, spilling the contents of yesterday’s Cali-Mex into the sink. He expelled his stomach with great, awful heaves, not even noticing the tears streaming down his cheeks until he had slumped face first over the sink.
Eventually he pulled himself together enough to rise on shaky feet and lean against the doorframe that led back into that tainted bedroom. He stared, wide-eyed and unblinking at his father’s prone, lifeless figure. Finally, with small steps that felt like trudging through a swamp, he made his way back to the bed, walking around to the far side, and crouched down to get a closer look at Steven. It was uncanny. Steven was lifeless in all the ways that counted, and yet, if he had been pressed, Justin could have sworn his dad was just sleeping, deep and dreamless. A part of him, childlike and irrational, told him that Steven wasn’t dead, that this was all a trick, but deep down Justin knew better. His father was gone.
“Dad…” the word sounded foreign and empty, like his soul had dripped out of his body as he spoke.
He stayed down on the floor next to the bed for longer than he could determine, ignoring his body’s calls of hunger or the need to expel his wastes. He held his father’s hand, still warm to the touch, and stared at the fingers, tracing patterns with his own across the palms, tracing the different lines that crisscrossed the skin. He wondered which one was the life line and if it told the truth.
It was only when that hand began to lose it’s heat, first lukewarm and then becoming cool to the touch, that he pried himself away from the bed, not able to help the crawling feeling of disgust that passed across his own skin as he did so. He didn’t look at Steven again, couldn’t bear to detect anymore signs of his passing. Instead, he crawled across the floor, finding his jeans, pawing through the pockets, looking and eventually finding the phone.
He held it with a hand that felt numb, and turning it on, he made the call. The phone rang once, twice, and then he heard the irritated sound of his mother’s voice on the other line. Followed by the sound of young women laughing in the background. He was about to ruin the party.
“Mom,” he said, his voice as cold as his father’s hand. “You-you might want to sit down…”
-----
Justin refused to go to the funeral. As expected, Elaine blew her lid.
“I know this is hard for you, Justin,” she said, in a tone that very much expressed the opposite. “But for god’s sake, he was your father.” Justin ignored the comment, cranking up the volume on the TV. He watched Elaine’s figure, black and hulking cross in front of his vision and pull the plug from the wall.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” he snarled at her. She stomped up to him like a giant who was about to crush a gnat.
“Get up,” she commanded. No response. “Get up!” She grabbed his arm, attempting to pull the unwashed mass of her son off the spot he had glued himself to on the couch. He shook her off, pushing her back and watched as she nearly toppled over the coffee table. Like a flash, Natalie appeared, an angel in mourning swooping in to save dear mother.
“What the fuck, Justin!?” she snapped at him, helping Elaine steady herself. Justin watched as Elaine gingerly pried her arm from her daughter’s grip, nodding to her, an unspoken message of womanhood passing between them. As Natalie exited the tunnel of his vision, Elaine tried one more time.
“Justin,” she said, quiet almost sweet, the way she used to talk to him when he was a small child. “I get it. I really do. No one wants to do this even less than me, but please, this is hard enough already…” He didn’t see her expression when he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the TikTok app. “Justin...don’t do this...Please.” When he ignored her even then, he felt the air in the room shift. “Ok...ok, fine…”
Justin wouldn’t understand the mistake that he had made until years later, but in that moment, something irrevocable shifted between him and his mother. Elaine would always love him, would always be there for him if he truly, desperately needed her. She was still his mother and that would never change. But after today, a part of her heart closed to him and neither of them were ever able to find the key to open it again.
-----
There’s no way to “get over” a parent’s death, but a shit-ton of sex and drugs made it a hell of a lot easier not to think about it. There was no pill, needle, or joint too big or bad for him to push aside, no hole or pole too tight or too large numb his brain with, and soon enough his days began to pass in a variety of drug and sex-filled stupors.
School was the first thing to drop off. There was no reason to plan for a future when you didn’t think you had or deserved one. Dropping out was embarrassingly easy enough to do. He stopped going to classes, ignored the calls and emails from the school, and refused to sign up for more the following semester. Elaine and Natalie tried to talk him out of it, of course. It was technically the right thing to do, but they might as well have argued with the sun. “Don’t throw your life away.” “This isn’t what Dad would have wanted.” They tried it all and it all fell on deaf ears.
Any mention or inference to his father only made things worse. Not because Steven was dead, but because he was gone, and missing in a way no one else could understand. He would start to think about that day, that wonderful, doomed day they had shared together and how that brand new relationship that should have been impossible was snatched away from him, perhaps forever. It was too much to bear and no amount of drugs or dad hole was enough to fill the hollowness left behind.
He burned his bridges with the single-minded determination of a suicide bomber. His friends, the few that actually stood by him after Steven’s death, trickled away slowly but surely, disturbed by his downward spiral and the miasma of men and meth that surrounded him at all manner of hours. His tricks turned on him too. One too many weird, selfish, egotistical demands would push them over the edge. Even Rick, who was willing to put up with all of his kinky dad shit, like wearing Steven’s clothes and colognes when they fucked, ended up decking him when he went too hard and refused to stop fucking. Justin spat out the blood from his mouth onto Rick shoe and walked away, never looking back. Each cut off was a relief. One less thing to have to worry about. One more part of himself he could close the door on.
By all accounts, his life should have plummeted completely out of control. He was practically a junkie, with no job and no prospects. And yet, somehow a peculiar luck always seemed to be on his side. He got access to a sizable trust when Steven passed away and invested the money in random assets, things he knew little about, but sounded fun to his addled brain. They all came back positive for him, each and every one, like getting Bingo after every pull of a letter/number combo. He was never short of money and he knew exactly who to thank and blame in equal portions.
He pushed against the limits of those gifts all the same. He was convinced that once or twice he might actually die, but then he would wake up in some hospital bed with a nurse or doctor or someone similar hovering over him with a tired, but concerned expression on their face.
“That was an awful nasty crash, Mr. Collins,” one particular doctor with a paternal cut of his gib told him once. “With that and all the heroin in your system, it’s a miracle all you suffered were a few scratches and bruises. You’re lucky to be alive, young man.”
Even though it was horribly inappropriate, Justin couldn’t stop the laughter, and once it started to bubble, it was like he was an angry volcano uncontrollably bursting. He laughed so hard it brought tears to his eyes. Lucky. What a joke. If he had been lucky he would be off seeing his dad right about now. Instead, he was stuck in limbo, aging in slow motion like a wine until he became a fine vintage. All for the benefit of his “benefactor”.
The years passed in a blur. His world became smaller, more surreal, more tainted. He lost almost all contact with his family and the only friends that remained were parasites, more leech than human. He was waiting with bated breath for the clock to run out, so he could have the confrontation. It was a long 10 years.
-----
X.
On the eve of his 30th birthday, Justin was ready. Or at least as ready as you can be when you planned on killing the supernatural being that took your father away from you. He had no real concrete plans, drugs and anxiety made that form of planning almost impossible, but he did have a Ruger LCR. He wasn’t sure where it came from exactly, one of the groupies let him borrow it in exchange for an extra bump, and he hadn’t asked questions or bothered to return it. He just needed to know it was loaded and ready to fire.
He sat in his bedroom, because he was convinced that’s where the demon would appear. He was naked, not because he was looking for carnal pleasure, his dick had given up on that kind of fun years ago, but he wasn’t sure how messy this was going to get and he irrationally worried about the cleanup. It was a final lingering part of his old identity that was screaming at him: Danger, You’re in Danger! He ignored it all the same. He had a lot of practice tuning out unwanted voices by now.
“Hello, darling.”
Justin swerved in place and before he could even get a good look at the figure who was standing behind him, he unloaded the gun at it, the sound of gunfire blaring like a small cannon next to his eardrums in the room, his aim wild and his arm jumping with each pull of the trigger. He fired until the gun bursts were replaced with a hollow clicking sound and he kept on pressing the trigger, his eyes never leaving the figure.
“Oh, Justin...was that really necessary?” Salleo said, the wall behind him now covered in tiny holes, like a piece of swiss cheese. As Sal began to walk toward him, Justin screamed and threw the heated weapon at the demon.
“Stay the fuck away from me!”
Sal caught the gun, as if Justin had just tossed him a softball underhanded. He made a show of bouncing it in his hands, as if he might drop the smoking object, before gracefully catching it and setting it aside on a nearby desk. He turned back to Justin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“A simple hello would have sufficed, don’t you agree?” The look Justin gave him was scathing.
“I hate you,” he whispered, then again. “I hate you.” Salleo made a motion as if he was wounded by Justin’s jabs, before gracing the younger man with a knowing look.
“I know, dear. Good old Steven meant so much to you.” That was enough to make Justin’s addled mind curdle.
“Fuck you!” he snarled, wanting to throw himself at the demon, but not trusting how his body might react to the close contact, so he settled for spewing venomous words instead. “It’s your fault he’s-gone.” He had almost said the dreaded D word out loud, only correcting himself at the last possible moment. The mere thought of admitting it out loud to this monster would have made him lose it completely.
“Shush now, Little Lamb,” the demon chided, his paternalistic words ringing hollow and he paused, considering. “I suppose I’m going to have to come up with a new nickname for you, won’t I?” He said these last words with a ponderous tone in his voice. “After all, you’re hardly a child now, are you?”
“I know why you’re here!” Justin hissed, watching the way the demon licked his lips as its eyes ran over his youthful body. “I’m not signing any fucking contact!” Salleo gave him another faux-hurt expression, despite how predictable Justin’s words must have been.
“Such anger!” he chided, pursing his lips. “I only want to offer you a gift, young man. What’s wrong with that?” Justin stared at him incredulously.
“...You stole my father from me,” he said, low and quiet, the wound opening and bleeding out its pain. “You did the same to him, and his brother, and his father…”
“I may not be perfect, Justin Collins, but I’m certainly no Daddy thief,” he said, hands on his hips. A small, secret smile crossed his lips. “And I know for a fact your father is having a grand old time.” Justin’s brow furrowed at that.
“What do you mean?” he asked, already detecting a falsehood and yet unable to resist the bait on the lure. Sal’s smile widened, and he walked over to the mirror by the adjacent wall, beckoning Justin to follow him.
“See for yourself.” Salleo waved a hand, like a makeshift stage magician and the cracked mirror sprang into life with an eerie purple glow that was wholly unnatural. Justin held his hand up to his eyes, blocking the worst of the light as he approached the reflective glass. Slowly, the harshness began to dim, and as it did so, a scene began to come into picture. Justin blinked, willing the spots away and peering closer. His breath caught.
It was a bedroom of some sort, or more precisely a bed, grand and ornate with a decadence that made him think it had to be attached to the demon in some fashion. It wasn’t the carefully carved wood of the headboard or the crimson silk sheeting that caught his attention though. It was the men. There were three of them, 2 pale in skin tone and 1 heavily tanned. He recognized them instantly.
“Dad…?” he said, disbelieving, already reaching forward to try and touch him before he could stop himself. He hissed when his hand touched the mirror’s edge, which was hot to the touch. He pulled the hand away, staring at the men, realizing that the other two must have been his uncle and his grandfather. All together after all. He grabbed a hold of the dresser frame to stop himself from touching the image again and shouted out as loud as he could manage.
“Dad! Can you hear me! It’s me!” He feared the worst at first, certain the portal was for sight only, but then he saw the tanned man’s head shift off of the shoulder of the portly older man and look around the room with a groggy confusion Justin recognized all too well. He tried again, while he had his dad’s attention. “Over here! I’m right here!” The man froze, confusion steeling into a fighting grimace and then the head turned directly toward the mirror and Justin got his first look at his father’s face in 10 years. He looked exactly as he had the day he had died. He looked perfect.
He saw Steven squint, as if trying to make something out on a hazy horizon and then the eyes widened.
“Justin?” The mirror flashed and he was gone.
With a wail, Justin threw himself at the mirror, slamming his fists into it and the mirror warbled, gaining a new crack to match its cousin.
“No! Bring him back! Bring him back!!” he screamed, not caring if he showed his embarrassment or humiliation anymore. When Salleo’s arms wrapped around his torso in a bitter mockery of a fatherly hug he didn’t fight.
“Shh. I’m sorry my love. I can only show you so much,” Justin simply stared at the mirror, fat tears running down his cheeks now. The demon wiped one away, discreetly sucking on the same thumb that had touched Justin’s cheek. “But now you know Steven is safe and sound. Just like the others…just like you could be if your heart desires it.”
Even in the midst of his grief, he saw the trap for what it was, and while a small part of his soul burned with humiliation, a larger, needy, childlike side couldn’t resist.
“What do I need to do to see him again?” the words sounded hollow to his ears. They sounded like defeat, but he was beyond caring. There was nothing left for him on this mortal coil anyways. Might as well give the monster its meal and be done with it.
He startled when a piece of parchment paper appeared on the dresser in front of him. He looked down at it with bleary eyes. The text was tiny and black as coal. He had barely read through the first paragraph before his eyes glazed over completely and they only cleared when he felt the sting of a prick on his chest. He glanced down, trance-like, and saw an old-fashioned quill, dripping with drops of his blood. Salleo didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
Holding his breath, Justin snatched the instrument from the demon’s grasp and signed his signature in blood before his mind had time to stop him. The moment was strangely anti-climatic. Salleo didn’t wait any longer, and when the first pinprick of his taloned finger began to etch across his chest, Justin sighed and dropped the pen, where it tumbled out of sight. Justin didn’t fight the branding. He actually found the rhythmic pain oddly soothing, a strange kind of balm for his ruptured heart, and when Salleo completed his dirty task, he was leaning heavily against the demon’s chest, who supported his weight effortlessly.
“There you go, my love,” the demon whispered in his ear, all honey. “All done. Welcome to the family.” He saw a red tipped finger float across his vision and then the digit was smearing red copper across his parched lips. Against all his judgment, Justin’s tongue moved, tasting the blood and his vision swam immediately. As his cock rose to full mass, throbbing with a feverish intensity, he realized who’s blood this must have been.
“So beautiful,” Salleo whispered, stroking Justin with calm, authoritative strokes. “Just like all the men in your family.” He smiled as Justin shot his first load all across the cracked mirror and continued stroking. “This is the joy you have waiting for you my love. You were made for this.”
Justin lost count of the times he orgasmed, but by the time he slumped to the floor in a worn-out heap, the mirror and dresser were a mess of sticky white streaks. Afterwards, Salleo leaned forward planting a surprisingly chaste kiss on Justin’s lips. The demon looked completely unfazed, not a strand of hair out of place.
“As much as it would please me to ravage you right this minute, the rules must be followed.” Justin’s eyes opened as he understood what Salleo was saying. The Collins men were only taken on the 50th year of their lives. 20 years, he thought with horror, imagining it as an unapproachable horizon. So long to wait...
“Worry not, my love. The contract has been placed and we are destined to be together.” Justin looked up at Salleo and he thought the creature had never looked more devilish. “I won’t tell dear Steven. That will be our little surprise.” This last statement made Justin flinch. He suddenly remembered that promise he had made all those years ago. A promise broken. With his task complete, the demon wasted no more time.
“It’s time for me to go, my dear. Our time apart may sound like an eternity now, but I assure you, it will pass in the blink of an eye. Until then, lovely, rest well, and dream of me…I’ll make sure I keep dear Steven nice and warm until the day comes.” With those last words, Salleo slunk back into the shadows and disappeared into whatever shadowy realm he belonged to.
Justin didn’t move for a long time. His cock ached. His heart ached, and not just where the demon had tattooed him. Eventually, Justin pulled himself together enough to rise to his feet and he surveyed the damage. The disgusting, sticky proof of his defilement coated everything in his sight and as he stared at his semen smeared reflection in the mirror, he remembered all that had happened and the demon’s taunting platitudes. 20 years...my father...keep him warm…
His vision flashed into red and before he knew what was happening he was grabbing the nearby lamp and smashing it into the mirror, which shattered, spreading cumsoaked shards of glass across the floor. He was shaking, but not with fear, not with sorrow. With rage.
He’s mine...you took him from me...He’s Mine! Mine!! MINE!!!
Justin didn’t remember much of what happened the rest of the night, only flashes of memory, like stills from an old viewfinder. Just scene after fragmented scene of destruction and carnage as he tore apart any object in his apartment that he could get his filthy hands on. When it was all said and done, when the worst of the episode had subsided and he had settled back into his conscious body, the apartment was a wreck, trashed beyond repair. He doubted even Salleo’s magic could save his security deposit. He smiled faintly, a small petty part of his soul pleased.
The twisted smile never left his lips and with each breath the anger calcified into a hardened shell. The demon had thought him broken, thought him a toy with its strings cut. He was wrong. Where Justin Collins the drug-addled disaster of a human being had stood a new version of him was crawling from the burned out husk. And this Justin Collins was angry.
-----
XI.
The first thing Justin did, after a long fitful sleep hunched against the wall of the living room floor, was get rid of all the fucking drugs. This took far longer than he wanted to admit. First he flushed the pills, and the hash, and the booze, and anything stronger than Ibuprofin. He was done hiding and if he was going to beat this fucking demon he was going to need his wits about him as much as possible. It took far longer to dump the users, abusers, pushers, and other hanger-ons who had flocked to him in his drugged-filled disaster days. Some of them didn’t want to go quietly, but once they got a taste of the new and improved Justin Collins, his formerly dulled eyes burning with a destructive need for vengeance, they inevitably ran for the hills.
Once he was sober and settled in a new place free of old associations, he got to work. First, he decided he needed to learn the truth about his family, or at least as much of the truth that could be gleaned from the fragments of human history that still remained in the world. He knew the Collins story now, but did he really? He had his father’s words and the limericks of a manipulative demon. Hardly definitive sources.
Pulling the disparate pieces together and discovering the secret history of the Collins family was a long, arduous process, but the mundane nature of the task grounded him for what lay ahead. It turned out that the Collins family had a long, illustrious history, just as the demon had implied, and with some careful searching there was no shortage of information waiting for him.
Records from Kingsport confirmed that there was indeed a Jeremiah Collins who lived there, that he was originally from Ireland and had immigrated sometime in the last 18th century. Justin also found documents on a series of heirs. John, James, Joseph, lots of J names. A little self-involved that. As the Collins family spread across the country, and eventually the world, records became more spotty and contradictory. The family branched off into a variety of other family names through marriage. Daniels, Johnson, Sullivan, it got hard to keep track of all of them. But, there was a telltale sign that let Justin knew he was on the right track.
There were always 3 giveaways:
Firstly, the Collins man, or whatever surname he ended up with, always, without fail, succeeded phenomenally at a specific occupation or social task. There was no uniformity to the pattern, so Justin was convinced that this wholly subjective form of critical success must have been based on the wishes of the individual not the rest of the world. It explained how his father became an expert at real estate, despite his apathy for the job, and, Justin realized with some chagrin, how he was finding success learning about the family history when he had virtually no research experience and so many others had failed. That last point in particular was important, because if Justin’s hypothesis was correct, he could continue to use the “gift” the demon had given them to his own advantage.
The second giveaway was an abundance of male descendants. The discrepancy was notable. After several years of compiling information, Justin was able to run the statistics through an algorithm and discovered that nearly 89% of the descendants of Jeremiah Collins were born male. That wasn’t normal, so either there was some sort of genetic quirk or flaw in their bloodline, or more likely, demonic power influencing the gender of the offspring. They were being bred for optimal output. That little bit sent a tiny shiver up his spine. Justin wasn’t sure why certain families ended up with a daughter, rare as it might be. If he had to guess, the daughters existed to please the family’s desire for one, but always, without exception, any family that had a daughter also had at least one son as well. There were no exceptions to the rule.
The last giveaway, and the most damning, were the constant deaths and disappearances that plagued the bloodline. On paper there was nothing too shocking or unusual to report. Died in his sleep, sudden heart attack, car accident, that sort of thing. Nothing that would raise any red flags. It was only when you looked at the patterns in full, across generation after generation, that the problem presented itself. It all went bad, without fail, when the men turned 50. It was like the grim reaper was hanging around the Collins family ready to cut them down by appointment. The rampant deaths and disappearances masked as accidents and natural causes didn’t surprise Justin. What was harder to pin down was why no one else seemed to have caught the pattern before he did. How could no one have noticed it after almost 300 years?
He was still pondering that question, having only conjectured that Salleo’s magic must have been to blame, when he discovered the first oddity. Robert Collins, date of birth 1887, date of death 1951. Justin almost missed it, but when his mind caught up, he stared at the numbers, blinking rapidly while his brain did the math over and over. 64. Robert Collins died at the age of 64. Frantically, he searched through the mountain of papers and found the notes of Robert’s descendants. Two boys. Mitchell and Callum. One died at age 74, the other at age 79. The pattern continued with their descendants, a roughly equal mixture of boys and girls, varying dates of death, but not one dead at age 50. He’s not unstoppable after all... Justin thought to himself.
More research showed that Robert’s wasn’t the only one to beat the curse. He found 2 other candidates. A Taylor Williams who died at age 31 in Vietnam. That one wasn’t so encouraging, but the data was useful all the same, and another family, one that somehow ended up in Spain. There was little documentation he could find on Richard Ramos, other than his mixed heritage and his devout Catholicism. At first, Justin assumed Richard might have made some kind of deal with God to protect himself, but he tossed that idea out the window when he figured out the other two had no particular religious leanings. If anything, they were more skeptics and world weary, as if they didn’t trust the world to be anything but dirty and rotten to the core.
With that idea in mind, Justin dug deeper and his fears were confirmed. Around the age of 30, all of them, without fail suffered some great calamity of personal misfortune. Richard lost his fortune in the stock market crash that launched the Great Depression. Taylor got a bullet to the head in a swampy jungle in the East, and Richard, poor Richard, ended up a homeless beggar on the streets for many years before eventually himself from the gutter. They had rebelled from their demonic would-be master and had paid dearly, and while some, like Taylor, didn’t live long enough to come out the other end, the rest managed to drag themselves up to a more meager kind of living. Maybe even a form of success, but nothing compared to the wider Collins family at large.
With his research going so well, Justin mostly neglected the rest of the world. He pushed away other humans unless they were able to help him along in his quest. Where in his 20’s he had lived a life of boundless hedonism, now in his 30’s, after his branding, he was something closer to a penitent monk in search of enlightenment. The more he learned about the family, the more convinced he was that he would have to take drastic actions not just to save himself but all of the men captured in the demon’s net. Actions that might damn him in entirely new ways. But first, he needed to finish the testament.
In his 33rd year, he got a phone call from his sister. That was a surprise. Natalie had written him off long ago back during the worst of his drug haze, and while he kept a minimal amount of contact with his mother, mostly to keep her off his back and to stop her from snooping into his affairs, he couldn’t remember the last time he and Natalie had exchanged more than base pleasantries to one another. This time she had important news.
“I’m having a kid, Justin,” she said, a nervous, giddy energy in her voice that he could never recall hearing from her before. “We think we’re going to name him Simon.” Justin’s vision went white and his head filled with static. When he came to his senses, he could hear Natalie calling his name, her voice seeped in concern.
“Natalie,” he said, suddenly feeling feverish. “I have something very important to tell you and I need you to listen closely.” He spilled it out, every last nasty bit of the sordid story from head to toe. When he finally finished talking, nearly panting from how quickly he had run his mouth, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line and he knew he had just made a terrible mistake.
“Justin...What the fuck is wrong with you!?” He had never heard her sound so appalled in his entire life and he flinched as he realized that she had started crying. He tried to reason with her, tried to explain that he wasn’t crazy, that he wasn’t making it up, but he knew his words were falling on deaf ears. Her final words were crushing.
“Justin, you’re not the only one who lost a father,” she said, sounding dead inside. For the first time since Steven had died, Justin took the time to realize just how much his sister must have suffered. She didn’t even have the context of Steven’s death and never got to say goodbye to him. For Natalie, he had been cut from her life like a phone cord and nothing but silence remained.
“Justin, you need help and I hope you get it. Just….Stay the fuck away from me and my family.” The line went dead and with it his connection to his sister. It was the last time he ever spoke to her.
Despite the horror of his conversation with his sister, Justin settled back into his research with the single-minded devotion of a fanatic. Weeks grew into months and months grew into years, until finally after nearly 8 years of his life, he had complied what he was certain was every last scrap of knowledge about the Collins family and their vile fate into a series of tomes fit to go on a library bookshelf. He had the knowledge for the first time, and so he did the one thing he had never had the opportunity to do before. He shared it. It was easy enough to make copies, digital and otherwise, and have them ready at the go. He had his list. Name after name of young men in the Collins family who were rapidly coming of age, including his nephew.
On their 18th birthday, whether they expected it or even wanted it, they would receive the full history and testament of the Collins family in all of its obscene glory. He stated his case, warned as accurately and thoroughly as he could. He would warn them all about the dangers that awaited them once they were old enough to receive the knowledge away from prying parental eyes. He explained the demon who took a deviant form and what his known intentions for them were. He warned of how the demon manipulated with sweet promises borne not of lies, but through carefully curated truths. He even shared his own story, in all of its pornographic obscenity. Best to show them the naked truth, no matter how much it disturbed them.
He had his doubts about how many of them would take it seriously. He was certain that most of them would write him off as a sexually deviant, red-string crazy trying to turn his pathology into a perverse kind of faith. Truthfully, it didn’t bother him too much what they chose, one way or the other. It only mattered that they got the fighting chance he felt so cruelly denied.
-----
XII.
With the family history finished and sealed, there was only one task left, and this was the real battle. No one was coming to save him, or his father, or his uncle, or his grandfather, or any of the other captured souls having God only knew what done to them. He was going to have to take matters into his own hands and embrace all options, no matter how tainted.
After his encounters with Salleo, Justin’s perception of the supernatural expanded considerably. During his research, he stumbled upon all kinds of tales and knowledge about the magic arts. Most of it was bullshit, of course. Nothing sold better than empty dreams dressed up as magic, but buried beneath the cheap parlor tricks and charismatic hucksters, there was real power to be found. The first time he managed to work the arcane arts successfully, in this case, finding a long lost journal from a long-dead descendant using object reading, he was firmly addicted. Without having to focus his energies on deciphering the truth of his bloodline, he was free to chase his studies of the arcane to his heart’s desire.
That proved to be even more challenging than his research, and he hit more walls and dead-ends than he ever thought possible. More than once he was tempted to quit and lean into the fate that awaited him. Then he would remember the lifeless form of Steven laying on that bed all those years ago, and the old fire would light back up inside him scorching away at his self-doubts.
While researching into varying occult practices, he made contact with a seller of rare occult books. The man, a Mr. Whitaker, was reticent to trust him with any secrets or contacts and while Whitaker was tight-lipped about the secrets of the esoteric, he had no issues complaining about the lack of reliable help in his business. On a lark, Justin told the frustrated shopkeeper he could fetch the things the man needed, and to his surprise Whitaker called him on his bluff. Chances were that the old man was just trying to send Justin on a fool’s errand to get the younger man out of his hair, but against all odds Justin rose to the challenge and walked back into the shop in triumph, a 3rd edition of Alraune tucked away in his satchel. It turned out Justin had found his calling at last.
After his first foray into the world of occult document scavenging, buying and selling, Justin found success after success, and being the enterprising young man he was, he quickly turned his tasks into a thriving business. He became a bonafide bookhound, noted amongst the esoteric community on a global scale. The money and knowledge poured in, but with it came the trouble. The first time he killed another man it was technically an accident.
Justin had just made a trade for a supposed first edition of De Vermis Mysteriis from a mildewy smelling man and was making his way out of the alley when a stranger jumped out of the shadows and lunged at him with a knife. The scuffle was brief, but brutal, and Justin ended up on top of the heftier man, his hands around the thick neck, squeezing his attacker to unconsciousness. He held on until the man stopped struggling, then he held on longer until his arms were shaking so bad he couldn’t help but let go. Justin rose to his feet, his arms hanging loosely, looking everywhere but at the downed man. He snatched the book, torn in the conflict, from the mucky ground and bolted from the alley. No one followed.
He had just about calmed down by the time he arrived back in his dingy hotel room and his face sunk when he got a good look at the book. Here, in the brighter light and safety of civilization, he saw the book for what it was: a poorly made copy of the Latin original. He had made a fucking amateur mistake. With a snarl, he threw the book across the room and sank down on the rickety chair. He told himself he would never let something like this ever happen again. He would end up telling himself that many more times in the future.
Not all of Justin’s adventures backfired though. Some proved more fruitful than he could have ever anticipated. While in Prague, he heard rumors of a demon who could bend and twist demonic contracts, and his interest was piqued. It was a simple enough affair getting the spell. An elderly esoterrorist, having developed peculiar tastes after years of occult offenses, was more that willing to pass on the knowledge just to have a handsome young man eat some mushrooms with him and give each other a nice handjob. Honestly, the sex, which Justin had become bored and disillusioned with during his hazy 20’s, was one of the most fun parts of the job. You never knew what kind of kinky hijinks a wannabe wizard would get into.
Back at his rental, Justin got to work. He prepared the pentacle, lit the candles, burned the incense, made all of the proper offerings and spoke the incantations with perfection. He was ready for this and he would not be denied. There was a rush of power, low, like a sudden wind blaring through the tight room, but one you could only feel from the inside. When the creature appeared, a wily, gnarled looking thing, he recognized the look in its eyes immediately: disgruntled middle management.
“What do you want?” the thing asked with the same intonation of a DMV worker suffering through mandatory overtime. Justin pulled himself together and explained the finer details of his plight. The demon tsked.
“I’m not a lawyer,” the creature said with obvious disdain. “I only…” here he sighed. “Fetch the documents.” Understandably disappointed, Justin decided to take what he could get.
“Sure, sure,” he said quickly, trying to catch onto this strange situation. “Give me the contract I made.” The creature raised an eyebrow.
“Young man, I can’t give away a metaphysical document, only conjure a copy of its contents for your usage,” he said, as if discussing the finer points of life with a particularly dim child. “Shall we discuss payment options?” Now it was Justin’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“What do you call this?” he said, gesturing to the various offerings set along the circle. The creature scoffed at him.
“These only pay for the summoning,” he said, pocketing an expensive bottle of rose water from one edge of the circle. “Document transference requires more...intimate payment.” Justin rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his pants. “No, you idiot!” The creature hissed, recoiling at the sight of Justin’s naked flesh. “Not that!” Justin pulled his pants back up, beginning to feel irritated.
“Well, what the fuck do you want then!?” At these words, the creature rubbed his tiny hands together.
“Well, since you ask…”
Minutes later, Justin was holding the document in his hand, looking over it with naked marvel in his eyes. He couldn’t believe he actually had it, could read it. It felt like the first tangible step to fixing this horrible mess he found himself in. Still, there was the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he might have been shortchanged. Memory was a tricky and precious thing and giving up his first solid memory of his own father felt like he might have oversold. But who knew, because he couldn’t remember it anymore…
Once he had cleaned up the mess of the ritual, Justin got to work pruning through the language of the contract with a fine comb. He didn’t expect any obvious loopholes and he didn’t find any. What he did find, beneath the prosaic language, was more disturbing. It turned out that Salleo didn’t actually kill the Collins men, though from a mortal perspective that’s how it functioned. It was more accurate to say that he removed the men’s souls from their bodies and carried away their essence to be reshaped at another time.
Justin was glad now that he hadn’t tried to kill the demon, because other than the extreme likelihood that he would end up dead before he even came close to landing the blow, he now realized that doing so threatened the livelihood of the rest of the Collins men. They were living, in a strange mystical sense of the word, but only kept in some form of corporal existence through Salleo’s will alone. Which meant if Salleo died…
Murder was off the table, so what were the other options. He had tried summoning another demon, one bigger and meaner than Salleo to see if he could convince it to protect him, and the beast had only laughed in his face, beating him half to death for his trouble. He was pissing blood for weeks after that mistake. No, he wasn’t going to find a patron to rescue him, but what about persuasion? He was under no illusions that the demon loved him, doubted in fact, that Salleo was even capable of love in the human sense of the word, but Salleo was alive and thinking and emotional. Justin knew all too well how the living could be manipulated.
One other incident came to mind, that solidified his mission. Whitaker, the cranky old bastard that he was, had caught wind of at least a hint of what Justin was aiming for, and he provided an unexpected boon. A way to communicate not with the deceased but with the spectrally disenfranchised, which his father technically was. Justin was practically shaking when Whitaker handed him the battered parchment and could have kissed the old man if Whitaker’s heterosexuality wouldn’t have been offended.
It took over a year to prepare, collecting every form of physical life from his body into carefully crafted jars. Blood, hair, saliva, semen, tears, skin peelings, ear wax, you name it, he collected it methodically, no matter how disgusting. On the night of the ritual, he combined the matter into a cask, filling the bottle with the vile smelling concoction until it eventually hardened into something more solid. It would be worth it in the end, he told himself, breathing through his mouth.
The body was the most difficult thing to create. He didn’t want the proportions to become so off that his father would come back...disfigured. So it took some time to shape the form with clay and paper mache, then smear the pasty substance from the cask on every inch and say the words. He was practically shaking as he did so, his eyes wild with excitement and a primal terror at the mere thought of failure. He shouldn’t have worried.
At first, little happened, but then, like a master shaping clay into form, the muddled mass began to take shape and the first recognizable features began to appear. The strong masculine muscles he remembered from his childhood, the trademark California tan, the sunkissed hair on his head, it all formed, slowly but surely into one whole, recognizable being. It was his dad, at least he hoped so. He looked exactly as Justin remembered him.
When Steven opened his eyes, Justin saw the old blues that haunted his memories and he nearly burst into sobs.
“...Who?” his father asked, the word coming out strange and confused, as if he was trying to learn how to speak in his strange new form. “Wait? Justin?” Steven sat up, looking at his son with disbelieving tears in his eyes that matched Justin’s own. They came together then, father and son, embracing in a tight grip, and Justin was 19 all over again.
“Dad!” he said, choking back the words, hating how he was starting to blubber. Steven, always the father, held him through his fit and didn’t judge. When he pulled his son back, he looked at him with affection.
“It’s really you…” he sounded in awe. “I can’t believe...you’ve changed.” Justin wanted to laugh. Of course he had changed. He was a 42 year old man, not the scared and confused 19 year old he once was. He watched as Steven looked around the room, caught sight of all the esoterica scattered across the room, some undeniably diabolical looking, and his eyes widened in shock. “Justin...what is all of this? What have you-?” His gaze hardened as he began to put two-and-two together. “Son, what have you done!?”
Justin didn’t give his father time to question him any longer. He lunged forward, his lips crashing with his father’s, and even with the harshness, the artificiality of the body, it felt right. Ever since that fateful night, Justin had become more and more convinced that they belonged together. That the demon had stolen his father away from him and the physical separation did nothing to deter him. Steven tried to pull his son back for a moment, clearly wanting to talk about what was going on, but Justin was having none of it.
Technically, Steven Collins was a soul chained to a construct, one with a very short half-life. Justin wasn’t going to waste his time on meaningless words. He lay on top of his father’s nude form, his hands holding down Steven’s wrists, and his father made no move to stop him. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. Justin’s binding, supernatural itself, held.
“Quickly,” Justin ordered. “Tell me what has happened since I last saw you.” He kissed along his father’s neck and rubbed his face on Steven’s pectorals as his father began telling the tale.
“It’s-it’s hard to explain,” he began, speaking without thinking. “I can’t remember a lot of it. It’s like there are gaps in my memory.” He gasped as Justin tongued his nipple. “I’m...he doesn’t hurt me. Well, no more than before.” His body suddenly came to life. “My father is there! And Frank! Others too. So many. We-” he broke off, perhaps embarrassed by what he had to say, but either out of a desire to please his son or the magical compulsion, he continued. “He has us all please him, sometimes together, sometimes separate...sometimes,” he swallowed thickly, his cock standing at attention now. “Sometimes we do things together without him.” This last remark sent a feverish blush throughout his entire torso, and Justin only hummed in appreciation.
“I’m going to get you out. All of you,” he promised, even as he went down on his dad’s dick. Steven didn’t speak anymore, too caught up in the pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of being reunited with his boy after all of this time and in this way. But nothing could last forever.
At first, Justin thought his was imagining it, thought that in his passion for the reunion the veins in Steven’s cock were standing out more than usual. Then he glanced upward toward his father’s face and realized the awful truth. Steven’s skin, in all of its golden glory, was rapidly becoming transparent, as if he was losing his physical form. No! Not already!
“Dad! Stay with me!” he begged, hating how powerless he sounded. By now, the change was undeniable. He was beginning to see his father’s organs and could distinctly see Steven’s heart marching at a rapid drum beat. He reached forward, trying to touch his father’s chest and ground them both together then gasped when his hand sunk into his chest cavity like gelatin.
“Justin,” Steven began, his voice already beginning to trail off. “Please, take care of yourself.” His father’s hand, shaking like a rattle reached up to touch Justin’s face but never finished the journey as Steven’s arm dissipated. As the final features of Steven’s face began to fade, he managed a little more. Just enough to affirm and destroy Justin’s world. “I love you, son. We all love…” He was gone.
Justin didn’t move for a long time, simply held the remnant lumps of flesh that briefly made up his father. When the tears started it was neither slow nor easy. His grief burst from him like an angry storm cloud and the tears crashed into a downpour with no end in sight. He sobbed, long, awkward, ugly, painful moans until he had hollowed himself out. For a long time he was a shell of man, nearly as bad as the worst times in his 20’s, but gradually, he came back to himself, drawing upon reserves he had fostered and clung to over the ensuing decades. His father was alive. They all were, in some kind of hedonistic limbo. He would see them again, one way or another. Even if the waiting hurt like hell. He felt nothing now other than relief that the worst was over.
Justin continued his studies, continued plunging himself into the darkest recesses of the magical psyche. He shunned all human contact that was not either professional or educational or simply necessary. He cared not what happened to him and walked through the world as if he had an infinite supply of lives tucked away in his pockets. Others wouldn’t be so lucky and every second they spent around him further endangered their lives. Especially, now that he was diving into the deepest end of the chaotic pool.
Justin may have lived life as if he was bulletproof, but even the mad demon’s powers had their limit. He almost reached it one fateful, unfortunate night in Rome. By a disturbing amount of coincidence, folly, and just plain old bad luck, Justin had managed the impressive feat of royally pissing off not one, but two homicidal religious sects. Of the two, The Cult of the Unwritten Book was the most existentially terrifying, but The Daughters of Mater Lachrymarum proved to be the most vicious and it was only by calling upon the darkest most insane magics he knew that he managed to escape down a rabbit hole and found himself lost in The Wildways.
It took him months to recover from his wounds and then years to finally escape back into the real world, precious time he would never get back. Time was a fickle bitch outside the rules of the normal world, but if his internal clock was anything to go by, he was 48 going on 49 by the time he crawled out of the kaleidoscope fantasy realm and back into the mundanity of our feeble reality. He didn’t have time to fret, because the dreams started almost immediately.
Justin was not caught off guard, not like the others in his family had. They were dark and deviant, just as he suspected, but there was a twist in the tale. Some of them featured guest stars, most often his father, looking at him with the kind of fawning attention he had always craved as a boy, now made into erotic art by his fertile imagination. Soon Steven was joined by guests, first his uncle Frank, servicing his nephew with an erotic glee that spoke of deeper hungers, and then by Bertrand, the grandfather he had never met. Grandpa Collins was certainly making up for lost time though.
This was Salleo’s real trap, the real way he wore away at Justin’s psyche. During his long sabbatical in The Wildways, Justin had been exposed to all manner of fantastical boons and terrifying ills, and they had left a profound mark on his delicate psyche. Where before only the dimmest hunger for domination had cloaked him and would flare up like a chronic disease, now the desire was eating him alive. Freedom for the Collins clan was no longer enough, and if he was honest with himself, might not even be the goal. Justin may not have been able to kill the demon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t conquer its kingdom.
What he didn’t know was how? As the day of reckoning drew closer, he fretted more and more about his lack of a plan and he feared he might never have a solid answer. Then, in an actual dream, the solution presented itself. It was a variation of his usual nocturne domination. He sat naked on a throne, his father, naked in all of his glory, sat on his lap impaled on his son’s erection. He was keeping his son’s cock warm while his brother and father worshiped Justin’s legs and feet, their big mouths sucking on the toes and soles with an eager devotion meant for gods not grandsons and nephews. It was perfect, everything he literally dreamed of. He could stay like this forever and never spend a moment more worrying about the world outside. Then it happened. Steven, his eyes shining with a love swamped in lust, leaned forward, one hand resting conspiratorially next to his mouth, and whispered the winning words into his son’s ear.
Justin woke with a start, his cock throbbing and sweat seeping from every pore. He hardly noticed. The laughter sprung from him, deep, loud, almost vicious. Steven, his beautiful, perfect father, had given it to him, the key to the puzzle that would allow him to retch that twisted crown from Salleo’s head, scalp and all. He would wear it proudly, letting the blood drip down his face as he took his rightful place as the true keeper of the Collins family. The one who rescued them all and led them to their new destiny.
Overcome with erotic euphoria, he stroked himself with reckless abandon, replaying his victory and the inevitable celebrations that would wrack the halls of his new domain. He pictured it clearly in his mind. From his perch on the highest branches, he would descend the Collins family tree, slithering down its truck, supping and sipping from every branch along the way, tasting the fine sap and other delectable bounties they produced. He would make his way down to the bottom, to the literal and metaphorical root of his family’s problems. He would prostrate himself to Jeremiah, thank and curse him in equal measure for every filthy act he had ever had to partake in to stay alive, then he would take what was his, he would thrust himself in the sire of the Collins line, would watch Jeremiah Collins sob with tears of joy as he was claimed by a new, more deserving master.
When he finally finished, his cock aching and spent, his chest and abs smeared with white, he drifted off to sleep and slept soundly for the first time in living memory. As the week leading up to his 50th birthday arrived and Salleo’s distant taunts began to sharpen into hard crystal, Justin didn’t turn away from the demon’s advances. He leaned into the debauchery, letting the monster strum his body like a fine tuned instrument. He felt the creature soak up the attention and with each spilt load, he knew he was closer to the day of reunion.
On the eve itself, he didn’t bother with clothes, simply sat naked on the floor, patiently awaiting his guest. He felt no fear, nor strangely any sense of exhilaration, just an eerie, dead calm. He sensed Salleo’s presence coming, felt the rush of feverish heat ignite his loins and he rose to his feet, looking at himself in the mirror. He was, perhaps, in the best shape of his life, at least on a physical level. His body, slightly shorter and a hint thicker than his father’s, now carried a layer of well-developed muscle that he had never desired until this year. He wanted a body worthy of the battle ahead, one worthy of a ruler, and he attained it.
When Salleo snaked his arms around Justin’s hips, the human didn’t even flinch. He leaned back onto the demon’s solid form, his skin already slickened with sweat, as Sal chuckled playfully in his ear.
“Already eager for me, sweetness?” he asked with obvious delight. “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite.” Justin didn’t contradict the monster. Let it think what suited it. Besides, he was enjoying the attention far too much. When Salleo spun him around, looking over his body with a newfound hunger, Justin knew he had already won.
“Are you ready to start your new life, my love?” Salleo asked, almost sweetly. Justin didn’t miss how the demon left out the most important part, how he spoke nothing about his father or other family. It mattered not. He would secure them in the end. So, he nodded, his eyes lidded in an almost drugged out ease, and let himself be pulled into a smoldering kiss. His eyes shined with delighted wickedness as their tongues danced, until Justin bit down, hard, his mouth filling with copper as the demon yelped and pulled away in surprise.
With teeth stained in red, Justin licked his lips, spreading the tangy fluid across his lips, giving them a scarlet tint that matched the fever in his eyes. He grinned, part animal, part human, lacking any sense of innocence.
“I was born ready.”
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