Date: Thu, 4 May 2017 06:20:55 -0700 From: Boy Mercury X Subject: Full Fathom Five, Act One This story is an entirely fictional work of adult erotic fantasy, involving consensual sexual relations between related persons. PLEASE NOTE: This particular story includes disturbing plot and theme elements including manipulation, coercion and worse. Copyright me 2017. If you're under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age. If you'd like a soundtrack for this story, please consider Blind by Hercules & Love Affair, and Beautiful by Blowoff. Editing by Anonymous. Nifty is free service that depends on your donations to survive. Please help them to keep providing this awesome resource for all of us by giving at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html You can find my tumblr at http://boymercuryx.tumblr.com/ FULL FATHOM FIVE, ACT ONE by Boy Mercury X 1. It took five full years from the day Dad vanished until I found my first real clue to his rescuing him. I'd held myself responsible the whole time. I knew he was on a major undercover case on the day I told him I was gay, and about my feelings for him. My reckless confession must have thrown him off his game, distracted him and made him vulnerable. If I knew then what I know now it all would have been so different. 2. My lust for my dad began even before I had any understanding of sex. I always loved his physicality and was intoxicated by his physical prowess. The sandpaper scruff of beard on his jaw, the slow bob of his Adam's apple and the timbre of his voice were ceaselessly fascinating to me. Being carried in his strong arms, roughhousing with him, sitting in his lap all made me feel like the most special boy in the world. As I matured, so did my appreciation. The swell of his pecs and long smooth muscles of his limbs compelled my growing sexual awareness, as did his flat belly and the smooth dark that spread over it like mysterious writing in an open book. He was so masculine but also so slim as to be almost elegant. I was drawn to his him and his dark Mediterranean looks, his glossy black hair and long olive skinned face, with a long nose slightly bent liker a boxer. His only physical flaw, if you could consider it that, was a small third nipple below his left pec, barely noticeable, like the legendary imperfect stitch. And as I grew more interested and aroused, my access to him lessened. Mother divorced him, and although their split was as amicable as was reasonable, I saw less and less of him. I resented both of them for the split, and also my dad's undercover partner Tony who felt like a rival for Dad's companionship. He had long had periods of grave silence, but these increased in frequency and duration as he became more drawn into his work, and less involved with me. Mom explained these away as remnants of his traumatic childhood, but I was too unaware of what that really meant to understand or care. By the time he disappeared I was old enough and independent enough that his custody weekends were more a technicality than actual custody, but they remained my time to be near him. I would look at him with longing, hold his discarded t shirts and briefs to my face to take in the scent of his sex. I had fantasies of being with him sexually, his body rolling against mine, his arms spreading my legs to enter me with his cock, filling and completing me. I could almost feel him opening me like a key in a lock, using me for my truest purpose. I wanted to be with him alone in all the world, and wanted him to want me in kind. 3. On the most fateful day of my young life, Dad came to tell me he wouldn't be taking me for his custody weekend after all. He couldn't disclose any more about the case he was on, but could say it needed his full attention and he and Tony were going into work. I had only learned a few months earlier that Dad and Tony were undercover agent, not analysts as I'd always been told before. I should have understood that at times this work would take priority, but I was too selfish to care, and instead of feeling proud that Dad was doing something so important that he was uniquely qualified to do, I burned with hurt feelings and anger. "I'm sorry Will," he said to me, "when I can tell you more you'll understand. You'll be proud." "Sure Dad," I responded, looking for a fight, "I just wonder if you'll ever be proud of me." "What does that mean? Is this something we need to discuss right now?" "It's nothing. I know you need to go. I just -- I was just going to tell you this weekend that I'm gay. So now you know." I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me, and I thought for a macho former marine turned undercover agent knowing his only son was a faggot would do the job. "What? Will, that's -- you're too young to know what you are. Let's talk about it when I get back. I have a lot to tell you." "Okay Dad. Kiss goodbye?" A kiss on the head was Dad's customary goodbye, even in my teens. But this time as he bent to plant his lips on my mop of hair I turned my face up to meet his lips with mine. My tongue slid between his lips and into his mouth, meeting his. He recoiled in shock and ran his hand over his lips to wipe away my spit, staring at it on his rough fingertips. He seemed disoriented and distant, as if he wasn't even in the same room with me anymore. "Dad? DAD?" I said, with increasing anxiety. He snapped to suddenly, and just said, "We can discuss this when I get back." But he didn't come back. Tony told us the job went terribly wrong and Dad was identified as an agent, and killed. His body was not retrievable but it was certain that Agent Calvin Miranda was dead. We were afforded the usual honors and benefits that fall to the families of agents who die in the field. I was told I now had a dozen fathers, Dad's fellow agents promising to step up to fill in for my own lost father. So many fathers, but none of them the one I wanted. 4. No one but me believed Dad was alive. Not even Mom, not even Tony. "I know it's hard to believe," Tony told me, "Your dad was my partner for years. Not a day goes by I don't wake up expecting to see him. But he's gone, and he'd want you to move on." "I know," I lied, "It's just so hard to believe." "You have to know he died doing good," said Tony. He was trying to save a lot of kids from some awful shit. The worst shit. Your father was a fucking hero, Will." Tears streaked my face, and I let Tony think they marked acceptance. I realized that I would have to rescue Dad, and it would be harder to do that if I was always arguing with Tony that he was still alive. Better to play along, and use Tony as an unwitting ally than an obstacle, because there was no one alive who knew more than Tony about what actually happened. "You're all I have left of him now," I said, beginning my courtship of Tony for information. As the days proceeded I spent more and more time with Tony, telling him stories about my time with Dad. Just little things, but events that only Dad and I knew, like the time at the California coast when a riptide almost pulled us out to sea but Dad saved us and we agreed to never tell Mom. Or how when I was little I liked to play Houdini, and we would take turns unraveling our hands from childishly tied knots. For every story I told Tony, I elicited one from him. I did the same with Mom. Secrets became our currency, and we traded often, and in this way I pieced together the story of my father's life. The simple story I'd known previously, that he was an orphan, was just a glimmer on a deep sea of darker truths. Dad, I learned, was rescued as a child from a sex trafficking ring. This hit me hard, especially knowing that the last time I'd seen him I made an unwelcome advance, and knowing how many of these he may have endured at his most vulnerable deepened my guilt to the depths of my core. No one knew his date of birth, his heritage or even where he was born, but he was believed to be 11 and likely southern Italian or Arabic. Placed in foster care he quickly normalized, learning to read and write with remarkable speed. He showed no sign of trauma, and instead was most eager to please his teachers and caretakers. At fourteen he was placed with the Mirandas, a retired classics professor and a school nurse, well suited by training and temperament to advance their odd charge's pursuit of being an ordinary American teen. His only known dissatisfaction was his scrawny build, so he took up weightlifting and team sports, discovering that he had a natural talent for athletics as well as academics. My mom fell for his dark good looks, and set out to win him. He had no other known girlfriends, forming a singular and deep attachment. The Mirandas adopted him, giving him their last name. He joined the Marines, where he excelled, and a few months in learned of my impending arrival. He and mom were married five months before my birth. With so many loving attachments he appeared to be beyond the horrors of his early life. He was four years active duty, during which time he was identified as a prospect for the agency. The Mirandas both passed away in quick succession, and left Dad everything they had, including their humble Seattle home where I would grow up. My own memory comes into play then, but the details of Dad's working life become murky as he entered the police academy, and then was soon after recruited into the agency. He showed exceptional aptitude and passion for breaking up the sex trade, and became a rising star. There were, of course, concerns about lingering effects from his childhood trauma, but a battery of psychological tests and observation showed no reason for concern. About a decade later Mom split from him, citing his emotional distance and obsession with his work. A single man, he became singularly focused on that work, except for his weekends with me. A few years later he disappeared. 5. For all that, I still didn't know what happened the night we lost Dad. That information was a matter of a classified case, and not to be disclosed in exchange for simple stories of childhood events. About a year after Dad disappeared I asked Tony for about the hundredth time to tell me what happened that night. It was the only way I could put this behind me, because without even a body how else could I believe he was really gone. "I'll tell you," he said, "but there's a question I want answered in return." I agreed, thinking whatever he might ask would be worth the trade. "You already know our focus was on the sex trade," Tony told me, "and that's what we were onto that night. Your dad and I were close to breaking this particular sex trade ring that came into the US and Canada through Seattle and Vancouver. Sick fucks, Will, bad people is all I'm saying. Take my word. You would have been proud of your old man, what fucking determination he had. But in the end his cover was blown, mine wasn't. There was gunfire, he didn't come out. No way he survived." I hung on every word, my heart racing as I imagined the events in my head. In the end I could only think of dad injured, held prisoner, with only me -- a stupid kid -- to rescue him. "Will," said Tony, "I maybe shouldn't have told you this. But there's no justice in you not knowing. "And there's something I want to know. Something went down with you and your dad that night, right before we left. He didn't tell me what, but he was shaken. What happened?" "I told him I'm gay," I said, and cried yet again about that night. "I told him I'm gay and -- it upset him." "You pulled some number on him, kid." With that revelation I had only one high value secret left, the kiss, and I held it close to my heart. It seemed for all Tony and I had shared, we were neither of yet at a point of full disclosure. 6. That summer Tony married Mom. He had been coming over frequently to see me, and without my notice they fell for each other. What a cliché. I could imagine the headline, Fallen Hero's Widow Marries His Partner. She was a divorcee, not a widow, but close enough for my hurt feelings. I shouldn't have blamed her. Only in her mid-thirties she had every reason to marry again, and Tony was a good prospect. Blond and boyishly handsome even at age forty, with a stocky muscular build he was physically appealing, and with an easy boisterous laugh he was engaged and affectionate where Dad had been remote and reserved. Before the wedding Tony told me he knew he could never take my dad's place, but hoped he could be something like a father to me in the days to come. We are all of us grieving and looking for reconciliation, and maybe we could provide that for each other. After all, he noted, he and Mom and I each carried a unique relationship with Dad, and by coming together with our component recollections we could almost make Dad whole again. All but his body, I thought. After the wedding Tony moved in. I spent more and more time in my room, listening to music, looking at gay porn online and researching any clues as to Dad's whereabouts. In fact I did these three things at the same time, almost disassociating from the world when I did. 
I favored house music, the kind I read was favored in decadent gay clubs. Hercules & Love Affair and Blowoff formed the basis of the playlist I listened to under thickly cushioned noise cancelling headphones. I blogged on Tumblr, looking for and trading images of fit daddy types that reminded me of my own father. But for all my research, I had no clues about the sex trade ring he was working against my Dad disappeared. 7. Dad had been gone for two years, Mom and Tony had been married for one, and I turned 18. I chose a college in Oregon so I could be near home, making it easier to return if there was news about Dad. And I wanted to stay close to Mom and to Tony, feeling certain that between the three of us we held the key to unravel the mystery of what happened and why. Mom took a backseat in my college prep, to allow Tony to be more involved. He took me shopping for bed sheets for my dorm room, lights, a new laptop and a stash of food. We discussed freshman classes and requested a schedule that we drafted together. He was more and more like a real dad. On my last night at home Mom had a shift at the hospital, but Tony ordered Thai delivery and made me my favorite brownies and we packed my things together. "Wish your old man could be here to see this," Tony said, "He'd be so proud of you, son." "I wonder if he knows, wherever his is," I said, slumping down onto my childhood bed. Tony sat next to me and pulled me close in a side hug, patting my shoulder firmly, "He knows, Will, he knows." I cried a little, as I often did when I was alone with Tony. I'd held out in my belief that Dad was alive, but after two years I faltered. I was moving on to college, and there was no clue about Dad, no word, and I began to think he was truly dead. "Will," Tony said low, "I know you've been carrying something around with you. Some kind of guilt or something. I can see it in you. "I want you to tell me the truth about what happened that night. Not that you told your dad you're gay -- there's something more, isn't there? Man to man, you tell me and I'll carry it to the grave." I finally broke down and told him everything. I told him how I had lusted so hard after Dad, and how I kissed him that night. I knew I shocked and hurt him, I was being selfish, and it was because of that that Dad died that night, because I threw him off his game. "I killed him," I sobbed and choked, "I killed him, it's all because of me." Tony hugged me hard and whispered "You didn't kill him, kid, you didn't." When my shaking subsided, absorbed into Tony's strong body, he gave me a chin up with his right hand. "It's okay you did that. You loved your dad and wanted to be close to him, right?" I sniffled and nodded yes. "I want to be close to you," Tony said, holding my head in his hands, and then placed his lips on mine, his tongue snaking into my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening, but his mouth was so warm and I was so thrilled by his desire. I felt lightheaded and like nothing else mattered, and let myself roll back onto the bed where Tony lavished kisses on my mouth, ears and throat. I had never done real drugs but felt so high, and really like I could do anything. "It's okay," he said as he slipped my hand around the firm shape in his crotch, so I unzipped his jeans and his fat white cock sprung out, with an almost kayak shape and a stream of sticky precum. I maneuvered down to where I could lick cock and try to swallow it, which was harder than I expected given its size. He sat up and spread his legs to give me space, and I dropped down on my knees next to my childhood bed to suck him off. I worked at it slow and then fast, wrapping a fist around the base and working the head and letting Tony guide me to what he liked best. I had dropped my shorts and underwear and even without touching myself my erection throbbed and dripped, just knowing I was servicing such a hot cock, at last. I was startled when Tony's cock suddenly grew even bigger and harder, and my mouth was flooded with hot thick cum. My cheeks puffed and I blew air hard out of my nose, trying to not choke, ultimately coughing up Tony's cum and my own saliva on his thick white thighs and my mattress. On the floor on all fours I sniffled, my face wet with sweat, mucous and tears. "I'm sorry," I said in a phlegmy voice. "It's okay Will, it's okay," he said, jerking his cock to get the last of his load out. "You were incredible. That was the most amazing experience of my life." He kissed me while I jerked off, kneeling before him. He really liked kissing, even though my mouth was still thick with spit and his cum. Afterwards he said we didn't need to feel bad because this was part of our coping over our shared loss, and that he would never tell Mom what I did. 8. I blew Tony from time to time after that, during visits home for holidays or occasional weekend visits. I got better, learning exactly how Tony liked it, playing with his balls and keeping the head of his cock lodged in throat where I'd feel the familiar swell just before he'd shoot his load into me which always got me off. Mom had plenty of shifts at the hospital that allowed time for Tony and me. He loved Mom, Tony told me, but he had such a high sex drive that I was helping them both by taking off the excess. In addition, I liked doing it, and liked Tony's affection and praise, and feeling wanted. I found attention and desire at school too. I was naturally think like Dad, and like him started weightlifting and even without his single=minded determination started to put on muscle. With his same dark coloring and vague Mediterranean Middle Eastern looks, people often mistook me for as foreign student, and some assumed I was Muslim, which made me more interesting because there weren't too many Muslim cocksuckers on campus. I let people think what they want. I lost my virginity to the RA in my dorm. We flirted with each other from the day we first met, and hanging out one night I told he could fuck me but only if I could fuck him too. I picked up, or was picked up by, local men cruising the park where I ran. I liked the anonymity of it, and I especially liked older men in their late 30s or early 40s. They appreciated access to a young man, and their age made it easier to imagine they were Dad sliding up inside me, even though none looked even close ti him. I don't know how I would have handled it all if Dad hadn't disappeared. Having learned that he was a victim of a sex trade ring as a child haunted me, and it felt so ugly that I couldn't see myself falling in love, having a sweetheart, getting married. Not knowing what he'd experienced and that he might still be out there in trouble, waiting to be rescued. 8. During sophomore spring break Mom came to me for help with a password problem. Her own laptop was out for repairs for a couple of and she'd asked Tony to set up on account on his just so she could check emails. Naturally Tony he set up her account with a lengthy randomly generated password, and naturally she hated the gibberish of numbers and letters. She asked me to help her change the password to my name and year of birth, Will1997, so she could remember it. I'd tried many times in the past to hack into Tony's home laptop but could never get through, but Mom's account and known password gave me access. I immediately copied almost his entire hard drive to my own laptop, certain he'd realize there was a vulnerability before long. I found a shit ton of porn, which I didn't want to look at because it seemed disloyal to Mom, emails to and from his family in Wisconsin, songs from the early 90's that he liked. There was also his personal calendar, which was almost empty, except for a few cryptic notes, and references to Algiers. That was odd because he hadn't traveled out of the country on the dates where it was listed, and he had no other travel on his calendar. Algiers? That night I put on my headphones and cranked my playlist up, and alternated between rummaging through Tony's hard drive for clues and scanning Tumblr for hot dad type guys. One of my Tumblr followers, Full-Fathom-Five, had sent a photo that was just the kind of thing I like, a very hot guy's torso, wearing just a black jockstrap, and a black leather collar with a tag, the head and everything below the crotch cropped out. The guy in the photo was very slim in the waist, but muscled everywhere, with a nice furry chest and dark nipples. He even had fine baby hair spread over his six-pack abs, just like I like. In fact he was pretty perfect. I started to stroke myself just looking at this one photo. It was so much like Dad, but even more built than he ever was. I zoomed in to get a better look at his hot chest, when I noticed something. Under the left pec was a tiny third nipple. It was just like Dad's, and in the same spot. It was exactly like Dad's. I examined the rest of the photo, and in zoom I saw on the tag hanging from the collar a single engraved word, all caps in block letters: ALGIERS. END, ACT ONE