Absolute Convergence: Housekeeping
By John Yager
This is the fourth of five chapters of a new story about Robert Ballinger and William Amsted and their life together.
While this story is being added to the existing Absolute Convergence file, it constitutes an independent, self contained narrative about one weekend. I've subtitle, Housekeeping, to distinguish it from the original series and from the first of these stories, which was subtitled Transformations. While it will be helpful for readers to know the earlier stories, this story should stand on its own merits.
Absolute Convergence made its first appearance in January, 2001, as a series which eventually ran to a total of eighty chapters, the last of which was posted in January, 2004. I never anticipated the series continuing for so long and I am still amazed by the incredible loyalty of readers who stayed with me from the beginning. I am also sincerely appreciative for those newer readers who have contacted me from time to time to say that they've discovered the series and ventured through the collected chapters.
I'm always glad to receive comments, questions, criticism and encouragement and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it's only because of the pressures of work.
Andrew has agreed to continue giving me much needed proofing and editorial help for which I am sincerely grateful.
Copyright © by the author, 2004. This work may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I've posted on NIFTY can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of upcoming stories, and other bits and pieces, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
The following Saturday, we woke late
and fixed a huge breakfast. It was unusual for us, but I was leaving the
next evening for London and it was a special treat to cook and eat together.
As we sat at the table in our breakfast nook, looking out over a rather
gray sea, William asked if he could go on with his account of his relationship
with his father, Peter Amsted.
I, of course, was willing to hear everything he wanted to share.
William had, over the ten years we'd been together, told me parts of the story, but I'd never pressed him, assuming he'd share what he felt comfortable telling me, and in his own time. Now, however, with my departure for London looming, and the expectation that I'd be seeing more of Peter while I was there than I usually did in LA, William seemed almost driven to tell me the rest of the tale.
"Things went along more or less the same way for over two years. Peter would come to my room or, if he and I were alone, I'd go to his.
It was understood that if Charlotte
was there I was not to go to Peter's room and I always assumed that she
had free access to him if she wanted it. I got used to the fact that I
took second place, and I guess, over time, I more or less accepted it.
"Nine times out of ten, Peter expected to be the dominant partner in our strange relationship but once in a while, more or less as if he felt he had to even the score, he'd ask me to fuck him.
"I learned quickly enough that, even when Peter allowed me to be the top, he was still very much in charge. I also learned that, in his own way, he loved being fucked. He always came when I fucked him, just as I always came when he fucked me.
"I guess I was a typical teenager with raging hormones and I could never seem to get enough sex. When I was at school, or later at university, I usually had a friend or two with whom I was also having sex, but none of those friendships ever turned into serious relationships, not until I met you.
I reached across the table to cover his hand with mine. I love William so deeply that I couldn't help being touched by his admission of his love for me.
"When I was alone at the house in London or in Sussex, when Peter didn't join me, or when he was away on business, I continued to use the toys he'd brought me. In fact, I got very good at getting myself off, just with the dildo.
"A year or so after all that started, Peter came back from a trip to the Continent and tossed a package on my bed. I knew from the size of it what it contained.
"It was a new butt plug, bigger than the first one he'd brought me.
"I looked at it and then at him. 'It looks big enough to be a challenge,' I said.
"'You can take it,' he smiled. 'Do you want me to put it in your ass?'"
"'How about letting me see you take it first?' I said. I was teasing him, but also serious.
"'You don't think I can?' he grinned, taking off his robe.
"'Oh, I think you can take bigger than that,' I said, laughing as I said it, trying to keep the situation light. 'I just want to see you do it.'"
"'Okay, kiddo, you put it in.' He said in a light tone which matched mine, but I could tell that under the humor there was something more serious, more sinister at work.
"He stretched out on the bed, on
his back, and spread his legs. I knelt between them and lifted them to
my shoulders, slowly lubricating his ass, opening him up the way I would
have done if I'd been preparing to fuck him. When I had three fingers in
him I stopped, letting him relax. When he did, I started to withdraw, expecting
to start working the big butt plug in. But before I got my fingers out,
he stopped me. 'Go for four,' he growled.
"'You're sure?' I said. I'd never done that to him before and he'd never done it to me.
"He just nodded and I greased up the four fingers of my right hand and formed them into a wedge, gradually working them into his already dilated ass. It took a while but by the time I'd finished most of my hand was in him, the widest part, except for my thumb.
"His ass looked wider and more gaping than I'd ever seen it before. There's a big difference between three fingers and four and Peter was groaning all the time I was working my bunched fingers into his hole. I could tell they were groans of pleasure, not of pain, and he never asked me to slow down or stop.
"When I had my most of my hand in
him I stopped, waiting until he relaxed, which took quite a while. I just
held very still, looking down at his face, watching his eyes, the way he
always watched mine.
"'I've heard about fisting,' I said, as I knelt there waiting for his ass to relax. 'I guess I'm almost doing that to you.' As soon as I said it I regretted it. That was another door, a further door, and I realized it was one I shouldn't have suggested.
"'We're not there yet,' he whispered,
almost as if he were confirming my regret at mentioning the subject. We
weren't there yet, but his response seemed to suggest that we were definitely
moving in that direction.
"When his sphincter had relaxed he nodded, 'now work in the plug,' he growled.
"I spread a lot of lube over the huge, blunt head of the thing and pressed it against his gaping ass. After having so much of my hand in him, he was wide open but I was still surprised how easily he took the plug. I don't mean it was fast, in fact, I took it very slowly, but he never complained and it wasn't too long before the widest part of it stretched his ass and slipped by his sphincter and into his rectum. Once it reached that point, it was as if it were sucking the rest of the plug in with no effort from me.
"Looking down I realized that I was fully erect. My cock was throbbing and very wet.
"Peter's ass closed around the slightly thinner shaft and the T-shaped handle was drawn up snugly into his crack.
"I just rocked back, still kneeling there between his legs, staring it him, at his eyes, and at his ass. He reminded me of primitive images I'd seen of human sacrifices, of the victim's body open, still alive, but barely breathing. I remembered a drawing of an Aztec ceremony with some awful instrument imbedded in the body of a beautiful young man, waiting for the gods to claim their own.
"But there was an amazing difference, too. Peter wasn't bound to some stone altar. He was lying there, voluntarily taking the blunt weapon up his gaping ass, his head rolled back, his eyes almost closed, his muscular arms spread and his torso rising and falling with each breath. He was enjoying this.
"'Yes,' he said after a while, as his body fully relaxed, fully accepting the massive object. 'How about a kiss?'
"I leaned over him, spanning his body, moving my lips to his. When I pressed my mouth against his, he opened to me immediately, responding with more passion than he'd ever done before.
"We'd kissed, of course, many times,
but in the past our kisses had always been somewhat reserved, as if we
were both embarrassed by such intimacy between father and son. This time,
though, he kissed me with unreserved lust, thrusting his tongue into my
mouth, startling me with his aggression.
"I was more turned on by the whole situation than I realized and I returned his kiss with equal passion. His arms closed around my body, drawing me down against him and his legs came up to encircle my hips. We were both, I realized, on the edge of powerful orgasms.
"I humped against him, our wet cocks
caught between us, and suddenly we were both coming. I felt his hot seed
volley forth onto his hard belly as I also erupted, my seed mixing with
"We lay there for several minutes, our mouths joined, our bodies pressed together.
"'Are you still hard?' he whispered when our lips finally parted.
"'Yes," I said.
"'Take the plug out and fuck me,' he growled.
"It wasn't that easy removing the plug. I knelt there for a minute or so, gradually pulling on it as he pushed. When it came free a stream of lube and anal juices followed and the room was suddenly filled by the pungent odor of his ass.
"At any other time the strong odor
would have repulsed me, but then, so turned on by what had happened, I
moved forward and fucked him more aggressively than I'd ever done before.
He was roaring like a savage beast, spurring me on.
"His ass felt loose and open, not tight as it usually was when I fucked him, but for some reason that too was a further incitement to my own lusts.
"He reached around me, feeling my own ass as I pounded into him. He found my pucker and began to finger me, spreading some of the slimy overflow into me, greasing his access. He worked a couple of his thick fingers into me and then I felt him fumbling around with his hands between my legs and realized he was reaching for the plug. I reached back and grasped it. It was still hot from his body heat and very wet, slick, nasty.
"I put it in his hands and while I continued to fuck him, he positioned the blunt head of the plug against my ass and began to press and twist. I'd not been prepared nearly as well as I'd prepared him, and it hurt like hell, but for some reason I couldn't explain, then or now, I wanted it in me. I wanted it while it was still hot from my father's ass, still slick with his juices, still filthy with his slime.
"'Yes,' I groaned, spreading my legs as best I could, giving him more access. It wasn't easy, but even in that position he worked the thing into me and I felt my ass give way, accepting it.
"As my sphincter give way it was
as if my body just sucked it in, just the way Peter's ass had done when
I reached the critical point of penetration.
"Despite its size, it felt wonderful in me. It was bigger than any object I'd ever had in my ass and I was loving it. I felt so full, so complete, and I fucked my father harder and harder as a result.
"Since I'd just come, minutes before, it took me along time to reach climax again, but both Peter and I seemed fine with that. I was pounding into him, driven on by an almost animal urge, wanting to make him feel my cock in him as he'd never done before.
"We were both groaning and I felt my climax build but somehow, maybe because of the pressure of the huge butt plug on my prostate, I couldn't seem to get off.
"It went on and on and I think I'd just about worn both of us out. I wanted release but couldn't reach it. Finally, I just groaned, 'help me.'
"I guess Peter understood because
he reached back and pulled the plug out of my ass. I immediately came.
It was a torrent, flooding his ass, leaking out onto his crotch and legs
and making an obscene puddle on the sheets.
"Peter still hadn't come and as soon as I'd come down from the highest of my high, I moved back a little, still kneeling between his spread legs, and leaned forward to take his hard cock in my mouth.
"It took a while, but I sucked him dry.
"Then, collapsing on his chest, we both just lay there, gasping for breath, still in a sort of post-orgasmic swoon. I don't know how long it took for us to regain a full sense of things, but when we did Peter rolled me off him and spread my legs.
"I realized what he wanted to do and raised my legs to his shoulders, giving him access to my ass. Without a word being said, he worked the big plug back into me.
"When he had it fully embedded, he just smiled, got up, put on his dressing gown, and left.
"I eventually went to sleep, exhausted, and still coming down from some sort of adrenaline high. I left the plug in until morning.
"When I eventually went down stairs it was nearly noon and the house was empty, apart from the servants. I asked about my father and learned he'd left two hours earlier, saying he'd not be back for three days.
"While he was gone, I tried desperately to think through what was going on between us. I knew I was addicted to sex, especially sex with my own father, and I knew it was unhealthy, potentially disastrous.
"I tried to find my way through the maze but I knew I couldn't break it off. When Peter wanted me, I knew I'd submit.
"When he returned a few days later I had no clearer understanding of what was happening between us than I'd had when he left.
"We talked over dinner, some easy
banter, even a few jokes. He told me about the meetings he'd been at and
teased me about needing a haircut, which I knew was true. I'd not been
up to London for several weeks and didn't like going to the barber in the
village near the Sussex house.
"That night I'd given myself an enema, as I'd gotten into the habit of doing, expecting he'd come to my room, expecting we'd have sex. When he did arrive it was already late, later than usual, but he was dressed only in his robe, so I knew he was expecting to have sex with me. He was carrying a package again, a sack, actually, and I assumed it was a still larger butt plug, but couldn't tell for sure because he set it on the floor by my bed.
"I'd expected him and had left the
new plug in my ass, knowing it would please him to find it there. I'd been
leaving it in most of the time while he'd been gone and I knew my ass was
stretched by it, more open and loose than it had ever been before.
"Without saying a word, Peter just rolled me over onto my stomach and grasped the T shaft, which rested in my crack against my ass. He pulled it out a little and twisted it, then turned me over, lifted my legs to his shoulders, and slowly pulled it out.
"He reached down for the sack and
opened it, taking out a tin, probably a liter in size. I couldn't see what
he was doing but I knew he opened it and set it on the bed beside him.
"He looked at my gaping ass and began to play with it, sticking his fingers into the tin, then into me. I realized it was some sort of lubricant, but thicker, more pasty than the clear lotion we usually used.
"I was so open that it took no time for him to work three fingers into me and I soon realized he had pushed in a fourth. He'd never gone that far before and I suddenly realized he meant to fist me.
"I groaned, but didn't care. In fact, I had already decided it was coming and I wanted it. It was like some ultimate submission to him, some final act. I don't know if I thought it would be the end of our strange journey, but I think on some level I suspected that would be the case.
"When he had the widest part of his hand in me he just looked into my eyes, the way he did when he was fucking me, and whispered, 'it's your call, kiddo.'
"'Yes,' was all I could think to say.
"The rest of his hand slipped in
with amazing ease.
"I didn't know then, and still don't know, what the thrill of fisting me was for him, but for me it was amazing. I guess from his perspective, it was some sort of confirmation of his control over me, of my acquiescence, my total surrender to him."
As William had continued his story, I'd moved around the breakfast room table and knelt at his side. He sat straight, upright in his chair but I put my arms around him and held him close. The sun had broken through the morning haze and the sea had changed from gray to a brilliant blue.
I should say that fisting or any extreme anal play had never been a part of the sexual side of my relationship with William. He and I didn't need it and I think we both felt it carried a sort of baggage for both of us which we didn't want to bring into our relationship.
"Peter didn't fist me often," William went on. He was staring out the window at the magnificent view as he continued to speak, but his voice had become lifeless, little more than a drone.
"He didn't fist me often, but he
did do it from time to time. For the most part, he fucked me or told me
to fuck him.
"The summer ended and I began my first year at Durham. I made friends with a student at my college, a boy my own age from Southampton, and we began having sex on a regular basis.
"It was very tame after what I'd experienced with Peter, but I was happy with it and made no attempt to push things. He was a cute kid, not too experienced, and not too comfortable with his sexuality. I found his innocence appealing.
"During the holidays I was in London and things continued with Peter as before. The following summer I arranged to make a driving trip to France with three other school friends. We were gone almost a month and I was happy to minimize the time I'd have with Peter in Sussex once I was back in England.
"When I returned I found Peter in London, not at the Sussex house, and he suggested I stay with him in the city for a few days before going down to the country.
"It seemed an agreeable plan and I was glad to have time to catch up with a few university friends who were in London at that time.
"The first night I was home, at the house in London, Peter came to my room and we had sex. He fucked me and I assumed that would be the extent of it, at least that first night home. To my surprise, he stayed after we'd both come, and began to play with my ass, opening me up and eventually fisting me. I'd not had it done for several months and it took him longer than usual to work his hand in. It was also more painful than I'd remembered before, but I assumed that was due to my being out of practice.
"That night was the first time Peter ever introduced me to poppers.
"He'd always been so opposed to drugs, and I was surprised. When I said something about it, he just said, 'oh, these don't count.'
"When he did gain entry, he continued
to press in, forcing his wrist and forearm further into my bowel than he'd
ever done before. There was more pain, but I guess no harm was done.
"The next night Peter was out with friends and I met some of my university mates for a bit of pub hopping, not getting home until very late, and not seeing Peter until the following morning at breakfast.
"'I'm going to a party tonight,' he said over breakfast. 'If you're free, I'd like you to come along.'
"'Sure,' I said, assuming it would just be his usual film crowd.
"'It won't start until late, so we'll leave about ten-thirty or eleven.'
"I remember thinking the late hour was a little odd but, knowing Peter, nothing really surprised me.
"He'd told me to dress casually and
when I came down after dinner dressed in twill slacks and an open colored
shirt, he sent me back to change into jeans and a polo shirt. 'Just
wear a light jacket,' he added, 'it's quite warm tonight.' To my
surprise I discovered, when we were ready to leave, that rather than driving
he'd ordered a cab.
"We drove for some time, south across the Thames, out beyond Wimbledon, and into some rather seedy industrial section I'd never seen before. I suspected the party was going to be held in a movie studio or some such space, so I wasn't too surprised when we arrived at a big, dark factory sort of building.
"Peter paid the driver and he left. We went to a door and he rang a bell, which seemed to sound a long way off, deep in the dark building.
"After a minute or so, a man opened it and we went into a dark, narrow corridor which led straight back for forty feet or more. The man who'd admitted us was probably in his late twenties or early thirties and very muscular. He was wearing only a pair of ragged jeans, no shirt and his feet were bare.
"I could hear the throbbing base
beat of rock music, which got louder as we went further on.
"I began to suspect this was no ordinary party and gave Peter a questioning look. The corridor was so dimly lit that I wasn't sure if he saw my expression, but he seemed to, and said, 'relax, kiddo.'
"We reached the end of the corridor and our guide opened the door for us.
"Beyond us was a large room, probably
forty feet in length and perhaps as much as sixty feet long. The light
was very low and several parts of the huge space seemed to have a reddish
cast, coming from industrial floodlights suspended from the ceiling, which
was so high it was lost in the gloom.
"There were men every were, some gathered in small groups, some at bars which had been set up at either end of the room. All of them were in some degree of undress, some wearing only jeans, like the guy who'd admitted us, some in leather shorts or ankle length pants. Some wore open jackets or vests and as my eyes became more accustomed to the dim light, I saw that a few were completely nude.
"A dense pall of smoke hung in the air, as if everyone there, or nearly everyone, were smoking. It was clear from the sweet odor that a good bit more then tobacco was on offer.
"The entire scene looked like some
vision of hell.
"'What is this, Peter,' I said, raising my voice to be heard over the loud, pulsing music.
"'An orgy, or at least as close to one as you can find in London,' he said, casting me his most winning smile. 'I decided it was time you saw another side of life, Will.'
"'I'm not sure I'm ready for this,'
"'Certainly you are,' he laughed. 'Consider it a belated nineteenth birthday present.'
"We moved into the vast room and
as we passed one group after another, Peter was greeted by many of the
men, all of whom seemed to know him. We reached a sort of alcove formed
by low walls, along which articles of clothing were hung on an assortment
of pegs and bars.
"'Get out of that shirt, kiddo. I want to show you off,' Peter said as he removed his own jacket and shirt and then stooped to remove his shoes and socks. I watched him as he quickly stripped to his jeans, expensive designer jeans, I should add.
"When he saw I'd not moved, he smiled and said, 'don't be shy.'
"I followed his example, removing my jacket and shirt. While I was stooping down removing my shoes and socks I also turned the bottoms of my jeans up a turn or two so my ankles and lower legs were exposed and my jeans wouldn't drag in the cement floor which, to my surprise, was comfortably warm. I stood up again, looking at Peter with a quizzical expression, not knowing what to expect of the evening, or what he expected of me.
"'Good boy,' he said with a big smile as he led me off into the fray.
To be continued.