Date: Sat, 30 Oct 2021 18:26:51 +0000
From: Lcb29 <Lcb29@protonmail.com>
Subject: A Fog Hangs Over Fronbury

Hey guys, something a little spooky given it's Halloween. A little
standalone story as a parody of Stephen Kings' `The Mist', with a perverted
twist. I hope you like it!

Thanks to everyone who got in touch via my previous stories (Watching My
Son Grow and Real Life Popper Trainer). I love hearing from, and chatting
with you guys. Some of you have given me great ideas for further chapters
of those stories, and some stories in the future, so thanks for that.

As always, this is all fantasy. Don't do any of this in real life, and this
is not based in any real-life experience.

Last but certainly not least, Nifty needs your donations. So, go do it!

A Fog Hangs Over Fronbury

The small town woke of Fronbury to a silvery grey mist creeping in from the
sea one Friday morning. It wasn't usual, Fronbury was a seaside town after
all. A working one rather than a tourist one, the residents would proudly
proclaim. Sure, there were a few people who came and stayed in one of
holiday cottages during the height of the summer, but those few tourists
were long gone now, it was almost November and the weather wasn't conducive
to walks on the beach and ice-creams on the small prom. Fronbury was mainly
known for its' fishing port and its' local football team, who had always
done well, despite the small pool they had to draw from. But today, this
mist would put Fronbury on the map for an entirely different reason.

It started slowly enough, the sun hadn't risen enough to burn the mist off
when it made landfall. It crept under doors, in through the gaps of window
frames, it even ventured down the chimneys in those houses that still
hadn't blocked them up; more eager than a natural mist. In a house that
overlooked the small harbour, found its' first victims, a family of four,
the Smiths. It crept first into the parents bedroom, where it reached Sarah
first. As it crawled up her nose, she woke bolt upright, but her face
remained calm. Almost in a trance, she got out of bed and dressed as
quietly as she could. She packed a weekend bag for her, and one for their
daughter, Amy; and then went to get the girl from her bedroom. She found
Amy waiting for her, fully dressed (which was unusual in itself), and ready
to go. They carried their bags to Sarahs' car, and drove away without a
word or a backward glance; planning to stay with family for the
weekend. Back in the house, Adam Smith, the father of the house, was still
sound asleep, as were the twins, Andy and Rob. All over town, the same
thing was happening. Women were leaving, taking their daughters with them;
so by the time the weak sun got high enough in the sky that you could see
the extent of the mist, all the women and girls had left; leaving the town
full of unsuspecting men and boys.

Adam was enjoying his dream. Sarah was bobbing up and down on his dick,
giving him one hell of a blowjob. That it had been almost three years since
she had last done so made it all the better, and Adam reached down in his
sleep to run his fingers through her hair. A gagging noise woke him up, and
instead of finding Sarah nursing his dick, he found little Andy. Rob was
crouched next to his brother, his nose burrowed into his fathers'
balls. Adam looked around bewildered and noticed a thin layer of fog sat on
the carpet. He breathed in to yawn but it died in his throat as the fog
finally entered his lungs proper. It had a sickly sweet and sharp smell,
and it made him feel hornier than he'd felt in years. Instead of scolding
his sons for something that was so deeply wrong (so society would say), he
cupped the back of their heads encouragingly and let them worship his long
neglected cock. It didn't even occur to him that a nine year old shouldn't
be able to deepthroat a dick like his, shouldn't be able to suck a dick so
well at all; he just luxuriated in the feeling of being wanted sexually for
the first time in a long time. He didn't care it was his sons making him
feel that way. In fact, the more he thought that it was his sons making him
feel that way, the hornier he got. Adam manoeuvred Rob around so he could
diddle his smooth little pussy whilst his son suckled his balls. Adam got
some perverse pleasure in the fact Rob was pleasuring where he came
from. That thought took hold of him, and Adam took hold of Andys' head and
jackhammered into his sons' throat. Andy moaned in pleasure between gagging
and choking on the paternal dick now raping his throat, but didn't fight or
complain. He managed to look up at his Dad with hooded eyes and they locked
eyes with each other, silently egging the other on. With a massive and deep
thrust, Adam spewed a weeks worth of cum directly into his sons'
gullet. Adam moaned through a drycum as his Dad shot, feeling pleasure he'd
never known before engulf his body. Rob felt his Dads' thick, wet finger
stimulate his prostate for the first time, and his cries were muffled by
his Dads' fat, hairy balls as he screamed through his first boygasm
too. The trio rested a moment before the boys crawled up to cuddle with
their Dad properly. For his part, Adam held his sons tightly, one under
each arm, and they fell into a post-coital nap, smiles on their faces, the
fog in their lungs, residue of his fathers' ball sweat on Robs' face, and a
pearl of his fathers' cum on Andys' lip.

A few streets away, the fog crept into another house through an open
bathroom window. It crept slowly through the upper floor, finding most of
the rooms void of people, and a heaviness filled the air. This was the home
of Craig Robinson and his sons, Ben, fourteen, and Matthew, ten. The fog
found them all in the same bed, but there was no sexual tension there, only
grief. Craig had lost his wife Claire, and the boys their mother, almost
six months ago to cancer. In their grief, they'd taken to sleeping
together, clothes but clawing for physical contact and reassurance. The fog
crept into the room they all shared and sent thick tendrils out to ease the
Robinsons' woes. It found Craig first, spooning his eldest son, who in turn
spooned his little brother. Half-awake, half under the influence of the
pervasive mist, the three in the bed began to shuck their clothes awkwardly
as if they were suddenly too hot. But the only things they found hot were
their dicks, one massive and hairy, one respectable for a boy his age but
still rather smooth, and one tiny pre-pubescent boydick that was still
smooth with a still unfilled sac beneath it. All were hard, two were
leaking, one was harder than he'd been in months. Hot too were their holes,
one smooth and unblemished, one just showing the signs of puberty and
surrounded by a downy thicket of dark hair their owner was so (rightly)
proud of, one that was clearly the hole of a grown man, hairy and wedged
between two muscular cheeks; though all were virginal. The fog knew this
had to end if this family were to break through their grief and emerge
anew. So under its' control, Craig and Ben began to leak fuckslop
uncontrollably, their dicks now pressed into the crevice of their
respective little spoon. Craig woke up first as though nothing was wrong,
and angled his dick with his left hand so it was pushy against his eldest
sons' virginal pussy; and held Ben still with his right arm wrapped right
around the boys chest. Under the fogs ministrations, Ben felt no pain as he
awoke to his father popping his cherry with one smooth thrust. He only
moaned as his father spoke words of encouragement and filth into his
ear. It was then he noticed his own dick was hard and brought it to his
little brothers' hole. With his fathers' whispered instruction of `Fuck
your little brothers' pussy', Ben slid inside balls deep. Matthew moaned as
he too had his cherry forcibly plucked by his brother, roused from slumber
by the intrusion but again saved any pain by the fog. The three soon
established a rhythm where Craig would thrust forward, forcing Ben inside
his little brother. Each were living for the feelings this was being out in
them, Craig the most, he felt renewed as he fucked his sons, one in
reality, the other by proxy. But all of them knew Craig would soon have
fucked his youngest son too. They all knew that Craig would have his hole
ravaged by his two beautiful sons too, and somehow they all knew that
little Matthew would have his first ever wet cum as his Dad taught his how
to fuck his big brothers' pussy. The fog knew that grief would no longer
rule this house. It would take a while, but the remaining Robinsons would
learn that there was an unlimited amount of love available to them from the
others, and all they needed to do when they were feeling down or low, was
the reach out, and their sadness would be (literally) fucked out of them.

Across town, the fog found another unhappy house. The Rogers' household was
in disarray. It was only father and son, Steve and Jake, Jakes' mother
having left years ago. Jake was now fifteen, and last night had finally
worked up the courage to come out to his Dad. It hadn't gone well despite
Steve having his suspicions about his son for years, and though he loved
his son, he was terrified of what people would think of him as a father. He
was a builder, and his colleagues were not the most liberal beings on the
planet. Jake was already the butt of an occasionally joke on site when they
didn't think Steve was in earshot; so surely this would only make things
worse. Steve had sent Jake to his room, tearful and apologetic, before he
found solace in the bottom of a bottle of cheap whiskey. The fog found
Steve asleep on the sofa    in the living room, where
he'd fallen asleep the night before. The fog easily slid into the hungover
mans' lungs and gave him a nudge in the right direction. Steve woke up, a
little hungover but far less than the amount he'd drunk the night before
would warrant; and the previous evening came back to him. He immediately
felt remorse for how he'd treated his son and how he'd spoken to
him. Something like clarity came over him and his soon found himself
climbing the stairs and knocking on his sons' bedroom door. Without waiting
for a response, he slipped inside, but the fog had got there first. Jake
was laid naked on the bed, the duvet long forgotten, his smooth body
glistening in the light of the street lamp outside. He was laid face down,
his butt almost comically raised toward the door. Despite his age, he was
still smooth, though Steve didn't realise this was to keep the small group
of men Jake serviced in the local cottage happy. Though he shaved his arse,
and even his hole, Jake was still cherry. As sad as his current sex life
was, he wanted to keep his hole virgin until the time was right. And the
fog thought that time was now, and very handily it had a red blooded male
right there ready to do the job. Steve noticed the bottle of lube on top of
the drawers and greased up his now rock hard and somehow exposed dick. It
looked red and angry, and its' length and girth were certainly not
virgin-hole-friendly, but Steve (and the fog) didn't care about that. Steve
clambered into the bed, and placed the head of his dick against his sons'
pink, puckered pussy; before draping himself over his sleeping boy, pinning
him to the bed with his not inconsiderable weight. Jake woke up at this,
though panic and pain were the furthest things from his mind. Whilst he was
servicing those dirty old men in a cubicle he'd come to think of as his
own, he held a distant and disparate thought in the back of his head, that
he wished it were his Daddy he were servicing and subconsciously he kept
his cunt cherry for his Dad too. Jake gasped, breathing the fog in deep, as
his Dad punched the fat, slippy head of his dick into his sons' hole. `I'm
so sorry son' Steve whispered into his sons' ear as he thrust deeper and
deep into his sons' velvety guts. Jake was confused, what was his Dad
apologising for? Fucking him or rejecting him? `I didn't mean what I said
last night' continued Steve, `I love you as you are, please forgive
me'. Jake could only moan and nod in response as his Dads' fat cock made
him feel things he'd never imagined. Father and son reconciled as they
fucked, eventually consummating the newest phase of their relationship when
Steve shot three quarters of a foot deep inside his faggot sons no longer
virgin cunt, and Jake, his prostate screaming from the attention it was
being shown by his father, shot hands free into the bedsheet beneath him.

All over Fronbury, similar events were happening. Sons were choking down
their Dads morning wood, or happily drinking down their first pissload of
the day. Dads and uncles and grandfathers were learning how deep and wide
their sons and nephews and grandsons holes could stretch. The fog crept
silently through the town, dispelling pain and revulsion and replacing it
with passion and lust. In a house in the more affluent part of town, the
local GP fucked his son mercilessly in his racecar-bed, depositing a load
of paternal spunk so deep inside his now-ruined hole he was surprised his
son couldn't taste it. In a terrace house near the dock, the father of the
house was chariot racing his sport-mad teenage twin boys, who were still
wearing their dirty football kit from the day before. The room stunk of
sweat and lube, and the many faces of the footballers on postered that all
but wallpapered the room seemed to leer down on the scene below them as the
sons screamed through pussycum after pussycum as their beefy Dad punched
their jockstrap-framed gaping holes at a pace that would make their
hardiest pornstar blanch. The unsuspecting guests of Fronburys' only 4-star
guesthouse weren't spared either. A father and son, both adult age now,
were staying they whilst they travelled together for work. Only this
morning the son had the overbearing urge to fuck his Dad deep, and his Dad
seemingly wanted nothing more nothing more than to have his brawny son core
out his until now virgin hole. He didn't complain as his son ate him out
deep and long, his son breathing in the smells of the man he'd idolised for
so long; before fucking his cherry into oblivion with a dick his boy was
happy to find out was both longer and fatter than his Dads. They both
screamed through their climax as the son starting twisting his Dads' tits,
causing the older mans' cunt to spasm around his sons' dick.

The fog remained hanging over Fronbury for the rest of the weekend,
allowing debauchery the residents of the town had never seen and had never
imagined to take placed under its' cloud. And then, as soon as it had come
it receded back out to see. The women returned, the men and the boys kept
quiet. But the effects of the fog lingered for years to come. In stolen
moments when the girls were out of the house, men and boys reaffirmed their
love through sex. Throughout the town, boys (usually) gave and men
(usually) took. Teachers, coaches, shopkeepers, fisherman, chefs, police
officers, courier drivers all found comfort in the hole or throat of a
willing boy; and they all gave thanks to the fog that unbridled what seemed
to them at least, to be the most natural desire in the world.