Date: Fri, 21 Sep 2012 12:53:46 +0000 From: calamity123@fido.blackberry.com Subject: Midnight Becomes You The following story deals with father/son incest. If this is not a part of your fantasy life please seek other stories in the Nifty Archives. Donations are always needed for this site: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html My name is Rob, Canadian, 46, and I can be reached at: Calamity123@fido.blackberry.com This is for my fans. For Halloween. BOO! Midnight Becomes You Bill watched as the movers brought in the furniture into their new home. His son, Jody, was upstairs on the third floor exploring the attic. As an artist Bill wanted the serenit of the far-county yet still remained uncertain of this desolated area being too lonely for his son. In his mind he had decided that if this proved too isolated for a growing boy then come September he would take an apartment in town during the school week so Jody could remain in his old school. But for the summer at least this was home. As the movers finished the last pieces he paid them up then found his son upstairs in the attic. The blonde-haired boy sat before an open steamer trunk surrounded by newspaper clippings and old photographs. "Hey, daddy, look at these". Bill joined his son rifling through the contents. Photo after photo of naked boys were everywhere. Various ages but mostly too young and posed provocatively Bill frowned as he thumbed through them. Lifting several newspaper clippings he scanned quickly. "Isn't this weird", Jody said. "Too weird. Seems this guy was kidnapping boys and keeping them". Then a thought struck him. "Jesus, I wonder if he was the former owner". Bill took it upon himself to discover the truth and, sure enough, old man Hanson had been the criminal though only discovered after his death. Bodies had been discovered on the property which is why it had been abandoned for many years. Until Bill, the unknowing city rube, had fallen victim to his desire for seclusion and the wiles of a quick-witted real estate agent. No wonder the large home had come at so cheap a price. As with any old home the floors creaked and the walls moaned as it 'settled' in with its new occupants. At night Bill would lay awake listening acutely. (It's just the wind. The furnace is old. It's only the shadow of leaves on the wall. There are no such things as ghosts. There aren't, are there?) Jody slept well and was happy exploring the house or the woods around them. No bears. No coyotes. Just rabbits, squirrels and the odd skunk to contend with. He felt nothing odd. Why did Bill? Why was there always a feeling that somone was just outside the door? Or looking over his shoulder. By his side. Just in back of the mirror. Down the hall. Staring. Waiting. Waiting. Watching. Coming closer. Ever closer. Near. It was August. Summer. Sunny and warm. The air ripe with the scent of blossom and jade. Cloudless sky. The buzz of insects. Jody looked up from his new project: a vegetable garden. His dad stood on the verandah staring at him. The lad waved but there was no response. Then he watched as the 37 year old unbuttoned his plaid shirt. Jody too was shirtless but his dad seemed to be moving as if in a trance. His hair was military short and his black beard tightly trimmed. The shirt fell away revealing the brawn of a man who was unafraid of physical labor. Hirsute. Chiselled. Strong. Then he watched as his dad crooked a leg pulling off a boot. Then sock. Then repeating with the other side. As Jody stood his dad unbuckled his pants, unzipped then shucked them off. Jody began to walk quickly toward the house. "Dad?" He called. "Dad!" Bill saw his son now racing towards the house. "Hey, sport. What's up?" He gave his familiar smile. Standing at the bottom of the third step Jody studied his fathers handsome face, worried. "What are you doing?" "Hunh?" But as Bill looked down he realized he was in his briefs. His clothes were strewn about him. "What the . . .?" A few days later, deep in the night, Jody woke up startled. Something was wrong. Then he heard it. Breathing. Deep and slow: deliberate. Flicking on his lamp he quickly surveyed his room. "Dad?" Bill sat in a chair by the closet. Staring at his son but not seeing son. Fat uncut meat in hand. Masturbating. "Daddy? DAD!" Bill blinked. "Hunh?" Two weeks after. In the morning Bill woke slowly. His head ached. His eyes opened slowly. He reached for a smoke, lit it and as he exhaled fell onto his back. As he rolled onto his left side he came nose to nose with Jody. The boys eyes were wide. Pleading. He mumbled noise. Bill pulled away. His eyes round in horror. Jody, his light, his joy, was gagged and hog-tied beside him. Naked. Bruised. Terrified. Jody was released, soothed, cuddled. His sobs racked his body. Tore at Bills soul. They held fast to each other. That night midnight came. Bill was awake. Jody sat beside him. On Bill's bed. Lights off. Curtains open. Waiting. Listening. "Are you scared?" Bill pulled the boy into his arms. "I am". He felt his son shudder. "Last night", he began. Then stopped. Lifting the boys chin they locked eyes in the moonlight. "Last night, did I . . . rape you?" "No". He exhaled in relief. "What about the bruises?" "I guess it was kinda my fault. I fought you while you tied me up and gagged me". Jody saw the sudden stab of pain in his fathers eyes. "And I fell off the bed trying to get away when you pulled out the camera". "What camera?" "The one in your night stand". Bill pulled open the drawer frantically. There lay a brownie camera. He pulled it out. Held it. Stared. Then jumped off the bed, down the hall, down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door. Running. Fifty feet. Seventy. A hundred. And with a loud gutteral yell hurled the box out into the lake. With a plop it sank. Gone. Done. He turned. Jody stood on the verandah. Slowly, drained, he walked back. Closer and closer his son came into view. Nearer. Deeper in his heart. Reaching the bottom step he looked up at his son. "I think it's done". One step up. "Good", Jody stepped forward. "I'm sorry". Second step up. Jody grinned. "I love you, son". Third step up. "Will you show me like you did last night?" Bill stopped. Stunned "I liked the first part". Bill stared. "What did I . . . ?" But Jody wrapped his arms about his dads neck pulling their lips together. His tongue feather-swiped those pursed lips. Bill opened and as tongue rolled with tongue he lifted the boy into his arms. His mind reeled. He wasn't gay. Wasn't incestuous. Why was this so good? So familiar. So erotic. The boy so young and tasty. Like air to lungs. Needed. He carried the boy into the house. Lips kissing Bills face: eyes, brow, cheeks, nose. Upstairs. Along the hall. In his room. Fingers fumbling his shirt buttons, then his buckle. His fingers pulling at the boys clothes. Needing to feel flesh. Hungering for flesh. Boy. Boy cock. Ass. His boy. His son. Incest. My son. Stripping naked. Rolling onto the bed. Rolling over each other. His son. Licking his nipples. Suckling. Bill's hand stroking the fleece of the boys hair. Touching. Feeling. That magical mouth on his hard tit. Teeth pulling pap. Tongue trailing down. Licking. Enticing. Nose in his bush. Inhaling. His hands feeling the hair of his son. The mouth engulfing. Pulling up. He looks down into those beautiful eyes. His cock. Hard. Powerful. Lewdly sucked by his son. A boy. So hot. "I need you, son. Need your cock". Good boy obeys. Bodies shift. Twist. Sidle. For a moment Bill stares at his sons five inch prick. Hard. Proud. So white and clean and ready. (Have I really tasted you before? So beautiful. My mouth waters at the thought.) Fingers hold the base. And then he sucks in his sons cock. A boys cock. In a straight mouth. Straight. Gay. Cocksucking. Cocksucker. So good. His mouth closes around the pencil shaft. Tongue dabs. Suckling. Hands pull the hips and he pulls boy on top as he sucks cock. Sweet 69. Bills hands knead the ass as he sucks. Little prick bouncing in his mouth. Boy sucking his. He let's the cock free. Tongue laps down the shaft. Then balls are tossed. Licked. Sucked. He pulls the thighs open. The tongue moves nearer. His arms force legs down. Fingers spread cheeks. (Ahh. There you are. My sweet little cunt.) Nose rubs against anus. (My sons sweet scent. So hot. Boy cunt. For my nose. My tongue. My cock.) Tongue begins to lick. (Oh yes. Sweet hole.) Darting in. Poking. (Come on, baby. Open up for daddy. I gotta fuck stick for this sweet cunt.) Tight hole loosens. (Yeah. That's it. Open wide. Take my tongue. Wider. Good boy. Yeah.) The boy pushes his ass. Wriggles. "Daddy? Daddy?" Bill comes up for air. "Son?" The boy twists around. Hands on his fathers shoulders. "Please, daddy. Please. Can I sit on your cock? Please". Bill reaches up stroking his sons face. "Of course you can, baby. Anything you want". Bill holds the base of his cock. One push. Then two. Then . . . POP! In. "Oh, sweet Jesus", Bill groans. Deeper and deeper. Inside. All the way. The sitting boy forces his hand away. Those sweet balls nestle into his bush. Then Jody starts to bounce. Up and down. Up and down. Faster. And faster. "Fuck me, daddy. Fuck me". Up and down. Ass slamming into hairy nut sac. "Oh fuck, son. Yeah. Take it. Do it. Fuck my cock. Fuck it. Fuck it!" "Fuck me, daddy". Eyes staring into eyes. "Fuck yeah. So close, baby". "Fuck me. Make me your bitch!" "Oh. Son. So. Hot. Take. It." "Give me your cum. Seed me. Make me pregnant! Fuck me, daddy. FUCK ME!" "Oh. Oh! Fuck fuuuccck!" The cock creamed. Deep inside. Filling the boy. Seeding his chute. All the way. Up. Volcanic. Thrusting. Erupting. Straight cum seeding his sons hungry insatiable hole. Birdsong woke Bill. His eyes fluttered open. Content. Happy. Sore and stiff. But happy. He tried to move. Funny. Couldn't. He tried to speak. But the gag prevented it. He tried to move is arms, his feet. But the ropes restrained him. He tried to move his feet but the rope pulled his wrists. Hog-tied. No matter how he tried he couldn't free himself. Then he heard the giggles. Jody! It must be a joke. Yeah. A joke. Funny. He twisted his head. There he was. Naked. Hard. Maybe we'll have an encore. Then the giggle changed. Became deeper. Stranger. And Jody opened the night table pulling out a brownie. (Oh, God! No!!) Jody lifted the camera and aimed. "Smile, sweetie. For Mr. Hanson".