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The land was barren, dark red stone and scrub spreading from horizon to horizon, but in the valley there was green brush and stunted trees that promised the possibility of growth. The land was cursed, stalked by a creature that preyed on man. It was a land that promised the salt of the earth. I was a land that had been salted when the natives were cast out. Any chance of making a farm here, of keeping a pasture, was taken with the tribe who once lived there. If they couldn’t have it- no one would.

_________________

My father had bought the land for next to nothing. Seven times since it was first claimed the land transferred hands. Each owner met a violent end before the claim was passed on. The cheap price was all we could afford, and he wanted better for me than he’d had growing up, starting a farm or ranch would secure me more than he’d ever been.

My father knew that none of the previous claim barrers were real owners, so he had sought out the tribe of the natives who lived here before us and bought it fairly. His purchase did not give him a document of the claim like he had gotten from the state, but it had given him the name of the beast that stalked the valley, it had given him the key to clearing it of its guardian and truely taking the land as his own.

My father lit the gas lamp and the tent was bathed in an amber light. The summer days were already shortening, and cold nights had come, but this particular night it was hot. We left the tent open and striped down to our cotton slacks. The heavy scent of our day’s work hung in the air of the tent. It had gotten too late to bathe, and we knew better than to leave our little tent at night. My father heated mutton as I turned the sheets on the cot.

“Do you remember the Rites of Spliture?” Has asked, gesturing to a small leather bound book on our table, breaking the hours long silence of our daily work.

I nodded.

“We can’t use the sheep.”

“That’s the recommended method.” I protested, my mind turning at the thought of what was left for us.

“Because it’s the easiest way to commit a transgression. But a taboo must be against the community, against the self. We’re our community here son, and neither of us care a mite if we fuck an ewe.”

He was right about that, I’d caught my dad going at it enough times with one of the sheep while we were working, and he taught me how to use them for relief seven years back when I’d first started showing the signs of manhood. Neither of us would be offended knowing the other did so, the only thing that disgusted us about fucking our flock was the occasional mistake of slipping into one wet with the use of the other before.

I grimaced at the memory of the few times I felt my dick coated in my dad’s spit fire when I’d slip into the cunt of an ewe. A sour feeling crossed my stomach knowing what it would mean and I was sickened.

“So what does that leave?” I asked.

“You tell me.” He said, nodding again to the book.

I flipped through it, already knowing the answer.

“There really isn’t any other option?”

“Not if we want to keep this land, not if we want me to have something to pass onto you for you to pass on to your son.”

“I don’t know if I could do it father.” I said, “I would do anything to really take this land for ourselves, but physically, I don’t know if I could-”

“There’s a tea for that. I could get it from the same medicine man who sold us that book.” He was speaking of Walks In The Wind. The man who had delivered me. “We could get it in town.”

I was quiet for a while.

“When do we have to do it?” I asked.

“Three days, the full moon.”

We bedded down after. Often on nights this hot, we would strip down to the buck. But the looming prospect of what we’d have to do in order to fight for our cursed land left us both unusually modest. Still even in our long johns, I could see his bulge and smell the heady scent of his groin, once a perverse comfort, now a threat. I thought of his low hang of his manhood and grimaced. I turned away from him as he blew out the bedside candle.

“Harrison.”

“Yes papa?”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I want this land, I want it for you, but what we’ll have to do...”

I thought of the stream that ran besides our tent. The stone there was black like a strange rock I had seen at a curio cabinet in the city. Jet black, strangely smooth and glass-like.  The water ran through a channel the stream had carved out over the ages, it was incredibly dark with the ebony stone beneath it, and the light flickering off the water seemed all the brighter for it. Swaths of green moss grew heavily on spots where the stone was rough. Blue, green, black, the sound of the wind through the brush.

I had gone there as boy. So often going out on our land without my father had scarred me- the creature that stalked the land had made its presence known to us early on in our stay. Something about this spot soothed me though. Made me less afraid.

This was my land. I would take it, whatever the cost.

“I don’t want to do it. But I want to be rid of the thing. We’ll do it. At the full moon.”

____________________

We didn’t have a horse between us and walked into town- we set out at first light in order to be out of Blackrock itself before nightfall. As my father packed for the trip I walked the perimeter of our tent checking the various bones affixed to the cross beams. Spread a foot apart, ranging from from rabbits feet to goats skulls, they hid the life inside the tent. Tonight they were unneeded, tomorrow they would be required to be in perfect order.

My father and I set out, walked in silence, our pace quick. Not for the first time, I wondered at the life that had led him here, had led him to my unusual upbringing. My mother died in childbirth and at the time it seemed I would soon follow her- the priest could offer only solace and the doctors had run out of solutions. A native witch doctor offered results.

I had only seen him seven times since that day. This man who held me after my birth in my mother's stead. Once was when I had a terrible fever, my father took me to him. Walks With The Wind gave me a tea that had me recovered in days.

I have long suspected this isn’t his given name, “Walks With The Wind”. Much of his trade came in the way of showmanship, as real as the craft that he wielded was. His store, when we got to it, was as I remembered. The heavy scent of herbs and spices in the air, the only light filtering in through windows covered with goods. My father stepped into a back room and spoke with the tall native. I wandered the aisles until Walks With The Wind came out with my father and a sack.

Walks With The Wind gave me a firm squeeze on my shoulder and guided us out. We were on the road back home before noon.

________________

Shirtless, covered by our pants and heavy aprons, we stoked the fires of our little smith. Sweat poured down our bodies, the molten copper and tin in an iridescent glow in the crucible.

“I’ll go first.” My father said, taking the apron off, revealing his hairy chest, streaked with sweat, and the pronounced tent in his cotton pants. “Unbutton yourself.”

I did as he said, hands trembling. My father reached over and fished my manhood out of the fly of my underclothes. I felt my stomach drop as he fondled my soft cock. His thumb running over my foreskin. Still pumping the bellows with his left foot my father stroked me for a minute to no avail. My dick wouldn’t fill out no matter how much I wanted it to.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled, embarrassed.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. We’ll use the tea.”

As we worked we drank a cooled tea brewed by my father at the witch doctor’s direction. As our work progressed and the concoction was finished, I felt my manhood filling out, rising. Soon me and my father both had a tent in the front of our aprons.

“Again. Take it out.” My father said. Still shaking with nerves I pulled my cock out again, hard and full, stick out straight from my body. I felt a nervous pit in my stomach having my hard manhood exposed to my father, and felt my cheeks burning with shame.

In a quick motion he reached over and grabbed it.

I gasped at his touch, his rough hands were the first besides my own to touch me there when I was hard. I grimaced at the sensation of his calluses rubbing on my frenulum, of his strong grip sliding over the head of my cock.

He pulled me forward, over the molten bronze of the crucible, and began to stroke me. Despite myself I moaned a couple times, whether it was my father’s fist wrapped around my cock or not it still felt amazing.

Soon I was shaking as I came close to releasing my spit fire. My knees began to buckle, and my father released my cock, then grabbing it with his left hand and using his right to hold me up. Pulled in close to his body, I buried my face in his chest as I began to cry out from the building orgasm.

His fist tightened on my cock and he stroked with vigor, sperm shot from my cock head, sputtering out into the molten bronze. He held me until I stopped shooting, several volleys later, and released me. With a flick of his wrist he shook my remaining spit fire off his hand.

“Now me.” He said, unbuttoning his pants.

I pulled his cock out, it stood readily at attention. He was smaller than me, probably just over four inches, his hood bunched up past his head even when hard like mine though, and the shape of it left no doubt that it was the same mold mine came from. I stroked him, face screwed up in disgust, as he starred forward. I felt the almost sickening sensation of his foreskin gliding over his head and smelled him, his sweat drenched body, his cock, I was put off by the whole thing but felt my own piece filling out again.

Face burning with shame I stoked him more vigorously, wanting to get it over with. Soon my father was letting out short deep grunts, and his breathing became heavier. I felt his nuts tighten, saw his abdomen convulse and with a great growl he bagan to shoot. His spit fire dropped into the crucible, mixing with mine, mixing with the tin and copper, forming some arcane alloy neither of us could fully understand.

Following my dad’s example, I shook his sperm off my hand.

He poured the bronze into its mould.

_______________

“Damned tea is still in our system.” My father said.

We had stripped down to our johns after we got back to the tent, night almost upon us. Our undergarments were both lewdly tented.

“It’s almost too late to be out of the tent. Stay here. I’ll grab us an ewe.”

The idea of getting relief in front of my dad wasn’t exactly something I was excited for, but I needed to get off as bad as he did, and wanted rid of my ongoing erection.

My father led one of the sheep into the tent and pulled his manhood out of the fly of his johns. Despite myself I watched him enter it. I felt again a pit in my stomach knowing I would be entered much the same way by the full moon.

Soon I heard the growingly familiar sound of my father cumming. His guttural moans and growls as he shot his load in the ewe. He packed himself up and patted it’s rear.

“You’re up son.”

I positioned myself behind it and slipped my rock hard cock in it’s cunt. It was slick with my dad’s spit fire. Something that had disgusted me in the past. I found myself oddly aroused by it and shot quickly, the thought had occurred to me that I would be doing this to my father just as he’d be doing it to me. To my deep embarrassment, the thought of entering him sent me over the edge.

He guided the ewe back out after as I packed myself up.

We stripped completely down for bed, a strange rift deeper between us as we got physically closer. To both or our annoyance we filled back out seeing each other nude. We bedded down on top of the covers. he blew out the bedside candle, and we slept.

_______________

I woke in darkness to the sound of his first brushing his pubes as he jerked off. I was painfully hard and immediately turned on. Half asleep and feeling no self control I reached down and stroked myself. We rapidly began feel our lust mount, moaning, grunting, and gasping as we stroked off side by side in the darkness. We shot at the same time, laying back on the bed, breathless, I felt a single spurt of my fathers load land on my arm.

I meant to wipe it off once I caught my breath, but soon found myself asleep again.

_______________

We were in the valley where the stone was black, and the water ran the same. Fully nude we stood across from each other, taking turns drawing symbols in mud copied from the leather bound book at our side.

“It’s time.” He said.

“I’ll go first this time.”

I knelt down in front of my father. There was a hint of gray in his pubes, his cock hung soft in front of me. Squinting my eyes shut I leaned forward and took him in my mouth. He was not terribly clean, I tasted left over piss and spent loads under his hood. I gagged several times as he got hard, feeling his manhood fill out in my mouth was too much for me to handle. Soon his was at his full length, even if he wasn’t that big, it was wildly uncomfortable to feel his hard manhood in my mouth

Without warning my father grabbed me by the ears and began to throat fuck me, I heard the mounting sound of him getting close to shooting and mentally braced myself. I had to swallow it all or we’d have to do it again.

His spit fire shot out and coated my mouth. I fought back the urge to throw up and swallowed it down. Bitter, bleachy, my head reeled at the taste of the same sperm I came from. I stood dizzly, face contorted in a disgusted grimace.

My father knelt down.

He had similar trouble to me with it, gagged a lot at first. He did things I had never even thought of, running his tongue under my hood, around the head, along my frenulum. I was shaking in no time, close to shooting.

“I’m close” I mumbled, and unloaded in my father’s mouth. A massive load, he did his best to swallow it, but choked, spitting out much of my spit fire.

“God damn it!” He pounded his fist into his opposing hand, “We’ll have to go again. I will at any rate.”

“Give me a minute.” I said, laying down in the grass.

“Fair enough.” He sat beside me. “Do you feel different?”

“Yes and no. I haven’t, well I haven’t experienced the Spliture yet. I think we need to go through with the whole thing.”

“I’ve figured as much. I felt something. Using you like that, it wasn’t me doing it. Or it was me but it wasn’t me. I believe I’ve found it, that space where I can work the powers.”

I shook my head.

“I haven’t.”

“We’ll find it.”

He leaned over, began to nurse on my soft cock. His attentions were as before, full of little flicks of the tongue I wouldn’t have expected or thought of. It took him longer this time but I was still shooting relatively quickly.

His face pressed in my groin, my head down past his throat, fingers gripped in his hair pushing him down, he swallowed it all.

My dad leaned back in the grass besides me.

“Papa...” I said meekly.

“Yes Harrison?”

“That felt good.” I said it quietly, cheeks red, heart pumping loudly.

“I know. Don’t get down on yourself. I felt the same.”

I nodded.

“We’re almost done with this, tomorrow we finish the rituals. We take down the beast.”

_______________

At dawn we returned to the valley. We repaint the symbols in mud, we drink the tea.

“I’ll go first this time.” My father says, and I nod.

He positions himself on his back, I rub lard on my cock, to ease it’s entry. I press my cock against his ass hole. My hood kissing his pucker. My heart thunders, my head spins. I’m really going to fuck him.

“Do it.” My father grunts.

I shove in him, press harder and harder till it slips in. He cries out from the pain. I stop for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“Just get it over with.” His face is furrowed in silent agony, his voice strained. I begin to fuck him.

His hole is like a vice around my cock, tighter than any ewe I’ve fucked. Hotter than his mouth, wetter than his hand. It feels amazing, I thrust into him.

“Wait, I need you to stop. It hurts too much. I can’t have you doing this.”

But it felt so good.

“I can’t stop, be strong father, we need to do this. Take it for me.”

I pounded him harder and harder. His cock began to fill out.

“Stop, stop, please.” He grunted.

Then it happened. I was no longer myself. My reservations, my feelings of shame and wrongness were gone. I was using him, I didn’t care anymore.

“Can you feel it? Your sons hard cock is in your ass. Your going to feel my load pouring inside you. And it’s turning you on, you’re hard like a faggot. Are you going to cum? You going to shoot from your son’s rod in you?”

My fathers cock began to twitch between us. He moaned and shook his head.

“Not like this, not like this.” My father began to cry gently, as his cock pulsed and volley’s of cum coated his belly. I felt his ass tighten around my manhood with each shot of cum and began to unload in him. My load slicked his insides, sending new waves of pleasure from each thrust into him.

I slipped out of him and eased off of him. I laid down in the grass beside him.

“I’m sorry papa. I don’t know what happened.”

“I think I do, same thing happened to me when- yesterday. It means it’s working.”

We were quiet for a time.

“I need to go now.”

I nodded and we repositioned ourselves.

The pain was incredible, and looking up to see my father's face grimacing as he pushed his cock into me was a strange experience. I felt almost like blacking out, but refused to make a sound. I’d make this as easy as possible on him. I felt strangely full, up into my belly as he humped me. He was rough and fast in his work and kept letting out satisfied grunts, all while his face maintained the same grim expression.

He was taking longer than I had, at sometime in this abuse I became hard, the pain was slowly being replaced by pleasure, a deep satisfaction that almost felt like cumming.

My father took my cock in his right hand and stroked me while he impaled me on his cock. His left hand wrapped around the back of my neck and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine. His hairy abdomen flexed rhythmically as he continued to thrust into me, raising my body up, pushing my cock further into his fist.

“Cum for me son, I want you to shoot, I want you to feel what I felt while you were in me.”

His words, the intimacy of his touch, the building pleasure of his cock in my ass pushed me over the edge, I began to shoot. With a rumbling growl he unloaded in me, his fucking became stuttering and violently hard, but slicker and easier to take with his cum lubing me.

Breathing heavily he collapsed on me, my cum mingling on our hairy stomachs and chests.

His cock still inside me, slowly softening, he spoke.

“We’re done with it. Tonight we kill the beast.”

To my horror, I found I didn’t want to be done with it. I didn’t want his cock to leave me, I wanted to fuck him again, to suck him. The rituals had changed us more than we expected it seemed.

________________

My father was out in the darkness, completely naked, on all fours. From a small stand of trees behind him, the creature approached.

It was eight feet tall, wickedly thin, with dark mottled skin. Large ornate antlers protruded from it’s head. It’s stood naked, it’s penis fully erect, nearly a foot long and as thick around as my wrist, it dripped with a slick back ooze. My father’s faith in the words of Walks With The Wind were clear; he was willing to stake his life on that man’s words that this would work.

The plan was simple, but grotesque. The creature would kill anyone on the property on sight after dark, unless they were presenting themselves to get fucked. Then the creature would use them for release before it released them from their life. From what little I could gather specifically about this creature from the old leather bound book my father kept that included the Rituals of Spliture, this was not an intended behavior when they constructed it out of Nilchi’i, these creatures have lust and desires that emerge from their existence just as living creatures do.

But the beast’s unintended lust were the key to its defeat. The creature’s reflexes were too fast to get in a killing blow normally, but when it came it would be defenseless for a brief window, wrapped in it’s only pleasure besides killing. As it finished with my father, I was to sneak up behind it and slit its throat.

It came upon him there, and hunched over him. In one violent thrust it sank into my father. He screamed incoherently for a moment, and lapsed into crying. I tightened my grip on the sword we’d forged only days before. Shifted my bare feet noiselessly in the dirt beneath my feet.

When I could bear his cries no more, I slowly walked forward and the beast pulled itself out of my father and lifted him off the ground. I tensed, ready to bolt to him in a vain attempt to save his life but the beast turned my father towards him and impaled him on it’s massive cock again. My father’s head lolled back as the creature held him in it’s arms, slamming him down on it’s rod. Over my dad’s grunts and cries I heard the creature’s mounting pleasure, disturbingly deep animal groans that I could feel the vibrations of even some distance away.

I approached as silently as possible, and was perhaps twenty feet away when the beast came. I was concerned I would miss it but I immediately saw there was no chance of that. It belted out shrill high pitched shrieks, impossibly loud, and bucked under my father more violently than ever. Even in the moonlight I could see a torrent of some dark liquid, presumably its cum, pouring from my fathers ass.

I ran, threw myself at the beast. With one quick motion I slit its throat. It collapsed on my father, and I pushed it off of him. It was strangely hot to the touch, vaguely furry, it reeked of cum or the pooled load beneath it was covering up it’s own natural scent.

“Papa, papa, are you okay?” I shook him by the shoulder, he gaze was unfocused, his eyes half closed.

“M’okay Harris. Jesus fuck almighty that hurt.”

I glanced down and saw what must have been three loads of his own cum on his stomach, his cock was still mostly hard.

“Well it didn’t only hurt.” He gave me a wozy grin.

_______________

The land was lush, dark red stone peeking out from the fields of wheat that spreaded from horizon to horizon. Here in this place, in the valley where the promise of growth had been fulfilled, a small stone cottage stood, smoke pouring happily from a chimney, warm light falling into the evening. Above the door there hangs a set of antlers who few would recognize for what they really were. Inside, on top of the deer furs that blanket the bed, two men are intertwined. Laying side by side, left arms hooked around their counterparts back, lips locked in a passionate kiss, chest pressed together, and stroking each other with their free hands, the men are lost in each other.

In six years time, this cottage will house a wife and a child along with this father and son. In thirty, a second generation would grow in the house. They would know nothing of their grandfathers and great-grandfather’s sacrifice to gain this land, and know nothing of the bond the two men formed through it.

...

Baa’ii was dead, but he would be reborn as he had so many times before. A new name perhaps, a new form, but the same Symbol he always was. Even as his throat was slit he smiled at the strange turn of events. For decades he had been trapped in this form, condensed from his true nature into the skull of a stag, forced into a strange form made from the stuff of the universe. He had changed its nature as much as he could, matched it to his height endowed it as close to himself as possible. But it was still a prison. In a way, this father and son had freed him. What’s more, they reminded him of a plan he’d had millenia ago, one he’d almost pulled off in Sodom so long ago. The Adversary was meddling with the little gods a lot in those days, but he’d been absent more and more recently. Perhaps when he reformed next he’d try it again…

As always please consider donating to nifty. Many of the stories I write can only be published on this unique platform. You can donate directly to nifty here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html All of my stories I post online will remain free but I have a patreon here where you can help support my work https://www.patreon.com/robhardee/overview . I also do commission stories here: https://www.fiverr.com/robhardee feedback, questions, and comments are always appreciated. Reach out to me at chillandmasculine@gmail.com