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Subject: Always Knock First (part 1) Disclaimer: This isn’t a true story, but nonetheless reading it where you are might be illegal–so if it is, I suggest you turn right around and walk away. Some lines can’t be uncrossed, right? This story involves sex between relatives, and if that weirds you out you very likely clicked a wrong link on your way here. I write as Simon Strange, and I am a purveyor of kinky weird taboo stories and some occasional paranormal smut. I have plenty of work available on Amazon that you can find if you’re interested zon/Simon-Strange/e/B00RRD3HJE. I write about a lot of step brothers, step fathers, about merciless milking and sexy games. Sometimes I throw some shifters in there, too. And who knows–tentacles might be around the corner, it just depends on what Tumblr I’m looking at on any given day. For… research. But sometimes you just want to step back from that safety line and jump right over it into the rough, difficult territory. Tell the stories that can be a little darker, or grittier, or more taboo. That’s what I come to Nifty for. There are some stories you just can’t tell on Amazon. This is one of them. If you want to keep this place going, I highly recommend donating to Nifty; every little bit helps. And if you’ll keep donating, I’ll keep dropping of gems like this one: “Always Knock First”–wherein Father and Son discover a whole new dimension of their connection, and pleasures they never would have admitted they craved to anyone else… ************************ At a certain point, your kid reaches the age where you’re supposed to knock before you go into his room. I should have known that. When I was fifteen I spent just about half my waking hours, probably, jacking off. Maybe it was all the sports, spiking my testosterone up; or maybe all that was because of the testosterone–sort of a chicken and the egg question. I’d do it in the morning when I woke up, sometimes in the shower right after. Around lunch I’d sneak into the bathroom at school or the gym shower. I was the kind of teenage boy that parents dream of because I’d eat all my vegetables and then head straight to bed. Dad probably knew what was up. I don’t know, maybe Mom did too, but it was Dad that kept me stocked with tissues and lotion. Zach was eighteen, so, like I said–I should have known better. “Hey, bud,” I said, pushing his door open, “I was thinking I might order–oh… ah… shit, Zach I… I’ll…” I closed the door, but the image was burned into my retinas and my brain. Zach, on his bed, his knees splayed, one hand gripping his balls like he was trying to take them off and the other tight around his cock, giving it a remarkably familiar slow twist. Five whole seconds I watched. And he’d watched me back. I closed my eyes tight, and let the heat gradually drain from my face. Well. It was always a possibility. Two guys alone in any house were probably going to see eachother’s dicks at some point. I just had to… adjust my thinking. Catch up. Possibly get Zach some tissues and lotion. Or, oil–I learned that later on. Oil is way better. I did order pizza, but I didn’t expect Zach to come out of his room that night. If I’d been him, I wouldn’t have, probably. He didn’t say anything, and I tried to decide if I should. Ultimately, though, it was my job to be the adult, right? “New Jet Li movie on demand,” I said. “Saw it earlier. One I think we haven’t seen.” “Cool,” Zach muttered. He munched a slice of pizza quietly. What do you do in this situation? Let it pass? Bring it up? Last thing I wanted was for him to feel shamed or like I was… angry or something. Still, I took the coward’s way out. We plated up, and plopped onto the couch. Zach and I have been watching kung fu movies since he was a toddler and would jump around in front of the TV playing like he was doing martial arts. Later, we’d take Judo together, and then muay thai. He wasn’t a team sports kid like I was, but he was still athletic and I tried to encourage it. We ate and watched in silence, until the credits rolled and dirty plates sat cold on the coffee table. I didn’t want to shoo him off to bed because if I did it might send the wrong message–get out of my sight. I didn’t know why he didn’t leave, but for whatever reason he stayed where he was on his end of the couch. In the end I figured he was doing the teenage thing they do where they don’t say they want to talk but they really do. And oldie, but a goodie. I was a master of teenage brooding. “You know,” I said, as casually as I could manage, “it’s perfectly natural. All guys do it, and–” “Dad!” Zach groaned. “–I’m just, you know, I want you to know that I’m not ashamed or angry, it’s your body–” “Jesus fucking christ…” Zach sighed, “–and,” I finished, “if you have any questions about… your body or anything then I’m here to answer them. No judgement.” Zach was quiet for a second. Well, I had said my peace. “I think I might be gay,” Zach said. My reaction was… not the correct one. I’ll own that. I didn’t get angry, of course–never that. But I was shocked. And because I was shocked, I was quiet. Zach got up, and left the couch. A moment later his door closed. When I could move again I thought about going into his room to talk but after what had happened before… I went to bed instead, but I didn’t sleep. I have this fantasy. It’s my go-to. I have it most mornings, in the shower, when I still have enough testosterone in my old age to wake up hard. Forty is still young, folks. I let the hot water run over me and stroked my morning erection–with oil, because it’s water proof; pro-tip–eyes closed, thoughts somewhere else entirely. Normally, it’s this woman. I don’t know her name. I’m gonna sound like a creep here, but I see her at the grocery store–I think she’s a manager or something. Great rack, long blond hair, and these gorgeous, full lips. Nice voice, too–just hearing it kind of makes my scalp tingle. She’s down there, or on top, doing all the things you’d think she’d do. I’m not all that kinky. But it’s the same woman every time. You know, I think it’s that she reminds me of my ex-wife except… not yet tainted by addiction and a mountain of mental health issues. Or… addiction at least. This time, though, something flashed through my fantasy. Just for a second. Not long enough to matter. And it was just the regurgitation of my stressed brain, mixing and matching shit like legos in the dark just looking for the right shape but unaware of the color. gaziantep escort For half a heart beat, I saw my son on his knees in front of me, one hand on my shaft, the other on my nuts, the head of my dick in his mouth. I was already close, but I opened my eyes and gave over to the blissful blankness of three seconds of orgasm as all the kids that would never be splashed against the tile wall and ran down to the drain. My cock spasmed the last little dribbles out and I held onto it, gasping in the hot water and steam and horrified. Just my brain, I reminded myself. Just my stupid, animal brain. Zach got back from school before I got back from work. When I got home, he was in the living room playing playstation. “You get your homework done?” I asked, without looking at him. “Uh huh,” Zach grunted. “Shit… shit… fuck…” Call of Duty, probably. It was the only game he really played lately. I milled around the kitchen, making us an early dinner. It was almost done by the time Zach came in and took a soda out of the fridge. It hissed when he popped the cap and I glanced over my shoulder. “You got plenty of water today, right?” “Yeah, Dad,” my son muttered. There was something in the tone, just in that little response… I set the pasta sauce to simmer, and turned toward him, leaning against the counter next to the stove. Zach watched me a second, and then looked down at his drink. “Listen, kid… Zach…” I had to take a breath, order my words. “What you said before–that you think you might be gay–I didn’t respond the way I should have. I’m sorry for that. I love you no matter what, though, Son. You have to know that, right?” Zach shrugged. Shrugged, as if he didn’t. “Hey,” I said, and waited for him to look at me again. “Zach, come on. You know that your the most important thing in the world to me. Nothing could change that. Nothing.” “I know,” Zach said, quietly, his voice taut and pitched. “I know you think that…” A rip in my chest almost made me gasp. “What… Zach, no, buddy. I don’t just think it. I… did I do something that made you think I wouldn’t–” “No,” Zach said. “But you don’t… you don’t know everything, okay? Don’t act like you do.” I saw the red flags. Meltdown impending. I checked myself–was I treating him like a kid? No; at least I didn’t think I was. “I don’t,” I said quickly. “I don’t know everything. I get that. Look why don’t we just… have dinner and maybe talk about this a little more later, once… we… chill out a little.” Zach sighed, and put his soda down. “Yeah. Sure. I… gotta shower.” “Okay, bud,” I said. I watched him go. When he reached into his gym shorts to adjust himself, I didn’t pay it any attention. Dinner took another fifteen minutes or so, and Zach still hadn’t come down from the upstairs bathroom. I waited. After another fifteen minutes, I figured there were two possibilities. He was shaving, checking himself out in the mirror, being a hormonal teenage boy with a nice body and lots of budding self-esteem issues–or he was jerking off in the shower. Either way, all I could really do was let him finish, right? Ten more minutes, and I started to get worried. Zach was emotional. He was maybe trying to come out, and he wasn’t sure that I loved him unconditionally. A hundred horror stories coursed through my mind. Headlines I’d read, anti-bullying campaign stories, teen suicide rates spiking among gay kids. Before I knew it was I was jogging up the stairs. I knocked on the door. “Zach? Buddy? Dinner’s ready, man. Getting cold.” No answer. The water was on. Steam billowed under the door. “Zach? Come on.” I banged a little harder. When he didn’t answer, my head went straight to the worst case scenario. Things I… can’t even say. I didn’t knock again, just grabbed the door, put my shoulder into it and pushed it open. Now, he heard me. Zach had his iPad out on the bathroom rug. His legs were splayed out. Earphones were in. He scrambled to get up, and in his rush to reach for the iPad he knocked it over, and I before I could back out of the room I saw what he was watching. I couldn’t figure out if I was angry, or scared, or disgusted, or… something else. Zach tried to get up but had some kind of trouble, and then I saw why–he had something in his ass. No, not something. I knew what it was. It was a dildo. The… realistic kind, with balls and everything. And it wasn’t… small. “I can explain,” Zach said, even though there was a very good chance that wasn’t true. I grabbed the iPad, and stormed out of the bathroom. “Get dressed.” There were maybe ten of them. Videos in high definition, only barely obscured by steam. Each one of them was of me, through my bathroom door, reflected off the mirror. Me in the shower, playing with my nipples and jerking off. Me, tugging my nuts. Me, eyes closed, one hand braced against the wall of the shower while I edged myself slow, trying to make it last longer than the three seconds or so I got each time. Me, muttering things like, “Suck my fucking cum… yeah, fuck… ride that cock, baby…” It twisted my stomach, and it was confusing and alarming and, worst of all–the thing I swore I would not let slip even in the twitch of an eyelid at the wrong time–was that it… it turned me on. Fuck me. I knew, I was some kind of monster for even letting my head take me there–just the very fact that it was something that could happen had to mean something, right? When Zach found me, I realized I’d been crying. I turned away from him, wiped my eyes, and pushed the iPad toward him over the granite counter. “Dad…” Zach whispered. “Look, I, ah… it’s just a thing… I mean… no, that’s not. Fuck.” “Don’t,” I said. “I don’t think I can handle this right now, buddy. I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry,” Zach muttered. “That you… saw me like that.” “And saw this?” I asked. I turned back to him and waved at the iPad. Jesus fuck, there was still a video playing. I tapped and swiped and was about to break the thing when Zach reached out and deftly stopped it and put the tablet to sleep. “Yeah,” Zach sighed. “And that you saw that.” “Just help me understand,” I said. “Explain to me… what was going on in your head. Why would you make these? I mean… why would you tape me?” “Tape?” Zach snorted. “It’s not–” “Zachary,” I warned him. Zach swallowed. “It’s complicated.” “Uncomplicate it,” I said. I tapped the dark screen. “This is the sort of stuff that fucks you up, Zach. It’s awkward for me, too, okay? suriyeli escort But we have to air this out. I don’t want you to grow and be all… fucked up with daddy issues or something.” He stared at me, and I saw the worry in his eyes. Well, shit. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “What I mean is… that we should talk this out. I need to know what you’re feeling–what’s in your head–and you need to know what’s in mine, so that we both understand it. Okay?” “Okay,” Zach said, his eyes downcast. “No… no judgment?” Dangerous territory, I knew. But if I let this lie then that was the end for us. I could sense that, like a cliff just a few feet ahead, waiting to suck me down. “No judgment,” I said. “Starting now.” “Starting now,” Zach said, nodding. There was a reason Zach didn’t normally hide things from me. Our little ritual meant the following conversation was a safe zone–mostly for him, but for me as well. “Dinner is–” “I’m not hungry yet,” Zach said. “And I need to get this all off my chest.” “Yeah,” I agreed. “We can nuke it later. So, what’s up?” Zach moved us to the living room so that he could curl up on the couch and hug one of the pillows. He’d been doing that since he was small, every time he was ashamed or worried he’d get in trouble. It was hard for me not to remember the time his mother kicked him in the stomach when he was three, during one of her violent episodes and right before I divorced her and took Zach out of that hell. I always wondered if that was why he covered his stomach with a pillow when he was nervous like this. I sat on the other end of the couch, one leg up on the coffee table, arms open so I didn’t seem like I was passing any judgement–all the things they tell you about in the books. Body language and shit. I don’t know if it actually works. “A few months ago,” Zach said, “I left my contacts in your bathroom. I only went in there because it was when my sink broke.” “I remember,” I said. “Go on.” “I was already gonna be late for school, and I heard the shower on but didn’t think it would be a big deal,” he said. It wouldn’t have been, it wasn’t like we hadn’t seen one another naked once in a while. “So I reached for them but… I saw you through the mirror and you were… you know. I should have grabbed my contacts and left or… just left them but I didn’t. I was… sort of stuck, like I couldn’t look away.” “You were curious,” I said, dismissing it just like that. “No big deal–” “I wasn’t curious, Dad,” Zach said quietly. He licked his lips, and then hugged the pillow close. “I was turned on.” No judgement. That was the deal. I measured my breath. “Okay. Had you… was that the first time you saw a guy–” “No,” Zach sighed. “The internet? And it wasn’t like… it wasn’t that it was any guy. It was that it was… you.” “Okay,” I said. That was all. Just `okay’. I couldn’t find anything else. How do you respond to that? “You said no judgement, Dad,” Zach reminded me. “I need to say this. It’s been… look, I failed a test a few days ago. And I skipped a class. I’m sorry that I did it. But sometimes I feel like I’m crazy. I have these thoughts, and these feelings and sometimes I’m ashamed or afraid or angry and I want things that I know are wrong but I can’t stop thinking about you… I mean about them. Fuck. I…” Hell, I fantasized about the lady at the grocery store. It happened, right? A tiny, traitorous voice in the back of my head reminded me–he wasn’t the only one. I reached for it, even as painful as it was, because I needed common ground. I need to prove to Zach that he wasn’t messed up, and that I understood him and that it was normal for some random bit of… something to lodge itself in his head and make itself known in weird ways. Maybe he just wanted to be close to me, some kind of Freudian thing, and for that matter maybe that’s what had caused my brief episode in the shower and the… erection I got from finding out he’d been watching videos of me jerking off. “It’s okay,” I said. “Look it’s just… your head just does weird things. After I saw you… that time… I…” “What?” Zach pressed. “It wasn’t like I was trying,” I told him. “I didn’t… it wasn’t like fantasizing…” My throat was dry, and my heart pounded. This was not as easy as I had stupidly expected it to be. “What do you mean?” Zach asked. “What happened?” “Nothing,” I said. Retreat! Retreat! “You thought about me?” Zach asked. His eyes got a little bigger, and then narrower. All my alarms went off. “I didn’t,” I said. “It wasn’t… it was more like I remembered, like a… flashback.” Zach stared at me for a long moment. “When you were in the shower,” he said. I shook my head. Zach didn’t believe me. I could see it. I could always tell when he was lying. It never occurred to me before that moment that he might be able to tell when I was, too. “I think about being on my knees,” he said. “In front of you. Looking up at your–” “Zach, no,” I said. “Be quiet, please.” He hesitated. Then he crept a little closer to me. “You’re bigger than me. It seems… right, somehow. I want to know what it feels like in my–” I stood up. Bad idea. Zach looked at my shorts, and then up at me. Hell, I’d been so distracted and out of my depth that I hadn’t realized I’d gotten a half stock. “Dad,” he said, slowly, “nobody would have to know.” “I would know,” I said. My cock got harder. Fuck. “Just once?” Zach asked. No–begged. His voice was thick with genuine want. The way someone dehydrated might ask for water. “Absolutely not,” I told him. But I couldn’t walk away. My feet were stuck, my knees weak and unwilling to bend in case they buckled. I couldn’t get a breath deep enough. I thought I might have a heart attack. Zach bit his lip, and caught my eyes with his. I looked away, but like magnets they drew me back. “Just once, Dad,” Zach whispered, and reached for me. I twitched away, but not before his hand slipped into the bottom of my gym shorts. Then his fingers, cool and smooth, brushed my nuts and sent a tickling jolt of pleasure into me that made my cock jump. “Don’t, Zach,” I said, barely able to speak through the crushing weight on my chest. “It’s okay, Daddy,” Zach breathed, excitement evident in the quiver of his voice. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I just want to… hold it…” His hand gripped me, and I let out a tortured cry, close to a sob. Both because it was him, and I let it happen… and because it had been so long rus escort since anyone else did. Another hand on my dick almost broke me. No. Zach’s hand on my cock…that did break me. “It’s so thick,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Big. And hot. I guess I should have figured but…” He gave it a slow, long tug, until his palm brushed my piss slit. When it did, he smiled. “You leak. Just like me.” “Please, Son,” I moaned. “Don’t ah… don’t do this to me.” He looked up, and new gleam in his eye. Mischievous. Like he only just realized what he’d done to me. How much control he had. “So stop me,” he said. “You can if you want, can’t you?” His head was already coming close to my shorts. He moved his arm to lever the thick polymer fabric out of the way, and I watched with mixed fascination and terror as he revealed my cock to both of us and moved his mouth toward it, his eyes on my face. “We can’t go back from this,” I said. “Zach… don’t.” But then his soft, warm, moist lips pressed against the tip of my dick. He sucked gently, and his tongue lapped at the bead of precum there, and the sound he made… It was like I had fed him the sweetest taste imaginable. He made a desperate, whining, keening sound, and his eyes fluttered closed. I was frozen, literally. Every muscle in my body had gone rigid, and I held my breath. I couldn’t stop looking as his lips parted and he slipped them over the swollen head of my cock. His tongue moved slowly, caressing the sensitive nerves there in ways I had forgotten they could be manipulated. Inch by inch, I disappeared into my son’s mouth while he whimpered, and his body squirmed the way a dog wags its tail. He looked so… happy. He did something inside his mouth when my cock was as deep as it would go–his whole tongue gyrating against the belly of it as he swallowed, or tried to–and my knees abruptly buckled. I almost dropped to the ground, but caught myself on his shoulder. Zach withdrew a bit, and chuckled. Then he looked up at me, and tilted his head toward the couch. Like I was hypnotized, I did what he wanted. I turned and sank carefully back into my seat, all while he kept at least the head of my cock in his mouth, suckling and slurping at it so that I went temporarily blind. When I finally sat down, he curled up against my hip, drawing his knees up, snuggled his shoulder and neck against my side and stomach, and practically purred as he nursed my painfully hard erection with his lips and tongue. Cautiously, I laid my hand on his back. Possessed of it’s own mind, it crept up to his shoulder, and then to his head, and tangled in his messy hair, still a bit heavy from sweat and oil. I realized then that I could smell him–one of those scents you take for granted because it’s always there. But now, suddenly, there it was, loud and clear, filling my nostrils. I’d always loved the way he smelled. Not because it was especially pleasant–he smelled like a teenage boy–but because it was him. It meant he was around, that he was here, that he was with me. Now, while he pleasured my cock with the kind of urgency and need that I’d never seen anyone go after a piece of meat with before, that smell changed in some subtle way. Or, the way if affected me did. Suddenly, it was all I could think about or focus on and it was incredibly hot. Like I could bury my nose in him for hours and just breathe him in and jerk off or let him do this, make me feel like this for days on end. Water dripped from my chin onto my shirt. I hadn’t realized I was crying. Silently; and not tears of sadness or joy or anything just… raw unfiltered emotion. Zach bobbed up and down on my dick slowly, taking his time, exploring. He wasn’t in a hurry to get me off. Maybe he didn’t even want to. But it was clear that he was mapping every ridge and wrinkle with his tongue. The suction was exquisite, just enough and constant that I could already tell that in a few minutes it was going to gently coax the cum out of my balls. Maybe into Zach’s mouth. Maybe down his throat. The thought of that got me close. My cock swelled, and Zach’s body stiffened in response. He went faster. I took a breath, and when I exhaled it came out as a long, low moan that tapered off into an instinctive kind of growl. I tried to be careful with his hair but my fingers wanted to grip a handful and push him down onto me, to unload into the back of his throat. Hurting him, though… I couldn’t have done it if I wanted to, couldn’t have risked it. What sent me over was when his hand dropped from my shaft, hefted my balls, and then pulled them steadily until it was almost too much; almost enough to hurt. “Zach,” I groaned, struggling to keep from shooting, “I’m… I’m close. You gotta stop. Can’t… don’t swallow. Please, Zach, I’m begging you, Son… shit…” I tried to pull his head up and off of me. Letting him swallow my cum just seemed like a step too far–somehow. Like it would be written in stone. But Zach clung to me–to my thigh with one arm, and to my balls with that hand. When I pulled him up, he yanked on my nuts and robbed me of whatever leverage I was working with as pain shot through my abdomen mixed with the fiery liquid lightning of boiling orgasm about to happen. He moaned around my dick the moment it locked and loaded, and then shuddered from head to foot when I fired the first volley into his mouth. Greedy swallowing followed, and he plunged down, his tongue going wild. I bucked, and he held tight to me as I shouted and cussed at nothing, molten bullets firing on automatic from my piss slit, each one disappearing down Zach’s gullet. It last a lot longer than three seconds. A lot longer. I thought my head would crack open, or that I’d die of a stroke right there and it would have served me right. When the last squirt was done, he didn’t sit up. He laid there, draped over my thigh, gently sucking and lapping at my cock which didn’t show any signs of flagging yet. I let him, because I didn’t know what else to do now. I stared at the wall, at the black screen of the television there, and tried to see myself–us–in the dark reflection. Not because I wanted to see, but because it gave me something to focus on besides the mounting guilt I felt. Not the guilt of letting him do it, was the thing. It was what compounded what I was feeling. No. I was guilty, because in those long minutes of afterglow, as Zach curled against me and continued to passively pleasure my sensitive dick–the dick that made him, and that he never should have wanted–all I could feel was… joy. Sheer, unthinkable, terrible joy at being so close to him. At giving him what was obviously so much enjoyment and happiness. Even if it was fucked up. And I was guilty, most of all, because I was already craving more.

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