Date: Fri, 3 Mar 2017 21:36:58 -0800
From: Simon Strange
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 at
https://www.amazon.com/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.

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? 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
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.