The story contains heavy incest, voyeurism, sacrilege, questionable consent, and extreme degeneracy. Reader's discretion is advised.
Ever since I came into the age of consciousness, my family consisted of me, my older brother, and my father. There was this faintest infantile memory of a woman's countenance hidden deep inside my consciousness underneath all my faith and social conditions and whatnot, that much later in life I learned to be the look of my mother. Not going to lie, I didn't feel like missing much despite the absence of a mother, as for the longest time I always thought our family structure was the default, and everyone else around me was just privileged.
My older brother Avery just graduated from college and was working from home at the moment, while my father Martin, forty-five of age, was a former professional swimmer, now a personal coach for young and upcoming athletes; the money he earned through the medals he yearned in his heydays were enough to sustain this household even if the three of us earned collectively zero dollars for the next decade.
I enrolled in an out-of-state college majoring in religious study; the lack of any female passion in my domestic life drove me into seeking religion as a substitution. The Godfather canceled his latest preaching out of the blue so I got to return home a few days earlier than planned; I didn't bother to update Avery and Martin about my early arrival, because I didn't think our house had much going on anyway.
When I came to the house at 2 in the morning, something was awry. The light in the master bedroom was still on, with dancing shadows projected onto the balcony's window, while every other part of the house was pitch dark. Music could be heard coming out of it as well, which was probably the first time I heard music playing out loud in this household. I immediately concluded my house to be the crime scene of a fresh robbery, as the robbers were most likely rummaging through the bedrooms with the music acting as a concealer of all the noises, but the front door wasn't unlocked, nor was the backdoor, and no windows were broken in. I stood at the door, looking at the pitch black living room, unsure of what to do next.
"Avery? Dad? You guys home?"
I didn't shout for them, and naturally, nobody responded. The TV was on but only statics were shown, lighting up a corner of the house. Strange sounds, clearly distinguished from and not of the cheeky dancehall music, were coming from upstairs, while every other part of the house was drenched in dark silence. I walked into the kitchen to find nothing other than some unwashed dishes and leftovers -- smothered chicken and rice with collard greens, those were my brother's favorite dishes, and he was the one responsible for most of the cookings in the house anyway, so obviously he was in the house. I flipped through the static TV to find a football game replay on tape, so obviously, Martin was in the house as well.
So why in hell was everything so dark?
Reason unknown to even myself, I didn't turn on the light. I just sat on the sofa, confused and conflicted. It felt like just shouting for their names would immediately resolve the problem at hand, but somehow, it felt wrong, immoral even, to break the surrounding quietude; and the sounds, not the music, but the sounds that writhed underneath it, sounds that I couldn't make the heads and tails of. It sounded like murmurs of a very quiet crowd, and it disturbed me to the core. For a while, I just sat on the sofa in the dark, letting the unhinge fantasy ran amok in my head.
Finally, I decided to go upstairs. It was also covered in pitch darkness, but a sliver of silver light ran across the carpet, traced from that one ajar door of the master bedroom. The music, the light, and most importantly, the inexplicable sound, all came from there. Now closer to the source than ever, I could finally make out what the sounds were, yet I still couldn't believe my own conclusion; I had to see it for me to believe it, or else all I could think of were fantasy. My heart was racing, and I could feel the adrenaline rushing into my bloodstream, even though I could perceive no immediate danger around me whatsoever; I took off my shoes to quiet my footstep and I snuck up to the door and looked through that gap.
My older brother, Avery, had his hands strapped on a metal pole above, standing in the middle of the room completely naked, with only a crimson collar on his neck, a piquant black floral garter on his left thigh, white knee-high stockings that accentuated his skin tones, and a maid headband on his head. Avery was always kind of a twink, shorter than even I was and I was three years younger than him, standing at just above 5'7'', and he was always a nerd, like reading garish novels and doing IT craps on his laptop that no else could understand, didn't like exercise or sport, so his chest was flat as his stomach, and his limbs were long and lanky, but I didn't expect him to be this hairless; outside of a patch of soft and serried pubs, he was almost perfectly smooth, especially his porcelain legs.
If not for his exposed organs, one could easily mistake him for a flat chest girl; his penis, uncut and pink in color, looking about five inches maximum, erected and leaking precum like a broken faucet. His ass was surprisingly meaty looking, as the giant hands on his ass cheeks were molding his butt like bread dough.
Those giant hands were my father's. Martin was standing right behind Avery, 6'3'' tall and still perfectly well-dressed, my father towered behind my brother with his hands on his ass, spreading the cheeks to examine the secret place that from my angle I just couldn't get a glimpse of. A blushing color tinted my brother's body, as the pink flush gave his porcelain white skin a lustful undertone; my father on the other hand had slightly tanned skin, so his brown hands made quite the sharp contrast with my brother's white bubbly ass.
"Daddy... please stop teasing me already, my hole is itching, I need your cock! Please, Daddy, cock, your cock..."
Was that... Avery's voice? Not even in my wildest dream would I ever imagine my older brother, my role model, my closest friend, my blood-related brethren, would talk in a voice this sultry, that even a dirty fucking whore on the street would steer away from using in fear of provoking the incivil bestiality of the men around them. That nasally tremble of the tongue, that tall and thin pitch that clung onto his licentious words, that little trill at the end of his sentence as though he had sung its end rather than spoken it...
Then I saw his face. Avery was always androgynous looking, dad always said how he looked more like our mother than I -- guess that explained the current situation somewhat -- and he was clearly groomed for a long time. His face was blushing from lust, his pupils dilated, his gaze unfocused, his plump lips crimson and lush, his soft facial features oozing with femininity; he was my older brother, and now he looked like a degenerate slut.
"Needs to be patient, Ave, when has your father ever disappointed you?" Martin, my father, commanded with his ever so masculine voice; he was usually sulking in silence, for him to speak in such an aroused tone was an effrontery to every impression I had of my father. His face looked like that of a starved predator, and his hands were caressing his prey's body, touching my brother all over without any restraint or fear of resistance, as though Avery, my brother, his own son, was merely a toy for him to mangle. He suddenly ceased Avery's nipples -- they were perky and pink, like two small pebbles protruding off Avery's white flat chest, as though even his nipples could erect in lust -- and twisted them, inducing a screech from Avery.
"AH! WAIT! DADDY! TOO HARSH! PLEASE, DADDY!"
"For a bitch you sure talk a whole lot." Martin inserted his fingers into Avery, and immediately, the screech melted into slutty moans. "See? You like being your father's toy, don't you? You like being your father's new wife?"
