tagIncest/TabooGoing Home

Going Home


This is likely to be viewed as a return to my darker side - it certainly turned out much differently than I initially conceived it. I will be keenly interested in your feedback. As always, it is a work of fiction and all characters exist only within the confines of the story and my head. Enjoy!


The doorman cradled a sawed-off double barrel in his arms, swinging it my way as I approached the entrance. His eyes swept warily over me, not liking what he was seeing -- not the least being, I was armed...heavily armed and that he was assuming -- quite correctly -- that I was new in town. The rusty and begrimed barrels swung in my direction. "You got money?" he said in a gruff voice.

I nodded and slowly reached into a haversack on my shoulder. Just as slowly, I pulled out a can of beans -- the label still un-faded and clean. His eyes went wide as I said, "I have more than just one."

He nodded as he lowered the shotgun, saying with a little more respect. "No trouble now...we run a nice, respectable place here." I nodded, feeling his eyes on me as I went through the entrance, down a long dark corridor and emerged into a dim, smoke-filled room where in front of me a woman was bent over a table and a large, fat man was angrily thrusting his erect cock into her cunt. She was moaning in response, though if it was pleasure or pain, I couldn't tell.

The part of me that hadn't been with a woman since last winter on the high plains of Wyoming roamed appreciatively over the parts of her I could see -- large, meaty breasts flattening out against the dirty surface of the table and long, well shaped legs and the moons of a firm ass. I tore my gaze away from the exhibition and focused on reconnoitering the room.

Most of the room's light came from dozens of rows of old Christmas lights that spelled out the words, "The Step Right Inn" hanging on the wall above the long, authentic bar that ran along the far wall. Behind the bar was maybe the greasiest man I'd ever seen -- his very skin seemed to gleam and his hair almost seemed to drip with grease. He had it combed back into what my granddaddy would have called a "D.A." He frowned at me as he cleaned a glass with a rag almost as dirty as he was.

Several men were scattered about the room -- sitting two and three at a table. In the corner I would have liked to have placed myself -- the one with the best field of fire and sitting in shadow, smoke emerged and the glint off something metal, like a shirt button or the end of a pistol barrel. I opted for the best table I could find against a wall and no one sitting closer than five feet away. Still too close for comfort, but one doesn't always get one's way.

The bartender stared sullenly at me for a moment, apparently disappointed that I didn't come to the bar. Some of the crowd stared my way for a bit, but then turned back to their own business or eyed the couple fucking with a mix of amusement and envy. The woman's face was shrouded by thick and tangled locks of peppered hair. Her ragged fingernails clawed the tabletop as she moaned while the fat man sweated profusely -- his anger replaced by a blissful, almost idiotic look on his face.

To spur some service, I reached into my haversack again...moving slowly, and drew out that can of beans again and then a larger one of sweet potatoes. The bartender's eyes widened but he made no move to come take my order. Instead he turned and glowered at the couple fucking, finally yelling in a high pitched voice, "Goddammit, bitch -- make that dumb farmer cum already. You got customers to wait on!"

Several of the other men in the room chuckled at that, their laughter abruptly stopping as a deep, edgy voice rumbled from the shadowed corner, "Get your own ass in gear, Howard. You're making a paying customer wait and the bitch has two more to take care of after Wilbur there. Besides...you know how much Alice looks forward to Wilbur's big cock each month -- don't be hurrying her."

Greasy Howard paled at the man's words and scurried around the bar and came to me. "Whatcha want?" he said, his hand hesitantly reaching out for the cans and then pulling back.

"Whiskey if you have it and food -- cooked and clean," I replied.

"We got moonshine up from Tennessee -- smooth stuff," he replied, "And we make a mean rabbit stew -- raise 'em right out back," Howard replied. He turned and looked at the shadows, "Got beans and sweet taters, Boss," he said. He raised a hand and I heard the calm tick of a hand held Geiger counter. "They's clean, too."

The dark voice seemed to mellow as he said, "Pays for all the whiskey you can drink tonight and supper and breakfast. You got another clean can -- you can have a woman for the evening too...all to yourself."

I nodded and pushed the cans towards Howard and said, "Fair deal on this...I'll think awhile on the woman." I heard a grunt of assent from the shadows and the bartender scooped the cans up and hurried away. He came back in a moment with a dirty glass filled with an almost clear liquid. After I took a sip, I wasn't worried about the dirt -- nothing was going to live in that white lightning.

While I waited for my food, the fat man -- Wilbur began huffing and puffing -- increasing his thrusts while the woman keened with what sounded to me like pleasure. Certainly, she was now thrusting back to meet his cock. Several men began betting on how long it would take him to cum. I felt a tightening in my pants as my own cock began responding to the woman's deep moans. Something in her plaintive and clearly carnal moans touched me in a way I couldn't define. The table began scraping along the floor as the fat farmer really began throwing his meat into the woman's pussy and then both screamed as he began to cum and she threw her head back, hair still covering most of her face, but unable to conceal the sneer of pleasure on her lips.

Several of the other men clapped or slapped their tables with their palms and a few chinks of metal -- mostly bullets were passed to an older man who grinned and held them up to the shadows across from me. A minute or two went by before Farmer Wilbur stepped back, making the woman groan as he withdrew what turned out to be a sizable chunk of flesh from her pussy with a very audible noise of sucking wetness -- his slowly shrinking shaft dripping with their combined juices. A minute more and the woman staggered up and wobbled to the bar -- moving with slightly bowlegged movements and I imagined that Wilbur's big dick wasn't the first she'd had today or would be the last.

She took a sip from a glass offered by Howard and then wiping her mouth, turned and gazed around the room through thick strands of black and gray hair, displaying unashamedly, a mature and fine looking body to everyone in the bar. Large, pendulous breasts hung with some sagging on her chest -- thick nipples protruding prominently from wide aureoles. Her stomach revealed some age -- a few faint stretch marks over a mostly flat stomach -- showing off that small pooch that most women never shake after childbirth. Nice legs traveled upwards to end in a thick patch of black bush, currently split wide by swollen labia -- Wilbur's seed spattered and leaking from her spread open pussy. My cock lurched in my pants and I began to consider that maybe I could spare a can of food after all. She was a bit dirty -- like everyone here, including me, a bath would have done her good. Her hair was a mare's nest of tangles, hanging down over her face, obscuring her looks. And again, something about her seemed to speak to something deep within me.

"Nick's next, bitch," the voice in the shadows barked, making her jump slightly.

She nodded and in a voice almost too soft to be heard, replied, "Yes, Master." The woman walked to the table where the old man who'd won the bet was waiting, his cock already out. "How may I please you?" she murmured...both dread and anticipation in her voice.

"I'd appreciate a good blowjob," the old man said, his voice rising with excitement. The woman nodded and slowly went to her knees and with movements born of long experience took him into her mouth -- slowly and luxuriously began to suck his semi-erect penis. They were both in profile to me and I inwardly groaned as I leaned more and more towards giving up another can of my precious supply.

Even as my attention was mostly on the woman, I sensed movement from the shadows and out of the darkness emerged a lean, tall man with black hair and a wild, black beard. He was wearing biker's leathers over a T-shirt and jeans, a length of chain wrapped around his waist that didn't appear to be for looks and a holstered Glock automatic on his hip. He moved my way like a cat easing up on his prey. Unlike the rest of the men in the room, he was relatively clean.

"You look like a man that appreciates a fine piece of pussy," he said, a toothy grin splitting his beard. "Mind if I join you?"

I gestured towards another chair at my table, willing myself to relax even as I studied him for any sign of trouble. That's simply become a normal survival trait these last few years. He looked towards the woman on her knees, her heavy breasts moving ever so slightly as her head bobbed up and down on what was now a proud erection. The old man's face resembled the blissful look of Farmer Wilbur. The black bearded man sighed appreciatively and said, "Ayup, that bitch of mine is one fine fuck and she can about suck the life from a man. She's a natural born whore." He turned his gaze back on mine. "Offer still goes -- you want a woman all night -- cost you just a can of food. You can even have Alice there if you don't mind your pussy a mite used."

I smiled and said, "Is that her name, Alice?"

He laughed harshly and said, "Hell no, I don't bother remembering my bitches names -- they's all Alice to me...well, excepting one." He winked and said, "I got one that's special...maybe you'll see her before the evening's out."

"Oh yeah? How much for the special one?"

He snorted and said, "More than you can afford, stranger...less'n you want to part with that artillery there," gesturing towards the rifle slung over my shoulder -- one quick movement from resting in my arm and dealing more destruction than these folk could dream. "That's one of those M-142s, ain't it? I got checked out on them when I was in the Army."

"Yeah, it is and no, I'm not looking to part with it. Maybe I'll just settle for Alice there," I replied. The older woman was now slowly deep-throating the old's man's cock, making him giggle like a kid as she tickled his dick with her tonsils.

"Well, no harm in asking," the black bearded man replied, looking wistfully at my rifle. "So was you Army?"

I shook my head and replied, "Navy."

His eyebrows went up. "Oh yeah? Where was you when it all went to hell?"

I sighed and said, "On a sub off the coast of China. The USS George Custer...a missile boat." Memories of our boat shuddering as each of its twenty-four MIRV missiles launched -- likely doing nothing more than adding millions more to the millions, maybe billions already dead, flashed through my mind -- Commander Vance's face pale and drawn as he ordered each missile's launch.

"Goddamn -- reckon you did your part then." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an accusation. "So, do you know who started the whole clusterfuck?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "Not really. We got intelligence that it was Pakistan and India exchanging nukes and then Iran and Israel blew each other to hell and then maybe either the Russians or the Chinese got nervous and said, 'What the fuck,' and took out our eastern seaboard. After that, it was just a race to see who could hit the other guys the hardest."

"And after," the black bearded man asked, leaning in, eyes full of interest.

I shrugged. "We went silent and deep for a long time during the long winter as per orders. We had to sink three other subs that attacked us...a Russian for sure, a Chinese sub maybe and what we thought was a French submarine. It was almost two years later we made radio contact with the R.U.S."

"H'mmph. I heard about that so called "Reconstituted United States." You think they're for real?" His eyes gleamed, anxious for knowledge.

"Yeah -- they have control of the West Coast from Northern Mexico up past British Columbia and west into Idaho. Doubt if they get this far for decades though."

He nodded, satisfied. "You come out from there?"

"Yeah, Seattle. Five us started out together after we were discharged -- all of us wanting to find family." I sighed. "Been working our way east for nearly two years."

Black Beard squinted and glanced around. "Is there more of you?" He tensed a little.

I shook my head and replied, "Not anymore. Tomas died of a strange fever -- ugly, bleeding black boils erupting all over his skin, the fever burning his brain out -- he was singing nursery school songs at the end. We burned his body on the plains of Nebraska as a mixed herd cattle and buffalo watched us."

Black Beard grunted and said, "Yeah, they call it Black Betty -- some said it was a souped-up version of that Bubonic Plague."

"We lost Luchessi in a firefight with a raider gang near Sioux City. They got Luchessi at the outset when we walked into their ambush...afterwards, we left none alive. We didn't want to after we saw evidence that among their other sins, they'd reverted to cannibalism." My table guest frowned at that.

"Understand -- we weren't walking the land as heroes meting out justice like some fucking movie. We tried to follow the credo live and let live. We...I saw a lot of things that made my blood boil -- abuse and rape and slavery..." I glanced over at the woman on her knees -- the old man's prominent adam's apple bobbing as he was approaching his climax. "But, it aint the old world, is it? We were all just trying to get home -- find our families." The dark man nodded and relaxed a bit.

"Winer committed suicide when we reached the remains of Saint Paul -- just shucked his gear and jumped off a bluff into the Mississippi River. We'd known what we'd find -- folks along the way had told us the mushroom clouds had sprouted over Minneapolis-Saint Paul, but Winer insisted he'd find his family -- his eyes getting crazier ever day we got closer until the truth reared up to bite him on the ass.

"I said goodbye to Nate Rafelson on the banks of the Wabash River -- up north of here. I planned to follow it south to home and he was going north into Ohio before striking further east towards Pittsburgh. I reckon I'll never see him again." I stopped then, not telling the black bearded fellow about giving Nate a copy of the directions to Vance's old vacation retreat and telling him I'd see him there hopefully in a year or two.

We'd shook hands, Nate and I -- knowing we'd likely never see each other again. Parting from that tall, lean African American was tough -- of all our party, he'd been the most level-headed and reliable. After over a year and half on the road, I knew how to survive...with a little bit of luck, but I did miss my old crewmate and friend watching my back.

"Goddamn, that's sure as hell something...walking all the way here to southern Indiana from Seattle," he said, sliding his chair back and standing up. "Hell, I'm gonna let you have Alice there for free tonight! Least I can do for a serviceman."

We both turned to look at Alice as we heard her gobbling as the old man began to moan. A long string of jism dribbled from her mouth as he shot his load -- her throat working to swallow his sperm. She rose up as he finished, the dribble of semen running down her chin to splatter on her huge breasts -- nipples swollen like fat, ripe cherries ready to burst. Again, I felt my cock throb achingly between my legs.

I looked up at the black bearded man and held out a can of tuna I'd palmed during our talk. "I appreciate that, but I like to pay my own way."

He didn't take offense at my words -- instead he seemed to be on the verge of drooling as he eyed the still fresh looking can of fish meat. He reached out and took it from me, his hand trembling slightly. "Fuck me...for that you can have Alice all night long and tomorrow night too. I'll even have her take a bath first, get all the filth and jism off of her."

The can disappeared into a vest pocket and he grinned down at me. He held out his hand and said, "Stranger, what be your name?"

I took his hand and we both demonstrated we could give and take a hard squeeze. "I'm John," I replied.

"Pleased to meet you, John. I'm Tom...Tom Johnson, but most folks call me Black Tom." I tried not to tense up at the name, but I reckon my eyes betrayed me or maybe my grip tightened up a bit too much. He grinned and said, "You heard of me?"

As he released my hand, I replied. "Been hearing about Black Tom for weeks now. They say you rule everything around these parts."

Black Tom rolled his eyes and said, "Well, maybe everything between what used to be Louisville and Cincinnati -- they're both just burned out ruins now. Mostly folks just know not to fuck with Black Tom. Remember that and we'll get along fine." He took pride in saying the words, you could tell he liked saying them, but it was also a warning to me.

Very evenly, without a trace of hate in my voice, I replied, "I'm sure we'll get along just fine, Black Tom."

We smiled at each other like two predatory sharks in the water and he nodded again and moved off, pausing to reach down and jerk Alice to her feet by her hair and whisper something to her. She turned her head my way and then whispered something back and then slowly shuffled towards a door behind the bar her voluptuous ass swinging enticingly while Black Tom bellowed at his bartender, "Go get Alice -- we still owe Chicken Al a fuck!"

A middle aged fellow with streaked denim overalls turned at his name and grinned toothlessly at Black Tom while Howard looked at his boss with confusion for a moment, glancing at Alice as she passed by him before asking, "Um, which Alice, Boss?"

Black Tom picked an empty glass off a table and slung it at Howard, narrowly missing him and snapped back, "Fuck, I don't care -- a cunt is a cunt -- get Red-headed Alice off her ass." Howard scurried out of the room while Black Tom joined another group of men and began playing cards.

In a few minutes, a skinny young red-headed woman, naked as the day she was born, except for a pair of fire-engine red high heeled shoes, strutted out into the room and after being pointed towards Chicken Al, proceeded to go over and skin his dungarees off and mount his small erect cock. She was loud and vocal and unlike the earlier Alice, not completely convincing.

Time passed. Howard brought me a large bowl of stew with some actually tasty meat and some vegetables floating in the thick broth, accompanied by a bowl of home-made biscuits. It was all I could do to not eat it greedily, savoring each bite and watching for signs of being tampered with. No matter what else might happen, I was glad it wasn't...it was the best meal I'd had since my friends and I had wintered in Eastern Wyoming in a village of folk that claimed to be a mix of Cheyenne and Sioux -- led by a black man who called himself Crazy Horse II. That had seemed so long ago, before Tomas had gotten ill and we'd lost him and Winer and Luchessi. It was hard to imagine that it had only been about eighteen months or so.

People, all men came and went -- I gathered that most were locals who came to barter goods with Black Tom, some taking alcohol, others trading for sex or gambling capital. Over the next hour or so -- a few more Alices emerged from the back -- one was older than the first Alice -- short, brown hair and skinnier than the redhead. Another was a short, chunky girl -- maybe eighteen or nineteen -- about as old as my sister would be now if she was alive, with eyes that looked ten times as old.

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