tagGay MaleMy Son the Pornstar

My Son the Pornstar


I love my family. Let me start by saying that. But sometimes when all the day's irritations – dog sick on the floor, lost money, tantrums about pocket money – get too much, I like nothing better than taking my key and opening my study and closing the door behind me. Just breathing in the paper smell of my books, turning on a bit of Nirvana, sipping a glass of whiskey on the rocks. This room is my refuge, the only place in the house where I get to be myself.

I'm at my computer now with a nice buzz on from the Bushmills, relaxing into my new leather chair. I run my hand over the antique wood desk and there isn't any dust. Cleanliness is fairly incompatible with family life when you've got kids and a labrador. That faint smell of polish is bliss to me. I suck an ice cube into my mouth and look at the screen where photos from our recent holiday are loading into a folder.

There's me reading a book by the pool, relaxed and shining with coconut sun oil and not much of a tan. There's Evan, my youngest, with ice cream all around his mouth and his red hair all wet and sandy from the sea. Charlotte, my daughter, sulking under an umbrella with her arms folded and staring at the camera through white plastic shades. She's getting so grown up now, a typical teenager. And Zara, my wife, her skin a deep mahogany and her thick red curls still bouncy in the sun, trying to hide her stomach from the camera. It makes me smile. She's had three children and weighs less now than she did when she was seventeen, when we met, when Chris was already a year old.

Chris. He's not my son, but all of Zara's children – our children – look like her. It's as if my input was irrelevant. All of them redheads with hazel eyes, creamy skin that turns brown in the sun and big wide grins. I don't see Chris smile so much these days. He didn't come on holiday with us. That was the first time we ever left him alone at home. He's almost nineteen, doesn't want to be hanging around with his boring parents even though we're not exactly ready for the old folks' home; Zara's thirty six and I'm a year younger, although sometimes I feel a tiredness that hits me in the bones and makes me feel ancient, just family life wearing me out. People who say parenting is wonderful are liars. It's sometimes wonderful, but a lot of it is just a grind. I'm glad we did it young, I don't know how I'd have the energy for the younger years now.

Chris is taking a gap year, but a gap from what, I don't know. It's not like he's planning to go to university, not with the fees increase, we can't afford to send him and he doesn't really want to do it anyway. He's got no plans at all, seems happy enough working in a supermarket with whatever hours they give him, hanging out with his friends. He seems to be having some personal problems at the moment, wandering around the house like a ghost, but I'm sure he'll go to Zara when he's ready. He's always loved her more, it's as if he knew from the start that I'm just an impostor.

The photos have finished uploading so I disconnect my camera and look through them again, sipping my whiskey and smiling at the memories. Then I open Firefox, surf a bit through the sports pages and then print off a crossword to do before bed. I click on the shortcut to my mail account and I'm about to start reading the new ones when I stop, frowning.

This isn't my email. It's Chris's. That little shit has been in here, invading my space, even though he was under strict instructions not to. I didn't realise he knew where I kept my key. Now I'll have to change my hiding place. What else has he been up to? I check the history but it's been deleted. I didn't think he would be that stupid anyway.

Well, he started it. Idly, I look down his inbox but then my eye's drawn to the only one he's read recently, the title of the mail is OUR VIDEO, from someone called Alex Scott. He's mentioned an Alex from the supermarket but I don't remember anything about her. But our video... there's something intriguing about that title so I open the mail.

The message isn't long.

Hey, here's the vid I promised. Lookin forward to another sesh soon.

A xx

I shouldn't open the file. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm going to see, some sort of ghastly amateur porn, my son and his girlfriend fooling around somewhere, shagging on a bed – better not be my bed, of course - and I shouldn't be looking at intimate moments like that, not Chris's. It would be such a betrayal of everything a father should be.

Maybe it's the whiskey, but part of me is saying fuck him, he broke into my room and probably sat here in the only private space I have in the whole world, watching porn on my computer and just having a very nice time. And the other little whisper I've always had, he's not yours anyway. I usually ignore that voice but tonight, it's tipping the balance, and I'm powerless to stop it.

I click on the file, and the media player takes a few seconds to access it. The first few seconds are blurred footage of a carpet and there's someone giggling. Then the camera's set on a tripod, and there's clicking and bleeping and the sound of fingers grazing over a microphone, a quick look at the ceiling.

Suddenly it's in focus, still, and I'm looking at a bed.

Someone's lying there in an X shape, arms and legs chained apart, thick leather bindings around the wrists, left side to the camera. A black balaclava over the head. Faint music in the background. I don't recognise the bedroom, but I do recognise the young man on the bed.


And he's totally naked.

I haven't seen Chris's body since he was a little boy. He's changed a lot. His body is slim, not bulging with well-defined muscles but with very little fat, his ribs move as his chest heaves, his stomach tenses and relaxes, tenses and relaxes. He has a little tattoo of an angel on his left hip. There isn't a hair on his body. Not even pubic hair. His cock is swollen, erect, pointing at his navel and his hairless balls plump in their wrinkled sac. The tip of his cock is pink with blood, the foreskin drawn back a little so the head of the glans is poking out. It's long and thick with a vein pulsing faintly. I had no idea he had such an impressive one. I can't take my eyes off it, I don't know if it's envy or what.

Then Alex comes into view. Alex is also wearing a balaclava; shiny black gloves and nothing else. And Alex is no checkout girl but broad-shouldered hairy man with a jutting erection and a grin on his face.

"Ready?" he says, and Chris just sighs and smiles.

He sets a bottle on the bedside table and slides a towel under Chris's body. Then he lifts a bag from the floor and rummages inside it, pulling out some things I can't see because he sets them to the other side of the bed and Chris's body is obscuring it. And the lighting isn't great. I should just turn it off now and forget it, but for some reason, I can't wrench my gaze away.

Alex gets on the bed and kneels between Chris's legs. He puts his palms on Chris's thighs and slides them gently upwards, over the trembling flesh of his thighs, his belly, his chest, up to his shoulders. He leans over the prone body and takes Chris's head in his hands and they kiss, long and deep, plenty of tongue. Chris's cock twitches and weeps as Alex's gloved fingers find his dark little nipples, and start to play with them, rubbing and rubbing until Chris is breathing faster now. Letting out little high-pitched moans through the kisses, so faint, so...


...unlike Chris's voice at all.

Then Alex sits up and takes something metal from beside him. It's a chain, silver, glinting under the dimmed light overhead. He clamps one end to Chris's left nipple, then the other to his right. Chris's back arches and he lets out a whine of pain.

"You need to be quiet," Alex says, and gets up and goes out of the picture for a second. Then he returns with a pair of dark briefs in his hand, balls them up and stuffs them into Chris's mouth. He goes back to his position between Chris's legs, kneeling there with his darkened cock rearing out of a bush of black hair. They're like polar opposites; Chris slim and pale and hairless, Alex thick set, olive-skinned and thick springy hair on his chest and belly.

Alex tugs gently on the chain, pulling Chris's nipples, releasing, pulling, releasing. Chris's moans are muffled through the briefs in his mouth. I wonder if Alex had been wearing them before, possibly all day. They'd smell strongly of him, his sweat, maybe his piss. I can't imagine how Chris is getting off on this but he obviously is, his cock is still lying rigid against his stomach.

Am I so old? Have I missed something? What the hell's this Alex has in his hand now? It's a small black thing made of rubber, thin at the flat base, thick in the middle and tapered at the top, a bit longer than his hand. He squirts liquid from the bottle on it and burrows it in between Chris's arse cheeks, pushing it slowly inside I guess, because I can't see clearly. As he does, Chris's body jerks and his cock bounces briefly and then stills. Then he dribbles some of the liquid onto Chris's cock, his own gloves, Chris's tight balls, and begins to rub his hands all over, up and down the shaft of Chris's penis.

I can tell there's not much friction there by the way Chris is straining his hips upwards, almost begging for firmer hands but Alex goes on with his gentle massage, one hand on the shaft, pulling the foreskin back, his thumb rubbing over that spot just under the head while his other hand is between Chris's legs, tapping, smoothing against his thighs and underneath his arse and back. Chris's cries are louder now, his eyes are squeezed shut and his body undulates and writhes slowly in time to Alex's ministrations. They've obviously done this before because Alex knows exactly when to stop, just before Chris comes, letting Chris's engorged cock slap back against his stomach and chuckling to himself.

Despite Chris's cries of protest, Alex doesn't touch him again for a while, just jerks his own cock idly, watching, pausing now and then to tug on the chain. After a minute or so he reaches to the side again and now he's holding what looks like a riding crop. Chris is watching him now, his chest heaving, and they look into each other's eyes as Alex trails the end of the crop over Chris's chest, down his belly, his thighs.

He delivers some quick stinging cracks across Chris's thighs, his stomach, his balls. Chris shrieks and his body jerks away but he can't move much, and Alex forces the briefs back into his mouth and moves to the side so he's facing me. Then he takes some thick black cord and wraps it around the base of Chris's cock and under his balls, winding it round and round until it's tight. With one hand over Chris's mouth, he takes the riding crop and taps it hard against Chris's balls, which are red under the stretched skin of his sac. Chris is moaning, shrieking, shouting, but Alex keeps going for a few seconds then sets the crop down and with one hand goes back to that gentle, almost not touching massage of Chris's cock, the other soothing the smooth surface of the gloves against his balls which must be aching, I don't know how this can feel good at all, it almost brings tears to my eyes just looking. I press my legs together instinctively, but then I realise that my own cock is erect, hot and pulsing inside my jeans.

It can't be the sight of my son getting sexually tortured by another man, I think it's the helpless cries, or the whiskey, or the fact that I haven't had any in a while, but I ignore my cock because that would make it even more wrong, what I'm doing.

Red welts are appearing over Chris's creamy skin, lines on his thighs, his belly. Alex gets off the bed and comes over to the camera and I almost duck down, so drawn into the whole scene that it's almost like he's looking right at me. The camera is turned off and when it's back on, it's obviously been attached to the headboard because I can't see Chris's head anymore, just his body. The nipple chain is gone, and his nipples are hard and red. His weeping cock has a clothes peg attached to the underside of the now-purple head and his chest is heaving hard as if he's coming down from something intense.

This must be Alex's attempt at editing, because there's speckles of red on Chris's chest, bits of dried wax that Alex rubs off. He's not wearing his gloves any more. He settles between Chris's legs and lifts his partner's cock so it's pointing at the ceiling, then he grins and leans forward and licks at the tip, just the very top, just flicking at the piss slit, tasting the pearls that are forming there. Chris's hips strain up and then his body sags down again because he knows that Alex won't go any further, he's just teasing.

Alex lets Chris's cock slap down again and runs his hands up over the burns over the painfully red nipples, smiling as Chris writhes and moans. Then he slides off the bed, leaving my son spread-eagled, wearing nothing but a clothes peg. I'd be shocked, if I wasn't so fucking horny all of a sudden. It's like a door's been opened in my mind, to a whole world of activity I've never even imagined before.

I hear the sound of chains, and then I realise that Alex has released Chris's ankles from the restraints. He kneels between Chris's thighs and squirts some more liquid on his own bare cock, easing his hands over the head, the shaft, then trailing a finger idly down the vein on Chris's, over his balls which are still tight and red and bound, and then down between his legs. Chris moans as Alex pulls out the black plug and sets it to his left on the towel. Then he leans forward and throws the briefs that were in Chris's mouth onto the floor.


"Oh god, yes."

Alex is cut, his cockhead shining dark and bulbous on its thick shaft. I watch, mesmerised, as he gently draws my son's legs up to his chest and then slaps that rigid tool against Chris's asshole, and slowly, slowly pushes inside, edging forward until he's in to the root. I can't see the connection between them, but I can see Alex's fleshy stomach resting against Chris's balls.

I'm watching my son getting fucked by a man, and I don't know who's enjoying it more, him or me.

Soon, Alex is slamming into Chris, whose cock is dark and throbbing and bouncing against his flat stomach, and that clothes peg is still flapping around. Chris, unmuffled now, is gasping and moaning and letting out those high pitched shrieks of intense arousal every time Alex bottoms out inside him. He rolls his hips up to meet those powerful thrusts, again and again, faster and faster.

"Oh god, Alex!" he cries out suddenly, bucking his hips up and tightening his legs around his partner. He makes a half-squeezed screaming sound and then his cock is pulsing there are jets of sperm shooting out of him, over his chest and shoulders. He's crying out, oh, oh, oh, in time to the pulses of his orgasm, and Alex just holds his legs, panting, feeling his partner come.

Then Alex takes the clothes peg off and Chris yelps, and another pearl of come appears at the slit and dribbles down onto his stomach just as Alex starts battering against him, and it seems for the first time that he's lost control himself and falls forward onto Chris's spattered body, but now his head's also out of shot. I can hear the sound of frantic kisses, see the curves of Alex's arse as he pumps his orgasm inside my son, letting out a long, shuddering groan of release.

They stay like that for a few moments until Alex heaves himself up again and eases his cock out of my son's body. Chris's cock is starting to shrink but he's still half hard. As his breath slows, he lets out a shaky laugh. "That was fucking amazing," he says, and Alex grins again and makes a mock gesture as if he's wiping sweat from his brow, even though I still can't see his face because he's never taken off the balaclava.

"You're telling me," he says.

Then he gets off the bed and releases Chris's arms and cleans him up and when he's done, he lies down beside him and they turn to each other and twine their limbs together. Chris pushes his leg between Alex's hairy thighs, and belly to belly, they stroke each other.

"I'm so lucky to have found you," Alex murmurs.

"Me too."

"Oh fuck! The camera."

Then it goes off.

As if they were happy to record themselves fucking, but not the tenderness afterwards.

I sit in silence, staring at the screen, then slip my headphones off. I can't believe what I've seen. My cock is still hard, has been almost the whole time. But I can't say it's because I've suddenly gone all lustful over my son, I don't think it's that at all. I don't know what it is, but I'm so horny I'm almost bursting with the need to fuck, so I make sure to mark the message as unread so Chris won't suspect, but I don't log him out. I turn off the computer and the light and lock the door.

Zara is reading in bed. I don't know why she wears a bikini on holiday, parading her still-hot body around the beach and now she's home she's in that awful nightie that comes down to her ankles. I slip off my clothes and get in beside her and lie on my back, still achingly hard.

"Any interesting emails?" she says, in that tone of voice only people who've been together for twenty years can have, interested yet not really.

"No." I stroke her shoulder and pull the strands of red curls over her shoulder towards me. Her skin is a beautiful pale brown with darker areas where she's freckled, and I kiss my favourite freckle, the heart-shaped one on her shoulder.

"Aw," she says and shifts away from me. "Can you not wait a moment, I've got to a good bit."

"Please," I murmur. "Just a wank then." Anything, just take this feeling away.

"Fine," she says, and snaps her book shut. It's the most pathetic attempt at a wank I've ever had, she goes at it like she's scrubbing the floor, no doubt hoping she can get it over with so she can get back to her book. It's a pretty big passion killer and after a minute or so I push her hand away.

"Never mind, I'll see to it myself."

"Ok." Then she turns over and flexes her hand as if she's got a cramp.

I get up and go into the bathroom and lock the door. I stare at myself in the mirror and then close my eyes, rubbing my cock the way I remember Alex rubbing Chris's, gently teasing it until it's so hard, I don't remember it being this hard in a long long time. I finish myself off into the sink, and wash the spunk down the plughole, breathing hard.

Then I grip the sides of the sink and feel a creeping sense of worry

I don't know how I'm going to look at Chris with the same eyes ever again. Now I know why he's been going around so distracted and pale, he must be working up to telling us he's gay. I'll have to work hard at being surprised now and I'm a terrible liar. I'll have to listen and be understanding and say, that's ok, we're your parents, we love you no matter what. That's what any good father would do.

Any good father. I don't think that's me right now. And I know, to my own despair, that I'll be checking Chris's emails. If there's another video, I'll probably watch it. But that's all I'll do, I promise. Because I love my family, did I say that already? Anyway, I'm tired now, so I creep back into bed and turn my back to Zara. She's still engrossed in her book. Maybe she'll fancy some sex tomorrow night when she's finished her chapter.

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