Sins of the Father

Dear Readers,

Firstly, this is a resubmission. This story was first posted under 'Romance,' as a celebration of exceeding 500 followers on Literotica. Despite the fact this story, at its core is about two people who fall in love (and have lots of sex), it was not well received. A rather vocal but small group of people made it their business to not read the entire story and still leave unpleasant comments and low ratings.

SPOILER ALERT DO NOT READ THE NEXT SENTENCES UNLESS YOU WANT SPOILERS SKIP TO CHAPTER ONE BELOW - Press ctrl+f and type Chapter One to skip down to the story

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This story starts off sounding like an incest story. It is NOT. Plain and simple. Anyone who bothered to actually read the story will know this already. There is a fair amount of kink and a happy ending for the main characters, who are very much in love.

Whether you enjoy the story or not, I thank you for your time and any honest feedback or rating you provide.

Average Joe

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Chapter One

"So... what do you want this time?"

The old man on the bed before me frowned, but didn't speak straight away. I watched, silently as he struggled to remove the breathing mask he wore. His pride, too high to speak with it on. The same pride that wouldn't allow him to ask for help. The same pride that made this man, my father, barely an intermittent figure throughout my life.

He coughed to clear his throat. The energy it took to do so left him gasping. Emphysema alone was a bitch. Add pneumonia to the list, even he knew he wasn't getting out of this one. Pride only took you so far.

"I'm dying," he said, bringing himself under control. I didn't respond, it wasn't like this was a grand reveal or anything. "I'm leaving you with half." This too wasn't entirely unexpected. He was a wealthy man, he probably had others to pay off, to keep deals and let his memory live on with someone who gave a fuck. I didn't even want his money, I used the lessons he taught to make my own. Only, nobody suffered for my lifestyle.

"What does this have to do with me?" I asked evenly.

The old man grimaced, before taking a deep breath and coughing loudly again. I just stood, watching with the same, cold, blank expression I learned to use as mother explained how his beatings were out of 'love.' She played it off like some BDSM element in their relationship. But there was no mutual respect, no love, no aftercare and always, while he was drunk.

"I need you to find someone," he said, clutching his chest.

That was hardly surprising. He knew what I did for a living these days. Finding people was half my job description. "Who?" I asked. It was my one weakness. I worked too hard, no matter who for, I couldn't help ask the question.

But after all this time, I never thought I'd see humanity from my father. I never thought I'd see him cry.

A solitary tear rolled down his cheek as he took a shallow breath. "Your sister," he said softly.

He spotted my hand flinch, even as I tried to suppress it. His eyes glanced down at my now still hand, before they drifted up to meet my eyes. I still looked calm, collected and slightly bored. Just as I practiced. But inside I was a rolling ball of white, hot fury. The thought that after everything he had done, he hadn't even remained faithful...

"I was young," he said, cutting my train of thought. "We met when I was a child. We were neighbours growing up." I put a lid on the anger and took those words in. He never spoke flippantly, they always had meaning. And as much as a bastard as he was, he never lied. "We grew older, and things developed. She conceived." He sighed softly. "When our parents found out, my father moved us away. When I became my own man, I went back. But she made it clear she didn't want or need me. She sent me away."

I watched as sadness etched across his face. This story, about a woman from his youth brought more emotions than the death of my mother... If the situation weren't so absurd, I'd be wringing his neck.

"When I met your mother, I tracked her down again. She'd changed her name and moved states. I only have their names. Mary and Athena Smith. Athena being your sister."

I just stood there and took everything he said in, before coming to a decision. "Did mum know?"

I hid the snarl as he lowered his gaze again. All these years he'd hid this information. I'd promised mum I'd never look into his past. But I might just do so after he was dead. Dig up all his little secrets, find the real man beneath the shell lying in the bed before me.

"Is that all?" I asked softly.

"I..." he stopped and paused a moment. "I'm begging you, son." I was about to correct him when he held up his hand. "However you think of yourself, you were still the product of your mother and I. You don't have to like me, you don't have to respec- 'cough' me. But Athena is innocent. Hate me if you want, but please don't hate her."

"Sir, your father needs his rest," a nurse appeared beside me, squeezing into the room.

I watched a moment, as the pitiful creature before me was strapped back into his breathing apparatus. I hated him with all my being. It wasn't bad enough that he was absent most of my life. But the constant disappointing tone he took with me, like everything I accomplished was beneath him, combined with the treatment of my mother... The only reason I'd go to his funeral was because I'd want to make sure the bastard was dead. The only reason I was here now, was because he'd made me his power of attorney. Bastard knew full well the moment I had the chance, I'd pull the plug on him. It was only slightly better than the idea of making him live like a vegetable. But as I watched the pride drain from his expression as the nurse tutted over him. I hid the smirk and turned into the hall behind me.

I never saw the tears that rolled down his cheek. I never heard his prayer. I never saw the hope in his eyes.

"Did you get all that?" I asked.

The mic clicked on a moment later and Pauline's voice echoed in my ear. "Yep, good thing I called Larry in. What priority do you want on this?"

I ignored the desk as I walked out the front doors. Despite the blue skies and light breeze, it was such a dreary day.

"It's family, put aside anything that isn't life threatening or time critical."

"I'll get right on it," she replied.

***

It was so cold in the dungeon. I'd been shivering for hours, but it was just warm enough I wouldn't freeze. Master had strapped me to the bench as punishment for making his dinner cold. It wasn't my fault, when I came to inform him it was ready, he wanted me to relieve him under the table. By the time he was done, his meal had been sitting out a few minutes. It wasn't fair, but I didn't have much of a choice. At least he didn't beat me like my last master. But at least after a beating I was left alone to recover. This master's punishments could go on for days.

BZZZZZZZZ

The electronic shackles pinning me to the bench released. I wanted to take my time to stretch and get my limbs working. But I didn't have time, I needed to shower and get, master's breakfast ready. With a silent groan of pain, I sat up and rolled off the bench. Of all my punishments, this was the worst. During my training period when he first bought me, he once strapped me to it for a week. He'd even had to bring in a space heater to stop me from freezing. It took two days to be able to walk and when I dropped a tray with his meal on it, he put me back for a night.

With a quick shudder, I stood up on these ridiculous heels I had to wear. Night and day, the only time I didn't was in the shower. Even, master conceded they were too dangerous on wet tiles. I hated wearing them. They were practically ballet heels and forced me to walk and stand on the tips of my toes constantly. It was also usually the only thing I wore, other than my collar, unless in public or in the kitchen.

All in all, I really didn't want to be late and upset master again. Stumbling into my tiny bathroom, I sat and undid the lock on my heels. The key was chained to the sink, so this was the only place I could go to remove them. Doing so quickly, I restrained myself from rubbing them. If master let me have time to myself, I always took a shower for that reason... Well... That and another. My guilty little pleasure. As a slave, it wasn't propper for me to orgasm. This master in particular hated it. I was for his pleasure and no others, not even my own. I'd been allowed one orgasm since I'd been here. And that was on my sale day. The day he bought me, and even then, it wasn't worth it.

He'd given me the option. I could have an orgasm and a surprise, or no orgasm and no surprise. I chose the orgasm. The surprise was being whipped and flogged until I was barely conscious before having a vibrating want strapped to my thigh and left there until I had my orgasm. The surprise was immediately afterward, he broke the wand and left me tied up until morning the following day. I'd certainly had easier masters before, but they all had their good and their bad.

So after scrubbing myself, I climbed out and dried as quickly as I could. Though it still took a few minutes to dry my hair with the blower. With that done, I winced as I strapped on my heels and headed for the kitchen. It was a Monday, which meant scrambled eggs and toast. So I gathered the ingredients and started cooking.

Just as the toast popped, I checked the clock. I had just under a minute to get master's breakfast. If I arrived after his alarm finished, I'd be punished. But if I didn't butter his toast properly, I'd be punished anyway. So with bare seconds to spare, I loaded up and darted out of the kitchen. Rushing down the hall as quickly as I could I could hear the alarm blaring from, master's bedroom. I shuffled the tray over to one arm and quickly, but quietly opened the door, just as it shut off. But as I looked into the room, master's expression was inscrutable.

"Good morning, master." I curtseyed, turning my gaze to the floor.

He simply nodded and I brought the tray to him. It seemed he had a good night's sleep, but I wasn't about to take any chances. On a good day, a small amount of eye contact could be acceptable. On a bad day, I was punished. Placing the tray on the small table beside his bed, master threw off the blanket.

This was another source of my disappointment with this master. All men are different, some more gifted than others. This master... Not that I'd ever tell him... But not so gifted... I stood nearby, waiting for him to take his seat. The moment he did so, I scurried underneath. I could smell, the moment I came face to face with his disappointment, that he hadn't showered since my punishment. I wasn't sure if that meant now was a continuation, or just him being lazy. Either way, I tried not to gag as I took his meager offering in my mouth. My first master taught me to worship a man's cock. Lavish it with attention, love it from root to tip with my lips, tongue and throat as necessary. This tiny thing barely made it three quarters of the way to my tonsils and I found myself frustrated that I couldn't do this one thing properly. His low grunt, followed by salty mess shooting into my mouth, told me my skills weren't diminished. But the tools I worked with lacked. Swallowing the load, I tried not to think about the rest of it. Master expected me to keep it warm while he ate. But it wouldn't be the first time if he decided to relieve himself in the process. But after last night... I really didn't want to take any chances and kept myself still and ready.

"We're going out tonight, slut," master grumbled.

I didn't respond. Master never asked questions, he simply told me what would happen. Besides, there was no response I could make with his cock in my mouth, that wouldn't result in my being punished.

"I want the house cleaned, my grey suit pressed and ready. I'll eat while we're out. Expect to leave at seven."

Without another word, he simply stood, pulling himself free from my mouth. Without a backward glance, he turned and left towards his bathroom. It was the closest thing he got to a 'good job' or a pat on the head. The simple fact I wasn't being punished in some form, was the sweetest gift he could give me. Crawling out from under the table, I scurried away to perform my duties. Master would lock me in chastity before he left and that included my mouth. So if I wanted to eat, it had to be now.

Maybe he'd lose me in a game of cards tonight. Maybe my next master will be kinder. Or at least a good fuck...

Chapter Two - 2100 words

In times of reflection, the simplest things can hold so much meaning. Take for example, the plaque on my door. Such a simple thing, spelling out 'James Clark.' On one side of things, it was just a bunch of lines carved into wood. When you take it further, someone engineered a machine, to carve my name into a block of wood with such a degree of perfection that can never be rivalled. But take it another step further, and you realise, a tree. A living, breathing organism on this planet, probably decades older than I. Cut down in the prime of its life, to be nailed to one of its brethren, to tell other people whose office this was... It was such a simplistic, yet sad, beauty. And yet, if I fell off the face of the planet, this little bit of dead wood, is just about the only thing that would continue on with my name.

At eighteen, I made the decision to get away. Away as far as I could, as quickly as I could. What stemmed from that was the military. By the time I felt comfortable in my abilities to murder my father, I found I didn't want too any more. I worked my way up, went through school, got some degrees. I spent half my time carrying a gun, and the rest finding people for others to carry guns towards. My official title was analyst. What I did was find people, and work out how to get to them. I was extremely good at my job. I went after everyone from terrorist commanders, to drug smugglers, to awol soldiers if the conditions were right. Hell, one time I was following a hunch and spotted a farmer with a broken leg, miles away from help and sent out some of our guys to pick him up. Just about pissed himself when a fully equipped squad of commando's deployed twenty meters behind him, to carry out a raid, and took him back for medical assistance in the process. I've still got the card his daughter wrote for me.

Then it all went wrong. A sister group for a well known middle eastern terrorist organisation popped up on my radar. They made threats and they weren't afraid of sending messages. Nasty, close up, slow messages. Messages that involved their enemies, AND their families. Their next target was a local leader and we were requested to intervene. I spent days pouring over satellite and drone footage of the local area. I mapped every vehicle seen more than once. I had everything listed, where they went, how long they were there, what they did. Most of them were locals going about their day. Get up, go to work, swing by the store on the way home, visit friends occasionally. But here and there, I started seeing an extra pattern. A different vehicle, every day, would follow the family I was trying to protect. I knew I had my man, but I needed proof. But the moment I sent out some field agents, the pattern changed. I wasn't sure if it were bad luck, or a leak, but I didn't like it. I took my hunch to my commanding officer, but he didn't want to hear it without evidence.

That evening, I watched in horror as their home was swarmed in the night by insurgents. Two days later we received a dvd. The contents of which I will take to my grave. But in the aftermath, my commanding officer ate his meals through a straw for six months. I was court marshalled and dishonorably discharged. And Pauline, my assistant, handed in her paperwork to retire.

She picked me up when I was released. She introduced me to her wife Susan, who promptly invited me to dinner at their home. Between the three of us, we managed to hash out a business model. We ran a private investigation unit. Susan ran the front counter, answering the phone and keeping our paperwork up to date. Pauline did the back room work, and I did the heavy lifting when needed. It was simple, elegant and I'd only walked in on them having a 'moment' twice. The first was apparently a celebration when we bought our office building. The second, was less an accident, and more Pauline rubbing it in, that even though I'd agreed to let them have my sperm, I wasn't ever going to touch them. Since then, I make a note to check to see if Susan is at the front desk, before heading into the filing room.

So that just about brings everything up to the present, as my phone lit up and made a quiet tone. My office was always quiet, so a loud ringer wasn't necessary. Reaching out, I plucked it from the desk.

"Yes?" I sighed.

"You're not gonna like this," Pauling said straight away. "Athena Smith, age thirty-two. She's got an up to date ID and address due to repeated doctors visits for contraceptives. But that's the easy part. She's been bouncing around for most of her life. Her mother died in a car crash that she survived, when she was five. A local sheriff took her in until she was sixteen. Then she spent a few months with a known pimp, then a known dealer. It's basically a long list of her dropping on and off the grid with various men in powerful positions opposite the law."

I just rubbed my eyes, thinking about the situation. "So she's probably a gold digger with a bad boy complex?"

Pauline was silent for a few moments, before clearing her throat. "According to her medical records, the ones I could find, and a few websites owned and operated by individuals she's had relations with... I think she's a slave."

The screams... Those awful screams... The eyes of the helpless victims, staring in horror as the man with the knives moved down the line. Men... Women... Children... Their bodies broken, again and again, until they could no longer struggle. Their skin flayed until they could not scream. Their lives ended, because I couldn't do my job... Because my commanding officer didn't take my concerns seriously... Those precious lives...

The next thing I knew, both Susan and Pauline were holding me firmly in my chair. I didn't know how long it had been since I'd fallen into the PTSD driven anxiety attack. The flashbacks were so real, I sometimes acted out. But somehow, Pauline and Susan always managed to get me under control. I don't know how, but they do. It was just a shame they weren't always around.

"I'm okay," I said stiffly.

Pauline released me after a moment, stepping back, but Susan always mothered me a bit, so it was no surprise when she was the last to step away. "We're done for the day. The girls would love to see you. You can come with me to pick them up. After that, you have a plane to catch."

I thought about refusing for the thousandth time. But I knew that I needed my fix before I left. Nothing failed to cheer me up, quite like two three year olds, screaming, 'Unky James!' Before tackling both my legs. To them, that's all I was. But that didn't mean I couldn't love them with all my heart. Even if they weren't really my girls.

"Wait, plane?"

Pauline stood a little straighter, "Unless you want to leave your sister till tomorrow?"

Yeah... I needed my fix...

***

I had a love, hate relationship with this place. On one side of things, other than master, this was all the socialisation I got. I could smile and chat with people as I walked too and from the bar. Occasionally I'd be held up and someone would talk to me. On the other hand, my chastity belt was torture. Master always did it up tight enough to cut into me. If that wasn't bad enough, he also brought his own entertainment. The sharp teeth of which were clamped over my clitoris. I'd learned, years ago now, to turn pain and discomfort into a form of pleasure if need be. So the teeth weren't the worst thing in the world. It was the batteries he'd crammed up inside me that made it bad... In his pocket he carried a small remote. He could administer a small, pleasant tickle, all the way up to a debilitating jolt of pain, right through my core. The batteries, acting like big plugs, and it was all held in place by the too tight chastity belt.