Editor’s note: this fictional work contains scenes of completely fictional incest or fictional incest content.

*****

My son was an accident. His mother and I were completely unprepared to be small-town teenage parents. Sure, I did the honorable thing and married her, but we fought over everything, from my son’s circumcision to what we were having for dinner. Her rich and conservative farming family hated me. We divorced when our son was two, his mother gained sole custody, and I moved to the city so I could find a decent job. She became a born-again evangelical Christian and remarried. Meanwhile, alone in the big city, I discovered I preferred men over the ladies. To say we’d drifted apart would be an understatement.

Still, I couldn’t quite let go. For one thing, I hated what my ex-wife and her family were doing to my son. By the time he was thirteen, they’d drilled into Mikey that homosexuality was evil, that onanism – better known as masturbation – was a sinful precursor to homosexuality, and that sex was only for procreation. I didn’t agree with any of it, but given how little I got to see my son, I had to resign myself to the fact that there wasn’t much I could do about how he was being raised. This was the 80’s and I wasn’t out. I was hardly going to take on my ex-wife’s high-powered lawyers with my modest wages going towards child-support payments. Besides, my son seemed destined to take over his mother’s family farm, which in all fairness seemed like for the best, given that he was growing up hard-working and good with animals.

As for Mikey, well, he wanted to become a vet. This was all fine in principle for my ex. After all, vets were highly respected members of farming communities. What she couldn’t understand was why he needed to start his undergraduate at university. It wasn’t about the money; they could afford it. It was the drinking, partying, and sex that worried her. No son of hers was living in the den of sin that was dormitory life.

So that was how my country-raised son ended up staying with me in the big city. Mikey moved into my apartment a week before school started. I let him drive my car, and he took full advantage of my gym, which had the perk of free access for member family. All in all my son was settling in just fine.

There was just one problem.

Despite only having turned eighteen the week before, Mikey was already bigger and stronger than other kids his age. I knew it was partly from farm work, but I knew my genes played a big role too – I was closer to seven foot than six, and Mikey’s height was only a few inches shy of mine. We had the same straw-colored hair, the same shade of blue eyes. You couldn’t miss the family resemblance even if you tried.

What concerned me, however, wasn’t so much our physical similarities as our analogous physiology. I knew a dog when I saw one, being one myself, and Mikey radiated sexual energy like a goddamn furnace. It wasn’t anything he did. He didn’t stare or sport a hard-on. Heck, I doubted he was even aware of the vibe his body was giving off. And yet I could sense its ebb and flow even with my back turned. The boy seriously needed to get laid.

It would have been an easy problem to solve if Mikey weren’t so stubborn about adhering to his mother’s no-sex-without-procreation rule. He refused to even masturbate. No gentle prodding by me could shake his conviction that straying from the path of purity would turn him ‘homosexual’. By the hushed, embarrassed way he spoke the word, I reckoned that in his mind’s eye there was nothing worse than becoming a ‘homosexual’.

Yup, his mother had fucked my son up real good and it pissed me off. But there seemed nothing I could do about it. Nothing, that is, until one day I came home to find Mikey shirtless on all four vacuuming underneath the sofa. An idea popped into my head, and like all bad ideas, from then on it took a life of its own.

Two months into Mikey’s semester, I figured I had all the details to my plan ironed out. Just as we were finishing dinner, I asked my son if he intended on saving up any of his money from his part-time job at the diner.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to get that car,” he told me. Mikey’s mother had told him he’d have to earn it himself, and for once I’d agreed with her.

I made a show of debating whether to tell him, before saying, “What if I told you, you could make fifty bucks right now, and it would only take you ten minutes?”

“I’d say I’m all ears, Dad,” he said enthusiastically.

I took a sip of beer. “You could donate sperm,” I told him matter-of-factly. In the pregnant pause that followed, I took another sip.

“You’re kidding me!” Mikey exclaimed in disbelief.

“It’s what I did when I first moved here,” I shrugged. “It helped pay for college.” It was true.

“Dad, that’s…” he frowned. “Wait, wait, you saying I’ve got some brothers and sisters I don’t know about?”

I shrugged again, “Probably. It’s all anonymous.”

Mikey went quiet. When he spoke it was in a hushed tone. “Doesn’t it involve… y’know, onanism?”

“There are other ways.”

“What other ways?”

“You know how when you want bull sperm you insert the electric probe? It’s similar with guys but you only need someone else’s fingers.”

“You let someone do that?” Mikey asked, wide-eyed.

“Sure. Some of the nurses at the sperm bank do it. The doctors do similar when folks come in for their physicals. I’m fairly certain you’ll be sticking you fingers up a lot of animal bums if you’re going to be a vet, Mikey, so you might as well get used to the idea.”

“Yeah but that’s different…”

“How much is the average price for bull sperm, Mikey?”

“About fifty dollars.”

“There you go. Same price. Like I said, it’s not all that different.”

I paused. We’d reached a critical juncture. “Listen, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll pick up the kit from the sperm bank tomorrow and I’ll help you out, right here at home. Just the two of us. You decide how far you want to go. Sound good, Mikey?”

Before my stunned son could reply, I patted his chest and said, “Alright, I’m off to take a shower. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

With that, I walked away, in part to forestall further discussion, but also to conceal my growing arousal. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered what the fuck was I doing. Was this about getting back at my ex, helping my son, or was it just about helping myself to forbidden fruit? I chuckled softly. Whatever it was, I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Work the next day was a constant battle to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t spout a stiffy. I was out of the office by five-o-clock sharp, at the sperm bank by five-twenty, and home by a quarter before six. I hollered, “Mikey I got KFC!” and my son trotted out of his room wearing cargo shorts and a white tank top that read, ‘Mud up or shut up’.

“Mmm! Nice!” he smiled, excited by the food.

Nice, I thought also, but for different reasons.

We ate. As I was dumping the last of the chicken bones into the trash, I saw Mikey stretch and make to leave the kitchen, so I said, “So Mikey, I got the kit. You want to give it a go?”

He stopped. “Like, right now?”

“Hey it’s up to you. The faster we do it, the faster you get paid,” I said.

“Um…” he mumbled uncertainly.

“Let’s go to my room.”

I took a pillow and dropped it on the carpet next to the bed. I took out the jar from the kit, unscrewed it, and placed it next to the pillow. Rolling up my sleeves, I cocked my head and said, “Take off your shorts, Mikey.”

“This is so weird, Dad,” Mikey grumbled as he slid his short and underwear down to his ankles. He hopped clumsily in between trying to step out of them. With patches of blond crotch hair peeking out from between his fingers, my son stood awkwardly waiting for further instructions.

“Kneel on the pillow,” I directed from the bathroom where I was pulling on a disposable glove. I would have preferred going in my son’s ass bare-handed, but I figured I had to at least seem professional on the first go. No easy thing to do with my cock growing in my pants. Fortunately, my son was now kneeling by the bed with his back to me.

“Keep looking straight ahead, Mikey,” I instructed, as I stepped behind him. I opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out a tube of lube. “Keep both hands on the bed. That’s it.”

I knelt and took a moment to admire my son’s virgin ass. That’s a real piece of Grade-A bussy, I thought, before popping open the lube. “Now, I’m going to put some lube on you, just like we do to them cows during calving season. There’s nothing you got to do except relax, you got that, Son?”

My son nodded, breathing. “Widen your legs,” I coaxed, tapping the inside of his thigh. Mikey started, before obliging. I chuckled. Putting one hand on the the nape of my son’s neck, I leaned in close and whispered, “Easy does it, Mikey.”

I squirted some lube on my gloved hand. Leaning back for a quick check on Mikey’s crack, I noticed that he was now sprouting wood. Interesting, I thought, and mentally filed it amongst the list of items under the heading, ‘Why I think my son might be gay’.

Gently, I began applying lube to my son’s hole, and watched as he closed his eyes and laid his forehead on the mattress. He let out a muffled moan that I took as approval. I circled my finger around his hole until it was nice and wet before testing the entry. His moans grew loader. With my ungloved hand I gently stroked his lower back. With the other, I slowly pushed in my index finger until the first joint, then easing a little, before going in again but a little deeper. And so it went until I finally found my son’s prostate.

“Dad…” he panted, and made to turn to look.

“Ssssh! Keep your head straight!” I commanded in a fierce whisper, sliding my bare hand up to his neck for reinforcement. “You’re doing great, Son. Don’t stop now!” I barked, my cock as hard as a rock.

I pressed the little nub that was my son’s prostate again, received instant confirmation from Mikey’s moan, and then eased off. I repeated this for a short spell, before withdrawing entirely.

Repositioning the jar below my son’s swinging dick, I rasped, “Alright Mikey, Daddy’s gonna collect your sperm now,” and plunged two fingers into his hole. He gasped. I was finger fucking my son hard now. With my other hand, I lightly held Mikey’s stiff dick just enough to control its aim. He wouldn’t be needing any more stimulus than what he was already getting.

Finally, when I could tell he was close, I aimed both fingers straight for my son’s prostate and held it there. Mikey howled and immediately began spurting. I felt his prostate contracting for what was possibly the very first time. My son’s first batch of baby-makers splashed down into the jar with such force that some of it ricocheted out of the jar completely. Mikey’s young body continued to spasm with each subsequent contraction, until he’d filled the jar nearly to the brim. I should have asked for a bigger jar, I thought absently, feeling both proud and bemused.

Spent, Mikey collapsed onto my bed. I eased the jar out from underneath him, careful not to spill a drop. “Good job, Mikey,” I congratulated, giving his shoulder a squeeze. I screwed on the lid.

Gingerly, I got up, my rigid dick making it awkward. I tossed the glove and swiped the kit on the way to the bathroom. I closed the door. Then I whipped out my cock and started beating off furiously. I was so horned up, I couldn’t think of anything else except the heat of my son’s hole around my fingers, the tightness, Mikey’s muffled moans, his cum.

Just before I started cumming myself, I heard Mikey call out, “Dad?” I whipped my head around in the direction of his voice and was relieved to see that the door was still closed, even as I began pumping my semen into the sink.

I shuddered, but managed to rasp, “Yeah?”

“I’m going to head out for a bit,” I heard Mikey say. He was just on the other side of the door.

“Hold on!” I huffed. “I’m just finishing the procedure.” I hurriedly stuffed my cock back in my pants and ran the water to flush away my cum. Opening the door, I looked at my son, now fully clothed again, and smiled. “You alright?” I asked. “You did great, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his hands stuffing themselves into his pockets while his eyes avoided meeting mine. “That was… Interesting.” He blue eyes flickered up for a moment, granting me a shy smile.

“Yeah it was,” I agreed, grinning.

As he was about to turn away, I grabbed his shoulder and said, “Hold on.” I put the jar back into the kit and roughly pressed the kit to his chest, forcing him to grab hold of it. “I was going to drop this off later, but since you’re taking the car…I think you better do it.”

“Wait, what?” he stared at the kit in consternation, no doubt imagining the embarrassment of being seen going into a sperm bank.

“It’s next to the Harvey’s on Shaker Street. I know you know where that is. I’ve already taken care of the paperwork. All you got to do is drop it off and they’ll pay you in cash. Easy peasy.”

“But Dad…” he protested.

“No ‘buts’ Mikey. Sperm don’t stay viable for long. Now get out of here,” I dismissed him brusquely. “I’ve got to clean up. Think I’ll take a shower while I’m at it.” Without waiting for further response, I closed the door in his face.

I hit the shower button and stripped. Once it was hot enough, I stepped underneath the water, wherein I finally allowed myself to laugh. It had gone alright, I thought. Though that didn’t make it any less fucked up. How my son processed what had just happened was key, but it was something he’d have to figure out on his own. All I could do was hope he’d come around to wanting what I wanted, which was to do it again.

* * *

Mikey was his usual self when I checked in on him the next morning. He confirmed he’d gotten his fifty. He’d also brought back the kit with a new jar. The lady at the sperm bank advised that he wait a week before making another donation, and to abstain from any ejaculation in the meantime. I didn’t foresee any issue on that score.

On the other hand, I felt there was an opportunity to better manage a few things the next time around. While getting aroused from finger-fucking my son was right and good, I didn’t want Horny Me taking over the wheel entirely. The solution I arrived at was to line up a cute Latino fuckbuddy for the same day as when I had to help my son again. If I met him right after work I figured it would take the edge off during our little father-son session later.

When the day rolled around, I was in nearly as anticipatory mood as the first time. I clocked out of work and met my Latino buddy at his place as planned. He was a lean-muscled jock with a faux-hawk and eyebrow piercings. My first impression on meeting him was that he seemed a little spacey, but he went down on me straight away. His mouth was wet and sloppy, but it felt good. I was getting close, when suddenly he pulled off me, half-stumbled and threw up over the floor.

What the hell?!

The next thing I knew, I was flooring the accelerator and driving home. At a red light, I sent Mikey a text that read, “I want you showered. Clean ass clean dick. Do it Now!!!”

“Yessir,” was the response seconds later.

When I rolled into the parking lot and discovered I was still hard, I took a few minutes to calm my horny self down. It was a wasted effort, given that the very moment that I walked in the door, my son walked out of the bathroom naked except for a towel around his waist. I was hard again in an instant.

His hair was still damp. His chest had yet to fur up. I liked his little blond treasure trail. And I registered the definition in his pecs and arms, while setting a reminder to myself to take more of an active roll in crafting my son’s gym routine now that I was becoming more personally invested in the outcome.

“Go kneel on the edge of the bed, Mikey,” I ordered softly.

“Your bed?” he asked.

“Yes, Mikey, my bed.”

He went into my room without another word and dropped the towel. He got on my bed with his back to me and waited.

“That’s good,” I said approvingly as I ditched my shoes and approached. Running my fingers through his hair, I breathed in his shampoo’s aroma. “You need a new haircut, Son,” I drawled, before grabbing a fistful of hair and roughly jerking him forward. Mikey yelped in surprise and fell on all four. In the next instant I was crouched down with both my hands palming his smooth ass cheeks.

“Now that you’re clean,” I revealed with a roguish smile, “I’m going to teach you a little trick girls use to get guys’ balls churning up baby batter when they want to get pregnant.”

Pretense constructed, I leaned in and took a lick of my son’s puckered hole. Mikey moaned and I could feel a shudder go through his body. I hadn’t planned on doing this this early in the game, but here we were. I was rimming my son.

I grazed my teeth on an ass cheek before attacking the ring of muscles guarding my son’s anal canal more forcefully with my tongue. I licked and flicked, licked and flicked, until there was a shiny wet puddle sitting on his puckered hole. Mikey was making all sorts of noises. When I pulled back, a thin string of saliva ran from my son’s rectum to my lips.

From this angle, I could see that Mikey’s cock was a good-sized tool that curved just a little to the left. Given the heated arguments his mother and I had had over whether or not to have our son circumcised, seeing his uncut cock gave me a bit of smug pride as it was proof of one of my few tangible victories.

Mikey was now lying almost prone with one cheek on the mattress and his arms framing his head. His eyes were closed and his breathing labored, but I judged him ready for more.

Delving back in, I worked my tongue into the dip that marked the best entryway into my son’s body. If he was less of a virgin now than he was last week, he still had much to learn, and I much to teach. Every moan Mikey made to my calculated lick of his hole was an indication that I was gradually familiarizing my son to the pleasure of sex with his father.

It was in that moment that I realized that in my lust-clouded state, I’d nearly forgotten the originally stated purpose of all this. I was meant to help Mikey produce sperm for the sperm bank. Reluctantly, I broke off from rimming my kid, and pulled lube and a couple packets of condoms out of the drawer below the nightstand.

“Alright, Mikey. Think your balls should be plenty full now,” I told my son. “For the next part, we’re going to do it a bit differently from last time. Because last time, with the jar, you got cum everywhere: the pillow, the carpet, me… you name it. So this time, you’re going to wear a special condom I got direct from the sperm bank.”

Selecting a ‘large size’ condom, I ripped the packet with my teeth. Given that I mostly topped, the size of a man’s cock didn’t generally warrant my evaluation, but I reckoned Mikey’s was an inch or two smaller than mine. Which was fine, given that I’d been told I was too big more than a few times.

“On your knees, Mikey,” I commanded and he promptly complied. Scooting behind my son, I placed one hand on his stomach for paternal reassurance, while I slid the condom on his swollen dick with the other. This close, I knew Mikey could feel my erection pressing against his backside, but I didn’t care. For a brief moment, with Mikey head turning slightly towards me, our faces were just inches apart. Despite everything we’d done, this was the most intimate we’d ever been.

“Ok, you can lie down again, but put your head where the pillow is,” I indicated, lightly patting his stomach and pointing to the head of the bed.

I unbuttoned my dress shirt and hung it over the dresser. Now in just my wife-beater, I put some lube on one hand and rejoined my son in bed such that my torso lay between his thighs.