Papa and I

Author's Note: This is a story about father and son incest. YES, I refer to the son's ass as a pussy, and YES his name is Erin the female spelling. If that isn't your thing simply read no further. All others who have read the other chapters and remain reading, please enjoy! This may be the last chapter for a while. Another thanks to Becca, my wonderful editor!

Chapter 4

Head lowered beneath the pounding spray of the shower, I placed an anchoring hand on the tiled wall. The other flew in blur as it jacked my thick, rigid erection that seemed determined never to abate again. I was close. The image of my cock half stuffed in my son's panty-clad ass appeared vividly in my mind. He would be on his knees, hands bound in front of him as I fed my bloated cock into his ass from behind him. The fragile red fabric would be hooked on my thumb, held off to the side of one of his perfectly smooth round globes. I came instantly for the second time since entering the shower.

Frankly, I was baffled by the monstrous desires own son had awakened in me. For a little over two years, he had always been at the forefront of my thoughts, but now that I had him, he was like a permanent resident in my head. Being with him was different. Perhaps because he was the only person in the world that I cared for, but everything we have done together felt so much more intimate. When we had sex, I was torn between the need to dominate and fuck him so roughly that I was permanently etched inside of him and another need to worship his body with so much love and tenderness his heart would only remember and need me. That, in particular, was new to me.

The most intimate parts of our bed play were the ones that didn't require my cock inside him. Like when hard as hell with his hand wrapped around my cock, I watched him slumber for half an hour, taking a thorough mental photograph until I was lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart. Or when he had rubbed the sleep from my eyes laughing in that carefree way of his, looking as if he loved me...REALLY loved me. And the way that he kisses me... If anything could come close to reviving my heart, it would be his kisses.

Perhaps it wasn't strange that I felt a connection with him. I knew from the moment he was born that he was special, the light of my life. These past eighteen years of watching him grow and mature and wreak havoc in the household had been the best in my long, purposeless life. Although, what I had said to him earlier about killing myself if his heart ever stopped its beating threatened to make me blush recalling it, it was the absolute truth. My life had been bleak before him. I could not even imagine what the future would be without him.

I loved him, but in what capacity? He loved ME, but again, in what capacity? For now all I know is that it feels right, no matter how wrong it actually is.

I let out a weary sigh and shut off the water. My cock was still half-hard, but there was nothing more I could do about that. Instead, I made quick work of getting dressed into a worn white t-shirt and a baggy pair of black sweatpants. I hadn't dried myself off, so the clothes felt uncomfortably damp, but I did rub my hair with a towel before combing it and tying the top-half up at the back of my head.

Before heading down to join Erin, I picked up the phone at my bedside table and phoned down to the "Help Booth" which was a call room near the quarters where my live-in Familiars resided. Several years ago, Harold had equipped all the rooms in the house with phones that could connect to that room, because it was where he spent most of his time taking care of the household. It worked like a bell pull system so that no matter where my guest and I were, we could conveniently get a hold of the household staff.

"How may I assist you, Master Eirik?" Came the husky voice of Page Hathaway, Harold's protégé and great niece.

"Miss Hathaway, can you please make arrangements for Erin's things to be moved to my room. There's no rush, but have at least his essentials moved by morning and the rest can follow later."

A pregnant pause followed my request and I could just imagine a comical open-mouthed, surprised look on the young girl's pretty face.

"Uh. Yes, of course," followed by a nervous laugh. I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't often I could surprise people anymore. "I'll get right on that immediately."

"Thank you, Miss Hathaway." I was sure she could hear the amusement in my voice.

"Call me Page, please, Master Eirik."

"Once you start calling me Eirik."

"Oh, but Great Uncle Harold said I mustn't...Alright, alright! Miss Hathaway it is." She conceded sounding miffed.

I laughed. Strange...I was doing a lot of that. It probably had something to so with the fact that I was feeling happy. Very, very happy.

"Oh, and before I let you go, did you have a preference for who you would drink from tonight?" She asked.

"No, just whoever is available."

"Ok. Someone will be in the dining room soon, sir."

"Actually, I would prefer to take blood in a cup tonight...with a bottle of Port."

Though I had discovered it a little late after my turning, taking blood properly was an intimate act that connected a Vampire to the blood giver in a sexual and nonsexual way. So, I couldn't imagine sucking blood from one of my Familiars with Erin at the table after all we had done. It just felt wrong.

"Alright." She replied brightly. "Anything else I can do for you, Master Eirik?"

"That will be all, thank you."

"You're welcome. Enjoy your dinner sir!" Then the line went dead.

I sighed. There will be talk amongst the Familiars.

When I finally padded barefooted to the brightly lit dinning room, I found my son sitting in his usual spot on the right at the end of the long table, wolfing down his food. He was hardly chewing before swallowing and shoving another meat-loaded fork into his mouth.

"Hungry?" I asked with a raised brow.

Erin choked in surprise and hit his chest a couple of times to dislodge the food. He looked up at me, mouth opened to respond, but no words came out.

I laughed at his ogling, thankful that I could no longer flush in pleasure at how much he appreciated my looks.

As I walked down the long table to my seat at the end, he licked the residual oil from the food off of his lips and shook his head.

"You look good in eeeverything." He complained.

With a shake of the head and a shrug, he changed the subject back to answer my earlier question. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until I saw the spread." He gestured towards middle of table where roasted chicken, warm bread, steamed veggies, and other assortments of food were piled.

When I reached the end of the table, I walked around my own seat to get to him. He looked so good in red! He tilted his face to look up questioningly at me as I hoped he would and I took advantage, planting a quick kiss on his soft pink lips. Pulling away, I smiled seeing that his eyes were still closed and his lips still pursed. He was so fucking adorable!

I took his mostly empty plate and piled more food on it.

"Papa?" He asked, watching me in bewilderment.

I didn't reply, just took a seat at my place at the head of the table and set the plate down before me. Then, I held a hand out toward him with a pointed look at the fork and knife in his hands. He handed it over with a scowl. I threw my head back and laughed.

"Come sit in my lap. I'll feed you." I finally said with a couple last chuckles.

"R-really?" He asked in surprised.

"Yes, come."

It was my turn to ogle when he stood up.

Seeing my expression, which was somewhere between dumbstruck and lusty, he grinned smugly down at me. Then, the minx pretended to drop his napkin with an over-exaggerated, "oops". Turning his back to me so that I had a sweat inducing view of his endless lithe legs, he bent down at the waist to retrieve it, his legs straightened and ass high in the air.

Slowly, so very slowly, the satin lifted higher and higher the lower he bent and the silverware in my hands were mangled in my powerful, white-knuckled grip. For just a teasing second, I caught sight of the creamy white skin at the bottom curve of his ass and the edge of lace. Then he snapped back up with a bright, "Got it!"

"I never knew you were cruel." I grated.

He laughed. "I learned it from my Papa."

"I think someone needs a spanking."

"Promise?" He asked with a hooded look.

I cleared my throat and tried as hard as possible to sound composed. I was over millennia old. Surely I had more self-control and composure than I was currently exhibiting against the wiles of my eighteen-year-old son... "Come sit and finish you're dinner and we will see about that."

He slipped into the small space between the table and me, and I could smell his distinct honey and jasmine scent mixed with soap and the musky scent of his arousal. I even caught a lingering hint of my own scent and seed on his warmed skin. A rumbling sound filled the quiet space and I only realized a second later that it came from my own throat. Immediately, I stopped sniffing at his back, ceasing my unnecessary habit of inhaling altogether.

I guided him onto my left thigh, seating him sideways upon it with his legs and knees bracketed by mine. I tried to keep any part of him well away from my hard cock laying at the right, but he noticed it anyways looking from the bulge and back to my eyes again with a brow raise of his own.

"Ignore it. Eat." I said jabbing and tearing with the ruined utensils at pieces of chicken and green beans and putting it to his lips. He gave me a teasing grin and took the bite, seeming not to notice how unpracticed I was with the fork and knife.

"Ahem."

He had stilled and tensed. We both looked to see one of the Familiars, a petite raven-haired Lucy, standing at the door that connected to the kitchens. She was holding a tray, where my golden goblet and a bottle of Port were skillfully balanced.

"Good evening Master Eirik, Master Erin." She said, nodding at us. If our new seating arrangement troubled or surprised her at all, she did not show it, but of course Page had likely forewarned her. "I have fresh blood and Port for you, sir."

"Thank you. Leave it, and bring another set of silverware please."

"Yes, sir." She walked over, set the goblet and Port down on my right, bowed, and then she left.

When I looked at Erin, he still hadn't taken the second bite I was holding up for him, instead he was he was blushing becomingly. It was an uncharacteristic reaction from him.

"Eat."

Erin gave an embarrassed look and took the bite. I scooped up a mound of creamy mashed potatoes with the fork and waited for him to swallow.

Chewing thoughtfully, he asked, "Papa, what does it taste like when you eat cooked food?"

The question caught me by surprise, and I brought the potatoes to his mouth as I thought of how to answer. "Salty...and over-seasoned, but without the seasoning its...bland. Mostly it leaves my mouth feeling like, I ate dirt. Why do you ask?"

"I remember you used to eat with me when I was younger." Erin said around a mouthful of potatoes.

"Oh yes, that's right." I chuckled, struggling to shovel food onto his the fork to bring to his lips. "You would fling food at your babysitters and refuse to eat, if I didn't eat along with you."

"Nooo," Erin feigned a look of disbelief. "I would have never done that."

"You know very well that you did." I couldn't help but smile.

Lucy returned with another fork and knife, then. I took them from her and I dismissed her with a grateful smile and a nod.

The new fork and knife felt small and still as awkward as ever in my hands. It showed as I clumsily cut at some chicken for him. Without a word, Erin reached out to adjust the tools in my hand and then wrapped each on top of mine to guide one hand to spear at a piece of meat with the fork while moving the other to saw and cut neatly at it with the knife.

He acted as though it was the most natural and normal thing to do, completely unfazed. I, on the other hand, had tensed, finding that little action affecting a warm place inside of me.

"So you sat and ate all that disgusting food with me everyday for...what? Like four or five years?" He asked not to noticing his effect on me.

I cleared my throat again and swallowed. "Well, I didn't eat the cooked food. I would usually just have a small piece of lean raw steak doused with fresh blood. "

He took another bite of his food, and I couldn't help but notice how his soft lips closed firmly around the fork and slid off of it, much like how they looked on my cock. His tongue poked out to clean a bit of food off his lips and then he began to chew. My eyes followed every movement of his lips and jaws, not missing how his throat shifted and his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. Then my eyes were riveted to the ticking of his pulse where the purple bruise of my hickey was still visible, but already fading.

"Do you miss eating?" His question jolted me from my staring and I realized I had forgotten all about feeding him, but thankfully, he didn't notice. "Earlier, you said you used to enjoy food."

"I do and I don't." I replied, offering him a piece of chicken. "Food in my days as a human wasn't all that great. It was a lot of bland soup, bread, and dried preserved meats. Nothing like this." I gestured to the food. That was part of the reason using forks and knives were so strange to me still. Aside from the years I spent eating along with Erin (in which I did little more than spear whole pieces of steak to my mouth and tear at the dripping morsel with my teeth) my experiences with silverware were limited mostly to the spoon.

"Even so, I remember looking forward to eating." I continued, "I definitely miss the social aspect of it. The people of my village used to eat together and share stories and such. Most of the good memories I have from those days are centered around conversations at meal times."

He swallowed and asked, "Like this?"

I smiled and brought the back of my fingers to stroke his soft cheek. "Yeah, like this."

He wiped his mouth with the napkin and gave me a soft peck on the lips as I had done to him just minutes ago. Then he reached across me to grab the goblet and Port and brought it in front of himself.

"You like to have blood like this don't you? I see you do it often." He observed.

"It adds a different flavor to the blood."

He poured a healthy portion of the Port into the goblet of blood and stirred the mixture with one long index finger. Without a thought, he stuck the finger into his mouth and sucked it clean. Again, the silverware bent in my hands. When he cleaned his finger of the blood and wine he made a face and looked down at the contents of the goblet with a considering look.

"May I, Papa?"

I nodded.

Slowly, he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip, swigged, and swallowed. He made a face again and smacked his tongue on the roof of his mouth a couple of times. Then he took another taste, this time a mouthful. He seemed to chew on it a little before taking two or three swallows to drain it from his mouth.

He licked his reddened lips still looking a little skeptical.

I was both aroused and amused by his actions.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"It's sweet and fruity which is good, but it's also kind of dry and a little bitter." He replied. "Does the alcohol affect you?"

"No, not at all, but that's because I am very old and a true vampire. It'd take a full bottle of whiskey just to get a nice warm burn going on." I made to take the cup and have a sip, but he held it out of my reach.

He looked from me to the cup, back at me and then to the cup again, his eyes calculating. For the life of me, I didn't know what he was thinking at that moment. Then he brought the cup to his lips and started gulping down its contents. He turned away and belched rather loudly afterwards.

"I'm done with my dinner, Papa." He said standing up and turning to face me. "Would you like to have yours now?"

He brought his hands to my knees and pressed them together, so that he could climb onto my lap and straddle me.

I took one good look at his ruby red lips and I was sinking my fingertips into the silky strands of blond hair. I brought our faces close, our noses pressing together and our lips just hairbreadths away from each other. I could smell the sweet metallic tang of blood on his lips and a hint of grapes and alcohol. He was still except for a few uncontrollable undulations of his hips, grinding his basically bare bottom on my lap.

Slightly raising my hips, I sat forward on the edge of my chair and he adjusted himself so that his cock pressed firmly on my lower belly. He gasped shakily and I quickly pressed our lips together, using my tongue to lick around just the inside of his silky, warm lips.

He made a squeaky, whimpering noise and I made a deep purring sound at the delectable flavor that he, the blood, and Port created. It was addictive. He ground harder on to me and clasped his hands painfully tight at my nape.

"You taste so good, baby." I licked his lips again and he gave my tongue an impatient lick back.

"Papa, kiss me." He whispered breathlessly, his long blonde lashes fanning his flushed cheeks, since his eyes were lowered to focus avidly on my lips. "Kiss me, please!"

"Soon, sweetheart." I said, one of my thumbs grazing his cheek. "Let me have my dinner."

Teasing myself with another taste of him, by sucking lightly and momentarily on his tender top lip, I set to finding his pulse on the left side of his slender neck. He eagerly tilted his head back and to the right for me, panting as I left a wet trail from his lips to that strong, fast pulse. It told me that he was heart-poundingly excited and I could smell the drugging scent of his blood with the enhancement of adrenaline. My fangs grew.

I licked along the vein making sure that saliva was slick there to numb some of the pain when I pierced him.

"Take it, Papa. Bite me there." He was rocking his hips at a rhythmic pace now and every once in a while his warm, inner thigh brushed against my leaking cock, still lying against my right thigh.

I opened my mouth and bit into him savoring the feel of my fangs sinking into his neck. His warm tender skin sank in and then gave way under my sharp canines, wrapping snug around them.

I felt and heard his pained hiss against my temple and then a drawn out, "Uunnnghhhhh! Oooh, Papaah!"

Lips stills clasped around the wound, I removed my teeth and let them recede into my gums as his hot delicious blood gushed into my mouth. I growled like a fucking animal, swallowed, and took another strong draft of his blood.

He was clutching hard at my back now, our chests pressed uncomfortably tight together and he was rocking hard and erratically.

I took and took and took, until he yelled and came. He came hard and so violently that he dislodged his throat from my lips.

He was gasping and writhing in my lap, the wound on his throat still dribbling blood and I had to wrap an arm around his slim waist and pet at his chest to calm him.

"Shhhh. Breathe, baby. Slow deep breaths."

He did as I told him, and soon his panting slowed until he grew limp in my arms.

"Fuuuuck..." He moaned weakly.

I drew him to me and licked at the two holes in his throat until they closed and I then licked and kissed at the blood that had dripped down to his chest, leading me to my next treasure. Brushing the satin aside, I found a dusky nipple and flicked it with a finger. He sucked in a breath, and made a strangled sound when I covered the nipple with my mouth and sucked hard.

"Oooh, Papa. It feels good... sooo good." He said eyes still closed and his body rolling sensuously.