Empty Boxes

Nicky Noxville

 

All of my stories take place in a parallel world, very similar to our own, where STI’s do not exist, so my stories are filled with practices that are highly unsafe in this world. I’m not going to say don’t try this at home, but take care of yourself.

All of my characters are of legal age, and you should be, too—do not read my stories if you are under the legal age in your country/area. Any resemblance to real persons, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.

This story is brought to you by my wonderful Patrons.  Merry Christmas, I love you guys!

And now, our feature presentation…

 

“Good night, boys.  It’s good to have you home for the holidays,” Dad said from the living room door as he walked past on his way to bed.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Good night, Dad,” my twin brother, Matthew, said.

“Merry Christmas,” I added in my identical voice, watching Matthew hang the family stockings over the fireplace.  After Dad went up to bed, I added, “Why are you bothering with that?”

“It’ll make Mom happy to see it, when she gets here,” he answered in a distracted tone, getting the final stocking—mine—settled into place.

“Suck up,” I quipped.

“fuck you, Trent,” he shot back in a calm tone, adjusting the angle of Dad’s stocking.

“You’re not getting out the tree, I notice,” I continued to tease him.

“Of course not.  That thing’s a bitch to put up.”

We had just finished our first semester of college and were back in town for our first Christmas visit.  Unfortunately, Mom’s job had called her away, so she wasn’t going to be back until the day after Christmas.  Normally, she was the driving force behind holiday festivities.  We didn’t even plan to really do anything, but it made sense to make mom happy, at least with some easy stuff.  I got up and grabbed some tinsel from the closet, putting it up in a few places around the house to make Mom happy…

“DAD!  TRENT!  GET DOWN HERE!”  Matthew’s voice woke me up.  I groaned and looked over at the clock—7AM.

“What the fuck,” I muttered, climbing out of bed and trudging to the stairs.  Dad was right behind me, wearing his boxers with an open bathrobe.

“What’s this about?” He asked me.

“I have no idea,” I answered.  “I don’t even know why Matthew’s up this early.”  Dad grunted and followed me down the stairs.  When we walked into the den, all we could do is stare around with wide eyes.  It was like Christmas had exploded—every surface was decorated, down to pillows and blankets thrown onto the couch.

“The fuck?” I heard Dad say behind me.

“Is Mom home?” I asked.

“No, I looked already,” he answered.  My eyes were pulled to the tree, and the colorfully wrapped boxes beneath it.

“Where did all this come from?” Dad asked, scratching his head.

“You’re not fucking with us, are you?” Matthew asked

“Trying a Christmas prank?”  I added.

“I swear, guys, I didn’t do it,” Dad said, and then he looked at Matthew sharply, “and I know you’re in college now, but watch the language.”

“Sorry, Dad.” He said unapologetically, approaching the pile of presents.  Across the top of all over them was a long box in candy cane wrapping paper.  Matthew looked at the card that was fixed to the front of the package and read it out loud.  “To: The Family, from: Santa.  It’s really light,” he added, picking up the box and shaking it.

“Open it, let’s see what it is,” Dad said, walking over to his favorite chair and settling into it, his maroon bathrobe falling to each side to expose the contours of his torso, the light shining in the light coating of pail hairs that covered the even paler flesh.  Matthew started tearing into the paper, and I walked over to take a seat on the couch, right next to the tree and the pile of presents.

“What?” Matthew exclaimed in an annoyed tone, looking into the box.  I leaned forward and saw that there was nothing inside but a little scrap of paper.  It looked old, tan with age and crumbling at the edges.  He reached in and pulled it out, unfolding it to see the message written there in intricate calligraphy.

“What does it say?” I asked when he just stared at the paper blankly.

“Huh?” He said to me, distracted, turning his head.  I watched his eyes take a few seconds to focus on my face.

“What does it say?” Dad nearly yelled in exasperation.

“Oh.  It just says ‘Don’t overthink it,’” he finally answered.  Don’t over th—I started to think, but my attention was drawn back to the packages.

“Let’s keep going!” I said, suddenly feeling excited about Christmas, just like when I was a kid.

“Here, Dad, this one’s for you,” Matthew said, tossing a box over to Dad.  He caught it and started tearing off the gold paper.  He opened the box inside and pulled out another scrap of paper.  He read it, stared at it for a moment, and then sat the paper on the table next to his chair.

“What did it say?” Matthew and I asked at the same time, identical in both voice and tone.

“Oh,” Dad said, “it just said that I fucking love you boys,” he smiled, forgetting his admonition about language earlier.  “Though whoever wrote it doesn’t speak English very well.  They got a few words out of order.”

“Trent, this one’s yours,” Michael tossed me a small package wrapped in pink paper.  I looked at the card myself.  To: Trenton, From: Santa.  I tore into the paper and opened the small, flimsy box to find an old scrap of paper of my very own.  I picked it up and unfolded it to see what it said:  You are a faggot.

I stared at the paper, my face going red, a single word echoing in my mind: Faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot…

“Well?” Dad cried out, sitting forward in his chair.  “What does it say?”

“It, uh,” I struggled, shoving the scrap into my pocket.  “It, uh, says I love you guys, too.”

“I wonder if that’s what mine’s going to say,” Matthew said as he started tearing into a box wrapped in paper colored a deep green.

I watched Matthew stare at the paper, I guess like I did.  His eyes were squinting, and the corner of his mouth was twisted in an expression of confusion.  His expression quickly melted into one of understanding, and then he blushed.

“Well?” I asked this time.

“It said I love you two, just like yours,” he said, stuffing the scrap into his own pocket.  “Here’s another for you, Dad.” He passed over a bright red box.  Dad tore into it and read another scrap of paper to himself.  He stared at it, and I had a sense of deja-vu after watching Matthew.  I didn’t get to think about it, though, because Matthew was putting another box in my hand, this one covered in silver glitter.  I opened it and pulled out the next scrap of paper, hoping it wasn’t bullshit like the last one:  It feels good to submit.

Again, one word echoed in my my mind:  Submit, submit, submit, submit, submit…  I absently tucked the paper into my pocket with the other one, thinking about it for the first time, really considering if it were true.

You are a faggot.

It feels good to submit.

Was I really a faggot?  I watched Matthew open his next present, not even paying enough attention to tell what color the wrappings were.  If I was a faggot, did that mean Matthew was a faggot, too?  I blushed as I realized that I knew exactly what my brother’s penis would look like, what it would feel like.  It would be just like mine.  If I was a faggot, I’d probably be willing to do something as nasty as sucking my own twin brother’s cock, and it would be just like sucking on mine.  I had gone rigid in my pajama pants, watching Matthew without really paying attention until his expression changed and he looked from the scrap of paper he was holding over to me, his mouth stretching into a wicked sneer.

“Morning wood, or are you happy to see me?” Matthew quipped, reaching down to my tented pajama pants to push my erection down and let it bounce back up beneath the soft fleece.  I moaned, and he laughed, sending a wave of heat to my cheeks.  “Here,” he tossed me another box and then handed one to dad.  We all started tearing into them at the same time.  I pulled the scrap from the box and opened it, staring blankly at the single word written there:  Dumb.

The word echoed in my mind:  Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.  Faggot, submit, dumb.  I the cool splash of my drool dripping down onto my hand brought me back to reality.  The scrap of paper fell to the floor as I took the next box from Matthew.  Dad was already tearing onto his.  I opened the package and stared at the intricate writing with one eye squinting and my lip curled up.  It wasn’t in English.  It looked like Latin or something.

“What’s up?” Matthew asked, watching me stare confused at my most recent gift.

“I, uh, it’s not in English.  It says, ‘coom s-uh… coom sloo…”  Matthew snatched the paper from my hand and snorted as he read it.

“It’s English, stupid.  It says: Cum slut.”  Hearing Matthew read the words out loud, I found both of them echoing through my head.  Cum slut, cum slut, cum slut, cum slut, cum slut…  In my head, I had been imagining sucking Matthew’s cock, discovering what it was like for the girls who had sucked mine.  What had it felt like for them?  I remembered the times I had eaten pineapple before a date to make my cum taste better.

Would Matthew eat pineapple for me?

I looked up at Dad, and he was staring down at me with this strange look on his face.  It was an intense expression, moving back and forth between the two of us.  When his eyes were focused on me, I felt my insides squiggle, and got even harder in my pajama pants.

“There’s one more for all of us,” Matthew said, taking up another long skinny box that had been underneath all the others.

“Open it,” Dad said, his voice rumbling deeper than it usually did.  Watching Matthew unwrap the box put my eyes right across from Dad’s crotch, and as I watched I found my focus shifting to the thick bulge in my daddy’s boxers.

That was the cock that made Matthew and me.  That was where the cum came from.

Faggot.

Submit.

Dumb.

Cum slut.

“It says,” Matthew snapped me out of it, “Your libidos are out of control.”  I shuddered at the words, and I saw Dad’s cock jump beneath the thin plaid material.  Matthew pushed the box to the floor, and I gasped as my eyes were drawn to his lap.  His cock had gotten hard and was sticking out the fly of his pants.

It looked just like mine!

I knew it would, but seeing it was different.  I started to think about all of the girls that had given me blowjobs, mostly over the past several months.  This is what they’d seen.  Matthew leaned in and picked up the scrap of paper I’d dropped.  I couldn’t remember what it said, but I remembered that I didn’t want him to read it.

“So you’re a dumb cum slut,” he said, grinning.  “Fuck, bro, you’re staring at my dick, you must be a faggot.”

“N-no!” I tried to deny it, but it felt wrong even as the words passed my lips.  I shouldn’t argue.  It would feel so much better to just submit.  But I couldn’t admit to Matthew that I was a faggot, I had to try and trick him!  “I was just thinking what it was like for the girls who sucked me,” I explained weakly.

“Really?  Well, shit, bro, I’ll help you find out exactly what it’s like.”  He stood up and pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping it onto the crumpled papers.

Dad was just watching, his expression thoughtful.

“Just imagine you’re one of the slutty girls you like.  Imagine what it feels like to be a horny slut watching you undress.”  He pushed his pants to the floor, and I stared on in rapt attention, my eyes latching onto his erection as it bounced back up to slap against his stomach.  “Imagine what it’s feels like to be a horny slut with your cock right in front of her,” he continued instructing.  I was panting, staring at my brother’s cock, following his directions and imagining I was one of those horny sluts.

My knees hit the carpet.

“That’s it, you dumb fucking cum slut.  Crawl on over and get what you need.  You want to know what it’s like to be a horny slut sucking your cock, bro?  Just suck on mine and you’ll know.

I’m gonna suck it!

I was crawling forward, ready to submit.  I was about to know just what it was like for the girls I’d had sex with.  I needed to know.  It was right there, in front of my face, my brother’s cock—my cock—dripping and ready.  I parted my lips, just like a horny slut would do, and took it into my mouth.

It was hard, and soft, and hot, and smooth… I swirled my tongue around it’s surface, like I liked sluts to do to me, and I realized that this is exactly what it feels like to suck my cock.  I groaned and started bobbing my head up and down, quickly going from imitating a horny slut to simply being one.

What’s it like when I cum in a sluts mouth?

I quickened my pace, desperate to find out.

“You like seeing what it looks like to suck your cock, son?” Dad asked, rising from his chair to stand next to Matthew.

“Mmmhhmmmm,” I moaned around Matthew’s shaft.

“I bet you’d like to see what it’s going to look like when you suck my cock, wouldn’t you?” He asked.  I froze for a moment, my face pressed into my brother’s pelvis as I thought about sucking Dad’s penis.

My own dad’s penis.

I’m a faggot.  I’ll suck Dad’s penis!

I moaned again.

“Keep sucking your brother and look up,” Dad ordered.  I obeyed, and watched as he reached down to let his cock out of his boxers.  It was huge.  Dad had a huge cock.  I groaned deeply around Matthew’s cock as I stared up at it.  Then I watched as Matthew leaned in.  I watched as my face came near to Dad’s cock, my lips parting and letting it in.  Welcoming it.  Worshiping it.

“Yeah, that’s it, son.  Watch what you would look like with this dick in your mouth, the dick that made you.  Watch what you’ll look like when it pumps your face full of the cum that made you.”

“Fuck, dad, that’s nasty!” Matthew said, panting, taking a quick break from sucking Dad’s cock.

“Of course it is.  Trenton is a nasty faggot, a desperate cum slut.”  Dad stepped away and shoved my face down into Matthew’s groin.  I felt a hand rummaging in my pocket, but I didn’t know what could possibly be there.

“’You are a faggot!’  I was right, you stupid fucking liar.  ‘It feels good to submit.’  That true, faggot?  You like submitting to real men?”

I just moaned and sucked his dick.

My eyes shot open as I felt my legs kicked apart.  Hands, powerful hands, Dad’s hands, tore open the back of my pajama pants, and cool air washed over my ass.

“We’ll show you what this looks like later.  For now, just keep sucking your brother and enjoy it,” Dad said, and then I felt his cock pushing against my hole.

Dad’s going to fuck me!

Faggot.

Cum slut.

Dumb.

Submit.

He pushed, but it didn’t go in.  The pressure vanished, and I flinched when I felt his spit hit my hole.  He pressed his cock against me once again, and then drove forward.  His saliva slicked his way into me, and I felt my hole give way, almost as if welcoming Dad’s cock inside.  Matthew grabbed my hair and started frantically fucking my face, and dad wasted no time warming up to deep dicking me with long, hard strokes.  Pounding into me, sending little squirts of precum gushing from my dick to soak the scraps of my pants that still clung to me.

It was too much!

It was too good!

Submit!

Dumb!

Cum slut!

Faggot!

Matthew’s dick exploded in my mouth, and I learned exactly what it felt like, what it tasted like, when my cock exploded in a sluts mouth.  At the same time, Dad bellowed loudly and pressed himself into me, burying his dick as deep up my butt as possible as he pumped me full of my unborn baby brothers.  I was squealing, swallowing, bucking, twisting.  My cock started to squirt my own cum, soaking the scraps of my pants and dripping down to the carpet.

“Hey guys, I got home ear—” Mom’s voice cut off in a scream as she walked in to catch her husband and son spit roasting her other son.  Caught, exposed, with two big cocks still stuffed inside me was so embarrassing, so twisted, so wrong, so… bad… that I lost control and came again, moaning and jizzing while Mom stared on in horror.

 

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