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It’s been a hella long day.
John Seed, the youngest of the Seed brothers, finally flops down in a chair at his ranch deep in the heart of his region. He delights in the soft fabric brushing against the exposed skin of his arms. ‘Cleansing sure does take it out of you,’ thinks John. As his weary body sinks he lets his eyes drift closed and in a brief moment nothing matters. No outside influence. No radio calls. That damned Deputy was causing hell in Faith’s region. She’ll take care of him, she always does. So, for now, calmness and bliss filled John. He smirked at the thought of bliss entering his body, he hasn’t felt bliss in his body for a while, not since…
John looks up suddenly, head full of impure thoughts just playing through his mind like an old porno on a VCR. He shakes them out, no, no, no. That’s not him today. Today, many sins were washed away, scrubbed and cleansed by his divine absolution. Saving all those souls, helping his devout followers gather materials, taking care of the non-believers. Holy work, indeed. And that can take it out of a man. And John, as he often tells himself, is just a man. Tired and needing respite. He allows himself to shut his eyes again, a silent vow that he’ll take a short nap and wake up feeling refreshed and ready to go again.
He daydreams, letting his minds eye wander until it latches on to an image.
He imagines himself running through big open fields not unlike the ones surrounding Falls End. Just running, the sun at his back warming him through, the scent of hay and flowers filling the air. He’s smiling, and John lifts his arms toward the sky. He brings one hand to his forehead, using it like a temporary shade to see across the golden fields. He hears a noise and letting his arms drop like they were made of rubber, he starts to bound toward the sound. He looks down at the source of the disturbance. John know that act, has performed it many times with many, many people. Oh, she’s beautiful. Soft ombre brunette hair, clean skin, toned naked body and pouting red lips parted as she pants. She’s on her hands and knees pushing back into the man who’s fucking her. She’s laughing and occasionally biting those beautiful full lips. John bites his own lip along with her and continues to watch the act. He sees the way her heavy breasts bounce and move in the straw with every thrust, and John can almost feel what she’s feeling.
The scratching of the hay around her nipples, the weight of them bouncing against her chin as she lowers her head to look down between them. The way her wet pussy stretches around the unseen man’s cock. John is mesmerised by her and can’t tear his eyes away. He smiles and steps closer to them, leaning down and gently lifting the woman’s face up with a single finger. He brings his own head down, closing the gap and kisses her, deep and sloppy. The scene changes, figures and environment dropping away like sand, his imagination rewriting the setting to suit his needs. It’s John on his knees now, pushing back on to the fully erect member. He feels every thrust, every millimetre of flesh working his insides. He’s moaning like the woman did and he bows his back as much as he can and pushes back in perfect timing with every pound.
Hands come from nowhere and close around his throat. When he pulls back they tighten more and more. John can almost feel the air pouring out of him like smoke and he strains to look at the hands grasping him. They’re calloused, scratched and chemically burnt, patches of red hair trailing up the forearms. Oh, Lord. His dream self speeds up, hoping it’s who he thinks it is.
His heart skips a beat when he feels the cool metal dog tags pooling on his back, and hears the chain tapping against his skin.
John snaps his eyes open. He’s breathing heavily and dry humping the air. He curses himself for getting hard over that again. He tells himself that last month should have been the final time he thought about…that.
With a growl he strides over to the stuffed cougar Jacob got him as a welcoming present, and proceeds to ram his hand down its bared maw. Feeling around inside for an item, John quickly scans the room. His men are on patrol outside with orders not to disturb him unless there’s an imminent threat. But still, what John is about to do makes his senses tingle with shame. Ah, there it is. Fingers grip around the neck of a whiskey decanter. The good stuff too. Glenfiddich 50-year-old single malt whiskey. ‘The one that got away,’ thinks John, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a gulp. The familiar burn is welcoming, like liquid fire flowing through his tired body and cleansing his own soul. And he needs a good cleansing after that daydream. After a few more gulps he decides to retire to his room. A proper rest will help.
Taking the bottle with him, John starts to climb the stairs, though the whiskey is already doing it’s best to off balance him. He sways at the top of the steps and barely makes it to his door before he falls inside. It’s cold and dark, and John absentmindedly wonders when the last time was he slept in his own bed. He snorts. He’s here now, right? Okay, that’s all that matters. He wobbles to his feet and keeping his face just a few inches away from the decanter he sets it down on the bedside table with such concentration you’d think he was performing open heart surgery. He flicks on the lamp with the practised skill only a truly intoxicated person can have when dealing with electronics. The room is bathed in a soft glow like a sun setting over a hay field, and John stands as best he can before falling over flat on his face with an ‘oof’.
Not giving up, John stands again and throwing his arms out to either side elaborately, he allows himself to fall backwards onto the bed. The springs playing a melodic tune as he bounces there and after a few seconds an idea begins to form in his mind, plastering a frown on to his face. A drunken philosophical thought. The kind that only comes with an alcohol induced introspection.
Absolution is given because men sin, yes?
And men sin because there is temptation, yes?
And temptation is there because men are unhappy, okay?
And unhappiness is there because of a wrongdoing.
Something that’s not your fault.
So, in conclusion sin is not your fault, just the medicine for the harmful actions of others.
The whiskey coursing through the youngest Seed brother was working its magic. His bullshit ponderings make sense. To John it’s as clear as day. He bites his lip, looks around the room and makes a decision.
Getting up as best he can on legs that feel like jelly, John tries to shut the door quietly, but instead slams the thing closed. He looks at the offending item in shock and shushes it loudly. He’ll get the glass thingy on the bedside table to beat it up if it’s not careful, and you don’t want that, nosiree.
Okay, that’s the door taken care of.
John begins to undress, twirling around the room like a drunken ballerina made of rubber. Performing for nobody but himself and giggling uncontrollably. Socks, pants, his dust jacket are all sent flying across the room till he stands nude. He sighs and hugs himself tightly as the coolness of the often-empty room settles on to his skin. He climbs on the bed. The springs again announcing his arrival with their twanging song, and flips onto his back. He grabs at the decanter again and takes another swig wearily. Whiskey escapes out of either side of his mouth, running down his neck and splashing onto his chest and the bed sheets. John lets the glass bottle tumble to the floor, bleeding its expensive amber contents onto the floor boards, and for a second or two he stares at the ceiling.
He shuts his eyes.
The sun-soaked hay fields of his imagination are replaced with a dark green forest. It’s cold and the atmosphere is heavy around his fabric wrapped head. He’s running, but away this time. Panicked breaths are being pulled from his lungs and the sweat of fear is thick across his body. He’s in a red cloak. Head to toe in scarlet and crimson. The colour of blood.
He’s also wearing a dress. A pretty white thing, all lace and cotton. On the bed his cock twitches as he imagines himself. Hardening at the thought of cross-dressing. He smiles and makes a mental note that he’ll immediately forget about buying a dress in the morning. In his dream the cloak is billowing out behind him as he runs for his life. He looks down and sees an old-style basket full of goodies and treats. For a moment he stops his desperate escape, more interesting in the contents of his basket than whatever’s chasing him. He pushes a hand into the hamper pulling out an éclair, full of cream and topped with sticky chocolate. He takes a bite and decadence fills his mouth. He fairly hums his approval around the treat. He eats it in three big bites, cream falling onto his pretty red cloak. When it’s gone John closes the basket again. “Must have been for Grandma…” He muses. Oh. Oh shit, that means…
The brief pause in running and the tasting of Grandmas treats has allowed the hunter to catch up with him. It growls in the undergrowth and John turns slowly to see himself reflected in the Big Bad Wolf’s hungry eyes. He drops to the ground curling his lips in anticipation, the pastries and cakes in the basket scattering to the forest floor. The wolf ignores them and advances on him. Standing over him it licks its mouth, dripping saliva onto the quivering body beneath it. It bares its fangs, maw full of razor sharp teeth and continues to loom over its captured prize. The clouds part above and the clearing fills with light, allowing John to see two blue piercingly familiar eyes and a muscular body of flaming red fur. John knows the power of Yes, but he also knows the power of seduction. He pulls the ruffled Lolita-style dress up high, revealing lacy underwear and a black garter. He rolls over and lets the dress gather around his head and neck. In his drunken haze it reminds John of a wedding veil. He’s snapped abruptly out of that thought when a clawed, heavy paw rips the thin underwear away from his ass exposing John to the elements and to the Wolf. The Wolf lowers it head and John cries out into the night as the beasts steaming tongue slips between his cheeks, coating his hole in hot saliva. He feels it move inside him and out again like it has a mind of its own, and it suddenly feels twice as long as it should be. John can’t help but rock back onto it in pure pleasure.
Back in reality, on the big king-size bed in his room, John’s hands work over his painfully hard dick, panting almost in time with Little Red Riding John.
The Wolf removes the invading appendage and positions itself higher up John’s body. ‘This is it,’ thinks John. ‘I’m getting fucked by a Wolf and I’m loving it.’ He raises his ass as high as he can, exposing his abused hole so the Wolf has better access. A half groan, half scream tears through John’s body as the Wolf mounts him. He feels every inch of the beast’s cock sliding into him. He rocks back and forth, animal and human doing the unthinkable except in dreams. Except in imagination. John feels a heavy paw sliding up his back and it’s only when it grabs him by the mouth that he realises it’s a hand. A person’s hand with callouses and scars from wars fought far away. The Wolf-Man pulls him upright in a bear hug, the huge arms tight across his chest. It pumps its hips into John. The feeling of being taken in the forest like an animal, the chase, the taste of chocolate on his tongue, the Wolf-Man’s cock taking him, claiming him, had both dream and reality John crying out in pleasure. Above him the Wolf begins to howl and John screams out.
“Ahh! Jacob! Jacob! Jacob! Brother, fuck me!” John pumps himself to the point where he’s beginning to think he’s was going to rip his own dick off. His voice is cracked and dry as John thinks of his big brother, Jacob, burying himself deep inside him and biting his neck like a she-wolf as he breeds him.
John throws back his head, body arching off the bed as his orgasm sends his vision white and full of stars. Cum lands on his stomach and chest as he rides himself dry.
John lies there on the bed, panting and gasping for breath. He laughs at himself and looks down at the mess. He’s still half hard. ‘How? Dream Jacob has always done the job before. Maybe it’s because it’s not real?’ John thinks to himself solemnly. Not that he could ever tell his big brother, Jacob would literally eat him like his did with his friend in the desert. What was he called? Miller. That’s it. He’d call him sick. Call him unclean. Call him a sinner. Oh. His cock twitches. Oh yeah, he likes that. The thought of Jacob finding out about his secret. He’d beat him senseless, put that big boot of his on his neck and crush him into the dirt. Oh, yes! That’s got him going again! Using his own cum from his stomach as slick, John begins gently begins palming his twitching dick again. It’s tender, but it feels so good.
Still in his drunken heady daze John begins to chide himself. ‘How could you? He’s your brother! You’re sick, John.’ He speeds up his movements, his own poisonous voice just goading him on. Alcohol and lust winning out for tonight. He imagines what they’d both say if they saw him now. Covered in sin, jerking himself off to wolves, dresses and brothers.
Oh, brothers.
John slows and looks down at the rug on his bedroom floor. He bites his bottom lip. ‘Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound,’ as the saying goes. He moves off the bed and kneels on the floor, moving the rug aside to reveal a small metal handle flush against the wood. He pulls it open and delves inside, tugging out the contents. A medium sized red plastic box. Unmarked. But John’s heart flutters. He knows what’s inside. He places the box on the bed and opens the lid. eyes widening in anticipation as he spies all sorts of goodies. Like Grandma’s treats in a woven basket. A variety of sex toys lie before him — from butt plugs, to cock rings, to vibrators. All neatly arranged in the bottom of the box. John finds what he’s looking for, a realistic looking dildo styled with thick veins and a bulbous head. He wraps his hand around his prize, picks out some lube and scoots back onto the bed.
He begins his next session by flicking up the lid of the lube bottle and pouring a generous amount onto his palm and making sure to coat his fingers. He’s excited, gonna make this last, these nights are few and far between and he’s not going to ruin it by cumming too soon. He forcibly makes himself calm down, regulates his breathing, then he trails a wet hand down his chest, stopping lazily to pinch at an already hard nipple.
Sinful.
John’s mind begins to wander again as his hand reaches between his legs, ignoring his already hard and pre-cum drenched cock. His lubricated finger finds what he’s looking for and gently, almost tenderly, he pushes a bent finger into his hole, brings it out slowly and thrusts it back in. A satisfied ‘ahhh’ leaving his mouth as he latches onto another thought, another scene in his mind.
Sinner.
Oh, yes. I am, brother.
John carefully adds another finger and arches his body up off the bed. This time no hay field or cold forest is waiting for him. He moves into a kneeling position on the bed, mimicking the John in his dreams, because this time he’s in church. A very particular church. Head bowed and hand still working his hole. Carefully he raises his hips and brings them down onto his fingers, drawing out a dirty groan. He repeats this for a few more times before a different hand falls on his back and a whisper sounds in his ear, hot and full of lust.
“Sinner.”
John leans back, exposing his throat for the other man to capture in his teeth. He whimpers and speeds up his movements until the other man grabs him and forces him to be still.
“Shhh, patience brother.” John stills as best he can, desperately wanting to please this man. He gives his hips a lustful wiggle and he feels his fingers being ripped from his hole with an audible squelch. John bites back a hiss and turns it into a moan instead. The other man kneels behind him and places his hands on either side of John’s slender waist. He can feel the hard bulge of the other mans erection against the cleft of his ass and he gives in, allowing himself to be manipulated.
“Do you love me, John?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Do you believe you have sinned?”
“…yes, Father…” John blurts out, crying and relieved at the same time. “I’m sorry…I can’t help it. I love this…love you…love Jacob.” John begins to grind down onto Joseph’s groin. Using his ass to rub at the erection though the others jeans.
“Well, I love you, too. So that can’t be it. Love it not a sin. It’s pure and innocent.” Joseph flickers his eyes shut as John plants himself down again. “Oh brother, let me show you how much I love you.” He reaches down and quickly releases his zipper, his cock springing up from the restraining material. He guides John back down and lines himself up with John’s wet hole. Both men groaning in pleasure as the feeling of filling and being filled takes over. Joseph buries himself to the hilt and waits for John to get used to him before pulling almost all the way out and slamming it back home.
“Ahh! Father!” John holds onto one of the pews for leverage and begins to match his brothers thrusts perfectly.
“There’s my little brother. So good. So pure. Tell me your sins.” Joseph coos to him, stroking his face with the hand that still holds the ever-present rosary.
“Father, I’m so close. Please, please!”
Joseph growls, and John is reminded of a certain flamed furred beast. He throws his head back, screaming just for the sake of it. How much has he lusted after Joseph? Stole glances here and there when The Father was performing various ceremonies sans shirt. How often has he had to excuse himself as he worked a quick hand over the member that was betraying his body? Seeing Jacob covered in blood and walking with his Judges? An animal. That’s all he is. All they are. Animals.
Back in his bedroom, John speeds up thrusting the dildo into his ass, panting and moaning Joseph’s name. He imagines Joseph laying him down on the church floor, like a sacrifice and fucking him into confession. He is groaning and stroking his fully hard cock. He is saying anything at this point, babbling words about how much he loves this. That he wants Joseph every night. That all he is to his big brother is a hole to warm his dick on. That he’ll go down on him anywhere, to show his devotion and love. And Joseph will thrust impossibly hard into him like he’s trying to fuck the sinful soul right out of him.
John cries out as the dildo hits his prostrate, sending sparks up his spine and electrifying his mind. He imagines Joseph and Jacob taking him at the same time. Showing them how much he loves his brothers.
The orgasm that takes John makes him blackout for a few seconds, his legs giving way as he slumps onto the bed. His breath is ragged, painful. Coming back to reality always is. John weeps, knowing that the next time he sees his brothers they’ll hold him close in an embrace and nothing more. Talk about the next steps in their ongoing plans and what progress they’ve made so far. And John will watch and yearn. That’s it. The Father talks of paradise, but John knows he’ll never be allowed it. He knows that particular heaven, his own form of paradise, is banned from him forever. He lets exhaustion and drunkenness win out, claiming him as his grow too heavy to keep open. He finally sleeps.
In the morning, he wakes. Head full of cotton wool and lying in his bed with the sheet tangled up around him. He gets a pang of panic in his chest as he remembers he passed out over the bottom of the bed, and that all his sinful toys are gone, and the rug is back in place. The decanter gone. He’s been cleaned up, too, no trace of his sins left upon his body. He hears humming and looks towards the opening door, his heart banging painfully in his chest. It’s Faith.
“You know, it’s a sin to be asleep in bed on a Sunday morning. Particularly when it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, John.” Faith’s voice is calm, quiet, but she’s almost smirking at him from the doorway.
Oh, Lord above. I’ve missed service!
He tries to climb off the bed, but Faith stops him. “However, it is not a sin if you are sick,” she smiles. “Even we have off days, John.”
She knows. Oh God, she knows.
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.” She places a glass of water on the bedside table and turns to leave.
“John, being sick isn’t a bad thing. You just need to know the cure. Some people use drugs. Some use company. And some use an escape. If you feel like you need an escape — use this.” She leaves a bottle of Bliss oil next to the water on his nightstand.
At the door she turns to look back at him, “Oh, and I think I saw something in that ugly stuffed cougar downstairs, looks like a red plastic box, weird huh?”
John watches her leave and stares at the back of the closed door for what seems like an hour.
An escape, huh?
In his head he can hear a Wolf howl.