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The Incestuous Vices of Sasha Tatlavica

Bruno Hirschkoff

© February 2025

This is a work of erotic fiction for discerning adults only.

All characters and settings are fictional. The world of Asantrea and all of its concepts, locations, characters and associated artwork, literature, and other material is the sole creation of the Author and remains their intellectual property.

This work is not for commercial publication or distribution without the Author's written consent.

*

Chapter 5

Springtime Urges

1782 Arahan Domini

Arhanifell, Olkvarskali Oblast, Ithenor

*

The very next morning—very late in the morning, as it happened—Sasha decided to ask Ilyas if he would teach him to trim his pubic fur. It seemed a thing most people did, yet it was something he'd never thought of doing, himself, and he had no clue where to begin. Simply trimming with shears seemed… dangerous, at the very least, and he figured it would leave the coarser strands in place intermingled with the far softer fur and have a texture rather like that of the scrubbing brush his parents used to clean the cooking pots.

Ilyas had already departed for work by the time Sasha emerged from his slumber, however, and he was forced to wait until the evening. Reyhani too had left for the day's work, leaving only he and Svarina in the house. And, uncharacteristically for her, she remained in her room.

Sasha made himself a late breakfast, and drank half a dozen large cups of water, to alleviate his dry mouth, cure his hangover, and to provide himself some entertainment later in the day. Then he made his way back up the stairs to his own room, and paused. Svarina's door was closed. He approached, and knocked tentatively.

“Svarina? Are you alright?" he called.

“Go away," she mumbled from within.

Sasha frowned.

“What's wrong?"

The door swung open. Svarina stood there, her hair a mess, wearing the same nightdress he'd met her in the previous night.

“Sasha, I'm sorry—today I wish nothing more than to wallow in my own misery in peace. My monthly bleeding began this morning."

“Oh," Sasha had no idea what she meant. “Is there anything I can do?"

Svarina smirked. “You can place cucumber slices on my eyes, wrap hot water bladders around my midriff and spend the whole day massaging my feet if you wish, little brother."

It was clearly a sarcastic comment, but Sasha eagerly nodded—that sounded to Sasha like a wonderful way to spend a whole day with her. Svarina snorted and closed the door in his face.

“You're the one who continually writes romantic fantasies, Sasha—so go and do your research on the horrors of menstruation," she mumbled from behind the door.

Sasha lingered a moment, but took her hint. He fetched a heel of bread and some potato and leek soup from the kitchen for her instead, and left them at her door. Then he left the house for the day.

The day was bright and sunny, and there was a hint of spring in the air. A flush of green crowned the city's trees, and around their boles, the spring bulbs had erupted into a riot of early-season colour. But despite its colour, this part of Arhanifell lacked something fundamental that the rougher districts had in spades. It lacked life. Here, there were no raucous street vendors, no smells of food being cooked outdoors, no clusters of shady characters loitering in the alleyways. The people he saw were industrious and well-dressed, and moving with ruthless efficiency from the origin point to the destination of each of their respective journeys. Of them all, Sasha felt like the only one who wandered for the sake of wandering; to see the city, to feel its pulse and draw inspiration from it.

He paused when he reached the public library in the centre of the public square; that grand, Athonian-style colonnaded building his carriage had skirted past in the snow on the night of his return from the Vospitanye. A few people were visible in its colonnade, and Sasha waited for a momentary break in the continuous traffic of carriages and carts and horses and wagons to dart across to it. Its entrance was grand, with wide granite steps that drew visitors upward onto its raised foundation, like climbing a temple. The ancient god Ysion, the Keeper of Knowledge, adorned the crest of the library's gable. Curious, Sasha thought, that the old gods retained such prevalence in their everyday lives despite the brutality of the Arahanic Crusades in this region—most notably against the Ysionites.

He entered the library through one of three heavy doors, and entered a sanctuary of quietness and written words. The floor was richly carpeted, and the library was packed to its high rafters with endless shelves of books, scrolls, parchments, records of every kind. A wide desk formed a horseshoe shape inside the entrance, behind which the librarians, administrators and clerks sat. Beyond it, row upon row of reading desk sat, each with its own gas lantern and leather-upholstered chair. And in the middle of the expansive space, taking pride of place, was a large spiraling stairway constructed from wrought iron and decorated with copper, brass and inlaid wood, which took the climber up three levels of shelving to the rafters of the library. Each level above the ground was in the form of a balcony, much like the mezzanine at Sasha's home, except here, there were gangways that connected each balcony to the central stair like the spokes of a giant wheel.

It was an awesome space, particularly its vast windows and domed roof. There were at least a dozen windows, each of them the full height of the library, which together with the cleverly windowed ceiling dome bathed the interior in natural light.

“What are you looking for?"

Sasha turned to meet the eyes of a stern-looking librarian. Her spectacles were perched on the end of her muzzle above pursed lips in what was perhaps the most stereotypical depiction of a librarian Sasha could possibly imagine.

“Ah… History. Heladian, Sabarinian. Linguistics. Scordic languages," Sasha said.

“You'll want the 'barbarous cultures' section then. Top floor, right at the back."

“Thank you."

“If you're not back in five hours I'll assume something hideous has crawled out of the books and eaten you, and send a search party."

Sasha frowned and smiled simultaneously. He could not tell if she was joking.

He climbed up the spiral stair to the very top of the library, and walked across the highest gangway to the highest of the balconies. Rows of bookshelves surrounded the balcony, and behind them lay additional rooms, filled with archives, ancient books and study rooms. It was absolutely deserted. Not a soul perused the shelves up this high, or this far from the books more highly regarded by Olkvar society. But here was where Sasha felt his mind roam free. Because here were the types of books he used to pore over in the Vospitanye, forgotten and laden with decades of dust, pregnant with the historical secrets they guarded within their yellowed pages.

Sasha browsed until he found a section dedicated to and pagan gods and their worship—specifically, Kasdall and his partnered deity, Mido. The books he found were stuffy and staid, written by modern Olkvar academics, but it wasn't these books specifically he was interested in. Rather, it was the much, much older texts and artefacts they referenced. And he was not disappointed. He found, in one such tome, a reference to an ancient book of philosophy originally penned by an ancient Heladian author.

He found a copy of that book, a recent re-print only a few decades old and written in modern Heladian, in a dusty cabinet in the back of an archive room, after almost two hours of searching.

It was a detailed account of ancient modes of pagan worship, and Sasha focused on the sections about Mido and Kasdall, the gods of passion and lust, arousal and pleasure, romance and madness. The latter, Sasha clearly understood; passion and lust, for him, brought on a type of madness he was powerless to control at times.

The book, as it turned out, was illustrated. Sasha took it to one of the reading desks along with a Heladian phrasebook, and continued to read.

Worship of Kasdall the Hedonist across the Imperial Territories of Burgova, Scordomna, Zamonán, Athon, Aegion, Sargon and Eilmar often takes a particularly direct and carnal form.

The god is typically depicted alongside Mido, either as a partner or a twin, alongside a male partner, or in Athon specifically, as a solitary figure riding astride a great stallion possessed of multiple erect phalli. Kasdall himself is depicted as a virile young man or youth, sometimes in a toga or loincloth but often nude and displaying an erect phallus. Kasdall represents the carnal urges and lusts of masculinity, often through a lens of protection of the family, honour, commitment or fatherhood. He is often portrayed as a patron god of brotherhood and community, as well as the hearth and home. However his domestic aspects are countered by his wilder side, wherein Kasdall is also a god of wine, hedonism and festivity, lust, madness and chaos. He is thus a fickle and self-interested deity whose offerings can often take the form of the emission of semen.

In regions of Scordomna, it is said that Kasdall speaks through all men during times of sexual arousal and ejaculation, whether practiced alone, in company, or during sexual partnership. His patronage of wine and festivals lends to the faithful a tendency to partake of drunken orgies of masculine lust, particularly on regionally important festival dates. Those men whose ejaculations come easily, repeatedly and with great force or volume are considered to be blessed by Kasdall, and unsurprisingly, it is very common to find younger men and boys are the most prolific worshippers.

Often depicted alongside Kasdall, either as a partner or a twin, or alongside a female partner, Mido is typically depicted as a young woman or girl, either nude or clad in a robe of vine leaves, from which Kasdall is often shown harvesting grapes to make his wine. A powerful symbol of feminine erogeneity and passion, Mido is also associated with marriage, domesticity and the family; although what exactly a family looks like varies regionally. As a domestic goddess, Mido is associated with rest and sanctuary, but also has a wild and free aspect, in which she is often depicted partaking of sapphic orgies. She is a goddess of passion, desire and lust, but also of the calmer aspects of the household, including motherhood, the care of children and the wonder of the creation of new life. Like Kasdall, however, she carries patronage of feminine lust and desire, and of sexual pleasure.

Sasha turned the page. There, for the next eight or ten pages, were etchings depicting a statue of Kasdall as a Heladian Equid, easily thirty fetlocks high, with a cock the size of Sasha's leg being ritually ejaculated on by a procession of worshippers who climbed onto a plinth before the deity to offer their seed. Sasha saw in the etching that all of those worshippers were using their hands to bring forth their semen, and the same was true of multiple depictions of Kasdall on the following pages.

“So it's true," Sasha murmured, turning page after page.

By the time the severe old librarian made her way up to find him five hours later when the library was shortly to close, she found Sasha sitting at the reading desk by the light of the gas lantern, with a stack of fifty or more books around him.

She cleared her throat, and Sasha snapped shut the book he'd been engrossed in.

“You've been here all day," the librarian observed.

“Yes… there are a lot of books here I have wanted to find for many years," Sasha replied.

“About barbarian worship of pagan gods?" the librarian said, browsing through some of Sasha's selected volumes.

“Yes. I find it all fascinating," Sasha said silkily.

The librarian snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well. Be that as it may, I must close the doors soon. Please, begin putting the books back, save me the work."

Sasha nodded curtly, and the librarian turned tail and returned to the central stair, with one last lingering—and faintly accusatory—glare over her shoulder at him.

*

Ilyas and Reyhani got home together, as usual. Sasha was in the kitchen when they arrived, having cleaned the cooking pots of the previous night and got the fire going for the evening's cooking and heating. He was peeling vegetables and already had a pot on the stove, and Reyhani fussed over him and teased him that he was setting a precedent. Neither she nor Ilyas mentioned his absence from the dinner table the previous evening, or asked him where he'd been—such a thing was something to be discussed between Dosvakny'y.

Ilyas, Reyhani and Sasha ate the meal Sasha and Reyhani prepared together, although not before Sasha had taken a serving upstairs for Svarina and insisted that she drink several large cups of water.

Afterwards, Reyhani insisted that she would clean up, and that Ilyas and Sasha should leave her in peace. It was a neat way of forcing them to have some time alone together, and Ilyas led Sasha up to the middle floor of the house to talk in front of the fire.

“Is Svarina alright?" Ilyas asked, once they were alone.

“I don't know," Sasha replied. “She said her monthly bleeding began, but would not tell me what that means. Said something about wallowing in misery. I tried to cheer her up, but I don't think I helped much, and she did not eat the breakfast I took up for her."

“Ahh, I see. Give her a few days and she'll feel better. For many women, the monthly bleeding is worst when it first begins."

“What does that even mean? Why would she be bleeding? Is she going to be alright?"

Ilyas blinked. “You don't know at all?"

“No!"

“It's nothing to worry about, Sasha—she will be alright, I promise. Women's bodies function differently from ours. A woman's womb, once every month, if she has not become pregnant, releases its unused humours, which are discharged through her vagina. It can be very uncomfortable, causing cramps and swelling. It lasts for a few days generally, so that many women can predict when their bleeding will commence and plan around it. For others, like Svarina, occur less predictably. Sometimes it is a day sooner, others can be up to a week late. Some months she does not bleed at all, but still has discomfort. Other months the bleeding is light, while yet others it is heavy and lasts almost a whole week. I know not how to make it more predictable, but the result is that she often cannot know when her bleeding will commence until it actually starts, nor how much discomfort she will experience."

Sasha ruminated on it.

“I have never read a single book or poem or play which even mentions it," he said.

“Nor have I. It's not the most appealing of bodily functions, and in much the same way, I've never read a book or poem or play which describes a character's bowel movements or urinary frequency in the course of telling a narrative. Yet, it happens to us all. It is simply… not spoken of, in most literature."

Sasha squirmed slightly, knowing full well that there were shifting dunes of parchments on his writing desk that described characters' urinary habits in nauseating detail. But, he reasoned, he was describing it for sexual purposes, and Svarina's monthly bleeding certainly did not seem enjoyable.

“Father, I have… some questions I must ask of you," Sasha said.

Despite Ilyas' reassurances of openness within the Dosvakny'a, simply outright asking intimate questions still felt unnatural to Sasha.

“Oh yes?"

“Would you help me to trim away my pubic fur?"

Ilyas tilted his head. “What's put that idea in your head?"

“All the depictions in classical art, father," Sasha lied, images of Svetla and Ruslan in his head. “None of them have dense fur down there. And… Svarina said you helped her with it, too."

“And you are uncomfortable with having that fur? It is a natural thing that everyone has, Sasha!"

“I know, but… I have a lot of it, and I think it would look and feel nicer without it there."

“Hmm. I'll think about it. It is not a comfortable process, I have heard—I have never done it, myself, but I have heard from others that the machine more or less rips the thicker, denser hairs out at the root, while leaving the finer strands alone. Svarina would attest to that, but she was insistent."

Sasha squirmed and winced. “That… does not sound particularly pleasant. And… did she? She told me she did not understand it, and that you suggested it to her!"

Ilyas faltered. Sasha narrowed his eyes. “What aren't you saying?" Sasha pressed him.

Ilyas sighed and slumped slightly. “Aye, you're correct. I suggested it to her, since many young women do it these days. And…"

“You wanted to see her up close? Without her pubic fur?"

Ilyas squirmed uncomfortably. “She's my daughter…" he protested.

“You're her Dosvakny. I am not judging you, father."

“Indeed. Ahh, I simply wanted her to feel… desirable, I suppose. Hmph… well, if your pubic fur is fairly soft, you might simply trim it to the same length as everywhere else, but you would retain that density of fur."

“I think mine is fairly soft—but it is a lot coarser than everywhere else."

“Let us trim it first, then, and if you are dissatisfied we can discuss removing it."

“How long would it take to grow back, in either case?"

“Removing it will last a full year before it even begins to grow back in. Trimming… well, it will simply continue to grow at the same pace as the rest of your fur."

“Thank you, father."

There was a long moment of silence, while Sasha stared into the fire and Ilyas stared at Sasha.

“There is something else on your mind, Sasha?"

“Yes… Can a woman engage in pleasures of the flesh during her bleeding?"

“I suppose so," Ilyas replied. “There's nothing that would physically stop that from occurring, but remember, many women are in some level of discomfort for its duration, and most would not wish to be sexually active while menstruating. My Dosvakny however always complained during her cycle, that she was the most ahh… sexually piqued, during that time, but was uncomfortable because of the mess. And, the one time we tried, she said it left her with a stinging pain inside her, like a burn."

“A stinging, burning pain?" Sasha perked up.

“Yes… why?"

“I believe… ahh… I think I have felt that, myself."

“How? You most emphatically do not have feminine anatomy, Sasha!"

“No no, ahh… I don't know how to describe it. Sometimes… after I… accidentally spill semen, there's this sharp stinging pain that feels like I desperately need to urinate, but nothing comes out, and it persists for perhaps an hour…"

Ilyas gazed at his son for a long moment across the space between them. Firelight glinted in his eye, and he grinned suddenly.

“Does this largely occur after one of your more… intense… sessions, Sasha? Perhaps after you have brought yourself very close to the point of climax numerous times but held yourself back?"

Sasha squirmed and nodded.

Ilyas chuckled. “That's a feeling I am familiar with. It used to happen to me a lot, when I was your age and similarly driven, shall we say, and still happens occasionally if I am very excited. I believe it's simply caused by some irritation in the muscles that control your ejaculations and hold your bladder sealed. Which is the same muscle, I believe—thus why you cannot urinate and ejaculate simultaneously."

“Ahh, but uh… I can. Almost. Well… one right after the other."

“Is that so?"

Sasha nodded. “It's… intense. Sometimes I cannot control it at all. Especially if I… try to not spill my semen, hold it in, and then… continue."

“So you overstimulate yourself and ejaculate urine, yes I've heard of this before, too. Most men cannot urinate at all if they even have an erection, let alone during active masturbation."

“Is it harmful to do so?"

“I cannot imagine so, but I would advise you not to spend all day holding your bladder and denying yourself your climax, Sasha. At least not with any degree of regularity."

“But half a day is alright?" Sasha said cheekily.

Ilyas snorted.

“You are… very knowledgeable about a lot of this, father," Sasha suggested obliquely.

“What are you implying?"

Sasha grinned. “Only that perhaps the strictures of Olkvar decency… don't come naturally to you."

Ilyas grunted. “Maybe so. But they do not come naturally to many, I should imagine. The standards of the Arahanic Church are based on ancient moral teachings, intended to curb the unrestricted depravity of the uncivilised."

“And yet the seed of such depravity persists in us all, a dark urge to be suppressed and controlled, as the Scripture describes it?"

“Arahan was sent by Ysion to absolve us of such sins, and yet found the Ysionites to be the most sinful of all," Ilyas reminded him, paraphrasing the Arahanic holy book. “Abstinence and restraint brings us closer to Ysion, through Arahan."

Sasha opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Svarina came down the stairs from her bedroom. Her hair was messy and unbound, and she wore a blanket swaddled around her body. She appeared exhausted, her pretty features drawn. Ilyas rose from his chair and offered it to her. She shook her head nauseously and instead moved to stand with her back to the fire.

“How do you feel?" Sasha asked.

“What do you think, little brother?"

Sasha did not know how to respond. He wanted to hug her, but she looked like she'd bite his head off if he tried.

“Did I interrupt?" she mumbled.

“No, Sasha and I were just about to retire for the night."

Ilyas stepped across to Sasha. He rose to his feet, and into his father's embrace. Ilyas hugged him robustly for a moment, and Sasha pressed close to his father's body. His warmth and solidity felt comforting, and he gently inhaled the older marten's scent. It reminded him of Ruslan. Sasha's mind flashed back to the sensation of Ruslan's cock alongside his own, his hardness, the eroticism of his kiss… Then Ilyas chuckled.

“Are you erect?" he asked, with his muzzle close to Sasha's ear.

Sasha chittered in embarrassment.

“Do not fret, Sasha. It happens to me at inopportune moments, too_."_

Sasha felt himself pulse in his clothing. The temptation to sway his hips, grind forward, feel Ilyas' manhood against his own, was a powerful urge. Subtly, he succumbed to it, and heard his father take a breath. There it was. Sasha felt the pliant swell of his father's cock against his constrained erection, and held the embrace there.

“You two are as bad as each other," Ilyas mumbled, slightly huskily.

Then he drew back, fixed Sasha with a stare over the rims of his spectacles, and turned to Svarina. She fell into his arms softly, and he gingerly hugged her. Sasha made eye contact with her over Ilyas' shoulder, and then saw her eyes drop down his body and her eyebrow raise. He beat a hasty retreat upstairs.

*

Svarina remained in her state of discomfort for several long days, although after the first day and night, she felt well enough to emerge from her room more often, and hers and Sasha's days returned to some semblance of normality. She even pressed him for details of the night he'd spent away from home, about the woman whose scent he had borne on his late-night return. Sasha was reticent at first, but Svarina was insistent.

“Well… you know I write poetry?"

Svarina rolled her eyes. They were sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table. “You're being evasive. Of course I know. I know you write some incredibly debauched prose, too. Father let it slip on the night you were away. He said you're very good at it."

Sasha's ears burned. He wondered for a moment if Svarina had any inkling that she was his muse. He forced himself to assume that she did not.

“Aye… well… I have been attending some gatherings of other writers and artists. Actors, playwrights, poets, novelists. There are surprisingly many of them, and they gather routinely to share their ideas."

“And you met this mystery woman there?"

“Yes… well, not quite. I first saw her performing in the street with her… friend, shortly after I returned home from the Vospitanye."

Svarina impatiently prompted him. “And? How did that lead to you being covered in her?"

Sasha squirmed uncomfortably. “It's… a complicated story."

“I have nowhere else to be, and I am curious."

Sasha sighed deeply and rose to his feet to rummage through the larder for some bread, which he placed on the table with a pot of butter and some caviar. Svarina spooned caviar onto a slice of bread and ate slowly.

“These events, they are… so liberated. So different from everything I am used to. There is music, dancing, drinking, laughter and song. Poets recite their own and each other's verse, actors practice their parts, there is costumery and gaiety of all kinds. It is so colourful, unlike anything I have ever known before."

“Your eyes tell me everything, Sasha. You clearly enjoy it."

He nodded. “I met them—Svetla and Ruslan—after that performance. The following week. We became good friends. I occasionally play Ruslan's parts in their plays, since we look passingly alike. Many of their plays are romantic, so… it is… required of the part, that I occasionally have to kiss Svetla on stage."

Svarina smirked. “Which you clearly hate."

“It is just acting!"

“I promised you I wouldn't tell, and I won't. You can tell me everything, Sasha. I… I want to live it through you. I want to know what you felt."

She was leaning forward slightly over the table, and Sasha gazed into his sister's eyes deeply. They were deep pools of sapphire blue that glittered under the lamplight. He leaned towards her.

“Oh, Svarina, you cannot imagine… She… Well, they both noticed, really, that I was so inexperienced in the romantic arts, so they… taught me to kiss. To display it believably."

“They taught you to kiss? What, both of them, man and woman both?"

“Aye, just so."

“Are they married? Dosvakny'y?"

Sasha hesitated. Svarina clicked her teeth at him in frustration.

“Neither," Sasha offered. “They… this is why I cannot speak too openly of it. Aside from my own sins, they live outside of the systems we must conform to. That is, I think, why I find them so curious."

Svarina grinned. “You little pervert! Your deepest desires made real by the debauched actors…"

“I mostly watched…"

“Mostly?"

Sasha swallowed thickly. “They… had sex, over me. On top of me. Showed me how… how it works."

Svarina licked her lips. “Did she let you…?"

Sasha shook his head. “No. Well… fingers. And let me taste her. Oh, Svarina, the way she tasted… her softness, her wetness… I had no idea."

“The first time you'd ever tasted a woman?"

“The first time I'd even seen that part of a woman… or any part of a woman's body usually concealed in clothing. I cannot stop thinking of it."

“Did you spill yourself?" Svarina asked him, her voice shaking slightly.

Sasha focused sharply on his sister. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was leaning on one elbow on the kitchen table in such a way that her breasts were pushed upwards, her cleavage visible down the front of her robe. Sasha licked his lips with a tongue that was suddenly as dry as stone. He throbbed painfully in his clothing, and subtly adjusted himself under the table. He nodded.

“Where?"

“What?"

“Where did you spill yourself? In her mouth?"

“Why do you want to know?"

“I am just curious, Sasha. Please?"

Sasha could hardly believe this was actually happening. This conversation had been living in his mind as a speculative fantasy for days, and here it was, playing out in reality. Svarina was visibly piqued, her lips slightly parted and her breasts rising and falling subtly with her breaths. He could feel her exhalations against his face across the table, and gazed into her eyes. She was so incredibly beautiful. His heart fluttered for her, and he wanted nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss her.

“On… on her chest," Sasha said thickly after a long pause. “I was laying beneath her, my head beneath her crotch, while she held herself on her hands and knees over me and Ruslan, her lover, knelt above my head, mounting her from behind, right over my face… She touched me a little, put her mouth on me, even, but it was I who caused my seed to spill against her. The display of them fucking was… so arousing, Svarina, I could not stop myself… I needed it so badly. I simply reached down and grabbed myself and… it took only moments, and my seed was left on her breasts, and her face and chin, and her neck…"

Svarina actually moaned aloud, and Sasha saw her spine arch and felt her foot caress his leg. That arch caused her robe to fall open, and Sasha saw that she was wearing nothing beneath it. Her breast, so perfectly soft and round, became exposed to him, crowned by a nipple that stood stiff and aroused, as pink and delicate as a cherry blossom. Sasha gasped, and stared. Svarina did not cover herself. Indeed, instead, noticing his gaze, she pulled her robe further open, exposing both of her glorious tits to his perverted stare. And stare, he did. But then, suddenly and with almost no warning, he felt heat bloom in his crotch, a familiar rising burn of pleasure that caused his balls to tingle and his rod, already as hard as granite, to begin to throb and pulse with a very familiar rhythm. Sasha clenched his muscles hard, gritting his teeth, but it was no use. His muscles spasmed and pulsed, and he gripped the edge of the table roughly, claws digging into the wood, while he ejaculated in his pants. Svarina's eyes opened wide and her mouth fell open.

“Sasha, what in the world is wrong with you? Are you alright?"

Sasha shoved his chair backward and tipped it over with his haste to rise. He held his hands over his groin in shock, mumbled an apology and fled the kitchen, leaving Svarina there with her tits on the table.

*

Three days passed, during which time Sasha all but hid from Svarina in embarrassment. They crossed paths a few times a day, and Svarina engaged him in perfunctory conversation, but neither of them knew quite how to process what had occurred at the kitchen table. Svarina apologised to Sasha for being so forward, for putting him in such a compromising position. Sasha stammered unconditional forgiveness, but still could not bring himself to tell her how he truly felt about her. Despite her assurance of secrecy, he could not believe that they could come together the way they both clearly desired, without Ilyas finding out.

Of an evening, Sasha continued to write. His ambition to write a novel of simmering eroticism and debauchery was much helped by his experiences with Svetla and Ruslan, and boosted by his extrapolations of what might have been had he not fled from Svarina.

For a time, Sasha allowed himself to masturbate at will until he ejaculated, but he quickly discovered that in the aftermath of spilling his semen, his desire to continue writing dissolved like pouring water on a fire. So he largely reverted to his previous tactics; he would drink until his bladder ached, and write in such an elevated state of arousal that he could scarcely stand to touch himself lest he explode.

And when the pressure grew too much for him to bear, he would crash from his writing desk onto his bed. In those moments he would either drag his pillow down beneath his gyrating hips, or sprawl on his back with his legs apart and his hips presented to the room. And for the past few days, he'd had a secret indulgence hidden in his bedding. Svarina's undergarments, pilfered from the floor of the bathhouse where she had left them. In the back of his mind he imagined that she had probably noticed their absence, but she had not said anything.

*

It was the day after Ysion's Day. The weather was warm and pleasant, and Reyhani was spending the day with friends in the city, leaving Ilyas, Svarina and Sasha at home together.

Sasha rose from his bed late in the morning. His room was hot and stuffy, and the marten stepped naked across the room to open the small window. It did not achieve much, so he dressed in a pair of light linen trousers which laced at the front. Then he pulled a simple sleeveless tunic of similar fabric over his head, and stepped out into the relative coolness of the hallway and down to the mezzanine. The fireplace was unlit, its ashes cooling in preparation for being swept out for disposal. Sasha found Ilyas down in the kitchen, preparing a simple mid-morning meal.

“Ahh, good morning," he said when Sasha appeared.

Ilyas enfolded him in a hug, and Sasha sighed softly.

“Is Svarina awake?" Sasha asked.

“I think she's bathing."

Sasha nodded, fetched himself a large cup of water, and sat at the kitchen table. By the time Svarina appeared, he'd drunk four cups, and Ilyas was eyeing him curiously.

“If you keep drinking like that Sasha, you'll turn into a fish."

“It's… fine as long as I don't start pissing, father. Once you've pissed once, it seems never to stop."

“What a delightful topic to come into," came Svarina's voice from behind him.

Sasha turned, and Svarina chuckled at the shocked expression on his face. She was wearing a simple linen shift that came to her knees and a silk sash around her waist to cinch it in, and her hair was bound up in a towel atop her head. She slunk over to Sasha and leaned against his shoulder, draping herself around him. Sasha focused on his water cup, and hugged her back.

The three martens, a father, his son and daughter, ate their meal and talked of very little. But afterwards, Ilyas prompted them to move upstairs to the mezzanine lounge, to more comfortable surrounds.

To Sasha's surprise, Svarina hugged him robustly as she stood, and subtly stretched her body in his arms, resulting in a pleased little chitter against his cheek. Sasha relished the feeling of their bodies held together so tightly, separated by so much less clothing than was typical, and grit his teeth to force himself not to harden. But that was a battle he was soon to lose.

There were only two wingback chairs on the mezzanine, and although Svarina at first sat on Ilyas' lap, he grumbled that it made his legs ache after a few minutes, so she stood, and instead sat on Sasha's lap.

Sasha sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Is this alright, Sasha?" Svarina asked him, draping her arm around his shoulders and wriggling into place. “I'm not crushing you?"

His hands, unsure of where to go at first, eventually settled loosely around her waist. “N-no, it's fine, I ah… it's fine."

Ilyas peered over his spectacles at them, and stretched out his cramped legs. There was a conversation happening between Ilyas and Svarina, but Sasha found himself unable to focus on it in the slightest. Svarina's warmth against him, the weight of her body, the softness of her buttocks in his groin… She subtly rocked her hips, just once, pushing backward, and Sasha bit his tongue to stifle a groan. He was hard as rock in his light linen trousers, and there was no conceivable way that Svarina would be unable to feel it throbbing against her.

Svarina must have said something to Ilyas that required him to move, because abruptly, the older marten stood and, after a lengthy and suspicious stare at the two siblings, trudged downstairs.

Then he felt her grind into him. “I can feel that, Sasha…"

He chittered in half-hearted protest. “Svarina, I'm sorry, it…"

“Pervert."

“Can you blame me? You are the most sensual, shamelessly seductive and beautiful woman I have ever known…"

She giggled, and twisted her upper body to the side, allowing her to come face to face with him. “You're so very aroused by your own sister?"

Sasha gurgled and throbbed.

“I'm sorry, Sasha, I shouldn't… I…"

Sasha noticed how hard Svarina's nipples were behind the gossamer veil of her shift, and against every higher thought he had, his hand moved up to cup the soft swell of her breast. His thumb caressed her nipple, and he heard her drag in a heavy, shaky gasp, and then she yanked his hand away from her with a breathy chitter.

“You debaucherous little fuck…" she breathed, and then she stood up.

“Svarina, I…"

“Don't apologise," she said. “Sasha…"

She was interrupted by Ilyas clumping back up the stairs with a book in his hands, and the thought between Sasha and Svarina was left unfinished. Sasha awkwardly tucked his erection under the waistband of his trousers, and offered his seat to Svarina. He made a perfunctory excuse, and walked shakily upstairs.

*

He fell into his bedroom and shut the door. Instantly, he released his cock from its prison, and stared down at it. It ached with stiffness. It had tasted Svarina's body heat, and nothing would ever be the same again. He wanted her so desperately. And she had only performatively chastised him for it. He had felt how stiff her nipple had been. And he fancied, with hindsight, that he had felt humidity beneath her, where her hips ground backward into him…

Sasha could not hold himself back. He tore off his clothing and collapsed onto his bed. The memory of her warmth, her weight in his lap, the way she gyrated her hips to push her buttocks into his groin, the thinness of the two layers of linen separating them… He pushed his hand beneath his pillow and pulled out his sister's undergarments. He urgently needed to taste her. To breathe her scent. And he needed to piss, which only heightened his arousal. He laid Svarina's undergarments over his face, with the crotch over his nose, and breathed in deeply through them. Her scent was faint on them now, days later, and polluted by several of his own ejaculations which had made their way into the soft cloth, but it remained on the periphery of the olfactory profile of his pilfered prize.

Urgently, the marten pulled his pillow down beneath his naked body and pushed himself roughly up against it. The familiar dry friction of the pillow around his urgently hard penis sent a thrill of pleasure through his body, and he buried his face in Svarina's undergarments to lose himself in the hedonism of his fantasy.

Svarina had not pulled away when he'd touched her. Nor when he'd flexed his cock against her buttocks, or subtly pushed up against her.

He groaned into his mattress through her undergarments at the thought of her sitting on him, grinding onto his cock, clothed, and pissing with the head of his cock pushed right up against her. He fantasised about the hot rush of her relief, and of matching it with his own, forcing his stream through his iron-stiff member to mingle with hers… He ground heavily into his pillow, then raised his hips to jab the head of his cock more directly into it, imagining that on the other side of the thin fabric lay Svarina's vulva, swollen and wet with arousal. Imagining that it was not his own cock, but Ilyas', that was being driven against Svarina with such wanton desire. His fantasies buzzed around his foggy mind like moths around a flame, and Svarina was that flame.

He ground and humped and breathed and tasted her, mumbled her name, imagined her moans, her legs around his hips… Semen rose up along his penis and he pulled back abruptly, allowing the tiniest overspill to drip onto the pillow, before clenching down hard and pushing forward through it. A small squirt of urine pulsed into his pillow, and Sasha wallowed in his perversion, over and over again.

Sasha did not know how long he laid there for, urgently stimulating himself. He held his bladder full, painfully so, and forced out only the smallest amounts of urine-tainted precum into his pillow, just scarcely enough to relieve some of the incredible pressure.

He completely failed to hear Ilyas' footsteps, or his father's knock on his door.

Ilyas cleared his throat.

Sasha's eyes snapped open and he shuddered. His balls twitched. He held perfectly still, and exhaled with a shaky, heated groan. He was teetering on the brink of orgasm, and his bladder protested painfully at the same time. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to face Ilyas, and hurriedly stuffed Svarina's underwear under his pillow.

“I ahh… I brought a trimmer, Sasha," Ilyas said.

“Th-thank you…"

“I have time now. Do you want some help to trim yourself?"

“Does it need to be right now?"

“Why not?"

Sasha blinked. Was it not painfully obvious? “I'm… not very… decent."

Ilyas snorted with laughter. “So I can tell. Worry not, Sasha. You're my Dosvakny, it's perfectly fine if you are in a state of arousal. Such a thing is perfectly normal, and you need not be so shy about that any longer with me. Come now."

Ilyas closed Sasha's bedroom door and stepped towards the prone marten. In his hands was a mechanical device that looked more like an instrument of torture than a fur trimmer, a comb, and a soft brush, all contained within a small copper tub, which Sasha recognised as the miniature bathtub he and all of his siblings were bathed in as newborns. Sasha knew he could insist that his father leave him be, but… a part of him wanted Ilyas to see him with his cock so stiff. To test the older marten's boundaries a little. To exhibit himself in his highest and most intense state of arousal.

And he'd been so close to spilling himself, in every sense.

Sasha rolled over on his bed to face Ilyas, and saw his father's gaze fall on his groin. He raised his knee, presenting himself. His cock burned with desire, teetering even still on the brink of orgasm. It pulsed just once, releasing a dribble of urine-tainted, opaque precum. Ilyas chuckled softly.

“You are in quite a state, aren't you?" he said.

“As I said… not quite decent…" Sasha muttered.

Ilyas' tongue flicked along his upper lip, and the older marten lowered the copper tub to the floor with a soft metallic clang. Then he knelt on the floor beside it and laid out the trimmer, comb and brush.

“Come, don't be shy."

Did Ilyas want this as badly as Sasha did? To see him so aroused, so openly presented, right in front of him? Sasha considered that under any scenario, he would have been likely to become erect at some stage while his father trimmed his pubic fur. But to have Ilyas insist on performing the task at this very moment was on another level altogether… and he liked it. Sasha scooted forward onto the edge of his bed, then stood and stepped into the copper tub. His cock pulsed angrily right in front of his father's—his Dosvakny's– face, swollen and reddened with the friction he had been so immersed in.

“Arahan's teeth, Sasha, you should be careful!" Ilyas grunted.

Sasha squeaked in confusion.

“You'll rub yourself raw, how long have you been thrusting this into your pillow?"

“I… some time, father, truly. It is alright though, it doesn't hurt."

Ilyas grunted, then appraised his son's penis with a critical eye.

“I… think you may have been right, Sasha," Ilyas said.

“What?"

“I think you're larger than me."

Sasha grunted, and then gasped loudly to the feeling of his father's touch. Ilyas' hands stroked gently up Sasha's thighs, to his slender waist, and then came down his abdomen, framing the young marten's aching erection without directly touching it. it was a wholly unnecessary touch, unrelated to the task at hand. Sasha pushed his hips forward in a fog of arousal and flexed, causing his glans to plump and become taut and shiny, and his shaft to jump. Ilyas let out a sound that might have been a chuckle, if it weren't laden with a sudden arousal of his own. Sasha was shocked. He glanced down past himself, and saw what could only be his father's erection straining the front of his pants. Sasha could clearly see the outline of the older man's glans through the fine cloth, and a small stain of wetness. Sasha's eyes met Ilyas', and the older marten gave him a cheeky, lopsided grin.

“You've really been enjoying yourself, haven't you? Lost in your sexual fantasies, bringing yourself to the edge of bliss over and over… Oh, I can relate to that more than you might imagine. What, you thought you were the only young man ever to have burned his fuse down to the wire for hours on end, only to finally deny himself the orgasm his body so desperately craved? Training himself to enjoy the sensation of intense arousal just as much as the climax by which that arousal seeks to self-immolate?"

Even as he spoke so casually, Ilyas was combing through Sasha's dense mat of pubic fur, dampened and crusted with his precum. His father's words crystallised in Sasha's mind, poetic and surprisingly erotic. Did his father have sexual fantasies of his own? A secret inner self? Ilyas brought the fur trimmer up. Disconnected from the mechanical fur remover, it was far less terrifying, and could be easily held in one hand.

“Are you ready, Sasha?" Ilyas asked, poised to commence.

“Y-yes, I… yes…"

“You were right, you have a lot of pubic fur. I'm surprised, I don't get this much."

Sasha felt the comb of the trimmer slide through his dense fur, and heard the sound of the mechanism as Ilyas began to trim, operating it like a pair of scissors. Sasha felt clumps of hair fall away from him into the copper tub he stood in. Ilyas snipped a few more times, then brought up the brush to gently clean fur from Sasha's abdomen, thighs and his cock. Sasha's mind swum with arousal. Ilyas calmly, almost clinically, pushed his penis to one side with his hand to trim alongside it, then released it and moved it the other way to repeat on the other side. A thick drool of opaque precum pulsed free and strung downward in a long, pendulous rope from Sasha's tip, which stared his father directly in the eye. Ilyas trimmed the other side, and brushed the loose fur away.

“It's… incredibly hard, Sasha," Ilyas mumbled. “Like iron, wrapped in warm velvet."

“I am sorry, father, it… I don't think it's going to soften."

Ilyas, to Sasha's surprise, just grinned up at him. “What makes you think I want it to?"

Sasha chittered. His mind was awash with a confusing conflagration of arousal and nervousness. What were Ilyas' intentions, beyond trimming his fur, if any?

“I have more sexual thoughts and imaginings than you would think, Sasha," Ilyas continued. “This… persona, the stuffy old professor—he is a contrivance, a creation necessitated by our society. My father, your grandfather, was very strict about how he would curate his family's appearances, and taught us from a young age, my siblings and I, how to maintain a façade of dignity and decency. But behind it…" Ilyas sighed, and cast his eye along Sasha's penis yet again, following his gaze with delicate fingertips, his blunt claws tracing the thick veins that ran along the sides of his rod, “I see a lot of myself in you, Sasha. A lot."

Sasha gazed down at his father, and then past his familiar face to the much less familiar sight of the older marten's straining erection distending the front of his pants. Sasha swallowed heavily. He could hardly hold back his bladder. He clenched as hard as he could.

“Have you ever… lain with a man before, father?"

Ilyas chuckled. “No, no I have not. Although I have thought about it occasionally. No, this is the first time I've been so close to another man's erect cock, and for it to be my own son's is… curiously arousing."

He gasped softly when Ilyas cupped his balls. The older marten did not seem to have any particular purpose for doing so, but his hand felt pleasant. But then that hand moved to Sasha's cock again, and this time, instead of an objective nudge one way or the other, his fingers curled around his son's member and he pulled it downward, and ran the trimmer upward along his pubic pad. Sasha trembled with arousal. His cock throbbed hard. Ilyas held it, and to Sasha's astonishment, he felt that hand subtly squeeze it.

Sasha's erection surged harder still, and gave yet another heady throb when unbidden, Ilyas expelled his own saliva onto his son's exposed glans from merely inches above, only to capture that wetness with his palm and delicately distribute it around the reddened organ.

Sasha hunched and trembled and shook, the slightest friction of his father's slickened palm over his organ causing raptures of ecstasy in his debauch-laden mind.

“Sasha, you are trembling. Are you alright?"

“Nnh… my… I am…" Sasha's words tried to escape. A warning died on his lips, and the young marten hissed through his clenched teeth.

“Tell me what causes you to become so very aroused, so lost in your reverie of lust?" Ilyas asked. “I have definitely noticed that sexual play with urine is ahh… very strong in your mind, but are there other things? You clearly have a very strong attraction to Svarina. Oh come now, don't get all shy about that. I'd be a complete hypocrite if I were to judge you for that."

Sasha's mind whirled. This could not be real. None of it. He would surely awaken in moments, covered with his own emissions and filled with guilt.

“Tell me what you would wish her to do to you…"

“I wish her to piss for me… to piss on my rod, Father… to inundate my fuck with her golden fountain…"

“As Eos to Titus…" Ilyas intoned.

He's read it… My darkest fantasy…

“Father… I long for her… I cannot breathe without her… she is my Eos, and I her Titus… I cannot know if my feelings for her are because she's my sister, or because of who she is. She is…" Sasha swallowed thickly, “exquisite."

Ilyas exhaled shakily.

“Are you full, Sasha? Right this moment?"

Sasha convulsed. He nodded emphatically and chewed his lower lip. Ilyas grinned, a mouthful of sharp teeth. Then he began immediately to roughly and wetly polish his son's glans, with his palm slickened with saliva. He knew precisely what he was doing.

Sasha's body quivered and bucked and shook with the effort of holding it back, but he was powerless to stem the flow. His hips automatically pushed forward through Ilyas' gentle touch, and piss exploded from him in a wild, hissing blast of clear, clean fluid that dragged a strangled cry from Sasha's throat and a convulsion from his body. Ilyas ducked out of the way of the direct stream and yanked his hand away from Sasha's cock, but he did not look away. Indeed, even as he uncontrollably emptied his bladder across the floorboards, Sasha noticed his father groping and touching himself through his clothing, and the small wet stain at his tip suddenly becoming quite substantially larger.

Sasha howled something that might have been an apology if he'd been coherent, and to his surprise, felt Ilyas' hands once again on his body, supporting him, holding him in place.

“Worry not, my son, my Dosvakny. Piss, empty yourself. Push it free. Relieve yourself."

Sasha stopped trying to hold it in. He forced his bladder to empty against the nominal strength of his erection to hold it back, and felt relief unlike anything he had ever experienced quite before. His stream blasted uninhibited across his bedroom floor with such a force and power that it was audibly hissing past his flesh, splattering noisily onto the floorboards after a wild and messy arc through the air, his stream split into multiple fountains of relief. Heavy strings of precum-tainted urine stretched downward from his tip. Slowly, with a relief unlike anything he had felt in recent memory, the fountain slowed to a long, lingering, weak trickle. Yet his cock remained as stiff as iron, receding not a single iota. He clenched hard a few times, sending the last of his piss hissing forth in rhythmic contractions.

Ilyas turned his head to survey the carnage behind him.

“You were… very full, Sasha," he commented quietly.

“Father, I…"

“Did I not say not to worry? Take that look off your face, I am neither repulsed nor particularly shocked. Your proclivities are… not unknown to me, Sasha…"

Sasha chittered.

“…And I do not disapprove of them. Sasha, I share your love for the incredible sensation of denial. When you maintain the burning ember of your desire, teasing around its edge but never letting it self-extinguish in the spilling of yourself. The time recently, when you described to me how you would try not to allow your semen to escape you… I thought I would explode with arousal at that moment, seeing so much of my own desire in you! Ahh, I… I am sorry, my son, I cannot contain myself further…"

Sasha's eyes opened wide and his mouth fell open when, urgently and with desire unlike he had ever thought of in association with Ilyas, the older marten fumbled open the fastenings of his clothing. He first parted his waistcoat and undershirt, exposing his softly furred torso, and then followed with his stained and stretched trousers, releasing himself from their confines into the warm and humid air of Sasha's bedroom. Sasha gazed with surging lust upon the organ that sired him, rising proudly and stiffly from among the ruffled folds of his father's clothing. Comparable in both shape and form to his own, Ilyas' penis was nonetheless noticeably a little smaller than Sasha's, and while also circumcised, was visually divergent from Sasha's own, with the older marten's scar being far closer to the flared rim of his glans than Sasha's.

Ilyas rose upward on his knees, no longer content to rest with his buttocks on his heels, and in a rush of hedonistic adoration splayed his fingers upward along Sasha's velvety abdomen, the other hand on his son's back and sinking downward. A moment of eye contact was shared between Dosvakny'y – between father and son – and consent was given without a word, rather with a pulse of Sasha's friction-reddened and piss-dripping rod. Ilyas' hand fell along the side of his son's tailbase, fingers burrowing between buttock and tail, and forward Ilyas pulled him, to press his cheek to Sasha's lower abdomen, his chin mere inches above the root of his son's aching protrusion.

“To be the Dosvakny for three of your own offspring, but to have never indulged oneself… oh, such is the restraint I have shown…" Ilyas mumbled. “Yet of the three of you, I never thought it would be you, Sasha, who would coax this horny old weasel out from behind his mask of propriety and decency, into a state of barely constrained debauch…"

Ilyas' words danced across Sasha's brain like flames along a log, and the younger marten felt his father's rod against his thigh, just above the knee. He longed to reach for it, to touch it, and he almost did. But Ilyas forestalled him by touching his first. That hand on his abdomen sank lower, fingertips trailing across Sasha's freshly trimmed pubic area, sending jolts of sensitivity through the marten's body, until they met stiffness and heat, and once again curled around him, although not before Ilyas had deposited further of his saliva onto his son's rod.

“Father, I shall spill forth my offering to Kasdall if your touch continues…"

“Ever the poet, my son, my Dosvakny," Ilyas chuckled. “The God of Lust speaks through us, through our stiff pricks and our wanton desires. I know of him well, and not just from secretly reading your texts, Sasha. I and my peers… when we were young… we had a Shrine to Kasdall in our possession, a secret and sacred item into which we would most urgently press our offerings…"

Sasha stared at his father. His words were blasphemy of the most delicious kind. Then he groaned. Ilyas hand twisted delicately around his circumcision scar, forming a ring of thumb and forefinger which he passed back and forth over it, then tightened and pulled upward to the rim of his son's glans. Sasha trembled and fell against Ilyas, bracing on the older marten's shoulders.

“Father, I cannot…"

“Deny yourself no longer, Sasha. Show me. I want to see my son's seed, as it emerges from the organ in my hand…"

Sasha choked back a heaving exhalation of lust, and shoved his penis forward through Ilyas' hand, which tightened at that very moment, stretching his shaft skin taut and causing his swollen glans to be pulled from beneath by his frenulum, deforming it into a purple, glistening mushroom of lust.

“Yes, that is good… Fuck my hand, and here… ejaculate on me… try to get your semen on my rod… mark the organ that made you, Sasha…"

Ilyas heatedly moved in front of Sasha, still on his knees, and squeezed both Sasha's buttock and his cock simultaneously. Lovingly. Lustfully. Sasha could feel his father's breath on his cock, fast and shallow, and stared down at the pulsing organ jutting from Ilyas' open trousers beneath. It stuck straight upward, its glans glistening with precum, which pulsed forth yet more plentifully even as Sasha watched. He longed to touch it. To taste it. To massage his father's glans the way his own was being touched by Ilyas' hand. The fuse was lit within moments, there was no denying how quickly this peak would come, nor how powerful it would be. Sasha had been on the edge of ejaculating even before Ilyas had come into his room, and after this experience with his father… there was no going back, now. Sasha squeezed his father's shoulders roughly, claws digging through his fur, his slender frame hunched over him. His thighs quivered and trembled. Ilyas stroked his son's cock with practiced ease, a slick and knowledgeable touch perfectly lubricated, and perfectly focused on the parts of his penis Sasha was only just coming to realise were his best. His grip was tight, but not overly so. Sasha huffed and coughed and barked a warning, which Ilyas did not ignore—he instead lightened his grip, and greatly increased the speed of his masturbation, stroking his son's penis with rapid, shallow strokes, milking his taut skin against the ridge of his glans. And he stared at it. His father gazed directly down the eye of his cock, until he felt a pulse.

A thin, watery spritz of semen escaped from Sasha, then another and another. But he was yet to orgasm. Ilyas milked him more firmly, and Sasha's breath caught in his throat. He filled his lungs and held it, tense and trembling, and then released it in a guttural, urgent exhalation, incoherent and primal.

Semen exploded from Sasha's cock with an audible hiss, and landed with a splat across Ilyas' face. The older marten gasped, and arched his body backward, lewdly presenting his bared torso and cock to Sasha's eruption. He moaned softly, angling his son's penis downward to coat himself in his thick, plentiful offering.

“Yes, my son! Oh, Kasdall be blessed… get it on my cock… Ahh!"

Ilyas surged upward to stand in front of Sasha, and the younger marten bleated and mewled in a helpless exhalation of lust as his father's cock came into direct contact with his own, their stiffness grinding and sliding together, coated ever more by Sasha's ongoing ejaculation. Ilyas' hand surrounded them both, firmly stroking and milking their rods, and pressing their foreheads together in an unshackled moment of sheer hedonistic release.

Sasha's arms went around Ilyas' waist and he ground and humped urgently through his orgasm into his father's embrace, the warmth of his seed pulsing through Ilyas' fist over their grinding rods.

The climax seemed to last forever. Sasha never wanted it to end. He felt like his entire soul was coming out of his cock, wrenched forth in lust and desire. But all too soon, the fog began to clear from his mind, leaving him trembling, drained and feeble.

Ilyas tilted his son's muzzle upward with the hand that did not remain on their cocks, and gazed into Sasha's eye, Sasha's first streak of seed webbed across his cheek.

“Father…"

“My son…"

Sasha bit his lip and managed a smirk. “I can't tell, did you… spill yourself also, in those last moments?"

Ilyas shook his head. “No, and do not worry for that. This is all yours, Sasha, every drop of it. I…"

A quiet sound came from the hallway. A whimper. A grunt. Claws on timber.

Both men's heads snapped to the door, which had been ajar, but which now swung wide, a result of a voyeur falling against it in the trembling throes of their own self-pleasure…

Svarina!

#