Warning this is fucked up and contains incest
The night air was cool and still, with the soft hum of cicadas providing the only sound in the commune. Vincent sat alone by the large oak tree near the edge of the community, staring up at the stars. He often came here to think, away from the others, away from the whispers of the women who filled the commune with their constant reverence for Rody.
The commune was all Vincent had ever known. It was a secluded place, hidden deep within the forest, far from the prying eyes of the outside world. For as long as he could remember, the women had told him stories about Rody-their leader, their father, their god. They spoke of him with a devotion that Vincent never quite understood, but it was all he had ever known, so he accepted it as truth.
Vincent had always been different. The women told him he was special because he was the only boy born in the commune, the only son of Rody. Every other child was a girl, and all of them knew their place-to serve, to worship, to love Rody. Vincent grew up surrounded by sisters, by mothers who doted on him, who told him how lucky he was to be chosen by Rody, how blessed he was to be his son.
But Vincent didn’t really understand what that meant. He had never questioned it, never wondered why things were the way they were. He was innocent, naïve, raised in a world where Rody was the center of everything, and his word was law. The women adored Rody, and Vincent learned to do the same. He learned to smile when Rody looked at him, to nod when Rody spoke, to obey without question. It was the only life he had ever known.
As he grew older, though, Vincent began to notice things. The way the women looked at him, the way they whispered when they thought he wasn’t listening. He began to see how the women would go in and out of Rody’s house, and how they would come back different-swollen with new life, carrying Rody’s children. Vincent was curious, but he never asked questions. He didn’t want to upset anyone, didn’t want to break the serene, perfect life they all lived.
But tonight, something felt different. Vincent had seen another woman, his sister, slip into Rody’s house earlier that evening. She had looked at him with a mixture of pity and something else-something Vincent couldn’t quite place. It made him uneasy, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more he wasn’t seeing, something he wasn’t being told.
He was lost in thought when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Vincent turned to see Rody approaching, his tall figure silhouetted against the night sky. Vincent’s heart leaped in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement filling him as Rody drew closer.
“Vincent,” Rody said, his voice smooth and gentle, the way it always was when he spoke to Vincent. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
“I… I was just thinking,” Vincent replied, his voice soft. He looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling shy under Rody’s gaze.
Rody smiled, a small, almost paternal smile. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately, haven’t you?”
Vincent nodded. “Yes, I suppose I have.”
Rody stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on Vincent’s shoulder. The touch was warm, reassuring, but there was something about it that made Vincent’s skin prickle. “What’s on your mind?” Rody asked.
Vincent hesitated. He didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words, didn’t know if he should even try. But Rody’s presence was comforting, and he found himself speaking before he could stop himself. “I’ve been wondering… about the outside. Is there more out there than the commune?”
Rody’s smile faltered for just a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down Vincent’s spine. “Why do you ask that?” Rody’s voice was still calm, still kind, but there was an edge to it that Vincent had never heard before.
“I… I don’t know,” Vincent stammered, suddenly feeling foolish. “It’s just that… the women, they always talk about how wonderful you are, how blessed we are to be here, but… is this really all there is? Is there nothing else?”
Rody’s hand tightened slightly on Vincent’s shoulder, and Vincent looked up, meeting Rody’s eyes. There was something in them-something dark, something that made Vincent’s heart race with a mixture of fear and something else, something he couldn’t name.
“Vincent,” Rody said, his voice low and soothing, “you must understand that this place is special. The commune is all that matters. The outside world is dangerous, full of people who wouldn’t understand us, who wouldn’t understand you.”
Vincent swallowed, trying to make sense of Rody’s words. “But… what if I wanted to see it? Just to know?”
Rody’s smile returned, but this time it was different. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, who had everything under control. “There’s nothing out there for you, Vincent. Everything you need is here, with me. You’re safe here. You’re loved.”
The word “loved” sent a strange thrill through Vincent’s body. He had always wanted to be loved, had always craved the affection and approval of the women in the commune, of Rody. And Rody had always been there, always given him that love, that sense of belonging.
“Do you understand?” Rody asked, his voice as smooth as honey, his hand still resting on Vincent’s shoulder.
Vincent nodded, though a part of him still felt uncertain, still felt that there was something he wasn’t being told. But Rody’s presence was overwhelming, his words like a balm to Vincent’s confused mind. “Yes, I understand.”
Rody’s smile widened, and he pulled Vincent into a gentle embrace, his hand moving to cradle the back of Vincent’s head. “You’re special, Vincent. You’re my son, my only son. You’re meant to be by my side, to stay here with me. The outside world has nothing to offer you. You belong here.”
Vincent closed his eyes, letting Rody’s words wash over him. There was something about the way Rody spoke, something that made him feel warm, safe, and cared for. He wanted to believe Rody, wanted to trust him, because Rody had always been there for him, had always loved him.
But there was still a small part of Vincent that wondered, that questioned. What if there was more out there? What if there was something beyond the commune, beyond Rody’s control? But that part of him was small, weak, and it was easily silenced by the warmth of Rody’s embrace, by the soothing sound of his voice.
Rody pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Vincent’s eyes. “You know I love you, don’t you, Vincent?”
Vincent nodded, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. “Yes, I know.”
Rody’s hand moved to cup Vincent’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently across his skin. “Good. Because I do love you, Vincent. More than anything in this world. You’re mine, and I’ll always take care of you.”
Vincent’s heart fluttered at Rody’s words, and he found himself leaning into the touch, craving more of the warmth, more of the love that Rody was offering. “I… I love you too, Rody.”
Rody’s smile was radiant, filled with a dark satisfaction that Vincent couldn’t quite comprehend. “That’s my good boy,” Rody whispered, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against Vincent’s forehead in a chaste, yet possessive kiss.
Vincent felt a strange, intoxicating warmth spread through him at the touch, a warmth that made him feel light-headed, almost dizzy. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what was expected of him, but Rody was there, guiding him, leading him.
“Come with me, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice soft and commanding. “Let’s go home.”
Vincent nodded, feeling a sense of peace, of belonging, as Rody took his hand and led him away from the tree, away from the edge of the commune. He followed without question, without hesitation, because Rody was everything-his father, his protector, his god. And Vincent was his son, his creation, his possession.
As they walked back to the center of the commune, the women’s homes surrounding them in a circle of quiet reverence, Vincent felt the last of his doubts fade away. Rody was right-there was nothing out there for him. Everything he needed was here, in the commune, with Rody.
When they reached Rody’s house, Vincent paused at the threshold, looking back at the commune, at the women who had raised him, who had loved him in their own way. He wondered briefly what it would be like to be like them, to be one of Rody’s women, to carry his child. But the thought was fleeting, quickly replaced by the certainty that he was different, that he was special.
Rody’s hand tightened around his, pulling him inside, into the warmth and safety of the house. Vincent followed, his heart filled with a strange mix of love, fear, and something else-something darker, something that he didn’t quite understand.
As the door closed behind them, sealing Vincent inside with Rody, the world outside seemed to fade away. There was no more doubt, no more questions. There was only Rody, only the warmth of his presence, the strength of his arms as they guided Vincent deeper into the house. Rody led him through the familiar corridors, past rooms Vincent had never entered, past doors that were always locked. The walls were adorned with old photographs and faded paintings, relics of a life that seemed distant and unreachable to Vincent.
Finally, they reached a room Vincent had never seen before. The door creaked open, revealing a space that was both familiar and foreign. The walls were lined with shelves filled with old books, their covers worn and cracked with age. A large, ornate bed dominated the center of the room, its dark wooden frame carved with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.
Rody guided Vincent to the bed, his touch firm yet gentle, and sat him down on the edge. Vincent’s heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp. He looked up at Rody, seeking reassurance, seeking the love that had always been promised to him.
“Vincent,” Rody said, his voice low and soothing, “you’re very special to me. You’re not like the others. You’re my only son, my pride, my legacy.”
Vincent swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He didn’t fully understand what Rody meant, but he felt the weight of the words, the importance of them. “I… I want to make you proud, Rody.”
Rody smiled, a smile that was both tender and predatory. “You already do, Vincent. You already do.”
He reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of Vincent’s neck, pulling him closer. Vincent felt his heart pound in his chest as Rody’s face came closer, their foreheads nearly touching. The air between them was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something that hung in the balance, waiting to be tipped.
“You’ve always been a good boy,” Rody whispered, his breath warm against Vincent’s skin. “And you know what good boys do? They obey. They follow. They trust.”
Vincent nodded, his breath hitching in his throat. “I trust you, Rody. I always have.”
Rody’s smile widened, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Vincent’s forehead. The touch was tender, almost fatherly, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something possessive that sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine.
“I know you do, Vincent. And that’s why I’m going to take care of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let me guide you. Let me love you.”
Vincent closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, feeling the warmth of Rody’s body against his own. He wanted to believe, wanted to trust completely, to give in to the comfort and safety that Rody offered. He had never known anything else, never questioned the life he had been born into. This was his world, and Rody was the center of it.
Rody’s hand moved to Vincent’s chin, tilting his face up, their eyes locking. “You’re mine, Vincent. You’ve always been mine. And now, it’s time for you to fulfill your role, just like all the others.”
Vincent’s eyes widened slightly, confusion and fear flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”
Rody’s smile was gentle, almost reassuring, but there was a darkness in his eyes that made Vincent’s heart skip a beat. “You’ve seen the women, haven’t you? How they come to me, how they leave my house. You know what happens here, don’t you?”
Vincent nodded slowly, his mind racing. He had seen the women, seen how they would visit Rody late at night, how they would leave with swollen bellies, carrying Rody’s children. He had always known, on some level, that Rody was the father of all the children in the commune, that he was responsible for their existence. But he had never thought about it, never questioned it. It was just the way things were.
“But… I’m not like them,” Vincent said, his voice trembling. “I’m not a woman. I can’t… I can’t give you children.”
Rody’s smile didn’t waver, his grip on Vincent’s chin tightening slightly. “No, you can’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t serve me, can’t be mine in other ways. You’re special, Vincent. You’re different. And that’s why I need you to trust me, to let me show you what it means to truly belong to me.”
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of fear and excitement washing over him. He didn’t understand what Rody meant, didn’t fully grasp what was happening, but he felt the intensity of it, the weight of the moment. Rody was everything-his father, his protector, his god. And Vincent wanted nothing more than to please him, to be loved by him.
Rody leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Vincent’s ear. “You’ve always wanted to be loved, haven’t you, Vincent? To be needed, to be special.”
Vincent nodded, his body trembling. “Yes… yes, I have.”
Rody’s hand slid down to Vincent’s chest, his touch firm and possessive. “Then let me love you, Vincent. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
Vincent’s mind was a blur, his thoughts tangled in a web of emotions he couldn’t untangle. He wanted to say something, to ask questions, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was nod, all he could do was trust, just as he always had.
Rody’s smile grew darker, more predatory, as he guided Vincent onto the bed, his hands never leaving Vincent’s body. The room was filled with the soft flicker of candlelight, casting long shadows on the walls, shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own.
Vincent felt the weight of Rody’s body pressing against him, felt the warmth of his breath on his skin. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the moment, to drown out the fear, the confusion. This was what Rody wanted, and Vincent had always been taught to give Rody whatever he wanted, to obey without question.
Rody’s hands were firm, guiding, controlling, as he began to undress Vincent, peeling away the layers of clothing that separated them. Vincent’s breath hitched, his body tense with a mix of fear and anticipation. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, didn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but he trusted Rody. He had always trusted Rody.
“You’re so beautiful, Vincent,” Rody murmured, his voice low and filled with something dark, something possessive. “So perfect. Just for me.”
Vincent swallowed hard, his heart racing. “Rody… I don’t know what to do.”
Rody’s smile was soft, almost reassuring. “You don’t need to do anything, Vincent. Just let me take care of you. Let me love you.”
Vincent nodded, his body trembling as Rody’s hands continued their work, stripping away the last of his clothing. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but Rody’s touch was soothing, calming. This was what it meant to belong to Rody, to be loved by him. This was what it meant to be special.
Rody’s hands roamed over Vincent’s body, exploring, claiming. Vincent closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of Rody’s touch, on the safety of his presence. But there was something else, something dark and twisted lurking beneath the surface, something that Vincent couldn’t quite place.
“You’re mine, Vincent,” Rody whispered, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger. “You’ve always been mine. And now, you’ll always be with me.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what Rody meant, didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he trusted him. He had always trusted him.
Rody’s touch became more insistent, more demanding, as he claimed Vincent, as he took what was his. Vincent’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a mix of fear, confusion, and something else-something dark, something twisted, something that he couldn’t quite comprehend.
But he didn’t resist, didn’t fight. He belonged to Rody, had always belonged to Rody. This was his place, his purpose. He was special, different, chosen. And now, he was Rody’s in every sense of the word.
As Rody’s touch became more intense, more demanding, Vincent felt himself slipping away, losing himself in the darkness, in the twisted love that Rody offered. This was his world, his life. And there was no escape.
Vincent was Rody’s, and Rody was everything.
As the night wore on, as the candlelight flickered and dimmed, Vincent felt the last of his innocence fade away, consumed by the dark, twisted love that Rody had always promised him.
The night seemed endless, stretching on with the suffocating weight of Rody’s presence over Vincent. As the candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls, Vincent’s world shrank to the size of the room, to the size of Rody’s hands, Rody’s voice, Rody’s will.
Vincent lay still, his body limp and exhausted. He had surrendered to Rody completely, had allowed himself to be taken, molded, shaped into something that belonged wholly to Rody. The boundaries of his identity were dissolving, leaving behind a hollow space that Rody filled with his dark, twisted love.
Rody lay beside him, his breath even and calm, his arm draped possessively over Vincent’s chest. Vincent felt the weight of it, heavy and final, like a shackle, like chains binding him to this life, this room, this man. But even in the stillness, there was a lingering tension in the air, something unspoken, something that neither of them had yet acknowledged.
Vincent turned his head slightly, looking at Rody through half-lidded eyes. The older man was watching him, his dark eyes gleaming with a strange mixture of affection and something far more sinister. There was a smile on his lips, a smile that spoke of satisfaction, of possession, of victory.
“You’re perfect, Vincent,” Rody murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark contentment. “You’ve always been perfect.”
Vincent didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. His mind was a haze of confusion, of conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe Rody, wanted to believe that he was special, that this was what love felt like. But there was a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind, a voice that whispered doubts, that questioned the darkness that had overtaken his world.
But that voice was weak, drowned out by the louder, more insistent voice that had been drilled into him since birth: the voice that told him to trust Rody, to obey Rody, to love Rody above all else.
Rody’s hand moved slowly, tracing patterns on Vincent’s skin, patterns that seemed to burn with an intensity that Vincent couldn’t fully comprehend. His touch was possessive, claiming, as if he were branding Vincent as his own, marking him in a way that would never fade.
“You belong to me, Vincent,” Rody whispered, his voice filled with a dark promise. “And you’ll never leave me. Never.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. He knew the words were true, knew that there was no escape, no way out of the life he had been born into. But there was a part of him that still longed for something else, something beyond the walls of the commune, beyond the reach of Rody’s grasp.
Rody’s hand slid up to Vincent’s face, his fingers brushing against his cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re mine, Vincent. And I’m going to keep you close, always. You’ll never have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you, just like I’ve taken care of everyone else.”
Vincent closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, trying to drown out the doubts, the fears, the small voice that still whispered of something else, something more. But Rody’s touch was like fire, burning away any resistance, any thought that wasn’t about him, about this moment, about the love he offered.
“Say it, Vincent,” Rody commanded, his voice firm but gentle. “Tell me that you’re mine.”
Vincent’s throat tightened, the words catching in his throat. But Rody’s hand was insistent, his grip tightening slightly, urging him on, demanding his obedience.
“I’m… I’m yours, Rody,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling.
Rody’s smile widened, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Good boy,” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Vincent’s lips. The kiss was gentle, almost tender, but there was a possessive hunger behind it, a darkness that Vincent could feel deep in his soul.
As Rody pulled back, his gaze lingering on Vincent’s face, he sighed contentedly, as if everything was finally falling into place, as if Vincent had finally given him what he had always wanted.
“You’re everything I could have hoped for, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice soft but filled with a dark, twisted pride. “My perfect son. My perfect creation.”
Vincent’s heart ached at the words, a strange mix of pride and despair swirling within him. He wanted to be what Rody saw him as, wanted to live up to the expectations that had been placed upon him. But there was a small, nagging doubt that refused to be silenced, a part of him that questioned everything, that wondered if there was more to life than this, more to love than what Rody offered.
But that part of him was weak, buried beneath years of conditioning, years of manipulation. Rody had shaped him, had molded him into the perfect follower, the perfect son. And now, Vincent was too far gone to resist, too lost in the darkness to find his way out.
Rody’s hand moved to Vincent’s hair, his fingers threading through the soft strands, his touch almost affectionate. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you, Vincent? You’ll stay here, by my side, where you belong.”
Vincent nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “Yes, Rody… I’ll stay.”
Rody’s smile was radiant, filled with a dark, twisted joy. “Good. I knew you would. You’ve always been my good boy, Vincent. My perfect son.”
Vincent closed his eyes, leaning into Rody’s touch, trying to find comfort in the warmth, in the safety that Rody offered. But there was no comfort to be found, only darkness, only the cold, suffocating weight of the life he had been born into.
And as Rody’s hand continued to stroke his hair, as his whispered words of love and possession filled the room, Vincent felt a deep, crushing despair settle over him, a despair that he couldn’t shake, couldn’t escape.
Because he knew, deep down, that there was no escape. He was Rody’s, and Rody was everything. And in this dark, twisted world, there was no place for doubt, no room for resistance.
Vincent was Rody’s creation, Rody’s son, Rody’s possession. And he would never be anything more.
Comment