Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2023 01:55:40 +0000 From: jacklynch945 Subject: The Prince The Pauper And the Chief Chapter 22 Can you imagine life without Nifty? Please show your support with contributions to keep the Archive online. You can find out how at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html This story includes episodes involving underage minors having sex with adults. I expressly condemn this kind of activity. I have made every attempt to present these acts in a thoughtful, sensitive manner. You may not agree. If so, I encourage to avoid reading it. This story mentions real people, real places, and real events, but the characters and the story are entirely fictional. It contains descriptions of sexual interactions between minors and adult men. Your feedback, whether in the form of comments or constructive criticism, will always be welcome. Please email me: jacklynch945@proton.me. The Prince. The Pauper. And the Chief. By Jack Lynch Chapter 22. Lucy Vincent Beach. In a trance. The bright sights, sounds, and smells of the Fourth of July party evaporated into a hazy mist. It was almost like sitting in a theater, watching himself play a starring role in a movie. Arms and legs entwined. Ty's room in the frat house. The bed was too narrow, so they just rolled around on the floor. They'd ripped each other's clothes off, Ty's underwear getting caught on his ankle. Quash stood on his knees for a moment and looked down at him, before ripping the briefs away. What a gorgeous...he couldn't think of the right word. Mortal, maybe. Light tan complexion, a smooth hairless chest, light brown nipples. Perfectly formed shoulders, a narrow jaw line, small nose, blazing blue eyes, faint eyebrows. Light blond hair, almost white and straight. Real preppy. Narrow girly hips, a neat patch of pubic hair overtop his throbbing pink cock, matching pink balls below. They rolled around for quite awhile, clutching and grabbing each other. Quash couldn't get enough of him. Finally, he was able to turn Ty over onto his stomach. Bending over him, Quash brushed his cock along Ty's butt crack, the friction from the cheeks of his beautiful ass bringing him precariously close to orgasm. Pushing himself down further, he pulled Ty's hips up and furiously tongued his butthole. He drank in everything. The taste, the smell, the sound of Ty's gasps. When it was over, Quash kissed the side of Ty's head. Softly nudging his head around, their lips met. It was just as electrifying as it had been earlier. Sucking on his tongue and swallowing his saliva was like enjoying a fine wine. A clatter of dishes brought him back to reality. Someone had dropped a plate, one of the other servers jumping into assist. Quash looked over at the boy talking to that fat man. He was like a kid version of Ty. An exact duplicate in a sense, only like six or seven years younger. So fuckin' cute! His striped oxford cloth shirt, tan pants, and Topsiders. Light blond hair, longer than Ty's, perfectly combed. A slender body, his butt kind of sticking out like a cute boy's butt should. Just as he was formulating an excuse to go over, perhaps to offer the boy a soda, Quash was interrupted. "Hi!" A bright smile and a laugh. "Fancy meeting you here!" "Oh hi, Jules," Quash replied with a chuckle. She looked like someone had just cut her figure out of the cover of Teen Magazine. A cute little sleeveless shirt dress, red, white, and blue, of course. Her blonde hair neatly arranged. Barely noticeable make-up except maybe for the blue eye-liner that helped make her eyes twinkle. It had been, what? A couple of weeks ago? Ben had sneaked away from the City to come up to the Vineyard and spend a couple of days. Ostensibly, he was on a trip to Miami to close a private equity deal. At least, that's what he had told his wife. The real reason? Spend some quality time with Quash. You'd think someone from New York would want a beach house on the Vineyard. Instead, Ben bought an old farmhouse on Pasture Road in Chilmark. With the help of a Boston architect and an obscene amount of money, the house was transformed into a simple palace. Buried in the woods, the pastoral sound of lowing cattle and goats bleating from the farm next door. Secluded. When Quash arrived on the Island weeks earlier, Bill Smith hired him straightaway. Smith, that's what everyone called him. Perpetually red faced. Sunburnt, too much booze, high blood pressure? All of the above? The calendar on the wall in Smith's office told the story. Almost every day already spoken for, from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Between clambakes and parties, it was going to be a busy summer. Smith assigned Quash to one of several houses he owned used to lodge seasonal workers. At first, it was just Quash and two other guys occupying the small house on Mercier Way in Katama. Every two or three days, someone else would arrive. Before he knew it, fourteen people were living in the house. About ten too many. People were bunked out all over the place, one even pitching a tent in the back yard. So, it was a relief when Ben called him and invited him to stay over. After arriving from working the latest clambake, Quash took a shower. Dinner followed, some fucking, watching a few innings of the Red Sox game on TV, some more fucking, a snack, and a blissful night of sleep in a heavenly bed. Quash sat on the porch the next morning sipping from a glass of orange juice. Ben was still sacked out. Smith had been in a really fowl mood when Quash called him to ask for the day off. But, Ben must have had something on him. After grumbling, he said in no uncertain words that Quash had better be at work tomorrow. Or, it was going to get ugly. It took two large mugs of coffee before Ben started to act like a human being. Sitting in an old leather armchair, papers strewn around him, he proceeded to make phone call after phone call. Laughing, yelling, demanding, prodding. Buy! Sell! Hold! Quash just watched him in amazement. Finally, he banged the phone down, unplugged it, and literally threw it across the room. "Let's go have some fun!" Ben stood up and stretched. After picking up sandwiches and some cold drinks at the Chilmark General Store, they wound their way down South Road, making a turn onto the sandy road leading to a small parking lot. Lucy Vincent Beach. Private and secluded. You used to need an actual key to get through the gate to the gently sloping beach, one of the best on the Island. Last year, they replaced the key with a membership card, establishing a small hut and a steel gate to protect Lucy Vincent from the masses. This was, for all intents and purposes, a beach for the classes. "Key?" The kid asked Quash, a stern look on his face. "He's with me," Ben replied. He'd already traversed the gauntlet. The kid glared at Quash, giving Ben a stern look. These "people" had State Beach. What the hell was he doing here? Of course, "people" was code for Black. He finally shrugged and opened the gate. The beach was never crowded, especially on a weekday. Quash followed Ben, a few paces behind, as they trudged along, the sand, hot on the bottoms of their feet. The dunes pressed forward at one point, narrowing the beach, before opening to a wider expanse. Fewer people here, laid out on towels, some under umbrellas. Almost all of them were nude. Quash chuckled. Oh! I get it! Leave it to Ben. Ben finally stopped, looked around, and dropped the beach bag. Together, they spread towels out, stripped their bathing suits off, and flopped down. They rubbed suntan lotion onto each other, Quash giggling as Ben applied a generous amount of cream to his dick. Of course, he got hard. Amazingly hard, all of a sudden. He looked down at his cock. It was thick, stiff, and menacing. Ben was looking too. He laughed huskily, laid back down, and covered his face with his hat. What was he supposed to do about that? Supported by his elbows, looking down, his cock throbbing, the tip of it reaching all the way up to his belly button. He tried to concentrate on anything else. Last night's baseball game, maybe. Quash started to soften up, but when he glanced down at it again, his cock still looked like a black snake laying there across his stomach. He looked up, his eyes trained out to the horizon. Just then, his view was interrupted by a young girl walking across his field of view. One of those snotty East Coast teenagers, with her streaked blonde hair and privileged up-turned nose. Big sunglasses, a two-piece bathing suit on her prim little body. She slowed a bit as she passed, giving him a quick glance, as she brought her hand up to adjust her sunglasses. He followed her for a moment, then returned his eyes out to gaze at the waves lapping against the shoreline. Surprisingly, she turned around. Walking up close to where Quash and Ben were laid out, it appeared as though she was going to pass by and head toward the dunes. Instead, she turned back around to face the water, and nudged her bathing suit bottoms down on her hips, stopping just at the top of her pubic bone. A light tuft of grayish blonde hair was now clearly visible above the waistband of her swimsuit. Raising her arms overhead, she yawned as she stretched, turning to make sure Quash was looking. He was looking, all right. Here he was, after telling himself he was gay, being tantalized by this girl. Something about her, maybe it was the almost imperceptible smile on her face. Or, the brazen way in which she showed off. Those girls at the Claremont Lounge could learn a thing or two from this chick, he thought. With a smirk, she dropped her arms, turned and walked up the hill behind them into the dunes, her cute little ass waving from side-to-side. Quash looked over at Ben. His face was still hidden by his hat. But, Quash could hear him snoring softly. He was out. He quietly boosted himself up to his feet, fully aware he was already at half mast. Trudging up the hill, he followed the girl's footsteps in the sand. Up and down a couple of dunes. It was quieter back here, warmer, because the ocean breeze was effectively cut-off. She stood with one hand on her hip, her swim top dangling from her finger. Tea cup sized breasts, pink nipples, already engorged, her lips parted. Showtime! Quash didn't have to look down. He knew his cock was ready for action. He walked up to her, smiled and chuckled. He was going to say something, like "hi" or "my name is..." The words never got out. The girl promptly dropped to her knees, grabbed onto his hips, and sucked him down her throat, gagging once. Quash grabbed onto the back of her head to better control her movement, his head tipped back, eyes closed, a groan escaping from his lips. Where in God's name did she learn how to do that, Quash thought? Her tongue kind of twirled around his cock, her teeth lightly scraping his shaft. She had to pull her mouth away for a second, gagging again and trying to catch her breath. Back for more, Quash's hips thrusting back and forth. Three audible gulps when he came. The shock hit him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. She got it all down, sat back, wiped her mouth off, and laughed. Only then did she push her sunglasses up on top of her head. His eyes still shut tight, Quash took a couple of deep breaths, laughed himself, and looked down at her. She was gorgeous, of course. Narrow blue eyes, long eyelashes, pink skin, an oval face. Her straight blonde hair, parted in the middle, was kind of messed up but, somehow, it still looked good. Quash pulled her to her feet, holding her close, his still partially hard oozing cock pressed into the middle of her stomach. Clearing her throat and pulling the sunglasses back over her eyes she asked, "So, what's your name?" "Quash. Yours?" Turning to walk away, she replied, "Jules." Tucking her breasts back into her swim top, she called after him, "I guess I'll be seein' you around, big boy." Quash jumped into the ocean to wash the stink off. Flopping back on the towel, he let out a contented sigh just as Ben came back to life. Pulling the hat off his face, he looked around. "Anything good going on?" Quash just grunted. Seeing a heavy set naked woman stroll by, Ben answered his own question. "Guess not."