Incest Tales 12
AMERICA'S NASTIEST HOME VIDEOS
By DannyR (M/b, M/t, t/t, oral, anal, incest, pedo)
Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.
Author's Reminder: Don't forget that inquiring authors want to know -- what did you think? So when you're done, put your fingers to a dried-off, cleaned-up keyboard and start by typing: firstname.lastname@example.org.
DISCLAIMER: Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between fantasy and reality. This story is a fantasy. It didn't happen. Never will. And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then turned over to the cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. After that, well, hopefully everything Law and Order and the news say is true about child molesters in prison, is really true. Now that we're clear on what's what, and what's not, read on.
Special Note to a guy who knows who he is: You didn't want the words that are intertwined in this story any more, though you'd written them down two years ago and shared them with me, so you kindly let me have them. And I wove some of my own words in and around them until only you and I can really know where you and I begin and end. Thanks, guy! Obviously the story wouldn't have existed without you <well, duh!> <s> so I hope you like it.
AMERICA'S NASTIEST HOME VIDEOS
Never ask a question unless you can handle the answer. I learned that the hard way recently.
My first question was why I'm such a cocksucking, cum-hungry slut bottom. Not, of course, that I'd ever actually said that out loud to anyone. But inside I'd been asking myself that question. For quite a while actually.
The second question was what my dad and granddad had been like, and what kind of relationship we had. Or was that two questions for a total of three?
I asked the second (and third?) of my great-Uncle Greg when he visited me at school last month to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, although not until late in the evening, and after my mind had been blown away three times after he arrived.
Uncle Greg called a couple of weeks ago and said he'd be flying in from San Francisco for the graduation, and he'd like to take me out for a special dinner if that was okay, and he said to invite my friends, and Uncle Henry would be along if that was okay as well. I hesitated, `cause, well, that would be eight of us: the two old guys, and Tim (that's me), Charlie, Don, Pat, John and Steve. I figured he was gonna take us to a nice steak place, like the new Texas Roadhouse that just opened up, and even that was gonna be pretty steep. Only he thought I wasn't interested, so he kind of backed off, saying it was okay if we all had plans, after all it was graduation night, and we maybe wanted to celebrate with people our own age, and blah, blah, blah.
Well, I couldn't let him think that, but I couldn't really just come out and ask him if he could afford it. Especially since he would obviously say he could. So I just assured him that we didn't have any plans made, and I was just kind of wondering if he really wanted to be saddled with six very hungry teen guys (closest I could come to the "you got the bucks?" question), and got the expected "no problem" bit back. So we settled on it.
See, over the last three years Uncle Greg and I haven't been real close since I live almost on the other side of the country from him. But he called and wrote (mostly the old-fashioned way, but email once in a while), and came to see me every so often, and always remembered my birthday, and Christmas. And I'd see him about once a year, usually around Christmas or New Year's or Thanksgiving—one of the "family" holidays. Uncle Greg struck me as a really nice guy, but kind of rough around the edges, and not somebody with a lot of money. I had some cash saved up from my job with Charlie's dad, for college. I'm a good mechanic, and helped him restore old cars for my last two years of school. So I figured I'd take some of the money along, just in case.
So when we all left the gymnasium we were all surprised by this big-ass black Lincoln stretch limo waiting. For us! Okay, a surprise, but there were eight of us, and it was graduation, and he knew we'd never had a ride in a limo before, so, great idea, and maybe he cashed in some IRA thing or something. He'd told us to dress for a nice dinner, which was, for us, either our best pair of jeans, with a conservative tee and a sport coat, or maybe nice slacks and a button-down shirt and a sport coat. No frigging ties, no frigging way. Uncle Henry was, of course, in his three-piece lawyer uniform. I figured he either slept in it, or had jammies that looked like one.
Uncle Greg, well, Uncle Greg was something else. When he'd visited before he looked, well, hell, to be honest, he just looked like this big blond over-the-road type. He's about six-four, an inch taller than me, a hell of a lot bulkier, big shoulders, big chest, sort of like a football-player-turned-trucker look if that makes sense. Same blond hair as me, and my dad and granddad from the only photo I had of them, though with streaks of silver. His was shoulder length, but not in any damn sissy kind of way. Kind of shaggy eyebrows. High cheekbones. Deep set dark blue eyes. A beard around his jaw line, and a mustache that turned into a goatee, blond, too, with just little glints of silver in the kind of purple light from the light poles in the lot.
Only, see, the Uncle Greg I knew, well, he was a tee-shirt and jeans, or plaid shirt open at the collar to show a furry chest, sleeves rolled up kind of guy. Not the guy who stood by the chauffeur waiting for us. Not a guy in some shirt so white it was kind of blinding, open-collared, charcoal slacks with a narrow belt, a black sport coat, loafers that were equally black and equally blindingly polished, and everything just screamed, "We're not in Wal-Mart any more, Toto!" I began to think that maybe the two Bens folded in my jeans pocket for easy slipping into his hand might not be necessary at all.
I was sure of it when the first mind-blow occurred: where we were having dinner. Everyone else was in the car, I was about to get in, when the chauffeur asked where we were going, and Uncle Greg told him to take us to the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in the city: "Lay Wiz." Well, that's how smart-ass teens like me pronounce it, because we hear about it and know we'll never get to eat there because we don't run in that kind of money crowd, not that we really want to, of course, because we really prefer McDonald's and Pizza Hut and TGI Fridays. Really.
Actually, the real name is Le Sorcier de la Paris. Okay, I'll take this real slow for you. The Sorcerer of Paris. Sorcerers are like wizards, right? There's this old, old movie called The Wiz. So we Frenchified it as "le Wiz" only we thought it was "lay wiz" so give us a freakin' break, okay?
Anyway, the fanciest restaurant in the city. And Uncle Greg pronounced it in flawless French. No, I don't speak French. If I'd had any French cocks to suck I might have learned, but there weren't, so I didn't, but I'd heard the French teacher speaking it to his sister visiting from Marseilles (and yeah, even I know it's not pronounced Mar-sells), and Uncle Greg's accent was just as pure as those two, and they were born there.
The second time for mind-blown-away was in the men's room. Oh, no, I wasn't doing anything with Uncle Greg. He's family, for Christ's sake. It's just that, well, I'd lost a bet with Steve on who'd get the best grade in advanced physics. (I may be a slut, but I'm not a stupid slut.) Actually, we both got the same grade (an A), so we had to ask Mrs. Baines to use a point system to figure out our average grade on all projects and quizzes and actual exams for the whole semester, and the bastard beat me by a half-point. The pay-off was that the loser had to suck off the winner in a place of the winner's choice where there was a risk of being caught.
Okay, okay, so maybe I am a stupid slut. So fuck me.
Anyway, as we all walked in the door of this gorgeous, classy, upper-fucking-stratosphere high end restaurant, Steve got this wicked grin on his face which gave me enough of a clue to put the oh-fuck-no-please-not-tonight expression in my eyes. Which Steve, the prick bastard, but oh what a lovely prick, ignored and he just tilted his head and spread the grin wider and quietly said, "Here."
I almost blew my cool, and my stack, and my gasket(s), until I realized he didn't literally mean "here" as in right fucking there in the lobby where being caught was a guarantee, but just the restaurant. That night. Before dinner was over. In a restaurant which didn't feature tablecloths, since all of the tables were expensive wood, with ornately carved legs. And food was served on fine bone china set on place mats that coordinated with the fabric on the chairs and the cloth napkins, and every table setting was different, though they all blended into this mega-impressive elegant ambience. (I aced the vocabulary shit.) All of which kind of eliminated dropping my fork, crawling under the table, unzipping him and blowing him quickly.
This was unquestionably a coat-and-tie, no slacks for women, who cared what was pc, our rules are our rules, obey or eat at a soup kitchen, type of place. The whole city knew that. Except my uncle. Who apparently didn't care for, or about, their rules. Watching the Maître de's eyes as we walked toward him, I just knew he was going to embarrass Uncle Greg, who wasn't dressed right either, and turn us away, reservation or no. He even started to open his mouth, obviously to say something about unruly, boisterous inappropriately dressed teenaged boys, although we were now men, thank you very much. He only got, what, a tenth of an inch of open space between his lips before he saw Uncle Greg's face. I was the birthday boy...uh, man, so I was up front, up close and personal, and got to see the whole thing, for all of the millionth of a second it took place. There was this expression on Uncle Greg's face...an oops! gone, was it really there...briefly stony, very imperial "Do you dare question Us?" (as in the royal "us") kind of look.
Nope. Nosirree. No way, Jose. No questions. Fuck the rules. Come this way.
Then it was Uncle Greg's turn for the quiet private remark as we walked to the table. "Can you hold your liquor?"
He must've seen the knee-jerk teenager defensive reaction heading for my lips, so he cut me off. "Don't shit me, son. Just tell me the truth."
I kind of laughed. "You gonna ply me with liquor `cause you've arranged for someone to have h...her way with me later?"
Nope. Not out to my great-Uncle. Not out to Uncle Henry. Out to a fucking lot of guys at school, who liked having a queer slut available, especially if their girlfriends weren't putting out. But surprisingly, not out generally. I didn't swish; like I said, I'm six-three, blond (what else given my Swedish-Norwegian-almost nothing else background), muscular, and I do butch with the best of them. Athletic, too. Baseball and swimming. Decent at the former, pretty damned good at the latter, helping the team to win two state championships, and one national.
Unlike the armed services where morale would plummet if queers were allowed to serve openly because the straight warriors would be afraid of getting hit on in the showers or toilets or contaminated by queer cooties (an odd expression I ran across in a TV show), both teams were protective of their resident slut and made sure any team member who wasn't using my services knew to keep his fucking mouth shut. Not that there were all that many teen boys with the religious or moral or other scruples necessary to keep them from getting their dicks sucked, or planting their meat in a hot, talented, tight, teen teammate boy pussy.
"Just answer me, son."
"Well, pretty much."
"Okay. Then you won't be driving home."
Well, since I hadn't driven there, that didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense.
Let me jump ahead here for a second. So you can get the rest of the first mind-blowing effect. The dinner cost just at fifteen hundred bucks...one freaking thousand five fucking hundred dollars...before he added a twenty-five percent tip! Well, not that the service wasn't worth it, I guess, though I had no basis for comparison, since me and my buds tended to be fast-food-no-tip, or strictly fifteen percent kind of guys. The waiters and Maître de ranged from average looking to wish-he'd-stick-his-dick-through-the-gloryhole hot. Get over it, all right? I said I was a cock slut, so what did you expect? I wouldn't notice? So from that perspective the tip was worth it. But it wasn't my money anyway.
The food was as incredible as the ambience. Again with the look? A guy who's a mechanic who also takes advanced college physics and other classes can't also know how to use his own freaking language? Gimme a break.
Everything was going along just...er...swimmingly, and we were in that wait-for-the-desserts to arrive moment, when Steve announced he had to take a leak (no way was any ambience going to turn Steve into an "excuse me, but I have to use the bathroom" kind of guy). He didn't look at me as he said it. He knew I'd do just as he did. I stood and said, "Yeah, me, too."
Of course we got razzed about two girls going off to the powder room together, but that was old news...been there, heard that, ignored it before, doin' the same now. We left and wound our way through the other tables toward the hallway with the discreet restroom signs in French.
The men's room was so elegant you kind of expected to have a man in there to hand out towels. Fortunately for us, there wasn't. It was brightly lit, and obviously not designed for queers to cruise. The walls of the stalls were six feet tall and marble. The doors were carved wood and went all the way to the floor, none of the usual eighteen inches of open space all around so everyone could see how many feet were in the stall and which way they were facing. Hot damn. Still, we both knew a piss could only last so long, although we had both consumed a great deal of wine and water with every course and we in fact needed to go. But the bet payoff came, so to speak, first.
We grabbed the far stall. Force of park-toilet-cruising habit. Steve dropped trou and boxer briefs (formal wear, he was usually commando) since he liked me playing with his hairy low-hangers. And his ass. Although he only let me do that when we were alone. Like now. He has a nice, slender, uncut seven-incher. A dick I knew very well. Just like his dick knew my mouth and throat. Knew how to face fuck me quick and just a little rough when we didn't have a lot of time and he wanted to cum. Like now. I knew I wasn't going to get off, but I wanted the pay off to be good for him, so I pulled off his now slimy dick for a moment, got my first two fingers wet with spit, and as I gulped him down again, with my left hand playing with his balls, I eased those fingers into his hot hole, hit his button and went to work on it.
"Oh, man," Steve moaned in an overly-loud whisper. "Finger fuck my hole while I face fuck your pussy slut mouth. Yeah, yeah, that's it, cocksucker, work my hole, suck me oh fuck oh shit oh piss!" And with that he rammed his cock all the way into my throat and began spewing his jism into me.
When he was done he left his cock in my mouth as it softened, my tongue and lips cleaning him up. Then he started pulling back. "Whoa, man, gotta piss, gotta piss."
And a whisper from the stall next door said, "Piss his mouth. I bet he'd like that."
We froze in horror. Someone was fucking there! Knew what we'd done. Suggested something...awful? Drink my best bud's piss? That was.... I was going to think "disgusting" inside my head, but I had the oddest damn twinge, the feeling that maybe it wouldn't. Jeez. I mean, c'mon, I know I'm a cock slut, but being a urinal for some guy? That was...that was...well, fuck! Maybe that was right. Why not.
Not surprisingly, Steve was all the way soft. Not surprisingly he was looking down at me, and I saw his mouth drop in a second shock as I put my lips over his knob end, and a bit of the shaft and nodded.
Turns out I'm a piss slut, too. Soooo fucking hot! Hot as in body temp liquid spewing into my mouth, bulging my cheeks, making me gulp frantically to swallow and not spill a drop, just like I would with the hardest, biggest cum. Hot as in fucking sexy, make my hardon leak even more than it was hot. I frantically started unbuttoning my jeans, needing to get my cock out and spray my cum, but that damned whisper came again and said, "Keep your hands off your cock, slut." What the fuck? How did he know? I looked up out of the corner of my eye but no one was standing on the stool and looking down at us. Fuck him!
But I stopped.
Then another whisper. "Let the cocksucker stay behind for a bit."
Now that Steve was cum and piss drained, he was feeling good. He put himself back together, and kissed my pissy mouth! Then maneuvered around me and left the stall. I hadn't drained either way. But fuck, I was probably going to get another dick to suck. Maybe get to be a toilet again. After I heard the main door close I opened my stall door, and stepped out, my fat eight inches sticking straight out and slightly up from my open fly. Quickly moved to the next stall, grabbed the handle, opened it.
Mind-fucking-blower number two.
It was Uncle fucking Greg!
Sitting on the stool. Fully dressed. Blank faced, like, no expression at all, nothing like what you'd expect from those horny-making, taunting whispers. He slowly stood up while I gaped and I realized if he'd been standing when he was whispering I could have seen the top of his head when I glanced up next door.
"Been a cock slut long, Tim?" he asked once he was all the way up. My cock was almost touching his slacks. He cupped my cheek with his right hand, used his thumb to rub away a bit of piss or cum or drool at the corner of my mouth. "Well?"
I came out of my shock and answered him honestly. "All my life." And something...odd...flickered in his eyes, and was quickly gone. "Well," I amended, "all my life I can remember."
He nodded, looked at my meat. "Drain that thing, one way or two ways, but make it quick. You've been in here too long and...."
I'm sure he was about to say that someone else could walk in at any moment, when that's exactly what happened. And Uncle Greg just slumped a bit against the wall so that his head was below the top, and mouthed "Piss!" at me with a very no-nonsense look to go with it. That was fucking weird. I'd never stood beside my uncle and pissed before, and I was doing it through a mostly hard cock. But I managed. A nice, long, loud, impressive piss, which he apparently didn't notice.
And why the fuck was I wondering whether my piss would impress Uncle Greg?
And no fucking way was I going to finish myself off. It's one thing to piss in front of other guys, even a relative, even in the weird-ass way things were going on, but no way was I jacking myself off with what little family I had left watching me. I did the shake and squeeze the drops out routine, shoved my dick back inside, buttoned up, flushed and left.
The guy who'd just come in was washing his hands, which meant I'd have to do it, too, or look like a low-life or something. He wasn't all that hot looking. Fifties, maybe. Stocky daddy type. Here with a trophy wife? Trophy boyfriend? Business dinner?
If I hadn't been in there way too long already, I'd have checked to see if he was interested in a quick blowjob.
If I hadn't had my mind blown by my uncle.
If my uncle wasn't still in the stall I'd just left, waiting for me to get the fuck out of Dodge so he could leave as well.
I washed and dried and left, politely holding the door for older guy.
Steve's seat and mine were facing the hallway with the restrooms, so he was looking right at me when older guy came out slightly ahead of me. I shook my head to tell him that wasn't the cock whisperer. I was almost back to the table when he saw Uncle Greg behind me and his eyes got fucking huge, before he regained control. He was my best bud; no way was I going to lie, directly or by omission. I gave him a tiny nod to let him know, yeah, it was my fucking uncle back in the john. But he picked up from my expression that I wasn't one of the walking dead. And that I hadn't done anything with Uncle Greg either. Even though Steve was the only one of my buds who knew I liked older men, too, I mean, my own uncle? Eew. Even if he did call me a cock slut and suggest I try being a toilet for that same best bud?
Steve and I...and the rest of the group...managed to get through the rest of the meal just fine. The desserts were as great as the meal itself. And we were all stuffed. When we were ready to leave, the rest of my buds decided they needed a quick piss as well, so it was our turn to razz the "girls". My uncles just waited stoically. Fortunately, since their favorite dick licker wasn't with them, all the guys did was piss or shit or both and quickly came back.
Uncle Greg paid the bill...in cash. Which is how I knew how much it was. He looked at the bill, set it down, then opened a fat wallet he had inside his jacket, counted out fifteen hundreds, paused, then added three more, a fifty, a twenty and a five. My buds and I had just had a fucking one thousand eight hundred seventy-five dollar meal!
We walked out the front door, the six new graduates laughing and joking just a little, but not too loudly so we didn't embarrass Uncle Greg and Uncle Henry, not after what they, or well, he had just done for us. Opened the front doors. Trooped out. Came to an abrupt halt.
Right in front of the door was my dream car. A stupid dream car given the price of oil and gasoline right now, and probably for the foreseeable future. But I'd helped Charlie restore one, hell, it was the first one I worked on...not like the one in front of me, but the same make and model. A 1976 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. The gleaming, with more light you could see your face in the shine, black exterior. The black leather interior. The black top down. Abso-fucking-lutely mint condition. It looked like GM just spit it off the assembly line that afternoon and someone drove it over here tonight.
We ignored the old guys and headed straight for it. Not all of my buds were old car freaks, but they tolerated my obsession with them...hey, piss off your cocksucker by disparaging a hobby of his and you wind up using your hand again. I could barely keep my hands off it, though I did lean in a little to look at the dashboard. Okay, a couple of things definitely not standard. A state of the art radio and CD system instead of whatever had originally been in it, a system I knew had an eight CD changer in the humongous trunk. And a state of the art GPS system, too. Some guy sure the fuck knew how to live. And more important he cared about the car. Okay, a CD player and GPS aren't "correct" if you're literally restoring a '76 Caddie to mint condition, but they were a reasonable adaptation, a way to make driving it now more fun without losing the class of the car. One of Charlie's customers that I knew would have ruined it by putting in some in-dash DVD navigation system and iPod and other shit that wasn't remotely close to 1976. I wished I knew who the owner was so I could ask how much it cost, and maybe get an idea of how old I'd be before I could save up enough money to get and restore one myself.
It was a good thing I'm young or I'd have died of heart failure when the guy who sure the fuck knew how to live turned out to be me. "Happy graduation, Tim," Uncle Henry said. And held up a set of keys.
Mine. Jesus fucking Christ. My two uncles had somehow managed to find and give me my dream car as a graduation gift. The fuckers had big shit-eating grins on their faces. Probably one of the few times in history that Uncle Henry cracked a smile. My face was hurting a bit, too. The biggest cock I'd ever chowed down on didn't stretch my mouth as wide as the smile on my face when I heard those three words. And damn it, my eyes were not starting to mist up. The wind just blew something in them. On a perfectly still early June night.
My ears and body were going to be bruised tomorrow from the shouts of joy and surprise and congratulations from the guys, and the slaps on the back, and arm punches and hugs. When we'd calmed down a bit, well, to slightly less than rock concert decibels, Uncle Greg quietly said, "You'll have to wait until tomorrow to drive this, though. Dennis, here," and he glanced at the chauffeur, "will take the guys home. I'll drive you, and Henry will come pick me up." I just nodded. I wasn't feeling any pain from the however-many-it-was bottles of wine we'd gone through, but no way was I taking chances with a gift like this.
And then I blushed. It doesn't happen often, but when it does the whole body does. Uncle Greg...my poor, or well, not too well off, great uncle...had just spent close to two grand on a graduation dinner, and at least thirty grand, if not more, to get a car in this fine a condition. For me. The dumb shit who was going to slip him two hundred bucks out of his college savings to help him out with dinner.
"You okay, kid?"
I nodded. No way was I going to explain the blush.
"Your dad and your granddad would be very proud of you today."
And that just about broke me. Uncle Greg was my grandfather's brother, my dad's uncle, and while he never directly refused to talk about them to me these past three years, he didn't volunteer anything, and somehow I couldn't bring myself to ask. Until tonight. When I blurted out, "What were they like?"
See, if you picked up on things, you know my father and grandfather weren't in my life. They were dead.
I knew my mother was sixteen, and my dad twenty-one when she got pregnant. I knew they got married so I was legitimate, and divorced two years later when she walked out, leaving him and my granddad to raise me. I had one photograph of the three of us, taken when I was not even a year old, since dad was holding me in his arms, just in my diaper, next to my crib, with granddad having his arm around dad's shoulder, and his hand resting on dad's forearm and his thumb on my calf. And all of us had these huge grins like the world was a joyous place that would stay that way forever.
Forever turned out to be the day after my fifteenth birthday. The three of us were in a wreck. They died. I didn't. But I was in a coma for three weeks and when I woke up I didn't remember anything. I knew my name, knew who I was, I could speak and think and get a fucking hardon...oh, did I ever...but everything before the accident was just gone.
I found out I was gay the same day I woke up. The same day I met Uncle Henry. Who was very careful to explain that he wasn't really my uncle, but that he was my father's and grandfather's lawyer and that granddad and dad had asked him to take care of me if something happened to them. That was after he told me what had happened. I don't think the doctors wanted him to, but I knew from the blankness in my head, from the expressions of everyone around me that something bad had gone down, and I wanted, needed, demanded to know. Uncle Henry honored my wishes. Though not with a lot of detail, once he realized I knew nothing at all about my past.
The being queer discovery was that night. The doctor insisted I take a sleeping pill, despite having just woken up from three weeks of "sleep," but he said it wouldn't knock me out, just make it easier for me to relax and go to sleep. So it knocked me out. But not enough not to wake up when a warm, wet mouth was going up and down my stiff teen meat. It turned out the mouth belonged to Fred, a muscular, macho, dick sucking night nurse. It seems that about the third or fourth night of taking care of me he happened to notice I had a hardon. And he had a thing about high school boys with stiff cocks, and he didn't get very many very often, especially not any as young as me. And since it was two in the morning and the floor was kind of empty, and no one else was around, he lifted the blanket, lifted the hospital gown out of the way, and sucked me off. He'd been doing it every night he was on duty since then. He'd also figured this was his last lucky night, since I was "awake" again, but knocked out with a sleeping pill for this particular night.
But I didn't learn all this until after I was done fucking his mouth. It was as natural as breathing. No pause to reflect. Just instant recognition of what was going on. Instant raising of my hands so I could caress his head. Instant insistent whisper, "Oh, yeah, cocksucker, eat my teen meat."
He froze with my entire cock down his throat as he realized I was awake, and then started really sucking when he realized I wasn't going to blow things in the wrong way. At that moment I was in teen boy heaven. Figuring I had three weeks of cum to let loose...yeah, right...and a mouth to do it in. And a big fucking hurry to get it done, too. I just held onto his head and start ramming my hips up and down and he let me, working my shaft and knob and piss slit, and fingering my balls and then I was blasting the first "new" batch of spooge down his gullet.
Now just because I enjoyed a man who was ten or fifteen years older than me sucking me off didn't mean I was queer, too. It was the eager "lemme suck you, man" that spurted out of my mouth right after the last cumming moan.
Another freeze as he lifted his head, licking his lips to be sure all of my cum was in his mouth. "You sure about that, kid?" he whispered back.
My "yeah" convinced him. He moved to the head of the bed, untied his green scrubs, shoved them and his underwear down to his thighs, and helped me move over so I could rest my head on the bed. Naturally he adjusted the bed so it was just the right height for him to slide his meat into my teen cocksucker mouth.
My fucking talented teen cocksucker mouth. He had a little raunchy smell to him which just made me more eager and a short fat dick. He was too damned quick, too. Just a few thrusts and my mouth was full of hot thick cum.
So while I couldn't remember sucking anyone before, or being sucked, I sure the fuck knew in those few minutes I liked both, and I was damned good at both. Which naturally led me to wonder, if I was such a natural born cocksucker, what about the whole ass fucking deal?
Tony Juarez, the night janitor, helped me find the answer to that. Fred asked me one night if I was up for another cock to suck. Duh! The next night he brought Tony in. Older than Fred, skinny, wiry, tattooed, long haired, gold-tooth, smooth chest and abs, thick pubes, eight or so big inches. Suck heaven. Skull fuck heaven. Until he disappointed me by pulling out after things were going so well. And made me ecstatic by asking, "You like your pussy fucked?"
I had a pussy? Who knew?
Fred wasn't nearly as enthusiastic as I was. Too dangerous. Someone might come in. I was in no condition. Blah, blah, blah.
Fuck if I wasn't in condition. I was hard again and Fred had sucked me off only a few minutes earlier. "Bathroom," I whispered, though I had no idea why. Not the whispering, that was just common sense, the "why" of suggesting the bathroom.
But that was suddenly okay by them. If I was in the bathroom and someone came in, I was being sick and they were helping me. If I was in bed with a big old Hispanic cock in my cunt we were all dead.
And so it came to pass that all three of us learned I was no virgin back there, either. My cunt was as talented as my mouth, the muscles squeezing and releasing on his hard ramming Latino dick as I was bent over the toilet bracing myself on the wall, begging him in harsh whispers to fuck me hard. Thank God Tony was such a nice guy, because he did. And when he was finished, Fred practically shoved him aside as he moved in and mounted me, thrusting home in one rapid stroke, using all that dick snot from Tony to lube his way.
When he was through and I had two loads of cum drooling from my hole I straightened up a little raggedly, still breathing a little hard, and asked who I got to fuck. Apparently thirty or so year old male nurses and forty or so Latin janitors have cunts, too. I slid my fifteen year old prick into Fred's hole that night, and nailed Tony the next night.
So, yeah, unquestionably queer, getting plenty of sex while I was "sick" and frustrated as all fuck because I couldn't remember anything about my first time, or losing my cherry, or with whom or how. Just a major blank like the rest of my before-the-accident life.
All that sort of flashed through my mind as I waited for Uncle Greg to say something. He clapped one hand on my shoulder and said, "Well, I think we have one more present for you. Why don't we talk...whenever...after you've checked it out. I'll be sticking around in town for a while."
Uncle Henry asked in his lawyer-voice, not his "what do I know about helping to raise a teenaged boy" voice, "You sure, Greg?"
"Wait a minute, then." We all stood there while he walked over to the limo, and brought back the trial briefcase I'd noticed when we were coming here, but didn't pay much attention to. One of those hard-sided, tall, rectangular things with clasp locks on the top. For carrying dozens of files and shit for trials or depositions, which was essentially the explanation he'd given me when I saw one like it a couple of years ago. He handed it to me.
"Now, this is important, Tim. You need to wait and look at this in priv...."
There was no point in him finishing the sentence since I was so excited by everything going on, I just set it on the ground, hunkered down, snapped the clasps, opened it up...and saw...DVDs. Lots of DVDs. I pulled a bunch out into the light. Most were unlabeled, but all had dates on them. Two of the ones in my hand had titles. One was "Tim's 10th birthday," and the other was "Jack and Tim." Jack. My dad, Jack. I scrambled for more. I saw one with "Nick, Tim and Jack" written on it. Pictures! Videos! Of me and my family.
Holy fucking shit!
I'd known my dad was a cameraman, part time at the TV station, part time with a film studio that worked in the city, and I'd always had this niggling thought in the back of my head, wondering why I only had the one picture of us. Now I knew. It looked like most of my life was on these DVDs.
"Guys! Look, look!" I waved a fistful of DVDs at my buds. "Pics! Me `n dad `n granddad! Look, here's one from my tenth birthday. Aw, jeez!" I had tears streaming down my face but really didn't give a fuck right then. "C'mon, let's go back to my place. You can watch `em with me!"
The "No!" that burst out simultaneously was from my two uncles, Steve and Pat. And when I glanced up, both my buds were looking really pale. The other three had bewildered what-the-fuck expressions.
Uncle Henry's austere voice ended the suddenly awkward silence. "What we mean, Tim, is that you should look at these family...remembrances...in private first. Because they are private. Greg and I have saved them, and transferred the original tapes to DVD until you were...ready for them. I know your father and grandfather would have preferred you see all this by yourself first, and then make an informed decision on what to do with them."
"Yeah, guy, that's right," said Steve. "You're gonna be all slobbery and crying even worse and shit, and I sure don't wanna be around when you get all girly on us. Do that crap by yourself, okay?" The rest of my buds sort of laughed and agreed, but Pat and Steve still looked weird. Definitely another what-the-fuck moment.
"Okay, okay. Fine." I put the DVDs back, locked the case, and put it in the back seat of the...no, not "the" car...my car.
The back-slapping hugs and goodbyes were just a little awkward, too, but we go through them, and the guys went off to the limo.
Uncle Greg drove me back home. In silence all the way.
At first, when Uncle Henry and Uncle Greg really understood that my whole past was gone, they were uncertain what to do with me. Both were bachelors. Both getting on in years. Hey, gimme a break. I was fifteen. Uncle Greg's fifty-something, and Uncle Henry's sixty-something were old. Moving me out to California to live with Uncle Greg was one possibility, the idea being that since I knew nothing about my past, it might be easier to start over where no one knew me, rather than stay here, where I was a sophomore in high school.
Besides being a homo slut, I'm a reasonably astute one as well. I'd be disrupting Uncle Greg's life to have him take on basically a grandson. And Uncle Henry was...well, he was nice, but I could quickly tell he wasn't going to be a candidate for warm and loving uncle of the year. Not that either of them was mean or anything, and they were definitely concerned and wanted to do the right thing.
I obviously couldn't live on my own at fifteen. Going to a private boarding school was one option, and Uncle Hank said that there was enough money for that, and it, too, was another start fresh place. But the docs and I thought it was a good idea to stay where I was, to go back to the same school, and no matter how hard it was, try to reestablish my life, and maybe, just fucking maybe, my memories would come back. So the money that might've gone for the boarding school was spent on bringing Sarah Brandt—to be called Aunt Sarah—to live with me. She was more of a college housemother, than a motherly type, but with an adult around, I could stay at home. The same home that Dad and Granddad and I had lived in.
I think if I had remembered them, remembered anything about them and our lives, I couldn't have handled living in that house. But it was just like a fresh start place anyway. Both my uncles, real and not, made it quite clear the day we left the hospital that I was essentially on permanent probation until I finished high school. There was enough money to cover the basics, but I was going to have to work at least a part-time job during the summers. I was going to follow the ground rules, including curfews, that they laid out. I was going to obey "Aunt Sarah" because if I fucked up once it was off to boarding school. Fortunately, we got along, although we never got close. And while there was an incredible amount of fucking going on in my life, along with sucking and rimming, and every so often when I was feeling in a danger, why the fuck am I doing this mode, even in my own bedroom...and I don't just mean with my own hand or ass...okay, once in the garage and twice in the bathroom...I made sure I never fucked up.
Which brings me back to the Caddy pulling up to the house. It was completely dark. Uncle Greg spoke for the first time on the drive. "I asked Sarah to stay in a hotel for the next couple of days. She didn't want to have you coming back to an empty house after your graduation celebration, but I thought it was best. I suspected Henry and I might be giving you the briefcase."
Like maybe he wouldn't have? And why didn't I get to see all these memories three years ago? "But why...."
"Nope. Sorry, son. I'll answer your questions after you've had a chance to, well, `meet' your family. Do me a favor, though, and yourself one as well. Be patient. Get a good night's sleep, and watch some of the DVDs tomorrow. When you're ready, call me."
"Sure, Uncle Greg."
Hey! I just won the Oscar for best teen lying through his teeth to his great uncle. Luckily, I didn't have to say anything more, since Uncle Henry was driving up in his town car. Classy car. Black like mine; black leather interior, too. Maybe that's where I got the idea for the Eldorado when I was fantasizing about it. We put the top of my car...my fucking '76 Eldorado convertible!!!...back up, got out, locked it. Uncle Greg gave me the keys, and a hug, and went to the Lincoln. I picked up the briefcase and went into the house.
"Sure, Uncle Greg, I'm definitely going wait another fucking minute to meet my family." Not, of course, that he was around to hear that. I waited to talk to myself until I was inside, and checked the outside to be sure they were gone.
I dumped the briefcase on my bed and flicked on the big screen TV that had been my present for my sixteenth birthday. A huge pile of Christmas/birthday presents. And no idea where to start.
Well, idiot, just pick one and start somewhere. Like, well, the first one you looked at. Your tenth birthday. Deal. Done. In the player. Back to the bed. Plump the pillows up. Get comfortable. Click and play.
What the FUCK?
There was this slender blond boy sitting on the bed. My dad's bed. And the quality of the video was like something out of a big film company, though the subject matter definitely wasn't Universal or Paramount. Unless there are studios called Universal Sleaze or Paramount Porn.
Why point out the quality?
`cause I was freaking naked.
Jesus. Somebody was filming me sitting there, legs spread wide, leaning back resting on my elbows, with, hell, at least a five inch hardon. Pretty impressive for a ten year old on such a, well, skinny frame. And I was apparently happy about it. Deliriously so from the look on my face. And from the fact my nips were standing straight and tall, too. Not as big as they are now, of course, but obviously heading there just like my cock.
A voice from off camera. "You want your tenth birthday present first? Or kind of ease into it and make it last?"
I looked at three separate somethings beyond the camera. I bit my lip and looked a little nervous. "F...first."
"You sure? It might be easier last."
"No. I'm sure." I'd seen that stubborn look in the mirror before, when I'd rushed into committing myself to something and was afraid I'd made a mistake but was too damned stubborn or proud to back down.
"Well, let me help you get ready."
And my father walked in front of the camera. Tall, well-built, long blond hair, hefty pecs, same blue eyes as mine, same face structure, big arms, curly blond fur on his chest and flat belly, so much like my own, or well, like my own when I wasn't shaving it off for swimming meets. How could I tell? `cause my daddy was naked. With a seven or eight inch hardon straight out from really thick curly blond pubes.
I paused the DVD and then started bawling. Part of it was finally seeing my daddy, "alive" (sort of) and talking and moving, seeing the real him. Part of it was not being able to remember any of this. Part of it was the realization that whatever my tenth birthday present was it was going to involve sex. My dad was going to have sex with me? How could he?
I should have turned it off right then. Run to the garage for a hammer and then smashed the fucking DVD to bits. And all the rest of them. But I didn't. I was just like all those guys that slow down at a fucking bloody accident and have to frigging look. I turned it back on, and started watching, a little sick to my stomach.
Daddy sat down to my right, his right foot on the floor, his left leg bent, his oozing daddy meat sticking straight up. He supported himself with his left hand on the bed, and then used his right to fondle my prick and my bare low-hanging boy balls. "How about a birthday kiss from dad?"
I grinned on the screen and nodded. And my father, my own fucking father, bent his head down and tongue fucked his own ten year old son. While he played with his boy's cock, and reached up and twisted one tit. I moaned into his mouth on the screen. Christ, that was the same way I moaned when anyone did that to me now.
"Suck him, Jack. Suck my little grandson."
A new voice from behind the camera. Both of them? My father and grandfather were both having sex with me back then? Daddy was doing it, or about to, and granddad was recording? Shit, shit, shit! But I kept on watching.
Like a good son, daddy did what he was told. He leaned over, his long hair swinging forward and obscuring the view, but there was no question he had all of my boy meat and probably my balls in his mouth and then he started sucking. I raised my left hand to run it through daddy's hair. Grinned at him. Looked at the camera, all flushed and happy. "So fucking hot to have daddy sucking my boy dick. Daddy's such a good cocksucker, isn't he, grandpa?"
Christ, I was foul mouthed as a kid. Almost like now.
"He sure is, Timmy. I taught him well, and taught him young, just like we did you."
I was clearly caught up in the fatherly blowjob. I whimpered, and then asked, "How early, grandpa? How early did you start teaching me? Tell me again."
"You were a year old, boy."
"And I was a good little boy slut even then, wasn't I, grandpa? Oh fuck oh fuck oh daddy suck my dickie you bastard cocksucker!" I screamed and then started twisting and turning and moaning. I was sure the fuck having one great dry cum on my tenth birthday.
And when my daddy lifted his head so the camera could see my shiny wet bare boy prick, I could see I was still hard.
Like the older me, the eighteen year old me, watching this being done to me eight years ago. This was so fucking disgusting.
And I was still hard.
I am such a sick fuck. But the impulse to turn it off was gone. I was fucking hooked. But I wasn't going to jack off. I wasn't that depraved, no matter how bad my family was. Shit. No wonder Uncle Greg wanted me to watch this in private. How fucking embarrassing for him and Uncle Henry to have to watch this stuff. To know what was on the DVDs. To have to give them to me.
"Shall I eat your pussy, baby?" my daddy asked my ten year old self.
My "oooooh, yes, daddy!" was ecstatic. I quickly lay on my back, raised my legs and held them up. Once again, daddy dived down and there were licking and slurping sounds as he started tonguing me. He was definitely as talented a rimmer as he was a dick sucker. Only this time the camera moved and whoever was doing the work was clearly damned good because it was so smooth. Or just edited well. But soon I was watching my daddy tongue fuck my boy cunt. Every fucking detail. Watching my own hole open up and close again, starting to gleam with spit and ass juices, just like my cock had been shiny a little while ago.
Daddy stuck his forefinger in his mouth and then eased it into my hole. I moaned on the screen. "Oh, yeah, daddy, finger my hole. Get me ready."
And he did. Sliding his forefinger and then two fingers in and out of my cunt. I was ten years old and I was going to take my daddy's meat into that tight hole? No fucking way the eighteen year old me thought. Ten year old me had no fucking doubts. But when my daddy asked, well, fuck, he begged me to let him slide his cock in my cunt, just for a stroke or two, just to help, I was obviously enjoying my power and told him no.
He just grinned at me and then at the camera. At grandpa I guess. Who promptly asked in a sly voice, "So if your old grandpa wanted his dick in his favorite grandson's pussy right now, you wouldn't make an old man happy and let him."
I giggled and shook my head no.
"So what do you want up there?"
"My present!" I demanded on the screen.
The current me paused the DVD. What present? Oh. Jesus. They were going to fuck him with a dildo. My daddy's cock looked like it was a little bit shorter, a little bit thinner than my cock. The same cock that had somehow gotten out of my jeans. The jeans that had somehow gotten open and slid down below my ass and past me knees to my ankles. The cock that had my right hand stroking it while my left clicked the resume button.
"Are you sure you want your present?"
I was looking off camera again. Eager, horny, and just a little bit nervous.
"Tell everybody what your present is, baby boy."
I looked back at the camera again, between my still pulled up legs. "Ten inches for my tenth birthday."
FUCK! They were going to try to get a ten inch long dildo up that hot little pussy?
I was fucking admiring my own young boy fuck hole?
"How do you want it, son?" my daddy asked, fondling me and then playing with my opening and shutting hole.
I thought for a second, and then said, "Puppy. I want to be a little boy puppy with a big daddy dog dick fucking me."
Dad said, "Okay, kiddo. Get in position."
I did. I was facing sideways across the bed, my head toward daddy. My skinny ass was up in the air, my legs spread a little wide for balance. I was looking over my shoulder and my face and eyes lit up. Obviously I could see my grandfather approaching with the dildo, since the camera was very still and probably on a tripod.
Ten inches all right. Ten thick fucking inches. Only not a dildo. A cock. A real, uncut, foreskin pulled back from a bright red, precum wet knob with a huge piss slit, actual cock. Attached to a thin man with a paunch, not much hair between his nipples, no treasure trail, thin grey pubes, a big ball pouch tight to his body. A very ordinary body for a man in his late fifties. A body I'd never seen before. Well the fifteen to eighteen year old me had never seen before. From the welcoming grin on my face, I'd definitely seen Uncle Henry naked and hard before.
My fucking...and wasn't that the fucking truth...Uncle Henry. He of the lined face, too large nose, too wide mouth, too brilliant mind. That Uncle Henry.
Ten fucking inches Uncle Henry.
He knelt on the bed behind my frail looking body. Caressed my ass, fondled my cock and balls, stroked himself just a little with his left hand. Shoved two fingers into my pussy hard. I grunted and almost moved forward, but didn't. My eighteen year old hand moved, though, stroking my aching prick.
"It's going to hurt, you know, getting a cock this size into your hot little boy cunt the very first time. And fuck, I've waited so goddamned long to do this. I'll try to hold back, boy, but I might not be able to. You won't mind a little hurt, will you?"
And I said "no" on the screen. And meant it. Uncle Henry nodded at my daddy, who reached around my slender body and under and grabbed my tits and twisted and hurt them with the kind of good pain that makes you grunt and moan. Just like I was doing to my own tits right along with daddy on the screen. Fuck. Even back then I liked rough sex. Not that I ever got any around here. Both of us, ten and eighteen, moaning and hard while our nips were worked on.
I couldn't stand it. I paused the DVD again. Kicked off my jeans, jumped off the bed, crossed to my closet, grabbing my key ring on the way, and unlocked the box on the floor. Yanked out a cum towel, and a dildo towel, my biggest dildo (the Jeff Stryker) and some lube. Hurried back to the bed, though there was no hurry since the fucking wasn't going anywhere until I was good and ready. Spread the towel, got on my back so it was under my hips, lubed the dildo, lubed my hole, wiped my hands, took a quit hit off the poppers I dragged from my nightstand, and then eased just a bit of the head into my cunt, bracing the end of it with my heel.
And flicked the DVD on again.
Christ. Daddy had me using poppers back then! Because that's what he was doing a moment after it started playing again. Holding my nose to take a hit or two in each nostril, while Uncle Henry rubbed the shiny wet end of his cock around and around my hole. He paused, then reached back and to his right to the nightstand, and grabbed a KY tube and a rag. He lubed three fingers, and then quickly rammed them into my boy hole. I grunted again and pushed my ass back. He fucked in and out a couple of times then yanked the fingers out. Wiped them off. Placed his hands on my tiny waist, nudged his fat, fat cock head into place and shoved.
On screen I squealed. In the here and now I grunted as I both pushed the fat dildo head into my hole and pushed down on it. Henry and I both held the cock heads still in the tight holes. Daddy gave me poppers. I gave myself some. Henry and I both shoved the real and fake cocks deep into the holes they'd just started to enter. I'd never tried that before with a dildo that size, hell, with any dildo. God, my cunt hurt. And so did my boy cunt eight years ago. I was shaking and crying on the screen, moaning, "Oh Christ, daddy, it hurts. My pussy hurts, make it stop, please daddy, make it stop."
But I wasn't fighting to get away. Then or now. More poppers then and now and the boy me and the man me were off floating, eager to have our pussies used. And used they were. Henry pulled all the way out for a moment, though I wasn't stupid enough to do the same. The camera...fuck! there had to be more than one camera going...avidly watched the deep red boy pussy flesh stretch out as the cock came out, the hole gaping wide, and before it could start to close Henry thrust home again. Just as hard. I squealed again, but not as much and with each succeeding hard, hurting stroke my whining changed to whimpering changed to moaning changed to begging Uncle Henry and daddy to fuck me, hurt me good.
I watched my daddy give me some more poppers on screen, and I followed suit on my bed, and then he took several hits himself, fisting his man meat, then grabbing my long blond hair to raise my head and shove his cock into my throat. Oh Christ, my tenth birthday present was to get ten inches of huge man meat fucking my baby boy pussy while my daddy's own dick fucked my throat. Uncle Henry, precise and methodical as always was rhythmically, steadily fucking my boy cunt, pacing himself, increasing his speed like he was carefully putting his foot down on the accelerator and the car was speeding up smoothly to cruising speed.
Daddy was too horny for that shit. He used poppers a couple more times as he started to face fuck my ten year old mouth really hard, a fucking I was obviously enjoying. Just like I was enjoying the one at my other end. I went through one and then two and then three dry cums as the onscreen fucks got faster. I took more hits off the poppers and writhed on my bed, jamming the dildo in my cunt, somehow managing to keep my focus on the screen, on hurting my nips, on fucking myself, on jacking and jacking ruthlessly.
Daddy screamed, "Fucking cumming baby boy, take my spooge you slut whore!" Which set off another dry cum for the eight years ago me, the strongest yet, and suddenly Henry had shifted into whatever speed was beyond ninety or a hundred and he was right there, too, shouting abuse at my younger self, hurting me with his thick cock, and spewing dick slime up into my young belly. As I was spewing an incredible amount of dick slime all over my own face and chest and belly.
I collapsed back, not quite able to see the screen. Listened to my own harsh breath. To the harsh breath of daddy and Uncle Henry on the screen. Christ. What a fucking mess. As much as I liked cums like that I hated cleaning up after them. But I was....
Uncle Henry wasn't done. I couldn't fucking believe it. The camera was close in as he pulled his huge meat out of my young pussy, recording my squeezing my muscles and pushing out and thick bright white cum started oozing out. And then he was sliding right back in again. He hadn't fucking gotten soft at all.
And he was talking again. Softly as he resumed fucking my clearly wiped out younger self. "Dmitri will like you, little slut. Now that you've been broken in."
Dmitri? Dmitri? Dmitri Vasiliev? One of Uncle Henry's biggest clients?
I was slowly collapsing from puppy mode, so daddy, whose slimy cock was still half hard, grabbed a thick pillow and put it under my belly and groin so that my ass was still raised to make Henry's fuck easier.
I couldn't fucking believe it. The old man was fucking my younger self as steadily as if it was the first time. I was almost passed out, passive for a while, while the camera (cameras?) started getting all sorts of great boy pussy being fucked shots. From behind with my pale thin legs between Henry's wide spread old man legs, and slightly sagging but that nevertheless drove in and out of my tiny slimy hole, his ball bag slapping against my body with each thrust in. From the side a bit away, from the side close up. From the front, shooting down the length of his chest and belly, the length of my boy body, to the sight of such an impossibly large cock easily sliding in and out of boy hole.
And here and now my own cock hadn't gone down either. Shit. If the old man could do it, so the fuck could I.
"Dmitri wanted you a year ago, my little whore boy. We told him no, that he had to wait. Wait until we'd broken your cunt in. Kept it tight for him, of course, but gotten it used to a big cock. And Dmitri definitely has a big cock."
"Sure the fuck does," my grandpa's voice agreed off screen. "And my ass remembers every damn inch of it."
Grandpa got fucked by a cock as big as Uncle Henry's? And...oh, shit, so did my daddy. He was nodding and agreeing.
"Yes, little one, he's fucked your daddy, and your grandpa. Even me. And we've fucked him. But what he really likes is boy pussy. Young boy pussy. Only the ones he would really like to have are far too small to take his cock without damage. So we promised him you when you were ready. You're ready now, aren't you, pussy boy?"
Before I could answer he started fucking me rough and hard and deep on the screen, and I started doing the same with the dildo in my cunt, a dildo that was beginning to hurt now because a lot of the lube had been absorbed, but I couldn't take the time to re-lube and re-fuck myself with it. I was too fucking horny all over again.
"Oh, yes, Uncle Henry," I sighed. "I just wish I could taste his cum when he fucks my pussy, like I do when I suck him. I like Uncle Dmitri's cum."
"You know, little boy, I think I will tell him that. Maybe when he comes here next week to sign the contracts, he will fuck you rough and hard like you like it, and then you will clean his cock and suck him off and taste his cum, and after two cums, he will take a nice long hard time to fuck you until he cums again. Will you like that, baby whore?"
"Oh, yes, Uncle Henry. Please, please, fuck me, fuck me hard. Make me cum again, cum in my pussy! Please, please!"
If I'd had that ten inch slab of meat in my hole for a second fuck I would have been begging just like my younger self. As it was I slid down again, going off in a popper daze, jacking my cock, listening to the eager fuck sounds from the DVD, the raunchy filth being spewed from Uncle Henry's mouth, from daddy's, from grandpa's as they talked about Henry's fuck, and daddy's sloppy fuck next and then grandpa would get a turn on my gaping slimy pussy with three fuck loads of dick slime up inside me and how Dmitri would fuck me and use me and then Henry was cumming again, and ten year old me was shrieking with a long, long cum and I was whimpering and then shouting "Fuck fuck fuck! Fuck my cunt Uncle Henry Dmitri Daddy Grandpa! Fuck me, fuck me!" And I came, too. Almost as much as the one a few minutes earlier.
When I finally came down off my dildo and popper fucked high, Henry was easing his meat out of my raw young pussy. Only my caring daddy, the same caring daddy who was obviously whoring me out to his lawyer's clients, was there to ease me, to lap and suck the cum out of my hole and gulp it down. But first he showed the camera a full mouth of white slimy fresh-from-boy-pussy cum. The DVD faded to black.
I clicked it off. Eased the thick dildo out of my hole, wishing there was cum inside it and someone to felch it out.
I sprawled on the bed, though mostly sitting up. Sweaty, exhausted, the room reeking of poppers and man and cum and ass juices, I absent-mindedly scooped up cum off my body and sucked it off my fingers.
I'd taken my Uncle Henry's ten inch cock in my cunt when I was ten. Fuck. I hadn't had any cocks that big since I got out of the hospital. I was fucking jealous of a younger self I no longer remembered?
Yeah, I was.
I looked at all the DVD cases that my own jacking and writhing and cumming had bounced around and spread out.
No. No more. Not again. This time and this time only.
But Christ. So many DVDs. So much sex? Were they all about me and my family and sex? And...and men I was whored out to? Because that's what it was. I'm smart enough to know that Dmitri wasn't getting to fuck little boy cunt out of the goodness of my family's heart or the goodness (ha!) of a lawyer's so-called heart. Someone was getting something out of my pussy and it wasn't just a mouthful of cum.
Disgusting. Truly fucking disgusting.
And I had an answer to the question I hadn't asked anyone out loud. I wasn't sure if I could handle the answer that my family made me into the cum-sucking slut I am today. Fuck. That I apparently had been for years, only I couldn't remember all the early shit.
It wasn't right.
But my dick was saying something different. Loudly. And my eyes kept going back to the DVD I'd just sort of zoomed in on when looking them over a moment ago. One of the ones with a title, not just a date.
The one that read: "Timmy's 1st Birthday."
No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. I am not going to watch it.